#legit this fic is getting me through some shit right now

[chexmixup]

lingering on my skin like a burn

(Please read @geniusboyy’s Covenants and other Provisions, this has had me wrecked)

[ronearoundblindly]

Some Steve for you to enjoy 🥰🫶🏻

Gurl, this f***ed me up! I wanted to try to make it a snippet of Item 107 or The Cinder King, but the muses were just like "you know what you need? emotional damage." So now here we have my first semi-legit period piece (which has zero useful era detail eh) and truly is just the carrier for skinny!Steve love. Hint: It's thirsty, smutty love with hardly any plot ANGST.

Hello and welcome to Lexi's most self-indulgent fic ever. It's got everything: crippling insecurities about my real-life stuff, horniness unmatched even if there were sex pollen shot directly into their faces, and everyone is touch-starved. \o/ Enjoy! WC probably close to 3k but idk because I'm too afraid to look back at it. *slams post button*

Turned away again, Steve "4F" Rogers steps out of the recruitment center to see you standing there, staring up at the posters promising glory.

People hustle around you, several even knocking into you, but you remain transfixed, invisible. You're clutching your purse like a lifeline.

Down one step, worn-through shoes barely hiding every seam in the cobblestone, Steve has to get closer because that's the direction of home and a lonely, empty apartment he can hardly afford. He has to pass by. He has to, but then he sees the amber light reflect on trails of tears down your cheeks.

He has to stop.

"Miss?" Steve clears his throat, his own arm smacked by a rowdy man who then swats at your ass just as Steve tries to get your attention again.

You jolt and turn to him in surprise, hand flying up to cover a sob, sweeping to wipe the evidence of emotion from your face.

Fast--faster than Steve really processes--he's shouting for the guy to apologize before the guy makes to advance, Steve presses himself between you and the asshole still laughing at disrespecting you, and then he--Steve--is getting shoved into the alley with you still at his back.

It's dusk. The alley is nearly black. Steve can hear you crying but he's slipped on the stones wet from an afternoon rain. He scrambles to right himself.

Amidst the cries, he hears grunts of anger and resistance, terror creeping into his chest as Steve thinks you're being assaulted.

"Piece of shit," you bite out. The silhouette of you hurling your bag at the man's face repeatedly is clear from where Steve crouches, backlit as you are by the movie theater marquee.

Then the guy is down on the ground, too, being stomped on by your two-inch heel. "Piece of fucking shit."

"Woah," Steve jumps forward to hold you back. "Woah, language, ma'am. Let's go. Just leave him."

He has a weak arm around your waist, but you kick at the man one more time for good measure, hissing "liar" before turning to follow.

Your hand in his, Steve hurries through the streets, picking the ones he knows are busier but maneuverable to make sure you're not being pursued. Each time he looks back, he sees your sinking face, more tears, more exhaustion, and he makes a flash decision.

He doesn't stop until he locks the door of his apartment behind you both, and you break down on the bare wood floor.

"You hurt? Did he hurt you?" Steve's boney knees land a few inches from yours and he leans over, his long fingers brushing over your pinned hair and stiff curls that dislodged in the commotion. "You're alright. You're safe here."

Where your legs crumple underneath you, your slip lays over your thigh, uncovered by the skirt pooling on the other side of your hip. He can see the outline of a garter strap and the top of your stocking beneath the silky material. Steve's always loved pretty, delicate things. He also loves the faint bulge of flesh around the restraints.

There's meat on your bones, something to hold onto, and he shakes his head, chastising himself for noticing all the wrong things about the crying woman in his home. His lonely, empty home.

Steve attempts to think of anything other than your body.

"Do you know him? What'd you call him a liar for?"

You sigh in defeat, hands flopping into your lap, and confess that it wasn't about him so much as a man not here anymore. Gone. To war. You tell Steve a rambling tale of excuses and snide comments, of a parting that left you wondering why that man--any man--bothered to be with you in the first place, of a surety that you weren't ever wanted.

"I thought he loved me but he lied."

Steve sits cross-legged in front of you now, enthralled and utterly confused. Why would anyone...?

"That's the worst part," you exclaim, voice cracking. "I don't know. I'll never know." Your fingers fiddle with the hem of your skirt. "I heard today that he died. Don't know where. Don't know when. And I hate that I still care."

"But he wasn't good to you," Steve soothes and wraps his hand around yours, "and he wasn't good for you."

All you do is shrug and hide your face. Tears falls to the fabric below your eyes and seep through in dark patches.

He scoots forward and lifts your chin with a gentle nudge. When your puffy red eyes meet his, he's struck by how lucky he feels to see you like this. It's odd to think someone who knew you more and for so much longer couldn't feel infinitely more attached and protective. You're so vulnerable, so open, so...

"You're beautiful." Steve's tongue swipes over his dry lips. "You're so beautiful."

The words are loaded heavier than tanks and pack the punch of a bomb. He can tell you don't truly hear him by the way you shrink and shake your head out of his hold.

"Don't do that," he pleads. "Please don't hide from me."

"You don't know me."

"No, but I--"

"You don't even know my name!"

He sits back and offers his hand.

"Hi, I'm Steve. It's nice to meet you, and I think you're beautiful."

"That's stupid," you lash out, bitterly spitting the half-hearted, heart-breaking words. "You must be an idiot, Steve."

It's not the first time he's heard it, but it is the first time he's not mad at hearing it. He believed those things, too, long ago, before his mom convinced him to see the possibilities in one's struggles. If you perceive it as an obstacle, it is an obstacle. Perceive it as an opportunity instead and use it. Those aren't her exact words, but Sarah Rogers has so many different ways of teaching the same fundamental lessons that Steve can't remember the phrases anymore.

He can remember the feeling. He remembers seeing both obstacles and opportunities.

"Is it stupid to want to touch you?" he whispers. "Because I would love to touch you."

The question is purposefully leading since he knows from your story that's exactly what you long for. It'll be more impactful if he shows you he longs for that too.

Slowly--so slowly--his hand comes up to your cheek again, his fingers tucking behind your neck.

"I don't want your pity." There's still bitterness but no power behind it. You gently shift closer and meet him halfway.

He's kissed girls before, he's fooled around, and he has, in fact, slept with one girl. They went all the way--twice--which means Steve knows what it is to be pitied intimately. He knows what it's like to want something so badly you don't care what the motivation is.

You deserve to know his motives.

"I don't pity you." His focus falls to your quivering lip. "I want to make you happy." He's close. He's so close his breath rolls warm over your face. "I want to make you smile."

A soft whimper leaves you just as his mouth arrives.

"I want you," he says into the kiss.

Instead of fighting, you grab at his jacket, pulling him until you're both falling into the stand lamp. You taste of salt and something sweet he can't put his finger on. Steve resolves to put that on the list of things to find out about you.

He keeps kissing you as you both fall, the lamp now wedged at an angle by the side table. Despite the tangle of tongues, Steve keeps his hands to himself. He doesn't quite have enough answers.

"What do you want, beautiful?"

Hesitant as he pulls away, gripping worn leather like your purse in the street, your eyes dart between his. You're a dream beneath him, but that sounds too selfish to voice.

"May I..." Steve is already panting "...get you off the floor? More comfortable?"

Maybe you haven't been able to say the words, but Steve doesn't need more convincing to know you want him.

He could tell from the way you pawed at him. He could tell from the multiple times you crashed him into the walls along the hall to makeout more. He could tell from the way you melted like hot butter at his every returned touch, but finally, you two made it to his bed.

He'd be embarrassed by the lumpy old thing if there weren't a curvy, luscious dame standing with wide legs at the foot of it, letting his tie slip through your hands as he sits stunned.

Steve swallows thickly.

"Let me see you." It comes out as more of an order than the hopeful question he intended, but when he sees the command shiver through you, he feels six-foot-six and powerful as all hell.

You two share the burden of unbuttoning all of your layers, spinning you a few times to release front and back and side to side. His hands spread and roam to relish each garment, each moment, until you're top half is naked.

He stares, fierce blue irises muted by the dim light on his bedside table, 'beautiful' on his lips every second you spend with your finger yanking the knot of his tie and sliding off the bond. When you lean to pop his shirt buttons, your breasts hang in his face.

Steve stops you by your wrists, peaking up at you through his long lashes as he takes a nipple in his mouth. He keeps thinking it--beautiful--while his tongue sweeps flat across pebbling flesh. Each subsequent swirl has you melting again, pressing more of you to his face, dragging nails up his chest, sighing long and deep. When he switches to the other side, your fingers bury in his hair. He takes his time to worship you, tracing his own fingertips around the hem of your slip and garters.

He doesn't get impatient, if anything Steve feels greedy for wanting more, for praying this lasts forever, for needing all you're willing to give.

His teeth graze your skin in wanton lust, and you flinch in surprise, knocking you off-balance.

You fall to your knees on the mattress, straddling Steve's slender body beneath your hot core.

"Sorry," you mutter, wriggling to stand, forcing Steve to wrap his arms around you and halt your retreat. "I'm sorry. I don't want to hurt you."

"You can sit on me morning, noon, and night," he rasps. "I won't complain. I'll thank you, beautiful."

He groans pathetically when you relax, the grind of your ass making his slacks pinch tighter and tighter. Steve lets his head fall back on the sheets, eyes fluttering shut. The army might not want him, the world outside may forget he ever existed, but you see. He could get addicted to this feeling. He might get lonely without it.

Steve isn't strong enough to keep hold of you, but your weight never leaves, his erection still slotted between your cheeks. His mouth drops wide when your hips roll. Steve whines when you rise up enough to resume unbuttoning him. His lungs and heart go into overdrive, but even so, Steve doesn't want you doing all the work.

He flips you--using the sum total of his strength--and shuffles backward to stand, ripping the tails of his shirt from beneath his belt and shucking off his trousers. That part he could have been more patient for, but Steve smirks and brushes away the hair falling in his eyes, chest heaving from exertion.

He's pleased to see you watching him, ogling his body without judgment. You look like you want to eat him alive, and he is perfectly fine with that.

His palm lands on your knee to sneak higher beneath your slip, nimble fingers popping the clasps along your stockings and hooking through the band of your underwear. You lifting for him is all the permission he needs. Steve leaves your slip, garter belt, and stockings in place, and in a cheeky twist, he lets your underwear hang off one of your ankles, kissing your inner thigh, pushing your knees wider for him to fit.

He throbs in his boxers at the sight of your sex.

Nerves roil in his belly at the idea he is solely responsible for your pleasure. As he glances up to you, propped up on your elbows with a fearful and expectant gaze, he sees a poster promising honor and glory, a service to be proud of, and for the first time, he has doubts.

You see it in his eyes.

"Steve?"

He wants to participate and show that he's worthy of you.

This isn't about him though, and Steve Rogers is nothing if not dedicated anyone other than himself.

"Right here." He snaps back to reality, laying his hand to your thatch of hair and gently teasing his thumb along your folds. "I'm right here, beautiful."

It's an honor to touch you. He's proud of the moan elicited because he strokes over your clit rhythmically. The glory of watching you writhe is all his.

Steve's breath stays rapid as yours picks up. You're fisting the sheets, slick pooling beneath the pad of his thumb, helping him pick up speed. He dips into you, tests the breach while pushing his boxers down, and crawls over the edge of the bed. Like magnets, you guide each other higher till the pillows cradle you.

You're a broken record, repeating a desperate loop.

"Steve," you whimper.

"Won't ever lie to you." He captures your lips again. "Want you so badly. I'll want you all the time."

Steve doesn't understand why you won't talk to him, so he slows, eyes questioning and brow furrowed. You have to see. The light is right there.

Bottom lip trapped, you still say nothing, but your arms raise to his smooth face and plead in the silence.

He wants the same thing. He wants to feel. Not just the sting of rejection. Not just the slippery, rough stones through his shoes. Not just the empty ache inside. He wants to feel like someone cares whether he lives or dies.

You care even when you don't want to, but Steve can earn you, your care, your smile and your tears. He'll get up and come home to you every time. He needs you to come home to.

Otherwise, this is a lonely, empty apartment. Otherwise, he is a lonely, empty man.

Your hands bring him close, lips pausing just before contact while Steve sinks two fingers into you.

You gasp. His fingers curl. His thumb goes back to work. You kiss him with what little breath you can hold between muted cries until Steve notices your roving hands tug at his waist.

He wants the same thing.

Sitting back on his heels, Steve drapes your thighs over his, his slick fingers spreading you. He's mesmerized watching his cock disappear inch by inch, and the caress of your walls shuts down all other brain function. All he can do is slide against you, bent into your soft body, your breasts padding his jerky thrusts, the base of him perfectly laving the hood of your clit in the growing mess.

You're wet, and he's driven wild by the need to make you come. He tries to sit up again, to play with you properly, but he's stopped by the weight of your legs crossed behind his ass, the strength of your thighs anchoring him in place.

Steve takes huge, deep breaths through his nose because he won't last concentrating on how your body bounces and ripples, plush beneath his boney form.

You get wetter, looser in a welcoming way that spurs him to drive himself home faster. He sucks in air, though it's futile once his heavy balls start to seize.

Suddenly, you shout, stretching to push yourself completely flush with his pelvis, and he has to pull out, keeping aligned with the cut of you as aftershocks make you mindlessly hump him. Steve's cum shoots all over his belly and your chest, some drops dampening what clothes he didn't discard, stains of joy replacing stains of sadness.

His chest might explode. He's gasping, taxed beyond his naughtiest dreams, head lolling toward the ceiling with his throat high.

He feels your legs fall away, and Steve hopes for an instant that you embrace him even though he might suffocate in the process.

The envelopment never comes. The world is fuzzy and too warm beyond him.

He hears the sink in his bathroom turn on just as he lands palms-down on sweaty sheets. He tries every trick he knows to calm down. The water still runs after all the time it takes for him to recover and stand. The closer he gets to the doorway, the clearer the sound really is.

Sobbing.

"Beautiful? What's wrong? Did I--"

The faucet squeaks off, and you barrel out, nearly running him over, your arms covering your chest and your disheveled hair hiding your face.

"What are you doing? Are you cold?" Steve tries.

"I'm disgusting," you hiss in a mad dash for the pile of clothes on the floor.

He trips over his feet to stop you, corralling you as best he can, but you're quick. You certainly have fight in you. Steve only want to show you you do not have to fight him.

"Come back to bed," he commands hopefully, grabbing your wrist as you scoop up your wrinkled dress. "I should clean up, but please, please, come back to bed."

There is something broken and fearful in the way you finally meet his eye. He's torn apart, shredded down to nothing in a single look. That's not how a feral animal sees the world; that's how an animal, abused and betrayed, locks the world out.

Your protection is what you really took off for him. Your thick armor is what Steve got past.

"I didn't lie." He lets go of you and steps back as calm as his rasping breaths can manage. "I want you. I want you to stay." He wonders whether he ought to cover himself, too, because perhaps total vulnerability makes you more nervous.

So he presents himself as an opportunity, not an obstacle.

Steve finds his boxers a foot away and says one more time, "I hope you stay."

Unmoving, your eyes follow his walk to the bathroom, and in the split second he's looking down to turn the tap, you're gone.

Disappointment floods his system, but like all the other stamped failures in his record, Steve goes through the motions of caring for a body that thwarts his desire to live at every turn. In fact, it tries to die so often, he's always surprised to find himself here, staring at this mirror again, wondering why he gets back up.

He's also surprised to find you here, in the bed with the sheet pulled up to your chin, nodding to the side table where you've placed a cup of water.

The tiniest of genuine smiles curves your lips.

Steve's home is neither lonely nor empty anymore. He could cry.

A/N: this got so incredibly out of hand... I'm so sorry. But also, thank you for reading!

Tags: @supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555

@yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses @brandycranby @buckysprettybaby @ellethespaceunicorn

@late-to-the-party-81 @bigtreefest @mistressmkay @astheskycries

@rogersbarber @blogbog710 @bucky-fricking-barnes-reads

[midnight-mourning]

300 Followers Special!

AGH IT HAPPENED AGAIN

was legit just checking through my blog and realized but at least i caught it in time!!

Thank you all so much! For this and for all the support everyone gives on the silly things I make. I know the last like, several months of this blog have been chaos (from posting often to nothing while I was sick to semi-daily in December etc. etc.) so I appreciate everyone sticking with me through it all very much <333

I'll admit there's.... a LOT going on right now (looks at my wips and at my research to-do list) BUT, i don't mind adding something to the list! It just might take a bit of time to get to it lol

Pulling from the 100 follower milestone celebration ideas that didn't get picked, as well as a few other things I came up with, will do the top two if results are close :D

BUT feel free to pick the 'other' option if you have soemthing else you'd like to see! I will do whatever since this is me saying thanks ^^

Little bit of info on each thing below the cut, excited to see what you pick!

Q&A/Ask the Cast: a classic, I know my ask box is open but here's also a clear chance to ask something that you've been really curious about! I won't share spoilers for the story, but everything else is on the table, including stuff about me, writing etc. Just no super personal questions is all! Additionally, you can ask the cast questions and answers will be in character, perhaps with a little doodle as well ^-^

Writing Requests: same as all the other request things I've done, same rules apply (no nsfw, suggestive is fine, be specific if you want specific) and will be about 500-1000 words each

Doodle requests: I provide you with a little drawing I made with tender love and care (would be lined, colored, shaded, etc.)

A peek into the drafts: I do in fact have a couple other fic ideas floating around in my brain that I simply haven't started so that I don't get bogged down/focus on CS. I would share those and a little bit of concept art

AU Oneshot/Continuation: I take a oneshot I've written and add MORE to it in some way, anything that I've written is up for grabs (besides my multi-chap stories ofc) This includes my Promptober responses, DCA December, 'Secret' gifts I've done, and any other drabbles or such. Examples of times I've already done this would include Holiday Spirit (continuation of DCA December Day 7), and Restart (continuation of Promptober Day 29)

DIY the DCA: silly idea I've thought about where using my knowledge as an MechE I determine the costs of materials, equipment, etc. for what it would take to build the daycare attendant yourself, would it be completely accurate? probably not I am not an expert, would it be fun? yeah I fuckin love deep-diving on mcmastercarr for shit

Chekov's Gun Analysis Post: i explain and go line by line about ch. 15 of Confused Spirit and explain all the little callbacks, hints, etc., why i love it so much, and so on

Other: explained above, don't be shy to tell me if none of these sound interesting! Won't hurt my feelings :)

[kwop-kilawtley]

I GOT WAR FLASHBACKS FROM THE REDDIT MENTION OMG-!!

Fuck Twilight reddit tbh. Twilight tik tok is right up there too but I at least encounter some team Jacob accounts that are popular and clap right back in the comments so thats at least smth 😭

istg there's so much coping and bending over backwards to defend their favorite white cullenizers lmfao 🥴🥴

"he's frozen at 17!!!" yeah but he's been 17 for DECADES. if he had time to get medical degrees then you'd think he'd know better than engage in creep behavior. Also, Jacob is 16 and unlike Edwin, has only been 16 for an ACTUAL while. But sure, keep defending the 100+ year old "17 yr old" vampire who had all that time to learn is supposedly soooo "mature" vs the 16 yr old who's an actual teenager.

"he learned from his behavior/prejudices!!" bitch WHERE?? even after he claims to Bella he's "learned", he STILL calls Jacob dog, mutt and mongrel even at BD, does NOTHING to stick up for Jacob/the pack when the visiting vampires look down or insult them. FUCK the cullens for that. If they were smart they'd get together literally ANYWHERE else, and NOT anywhere near where the tribe who's people are forced to shift when vampires are around. "B-but Alice's vision says they'll gather there! 🥺" Change the meet up, then!! It's not like the Volturi will leave you alone if you don't show up! Dumbasses.

"jacob assaulted bella and kept forcing himself to her when she wasn't interested!!!" this one makes me laugh the most tbh. They ALWAYS use the Eclipse KissTM as a gotcha every time someone even says they're Team Jacob or defends him. Also, so many of them revise history to where they act like it was Jacob who kept pursuing Bella in New Moon when really it was BELLA who went to him FIRST (with the intention of using him for the bikes to feed her Edward delulus), and it was BELLA who kept leading him on (btw, twilight reddit also copes about how she "didn't" 🙄) and didnt set firm boundaries. Then again, most Team Edweirdos skip New Moon and only read the "vampire parts" so it's not our fault they conflate Eclipse (where Jacob actually disrespects boundaries in some parts) and New Moon (where he's being an honest friend). Maybe don't make up events against Jacob if yall dont know what your talking about!! 🥴🥴

sdkjhkjrwiu sorry for the longish rant it's just,,,The mention of Twilight reddit opened the flood gates for me lolll

also, it's funny how a lot of hardcore Team Edward weirdos bend over backwards to defend Bella's bland ass characterization and Smeyer's writing. 🤓

CULLENIZERS!!!!! HOW HAVE I NEVER USED THIS TERM OMFG ckskdksk. Yeah it’s legit everywhere… on Instagram I commented on a Jake x Bella post saying something like “god I love them.” And just by saying that someone replies being like EWWWW WHAT??? BUT WHAT ABOUT ECLIPSE KISS TM

lmfsofksk I’m like so jaded by now idgaf

im so goddamn tired of Jacob being the only one in the saga who gets ripped on to this extent.

Everything you’re saying I’m just nodding along like yes, yes, yes TELL EM ANON!!

luckily I blocked so much out of BD cause to me my BD rewrite fic is actual canon so I forget so much of it. But When I’m reminded I’m like just disgusted… like the fact there’s like a million new 13 year old wolves or some shit bc of all the new vamps that came to visit??? Fuck off actually oh my god CAN YALL FUCK OFFFFF. Someone asked me why I don’t have Brady and Colin or whatever their names are in my fic im like cuz LET THEM BE CHILDREN I’m not entertaining this idc idc. The pack has gone through enough smh.

The cullens and bella actually have learned nothing throughout the story and nothing changed whatsoever. The only thing that changed was Bella became a vamp and Jake imprinted. Things that are both horrible tragedies imo. So it forces them to change who they are but it’s not like a natural character arc nor is it a development. It’s plot convenience that strips Jacob and Bella’s character completely.

completely agree lmfao legit they just hate Jacob cause he gets in the way. A lot of them admit to skipping new moon entirely or Jacob parts. And that’s fine they can do that but like don’t make weird ass shit like talking about BELLA NEVER LOVE JACOB LIKE THAT SHE LOVED HIM LIKE A BROTHER. Ummmm okay! You need to go back and reread some parts otherwise you’re lookin kinda weird cuz that was NOT no brother sister relationship lmao. Bella and Jacob are literally dating without the label starting New Moon. Be fucking serious like… they almost kiss, they’re always cuddling holding hands. She sees a future with him with kids and explicitly they both say they are IN LOVE with each other. Now listen yall gotta take it up with smeyer why the fuck she wrote them like that all for Bells to be his godmother 💀💀💀💀💀 why did she make Jake a love interest for Bella if she knew she was gonna do that the whole time.

Well, here’s what actually happened and why team Jacob even exists in the first place. There’s a clear split as to what this series is. There’s Twilight and Forever Dawn and then there’s New Moon and Eclipse. She wrote Jake cuz her publisher needed more and she ended up naturally writing the better love interest for Bella, became attached to his character and couldn’t stop writing him. But then she changed Nothing about forever Dawn… so that’s what BD is and why it doesn’t at all match up with the last two books. This is why it’s so easy for me to discard BD like it’s a rotten ass fruit…..

Like I love Jacob cause he’s flawed, nuanced and the only one with common sense in this damn series. He starts as a sweetie sun boy in new moon and then he turns into a dick and an asshole sometimes. I think this is an unpopular decision but I actually like this about Jacob lol. Could you imagine he was sunny boy Jake throughout the shit he’s put through? For what? For him to get even MORE walked on? Nah fuck that. He should be angry. It IS shitty that smeyer made it so that the wolves cant control their anger and are supposed to be hostile though cause this contributes to even more problematic shit. But I certainly understand Jake being an angsty dick when he is. Now, this makes him flawed. He is not perfect and I know that and that’s what I like about him.

He’s actually a fuckin idiot especially with the eclipse kiss and he shouldn’t have done that. I get called an assault apologist solely for being team Jake or whatever like it just makes me roll my eyes in the back of my head. Everyone seems to think that Jacob is just “trying to get some” with Bella. He’s not a fuckin rapist like they make him out to be idgaf. He did not force himself on Bella in new moon. They almost kissed but he didn’t force the kiss. He’s a stupid teenager that doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing, let’s be real. The eclipse kiss happened not because he was “trying to get some” but because he was trying to make Bella see she did have feelings for him. This is dumb but this was his thinking. Essentially trying to wake her up from the vampire thrall she’s under and maybe make her see she doesn’t have to die and stay human. I don’t believe he would’ve kissed her like this if Edward hadn’t come back in the picture and she tells him she’s going to die or WORSE become his enemy that he may have to KILL in only a few weeks. Jacob even says it didn’t matter she chose someone else over him, it wasn’t about that. It was because she was GOING TO DIE. This is just his perspective and it wasn’t RIGHT. He shouldn’t have done it. Smeyer also tried to make Edwin look better too and tried to make him look like the “mature” one and Jake to be the out of control one. Which again, problematic.

But yeah I’m just tired of the eclipse kiss being the only thing brought up lol. But the confederate and his shitty control freak wife are angels<333 they’re the good guys! Edward’s obsessive stalking a week into knowing Bella I feel is horrible and violating but ok go off! He legit watches her from the bushes at her house, snoops through her things, watches her in her sleep. She doesn’t consent to any of this. But this is “fine” because Bella had no reaction to it? Uh yeah cause she is a teenager who hates herself and is obsessed with edwin. and throughout the books he’s just overall manipulative, pretentious, condescending and controlling. But no, he’s the good guy okay lol. Like I’d prefer if they were just honest about it. Like can’t we agree they’re both morally grey… it just annoys me that they make it seem like Edward is a perfect angel?

The appeal of vampires in general is that they’re toxic and morally grey. I love a toxic vampire. It’s all about how a story is written tho. the issue is that the cullens pretend that they aren’t? This is what is annoying as fuck about them to me. They are made out to be perfect and innocent, especially in Bella’s pov. This is why I don’t like them. Bc they ARE toxic mostly in the non-hot ways (colonizers, racist, billionaires who treat bella like some doll) but try to mask this and it’s seen as good? This is also what makes Edwards stalking not hot.. he just seems like a fuckin pathetic creep LMFAO. Sitting outside her house thinking about meteors hitting it and shit 🙄🙄 like it’s all under the guise of protection. No. Just be a vampire freak. Be honest!!!! It’s not about protecting Bella lol you’re just goddamn obsessed. Edward pursued her cause her scent and he can’t read her mind. It really is that simple but I’m supposed to believe it’s love? And Bella fall for him because literally ANY human would fall for a vampire. It’s like in their design. Like just be honestttt. And then the edwinos wants to talk about shitty things Jacob does but thinks the stalking and shit is fine? Like it doesn’t make sense to me lmao. Just admit that Edward is a toxic freak and that’s why you love him. That is perfectly fine. But no… they see him as he can do no wrong. I prefer the volturi and nomads. Give me an evil little vampire who is honest about their intentions.

Also never apologize for screaming into the void that’s my inbox. It’s a safe space here <33333

[systlin]

Loving every new instance of the Mitraka series even though I'm at this point rooting hard for "holy SHIT, Lady, not every universe is your problem and also give Sys a BREAK" lmao (but alas, we the readers do want to see Sys tear through an eternal parade of other universes ^^;; sorry, Sys).

Now with the caveat that I understand that I'm Some Fucking Rando and you can do whatever you want forever: Do you think you could get someone to edit your second person singular in the Silm one you're currently writing? Or just not bother with thees and thous at all, god knows most Silm fic doesn't these days. Because you keep using them not quite right and it's something that keeps throwing me right out to the point that I may not be able to continue reading this one, which would be a tragedy (to me and me alone). (Also will have to additionally admit that this is not me offering, since I've got no extra spoons available for it.)

That aside though I'm excited that you're watching and enjoying FMA :D I think the themes and execution thereof are RIGHT up your alley, though idk that I agree with your discord that it's ripe for Systlinification because it feels like she'd need to start centuries before any of the named characters are even alive. Happy to learn otherwise, though, and whether you do end up writing about it or not I hope you continue to enjoy it 🎉

Nah legit I have been thinking about this and I am NOT John Linguistics Tolkien, who instinctively knows which thee or thou or thy to use, and I may just drop them because ffs

I may go back and edit all save the first chap to just flip it to yous

[avastrasposts]

The Pilot and his Girl - ch. 30

We left Frankie in a pretty bad state at the end of the last chapter and now we need to get through that as his girl and the guys begin to really worry about where his actions are leading him. And Joel steps in of course, but perhaps not in the best way.

I just want to add too, that this chapter included a conversation that has been a long time coming but it was very hard to write since neither man wants to talk about it and I can just hope I did them both justice.

I just want to add too, since some people are nervous about it; I LOVE hearing your thoughts and comments on what I write, even if the chapter is months and months old! It's my favourite thing about posting here and on Ao3, hearing your thoughts as you read through the fic, so please, share with me!

Series Master List

Chapter 31 - Warnings have their own post - Word count: 7.7k

You wake with a start, your body jerking you awake with panicked breaths. The bedroom is light, the window faces south and a weak sun is glinting through the closed curtain which means you slept far longer than usual, the sun rises late in the Massachusetts winter months. You rush to push back the comforter and hurry out into the living room. The blanket is pushed back on the couch and Frankie is not there, and not in the kitchen either. As you turn to the bathroom you see what’s missing, his boots, his jacket and backpack. 

“Fuck!” you groan loudly and run back to the bedroom, grabbing your clothes from last night and rushing to put them on. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” You feel an urgent need to get to Frankie, to talk to him. It’s not like him to leave, certainly not in the middle of an argument, and never, ever, has he left in the morning without saying anything to you. Something is not right, it feels like the two of you have crossed a line that you need to get you both back behind. 

You tie your boots and shrug your winter coat on, your first stop is Pope’s place. You hammer on his door and he throws it open, his face falling when he sees your expression. 

“Frankie came home drunk last night and now he’s left again, I don’t know where he is!” you blurt out as Pope lets you into his apartment. 

“Slow down, hermana,” he says, grabbing hold of your shoulders, steadying you, “From the beginning.” 

“Frankie and I got into an argument about what he did when he was on that run with Will, he couldn’t understand why I thought he was too violent,” you say, trying to calm yourself, but your hands are shaking and Pope grabs them, holding them together between his own. “Then Joel came by, right in the middle of it, something about planning a new run, and Frankie just left with him, saying he needed to think. And then he came back late last night , really drunk and passed out on the couch, and now he’s gone! He never leaves without saying goodbye and I don’t know where he is!” Your voice breaks on the last word and Pope lets go of your hands, bending down to grab his boots. 

“We’ll go find him, we’ll go to Benny’s first, Tommy said something yesterday about meeting there.” He looks up at you while he laces his boots, “Don’t worry, hermana, it’s early still, he can’t have gone that far.” 

…

“Tell me again what this FEDRA guy told you about the raiders?” Benny asks Joel as they duck under a broken piece of the highway and head into an old sewage tunnel. 

“A small FEDRA patrol saw a bunch of them down in Dorchester, if we take them out, we get to keep the supplies,” Joel replies, stepping around a dead rat. 

“And you trust this guy?” 

“Yeah, he owes me a favor, I saved his ass a couple of times. And he’s given me tips before, they’ve always been solid, nothing this big though.” 

“Alright, as long as you think it’s a legit tip,” Benny nods and falls back a bit, Frankie’s right behind him, Tommy taking up the rear. 

“You ok, Fish? You look a bit pale,” Benny says, his voice lower for the benefit of his friend. 

“Yeah, just slept like shit, and we had a fucking early wake up call,” Frankie grumbles, pulling the bill of his cap down lower over his eyes.

“Tell me about it,” Benny sighs, “Eve just woke up to say goodbye, then she went right back to sleep. Wish I could’ve stayed in bed with her.” 

“Mmhm, same,” Frankie mutters, pausing as they come to the end of the tunnel.

“Ok, on your toes now, we've got to go out in the open here,” Joel says, waving the other three men forwards. 

…

The trek down to Dorchester is smooth, and it doesn’t take long for them to find the raiders' small camp. They’ve set up on the top floor of an office building and Benny and Frankie silently take out the two guards at the bottom of the stairs. It gets messy when they reach the top and they have to open fire but Joel tosses in a homemade smoke bomb and after that they can just pick off the raiders as they come stumbling out. 

They pick through the raider’s supplies and fill their packs, it’s a pretty good haul and Benny starts searching for any food they might’ve hidden, coming across a door that’s been blocked off with a filing cabinet. 

“Hey, Catfish! Give me a hand with this!” he calls to Frankie, “Cover me in case they’ve locked a fucking infected in here or something.” 

Frankie stands a few feet from the door with his rifle raised as Benny puts his shoulder to the filing cabinet and pushes it out of the way. The door swings open and Benny jumps out of the way. 

“Oh fuck, shit! Man, that’s foul!” 

The dead boy of a young woman falls out across the doorway, her body must’ve been propped against the door, and judging by the stench, she’s been dead a while. The body of another young woman is curled up on a dirty mattress, she’s less far gone, her emaciated features still clear. Both women are naked and Benny swallows hard and glances back at Frankie as they both realize why the women were locked up. 

“We should’ve killed those fucking raiders slower,” Frankie growls, turning away from the room and Benny follows him. 

“Let’s get the fuck out of here and back to the QZ”. 

Back down at street level again Joel takes the lead and moves down the way they came, covering a couple of blocks before Benny suddenly signals for everyone to halt. 

“Heads up, I hear a car,” he calls in a low voice to the others. 

“More raiders,” Joel says, “C’mon, we’ll ambush them, this is the only cleared street.” He looks around the block they’re on and points to cars that have been pushed aside on either side of the street. “Frankie, Benny, hide behind either car, cover me. Tommy, get behind me. I’ll make them stop, usual way should work, if not, just shoot ‘em.” 

“Joel, you sure?” Benny interrupts, “How do we know they’re raiders? We should hang back and observe, see if they go for the base we cleared.” 

“No, then we just have to clear them out again and this time they’ll be on their guard,” Joel scowls, “Get in position!”

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” Benny shakes his head, looking over at Frankie who’s already moved into cover, “Fish? You ok with this?” 

“Joel’s right, it’s probably the same group of raiders, we need to take them out.” 

“Get in position, Benjamin, or stay the fuck out of our way, they’re almost here,” Joel points to the other car, staring at Benny. The younger man takes a deep breath, glancing over at Frankie again who motions with his head to get behind the car. 

“Fuck!” Benny growls and grips his rifle, ducking behind cover with an angry scowl. 

Joel quickly gets into position as the rumbling engine comes closer, keeping an eye out for the car. As it gets closer Benny sees it, it’s a small beat up sedan with several bullet holes in the sides. He glances over at Frankie and gives him a hand signal, indicating three people inside. Frankie nods and passes on the message to Tommy just as the car drives down the block they’re on. Ahead of him, Benny suddenly hears Joel give up a loud shout, stumbling out of the alley into the path of the car, his hand clutching his side, the other raised to the driver. 

The others watch, guns ready and hidden out of sight, as the car barrells towards Joel, who’s staggering across the road. Suddenly the driver slams the brakes and the car skids to a halt in front of Joel. From his hiding place Benny sees the driver open the door and step up on the instep, aiming a gun at Joel. 

“Hey, I-I need help, p-please,” Joel stutters, holding up the hand that’s not holding his side, where he’s conveniently hidden his handgun. 

“What’s wrong with you?” the driver calls as Joel stumbles closer, the man is still half hidden behind the door and Joel’s trying to get around to his side so he half falls to the side, taking several stuttering steps sideways. 

“You infected?” the driver says, following Joel with his gun, “Can’t help you then I’m afraid.” 

“R-raiders,” Joel coughs, “ran into a whole bunch.” 

Benny looks over at Frankie, he’s got a clear shot at the driver and he’s aiming at him. Benny signals at him to hold his fire, these guys don’t sound like raiders, but Frankie’s shaking his head, squeezing his rifle as the man continues to keep his gun on Joel. 

“Be careful, Dan!” a man in the car suddenly calls and Joel straightens up, pulling his gun, aiming at the man. A shot rings out and the driver slumps forward, a clean shot though his head. 

“God dammit, Frankie!” Benny yells, lifting his own rifle as the man in the car dives for the fallen man’s gun. Joel fires on him but misses and the man takes off running. On his right Ben hears Tommy open fire on the third person in the car as Joel yells. 

“Shoot his leg, Frankie, take him down alive!” The man is running as fast as he can down the block but two shots ring out and he yells, tumbling to the ground as blood bursts from his thigh. 

“Secure him, Benny,” Frankie yells and advances on the car, rifle raised. Benny keeps his gun on the fallen man and moves up to him, he’s splayed on his back, gripping his thigh, whimpering. 

“Oh fuck, please, please don’t kill me!” he says, trying to crawl backwards away from Benny. 

“Just stay still, I’m not gonna hurt you unless you give me a reason,” Benny says, keeping his distance as he glances back at the car. Frankie’s jogging towards him and behind him, Joel steps into the car and a woman screams. 

“No, no, don’t hurt her! She’s my sister!” the man on the ground shouts and Benny turns his head back to him as Frankie joins him. 

“What’s going on, Fish?” he says in a voice low enough for the man not to hear. 

“The third passenger is a woman, Joel’s questioning her about who they are and where they’re going.” 

“Fish! These guys are obviously not raiders, what the fuck are we doing?” Benny glances back at the car as another high pitched scream comes from the woman and the man on the ground shouts. 

“Get off her you fucking prick! I’m gonna fucking kill you!” 

Frankie raises his rifle and aims at the man, “Easy there, he’s just questioning her.” 

“What the fuck, Frankie, this is not how we treat civilians!”

“What fucking civilians? We can’t trust anyone, Benny, you saw what the raiders did to those two women!” Frankie growls. 

“Yeah, but these guys are barely armed!” Benny nudges the dropped gun on the ground with his boot, badly maintained and rusty. 

“And how the fuck were we supposed to know that?” Frankie asks, his rifle still trained on the bleeding man who’s whimpering, clutching his leg and looking towards the car. 

“Maybe we don’t attack just anyone who drives past!” Benny hisses at Frankie, his eyebrows drawn tight with anger and frustration. “This is so fucked up, Fish!”

“Is he still alive?” Joel barks as he walks over, leaving Tommy to watch over the woman in the car. 

“Yeah, but he’s bleeding, we need to get a tourniquet on that leg soon,” Benny replies, “Joel, what the fuck are we doing here? These guys are not raiders.” 

Joel doesn’t reply, instead he walks up to the man on the ground and kneels down, Frankie’s gun is still trained on him, but Benny has let his drop, pointing it at the ground instead. 

“You sister is it?” he asks of the man, putting his hand over the gunshot wound on the thigh. 

The man nods, looking petrified under Joel’s hard stare.He yelps loudly when Joel’s hand squeezes the injured area, digging his fingers in. 

“Your sister told me where you came from, and where you’re going. You’d better tell me the same thing she did, or I’m telling my guy over there to shoot her knee off, you understand?” Joel’s voice is hard and low, slowly squeezing the man’s leg tighter. 

“Worcester!” the younger man blurts out, “We came from Worcester, and we’re heading for the Boston QZ but we got attacked and got lost. Please don’t hurt her, she’s my only family!”

“Have you got any supplies apart from what’s in the car?” 

“No, no, I s-swear, we’ve got n-nothing!” the man stutters, groaning under the pain of Joel’s hand digging into his injured leg, “Please, we’ve got nothing!”

“Good boy,” Joel growls, easing off the man's leg and standing up. 

He comes back to Benny and Frankie, wiping his hand on his trouser leg, “They both say the same thing. I say we leave ‘em and take the car, we can trade for it or stash outside the wall, might come in handy sometime.” 

“Fuck, Joel, we need to take them with us, we can’t leave them out here,” Benny says and looks to Frankie for support but he just gives a hesitant shrug. 

“I don’t know Benny, we can’t trust them,” he says. 

“What fucking choice do we have? Leave them injured out here with no guns?” Benny snarls back at him.

“They’re not our responsibility!” Joel snaps, “Let’s fucking- “ 

All three men freeze as the first tell tale sounds echo between the buildings, the snarling shrieks of dozens of infected reaching them. 

“Runners! Runners!” Tommy yells from the car, “Come on, we need to fucking go!” He rushes to the driver’s side of the car, jumping in and the woman sees her chance, bolting from the car and running for the alley. 

“Leave her, just leave her!” Joel yells as he grabs Frankie and starts running towards the car, “Just start the car, Tommy!”

“Benny, no! Leave him!” Frankie shouts as he sees Benny moving towards the injured man on the ground. “Fucking leave him!” 

“Please, please…just kill me” the man begs, looking back over his shoulder and Benny follows his gaze. 

“Fuck!” he gasps, frozen to the spot for a second before he raises his gun and fires, the man slumping onto the asphalt. Benny spins around and starts running after Frankie, the horde of infected barrelling down the street screeching loudly. 

“Benny! I’m gonna fucking kill you!” Frankie yells, “Get in the car!” 

Tommy’s already got the car moving as Benny catches up, grabbing hold of Frankie’s arm and getting pulled into the back seat. 

“Floor it, Tommy!” Joel shouts, looking back over his shoulder, out the back window. 

…

Thank fuck Tommy’s a good driver, he speeds through the streets, leaving the horde far behind. He only slows down once they enter the area around the QZ and turns off onto a narrow street that Joel directs him to. 

“Here, down there, park between those two cars and we’ll throw some trash on it.” 

The four men quickly make the car look unusable and head towards the QZ, splitting up as they get inside, stepping out into a quiet alley a few blocks from the wall.. 

“Alright, good run, except for the fucking infected,” Joel says, clapping Frankie on the back, “I’ll see you guys at the bar in a couple of days.” 

Frankie nods and Benny throw the brothers a two fingered salute as they leave. 

“Hey Fish, wait up, we need to talk,” Benny says as Frankie turns to leave too. 

“If you’re gonna yell at me for how we handled the people in the car, fucking save it, I already got an earful from Will after our last run,” Frankie says, his shoulders hunched and eyebrows pulled tight, “I don’t need another lecture on how we’re using army tactics on civilians.” 

“Frankie, man, c’mon, you’ve got to admit, that was pretty fucking bad? We should’ve just observed them, not fucking attacked,” Benny rubs his hand over his face, “I mean, why the fuck did Joel even pull that stunt with forcing them to stop? And why did you open fire? I’ve never seen you jump the gun like that, Fish.” 

“The guy in the car, I thought he was about to pull a gun on Joel, so I shot first.” 

“And the interrogation technique? You taught him that?” 

“So what? We do what we need to do to survive.” 

Benny shakes his head, “That was not about survival, I don’t know what the fuck that was!”

“Just fucking leave it, Benny! Ok?” Frankie snaps, scowling at his friend, “I’ll see you later, I need to get something done.” He shoulders his backpack and heads off in the opposite direction of the apartment. 

“Fish, c’mon!” Benny calls after him, but Frankie just gives a dismissive wave of his hand without turning his head as he rounds the corner. 

“Fuck…” Benny mutters and stalks off towards the radio office, he needs to see you. 

…

It feels like deja vu when you find Benny outside the building where Sean lives and has the radio office. 

“I’ve got to talk to you about Frankie,” he says and you feel like your heart stops, you’d been trying to find Frankie all morning, until you had to go to the radio office. Pope promised he’d keep looking, checking back at the apartment during the afternoon. 

“Did something happen to him? Pope and I have been looking for him all day!” you say, grabbing hold of Benny’s arm and his eyebrows shoot up in surprise. 

“He didn’t tell you we were going on a run with Joel and Tommy today?” 

“Benny, is he ok?” You feel like shaking him but you limit yourself to grabbing his arm tighter and Benny nods. 

“Yeah, yeah, he’s fine, he’s fine, he came back with me but he said he had to do something when we got back.” Benny takes in your anxious looking face as it slips into relief and returns your grip on his arm, putting his hand over yours. “He didn’t tell you and he hasn't come to see you yet? Is something going on with you guys?” 

You sigh and feel yourself deflating, your shoulders sagging with relief that Frankie’s ok, but at the same time, that lead weight settles in your stomach as you worry about his behavior again.

“Walk me home, Benny, please,” you ask, “if you have time?” You feel like Benny’s friendly presence next to you is the only thing that will make your feet move down the street as you chew on your bottom lip. 

“Sure, I’ll walk you, I need to get back to Eve but...but maybe that can wait, what’s going on?”

“Tell me what happened when you were with him today,” you say, taking his arm and leaving the front entrance. 

Benny looks around the two of you as you start walking down the street, checking that there is no one near that can overhear first and then he tells you the whole thing. 

“Fuck…” you sigh for what feels like the twentieth time as Benny ends by telling you that Frankie took off after they got back. “His PTSD has been getting worse and both Pope and Will brought it up in the past few days. That last run with Will, things went bad and Pope’s been noticing his behavior being off too.”

You’ve reached the door to your building and you stop, looking up at Benny’s frown. “Yesterday I tried telling him that I think he shouldn’t go on runs with Joel anymore. Joel triggers something in Frankie and…I don’t know…I feel like maybe they aren’t good for each other. They’ve both suffered an unimaginable loss, in the worst possible way, and when Frankie got help, Joel seems to have had to deal with it on his own and it’s made him…just…very dark, like he’s just ‘existing’ and doing what he needs to do to survive…”

“And he has no empathy for others,” Benny fills in, “he didn’t even stop to consider that the people in the car could be just people trying to get to the QZ, and he left them with no second thought when the infected came, it was all about eliminating a potential threat and then about saving himself and Tommy.” Benny swipes his cap off his head and drags his hand through his hair, sighing. “I’m not even sure he would bother to save Frankie and myself, if we hadn’t gotten to that car in time.”

“But Frankie doesn’t see it,” you say, “and when I asked him to not go on runs with Joel anymore because I think it makes his PTSD worse, we got in a huge fight,” you sigh deeply, dropping your eyes to your toes and you feel Benny’s hand on your shoulder. “He got really mad when I said I thought he was too violent with this guy, Frankie threatened to gouge his eye out. But Frankie said he only did what was needed to get the antibiotics for Sean’s grandkid.” You swipe your hand over your cheek as tears start to drip down, “Fuck, I don’t wanna cry again,” you say, anger seeping through your voice, “Fuck!” 

You tilt your head back up and look at Benny’s worried eyes, “Come on, it’s you and Frankie, you’re everything to him, one fight doesn’t ruin it,” he says, rubbing your shoulder

“He walked out, Benny, right in the middle of the fight. He’s never done that before, he just took off with Joel. And then he came home really drunk and we started arguing again and he passed out on the couch, he said he thought I didn’t want him in my bed anymore. And then this morning he left again, without saying anything. He went outside the wall and didn’t even say goodbye.” Tears spill over properly now and you sniffle, trying to stem the flow, but the nerves of the day catches up with you. Benny starts rubbing his hands up and down your arms, trying to comfort you. 

“Let’s get you inside, Frankie might be home already, you two need to talk it out, c’mon,” Benny gently hooks his arm around your shoulder and guides you through the door and up the stairs. You fumble out your keys and unlock your front door, opening up to a still dark apartment. 

“Alright, he’s not home yet, but he’ll be here soon, I’ll wait with you until he turns up,” Benny says and starts to lift off his still heavy backpack and you stop him. 

“No, please, go home to Eve. I know she’s worried about you since you went outside, get back home. I’ll be fine, and Pope’s next door if I need anything.” You put your hands on his chest and try, and fail, to nudge the big man towards the door. 

“You sure? I’ll wait for him, and slap some sense into him if needed, just say the word,” Benny replies, tilting his head down to catch your eyes properly. 

“I’m sure, Benny, please go home,” you give him another pointless shove and he gives with a small smile. 

“Ok, if you’re sure I’ll go, but give me a hug first,” he says and bends down, capturing you between his long arms. Benny’s signature bear hugs are all encompassing and he lifts you up, shaking you gently and making you giggle through your tears. 

“Just remember, it’s you and Frankie, you’re the love of his life. All he does, he does for you, if he’s lost his way, all he needs is for you to bring him back home. To you.” 

“Benny, when did you become so insightful?” you smile weakly as he puts you down on your feet. 

“Not insightful, I’ve just watched you two over the past, what is it? Eleven years now? And with Eve, I get it, what you two have. I’d do anything for her, and I know that’s all Frankie ever wants to do for you.” 

“Get back to her, Benny, before you make me cry again,” you say, giving his arm a final squeeze before he steps through the door. “I’ll see you soon.” 

“I’ll come by the radio tomorrow and check on you, ok?” 

“Ok, Benny, stay safe, love you!”

“Love you too, sis!” he calls as he jogs down the stairs. 

…

You try to keep busy while you wait for Frankie; preparing dinner, cleaning the apartment, you even pull out your gun and start disassembling it on the coffee table to get it cleaned. It’s dark before he comes home, you hear his footsteps in the hallway first and then the key. Even before he opens the door you know something’s wrong, he struggles with the key in the lock, fumbling with the handle and you stand up, leaving the pieces of the gun on the table. 

“Frankie?” you ask as the door shuts behind him, “Are you ok?” You walk over to the front door, and he glances up at you before he drops his backpack by the door. 

“Yeah, ‘s fine,” he mumbles, shrugging off his jacket and hanging it on the hook. “Went out with Benny today.” 

“I know, Benny stopped by the radio,” you say, your body freezing as he shuffles past, only briefly pausing to drop a peck on your cheek, perfunctory. He smells of whiskey, fresh whiskey, like he’s just been drinking. 

You don’t even know where to start as you follow him into the kitchen, the argument last night, him leaving this morning without saying anything, his run with Joel today or the way he stumbles around the kitchen table towards the stove. 

“Frankie…” you say again, making your voice soft, you feel like you’re talking to a child, or a wild animal, not your sweet Frankie who you know so well. When he doesn’t even react, let alone look over at you, you dig your nails into the palms of your hands, reminding yourself that this is his PTSD, this is not your Frankie. 

“Frankie, talk to me please,” you start again, coming up next to him at the counter, you put your hand on his arm. 

“What did Benny tell you? That we went out again?” he says, still not looking at you, his tone clipped. 

“Yes, he said you took out some raiders and then…” you pause, you don’t know how to phrase it but Frankie does it for you. He steps away from you, and leans against the counter on the other side of the kitchen. 

“H-he told you we took out three people in a car, that I shot one of the guys when I shouldn’t have, right? That’s what he told you? T-that I’m out of control and violently torturing civilians?” His voice is harsh, there’s an edge to it you don’t recognise and he’s still not looking at you. 

“He’s worried about you, Frankie, and I’m too,” you say, “you haven’t been yourself these past few months.” You try to find his eyes but he’s got the bill of his cap pulled low, eyes on the floor two feet in front and his fingers are twitching, nervously. 

“I already told you, I do what I need to do, to stay safe,” he mutters, the edge still sharp in his voice, crossing his arms tight over his chest, crossing his legs too, closing himself off from you. 

“Benny said they were civilians, just trying to get to the QZ- “ you start to say but Frankie suddenly flares up. 

“We’d just taken out a gang of raiders! It could’ve been more of them! The guy was about to pull a fucking gun on Joel, so I took the shot!” He throws his arms out, meeting your eyes for the first time. “You can’t fucking trust anyone, it’s us or them and I do what I need to do to survive! They could’ve attacked and killed us instead, then what?” 

“But you were never like that before, Frankie!” you can’t help but raise your voice in frustration. When he worked with Pope in Arlington, or when you traveled up to New York with Benny and Pope, he was never so calloused, so distrusting and rash. “You used to observe, calculate the risks, you never rushed into situations, but since you started working more with Joel…I don’t know Frankie, it’s like he rubs off on you.” You drop your hands to your sides, you suddenly realize you’ve mimicked Frankie and thrown them open but now you sigh, lower them and take a deep breath. 

“Frankie…I know you’re capable of real violence,” you shake your head, sighing, “but you’re not a violent person, it’s like it’s getting away from you when you work with Joel and I do-” 

“Maybe I am a violent person now? This is the person I need to be now, to keep myself safe, to keep us safe!” Frankie slams his hands against the cupboard and stalks out of the kitchen, turning and gripping the back of the couch as he gets to it, looking back at you. “I do it for you, don’t you get it?! Maybe this is the person I have to be now to keep myself safe, for you, to stay alive for you because I have to keep you safe!”

“Then stay here, stay in the QZ,” you follow him towards the living room. “I don’t want you to go out any more if this is what you have to do. It’s destroying you!”

“That's all I can do!” he shouts back at you, “That’s all I’m tra-trained for, I’m the b-best at it! It’s the only thing that makes a difference!”

“Frankie, you don’t have to-” you begin, but Frankie just shakes his head and starts pacing the living room like he can’t hear you.

“E-every time I leave you make me p-promise to come back safe, did you ever stop to think that this is what I have to do to keep that promise to you?! I have to stay alive to keep you safe, I promised you that and now you think I’m a monster for what I have to do?” 

Frankie slams his hands hard against the wall and spins round, stomping across the living room again and you’re worried now, he’s spiraling out of control, his voice becoming more and more unstable. “I d-do this for you, I stay a-alive for you, don’t you get it! I would’ve fucking ki-killed myself after she died! I was so fucking close to it, so-s-so fucking close to just walking into that fucking lake and ending it! If-if it wasn’t for you still in that cabin!” His voice is rising to a shout, spinning around and slamming his fist into the wall again, “I just..I promise to come back every time, I have to come back but you still think I’m just violent, just a fucking monster, just a mo-monster, I-I can’t- “

“Frankie, c’mon man!”

You didn’t even hear the front door open but Pope suddenly walks into the living room. You’re frozen by the kitchen as Frankie paces, more and more agitated, back and forth, his arms waving in front of him as his mind whirls. You can see his glassy eyes, his breathing is starting to get erratic but you have no idea how to stop this. But Pope strides over to his friend and stands in front of him, forcing him to come to a halt. 

“Francisco, cálmate, hermano. Por favor;” he tries to catch Frankie’s eyes, gently placing his hands on his shoulders and holding on as Frankie tries to shrug them off, looking at him with almost unseeing eyes.

“Frankie…fuck…” he sighs as he scans his face, “you’re high as a fucking kite. What did you take?” 

At that Frankie’s eyes snap up to Pope’s, “Fucking nothing!” he snarls, wrenching himself away and stumbling back towards the couch. 

“Fish, I’ve seen you high more times than you can remember, I know when you’ve been using, man,” Pope says as Frankie grabs the back of the couch again, hiding his eyes beneath the bill of his cap again, refusing to look at you or Santi. 

“Frankie…” you try, your voice wobbling as you recognize the signs in him but he just shakes his head. 

“I had a few drinks with Joel, I’m not fucking high,” he mutters but Santi shakes his head. 

“C’mon, Fish, I know you’re struggling, she knows it too, we just wanna help you,” he takes a few steps towards Frankie, the frustration seeping through into his voice and Frankie backs away, turning around and going for his backpack. 

“I’m not fucking high,” he snarls over his shoulder, rifling through his backpack. 

“Fine, you’re not using,” Santi says, “then show us your pack.” He motions towards the bag at Frankie’s feet and the way Frankie reacts makes your stomach sink another notch. His hands clench instinctively around the opening, pulling it closer but Pope steps in and reaches for the bag. Frankie abruptly stands up and stumbles back, grabbing it but his movements are slow and Pope’s faster, he snatches the backpack from Frankie, holding it away from him. 

“Coño, pendejo!” Frankie snarls, trying to grab the bag back from Pope, “What the fuck are you doing?!” “What the fuck are you doing, Frankie?” Pope replies with a sneer, shoving him back and Frankie, already unsteady on his feet, stumbles backwards and falls onto the couch. “You told me yourself, never trust a fucking junkie.” 

Keeping an eye on Frankie, while you stand stunned by the kitchen door, your hands gripping the door frame so hard your fingers ache, Pope opens the backpack and digs through it. It doesn’t take him long, under Frankie’s dull eyes he soon pulls out a small baggie with white pills. Pope sighs and holds it out to Frankie. 

“What is it?” 

“Painkillers,” Frankie mumbles, but his eyes drop from Pope to his feet, his lie so obvious it forces tears into your eyes. 

“Frankie…” you whisper and he glances up at you and meets your eyes for a second before he looks away. But even in that brief glance you see the pain and guilt in his eyes and it pushes you to move, walking around the coffee table and sinking down on the couch next to him. You raise your hand to put it on his shoulder but before you touch him he’s on his feet, snatching the bag from Pope’s hand. 

“It’s fucking painkillers, ok?!” he yells, his aggression flaring up as he stumbles towards the front door.

“Catfish, for fucks sake,” Pope shouts as his patience snaps, “get your fucking shit together, man!”

“Please, Frankie, you know this is your PTSD making you spiral, we’ve been here before,” you plead with him, standing up again as he stops with his back to you and the room. But whatever is in his system has control of him now as he shakes his head, his fingers twitching around the small baggie in his hand. Neither of you are getting through to him now, his body language closed off, even with his back turned you see the walls go up. But still, you go up to him where he stands by the door. His chin is on his chest, his shoulders up by his ears, you can feel the tension rolling off him as he fights whatever demon is in his mind. Gently you put your hand on his arm, and he trembles under your touch, giving the smallest shake of his head. 

“Frankie…” you whisper, “please, stay with me, we’ve done this before, we can do it again, I love you.” 

He shudders, a long held breath rushes out of him and he shakes his head again. 

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, “I love you, I’m sorry.” He pushes open the door and his arm slips from under your hand. You hear him run down the stairs and Santi comes up behind him, he’s got his coat on. 

“I’ll follow him, I won’t let him get into more trouble, I’ll get him back,” he gives you a quick squeeze and hurries after Frankie. 

…

Frankie rushes through the streets, the bag of oxy burning a hole in his pocket. He has no plan for where to go, he left his coat back at the apartment and the cold March air is making him shiver. Picking up his pace he turns at random, down a street, and then another, losing himself in the narrow alleys of North End, but it doesn’t surprise him when he finds himself in front of Joel’s apartment building, a dirty red brick block. It makes sense; to end up here. He pushes the door open and stumbles up the stairs.

Joel’s slow to answer his front door, Frankie’s almost given up, prepared to sit and wait by the door, when the older man finally opens up and looks him up and down. “Hey Frankie, what’s up? You’ve got no jacket on.” 

“I ran out on it, left in a hurry,” Frankie mumbles in reply, his mind is still foggy, he can’t quite focus on Joel. “I got some of your supply on me, Pope found it in my bag.”

“Ah, bet he wasn’t too happy about that,” Joel says, waving Frankie inside. “He ain’t too happy about me wanting to trade what we got up in Concord.” He closes the door and motions to the couch and Frankie slumps down on it as Joel goes to the kitchen and pulls out two glasses and a bottle. 

“Give me one of those too,” Joel motions to Frankie’s pocket and sits down at the other end of the couch. Frankie pulls out the baggie and pour out the pills on the coffee table, handing one to Joel, taking another one for himself and they both down it with the whiskey. 

Joel’s not one for talking much and Frankie’s grateful, he just needs a place to forget everything for a while. And for a long time both men sit at opposite sides of the couch, lost in their own minds as the chemicals take over. Frankie tilts his head back, his eye following the cracks in the ceiling until they slip closed and he just feels himself breathing, finally peace takes over in his mind as the fog settles. 

Joel slips in another pill and another few large mouthfuls of the liquor, leaning back against the back of the couch and rubbing his eyes with his hand. 

“You lost your daughter,” he says, almost surprising himself when the words come out. 

Frankie doesn’t move, his eyes closed, “Yeah,” he squeezes his eyes shut, little sparks of red and yellow blossoming behind his eyelids, but he sees something else in his mind. 

He tilts his head forward, opening his eyes and focusing on his hands, “Yeah,” he says again, rubbing his thumb over the fleshy part of his hand, he can almost see the blood on it. “I did, right at the beginning.” 

“She got infected?” 

Frankie balks at the question, the image of his little girl, mycelium under her skin, flashes up in his mind. He’s seen multitudes of infected since, killed so many, seen the thin white strands wriggle towards him as they attack and die in front of him, but he never lets himself commit what they look like to memory. This one is the only one that he remembers. 

“Yeah,” he nods, “one of the first days.” 

He and Joel have never talked about this before. He never talks to anyone about Lucía or what happened to her, not even to the one person who knows what he went through in the aftermath. 

 He glances over at Joel, he’s still leaning back on the couch, his hand rubbing over his eyes. 

“D’you ever talk about Sarah?” 

“No.” The answer is fast and curt. 

Both men sit in silence for a few minutes, Joel shifts on the couch, looking over at Frankie, “Everyone’s lost someone. No one wants to hear about her.” 

“How did she die?” Frankie locks eyes with Joel, suddenly it feels important to know how Sarah died. Joel knows how Lucía died, it feels important to know how Sarah died too. Joel meets his eyes for a few beats before he drops his gaze and stares at the wall opposite. 

“It was the first night. We were trying to get away from town, ran into the military perimeter, a soldier shot at us. She…” Joel loses his words, his jaw clenching shut as he grinds his teeth, dropping his head between his shoulders. 

Frankie feels the fog swirl around his mind, letting the minutes slip by while Joel stares down at his watch. 

“I shot Lucía,” Frankie says, like a confession to Joel, to the man whose daughter was also shot. As if it makes a difference how they died. The daughters died and so did the fathers, when they failed.

The fog in his head clears slightly and behind the mist he sees the gun in his hand, aimed at his little girl, who no longer recognises him as she screeches and flails under the weight of her mother’s body. He reaches forward to the coffee table and takes two more pills, swallowing them down with the last of the whiskey in his glass, letting the fog cloud his mind again. 

Joel blinks and looks at Frankie as if he has to think about what the other man just said, “You shot her?”

“I had to, I’d seen what they were turning into. I couldn’t…” 

Joel leans forward, refilling his own glass and Frankies before he leans back, “I would’ve done the same.” 

The two men sit in silence as the fog swirls through them, making thoughts slow to appear and slow to disappear. 

“Sarah,” Frankie says, pushing a thought to the front of his hazy mind, “S-she was a great kid, L-Lucía loved her, fucking loved her. Didn’t stop talking about her for days after we got back.” 

He grips the glass and takes a sip, shaking his head, trying to remember the comforting thought he just had, it’s stuck somewhere in his chest, he can feel it. 

“I don’t…I do-don’t believe in God, I l-lost any faith I had in the army, you know. S-so many fucked up things that I saw, that I did,” he says, lifting his glass, motioning to the world outside. “I don’t believe in any god, any-anything. But I wish I did, because if Sarah d-died on that first night, that means that wherever they went, our kids, our little girls…Sarah was there waiting for Lucía. They weren’t alone,” Frankie pauses, he feels his chest constrict, that feeling like he can’t breathe threatening to overtake him. “I’d like to believe they weren’t alone,” he whispers, but in the quiet room, Joel still hears him.

Frankie slumps back down on the couch, spilling whiskey down his shirt, his burst of clarity suddenly spent, “They would’ve had each other…” 

“We failed them,” Joel says, his voice low, Frankie can hear the fog in his mind too. “We should’ve kept them safe, but all we did was stand there. Couldn’t keep ‘em safe.” 

Frankie nods, he feels his brain slowing down again, “I made so many mistakes…but she was the best mistake I made…couldn’t keep her safe,” he takes a large mouthful of the whiskey, it burns on the way down, distracting his mind for a second as he coughs. 

“I don’t talk about Sarah, not even to Tommy,” Joel says, rubbing his thumb over the rim of the glass. “ ‘S’no point, just makes me angrier, I get by better if I don’t think about her.”

Frankie slumps down deeper into the couch, curling himself around the glass in his hand, watching the whiskey swirl around as the fog in his brain follows the motions. 

“How do you stay alive,” he mumbles to the room and Joel tilts his head to look at the younger man, curled into the corner of the ratty old couch. The question is more for himself than for Joel but Joel answers anyway.

“For family,” he nods slowly, once, to himself, “for family, for Tommy. And for your woman, she kept you alive.” It’s not a question, it’s a statement and Frankie sighs. 

“She doesn’t think I should do runs any more, and she’s right, I know she’s right,” he mutters, pushing his cap off his head and rubbing his temple with his free hand, the fog is lifting again and he feels the edge of panic in his mind, but he can’t remember what he’s should panic about.  

“Why not? The drugs?” Joel motions at the dwindling pile of pills on the coffee table and Frankie grabs two of them, knocking them back with the whiskey still in his hand. 

“My head is fucked up. From the army. ‘S’gets worse sometimes, ‘s’gets worse when I do runs, when I do violent things.” Frankie sighs, “She doesn’t like it.” 

Joel snorts, a mirthless sound, “Men like us, you ‘n me, we do the violent things so others don’t have to, you keep her safe.” 

“S’what I t-told h-her,” Frankie grumbles, he can feel his head getting heavier, the fog is so thick he can’t even push his tongue through it, it’s sticking to his teeth. “I do it-do it, t-to keep he-her safe.” He sinks further into the couch, his head leaning on the back of it as he wills his hand to lift up the glass to his lips and drain it. “I-I do it t-to come b-back t-to h-er.” 

Through the fog in his own mind Joel sees Frankie tip forward, the empty glass in his hand, as he passes out. Joel’s glass clatters to the floor as he stumbles to his feet and staggers into the bedroom, falling onto the bed, passing out as his head hits the pillow. 

Chapter 31

Taglist: @pimosworld @i-own-loki @casa-boiardi @littlenosoul @stormseyer @mxtokko @javicstories @nunya7394 @welcometothepedroverse @harriedandharassed @meveispunk @hiroikegawa @jwritesfanfics @vickie5446

[lemonmatronics]

I know the idea of Metal sneaking around in an organic disguise and ending up finding some joys in life through it isn’t the most original idea but MAN it sure it one that keeps me up at night (right now)

Like it’s such a simple idea on base level but there’s so much you can do with it

Like, okay we’ll go with IDW canon for this hypothetical

She gets this disguise and sneaks into the resistance, tries to avoid the main crew as much as she can but low and behold Amy mistakes her for Sonic and boom hug! Can’t fault Amy much tho, they legit look alike! Shit, she’s asking for a name, now Metal needs to think of a fake name! She looks around, what could she use!? Shit uhhh “Sky!”

Dumb. That’s dumb. Amy doesn’t question it though, and nor the looking around, odd. What’s she offering!? A tour!? Oh no! Wait- no. Oh yes! Secrets!

Drats, she doesn’t actually show Metal any secrets because that mf is new here. Now she’s just meeting a bunch of people she doesn’t care about! Damn, if she could feel pain that fake smile would be hurting right about now.

What’s this? Meet Belle? Meet Belle!? BELLE!? OH NOOOO. Nope she’s gotta go! But what’s this!? Gasp, Amy seems oddly insistent that “Sky” meets Belle before she goes. This is bad, Belle will definitely recognize her, they’re linked! She’ll see right through the lie-! What-? Belle isn’t calling anything out,, is the disguise blocking stuff out?

Ha! Of course! Eggman is a genius, how could he overlook something so obvious? Silly Metal, how did you ever doubt him!?

Still, something feels..wrong….feels..wrong…weird…Pft. God forbid a gal have some intuition! Nothing weird about it! Just, get out of there as soon as possible!

Pausing the flow here because the more I write this the more I wanna legit turn it into a full fic bUT there’s legit so much you can do with it

Metal having for force herself to be civil with Sonic to not blow cover

Meeting characters she usually never would, especially in a casual setting like this

Meeting other robots!! Like imagine her having to talk with Omega or Gemerl!! That would be so fucking funny man

Seeing nature without having to destroy it and wondering so many things. Why is this stuff useful? Why is,, destroying it useful?

Going off that one hc I saw a bit ago, goofy hijinks, she thinks normal ass machines are alive too and talks to them and everyone thinks she’s crazy

Predicable coming from me but gender realizations???

Like come on!! Ik it’s used a lot but damnit the disguise plotline is used a lot for a reason and I think it’s really fun

[grippingbeskar]

Hiiiii I read your last Frank Castle fic and if it’s okay I’d like to request a wee something with Frank being observant enough to realize Reader has neck issues and offering to give them a neck massage? You write for our Frank so well and I would really appreciate it thank you in advance 🖤

warnings: references to smut, swearing, reader had a long day at work and that does need a fuckin warning oky

a/n: girl you got the kitty purring with this one. bad neck/back pain girlies rise up. this was such a good request tysm. i legit wrote this in 1/2 hour so if there’s any mistakes forgive me 💞🧎‍♀️

You are finally home. It was one of those days that felt like it would never end. One after the other, problems stacked up that apparently, only you could solve. Walking through the threshold of your apartment, you felt the weight of having to take care of everything physically lift off your shoulders, knowing Frank was waiting for you.

He’s sprawled on the couch, one arm over the back while the rest of him takes up three quarters of the cushions. There’s a spot just under his outstretched arm that you’ve claimed as your own, and you can picture yourself crawling into it as soon as your bags drop off your shoulder and you slam the door shut behind you.

“You’re home late, baby.” Frank walks over to you slowly, and instead of replying you just reach out your arms. He takes the hint, burying you under a crushing hug, and all you want to do is stand here and drown in him. “Long day?”

“The fuckin’ longest.” Your words are muffled with the way your head is tucked under his chin, and he laughs lightly, running his fingers down your spine with a gentleness that makes you shiver.

“You want some food? I made some pasta; chucked yours in the fridge. I’ll heat it up for you.” You sigh and squeeze him tighter. This is what you were talking about. He just took care of shit— you didn’t even have to ask.

“I am… when I’m not so exhausted, you are going to get the best blowjob of your life.” This makes him laugh loudly, the sound echoing around you in a welcomed ring. He kisses you lightly on the forehead, and your arms reluctantly drop from his waist.

“Alright, baby. Get you somethin’ to eat first.” He hooks a finger under your chin to kiss you properly, and when your head tilts up, you wince. Just for a second, a hiss of breath and a shooting pain up the back of your neck, but Frank couldn’t miss it if he tried. “What was that?”

“What?” You tilt your head slightly, trying to stretch it out and lean up on your toes to chase his mouth. He wasn’t giving up that easily, moving out of your reach.

It had just been a long day. Looking down at computers, reading things off papers and screens— you hadn’t even realised you were sore yourself until he did that. Yeah, it hurt, but not enough to stop you from kissing him.

“Your back? Your neck? What is it?” His fingertips brush your jaw, lightly so as not to move you. When he eases the touch backwards under your ear, you flinch unwillingly. “Tell me what hurts, sweetheart.”

“It’s nothing, really. Just spent a long time looking down today. My necks just a bit sore— I’m fine.” His hand wraps gently around the back of your neck, fingers dancing their way down to where it meets your shoulders. His face is trained— eyebrows furrowed, looking at the way you hold your face straight on to avoid the now numbing pain running up and down.

“Sit down. I’ll work it for you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Sit, and I’ll show you.” He’s already guiding you to the couch as he talks, taking your weight and lightly shoving you down onto the pillows.

“Oh, you’re gonna show me? Show me what, exactly?” You raise your eyebrows, and he shakes his head, doing his best to look disappointed rather than turned on. You shuffle forward and try to look up at him, tempt him, but you screw your eyes shut again when the pain snaps a cord in the right side of your neck. “Ow.”

“Lay back. Let me take care of you.” His voice is liquid honey, dripping down into your chest where it warms you inside out. Especially when he talks so low and soft, something he only does when you’re alone.

When he disappears from sight, he takes his time. The anticipation has you squirming in your chair, and by the time you feel the warmth of his large frame behind you, you’re about to start begging he does something; anything at this point.

“Tell me how it feels.” He murmurs warmly, the words brushing the shell of your ear. You didn’t hear him get that close, so when his hands suddenly creep up over your shoulders, thumbs lightly kneading the knot at the base of your neck, the moan you let out is a little more audible than you’d planned. “Feels good, yeah?”

“F-fuck. Yeah— shit, Frank.” He hums in response, fire igniting in your stomach at the way he easily relaxes you. His hands are so big and warm, it’s the perfect combination to work out your tired muscles until they have no choice but to fold to him like the rest of you has.

He’s never too harsh; starting with small circles with his thumbs, and as he works his way upward, he uses his other fingers to massage in long lines. You’re practically purring— back arching off the couch when his hands run up into your hair, and sinking back down when he retreats to your shoulders.

He doesn’t stop at your neck. Once your rolling it with ease, he presses on your shoulders. He’s a little harder with this, but it feels so fucking good the way he does it. His palms smooth you out in an even rhythm, and when he speaks again it takes you several moments to piece yourself back together.

“How you feelin’, baby? Need more?” He moves his hands up again, a gentle kiss following the path of his hands.

“Please. More, Frank.” You moan again and he laughs quietly, but obliges. He keeps running up and down your neck until your chin is tucked to your chest. When he notices, he lightly threads his fingers up into your scalp and pulls you back upright. He’s slow about it, watching for any sign of pain, but you manage to let yourself fall all the way back to where your head rests under his pretty face, which is smiling down from above you.

“Hi.” He says when your eyes finally flutter open. Shit, you didn’t even realise they were closed.

“Kiss me.” You beg, and he’s leaning down in an instant. It’s awkward and upside down but you are so hungry for it that you don’t care. Any taste of him is enough right now— anything to soothe the ache in your core at the feeling of his gentle, capable hands.

When he pulls away you whine, and he moves around the couch much quicker than before. He hauls you upright, arms wrapped tight around your lower back as he kisses you again, and you lean up into him with no pain at all. He pulls away to see your neck bent to look at him, and smiles.

“Feels better now, huh?” He says, smirking.

“Yeah. Who would of thought you were so good with your hands?” He scoffs and you laugh, hands cupping his face and kissing him quickly. “Thank-you. I feel so good. So much better.”

“Anytime, sweetheart.” He kisses you once more, and leaves you standing there as the buzzer for the microwave one’s off.

He’s already putting your dinner on a plate when you get the feeling to move your legs, and shit— just the image of him standing there. It’s what you think about all day, how fucking good he is to you. No matter how much you are relied upon anywhere else, when you come home to him, you know he’s always going to take care of you.

“You okay?” He says, and you smile, standing as close as possible to him behind the counter.

“I’ve never felt better.” You say, and mean it.

im scared of losing my last paragraph!!!

[002yb]

not an ask but if I can be real with you for a sec:

i just got through reading your Nightwing and Robin series and holy fuck did it help me heal. i had a legit trauma response to watching Titans (i.e. as soon as shit calmed down in s3 my brain went, "cool, relief now, relive this never") and i only realized when i stumbled onto your fics that i never processed everything.

so thank you for writing your fics and regaling us with your soft dickjay headcanons and giving us space to feel through it all 😊

To get kudos on my Nightwing & Robin series makes me so incredibly happy, thank you!! Rough as it starts, it's by far my favorite so I'm preening right now lol. (〃´𓎟`〃)♡

Anyway, for all I enjoyed the couple seasons of Titans I watched, the drama was a lot! I'm sorry that some of the content hit so hard. I'm glad that the Nightwing & Robin series brought you some comfort though (btw I'm extra sorry because I know WtMBU left off leading up to a second part that uh. Hasn't happened. (ᵕ—ᴗ—))

Thank you again for this message! And for the support with the dickjay shenanigans that happen here. Take care, yeah? ♡♡♡

[be-the-glenn-to-my-maggie]

I don’t know why I’m here but you gotta know about it. TW mentions of child abuse

There is an actual dead dove poster in the Spider tags now 💀 posting creepy shit and doing it openly on a platform with a shit ton of minors. I saw only one before filtering the tag out but it was a Spider x Quaritch post where they discussed how people "sleep on their dynamic" and "imagine the Stockholm syndrome"

I sent them an ask and said that they should perhaps keep that to themselves or at least out of the general tags bc surprise surprise! Users don’t want relive their past trauma while scrolling through fucking tumblr and hey legit laughed and mocked me in their response. The worst part is it’s an actual 33 year old and despite the fact that they’re apparently ace I just can’t understand what fucked up morbid curiosity can drive a person to become, and I quote, a “dead dove connoisseur” and enjoy reading about sexual child abuse? Make it make sense.

It’s not even a preference thing. It’s basic human decency. What part of “don’t post about how you love fictional child abuse when there are kids looking through the tags and some people can get triggered by it” is so hard to understand? Anyway, this is just a heads up that you might see their post one day, so now you know.

Don't be shy anon drop the @.

You are absolutely right, a preference for writing about child abuse/incest is super not okay, and it's always in young fandoms and around characters like Quaritch. Despite there being whatever proper tags people think are there, I really don't think that content needs to exist. People STILL don't know what they are getting into. Case in point: I know we all stalk the Avatar a03 and we all unfortunately saw the newest gross Quaritch/Spider fic posted. Well, I clicked on that shit, because my dumb ass thought maybe it would be comfort focused enough we could skip around that bc Quaritch was already dead in the fic. When I tell you I have been so uncomfy for the last twelve hours, I cannot scrub that shit from my brain. I wish it had never been written! I wish I was dead! There are very few things that can still make me feel genuinely bad on the internet, and that managed it. I feel icky.

Anyways this just became about me resenting my decisions, I will definitely be reporting anything I see like that and I hope my followers do the same. Thank you for warning us. Tumblr is not always the safest place for minors, but hopefully we can make sure this community is.

[imaginespazzi]

PARRRRTTTT SEVEN REACCTTTIONNS

- nivi u angel bby thank you so much for the update!!! i always look forward to monday updates (west coast girly u did it with hours to spare) BUT REMEMBER don’t over work yourself over getting us updates!!! ily!!!

- my goal for the chapter is to stay far away from cliffs because i seem to always threaten them!

- stop paige’s little mini panic then relief when azzi and stephie are still there 😭😭 sweet girl went through it:(

- “and maybe this is how i become whole again.” oh hey it’s me, remember before i started reading i said i would stay clear of the cliffs? yeah well, fuck that! find me a cliff because i died dead. screaming, crying, throwing up. NIVI u are my evil genius but please please just protect her heart PLEASE.

- okay paige just left the bed if she leaves the house without speaking to azzi and stephie u might finally get some tears out of my eyes! i rlly don’t think she would but…

- stop poor drew 😢drew being annoyed with paige switching teams?!? im nervous for drew and azzi reunion.

- going to be honest i don’t really interact with azzis brothers stuff anywhere so i don’t know anything abt Tallulah but she seems so sweet in your fic ❤️‍🔥

- stop the fudds missing paige and talking about her😭😭 im on the floor next to the cliff bleeding out

- stop tim and paige mean so much to me

- stop paige legit tripping over her feet at the sight of stephie upset MY HEART

- STEPHIE ASKING PAIGE TO PROMISE SHE WILL NEVER LEAVE 😭😭 im scared

- I PROMISE ILL TRY TO STAY. fuck i’m scared

- god. your writing is a masterpiece. this whole situation is damaging my soul. i don’t hold it again azzi, im fully convinced she has her reasoning that were VAILD but oh my god i feel so bad for paige (this is not me saying that azzi didn’t go through shit too) but my poor bby is terrified i feel so bad ☹️

- stop stephie really is a mini azzi 🥹🥹

- love.

- kill

- me

- now

- let’s go back to me at the bottom of the cliff bleeding out, my pulse is barley there now.

- STWAAAPPPP paige spoils stephie it’s so cute

- YOUR DAUGHTER 🥹🥹🥹🥹

- i can’t tell if that helped or made my pulse worse

- hey so my baby fever is still here and killing me.

- “ONLY FOR YOU AND YOUR DAUGHTER.” my pulse just gave out, flatlined, not breathing, dead 🤗 thank you so much.

- YES PAIGE YOU ARE SAFE WITH AZZI.

- JANNNNNAAA MY GIRRLL

- Aunty Chérie you say? hmm i can just smell paige’s jealousy

- “you’re supposed to be holding me and i’m supposed to be holding you; it was meant to be us.” hey so i somehow just died even more😁

- okay here is the thing, i feel for olivia i do. the situation most have been hurtful to her however, CUNT CUNT CUNT DONT U DARE EVEN THINK A NEGATIVE THOUGHT AGAINST THE AMAZING, PERFECT, GORGEOUS, SMART, TALENTED, LOVELY, AZZI FUDD. her and her passive aggressive comments can leave.

- OHHHHH AZZI FUDD, YOU ATE HER UP SHE MAY BE 5th BEST BUT MY GOD AREBU NUMBER ONE BY MILLLLLLLES.

- “if it was azzi” paige babe let’s fast forward to that divorce.

- also paige going on tik tok spirals abt azzi while her wife is in the same room is just WILD and kinda sad almost makes me feel bad for mrs. cunt (my sympathy for her evaporated the second when opened her mouth around azzi 🤬🤬)

- the whole last section. omg. i know i already died then came back to life but i am not FLINGING myself back off the cliff 😁

- GODDDD NIVI u talented, talented women i cant believe how you always are able to amaze me with your writing.

- i’m gonna be honest it’s 2am for me i started reading at 10 and i just finished. i kept having to take breaks because i was screaming, no tears though!

- chapter was 100,000/10

- QUESTIONS FOR NEXT CHAPTER:

- OKAY so ms french girl whose name i can’t remember at the moment is no longer playing with the valkyries… are we gonna get like flashbacks of azzi and her in future chapters?

- this may be dumb but if the olympics were 2028 next ones were, 2032 and its 2033 right? so did the other olympics pass? are we gonna learn more about that? did azzi and paige win gold? IM SO CURIOUS!!!!

- okay that’s all i got i think…sorry for yapping so much!

oh also i kept dying but it’s def gonna keep happening tbh

-🤩🤩

HI MY LOVEEEEEE <3

- You're literally the most precious soul ever and lowkey I really needed to hear that cause I do mayhaps stress just a little bit about updating so thank you :)

- I like that you said you were going to stay away from cliffs and then managed to get through exactly one bullet without jumping off a cliff...

- I lowkey don't know a lot about Tallulah either because I only really have second-hand knowledge of the lives so I'm just lowkey molding her into what works for the plot I guess? But I'm sure she's lovely irl too!

- Circumstance truly is a bitch because I think they're both pretty scared of things beyond their control being an obstacle again

- Baby you really went through it for a couple of paragraphs there huh?

- Listen if I have to suffer through baby fever, you're all suffering with me like I keep having to remind myself that a college dorm is not appropriate for a baby bassinet

- MRS CUNT made me cackle out loud

- Omg not 4 hours babes lmao but I'm glad I still haven't brought you to tears!

- Hmmm I lowkey don't think there will be flashbacks of Clémence like that because her and Azzi's past isn't quite as integral as their present (opposite of Olivia in a sense I guess)

- The next Olympics were in fact 2032...I wonder what happened? I wonder if we'll find out?

Never apologize for yapping, it makes me so happy to hear everyone's thoughts!

[archivalofsins]

Oh, yeah- I've been offline for the most part and I probably won't be around much even when Mikoto's interrogation starts. Due to health issues. So, this is explaining that-

I spent most of December sick with covid and am still sick. I just found out it was covid maybe two days ago and was given something called paxlovid for it. My sleeping schedule is fucked monthly cycle is screwed and may just last more than it should. It's rather difficult to keep up with time. On top of that I have the beginnings of an ear infection and strep throat. My physical health is trash right now. When I haven't been passed out I've been messaging people on discord and playing video games through coughing fits.

It's been wild as hell- Today I woke up to multiple paragraph text getting yelled at by my sister for getting covid. So, to be completely candid I'm zero patience from day one. Last year sucked and I'm not trying to repeat it. I was debating deleting my entire online presence and not doing a damn thing yesterday. However, ahn fuck it what else could go wrong. Also I really enjoy writing and discussing Milgram despite the trouble it can get me into.

So, this is really just a heads up like. I am not at one hundred percent I'm sick as hell. I got sick taking care of my father. So for reference he's eighty and he's fine it was like the flu for him he's good. I'm twenty-eight and unlucky as fuck this started with a headache that would not let up for weeks escalated into a over one hundred degree fever to the the shit at the start of this. When I do manage to hae the enrgy I'm cleaning and sorting out things with pets.

There's still stuff I want to do mostly finish the second part of the Amane post and also just talk about Milgram casually and better get to know others within the fandom. Since I'm pretty sure I may give off a rather standoffish impression. Other than that second half of that Amane post which has been in drafts far too long there are legit other asks that I wanted to get to and touch on that guitar thing again with Kazui. Since I needed something clipped with that before touching on it further.

Ah and since he was innocent there was this fic that I said I would post but again was meant to do that in december- and then got hit with life stuff then illness back to back. Today I'm going to try to get some thoughts out but they may be a bit disjointed considering well all this.

Other than that-

Happy new year! I hope we all put our best foot forward to make the sort of Milgram experience we can look back on with content instead of regret.

[wheresarizona]

What made you fall in love with Javier MotherFucking Peña, and is there a particular scene/reason as to why you created the LTL universe?

Hello there!

Oh gosh, what didn’t make me fall in love with him? A grumpy man with a soft spot for the women in his life? Sign me the fuck up! That was really it, how he’s so gruff and a bit of an asshole to all the men, but then he shows a softer, very caring side when he interacts with his informants.

By the end of the show, I felt so bad for him and all the shit he had to go through. I couldn’t stand the thought of him sad—this is a problem of mine. I see a sad boy, like Din Djarin, at the end of The Mandalorian season two, and I have this intense need to give them happiness, which ends up turning into ridiculously long fics. (I have a 200k+ Mandalorian/Marvel crossover on AO3, 60k+ September for Joel Miller, another Din fic, A Mandalorian Walks into a Bar, and the 550k+ for Javier)

See? A problem.

Now, onto the reason I created LTL. As one does when they fall in love with a new character, I went on a Javi fic binge. The issue, was the majority of them were so angsty—I’m not an angsty girl. As we’ve just covered, I do not like it when the boys are sad and I DEF don’t like it if reader is sad, too. There was a real lack of fluffy, Javi getting to be happy fics. So, I was like, guess I’ll write it myself.

This was three years ago as of next month (crazy), and at that time, I was actually experiencing some really bad writers block. My solution, I asked @juletheghoul to give me a prompt for Javier Peña to try writing him.

Here is our actual conversation:

And then I started writing, and as I did, I explored Javi’s brain, and the story kinda took on a life of its own. I should mention my original plan was for this story to cover up until the third date—the fuckening, but this scene came to me, that will be the epilogue and legit makes me cry (I am right now) when I think about it because Javi is just so fucking happy, like so insanely happy, and I need to get him to that place in his life no matter how long it takes me.

I hope that answers your questions! This got kinda long. Lmfao Thank you for the ask!! 🥰🥰🥰

[cardiac-agreste]

How has the MLB fandom personally affected your day-to-day life, and what were the major things you used to do, in the fandom in your first year, that you no longer do.

I have way less free time thanks to the MLB fandom! And I wrote a novel! Yes, it's unpublishable as it is fanfiction, but I WROTE A NOVEL! Something I'd decided I wanted to do before I turned 40. And people like it?? SPLENDIFEROUS.

The big thing I used to do my first year that I (almost) no longer do is participate on the MLB subreddit, which is extremely toxic IMO. Just an absolute shit experience if you like the show. It often felt like I was one of the few people there who didn't hate it. It was not a happy time and place to be a fan!

I am there way less now. I'm so busy writing my fanfiction (like A Small but Stubborn Fire) that I can barely keep up with reading the fics I like (shout out @uptoolateart @wehadabondingmoment @nemaliwrites @raspberrycatapult @wackus-bonkus-maximus @monpetitchattriste @pisoprano @wield-the-mighty-pen @sing-in-me-oh-muse AND SO MANY MORE(seriously see attached screenshot how HUGE my backlog of subscribed fic chapters I have to catch up on!), let alone go get flamed on Reddit for daring to suggest that Marinette is fundamentally a good person.

For your reading "enjoyment," my autobiography

No one actually cares, but I'm on roll.

I was a huge anime fan in the 90s and early 00s. But then I moved to Japan and realized most anime is crap (just like most of any country's TV output is crap). But subtitles often make things sound more profound than the original. Fortunately yet unfortunately, I stopped needing them. (Plus the novelty of it that went away once I was in-country.)

So for about 10–15 years, I didn't watch any anime. Maybe a Ghibli or Satoshi Kon movie now and then.

Then sometime around the pandemic, maybe a bit before, I gave Naruto a go on Netflix after I'd seen a gazillion memes of geeks running strangely in parks. NFLX only had the first half, not Shippuden, so there was no closure for me. I decided to go to the fanfiction world after DECADES of not reading fanfiction. Like, I left the fanfiction world when I was reading Ranma 1/2, so the late 90s?

Anyway, there weren't websites for fanfiction back then. We used USENET. RAAC (rec.arts.anime.creative), specifically.

So I had to legit google to see where you went for fanfiction these days since, as you might have noticed, USENET is nigh on dead now, right? Gen Z out here asking "what is a usenet"

I discovered FFN and eventually Ao3. I kinda wore myself out of Naruto and decided to check out MLB fanfiction since I'd been watching it with my kids and I think we were waiting for the second half of S3 to show up on Netflix.

FUCKING HOOKED. CUE THE HYPERFIXATION.

So my first year deep in the fandom I was reading fanfiction constantly. Just a ridiculous amount. I think I might get the silver medal for amount consumed.

Anyway I'm getting tired of writing about myself (kind of a shocker actually), which means NO ONE is reading this far into what I've written. Point is, I got persuaded through some conversations to submit for the @mlbigbang and I wrote around 75K words and here I am.

FYI this is not reflective of the quality of my writing seriously go read my story, I will give you a refund if you don't like it

EDIT I FORGOT THE SCREENSHOT

[l0rd-0f-c0ws]

I traced the strings back to YOU, the missfire creator, and now I have two things to say.

1) THIS SHIP IS SO WONDERFUL EUGHHGFDHGFGFG OH MYGOD 3RD EYE OPENED. Thank you so much for throwing this rarepair in my radar.

2) Do you have any missfire/cesium headcanons?? I'd LOVE to hear some :3c

I FINALLY HAVE GOTTEN MY BRAIN TO WORK ENOUGH TO ANSWER THIS HI HI HI HELLO :) I am in fact no the creator tho that would be @soupsy-daisy who wrote This fic!! I just got VERY autistic about the pairing and was the first person to suggest a name for them (I am the cesium person idr who came up with missfire rn but its also v cute :) )

as for headcanons here are some !!! (Under the cut for those who don't want to see my rambles :) )

Miss Pauling has (somewhat) learned all the languages the Mercs know! this was a job requirement as she had to make sure they weren't keeping secrets, but she does enjoy it. Pyro CAN speak they just don't like taking off their mask nor do they like shouting for people to be able to hear them (legit i have a friend who tried playing dnd in one of those and half the time he had to yell so i could hear him right next to me), so they use sign and writing stuff down to communicate a lot. She was the first person to be able to understand pyro using ASL and she was the one to encourage the team to learn.

Pyro has cronic pain (mecore) and often has flare ups after battles pretty often, and it makes it hard for them to move and shit because Their Legs are being Taken by the Demons. They tend to just try and power through despite feeling like their muscles are attacking them and refuse to tell medic because they feel like they'll just be dismissed as dramatic. While the other mercs have noticed something is up with Pyro when they get back to base most days, no one pushes them to hard on it since theyre always quick to deny any oddities in their behavior, but Ms. P knows because well... its her job to know. She did get them to go to medic and get pain meds to help, as well as laying down with them when its gets to be too much. she also got them a cane not long after to help them out as well as some cute stickers and stuff to decorate it with :)

Pauling hates loud noises if she doesn't feel she has any control over them (Mecore again). like a gunshot? eh half the time shes the one firing the gun, and if she isn't then soon she will be. But things like people suddenly shouting when she didn't expect it, thunder and fireworks, stuff like that will just really mess her up. Pyro is pretty neutral on loud noises like that (tho they LOVE thunder and storms in general) so typically they'll go find her and just sit down and enjoy the silence together away from that

its actually pyros love of storms that helps her enjoy them herself. I have to draw out my idea for this since its a very spesific gay little moment but she basically over their time together begins to associate rain with them and without realizing it starts to get just as excited about rain too :)

I can post some more hcs later but a lot of the ones I had to stop myself from posting are gonna be kinda mentioned in some fics im working on rn >:) Gonna finish chapter 2 of safe with me tonight hopefully so stay tuned for that!!

[captainsophiestark]

Hey guys! So I haven't been on Tumblr like, at all for the past few weeks because of this ask I got:

I'm not gonna lie, I've been pretty much furious since I first read it, and so I decided to take a break from the internet while I worked through my feelings and decided how I wanted to respond to this. If you're reading this at all, please do me a favor and read all the way through this post. It's a little long, but it's also very very very important.

First of all, let's get one thing straight: I will NEVER consider using AI to write my stories or otherwise for about a thousand reasons, two of the big ones being respect for myself and my fellow creators, AND the fact that it "learns" to write stories and spits out responses based off of plagiarized work. Like mine, which was taken and fed into chatgpt without my consent. Using programs like this is not even remotely harmless, and I will never be one of the people putting shit into programs like chatgpt.

Additionally, this is illegal. Beyond the fact that it's ridiculously disrespectful of creators, under US copyright law, the elements of my writing that I created, including characters and scenarios, are my intellectual property. Taking my work and feeding it to the AI without my permission (and no one will EVER have my permission) is a violation of the law and also goes against Tumblr's terms of service.

If you are continuing to use, support, or otherwise feed the AI, seriously educate yourself and stop, or never fucking come near me again.

Right here is a link to a post that includes a legal disclaimer that I'll be putting with all my fics now making people aware that putting my work and my writing into AI programs is not only not okay, it is also illegal. I'm sharing it like this for anyone else who wants to use it too, to educate themselves on the law or otherwise. It's written by a legit lawyer and the sources are cited, so it's not just me screaming into the void.

I've been going back and forth for a while now on what the hell to do about this ask I got, because I absolutely love writing fic and sharing it with all of you. And it doesn't feel right to me that so many of my wonderful readers who have supported me for so long have to deal with the consequences of a few assholes. But I want to write professionally some day, and I am not okay with my voice, style, and words being fed into some machine to be plagiarized by both the people stealing my work and the people running and making money off of programs like chatgpt.

I debated for a while about taking down all my writing and just calling it a day, because as long as it's up I know that it's possible, despite my best efforts to protect my work, that people will still rip it off. However, I truly love writing fic and writing in general, and a big part of that has come from the incredible interactions that I've been able to have with people on here. There's something special about the feeling of sharing a story, and I will not let a minority of assholes ruin that for me or the people who choose to read my work and be good humans about it.

That said, I am going to take a little break from writing. I have no idea how short or long it might be, but right now I'm a little over it all, so I'm going to take a step back from requests and oneshots and everything else for right now. This is hitting in the middle of the Year of Themed Creation and it also came right before an event called Daniel Sousa Appreciation Week, so if you had requests or expectations for those events, I'm sorry. I hope you guys can understand where I'm coming from, and thank you for supporting me as much as you have.

I still plan to be online (I love Tumblr and fully believe it's the only useable social media), I just won't be posting my writing. Hopefully, it'll free up some time for me to do some reading and commenting instead, so I can support my fellow creators!

Tl;dr and a final ask for anyone who read all this: please, please, PLEASE don't feed the AI. Respect your content creators and recognize just how much of what the AI spits out is ripped off of the thoughts, ideas, and words of someone else, often without their permission. Fight for art and the people who make it.