#poor franko 😭

[longeyelashedtragedy]

oh god...that last sentence is deliciously horrifying!!! bless you for existing!!!!

Frank prayed it was just a nightmare, but his dad's red, sweaty face and the beer on his heavy breath were real.

NSFW, let’s say “I went there”

Incest warning

It’s worse that he never hears him coming. Not until he’s lurking behind him with a heavy hand on Frank’s shoulder at training. He has never let a floorboard squeak, and insisted on the thick rich carpet they have in the upstairs rooms.

It’s worse that the smell of his breath is only a mouthful of beer that leaves only the smell and no evidence he is actually drunk.

Frank prays every time that his father has forgotten how to kiss so well.

[arya-is-a-fanatic]

Sweet cousin Jamie taking advantage of Franko while he was drunk and vulnerable, and telling him about it later😭 or at least a less fucked up version of what actually happened.

Poor Franko

Why do I feel like he wouldn't mind if he knew what Jamie did, he loves him so much

happy valentine's day--red red red jamie did a bad bad thing!

“C-can I tell you what happened, Franko?”

Frank’s pretty tongue darts over his lips.  He’s always done that, since he was a kid, so old-seeming but so strong and brave.  His dad does it too.  He sighs and closes his eyes.  “Guess so.  So I can rem—try to—”

“Okay.  You want another drink first?” Jamie runs his finger over Frank’s parted lips.  Why is Franko letting him?  They’re wet from his tongue.  

“Y-yeah.  But a beer.  Please.  These are getting too strong.”  His smile is too thin and his face is too pale.  It would look better if he wasn’t smiling.

“What, it’s not like you have work to go to tomorrow or…I’m sorry, Franko, that was fucked up of me to say.”

“Mmmhmm, yeah, it was.  Get fucked, Jamie.”

“I’ll get you a beer instead.”  Jamie darts into the kitchen and pops open a cold beer for his cousin.  He’s only gone a minute, but when he gets back to Franko, there are tears on his chubby cheeks.  Oh God. 

“Hey, Franko.  Hey.”  Jamie takes one of Frank’s strong, graceful hands and uncurls the fingers.  He curls them again around the neck of the bottle.  “I don’t want you to cry, okay?  I’m going to tell you the—the full story, okay?  The real story of what I did.”  Easy, Jamie.  “I mean.  Of what we did.  Together, we did it together.  Is that okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Good,” Jamie says, and Frank’s blue eyes for once aren’t dead and sad because they’re sparkling, full of tears.  Well, Jamie thinks.  He’s not just the daddy’s boy, the pretty face and the brainless melt the whole country thinks he is.  It’s a powerful person, right, who can make a person cry but then cheer them right back up.

He rests against Frank on the sofa, their thighs pressing together, and wraps his arm around Frank’s back.  He’s never been a good storyteller.  When he tried telling stories to the boys when they were young, they’d just ask for Louise.  His were the same over and over again.   Frank and Dad were the storytellers, really—Frank with all the books he loved, Dad always listening to people and ready to make them feel good.  But now he’ll have to try.  He’ll have to make up the best story ever.

He’s ready.

He can start with the truth.

“So, that night.  I took you back to your room because—You remember this part.  People were staring at you.  Men, you know?  Grown men, they were saying things…”

“I remember them, yeah,” Frank says.  “That’s who I thought…And I remember at one point I started feeling like shit.  Like the world—“ He gulps from the bottle.  “When you spill water on something you’ve just written, and all the ink blends together.  Everything looked like that.”

“Yeah, that makes sense.  I felt like someone had put something in your drink, the way you were acting.  So I took you back, so you were safe.”

“Got it.”

Jamie takes a deep breath.  It’s time—time to be smooth like Dad, creative like Frank himself.  Come on, Jamie.  If you do this right… 

“And we were there, in your room.  Your face was so close to mine. You were so sweaty and pink, and.  You told me you loved me.”

“I did?”

“Yeah.”  And Jamie twists it.  He wonders if what he’s doing right now is more fucked-up than what he did then.  But fuck it.  “Were you telling the truth then?  Did you love me?  Do you love me?”

“Jamie, you know I do,” Frank says simply, like there’s nothing to it.  “I—I’ve always loved you, really.”

But what kind of love?  We’ll get to that.  “So you were telling me the truth.”

“If I said I loved you..then yeah, I was.”  Another gulp from the bottle.  

Jamie Jamie.  Slurred words, can words be blurry like your eyes when they’re full of water—Franko’s are.  Jamie props him against the wall, fumbles for the hallway light.  Franko’s head falls forward onto his shoulder and the thick dark hair smells like sweat and sunscreen.  His Franko’s hair.  He puts his arms around his cousin and finally tells him.  I love you Franko I want you so bad you’ve been driving me crazy the way you look the way you are

Jamie…

Pushing Franko back against the wall with his own hips, so fucking hard even though he’s so wasted.  Franko do you feel this do you want this?   You’re gonna get this soon it’s gonna be inside you Franko

Jamie…Jamie?  Jamie…But Franko is pushing back against him even though he sounds confused…

"And I told you I loved you too, Franko, and you hugged me right there.  We were so close.  It was hard to breathe, I couldn’t believe it…We were just a little closer than were are now…”