The Last Great American Dynasty: Chapter 1
This Was The Very First Page
Series summary:
Addiction, deadlines, a nasty divorce. In an effort to shed your skin and find yourself again, you pack up and move to a historic seaside home across the country. It's all a blur, you're hurting and spinning your wheels in a big house all alone. Until Frankie shows up on your doorstep.
Pairing: Frankie Catfish Morales x AFAB Reader
Rating: 18+ MDNI
Word Count: 1709
Warnings: allusions to former drug use, mention of divorce, not too much to warn of yet we just getting started bby
Notes: I hope we all have a marvelous time and I don't ruin everything 💀 I've been gone for a long ass time, taking baby steps getting back into things.
Also much thanks to @pr0ximamidnight for helping flesh this out (aka letting me rant at her until it came together) and @mydailyhyperfixations, @joelsgreys, and @mylostloversbookmarks for also listening to me ramble 😂 lub u 🩵💙
Chapter One Playlist 🎶📻⚓🌊⛵🎶
This was the very first page
Not where the story line ends
My thoughts will echo your name
Until I see you again
It feels pretentious to drive across the country like this when you don't have to. In fact it was a struggle to do so - insisting and arguing with everyone that you wanted, no - needed to. You could feel the eyes rolling behind your back, hear the sarcastic thoughts unspoken.
Who does she think she is, Kerouac?
Truthfully you just wanted the white noise of wind, pavement, and your Spotify playlist of guilty pleasure pop songs, too occupied by operating a motor vehicle to check the deluge of emails and texts that had been pouring in for months.
A Tale of Two Addicts
Best Selling Author Loses Control of Her Own Narrative
Authoring Her Own Disaster: Detox and Divorce
How could you blame them when the headlines practically wrote themselves?
“So let me get this straight. Not only am I not getting new pages, you’re putting this project on hold to move to the east coast so you can - what? - live out some whimsical seaside fantasy?”
You sat in your office chair, surrounded by stacks of cardboard boxes, pen hovering above the signature line of your divorce papers like a memoir you don’t want to take ownership of as your editor sighs at you over speakerphone.
“I’m doing what they told me to do in therapy, Miles. I’m changing the scenery, starting over. It’s difficult to write any pages for you if I’m too catatonically depressed to get out of bed. Take it as good news, a strategic move. Literally.”
The house has a history. That’s the reason you’d chosen it, frankly. You’d discussed the listings with your realtor over the phone, clicking through the pictures as they recounted the amenities and specs of each property.
“And then there’s the Harkness house…”
If her goal was to intrigue you she’d accomplished it tenfold, having you on the hook for every sordid detail as she regaled you with the story of a widowed heiress making a splash of scandal through the coastal town with her extravagance. She leaned into the impropriety of it all, trying to sell you with gossip, but all you heard was the story of a woman who had reclaimed her life after losing love. Perhaps the house held that energy in its foundation. Maybe if she did it there, so could you.
Pulling up the winding driveway you almost feel a page turn, a fresh start. Then the moving van crunches gravel behind you and your phone pings with a missed call from your lawyer, breaking the spell of your daydream.
It’s been a long day already, an endless stream of delays and snafus. Missing parts and tedious tinkering with finicky engines has left Frankie a mess of sweat, grease, and frustration. The sigh of a long day finally finished whistles out as he climbs the stairs to the office, ready to hand in a few leaves of paperwork and drag himself home when the sound of muffled conversation gives him pause.
“She’s ruining everything, we’ve all but flown in the film crew and we hardly have half a film without that house in it!”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Ray, she could be perfectly cooperative. We don’t know-”
“It’s for fucking NETFLIX, Tim. I won’t be made to look foolish by some scandalous, self important, Hollywood-”
“And you won’t. Let’s just give her the packet, for all we know we could have signed papers come Monday morning.”
That’s all Frankie hears before the desire to get out of there steers his body back toward the stairs. I can turn these in on Monday, not worth the hassle...
Before his steel toe can touch the second step, though, the door swings open and a booming voice sounds behind him.
“Ah! Mr. Morales! Good timing, son. You pass the Harkness house on your way out of here, don’t you?”
The question is moot, the offices and hangar located along the coast such that there’s practically no choice but to pass the seaside estate if you want to reach the town and its modest sprawl of surrounding neighborhoods.
“I do, sir.”
“Then it’s meant to be. I’m sure you’ve heard that it’s newly occupied and we have a…welcome packet of sorts…for the new owner but the courier’s service is closed. Would you mind dropping this off on your way home?”
Tim, the more even keeled of the two executives that frequent these offices, hands over a manilla envelope without waiting for an answer, traces of engine grease still clinging to Frankie's skin leaving faint fingerprints on the hefty packet. The man cuts in again before Frankie can open his mouth to speak.
“Is the jet ready for takeoff in the morning? We’re expected in New York by eleven.”
Frankie studies the name on the envelope for a long moment before looking up to meet the impatient gaze of the man in front of him.
“Ah, yeah- Yes, sir. She’s ready for takeoff. Pilot’s ready for you anytime after eight, should you decide to leave earlier.”
He only receives a slight nod before both men push past him and he’s left alone outside the office door, eyes drawn back to the neatly printed label with your name on it. Why does it sound so familiar?
Lost in a daze of curiousity, Frankie’ feet carry him down the stairs, through the hangar, and out to his truck. He’s so distracted by the strange feeling in his gut that he starts his drive with his steel toes still on and the work orders still stacked along with the mystery packet in his passenger seat.
It's been a week and you're still staring at, discovering, stumbling over boxes.
How the hell does one person accumulate this much stuff?, you think as you sit on the sofa and nurse the soon-to-be bruise on your shin from the cardboard cube you'd just rammed into rounding the corner into the living room. The house in LA had seemed so desolate when Trevor had moved out and now you sit surrounded by a sea of what now feels like junk.
Even in this vast expanse of square footage and seaside it seems the walls might close in on you at any moment.
Thoughts manifesting into reality, you begin to feel too hot seemingly from nowhere. Pulling at the collar of your worn t-shirt, you go to crack open the nearest window when a blue pickup truck rounds the bend and pulls up to your gate. Before you can take too long to squint and guess at who the hell would be at your gate on a Friday evening, the driver presses the call button and your phone begins to ring.
“Hello?”
The phone crackles lightly and a deep, dulcet voice answers you.
“Yes, ah- I've got a delivery here. Is this the new owner?”
From the window you can see the figure in the truck cab lift an envelope to read it and he confirms your name.
“Yeah, that's me. I'll buzz you in.”
“Thanks.”
You hang up and press the button to let him through, watching as he winds up the drive and stops in front of the house.
Had you forgotten to sign something? He asked about being the homeowner, so it can't be another addendum to Trevor's many demands attached to the divorce. Your confusion and curiosity gives way to a flustered state when you open the door.
The first things you notice are the rich brown orbs looking back at you, brows, lids, and laugh lines working to form a frame of sincere apology, like he knows it's unorthodox for him to be standing on your front step at this hour. The rest of him is just as entrancing - plush lips beneath a gorgeous nose, a broad frame just as soft as it is strong, and a rueful smile that has your cheeks flushing as he adjusts his Standard Oil cap to lend you a peak of soft brown curls.
“Hi there,” he interrupts your stupor and you wonder just how long you've been staring.
“I'm here to deliver this. It's from the Standard Oil offices, ah…courier service is closed and it's pretty important I guess.” He holds the envelope out for you to take, his free hand rubbing the back of his neck in what seems like a nervous habit. You can see the faint grease marks on his fingertips, a matching set of smears on the paper in his hand.
“Oh, um. Thanks. Any idea what it's for?” You take the packet from him, eyeing it curiously. It's simply addressed to you with no further indicators on the outside.
“Something about the property I suppose, not really clear on the details. Lot of history in this house, ya know?”
“So I'm told.” You smile softly, toying with the metal fastener, more intrigued by the messenger than the message at this moment.
After a brief silence he shakes his head, seeming to come back to the present, and you wonder where his mind had drifted to. “Anyway, I'll leave you to it. Sorry for the interruption.”
“Not at all. Thanks again.” You wiggle the packet lightly in your hand.
He cracks another smile and you're certain his eyes roam over you before he mutters a goodnight and turns to go back to his truck. You stay stagnant for a while, watching as he gets into the cab and pulls out of the gate, and a few long moments after that as well.
Finally closing the door, you pad into the kitchen and pour a glass of wine to sip while you open your mystery packet. As you set it on the island countertop a few stray sheets slip out from beneath the envelope. Picking them up, you notice they don't seem to have anything to do with you or the house. In fact they look like order sheets of some kind, a list of mechanical sounding items listed with costs and quantities scribbled next to them.
Next to a black smudge to match your packet and the stranger's fingertips is a carefully printed name on a line marked ‘authorized by’. You read the name aloud and your stomach flutters at the way it somehow feels familiar to say.
“Fransisco Morales…”
More to come soon, let me know in the comments or my inbox if you want to be tagged for the next chapter 😬
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alice takes a peek down the rabbit hole; or, what happens when I accidentally find a grifter-type news article on a subject I love
the ugly snort I made when I stumbled across a headline proclaiming that U.S. Comic Books are failing because of "wokeness" but Manga is thriving instead...
no joke, I felt like H.Bomberguy setting up a bit before a 4-hour long video essay as I found this article on my "new tab screen."
and I had to read it because my first thought, of course, was, "My dude," (the author is a man) "where the fuck have you been? Manga has ALWAYS been much more left and progressive than most mainstream U.S. comic books! You shot yourself in the foot right there!"
But, of course, I wanted to see if that point got addressed, and what else this article had to say, despite knowing that it was not meant for my eyes. The first mistake was that it claimed that manga was imported "non-woke" material within the first two paragraphs, while then much later acknowledging that what "might be called wokeness" exists in manga, particularly in LGBT relationships, even citing the outcry when the Sailor Moon dub censored the ships baked into the text of the story.
Yet...the issue is that U.S. comic books that have been behind in the representation department on many intersectional departments are now working to introduce more of these elements, such as Riri Williams taking over for Tony Stark as Ironheart when Iron Man is no longer around, or that Luke Fox exists in the Batfamily...with all of the other Batfamily around...or that Carol Danvers isn't as much of a fucking sexy fantasy doll than she was made out to be before.
Put a pin in that.
Another point brought up is how at "one time," comic book shops catered to a specific, niche group of people (a mostly male-dominated, juvenile-seeming group) and certain fandoms' toxic behavior soured the image in the public's eye...but NOW the stigma has LONG been GONE! ...I'd need a citation for that, my dude. (there wasn't one)
despite how many people go to Comic Cons around the world, being a comic book geek is still an oft-ridiculed and niche thing (as is the same for manga and anime, but it's a lot easier to find manga in my local Target than most superhero comics). and while some kind comic book shops do go out of their way cater to everyone, as someone who is Not Male and Not Always "Stereotypically Geek"-Presenting, I've had my fair share of judgement for my presence in those spaces.
Now coming back to the pin...making U.S. comic books and superhero stories more aligned with a wider, more diverse, "woke" audience, just like the massively successful imported (supposedly "non-woke") manga have been doing for many years...that's the real problem as to why comic sales are seemingly doing badly, according to you, sir? Not anything to do with the fact that translated manga is at a better price point for the value page-count and quality-wise, which you cited, or the fact it is more widely available to general intersectional audiences, which you ALSO cited?
The cognitive dissonance gymnastics is really something to behold. Sometimes, you really have to see it for yourself, and wonder how these writers are missing the point they're unintentionally making.
But, of course, I'm far from the intended audience that already agrees with the blind defensive ragebait.
and I do feel like H.Bomberguy now after having brought my head out of the rabbit hole.
if I wasn't so averse and terrified of putting more of myself out on the internet...I could see how easy it would be to go insane and make a 4-hour long video essay.
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so a quick update on some verses, which i'll be putting in my actual post soon:
dc astoria is a metahuman with hydrokinesis, though she keeps this very, very quiet, given that she lives in gotham and the last thing she needs is to do something that'll draw the bat's attention. it's a shame, then, that she's caught up with roman sionis. on paper, she's a part of his PR department, a valued member of the company with a knack for spinning the media that will surely take her to the top of the corporate ladder. in reality, she's much more than that: occasional delivery girl, frequent spy, manager of the night club used to launder money for her boss, and one of the black mask's numerous chess pieces, well and truly under his command after his help quite literally hiding the bodies years ago.
marvel developed with @aeternals and @boywebbed. a mutant whose control over water has helped her more times than she can count, astoria's power is very carefully kept under wraps. as one of the few employees of trysor, inc, she helps to manage one of the most extensive (and eccentric) collections of artifacts and antiquities in the country; and as a woman accustomed to getting what she wants regardless of the obstacles in her way, she is (perhaps too often) involved in less legal sales of artifacts she's obtained herself or that she's fencing for friends. (on more than one occasion she's used the money made from these sales to help fund the mutant underground.)
immortals universe developed with @montclair. built around amc's immortals universe (mayfair witches and interview with the vampire, with influence from ), but compatible with most other universes as well (including true blood). a witch through both her parents, astoria grim settled into her exile with surprising ease, taking with her the source of her father's family's power. careful to avoid catching the talamasca's attention, as well as the congregation's, astoria often keeps to herself, comfortable in a deeply haunted house and with the company of maeve roe, her family's banshee patron. astoria runs a small occult shop in town and in her free time is an avid collector of curses, focused on taking them apart piece by piece to learn the mechanics of any spell she encounters and to find a way to redirect that magic for her own use.
werewolf if asked, astoria will tell you that the hierarchy applied to werewolves (and actual wolves) is very much a human intervention; there is no biological drive towards alphas, betas, or whatever other labels might be applied. there's certainly no similar hierarchy among wolves in nature. she will then tell you that the reason she's labeled an omega by anyone curious enough to ask, even after all of that, has nothing to do with any sort of innate classification and more to do with the fact that she broke laws. laws like don't kill members of your own pack.
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〔daniela nieves, 25, cis woman, she&her) Elaine Rivas was seen listening to you’re on your own, kid by taylor swift. Elaine is a pre-med student and known to be principled & stubborn.
GENERAL ;;
full name; elaine rivas
nicknames;
age; 25
birthday; april 9th
zodiac; aries
gender/pronouns; cis woman, she/her
sexual/romantic preferences; bisexual, biromantic
personality traits; principled, stubborn, nurturing, dedicated,
BIOGRAPHY ;;
death tw, depression tw
Elaine Rivas had parents that were ridiculously, grossly in love with each other. It was something that she always laughed about with her parents and pretended to be embarrassed about when she was out in public with them, but secretly, she adored about them. They both doted on their only child and Elaine thought that she had everything that she could possibly want. Growing up, she wasn’t a particularly outgoing kid, but she had her group of friends and she loved each and every one of them. She was smart, all of her teachers had nothing but praise for her academics though they did suggest to her parents that she would benefit from speaking up in class more.
Elaine’s world came crashing down around her with her father’s diagnosis when she was just fifteen. Her parents tried to keep her in the dark for most of it, but she saw the way that the doctors who used to be his coworkers and friends now filled an entirely different role in his life. Her mother grew quiet and reserved, almost brittle at times. While her home used to be filled with warmth and love and had been a safe haven for her friends, Elaine started to spend time at her friends houses instead. Her own was too quiet.
After her father’s death, Elaine’s mother withdrew into herself and Elaine tried to step into the role of head of the household. She tried to keep things together for her mom, tried to take on responsibilities that she had never done before. She fretted over her mother while mourning her own loss. When it came time, she started her own journey to become a surgeon-- she wanted to follow in her father’s footsteps. She remained living at home, not wanting to up and leave her mom, even while her mother began to get back on her feet and tried to assure Elaine that she was doing better.
HEADCANONS ;;
Elaine is an over compensator. She goes out of her way to try making things perfect for the people that she cares about.
She has never been much of a dater. Since just about as long as she can remember, she’s had a crush on her friend’s older brother, one Broderick Tanner. No one else could really compare in her eyes. Now that she’s grown up, she’s forced herself to put herself out there and try out this whole dating thing.
Elaine and her father used to watch hockey together all the time and thus, she became a huge fan of the sport. She attends just about all of the games, usually dragging along whoever she can with her.
WANTED CONNECTIONS ;;
Mentor - This could be either someone in the medical field that has taken Elaine under their wing or even someone that knows more of her personal life, perhaps a friend of her family’s. Elaine looks up to this person and feels a sense of ease with them.
A failed date - Give her someone that they tried to date (maybe it was even a brief relationship) and things just would not click. Maybe they try to keep things friendly now or maybe it’s one of those “quick, hide me, they’re coming” types of things.
Maybe someone with an unrequited crush on Elaine? She’s been busy watching Brody with heart eyes, maybe someone’s been watching her with heart eyes?
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