#frank looks like a pope or something

[slut4sigourney]

tern haven

[alexjcrowley]

Yeah sorry about the public humiliation but you were so right

hey uhm by the way

[wraithdance]

The Five Year Plan | Gaz x Reader

Note: F!Reader but no gendered terms in this chapter, Fat/Plus sized Reader, Reader is implied to be Black but can be read as WoC, Readers nickname is 'Siggy', there will be no y/n use Content warning: terrible grasp of british-isms, parental angst, sick parent (cancer), some reader backstory for storytelling purposes, talks of pregnancy and readers womb, fatphobia from a parent, food mentions. (lmk if I need to tag something else for filtering!!)

Chapter Three: Don't tell mum

It is an ungodly hour of the morning and you have a sugar hangover and a canopy bed full of empty wrappers.

You’d spent the night crying and cursing stupid posh, blond men with trust funds and selective sperm practices. Which then led you to curse even stupider, infuriating wankers with pretty brown eyes and smooth burnished skin.

(Also the perky twits the two species have tea and procreate with, but you’re trying to do a better job of showing unwavering solidarity with other women. Despite the present fuckery at hand that is.)

A brief glance in the mirror of your vanity reflects the deep dark circles under your eyes and the evidence of your emergency chocolate eclairs on the bodice of your moo-moo. The silk lined linen had been no match for the wild disarray of your hair during the night. You looked quite frightening really. You don’t even need to glance at the framed Olivia Pope photo on your nightstand to know your fictional icon would be utterly disgusted at the state of you.

This would not do.

Sitting up from your pillow you point an accusing finger to the wobbling lipped wretch in the mirror and take a deep steadying breath for fortitude.

"Tits up, buttercup! There's no crying in show business!" you bellow at the watery reflection firmly.

The wretch in the mirror looks no more enthusiastic than before.

Mentally you shrug. Sure the motto is not as an effective motivator as it is with the raspy American accent of your chain smoking paternal aunt, but still. It's the thought that counts! With shoulders back and head high you're determined to expel angst from your body like water off a duck's arse. You force your mouth into a semblance of a smile that doesn't reach your eyes and tumble-scooch out of the nest of blankets in the middle of your bed. 

It was Saturday and you had an overbearing mother to visit (and subsequently lie to). If you didn’t get it together she’d smell the bitter notes of ‘Eau de Failure’ wafting over you like a shark scenting blood in the water. So with that in mind, you prepare for war with a nice candle and the motivating sounds of a beloved global hero. 

“Breakup, shmake-up! Alexa, be a dear and play Chaka Khan, we need this show back on the road. Pronto!”

An incoming text comes in briefly interrupting your improvised rendition of ‘I’m Every Woman’ while you perform (lounge) in the tub. With suds scarily close to your face you squint at the message from your father with one eye.

> Nurses called, mums in a mood.

You scowl. To be frank there’s not a time as of late where your mum wasn’t in a mood. Waving an arm in the air to dispel the bubbles covering your hand, you type out a text back.

< Gobsmacked, truly. Send rating for level of risk in engaging the matriarch, Skipper.

The reply comes in seconds. You can imagine your tech averse father having already expected the request and having a reply at the ready. 

> Threat level five, Captain.

You scrunch your nose and make a whine of irritation. 

Bugger. The scale only went up to six. 

With a sigh you send a simple ‘Roger that’ and sink lower into the bathtub. It was probably best to add more bubbles and break out the epsom salts. You were going to need all the relaxation you could get.

An hour later you’re dressed and slathered in body butter, glistening like a plump glazed ham. 

Outside your flat you’re shifting your bag around to find the knock off sunglasses somewhere traversing at the bottom when the sound of the door across the wall causes you to tense. Kyle stands in his doorway shuffling with a small plastic bag in hand and a sheepish smile. He’s blinking sleep from his eyes and scrunching his face as if the light filtering in the drab hallway disturbs him greatly. 

Your gut clenches seeing the serene yellow glow cascading across his brown skin. (It wasn’t fair that even the sun was a biased ninny and painted the bane of your existence out to be an ethereal creature.)

You give him a look up and down that you hope is less awestruck and all venom. It’s hard not to get distracted by the low hang of his gray sweatpants and the compression shirt that encompasses his broad chest. 

Sweet blueberries, the man dressed like a common whore. 

Sniffing you turn your nose up at him, shoving your sunglasses on your face when you finally reach them.

“Garrick.”

He smiles wider despite your dry tone. “Good morning, love.” 

“Were you just standing there at the door waiting for me?”

Kyle gives you a flat look in return with slightly less chipper-ness. He shifts his arms to rest in a cross, the bag swinging from the crook of his elbow like a metronome. His biceps bulge in a way that makes you want to clutch your pearls. 

(Or bite him. Hard.)

“I wasn’t waiting at the door.” He’s not quite mocking the cadence of your voice but you still wonder if you could get away with braining him with your overstuffed bag.

“I just happened to be nearby and I know you always leave around this time on Saturdays.”

You roll your eyes. 

“So you were waiting at the door then. You know Garrick stalking is illegal in the UK. I would hope you’d know that being military and such.”

Kyle narrows his eyes into slits. His nostrils flare as his once bright smile turns sardonic, gravely affronted.  

“Don’t know if you’re always such a charm in the mornings, love, but like I said, wasn't waiting around.” He clips. You are incensed at the degree of excitement that shoots through you at his rare snark. 

(You make a mental note to have one of the cute nurses at mum’s care center check you over for possible head trauma.)

“Besides,” He gives you a pointed look. “You would know something about illegal acts considering you’re the one who got banned from the resident’s meetings for nicking the snacks.”

The gasp of offense you let out is involuntary. Morning Kyle was not only scandalously dressed but also very rude!

“I did not steal anything, Garrick, they were complimentary for the residents!” You snark haughtily, pushing your sunglasses up your nose with a manicured finger. “I happen to be a resident you know and I gave my compliments when I took them.”

Kyle lets out a bark of laughter. The sleep layered tenor makes your toes curl in your sensible slippers. 

Bugger he was pretty. 

“Is there something you need from me?” you ask when his laugh trickles off into chuckles.

Kyle sobers and shoots you a sheepish glance. “Ah yeah actually. I wanted to give you these.” 

Kyle maneuvers the bag off his arm and extends it to you. With an abundance of caution you accept the offering like one would handle a ticking bomb and peek inside. 

An assortment of moon cakes greets you at the bottom of the plastic. 

You can smell the crisp outer shell and the sweet red bean filling of the pastry signifying their freshness. You do the mental math in your head and realize he’d had to have been up at the crack of dawn to get in line for them at the shops around the way. 

The treats sold out in minutes and you very rarely got the opportunity to get them on your own during the season as you were prone to sleeping in.  

“What’s this for?” 

“It’s an apology.” He gives your bewildered look a self deprecating grimace. “I don’t know what the other night was about but I wanted to apologize for hurting your feelings.”

Okay, no. Can’t have any of that now. 

You straighten up and put your hands on your hips. Kyle’s eyes follow your movements, staring for longer than polite. You clear your throat and he looks away when you give him an eyebrow raise in return. 

“Firstly, Garrick, you didn’t hurt my feelings, don't insult me. I was just taken aback.” pausing in consideration you peer over the rim of your glasses at the man. “What exactly did Madelyn tell you?”

Kyle shifts, one side of his mouth twitching upwards bringing your attention to the facial scar on his cheek.

“Nothing, actually. Just a lot of crying and mumbling about some Hugo. I honestly thought she was talking about a dog before I realized it was some chap she's seeing.”

You hum. Interesting, really.

You’d been sure he’d known more than he’d let on or at the very least that Madelyn would prove to be the unsavory sort to spill the beans on the sister wife shuffle you’d been unwittingly involved in. 

A glance at your watch shows you that you’ve spent too much time dawdling. No need to ruffle mum’s feathers further.

“Well, this has been lovely, Garrick, but I have to cut out. Places to go, people to see and such.” You shake the bag in your hand in emphasis, “Thanks for the goodies. it ‘s very... Sweet of you.” 

“You’re welcome, love.”

You’re glad you thought to wear your shades, the smile he gives you is infused with satisfaction and warmth. (He really should be much more careful where he aims those things he’s liable to blind someone.)

With a twirl of your wrist you give Kyle a halfhearted wave goodbye. He watches you until the lift closes.

What a strange duck.

You find your father at his usual haunt within the oncology unit of the extended care center. 

“Step away from the vending machine, Skipper. I come bearing tastier morsels.”

You smile at his wide eyed panic as he turns to you with shoulders to his ears. He curses low and pulls you into a bear hug, tight enough that a passing nurse shushes you for the squawk you let out. Your father’s miserably dramatic groan vibrates throughout your own chest and he lets out a puff of air.

“You’ve gotta announce yourself kid, I nearly shit myself.”

With a laugh you poke a finger into his rib causing him to jerk away from you. “It’s shat, do try to act like a proper Brit won’t you? Besides what's the fun in announcing myself when I can catch you red handed doing something you shouldn’t. Mum will be pissed you’re wasting money on vending machine biscuits ya’ know.”

Your father gives you a droll look when you snatch his change and shove it in your own pocket. 

(Someone has to pay the child tax after all.)

“Shit or shat, same difference and you would be the one responsible for cleaning me up, brat. And, I’ve been divorced from your mother for nearly a decade so I don’t care what she won’t like. I'm a grown ass man, I’m not afraid of her.”

Your eyes roll so far to the back of your head you swear you can see your medulla. He was so full of it.

“Yeah? So, if I told you not to tell mum something you’re not going to do that thing where you blurt it out the second she looks at you?”

He puts a hand over his heart in reply. “Of course I wouldn’t say anything. I’m a little offended right now, when have I ever run off at the mouth.”

You stomp your feet in irritation. He didn’t get to play clueless!

“Literally all the time. You’re the reason she sent me to that awful boarding school for nicking one of your cigarettes! I’m still scared of nuns you know- stop laughing!”

Your father continues to chuckle and pats your face. When you swat his hand away the look he gives you is unimpressed and flippant.

“In my defense, you were thirteen and had no business smoking in the first place, much less skipping class to do it. I had to put fear into you so you didn’t come out a delinquent.” 

“By telling mum?” You quirk a brow.

“Course, what’s scarier?” He gives you a smug look, linking his arms in yours. You both set a pace down the hall in the direction of your mothers room. 

“Besides, I wouldn’t be a father if I hadn't done whatever it took, you were very rebellious and snotty at the time. But still, it worked out didn’t it? Got a cool nickname out of it. Siggy, the chain smoking lawyer.”

You start to glare at him but the word father makes you wince and he catches it. “What’s the look?”

“So about being a father,” you slow to a stop just outside your mothers door. You give the nurse at reception a tight smile and try to come up with a way to say the thing. 

“Hugo got someone pregnant.” 

It takes the old man some time for it to click. You watch his mind whir putting together the things you didn’t say. Finally he levels you with a smirk much like a cat who drank the cream would wear.

“No shit? Didn’t think he had the cojones for that, you’d kept them in your purse long enough.”

The look you give him is unimpressed, he snickers. How dreadful, you were being parented by a child. 

“Yes well,” you look away “according to him I wasn’t mother material and he dumped me for the other woman.”

Your father hums “Tragic that. Didn’t like him very much so I can’t say I’ll miss him. He send you off with something?”

He motions his head at the plastic bag you fiddled with subconsciously. With a snort you hand it over, watching his eyes light ups when he digs through its contents.

“No, gift from my neighbor.” you wait until he’s taken a moon cake out of its individual wrapping before leveling him a glare. “Under no circumstances are you allowed to tell mum that Hugo and I broke up.”

Your father shrugs off your concern with a wave. “Yup got it. Won’t hear a peep out of me about it.” He takes a big bite that sends pastry flecks over his shirt and you roll your eyes.

Facing the door to the hospital room you roll your shoulders back and prepare yourself mentally.

The sound of a wrapper crinkly disturbs whatever inner peace you search for in the universe.

“Please Siggy, I served with guys in the Navy with less seriousness going into battle.” 

Good grief.

“Eat your sweets please.” You cluck, “I need to meditate before I walk in there.”

Your father ha-rumps in reply but thankfully keeps quiet. When you feel some semblance of self control you shoot a look behind you.

“Remember not a single word!”

Your mother is propped against mounds of pillows. She looks every bit like a queen holding court despite the tubing and wires running along her body. Her sallow skin is grayish in tint, far from the myriad of browns you remember from your youth. 

Yet her scowl remains sharp and dagger-like in nature.

“Oh, how nice of you to show up. I thought this was your way of telling me you want me to die alone.”

Your father shoots you a look as he finishes off the cake. Threat level five indeed.

You smile at her sheepishly which only makes her glare more.

“I got tied up with my neighbor, sorry mum. I’m here now though. What’s been going on?” 

Your mother says nothing instead choosing to follow you with her eyes as you make your way to the armchair beside her bed. When you’re seated she sucks her teeth and looks you up and down before gesturing at your still standing father with her head. 

“Why did you bring this traitorous shadow on my doorstep, eh? I already have a sickness, why must you make me suffer more?”

Your father rolls his eyes before gesturing a thumb over his shoulder.

“Alright… glad we had this talk. I’ll just run to the cafeteria.” Your father turns tail and leaves without waiting for a reply. Your mother gives you a look.

“Wisdom chases your father but unfortunately he is faster.”

“Please, that’s mean, mum.” You ignore her brush off, “He comes to visit with me every weekend even when he doesn’t have to, maybe you should give him a break.” 

Your mother is silent, choosing to disregard your scolding by facing away and watching the drama playing out on the telly. You allow the dismissal, watching along with her and sharing occasional comments on the plot. 

During an advertisement break she folds her hands into her lap and shifts to get a good look at you.

“Are you pregnant yet?”

You jerk back into the cushions of the chair, “No!”

She frowns. “Why not, you are getting old? 

And here we go.

“Mum,” you start carefully, “You say this every time you see me and I have to remind you once more that I’m not old. It’s actually pretty rude, you know, to suggest I need a baby because I’m aging.”

She huffs adjusting the nasal cannula. You look at the IV in her thin hand and the feeling of wrongness makes your body vibrate with anxiety. 

She shouldn’t be here.

You don’t get a chance to think about it anymore when she leans over the railing of her bed to stare deep into your eyes.

“What’s happened to that Humphrey fellow, what is he saying about your empty womb?”

For fucks sake!

“It’s Hugo and he’s got nothing to say about my womb because it’s not his bloody-” you refuse to amend the curse when she swats at you with the hand closest to you, “it’s not his bloody business mother, I’m not a breeding mare!” 

She narrows her eyes, jaw working as she contemplates your tense shoulders. “Where is he?” 

You recoil. For. Fucks. Sake!

You try to look casual while sitting back in the armchair, your unseeing glaze pretending to be interested in the period piece that now plays on the in-unit television.

“He’s around or whatever. Doing fiancé things and all that jazz. Super happy. Great guy, truly the best.”

Your mother lets out a sharp ‘Ha!’ She calls your full name in the tone. The ‘I have birthed you and I will end you’ like filicide is her right as a mother, tone. You sink low into the chair.

“What, mother?”

“You are lying, I can tell. Where is Harold and what happened to your engagement? If you’ve run off another man I will cut you from my will.”

You snort humorlessly.

“Like I said Hugo is fine where he is. Besides you don’t have a will, I know because I oversee your legal paperwork and you refuse to sit down and draft one with me.”

She mumbles something unintelligible about everyone speaking death onto her when your father walks into the room with a cup of coffee.

You see the second your mother sets up a plan of attack and your father does too in the way he freezes in fear like a doe in the path of a wolf. 

“Where is the child’s husband-”

“He broke up with her!" He blurts with wide, dodgy eyes, "Got some girl pregnant and ran off.” 

He returns your disgusted look with a shrug. “Sorry, Siggy got nervous.”

Seriously, the man needed some backbone! He’s not even married to her any more! You’re opening your mouth to lay into him when your mother launches her own attack on you both.

“Do not call my child that awful name, you discombobulated fool!” you mouth the word ‘discombobulated’, the woman was creative with her insults, you’ll give her that.

“And you!” she wags her finger in your direction with a stiff lip, “You should be ashamed of yourself for lying to your own ailing mother. Quickly, how did you manage to run this one off? I am dying to hear it.”

Primly you sit up, adjusting the hem of your shirt around your tummy. Your time in court was much less daunting, to be honest, but you’re a believer in faking it until you make it.

“Mumsy, I didn’t run anyone off, thank you very much. In my defense he was a cheating oaf and he is free to do what he wants, it's no skin off my back.”

She laughs haughtily and it makes you feel awful. 

“He wouldn’t have left if you gave him children!”

The dark desire to mention that giving a man a child hadn’t worked out in her favor when you catch your father’s look. He shakes his head, knowing you well enough to pluck the vicious thought from your mind.

You swallow back the biting retort in defeat.

“Mum please. Hugo said he didn’t want kids right away” you mentally add the ‘children with you’ with a frown, “I believed him when he said it and that’s not something I should be punished for.”  

Your mother sits back in bed, raising her hands in the air in defeat. 

“Everyone else in the family has a grandchild or three!” She cuts her eyes at you, “Why was I the one cursed with a child who buys ugly bags instead of raising babies.”

The pit in your stomach grows as tears prickle your eyes. “My bags aren’t ugly and its very mean of you to suggest that.” you whimper dejectedly.

Your father takes a step and puts his hand on your shoulder.

“I think that’s enough, we should be comforting our child not being insulting. You didn’t like the man anyways so what's the issue?” 

Your mother just tuts and closes her eyes like she couldn’t be arsed to have you both in sight a moment longer.

“He was also a fool.” She opens one eye to peek at you, “Your cousin is expecting again by the way.”

So that's what this was about, you snort.

“Yes well, terrible for you to compare me to my underage cousin when she’s barely a teenager with her second child on the way. You know as well as I do the family was in a kerfuffle about it the first time!”

Your father hums in agreement, voicing his support (a little late after having caused this mess, but still.)

“You should be proud to have a kid who has degrees, a great career -an admittedly shit flat,” He ignores your sound of objection “but otherwise really fabulous things going on. Say something nice, please.”

Your mother sniffs “I’m getting older and who knows if this sickness takes me to glory. The child obviously wants me to die without a grandbaby.”

Your sigh is deep and loud in the room. You know for a fact she's bringing up her cancer to twist the knife in deeper. Yet you heard from her yourself that the doctors crowed about the progress of her health.

“Mum please don’t keep saying stuff like that. It really hurts my feelings because you know I love you and I wouldn’t know what to do without you.” 

You watch your mother fight to not soften with your admission. She doesn't look directly at you, glancing more in your general direction. You place a hand over hers on top of the covers, squeezing her fingers tight. The dull shine of her wedding band catches the light of the side table lamp. 

She squeezes your hand back and lifts it out from under yours to pat your fingers. You know it's the only form of apology you’ll get from her. She does ruin it though, moments after.

“Your wrists are like sausage casings, have you gotten bigger?”

Yes well, that was your sign that it was time to go.

“Well lovely as always to see you mum,” you shift to a stand reaching for your bag at your feet and patting your father on the arm. “Think I’m going to pop out and consider my life choices and all.”

She tells you not to be cheeky when you kiss her cheek. She ignores your father’s goodbye  and continues on with watching her shows.

On the walk out front your father stops you from leaving. He lights up a cigarette, the cloying menthol aroma turning your stomach. 

(You never could pick one up again after that traumatizing moment in secondary school.)

Your father is quiet for some time, flicking the ash of his cigarette occasionally in deep thought. You don’t make an effort to break the silence, thinking of your own recollection of another successfully humiliating interaction with your mother. They’d been happening a lot more as of late and it was starting to wear a hole in your heart.

When you shuffle in place your father finally looks at you with a softened glint in his eye. He stumps out his ciggie and places a hand on your shoulder.

“You and your mother are just alike.”

Snorting, you look off to the darkening parking lot, settling your gaze on a flickering street lamp in the distance. You try to ignore the warbling view from behind the tears in your eyes.

“Wouldn’t let her hear that. I’m sure she’d pop her lid at the very suggestion.” You don’t mean to, but bitterness coats your tongue before you can stop yourself, “Poor, fat, pathetic Siggy mucking her perfect plans up as always.”

Your father shoots you a warning glance, not liking your tone or the self deprecation dripping from your mouth. Being under his steel gaze makes you feel childish but you refuse to show it, meeting his look head on.

Because like it or not it was the truth. Whether she said it outright she wasn’t satisfied with your person.

You’d grown up always being on the wrong end of your mothers ire. No matter how hard you tried otherwise. But there wasn’t an excellent mark you could get, a partner you could bring home, or even a diet you could go on. You were always just… lacking.

Your father sighs in the night.

“You’re just as hard headed as her, you know that? Just as quick to cut down an idea that doesn’t fit your vision.”

Catching the defeated slump of your shoulders he calls your name. When you don’t look at him he tucks a finger beneath your chin forcing you to meet his gaze. Love and sadness sit on his weathered skin like a cloak. 

“It’s not a bad thing, Captain. I know being all brass and bull dick helps you at that fancy ass firm of yours but it keeps you from smelling the roses from time to time.”

You wrinkle your nose at the crassness, not sure how to take being compared to bulls testicles. He continues on.

“You also got her flare for dramatics and her ambitious nature. It’s why you two have been butting heads since you could set up and talk.”

Whoa, not the case!

“She butts heads with me!” You cry out, “I don’t know what I could possibly be doing to trigger her but I’m exhausted figuring it out. I just want-“

The lump in your throat stops you and you take a shaky breath. 

“I just want her to be on my side for once? Instead of being worried about me embarrassing her in front of the family.”

He gives you a sad smile.

“She’s just scared. Been on the wrong end of the hyenas before, I think she tries to nag you into submission in hopes she can spare you half the pain.”

That you can’t help but give an unbelieving look to.

“Please she acts like the head hyena most days. It’s hard to believe she’s ever been judged the way she judges me.”

Your father hums humorlessly, wrapping an arm over your shoulder to smush you into his side.

“You’d be surprised. She’d gut me, then stuff me over the mantle for saying it, but I have it on good authority that she’s on thin ice with her side of the family as well.”

You sniffle past the tears on your lashes, blinking to peer at him. “Well don’t leave me in suspense, old man. What’s the story behind that?”

Your father chuffs and flicks the tip of your nose, you whine rubbing the sore spot left behind. 

“I got your old man alright, you little shit.” He laughs boisterously, “They’re pissed she dared marry me, an American. Then by doing me the honor of birthing you, the most loving, headstrong tornado of a child a man can ask for, despite their objections.”

The forehead kiss he plants on you brings more watery fluid to your eyes. You hide the emotion by frowning and pretending to wipe off imaginary residue from your forehead.

“I’m not following.” You snark flatly. It earns you a pinch.

“They’re pissed she went against them then had the nerve to agree to divorce me when it was all said and done. That’s on top of inconveniencing them by getting sick. Your mum’s been on the chopping block far longer than you’ve been and the pressure is getting to her.”

He lets out a long suffering sigh and you imagine he’s reliving the hard years that came about after the divorce. The constant yelling and coldness within your childhood home still sends ice down your spine. Your father notices the resulting shiver and rubs your arm to provide warmth into your limbs.

“Despite our differences, I know your mum is just worried you’ll face the same treatment she did when she went and ran off with me, the ‘no good American’ while on vacation.”

You sigh, still not really understanding. It was definitely unfortunate their treatment of your parents' marriage. You’d witnessed it in the slick remarks of your aunties and the other elders over the years. 

Your father had done what he could to shield you from figuring out his ostracism up until he’d asked your mother for a divorce. 

It wasn’t fair to either of them that the family was so caught up in outdated traditions to see your parents had loved each other once. But you couldn’t live like this and you say so.

“You said it yourself, you've been divorced for ages. It’s not fair that she puts so much pressure on me when I don’t give a damn about what they say. I’ve never amounted to anything they want and I refuse to exhaust myself trying to meet her expectations.”

Your father nods in agreement.

“That’s valid, Siggy. Ultimately I just want you to make your own path. I’ll talk to her about laying off, promise.” He cocks his head and squints at you. 

“What?” You give him a worried perusal.

“Are you still mad that I spilled the beans about the fiancé situation?”

You laugh, pinching him around the middle. “I’m still very upset actually. You sold me out so quickly, it’s like you didn’t even try!”

He shrugs shamelessly. “It was me or you. I had to put myself first in the end.”

You roll your eyes and enjoy the swaying hug he keeps you in. After some time he speaks, peering at you.

“Your little friend Blue is right, by the way, that Hugo man does look like a chihuahua.”

“Dad, please.” 

“I’m just saying, Captain, might have gotten lucky after all. wouldn’t want you to go off and birth a litter of pups with a french accent.”

Your resulting cackle echoes loudly into the night.

A/N lol sorry for taking forever for an update and all the parental angst lmao. If you can’t tell I suffer from mommy issues and I was avoiding writing this chapter. Excited, next part the good shit begins :’D

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[stagefoureddiediaz]

So its 2am and I’m still on my ‘911 is using The Wizard of Oz theming to tell Eddie’s story’ soapbox and thought I’d talk about something I didn’t go into in my other 911/Wizard of oz post - the fact that Oz, the Emerald City, the wicked witch of the west and the Wizard are all an allegory for the Catholic Church and Christian faith more widely!

I’ve made quite a few posts about 911 playing into religious iconography and so I thought I’d add to that post count by talking about the (anti) religious theming in The Wizard of Oz more generally and how it relates to Eddie’s arc!

The Emerald city is designed to look like a Cathedral

The way the wizard of oz - both the books and the film, plays on religious imagery is similar to the way that C.S Lewis played on it in his Chronicles of Narnia series - but where C.S Lewis created a positive allegory that upheld religion and religious beliefs, Frank Baum was creating a more negative allegory- where religion does't provide the answers, but the individual person

Dorothy starts her journey in Kansas - in the real world, but finds herself in the technicolour world of Oz after a tornado transports her over the rainbow. The film, especially, plays on the idea of her having a head injury - causing her to have this vivid dream of this fantastical land - which is why we see the people of Kansas appear as characters in Oz.

Oz is clearly playing on the idea of heaven and hell and limbo. The wicked witch of the west represents the devil (lucifer) and her castle Hell. While the Emerald city represents the house of God (the church). Glinda is supposed to be an arch angel. Remember that lucifer is a fallen arch angel.

The wizard is a man from the same world as Dorothy and is meant to be viewed as a priest (most likely the pope) - priests being Gods representatives on earth

While the silver (book) or ruby (film) slippers are a representation of enlightenment.

Dorothy is searching for a way out of her ‘coma’ dream and so goes on a journey through Limbo to the house of god to try and get home- along the way the devil tries to stop her getting to the church and subsequently into heaven using the tricks at its disposal. The devil doesn’t succeed and Dorothy and her friends navigate their way to the emerald city and complete the tasks they think god has set for them so they may gain what they seek - to go home, brains, a heart, courage.

It is here that they discover the lies of the priest and once he is gone they all figure out they had what they sought all along - they are enlightened and didn’t actually need the priest or the house of god at all. From there Dorothy chooses to go home and awakes from her coma back in the real world - but retains the knowledge of what she dreamt in her coma.

The wizard of oz as a piece of media (in either book form or film form) is showing the audience that they hold their own power within them and it cannot be granted by outside forces.

The film chooses to show Oz the great and powerful in much the same way as the crucifix is displayed in a catholic church - praying to a false idol in search of what you seek

The wizard hiding behind his curtain is akin to the priest behind the confessional screen - offering absolution and healing etc, when he doesn’t actually possess the power to do so because he is just a man pedalling falsehoods and lies.

The residents of the emerald city in their monochromatic green colouring are an allegory for the members of the churches congregation - blindly following the edits and rules set out by the church in the hope of a happy and fulfilled life - but they are shown to be almost drone like - subjugated and controlled into mindless devotion in the same way people follow the churches teachings without questioning.

Dorothy and here friends never change though - they don’t start wearing green and blending in to the emerald city and they find out that they actually have the power to achieve their desires within them the entire time - as represented by the silver/ruby slippers.

the moral of the Wzard of Oz is ultimately that what we desire or want is within and it cannot be found externally by putting our faith in something outside of us like the church. - Dorothy and her friends always had the things they sought - they just had to figure that out for themselves.

This ties into Eddies entire journey perfectly.

Just because I couldn't write a post about Eddie and not have a picture of him!

Eddies Kansas pre the tornado is his childhood - before he was parentified/husbandified by Helena Diaz.

The tornado is Shannon - she provides him with the escape from his old life and sets him down in California (Oz).

There is a reason the Wizard of Oz theming is heavily coded toward him and his arrival on the show - it is the idea that he has landed in California (Oz) and on top of the wicked witch of the East (hence why we never see Eddie at the same level as the red shoes in the rubble) and has been following the yellow brick road the entire time.

Chris is waiting for Eddie on a yellow strip of flooring at the end of 203

Bobby (Glinda) who shares the catholic faith with Eddie, brings him to the 118 and helps guide him forward on his journey - providing advice and support as and when Eddie needs it, but always watching over him. (one could view Eddie leaving the 118 as the equivalent of the poppy field in the film - leaving his path briefly before returning to it when he wakes up in mayday 'god has spoken')

He has now reached the crux of matters - he has arrived at the Emerald city. It seems likely here that in 804 we will see him have his encounter with the Priest who like the wizard in Oz, will guide him towards a reckoning with his mother (the wicked witch of the west) in order to find his way to inner peace and who he is supposed to be. Once he has dealt with Helena he will discover that he won't find what he seeks in the church - but it will have provided him with something important that plays into the idea that he is a combination of all four characters who journey along the yellow brick road, as their individual traits all represent a part of himself Eddie needs to embrace in order to break free of the chains that have held him back his whole life.

The knowledge (scarecrow) of who he truly is that will also make him realise he already has what his heart (tin man) truly wants if he has the courage (lion) to go for it and that it will get him home (Dorothy) where he truly belongs - accepting himself as a queer man who is in love with his best friend and Chris's forgiveness and return to him in LA.

[anitalenia]

━━ 𝒆𝒓𝒈𝒐 𝒅𝒖𝒎 𝒎𝒆 𝒅𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒈𝒊𝒔 pt. 4

━━ 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒆𝒓 𝒃𝒐𝒚𝒔 / 𝒎𝒖𝒍𝒕𝒊𝒑𝒍𝒆 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒔. the frontier boys as random tropes. ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ part one | part two | part three

┊┊✧ ⁺ 𝓹𝓪𝓲𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰 ⋆｡˚ ⋆ Pope, Will, Benny, Frank x fem!Reader

┊┊✧ ⁺ 𝓽𝓻𝓸𝓹𝓮𝓼 ⋆｡˚ ⋆ ceo!Pope x assistant!Reader, lumberjack!Will x bimbo!Reader, bartender!Benny x fem!Reader, step dad!Frank x step daughter!Reader

┊┊✧ ⁺ 𝔀𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼 ⋆｡˚ ⋆ sexual content, implied smut, graphic depictions of sexual acts, fantasized sexual content, blowjobs, depictions of fingering, pussy eating, inappropriate family dynamics you definitely shouldn’t partake in, inappropriate work relationships that you definitely shouldn’t do in real life (unless you want to purrrr💅🏻), a little long just cause I haven’t made one in a while, slight dark content in Franks section

┊┊✧ ⁺ 𝓪𝓾𝓽𝓱𝓸𝓻𝓼 𝓷𝓸𝓽𝓮 ⋆｡˚ ⋆ sorry for the wait with this series, people really loved it actually, more than I thought they would. The begging for another part finally got to me, so here you go!!!! Hope you enjoy while I work on the next one 😭

━━ SANTIAGO ‘POPE’ GARCIA ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

CEO! SANTIAGO ⊹₊˚

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐝 𝐬𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 desk in those cute little skirts and too tight dresses, always so busy and always so beautiful. He liked to stare out at you from his private office with a semi hard cock in his black slacks; a perfect view of your desk and the best view of you.

He could never get any work done of course, not properly anyway, too busy thinking about you and all the things you’d do for him if he asked. You always did what he asked, so eager to work and so eager to please. You, you with those black stiletto heels and those pink pouty lips, you, you with your sweet voice and your round hips — begging to be fucked good.

Nngh, just you.

He liked to call you into his office for no real reason other than his own selfish desires; he liked to see your hips sway when you walked and stare at your soft tits when you’d lean over — it’s what really got him through the tough days.

He loved to hear your soft giggles and see your cheeks go pink when he’d say something scandalously sly, something a ceo definitely shouldn’t say to their assistant, something a boss definitely shouldn’t say to their employee.

He’d take you on business meetings and lavish business trips, invite you to expensive business dinners and elite business parties, it was always business, business, business. He wanted more than that, wanted to take you out for real and show you how much of a gentleman he could be if you’d give him the chance.

Mainly, he wanted to show you how good he could fuck you, much better than any man could, show you how well he knew your body in ways you even didn’t, in ways no man did.

He’d have to clench his fists and hold himself back from fucking you on his very desk with his blinds open for all the horny temps to see — the ones who could never seem to leave you and your beauty alone, the ones who gawked at you in the break room, the ones whose grimy hands lingered on your arm for just a little too long…

That always pissed him off, having to see those puny fanboys of yours charade around your desk like prissy princesses and fight for your attention — it was pathetic and obnoxious. He couldn’t fire them like he wanted to though (unfortunately), too many lawsuits already being filed against him that he was too rich to really care about.

He had lawyers for that shit anyway.

Santiago, or Santi as he’s made you call him now, liked to watch you talk. He loved hearing your voice, seeing the way your lips moved and sparkled with gloss as you rambled on about some company he supposedly owned, pacing his office as he sat in his chair with his dick hard under his desk.

He’d clench his jaw and picture how those lips would look wrapped around his thick cock, your lipstick leaving stains all over him that he could admire later — maybe he’d even have you under his desk during meetings, sitting right between his legs with your lipstick smeared over your cheeks, and a sweet mix of your saliva and his cum dripping down his balls —

“Are you even listening to me?” You’d always scold him with your arms crossed over your chest when you’d notice his blank stare, pushing your tits up and giving him yet another fantasy he couldn’t get his mind off of.

He’d quickly snap out of whatever trance he was in, eyes flickering from your tits to your face, intense and twinkling — really thinking he was slick enough that you wouldn’t notice it. Then he’d let out a husky chuckle, his hand subtly palming his cock as he’d say, “Of course I am.”

You’d just roll your eyes and continue talking, oblivious to his arousal as he’d stare at your ass, your lips, your legs, his hungry eyes running up and down the length of your perfect body until he was so hard he physically couldn’t stand it.

But that was the norm for him.

For any other girl he had everything — the money, the power, the cars, the looks. He could’ve had literally any other girl he wanted yet he wanted you, yet he couldn’t have you.

You were so professional, always did your job perfectly and always did the right thing, the perfect assistant, the perfect employee, the perfect woman. Why, why, couldn’t you be one of those dumb slutty assistants who he didn’t give a damn about? The ones who didn’t bother to hide the fact that they were a slut, the ones who’d drop everything and suck his dick if he asked, even if he didn’t ask.

But no, you were you and you were so damn different from that and really, that made him want you even more. The fact that you weren’t a dumb girl but a mature woman, as flawless and elegant as rose petals and wine. He wanted you to break out of that persona, see your strong facade crack and crumble for him, for his love, for his cock.

He wanted to see that perfect red lipstick smeared over your tear stained cheeks, see that tight pussy gaping and wet and begging for him, see those lacy panties wrapped around your ankles as he’d fuck you hard and fast before a business meeting in just the way he knew you’d like, just hard enough so everyone could see the stumble in your walk and the tears in your eyes.

One day he was going to have that, one day. But for now he was just gonna have to stick with the lustful stares during crowded meetings and the not-so-innocent fantasies when you’d poke into his office.

One day he’d have you, one day… but for now he was satisfied with jerking his dick off in his office at the sweet smell of your lingering perfume. For now he was okay with imagining to throw you on his desk and fucking your brains out when you’d deliver his coffee in the mornings, his lunch in the afternoon, his dinner in the evenings… all the while staring at you from behind his computer with his dick so achingly hard he couldn’t focus on a damn thing.

All right, he wasn’t okay with it but what choice did he have? Bosses shouldn’t fuck their assistants, but damn, he couldn’t wait to break his own rule and see how easily he could make a good girl turn bad.

━━ WILL ‘IRONHEAD’ MILLER ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

LUMBERJACK! WILL ⊹₊˚

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐧𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 where you went. It was inevitable really; a pretty girl like you, wearing those pink skirts like you did, wearing those 6-inch heels like you did, wearing those tight tops like you did, in a town like this? It was really no wonder why you always got stared at.

It was just unfortunate that you were too dumb to notice that he was no better than the countless men that gawked at you, he was just better at hiding it.

You were the bosses daughter — dangerously beautiful and utterly unattainable (spoiled rotten too). You were a walking, talking Barbie in pink dresses and pretty purses; a pink, glittering ditzy princess who carelessly walked around the muddy work site in those cute heels of yours — William believed you were too beautiful to walk around in the filth.

You were the sweetest little thing he had ever met too — a butterfly in a battlefield — so giggly and cheery it drove him insane. The sound of your voice in his ears, your laugh, twinkling and sweet like sparkling water; he could only imagine how good you’d sound underneath him as he drove his cock into you nice and slow so you felt every vein, every ridge, every curve hitting that spot inside you that made you squeal.

Your father was a good man, had hired Will in a desperate time when he needed someone — something, constant. Ever since then Will had always been the best employee. He was the first hire and the only one to stay when things got tough. He put in the most hours, doing the most work, being the best lumberjack he could be for your father in repayment of his kindness. So for that reason Will had earned your father’s respect in more ways than one — for being patient, hardworking, loyal.

So sometimes Will would feel bad when he’d sneak into the bathroom after a rather short conversation with you; he’d slam the stall door closed and whip out his throbbing cock to relief some of the tension you had so dim wittingly caused.

He’d fuck his fist at the thought of you bent over the break room table he had left you at, cute mini skirt flipped up and giving him a perfect view of that pretty pussy he only prayed to see. He knew it was gorgeous, knew it’d be just as pretty as you, knew he’d be fucking addicted at the first taste.

Will was patient, level headed, a loyal worker who’d never betray your fathers trust… but he’d picture thrusting his thick fingers inside you slowly and carefully, smearing cum over your warm hole and feel your wetness drip down his palm as you begged him to go faster — a pretty pink mess all for him.

He'd imagine throwing your cute little ass against a tree and wrapping your smooth legs around his waist when he was supposed to be working, telling you to be a good girl for him as he'd grope your tits and hear your needy whimpers.

He’d hold you against him as he’d push his hard cock inside your tight little pussy once you begged him enough, listen to your gasps as he’d stretch you out in ways you’d never been stretched before. He'd be sure to cover your mouth with his calloused, work torn hands to muffle your screams, have you claw his chiseled back with those glossy pink nails of yours until he bled.

He’d make you cum around his cock as he whispered every filthy thing he could think of in your ear, hear you whine and whimper and leave bruises in the sweet spots only he got to see; your father would be down the hill confused on where the both of you had gone.

He’d squirt all over his hand and thighs once he was done, panting and hissing from the pleasure pulsing through his body. He knew you were right outside those doors too, right where he left you in the break room, sipping on an ice coffee — completely oblivious.

Will would take a long while to clean himself up after that, the guilt burrowing heavy in his tummy knowing your father’s office was right down the hall. He wouldn’t dare look in that direction, and he certainly wouldn’t be able to look your father in the eye for a good hour.

He’d walk out the bathroom as inconspicuously as possible and put his hands in his coat pockets, walk back into the break room like nothing had happened, like he didn’t want to fuck your brains out right then and there, and he’d lean against the door frame and give you the most charming, innocent smile you dotingly believed.

“Hey, darlin’.”

You’d look up from your phone startled, your tits spilling out of your pink top and the plushness of your thighs flared out on the bench. Your hair was shiny and glittery with cute hair clips on each side, your makeup done so prettily and perfectly he just wanted to ruin it. You looked so damn good Will couldn’t help but take a minute to admire you some more, his eyes running over you hotly, but too subtly for you to notice.

“Oh, hey, where did you go? You said 5 minutes…” You teasingly pouted up at him with those glossy, twinkling lips of yours like you weren’t making this hard enough as it was.

You’d giggle and smile at him — making his heart churn and dick stir. He’d be entranced by your tits jiggling as you did, covered in glittery perfume and smelling of vanilla and strawberries.

So fucking delicious.

Then you’d wrap those same lips around your pink straw and take another sip of your iced coffee.

God damn those lips of yours… Will would go in a daze at the image of you on your knees for him, your lipgloss smeared over your cheeks as you’d suck his swollen cock head into your mouth, patiently waiting for him to say you could take more. Sparkly pink lip stains marked over his dick and balls… it was his dream.

Will knew he was bigger than you too, in a lot of ways, was reminded of if every time you stood next to his hulking form in those cute heels of yours that still didn’t manage to reach him. He was a 6’0 mass of muscle and brawn, carved from brick and forged from stone and way too rough around the edges to handle a delicate thing like you — it’d be like putting a pretty flower petal in the brazen hands of a giant. He wasn’t sure he could have you and not ruin you.

But god damn he’d fucking try. He’d be so delicate and tender with you in ways he’s never been with another woman. He’d cherish every scar and blemish on your smooth skin and treat you like the princess you so clearly were. He’d kiss you from head to toe and lap at your pussy like a poor man worshipping a goddess — he’d be oh so lucky.

He was big, yes, but he promised he wouldn’t crush you. He was rough, yes, but even a pretty girl like you liked having a rough hand wrapped around her throat. You’d be a pretty pink angel wrapped in his gray cotton sheets, held between his mundane, trauma stained hands.

He was manly and burly, all flannel jackets and tree stained jeans and you were girly and feminine, all short skirts and glittering strawberry lipgloss. You two didn’t work in a conventional sense but nothing about his life or yours was conventional.

Your father was a good man and William was a good worker, the best employee, the best lumberjack. He was patient and so loyal, fully aware he was risking his livelihood by wanting you but yet he was left wanting anyway. You were too cute and bouncy and he needed you to bounce on his cock more than he needed a job.

He wanted to see you bare for him — bare in heart, mind, and soul because he knew there was more to you than meets the eye. There was more of you to discover beyond the pink masses and he wanted to be the one that discovered it, the one that you trusted enough to show it to. He wanted to see the real you bared to him in the middle of the night with the beautiful afterglow of what you two had just done shining on your skin — your most organic, happiest form.

“Ah, William, I see you’re keeping my girl company? I hope she’s not keeping you, she’s a chatterbox.” Your father laughed and smacked a hand on Will’s shoulder, suddenly popping up in the doorway like Will had conjured him with his guilt. A thud sounded from the smack and Will felt his shoulder sting, completely shaken out of his fantasy now.

He looked at your father and laughed that charming laugh — I want to fuck your daughter more than I need air to breath sir but no she’s not a problem at all.

━━ BENJAMIN ‘BENNY’ MILLER ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

BARTENDER! BENNY ⊹₊˚

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 𝐇𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐨 𝐝𝐚𝐦𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 it almost angered you. Every Saturday night the club was packed with women just hoping Benny the Bartender would look their way… it was pathetic, if you didn’t do the exact same thing.

It was routine for you, the only thing you really looked forward to in your long weeks of monotonous work and errands — Benny was new, exciting, and so fucking hot you blushed at just the mere thought of him.

He was so charming too, so good at his job by simply just existing you could see why the company had hired him. With just one dazzling smile the whole room swooned and came, even you, who so pathetically tried to act hard to get at the corner of the bar with your lonely margarita you only ever ordered — you needed to be somewhat tipsy to actually have the confidence to talk to him.

You’d wear your sexiest dresses, your cutest shoes, have your hair done pristinely and your makeup done perfectly all in hopes of Benny noticing you — you were almost ashamed that you valued his attention that much.

You’d sit by yourself, alone, at the end of the bar staring at him while he worked, staring at his face and body and just picturing him fucking you on this very bar with his snapback still on his head, his hands gripping your thighs, your hips, your tits, anywhere his greedy hands could leave their mark on.

He’d wear baseball tees and black t-shirts that clung perfectly to his abs and muscles — you even heard a rumor that he was in an underground fighting ring that gave him all those muscles and scars in the first place. The thought aroused you incredibly and you couldn’t stop from fluttering your eyes at him more than usual that night.

He seldom never wore his snapback, and while you loved seeing his full face you couldn’t deny how much you loved the nights when he left his hat at home more.

He’d have his dirty blonde hair slicked back out of his face but yet there was always that one rebelling strand that fell over his eyes when he was working… it drove you insane. And the way he’d run his fingers through his hair when he was in the middle of a busy service, the way your own hands could pull it when he was laid between your legs, nibbling on your thighs and bringing you to such an ecstasy you’ve never experienced.

He was such a natural flirt too, professional to a limit when it came to all the women fawning over him over the bar, their tits falling out of their dresses and their lips over lined with lipstick. He’d laugh that boisterous laugh of his, take shots with them like he wasn’t on the clock, and he’d charm the panties right off them and the money right out of their purses by the time he was done.

You couldn’t say you weren’t jealous.

Benny, on the other hand, was all too aware of the pretty girl at the end of the bar who never seemed to bring anyone but her credit card. He was all too aware of her pretty eyes and pretty lips and perfect set of tits in those skimpy dresses she’d always wear.

And honestly, since the first night he saw you he’s wanted you.

He’d flirt with you all the time in that southern accent of his that charmed all the ladies, but you never seemed to register it, or in other words, you never seemed to care.

You were nothing like the women he dealt with every night — you would roll your eyes when he’d tell you how happy he was to see you again, purse your lips when he complimented your makeup, and seem totally disinterested in him and whatever nonsense he had to say.

And he fucking loved it.

You didn’t fawn over him like the others girls did, you didn’t seem to buy into the whole charming bartender shtick he portrayed either. You were quiet and beautiful and sharp; you never seemed too desperate or eager for him like everyone else. Sure, he loved the attention from other women, he’d be a liar if he said he didn’t, but the fact that he never seemed to have yours made him want you even more.

He’d flirt with you whenever he got the chance to, knew your drink of choice by heart now and was always there to fill it back up when it was empty. He was attentive to your needs and he swore he could be just as attentive in other settings if you gave him the chance.

You’d just sit there in the shadows, skin flashing blue and black from the lights of the club and looking so damn fine Benny wished he could drag you into the bathroom and fuck your brains out on the door, feel the music pumping through your veins as you stuck your tongue in his mouth until all he tasted was you and liqueur.

It’d be fast and hot and he wouldn’t be able to breath in anything but you and margarita salt but it sounded perfect. His big hand wrapped around your throat as people knocked on the door like you two weren’t busy. He’d try to muffle your moans for your sake but he’d also decide he liked hearing them more. It’d be cramped and intimate and it would certainly leave him breathless but god damn that sounded like just what he needed right now.

He’d be drunk on you, the taste of you, the smell of you, the feel of you wrapped around him so tight — the mysterious girl he could never seem to break through to no matter how many times he tried. Sometimes, Benny even felt like giving up — you clearly didn’t want him like he wanted you.

But then, at some point during the night when you were two margaritas in and your eyes were starting to get hazy, he’d look over at you and you’d be giving him the hottest, most seductive look he’s ever seen. It makes his heart pound and skin prickle, his cock ache for something.

It was the kind of look where your eyelashes would flutter and you’d stare up at him with a delectable little smirk on your face, a look that screamed take me now, take me on this bar and show everyone what you’re capable of, show these other bitches you only want me.

And he fucking wished he could. It was that look that kept him going, that look that gave him hope.

And you wanted him to do just that. To leave bruises on your skin and taint your body with himself, to leave his mark on your pussy and soul and be so deep inside you you weren’t sure where his body began and your pleasure ended, just that you needed more, more, more of it.

But Benny assumed that was the game you two liked to play — to show up every Saturday night with the expectation that one of you was going to finally make a move on the other. To see who would crack first, give in to the temptation the both of you so clearly desired but neither were confident enough to admit.

Benny, the sexy bartender obsessed with the mysterious girl who barely gave him the time of day.

You, the girl at the end of the bar wishing Benny would just take the initiative and fuck her already.

And to think, Benny did want you, wanted you so fucking badly, only you. You’re the one that he even bothered to show off for anyway; flipping bottles, being quick on his feet, being better than anyone else cause he knew you were the one watching.

He made a soulful promise to both you and him that one of these nights you’re gonna give him that damned look one more time and he’s not gonna have a choice but to prove to you why you shouldn’t start things you don’t intend to finish.

━━ FRANK ‘CATFISH’ MORALES ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

STEP DAD! FRANK ⊹₊˚

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 𝐇𝐞’𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 for a good year and a half before he met you, the young and beautiful daughter of the woman he supposedly loved.

You were grown, well, grown enough; a beautiful woman with dreams and ambitions, goals for her life that he couldn’t help but admire. But you also had this delectable snark you certainly didn’t get from your mother, an attitude that made anything remotely good about you pale in comparison — it drove him mad.

He hated to act like a father to you because he wasn’t your father — you were in your 20s anyway, it was too late for him to be anything other than Frank. He was just an older man in your life set to wed your mother, yet he really only had eyes for you, his beautiful step daughter he certainly shouldn’t be fantasizing about when he was fucking your mother.

You were bratty and mean, always rolled your eyes at him and walked off right in the middle of him talking to you; you wore those short shorts he despised (loved more than he should have) and those dresses that clung just a little too tight to your body for his liking. You were disobedient and rude, but so fucking sexy he was left torn between his desires and morals.

You never cared what he had to say about anything, never bothered to listen to his rules, and never bothered to wear some god damn house appropriate shorts that didn’t shove your round ass into his face every time he walked past you.

He imagined bending you over his knee and pulling your shorts off you, gently sliding your pink panties down your thighs, then spanking your ass, hard, like the disobedient brat you were until his handprints were etched into your skin, until you were sniffling and moaning for him to stop, until you had finally learned some respect.

He wondered if you’d get wet from that simple act alone: maybe your childish attitude was all a front, an act, to really piss him off to his limits and see how far you could push him until he broke. Maybe you wanted to be punished by him, be spanked raw, be fucked hard, until tears were streaming in your pretty little eyes and you were sobbing your apologizes to him instead of running your mouth.

As a matter of fact he should do just that; with all the times you’d “accidentally” leave the door open when you were showering and your mother had gone shopping, just you and Frank and the sizzling tension between you left to fend for itself. He was a gentleman at heart but no man could deny the allure of such a pretty body like yours covered in water.

He should shove your face into his pillow and fuck you from behind so you didn’t have to see his face like he knew you’d want to. He’d hold your hands behind your back and pound you until you cried for him to stop, to go faster, that it hurts, but you fucking wanted more.

You’d probably be a squirter too, all mean girls like you were when they got stripped down to the bare parts of themselves, where they couldn’t hide behind their own insolence and were touched by the experienced hands of an older man.

Frank was a patient man, a very patient man. It took a lot to drive him over the edge but yet you always seemed to know just what to say and just what to do to really push his buttons.

Your bedroom door wide open as you changed out of your bra, your perky tits all smooth and round for him to ogle at through the hallway, your music blasting through the whole house when he was trying to get some god damn sleep, bringing over your stupid little boyfriends into his house and letting them fuck you under his roof — it was all reason enough for him to punish you.

And no, Frank wasn’t jealous. He was a grown man, what did he have to be jealous about? He wasn’t jealous when he’d hear your moans sound through the whole house, the headboard banging on the wall, the giggles you’d try to hide as you’d walk them out the door. It was pathetic. Those boys could never fuck you like he could and he knew it. He was not jealous.

You were a bad girl, a naughty girl, and he didn’t like pretty little girls who thought they knew better than him.

You never showed him any gratitude, or appreciation for taking you and your mother in when he didn’t have to, you never thanked him when he made you a hot meal, and you never listened when he’d say put gas back in my car if you use it.

He basically let you do whatever you wanted, whenever you wanted. There was no structure, no rhyme or reason to anything you did and he’d be damned if he was going to let a spoiled brat like you make his life any harder than it needed to be.

Your mother was an angel, all kisses and kind words and that’s why he loved her in the first place. He had plans to marry her and live a great life with her. Even when she mentioned a daughter Frank didn’t worry, he imagined an adorable little toddler with big doe eyes and a kind heart just like her mother. But then he met you, and you were no kid, and you were certainly no fucking angel.

You were a soul sucking succubus sent from the depths of hell to tempt him, to make him fail yet another marriage. You were young and he knew it was wrong to despise you yet simultaneously want you so fucking badly. He wanted you out of his house, but he also wanted you on your knees and gagging around his cock. He wanted you to shut up for once, but he also wanted you to scream his name until the neighbors knew it.

It was certainly complicated and contradicting, and with his wedding on the way he really didn’t need anything going wrong. But, he figured, if he married your mother at least he would always be around to keep you in line, right?

[avastrasposts]

The Pilot and his Girl - ch. 14

I'm sorry. Please feel free to yell at me.

Warnings Contain spoilers

Word count: 5.7k Chapter 15

You start pulling on your clothes as you come back from the bathroom, Frankie is already wrapped up in the bed sheets, half asleep as he pries open an eye to look at you. 

“I was thinking we should maybe not both sleep at the same time,” you say, reaching down for your boots. Frankie loses his sleepy look almost immediately and shoots up in bed, but you’re already holding your palm up to him.

“I’m taking the first watch, Frankie, no arguments. You didn’t sleep last night, I did, albeit behind the couch, but still. You need to sleep because to be frank, we’re gonna need you alert tomorrow more than me.”

“Cariño…” he starts to protest but you physically push him down onto the bed with your hands on his shoulders, and he lets you topple him over.

“Sleep, Frankie, I’m going to be outside the door, you’ll hear me shout if anything happens.” 

He looks up at you, trying to find an argument for taking the whole watch himself, but his brain is scrambled by adrenaline and sleep deprivation. The post-orgasm hormones don’t help either. 

“Leave the door open, wake me at three,” is all he manages before you kiss his lips and stroke his cheek, you swear he’s already asleep by the time you leave the room. 

Staying awake was harder than you thought, sitting on one of the bar stools by the kitchen counter stops you from dozing off, but you still feel like your jaw is going to pop as you yawn widely. Your gun is on the counter in front of you as you study the ring Frankie slipped onto your finger. The delicate gold band is thin, three simple diamonds set in a row, with room, you notice, for more diamonds along the band. You know Frankie isn’t the kind of guy to spend three months pay on a ring just so that it’s as big as possible, he would pick the ring that meant something to him and make it mean something to you too. You run your fingers over the diamonds, three in a row, you’ll have to ask him tomorrow. 

At three am you gently walk into the bedroom to wake Frankie, but he sleeps too lightly, your footsteps wake him up and he shoots up in bed. 

“It’s ok, Frankie,” you say in a low voice, “It’s three am.” 

“Ok,” he rumbles, his voice rough with sleep as he rubs the heel of his hand into his eyes. You pull off your boots and crawl into bed with your clothes on next to Frankie. He catches your chin between his thumb and fingers, giving you a slow kiss, before letting go. 

When you wake up a few hours later daylight is starting to slip through the shutters of the window. Frankie’s hand is on your shoulder, gently shaking you. 

“Hermosa, time to wake up,” he murmurs as he bends and presses his lips to your temple. “The night was quiet and I made coffee.”

“Thank you,” you mumble and push the covers back, sitting up as Frankie hands you a mug. 

You drink it while you get ready, which only means you put your boots back on and stick the gun into the back of your trousers. Frankie’s heated up another can of stew from Denny’s supplies and you both eat it in silence. You’re apprehensive about leaving the safety and quiet of the cabin and move back into populated areas, but you can see Frankie’s nerves too. His jaw is clenched as he goes through both your packs, swapping out some of the food for Denny’s supplies. As soon as you put down your spoon into the empty bowl he grabs it from you and starts readying up to leave. 

“We should leave a note for Pope or anyone else who comes here,” you say and Frankie nods.

“Yeah, I did already,” he points to a folded piece of paper on the dining room table, “Read it and tell me if it makes sense.” 

You pick it up and flip it open, reading Frankie’s neat handwriting; 

September 29th 

To anyone of the guys

My girl and I are safe up here for now. We’re heading to L’s place today. Pope was here on the 27th, also went for L but hasn’t returned yet. 

We’ll return here when we have L, hope to see you all safe. 

Catfish

You fold it up and put it back on the table, “Looks good to me, I really hope they’re all here when we get back,” you say, looking over at Frankie who’s picked up your backpack and walked over to you with it.  

“Yeah, I really hope so too,” he replies as he helps you on with the pack, turning you around and adjusting the straps before he pulls your gun from behind your back. 

“I made you this while I was keeping watch,” he holds up a makeshift leg holster. “You can’t wear a regular holster with a backpack on and you won’t be able to get the gun from behind the pack, and I don’t want you walking around with the gun in your hand.” 

He kneels down and straps it to your thigh, using a snap-link to attach it to your belt. “Denny had a couple of old holsters for his hunting gear so I repurposed them.” He’s got a similar holster on his leg, his gun already in it and now he slides your gun into yours. 

“Feel good?” he asks, looking up at you from the floor, tugging on the holster, making sure it’s not too tight. 

“Yeah, but I’m not sure how much use I’ll be, Frankie, I’ve never even fired a gun.” 

“Hopefully you won’t have to but I can’t show you, I don’t know when we’ll get more bullets,” he gets up and gives your backpack a final look over, “Denny didn’t keep any guns or ammo up here so we’ll have to grab any that we find.” 

Once outside the cabin, Frankie locks up and puts the key back into the lock box before turning towards the lake. 

“There are a couple of canoes down by the small boat house,” he says, “we can use one of them to get across the lake, saves us walking around it, we’re heading in that direction.” 

You nod and follow him down the gentle slope to the lake, the morning is calm and quiet, and again you’re struck by how normal everything feels. If it wasn’t for the slightly heavy feeling in your stomach, a small hot ball of anxiety, you’d think it was just Frankie and you heading out for a couple of days camping. 

The trip over the lake is smooth and when you get to the other side, about a mile from the cabin, you get the packs out before Frankie paddles the canoe into some thick, tall reeds to camouflage it as much as possible. Luckily it’s an old wood canoe and it all but disappears into the reeds. 

Frankie glances down at his compass, attached to his belt, and motion for you to follow him. You’ve agreed to speak as little as possible and move quietly. There probably won’t be any infected out here but Frankie doesn’t want to take any chances. So in silence you walk behind him for three hours, stopping when he holds up his hand, checking his direction or listening intently. At one point he signals for you to stop and crouch and as you sink down behind a bush, you hear rustling in the shrubs ahead. Your skin goes cold as you mimic Frankie’s movement and pull out your gun, moving it slowly out of your leg holster. The rustling continues, coming closer until, finally, you see the source of the sound, a white tail deer, slowly ambling through the forest, nibbling at leaves here and there as it goes. You let your breath out slowly, as Frankie stands up, startling the deer enough to make it prance away into the underbrush. 

At the three hour mark Frankie finds a good spot for a break, a small stream that lets you refill your water bottles. Stretching out your legs on the ground, your back against a large boulder, you try to savor your lunch sandwich. Frankie sinks down next to you and gives you a little nudge with his shoulder. 

“How you holding up, cariño?” he asks in a low voice. 

“I’m alright, just jumpy,” you reply, leaning your head on his solid shoulder for a little bit. He caresses your cheek with his warm palm and you feel his lips press into the top of your head before he begins to unwrap his sandwich. 

After lunch you get even jumpier, you’re still following hiking trails through the forest but every now and then you have to cross main roads, you start seeing houses, you even skirt around a small town. In the distance you see a group of people, you can’t tell if they’re infected or not, but as Frankie leads the two of you in a wide circle around the group, you keep watching them. They don’t move and you think they’re too unnaturally still for humans. 

Just as you’ve managed to clear a small ridge and put some distance between yourself and them, a loud collective shriek goes up from the group of people. Frankie immediately grabs you and pulls you down into the tall grass next to the trail. It feels like your heart is going to claw itself out of your chest as you feel Frankie’s weight on top of you, he’s half covered you with his body. You glance up at his face and you see him carefully lift his head out of the tall grass. 

“It’s ok, they’re running, but in the other direction,” he whispers and pulls you up. In a crouch Frankie starts to jog down the other side of the ridge, holding on to your hand as you run to keep up with him. You continue running until your lungs are about to give up and Frankie slows down but starts walking next to you, keeping a brutal pace, still holding onto your hand. 

“We need to get away from them as fast as possible, we can’t fight that many on foot,” he pants, giving your hand another squeeze. 

Not until you’ve covered about three miles does he slow down to a regular pace, you’re drenched in sweat and breathing hard, your legs aching. He pulls you off the side of the trail you’ve been following, into the forest and behind a thick shrub. 

“Sit down,” he motions, pointing to the ground, “catch your breath and drink some water.” 

You gratefully sink down and pull out your water bottle while Frankie remains standing. 

“We’re about half a mile from the bridge and the river crossing,” he says, looking at the map. “We need to be extra careful as we approach, if people in this area were trying to get away from any towns they’d probably have to cross there which means a potential traffic jam and potentially infected.” 

You nod and sip the water, offering Frankie your bottle when you’re done. He gratefully takes a long swig while you get back to your feet. You’re still exhausted after the sprint but you want to keep moving. The countryside around you makes you nervous, there are small farms dotted across it, three days ago you would’ve thought it looked quaint and rural, now the sight of every farm house makes you edgy. 

Putting away your water bottle, you follow Frankie back to the trail and after a short time it emerges from the forest onto a large country road, up ahead you can see the bridge. As Frankie had feared, it’s jammed with cars. You can walk between them, but the thought of what might be hiding among them makes panic claw its way up your throat and you take a tight hold of Frankie’s hand. He looks back and sees the fear in your eyes. Pulling you back into the trees he wraps his arms around you. Holding you tight to his chest for a minute, he pulls back and cups your cheeks, his large hands are warm and dry on your skin, as he kisses you deeply before he looks down at you and traces his fingers over your lips. 

“I’m sorry, cariño, it’s the only way forward.” His eyes rake over your face as if he’s committing it to memory and you suddenly realize what he’s doing. 

“Don’t say goodbye, Frankie,” you croak, your voice catching in your throat. 

“Just in case, mi amor,” he says in a low voice, pressing his lips to yours again. When he pulls back he turns and takes your hand, leading you back to the road where he lets go of it. 

“Stay six feet behind me, gun out, safety off, but keep it pointed to the ground. If you have to fire, squeeze the trigger, don’t pull it.” He gives you a final look, a small smile, before turning back to the road. 

It’s slow going, following Frankie’s lead you move carefully in his footsteps, trying to make as little noise as possible. Frankie stops and surveys the cars in front of you regularly but nothing seems out of the ordinary, you see no humans, only open car doors, luggage that’s been left behind. 

As you’ve crossed about two thirds of the bridge a dog suddenly launches itself at the cage door keeping it shut in, barking loudly from inside a large SUV. Frankie and you both drop into a crouch, trying to see if the loud noise will draw in any infected, but the dog quietens down and the landscape around the bridge remains silent. You breathe a sigh of relief as Frankie carefully stands up again and motions for you to follow him. He carefully approaches the dog in the cage, a golden retriever you think, mumbling soft words to it, calming it down. Soon the dog is licking his fingers through the bars of the cage and Frankie slides back the lock, opening the door. The dog jumps down, its tail happily wagging as you scratch its ears. 

“Good boy,” you mumble, patting its flank as Frankie starts moving forward again. You give the dog a final scratch before you follow him towards the end of the bridge. The dog trails behind you for a while before it falls behind, going back to the SUV. 

As you get to the end of the bridge Frankie holds his hand up, signaling for you to stop. He points to the last pillar of the bridge, written on it, in what looks like black magic marker, are the letters SOF, underneath is a rectangle with a single line through the middle and the number 1 just outside the box. 

“Special Operations Force,” Frankie says, “Pope’s been through here but he’s alone. The rectangle means he’s motorized.” He walks over to the pillar, pulling a marker from his side pocket and crouching down he writes SOF underneath Pope’s message, but he adds an odd looking cross underneath, two sides are flat and two are rounded. Then he writes ‘2’ next to it. 

“Special Operations Aviation,” he explains while he stands up and puts the marker away. “I don’t think any of the other guys will come past here but if Pope comes back the same way he’ll see that we’ve been here.” 

You continue down the road, it’s still about an hour's walk to Lucía’s house and you’re forced to stay on the road, there are no hiking trails leading in the right direction. Frankie’s head is on a swivel, his gun drawn as you both walk off to the side of the road, creating some distance between  yourselves and the cars. There are less of them now, and up ahead you can see an almost clear road. You crest a hill in the road, carefully trying to see over to the other side before you’re too exposed, when a pickup truck just ahead rumbles to life and barrels towards you with a screech of tires. Frankie grabs your hand and pulls you behind one of the few cars on the road, his gun aimed at the truck. “They’ve got to be ok, right Frankie?” you say, his hand still holding you down behind the car. “Infected can’t drive!”

“Stay down, cariño,” he snaps, his eyes focused on the truck. You hear it come to a stop and the engine goes silent as the doors are opened. Frankie lets go of you and grabs his gun with both hands. You turn and peek over the bonnet of the car and see two men get out, staying behind the doors of the truck, as another two jump down from the flatbed. 

“You know how to use that gun, sonny?” the oldest man calls from behind the driver’s door. He’s big and burly looking, a cowboy hat squashed down on a very round head. 

“Sure,” Frankie calls back, shifting his stance. 

“Why don’t you lower it and toss it over here. And any gun your cute girl might be carrying.” The man’s voice is saccharine and makes your neck hairs stand on end, you glance up at Frankie and see the muscle in his jaw working. 

“We’re just passing through, trying to get to some friends, we don’t want any trouble.” 

“Then why you pointing a gun at me, son?” The older man looks over his shoulder and nods at the two men who got off the truck and they slowly move to the sides, circling the two of you. 

“Cariño, get your gun up and stand behind me, aim at the man on the left,” Frankie says in a low voice, his eyes never leaving the older man. You do as he says, trying to have a steady grip on the gun to keep your hands from shaking. Copying Frankie’s stance, you hold your gun in both hands, your feet apart and steady, aiming at the man on the left. With a thumb you flick the safety off and draw a deep breath. 

“Steady there, girlie,” the old man drawls, as he sees you move, holding up a hand to stop the two men. “Son, you don’t want to do anything stupid and get your girl in trouble here.” He moves out from behind the car door, and from the corner of your eye you see the rifle he’s holding low in his hands. “We’re just out here making sure no one’s looting these cars, especially of any guns they might find.” 

“These guns are mine, like I said, we’re just passing through.” Frankie calls back through gritted teeth. You can hear the sharp tone in his voice as his eyes flick from the man in the cowboy hat and the man still standing behind the passenger side door. 

“You’re outnumbered, pal,” the man on the right calls out with a chuckle, “just hand over the guns and any supplies, and we’ll let you pass.” 

“Might keep your girl though,” the man on your left drawls, the man you’ve got your gun aimed at, he’s eyeing you with a smirk on his face that makes your skin crawl. “She’s shaking like a leaf but I bet she’d put up a nice little fight.” 

Frankie glances over at the man on the left, before he looks back at the man in the cowboy hat, he’s got a crooked smile on his lips as he shoulders the rifle. 

“C’mon, sonny, the guns and the girl, and then you can walk away.” 

Frankie’s gun is loud on the silent road, and the man in the cowboy hat crumples over, his shot going wide as the rifle hits the ground. The man on the left throws himself forward and you feel the recoil in your arms as you fire, you don’t even know if your bullets hit, you can hear several shots from Frankie’s gun and your own, and Frankie’s hand on your shoulder as he pushes you to the ground. Two more shots ring out and Frankie ducks behind the car, his gun raised, listening. When nothing stirs he quickly glances over the bonnet before he stands up. Three of the men are dead on the ground, the fourth one, the one behind the passenger door, is scrabbling for something and with a few long steps, Frankie is on him, kicking the gun out of his reach. 

He’s on the ground, you can see him beneath the door, Frankie towering above him, his gun aimed at the man. As you watch, the man lifts his palms up, pleading, but the shot rings out and the man slumps back. Frankie bends down and picks up the man’s gun, quickly patting him down and fishing an ammo box from his pants. When he straightens up and walks back towards you his face is impassive, blank and you remember when you last saw that look; the bar that night you thought Frankie was a violent man. Now you know, he is violent, but only when he needs to and for now, you’re very grateful for his skills.  

You put your hands out to push yourself off the ground and a burning pain shoots through your shoulder, wincing you get to your feet and look at your torn shirt. Blood is seeping through and you suddenly feel faint. Frankie is on you in two fast steps, grabbing your arm and pulling back your shirt. 

“You’re hit,” his voice suddenly sharp with worry, as his gentle fingers push at the fabric, making you wince again. He unbuttons your shirt and pulls it over your shoulder. “Thank god,” he breathes out as he sees the shallow gash, “you’ve been grazed, it didn’t go in.” He pulls up his arm as if he’s about to pull his backpack off but changes his mind. 

“Come here, get in the truck,” he guides you over to the passenger side, “close your eyes, don’t look,” he mumbles as you have to step over the corpse.  You breathe in deeply and keep your eyes closed until Frankie closes the door. He bends down to pick up the other man’s rifle, putting it behind the bench seat, before he gets in and starts up the engine. It rumbles to life and Frankie turns it around, heading back down the almost empty road, and as soon as he sees a secluded spot he pulls over and kills the engine. 

“I’ve got to clean your arm, cariño,” says, opening up his backpack for the first aid kit. “Does it hurt?” He looks over at you, his eyes are worried and you shake your head to calm him. 

“Only a little, it stings more than anything.” 

“Ok, just keep breathing in and out while I do this.” 

The iodine solution makes you whimper but Frankie is fast and efficient, when the compress is on your shoulder the pain is already subsiding. He pulls your shirt back on, gives you a soft kiss, cradling the back of your head with his large hand. 

“You ok?” he asks in a low voice, “not just the injury, with what just happened too?” 

You let out a shuddering breath as you allow yourself to think about the situation, “I’m very glad you used to be a soldier, Frankie,” you say, leaning your forehead against his, “I think that’s the fourth time you’ve saved my life in twenty four hours.” 

“Me too,” he breathes, his thumb is caressing your cheek as he looks at you. His deep brown eyes are strained, but calm, “Things are going to get worse before they get better, cariño. I’ve seen it before, when society crumbles, it brings out the worst in people and they become very dangerous. I need you and Lucía safe at the cabin until we know things are getting back to normal, whenever that might be.” 

You nod and he turns back to the wheel and starts up the truck, “At least we got a truck out of it, this will make things easier as long as we have gas.” 

The truck rumbles through the landscape, in the distance you see a group of infected running towards something but the road curves and you move away from them. Frankie has driven this road hundreds of times, every time he came to pick up or drop off Lucía, and now he wonders at how eerily still it is. There are no people as the truck drives past the first few houses of the small town, cars line the main street but they’ve been pushed to the side. The dents and scrapes on them indicate that something big came through and shoved them out of the way. 

Frankie turns down a smaller side street, and then another small street, coming to the end of town. There are a few cars still parked outside the houses but most are gone. You glance over at him, his fingers are drumming on the steering wheel as his restless eyes bounce around the street, looking for infected, people, anything. He’s grinding his teeth, the muscle in his jaw flexing and when he pulls up outside a small bungalow you hear his white knuckles make the steering wheel creak. 

“This is their place,” he says in a low voice, “the car is still here.” He opens the truck door and steps down, listening for any movement as you follow him out. Pulling his gun he moves carefully up the porch and tests the handle on the door, it’s locked. 

“Stay by the truck,” he says to you, “if anything happens, if anyone comes, fire once in the air, ok?” 

You nod and do as he says. Frankie carefully walks down the side of the house, easily scaling the wooden fence that closes off the backyard. He disappears from view and you nervously wait, looking around the quiet neighborhood. When he opens the door to the house from the inside you jump but he holds up his hand in a placating sign, signaling for you to stay where you are. He disappears into the house again, you guess this means Lucía isn’t here, and neither is anyone else. 

You hear him walking through the house and before long he comes back out, a note in his hand. 

“They’ve been evacuated,” he says, showing you the note from Lucía’s mom. It’s dated the day before yesterday, Saturday, the note says the soldiers came at night and gave them fifteen minutes to pack up essentials. 

“She says they told her they’re going to a quarantine zone in Franklin. I’ve got to see if I can get them out of there.” He breathes a sigh of relief, “At least they’re safe for now.” he says, getting back into the truck and starting it up. 

As the truck rumbles through town you start seeing more infected, they stumble out of a few of the shops, attracted to the sound of the truck. At one intersection you see a large number of them fallen into a pile, bullet wounds to their heads, and you quickly look away. Their pallid skin, starting to show strange looking lesions, no longer looks human, but their clothes are still bright and colorful, reminds you terribly of the people who would’ve put them on, maybe on Friday morning, expecting just another day. 

Frankie speeds up, leaving town, and the shrieking infected behind, heading for Franklin. It’s less than an hour away, the nearest big city, and like before you see the cars pushed to the side of the road. Frankie’s fingers are drumming on the steering wheel again, his grip tight, his jaw clenched. He’s getting closer to Lucía, now he knows she’s safe, he just needs to get to her. 

“When we get to the quarantine zone, do you think we should stay there?” you ask him. “It doesn’t sound like a ‘quarantine zone’ is somewhere they’ll let you in and out of. Maybe it’ll be safer for us there too?” 

“I don’t know,” Frankie says, glancing over at you, “I need to see it first, how are they quarantining people? Keeping them separate enough so that if someone is already infected, they can’t attack and infect more people?” His fingers drum faster against the wheel, “I just need to see her, see her safe.” 

You put your hand on his leg and give it a squeeze and he drops his hand, curling his fingers around yours. 

“How’s your shoulder?”

“Still stings a bit, but it’s dulled, hurts when I move it.” You test moving your arm up and down, feeling the pull of the compress.

“It’ll give you gnarly looking scar,” he grins, “match some of mine.” He pulls your hand up to his lips and gives it a kiss, his eyes leaving the road for a second. When he looks back again he sees birds circling up ahead. 

“Buzzards,” he points them out to you. “Looks like they’re circling just over the road.” He slows down the truck as you come around a bend, clearing a small group of trees. The rumble of the truck startles the birds and you see more of them rise into the sky from the field bordering the road. Frankie stops the truck, leaving it in neutral, watching the birds circle, waiting to see if something moves. When nothing stirs he opens the door, signaling for you to stay put, and he steps on to the instep of the truck, hoisting himself up so that he can look over the door of the truck. 

“Oh fuck…” you hear him breathe out. 

“What, Frankie, what is it?” you ask but he doesn’t answer so you open your own door and swing yourself up on the instep. Frankie glances back at you and motions for you to get back inside. 

“Cariño, don’t, you don’t wanna- “

It’s too late, you look over the field, it looks like almost a hundred people are lying in it, none of them moving. The buzzards are settling back down, walking across the still bodies. 

“Oh my god…” you gasp, your hand going over your mouth as your eyes widen in horror. “What killed them?” you whisper, “are they infected?” 

“Get into the driver’s seat,” he says, “I’m going closer but I need you to be ready to drive if they are infected.”

“I’m not leaving without you, Frankie!” you say in a hard voice, as you slide over the bench seat and get behind the wheel.

“I’m counting on it, cariño,” he grips your hand before jumping down onto the ground. Grabbing the rifle from the back he loads it before he starts moving slowly towards the field. 

You step up onto the instep on the driver’s side, watching Frankie’s back as he makes his way across the road and into the field. As he reaches the first body he crouches down and seems to inspect them. Nothing moves, none of the bodies are jerking, they’re just dead. He stands up again and walks around the outskirts of where they’ve fallen. Suddenly he stops, slinging the rifle onto his back, before he steps into the mass of bodies, he must be stepping on them as he bends down and pulls at one of them, turning it over to face him. He stumbles back, losing his footing and falls onto his back among the bodies. 

Without thinking you jump down from the truck and run to him, grabbing hold of his arm as he scrambles to stand up, getting away from the bodies. 

“It’s Helena, she’s the mom of Lucía’s best friend,” he pants, standing up. You look over at the blonde woman, her open eyes looking sightless to the sky. Her torso has at least three bullet holes in the pale blue shirt she’s wearing, blood staining the light fabric dark. 

“They lived across the street from Lucía,” Frankie croaks and you suddenly realize what he’s saying, gripping his arm hard. 

He tears himself away from you as he starts circling around the bodies, crouching down, looking under those who have fallen on top of others, his eyes desperately scanning every face, every piece of visible clothing, looking for something he recognizes, praying he doesn’t. His heart is racing, his vision narrows into one long tunnel, focused on the bodies, praying, cursing, he can’t hear you call after him. 

And then he sees it. 

The hem of a dress he’d know anywhere because her abuela made it for her. 

With a shout he steps into the mass of bodies. You rush up behind him, tears are welling up into  your eyes, as you watch him scramble over to the small body. Skinny little legs in sneakers you bought for her birthday, you bite down hard on your lip to stop yourself from wailing. 

The dress is sticking out from underneath a woman, and as he gets closer he realizes it’s his ex-girlfriend, her arms hugging her daughter tight, even in death. The back of her tan coat is dark with coagulated blood that sticks to his hands as he bends back her arms to release her grip. As he shoves her aside a strangled cry goes up from the small body underneath, Lucia’s head moves as a rattled breath escapes her lungs and Frankie cries out in relief, grabbing hold of her waist to gently turn her over, scanning her body for injuries, he sees no blood on her. 

“Mija, I’m here, I’m here,” he gasps, “daddy’s here, Lucía, I’m here.” 

He’s holding out his arms to lift her up when he sees it. 

Trailing under the skin of her small throat. 

Up under the pallid skin of her cheeks, spreading out in a fine net. 

Tendrils reaching out from her small mouth. 

“Frankie!” you cry as the small body shrieks and reaches for him. He almost takes her hand, almost takes the small hand that’s grasping after his. You can see it, even from behind him, you can see the empty eyes, the twitching movement. 

Infected. 

His hand is still in the air, halfway to reaching out for her, his Lucía, her hand outstretched to him. As she screams, his hand drops to his gun. 

You turn your head when the gunshot rings out.

Chapter 15

Taglist: @pimosworld @i-own-loki @casa-boiardi @littlenosoul @stormseyer @mxtokko  @javicstories

[astroboots]

Driving by to order one smut from the smutdonald's. dealer's choice

<.< >.>

.....but Frankie facefucking Santi would be a-ok

okay ilu baaaiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii

DOWN ON MY KNEES

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Santiago Garcia

Summary: Santiago gets on his knees for Frankie.

Content: Explicit up the whazoo. MLM, and a very rough Frankie with a spoonful of brat taming to help the medicine go down (pssst, the medicine is his cock).

Homecoming Drabbles | Homecoming Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist

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The hard unforgiving wooden floor is digging into Santiago's knees. It's uncomfortable to say the least, the blunt pain eating into his kneecaps. He's going to bruise to shits, knees all black, blue and purple, he'll be paying the price for weeks, hobbling with every two steps. But like hell he's going to tell Frankie that.

Not when Frankie is looking at Santiago the way he is right now. Teeth bared, staring down at him. The obsidian pitch of his pupils eating into the warm brown. It's primal.

Rough fingers tangled in Santiago's curls as he grips him hard. It stings, giving him no reprieve for air at all as Frankie holds Santiago in place, the tip of Santiago's nose pushing into the softness of Frankie's abdomen until he chokes, and still Frankie doesn't let go.

If you were here, Santiago wonders what you'd think, your sweet, little Francisco. There's nothing sweet or little about the man now.

No, that thick intimidating girth that's blocking Santiago's airways, filling his entire goddamned throat until he swears it must be halfway down his lungs by now, is hardly little.

Fuck, the man's thick.

"What's wrong Pope? Thought you said you could handle it."

That warm palm of Frankie's, calloused and worn, comes to cradle Santiago's jaw, fingers fanning over his stretched and bulging cheek, and Frankie taps him there. Not hard, and that's worse somehow. It's soft, and amused, condescending, the way you'd pat an errand boy for doing a good job.

Asshole.

Tears are prickling the corners of his eyes, and it's about all Santiago can manage, to stay still and keep his eyes open so they don't breach the barrier and streak down his cheeks.

Santiago swallows around the man, and fuck, that's a mistake. The insides of his throats constricts around Frankie's cock, hugging around every inch of this Behemoth lodged inside him. It's like his body panics at the realization of just how big Frankie is, eyes welling up and he gags. Everything burns, as he desperately tries to swallow down his chocked coughs until he finally has to pull off.

And he's not even sure he can actually manage that, because every nerve in him is screaming for air. Begging him to pull away and run the other way. And he would, if it wasn't for his own stubbornness. He would if it wasn't for that infuriating expression plastered on Frankie's face right now.

Fuck! fuck!

Irritation burns across cheeks, and prickles across Santiago's swollen lips. He's a mess. Drool and spit running wet and sticky down his chin and he brings the back of his hand to wipe it off.

"Is it too much for you?" Boa handles me just fine."

Santiago grits his teeth at the taunt. He knows Frankie is doing it just to get a rise out of him. Knows that Frankie is needling his competitive streak. It's transparent as day. It's just annoying that the man succeeds.

"Fu-fuck you Frank!" It doesn't come out nearly as defiant and irritated as he intended to. Instead it's breathless, and flustered, and that irritates him even more.

There's a slow smile curling on Frankie's lips at that and before Santiago is able to think of better, and smarter retort, that familiar wide palm of Frankie's already back, pulling Santiago forward by the scruff of his neck.

"Thought that's what you'd say," Frankie says. Then he pushes Santiago forward, the rest of the way, guiding Santiago back down on him.

The fat, heavy head of Frankie's cock rests and prods against Santiago's lips until he slides in with a deep groan that reverberates and embeds itself somewhere deep in Santiago's skull.

It sends a shiver through Santiago that has him curling the tip of his toes. Everything in him aches. He's so hard, cock straining against the seam of his jeans, he's surprised the stitches haven't torn by now. His own hand comes to the front of his jeans, palming the bulge clumsily. There's a pleasure that skitters up the back of his neck so pleasantly that if Frankie's thick cock wasn't in the way, Santiago is pretty sure he'd be moaning.

"Fuck, that's a good look on you, Santiago."

Frankie's tone is almost awed as he says it. The honed sharpness softening around the edges as he stares down at Santiago. There's love there. Adoration. And there's nothing wrong with that...

But Santiago would be lying to himself that the Frankie with dark eyes, rough palm against his neck and taunting grin mocking him wasn't a turn on. He slides his mouth off the man, chin tilted up to stare up in defiance.

"Real good at playing tough when Boa's not around, aren't you?"

That's all it takes.

Something sparks behind those warm eyes until they're incinerating. Frankie reaches over, large hand wrapped around Santiago's throat that has his cock twitching and jerking against the strained denim. Precome leaks down the tip of him soaking his boxers from excitement at the man's grip around his airpipe with just the right pressure that he likes.

Then Frankie leans down, close enough that his lips brush against Santiago's ear.

"Our wife's not here to spoil you now, and I'm not planning on taking it easy on you Pope, so I'd save that smart little mouth of yours right about now."

Santiago grins. Frankie's right. If you were here, you'd spoil Santiago. If you were here Frankie wouldn't be quite this rough. If you were here that is... but you're not.

And in this moment, Santiago can't bring himself to be sorry that you're not.

Dedication: To @jazzelsaur for this demented thot. And to my beloved moose @thirstworldproblemss who helped me finish it.

[featherandferns]

7 fluff maybe?

7. I made us friendship bracelets.

This is very short but very sweet. Prepare to gag.

Feel free to request! - Prompt list

Beads - prompt 7.

Summer days call for chilling out: sun-tanning and swimming and sipping.

John B lounges at the helm of the boat, drifting in and out of sleep. Pope sits, reading a book, whilst JJ swims around in the water to cool off. Every now and then he climbs back aboard just to backflip off, aiming to spray as much water as possible on John B, who grumbles out cusses in return. You, Kie and Sarah are sat around. Sarah’s helping to braid some beads into Kiara’s hair. Pink, yellow and blue. Inspired, you’d dug about in the hold and found some string, and had started looping through some beads, working on a nice pattern. It was something you did a lot as a kid but had outgrown, and right now, you couldn’t remember why.

Tapping your foot along to the beat of a Frank Ocean song, you work at tying off the second bracelet. You’re snapped out of your peaceful haze when JJ climbs back aboard, shaking his head like a wet dog, spraying you with water.

“Quit it, JayJ!” Kiara hollers.

JJ sniggers and drops down in the spot next to you.

“What are you doing?” he asks. He steals a sip of your cider.

“I made us friendship bracelets,” you say with a smile, holding two up.

He grins down at you. “You’re too frigging cute sometimes.”

“Shut up.”

“Yes, I second that: shut up,” Kiara says.

“Save the foreplay for at home, guys,” John B feels the need to chime in.

You and JJ ignore their joking. He meddles with the beaded bracelets already on his wrist until there’s space for yours, and you slide one on. He watches as you slip yours on too.

“Fit okay?”

“Think so,” he nods, shaking his wrist out to inspect it.

The two of you have identical colour palettes but in alternating patterns. As yours goes green, blue, yellow, his goes blue, yellow, green.

You look down at the beads and debate making more, so everyone has one, but then you decide not to. It’s nice, having it just something for yourself and JJ. As if hearing this thought process, he presses a kiss to your forehead.

“I’ll never take it off,” he quietly says, so only you hear.

You flash him a smile, somewhat sappy in the moment.

“You two either get a room or get in the water so I don’t have to look at you,” John B says, propping himself up to point at the two of you. He says it as if him and Sarah don’t dote on each other openly all the time, churning up vomit in your throat at the sight.

JJ simply grins and shoots up, tackling his best friend into the water, making you laugh. You turn back to the girls and fall into the conversation Sarah’s started up about hair styles. The day slowly melts away like strawberry ice cream in the sun. But JJ keeps his word. From there on, amongst his muted coloured bead bracelets is a cheerful, bright plastic-bead one. If anybody asks where he got it from, he proudly tells them ‘my girlfriend’.

[writefightandflightclub]

Flight Instinct: (Santiago “Pope” Garcia x Francisco “Catfish” Morales)

Author’s note: this is a blurb request, and is a continuation of my poly!Triple Frontier fic, Captain of the Team. This could be read as a standalone I guess… but will make a hell of a lot more sense if you’ve read CotT and other blurbs which (chronologically precede this and) are connected to that ‘verse, i.e. Solid Ground, and Helicopter Guitar. 🧡

Screenshotting the request for this, which was sent in by the lovely @for-a-longlongtime 🧡 I’m sorry there’s no smut! But this is the scene that happened when I pressed the “play” button in my head. I hope you enjoy it, and thanks so much for the ask and your kind words about Solid Ground! I love this pairing and it was so fun to revisit them a little further down the line (though this is a little more of a rushed effort than the last one) 😀✨🙌

Pairing: Santi x Frankie centric for this blurb (Santi’s POV) but references to wider poly!relationship including Will and fem!reader.

Genre/warnings: m/m, early relationship, some angst and Santiago’s usual insecurities, smut references but only steam in the fic itself, some fluff.

Length: blurb, fairly short

Gif: by @pedrorascal 🧡

Santiago looks at the man - Francisco - reclined on his couch.

He looks beautiful. Unfathomably so. Long limbs stretched out, his dirty-pink Henley coordinated with the mauve lick of his plush, pouty lips. With the flush of exertion still held in his cheeks - from diligently sucking Santiago’s soul out of his dick less than half an hour ago. The garment rides up to reveal bare stomach. The dusting of his happy trail drawing Santiago’s gaze down to those tight, tapered hips. To his huge, powerful hands which nestle the paperback with care, dwarfing it in the broad span of his grip. He’s beautiful, his hawkish face tipping down towards the page, warm brown eyes soft and intent.

The fucking audacity, Santiago thinks. And the way he’s so casual about it too?

Still. Desire reliably twists a knot in Santiago’s belly, tightening like a fist even if he had been left very well-sated.

So then, Santiago tuts at him for the audacity of him daring to… for daring to…. Well. For something he can’t quite put his finger on yet. “Frank. What are you doing?”

Santiago sees Francisco’s eyes flutter closed in subtle aggravation. Maybe at the interruption. More than likely, though, at his harsh tone - completely uncalled for. And yet, calm and composed, he closes the book. “Okay,” he says with a finality. The straw that broke the camel’s back, apparently. “What’s going on with you tonight?”

“Nothing.” Well, that feels like a lie as soon as it’s out of his mouth. Francisco looks well aware of that fact though. Always was annoying like that. Seeing through his bullshit.

“So you always parade around the house like an aggravated chicken?” Immediately after asking his question, Francisco tilts his head, mentally answering it for himself. Often, actually.

That irks Santiago even more. So, he huffs and plants his hands on his wide hips, and meanwhile, Francisco rolls onto his side, propping his head on his hand. Somehow that makes him look even more beautiful as the lamplight slips fluidly over the planes of his face. Mingles into his dense mass of curls like liquid gold.

Annoying.

“Oh no,” Francisco rumbles, a deep, slightly mocking lilt to his tone which makes Santiago’s skin thrum despite himself. “Not you sticking that cute little hip out.” Francisco’s cheek tugs up with a lopsided smile, even if Santiago’s own smile does not greet him in return.

Perturbed, for no legitimate reason he can fathom, he scoops his forefinger and thumb around his mouth, his stubble rasping. He taps his foot almost impatiently, as though frustrated that Francisco hasn’t yet given him the thing he needs but can’t even name yet.

It’s hard. Makes him feel uneasy. An instinctual rather than conscious thing. A buzz in his limbs. A flutter in his chest.

A desire to leave.

To leave the room.

Maybe the country.

Definitely his feelings.

But he doesn’t.

He remembers what Francisco had told him last time he’d pulled that shit -firmly, and in no uncertain terms. “If we’re doing this, this can’t continue to happen, you hear me? I need you to stay in the room. Be a dick if you want. Just stay in the fucking room. After all this fucking time, man. Show me you at least respect me enough to give me that courtesy.”

He does. He does respect Francisco. After all this time. So, he stays. Despite his base instincts - which flood his body with the urge to run. The activation of his flight instinct. Thankfully, he supposes, Francisco is a pilot. If there’s anyone who can navigate him back to solid ground, it’s this guy.

“Come on. Sit down.” Francisco swings his legs, planting his feet to the floor. Sits up and pats the space beside him on the couch.

Santiago sighs deeply first; but then he sits, even if he doesn’t relax into it, perching his ample ass on the couch edge. He can feel the tension contorting his expression into something surly. He can’t fix it, but he makes sure to at least look down at the carpet instead of directly at Francisco. Somewhere deep down he knows he doesn’t deserve to receive the full brunt of his mood.

“Is this… because of the engagement?” Francisco ventures.

“No!” Santiago snaps back indignantly. Well. That’s another lie, apparently. As soon as that thread is tugged on, Santiago feels there’s truth in it. You and Will announcing your engagement has him feeling a lot of feelings - even if he can’t fully admit that to himself yet. Even if he can’t name them all yet. Still, that’s not quite it. At least… it’s not all of it.

“Well. Good.” If Francisco has noticed the lie, he steps over it. Instead of pulling him up on it, his hand slides down Santiago’s back and, counterintuitively, the man stiffens against the bestowed comfort. “Because they said it won’t change anything and honestly I believe-“

“-It’s not about that,” Santiago bristles.

“Okay.” Francisco’s hand smoothing at his back almost melts him. Almost. Stubbornly, he resists it. Still can’t fully admit to all the ways the man can see right through him. “Then wh-

Abruptly, Santiago rises to standing. An unfathomable adrenaline piping through his limbs. It feels like fear; though with no physical source he can name. “-What are we even doing, Frank?”

Frankie’s coffee cup brown eyes fall warm on Santiago, not bitter, even as the man clearly struggles to follow his train of thought. Honestly, Santiago is struggling to follow it himself. All he knows is he’s feeling… feelings.

“I mean. Seriously. Those two are engaged and we’re… I mean.” His voice falters. He hates that. Doesn’t like to feel vulnerable. Doesn’t like the way Francisco is able to pour himself into every crack he can find, sticking him together like glue. “Why the fuck are you on my couch? On a Tuesday night?”

“Would Wednesday work better for you, or..?”

“Frank, I’m serious. What are we doing?”

Santiago shuffles from foot to foot. Curls his tongue around his lip. Wants to run. Wants to get away from here. Doesn’t want Francisco to see him all opened up. He’s seen him all opened up. All opened up for him. Opening him up; and he can’t let him crawl inside any deeper.

He wants to leave the room.

But he doesn’t.

He risks a look back at Francisco, his head hung and his hands clasped in his lap. Santiago sees exactly what he expected to see there. Sees disappointment.

But he’s trying. For Frank, he’s trying..

Goddamn. He can say the right thing when he has something to gain. But oh boy. It’s a different story altogether when he has something to lose, isn’t it?

Francisco doesn’t rise to it though. Instead, he looks up at Santiago levelly. He feels embarrassed when he does that. Like Francisco is a man and meanwhile he’s somehow behaving like a small child.

“Take a second,” Francisco soothes, rising to standing in front of Santiago. “What is it that you actually wanna say to me?”

Santiago sniffs. Still frantic despite Francisco’s calm.

Stay in the room.

Stay on the ground, pendejo.

“You come here to fuck me and now you’re reading.” His palm gestures towards the couch in frustration. “You’re just sat there…”

Francisco’s eyebrows jump up, gently - to his credit, really trying to interpret what’s going down here. “Reading.”

“Yeah. Like this is all some…” Santiago doesn’t know where he’s going with this tirade, honestly. But he’s damn sure going to let it out anyway. “We’re not fucking married.”

Ah. There it is.

A flood of emotion rides in on the crest of that realisation. “We’re just hooking-up.”

A swallow sinks down Francisco’s corded neck. His mouth scrunches up into a pout, but other than that, he doesn’t give much away. Not beyond a tiny, discernible fissure of sadness in his tone. “Oh. I hadn’t realised that’s what we were doing.”

It’s preposterous, really. Preposterous to think that 18 years of friendship - and now this - could be reduced to “hooking-up”. Like he hasn’t known Frank for longer than he’s had the goddamn couch he’s complaining about him laying on?

Still - because of course he does - Santiago doubles down. Even as Francisco’s arms fold across his chest, suddenly making Santiago feel more lonely than he has in months. He tries not to dwell on the realisation that the past few months have been the first time he hasn’t felt lonely in such a long time. “Frank. Be real for a second. Like I’m not just some pit stop? You know. Until you find a new Mom for Bella?”

He can’t stand to look at the anger which flashes in Francisco’s eyes when he says that.

In fact, Santiago wants to run from himself in that moment. From the way he can twist something good and turn it bad. From the way he always seems to have the power to make his worst fears become real. Because he just has to poke something over and over to test how real it is. But, now that he’s started? He can’t stop.

“Fuck. And then, Will and…” he trails off before he says your name. Can’t bear to say it. Pulls on that thread and suddenly it’s all connected. Him and Frankie and you and Will. All tied together in a web he can’t yet understand, let alone trust. It’s all linked to the same fear in the pit of him.

There is a beat, and Santiago chews some more words down.

“You think we’ll all leave you.” Frankie says plainly, struck by the epiphany. Finally slotting everything into place, and Santiago feels his face pinch and draw down. Feels his chest tighten.

“No. That’s not what I’m saying.” Yeah. Yeah, Frank, that’s exactly it.

Santiago’s looking at the floor, but he can still see Frankie’s looming presence as he shuffles closer, mumbling idiota fondly under his breath.

Santiago is terrified that he will be angry. Expects it. Thinks he deserves it. But, instead, he feels Francisco’s strong arms wind around his middle. He feels the warm press of Frankie around him, muddling him closer. Still, although he wants to, he doesn’t yield to it yet. Not all the way.

“You’re the biggest flight risk around here, cariño.” Francisco chuckles warmly. “If any fucker was about to leave I’d have bets on it being you.“

“Fine!” Santiago snaps, irked by the mere suggestion even if he’s done it a hundred times before. “Maybe I will!”

“Oh. You will?”

He hadn’t expected Francisco to call his bluff, honestly. Hadn’t expected a lot of things when it came to him, to be fair. His next works are weaker. “I might.”

“Okay,” Francisco shrugs, before starting towards the doorway. Christ. Is this it? Has he fucked it already? Is this done?

“Where are you going?” He asks, his voice breaking.

“To the bedroom.”

“Why?”

“You’re coming, idiota.” Francisco doesn’t look “done”. Doesn’t look angry, even. Instead, he tilts his head -come on- and holds his hand out for Santiago.

“Why?” Santiago asks, even as he obliges.

Francisco leads him to his own bedroom then. Walks to the chest of drawers and pulls one of them open, lifting out piles of Santiago’s clothes and tossing them on to the bed.

“What are you doing?” Santiago’s eyes flit around the room in confusion. Embarrassment, as Francisco makes visible the exact upheaval he’s threatening.

“Well, see? That’s up to you. I’m either helping you pack, in case you wanna high tail it outta here - to get away from me reading so offensively on your couch. Or…” Francisco offers, matter-of-factly, “… I’m clearing myself a fucking drawer.”

“Huh? What for?”

Francisco turns towards him. Closes the gap between their bodies again. Presses his palm to Santiago’s face and rests the pad of his thumb on his shapely chin. “So that I have somewhere to put my stuff.” His gaze softens, and he presses a chaste kiss to the man’s lips. “When I stay over on Tuesdays.”

And with that, Francisco rests his case. Retrieves the book Santiago hadn’t even realised he’d stuffed into his back pocket before heading upstairs, and rounds the bed. Reclines himself on the clear side, looking all beautiful again.

Santiago sighs.

Santiago’s side of the bed, meanwhile, is covered in piles of his clothes. He can’t even lay down next to him. Not until he deals with this. Whatever “this” is.

Francisco is a clever fucker, alright.

Santiago saws his hand across his stubble as, meanwhile, Francisco disappears into his next chapter, not even looking up at him. “Your call, Santiago. Or, after 18 years, is a fucking drawer moving too fast for you?”

With Frank’s joke… it’s ridiculous, suddenly.

He feels ridiculous suddenly.

The situation and his anger and his fear feels… ludicrous.

He sees his situation better for what it is. It’s beautiful. Beautiful like Frank is.

Guess what? Santiago stayed in the room, and it all grew just a little less scary. In no small way thanks to his skilled pilot, who has spent so long learning his awkward, complex controls. Knows how to push all his buttons in just the right way.

His chest feels lighter. The knot in him unspools. An awed smile even cracks his face as he picks up a pile of boxers. “Well. You don’t need a whole drawer do you?”

“¡Ay, dios!” Frankie complains fondly.

“I mean. You don’t wear all that many clothes while you’re here, do you?” He raises an eyebrow suggestively - just in time for Francisco to clock it when he looks up, a smile chiselling itself from his strong features.

“Need extra hoodies, don’t I? You steal ‘em, pendejo.”

The two men lock eyes for a moment. Study one another, almost wistfully. Softer now. Full of feeling and affection.

Santiago knows it. Knows this is far more than hooking-up. And that’s it. That’s exactly what he’s so afraid of. He’s scared because it’s more than he’s ever felt. Deeper than he’s ever fell.

That’s the risk when you’re flying though, he supposes.

Still, there’s something about the soft light dancing in Francisco’s warm coffee cup eyes that makes him feel far less fearful. Makes him feel braver than he thought he could be.

“I’m sorry,” Santiago admits.

“I know you are.”

It’s okay. It’s okay to be scared, Francisco’s gaze tells him wordlessly. Just stay in the room. Just stay in the fucking room.

Santiago moves the final piles of clothes on to the top of the dresser and he crawls on to the bed beside Francisco. He nestles his cheek against the taller man’s chest. Curls his form around him and Francisco wraps him safely in his embrace. He feels the man’s heartbeat thud, pleasantly slow and steady, beneath his ear. He breathes in and out with the rise and fall of his chest, feeling the tension eke out of him.

“For the record?” Francisco begins, his voice striking a deep and robust note which shimmies right through him.

A divot notches in Santiago’s brow. “Yeah?”

“I’m not going anywhere. You got that?”

Francisco’s arms wrap him tighter, and meanwhile, Santiago’s eyes squeeze shut, fighting against hot, spiking tears of relief. He feels a warm, percussive kiss being planted at his hairline. Feels Francisco’s fingers raking impossibly gently through his curls.

“Better?”

“Mhmm,” Santiago agrees. “Yeah.” And, just for a moment, he allows himself to tug a little more forcefully on that thread. The one where you’re all connected. Him and Francisco, and Will and… you. For once, he tries to imagine the thread not as a web to tangle him up, but more like a… safety net. As something he could fall into, instead of run from. After a few moments of contemplating this, Santiago’s face splits in a tentative grin. “You know. She’s gonna look hot as all hell in a wedding dress.”

Frankie’s throaty chuckle, which sounds out, has to be his favourite sound in the whole world, and so, as he’s still laughing, Santiago opts to prop himself up on one elbow. Seeks out Fransisco’s gaze to meet with his own. He wants to tell him while he’s still laughing. Wants to believe this can all turn out happy.

“I love you.”

The words flow from Santiago’s chest so naturally, so freely and yet, immediately, a more solemn note chokes Francisco’s laughter. Weighs his smile down like a stone, until he is looking back at him with wet, shining eyes, his plush, mauve lips slightly parted in surprise.

He looks at Santiago as though he’s been waiting for him to figure that out.

He looks at him like he’s surprised, or like he never expected he’d live to hear those words out of his mouth.

Then, screw being on solid ground, Santiago thinks. As Francisco - after a dumbfounded beat - meets his revelation with a searing kiss, Santiago’s heart takes flight.

Francisco’s tongue curls tenderly into his mouth. His body rolls to shift Santiago beneath his weight, his knees falling open either side of his tight hips.

“I love you too,” Francisco says, voice revving with deep feeling as he braces on top of him. Then; “thank you”.

Santiago blinks. “For the drawer?!”

Francisco’s curse under his breath is nothing but fond. “Idiota. No. For trusting me enough to say that.”

Francisco’s tongue delves into his mouth once more, opening him up.

Frank, everywhere. All over him. With his tongue; his body; his heart.

Opening him up. Opening him up. Opening him up.

He’s opening him up, and what’s more… Santiago wants to let him in.

He wants to let Francisco into the deepest parts of him.

[hrodvitnon]

Thanks for hearing me out there, I really needed all of that. I think your blog (as well as other tumblr blogs in general like kaiju-krew) help keep me sane while witnessing all sorts of really dumb takes from the fandom, especially from the likes of Twitter and Reddit. The worst takes I've seen so far are the ones that claim that unlike Kong, if Godzilla ever encounters another one of his kind, he would kill them just for disrupting his nap and/or harm a baby of his kind because he's a reptile and something something "alphas in nature kill offspring that isn't their own to prevent competition" and junk like that.

It just really sucks to see them humanize Kong (and in many cases, turn him into a literal saint) while at the same time, reducing Godzilla to just a dumb animal when they're both intelligent and sympathetic but flawed individuals.

Also your comparisons of MV Godzilla to Doomguy and cats is very on-point. All three of them may look and act prickly at first, but there's more to them than just that and if you actually take your time to look past that and get to know them better while respecting their space, they're actually not bad at all. And in the case of both Godzilla and cats, it's kind of like intruding into an introvert's personal space and acting constantly annoying to them, and then getting mad and calling them a jerk once they show signs of wanting you to leave them alone.

(About Matt Frank's post, I took another look at it and he deleted the initial post, probably because of all the backlash he got from it since he misunderstood MV Godzilla's character hard. And in case you're curious on what the post said, it's something on the lines of something like "It's great that MV Godzilla is just an aggro jerkface in the whole movie (GxK) for NO reason at all and I'm all for it").

(That said, his follow-up replies to that are still there and they're still not the best takes. Here they are, for anyone who doesn't have access to that hellish site.)

Yeeeep, this is why I stay as much as possible away from the Twitter and especially the fandom side of Reddit; in fact, there are very specific reasons I would venture into those lawless depths: Check if anyone else has run into a game bug I've encountered and any workarounds for it, or fun gifs I just happened to spy on a Google Image search.

And you know, maybe it's because I just woke up, but to those who demonize Godzilla, I'm about to do something fuckin' hilarious with my power as a fic writer with my own canon at my fingertips. Check this shit out: In an AbraxasVerse take of GxK, when Godzilla is napping in the Colosseum and the authorities are like "what the fuck do we do," who rolls up but THE ACTUAL POPE to welcome the giant napping Nukasaurus Rex and be like "This is a beast of god who protects our world. I talked about this the last time he saved us, did you not listen to my sermon last Mass? For shame. Let the noble beast rest. Amen." Not in those exact words, but yeah.

Oh yeah, @thebeastunleashed showed the the tweets on Discord. Matt, I respect ya as a phenomenal kaiju artist and you're entitled to which Goji's your favorite and also your opinion, but sometimes it's okay to be wrong. (Incidentally, my favorite Godzillas are Heisei and MonsterVerse so I happen to prefer a Godzilla with a soft side.)

[literally-just-there]

Hi Gate! ♡ I have. A question. What's Seeker and your f/os' favorite classic paintings? Or statues etc! 👀🎨🖼

OOOOOHOOHOHOHO KUROH YOU ASKED FOR THIS *cracks knuckles*

(Putting this under a cut... Not doing just classic... No I did not do every f/o or I would still be here in a week. I just did paintings because that's what I'm more knowledgeable about)

🖌 • For Seeker :

She looks a lot at the eyes and facial expressions, and loves a good romantic scene like the pre-raphaelites do. We got "La Belle Dame Sans Merci" by Frank Dicksee, and "The Shadow" by Edmund Blair Leighton for example.

Strangely enough, she is also captivated by paintings that can be considered haunting, I'm thinking of John Martin's works that depict biblical, historical and other legendary apocalypses. She does not enjoy them per say, but she is captivated, especially since she is not religious but is herself a legendary being. I'm thinking of "The Destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah" and the triptych of "The Last Judgement".

She also likes "Christ in the House of His Parents" by Millais because it humanizes what is usually seen as only divine and otherworldly, and she relates to this paradox of being some kind of human god (I suggest reading the critics on the painting at the time).

🖌 • For the Informant :

Keywords are emotion and interactions. He loves when the painting displays interactions and especially love, whatever the kind. I have quite miscellaneous painting ideas for him ;

Leonardo Da Vinci's "The Virgin and Child with Saint Anne", Karl Gussow's "Old Man's Treasure", but also the more tragic "Tristan and Isolde" paintings by Rogelio de Egusquiza, "Romeo and Juliet" by Millais, or "The Meeting on the Turret Stairs" by Frederic William Burton.

🖌 • For Helen :

She loves paintings with soft vibes and that depict nature. I'm thinking of Rosa Bonheur as I type this. I love the cows she paints. Also pretty paintings like those of Sophie Gengembre Anderson, "The Turtle Dove", "It's Touch and Go to Laugh or No", "Little Helper", "Her Favourite Pets" or "A Fairy Is Made Of Most Beautiful Things" which is one of my favourites too.

🖌 • For Smallcat :

He does look like someone who would like grandiose official portraits. However he is more of a landscape type of guy. He paints some himself actually !! For me Monet is the absolute best, I'm of course thinking about his Nymphéas. And Pissarro !! Pissarro's landscapes !! Can we talk about "Le Grand noyer dans le pré, Éragny" ??!! Pretty !?!?!

🖌 • For Delacroix :

That arse head on the other hand LOVES a good lavish official portrait. It does make sense because he is a noble but also : the more gold, more jewels, more expensive fabric, more symbols of power displayed, the more he is eating this up like his eye dinner. I am thinking of Louis XIV by Hyacinthe Rigaud or Napoléon Ist by François Gérard, the good old coronation portraits.

🖌 • For Anna :

Most of all she wants to have something to say about the art piece. It has to make her THINK. So she prefers paintings that have intense facial expressions, and / or that tell a story that makes you THINK. I'm thinking of paintings about societal struggles, like "Burning the Brushwood" by Eero Järnefelt, or paintings that are sticking their chin at institutions, like Frank Cadogan Cowper's "Lucretia Borgia Reigns in the Vatican in the Absence of Pope Alexander VI" including more tragic ones like "The Martyr of Solway" by Millais.

But she is also a romantic at heart and appreciates paintings that display romantic interactions. There are the ones I mentioned for Seeker but I would add "God Speed" by Edmund Blair Leighton.

🖌 • For Wei :

MARINES. Anything that has to do with the sea. One name, Monet, again, yes, BUT !! The paintings he did when he was in Belle-Ile-en-mer !! The Port Coton ones !! He did so many !! And Turner !! Depicting the immensity of the sea !!

He would also love Chinese paintings, since this is what he grew up with. I am sadly not knowledgeable about this yet so I can't really go into details.

🖌 • For Hoggarth :

History is the key word, he prefers paintings that interpret historical events, that imagine the people's emotions at the time, especially when it is grave events. I'm thinking of "The Last Day of Pompeii" by Karl Bryullov or "Faithful Unto Death" by Edward John Poynter. Also "The Execution of Lady Jane Grey" by Paul Delaroche or "A Huguenot" by Millais.

Also, paintings that represent people feeling small before the higher powers they believe in, like "The Two Crowns" by Dicksee, or being powerless before them, like "The Ballad of Lenore" by Horace Vernet.

[abnormalpsychology]

I went to my first Rocky horror screening on Friday and I literally miss it so bad!!! I lost my mind and felt so hot and it was . transcendent . so I made a list of highlights:

- MY FRIEND AND I GETTING SAT IN THE SECOND UP CLOSE FRONT ROW BC WE LOOKED SO ENTHUSIASTIC IN OUR FLOOR SHOW MAKEUP AAGHDH 😳😳

-MY FRIEND AND I GETTING TO BE BETTY AND RALPH HAPSHATT (HER SAYING YES DESPITE NOT EVEN KNOWING WHO THEY WERE LMAO) AND ME MISSING THE BOUQUET TOSS TIMING - MY ONE JOB!!!! - OUT OF SHEER BLUESCREENING FROM SEROTONIN OVERLOAD AND PANIC LMAO

- OUR VIRGIN GAME WAS LITERALLY NOT BAD AT ALL DESPITE ME HAVING BEEN SO SCARED LOL. “I went to Rocky horror and now I’m popped!!” as our repeated call to worship with a guy dressed as the pope agahshgk, they were so gentle w us fr

- THE CAST DID THIS PRE RECORDED ROCKY HORROR VERSION OF THE NICOLE KIDMAN AD AHHAJDJ

- the audience making a joke to the stage guy (who was like probably 30) abt skibidi toliet and him being like “what the FUCK are you talking about” 💀

- preparing the audience for the ride like “people are going to be yelling the worst things you’ve ever heard in your life at the screen.”

- RIGHT INTO IT WITH A STRIPTEASE AND TIDDIES COMING ALL THE WAY OUT ON SCIENCE FICTION DOUBLE FEATURE

- “fight a triffid” “WHAT THE FUCK IS A TRIFFID”

- doing the time warp with a crowd was like the most fun I’ve ever had

- I ALSO GOT TO BE THE FUCKING LEVER RIFF RAFF CRANKS FOR ROCKY TO RISE OUT OF THE TANK LMAO

- I can’t even remember all the crowd chants but so many absolutely DESTROYED me w laughter

- “LIKE UR NECK BITCH”

- “you say goodbye / and I say” “hello 😒”

- “hey Janet are you a slut?” “yes ☺️ I am”

- IT WAS WEIRDLY LIKE CHURCH BC EVERYONE KNEW HOW ALL THIS SHIT WORKED AND HAD THEIR LINES MEMORIZED AND WE DIDNT BUT THEY LITERALLY HAD SIGNS AND SO MUCH KIND NICE INSTRUCTION FOR NEW PPL AND LIKE. I LOVE THEM

- THE LINES I KNEW I WAS SO GODDAMN HAPPY TO KNOW AND I EVEN YELLED OUT MY OWN ONES I CAME UP WITH AND THESE OLDER LADIES BEHIND US KNEW ALL THESE ORIGINAL ONES TOO

- “keep calm / don’t panic” or something like that and everyone just screamed in unison 😭 multiple times lol

- FORGOT TO GET US A PROP BAG BC WE GOT TO BE VIPS WHICH KILLED ME BUT IM GOING BACK ANYWAYS SOOOO 🤪🤪

- everyone had so many funny chants that kept surprising me but I was just singing along bc the songs already are just sOOOOO INCREDIBLY FUN anyways

- the improvisations by the cast were so consistently v funny, I loved them . and like everyone was trans!!! so many binders!!! it was incredible

- “-visitors, let alone offer them hospitality “HORSE BRUTALITY?” WAS SAID SOOO LOUD LMAO

- “it’s a Bird it’s a plane it’s SUPER ASSHOLE”

- THE WEAKLING WEIGHING 98 LBS CALLBACK LINE WAS EVERYONE JUST BEING MEAN TO BRAD AND IT WAS SOOO FUNNY LMAO

- EVERYONE THROWING UP TOLIET PAPER AND PARTY POPPERS AND CARDS IN THE AIR WAS SO BEAUTIFUL TO WATCH ACTUALLY <3

- THE BEDROOM SCENE OUR FRANK WAS LIKE “yep it’s totally me . Brad majors 😐 That’s me” not even TRYING and I fucking died lmao

- OH MY GOD. THE BEDROOM SCENES IN SILHOUETTE WHERE THEY HAD THEM PULL DIFF INSANE PROPS OUT OF BRAD AND JANETS ASSHOLES 💀💀💀💀 I WAS LIKE “THATS NOT HOT????”

- the Eddie chanting (“not the ass but the side!”) was SO FUN I WAS SO HAPPY I STUDIED FOR HOURS READING THE PARTICIPATION SCRIPTS LMAO

- Eddie live where they did the hand jive and I couldn’t do it fast enough and Rocky was wtaching me and said “IM LOOKING AT YOU”

- THE REVEAL OF EDDIE’S BODY WHERE THEY COULDNT HAVE HIM LYING UNDERNEATH THE TABLE SO THEY JUST HAD HIS ACTOR RUN OUT AND BE DEAD AS FAST AS POSSIBLE FHSAHSHHAHAHA

- them like “haha Dr Scott! we are eating ur nephew” 💀 #prankd

- I got to throw in my own little lines with like “You’re going to kill him? What’s his crime?”“WHATS NOT?” And I FELT SO FUNNY FOR IT

- riff saying “my most beautiful sister” and my friend (WHO HADNT FINISHED THE MOVIE) turning to me slowly like .. 😟?

- EVEN IN “IM GOING HOME” THEY STILL HAD CHANTS MAKING FUN OF IT FHAJQHS

- THEY DID SUPER HEROES AND I WENT “THANK YOU JESUS” ALOUD HFJSJW

- they had audience members also be the table Frank rides in the scene and the sonic oscillator which was so great!!! my FAVORITE of which was the cutie playing the globe at the end who got so dizzy she had to stop 😭❤️

- anyways it went crazy. pls go to Rocky horror if you get a chance asap!!!! go to events! be gay! it will change ur life

- <3 u rockyhorror :)

[tropes-and-tales]

Mismatched

December 4:  Cider/Moon - Matchmaking gone wrong (Frankie Morales x F!reader)

(From the winter prompts found here)

CW:  Angsty nonsense.  The keywords of “cider” and “moon” are like Carmen Sandeigo—see if you can find ‘em.

Word Count:  1261

AN:  There is a sequel here!

AN2:  Requested by anon!

Molly’s the one who sets it up.  She and Tom throw a party each autumn, timed to hit the local college’s homecoming.  They do all the autumn stuff:  set up a bonfire in their backyard, stock the party with hearty tail-gating type fare like hard ciders and brats and hot wings.

But in addition to playing at gracious hostess, Molly appoints herself as matchmaker for the evening.  She knows someone, a friend of a friend, and she thinks Frankie would be perfect for her.

“I don’t know, Molly,” Frankie says.  He takes off his hat, runs his fingers through his hair nervously.  He just finalized his divorce a six months earlier, and it left him wrung out and empty.  He only gets to see his infant daughter on the weekends.  He lives in a shitty one bedroom apartment, and he’s putting in hours at the local car shop since his pilot’s license was suspended.  He goes to group once a week to try and beat his addiction.  

In short, he doesn’t feel like he has much to offer anyone.

Molly nudges him as she walks past to get more ice for the cooler of beers out on the back porch.  “C’mon, Frank,” she says with a winsome smile.  “I talked you up to her.”

Frankie glances at Molly, then slides his gaze over to Tom.  The man remains mute, but he does offer a slight shrug as if to say, “what can it hurt?”

It can hurt quite a bit, as it turns out.

-----

Halfway through the evening, you arrive.  Frankie and the guys are circled up near the bonfire, chatting about old Delta stories, when Molly waves over at them from across the yard.  When they stand and stare at her, she makes a frustrated face, points at Frankie, and waves him over specifically.

“Looks like your date’s arrived, Fish,” Pope says with a shit-eating grin.

“Good luck with that, bud,” Benny adds, and Will gives him a mock-salute.

Frankie sighs and tugs at his shirt, winces at the wrinkles there.  He swears it looked fine when he put it on that afternoon, but now it’s wrinkled.  Makes him look even less pulled-together.

“Walking the plank,” Tom says as he walks away, and he sighs again, grumbles that he should have stayed home.

-----

The problem is, Frankie likes you immediately.  

You have some spark, some…something that makes him perk up and take notice of you a little more closely as Molly introduces the two of you.  Your hand is soft in his as you shake it, and you give him a bright smile that feels genuine.

And for a while, the two of you chat.  It’s all the usual small talk bullshit:  talk of the weather, of how each of you know Molly and Tom, of your lives.  Frankie is out of practice with women, with dating, but he tries.  He asks more questions, and he listens more than he talks.  He makes eye contact; he smiles.  He offers you a fresh drink.

You tell him about yourself and he hedges his replies about his own life.  Of course he doesn’t tell you he’s a recovering addict, that he works a minimum wage job changing the oil in cars because he lost his license to fly.  He does admit that he’s divorced and has an infant daughter, and he has no reason to think you feel any sort of way about those facts—you tilt your head sympathetically, you smile at him.

For the first time since his marriage fell apart so spectacularly, Frankie feels the faintest bit of hope, like the thin margin of dawn appearing over the horizon.  He feels like he might not always be alone, like the darkness is about to break.

It makes it hurt that much more, when he accidentally overhears you talking to Molly later.

-----

He doesn’t mean to eavesdrop.  He doesn’t even mean to split up with you, but it happens naturally:  you go to use the restroom, he goes to get you each a fresh drink.

Frankie wanders outside and is intercepted by Pope, and the two chat underneath a bedroom window that is open a crack.  Of course neither of them notice it until they hear voices—yours and Molly’s.  

“No, you were right,” they hear you say.  “He’s good-looking.”

Pope snorts at that, but he slaps Frankie’s chest, and the man can’t help but stand a little straighter, push his shoulders back—

“But c’mon, Mol…divorced with a kid?  I’m not signing up for that.  No thanks.”

Just like that, his misplaced hope, the bit of pride at your first words about him…it all flees him.  He’s deflated, just like that.

“Aw, shit, Fish,” Pope starts to mutter, but Frankie waves him off with a pained smile.  

“It’s fine,” he lies.  “No worries.”

-----

Frankie Morales may be divorced, a single father, an addict.  He may live in a shitty apartment with modular furniture.  He may fall asleep each night with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, the deep-seeded fear that his life is on a long, slow skid into despair.  

But he’s not an asshole.

He plasters a smile on his face.  He gets you a drink and finds you, presses it into your hand, accepts your thanks and its accompanying smile.

He doesn’t make a scene of it, but he doesn’t want to wait for the polite brush-off, the kindly lie where you pretend to want to go on a date and then ghost him or blow him off later.

“I’m not feeling very well,” he tells you, and it’s not a lie.  He just wants to get home.  Wants to take as hot of a shower as his apartment’s bathroom can muster, and then collapse into bed.

You respond sympathetically and that hurts too.  Frankie guesses that you’re probably a good person—you just don’t want him and his situation—and he tries not to take it personally.

“Do you need anything?” you ask.  “Need me to call you a cab or something?”

“Nah.”  He glances around the room, sees Pope whispering to Tom, and he guesses that the moment might slip out of his control.  Tom likes to drink at these things, and Frankie can picture the man approaching you, getting too close to you and demanding to know what’s wrong with Fish, giving you off-color stories about Fish’s time in the service—

“I’m gonna head out,” Frankie says, turning back to you.  He offers you another smile and holds out his hand.  “It was really nice to meet you.  I enjoyed talking to you.”

You take his hand in yours, and Frankie swallows down the disappointment.  He hadn’t asked Molly for her matchmaking skills but it had seemed so promising all the same…up until it wasn’t.

He doesn’t wait for you to give him the brush-off or some flimsy promise to make future plans.  He gives you a final nod and smile and then he turns to leave.  

Outside in the front of the house, it’s dark.  All of the warmth is inside or in the backyard, where the bonfire roars and where the sounds of music and laughter ring in the night.  Frankie trudges to his old truck, a beat-down wreck just like him.

So much for the darkness about to break.  He sits in his truck for a moment and sighs.  There’s no thin margin of light on the horizon after all—just endless darkness save for the fingernail of a crescent moon hanging in the sky.

[rafesveryrealgf]

Surf The Wave

(JJ Maybank x reader)

Warnings: kissing, Curse words, the word ‘baby’, lowkey soft!jj

Synopsis: JJ attempts to teach his girlfriend how to surf.

Living in the outer banks and never having surfed wasn’t something you often liked to admit, and it also wasn’t something that sat right with your boyfriend, JJ. Being his girlfriend meant hours at the beach watching him and the Pogues surf and to be quite frank, you didn’t like that you couldn’t be out there with them, surfing the waves.

You wanted to surf, but it looked far too difficult so you never gave it a shot.

But JJ was determined to get you in the water, surfing waves by the end of summer.

You two were hanging at the Chateau with the Pogues, who were off doing their own things, when JJ decided today was the day he was going to teach you.

“Okay, so,” JJ claps his hands together, bringing you out your daze. “We’re surfing today, and you’re coming,”

You chuckled, smiling up at your boyfriend who hovered over you as you sat down on a stool that was place outside. “Yes..” you replied slowly. “don’t I always?”

He bends down to kiss you. “Nah, Baby, today is gonna be a little different.”

You hummed against his lips. “How’s that?”

“We’re teaching you how to surf.”

You quickly pulled away, smiling at his enthusiasm.

“JJ, I’m gonna suck,” you whined.

“Practice makes perfect, baby. Get your swimsuit on.” He quickly kissed you before running to get the rest of your friends.

You threw your head back like a child about to throw a tantrum before going inside to grab your spare swimsuit that you would leave at the Chateau incase you were in need of one.

You, JJ, and the rest of the Pogues hopped out the van when you arrived at the beach. John b. and Sarah walked hand in hand down to the water, while Pope and Kiara got their boards and made their way down to the water, following John b. and Sarah.

You and JJ hopped out the van last and made your way to the back of the van to get your boards. You crossed your arms and looked over your shoulder while JJ was busy getting the boards out the back.

He grabbed your board first placing it in front of you for you to grab when he noticed you were anxiously scanning the perimeter. “What’s wrong, baby?”

“I’m gonna embarrass myself. I just know it.” You frowned, looking down.

“Look, you’re gonna do great? And I’ll be right beside you the whole time, alright?” He reassuringly rubbed your arm to ease the angsty feeling.

It helped a little.

“Thank you,” You smiled at the blond haired boy, and grabbed your board before laying a kiss on his soft, pink lips.

He returned the smiled and kissed back before grabbing the other board out the van. “Let’s go,” he jerked his head sideways.

You both walked down to the beach, hand in hand, while your other arm carried your surf board.

By the time you made it down, your friends had already made it into the water. Sarah and John b. were splashing around while Pope and Kiara were paddling their surfboards.

You both swam out into the water until you could no longer touch the seabed, you both set your boards in the water and sat on them with both legs dangling on either side of the board.

He pushed up off the board and landed on his feet with his arms swaying by his side. “Alright, now first step is… learning how to stand up on the board.”

You rolled your eyes. “That should be easy.”

You got up on your hands to duplicate JJ’s moves “Shit.” as soon as you hopped up, the board flipped over, sending you sideways into the water.

When you re-emerged from the water with a smug look on your face, JJ, who was back on his stomach, waiting for you to come up, couldn’t contain his laugh.

“Ha. Ha. Laugh it up.” You gave him a sarcastic smile, and made your way back on the board so you could try again.

“Okay, okay. let’s try again, yeah?” He reached his arm out for you to grab his hand.

It had been 20 minutes of nonstop trying to balance yourself on your board at this point, and in all honesty you didn’t know how much more you could take.

You both stood at the same time as he helped you balance yourself.

“Alright, you gotta balance yourself,” he stated, getting ready to let go of your hand.

“JJ, no. wait!” You gripped his hand tighter. “I’m gonna fall.”

“You got this baby, c’mon.” He let go of your hand.

And.. you did it, you balanced yourself on your board.

“Look at you! First step down.” He smiled.

“That’s enough for me, I’m ready to go home.” You bring yourself back on your stomach, looking defeated.

[motownfiction]

and the rot sets in

About a month after his father’s death, Daniel goes to the cemetery to see him.

He thinks it’s a little weird that Frank was buried. Who was there to put him in the ground? He has siblings, but do they care? Maybe they’re all just so afraid of the pope they put their animosity aside to make sure none of them went to hell. That sounds about right. If Daniel remembers anything about his father’s brother, it was that he used the Bible to forgive himself for everything. No matter the shit he did, he thought that book was a forcefield.

You could say a lot about Frank, but at least he didn’t do that.

Daniel knows where they buried him. Lola went to the funeral, and she let him know. She even volunteered to come with him today, but Daniel wouldn’t let her. He knew he had to go alone. He always has to go alone. This is between a man and his father’s corpse.

When he gets to the headstone, he’s not really sure what he’s doing here. Either one of them, actually. Daniel didn’t go to the funeral for a reason. But he had to go today. Alone. In the extended winter that just won’t end, he had to come here, and he had to see this. To know that it’s nothing. To know that granite and dirt have no power over him. Not Frank’s granite or Frank’s dirt, anyway. Daniel wonders if he was afraid that his father’s wrist would shoot up from the grass and pull him under, below the earth, below Hell, where a guy like him belongs. He’s talking about Frank when he says a guy like him. Not himself. Not anymore.

He can’t think so badly of himself anymore. Not with three kids who think the world of him. Not with the life he’s lucky enough to have.

He looks down at Frank’s gravestone again.

No thanks to you.

Somebody’s listening to a radio somewhere in the background. A groundskeeper, cleaning up the place, taking advantage of the fact that there’s almost no one in the cemetery to offend. Daniel closes his eyes and tries to hear the song.

Drums keep pounding rhythm to the brain …

Daniel laughs. He doesn’t know why, but Sonny and Cher are the perfect singers for the first time a neglected son visits his deadbeat father’s resting place. Something about the irony.

He turns around and doesn’t look back. He does not need to come here anymore. Not for himself, anyway.

As he walks to his car, he passes the groundskeeper. For a moment, he’s horrified to be listening to pop music in front of a mourner, but Daniel shoots him a rare toothy smile. He relaxes. They both do.

And the beat goes on.

And the rot sets in.

The beat goes on.

(part of @nosebleedclub january challenge -- day 31! i'm pretty happy with the vignettes this month! in february, i'm splitting the time between prompts for this blog & my other blog, so stay tuned! i'm excited 💕)

[chicaotaku-fanfics]

There's Three of You?! Pt.17

This is the previous to last part of the entire arc, sorry for being so late, but here it is, hope you enjoy!

Warnings: foul language, might be some medical inconsistencies

CHAPTER 17

I arrive at Gaffney the next day, and find out thanks to Maggie that the three Halsteads are at the hospital, meaning that yes, our strange overdose case was in fact Intelligence’s case. I thanked her for the heads up and went to leave my stuff in my locker, when she yelled for me again, but this time she too called for Dr. Manning.

We treated the patient and stabilized her, and before I knew it, Natalie had disappeared with our new patient’s purse.

JAY’S P.O.V

We were at a conference room at Med, we had a board with the three overdosed women’s pictures up and were discussing what had happened to them, when Natalie opened the door and came in.

“Sorry to interrupt. A new patient just rolled into the ED. Unconscious, pancytopenic just like the others.” she started, we all looked at her and then between each other. “Look, I don't know if this is legal, but, right now, I really don't care.” she added, lifting a woman’s purse and leaving it on the table. “That's her stuff. Have at it.” she said.

“Thank you” Erin said, while emptying the contents of the purse on the table for all of us to check.

Natalie turned to leave after saying something about ordering a mass spectrometry.

Gotta ask Lilly about it.

“Uh, Leah has Dani Frank, Carol Shepperd, and Jessica Pope as contacts on her phone.” said Kevin.

“All our victims knew each other.” said Erin

“Yeah, looks like that.” Kevin said. Just then Antonio ended the call with the insurance company and gave us a name.

“I got a name. Dr. Dean Reybold.” he said. Voight’s and Erin’s expressions changed, they looked like they’d seen a ghost.

Him, Erin and Al all exited the room, and Antonio, Kevin, Adam and I were confused beyond belief.

LILLY’S P.O.V

As the day progressed I regularly checked on our newest patient, Leah Kamen, who had the same symptoms as our other three “cancer” patients. And when her mass spect came back, we confirmed it, loaded on chemo, never had cancer.

I’m not liking this at all.

At some point in the day, Jay sent me a message that only managed to confuse me even more.

From: Jaybird 💙

Need to meet you at the precinct.

To: Jaybird 💙

Ok, meet you there in 20.

I notified Maggie, and asked her to tell Goodwin just in case. I made my way to the doctors lounge to change my lab coat for my jacket and inside were Connor, Sarah, and Will.

“Hey you. Where’re you going?” asked Will.

“To the 21st.” I said, the three people inside looked shocked.

“What? Why?” asked Connor, his tone laced with worry.

“Did something happen?” asked Reese, then Natalie entered the room.

“All good in here?” she asked, I nodded.

“I’ll be back later, I told Maggie about me having to leave, and told her to let Goodwin know just in case.” I explain, grabbing my car keys, phone and wallet and making my way out.

I made my way to the precinct, parked outside and made it inside, at the same time, Jay was coming down the stairs to the lobby.

“You’re here, great. Come with me.” he said, I followed him, barely being able to nod towards Sergeant Platt.

We made our way upstairs and everyone was there, looking at the steps as if not to miss us coming up.

“Hey, what’s up?” I asked, everyone turned to look at Jay.

“Do you still have your student doctor scrubs and coat?” he asked.

“Stupid question, of course I do. Why?” I asked him.

“Do they still fit?” he asked instead of answering.

“Yes. Why? Why do those scrub matter?” I asked, beyond confused.

“You’re going undercover. We’ll send you in as a med student who wants to do their oncology residency at a private practice.” said Voight from the other side of the room.

“Oh-kay, you do know that I’ll need papers right? Also, by the sour look on Erin’s face, I can tell something went wrong.” I said. I heard Ruzek groan and turned to see him hand a $20 bill to Atwater. “What just happened?” I asked them.

“Atwater bet that you’d know Erin was pissed just by looking at her, but Ruzek didn’t believe it.” said Al, I just shrugged.

“About the papers, don’t worry, we have them.” Voight said, extending a file towards me.

I opened it and started reading.

“Miranda Walter, 4th year med student, and the rest is pretty much my file back in UC.” I said, everyone fell silent. “What?” I asked.

“You’re telling us, that you had the best grades of your generation, and were a candidate for valedictorian?” asked Atwater.

“I was valedictorian at my highschool graduation.” I said, that made everyone look shocked.

“Girl, what was your GPA?” asked Ruzek.

“Constant 4.0 GPA from junior high to high school.” I said, I could pretty much hear Ruzek and Atwater’s jaws hit the floor. “I know, I know, I was a nerd. Moving on… what do I have to do?” I asked Voight.

WILL’S P.O.V

One thing was knowing that my sister occasionally worked with Jay, another one entirely different is seeing her leave because Jay texted her.

“What just happened?” asked Nat.

“That was my sister… going to give a medical consultation to my brother at the 21st.” I said.

I mean, she told me she’s the medical consultant for the unit.

“Medical consult? Why? I don’t see why she’d be needed there, don’t the police have medical examiners?” asked Nat again, confused and, if I were crazy to think it, a bit jealous?

“Well, they’re dealing with people who’re still alive, Nat, so I guess they do need her input.” said Connor.

“This just got ten times more complicated.” I said, then sighed.

“You can say that again.” said Reese.

“Well, no time for that.” said Connor, this time pointing towards the nurses desk, we all turned and Maggie was practically two seconds away from bursting inside the lounge. “Looks like she’ll come here to drag our asses back to the ED all by herself.” he said, I snorted and nodded.

“Back to work then.” I said.

LILLY’S P.O.V

I had successfully made it inside Dr.Reybold’s practice, he trusted me right off the bat, and that made my job 100 times easier.

Certainly, this guy isn’t smart at all. Just arrogant.

The glasses I had were in reality a little camera that recorded everything said and done during the day. This went on for a relatively short time, considering that we didn’t have much time left.

“Hey Miranda, I need your help.” said the blonde assistant.

“Sure Elena, what’s up?” I asked her.

“I know you’re on your way to a fancy medical degree, but I need you to help me with some things.” she said, that raised alarm bells all over me.

“Sure thing, what do you need help with?” I asked her.

“Just need to shred some things.” she said, I got suspicious.

“Shred? What would we need to shred?” I asked her as innocently as I could.

“Oh, just some old patient files, nothing serious.” she said, as if it was nothing. I kept my cool.

“Why would we need to shred patient files?” I asked

“Some of them have, sadly, passed already, and some went to see another doctor. The paper file is kept as a formality, since now everything is digital.” Elena said

“Oh, so it’s kind of like cleaning up?” I asked her, she nodded, “Okay then, go on ahead and I’ll catch up with as soon as I go to the restroom, okay?” I asked, and she nodded again and left.

As I turned, I saw Reybold’s law team enter a conference room with him.

I took out my phone and texted Jay the safe word.

To: Jaybird 💙

Mermaid

JAY’S P.O.V

I received Lilly’s text, I looked at everyone.

“We move out. She texted the safe word.” I said, we started moving. Voight turned to me.

“Tell her we’ll maintain the cover just until we get Reybold outta here.” he said, I nodded and texted her one last time.

To: Lilyflower 🪷

Copied. Antonio will cuff you to maintain your cover.

From: Lilyflower 🪷

10-4.

We entered the practice and spread out, Erin and I went straight to the conference room where Dr. Reybold was. As I opened the door, I managed to catch the last part of what his lawyer was saying.

“It's just preemptive. They're just looking for…” she cut herself off.

“Sergeant!” Erin exclaimed, calling for Voight, I went inside the room.

“Where's the warrant?” she asked, I aggressively handed her the paper. She took it and gave it a quick read. “So you came here with a hastily written and narrowly defined search warrant to what? Upset my clients' patients?” she asked.

“Your client has been diagnosing patients with cancer they don't have to fleece them with treatments they don't need. I'd say he's the one upsetting them.” said Erin, coming to my side.

“This is absurd.” he said, then Voight came in and everything in Reybold’s expression changed.

Luckily, everything went as planned, and I ended up arresting Reybold for obstruction of justice, per Voight’s instructions. Just as I walked out with him, Antonio was walking out with Lilly, and Kevin with the assistant.

“Miranda, Elena, don’t worry, everything will be okay.” the man said.

“Actually it will. Because you won’t harm anyone else.” I said. Kevin followed after me, and Antonio behind him.

LILLY’S P.O.V

We made it back to the precinct and after making sure neither Reybold nor Elena were nearby, Antonio uncuffed me.

“Didn’t hurt you, did I?” he asked.

“Nah, all good. I’ve got some very interesting things I need to show you.” I said, tapping the black frames. He smiled.

“Good girl. Go change, I’ll set it up.” he said, gently removing the glasses from my face.

I went to my locker here, courtesy of Sergeant Platt, and then changed into something more «me»: some dark skinny jeans, black sneakers, a purple button up shirt, and my wrist watch.

I went to the bullpen and except for Erin, everyone was there. My footsteps alerted everyone of my coming in.

“Hope you got what you needed.” I said, referring to the video on the screen of my brother’s desk.

“It’s enough to charge the assistant with obstruction of justice and destruction of medical records, as well as destruction of evidence in a police investigation.” said Antonio.

“Good.” I said, just then, Erin came back upstairs.

“The best the DA can do with the files recovered is charge him for fraud.” she said, clearly mad.

I was about to say something, when my phone rang, silencing everyone.

“Halstead.” I answered.

“Yes, I know who you are, that’s why I called you.” Will’s voice answered me back. “But, the reason I called you is because Jessica Pope didn’t make it. She was just pronounced dead.” he said, I let out a sigh. “I’m sorry.” he added.

“Me too. Thanks.” I said, then hung up. I turned to everyone. “Jessica Pope didn’t make it.” I said, everyone’s expression was serious.

“We need to nail this son of a bitch.” said Voight. “And I know who else can help us.” he said, before taking his leather jacket and leaving the precinct.

I checked my watch and groaned. “I better go, I still got three hours of my shift and all my stuff’s still at the hospital.” I said. “Anything you need, have Jay text me.” I added.

“Sure thing.” said Atwater, Jay stood up and walked to me, following me to the locker room.

“Hey.” he said, I looked at him, he opened his arms and I accepted the hug. “Excellent job out there.” he whispered into my ear.

“Thanks.” I said, squeezing him a bit tighter, it felt good. After a few seconds, he let go.

“Just, fair warning: we might need you to testify.” he said, placing a hand on my shoulder, I nodded.

“Yeah, I figured. If it wasn’t on your side, Reybold’s lawyer will find a way to get me on the stand.” I said, a chill running down my spine at the thought. “Better convince that DA… Dana, is it? To hurry up with the case, if not… we know what’ll happen.” I added.

“Yeah, something neither of us want to happen.” he said, I nodded, hugging him again and then grabbing my stuff -namely my bag with my scrubs, wallet, phone and car keys- and turned to look at my brother.

“Like I said, text me if you need anything.” I said, he nodded and accompanied me to my car.

“Drive safe.” he said, I smiled at him.

“Always. See you tonight for a movie?” I asked.

“If we don’t get stuck here late, sure.” he said with a small smile on his face. “Love you Lillyflower.” he added.

“Love you too Jaybird.” I said, starting my car and driving to the hospital.

Please, God I beg you, don’t let this guy get away with it.

I made it back to the hospital in time for Maggie to call my name. I walked over to her, dreading what she’d say.

“New patient for you in treatment 5. 14 year old boy fell off his skateboard, dislocated shoulder, jaw, and a broken ankle. Possible concussion too.” I looked at her in shock.

“I get the head injury for not wearing a helmet, broken ankle and the dislocated shoulder might be from a bad landing… but the jaw?” I asked the head nurse.

“His friend accidentally ran over him, the impact went to his jaw. As a consequence, the friend is treated by your brother for a broken arm and scraped knees.” she said, I winced from the pain.

“Yikes… okay, I’ll leave this and grab my coat, I’ll change into my scrubs after seeing the kid.” I said, I went to the doctors lounge, barged in, left my bag as it was in my locker, changed my jacket for my coat, and made my way over to Maggie to grab the iPad with the patient file and treat the kid.

CONNOR’S P.O.V

I was in the doctors lounge, literally catching a small break to check the new medical journal when the door swung open. I raised my head to see Lilly barge in, change her jacket for her lab coat and leave again.

Just when I thought that’d be all the movement I’d be seeing, in came Will. He noticed Lilly’s bag on her locker, and her jacket on the hamper.

“I guess my tornado of a little sister came back?” he asked with an amused look on his face.

“She literally threw her bag in there and swapped her jacket for her coat. No second glance at the room.” I answered, Will snorted as he made himself a coffee.

“That’s her alright. Always making her presence known… even if she doesn’t notice.” he said with a fond smile on his face.

He looks kinda cute smiling like that.

Wait.

WHAT?

“Hey, you good? She didn’t scare you, did she?” asked the redhead in front of me, I nodded.

“Yeah, it was just surprising… to say the least.” I said. Will handed me a cup of coffee, making me realize that he had made two cups, not just one like I had originally thought.

“What you reading?” he asked, coming to sit beside me on the couch and looking at my tablet’s screen from over my shoulder.

“New medical journal. Wanna read it with me?” I asked, he nodded, a pink blush appearing on his cheeks.

He looks cute when he blushes.

OKAY! Connor Rhodes, STOP IT!

LILLY’S P.O.V

I checked the kid’s x-rays and managed to set his jaw and shoulder back into place without much trouble, then I asked for another set of x-rays to make sure everything was put back into place correctly.

Okay, all is back where it should be, thank God.

I then called ortho for a consult in regards to the kid’s ankle.

“Okay Emilio, I’ve set everything up for your CT. While you’re in there, I’ll get another doctor for a consult and work on fixing your ankle, alright?” I asked him, he nodded. A little bit overenthusiastically. “Careful. Your head isn’t 100% healed, remember?” I asked him again.

“Sorry Dr. Halstead.” he said, I gave him a small smile.

“It’s okay Emilio, all’s good.” just as I said that, April came in to take Emilio to his CT, I nodded and off he went.

I used that time to go back to the doctors lounge, grab my bag, head to the bathroom and change back into my scrubs.

I came back out, finally looking like a doctor, when Maggie shot me a teasing look.

“Don’t start Maggie, please.” I said, already knowing what she was gonna say.

“I haven’t said anything Lillian… though if you must know, it looks like you have a new admirer.” she said, mischief in her gleaming smile. I groaned.

“Maggie! No! He’s 14 years old!” I said, she laughed.

“Didn’t you see how he practically melted when you started treating him? You left him speechless when you walked into the treatment room.” she said, just then, Will and Connor joined us.

“Who did my sister leave speechless?” asked Will.

“Her new admirer. Emilio Acosta, 14 year old boy and Dr. Halstead’s new patient.” she said, tone teasing, I blushed.

“For the love of God Maggie! Stop!” I said, covering my face.

“So another broken heart for your jar of hearts dear sister?” asked Will, I slapped him in the chest.

“Shut it. And I don’t have a jar of hearts!” I said, he looked at me.

“Oh really? Then what about Tommy Maguire, Henry Yule, Dan Stewart, Greg Thompson…” he started the list, I slapped my hand on top of his mouth to shut him up.

“Okay, okay, shut it! Not my fault they had crushes on me!” I said, Maggie and Connor sneakered.

“Looks to me like our dear Lilly is a serial heartbreaker.” said Connor, I turned to him.

“Not you too.” I said, they all laughed. 

Then my phone pinged with a text message notification. I checked it, it was Jay.

From: Jaybird 💙

We’re going to court for homicide, you’re the ace up our sleeve.

To: Jaybird 💙

Good. Text me when I’ll have to be there.

From: Jaybird 💙

Officially, someone will send a citation with the details, but heads up, court date is THIS FRIDAY

To: Jaybird 💙

So, three days from now?

From: Jaybird 💙

Exactly.

To: Jaybird 💙

Ok.

Some time later, I had the results for Emilio’s CT and I went to his room, the mom had finally arrived.

“Hi, I’m Dr. Halstead, I’m treating Emilio.” I introduced myself to her.

“Elena Sandoval, Emi’s mom. His father will be here shortly, he’s parking the car.” She said, I nodded. Not two seconds later, the man came in… Emilio’s reaction and the vibe I got from him was enough to know the kid wasn’t comfortable.

“What did you do this time?” Asked the man, serious tone in his voice, I was surprised.

Normally when your kid has a broken bone or straight up ends in a hospital, you should be worried, not ready to kill them.

“Mr. Acosta. I’m-“ he rudely cut me off.

“Can you get the doctor that’s treating my son? We need discharge papers and then we’ll leave.” He said, focused on his phone instead of me.

“I’m Dr. Halstead. I’m treating your son, and he’s not going anywhere until the orthopedist comes for a consultation regarding Emilio’s broken ankle. And, as I was about to tell your wife-“ he cut me off again.

“Ex wife.” He said sharply.

I’m going to kill this man if he keeps this attitude up.

“As I was telling Ms. Sandoval, Emilio suffered a fall which resulted in a dislocated jaw and shoulder, those have been fixed already; but he still sustained a concussion, and has a broken ankle.” I explained, I saw the father about to talk, I managed to cut him off. “Now, the CT scan came back clear, so we have nothing to worry about in that regard. Meaning, the only remaining issue is the ankle. Dr. Valdoza should be here shortly to discuss treatments and course of action.” I said, just then, the orthopedist came into the room.

“I was paged?” asked the older woman, I smiled at her.

“Yes. Dr. Valdoza, this is Emilio Acosta, he broke his ankle while at the skate park earlier this afternoon.” I explained.

“The x-rays?” she asked, I showed her the iPad in my hand. “Thankfully it’s a clean break, meaning Emilio won’t need surgery to fix this. I’ll go for the necessary materials for a cast… that means, Emilio gets to choose the color.” said the woman, Emilio’s eyes lit up.

“Really?” he asked, his father interrupted.

“May I ask where did both of you get your medical license?” asked the man.

“Raúl…” started the mom, he cut her off very rudely.

“Mujer, si crees que me creo por un segundo que este par de inútiles tiene licencias médicas, te equivocas. Las mujeres solo sirven para cuidar de la casa y tener hijos.*” said the man, I was shocked.

And if I show him I understood everything?

“Lamento desilusionarle Sr. Acosta, pero mi licencia médica me la aprobó el IDFPR, al igual que la licencia de la Dra. Valdoza. Se las podemos mostrar si gusta.**” I said, with my most fake sweet tone, he looked at me with a scowl on his face.

“Estoy bien, gracias.***” he said, mad at being caught.

“Muy bien, la Dra. Valdoza vendrá en breve con los materiales para el yeso de Emilio.****” I said, Emilio’s eyes were even brighter.

“¡¿Hablas español?!*****” he asked, I nodded, then turned to the nurses desk.

“April, would you be so kind to come here for a second and keep Mr. Acosta and Emilio company? I need to talk to Ms. Sandoval about something.” I said, the man in the room looked ready to kill me.

“Ella no sale de este cuarto sin mi permiso.******” said the man.

“Señor Acosta, no creo que le guste que llame a seguridad para que sea uno de los guardias quien le haga compañía en lugar de una de las enfermeras.*******” I said, he clenched his fists. “Hablaré con la señora Sandoval, con o sin su permiso, ella no es de su propiedad.********” I said, then took the mother away.

“April, just in case, call Earl, and have him stand outside the door, out of the father’s line of sight, please.” I whispered to the nurse, she nodded.

I took the woman to an empty conference room and started talking to her.

“Mire señora Sandoval, no quiero parecer entrometida… pero su ex esposo parece ser un hombre agresivo. Emiliano se tensó apenas lo vio entrar en la sala.*********” I said to her, she let out a long sigh and then looked at me.

“Raúl siempre ha sido de carácter fuerte. Tengo el presentimiento que fue maltratado de pequeño, el problema es que se desquita con sus palabras y actitudes hacia mí y a las mujeres en general.**********” she said, I nodded.

“No tiene que tolerar esa actitud. Ese hombre dice que ya es su ex, ¿tiene la custodia completa de su hijo?***********” I asked, she nodded.

“El problema es que no respeta el hecho de que Emilio le tiene miedo. Ha sido tan severo con él desde que era pequeño, que Emi le llama «señor».************” that made alarms ring in my head.

“No debería de ser así. Si no se siente segura, o si siente que Emi no está a salvo en la presencia de su padre, puede decirme, notificaré a la policía y se lo llevarán. Con ese arresto podrá pedir una orden de alejamiento y se le concederá con mayor facilidad.*************” I said, Ms. Sandoval’s eyes were red-rimmed and glossy.

“¿Haría eso por nosotros? Apenas nos conoce.**************” she said, I just nodded, a small smile on my face.

“Es mi trabajo como doctora abogar por el bien de mis pacientes y sus familiares, y en este momento, alejar a ese hombre de ustedes es lo mejor para Emilio y para usted.”***************” I told her, she smiled and threw herself at me and wrapped me in what can only be described as a bear hug.

“Gracias. Gracias, gracias, gracias. Raúl siempre lograba hacerme parecer como una «loca paranoica», es por eso que nadie nunca hizo nada, porque eran «temas familiares». El que usted me crea… es mucho más de lo que jamás imaginé.***************” she said, still hugging me, I hugged back.

“Notificaré a mi jefa y luego ella notificará a la policía. Su pesadilla está por acabar señora Sandoval.*****************” I said, she nodded against my neck and then she pulled back.

I took out my phone and texted Maggie.

To: Mama Bear 🐻

Mags, about the kid in 5

His father is emotionally abusing him. I asked April to keep an eye on him.

Earl’s outside the door just in case.

Please tell Goodwin. Have her call CPD.

From: Mama Bear 🐻

You got it BabyBloom.

I turned to the woman before me and smiled.

“Está hecho. La jefa de enfermeras está enterada y ella le notificará a mi jefa en breve.******************” I told her, she nodded and we made our way back to the treatment room.

“Well Ms. Sandoval, as I told you, the aftercare is pretty easy, just make sure Emilio doesn’t put any pressure on that ankle, when lying down have the foot elevated, he’ll be in crutches or maybe a wheelchair if it’s more comfortable for him.” I said, she nodded.

“A wheelchair?! My son is not an invalid!” exclaimed the father, it took everything in me not to roll my eyes at him.

“Sir this is just a precaution. Your son did break his ankle after all, we don’t want him coming back to the ED in need of surgery.” I said to the man, he pretty much snared at me.

“Are you sure your license is valid? I can bet a real doctor will look at my son’s x-ray and say he’s really okay and reveal you only want to cash out some of the insurance money.” said the man, my eyes went from kind hazelnut to deadly russet.

“Sir, are you by any chance a doctor?” I asked him.

“No, I’m a businessman. But-” I cut him off, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Atwater, Ruzek and Burgess entering the ED.

“Didn’t think so. Now, I would appreciate it if you thought you know how to do my job better than me. So, if you could kindly shut up and follow the officers that have just arrived, that would be great.” I said, he froze at the mention of the officers, he turned and saw the three members of Intelligence behind me.

“You… maldita perra-*****************” he started to say.

“Yo no amenazaría a una mujer frente a un oficial de policía si fuese usted.******************” I said, smugness overflowing my tone and expression, he was removed from the room in handcuffs.

“Thanks guys” I said to Burgess, as she was the closest to me.

“Don’t mention it. Remember your court date on Friday.” she said before leaving.

With that done, the day was officially over for me, I went back to the room just in time to watch Dr. Valdoza finish putting the bright green cast on Emilio’s foot and leg. She smiled at me, I returned the smile, then I turned to the kid and his mom, Ms. Sandoval looked at me and smiled, mouthing out a thank you. I smiled and nodded.

Friday came very quickly, I had requested the day off, knowing I’d be at the courthouse all day. I woke up early, jumped in the shower, and once done got dressed in a white blouse, a black blazer on top, black dress pants, black heels, my heart necklace and earrings. Got my makeup done, and then got my phone, headphones, the copy of my CPD contract, my badge and car keys in a small brown purse and went to the kitchen to get my coffee ready. I got the finishing touches and made my way to my car.

Once at the courthouse, I met with everyone outside. The one who I didn’t expect to see was Dr. Charles.

“Dr. Charles.” I said as a greeting.

“Dr. Halstead. Pleasure seeing you here today.” he said, I nodded and we all headed inside.

The trial started and, halfway through Dr. Charles’s cross examination, everything was going well, but Dr. Charles’s diagnosis on Reybold was something I had already suspected.

“My conversation with Dr. Reybold coupled with a look at his history led me to a clear diagnosis of psychopathy.” Dr. Charles started his explanation. “The psychopathic mind lacks fear, remorse, empathy.” he continued, telling everyone something I had known for years now, as well as my brother and every member of the Intelligence Unit present there. “In essence, it can't connect to or care about others. That's Dr. Reybold.” he concluded.

“But he's a doctor.” said Ms. Shelby, the ADA “Doesn't that suggest empathy or caring?” she added, looking at the jury.

“Well, you'd be shocked how many functional psychopaths are in the world, you know, attracted to power, control. Flaunting his success rates, the therapies only he can administer, belittling his patients to keep them under his control. «I'm the one with the medical degree», he would say to his patients.” added the psychiatrist.

“You know this how?” she asked.

“Because he told me.” answered the doctor.

“I renew my objection. This entire conversation…” started the dirty blonde lawyer, but was cut off.

“Was a spontaneous admission that has already been ruled on.” said the ADA.

“Agreed. Overruled. Continue, Ms. Shelby.” said the judge.

“So Dr. Reybold would ask his patients if they had a medical degree?” asked Dana.

“And made sure they knew he was the only one who could save them. Those are actual words from our conversation.” said Dr. Charles. I was disgusted by that behavior.

“Thank you, Dr. Charles.” said Dana, as a way to show she was done before going back to her seat.

“Well, let's talk about that conversation. Was it at your office?” said Reybold’s lawyer.

“No.” was the simple answer.

“At the court? Ordered by a judge?” she continued with the assault of questions.

“Nope.” again the psychiatrist gave a negative answer

“Did Dr. Reybold know he was being interviewed?” asked the lady, and I was two seconds away from strangling her.

If she’s like this with Dr. Charles, I don’t even wanna imagine how she’ll act when I take to the stand.

“As I said before, it was not an interview. It was two doctors striking up a conversation.” said Dr. Charles.

“Where did this conversation take place?” asked the lawyer.

“In a coffee shop.” said Dr. Charles.

“Near your house?” asked the blonde woman.

“No.” Dr. Charles said.

“Your office?” she asked again.

“No.” he answered again.

It got to the point where I completely tuned out of the trial. The woman was roasting Dr. Charles for literally just cooperating with a police investigation, but what brought me back was a comment she made towards the end.

“Ever socialize with members of the intelligence unit, Dr. Charles? Perhaps at a bar called Molly's?” she asked this time.

“I have.” he answered.

“So they're friends of yours?” she asked, now I knew what she wanted to do.

“My report on Dr. Reybold is an unbiased analy…” he was cut off.

“That wasn't the question.” she said, a smirk on her face.

“I know them through work and would be very proud to call them my friends.” he said.

“No further questions.” she said, going back to her seat, I could only worry about how this would look for us.

“I would like to call our next witness to the stand, Dr. Lillian Halsted.” said Dana, I stood up, fixed my blouse and blazer and made my way down to the stand. I could see Reybold and his lawyer’s shocked expressions when I walked by.

I pledged to speak the truth and took my seat at the stand.

Time to fix the image of the unit’s investigation and bury this son of a bitch.

“Please state your full name for the record.” said Dana.

“I’m Dr. Lillian Marianne Halstead.” I said.

“What’s your profession Dr. Halstead?” she asked.

“I’m an emergency medicine doctor working at Gaffney Chicago Medical Center. And I’m also, occasionally, the medical consultant for the Intelligence Unit of the Chicago’s Police Department District 21.” I said, I could tell the exact moment realization hit Reybold’s lawyer.

“Could you tell me, were you involved in the treatment of any of the three patients, Jessica Pope, Dani Frank or Carol Shepperd?” she asked me, I nodded before answering.

“Yes, I was involved in Jessica’s Pope care as a consultant doctor. As well as Carol Shepperd.” I said.

“How did you get involved in their care?”  Dana asked me, then Reybold’s lawyer intervened.

“Objection. Your Honor, this girl said that she was a 4th year medical student going by the name Miranda Walter. This is clearly some ploy to destroy my client’s reputation.” she said.

“I’m inclined to agree… does the witness have a way to explain the deception?” asked the judge.

Thank God I came prepared.

“Yes Your Honor, I have a way to explain. With me I have the copy of my contract with the CPD, as well as the highlighted section where it covers the need for me to go occasionally undercover, all tied in a pretty red bow with this.” I said, producing said document, and my police badge from my purse. “The contract is real and legally binding.” I said.

“I’ll accept the document and badge. Proceed Ms. Shelby.” said the judge.

“Could you please explain how you got involved in the care of Jessica Pope and Carol Shepperd?” asked the DA.

“Yes. Jessica wasn’t originally my patient, I had been treating a firefighter from FireHouse 51, Christopher Herrmann, when her doctor and my colleague, Dr. Ethan Choi asked me to take a look at her charts, to see if I could see something strange, or notice if he had missed anything.” I started retelling the story of the last three days in the ED.

“What did you find?” asked Dana.

“I found the same thing he did; abnormalities. Originally, Jessica had been brought in because of smoke inhalation, it was just that her blood results just didn't make sense.” I said, pausing for a second, I then turned to the jury. “Normally, fire and smoke inhalation victims show a high white count from stress demargination. But Jessica, her cell count was low across the board. Something that worried both Dr. Choi and me.” I said, turning back to Dana.

“What happened next?” she asked.

“Objection Your Honor, are we here for a trial or a storytelling session?” asked the rude lawyer.

“Overruled. Continue, Dr. Halstead.” said the judge.

Thank God. 

“Thank you, Your Honor. Next, student doctor Sarah Reese suggested a mass spectrometry to be done on Jessica, by this point, my brother -Dr. William Halstead- had already gotten involved. We went through with the mass spect, hoping to get some answers, and we did.” I said. “The results showed that Jessica had an overdose of chemo, in fact she had seven times the regular amount. And on top of that, we discovered that she didn’t have cancer.” I added.

“What did you do when you found out?” asked Ms. Shelby.

“I went back to my patient. I then heard through the speaker system that another colleague, Dr. Rhodes, was needed in the ED. That’s when Dani came into the picture. Sadly, despite Dr. Rhodes’s and my brother’s best efforts, Dani passed away, at 16:21 that afternoon.” I said, looking down, the pain of losing a patient evident in my expression and voice. “Later, Dr. Charles ordered an autopsy, I was notified of it when I got a page to go to the morgue.” I added.

“You’re talking of Dani Frank, another one of the fraud victims, correct?” asked Dana.

“Yes, that is correct.” I said.

“And at what point did you get involved in Ms. Shepperd’s care?”  she asked me.

“When Dr. Charles came to me in confidence, and asked me if I didn’t find it strange that despite Dr. Natalie Manning’s best efforts, she didn’t seem to improve.” I said honestly.

“And what did you do next?”

“I got clearance and ordered a mass spectrometry and some biomarkers on Carol Shepperd. The results? The same as Jessica and Dani: an overdose of chemo for a cancer she never had.” I concluded.

“Thank you Dr. Halstead, no more questions.” said Dana, nodding at me and going back to her seat.

“Well Dr. Halstead, this is clearly a shock. Finding out you weren’t who you said you were.” said Reybold’s lawyer.

“That’s what undercover work is, you create an identity and live your life as that person, it’s an act.” I explained.

“So you were acting when you came into Dr. Reybold’s office and said you were a medical student?” she asked.

“Yes.” I answered.

“If you lied about that, I wonder what else have you lied about?” she said, in a clear attempt at making me mad.

“Objection!” exclaimed Dana.

“Sustained.” said the judge.

“If I may answer?” I asked, looking at the judge, he seemed to hesitate, but nodded. “I haven’t lied about anything I’ve said so far, as you may know as a lawyer, I am under oath.” I said, not an ounce of regret, nor malice in my tone.

“Very well… why did you go to Dr. Reybold’s office that day?” she asked.

“I was called by the Intelligence Unit to help, since I was involved in the care of three patients that had shown a pattern in their symptoms. They first asked me how likely it was for something like this to happen…” I said, and the lawyer cut me off.

“And what was your answer?” she asked.

“Well, if you’d let me finish my earlier sentence, you would’ve saved yourself the trouble of asking, since I was about to say it.” I said, a fake sweet smile on my face. “But my answer was that it is highly unlikely for three different women to overdose from chemo on the same day. That’s when I was asked to go undercover as Miranda. To figure out what was going on.” I said. 

“And that had nothing to do with the fact that you have socialized with the Intelligence Unit? Just like Dr. Charles.” she asked.

“I would’ve done it despite the fact that I do socialize with the Intelligence Unit, since it’s in my contract with the Chicago Police Department. Contract that the judge already has in his possession.” I said, she looked mad and desperate.

“Any reason why you socialize with the Intelligence Unit?” she asked.

“Well they drop by the hospital from time to time, either to interrogate a witness or warn us about a suspect, as well as the fact that I go to Molly’s regularly.” I said.

“And that has nothing to do with your relation to one of the members of the unit in particular?” asked the woman, I looked confused.

“If you want an answer, I’ll need you to clarify the question.” I said.

“Objection!” said Dana.

“Sustained.” said the judge.

“Very well, let me rephrase, are you familiar with the name…” she went back to her desk. “Chicago Police Department’s Detective Jason Joel Halstead?” she asked, a smug grin on her face.

“Of course I am.” I said, keeping my answer short and letting this fool of a woman play herself.

“Isn’t that your husband’s name?” she said, I let out a snort, when I looked up, Jay was rolling his eyes.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I apologize for that.” I said, looking at the judge and then the jury. “No ma’am, that’s not my husband’s name.” I said, she looked mad.

“Do I need to remind you that you’re under oath, Dr. Halstead?” the lady asked.

“No, you don’t. But that’s not my husband’s name, simply because I don’t have a husband. I’m currently single.” I explained. She looked confused. “I know Detective Halstead for the simple fact that he is my older brother.” I said.

“Then you pretty much did this as a favor to him?” she asked.

“Objection Your Honor, the witness has already given an answer.” said Dana.

“Sustained.” said the man.

“I’ll rephrase, did Detective Halstead ask you to do this as a favor to him?” she asked me, I wanted to roll my eyes so badly.

“Your Honor!” exclaimed Dana, I beated both her and the judge.

“As I’ve said before, I did this because I was ordered to, both by the sergeant in charge of the investigation, and because my contract with the CPD says so.” I said, my tone showing my annoyance. The woman looked mad, I wanted to laugh at her so bad.

Poor fool. Has a law degree but can’t seem to understand what the implications of having a contract are.

“No further questions Your Honor” she said, her tone of voice clearly showing her anger at not being able to play me or make me slip and look bad.

“Very well, the witness can go back to her seat. We’ll reconvene after a brief recess.” said the judge.

Ok, here's the chapter, the translation for the Spanish parts is as follows:

*: Woman, if you think for a second that I believe that this pair of idiots have medical licences, you're wrong. Women only serve to take care of the house and have children.

**: I'm sorry to disappoint you Mr. Acosta, but my medical licence was aproved by IDFPR, same as Dr. Valdoza's. We could show them to you if you'd like.

***: I'm good, thanks.

****: Very well, Dr. Valdoza will be back in shortly with the materials for Emilio's cast.

*****: You speak Spanish?!

******: She doesn't leave this room without my permission

*******: Mr. Acosta, I don't think you'd like me to call security and have one of the guards keeping you company instead of a nurse.

********: I'll speak with Ms. Sandoval, with or without your permission, she's not your property.

*********: Look Ms. Sandoval, I don't want to seem nosy... but your ex husban seems to be an agresive man. Emilio tensed up as soon as he saw him enter the room.

**********: Raúl has always had a strong character. I have the feeling he was mistreated when he was young, the problem is that he takes it out with his words and attitude towards me and women in general.

***********: You don't have to tolerate that attitude. That man's already your ex, do you have full custody of your son?

************: The problem is he doesn't respect the fact that Emilio is scared of him. He's being so strick with him since he was a child, that Emi calls him "sir".

*************: It shouldn't be like that. If you don't feel safe, or you feel Emi isn't safe in his father's presence, you can tell me, I'll notify the police and they'll take him away. With that arrest you can petition for a restraining order and it will be easier to obtain it.

**************: You'd do that for us? You bearly know us.

***************: It's my job as a doctor to advocate in favor of my pacients and their family's best interest, and right now, getting than man away from you is in Emilio's and your best interest.

****************: Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you. Raúl always managed to make me look like a "paranoid crazy lady", that's why no one ever did anything, because it was "family issues". You believing me... is more than I'd ever imagined.

*****************: I'll notify my boss and then she'll notify PD. Your nightmare is almost over Ms. Sandoval.

******************: It's done. The chief nurse knows and she'll notify my boss shortly.

*******************: Damn bitch-

*******************: I wouldn't threaten a woman in front of a police officer if I were you.

Also, adding a pic of Lilly's court outfit, the only difference is the color and typo of the shoes.