#it seems like a stupid thing to complain about

[ladyofthehightower]

i posted this on tiktok and twitter (im mycomputerissad on both) and OF COURSE people are being rude and frankly stupid. lots of comments mad at me for attacking the writers and showrunners, who i didnt even mention. mad at me for excusing alicents actions, which i didnt do. mad at me for acting like alicent had it worse than aemma arryn, which i didnt do.

it's so weird how quickly this spread outside my usual circle and people started taking the post in bad faith when all i said was literally: anyway. i just think it's weird that people have literally NO empathy for her, especially when it comes to her and her children.

and they proved me right! here's a link to the tiktok, and to the tweet if you wanna scroll through insane comments and quote retweets complaining about things and borderline attacking me for things they're literally projecting on to me and the post, because most of what they're mad about literally isn't even true.

like here, which is a tame but recent example. they're just assuming my tone is negative and that the post is a veiled attack at rhaenyra... they couldn't possibly understand that i'm just comparing rhaenyra and alicent because they're the same age, they're both main characters and with their relationship and history it seems the most obvious comparison to make. genuinely, its weird. IT'S WEIRD!!!!!!

and then this tweet which was obviously about my post... literally just making things up to be mad about! i never said ANY of that!

and it's all very frustrating!!! being attacked for things i didnt say!!!

but we ball. at least yall on tumblr can read and act normal! and im grateful!

alicent & motherhood

thinking abt that tiktok someone made about why we never see alicent giving birth, but we see aemma, laena and rhaenyra TWICE and how it's a way to disconnect alicent from motherhood, but also a way to keep the audience from perhaps empathising with her.

THIS alicent...

... is the alicent that gave birth to all her children. alicent was like 15/16 giving birth to aegon, and 18/19 giving birth to daeron. ik the hotd timeline/character ages are kinda cooked but like she was a mother of four before turning 20.

when alicent was pregnant with her fourth child, rhaenyra was pregnant with her first. not to mention that rhaenyra chose the father of her children, and while of course there was pressure on her to get pregnant, alicent had absolutely no choice in it. not when, or with who. would it have continued? would she have had more children if viserys didn't get so sick?

anyway. i just think it's weird that people have literally NO empathy for her, especially when it comes to her and her children.

[bathic]

⌜KHJ/FR/JWY⌟

It wasn’t like McDonald’s wasn’t hiring, or the grocery store down the block didn’t blast on every job-finding website about how they were in desperate need of young, fresh, youth with little to no experience to bag customers purchases. And while you and your two housemates wouldn’t knock it for the ones pursuing those opportunities; that line of pay was just not enough to make it work. And sex sells so much better than burgers. ↳ Warnings: Camera sex, Frottage, mentions of threesome, filming sexual acts, hand-jobs, two dicks in one hand (lmao), some cum.

“Could you just… yeah… a little to the— no, too far. Okay, keep going… stop!” You switched your sight on the viewfinder, fingers adjusting the focus and leveling the brightness out.

“I get we are amateurs, but shouldn’t you have had the camera at least set-up and ready before we got our cocks out?”

“I just bought this thing yesterday, cut me some slack, Joong.”

[Camera zooms in; focus blurs]

“Dammit—“

“Should have spent the rest of the afternoon yesterday figuring out how to work that thing instead of running off to hook-up with San at that stupid frat party.” Hongjoong looked at you with a very mild expression of exasperation. Propped back on his elbows with the bottom of his long-sleeved shirt shoved above his pecs to display his entire abdomen in all its fleshy glory— from dusky nipples to the barely visible happy trail that paved a nice little path to his flaccid cock.

“He’s got you there.”

You fixed Wooyoung with a half-hearted glare, “I wasn’t ‘running off to hook up’ with San… okay, I was— at first. But when I got to his fraternity house, the poor guy was in total freak-out mode.”

[Camera focuses]

“Shit, I think I got it—“

“Finally!”

“Why was he freaking out?”

When you look back up, Wooyoung is mirroring Hongjoong’s pose; laid back on elbows, legs bent at the knees up and spread to give a hood eyeful of his thick tanned thighs, soft cock and the dark bush at the base of his shaft. He chose to not roll his black t-shirt up but plucked the bottom of it up and mouth so that every bit of skin below his belly button was visible.

“Apparently,” You shift to position your hand comfortably into the holding strap, finger perched at the ready against the recording button. “Jongho and his roommate had decided to use his room for some fun and got caught using one of his stuffed animals as a knee cushion.”

Wooyoung seemed to know exactly what you were talking about despite having asked the inquiry to San’s emotional state, snapping his fingers with widened eyes. “The blowjob video! Remember,” He faces Hongjoong with his lips pursed outward, eyebrows raised excitedly. “I mentioned that Jongho and his roomie had sent a recording of her sucking him off to rile me up. That was that!”

Hongjoong rolled his eyes, shifting his gaze back to you.

“Are you ready? The draft in here is making my foreskin cold.” He grimaced at the chill causing his skin to pebble up on his exposed stomach.

“Ready when you both are.”

Wooyoung grumbled under his breath, pouting slightly at having the conversation completely stunted before it even got good. Leave it to Hongjoong to be a buzzkill.

“Wooyoung, the lube.”

The younger of the two men reached an arm back blindly to grab at the abandoned bottle of non-scented lubrication, popping the cap with his thumb and squeezing a copious amount of clear goop onto his palm. You swooped in to collect the bottle and tossed it out of frame. Wooyoung looked over at Hongjoong to see him eyeing the slight bubbled blob with a curled lip.

“What?”

“You’re jerking us off not sticking your fist up my ass. Was that much really necessary?”

Wooyoung groans, head flopping back dramatically. “Do you have to complain about every little thing someone does?”

Before Hongjoong could settle into ‘not everyone, just you’ speech, you interrupted with a shove to both of their knees. “Save it till after we’ve filmed this, yeah?”

“Whatever.” Wooyoung without further comment, scooted closer to Hongjoong until the back of their bare thighs touched and balls lightly pressed together. His hand curled around his own soft cock first, giving it a couple tugs before moving to curl his long fingers around Hongjoong’s. All three of you watched the tricky finessing, the lube making it harder to really wrangle both cocks into Wooyoung’s fist.

“Joongie, move a bit closer. Can’t grab your cock—“

Hongjoong huffed, ignoring the heat burning at his ears and neck as he inched closer. The feeling of his skin shifting and pressing tight against Wooyoung’s made his cock twitch, something he chose to ignore in favor of adjusting himself back onto his elbows and letting his legs widen for the camera in your hand. You gave him a thumbs up, peeking from over the viewfinder.

“Lookin’ good.”

Wooyoung, with his lubed hand now properly wrapped around both of their cocks, gave the signal for you to press the record button.

[Red light blinks on; timestamp appears onto screen of viewfinder; camera recording]

Hongjoong looks at the camera, at that red indicator for a good long second before shifting his gaze down at his lubed cock, held firm in Wooyoung’s fist. Seeing the slightly flushed head disappear then reappear alongside his roommate's bulbous tip, wrinkled skin tugging back like the wrapper on a push-pop, made every grievance he had for this ludicrous idea burn up into thin speckling’s of ash. The sight was undeniably hot, to you, to him, to Wooyoung who had let pretty little whines fall past his self-bitten lips without a single care.

“Fuck—“ Wooyoung flexed his fingers a bit, adjusting some to bend closer to his inner hand so that the blunt ends of his nails lightly scratched against Hongjoong’s shaft.

You watched them through the viewfinder with rapt attention, sucking your bottom lip between teeth. It doesn’t take a scientist to admit how downright good-looking your housemates are, both tanned, nicely built without the overdone bulging muscles of some steroidal chemical, pretty thick lips and shapely noses. You remembered briefly after a long night bar hopping with a couple of your girlfriends— one slurring over her words as you stumbled to maintain not only her deadweight but your own decline in equilibrium, that she thought you were not only the luckiest person to be alive and the most stupid… to also be alive.

At that point, you had been housemates for about two years with Hongjoong and Wooyoung. And only that.

To her— that made you the biggest idiot on campus. Living with two of the finest men and yet all you ever did with them was watch reruns of SNL and play ‘who can chug the most seltzer water within thirty seconds without throwing up’— Hongjoong holds that title quite proudly, even if he ended up vomiting just a moment after you did. Wooyoung didn’t even last the first three gulps before blowing the drink out of his nose and subsequently choking on the remainder that escaped down the wrong pipe.

No, you didn’t sleep with them… at first.

But now all three of you had just passed the mark of four and a half years of living together and somewhere down the hazy path did you end up with Wooyoung’s cock far down your throat while taking up one of the few stalls with a working toilet in some grimy underground club, knees bruised with small squares of toilet paper you thought would help cushion them imbedded into your skin. Hongjoong, an idea that wasn’t so grand, ate your pussy out on the couch after eating extra spicy jjajangmyeon (curtesy of you and your need to bet on everything) which caused an unfavorable burn to light up between your legs. And while both instances weren’t exactly ideal, they did open the doors into something physical between the three of you.

Something that came with a whole inner circle of friends and a long conversation of not-so exclusive exclusivity.

You were free to sleep with whoever you wanted whenever you wanted— as long as it was only with those in that inner circle. Which meant the mutual friends that bridged between Hongjoong and Wooyoung were fair game, something they themselves agreed on, except for Jongho whom preferred to keep his ‘benefits’ with his own roommate. You had no objections so long as they also kept to the inner circle and even encouraged them to try things with a few of your own friend's (Wooyoung to dabble with Jongho and his roomie for example).

Hongjoong parted his fingers down the center, using the triangular space to slot the base of his cock into, a huffy moan rattling up from his throat. He squeezed— once, twice, three times with every downward drag of Wooyoung’s hand, his nails igniting a tingling path in their wake.

“I can feel your balls twitching against mine.”

You would have laughed if not for the heavily erotic situation. Wooyoung fisting their combined cocks while panting roughly, eyes lidded and focused solely on Hongjoong across from him.

Hongjoong fared no better. His skin flushed from his cheeks down to his neck and along his exposed abdomen, nipples hard where they catch against the crumpled fabric of his shirt lying sloppy against his upper chest. He watched the camera, giving the lens sultry looks and unabashed moans. It made you feel like he was looking at you through the camera.

“Yeah? Feels good… shit, your hand feels good on my cock.”

Wooyoung rolled his head back with a perfect view of every knob along the column of his throat, a gravelly groan shifting his Adam’s apple.

“Don’t— Don’t say things like that, might blow my load early. Wanna… fuck… wanna come together.”

You figured that Wooyoung was playing it up a bit but taking a real good look at his raised brows and parted lips, the sweat on his upper lip and forehead telling enough of how much he was truly into this. Mutually jacking off his roommate and himself struck a profound nerve somewhere within him— it almost made you just a tad bit envious.

Hongjoong’s toes curled, the dribble of precum he could feel at his tip caught on the camera. If you tried hard enough, you could practically imagine the taste of it on your tongue. That thought alone was enough to make your shift a bit, careful not to shake the camera out of focus.

“‘M getting close, Youngie. Go faster.”

Wooyoung’s slicked up hand moved quicker along their cocks, tightly squeezing both shafts and jerking from the base to the tips in one long drag. The rubbing, the moaning, the heat and the skin contact from one underside to the next was enough to throttle Hongjoong over the edge, his cum bubbling up in short spurts that coated his roommates hurried fist. Wooyoung befell to his own orgasm, shuddering enough that his leg accidentally kicked out and shook you from your kneeled position. His cum shot up like a milky geyser, splattering over his shirt and both of their lower extremities.

You gaped at the amount before clicking the stop button and moving the camera from away from your face.

“Dude… I think we might have just made something that’ll pay next month's rent in full.”

Hongjoong huffs, head lolling to the side to lay on his shoulder. “You think?”

Wooyoung plops back, his chest heaving and soiled hand rubbing mindlessly across a clean patch of his shirt.

“I can’t feel my legs— or my arm.”

You scooch closer to them, knees knocking into the sides of their lower legs. “I don’t think— I know. Definitely one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen before. To be honest, I’m a bit jealous.”

Hongjoong reaches a handout to gather some of his and Wooyoung’s cum from his inner thigh, presenting his evenly coated fingers to you with a sly curl to his lips.

“Can’t forget to pay the camerawoman.”

And you wouldn’t dare dream of rejecting such a lovey offer.

[javierpena-inatacvest]

Chapter 5- Miles Between Us

Summary: Frankie's decision to join the Army was the catalyst in the collapse of your friendship. When he's forced to reconcile with his past, packed away in boxes in his childhood basement, he finds pieces of you in everything he's left behind.

Word Count: 5.0K

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader (reader has a name/nickname)

Warnings: Angst, lying, guilt, military deployment, FEELINGS, Frankie's mom not putting up with his shit

A/N: IT'S TIME TO PEEL BACK ANOTHER LAYER OF THE ONION, BABY!!! I hope you guys don't hate me that this is a slow burn- I know this is not how I normally write at all, but it's been really fun to build this story up bit by bit (if you hate it though, please tell me lmao 💀) I'm excited for this chapter and how it hints at next chapter (we're finally getting to some smut y'all, omg) Thank you as always for your kind words, it makes my day to hear what you have to say about these two 🥺💛

All The Things We Never Said Masterlist

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

You, Age 17, Spring of 2006

“You’re late, Morales.” 

“Can’t be late to something we don’t have a set time for, Anderson.” 

It’s true, you and Frankie have never set an official schedule for your afterschool ritual, but it never seems to fail that at 3:45, only 10 minutes after you’ve gotten home from soccer practice,  he’s at the foot of your bed with his forest green Jansport backpack, ready to complain about the homework he doesn’t want to finish and the tests he has no interest in studying for, just so he can keep you company while you stress yourself to death about the same assignments. 

And for as much as he hated school work, Frankie was never late. Never. So to watch him mope into your bedroom an hour later than his usual arrival time, it almost would have been safer to assume he was dead than anything else. 

“What took you so long? Get lost on the way here?” You joke, trying to keep it light while still prodding for an answer about his absence as you write down the answer to the math equation you’re trying to solve. 

“No. Don’t worry about it.” 

There’s been very few occasions you’ve seen Frankie so stoic. Even on his worst days, he’s at least still got a little tolerance left in him for your stupid banter. It’s enough to draw your attention completely away from your homework and onto him. 

“What’s wrong? Why are you being so weird?” 

You can tell then that something’s clearly not right, the way he’s angrily yanking loose papers and textbooks from his backpack and nearly slamming them onto the edge of your bed, making you gnaw anxiously at the end of your pencil you’d been using. 

You’re too nosy for your own good to let up until you find what you’re looking for. 

“Nothing’s wrong.” 

“Well obviously something’s wrong.” 

“What? I’m not allowed to be late, ever?” 

“No? Frankie, I just asked where you were and you’re acting like I’m asking you if you just shot the fucking president or something. What’s going on?” 

“It’s nothing, MacKenzie!”

“If it’s nothing, then why are you so upset about it?” 

“I’m not upset!” 

“You clearly are? Frankie, what the hell are you-” 

“I’m joining the Army, okay?!”

Out of all the things you could have expected to come out of Frankie’s mouth, that would have been at the bottom of your list. In fact, it’s so out of left field, you’re not even quite sure you believe him. 

Your forehead hurts from how tightly your brows are knitted together in confusion, scowling at Frankie with a dumbfounded intensity that probably had you looking like you had just gotten an unsuspecting whiff of the world’s most sour lemon. 

There’s no way he’s being serious. He can’t be. 

“Ha ha, very funny, Francisco.” You mock, frown still splayed across your face, “Now will you please tell me what’s actually going on?” 

His silence makes your heart drop into the pit of your stomach. You can feel the way your face falls, the muscles once tensed in adamant skepticism now sinking into a quiet panic. You can hear each breath as it flows in through your nose and out through your mouth, blood pounding louder and louder in your ears with each pulse of your veins. 

“Frankie, if this is one of your stupid jokes, it’s not funny.” 

“It’s not a joke.” 

His eyes are still peeled to the floor, too afraid to bring himself to look at you. All he can do is stare at his pinky toe, poking out of the hole in his socks that he refuses to replace. You wait for what feels like hours, days, for him to say something, but his silence is deafening. And the sound of Frankie’s silence is the scariest thing you’ve heard in a very long time. 

It’s so terrifying, the only thing you can do to cope is fill the quiet void with your rambling and pray that Frankie Morales is choosing to play the world’s worst joke on you. 

“What- what do you mean? Frankie, I thought- When you and Santi talked about doing the same thing as Will- I thought you were fucking kidding? What about college? We already both got accepted to Florida State, what are you gonna do-” 

“I didn’t get in.” 

Please let him be kidding. Please, please, let this be a sick joke. 

You can feel your confusion starting to bubble into anger, jaw clenching at the way Frankie’s too coward to even look in your general direction, gaze still glued to that stupid fucking hole in his worn down sock. 

“Frankie, what the fuck? We both got accepted back in January? You’ve been lying to me this whole fucking time?” 

“I didn’t wanna lie, okay?!” 

He’s riddled with enough guilt to speak up, trying to keep himself from the brink of tears as he works up enough courage to finally look you in the face. You can hear how hard he gulps, like his heart is bobbing in his throat, trying to buy all the time he can to come up with a reason for his deception that won’t hurt you any more than he already has. 

“I just- fuck,” he sighs, chewing at his bottom and bouncing his leg against the bed so intensely it’ll make him sore the next day, “I didn’t know what to do, Kenz. I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry.” 

It’s hard to stay mad at him when you know he means it. It’d be easier if it weren’t for the way his brown eyes flooded with disappointment in himself, spilling out in tears onto his cheeks. For as frustrated as you are, you have enough sympathy to ease up on him enough to at least try to understand. 

“Well, not lying to me about it for the last four months probably would have been a good start.” You huff, the air that puffs from your nostrils still tainted with the let down you’re trying so hard to not let override your conversation. 

You can’t help but let yourself find a spot next to him on the edge of your bed, a peace offering that you hope is enough to signal to him you’re willing to listen to what he has to say. 

“I- I didn’t think you were being serious when you and Santi were talking about it. I- I thought you- I thought the plan was to go to Florida State. Together. What happened, Frankie?” 

It’s quiet for a few more moments. Frankie takes a few, slow deep breaths as he runs his hands through the curls twisting at the nape of his neck. The silence isn’t as bitter as before, but it stings enough to gnaw at the edges of your nails, the anxious habit you can’t seem to break, and certainly have no intention of giving up right now.  

“Stop chewing at your nails, Kenz. You’re gonna be pissed at yourself later.” Frankie sighs, gently grabbing your wrist to pull your hand away from your mouth, trying to fulfill his duty of being the one to stop you from ripping your nail beds to shreds. 

“You’re kinda making it hard not to.” You try your best to attempt a laugh. It’s the only way to keep yourself from crying. “So are you gonna tell me what’s going on or what?” 

“Y-yeah.” Frankie re-adjusts himself on the edge of the bed, twisting the fabric of your comforter between his fingers, trying to ground himself in the reality of the truth he’s forced to tell you, “I- I didn’t get into Florida State. I told you I did because I didn’t know what I was gonna do. You were just so excited when you thought we both got in and I- I panicked and I lied. I didn’t even think I was gonna get in anyways. I didn’t think I was gonna get in anywhere. Even if I did, I don’t know if I even could have afforded it. It’s just me and my mom and neither of us-”

“It’s not too late. I can help you look for scholarships. To help you with tuition. I’m sure that there’s a bunch out there that you could apply for. I’ll even write your essays and stuff for you if you want me to-” 

“I’m pretty sure you can’t do that, Kenz. Plus, you hate cheaters.” 

Frankie tries to reciprocate the same half-assed laugh you gave him. He looks over at you, the small smile he’s forcing to keep between his lips quickly fading as he sees the way you’re pleading with him to realize that you would forge a thousand essays in his name if it meant he wasn’t going to leave you. He’d be a cheater you’d gladly forgive. 

“It’s not even just the money. I just- I- I don’t even like school, Kenzie. I suck at it. If school is already hard now, how much harder is it gonna be when I get to college? To study for a job that I’m probably not even gonna want when I graduate? At least with the Army I can have a job and benefits and hopefully make enough money to help my mom so she’s not working at the hospital 6 days a week. MacKenzie, the only reason I applied to Florida State was because of you. I thought that maybe there would be some miracle I got in and I could figure out how to pay for it and I could magically get smarter and better at school so we could spend the next four years together. I wanted it to happen. I wanted it to happen so bad. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I lied to you. I just- fuck- I just didn’t know how to tell you.” 

Neither of you are quite sure what to say next. That quiet comes back to fill the space between you, allowing enough room for the silent sobs you’re both trying your best to hold in, small sniffles still escaping from each of you. You’re not sure if your brain has fully processed what he’s had to say. The only thing you can understand is the swirling of sadness and confusion in your gut and the pounding ache in your chest. 

You take a scooch closer to him, the outsides of your thighs barely brushing together as you tilt your head to rest against his shoulder. It’s heavy, the weight you can’t help but lean against him, but the arm he wraps behind your back and around your waist tells you that he’ll gladly take it. He’ll take it all, if he has to. 

“Did you already sign a contract to go?” The whisper of your words is so soft, like you’re hoping he can’t hear you. If he can’t hear you, then he doesn’t have to tell you the answer you don’t want to hear. 

“Yeah. Me and Santi did a few weeks ago.” His voice is almost quieter than yours, convinced he has the same idea as you. 

His truth stings worse than the lie he’s been masquerading behind the past four months. You want to scream at him- To curse him with shouts and sobs, question how he could make this choice for himself and leave you in the dark until it’s too late for you to change his mind. You know it’s selfish, the way you want him to stay, the way you would have fought with every bone in your body to keep him from leaving. You know it’s the reason Frankie couldn’t tell you. 

It’s the same reason why Frankie couldn’t bring himself to tell you that if he had given you that chance, he probably would have stayed. 

“Do um- do you know when you have to leave?” 

It hurts to hear the words come out of your mouth. It’s an admittance of defeat. Because once you ask that question, there’s nothing you can do or say that will make him stay. No fighting, no begging, no pleading. You have to accept he’s leaving. 

“Not ‘til the end of the summer.” 

“Where?” 

The more you ask, the more it makes you want to keel over the edge of the bed and vomit, the reality of it all setting in at an alarming pace. 

“Missouri for basic training. I don’t know where after.” 

He doesn’t have to say where. You both know. Even if he doesn’t know the exact longitude and latitude of where the Army will deploy him, there’s nowhere else they’re sending him besides Iraq or Afghanistan or whatever godforsaken, war ridden country in the Middle East he’ll be forced to put his life on the line for. 

And for how much the reality of Frankie leaving scares you, when you’re hit with the reality that Frankie may leave and never come back, you’re absolutely terrified. 

“I don’t want you to go, Frankie.” 

You can’t beg him to stay. There’s no amount of bargaining you can do with him or the powers that be to change what’s been done. All you can do is tell him your truth as you sob into his chest while he holds you. Maybe if you’re not enough to make him stay, you’re at least enough to make him want to come home. 

You’re not sure how long he holds you while you cry. Maybe it’s minutes, maybe it’s hours. However long it is, all the moments you have left with Frankie feel that much more precious. You won’t let any of them slip through your fingers. 

“You promise you’ll come home, right?” 

“I promise, MacKenzie. I promise.” 

If there’s one thing you’ve learned about Francisco Morales, it’s that he’ll never break a promise. You just hope the universe is kind enough to let him keep this one, too. 

“I promise that we’ll have a really fun summer together before I leave too, okay? Whatever you wanna do, Kenz, I’ll do it.” 

“Anything?” 

It’s enough to peek your head out from the crook of his neck, trying your best to wipe away your tears with your sleeve, like you hadn’t just stained the better part of Frankie’s sweatshirt with the same wetness. 

“Anything.” 

“Alright, well, I guess we’re gonna go to Dairy Queen and get an extra large blizzard every day until you’re too fat for the Army to want you anymore.” 

The two of you giggle, a quiet symphony of soft snorts and sobs at the idea of rolling an ice cream filled Frankie off to boot camp. It makes him laugh even harder that he wouldn’t put it past you if you really did try. Perhaps it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if you did. 

“Whatever you want, MacKenzie. I’m all yours.” 

Frankie, Present 

Frankie’s convinced he might as well start training for a marathon at this point. 

He’s not really sure how else to spend his time. It’s hard to keep himself occupied when all he can do at home is sit around and wait for your dad to die or stare out the window like a creep to watch your comings and goings. 

At least if he’s running, he can’t think about you. 

Well, he can’t think about you as much. 

It’s been a day and a half since he decided to follow you on your run. He’s already pushed his luck enough that you didn’t damn near kill him for it, let alone that you even gave him a chance to talk to him. 

He let you take the first  shift on the morning yesterday, despite the fact he’d been awake well before the sun rose. The irony wasn’t lost on him at the way he watched you through his bedroom window the same way he did most Saturday and Sunday mornings for the first few years of your friendship. You’d be up at the same ungodly hour as him, except you’d be pacing up and down your driveway, stretching and lunging across its length as you clicked around on the iPod wrapped around your forearm, searching for whatever song would pump you up for your run. 

It wasn’t until you had finally noticed Frankie peering out his bedroom window every weekend that you began to drag him along on your runs with you. 

“If you’re awake too, you might as well come running with me, Morales. It’ll be fun!” 

“Fine. I gotta warn you though, Kenz, I am actually pretty fast.” 

“You barely run the mile in gym class.” 

“Savin’ up all my energy for when I need it most, Anderson.” 

There was once a time where you would have to beg Frankie to come with you on a run. Now, he’d give anything for you to tolerate his existence ten feet behind you. 

But he’ll sacrifice another run alone through all too familiar roads of his childhood subdivision if it helps him kill time and keeps you from hating him anymore than you rightfully deserve to. 

Yesterday, he went on two runs to pass the time. Hell, today, he’d consider adding a third run to his underwhelming schedule just to keep himself busy. Fortunately, (or unfortunately, he can’t tell yet) for him, Maria Morales has other plans. 

And when Maria Morales has plans, it’s in Frankie’s best interest to drop anything else he had in mind for the day. 

Even when it means he’s got a hot date with his basement and a mountain full of boxes in his basement. 

“Okay, anything in this pile to the left is for you to go through.” His mom grunts, lifting up one last box to add to the heap labeled “Francisco’s things” in her perfectly curved cursive, “If you want to take it home, find an empty box to put it in, but not my new clear, plastic bins, entiendes (understand)? Those were expensive.” 

“No clear plastic bins, got it.” Frankie chuckles, following the exaggerated step his mother takes over his scattered belongings. 

“If you see something and you don’t want it now but you want me to keep it for later, you can put it over on the shelf by the stairs. If you think it’s basura (trash), leave it over here and let me look at it first before you throw it away.” 

“Comprendido (got it).” Frankie nods, sizing up the stack his mom has set out for him, “Jesus ma, this is gonna take me all morning to go through.” 

“If you were home more, there would be less things to go through now.” 

“Yeah, well, you got me there.” Frankie grumbles under his breath, grimacing at the harsh reality of his mom’s words. He knows isn’t meant completely out of malice, but he can’t deny it’s certainly got some truth to it as well.  

“Okay, well I need to go run some errands, and I want this pile sorted by the end of the day, so standing here and moping certainly isn’t going to help that. Get to work, mijo (son).” 

His mom will never be one to throw a pity party for anyone, and most definitely won’t be throwing one for her son, based on his own, self-inflicted problem. Frankie helps her step over another makeshift pile scattered for sorting across the basement floor, giving him a quick pat on the back before disappearing upstairs, leaving him to quite literally unpack his past. 

“Fuck. Okay.” He sighs to himself, gently kicking one of the edges of flimsy cardboard at the bottom of the tower, trying to formulate his best plan of attack to make his sorting as painless as possible. 

He’s thankful that his brain has always worked in a way that allows him to analyze things so quickly, doing some quiet calculations in his head as to the most effective and efficient way to sort through god knows what may be hidden in the pile his mom has created for him. 

He runs his hand through the still messy curls of his morning bed head before selecting what feels like the lightest boxes and moving them off to the side, opening up a cardboard container from the next layer. 

Besides the trophies still in his room, every prize he’d ever won for every sport he’d ever played sits in the box below him. Frankie chuckles to himself, picking up some from the top to examine them, thumb gliding over the fake gold plating to read plaques like “Florida Junior Divisional Freestyle Swimming Finalist- 2005” or “Regional Championship Winners- Florida Firebirds 2007” glued to poorly sculpted plastic statues of swimmers. A few more medals and certificates had sunk to the bottom of the box, Frankie quickly grazing through its contents before rehoming it to the “trash” pile, unsure of when he would ever need proof he won several swimming competitions in high school. 

The next few boxes were more of the same- His varsity jacket, old t-shirts he wouldn’t stand a chance fitting into, considering the gangly figure that stretched them more than a decade ago, some old books from high school he’d only kept because of how much you loved them and he promised you that one day, he’d read them, too. 

It’s the shoe box that catches his eye next, sure that no matter how much his mom loved to hoard, whatever was in there most definitely was not a raggedy, holy pair of Converse from high school. 

It’s not until he picks up the box that he knows exactly what’s inside. It’s one of the lightest things he’s picked up in the last hour, but when he knows the weight of its contents, his arms want to tremble. 

It’s with a long deep breath that he brings the shoebox over to an open patch of floor, letting out a grunt and cursing his knees as he sits down cross legged with the box in front of him. He gently flips open the lid, hand running over his face and down the back of his neck when his suspicions are confirmed. 

Open envelopes spill out over the edges of the worn cardboard, the box stuffed to the brim with every letter you’d ever written to him while he was away.

Even if he wanted to, he’s not sure he could ever physically bring himself to throw them out. Those letters have more miles on them than most people’s cars will ever reach in a lifetime, flimsy, stamped pieces of paper following him to every corner of the globe he’s traveled to. 

Some letters he’s read so much, they’re worn on the edges where he’s held the paper, smudging the pen that’s reached the sides of the pages. Others, he’s only read once. He’s not sure he could ever bring himself to read them again. But regardless of their contents, he’d made a promise to you they’d stay with him. 

“Better not get rid of those letters, Morales. Do you know how many hand cramps I’ve given myself trying to find the words to send halfway across the world to you? You better promise me you’ll keep ‘em.”  

His commitment to the folded pieces of paper ring in his ears as his fingers drag across the tops of the open envelopes. He can’t help the way his index finger and thumb pinch the paper below his grasp, carefully tugging a random letter out of its shoebox storage. 

It’s a gut wrenching gamble, the game he’s about to play, a roulette of making his heart ache from joy or pain depending on the one he chooses to pull. He’s already placed his bet as he pulls the lined piece of paper out of the envelope- He’s not getting the money he’s already placed on the table back, so he might as well pray he makes a return on his investment. 

With one more deep breath, he unfolds the tri-fold creases, ready to watch his bet play out before him. 

August 18th, 2006

Frankie, 

I hope I sent this letter to the right place! I looked on the website and it said to send mail to new recruits (that’s you, Morales), to this address, so no one better be holding my letter to you hostage. 

Anyways, how’s training so far? Did they make you shave your head yet? I hope not. I’m not sure why the Army insists on making you all look like Dr. Evil from Austin Powers. I’m sure you’ll still look cute even with short hair! I don’t think I can say the same for Santi, but you didn’t hear that from me… hehehe 

I just moved into my dorm yesterday! My roommate seems pretty nice. Her name is Jessica and she’s from Georgia. She claims that she’s neat and she better be, or I may lose my mind. I’ll send you pictures of my dorm once it’s all set up! It’s kind of a mess right now, but I made sure to put the picture of us from prom up on my desk :)

I don’t start class until next Tuesday. Hopefully I’ll meet some new people in my dorm or on the soccer team so I’m not a total loser with no friends. LOL. 

Have you met anyone new yet? I can’t wait to hear all about your new Army friends! I already started a countdown calendar until we can see each other again. Only 70 days until basic training is done and I can hear about everything in person! 

I miss you a lot. I know that’s dumb to say because it’s only been a week, but still. I wish I would have kissed you again before you got on the plane to leave. I promise I will when I see you. Nothing says perfect place to kiss like South Missouri, romance capital of the USA (haha). 

I know you’re gonna be busy, but write me back when you have time. The return address on the envelope is my dorm address, so use that, or risk Doug and Michelle reading your mail if you send it to my house!!! I can’t wait to hear from you. Miss you, weirdo. 

From, 

Kenz :) <3

His luck of the draw sends a wave of relief through him, smiling down at the curvy loops of your perfectly neat printing signed at the bottom of the page. It makes his heart skip a beat, the same kind of butterflies coming to life in his stomach as they did the first time he read it. He’s earned his money back and then some. He gets how casinos never go broke, because the high of good fortune is enough to have him reaching back into the box to put another gamble on the line. 

October 13th, 2009

Frankie, 

I always feel dumb sending multiple letters before I hear back from you, but you know me, I love to worry. I know you can’t tell me where you are right now (stupid military and their secrets for the safety of society lol) but I’ve been seeing stuff on the news and it makes me scared for you. I just hope wherever you are, you’re safe. 

My dad’s cancer is back. He’s been in the hospital for almost two weeks now. They found a new mass on his liver, but they said hopefully they can target it with radiation before it starts to spread. Cassandra at the front desk asked how you were when I was at the hospital yesterday. I said that you were good. I think she’s only asking because if you’re not there, there’s no one to keep me from burning a hole in the waiting room carpet. 

I wish you were here. I feel really lost right now. I just know if you were here, you’d find a way to make everything better. You always do. 

Sorry this letter isn’t longer. I haven’t been sleeping that great and don’t have enough brainpower to write something decent. Just wanted to let you know what’s going on.  

Counting down the days until you make good on your promise. I hope you come home soon, Frankie. 

Kenzie 

He curses himself for an unlucky draw, heart sinking at the tear stains smearing the blue ink of your trembling letters. An overwhelming wave of guilt washes over him, vivid memories of reading your notes in his bunk alone, wishing there was a way he could fly halfway around the world for a night just to hold you and tell you that everything was going to be okay. 

It’s the addictive itch in the back of his brain that makes him decide to pull one more letter from the box, taking one last gamble to see if he can prove the nagging pit in his stomach to quit while he’s ahead, wrong. 

February 4th, 2011

Hey, 

If you don’t want to write anymore, that’s fine. I was trying to be friendly, but clearly you don’t really care. Just let me know and I’ll stop bombarding you with mail you obviously don’t want. Or I guess you not responding is letting me know. If you want to send anything back you can send it to my parents house. I’m moving into Liam’s house and it’s only 20 minutes away so I can just drive there and pick it up. No need to send you a new address you probably aren’t going to write to, anyways. 

I guess I’ll see you when I see you. 

MacKenzie 

And that’s how Vegas will always stay in business. 

Because now Frankie is forced to walk away, all his money stolen from him at the stupid risk he’s decided to take. The one letter he’d give anything not to read again is the one he had to pull. 

Heat seethes in his chest- he can’t quite explain why. Because he lost at a rigged game he’d set up for himself? That he still hasn’t quite come to terms with the ugly truth of what he put the both of you through? That he wishes with everything in him, he could go back and change what he’s done? 

Or maybe, it’s because now might be the last chance he has to fix what he’s broken, and he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to live with himself if he can’t.

He leaves the pile in the basement unfinished, shoes barely tied to his feet before he bursts out the door in a sprint.

He's not sure where he's going. He's not even sure how long he's run for. All he knows is the pounding of his feet against the pavement, trying to outrun the stupid decisions of his past.

He tells himself if he runs fast enough, he'll beat them.

If he goes far enough, they'll be forgotten.

If he outraces them, you'll be there waiting for him at the finish line.

@chaotic-iguana @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

@pedrobaby @fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae @kittenlittle24

@3sriracha @jungchloee @perennialdoll247 @prettyinpunk85 @raspberrybesitos

@partyofone3413 @harriedandharassed @pedrohoe04 @theorganasolo

@endlessthxxghts @beware-my-thorns @missladym1981 @milly-louise

@jay-zzle @the-one-with-the-grey-color @persephone-girl @bitchesuntitled

@pedropascallvr @millennial-teenybopper @vee-bees-blog @itsokbbygrl

@hopplessilse @mxtokko @its-nebuleuse @mandoisapunk @msmorningstaarr

@amyispxnk @honeyedmiller @mountainsandmayhem @picketniffler @burningnerdchild

@copperhalfcent @theoraekenslover @bloodyinspirationaldemon @vee-bees-blog

@samgirl4life @pigeonmama @survivingandenduring @jolapeno @ovaryacted

@amanitacowboy @mystickittytaco @anoverwhelmingdin @greenwitchfromthewoods

@witchofthedeepwoods @ericamarie093 @readingiskeepingmegoing @whimsiwitchy @whoaitspascal87

@vickie5446 @katw474 @ravenpoe67 @inthedarkestnight @brittmb115

@harryscherrysugar @wonderpillar @sunnytuliptime @pasc4lfuzz @yesjazzywazzylove-blog

@kungfucapslock @vannabanana1995

@javierpena-inatacvestnotifs

[bucked-that-up]

this started as random DMs with @brat-buck and here it is. Finally posting one of our stupid mini fics and headcanons.

———

They do this, a lot, but Evan is usually the one crawling up to climb Tommy. On bad days, good days, and everything in between. Tommy always chuckles a little before settling in to play Evan’s body pillow. And it usually escalates into something even closer with less clothes, so Tommy isn’t going to complain.

Then, after a bad shift, Tommy comes home to find Evan’s already there, and he’s cooking a big to-do of pot roast and sides. Tommy is tired—physically, emotionally, needs time to process, can’t do it properly in front of Evan. He’s not used to sharing this much space with a person and there are some things better handled alone. But Evan seems to just buzz right past any of Tommy’s exhausted looks or dry sighs as he chatters on about the potato famine while working a sieve—and when did Tommy get one of those??—for the richest, silkiest, smoothest mashed potatoes Tommy’s ever had.

At the end of dinner, Tommy is a little lighter, a lot fuller, but even more tired. He starts to thank Evan for dinner, but insists it was one of those days and he needs a quiet night.

Buck cuts him off. “I know. Rough last call. Lucy texted.”

“She texted you? About me?”

“She was worried you’d come home and stew alone. So I decided to come make you some stew and potatoes instead.”

Tommy gives him a soft smile. Sometimes, he thinks of it as his Evan smile. “And I appreciate it … but I’m just ready for be—“

“On it,” Buck says as he rises from the table and walks right to the bedroom.

Tommy follows slowly, confused, thinking about all the leftovers and dishes. Hears Evan mutter from down the hall…

“I’ll get to it in an hour. We’ve got something to take care of in here”

When Tommy gets to the bedroom, Evan is settling on one side of the bed—Evan’s side, Tommy thinks before he can stop himself—then pats the mattress and invites Tommy up beside him. Well, on him, really, so he can cuddle like Evan usually goes for when he’s wound himself too tight.

It takes a few mins to not feel like his space is being invaded and there’s too much contact. Like he just wants to shut his brain off and crawl under the covers … alone. And yet he’s settling against the heat of Evan’s body and feeling the strength of Evan’s arms wrapping around him and tucking him in close and tommy thinks …

Oh.

I get it now.

This is nice. It’s good.

Evan is nice … he is so good.

[laswells-ashtray]

Your writings are so good that I’m entrusting you with this simple prompt: Dragon Hybrid Price and (Any Hybrid) Nikolai.

Do what you will dear wizard writer.

For the sheer sake of you never implied how silly I could get with this, I'm sillying it up:

Bear hybrid Nikolai [because it's too fucking good] and dragon hybrid Price standing about one day, the two sergeants and the lieutenant are training together while the older two men watch. They're on someone else's base, a hybrid-less base but they're making do with what the have.

John's leaning back against the wall, wings pressed up against the brick in a way that has to be uncomfortable or at least that's what everyone assumes. He's rubbing at the base of one of his horns as if trying to soothe a headache and he looks quite frankly exhausted when another Captain appraoches.

John decides that in comparison to this man, he looks like Marilyn fucking Monroe.

"Captain Givens, you look about as good as I feel." John is at least trying to keep a good relationship with the other team even if they have a habit of pissing off each of them.

"Too fuckin' right. Just got off the phone with the Missus and had to help her convince my little boy not to shove his Batman figure up his nose. It's exhausting." The man complains, running a hand over his face tiredly.

John makes a sympathetic noise but doesn't hide his amused look. "Oh, I'm all too familiar with that feeling." The other day he'd had to convince a group of rookies that Soap is indeed a liar and that oil paint is in fact not edible just because it has oil in the name.

"You have kids?"

"Yes." John should've been smarter than to think that Nikolai's silence was a good thing, he doesn't get a chance to correct the bear hybrid before the other Captain asks:

"How many?"

"Three." Nikolai tells him while watching the boys train in the distance.

For a brief moment, John wants to tug on one of his fluffy ears and tell him to quit it. On the other hand, fuck it, why not?

"Yeah, three over there are mine. Different mums but I was a bit of a tart back in the day." He's reliant on the fact the human knows nothing about hybrids, specifically dragon hybrids for it to work. It's no secret that dragon hybrids can live a lot longer than the average human if they're careful about it but to those types of hybrids, John is still a toddler, horns still in one piece with wings that are still vibrant and healthy.

He can see the amusement in Nik's big brown eyes, he likes it when John sinks down to his level of teasing humans. The only one exempt was Kate, they respected her too much and she wasn't an idiot, she'd never believe half of the stupid shit they've all told people throughout the years. Besides, Kate is family. She has five hybrids protecting her back and the average CIA agent is still more scared of her.

"Riley, MacTavish and Garrick? They're yours?" The human asks in disbelief. Simon was going to kill him for this later, Kyle and Johnny would inevitably laugh themselves hoarse.

"Aye. Didn't find out about Riley until he was a teenager and his Mum got in contact. Looks fuck all like me but he's certainly mine. Lad certainly wasn't a chipper wee thing but I managed to win him over, SAS was his choice, I just put him on the task force because I owed it to his Mum to keep an eye out." He's talking out of his arse now and he knows it but the captain seems to be hanging on his every word. Nikolai is making the conscious decision to look away from him but he can see the faint shaking of the bastard's shoulders, he's laughing.

"MacTavish was from an eventful night up in Glasgow one evening, we didn't know if he was mine or Nik's until we saw the little blighter's eyes."

Good on Nik for how quickly he sorts himself, turning around and nodding approvingly. "Ah, but young MacTavish has always favoured me. Would've been a good bear cub, very grizzly."

The captain looks over to the three men training with wide eyes, tilting his head as he stares at them all, surveying them before he looks back to John.

"And Garrick is yours too?"

Kyle had been ripping on him for being old earlier so maybe he plays it up just that little bit more.

He nods, looking over at Gaz with the most proud look he can muster, it's real but he can pretend it isn't just for the bit. "He was an angel when he was a tot, good sleeper and learned to talk quick. Was always a little grumpy that he didn't have horns too but he got over it eventually. Got him a blanket with a dragon on it when he was two and he didn't get rid of the thing until he was fifteen. Big Mumma's boy though, spitting image of his mother and more than proud of it."

It almost saddens him that the interaction ends when a sergeant whose name he can't remember calls over the captain about something but the sound of Nik's deep, gruff laughter is anything to soothe his short-lived annoyance.

Truthfully, he forgets about the entire interaction within a few hours until Soap barges into his temporary room on the base with a positively gleeful look.

"Price, I don't know what the fuck you did but Gaz is due to kick yer heed in."

"Excuse me?"

"Givens won't stop asking him about his dragon blankie."

Shit.

"And what's this about you and Nik playing who's the daddy when I was born?"

Shit.

[macdenlover]

we don’t acknowledge enough how dee used to be a pageant winner when she was a kid and how much damage it did to her. she worked her ass off and got recognition for being pretty and talented at a young age and it was the only source of self esteem she could garner in a family that constantly berated and talked down to her. she sought after that external approval because it was the only way she could prove everyone around her wrong. her dream of being a performer didn’t come from a self-aggrandizing delusion— she genuinely showed a lot of potential when she was younger. but she went through an unflattering puberty and her spinal condition got worse and that natural talent she had as a kid plateaued way too early. the “former gifted kid” dilemma. she slowly lost the thing that promised her that she was good, but she was so desperate to keep holding onto it that she tried anyway. again and again and again no matter how much people made fun of her because it was always about proving them wrong. but after a while she couldn’t jump anymore without anticipating the way it feels when she hits the ground face first. self-sabotage became her way out, choosing to rather live in the fantasy of her own unrealized potential and blaming those around her for her lack of success, than having tried and crashed again. she’d rather buy lottery tickets over and over and never scratch off the numbers than to see that she lost. that self-sabotaging behavior bled into other aspects of her life too, from friendships to relationships to therapy. her own short lived success is what made her grow into embodying the cycle of failure.

[wormchaser]

you are complaining about complaining too much while complaining about the fact that maybe people dont like you because you complain too much while complaining about being alone. just stop complaining and do something about it. talk to people. reach out. dont just wait for someone to come to you first.

i have tried reaching out to different people in the past year or so but it never works. i understand its my own fault for letting relationships decay because of my own insecurities and issues but that doesn't mean i can just will myself to think or believe different things about myself. it's a self fulfilling prophecy ; i think people don't like me so i don't reach out so people don't like me etc . i am sure you do not want to hear me list all the things i want to say in response so i will put them in the tags.

[viktormaru]

Look... I get it and actually agree that fiction should be completely alowed to explore dark themes, and theres a real argument for not erasing even harmful fiction just so we can study it and confront those topics. Thats really good!

but also thats not what im gonna accept for an argument against the stupid 30 year old woman writing extensive porn about some kid from my hero academia fucking his dad whos calling me an "anti" and a "puritan" and complaining about censorship bcs I blocked them

because these people are way too fucking dumb to ever understand what Dark Themes in media is actually talking about

which is why talking abt this on tumblr is so fucking stupid cause ppl are pretentious and really think theyre fucking misunderstood geniuses for writing anime fanfiction

[eddiemunsonsmum]

Just saw this comment on a story posted a month ago.

*cries in Eddie Munson Solo Series no one wanted to read, interact with or request for*

No shade to the person that commented this on their own fic if you recognize it. It's not their fault. I'm not mad at them. More crying in the tags.

[sskk-manifesto]

(*・ω・*)b♪

[aroaceofthesea]

I had a friend agree with my paranoia about ads in the metro screens they've been putting lately and im so glad im not the only one who can see what they are trying to do

[benbamboozled]

Wayne Family Adventures is good, actually.

You don’t have to love it. You don’t even have to like it.

But the disdain I see around it reminds me VERY MUCH of the worst kind of dudebro whining about “fangirls not liking comics right” from back in the day.

And I hate that.

[neige-leblanche]

i cant stay on tumblr bc people here love arguing about things that literally do not matter

[comfymoth]

I don’t think you’re silly for being scared of the lore. That shit’s fucked up dude. I didn’t watch it but from what I’ve heard from mutuals it sounds like something terrifying being played as a bit of a joke and that’s honestly even more scary to me.

i almost wish it was played as straight horror because i think i’d understand it better, but it’s like. it’s also so goofy that i can’t be fully scared! like he’s a rat. his evil scientist self helped turn him into a rat. a little tiny rat. ratoier. it’s so unserious. so i kinda don’t know how to feel about it, y’know? like i wish it was scarier just so i could make up my mind, as it is i mostly feel confused and a little frustrated. like i have no idea what i’m supposed to take away from this other than….. huh? what? is this a joke or not, i can’t tell

[carcarrot]

they cant get rid of me that easily

[emulation-0]

im a little sad today