#franke & the knockouts

[cognacdelights]

if anyone wants to know how confident i am in the england squad today i’ve got £10 on france to win and another £10 on france to score in the first 10 mins

[daddysmusicblog]

@doyoulikethissong-poll

[skinnyhoneyy]

Lunch: 263cal - 16g protein

Recipes below ⬇️

This is so good and actually so filling!! I like to eat a variety of flavours, I find it keeps late night cravings away. This lunch is savoury, salty, and sweet!

Buffalo chicken wrap : 186cal

Protein up flatbread x1 = 120c

Mini cucumber 29g = 2c

Cherry tomatoes 19g = 3c

Iceberg garden salad 18g = 3c

Shredded chicken 15g = 19c

Light ranch 14ml = 9c

Franks red hot 3ml = 0c

Tex mex shredded cheese 9g = 30c

*you can also leave out the cheese, to make the wrap 30cals less. I just find eating a little bit of it when I’m craving it keeps me from binging later*

Add all ingredients to wrap, roll it up and grill on high heat pan for a minute or two, on both sides, this helps to seal the wrap so it’s not spilling everywhere, cut in half, enjoy!

Ranch flavoured cucumber chips: 7cal

Mini cucumber 84g = 7c

Powdered ranch seasoning 1/2tsp = 0c

Cut cucumbers into slices & sprinkle on the seasoning, mix well, enjoy!

Dessert: 70cal

• Made Good choco chip cookies 14g(2cookies) = 70c

I usually don’t eat desserts, but I was really craving sweets, I’d rather eat sweets in the middle of the day and knockout the craving, instead of caving and binging late at night.

[gardensgatekeeper]

Lemon Drop - Page 1

Dedicated to a sweet angel baby. May your memory live on forever.

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: None for now

Listen to the Lemon Drop Spotify playlist here.

The perfect mix of sweet and sour. Her light shined bright like the yellow of the sun. She was my lemon drop.

July 13

The first time I laid eyes on her, she was dancing with her friends to ABBA’s Dancing Queen. Her strawberry blonde hair cascaded down her back as she swayed her hips to the beat of the song. Of course she was a total knockout, but there was something else about her. Something I couldn’t quite put my finger on that made her stand out amongst everyone else in the bar that night. It was like she had this energy that drew me to her.

I was nursing my third Old Fashioned of the night when she came up to the bar for a refill. As fate would have it, the only open spot just so happened to be right beside me. The bartender took her order but her voice was too soft against the loud music for me to hear what she ordered. While waiting for her drink to be made, she glanced over in my direction and offered a small smile. It was the type of smile that could brighten even the darkest souls. Part of me almost didn’t want to attempt to talk to her, just knowing she had to be taken by someone else already. Even if by some miracle she was available, surely she would never be interested in someone like me. But for one reason or another, I decided the rejection would be better than living with the regret of not at least going for it. You never know unless you try, right?

As the bartender placed the drink in front of her, I quickly caught his attention, requesting that he charge it to my bill instead.

–

“Put it on my tab, Frank.” I called out. She turned to look at me, a coy smile peeking out. “You didn’t have to do that, thank you though.” Her voice sounded like a choir of angels calling down from the heavens above. If there is a God, I hope he’s on my side tonight.

“Don’t mention it. I’m Danny.” I extended my hand for her to shake, hers quickly connecting with mine. I might have just been completely drunk off my ass, but I swear I felt electricity coursing through my veins when her soft hand molded so perfectly into mine.

“Nice to meet you Danny. You come here often?” She slightly tipped her head towards the bar, as if making a silent comment about the fact that I was on a first name basis with the bartender. “Oh, uh yeah. I’m in a band with some of my friends and tend to come here after practice to blow off steam.” Way to sound like a fucking loser Daniel.

She simply nodded in response as she grabbed her drink; a lemon drop. I’d never really bought into the whole thing of people ‘looking like their drink of choice,’ but with her, it really seemed so fitting. She held up her drink in a toasting manner before speaking again. “I should be getting back to my friends before they cause a scene, but thank you again for the drink.”

I raised my glass up to hers as they met with a clink and offered a parting “Cheers.”

“Cheers Danny.”

–

Truthfully, I thought I blew it, I didn’t even get her name for fucks sake. I watched as she returned to her friends, immediately kicking myself for letting her slip through my fingers so easily. I should have known she was way out of my league. Still, I found myself perplexed as I witnessed multiple guys attempt to talk to her only to be swiftly dismissed. So she swings for the other team? I chuckled to myself at the realization before downing the rest of my drink. I suppose that means no man here will have the privilege of taking our sweet Lemon Drop home this evening. I took that as my cue to call it a night myself and motioned for Frank to close my tab.

Nothing could have prepared me for what fate apparently had in store. It was the faint scent of her perfume that caught my attention. Looking up, I met her eyes, slightly taken aback at the disapproving look on her face.

–

“You know, I’m disappointed in you Danny.”

I was trying to rack my brain for what I could have done during our brief conversation earlier. “What? Why?”

“I didn’t take you as the type to give up so easily. It was awfully lonely on the dance floor all by myself.” She huffed out in a playfully dramatic manner.

“So you’re not a lesbian?”

The laugh that escaped her mouth was the second most beautiful sound I’d ever heard. Her voice being the first of course. She shook her head profusely before responding.

“Why would you think I’m a lesbian?” She asked, looking genuinely confused.

“I saw you turn away a dozen guys out there tonight. Most of them a lot better looking than me. Either you have really shitty taste or you’re not into men. No hate at all, one of my best friends is gay, but I could only assume…” My voice trailed off as she rolled her eyes and turned towards the bar.

“Frank, one Lemon Drop and one Old Fashioned please. Put it on my tab this time.”

–

I learned a lot about our sweet Lemon Drop that evening. Firstly, she is not a lesbian. Well, unless you count that one time she made out with a girl in college, but she swears it was just the alcohol and didn’t actually mean anything.

She grew up in Wilmington, North Carolina and has one sibling, a younger sister named Claire. Her favorite color is yellow (not surprising) and she loves photography and painting. It took quite a bit of convincing (and another round of drinks), but she finally showed me some of her portfolio, though was very quick to deny her incredible talent despite my endless genuine adoration. She absolutely despises scary movies and has never broken a bone. She only just moved to the city two years ago in need of a fresh start. She wasn’t exactly sure yet what her calling was, I’m just glad it led her to this bar tonight.

All of these things quickly found a permanent home in my brain. Each bit of information had me falling deeper and deeper into her web. I was completely in awe of the things that made her, Lemon Drop.

–

Her friends were long gone by the time the lights in the bar came on that signaled closing time. We both laughed in slight embarrassment over our much overstayed welcome, quickly settling our tabs and heading outside.

There were still a couple hours before daylight would overtake the darkness.I turned towards her, thinking this would be our farewell. Before I could even ask how she was getting home, she grabbed my hand and began leading me down an alley connected to the bar.

If this is how I die, it was so worth it.

“You gonna tell me where we’re going or keep the suspense? I do enjoy a bit of a tease.” My response earned a swift hit to the chest before she replied.

“Just shut up and follow me.”

We turned two or three corners before she stopped abruptly. I could tell she enjoyed the confused look painted across my face wondering what she had up her sleeve. Without any further explanation, she pulled down what I had to assume was a fire escape ladder. Though, based on the amount of rust covering the metal, I pitied anyone who found that to be their only escape option.

“What the hell are you doing? 

She simply let out a mischievous laugh before beginning her ascent against the two story brick building. I was more nervous for her safety but decided to follow her lead. After all, fate had gotten me this far, might as well see what else could be in store. She was already halfway to the top when I set one foot on the bottom run and followed.

“Eyes on the ladder, loverboy.”

I merely chuckled to myself at her assumption of where my eyes were. I made it to the top after a few moments, still unsure of the situation until I saw her sitting in a cheap looking plastic lawn chair. I joined her, taking the empty chair next to her as my own. “So, is this where you bring all your lovers?” I half joked.

“Only the ones who don’t chicken out at the ladder.” She giggled quietly.

–

Neither of us shared any more words that evening. We sat in a comfortable silence, just enjoying the presence of another human as we watched the distant city lights slowly come to life.

I didn’t realize I had dozed off until the beaming glow of the morning sun found a home right on my face. Squinting my eyes open, the memories of the night came flooding back to my brain, along with the dull ache in my head from one too many drinks.

I looked over and found her chair empty, which stung more than it should, but who could blame her? One night with me surely was more than anyone cared to endure.

I somehow managed to get myself down the questionable ladder, silently thanking the universe when my feet touched the pavement below. I had to use my phone’s GPS to find my way out of the maze of buildings but eventually, I found myself standing in front of my apartment door.

As I pulled my keys from my pocket, I squinted in confusion as I noticed a small, folded piece of paper fall to the ground. Opening the paper, I beamed with pure disbelief at the scribbled message.

I laughed at her cheeky placement, but was still completely bewildered at the fact that I must have done something right. I don’t know what she saw in me, but I’ll be damned if I don’t try. She was something special and I couldn’t let her go just yet.

That was just the beginning of our story…

✶ ✶ ✶

Taglist:

@jannysarcher @bimbokiszka @stardustcatcher @mindastreamofcolours @jaketsword

[empirearchives]

Is it true that Napoleon Bonaparte used to know and associate with the Robespierre brothers? Like from what I've heard, he was pretty serious about it, to the point that it hampered his career post-thermidor. (It would make the stereotypical depictions of the Terror in Napoleon 2023 pretty hillarious, honestly.)

Yeah, it’s true. According to Saliceti (a Montagnard politician from Corsica), Napoleon was “their man” (1).

The first known mention of Robespierre by Napoleon was on 23 January 1791. He wrote a piece called Lettre à Buttafuoco. Matteo Buttafuoco was a Corsican politician. In it, he writes: “O Lameth! Oh Robespierre! O Pétion! O Volney! O Mirabeau! O Barnave! O Bailly! O La Fayette! This is the man who dares to sit next to you!” (2)

Napoleon was a political ally of the Robespierre brothers. As far as I know, he never met the older Robespierre brother in person, but he did meet and know the younger brother. They were associates and even became friends. Augustin Robespierre wrote to his older brother “the citizen Bonaparte commanding the artillery is of transcendent merit.” (2)

In 1794, Napoleon accepted an “unofficial” position in the Committee of Public Safety’s war office, specifically at the historical and topographical office. While he worked there, he wrote to his brother “I am swamped with work at the Committee.” (3)

This is how Pontécoulant, who oversaw him at the topographical bureau, described Napoleon at this job:

“It was not a mere sinecure that he had accepted, he sometimes worked fifteen hours a day, . . . and the considerable number of memoranda, reports, letters, and documents of all kinds that he wrote . . . would fill several volumes. Never, even during the campaign of 1794, had the topographical office of the Committee of Public Safety . . . deployed such activity; he maintained continuous communications with the leaders of the different armies, and their staffs, astonished, learned from then on to know this nervous style, full of precision, movement and masculine energy.” (4)

It was during this time that he was asked to write a general memorandum on grand strategy. It was titled Sur la position politique et militaire de nos armées de Piémont et d'Espagne (On the political and military position of our armies of Piedmont and Spain). The person he submitted it to was Augustin Robespierre in June 1794.

Frank McLynn’s description of the memoranda:

“Basing his strategy on the writings of Guibert de Bourcet, Napoleon devised a plan that enabled the Army of Italy to advance to the watershed of the Maritime Alps, having secured control of the passes of Col d'Argentière, Tende and St-Bernard. With the enthusiastic support of Augustin Robespierre, who took Bonaparte's memorandum to Paris with him, Napoleon argued that if the French attacked in Piedmont, Austria would be forced to come to the aid of her Austrian possessions and thus weaken her position on the Rhine, allowing the French to strike a knockout blow there. Napoleon's chances of getting the plan accepted looked good, for his new commander-in-chief, General Dumerbion, deferred in all things to the political commissars; Saliceti and Augustin Robespierre, in turn, nodded through anything military that came from the pen of Napoleon.” (5)

Augustin sent Napoleon to Genoa for a diplomatic mission on 11 July 1794. So, the Robespierres were behind the beginning of Napoleon’s long diplomatic career. In fact, Napoleon was still on this mission when he learned about the death of the Robespierre brothers (28 July 1794).

Earlier that year, the younger Robespierre brother had actually proposed that Napoleon take command as head of the Paris National Guard and replace François Hanriot in Paris. Napoleon considered it, but decided to keep his post instead.

Hanriot was executed the same day as the Robespierre brothers. Who knows, perhaps the same fate would have happened to Napoleon had he accepted the offer.

Nevertheless, according to Jean Tulard “the 9th of Thermidor opens a difficult period for him”. (2) He was arrested in the south of France for his association with the Robespierre brothers. The order was signed on August 6th, and he was imprisoned for over a week (August 9th-20th).

The fact that Napoleon had been in a foreign country (Genoa) on a mission for the Robespierre brothers at the time of 9 Thermidor was used against him.

According to Patrice Gueniffey, “Napoleon spent his spare time reading the history of Marshal Maillebois’s campaigns in Italy and writing a long, self-justifying memorandum addressed to the representatives […] without saying anything against Robespierre”. (3)

The appeal which released him specified his military acumen. He was considered too crucially important to the war effort to kill or keep imprisoned.

“We are convinced of the possible utility to us of this soldier's talents, which, we cannot deny it, are becoming very necessary in an army that he knows better than anyone, and in which men of this kind are extremely difficult to find.” (3)

So he was released, with his head still attached to his body. But, the situation had definitely changed for him. The representatives were cautious about him and refused to reemploy Napoleon as commander of the artillery. Nevertheless, he continued to work on the campaigns as part of the staff of General Dumerbion, and working his way up from there.

In 1797, Napoleon evoked Robespierre in a speech in Ancona to a surprised dinner party. He defended Robespierre for his “alleged crimes” and said of him:

“Since its origin,” he tells us, “France has had only one strong government: that of Robespierre.”

The impression of horror that the memory of this man had left on everyone’s minds was so recent, so profound, that it is difficult to imagine the painful surprise this opinion excited, and with what ardor it was opposed. Far from abandoning it, General Bonaparte tenaciously supported it:

“What,” he said, “is a strong government? It is one which has a well-determined useful purpose; the firm will to achieve it; the force capable of making will triumph; finally, the intelligence necessary to properly lead this force. Let’s examine if Robespierre combined all these advantages: What was his goal? The triumph of the revolution. He felt that a counter-revolution would be more bloody, would lead to more cruel, more lasting evils than those that our revolution had demanded and would still require. So he wanted to accomplish it at all costs.” (6)

Did this association have an effect on Napoleon’s career? I would say it definitely impacted his reputation and the perception everyone had of him.

To Madame de Staël (and eventually Victor Hugo), Napoleon was “Robespierre on horseback” (2). Mallet du Pan calls Napoleon “a Corsican terrorist” (7). The royalist pamphleteers had titles like “Robespierre and Buonaparte or the two tyrannies” and “The Jacobins and Buonaparte or historical essay on the alliance of the two tyrannies which oppressed the French nation” (2). In them, Napoleon was described as a “worshiper of Marat, accomplice of Robespierre, vile complacent of Barras” (2). To Metternich, “Napoleon seemed to me the incarnation of the Revolution” (8). He tried to warn the other countries in Europe against making peace with France, because, to him, “No peace is possible with a revolutionary system, whether with a Robespierre who declares war on chateaux or a Napoleon who declares war on Powers” (9). William Pitt the Younger spoke of the “jacobinism of Robespierre, of Barrere” and called Napoleon “the child and the champion of all its atrocities and horrors” (10).

This is a royalist caricature of Napoleon created by Pierre-Marie Bassompierre Gaston. The caption says “One is always faithful to one's first love”. (Source)

Here is Napoleon’s stance on Robespierre:

“Robespierre died because he tried to stop the effects of the Revolution, and not as a tyrant. Those who wanted to bring him down were crueler than he was: Billaud-Varenne, Collot d'Herbois, etc. He had against him Danton's party, which was powerful and immense. Probably he could not have acted otherwise. I believe that Robespierre was without ambition. . . . Everything I read in the Moniteur teaches me nothing, but it confirms me in the opinion that I had, and settles me in it even more. To be sure, Robespierre was not an ordinary man. He was very superior to everything around him. His discourse on the Supreme Being proves it. Disgusted by what he was hearing, he felt the necessity of a religious system among people who did not want anything, either religion or morals. Morality had to be raised up again. He had the courage to do it and he did it... That was great politics. No doubt he shed blood; that is the other side of the coin, but he is certainly less guilty than Tallien, who slaughtered Bordeaux, or Fréron whom I saw in Marseille taking poor unfortunates by the collar to have them shot. Those men were real killers. Had he [Robespierre] not succumbed, he would have been the most extraordinary man who appeared.” (3)

Sources:

(1) Adam Zamoyski, Napoleon: A Life

(2) Jean Tulard, De Napoléon et de quelques autres sujets: Robespierre vu par Napoléon

(3) Patrice Gueniffey, Bonaparte: 1769–1802

(4) Le Doulcet de Pontécoulant, Souvenirs historiques et parlementaires

(5) Frank McLynn, Napoleon: A Biography

(6) J. P. Collot, La chute de Napoléon

(7) Albert Sorel, L'Europe et la Révolution française, V. 5

(8) Memoirs of Prince Metternich 1773-1815 Vol. 1

(9) Henry Kissinger, A World Restored: Metternich, Castlereagh and the Problems of Peace 1812–1822

(10) The speeches of the Right Honourable William Pitt, in the House of Commons, V. 3

[freedomfireflies]

Knockout Harry and Cherry love going to the farmers market every Sunday for fresh ingredients and sunshine! Harry follows her around from booth to booth as she talks to the venders, collects new ingredients, squeals over all the recipes she's gonna make!

And then they go to the park and feed the ducks before coming home so she can start on all these new ideas! She gets to work kneading her dough, sprinkling her cinnamon, writing in her little recipe book for her future kids! And Harry sits at the counter and just watches her with a giant grin on her face! His chin in his hand while she hums along to some classic oldies like Frank Sinatra or Ella Fitzgerald!

And he definitely helps when she asks him! He's not the best cook but he can make a mean chicken croissant dish!! So he starts on that for dinner while she does dessert! And then they spend the evening cuddled up on the couch after cleaning everything up! Reading together as she leans into him and he grins because her lips move while she reads and he thinks it's the cutest ever hehe

[ladytitanium]

I love the implication of Dust Bowl Sainthood, made exalted only through suffering blight

Let’s face it, people. We are the impurified.

[starry-skies-116]

My AU Raf Facts:

He isn't a brunette in this AU- instead his features include light freckled skin, cornflower blue eyes and a head of bright copper-colored curls.

***

He doesn't have any siblings in this AU- lives with two dads. One's Irish and the other's Brazilian- he calls them 'Dad' and 'Papa' respectively.

***

His favorite food, surprisingly is Haggis.

***

Whereas canon Raf was the embodiment of the 'shy and mild-mannered nerd' trope, this Raf is the embodiment of the 'done with everyone's nonsense' trope. He's basically the braincell holder of the group, while Jack and Miko are the reckless lunatics.

***

Like- bro's the type to terrorize eight year olds on Roblox and know the entirety of FNAF lore like the back of his own hand. He's a little terror in his own right and he absolutely has zero problem with somebody getting hurt. Jack has to serve as the voice of reason sometimes, since he's basically the team's moral compass.

***

He has less in common with Bumblebee and more with Ratchet, in that they're perpetually angry and tired. But one difference is that Raf doesn't really show it.

***

A child prodigy when it comes to hacking and competitive gaming, he's a few grades above other people his age, and is often praised by adults for his talents. He is earnest, frank and helpful most of the time, but he also possesses the temper and pride befitting of any child genius.

***

One time, a couple of delinquents egged his house- he ran outside and chased them with his chancla, screaming at the top of his lungs like a maniac: "YOU DEFILE MY HOUSE, I KILL WHAT YOU LOVE!"

***

He can be quite competitive when it comes to things he's passionate about, especially video games.

***

In his pastime, he's a fairly popular streamer and social media influencer, going by his gamer tag "Player_Zero" whenever online. Oh- and also, did I mention that he absolutely HATES Knockout and takes whatever opportunity he can get to clown on him during online matches?

***

He's much more confident and self-assured due to his background- however, due to his talents, he's only ever been liked for his talents and not for who he was as a person. This caused feelings of pent-up disdain, leading to him feeling either patronized or dehumanized. He bonds with Ratchet in that regard.

[creelkobblelaufeyson69]

I’m very excited to see that you’re taking requests for Frank from Abigail. Our little fandom is so small, but he’s too hot to ignore. Dan Steven’s did a knockout job playing him.

Could you write something where the reader is on a job with him? It can be the kidnapping job in the movie, or something different. Maybe he gets along with reader so well (which I assume is rare haha) he asks them to join him on more.

Not picky if it’s fem/male/gender neutral reader :)

Hope you have a great day/night! <3

Dan Stevens definitely did an excellent job in this film! I’d love to see this fandom grow, but not to the point of toxicity. I’m gonna make reader gender neutral, since I’m so used to writing gender neutral stuff now. I hope you enjoy, and also have a wonderful night/day! Also this fic is probably the longest one I’ve written for Frank thus far

Odd

Warnings: gore

They stood behind Sammy, but it wasn’t out of fear. They stood behind her while listening to Lambert to look at one of the other members here. Frank was listening to what Lambert had to say, but was also looking at them. It wasn’t because they were already looking at him, but because something about them wasn’t like the others he had the time to properly examine

He didn’t know the other’s, but they looked familiar and he couldn’t put his finger on why they looked so damn familiar. Lambert noticed the two looking at each other, and told the two to stop looking at each other and pay attention

They looked at Lambert, and felt extremely embarrassed for being called out. Obviously they knew Frank was also looking at them, but the rest of the group knowing that they were silently admiring one of their teammates felt extremely embarrassing to them

Frank didn’t care that he got called out. He needed to know why he couldn’t read them or why they looked so familiar. “Wait. Aren’t you like known for being better at this than all of us?” Dean asked. That’s when Frank was in shock, and remembered hearing about them from others back in his detective days

“Yep! And the one Frank tried to find out about back when he was a detective. Also Lambert, I was listening. You reminded us the rules, but we all know the personal one is going to be broken, why? Because what else is there to talk about for the amount of time you told us we’re spending in here?” They asked with a smile on their face

“I’m surprised that you weren’t a detective” Sammy says out of shock. “It’s not as fun as being the one who you’re searching for. I like a good game, but not the one you’ve put us in Lambert” Frank approaches them now. Once he stood by their side, he looks at them briefly and then back to Lambert

“A game the kid likes to play. Oh Lambert, you’re genius! Except you’re not the genius in the room right now” they said, which makes Frank impressed. “What are you talking about?” Lambert asked. “Oh don’t play dumb Lambert!” They snapped as they pulled out a steak from their bag

“What the fuck” Sammy says in shock. “You’re a fucking vampire!” They yelled as the group now smelled blood. “Where’s that coming from?” Joey asked. “Check the room where you left the kid” they said as Joey went upstairs. Sammy, Dean, Peter, and Rickles followed along

Frank was about to follow along, when they grabbed his wrist. He turns to face them; “stay down here. You’ll probably want to see this” they said as they find themselves getting lost in his eyes. “Okay” he says as they let go of his wrists now. The two looked at Lambert and now he showed his fangs

“Oh fuck” Frank says in shock. “Told ya so” they said with a smile. Joey screamed out of the sight of blood being everywhere, and some puss as well. “Good job at killing the kid” Lambert says to them. “Well what can I say, I’ve got great  strategy” they say with a smile. “Then drop the steak, because I have an offer you two would like”

Joey and the crew come back to seeing Frank and them covered in blood. The steak was covered in blood too, which makes Joey realize how right they were. “We’re definitely not done yet. Lazar will be here at some point, so we do have to stay for that” Frank says, but they told him that’ll be unnecessary

Frank turns towards them with a bit of rage. “You’ll get your time hun. Just not now” they say as they get out glasses cleaner and a wipe for his glasses. “What else do you have in that bag?” Frank asked them. “Stuff that you never think to bring in these kinds of situations” they said, which makes him smile. “Are we gonna ignore what just happened, or?” Dean asked

“Of course not. There was also no money if that wasn’t clear” they said, which makes everyone but Sammy upset. “Thank you by the way” Frank said, which makes them look back at him. “No problem detective. I gotta keep you on your toes still even if you’re not a detective anymore” they said with a smile. He smiles back. After that night, they went on more missions with him

[caprisun-sensei]

Another one bites the dust

[privateanxieties]

forget my mercy, take my blame (chapter 3)

Summary: Returning to previous ways of life always comes with complications. Yours has an attitude and goes by the name of Frank.

Words: 3.1K (canon-typical violence, Frank being a little shit);

PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

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You don't know how many times you've abused the replay button by now, but your thumb returns to it without fail each time the video feed ends — a never ending loop, and it's up to you to break it. But, you know that once you do, you won't be able to sit still. 

And Sam Collins isn't home yet. He's had a busy day. 

You spent the first hour of staking out his place in wonderment. Last week, his life was normal. He was the average point of his demographic, and maybe even doing a little better than could've been expected given his background. He was enrolled in the local community college and had a steady job for three years at the only repairs shop in town. They do a little bit of everything. So does Sam, you suppose. He wakes up without a firearm permit on a Saturday, and that same day robs a bakery three towns away and shoots an old woman in the chest. Versatile guy. 

The second hour — or rather, the first quarter of that second hour — was spent getting his girlfriend out of the house and inadvertently out of his life. All it took was a brief phone call with a sultry greeting by a woman's voice and she stormed off not long after, suitcase in tow. The neighboring houses were next, your supply of knockout gas swiftly depleted on the two families. The use of incapacitating agents with an expiration date four years in the past is dubious at best, and you hope the adverse effects will be limited. It's a good neighborhood with good people, not unlike yours. Neither you, nor him, deserve it. 

Halfway through the third hour, you were done inspecting the inside of his house for weapons and blocking all electronics on a 900-foot radius. Signal jammers are still cheap six years after you've last used one, a discovery that doesn’t surprise you in the slightest. Returning to this kind of life is as easy as it’s always been, a built-in failsafe for all those thinking their path could somehow deviate. You'll have to see about other items, but for now, you're as close to your goal as you can get by yourself. All that's left is for him to come to you, the end of a strict work-home routine he's kept for the past week nearing. Now, you can finally breathe. 

It's strange. You're at ease in a place you're not supposed to be, doing something no sane person does. You're comfortable in a way you haven't been in years. Visiting the range now and then doesn't help— at most, it takes the edge off. There's no satisfaction in putting holes through wood or paper, no success in taking down a target that's meant to be there. That suspicion you've always had can't be ignored anymore. You really aren't made of the same stuff as other people, and you'll never have the life they do. You talked yourself into that fantasy last time, and where did that get you? Back where you started: an injustice happens, it's your fault, and everything unravels. Even if you don't go looking for it, it always finds you. Cryptic words spoken by a gruff voice surface in your memory. 

Once it starts, that shit never ends. It follows you everywhere. Every goddamn place you set foot in.  

Nice. Prophetic, even. 

The man wasn't wrong, on the face of it. Whatever he saw when looking at you that day, he clocked it without hesitation. He witnessed the tell-tale signs of aggression and regret and blistering anger, and he called it out with no pretense or judgment. Although, he was mistaken about one thing: the assumption that it hadn't already started, whatever this is. Your obsession, your curse? God's plan for you, if you believed in that sort of thing? You're not sure why he was trying to prevent you from going down this road back at the bakery. Did he think it would be your first time taking a life? Would he have said anything if he'd known it wasn't? A sigh sinks you further into the only armchair in Sam Collins' living room. 

The replay button disappears under your thumb once more, and you've already memorized every inch of the space displayed on screen, every movement contained within it. The angle providing the best view comes from the camera right above your doormat, one nestled inside the wooden awning. Hazel's head is covered with her favorite scarf, the one her nephew had sent during his travels across India along with a bracelet for you, a sign of gratitude for the care you offered the only relative he had left. His grandmother had told him anecdotes about you, like she told anyone around town who would lend an ear. 

You watch her try to prevent your house from being broken into, or so she thinks. You listen as she tries to shame the man into leaving, and then feel as your phone vibrates with the sound of the gunshot. She falls forward into the arms of her killer, and he drops her like she isn’t worth anything, a weak cry bellowing from the speakers as contact with the floor breaks fragile bone. Her head cracks open and pained moans are muffled into the ground. Wood creaks as rapid footsteps depart from the scene. Hazel's breaths keep coming for seventy-two seconds, and she falls quiet not long before they stop. The replay button taunts with its reincarnation. Your eyes close again, just like the first time you saw it. 

A quarter hour more passes as you sit with your thoughts, and then, things begin to happen. It's almost 1 AM when the rumble of an engine comes to a halt in the driveway, matching what you expect his car, an '09 Subaru Impreza, to sound like after fourteen years of use. Sam’s weekend shift at the new diner is over and he has come home to another night of hypervigilance and paranoia, because today marks one week since he took his first life. You put away the phone and replace it with the suppressed Kimber, the same one you should've used when you first laid eyes on him.

It'll be simple. Clean. You'll air out your grievances and then it'll be over. This isn't like Auckney, and it isn't like Houghton, Roanoke, or Fargo. You aren't pretending you can return to the bakery and your quaint two-bedroom suburban house anymore, dragging out your days until the merry-go-round starts up again. You'll always end up back here, so why expect you'll ever do anything different? You like this. It's something you can do, and do well. If you aren't allowed an alternative, either by design or sheer bad luck, then you'll embrace the only thing that makes sense. This is who you are. It's who you've always been, and you see it clearly now that the fog of domesticity and kindness has dissipated for the final time. So you sit there in the dark, a phantom, because you want him to see too. You want him to wonder if his eyes are playing tricks on him, because reality would be too cruel. You want him to look at you and realize that he's right to feel the weight of what he's done and to glance over his shoulder at every turn. Most of all, you want Sam Collins to know it does follow you, and that for him, it's arrived without delay. 

You're watching the short hallway before the front door, gun propped up against the velvet arm of the chair, a perpendicular line of sight granting the best opening. And then footsteps arrive— not from the entrance, but from the other end of the hallway. Quiet, gentle… expectant. Your eyes snap to in the second before a voice like a rumble fills the room. 

"Didn't I tell you not to do this?" 

One single breath has time to leave you before a man comes into view. You train the gun on him instinctively, knowing you don't have time to get to your feet if he's carrying. 

But, he isn't. He has nothing in either hand, which you can be sure about because he's keeping both palms spread open and level with his head, the same gesture he adopted last time you had a weapon pointing at him. You're rattled, and you aren't so confident it doesn't show. 

How the fuck is he here? 

You run through several common-sense deductions in the brief time it takes him to come to a standstill in the middle of the hallway directly across from you. He's here. He's here , which means he's been following you and every movement you've made for the past week. His question leaves no doubt— he knows what you're here to do. He managed to enter the house without tripping any of your alarms. You don't want to risk it and take your eyes off him, but it's hard to resist the brief glance out the window to your left. You bite the inside of your cheek almost in punishment. It isn't a 2009 Subaru Impreza that's occupying the driveway, but a black tactical van with annex lights mounted overhead and no visible brand insignia. 

He parked in front of the house , and you were so arrogant you didn't even fucking check that the right person had arrived. Your finger caresses the trigger. 

"Don't do that. I'm not here to hurt you." 

Both your eyebrows raise involuntarily. You've yet to take control of your body's reactions, and every second that passes makes it feel like the upper hand is being transferred to him, even if you’re the one holding the gun. While he's standing there in jeans and a button-up, casually looking like he has all the time in the world, you're becoming more and more aware of each moment that led to this fiasco. The way he's watching you without clear intent adds to your ire. He's as calm as can be and you're descending into chaos. It makes you seethe, and you haven't forgotten about the main problem. 

"Where is he?" you ask, jaw so tense your teeth barely unclench. 

Again, you're both on the same page. You don't need to say the name, and he sure as shit doesn't need to pretend he has no idea what you mean. His gaze remains impassive as it devours you. It feels like his eyes are trailing every inch of you, from the tense shoulders to the feet aching to stand, and especially your hands. 

"Told him to take off. Leave town for a while," he says, the tiniest movement suggesting a shrug. 

Your eyes lock on to his with renewed violence. You trigger one shot next to his head, lead embedding in the drywall behind him. Left-side, two inches. 

You can’t accept that the situation isn't in your control anymore, because you aren't able to get over the fact that he didn't even flinch. Instead, his gaze has become even more unbearable, skewering you in place. He's doing everything a person might do to communicate just how unimpressed they are. You don't know how to respond besides letting off another shot. Your breathing is now audible in the otherwise quiet room. Left-side, half an inch. 

"Alright. You feel better now? Want another go?" 

He's mocking you with an amused drawl, threatening your composure even further by pretending to lower his hands. 

"Tell you what— Why don't I just take off a finger?" you sneer at him, unable to sit down any longer and rising to your feet. The living room isn't that large. Only seven or so of his steps would be enough to close the distance between you. 

"Nah. If you were gonna do that, you'd have done it already. You can put that down. If I wanted to hurt you, I would've shot you through the window." 

What he doesn't say is that he could've done it at any time in the past week that you'd been unaware of his presence, and he doesn't say it precisely because he knows you know. Again. The harsh grip on the Kimber is starting to cramp your hand, but you can't relax. 

"Look. I meant what I told you back there. Hell, I spent all week wonderin' what the hell I'm doing, getting involved in shit that's none of my business. Maybe I should've let you do what you feel you have to do. But if you're going to take a life, I'm here to ask you to reconsider . " 

You say nothing, because it's hard to find something to say in response to things you can't believe you're hearing. He's here to make you reconsider. He's arguing from the wrong end of the gun for a man whose only future is death by your hand, and you can't figure out what would motivate him to do such a thing. The question that leaves your lips makes his quirk upwards. 

"Who the fuck are you?" 

"Frank," he answers with a grim smile. "Don't suppose you'll tell me who you are?" 

He's mocking you. Of course. It's not like he doesn't know — just like he's known everything else so far. A bitter scowl fights to take over your features. 

"Hey, Frank ? I'm giving you one minute to tell me where Sam Collins went, and I'm being generous." 

"Wow. Thank you," he says dryly, and you've had just about enough of his attitude. 

"No, really. Remember that trigger itch? What's your plan for when time runs out on it?" 

"Are you a vet?" he counters with his own question, completely ignoring your threat. 

You wonder if you're dealing with some kind of lunatic. His eyes narrow, but his expression remains serene. He hasn't lost an inch of his composure, and yet you feel something lurking beneath that resolute surface. 

"Wha—" 

"Military. D'you ever serve?" he clarifies, and you could swear his voice has changed. There's something imbibing every word of a very simple question, and you don't understand it or why he's even asking at all. 

"What's it matter to you?" you deflect. 

"It matters because that Warrior you're pointin' at me is issued to US Marine Corps only, and unless you served or took it off a dead Marine, ain't no way you'd have one."

It's hard to mask the tension once his words are left to hang in the air between you, and you suddenly become even more aware of how much your arms are aching. You've never played the long game like this, and there's never really been cause for aiming at someone and not shooting. Conversations like this are not part of your life experience, colorful as that may be. Although, they do seem to be part of his. Whoever Frank is, you get the impression he's about as single-minded and relentless as a person could get, and something within you is repelled by the notion of being in his presence. It's the way he exudes restraint and rage in equal measure that twists sharp metal between your ribs and leaves a bitter taste in the mouth. It's his posture, rigid yet somehow at ease, that makes your cheek tingle without the ringing echo of a slap to accompany it. You don't like the way he looks at you. You don't like how familiar it all is. Something spills forward that you have no chance of catching, and the damage is already done. 

"I didn't take it off a dead Marine. A dead Marine left it to me after he blew his brains out with it," you spit out with no preamble, look so poisonous it'd be useful in a bottle. 

His turn comes to say nothing in response to your mindless confession, but he doesn't have to speak in order to reveal exactly what he's thinking. You gather it all from his eyes as he stares you down. 

"I take it he didn't do that out in the field." 

His voice is the roughest you've heard it thus far. Your arms hold in them a deep ache but you don't know how to lower the gun, the very thing that seems to have brought him to you in the first place. He remarked on it the first time you met too. You couldn't have known he recognized its origins.

"Made no difference in his mind where he was," you speak as evenly as you can. "Just like it makes no difference that you're here. I won't reconsider. I don't care where Collins ran off to, or how far he's gotten. He took something from me. There's nowhere he can go where I won't find him."

The words help reinforce your conviction, and they also seem to resonate with him. Either that, or he wasn't very adamant about persuading you to reconsider in the first place, because he isn't showing any signs of annoyance at your declaration. He doesn't reply or refute it in any way. There’s no fight. If anything, he seems passive — not quite defeated, not quite determined to try again. It's all the same to you. Getting away from him and towards your goal is the only thing you care about. Enough time was wasted here. 

You breathe in slowly, and when you look at him next, your mind locks on to a singular path. 

"Frank? Turn around." 

Judging by the crinkling of his eyes, your request amuses him. 

"Gonna shoot me?" he grumbles, lowering his arms another inch. 

"That depends on you. Now, you're going to turn around, walk out that door and get in your van. I want you to drive off into the sunset, never to be seen again. I've no reason to hurt you. But if you get in my way again, I'll have a reason. We clear?" 

His mouth turns up in a half-smile. For perhaps the first time since meeting him, you don't find his expression as condescending as the rest of him. 

"In that case, we might have a problem." 

Your finger caresses the curved edge of the trigger. 

"And why's that?" 

There's fire in his eyes as well as in his words. 

"Because the man you're looking for is in that van. And you should know…" His arms come to rest by his sides. There is a subtle tremor in your own. "His name isn't Collins— it's Huerta . You kill him, and you'll be starting a war."

.

.

-to be continued-

A/N: Let me know what you thought of this chapter! From here on out the story will move into different territory and we're going to get into some delicious interactions between Frank and Reader. These two have a lot of issues between them and we'll start seeing some of them👀

[ao3feed-skystar]

The Third Stripe

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/JBR8nfs by Phantom_Pants02 Yet another story of Starscream getting fixed up by Knockout after antagonizing Megatron. TFP Adjacent. (Probably not all that canon compliant to Transformers Prime? There’s a few things that may not work, but ya knows. It’s all for the story) Words: 2428, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Fandoms: Transformers: Prime, Transformers - All Media Types Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Categories: M/M Characters: Starscream (Transformers), Knock Out (Transformers) Relationships: Knock Out & Starscream (Transformers), Knock Out/Starscream (Transformers), Jetfire | Skyfire/Starscream (Transformers) Additional Tags: Past Relationship(s), Implied/Referenced Abuse, Trauma, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Medical Inaccuracies, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Starscream is sad and gay and an asshole, knockout is just there for the vibes, Awkward Tension, Inspired by a Frank Sinatra Song read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/JBR8nfs

[cybersoldier82]

Im sad so have some transvoremers pred headcanons of how Nautica, Megatron, Knockout and Flamewar cheering up their prey.(bare in mind im still new to transformers so if these are inaccurate im very sorry you can speak to my agent about financial compensation/j)

Nautica: She has cheering her prey up down to a science, she knows exactly what is needed and just how to get your spirits up before and after noms. She’ll make sure youre ok with physical touch at the moment and hug you for as long as you need, rubbing your back all the while telling you exactly what you need to hear, until she finally, and carefully, places you in her maw, letting you go down at your own pace. Once youre in her stomach shes gonna caress, knead and rub at you as long as needed, even letting you sleep in there if that’ll help, all in all when youre sad yourw her main priority until youre not anymore.

Megatron: He’s a tad bit more to thr point about it, but not in a rude way. Taking it rather seriously, the person he cares about is upset and he makes it his job to get to the root of the problem, regardless of what the problem is. Hes not used to being this soft but he still tries to comfort yah in his own way, he cares deep down yah know(dont tell starscream)? He also gently places you in his mouth and sends you down at your own pace, but once you are down he doesn’t have much time to comfort you while youre in there, hes a busy guy lol, so he lets you chill out in there while he goes off to tend to whatever needs tending to, once he finds time though he makes it all for you so dont worry too much.

Knockout: knockout is a different case to be frank with you, he still understands that this is a serious situation but come on, its knockout, hes gonna be a teasing bastard about it in some way or another. I feel like him having a more care free attitude might actually be helpful here, he still recognizes that youre upset but that doesnt mean hes not gonna fluster you into feeling better. Oh and once he gets to tucking you away its over for you, youre gonna be redder then the surface of mars when he’s through with you. Hes gonna knead and and rub and caress the hell out of you, to the point that you’ll be so caught up in being flustered that you’ve forgotten what you were sad about, all according to hus plan of course ;3.

Flamewar: Flamewar is in a similar boat to Knockout in being a very different animal about comfort, unlike him however she doesn’t really know what she’s doing, shes used to dicking with people and being the lovable dink she is. That’s not to say she wont try though, she’s determined to try literally anything to get you feeling better, even if she accidentally makes it worse here and there. She’s probably stressed out thinking that what she’s doing isn’t helping even though it probably is, once she does start to notice a change she moves to what she knows works; eating you, this is also the part where she can have some fun. Like Knockout she’s gonna tease and fluster the hell out of yah on the way in, on the way down, and for the whole time youre in there, once you’re finally better she lets out a huge sigh of relief, her winging it worked, thank primus, now she can enjoy her favorite person in her belly knowing she helped yah feel better, everyone wins.

[nepobabyeurydice]

Camp Swap Annabeth & Reyna AU makes me think that Jason will be introduced as a badass praetor son of jupiter who hacked Krios to bits through Reyna's memories of him and then when Leo, Piper, Percy and Reyna arrive they find Annabeth holding Jason in a headlock while Hazel dumps his coffee into the Tiber River and Frank makes him knockout tea