#tag: just a regular frankie fan

[wellhungspeaker]

my best friend (@jayjamjary) drew me a little birthday present and they said i could post it here because i knew all of you would enjoy it so here it is

[ak-vintage]

Sweet As

Pairing: Francisco Morales/f! babysitter reader

Summary: Frankie comes home after a long day at work and learns how you have been keeping cool in the midst of a heat wave.

Prompt: Frankie Morales x Grapes

Tags & Warnings: 18+ MDNI, 6 years post-Triple Frontier, single dad Frankie, flight instructor Frankie, babysitter reader, dual POV, age gap (not specified, but reader is a grad student), minimal descriptors of reader character, no use of y/n, domestic, sweet, mutual pining, food as foreplay, frottage, pussy pronouns, vaginal fingering, oral sex (f! receiving), trying to keep quiet, trying not to get caught, undefined but hopeful ending

Word Count: 7.5K

Written for the @happypedrohours Charcuterie Board Challenge.

Dividers by @saradika-graphics <3

Read on AO3

You had always been a summer girl, but even you had your limits.

It was week three of the most severe heatwave the south had seen in a decade, and even with the Morales’s air conditioner running at full capacity, you still couldn’t help but park yourself directly under the ceiling fan with a sweating glass of iced tea. Mila, thankfully, hadn’t fought you during bedtime tonight, the six-year-old nearly dead on her feet after a full day of summer activities – a bike ride around the block before the heat of the day had set in, a dance party after lunch, hours in her swimsuit weaving in and out of the sprinkler in the back yard. You had done your best to keep up with her sunscreen, but she still sported a little flush on her round, tan cheeks as she crawled into bed, making little snuffling snores before you had even finished telling her goodnight.

There was a part of you that envied it, the way she could just collapse into sleep, not a care in the world, while you were stuck at the kitchen table late into the night, your laptop and textbooks strewn across its surface. The perils of holding down a full-time babysitting gig while also taking summer classes, you supposed.

It was worth it, though. Mila was a sweet girl, a total social butterfly, full of giggles and sweetness, easily the most fun kid you had ever cared for. And Frankie, her father…

Mr. Morales, you reminded yourself with a quick shake of your head.

Mr. Morales was a dream to work for. Respectful, pleasant, communicative, fair. A great parent to his daughter – a single dad, the only one in your regular client rotation. He paid you well for your time, and he was generous with his recreation budget, always making sure to leave cash in the top kitchen drawer for ice cream treats, trips to the pool, matinee movies. You really couldn’t have asked for a better job for the summer.

It didn’t hurt that he was absurdly handsome, in a rugged, lived-in sort of way. Not that it mattered, of course; he was your boss, more than a decade your senior, and you were, above all else, a professional. Hitting on the kids’ dads? The biggest babysitting faux pas. You liked to think you had more class than that.

However, class or not, you were still just a woman, and Francisco Morales? He was all man.

A blue-collar, ex-military guy in his mid-forties, he was tall and impossibly broad in the shoulders with long, muscular arms, a soft tummy that peaked out over the waistband of his jeans, and a head full of dark brown curls that were constantly just a little squished by a dark, well-worn ballcap bearing the Standard Oil logo. He started out a bit reserved in the beginning, not at all unfriendly but certainly someone who took some time to open up to new people, but in the months since you had started working for him, the two of you had developed a comfortable rapport.

So, if you dragged yourself out of bed an hour early just so you could get to his house in time enough to share a cup of coffee with him before he left for work, well…that was just relationship building with a client, wasn’t it? If you found yourself lingering in the driveway every time he walked you out to your car at the end of the day, extending the conversation more and more, delaying your departure as long as you could manage, that was just…friendship, right? Comradery.

And if, on nights like tonight, you received a series of clunky, unpunctuated texts asking you to stay late on short notice and you agreed without question, that was just going above and beyond. That was you being a good employee.

It definitely wasn’t you genuinely wanting to help out the struggling single father, not because you were being paid to do so, but because he deserved it. And you definitely didn’t take a deep, personal satisfaction in knowing that he trusted you, knowing that he relied on you.

It was all above board. All friendly. All completely and totally normal.

These were the things you told yourself, anyway. It helped you to keep your traitorous heart in check.

It was nearing 10:00 PM by the time Frankie finally pulled into his driveway, his eyelids heavy, his limbs leaden and slicked with sweat. One of the ‘copters at the flight school where he worked had required some major repairs after a clumsy takeoff by one of the students earlier that afternoon had resulted in damage to the rotor blades, and he had volunteered to stay behind after hours and help with the effort so the thing wouldn’t have to spend the entire next day grounded. He was an instructor these days, but his assistance had still been welcomed. In the years he had spent attempting to earn back his pilot’s license after his…indiscretions, he had spent a fair amount of time working as an aviation mechanic to make ends meet.

Even then, at the lowest point of his life, he hadn’t been able to keep himself away from a hangar.

It had been back-breaking work, and Frankie hated having to ask you to stay late when he knew you had your own life, your own friends, your own dreams outside of babysitting his kid, but the repairs were complete now, which meant that none of the instructors would need to cancel any of their lessons for the following day. And when the flight school’s students were, more often than not, rich old men and their trust fund sons who didn’t take well to being told “no,” the extra effort would not go unnoticed.

Now, however, as he shifted his pickup truck into park next to your beat-up old Ford Focus, all he could think about was getting into the air conditioning, taking off his boots, and sitting down at the kitchen table under the ceiling fan with you.

It was the only advantage, really, of these late nights. Infrequent though they were, Frankie couldn’t deny that there was something special about coming home to find his daughter tucked up in bed, happy and tired and well-fed, and you at the table with your schoolwork strewn out in front of you. There was something peaceful and almost painfully domestic about it, something that had his chest swelling with a feeling that he couldn’t quite identify but that he knew for certain was not something one was meant to feel for one’s babysitter.

It was the same feeling he got when you started accepting his offers of coffee in the mornings before he left for work, or when you noticed that he had started purchasing the sugary-sweet creamer you preferred when he had only ever drunk his coffee black. It was the same feeling he got when he came home on one of the first nights of this fucking wretched heatwave to find you chasing his daughter around the back yard with an armful of water balloons, the both of you soaked to the skin and giggling as you pelted each other relentlessly.

It was the same feeling he got when he walked you out to your car and he watched you grip the driver’s door handle so tight your knuckles turned pale, watched you glance down at his lips one too many times to be proper. Soft mouth parted, long lashes casting shadows across your sun-kissed cheeks, perfect breasts rising and falling with your quickened breath –

Frankie brought the heels of his hands up to his eyes, pressing hard, scrubbing across his face to banish the thought. He had no business thinking of you like that, noticing you like that, and he needed to get it together before he walked through the front door and found you precisely where he had imagined you. This might have been his home, but it was your place of work, and he refused to be one of those skeevy dads who made the babysitter uncomfortable.

Gathering himself, Frankie hopped down out of the truck and jogged up the front porch steps. Slipping his keyring from his front pocket, he opened the door as quietly as he could manage and kicked his well-worn boots off onto the mat inside the entryway.

Before he could announce his arrival, however, your voice called out to him, hushed and warm.

“Welcome home, Mr. Morales,” you said sweetly, glancing up at him from your favorite chair at his table. He could see you there through the kitchen doorway, hair piled haphazardly on top of your head, eyes tired but soft, happy. You had gotten even more sun today, your cheeks, nose, and forehead tinged with pink, and you wore an oversized T-shirt and a pair of almost sinfully short shorts, the kind with the elastic waist that looked soft to the touch. Frankie tried and failed not to trace the length of your legs with his eyes, not to imagine the plush softness of your thighs, the suppleness of your calves.

Dragging his gaze back up to your face, praying that you hadn’t caught the trajectory of his traitor eyes, he was somewhat surprised to find you studying him, as well. Rather intently, as a matter of fact. He squinted down at himself, puzzled, and noticed for the first time what you must be staring at: he was a mess.

He was smudged with grease from head to toe, dark streaks of the oily substance arcing across his jeans, his uniform polo, his bare forearms, the backs of his hands. His skin, where it was visible, shone with sweat in the dim entryway light, and his shirt clung to his upper body like a second skin from the heat (moisture-wicking fabric, his ass). The weather would have been enough to have him in a state, but the late night combined with the manual labor had clearly taken its toll.

He watched the long column of your throat bob as you swallowed thickly.

“Rough day?” you asked after a beat of tense silence, keeping your voice low so as not to wake Mila.

Frankie felt his lips lift at the corner, offering you a fatigued half-smile. “A bit, yeah. But better now.”

You pressed your mouth into a thin line as though smothering a grin. “Glad to hear it.” Gesturing at the chair opposite you, you added, “Why don’t you come have a seat, and I’ll heat up some leftovers for you? You have to be starving.”

Fuck, now that you mentioned it, he was starving. He and the small crew of mechanics had taken a brief snack break while they worked, partaking of whatever hodgepodge of junk they had been able to liberate from the vending machine in the office, but that bag of chips and stale granola bar had left his system hours ago now. Still, even as his stomach growled with hunger, he couldn’t help but protest, “You don’t need to do that, cariño. It’s not your job to cook for me on top of everything else you do around here.”

You waved his words away with a flippant flick of your wrist, already on your feet and heading for the refrigerator. “I’ve told you, it’s not a problem. I cook anyway for me and Mila. Why wouldn’t I make a little extra for you while I’m at it?” You glanced over your shoulder at him. “Now sit down. I’ve got this.”

As the container of leftover pasta rotated in the pale yellow light of the microwave, you took a moment to gather yourself, to reign in the surge of want that had pulsed through you at the sight of your employer hovering in the entryway.

Miles of golden tan skin shining with sweat, pooling in the little hollow at the base of his neck. His uniform polo unbuttoned as far down as it would go, showing a sliver of gray ribbed undershirt. Grease smudged across one high cheekbone, streaked across his hands. You needed those hands on you, needed him to transfer those dark marks onto your skin, your clothes, to leave a trail across your body so you could remember everywhere he had touched you, so you could see it when you looked in the mirror.

“How was Mila today? She behave herself all right?”

You startled at the sound of his voice, quickly schooling your face into what you hoped was a pleasantly neutral expression before turning back around to face him. “Oh, yeah, she was great. We had a good day today.”

Frankie – Mr. Morales – smiled fondly at that. “Good, that’s good. No more, uh, meltdowns in the afternoon?”

“No, things have been pretty smooth since we started digging through that article I found. ‘30 Activities to Keep Kids Cool in the Summer’ or whatever. It’s been a huge help.” You chuckled wryly. “Once I figured out a way to let her be outside in the afternoons without running the risk of heatstroke, she’s been great.”

“Right, right.” He settled himself in the chair across from yours, running the side of his fingers across his patchy stubble in thought. “That’s what gave you the idea for the water balloons that one day, right?”

The microwave beeped twice, the golden light inside flickering off, and you grabbed the steaming leftover container as you spoke. “Yeah, exactly. And the sprinkler, and turning paint into ice cubes and using it like chalk.” Snagging a fork from the silverware drawer, you handed both to the exhausted man and slid back into your seat.

He tossed you a grateful smile and dug into the meal with gusto, loosing a quiet groan at the first bite. “Shit, that’s good,” he sighed, dark eyes fluttering closed in a way that had your heartrate spiking. “Thank you for this, cariño. You’re a lifesaver.”

Warmth blossomed in your chest, and you fought the urge to reach out and squeeze his shoulder comfortingly. “Of course, it’s my pleasure.”

Shoving a few more bites into his mouth, he asked, “Didn’t you freeze her Barbies one day, too?”

“Yeah, I did!” It had been one of Mila’s favorites so far of the heatwave-proof activities you had planned for her, and the memory of it had you chuckling. “I took a couple of her dolls and a bunch of their accessories, put them in a few of those sand buckets you guys have in the garage, filled those with water, and then froze them overnight. It took her hours to dig them all out, but hey. It kept her busy, and she didn’t overheat in the process, so I’ll take it.”

Mr. Morales grinned at that, plucking a napkin from the holder in the center of the table, scrubbing it across his sauce-stained moustache. “Incredible. You know, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate all the extra effort you’ve been going to with her lately. I know it’s a lot, just looking after her eight hours a day, every day. But with this heat, I know she’s going stir-crazy.” He glanced down at his meal, something almost bashful creeping into his expression. “Pretty sure she gets that from me. Never been real good at sitting still, being stuck indoors.”

“It’s really nothing, Mr. Morales,” you insisted, brushing away the praise with a swipe of your hand.

“No. S’not nothing.” His low voice had gone serious now, and when he glanced back up at you, his eyes were wide, dark, and earnest. “The way you take care of her? The way you always seem to just…know what she needs? That’s everything.” You swore you saw his cheeks darken, swore you saw his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed hard. “And I told you. S’okay if you call me Frankie. That Mr. Morales stuff makes me feel old.”

You drew your lower lip between your teeth, gaze flicking down to your hands as the intensity of the eye contact became too much to handle. “If you’re sure,” you agreed after a moment. “I don’t want to…presume.”

“Not presuming,” he disagreed, shaking his head. “We’re…friends, right, cariño? Friends can call each other by their first names.”

Something in your stomach ached at his words, but he sounded so genuine, so hopeful that you couldn’t bring yourself to deny him. “Suppose that’s true… Frankie.”

Fucking Christ.

Maybe that hadn’t been the right call, Frankie thought. Maybe he shouldn’t have suggested you call him that, not when your voice sounded so sweet wrapped around his name, not when the hour was so late, the house so silent, like you were the only two people awake in the world. That kind of intimacy, it was going to give him…ideas.

Eager to distract himself from the moment, he plowed onward. “Well, what was the activity today?” he asked, stabbing another selection of pasta and vegetables with his fork.

You appeared to consider the question for a moment before replying, “Actually, it’s more of ‘show’ thing than a ‘tell’ thing, so if you don’t mind holding that thought for a minute, I’ll show you after you’re finished eating.”

Frankie arched an eyebrow at you, intrigued. “Okay, sure. I can wait. Why don’t you tell me what you’re working on then instead? Something for school, I assume?” He gestured at the impressive spread of textbooks, printed articles, and your open laptop taking up most of the surface of the kitchen table.

Immediately, you launched into a detailed explanation of your current project, a research proposal for your graduate program that would serve as the capstone of this session of summer classes. He would freely admit that he only understood bits and pieces of it, his formal education having ended with his high school graduation, but he always enjoyed asking you about your schoolwork. The way you lit up when you talked about the subjects you were passionate about, your animated gestures, your wide, sparkling eyes, all of it was deeply endearing to him. He loved how passionate you were, the way you chased after your goals with fire and focus. It was one of his favorite things about you, and he felt as though that list might be growing longer by the day.

Your monologue about your research proposal gave him the perfect opportunity to finish his meal, so that by the time you had come to the end of your explanation, Frankie was dropping his fork into the now-empty container and leaning back in his chair, pleasantly full and satisfied.

“Oh,” you gasped, seeming to come back to yourself as you took in his relaxed posture, the little smile on his face. “Wow, I really just went on and on there, huh? Sorry about that, I guess I get a little overexcited about my research.”

“Don’t apologize. I like how fired up about it you get, it’s cute.”

The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, a little too honest, a little too real, and Frankie braced himself for the shift in your demeanor that was sure to follow. The awkwardness, the clear discomfort at the too-personal words from your employer. But it never came. Instead, your cheeks darkened under his gaze, a flush spreading down your neck and disappearing into the neckline of your oversized T-shirt.

“You…you think I’m cute?” you stammered, voice a bit breathless in a way that had him shifting in his seat, and he felt a fresh flush of sweat bead up on his forehead, just under the brim of his ballcap, at the sound.

He needed to blow you off, he knew. He needed to make an excuse for the comment, turn it into something mindless, something shallow and impersonal, if he wanted to point this conversation back in the right direction.

“‘Course, cariño,” he said instead. “Who wouldn’t? Might be an old man these days, but I’m not dead yet.”

What was wrong with him?

You blinked back at him for a moment, eyes wide and glossy, lips parted in surprise at the confession, but then you were smiling, something almost…flirtatious in the curve of your lip as you said, “You’re not an old man, Frankie. You’re…experienced.”

Oh, fuck him.

This was a dangerous path the two of you were walking, and in that moment, Frankie wasn’t sure what frightened him more: the eventual destination or the fact that you seemed more than willing to travel it with him.

If he was ever going to make it back to safety, he needed to switch gears. Now.

“How about that activity?” he said quickly. “You gonna show me what you and Mila got up to all day?”

Drawing back from where you had started to lean toward him across the table, you shook your head a bit, as though the question had brought you back to yourself. He watched as the softness and the want in your eyes dissipated, and though he mourned it, he knew it was for the best. The two of you had come too close to crossing that line tonight. You both needed to regain your footing a bit.

“Sure. Actually, it should make for a good dessert.” Getting to your feet once more, you crossed to the refrigerator and opened the freezer door, pulling three medium-sized plastic containers from its depths. The clear plastic fogged up the moment it hit the outside air, obscuring their contents, but Frankie didn’t have to wait for long to see what was inside. A moment later, you spread the three containers out on the kitchen table in front of him and began removing their lids.

Inside the containers was a selection of perfectly chopped, completely frozen fruit. The two of you had clearly used some creatively-shaped cutters to prepare the fruit, as some of the chunks were shaped like little hearts, others looked like tiny stars, and still others looked as though a cutter in the shape of a bunny head had been used. One container held little hunks of bright red watermelon in a full assortment of unique shapes, another boasted chunks of pineapple, also uniquely prepared, and in the last container, a medley of green and red grapes had been halved down the center for easy eating.

“What tastes better on a hot day than fresh fruit?” you asked cheerily. “We cut it up together out on the patio first thing this morning so it would have time to freeze. Mila wanted me to tell you that she did the watermelon because it’s pink and that’s her favorite.”

Frankie glanced up at you, meeting your eyes over the frosty containers. “That sounds about right,” he chuckled.

“I ended up having to hose down the concrete by the time we were done, but it made a great snack when it got miserable out. She was going back and forth between the sprinkler and her bowl on the patio all afternoon.”

He grinned at the image you painted, thinking of his little girl in her pink bathing suit, wild brown ringlets wet and clinging to her scalp, grass sticking to her feet as she danced through the spray of the sprinkler, darting back to grab a hunk of watermelon or a frozen grape, the juice dripping from her little fingers.

“Help yourself,” you encouraged, sitting back down across from him. “I’ll have some with you.”

He quirked an eyebrow at you. “Shouldn’t I…grab us some forks?”

You shrugged, that fucking grin making its way back onto your face. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

And with that, you fluttered your fingertips over the container of frozen grapes, plucked one from the pile, and slipped it into your mouth with a satisfied sigh. You might have started chatting then, might have begun asking him if he had any fun plans for the upcoming weekend and offered a summary of yours in return, but Frankie hardly heard a word of it. He was too preoccupied with your…snacking.

The plushness of your lips, the little peek of your slick, pink tongue each time you opened them, the way you seemed to allow the fruit to linger in your mouth as it defrosted. Heart-shaped watermelon had pale pink juice spilling out of the corner of your mouth, making it halfway down your chin before you delicately swiped it away with the tip of your middle finger. A pineapple star had you smiling softly as you enjoyed the burst of tartness over your tastebuds.

And those grapes.

Those goddamn fucking grapes, with their slick, frosty skin and their subtle, gentle sweetness – those you softly, almost absently traced over the seam of your lips before slipping them inside. Like you were savoring the sensation unconsciously, like the cool wetness of them quenched something in you that you weren’t even aware required attention. They made your mouth glisten in the low light, the shine of it so tempting he was certain that he hadn’t looked away from it in several minutes now.

In the back of his mind, he knew he needed to get ahold of himself. There was no way you hadn’t noticed; he had to be making you uncomfortable by now. But he just…couldn’t. God, you looked good enough to eat, with your messy hair and your sun-pinked cheeks and your bright eyes and your soft, bare legs.

A droplet of sweat traveled down the side of his face, streaking down his temple, his jaw, his neck.

Your mouth looked cool, and it looked sweet.

“…Frankie?”

Frankie startled at the sound of his name on your tongue, and his gaze snapped back up to your eyes instantly, a wicked flush blazing up the back of his neck and over his skull in mortification. Shit, you had noticed him staring, this was such a major fuck-up –

“Hm? What’s that, cariño?” His voice came out weak and raspy, like his throat had gone dry, and he cleared it loudly.

“I was saying, you don’t want any of the fruit?” You looked him over with wide, innocent eyes, and for the first time, Frankie realized that he hadn’t taken a single bite.

“Uh. A-Actually, I think I might be too full at the moment,” he stammered, bringing a hand up to pat himself across the belly in excuse.

The little confused quirk of your head told him immediately that you didn’t believe him. Scooting your chair across the hardwood floor, you came to sit directly next to him and gently scolded, “Frankie, you’ve been out working in this heat all night. You need to rehydrate. Here, you have room for a few pieces. Open up, okay?”

One of those slick, dewy grape halves appeared between your thumb and forefinger then, and the next thing he knew, you were holding it out to him. Not to take with his own hand, but to eat. It was a mere hairsbreadth away from his mouth.

Unable to formulate a suitable protest, his brain suddenly feeling rather detached from his body, all Frankie could do was drop his jaw and allow you to slip the fruit inside.

The pads of your fingers touched the soft, sensitive skin of his lower lip, and that was when he was certain that not only had his brain seemingly walked away on its own, it had turned fully off. That was the only explanation he could come up with for why the moment he registered the delicate touch, he immediately seized your wrist in one of his fists, dragging your fingers fully into his mouth.

A loud, feminine gasp met his ears as he swiped his tongue between your fingertips, stealing the frozen fruit from your grasp, pressing it firmly against the roof of his mouth to squash it, and quickly swallowing it down. His tongue returned to your skin, lapping at the frost and the condensation and the delicate, sweet juices coating your fingertips, and he watched as your eyes glazed over at the sensation. Your wrist went limp in his grasp, your fingers pliant, never once attempting to withdraw, and the ball of heat that had been brewing in his gut all night suddenly reached a fever pitch as he realized that you liked this.

Cock twitching in his jeans, he drew your fingers from his mouth. Both his eyes and yours followed the fine trail of saliva that stretched from his lip to the tip of your index finger, and he heard your swallow heavily at the sight.

“Frankie,” you whispered weakly.

And then his restraint abandoned him just as his mind had, and before he could think better of it, his hands were cupping your face and dragging you bodily to meet him in a hard, messy kiss.

Francisco Morales kissed like he did everything else – with intention, with competence, and with a raw, simmering fire that lingered just below the surface just waiting to be unveiled. To be stoked. To be nurtured.

The presence of that fire had your squirming in your seat, had your neck bending back on your shoulders in submission to the intensity of his assault. His thumbs, long and thick, pressed into your jaw from either side, wrenching you open, and his tongue slipped inside, immediately seeking your own with a desperation that drew a soft, muffled moan from your throat. Your own hands flew to the sweat-damp collar of his polo, and you dug your fingers into the fabric, holding him, keeping him just as fiercely as he kept you. Your heartbeat thundered in your ears, pulsed between your thighs, growing sensitive and tender there when wetness bloomed.

With a low, rasping groan, Frankie broke the kiss and began tracing his prominent nose across your cheek, along the edge of your jaw, down your bare neck.

“You taste so fucking sweet, querida. Cold and…delicious and…perfect.”

Punctuating his words with hot, open-mouthed kisses across your skin, his voice rough and raw and sounding like the confession had been dragged from his chest against his will, it was enough to have sweat breaking out on the back of your neck, behind your knees, at the base of your spine.

“Frankie,” you breathed, threading your grip into his hair, curling his dark brown locks around your fingers, scraping along his scalp. “Please – ”

His hands dropped from your jaw then, sweeping around the width of your hips and hauling you into his lap. Instinctually, your thighs spread to bracket his waist, the weight of you coming to rest on his spread-legged lap, and you couldn’t help but moan at the thick, hard press of him against the softness of your cunt.

“This okay, baby?” he murmured against your skin, nuzzling against the neckline of your shirt, broad palms dragging down over your ass to hold you down, press you to him.

You whimpered and felt your body going soft, warm, and pliant beneath his touch. “Mm hm!” Hips hitching, grinding against him of their own accord, you pulled his face back up to meet yours, smothering your own gasps and whines in his mouth.

It didn’t last long, however. After a few quick licks against your tongue, Frankie pulled away, pressing his forehead against yours and knocking his Standard Oil cap to the floor.

“Uh uh, need to hear the words, cariño. Won’t do anything you don’t want me doing.” Wrapping his fingers around your messy bun, he angled your face down so that your heavy-lidded eyes met his. “I’ll ask you again. You want me touching you? You want me to make you feel good?”

Your eyes drifted shut, your mind gone warm and hazy. God, the things this man did to you. Did he know how long you had wanted this? How hard you had fought against it? He couldn’t know. If he did, he would never ask such a question.

“Yes, please, Frankie,” you gasped, nodding against his hold, brushing the tip of your nose against his.

“Yes, please, what, bebita?” You could hear a smirk in his voice now, and the sound had you flushing down to the tips of your toes, a fresh rush of wetness soaking your panties as you squirmed against him.

Tucking your face against his sweaty neck, you whispered, “Please…please make me feel good.”

Frankie was on his feet in an instant, boosting you into his arms in a move that had your stomach dropping down through your abdomen both in shock and in arousal. He backed you into the table, your hips bumping into the wooden edge, and the snap of pain had a brief flash of clarity flying through your lust-filled brain fog.

“Frankie, my books – ”

The older man swore under his breath – “fuck, right” – before changing course, bringing you instead over to the arm of the peninsula that extended out into the room from the edge of the kitchen. Kicking one of the two barstools out of the way, he dropped you unceremoniously onto the countertop before dragging you down for another kiss.

He ate at your mouth like a man starved, sucking on your lips, dragging his teeth across your skin, licking against the roof of your mouth. It was wet, sloppy, and so hot, his desperation contagious, encouraging you to match him caress for caress. No one had ever kissed you like this, like the kissing was the main event rather than a means to an end. Frankie kissed like that was the entire point, and it had you melting against the counter. You were dripping through your shorts now, you were sure of it.

“Can taste all that fruit on your tongue. Sweetest thing I ever tasted,” he growled, keeping his voice low. “But I can think of at least one other thing that might be even sweeter.”

Jesus fucking Christ. Your boss was going to eat you out on his kitchen counter.

“Lean back, bebita.” The words were spoken against your cheeks, brushed into your skin by the suddenly tender touch of his lips, the rasp of his whiskers, the press of his chin. “Let me take care of you.”

You did as he asked, releasing your hold on his broad shoulders and sinking back onto your elbows. The granite was cool to the touch, sending goosebumps along your arms and down your spine, but the sensation was a welcome one after the oppressive heat of the day, the heat of his body on yours.

His palms snaked beneath the hem of your T-shirt, bunching it up onto your belly to reveal the waistband of your shorts. Hooking his thumbs into the elastic without preamble, he murmured, “Lift your hips a bit for me, baby.” Again, you obeyed without question, and with a few short tugs, Frankie pulled both your shorts and your slick-stained panties down your legs to drop to the hardwood floor.

You felt a fierce blush flare in your cheeks, spreading down your neck and chest with a speed that had you gasping for air. The ceiling fan over the kitchen table – you could feel its breeze from here, the cool rush of air instantly pulling a shiver from you as it hit your wet, swollen pussy. You kept yourself bare in the summer, finding it easier and less stressful whenever you wanted to wear a swimsuit, and laid out like this on display, thighs spread around Frankie’s broad body, the cold fan hitting your most vulnerable skin, you couldn’t help but feel a bit…overexposed. The reality of your situation hit you like a freight train, and you found yourself fighting the urge to snap your legs closed against the eyes of your boss.

It was as though Frankie could read your mind. Not a moment after the thought occurred to you, you felt his big hands clamp onto your thighs and pull them apart even wider.

“Don’t you dare try to hide from me. She’s so fucking beautiful,” he tutted, and you risked a glance at his face only to find him staring intently down at your cunt. “You been walking around my house with a naked pussy like this all summer, baby? Dirty girl.” His dark brown eyes had gone almost black with lust, his irises only a faint ring around his wide pupils, and in a gesture that seemed entirely unconscious, he darted the tip of his tongue out to wet his bottom lip. He looked utterly fascinated. Entranced. Hungry. The sight had your walls clenching around nothing, and you watched him watch that happen with an eagerness that had you moaning aloud.

When he spoke again, he was a man in thrall. “‘M gonna eat this pretty pussy now, querida. Gotta be quiet for me, okay? Don’t wanna wake Mila.”

You nodded, bringing one of your hands up to cover your mouth preemptively. This man was going to have you screaming, you just knew it. Flicking his gaze up to yours for just a moment, he grinned wickedly at the sight.

“That’s a good girl, baby,” he whispered, and then his face was in your cunt, and you felt your every coherent thought fly out the window.

If Frankie had thought that your mouth tasted sweet, your tongue like candy, then your pussy was fruit on the vine, straight from the vineyard, drenched in sunshine. It was hot, deep, and rich, earthy and tangy and drugging, like a late summer afternoon, like a hazy day in August. This had always been one of his favorite things to do with women, one of his favorite ways to please them, and never – not once – had it ever been like this. From the moment his tongue touched your delicate, dripping folds, he knew – there would be no going back from this. Not for him. He couldn’t experience something like this and not crave it every day for the rest of his life.

He started with soft, light strokes with tip of his tongue, tracing just the very edges of your lips from down near your entrance all the way to the top of your mound. Then again, slowly pressing deeper but never with any more than the faintest pressure. Even so, you responded instantly, a panting, high-pitched whine sounding behind the press of your palm over your mouth. Your hips bucked against his mouth, trying to increase the pressure, to draw him further into you, but he had one of his arms bracketing the span of your hips before you could make much progress.

Driving you firmly into the countertop, he held your knees open with the breadth of his shoulders and boldly dragged the flat of his tongue through your folds. “Keep quiet, now, bebita. I’m gonna take care of you.”

With that, Frankie felt himself begin to disappear, to melt into you from his position between your legs. Your soft thighs bracketing his shoulders, your heels digging into his back, your pussy, so soft, so hot, so sweet as you dissolved beneath his tongue. You were drooling for him, your clenching, grasping hole fluttering against his tongue every time he passed over it, your clit swollen and throbbing under the suction of his lips. You had collapsed back against the countertop now, one hand still pressed firmly over your mouth, the other burying itself in his hair, anchoring him to your body with a strength he found both surprising and wildly attractive. And with every lick, every suck, every vibration of a moan that spilled from his mouth into your flesh, he could feel you drawing higher, tighter, deeper.

He knew what you needed. He knew what would get you there.

Tucking his free hand beneath his chin, Frankie slipped one, then two thick fingers into the tight, velvety clutch of your cunt.

You shot up off the counter, your torso curling around his head, your hand in his hair fisting the strands roughly in your overwhelm. Sharp bolts of pain erupted across his scalp, but it was a welcome sensation, somehow grounding in its intensity. He smirked against your folds, sealing his lips around your puffy clit and rolling the little nub around with his tongue. At the same time, he pressed gently, insistently against the front wall of your cunt, applying steady friction and pressure with both fingertips.

A faint whimper slipped from you at that, muffled by your palm but not silent, and Frankie felt himself preen. God, he loved this. It wouldn’t be long now.

“You gonna come for me? Gonna let me feel her gush around my fingers? On my tongue? Hm?”

The hand on your mouth fell away, joining the one in his hair as you began to tremble beneath him. “Frankie,” you whined. “‘M gonna – you’re gonna make me – ”

“I know, baby, I know.” He kept his fingers right where they were, shallow thrusts, firm pressure right where you needed it most. “Just let it happen. I’ve got you.” Ducking his head back down to your clit, he resumed the combination of gentle suction and firm, long strokes that had driven you wild.

And just like clockwork, your thighs began to shake against his shoulders. Your abdomen clenched beneath his forearm. Your slick, soft walls clamped down around his fingers. A weak, breathless sound – “ah” – burst from your throat, and then you were coming. A rush of your wetness dripped down his fingers, coating his hand, pooling in the cup of his palm as you pulsed and fluttered around him, and Frankie could feel your poor, abused little clit twitching against his tongue. He worked you through it, slowing down a bit but not stopping, prolonging the torment just a bit longer. Only when your two hands buried in his hair started to shove against him, pushing him away, did he relent, and even then, it took him an extra few seconds to be willing to slip his fingers from your body.

Looking up into your face, Frankie felt a wash of joy and contentment pass over him. You were positively glowing – your skin flushed and ever-so-slightly sweaty, your hair wild and mussed, your T-shirt bunched up above your belly button, so much of your perfect softness on display. And you were grinning like a fool, your eyes showing your fatigue but your smile brighter than he had ever seen. You looked at him with a gentleness, an affection that had his heart clenching in his chest, and he was certain that his expression was much the same.

It had been years since he had felt this way about anyone, and even then, he wasn’t certain it could compare.

When you sat up and slipped from the counter, it was a slow and lazy affair, assisted by his firm grip and his steady arms to help keep you upright. The moment your feet hit the floor, you reached for his belt with a question in your eyes, to which Frankie responded, “Not tonight, querida. Tonight was about you.” You seemed somewhat disappointed by that response, but you didn’t push it. Instead, you simply pulled his head down for a kiss, which he gladly obliged. You sighed into his mouth at the taste of yourself on his tongue, and it took every ounce of strength he had in him not to take back what he had just said, to drag your hands back down to his belt buckle and allow you to proceed as you wished.

But no.

It was late. You needed to get home and get to sleep, and he needed to wash off the heat of the day before passing out in his own bed. There would be a little girl busting down his door at 7:00 AM tomorrow whether he was ready for her or not, and you would be back in this very kitchen by 8:00 eager to share a cup of coffee with too-sweet creamer before he left for work.

So, like the gentleman that he wasn’t certain that he was, Frankie helped you slip back into your little shorts, pack your overflowing bookbag, and carry your things out to your car.

You turned to him one last time before you slipped into the driver’s seat, a soft if uncertain smile playing at the corners of your lips. “Mr. Morales – Frankie, I…” You drew your lower lip between your teeth. “Thank you. For tonight.”

His heart melted at your words, the quiet, hesitating way you said them. It was a vulnerability he wasn’t accustomed to from you, you who always seemed to have it all together, you who matched his advances beat for beat, never wavering. “Don’t need to thank me, baby. I wanted to. You take such good care of me, of Mila. You deserved it.” Releasing a deep, trembling breath, he added, “And…I’d like to do it again sometime. If you’ll let me.”

“That depends,” you replied.

“Yeah? On what?”

Your soft, sweet smile morphed into something sharper then, something with more intent. “On if you’ll let me return the favor. It’s like you said…I want to.”

Frankie couldn’t have reigned in the grin that split his face then if he tried. Dropping a kiss to your forehead, he said, “‘Course, cariño. I’m not done with your sweetness just yet.”

[steddieas-shegoes]

firsts and seconds

for @corrodedcoffinfest day one prompt 'firsts'

rated t | 1000 words | cw: alcohol mention | tags: i would die for gareth emerson, i don't think you understand, bisexual king gareth emerson

🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸

Gareth is the baby of the group, always has been, always will be. He's a year younger than Jeff and Frankie, and four years younger than Eddie. He was behind in everything, but it just was how it was.

He was a drummer and they needed one. The fact that he was the best drummer in a 100 mile radius helped.

But because of them hitting the ground running the moment he graduated, he didn't really get to have much of a regular young adult life.

He didn't really have much of a rockstar one either.

He had three extremely overprotective big brothers constantly by his side making sure he didn't do anything dumb, but they also made sure he didn't do anything at all.

"Promised your mom we would watch out for you," Jeff said.

"Last thing we need is you getting involved with some girl and ruining the band," Frankie said.

"Don't rush it, man," Eddie said.

But Gareth was now 20 years old and had never even kissed a girl. Or a boy, he didn't know what he was into. How could he? None of them would leave him alone long enough in the bars he was technically too young to get into to try.

Tonight. He would find a way to shake them tonight. He'd find a girl in the crowd, he'd buy her a drink, and he'd hope that she'd at least be willing to check this one thing off his list.

If he was gonna be a rockstar, he should get to kiss someone.

They were playing a smaller venue tonight, opening for a band that was bigger than them in theory, but not in talent. Story of their lives.

Hopefully, everyone would be distracted by the main act to not pay attention if he slipped off.

He was dripping sweat, cursing the fact that these small venues never had decent ventilation or fans for them to cool off, and the stage lights were always too close, building up a furnace on the stage.

His drums were packed, his shirt rolled up to help him cool off the best he could while he sipped on water. He hadn't even gotten a beer tonight, a nervous flutter in his stomach that he didn't want to make worse with feeling bloated from the combination of hops and heat.

"Gare!" Jeff's voice interrupted his walk towards the bar.

Dammit.

"You wanna head out? We're all so fuckin' hot."

"Yeah, yeah, let me just grab another water. Feeling kinda lightheaded."

That was definitely not the right thing to say. Jeff's mouth turned down in a concerned frown.

"Well, let's get you outside then. You need some fresh air. Eddie!" Eddie yelled back in acknowledgement. "Get Gareth a water!"

"I'm okay, I can get it." He argued, desperate to let his plan work. "You guys head out, be there in a few."

"Like hell am I leaving you alone when you're not feeling good," Jeff wrapped his arm around his shoulders and started pulling him towards the door. "You gotta speak up sooner."

"Jeff. Please."

Something in his voice must have alerted Jeff to the seriousness of his plan because he quickly pulled his arm away.

"What's going on?"

"I just need to be alone for a bit. Please?" Gareth wasn't afraid to pull out the pout. The pout worked on his mom every time. It had to work now, too. "Just for a little bit?"

Jeff searched his face, probably trying to see if there was something he should be worried about.

"I'll distract them for 15 minutes. But that's all I can guarantee," he finally agreed. "Whatever it is you're planning, please be safe. Please."

"What the hell could I possibly get up to in 15 minutes?"

Jeff sighed. "Don't ever ask that question to Eddie or Frankie."

He walked away and Gareth watched as he convinced them both to walk outside, probably to get some fresh air. He probably didn't have to be that convincing.

God, it was so hot.

The bar area of the venue was crowded, a lot of people taking the break between sets to throw back a shot or chug a beer. He genuinely did just need a water, so he forced his way through the people and got the attention of the bartender.

"Not a fan of beer?" A woman in a black dress and leather jacket asked him. She was smiling, sipping on something that could be water, might be a vodka tonic. The lighting wasn't good enough to see bubbles.

"Not a fan of being hot," Gareth smiled.

"Awful confident of you."

Oh. Oh shit. Was she flirting with him?

"Trying something new tonight, I guess."

"Oh? Anything in particular?"

Gareth liked her smile, her eyes. She seemed a few years older than him, closer to Eddie's age.

"Well…I've never actually kissed anyone before," Gareth figured honesty was the best policy.

"Never?" She didn't believe him, but that was okay. She'd figure it out if she let him make a move.

"Never."

"Let's give it a go then."

So he did.

She leaned in, closed her eyes, and he was having his first kiss. He didn't know her name, he was surrounded by hundreds of people, and he was certain that stars were exploding behind his eyes.

She pulled away after a few seconds, smiling, winking, and walked away.

"Damn, she didn't even give you a name?" A guy to Gareth's left asked, watching as she walked away.

Gareth shook his head. "Didn't need it."

The guy touched his arm and smiled at him, much like the woman had before.

"I'm Evan. You're the drummer, right?"

"Sure am."

"You wanna have a kiss with someone you know the name of?" Evan asked.

Gareth wasn't about to pass up this opportunity, so he nodded.

When Evan kissed him, he saw fireworks.

Stars and fireworks.

"Wanna come outside?" Evan asked.

Gareth shook his head.

Firsts and seconds were enough for now.

[trulybetty]

Sunday | Week In Review I

So in order to try and be consistent with this, I’ve kept a running Notes page open to keep track of my week.

As I mentioned last week, I don’t expect this every week, I am me. But I am going to keep trying to make an effort to support my fellow creators.

If there’s something you’ve enjoyed this week, please feel to reblog this and tag me so I can check it out and share 💙

Also, not that I feel it needs to be said, but this is a reflection of what I have personally read and enjoyed.

B x

Truly Betty Updates This Week…

New York Part I (Marcus Pike x f!reader)

Fics I Enjoyed This Week…

Conversations with a Movie Star | Chapter 1 by @gnpwdrnwhiskey Even if you’re not a fan of Dieter Bravo, the dialogue in this alone is worth checking out this opening chapter for this new fic. Ava is an OFC down on her luck after being fired, from her families paper no less, and has stumbled across the Bravo Inn… I’ll let Lellen’s writing do the rest

Stripper Jack Trilogy | P. III by @psychedelic-ink The conclusion of maybe the definitive trilogy of trilogies? I don’t think anyone had Stripper Jack on their 2023 bingo cards, but he’s earned his space and I won’t have any arguments on it. 

Hungry Hearts | Chapter by @atinylittlepain Not many Joel AU’s I’ll jump into, but Bruce Springsteen and Joel Miller? Signed myself the fuck up for that as soon as it was announced. The unfolding of Joel and Cherry's relationship in the summer of '86 against them running back into one another 17 years later is such a great dynamic. 

Fall Apart Again | Chapter 1 + 2 by @wildemaven Heidi spoiled us this week, with not one, but TWO chapters of her new Joel fanfic. I don’t think I’ve gotten so emotional over an opening chapter to a fic before like I did with this one! Then the second chapter? Just bury me now… but actually don’t, I want to see the end of this fic first!

The Layover | Chapter 9 by @goodwithcheese How did Megan describe her fanfics? Hallmark movies with smut? She's not wrong. This whole series so far has been a rollercoaster of emotions and keeps delivering each week without fail. Not only are you rooting for Reader + Frankie, but Jules and Santiago anyone? Or maybe just Jules herself because she's just the boss.

Late Night Texts | Chapter 9 by @mvtthewmurdvck I think it's safe to say it's fanfics like Late Night Texts that have got me back in my rom-com/hopeless romantic era. I don't want to give too much away if you've not had the pleasure of reading this - but it has all the hallmarks of a good rom-com set on the backdrop of the early 2000s and with Javier Peña. If you're like me and still trying to make your way through Narcos or haven't watched it yet - please don't let it stop you, you won't be sorry!

A Little FaceTime by @stardustandskycrystals I’m still thinking about this fic days later and may have gone back to read it again. Trust me, just read this - you don’t need an explanation or reason, just read it. Even if Javi isn’t your jam (wasn’t on my list before, that’s all changed now) - it won’t disappoint!

Things I’m Looking Forward to Starting…

Decoherence by @prolix-yuy Westworld and Jack ‘Agent Whiskey’ Daniels crossover, yes, please! It is also reminding me that I never finished season one and should do something about it…

Pleased to Meet You by @intheorangebedroom This is a constant on my dash and on my TBR pile for a while with so many good comments - also getting into my Frankie era, so it’s perfect timing!

The Pilot & His Girl by @avastrasposts Been waiting to savour this one! So you’ve got the Last of Us and you’ve got Triple Frontier, two of my favourite things… what happens when you mush them together? You get a wild ride through the outbreak with Frankie & Reader - I cannot wait to get into this!

Visiting by @ladamedusoif This is another regular on my dash and on my TBR that I’m hoping to get stuck into this week. A college AU of Mr. Ben from the SNL sketch. Fully fleshed out and on the backdrop of New England, I’m ready to get swept away with this promise of a slow burn.

The House by @gemmahale A Jack Daniels x OFC (Best Friend) series coming soon focusing on a long-lost friendship, an inheritance, and Jack sounding like the scallion he is? Cannot wait.

Posts I Enjoyed This Week…

@rhoorl’s announcement of their Triple Frontier AU, Delta Landscaping with mood board and logo! The residents of Tumblr won’t know what’s hit the neighbourhood when they roll into town! 

Thanks to @gnpwdrnwhiskey I will never look at baby hippos without thinking of Dieter Bravo

Everyone’s participation in the WIP poll tag game, it was so fun to see my dash just filled with so many creative people and so many amazing ideas! It was a neat peek into everyone’s draft folders!

Things I’ve Enjoyed This Week…

Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse - FINALLY got to see it this week, and it did not disappoint. Have not stopped thinking about it since!

My rom-com era has returned, and I’m deep into embracing my forgotten love of a good rom-com. So far this week it’s been The Lake House, You’ve Got Mail & Always Be My Baby. Also it gave way to a Keanu Reeves appreciation post, come share your favourite Keanu!

This Week’s Song… Went waaaayyyy back for this one, an amazing album too - the Sterephonics are one of my favourite bands of all time 🩶

Hope everyone has a great Sunday & here's to a new week!

Please feel free to share your own favourites from the week or what you're looking forward to this week - not a tag game, so no pressure for you to share if you're not feeling it ❤️ xx

[jeewrites]

Hold Fast - Sneak Peek!

Rating: 18+ MDNI (no smut in sneak peak)

A/N: For my first Frankie Friday I'm posting a sneak peek to my first fan fic Hold Fast (a one-shot? part one? possibly more?). Thank you to @vyduan for being my beta and my write or die! Grateful to everyone who voted in my poll and @katareyoudrilling for encouraging me to post. Full piece coming Friday, Feb 16th!

Tags: no y/n, gymbff!Benny, reader is a powerlifting girlie described as short, Tom is alive unfortunately (we hate Tom), Tom owns a bar, Pope owns a gym, alcohol, brief body insecurity and Frankie being down on himself, swearing (I'm new to this so please lmk if I missed anything!)

Word Count: 591 of ~3.9k

Benny was surprised to see you walk into Pope's one night an hour before closing since you always trained in the mornings. You had given him a short head nod instead of your usual big smile before stalking to a platform and slamming your bag down. 

"Yooooo, everything ok?" he asks as he walks over. 

"Does it look like I'm okay," you huff, aggressively wrestling your knee sleeves on. Glancing at him, you immediately apologize when he hesitates and takes a step back.

"Sorry, Benny. I'll be a lot better after I pick up some heavy things and put them down."

"Might help if you want to talk about it?" he ventures leaning against the barbell.

You finish tying your squat shoes before looking at him again with dejected eyes and sighing. 

"I just went on a crappy date with a guy from one of those dating apps," you sigh again. "He spent the whole time talking about himself and how much he works out. Then he had the fucking audacity to question me when he asked how much I could lift."

"Fucking asshole!" Benny feels himself getting steamed. 

"He just stormed out of the restaurant and left me with the bill when I refused to change my answer," you shrug, but Benny sees your jaw tick. "Apparently, I squat and deadlift more than he does and he couldn't date someone who could do that." You roll your eyes and huff.

"WTF! What a total loser. You don't need a guy like that who doesn't appreciate you," Benny replies incensed. He sees your face fall for a moment, eyes downcast and tight.

"I just — I've been trying to put myself out there again and it sucks," you mumble, cheeks flush with embarrassment. "It's also been kinda lonely since I moved here, and I guess I could just use more friends, too."

"I'M YOUR FRIEND!" 

"Yeah, my gym friend! We don't do anything outside of this hot, sweaty box Benny," you remind him with a small smile and playful shove to get him off your barbell. 

Benny decides this is completely unacceptable and immediately remedies this by inviting you to the next hangout with him and his ex-Delta Force friends at Redfly's, a local bar nearby. "You know Pope and Will already," he reassures, "Tom's the owner of the bar and he's an asshole, but he's our asshole. And there's Catfish — we call him Fish for short. We've been trying to get him to come work out here, but he's been busy with his new pilot job for the hospital. And he shares custody of his 3-year-old daughter with his ex."

He could see your brain turning over all the information he was throwing at you. You don't seem to react either way to the news that Fish has an ex and a daughter. As you adjust the bar height you respond, "You sure? Don't want to crash a regular thing that you have with your guys."

"Nah, it'll be great! They'll love you!" Benny's determined to get you to come. 

You hand him your phone. "Well... okay. Text me the details?"

With your phone in hand, Benny puts his number in to text himself and then convinces you to show him your dating profile. Between sets of squats you both take turns swiping on possible matches, Benny teasing you on your picks. Ever observant, Benny notices your preference for profiles with tall, brown-haired, brown-eyed photos. As you work through your next set, Benny sneaks his phone out and immediately texts Fish.

[coffeewhiskeyandotherdarkthings]

Keep You (Until the End Prequel)

rating: E (18+ only, MDNI)

Series Summary: A single afternoon changes everything. A reflective on the ten years before leaving the Boston QZ.

Series Warnings: smut (m/f pairing, oral, intercourse, dom/sub undertones, a pinch of Daddy kink) angst, suicidal ideation, grief, mentions of child loss, cannon typical violence, infidelity, no use of Y/N, reader has nickname (of sorts), no explicit body descriptions

This is not an exhaustive list but should serve as an indication of the general content.

Word Count: 3.6K

ONE

The first time Joel Miller saved my life was an accident.

I thanked him by breaking his nose.

It was the tenth anniversary of Outbreak Day. When I woke up, I laid in bed, staring at the watermarks on the ceiling and listening to my neighbors fighting. Even with his yelling and her crying, I could still hear the steady drip of the bathroom faucet and I was hard pressed to decide which was worse. Above me, the ceiling fan chugged away valiantly, swaying almost violently with each rotation, and still doing almost nothing to alleviate the near stifling heat.

Today was the day I was going to die.

I was ready. More than ready, if I was honest with myself. I couldn’t say I’d spent the last decade living so much as surviving and I was exhausted even trying to do that. It took more and more effort and energy to go through the most basic, mundane activities—eating, drinking, brushing my teeth… breathing. God, the energy it took to force myself to breathe… there were days it took me an hour just to get out of bed because the energy I expended just forcing myself to breathe exhausted me too much to move. So I was ready.

The only thing left to do was actually die.

With the decision made, I got out of bed, going through the day to day minutia which was supposed to remind me that even though the world had essentially ended life still went on. As I brushed my teeth, I contemplated my options. Drugs and alcohol would probably be the easiest to procure, especially since my lack of appetite the last few months meant I had more than enough ration cards. But just because they were easy to find didn’t mean they’d be effective and while dying no longer scared me the thought of fucking it up and winding up in a FEDRA facility, unable to protect myself from the so-called medical professionals, definitely did.

I toyed with the idea of asking one of the regulars at the underground bar where I worked to do the task. I didn’t ask personal questions about any of the men who paid for the rotgut masquerading as whiskey with their ration cards and they didn’t offer any explanations for why they always had wads of the pseudo-currency to spend but it didn’t take a genius to figure out their bounty didn’t come from cleaning sewers or burning bodies. But again there was that fear of the job being botched.

That really only left one person—my boss.

He’d argue with me, lecture me, beg and plead, probably curse me up one side and down the other. But in the end, he’d do what I asked. And more importantly, he’d make sure it was done right. If I trusted anyone in the Boston QZ, it was Frankie.

With that last decision made, I finished getting dressed and left for work. I’d wait until the end of my shift to talk to Frankie. Hopefully it would be a low-key day with steady business and he’d be in a good mood when I asked him to help me kill myself.

For the first half of the day, it seemed as if my unspoken prayer would be answered. Outbreak Day tended to be a somber affair—too many people with too many bad memories. Even the Fireflies refrained from any actual activity, although there was always one idealistic idiot who felt the need to tag a wall with the terrorist group’s motto. The people who came in to drink kept to themselves, none of them pressing for conversation, all of them lost in their own dark thoughts.

So when Joel and Tess came in, I didn’t think anything of it. I knew them to nod at, although we’d never exchanged a single word and I doubted they knew my name. Whatever business they had with Frankie was either done after hours or back in his office and although I’d heard whispers about what that business was at the end of the day it didn’t concern me. Joel’s brother, Tommy, tagged along on occasion and while the other three handled business he’d sit in the bar, talking to anyone willing to carry on a conversation. He’d tried a few times with me before one of the afternoon regulars, name unknown, had finally told him to leave me the fuck alone and let me work in peace. Tommy had stammered out an apology before slinking outside to wait for his brother and he hadn’t spoken a word to me since, some three years later.

In the before, I would have found the whole situation amusing. Maybe teased the regular about being jealous of some other man getting attention from me. Maybe flirted with Tommy just because.

But this was the after.

Tess caught Frankie’s eye and nodded in the direction of his office. To my surprise, instead of following them, Joel parked himself at the bar, his back to the wall, his gaze sweeping from the entrance to the tiny hallway leading to Frankie’s office before shifting back to the entrance. Every few minutes he’d repeat the inspection, tapping his fingers to some internal beat. After fifteen minutes or so, he said, “Could I have a water, please?”

“Sure.” I’d never seen him drink anything else, although I knew he and Tess made the occasional trade with Frankie for alcohol. Maybe he was a private drinker. Or maybe he simply didn’t believe in drinking on the job. As curious as I might have been, it still wasn’t my concern. I set the glass in front of him and then for some reason said, “It’s on the house.”

He shifted his gaze, giving me the full weight of his stare, and I started to take a step back, catching myself at the last second and straightening my spine. Something crackled in the air between us, not electricity, not heat, but something which was the sum of the two and yet somehow more. After a moment, his lips twitched, just the faintest hint of movement, and he said, “Generous of you.”

Before I could respond, the door at the entrance slammed open and someone yelled, “FEDRA, incoming!”

The bar erupted into chaos, people scrambling to get their things and get the hell out. I grabbed the metal box which served as the bar’s currency drawer and tucked it under my arm, grabbing my sweater with my free hand and fighting against the flow of the crowd to reach Frankie’s office. Depending on who was leading the raid, he’d either have to pay a hefty fine/bribe or spend a few nights in detention but I’d be damned if I was going to leave ration cards out in the open for fucking FEDRA to line their pockets. I’d barely made it ten feet before Joel grabbed my elbow and asked, “What the hell are you doing?”

“I’m baking a cake, obviously.” I bit back a curse when someone easily twice my size trod on my foot but wasn’t able to refrain when someone’s elbow plowed into my right cheekbone. “Oh, fuck me!”

“Not the time.” He tightened his grip on my arm and began pulling me toward the side exit, letting out a curse of his own when I struggled to pull away. “The fuck are you doing?”

“Frankie.” My face was already beginning to throb and while I was sure I didn’t have a concussion I was definitely getting a headache from dealing with the older Miller. “Ration cards. Safe.”

“Fuck.” I suppose I should have been grateful he was able to piece my intentions together from those four words. Later, when my head wasn’t pounding, I’d try and remember to thank him. He glared down at me, working his jaw in obvious frustration, before shoving me in front of him, shielding me from the crowd as he guided us toward Frankie’s office. “Your boss needs to give you a raise.”

“Like any of us are getting paid in this fucking economy.” I wasn’t a small woman but the way Joel wrapped around me, blocking any errant blows, made me feel as delicate as a porcelain doll. “His office is—.”

“I know.” He pushed us through a knot of panicking teenagers and past the swinging door separating the bar from the back. The noise level mercifully dropped and I sighed in relief. “You know how to get in the safe?”

“One of them.” I waited for him to unwrap himself from around me, frowning when he simply continued moving us toward the office. “Uh, Miller?”

“Wait.” He shoved me into the office, spinning me around and backing me up until my legs hit the edge of the desk. “FEDRA’s in the bar.”

“Which would be why I’m trying to hide the damn ration cards.” I squeaked when he scooped me up and dropped me on the desk only to sputter unintelligibly when he stepped between my thighs, grabbing my knees and bringing them up to rest on his hips. “Wha—.”

“They are in the bar. They’re going to come through those doors any second.” He took the currency box, opening it and grabbing a handful of cards and flinging them around the room before taking a second handful and tossing them directly over our heads. I stared, dumbfounded, as the wrinkled scraps of paper floated down around us, while Joel yanked open the top drawers of the desk, throwing random pages around the room before shoving the box in one of them, burying it under layers of paper. Gathering the loose fabric of the back on my shirt in one fist, he pulled me forward until our bodies were flush against each other. He gripped my chin in his other hand, fanning his fingers over the side of my throat, his gaze guarded. “Don’t bite.”

Before I could ask what he meant, he brought his mouth down on mine.

For someone who’d just issued an admonishment to not bite, he kissed as if he was trying to devour me, all teeth and tongues and a desperation which didn’t feel entirely feigned. My mind blanked, completely and utterly, and for a moment I forgot the world had ended, society had ended, and I was actively doing my best to end my own life.

There was only the taste of him, dark and smoky, and the smell of him, salty and woodsy. I reached blindly for something, anything, to hold on to, to ground myself, finally grabbing his shoulders only to immediately slide my fingers into his hair, clutching the slightly damp curls at the nape of his neck. He tilted me back, following me, his mouth never leaving mine as he laid me down on the desk, crawling up and draping himself over me. When he flexed his fingers on my throat, I moaned, unable to help myself, only to gasp when he ground his hips against mine.

He broke the kiss, pulling back until our lips were barely touching, his breathing as ragged as mine. “Don’t. Don’t—.”

“Damn. Talk about a celebration.” There was something in the tone, a cross between a sneer and a leer, which not only broke through the sudden haze of lust but instantly made the entire scene feel dirty, sordid. I kept my eyes closed as Joel surged to his feet, pulling me with him and shoving me between him and the wall, once again shielding me. “Oh, look. This guy here thinks he’s a gentleman.”

“Something wrong, officers?” Joel sounded contrite, apologetic even, but his body was vibrating with tension. “We’re not breaking curfew, are we? I’ll admit we got a bit carried away, might have lost track of time, and—.”

“We’re looking for Franklin Stuart. Frankie.” This was a different voice, harsher, more professional, and somehow uglier for the lack of emotion. “Seen him?”

“No, sir.” There was a shuffling noise and then I felt Joel take my hand, squeezing it once. “Babe?”

“No.” I forced myself to open my eyes, shifting until I was just able to peek around him, making eye contact with one of the FEDRA officers before ducking behind Joel again. “No, sir.”

“This is his bar. His office.” Mr. Professional sounded suspicious and I focused on controlling my breathing, doing my best to ignore the sweat dripping down my back. “And neither of you know where Frankie is?”

“Honestly, sir, wasn’t really paying attention to where we were.” Joel’s voice deepened, taking on a faint twang. “Kinda had my mind on other things, if you catch my drift.”

“Right.” Mr. Professional tapped his fingers on his weapon. “Got carried away.”

The silence stretched out, growing thinner and tighter with each second, and I felt Joel’s spine stiffen vertebrae by vertebrae. I resisted the urge to squirm, to try and dig the flip knife out of my back pocket, although what it would do against semi-automatic weapons, I didn’t know. Finally, in the breath before I knew the tension would snap, Mr. Disgusting said, “He’s not here, man. You wanna arrest’em for screwing in public, go ahead, but I’m not gonna spend the afternoon doing paperwork for a couple of hornballs.”

“You’ve got ten minutes to clear the area.” Mr. Professional barked out the order, already heading for the door. “We see you again, you’re going to detention.”

Neither of us moved until their footsteps faded away and then Joel strode out of the room, pulling me with him. Exiting through the back door, he continued pulling me down one alley and then another, seemingly picking side streets at random, and even though I considered myself familiar with Boston QZ, it didn’t take too long for me to become hopelessly lost. After walking at least a mile, if not further, I yanked my hand from his, ignoring the fleeting disappointment at the loss of contact. He turned to me, the annoyance evident on his face.

And I punched him.

I didn’t even realize I planned to do it until the force of the blow was singing up my arm, my knuckles immediately protesting the violent act. Letting out a string of profanity, I cradled my now injured hand, vaguely aware Joel had bent forward, both of his hands cupped over his nose. He straightened, glaring at me over his hands. His words were muffled but still clear enough. “You broke my fucking nose.”

“Your face broke my fucking hand.” I gasped when he snatched my sweater, still somehow clutched in my hand, wading it up and pressing it to his bloody face. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Are you?” He grabbed my empty, uninjured hand and once again began pulling me down the alley. “Goddamn it. Fucking broken nose.”

“I’m gonna break something else if you don’t tell me what the fuck you’re doing and where the fuck you’re taking me.”

“Someplace safe.” He glanced over his shoulder at me and he should have looked ridiculous with a pastel pink sweater, smeared liberally with blood, covering the lower half of his face, but if anything the absurdity of the makeshift bandage made his scowl that much more intense. “Where FEDRA won’t look for you and we can both get some first aid.”

I laughed. “Why would FEDRA be looking for me?”

“Because they’ll have rounded up a few people who couldn’t get out in time and one of them is going to talk. One of them always does.” Another glance over his shoulder, questioning, accessing. “And when they talk, they’ll talk about the bargirl, because you’re less scary than Frankie. And then FEDRA will come looking for you.”

“Fine, they’ll come looking for me.” I scoffed. “What’s the worst thing they can do? Kill me? Big deal.”

He stopped so abruptly I couldn’t help running into him, cursing when my nose smashed into his back. Taking a step back, I scowled up at him. “What? Are you trying to break my nose to even the score?”

“No.” He matched my scowl, although I was willing to admit to myself his was a great deal fiercer than mine. “No. Just… come on.”

For the next half hour or so, I stared at Joel’s back as he zigzagged us through narrow streets and back alleys, wondering how I’d wound up in this situation and why I wasn’t doing more to get out of it. Finally, we reached a five story apartment building which had clearly seen better days and he pulled me up the stairs and into what had no doubt once been a grand foyer. Glancing around, I said, “Let me guess—we’re going to the top floor and the elevator doesn’t work.”

“Even if it did, you’d have to be crazy or stupid to risk riding in an elevator that probably hasn’t been serviced since the start of the outbreak.” Another narrow-eyed glance over his shoulder, not bothering to hide the internal assessment he was running. “Or you’d have to have a death wish.”

“Hmm.” I met his gaze, widening my eyes. “Well, lead the way. Onward and upward.”

When we finally gained the top floor, he dragged me halfway down the hall, giving a cursory knock on the door before pushing it open. Only then did he finally drop my hand, lowering the now ruined sweater at the same time. “See you didn’t have a problem getting out.”

“Frankie had me out the back door and a block away before the first agent was in the bar.” Tess strode across the room, cupping Joel’s face in her hands for a moment before pulling him into a swaying embrace, not sparing me so much as a glance. Drawing back, she studied him, her brows drawing together as she frowned. “What happened to your nose?”

“Took a hit from an elbow trying to get out.” The lie rolled so smoothly off his tongue I almost believed it myself even though my hand was still throbbing like a rotted tooth. “Bargirl was deadset on stashing Frankie’s bank, got her hand smashed in the office door, slipped on the stairs and nearly bashed her face in.” He didn’t shake off Tess’s hands so much as ease away from them and despite myself I tucked the little exchange away to be mulled over some later time. “Figured it’d be in our best interests to take care of Frankie’s employee.”

“Probably, yeah.” Now Tess did turn her attention to me, the hint of softness around her eyes and at the corners of her mouth shifting into a wary hardness. “He must pay you a lot to risk getting caught by FEDRA.”

“As I told Miller, like any of us are getting paid in this fucking economy.” We stared at each other for a long moment before I sighed, answering the unasked question. “FEDRA already has more than enough. Gets more than enough. I wasn’t letting those greedy fucks take anymore, especially from someone providing a community service.”

Tess barked out a laugh. “You call trading ration cards for alcohol which could double as industrial strength cleaner a community service?”

“I’d consider it in the same vein as getting pills from FEDRA factories.” Just because I didn’t concern myself with their business didn’t mean I wasn’t aware of the nature of it. “Some people need pills. Sone need cheap alcohol. We’re all coping in one way or another.”

Before Tess could answer, the door burst open behind me, Joel was already in the process of shoving both Tess and myself across the room before Tommy took more than two steps in the room. The younger Miller instantly drew up short, lifting both hands in surrender. “Probably should have knocked. Just heard about the raid, knew you had business this afternoon. Wanted to come and make sure you were okay.”

“We’re fine.” Joel bit out the words, gesturing to his face and then vaguely in my direction. “A little busted up but no permanent damage.”

Tommy’s gaze tracked to me, his mouth opening and closing in unconcealed shock for a moment before he managed to stammer out, “Right. The bargirl—Kay.” He cleared his throat. “Is that short for something, like a nickname or just… okay?”

“Yes.” Leaving it at that, I held up my injured hand. “I was promised first-aid?”

“Yeah.” Joel moved aside, nodding at his brother and then myself. “Tommy, you fix her up?”

And so on the night I’d planned on killing myself, I instead sat in Joel Miller’s apartment while his brother bandaged my hand and his partner watched me as if I was a stray dog in danger of turning rabid. And the next night, I answered a knock on my door to find the Miller brothers in my hall with empty frayed duffel bags in their hands and within two hours me and my meager belongings had taken up residence in the second bedroom of Tommy’s apartment, right next to Tess and Joel’s. And the night after that, I sat at the kitchen table with them as the three mapped out a smuggling run, Tommy explaining each step to me with limitless patience while Tess and Joel argued routes and targets and hazards.

And so Joel Miller saved my life by being in the wrong place at the wrong time. And neither of us mentioned the broken nose or the conversation in the alley or the fact he watched me a little too closely, made it a point to make sure I was never alone for too long. I still wasn’t interested in living.

But Joel Miller seemed more than a little interested in making sure I didn’t die.

[belovedstars]

muse prompts ↪ frankie stein

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓  𝐃𝐎  𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘  𝐒𝐌𝐄𝐋𝐋  𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄  ?

frankie smells...cold, i think, being likely some degree of undead. there may be an unpleasantness to it, although, among fellow monsters it’s in no way considered offensive or bad. they maybe smell a bit metallic, or like electricity (however that may smell), due to the voltage running through them.

𝐇𝐎𝐖  𝐃𝐎  𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘  𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐄𝐏 ?

frankie sleeps very well! they’re prone to overthinking, which sometimes keeps them up, but for the most part they have a regular sleep schedule that they’re good at sticking to.

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓  𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐂  𝐃𝐎  𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘  𝐄𝐍𝐉𝐎𝐘  ?

frankie likes all sorts of music, from classical ( something tells me they likely have some part from a classic artist in them ) to the more modern music that their friends are into. they just love music, i think, and the vibrations in the air from it are exciting!

𝐇𝐎𝐖  𝐌𝐔𝐂𝐇  𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄  𝐃𝐎  𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘  𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐃  𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆  𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐘  𝐈𝐍  𝐓𝐇𝐄  𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆?

it depends! probably not as much as clawdeen or draculaura, but they like wearing layers and chains and things like that, so some mornings take longer than others.

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓  𝐈𝐒  𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑  𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄  𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆  𝐓𝐎  𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐂𝐓  ?

i think frankie loves to just collect, period, any little things that fascinate them. old books, cool rocks, fish bones, old nuts and bolts. they are especially a big fan of little parts like that, half built mechanisms and the like.

𝐀𝐑𝐄  𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘  𝐋𝐄𝐅𝐓  𝐎𝐑  𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓  𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐃  ?

ambidextrous!

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓  𝐈𝐒  𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑  𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐈𝐎𝐍  ?

frankie is not religious, although they absolutely love to learn about it, as is the case for most things. the different ways so many different people have created their own stories, believe in different things and express it in different ways, they love it.

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓  𝐈𝐒  𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑  𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄  𝐒𝐏𝐎𝐑𝐓  ?

casketball!

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓  𝐈𝐒  𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑  𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄  𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐘  𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆  𝐓𝐎  𝐃𝐎  𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍  𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆  ?

Learn And Experience Everything Possible About The Place.

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓  𝐈𝐒  𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑  𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄  𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐃  𝐎𝐅  𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑  ?

hmm...as a monster, frankie of course prefers the gloom to the sun, but i think their favorite type is right before it starts storming, where there’s electricity in the air and it runs through them. it feels weird and good.

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓  𝐈𝐒  𝐀  𝐖𝐄𝐈𝐑𝐃  /  𝐎𝐁𝐒𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐄  𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐑  𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘  𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄  ?

frankie doesn’t have any weird fears, i don’t think. they worry a lot about being accepted, understood, things like that. they worry that people won’t like them, but those are normal fears for a “teenager.”

tagged by: @songeurame​ ( thank you!! ) tagging: you!

[forever-rogue]

Hello Sunshine

A/N: Hello! I’m here with a 7am shower idea that I couldn’t get out of my head. It’s just a little sweet and soft Frankie. Enjoy! As always, feedback and comments are welcome, and if you’d like to be tagged, let me know. xx 💕

*Bold - Frankie ; Italics - Reader

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 4.8k

Warnings: none

FRANKIE MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST

»»————-　♡　————-««

“Hey! What time did you want to meet up tomorrow for brunch?” you stared at the number you’d typed in and compared it to the one that the man you’d met the evening before had given you. You had been absolutely reluctant to go to the local bar’s speed dating evening before, but your best friend had convinced you to go. She was going to go as well, so you figured if you ended up suffering, she would likely too - solidarity in its finest form. Much to your pleasant surprise however, you ended up having a fun time...the multiple rounds of drinks probably didn’t hurt either. 

Marcus had been your last round for the evening, and he had been kind and charming; easy on the eyes and easy to make conversation with. He asked you questions and you were able to ask him ones back. Definitely a sharp turn from what you were expecting; and by the end of the night he’d offered you his number and asked you to for brunch on Sunday. You’d been...elated; it had been some time since anyone had actually managed to capture your eye.

Before talking yourself out of sending the message, you hit send and put your phone onto your nightstand. You weren’t too nervous in general, but there was something about sending that first message that always caused butterflies to erupt into your stomach. It wasn’t but a few minutes before your phone vibrated to signal a new message. Trying not to get too eager and excited, you reached for it and quickly opened the new text.

Who is this?

Your brow furrowed in confusion at the seemingly hasty denial of acknowledgment. It was no matter, you groaned at yourself, you probably should have included your name in the first place. No big deal, you quickly typed out your name and added, “we met at the bar last night? For the speed dating event?”

Your stomach flipped nervously as you wondered what he would say; hoping it was just a misunderstanding and he would realize exactly who you were. 

I didn’t go to any bars last night. I don’t know who you are.

Oh. Your throat constricted as you reached for the napkin with the phone and compared it again to the number you had texted. There was no way you’d mistaken any of the numbers. Sighing heavily, you slipped out of bed and edged towards your bathroom and tossed the offending object into the can. Things had seemed like they’d gone so well...you’d genuinely liked Marcus and thought the attraction and chemistry was there on both sides. Apparently you’d been made a fool once again. Heat flooded your face in embarrassment as you contemplated whether or not to text again. To hell with it, you decided, you might as well apologize if nothing else.

So sorry. The guy I met must have given me the wrong number. I hope I didn’t ruin your night. Sorry for wasting your time.

After that bit of failure, you decided you might as well get back into bed and watch a show until you fell asleep. You felt beyond embarrassed and just wanted to forget about the whole thing. Needless to say, it surprised you when your phone went off again.

No worries. Sorry if I was rude too. It’s happened to me before with a couple of girls. It  sucks. 

At this point, you found yourself smiling at the sentiment, and decided that one more little text wouldn’t hurt anything. 

Seriously! Why can’t someone just tell you if they’re not interested? It's so much easier. Either way - thanks for understanding and have a good evening. 

You too. Hope things look up soon for you.

His response had been instant almost as if he had been watching you type it all. Whoever this stranger was - and you weren’t even sure if it was a man or woman - they had turned out to be kinder than Marcus. But it didn’t do well to dwell on it; Marcus would get what he deserved and this stranger would get some good things. 

»»————-　♡　————-««

Frankie put his phone on the charging pad he kept next to his bed, turning it on silent before crawling under the covers. Catching a glance of himself in the mirror, he was surprised to see that he had a smile on his face. Not that was perpetually frowning or mad, but usually he wasn’t just smiling for no reason. 

Although he had a feeling he knew the exact reason as to why he was actually happy for once because of...you. The random stranger that texted him and sent a happy shiver up his spine. He wasn’t happy because of your little predicament, knowing the exact feeling of having been duped and given the wrong number several times. But the short conversation had been pleasant enough and he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d hear from you again. 

Doubtful, he reminded himself, it was just a one off type deal and that was that. And yet...that didn’t stop him from quickly grabbing his phone again and saving your name and number as a contact. You know...just in case. 

Francisco Morales had sweet dreams throughout that night. He couldn’t remember the last time that had happened. 

»»————-　♡　————-««

Frankie practically bounced into work the next morning, a smile on his face and spring in his step. So he seemed so out of normal form that his best friend and coworker, pointed it out to him and everyone. Frankie played it off like it was no big deal; in reality it wasn’t. You were just another stranger out in the world that flung into his orbit for a moment before leaving again. 

But that whole week felt different and somehow the world was a little brighter - filled with sunshine. Even if it wasn’t everlasting, he didn’t mind the feeling it gave him for the moment; the positive energy was nice for a change. 

Little did he know that across the city, you were existing in your own little world, going about your day to day in a similar manner. What a small world it was indeed. You had been incredibly tempted to look up his phone and see if you could find anything out about your mysterious stranger, a name, some sort of profile - anything  - but refrained. What if it was someone you ended up attracted? A beautiful woman or a good looking man that caused you to start all sorts of fantasies? No - you didn’t need all of that. You’d let it go or let whatever happened happen. 

Which likely was nothing. Right? Right. 

»»————-　♡　————-««

Imagine your surprise when you found yourself at home with leftover pizza and a bottle of wine, resigning yourself to a quiet Saturday night when your phone vibrated. Figuring it was probably just one of your friends, or some sort of useless notification, you picked up your phone and found your jaw dropping. This wasn’t seriously happening, was it? 

Hey stranger. Hope this Saturday is better than the last one. 

Maybe they had the wrong number...or something. But no - they acknowledged the fact that last weekend had been shit and called you stranger. This had to be intentional. Setting your phone down for a moment, you grabbed your glass of wine and sipped on it, trying not to let the excitement of a single text get you too excited. They had done what you’d dreamed about all week...why not indulge in it? If nothing else, it might be nice to have someone to text with on occasion. 

Hi stranger. This Saturday involves me, the couch, pizza, and wine. I guess I really can’t complain. Hope yours is a good one too!

As soon as you hit send, you wanted to ban your head against the wall; was it too much? Not enough? Did it even warrant a response? Now you were just overthrowing everything. Shit, fuck, damn. 

But you weren't able to wallow in misery for too long before your phone went off again. Huh.

Sounds pretty good. Can't complain either, just at home with a beer and a movie. Missing the pizza though. Maybe I'll order some.

Definitely recommended! I don't know if this is odd, but you know my name and I don't know yours...do you have a name, stranger?

Not weird at all! Maybe I should have started with that. Francisco - Frankie.

Well Francisco-Frankie, it's nice to meet you. What movie are you watching?

Nice to meet you, no- longer-complete-stranger. Die Hard. A classic.

Oof. I'm afraid it ends here. Hot take - Die Hard is...notthatgood.

It's been a good but short time…how can you not like Die Hard!? What could you be watching that's so much better?

The Office. A modern classic and clearly superior to anything you're picking if you think Die Hard is good.

Fun fact - I've never seen a single episode of the Office. And never plan on it. Tell me, mystery girl, what should I get on my pizza?

I now make it my plan to convince you to watch The Office. Pepperoni, jalapeños, and tomatoes. Regular crust, none of that thin crust bs.

Challenge accepted. An odd combination but I'll give it a try. Results tbd.

Already listening - I'm a fan of it. I'll let you get back to your movie and order your pizza. Have a good night Francisco-Frankie.

You too, mystery girl.

There was an undeniably giant grin on your face as you set your phone back down. Had this actually happened? Surely this was some sort of dream; a random stranger actually striking up a conversation? And seemingly enjoying it? Out of this world.

As you downed your glass and got ready to refill it your phone vibrated once again. This time you didn't even bother to let a moment pass before picking it back up and opening the notification.

Can I text you again sometime?

Yeah...I'd like that.

You just about melted into the couch, happier than you had been in a long time. And all from texts from a man you still hadn't met. Who knew if you would ever meet him? Either way, this Francisco aka Frankie had proven to be a welcome disturbance in your life.

»»————-　♡　————-««

The next couple of weeks passed in the same blissful fashion. You'd go about your day with work and other responsibilities and obligations but you had your pocket companion with you. That's what you nicknamed Frankie anyways. 

What has started as some texting here and there soon turned into conversations throughout the days, slowly becoming more personal and introspective with each passing day. And despite still knowing what he looked like or anything...you thrived in it. You'd wondered if he'd looked you up - he hadn't for the same reasons as you - and that's why you got along so well. 

The two of you had a lot in common but still managed to have your differences. One thing that never failed to make you smile was what had turned into his version of a good morning text.

Hello Sunshine. 

Hi Fly Boy. 

Stay dry today, its supposed to be a pretty bad downpour. Talk later?

Of course. Be safe too.

The small sentiment was enough to send you reeling; it was funny how easily conversation flowed between the two of you. Like in some ways you'd always known each other, but still were finding out things constantly. You weren't sure where it would lead to...if anything but for now you appreciated your new found friend.

»»————-　♡　————-««

I have a work party this weekend and it's formal. Do I go for an lbd or something colorful?

Depends - do you want people to approach or admire from the distance?

From the distance, so I can leave fairly quickly but people still know I was there.

Definitely LBD then.

My hero! Perfect idea!

»»————-　♡　————-««

How do I get out of a camping trip this weekend?

Why would you try and get out of it? You said you loved camping.

I do but...just not feeling it this weekend.

Tell them you're feeling or that your new girlfriend wants to spend the weekend together.

New girlfriend? I wasn't aware I had one…

Its called a white lie Frankie. Use me as an excuse if you have to.

You're the best! A real lifesaver, sunshine.

»»————-　♡　————-««

Okay, here's a tough one. Coffee, tea, or hot chocolate?

All three. But if only one - coffee.

How do you take it?

Black with a little bit of sugar.

That's kind of the vibe I got! But you're wrong - the best answer is coffee in the am, afternoon tea, and then sometimes a hot chocolate for dessert.

Let me guess - salted caramel hot chocolate? 

How did you know?! Alright, Fly Boy, you know me too well already.

Just a hunch, sunshine. Okay - favorite color?

»»————-　♡　————-««

Do you think if I pretend to be dead I can leave work early?

Dramatic! I love it. How about a migraine? Last minute emergency?

Probably better. Migraine it is.

Just a thought. Beers with the guys tonight?

Yup. Girls night?

Yes! Talk tomorrow?

Of course.

»»————-　♡　————-««

Soooo I might have gotten myself into a predicament…

What happened?

Umm, I might have lied and told my friends that I started seeing someone…

Oh no.

Yeah...all because I couldn't admit that that guy had given me the wrong number. How do I explain?!

Maybe just don't say anything and then later say it died down or something? No need to drag it further.

You're right and I am an idiot. 

Nah, it happens to the best of us.

Hmm sure. Anyways, onto important things. Dogs or cats?

»»————-　♡　————-««

If you could only have one type of food for the rest of your life, what would it be and why?

Hmm, that’s a hard one. I’m torn between Mexican (the good stuff of course) and Italian and sushi. You? 

Pizza!

That’s not a type of food, Francisco!

It totally is. There’s different varieties, it can count!

That’s a cheap way to answer the question, but I’ll accept it because you’re cute. 

You think I’m cute? And just how do you know? Do I have a stalker?

Nah, too much effort. Besides, I’m usually busy talking to you. It would be kind of obvious if I was, wouldn’t it? I just have a feeling. 

Very funny, sunshine. I’m positive it’s the other way around. 

You’re the stalker? What am I wearing right now?

You know what I meant!

Of course I did. I’m the smart one in this duo, don’t forget. 

You’re too much. Want to watch a movie tonight? We start at the same time? 

Yes! Anything but Die Hard or other shitty movies along those lines.

You’re killing me here. One day I will convince you to watch it with me.

I look forward to that - but not tonight. Name your top 3 ideas.

»»————-　♡　————-««

Over the weeks, Frankie became an everyday part of your life. The two of you texted back and forth throughout the day as time allowed. It was nice - comforting to have him there despite the fact that he could have been anyone in the world. Well, you knew he was local to you from his area code but otherwise...a mystery.

You wondered if you’d ever encountered him out in the real world before. It was a definite possibility, but you would never know. Not unless you somehow actually ended up meeting him in person. The idea of proposing such a notion hadn’t seemed far off, especially since your days were filled with each other and there were undeniably flirty texts and insinuations. The few times you’d actually gotten the nerve up to just ask him, something always seemed to come and keep you from doing it. Namely - nerves. 

What if you were reading all wrong into this? What if he really wanted nothing more than a friendship? What if texting was the extent of it all? 

Naturally, you’d know your answer if you’d just fucking ask him. But that seemed like a momentous and herculean task and you weren’t sure if you’d ever be up for it. Perhaps things would just...happen one day. Despite getting to know him, he was still just this enigmatic aura. For all you knew you might as well have been fighting a robot. 

When then...one random night, a Wednesday evening when you’d just walked in the door with fresh produce from the downtown farmer’s market, your phone name. Shifting the large bags in your arms, you managed to fish your phone out of your pocket and answer it without looking at who it was. 

“Hello?” you kicked the door shut behind you and shuffled into the kitchen, unceremoniously dumping the bags onto the counters. At first you didn’t hear anything on the other end of the line besides some shuffling, but then eventually you heard a distant voice say something indiscernible. In confusion, you pulled the phone out from between your ear and shoulder and glanced at the contact. The name was enough to have your breath catch in your throat as you realized that your mysterious Frankie on the other end. He’d never called before...perhaps it had been a mistake? Even if it was, you were going to take full advantage of it, “Frankie? Hello? Come on Fly Boy, it’s me. If you can hear me, let me know.”

It was a few more seconds of shuffling and almost static like noise before you were positive you heard a quiet fuck. But then, in a moment that made your heart almost stop, you heard him, loud and clear, “h-hi….sunshine?”

“Hi Frankie,” you repeated as you felt your heart melt and legs turn to jelly, “I’m going to guess this wasn’t an intended call?”

“Umm, shit no,” he admitted with what you could only describe as a nervous laugh, “accidental pocket dial.”

“It’s 2021 and you’re pocket dialing people?” you snorted with laughter as you grabbed your earbuds to sync up the bluetooth so you could talk to him while putting away all of the fresh fruits and veggies you had acquired, “that’s such an old person thing, Frankie! What are you 50?”

“It’s not that weird,” he insisted with an indignant scoff as you giggled, “it can happen easily if you don’t lock your phone when you put it away and yeah...here we are. And for the record I am nowhere near 50! I am only 36.”

“Oof,” you opened the fridge and popped the veggies into the drawer, “I’m afraid that things end here, Grandpa.” 

“Very funny! How old are you then, huh? Oh my God - please don’t tell me I’ve been talking to and flirting with a teenager,” for a moment he sounded genuinely nervous as you almost doubled over in laughter at his panic. The fact that he had admitted to flirting was lost on you in your amusement he was so worried that he didn’t even notice the gaff, “sunshine!”

“I’m almost 30,” you reassured him and he instantly sighed in relief on the other end, “don’t worry. Besides, I told you I met the man I thought I was texting at a bar - at least I would have been 21.” 

“That still would have been weird,” he admitted as you made a small sound of agreement, “this is better.”

“Ha! Thanks for the sentiment,” you  rinsed and crunched on a carrot before hopping onto the counter to get comfortable. You hesitated for a moment, wondering if you should say your next words or not...but you decided to just do it, “this is...nice. I like hearing your voice. Makes you more real.”

“I like it too,” he agreed softly, a tinge of pink rising up in his cheeks, despite the fact that you couldn’t see it, “you sound like I thought.”

“Oh? Like an annoying twelve-year-old boy?” 

“Okay, okay, dramatic much?” he snorted, “just accept the compliment!”

“Fine,” you huffed, being very overdramatic indeed, “what are you up to tonight, Frankie? Want to cook together?”

“I’m yours - free, I mean free,” he corrected himself as you relished in his little mess up, “I’m afraid I’m not much of a cook. I’m a better baker.”

“Ooh, excellent,” you slid off the counter in excitement, “how about this - we’ll make something simple for dinner - I’ll walk you through it step by step, and then you’re in charge of dessert. Deal?”

“Deal,” Frankie felt a rush of excitement surge through him as he stepped into his kitchen and reached for his apron - the same one that Santi always made fun of him for, “what’s on the menu?”

»»————-　♡　————-««

And just like that texts turned into texts and phone calls. There was something so thrilling, like a huge surge of electricity shot down your spine and throughout your body every time you saw his name up pop or heard the sound of his voice. Frankie was...slowly turning into your constant companion and if you were being honest with yourself he was everything you had had ever wanted. 

And oh - how scary it was to be falling for a man you still hadn't met in person. Slowly, surely it would happen. Gods, you wanted it to happen so desperately. But you were painfully shy when it came to the idea of asking him out and little did you know, he was feeling exactly the same way. Frankie wanted nothing more than to finally ask you on a proper date, to spend all those times laughing with you in person. But he just...continually talked himself out of it.

He was just so shy, so nervous and he thought it would be impossible that someone like you would actually go for a guy like him. He was just...fly boy and you were his Sunshine. Frankie had given you the name early on, deciding that it was appropriate because you brought a little bit of sunshine into his life every day. It had almost brought you to tears - not that you'd admit that to anyone - not yet anyway. His nickname was simple - he was a former military pilot and now a part time ‘whenever he got the chance pilot’ - Fly Boy. It was perfect and he adored it as much as you.

And yet neither of you, pining silly fools had been able to make that final move. One day, you both reminded yourself constantly, one day.

And one day turned out to be sooner than either of you expected...

"Mmhmm," you murmured into the phone as you scoured the bookshelves of your local little bookstore. You had a rare afternoon off and to treat yourself to a nice coffee and searching for a new read. You'd fallen out of reading regularly and had made it a point to get back into it, aiming for a book month. Naturally, your friend had called you at that exact time, "of course pizza is always a good choice."

Frankie hummed under his breath as he walked through the aisles looking for the book you had recommended to him. He hadn’t thought much about the woman he saw a few rows over with a coffee in one hand and her phone in the other. He did note, however, that the tone of her voice was sweet - not that he was trying to listen in on her conversation. 

“Yes it is!” you laughed into the phone, trying to keep it down when you noticed the man in your peripheral vision and aimed to keep from disturbing him, “pizza is good for whenever you don't know what to make. And you know the best - pepperoni, jalapenos, and tomatoes. No contest.”

Despite not trying to listen in to your conversation, as soon as he heard you describe pizza, his perked up and immediately his heart started pounding. A nervous rush of energy flowed through him as he tried to get a better look at you without making it obvious. Holy shit - was this actually it? Was he about to meet his Sunshine?

“I even told Frankie,” you insisted with a small smile as you took a sip of your coffee, “he liked it too. Yes...of course I’m still talking to him...I-I really like him. I hope that one day I can meet him. I keep wanting to ask and then I get so nervous and talk myself out of it. He’s just...lovely.”

This definitely couldn’t be a coincidence, right? The particular type of pizza, Frankie, wanting to meet - this had to be you. And the more he listened, despite his initial efforts, he couldn’t help but zone in on you. And now, hearing your voice unfiltered and unaltered through the phone, he knew it was you. He just stopped in his tracks as he watched you, a silly little smile on his face as he realized that somehow the universe had decided to throw him a bone. 

“Mhmm,” you murmured into the phone, “of course. I’ll talk to you later!”

Ending the call, you shoved your phone into your pocket and reached for one of the books that had piqued your interest. Sliding it out and reading over the back, you quickly got lost in your thoughts until you heard a throat clear behind you. Assuming you were in someone’s way, you shuffled to the side without glancing at who it was. But then you heard it - quiet and shy but clear, “Sunshine?”

At the sound of the nickname you’d been given by only one person throughout your entire life, your heart fluttered wildly in your chest as your body froze. Surely..surely this couldn’t be happening…

Turning around, slowly, painfully slowly, you found yourself staring at a face both brand new and immediately familiar. You’d never seen him before, but instantly it was like you knew him, all of him. In some ways you supposed, you did. 

“F-Frankie?” almost getting choked up, your voice was barely above a whisper as the handsome man in front of you slowly nodded. A smile tugged on the corners of his mouth as his whole features lit up with excitement. His brown eyes were soft and crinkled in the corners as his grew grin and a one singular dimple appeared. You weren’t really sure what you had pictured when you’d thought about your mysterious friend, but somehow this was right on the mark. You blinked a few times, trying to hold back your tears of sheer excitement, “you’re real after all!”

And then he laughed. A beautiful, glorious sound that caused a surge of warmth to rush through your entire body. He really was just as lovely as you’d dreamed. 

“Did you really think you were talking to a robot this whole time?” he asked as you flushed with warmth but stuck your tongue at him, “I can’t believe it’s really you. After all these months...finally. I’ve been wanting to ask you for so long but I didn’t think…”

“Me too,” you agreed, “me too. Small world, huh?”

“I was just looking for the book you recommended last night,” he admitted as you practically glowed with excitement. Holding up a finger, you turned around and quickly found the book in question and displayed it for him, “I didn’t think I’d find the book and the woman I’ve been talking to for months.”

“How did you know it was me?” you asked as you walked over to him and he offered up a sheepish grin.

“The pizza.”

“The pizza!” you snorted with laughter, “I should have known. Too obvious.”

“I like to think that everything happens for a reason,” he tried to take the book from your hands but you just shook your head, “what?”

“This is going to be from me to you,” you insisted as a tinge of pink welled up in his cheeks, “a souvenir from the day we met!”

“I’ll treasure it forever,” he promised and you could tell he meant it, “what are you doing tonight? Now?”

“I dunno,” you feigned innocence, “I was planning on going home to cook and talk to this guy I’ve been falling for for months, but that seems a little weird now.” 

“Will you let me take you to dinner -  a date? A real date?” he asked as you beamed at him and nodded. How could you ever say no. 

“Only if you take me to that Italian place you told me about!”

“Whatever you want, Sunshine,” he promised as he reached for your hand and gently laced your fingers together. It felt so easy, so effortless, and you didn’t even have to think about - natural. 

“You,” you couldn’t stop yourself from kissing his cheek, “just you, Frankie.”

“Sweet Sunshine.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

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[mando-forgive-me]

Hello loves. I’ve never done a challenge like this but it’s too good to pass up. Big thanks to @letterfromvienna for letting me basically copy and paste her formatted post. You should absolutely check out her blog and her writing because she is a goddess and I love her very much.

Ok, down to brass tacks! Here is how this challenge is going to work:

pick a prompt from Flufftober or K*nktober* (below the cut)

pick a character from one of my fandoms* (below)

check that your prompt isn’t on the no-go list (below)

send ‘em in!

*Feel free to ask for a prompt or character that isn’t from the lists, but keep in mind that I might turn it down if the prompt isn’t my cup or tea or if I don’t know the character well enough to write them

I’ll take as many requests as I think I can handle during the month of October & will let you know when requests are closing. Until then, I’ll add the requests to this post along with the links once they’re posted.

✨ to avoid bothering my regular taglist, I’m making a separate October list. to be tagged on Flufftober/K*nktober drabbles, fill out this form here! ✨

the Flufftober list is adapted from @flufftober2021 (original) & the K*nktober list is adapted from @starsandskies (original)

Emma’s Note: feel free to send in kinks that are a little darker/edgier/more niche. This is a fantastic list but there are so many other fun things to explore, and if there’s a prompt you like from another list just let me know in your ask.

Fandoms & characters:

Pedro boys: Din Djarin, Javier Peña, Frankie Morales, Marcus Pike, Marcus Moreno, Ezra, Oberyn Martell, Max Philips, Joel Miller, The Thief

Wild cards: Santiago Garcia, Fennec Shand, Boba Fett, General Star Wars and Marvel characters (not my wheelhouse but I can give it a go)

Monster versions: I’m also super happy to try out monstrous variations. Happy Monster Fucker Fall, everyone!

Kinktober no-gos:

Water sports

Most assplay

Inc*st

Ageplay/d*ddy kink

No m*nors/nothing involving m*nors

Pending

Kinktober (Requests open)

@yespolkadotkitty requested #11, mutual masturbation with Ezra

@andthewishingwell ordered off-menu (which I actively encourage), requesting uniform sex with Marcus Moreno

Flufftober (Requests open)

None!

Completed

Kinktober

@nolanell requested #29, thigh riding with Marcus Moreno

@keeper0fthestars​ requested #38, mirror sex with Javier Peña

@somesaltycorner requested #32 from both lists, period sex and holiday traditions with Din, Whiskey, or Javi

@prettylilhalforc requested Fluff #21, secret crush, and Kink #20, rough/primal sex with Santiago Garcia

@fan-of-encouragement​ requested #33, sleepy sex with Frankie Morales

Flufftober

@nolanell requested #28, “here, have my jacket” with Frankie Morales

@prettylilhalforc​ requested “flirting at work/work husband to potential boyfriend kinda vibe with Agent Pike? And why not throw in some goofy pet names for good measure?” 

[purplehairedwonder]

Hearts With(out) Chains Chapter 13

Fandom: One Piece Rating: PG-13 Pairings: Gen (eventual Lawlu) Words: 4261 Characters: Trafalgar Law, Monkey D. Luffy, Robin, Sanji, Nami, Chopper, Usopp, Nami, Franky, Smoker, Tashigi, Sengoku, Sengoku’s goat ;) Notes: I’m taking my turn at the Corazon!Law AU because my brain won’t leave me alone until this is written down. Tags will be updated as the chapters come out.

Summary: Law is reclaimed by the Family when he's 17 and, with Doflamingo holding the lives of his crew as collateral for his good behavior, eventually becomes the third Corazon. Years later, trapped by his impossible situation, Law finds a strange connection to Monkey D. Luffy, which offers a glimpse of something he's repeatedly had ripped away from him: hope.

Previous chapters: Prologue | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12

Read also at AO3 / FF.N

Law slowly came awake, having slept the dreamless sleep he only ever had after draining himself to the point of unconsciousness. He grimaced before slitting his eyes open; his body ached, his mouth was cottony, and his head throbbed. As the fuzzy world came into focus around him, he realized he was on the couch. He frowned. When had that happened? The last thing he remembered was sitting with Luffy on the floor…

He threw a hand over his face and groaned as he remembered that Luffy was the one who’d found him during his panic attack. Bepo, Shachi, and Penguin were the only ones he allowed to see him like that; they’d seen him at his worst when Cora-san’s death was still a gaping wound, and his body was still marred with Amber Lead. They’d been there for the screaming nightmares and suffocating panic attacks. For anyone else to see him that way…

Well, Law hadn’t been able to afford such shows of weakness around the Family.

But Luffy had simply smiled and offered that he had his own demons as well.

Law swallowed, unsure of what to do with that bit of kindness. It settled uncomfortably somewhere behind his breastbone.

Taking a breath, he pushed himself upright and glanced around. Luffy was nowhere to be seen. Vergo’s body was also gone. That meant someone—likely Marines—had come in while Law was sleeping to remove it. The idea of being defenseless while Marines were in the room made his stomach turn. Yet they’d left him alone, undoubtedly on Smoker’s orders.

Shaking his head, Law grabbed Kikoku from where she’d been placed on the table and pocketed his Den Den Mushi. He had no idea what time it was—and there were no windows in this metal monstrosity of a lab to give him any hints—but if the Marines had removed Vergo’s body, there was a good chance the back-up ship had arrived, meaning it was morning.

Rather than aimlessly wander around the lab, Law reached out with his haki to look for the Straw Hats… and was immediately struck by the overwhelming presence of Luffy. After a moment, he was able to discern the chaotic energies of the other Straw Hats as well; they were gathered a few halls over. The Marines, including Smoker and his second, were on the other side of the lab, near the entrance. He could sense more Marines than he thought had been there previously, which seemed to confirm his suspicion.

Law left the control room and followed his haki. The closer he got to the gathered group, the stronger the smell of cooking food became—which made perfect sense when he found the crew in the dining hall.

“Torao, good morning!” Luffy called, waving his hand as though Law wouldn’t be able to pick him out from the small group. They were all seated at one long table that they seemed to have pieced together from several smaller tables.

“Straw Hat-ya,” Law greeted with a sigh, head already aching from the enthusiasm. Whatever time it was, it was too early for this.

“Sanji’s cooking breakfast. I hope there’s lots of meat!” Luffy said, eyes glazing over.

“Of course, you do,” the cat burglar said, rolling her eyes. She then turned and looked Law up and down without any hint of subtlety. “There’s coffee in the kitchen,” she said, lips twitching.

Law considered flipping her off, but coffee sounded amazing, so he simply nodded and headed back to the kitchen, where Black Leg was working. He raised an eyebrow at Law’s presence.

“Coffee?” Law grunted.

Black Leg nodded and broke off from the task he was doing—scrambling eggs, from the looks of it—and poured a cup of coffee.

“Take anything with it?”

Law shook his head, accepting the undoctored mug of precious caffeine.

Black Leg snorted. “Why am I not surprised?”

Law shrugged and took a sip. The bitter liquid burned at his scratchy throat, and it was heavenly.

“Any dietary restrictions?” Black Leg asked as he went back to the meal.

“No bread.”

Black Leg hummed. “Gluten allergy or just not a fan?”

“Gluten,” Law acknowledged around sips.

Black Leg nodded. “I can work with that.” He turned to another task but looked over his shoulder at Law. “Tell those idiots it’s almost ready, will you?”

Law took that as being kicked out of the kitchen, so he jerked his head in a nod and grudgingly returned to the rowdy collection of remaining Straw Hats.

“It’s almost ready,” Law relayed as he sat down at the end of the table, as far from Luffy as he could place himself. He could still feel a crawling sensation under his skin as he thought about the night before, and sitting as far away from its source while he worked through his thoughts seemed like his best bet.

“Was there meat?” Luffy asked, mouth practically watering.

“There’s always meat, you shitty piece of rubber,” Black Leg said as he brought several platters of food out from the kitchen.

After dropping off the platters, Black Leg went back to the kitchen several more times and returned with an impressive array of breakfast foods for the crew to share. The remaining Straw Hats, particularly those seated close to Luffy, seemed to have a well-practiced system in place to eat their meals while avoiding Luffy stealing from their plates, including knocking their captain upside the head when he got too close. Luffy merely grinned and laughed before returning to his own heaping plate.

Law managed to grab some eggs and fruit amidst the melee, and, as he ate, he considered how different the dynamic was from his own crew’s. Though, Law supposed with no little regret, he hadn’t eaten with them with any regularity in the last few years. Ever since Shachi’s injury, Law’s guilt had pushed him away from his nakama, and, when he did eat, he usually ended up eating alone or with the Family—Sunday dinners, for instance, were required for every executive who was not away on a mission. Though the Family was hectic in its own way, manners were still expected—and not just because their captain was also a king. Table manners had been preached even when Law had been with the Family at Spider Miles; just because they were pirates did not mean they were savages, Doffy had said, and they were expected to act like it.

That had made a lot more sense when Law had learned that Doffy was a former Celestial Dragon—many of his quirks had come into focus with that information, in fact.

It had also been revealing about Cora-san, though Law hadn’t been entirely ready to open that Pandora’s Box, despite knowing about it for six years.

“How did you sleep last night, Torao-kun?”

Law started, pulled from his thoughts by Nico Robin’s smiling face across the table from him.

“Luffy went looking for you last night after dinner, but then he didn’t come back until this morning,” she elaborated, still smiling.

The expression set Law’s teeth on edge. He narrowed his eyes, certain that she was screwing with him. “Fine,” he said curtly then deliberately took a sip of coffee, hoping to discourage the conversation. Still. Did that mean Luffy had stayed? He was obviously the one who had moved Law to the couch, and that was humiliating enough, but the thought that the other captain had stayed with him…

Law’s eye twitched.

But Nico Robin just kept smiling. “That’s good to hear. After all, we’re heading to Dressrosa today.”

Law put his cup down slowly. “Yes,” he agreed, not sure what she was getting at.

“We’ll need everyone to be at their best to face Doflamingo,” she said, expression never changing. “I’ve heard the rumors about him.”

“Until tomorrow, little bird.”

“He’s worse than any rumor,” Law ground out before pushing himself up and away from the table. He grabbed Kikoku, knuckles going white from his grip. He needed air.

“Torao?” Luffy called after him, but he ignored the other captain, practically fleeing the room.

Recalling the blueprints of the lab, he navigated the hallways to the front entrance and practically exploded out the door, stumbling onto the front stoop as he shoved the door open with more force than needed. He put a hand against the wall and sagged, sucking in lungfuls of icy air, the cold tamping down on the heat that had risen in his face and helping him to collect himself.

After a few more deep breaths, he felt his head clear, and he looked out over the island. He’d been so caught up in his own mind that he hadn’t noticed the Marine vessel being loaded in the port a few hundred yards away. He shook his head; he needed to get his shit together if he was going to deal with Doflamingo today.

Law leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms against his chest, watching various Marines scurry about like little insects whose nest had been disturbed while others barked orders.

After a few minutes of Law watching his men, Smoker climbed the steps and took a seat on the top step, leaving distance between himself and Law.

As the two watched in silence, several soldiers marched the chained Caesar and Monet toward the ship. Caesar continued making high-pitched protests—“Do you know who I am?”, “Do you know who you’re messing with?” and the like—while Monet remained silent. As if drawn to Law, she turned and their eyes met briefly, that look of betrayal still in her gaze. Then she was pushed along toward the ship and the connection broke.

Law exhaled, only then realizing he’d been holding his breath.

Once Doflamingo learned of their arrests as well as of Vergo’s death—he had more spies in the Marines than just Vergo, though even Law didn’t know all their identities—he would undoubtedly retrieve his subordinates and Vergo’s body. He would leverage his connections, and even the Fleet Commander couldn’t refuse the Gorosei.

Law could only hope he’d receive that news once Law and his nakama had escaped Dressrosa.

“What will you do now?” Smoker asked as they watched a string of Caesar’s men, buoyed by strange balloon devices, escorted to the ship by another group of soldiers. “Doflamingo will kill you if you return to Dressrosa.”

That… was not actually true; Law might wish he were dead if Doffy got wind of his betrayal before he and his crew could flee, but he would live until he performed the Perennial Youth Operation. Only then would he be allowed to die—for the sake of Doffy’s immortality. No, it would be his nakama (and Luffy’s crew, now that the crazy captain had decided to involve himself in Law’s affairs) who would pay the ultimate price. But Smoker didn’t need to know that.

Law raised an eyebrow at Smoker’s back. “Why do you care, White Chase-ya? I’m just a no-good pirate.”

“Maybe I don’t like being in debt to pirates,” Smoker retorted. “And if you die, I can’t pay it back.”

Law snorted. “Apologies if my impending death is inconvenient for your conscience.”

Smoker grumbled in response.

They sat in silence for several more minutes, and, surprisingly, it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence. Smoker seemed to have come to some kind of conclusion about Law, and Law simply had too much on his mind to bother with antagonizing the vice admiral. And, if Law were being honest with himself, while he hated the Marines on principle for their part in Flevance’s fall, Smoker was one of the few who had ever shown even an inkling of honor; it was a very grudging sense of respect he found budding toward the vice admiral.

They watched the ship’s continued loading until the lab’s door opened once more, and the Straw Hats spilled out onto the stoop. Law noticed two more figures had joined the group: Kin’emon the samurai and a boy dressed in similar garb. A son? They had shied off to the side of the group on the other side of the doorway from Law.

“Oh, there you are, Torao!” Luffy said, spying Law off to the side. “And Smokey!”

“Straw Hat,” Smoker grumbled, pushing himself to his feet.

“Where are the children?” the cat burglar asked, putting her hands on her hips.

“Tashigi is with them,” Smoker said.

“Well, we’re not leaving until we see them off,” Chopper added, coming up next to his crewmate at the front of the group, doing his best to sound authoritative.

Smoker lip curled in annoyance, but he was saved from having to reply by the emergence of the captain and the children from a side entrance of the lab. The swordswoman, with a bright voice and wide smile, directed the children toward the ship. The children laughed and jumped around as they boarded the ship.

“Tashigi!” Smoker called.

The swordswoman looked up from her charges and took in the group standing next to the vice admiral. After murmuring something to the remaining children waiting to board, she headed over to the lab steps.

“Smoker-san,” she greeted.

“These idiots won’t leave until they know the children are taken care of. Tell them where we’re taking them.”

Long Nose and the cyborg protested at being called idiots, but the cat burglar and Chopper ignored them. Their eyes were focused on the swordswoman.

“We’re taking them to be treated by Vegapunk himself,” the captain replied, adjusting her glasses. “He’s agreed to look at the long-term effects of the drugs and work on a treatment. Once they’ve received the care they need, we’ll take them all home. We’re also in the process of contacting their families.”

“That’s a relief,” Chopper said, smiling.

The swordswoman looked at the cat burglar. “I meant what I said earlier; I will protect the children with my life!”

The cat burglar nodded, her expression softening. “I know. Thank you.”

The two women shook hands, and the captain glanced at her superior before heading back to the ship. The children were making their way onto the deck of the ship, calling at the Straw Hats with their thanks. Law was startled to hear even a few thanks hollered in his direction. Considering he hadn’t wanted to get caught up with the children in the first place, he didn’t think he deserved any.

Smoker shook his head and glanced back at the gathered group, eyes meeting Law’s one final time, before he headed back to the ship, corralling the remaining soldiers who had yet to board. The Straw Hats waved as the ship eventually pushed off from the dock and set sail.

“All right!” Luffy called out, grabbing the attention of his crew. “Let’s go! On to Dressroba!”

“Dressrosa,” Law grumbled.

“Shishishi,” Luffy chuckled. “Whatever. Let’s go take down that Mingo!”

He headed off in the direction of the Thousand Sunny, and the rest of the group followed—including Kin’emon and the boy, Law noted. He’d have to account for their presence in his plan. Luffy continued chattering on, mostly to Zoro and Long Nose, though he’d turn back every now and then to meet Law’s eye with a grin.

As they walked, the cat burglar came up next to Law. “I can navigate using the maps we found in the lab, but if you have a better way…”

Law reached into a pocket on the inside of his coat and pulled out an Eternal Pose for Dressrosa. It was the same one Doffy had given Law nearly a decade earlier in the North Blue. He carried it on every mission away from the island. For a moment, Law’s grip tightened on the wooden frame as he considered that there was a good chance neither he nor his nakama would ever leave that island again. Swallowing, he forcibly loosened his fingers and offered it to her. Her eyes lit up.

“That will make things easier!” She looked at the pose for a moment then glanced back at Law. “You said it should take half a day?”

“Yes.”

The cat burglar—Nami—peered up at the sky and narrowed her eyes consideringly before shaking her head. “We’ll have to get further away from the conditions on this weird island before I can get a sense of the weather.”

“Dressrosa is a summer island,” Law supplied. “The weather is rarely poor around it.”

Nami hummed thoughtfully. “That’s promising.”

Law hesitated before adding, “Avoid skies with clouds as much as possible.”

“Why?” Black Leg asked from Law’s other side. He took a drag on his cigarette and raised a curious eyebrow.

Law glanced at him before turning back to Nami. “Doflamingo can use his Devil Fruit to travel in the skies. He uses clouds to do it. If he has any suspicion that I’ve betrayed him, he’ll be out looking for me.”

“Will he have any suspicion?” Black Leg asked as Nami’s eyes widened.

“I… don’t know.” Law had played the call over in his mind repeatedly and still did not know if Doffy had been bluffing. Even if he hadn’t been, there was no telling how quickly he’d hear from his Marine spies about what had happened on Punk Hazard. “Best to assume he does.”

Black Leg pursed his lips but didn’t say anything.

Once they boarded the Thousand Sunny, the Straw Hats spread out to complete their respective jobs for setting sail. Law leaned back against the wall and was joined by Kin’emon and the boy as they stayed out their hosts’ way. Law and the samurai eyed one another. Law didn’t know anything about Kin’emon, other than, as a samurai, he was likely from Wano and that Doffy wanted him kept alive. If Kin’emon was from Wano, Law idly wondered if Doffy’s orders about the man came from Kaido but put the thought out of his mind; it didn’t matter to the task at hand.

Once the Thousand Sunny had pulled away from Punk Hazard and started toward Dressrosa, Law’s Eternal Pose pointing the way, the Straw Hats reconvened on the lawn in the center of the ship. They turned to Law.

“Tell us, Torao-kun,” Nico Robin said, speaking for her crew. “What awaits us in Dressrosa?”

Law took a steadying breath and started to speak.

-----

Two Days Later

Smoker found the Inspector General in his favorite spot, a perch overlooking New Marineford, absently sharing snacks with his beloved goat. He hadn’t been entirely surprised to receive a summons from Marine HQ after the prisoners he’d brought in and the damning report he’d filed about another vice admiral, but he thought this might be a bit more personal, considering the source.

“Inspector General,” Smoker greeted as he came to a stop next to the seated man.

“Smoker,” Sengoku replied, nodding at him.

“You wanted to see me?”

“Ah, yes,” Sengoku said, adjusting his glasses briefly. “I read your report about the events on Punk Hazard.”

Smoker’s original report had been heavily edited so that the official report had, much like the Alabasta report, given him far more credit than he deserved for what had transpired. It also whitewashed some of the uglier truths Smoker had learned about the base commander of G-5 and the experiments being conducted on the island. But Smoker had a feeling Sengoku was referring to the unedited version. Semi-retired or not, a man like Sengoku would have his ways of getting his hands on that document.

“Sir,” Smoker said neutrally.

Sengoku offered his goat a cracker before glancing at Smoker. “You don’t seem pleased at the accolades being thrown your way for uncovering a traitor so high in the ranks.”

Smoker snorted. “If you read my report, you know I didn’t uncover shit. Sir.”

Sengoku nodded, absently scratching behind the goat’s ears. “Corazon revealed Vergo’s true nature.”

So, he had read the unedited version. “Yes.”

“Tell me, Smoker,” Sengoku said, something careful about his tone that Smoker couldn’t quite place. “What were your impressions of Vice Admiral Vergo? Before this? You worked alongside him at G-5.”

“I thought he was a good leader and a good soldier,” Smoker admitted. “I respected him.” He’d had no reason to suspect the man; his reputation was spotless, and the men of G-5 admired him. It grated on him that he hadn’t noticed the rat. Surely there had been something amiss that Smoker had missed…

But, no. Vergo’s act had been flawless.

Sengoku nodded thoughtfully. “And Corazon killed him.”

“Yes.”

“And what did you make of that, Vice Admiral?”

Smoker frowned. “What do you mean?”

“The second in command of the Donquixote Pirates killing a particularly important spy for his own crew among Marine ranks. Surely that was surprising to you.”

Smoker, even in his unedited report, had skirted around what he’d heard about Corazon’s history. He wasn’t sure why he was keeping the man’s secrets other than the debt he owed him, but something hadn’t sat right in his chest when he’d attempted to make note of all he’d heard. He’d learned to trust his instincts over the years, and they’d told him he’d be better served holding onto that information. Even—maybe especially—the Marines were prone to politics, and Smoker knew that information could be leveraged. He found the fact distasteful, but it was true nonetheless.

But those same instincts were also telling him now that Sengoku was the right person to tell, considering his personal connection to the Donquixote Pirates. It was known amongst the longest-serving Marines that Sengoku’s adopted son had been killed by the Donquixote Pirates while on an undercover mission infiltrating them. Smoker had never met Rosinante, but he’d seen the plaque on the wall of fallen soldiers.

“There seemed to be bad blood between them,” Smoker said after coming to his decision. He didn’t have a full sense of what he’d witnessed between the two men, but he knew enough about long-standing grudges to recognize one when he saw it. “Going back a long way.”

Corazon couldn’t be older than his mid-twenties but had held the title of Corazon for half a decade. Only someone who’d been with the Family for a long time could have risen to second in command—Doflamingo only surrounded himself with the best, which was part of what made his crew so dangerous—so for Corazon to have risen so high so at such a young age likely meant he’d been with them as a child. It was common knowledge that the Family recruited children and raised them to be loyal soldiers, so that would not have been surprising.

The slightest twitch in Sengoku’s eyebrow told Smoker that he was on the right track. Considering the timeline, then, there was a good chance Corazon knew Sengoku’s son and might have answers about the circumstances surrounding his death, which had remained under high level security clearance in the years since. Most Marine lifers felt Sengoku had never truly moved past Rosinante’s death (though they’d never say it in the man’s earshot), but now perhaps he could get some answers—especially if Corazon was attempting to leave the Family and had no reason to keep their secrets any longer.

“I see,” Sengoku finally said, offering the goat another cracker. He offered the bag to Smoker wordlessly, but Smoker shook his head.

Smoker hesitated only a moment before adding, “Corazon let something slip during the fight.”

Sengoku simply nodded at him to continue, obviously recognizing Smoker had left whatever it was out of his report.

“I think he’s a survivor of the White City.”

Sengoku paled, though Smoker had a feeling it wasn’t for the reason most did when Flevance was mentioned. He’d been Fleet Admiral when commands had come from above even him to wipe out the country and everyone in it due to the highly contagious Amber Lead Disease that was killing entire generations.

It was genocide and a shame on any Marine with a sense of honor.

“There were no survivors,” Sengoku said finally, voice curiously choked off.

And even if anyone had managed to escape the slaughter, they should have died years earlier due to Amber Lead Disease. But somehow, Corazon hadn’t.

The more he thought about it, the more Smoker had a feeling it had to do with that Devil Fruit of his. The Ope-Ope no Mi was a miracle surgery fruit, after all.

“There seems to be at least one,” Smoker replied, remembering the fury in Corazon’s voice as he’d railed against what had happened to his family and his home, sheer rage taking over the normally composed man. It was clearly a slip he regretted making, considering the way his expression had soured once he’d realized what he’d said. “It sounded like his parents were doctors, but they were killed with everyone else when Flevance fell. Including a sister.”

Sengoku ran a hand over his face, suddenly looking his age. “I see,” he said after a long moment. He turned to Smoker and gave him a wan smile. “Thank you for telling me.”

The dismissal was clear, but Smoker had one more thing to add. “The traitor, Vergo, didn’t call Corazon by his title. He used a name.”

Sengoku raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“He didn’t use a surname. But he called Corazon Law.”

“Law,” Sengoku murmured, as though trying out the name.

Smoker left Sengoku with the name on his tongue, wondering what the former Fleet Admiral would do with the information but deciding it was above his paygrade.

Next chapter

[tinacentury]

Quarantine Ask Game

Thanks for the tag, @spider-momo!

what are you listening to? I’ve mainly been rotating between Spotify’s Morning Commute playlist and my own Quarantunes playlists.

what are you watching? I might be the only person who hasn’t been binge watching anything. I tried Tiger King and couldn’t get through an episode. I tried Schitt’s Creek and 4 episodes in I’m still not sure what the fuss is about. I’m about to just call it and rewatch The Office. But I may try Grace and Frankie first. I’m also open to recommendations here.

what are you reading? Ok so fic-wise, the amount that I’m reading varies. I’ve read a good amount of the exchange fics, but am behind on a few (and even MORE behind on reviews). In terms of books, I’ve been about as successful as I have been with TV. Before all of this, I was on a good steady streak of having found a few good fiction books in a row. Since quarantine, I’ve read The Dreamers, which was about a mysterious virus spreading in California, so that was ill-timed and difficult to enjoy. The other book I recently read was The Light We Lost, which I would have found profound in college but made me kind of angry as an adult.

food you’ve been craving? Ugh any dish from my favorite restaurants. And today, ice cream from a delicious local homemade ice cream shop.

other activities you’ve been doing? Haha well I’ve been writing more than I have in months, so there’s that. I’m at my parents’ house (I’m kind of an old millennial with high risk parents), which is weird, but that’s dictated some of my activities. I went through some old boxes from high school a couple of weeks ago, which was fascinating.

something you want to start doing? given that I just got dissertation edits back from my advisor this week, I want need to start doing that.

any quarantine tips? So yeah, this depends on your situation. I’m definitely an introvert, but I’m also known to have dramatic I HAVE NO FRIENDS moments if I go too long without social interaction. So, I’ve been a big fan or virtual reunions — happy hours, game nights, etc. I’m even hosting a reunion for Master’s degree class next week. Google Hangouts works relatively well if you don’t have paid Zoom (buuuut Ngl I just bought paid Zoom yesterday). The regular old introvert me would stress the importance of keeping boundaries if you’re quarantined with others, taking a lot of baths, going for walks outside if you can, and, if you really want to level up, video appointments with a therapist.

I’m shocked this is my first Tumblr game of quarantine. I’ll tag @uglygreenjacket, @queenrisa14, and @beej88!

[musicofthenightphantomoftheopera]

I posted 639 times in 2021

18 posts created (3%)

621 posts reblogged (97%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 34.5 posts.

I added 31 tags in 2021

#rwby - 7 posts

#rwby volume 8 - 5 posts

#lgbtq community - 3 posts

#disney - 3 posts

#nostalgia - 3 posts

#kickstarter - 2 posts

#childhood - 2 posts

#jewelry - 2 posts

#penny polendina - 2 posts

#artist - 2 posts

Longest Tag: 74 characters

#every time i hear cree summer in anything i am thrown back to my childhood

My Top Posts in 2021

#5

I Redesigned Mal's Wedding Dress!

Ok so I've been a fan of the costume design in the Descendants movies since the first one came out. However, when we were shown through the animated youtube shorts what Mal's wedding dress is going to look like, I was APPAULED and felt personally attacked by how hideously plain it was!

Like...SERIOUSLY?! THAT is the best they could've come up with?! This Isn't even dropping the ball, this is just not even bothering to throw it at all! especially when we compare it to the other dresses we've seen Mal In! Aka....

THESE!

So yeah I was not about to let this mediocre mockery slide. I knew for a FACT that I could design a better wedding dress for her in my sleep, and it was gonna eat away at my soul until I did I! so here it is!

I decided to try and do a fusion of Mal's coronation dress and her cotillion dress while adding my own personal touches! I kept the silhouette and color pallete of the Coronation Dress and added in my favorite parts of the cotillion dress which are the scorch marks and burn holes in her layered skirt and cape! But instead of regular black scorch marks, i made them lavender instead! I also added tiny white pearls around the edges of the scorch marks and on the bodice! And of course I had to go ham on the dragon motif so I gave her a pair of transparent dragon wings (that are shaped a little more like fairy wings cuz mal's half fairy) and a matching collar! Like a nice little Ever After dress moment (which you will see in my little reference collage below)

and of course we need a little commotion on the back of the dress, so I made this beautiful beaded dragon for the back of the dress! Which also serves a practical purpose because the wings will fuse with the dragon and the beading will cover up where the wings are atatched! The dragon is made of lavender and white pearls with chunky amethyst crystals to add different texture and to match mal's crown! (which I also redesigned for this! It's based off of sansa stark's crown from game of thrones because the body looks like dragon scales!

And as you can see in the reference collage, I also decided to give Mal viking braids in her hair because I thought it would look cool and I was right! I hope you all like it, because I sure do! And now my soul can finally be at peace knowing I did it better XD

21 notes • Posted 2021-07-05 21:44:44 GMT

#4

Ok time for an out of nowhere rant about something that’s been on my mind recently. It’s kinda been an inside meme/joke in the monster high fandom for years that all of the characters regardless of how terrifying the creature they’re based off of are “pretty”✨ I mean ppl inside the fandom know it’s all in good fun and we get some SWEET fanart out of it, but ppl outside the fandom kinda take it way too seriously and that they should look just as scary as their monster parents. And I was thinking about how Frankie Stein in particular is a lot more accurate to the Original Frankenstein’s monster than a lot of people realize. In the original book by Marry Shelly, Frankenstein’s Monster wasn’t an ugly, unintelligent, hobbling amalgamation of dead body parts like he is in the movies. Victor Frankenstein (who was NEVER a real doctor btw) made him a beautiful man-almost entirely human looking- the ONLY reason Victor declared his creation a monster and a failure is because HE GOT HIS EYE COLOR WRONG. As in he had glowing yellow eyes. That’s literally it. Frankie being pretty and having 2 different colored eyes is WAY closer to that description of him and idk if that was intentional or not, but I can tell they based her off of equal parts book and movie Frankenstein due to her green skin and neck bolts. With a hint of bride of Frankenstein thrown in because of her black and white hair. So really, Frankie herself is actually an amalgamation of all iterations of Frankenstein’s Monster that came before her. And I just think that’s really flipping cool! :)

22 notes • Posted 2021-11-06 16:44:46 GMT

#3

SPOILERS FOR VOLUME 8 FINALE OF RWBY

Ok so to elaborate more on the question of “who’s gonna tell Pietro?”

I think we should also be asking the question of “What are we gonna tell Pietro?” As in...are we gonna tell him the entire truth?

That she got mauled by Cinder and Jaune helped her commit assisted unalive? Or are we going to spare an old man’s heart (because honestly that’s too much for ANY parent to take in) and tell him that Penny died when she got hacked and her body was destroyed beyond repair and leave it at that?

I mean yeah Pietro has a right to know what happened to his only daughter but good gods do we really want to hit him with the tactical nuke of the entire truth?

24 notes • Posted 2021-04-04 21:02:19 GMT

#2

So as of today it’s been one whole year since we got that teaser for Ice Adolescence (which was originally shown in Japan exclusively year ago) at this point I’m starting to get worried. Especially since MAPPA has been spread so thin and have been announcing one new project after another. Ice Adolesence has pretty much become the elephant in the room at this point that they really need to address. I mean I’m trying to b patient just like everyone else. But we’ve had nothing but delays, 1 trailer, and complete and utter radio silence. I’ve already heard and seen some fans starting to give up hope for the movie coming out at all. The movie never coming out has pretty much become a meme at this point. I just hope we hear something soon.

32 notes • Posted 2021-11-29 01:46:59 GMT

#1

Calling all RWBY fans!

One of our own is in need of our help!

Monty’s older brother, Reaksmeychivy Oum had his car stolen and in the process of trying to stop the theft, he bounced off the hood and got run over, sustaining some pretty bad injuries and is currently in the hospital as we speak!

I’ll put a link to the GoFundMe for the medical expenses as well as a new car here

https://www.gofundme.com/f/28vzfaw2k0?utm_campaign=p_cp+share-sheet&utm_medium=copy_link_all&utm_source=customer

The organizer of the campaign has more information.

Let’s help him out!

384 notes • Posted 2021-01-08 20:36:50 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

[steddieas-shegoes]

wrong date

for @corrodedcoffinfest prompt 'wrong date'

rated t | 890 words | cw: mild language | tags: famous corroded coffin, jeff's dad finally accepts he has a rockstar son

🤘🏻🤘🏻🤘🏻🤘🏻🤘🏻🤘🏻🤘🏻🤘🏻🤘🏻🤘🏻🤘🏻

It was supposed to be a special show, not even part of the regular tour. A stop in Indianapolis in a small venue, only 250 tickets sold, a shortened set with a new song list just for this crowd. They'd have merch available specific to this show.

It was a bit of an anniversary show, marking the ten year anniversary of their first time playing in Indy, which is the show that led them to signing their first deal.

It wasn't even a real tour date.

But when their merch arrived for it, they went into panic mode.

"How did they mess up the back?" Jeff was yelling through the phone on the bus, something he never did. "We were clear that this would have the art submitted with the date and location of this one show. It can't have the same back as our tour shirt!"

Frankie and Eddie watched Jeff from the couch as Gareth sat on the counter by the fridge. Normally, Jeff was incredibly calm when faced with a problem, especially one that could definitely be fixed. This could be fixed, though it would be cutting it extremely close to the show date.

"No. Fix it. Get them overnighted. I don't care if it costs you more money. Not having the merch we told fans we would is gonna cost a lot more." Jeff hung up, immediately banging his head against the cabinet in front of him. "It's so simple. They fuck up the simplest thing."

"You good?" Gareth dares to ask while Jeff is having a breakdown.

"How many times do I have to fix shit they fuck up? Why do they even get to be in charge of things if they can't handle it?" Jeff continues, ignoring Gareth's question. "We need a better manager."

"You mean like the last guy we had?" Frankie snorted. "Maybe we could call him in prison and ask him for help while he serves time for tax evasion and embezzlement."

"At least he got us the right fucking shirts!" Jeff argued, but quickly deflated. "I just want this to be perfect."

Gareth made eye contact with Eddie and Frankie before hopping off the counter and standing in front of Jeff. He placed a comforting hand on Jeff's shoulder.

"This wouldn't normally bother you this much. What's goin' on?" He asked.

"My dad's gonna be there."

It all made sense now.

Jeff's relationship with his dad had been...rocky. Not always. In fact, as a child, he was incredibly close to him, and they spend countless hours playing together, taking fishing trips, going to concerts.

But when Jeff started taking music more seriously than school, planning for a future on stage instead of in a college dorm, his dad had a lot of things to say, and none of them were positive. It broke Jeff's heart to lose his support, but it got easier to deal with the more successful they became.

When their recent album debuted at number one, Jeff's dad reached out to let him know he was proud of him. He didn't apologize, or even admit he was wrong, but he was trying a little. It was enough for Jeff from a distance.

But apparently it wouldn't be at a distance anymore.

"He's your VIP ticket?" Eddie asked.

Jeff nodded. "Him and my mom. They heard about it and insisted on coming to see what all the fuss is about."

"Who said there's fuss?" Eddie joked. "No fuss here. Just a lot of people who wanna sleep with us or be us."

"Yeah, I guess they wanted to get the experience without going to a regular show."

"We'll have the best show ever, then. Gotta show them how fuckin' cool you are, right?" Frankie said as he pulled Jeff into a hug.

****

Jeff's parents were the first ones backstage after the show, somehow beating Gareth's parents, Wayne, and Frankie's mom by minutes.

He gave his mom a hug, but hesitated before holding a hand out towards his dad.

Everyone watched as his dad looked down at it, then back up at Jeff.

Jeff dropped his hand, and only his closest friends in the world could see the disappointment on his face.

But his dad's arms wrapped around his shoulders, and the entire room breathed a sigh of relief.

"Proud of you, son. I'm glad you didn't listen to me."

"Really?" Jeff asked against his shoulder, voice wet and rough like he was holding back a sob.

"You're a true rock star. Can't say I ever thought it was possible, but seeing you up there, I know that's where you were meant to be."

When Jeff pulled away, he noticed both of his parents were wearing the shirts that had only arrived at the venue the day before.

Everything was correct this time.

When Jeff's dad turned around to say hi to Frankie's mom, Jeff looked at the date on the back.

"You're fuckin' kidding me," he groaned.

"What?" Eddie asked, watching the door for Wayne.

"They got the date wrong!"

Eddie laughed. "I guess our encore technically played on June 20th, so that's gotta be at least a little right."

"We have to fire our manager," Jeff shook his head. "Today. I'll hire someone off the street. Only qualification is knowing what a calendar looks like."

[mokomodukedom]

My history with One Piece

I already wrote about my history with One Piece on this blog some time ago, but since it's the 20th anniversary I guess it won't hurt to repeat some of it.

I first discovered One Piece when I was in middle school, around... 2005-2006 I'd say. In my year group there was only one pupil besides me who read manga whom I didn't see all that much (because she was in a different class). But one time we talked about Ranma ½, which was one of the first manga series translated into Finnish. A few years earlier I had bought the first seven volumes, but at that age I didn't know how to deal with Happosai's pervy antics, so I stopped following after his introduction. But this other girl had continued buying the volumes, and I was excited to get the chance to borrow them. She also threw in the first volume of One Piece which I didn't really care about at first, but I took it anyway. I remember Shanks' death glare from the first chapter and Luffy's similar expression from a bit later making a big impression on me, and I think I got hooked by Baratie despite not really liking the art style. And Arlong Park was what really sealed the deal.

I obviously had to return the borrowed volumes at some point, and I can't remember properly what I was doing with One Piece for a while or how intensive my relationship with it was. But I know I was still very much into it, and whenever I visited my relatives in a bigger city they'd let me borrow One Piece volumes from a library with their card. The volumes had been used a lot so their covers were all sticky and gross, but it was the only way for me to read the physical volumes. The scrap books I filled with cool fanart I printed from the Internet started to get more and more One Piece content. And I know I also watched the anime up till the sea train/Aqua Laguna episodes, but with the pacing problems in the anime I couldn't go further.

At some point I discovered that I could also read the manga scanlations on the internet. Back then we didn't have these cool manga reader sites with handy layouts and a billion series kids these days use (or I was just too dumb to find one); the site I used looked more like Windows file system with yellow folder icons for each chapter. The first "newest" chapter I read was luckily a memorable one for archival purposes, ch 431 (Garp's introduction) in October 2006. It took me a while to get the hang of One Piece being a weekly series so checking the site in the hopes of a new chapter was a bit sporadic, but ever since then I've been following the series regularly. Whoa, it's been over 10 years! Unfortunately I don't care for Halloween stuff so Thriller Bark was probably the worst theme for me to jump in, but the overall quality kept me returning.

Meanwhile the aforementioned manga reader from my school had lost interest in One Piece, and I bought the 17 first volumes she had for a good price. Then I started buying the most recent published Finnish volumes from the store starting from #37 (the one with Franky & Iceburg on the cover that contains Franky's flashback), which was in April 2008. Then I had to hunt for the missing 20 volumes from internet auction and second hand book shops. It was a lot of fun to get a new book, and I remember I would regularly arrange the volumes I had managed to get in a grid on the floor to see the the holes close up.

One the fandom side my first published fanart is from May 2007, and the dress ups started in January 2008. I remember playing Alinajames' OP girl dress ups (which I sadly can't find any more anywhere) at that time, can't remember if they were up before mine or after, but regardless they played a big role in inspiring me to continue making new dress ups myself, and certainly had a part in my second dress up ever created, Nami dress up v2. Later I've made a v3, and I'm sure a v4 will appear eventually. It feels like going back to my roots.

When it comes to pairings I've always been pretty disinterested, usually I'm simply fine with the obvious main guy + main girl couple and don't think about it much, but now that I think of it, I did have a rather rare occurrence of actually hoping that Luffy and Hancock would become a couple. I wrote plenty of fanfiction of their wedding where all the friendly characters we had seen were invited and Shanks super enjoyed the party, and then they had a daughter or two, but thankfully the fanfic only existed inside my head so there's no proof of it. And that ship has faded by now and nowadays I find Hancock a really boring character, though she'd still be my #1 choice if I really had to pair Luffy with someone (followed by Vivi). But definitely not Nami, I've always disliked the idea of Luffy/Nami and it's a little strange, since usually when I hate a pairing it's because I hate one of the characters involved or find the fans really annoying, but in Luffy/Nami's case I just find their interaction so platonic that somehow the thought of them being a couple has always made me cringe. So Nami's only ok as a part of Luffy Harem which I've enjoyed in an ironic way ever since I saw someone post about it on APforums.

One Piece has also the honour of having been one of the works that have put me into a major long-lasting fangasm mode, as in I consume plenty of media and may rank various works really high in terms of quality, but only a select few manage to get into the "daydreaming about new stories for my favourite characters" phase that lasts for months. And while as of now it has been dethroned (there can be only one at a time), OP has been the only one that has managed to make a big comeback after having fallen once.

Overall reading One Piece on a weekly basis for a decade has been a really important experience for me. It has been a regular friend who visits weekly for a large part of my life, and the fact that my earliest OP memories are from pretty long ago makes the OP world feel a lot larger than it probably would if I had marathoned the whole thing just recently. I also have a lot of fun memories of the (then) most recent big events, like the shocking mood whiplash when after a week of waiting for the outcome of the tragedy at Sabaody instead we got penis jokes on Amazon Lily or feeling the presence of a legend when Rayleigh was introduced (I could totally relate to the Straw Hats' excitement and respect). During Impel Down and Marineford arcs I visited Pixiv's D兄弟 tag daily and read all the Japanese mini comics I couldn't understand. And then there was the Arlong Park April fools joke where someone drew a pretty convincing fake spoiler where Ivankov had turned Luffy into a girl to infiltrate as a prison guard... I was so disappointed when that wasn't the case.

Since waiting for the new chapter every week has been a big part of my life, the thought of One Piece coming to an end one day makes me sad. But I suppose all good things must come to an end (and I can't blame Oda for wanting to get done with the series), and there will be new series to take its place. And on the other hand I really want to see what's up with Raftel; Crocus' description of it being a legendary island still gives me as big chills as it did when I read it for the first time.

[gefiltefishwhereareweonthis]

Rules: answer the questions then tag 20 (ish) people you’d like to get to know better!

I was tagged by @killarytheneoliberalwarhawk

Tagging: @vodkastinger @kg9876 @itshillaryrodamn @jokerslilgirl @diane-jefferson @hill-german-fan @rodhamxclinton @hillaryfanforever

Name: Alex

nickname: N/A

zodiac sign: Sagittarius 

height: 160- 161 cm 

orientation: I believe in the Kinsey scale. 

ethnicity: White 

favorite fruit: banana, raspberry, pineapple

favorite season: Spring,

favorite book: oh my, do I have to pick one? 

favorite flower: peonies, and those that look like a smaller version of peonies.

favorite scent: this earthy scent of air in the spring, when everything becomes alive again and there are those first wafts of ht air.

favorite animal: horses, dogs, cats, giraffes. 

coffee, tea, or hot cocoa? coffee. 

average hours of sleep: 7 h

cats or dogs? both, I am bipartisan 

favorite fictional character: Miranda Priestly, Sofie Zawistowski, 

dream trip: New Zealand, NYC (but I am not going anywhere until the tangerine in chief is president - unless I have a once in a lifetime opportunity to go there, otherwise no) 

when was your blog created? I started spamming my main blog with Hillary around 2-3 weeks before the election, didn’t want to spam my followers with Hillary only, so I created this one to cope with this tragic event of Elections2016 TM, and to learn more about Hillary and to feel like I belong somewhere when I just swoon over her.

number of followers: 417 (Thanks for following me!)

what do you post about? Hillary Diane Queen of Feminists Baddass Rodham Clinton

do you get asks on a regular basis? No, but I would love to! 

aesthetic: me walking in the woods,  it’s either early morning or late evening.(What? I grew up in the woods!) 

favorite band/artist: my music taste is eclectic, so I listen to mostly anything besides heavy metal. 

fictional characters I’d date: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, Frankie Hansen, Chandler.

hogwarts house: Griffindor. 

[reusedtoit]

Let’s Chat: Slow vs. Fast Fashion

On July 31st, Arden Rose, YouTube-veteran, quirky Zooey Deschannel look-a-like and Almost Adulting author, posted a video entitled: “how to NOT destroy the planet while shopping.” Such a confrontational and eco-conscious title from a relatively mainstream Youtube “influencer” (a term that seemed to be forced upon “content creators” in a creepy, new-age way) is all-too-often a rarity, which is what immediately drew me to the video. There should be no misunderstanding here, however; I have long admired and adored the off-kilter and endearing ramblings of Arden and have especially savored her taste for all things unique: her collaboration with Mejuri alone speaks volumes of her appreciation for individuality and one-of-kind pieces. I even discovered my new favorite arts-and-crafts magazine, Frankie Mag, through my following of Arden. But as Arden acknowledges herself in the video, YouTubers often promote the proliferation of fast-fashion by updating their viewers on the newest trends or engaging in sponsorships that offer limited-time discount codes to fans, as well as showcase their own capitalist splurges through “haul” videos, “What I got for [insert generic holiday here]” videos. Part of what makes YouTube work as a place for creatives to support themselves (albeit, barely and only if they are 1. able to captivate a large enough audience and 2. produce content that is wholly non-offensive) are the brand deals, the promotions, and the “plugs.” However, in her video, Arden acknowledges her past hauls of fast-fashion tyrants such as H&M and Forever 21 and notes her disgust for ever having taken part in promoting those brands. Arden identifies the 2015 documentary The True Cost to be her personal turning point - like Earthlings does for newfound vegans, The True Cost caused an awakening in her because of how the film illuminates the unethical and anti-humanitarian externalities of fast-fashion. I took a gander at the film and whole-heartedly agreed. From both the film, Arden’s video and my on-going following of Dearly Bethany, I have acquired a central message: “Buying clothing should be a series of investments, aimed at longevity and quality.” This is something that has been lost in both the fashion industry and on social media platforms. As a whole, we have become obsessed with having the next best thing. This pressure sits disproportionately on the shoulders of women, who are aggressively marketed to on a variety of platforms. Even I have noticed the sly ads (damn algorithms) on Instagram and Facebook that pry at my insecurities (hormonal acne, hydrogen peroxide damaged hair, a distinct lack of tasteful jewelry). 

Overall, a seismic shift has occurred in my brain. I am taking on the old-school mindset that clothing should not last just a season, but should last years. The only items of clothing I’ve ever owned that have lived up to the tune of this song have been my Doc Martens. Inherited from my mother, these Docs have lasted over 25 years. And so, I want to learn how to make my entire closet shift toward this tenant of sustainability. This means no more therapeutic fast-fashion purchases. Even Arden states in her video that this may be a difficult change for women (or men) who see shopping as a kind of therapy. I know I sure do. Even though I have decreased my susceptibility to impulse purchases as I have gotten older (I am obsessed with my credit score, kids), I know that when I was young that shopping at department stores was a way for my mother and I to bond in profound ways. She is a very fashionable woman and fortunately, or unfortunately, I have followed in her footsteps. We were able, even if only for a moment, to escape our day-to-day lives and look through a window of affluence and frivolous spending. If this sounds familiar to you, let it be known that you are not judged at all. However, if you are also like me and feel the need to do what is best for the planet and for people, you might want to tag along on my journey to a sustainable closet. I’ve even made it easy for you and I by doing some research on some great “investment brands” that value sustainability. Obviously there are many brands that are environmentally conscious, ethical and sustainable, but there is also a lot of hogwash out there because these labels have become boxes that brands check to cater to niche markets. I want to work through the smoke-and-mirrors of these labels and give you all some recommendations of companies that I hope walk the walk. 

Your Guide to Sustainable Clothing Brands:

Everlane’s motto is “Radical Transparency,” which is exactly what they bring to the table when it comes to the fast vs. slow fashion discussion. This company focuses on making their factories a great place to work, with frequent compliance audits at each factory to evaluate significant factors such as fair wages, reasonable hours and environmental considerations. You can learn more about Everlane’s factories here.

Everlane gets to our core message by stating out the gate: “At Everlane, we’re not big on trends. We want you to wear our pieces for years, even decades, to come. That’s why we source the finest materials and factories for our timeless products— like our Grade-A cashmere sweaters, Italian shoes, and Peruvian Pima tees.” 

Photo: Everlane

Most importantly Everlane is incredibly transparent about what seems to matter to consumers the most - pricing. Everlane believes that consumers have the right to know how much their clothing costs to make and often reveals the true costs behind all of their products - from materials to labor to transportation - and then sell them without the traditional retail markup. You can look at the cost breakdown for items such as modern loafers, cashmere crews, totes, denim and jackets here.

They even have a super cool feature called “Choose What You Pay” which is like a traditional sale except you choose how much you pay for individual items. Most importantly, their clothing is beautiful and Instagram knows I’ve been doing this research because I get their targeted ads pretty much every time I log into the app. I’ll take it - it’s flattering. 

Next up, Sisterhood. I’ll let them speak first. They write on their vibe page: “We are proud to love Mother Earth. This means that we do our absolute best day to day to reduce our impact on the environment. Against throw away fashion, we aim to create individual pieces that will never go out of style and will stand the test of time.”

Sisterhood’s paper to packaging is all made from 100% recycled material and can be recycled once again when finished with.The company works with a small factory to produce their designs and works to operate with zero waste and no chemicals during the production process. They claim fair wages for all workers and regular inspections of factories. You can “join the Sisterhood” for some pretty reasonable prices. 

I recently discovered this awesome brand. According to the company, “Two Fold stands for two things: environmental and social consciousness.” They are a small batch clothing label made in Charlotte, North Carolina focused on creating made-to-order and capsule collections twice a year rather than a continual release cycle. The rationale behind this is simple: quality over quantity. 

On the environmental front, Two Fold uses organic and sustainable fabrics with fibers such as organic cotton, tencel and raw silk noil which are all biodegradable and have renewable origins. Their packaging is all 100% recyclable as well.

On the social consciousness front, Two Fold works with a company called 410 Bridge, that goes into communities in the developing world, assesses their needs, and implements programs to bring them into economic stability. 

Two Fold’s goal is to uplift women through these two core values. 

Photo: Two Fold Clothing, Spring - Summer 2018 Collection

These are just three brands out of many that value sustainability. However, there are so many more that do not and primarily focus on profit maximization. Even more so, there are so many brands out there like Urban Outfitters and American Apparel (RIP, basically) that have dark pasts and negative core values. Even the brand “& Other Stores,” which I considered highlighting for this post, is owned by H&M Group, which as you know, is an H&M-run consortium of brands. And H&M is pretty much the definition of fast or “throw-away” fashion. 

At the end of the day, how we treat the planet and our fellow humans is up to us. Clothing is one of the many parts of our daily lives (unless it’s not for you, which is cool too) that has significant implications for the two realms (two folds, if you will) of environmentalism and social consciousness. If you want to start to move toward these values, these three brands are great places to start. Furthermore, if you have clothing that you want to get rid of, don’t just let it end up in a landfill. There are lots of great companies and organizations such as Goodwill, Salvation Army and the online thrift store, ThredUp, which are all about recycling, reselling and/or donation of clothing. 

Remember, moving toward a sustainable life is a process and it’s not going to happen overnight. Be gentle to the planet, to people and most importantly, yourself! Look out for the next blog post for more recommendations and to continue on this journey to a zero-waste, environmentally conscious and ethical life with me. 

art credit: Grace Easton of Gracedraws