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bellofthemeadow · 10 months

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The Road Ahead - ch 3 | Frankie Morales x females reader

Series Masterlist

Previous chapter

For most of your married life, you dedicated yourself to waiting for Frankie. After each deployment, you patiently awaited his return, longing for the moment when he would be by your side again. During those nights when nightmares consumed his thoughts, you yearned for him to open up to you, hoping that he would find solace in sharing his pain. And as his addiction spiraled out of control, you held onto the hope that he would recognize his problem and seek help. However, despite your countless protests and pleas, you now find yourself waiting for him once more as he ventures off to Colombia, engaged in God knows what.

But this time is different. Determined, you make a solemn promise to yourself: You will never wait for Frankie again.

Rating: M for Mature (18 + no minors allowed)

Word Count: 7K

Warning: Applicable for the entire fic / PTSD, drug use and addiction, postpartum depression, abusive familial relationships, self-hatred, unhealthy coping mechanism, explicit sexual content, violence, mentions of suicidal thoughts, super angsty

Chapter Summary: Everything comes to a head during Tom's memorial.

Notes: Hello yet again everyone! As I previously mentioned on the two previous chapters of this fic, is a repost from my former blog "mywordhaven" . After this chapter, it will all be new content that have not yet graced the chaotic world of Tumbler. I will then be continuing this fic, as well as all of my future work, on this blog! In this chapter, shit starts to hit the fan for our birdies, and it'll get worst before it gets better #SorryNotSorry

(Also there is smut in this chapter so if thats not your vibe, you can skipped the passage between the asterisks .)

Thank you eveyrone and I will see you all in the next one <3

Tangled Truths

The early morning sunlight pierces through the window, its bright rays assaulting your eyes and causing you to furrow your brow. You raise your arm to shield your eyes from the direct light. As your gaze slowly adjusts, you sit up and rest against the headboard. Automatically, you turn to the nearby clock which displays 8:30 am. Christ, you haven’t slept this late in forever!

A surge of adrenaline courses through you as the realization hits you like a bolt of lightning. 8:30 am!?! You spring from the cozy confines of your bed, your feet carrying you quickly toward the bassinet where Ella sleeps. Yet, as you reach the crib, your heart sinks. The crib is empty. Panic seizes you, causing your hands to start trembling.

Frantically, you cast your gaze around the room and seize the robe laying on the back of the rocking chair. You hastily drape it over your shoulders and make a dash towards the door. Your sprint comes to an abrupt halt as you catch a glimpse of movement emanating from the kitchen. You cautiously approach the corridor, peering into the open space kitchen. And there, right before your eyes is Frankie effortlessly holding Ella in one arm while expertly flipping pancakes with his free hand.

You release a breath, the weight of recent events hanging heavy in the air. That’s right, Frankie had returned just three days ago you think to yourself, hardly believing it still. It still feels surreal to see him moving about the house as if nothing had happened. Whatever transpired during his absence, Frankie kept it tightly locked away within himself. And while you knew about Tom's death, as that would have been rather hard to hide, the rest of the story remained veiled in mystery.

Frankie's usual tendency for secrecy seemed amplified this time around, even compared to his previous tour. When he had first stepped foot in the door three days ago, you had resisted the urge to overwhelm him with questions, knowing he needed space to process and readjust. The sheer happiness and relief that flooded your heart at his homecoming had been so overwhelming that all you wanted was to hold him close and never let go. And, truth be told, that's precisely what you both did.

Seated together on the couch, abandoned Chinese takeout containers scattered on the table, you cradled Ella in your arms while Frankie enveloped both of you in his embrace. It was a moment frozen in time, his arm securely holding you close to his chest, creating a cocoon of love and comfort. The minutes and hours blurred together, fading into insignificance as you basked in the warmth and contentment of being together again.

The following day, however, had been fair game. Determined to unravel what happened during Frankie's time in Peru (Columbia?), you persisted with your questioning, probing deeper and repeating inquiries throughout the day. Yet, Frankie remained resolute, his responses akin to a redacted document, the black sharpie obscuring sentences and leaving only vague fragments of meaning visible. Anger coursed through your veins, an emotion that still lingered within you, but a single glance into Frankie's sorrowful puppy eyes caused you to falter. In the end, you relented.

However, there was one matter you refused to back down on. You had made it abundantly clear that Frankie must resume therapy as soon as an appointment would be available. This demand was non-negotiable. If Frankie was unwilling to seek professional help, then he could pack his belongings and go camping on Benny's couch. The ultimatum silenced Frankie and he reluctantly agreed to schedule a therapy session for the following week. And while you hoped this waiting period would encourage him to open up, deep down, you knew not to hold your breath.

Frankie seemed to think that money would cure all of the fresh wounds that had been inflicted and a deposit of $17,000 had been made into your shared account. But, this sum failed to justify the pain Frankie’s absence had wreaked in your marriage. Yes, you were now $17,000 richer financially, but your heart, once overflowing with love, now felt impoverished.

You cautiously step out from the corridor, crossing the threshold and entering the doorway. Almost immediately, Frankie whirls around, his sudden movement accompanied by a disconcertingly vacant expression in his eyes. It's a look that sends a shiver down your spine, a flicker of something unsettling that vanishes almost as quickly as it appears. Frankie’s face transforms in an instant, the familiar contours rearranging into his usual kind and gentle smile.

As you observe him, a realization hits you. Despite Frankie's cheerful smile, something feels off – his eyes don't reflect the same brightness as usual. It's as if there's a mask, concealing a multitude of emotions he's keeping hidden. The air between you grows heavy with unspoken words as your eyes meet, creating an undeniable tension. “I think your pancake is burning,” you say after a beat.

“Mierda!” Frankie flips back towards the stove and moves the smoking pan from the stove. The sudden commotion startles little Ella, who responds with a piercing cry, her distress echoing through the kitchen. Reacting swiftly, Frankie brings his second hand to encircle his baby girl, attempting to soothe her with soft words, "Shhh muñequita, you're alright. Papa didn't mean to startle you. Shhh, you're all good, my little princesa." Despite his best efforts, Ella seems to be in one of her moods this morning, and she remains unrelenting in her growing cries. Panic creeps into Frankie's eyes, his plump bottom lip nervously caught between his teeth, as he watches his attempts at calming her go in vain.

“Give her here, you know she gets extra cranky when she is hungry. Just like someone I know.” It’s a feeble attempt at teasing, but it manages to pluck a small laugh from Frankie.

“I guess having a bottomless stomach is hereditary” Frankie quips as he starts cooing at the fussy baby. His smile slightly dips as his eyes lock back with yours, "I wanted you to sleep in and recover a bit, after all the time I’ve been gone and all the trouble I cause. I'm sorry you have to deal with such a sorry excuse for a husband" Frankie says hoarsely.

You extend your arms towards Ella, gently reaching out to comfort her. "Don't say things like that, Frankie. You know I’ve never thought of you in that way" you retort. You focus your eyes back on Ella, "We have a brand-new baby, and it's natural for babies to cry when things don't go exactly as they want. It's nothing personal; she does the same to me."

With care, you cradle Ella in your arms, your fluffy robe cascading open as you adjust your cami top. Slowly, you expose your breast and guide Ella towards your right nipple. After a few attempts, Ella finally latches on, her tiny mouth finding solace in your embrace. "Someone's a hungry little peanut," you whisper affectionately, observing her now peaceful expression as she feeds. "Good job, my love. You're doing so well," you softly coo.

As Frankie clears his throat, your gaze lifts, meeting his intense gaze directed towards you and Ella at your breast. In his eyes, a flicker of desire ignites, and something deep within you twists, causing your thighs to involuntarily clench. The realization of the tension between you two fills the air, and you can't ignore the fact that it has been a long time since you were last intimate. Between the demands of the birth and Frankie's absence, you had either been unable or unwilling to revisit that more carnal aspect of your relationship.

Yet amidst the difficulties of your current situation, there is an undeniable longing within you for Frankie. More than anything you yearn for him, you yearn for his words to ease the doubts and insecurities of motherhood, you yearn for his touch to bring you back to life. You yearn for the fire that would consume you whenever your lips met. When you kissed, it was a display of fireworks, an unstoppable blaze that burned bright.

As you reflect on everything that you miss, a warm sensation stirs within you, causing your tongue to instinctively glide over your lips. Memories flood your mind, vividly recalling the countless moments when Frankie would skillfully guide you to the height of pleasure, one that you had never been able to reach with anyone else. Frankie was always centred on you, deriving his own pleasure from your own. He was a man who revelled in pleasing you, never content until he knew you were fully fulfilled.

"Mi cielo..." Frankie's voice escapes as a raspy breath, sending a shiver down your spine. Your own breath becomes trapped within your lungs, and a small whimper escapes your lips. In an instant, Frankie crosses the distance, closing the gap between you. With utmost tenderness, he cradles your cheeks in his large, warm hand, his touch cautious and gentle, mindful of Estrella who continues to nurse at your breast, blissfully unaware of the charged atmosphere that envelops her parents.

"Dios mío, eres tan hermosa," Frankie whispers softly, his words filled with adoration. Carefully, he leans down and gently presses his lips against yours. In that moment, a burst of fireworks explodes within, engulfing you both in a passionate embrace. You melt into his touch, longing to run your fingers through his soft curls and deepen the kiss, but the presence of little Estrella reminds you to be cautious. As you part your lips to guide him further, Ella interrupts with a frustrated cry, likely displeased at no longer being the center of attention.

Frankie and you share a chuckle at Ella's adorable outrage. His smile lingers on your lips as he suggests, "After our little princess Estrelita has had her fill, maybe we should put her down for a nap. What do you say, mi cielo?"

"It's not even 9 am, Frankie," you giggle, playfully nudging his nose with yours.

With a longing gaze, Frankie whispers, "There is nothing I desire more right now than to hold you in my arms, in our bed. I've missed you so much, mi cielo, and I don’t think I’ll be able to contain myself any longer.” As he speaks, each word is punctuated by a tender kiss to your lips. "You have no idea how incredibly" kiss. "irresistible" kiss. "And utterly perfect" kiss. “You truly are.” Frankie starts peppering your throat with more affectionate kisses, you playfully guide him backward, gently interrupting “Let me put her to bed, my love, and then I'll let you show me just how much you've missed me."

As you enter the tiny nursery, you observe Ella, her eyes drooping and a serene expression adorning her face. It seems, for once, your little peanut's sleeping pattern is aligning with your needs. Carefully, you place her in the large bassinet, a gift from your mother who, upon hearing the news of your and Frankie's pregnancy, had sent it as your baby shower gift. That day, she had bragged how she knew what would be best for her first granddaughter. She had even gone further and declared how unsure she was that an ex-military man and a librarian could afford anything for a newborn like she could. Little did she know that you seldom use the overpriced cradle, opting instead to keep Ella close to you. During Frankie's absence, it was more convenient to have her in your room, and Frankie's mother had gifted you a cherished family heirloom—a cradle crafted by Frankie's grandfather. And since this gift held no ulterior motives, except for love, it had felt right for little Ella. So, your mother’s cradle remained for the most part, untouched in a nursery that also remained mostly untouched. However, today you were willing to make an exception.

As you gently lay Estrella down, you whisper, "Now, my love, be good for mama and papa." Planting a kiss on her tiny nose, you quietly retreat from the room, mindful not to disturb her. As the door softly shuts behind you, a hand suddenly grabs you from behind, gently pushing you against the opposite wall. Frankie's mouth hungrily seeks yours, and you feel yourself being enveloped in his embrace. His towering presence dwarfs your smaller frame, and you melt against him, surrendering to his large comforting presence.

***“Mie cielo, amor de mi vida” Frankie pants against your lips, his hands caressing up and down your sides before he eagerly grasps a handful of your breast. You instinctively hiss as your breasts remain tender from nursing.

Concern fills Frankie's eyes as he stops, asking, "Am I hurting you?" Shaking your head, you reassure him, "They're just a bit tender, that's all." A lazy smile spreads across Frankie's face as he murmurs, "I'll never tire of them." He bends his head toward your open cleavage, lavishing hungry, open-mouthed kisses upon them. "They were amazing before, but now they're simply breathtaking. I could spend a lifetime between them, and it would be a life well-lived."

A smile graces your lips as your head gently meets the wall behind you. Frankie's words wrap around you like a warm embrace. "You are a charmer, Mr. Morales," you remark with a hint of playfulness. In response, Frankie loudly releases your nipple with a loud pop and whispers against your now wet breast, "Only for you, Mrs. Morales.”

Frankie's lips caress your sensitive nipple with a gentle puff of air, eliciting a shiver of pleasure that courses through your body. His lips continue their tantalizing journey, gradually trailing down your front as he peppers your skin with tender kisses. Each touch ignites a fire within you.

You let yourself surrender to the intoxicating sensations of Frankie's lips. Every nerve ending awakens under his touch, sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. His kisses create a symphony of desire, each one building upon the last until you're consumed by aching longing.

"Please, Frankie," you plead breathlessly, the urgency in your voice echoing your desire. Frankie pauses his ministrations, his face level with the apex of your thigh, his eyes meeting yours with a mixture of longing and adoration. Despite the satin fabric of your pyjama shorts separating you, you know he can smell how wet you are right now.

“What is it mi cielo? Is this too much for you? Do you want me to stop?” Frankie teases as he grasps the waistband of your shorts with his teeth. Your breath hitches, caught between a gasp and a moan, as Frankie slowly lowers the fabric, revealing the mound of your sex. The cool air kisses your exposed skin, while his nose softly nuzzles against your soft flesh, his warm breath cascading over you.

"Don't you dare, Francisco," you shakily breathe out. The only response is Frankie's chuckle which resonates in the air. His eyes, filled with desire, never leave your face as he slowly drags your shorts down your trembling legs, exposing your most intimate self to his hungry gaze. Frankie’s steady hand moves toward your dripping sex, his fingers brushing against your slick folds, collecting the evidence of your arousal. Frankie brings his glistening fingers to his mouth, his eyes locked with yours, amplifying the raw intimacy of the moment. His lips part, and his tongue swirls around his own digits, sucking them in with an obscene sound that sends shivers of anticipation coursing through your entire being.

“You taste so good mi cielo. Even after all these years, there is nothing sweeter than you. Fuck you drive me crazy. I can’t escape you, you’re in my thoughts all the time; you haunt every corner of my mind. You consume me entirely, body and soul. I am nothing without you, and I don’t want to think about the kind of man I would be without you. I promise mi Cielo that It’ll never happen again. This is it, you, Ella and me. Tell me you believe me, mi cielo. Please, tell me you believe me, I need to hear you say it.”

Your mind struggles to function properly as his lips explore every inch of your body, except the one place that aches with desire. The maddening anticipation builds as he teases you.

"Frankie, please," you whimper, your hands tangling in his soft curls, desperately trying to guide him to your dripping core. But Frankie remains steadfast. Instead, he positions himself at the junction of your thigh and gently implores once more, "Tell me you believe me, mi cielo. Please, tell me you believe there is nothing I need more than to be with you until the end of time."

"IbelieveyouIbelieveyou. Ohhhhhhhh I believe you Frankie I swear!" you chant, and as soon as the words escape your lips, you sense Frankie's smile against your fevered skin. "I love you, mi vida" he whispers softly before finally burying his head between your thighs.

Frankie eagerly laps at your core like a man starved. With previous lovers, you had never encountered one who genuinely enjoyed giving oral, treating it as a burdensome chore. But Frankie was different. Expertly, he locates your engorged clit, playfully teasing it with a few licks, while slipping his index finger inside you. Your walls tighten around his finger, and you release a quivering breath of pleasure.

"That's it, buena chica," Frankie whispers. "You know I'll give you exactly what you want. You need to take it slow and steady. We can't rush this. Be a good girl and take it the way I give it to you. I want to savour every moment of this perfection." Frankie always enjoyed guiding you through sex. In another life, dirty talk would have felt embarrassing, but with Frankie, his words only intensified your craving for him.

Frankie steps back from your core, his face wet with your pleasure. A whine of discontent escapes your lips, but he quickly grabs your buttocks, lifting you slightly and positioning your legs over his shoulders. As he lifts you up, you feel the air being knocked out of your lungs, and Frankie resumes his work like a man on a mission. Using the wall for support, you feel weightless on Frankie's strong shoulder.

The most obscene sounds escape Frankie as he swirls his tongue around your clit.

"Frankie, I'm so close! Oh my God, Frankie!" you whine, still trying to stay quiet with the baby asleep literally next door.

"Buena, mi cielo! Come on, mi vida, you know what you need! You know what I need!" Frankie pants against your core. As he watches you helplessly thrash over him, the coil deep within you tightens. Frankie sneaks one of his hands up to your belly and presses hard, intensifying the coil even more.

"Oh my God! I'm coming, I'm coming, I'm coming!" Your orgasm nearly knocks you out, and you feel yourself slump forward. But Frankie is there to catch you. He embraces you warmly, his patchy beard still wet from all the attention, and he whispers sweet nothings in your ear.

"Te amo, mi cielo. I've made so many mistakes in my life. I've wronged you and Ella. I wasn't there when I should have been, and I made choices that I'm not proud of. But now, I'll be here. I'll be a better man for you and Ella, and I'll do everything in my power to keep you both safe." He speaks these words into your ear, and you feel his warm tears landing on your shoulder.

You reach out and grab him by the neck. "I love you, Frankie, and nothing will ever change that." You softly pet his beard “Take me to bed my love.”

_______________________________________________________

3 weeks later

Black was never your colour, or so you once confided in Frankie. Every time you wore it, you felt like an old Matron from those black-and-white Italian movies you both love. Frankie had playfully quipped while nipping at your ear "If I start misbehaving are you going to punish me with a wooden spoon? Slap me right on the ass with it? That’s a scenario we could explore" You had been overheated the entire day after that.

But today was a different matter altogether. Laughter was absent from the scene. Frankie stood at the front of the room, wearing his most formal suit, sporting a distraught expression mirrored by the others in attendance. On either side of him stood the Miller brothers, Will with his arm resting on his shoulder and Benny standing solemnly to his left.

The sight of the typically strong and capable trio so devastated struck you deep in your gut. Particularly Benny, who had always been like an overexcited puppy—confident, golden and a touch cocky. You remember how Benny had been the one who approached you all those years ago at the bar while you were celebrating the final submission of your master's thesis with a friend. That night, Benny had confidently strutted over to your table and struck up a conversation. Although you could see that your friend had been drawn to him, Benny had gone all out to convince you to dance with him.

And even though he was one of the most handsome guys you had seen in a long while, Benny wasn’t really your type. You didn't feel that spark with him—the one they all speak of in movies or in magazines. So, you did the sensible thing and tried to gently let him down by using the classic excuse of not wanting to leave your friend alone. But Benny had been undeterred. He turned around and excitedly shouted, "Fish, get your ass over here!" Your eyes followed Benny's call, and your throat went dry. Frankie ambled over to your table with a shy smile on his face. Sporting his signature cap and a faded gray Henley shirt accentuating his broad shoulders. Frankie immediately captivated you. And as Benny grabbed Frankie by the neck and introduced him as his brother from another mother, you hadn’t been able to tear your eyes away from him.

Your gaze met Frankie's. Everything around you faded, and an electric volt charged the air. For the first time in your life, you decided to take control, disregarding anyone else. Turning to your friend, you suggested, "You love '80s pop. Why don't you go with Benny and take a turn on the dance floor? I'm still recovering from today’s excitement, so I think I'll sit back and grab another drink." Your friend needed no further encouragement and swiftly took Benny's arm, rushing to the dance floor before anyone could intervene.

Frankie looked at you, appearing somewhat dazed. "I think Benny wanted to dance with you. I'm usually the one on call when he needs someone to look after the friend of whomever he's interested in," he remarked. You smiled and replied, "Maybe, but Benny isn't the one I'm interested in.” You playfully played with the obnoxious parasol on the rim of your glass “I think Benny shouldn't use his handsome friend as his wingman. It kind of defeats the purpose of getting the girl, don’t you think?" Frankie bashfully smiled at your words, raised his glass, and clinked it with yours, his confident smile shining through. "To drinking with the most beautiful girl here." And from that moment, you became Frankie's, and he became yours.

Shaking yourself out of your reverie, you turn to Molly, who is tearfully expressing gratitude to the guests for attending the memorial. People offer their condolences and share kind words about Tom. Some of them you recognize from Frankie's time in the army, having crossed paths at various functions. Others are unfamiliar faces. Sensing that Molly was growing overwhelmed, you start rubbing comforting circles on her back.

When the latest person pays her their respects and leaves for Tom’s casket, you whisper in Molly's ear, asking if she needs a moment. She shakes her head, her voice filled subdued but resigned.

"I just want all of this to end. The girls need to start healing, and I know this is the first step. But it’s so hard and it won't get easier. It feels like the pain won’t ever end. I know I have to be strong for the girls, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to hold it together.” She quiets a moment “At least we got to say goodbye."

You offer a sad smile. "It’s ok to be sad Molly. No one expects you or the girls to bounce back after that. You need time to heal and if you ever need anything, you know I'm here, right? We are all here for you, don’t think for a minute that any of us will let you go through all of it, alone. If you need Frankie and me to take care of the girls for a little while, we'd be more than happy to."

Molly tearfully looks back at you, her voice filled with grief. "Thank you. I appreciate it. Honestly, you've cooked us enough food to sustain the three of us through a nuclear winter. You've done so much already."

"Don’t even think about that Molly. Right now, you and the girls are most important, and I am right here for whatever is to come. I am not going anywhere, I promise.”

"Thank you. I don't know what I would've done without you, Frankie, Will, or Benny. You've all been so helpful. Are the boys still planning to go to Robinson’s Sport after the service?" She asks.

You let out a quiet snort. "Yeah, Frankie said it used to be their favourite spot to get drunk when they were back on leave. They thought it would be fitting to say their own goodbye to Tom in their own way. You're welcome to come if you want, you know. I'll be the DD, and I know they'd all be thrilled if you joined."

Molly shakes her head. "Tell them thank you, but after the day we've had, the girls and I will fall asleep the moment we get home."

You nod in understanding, but your conversation is interrupted by a distant relative offering their condolences to Molly. Your eyes search the sea of black until they find Frankie in a corner, fidgeting with his tie. When your eyes meet, he offers a sad smile that you return.

You really hope that tonight will bring some peace to him.

______________________________________________________________

You rub your temple tiredly, attempting to focus on the story Benny is telling at the table. The bar is unusually loud for a Wednesday evening, and after the day you've had, it's becoming increasingly challenging to concentrate.

Seated at the table are the five of you—the original trio, along with yourself and Will's new girlfriend, who has proven to be a delightful addition to your little group. Emmy had entered the picture barely 2 months before Will had left to do God knows what in Colombia. It hasn’t seemed to faze her as now, she sits quietly, attentively listening to Benny's tales from back in their army days while holding Will’s hand and sending loving looks his way.

"What can I say? The chicken literally caught me with my dick out. Couldn't even take a piss in peace." Everyone starts laughing at the story, even Frankie, who had been quiet for most of the night, managed a smile.

"Tch, I'm pretty sure you were doing something else behind that barn." Benny accompanied his words with a crude hand gesture, eliciting audible groans from everyone at the table and a giggle from Will’s girlfriend. "Fuck, Redfly was pissed that day. Dumbass over here gave away our position and we had to hike through the fucking jungle for 10 days. No coms, no food, no prep time, N.A.D.A. Just because Will Miller wanted to rub one out."

Benny's words bring silence to the table. Frankie suddenly down his beer and speaks up. "I'm gonna get another one. This round is on me. Anyone want a refill?" Everyone at the table nodded in agreement, even Benny, who looked subdued after receiving a scathing look from Will. Frankie turned to you and asked, "Want anything, mi cielo?" You tap your empty glass with your finger and smile softly at him. "Another Shirley Temple, please, mi love." Frankie nodded and planted a kiss on your forehead before making his way toward the busy bar.

Silence stretched over the table as you absentmindedly fiddled with your paper straw. Will cleared his throat before offering you a smile. "Thank you again for being the DD tonight. We all really appreciate it."

"It's my pleasure, Will. Today was tough for all of you, and you need to bid farewell to Tom properly. And there is no better way to say goodbye than by getting drunk out of your mind, then I am more than happy to provide my driving services.” You smile teasingly “I'm sure he would have loved tonight." While you hadn't been particularly close to Tom, you knew the man had at least loved two things: football and beer. And you think that yes, he would have definitely enjoyed getting drunk with his brothers (minus one) with ESP reruns in the background.

Benny flashed you a smile, his eyes gleaming playfully. He then proceeded to toss one of the tiny napkin balls he had been crafting all night. With a quick reflex, you ducked to the side, evading the incoming projectile. You burst out laughing at Benny’s childlike antics.

As you regained your composure, you playfully pointed a finger at Benny. "Nice try, but you'll have to do better than that!"

Benny let out a chuckle, raising an eyebrow mischievously. "Oh, so you think you're quick, huh? Well, let's see if you can dodge this!" With a swift motion, he crumpled yet another napkin into a ball and playfully launched it in your direction. The napkin ball landed squarely on your face, triggering laughter from everyone at the table. Playfully shaking your head at Benny, you declared, "Alright, you got me this time, but watch out, my revenge is coming!"

Benny grinned, proudly flexing his arms. "You can't beat this, baby! I'm the strongest and fastest one here!" Will interjected with a fond tone, "Sure you are, bro, sure you are."

A momentary lull descended upon the table as each person searched for something to say. Suddenly, Benny's expression turned serious. "I wanted to thank you too." Uncertain of his intent, you replied, "No worries, Benny. You know I never mind being the designated driver..."

"Not that," Benny interrupted, "I meant with Fish." Perplexed, you wondered where he was going with this. Benny continued, "Yeah. It was real hard for Fish, what happened to Tom and all that shit that went down in Colombia. He took it the hardest out of all of us. So, it was good to know that he has a woman like you to look after him."

Chewing on your lips, you say. "I love Frankie, Benny. I'll never stop loving him, and I'll always do my best to care for him when I can. You don't have to worry." Benny smiled back; his relief evident. "Yeah, I know you are. Fuck, we were real scared that you were gonna bounce on Fish after this one. But I'm so glad you didn't."

"Even if I wasn't 100% on board with him going with you guys, I respected his decision to go. It wouldn't have been fair to him or Ella to just leave. And anyway, I know you guys are a package deal. Wherever one of you goes, you all go," you replied, trying to sound confident.

"Yeah, but still, with the coke thing, I was sure that was going to be it, you know," Benny admitted, a tinge of guilt in his voice.

"Benny..." Will interjected, his tone urging caution.

You observed the silent conversation between the two brothers, sensing there was more to the story. "What are you talking about? You don't have to look so worried, Will. I know about the coke. You know I was the one who found him after his license got revoked." Discomfort settled in the air, and your gaze shifted to Will's girlfriend, who seemed determined to occupy herself with her now watered-down vodka soda.

"Yeah, that's what Benny meant. Don't pay attention to him," Will interjected, attempting to diffuse the tension that hung in the air as Benny looked guilt-stricken.

"Are you two lying to me?" you asked after a brief pause. "Is there something you guys are not telling me?"

"Look..." Benny started, but Will cut him off abruptly. "Shut up, Benny. It's not your place to involve yourself where you don't belong," Will said with displeasure.

"Bullshit! Fish told us he was going to tell her! How could I have known he wouldn't tell her? This ain't my fucking fault! She has a right to know!" Benny's frustration spilled out; his words laced with anger.

"This is none of your business, Catfish will talk when he is ready," Will interjected once again, his teeth clenched in frustration.

"SHE would really like to know what the fuck is going on!" Tears welled up in your eyes as you pleaded, "Benny... Will... You have to tell me what's going on. Is Frankie okay? What should he have told me that he hasn't?"

Will shook his head, but Benny appeared undeterred. "Fuck you, Will! You don't get to tell me what I can or can't tell her. She's my friend too, you know!" Benny's voice trembled with a mix of anger and concern. He took a deep breath, his expression softening, "After the mission was over, the day we were flying out, we found Frankie in his room. He was half passed out on coke. He completely lost the plot for a bit you know. We were real worried, but after we got him down his high he promised us he would tell you, that you would figure it all out together. He felt bad about it all, kept crying about you and Ella and shit. I know he didn't mean to take it, it's just... with Tom's death, he blames himself for what happened, and I guess it just got too hard for him, you know?

The world comes to a screeching halt. Your head spins incessantly, threatening to make you sick or collapse right there on the floor. Then, a comforting hand lands on your upper back, and Will's soothing voice cuts through the chaos, finding its way to your ears.

"I know Fish was planning to tell you. I apologize for Benny putting his nose where it doesn’t belong.” His words are accompanied by a glare in Benny’s direction who flinches “You know how difficult things can be for people like us, especially with everything that happened with Redfly’s death... It was just too much. But you know Frankie loves you more than anything in this world. He never intended to hurt you or Ella. It’s just sometimes, our inner demons overpower us and we are helpless against them."

Frankie promised.

"If he truly loved me, he wouldn't have done that," you manage to whisper. Breathing becomes a challenge—either too fast or barely happening at all. You refuse to have a nervous breakdown in the middle of a bar on a Wednesday night! Hastily reaching into your purse, you snatch your keys and turn to face Will. "I have to leave. You guys can take an Uber, and I'll cover the cost. I'm really sorry, but I just can't stay."

Will gazes at you with a tinge of sadness. "It's all right. We'll be okay. I just think you should wait for Fish. I don't think you should drive in your current state."

Frankie lied.

"I'll be fine. I can't stay, Will. I can't," you repeat before abruptly rising from your seat. You offer a fleeting wave to the table before sprinting toward the exit, tears streaming down your face.

Frankie promised. Frankie lied.

"Nice going, Benny!"

"Shut up, Will! How was I supposed to know?!"

______________________________________________________________

Frankie impatiently taps his fingers against the countertop, frustration building as he watches the bartender cozy up to one of the girls at the bar, completely ignoring him for the past 15 minutes.

"Excuse me, how much longer is it going to take?" Frankie asks, trying to conceal his annoyance.

"Busy night, buddy. It'll take however long it takes. If you don't like it, find somewhere else to go," the bartender retorts, not tearing his eyes away from the seductive blonde perched on the barstool.

Frankie lets out a sigh, his fingers fidgeting restlessly. He starts to reach into his pocket but stops himself halfway through. He knows nothing good would come from that. "But no one would find out, just a quick one in the bathroom. Not enough to get fucked, but enough to survive today," Frankie's mind tempts him. Damn, today had been tough. Seeing Molly and the girls, seeing you trying to console them, knowing it was all his fault. Like always, his mind starts going down that bleak rabbit, telling him how he should have stood firm with Tom, how he knew that damn plane wouldn't make it. But he had been weak, spineless. Greed had clouded his judgment—the allure of money too strong to resist. Frankie takes a deep breath, counting backward from ten to calm himself.

Finally, the bartender sets the glasses down in front of Frankie, then turns back to the blonde, who appears to have unbuttoned even more of her shirt, if that's even possible.

Frankie makes his way back slowly, careful not to spill anything, maneuvering through the crowded sea of bodies until he reaches the table where everyone is seated—everyone except you. Probably in the bathroom, he thinks. Frankie places the drinks on the table, tension rising in his body as he gazes at his brothers. Will buries his face in his hands, his girlfriend rubbing his lower back, while Benny stares straight ahead, anger etched on his face.

"What the hell is wrong with you two?" Frankie asks, pushing Will's drink toward him.

"Ask Benny," Will replies curtly. Benny's scowl deepens, and Frankie raises an eyebrow.

"What's going on, man? Is everything alright?"

"You're such a fucking idiot, Fish!" Benny explodes.

"What the fuck is your problem, pendejo?"

"My problem is that among all of us, you are the one who has it all: a loving wife, an adoring little girl who sees you as her hero, and a beautiful home. Yet, despite having everything, you constantly find ways to fuck it up!" Frankie's face pales, drained of colour, as he absorbs Benny's words.

"Where is she, Benny?"

"How was I supposed to know you kept her in the dark? You're constantly preaching about your openness with her, boasting about therapy sessions and support group meetings. Were those just lies, Fish? Have you been a two-faced bastard not only to your wife but also to your own brothers? What is it? You've been lying to everyone around, haven’t you? Well newsflash asshole, you don’t get to lie to everyone and then expect no repercussions!!!"

"That's enough, Benny," Will interjects, attempting to diffuse the situation. "You've said enough."

"WHERE IS SHE!" Frankie's voice booms as his hands slam loudly on the table, causing drinks to topple and spill everywhere. The bar falls silent after Frankie's outburst.

"Go back to your drinks, there is nothing to see.” Comes Will’s voice filled with the authority of a man who spent years in active service. “She went home, Fish. I told her to wait for you, but she wouldn't listen. I'm sorry," Will tries to reach out, but Frankie shrugs him off.

"You always wanted her, didn't you, Benny? And now you thought that because we were going through a rough patch, you could just swoop in?! I have a child with her, you fucking bastard! I love her!"

"You TOLD us you were going to tell her! How was I supposed to know you were a lying asshole on top of a goddam deadbeat?"

Frankie springs out of his seat, grabbing Benny by the collar of his dress shirt. "Go fuck yourself, Benny." Frankie storms out of the bar and opens his phone. He finds your contact and hovers over your picture, where you're smiling widely, holding Ella in your arms, looking directly at the camera—directly at him. Frankie presses the call button, but it goes straight to voicemail.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck." As Frankie orders an Uber, he can only hope that you'll give him another chance, even though he knows he's far from deserving it. Far from deserving you.

After a 35-minute ride, Frankie arrives home, 15 minutes longer than he would have liked. He leaps out of the car and forcefully opens the door.

"Mi cielo?! Mi cielo?!" Frankie shouts frantically, searching around desperately. He doesn't have to look far though. You're sitting at the kitchen table, three small bags filled with white powder in front of you. Frankie's face drains of colour.

"I want you to explain whatever the hell this is, Frankie. And no lies this time."

Next Chapter

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mywordhaven · 10 months

Text

The Road Ahead - ch 3 | Frankie Morales x female reader

Previous Chapter

Throughout most of your married life, you've dedicated yourself to waiting for Frankie. After each deployment, you patiently anticipated his return home, longing for the moment when he would be by your side once again. You yearned for him to open up to you during those nights when nightmares consumed his thoughts, hoping that he would find solace in sharing his pain with you. And as his addiction spiralled out of control, you hoped that he would recognize his problem and seek help. Yet, despite your countless protests and pleas, you now find yourself waiting for him once more as he ventures off to Columbia doing God knows what.

But this time is the last. Resolved, you make a solemn promise to yourself: You will never wait for Frankie again.

Rating: M for Mature (18 + / no minors allowed)

Word Count: 6.9K (wut)

Warnings: Applicable to the entire fic / PTSD, drug use and addiction, postpartum depression, abusive familial relationships, self-hatred, hard relationship to food, unhealthy coping mechanism, explicit sexual content, violence, mentions of suicidal thoughts, super angsty guys (more warnings will be added if necessary).

Summary: Everything comes to a head after Tom's memorial.

Notes: Hey everyone, thank you so much for the comments, likes and reblogs! I am really happy that this little story I had in the back of my mind is resonating with people! Also, sorry for the delay for this chapter, I got busy with dealines at work and essays to write for my summer semester at Uni. Hope you all love this one, these is some smut in this chapter but I've marked it down with asterixis so if it's not your vibe, feel free to skip it! Hope you all enjoy!!!!!

Ao3 link

Tangled Truths

The early morning sunlight pierces through the window, its bright rays assaulting your eyes and causing you to instinctively furrow your brow. You raise your arm to shield your eyes from the direct light. As your gaze slowly adjusts, you sit up and rest against the headboard. Automatically, you turn to the nearby clock which displays 8:30 am. Christ, you haven’t slept this late in forever!

A surge of adrenaline courses through you as the realization hits you like a bolt of lightning. 8:30 am!?! With no time to spare, you spring from the cozy confines of your bed, your feet carrying you quickly toward the bassinet where Ella sleeps. Yet, as you reach the crib, your heart sinks. The crib is empty. Panic seizes you, causing your hands to start trembling.

“Give her here, you know she gets extra cranky when she is hungry. Just like someone I know.” It’s a feeble attempt at teasing, but it manages to pluck a small laugh from Frankie.

You extend your arms towards Ella, gently reaching out to comfort her. "Don't say things like that, Frankie. You know I’ve never thought of you like that and if I am going to be honest, I am afraid that Benny got you beat in that department" you jokingly retort. You focus your eyes back on Ella, "We have a brand-new baby, and it's natural for babies to cry when things don't go exactly as they want. It's nothing personal; she does the same to me."

"It's not even 9 am, Frankie," you giggle, playfully nudging his nose with yours.

With a longing gaze, Frankie whispers, "There is nothing I desire more right now than to hold you in my arms, in our bed. I've missed you so much, mi cielo, and I don’t think I’ll be able to contain myself any longer.” As he speaks, each word is punctuated by a tender kiss to your lips. "You have no idea how incredibly" kiss. "irresistible" kiss. "And utterly perfect" kiss. “You truly are.” Frankie starts peppering your throat with affectionate kisses, you playfully guide him backward, gently interrupting “Let me put her to bed, my love, and then I'll let you show me just how much you've missed me."

Your mind struggles to function properly as his lips explore every inch of your body, except the one place that aches with desire. The maddening anticipation builds as he teases you.

The most obscene sounds escape Frankie as he swirls his tongue around your clit.

"Frankie, I'm so close! Oh my God, Frankie!" you whine, still trying to stay quiet with the baby asleep literally next door.

You reach out and grab him by the neck. "I love you, Frankie, and nothing will ever change that." You softly pet his beard “Take me to bed my love.”

__________________________________________________________

3 weeks later

When the latest person pays her their respects and leaves for Tom’s casket, you whisper in Molly's ear, asking if she needs a moment. She shakes her head, her voice filled subdued but resigned.

"Don’t even think about that Molly. Right now, you and the girls are most important, and I am right here for whatever is to come. I am not going anywhere, I promise.”

"Thank you. I don't know what I would've done without you, Frankie, Will, or Benny. You've all been so helpful. Are the boys still planning to go to Robinson’s Sport after the service?" She asks.

Molly shakes her head. "Tell them thank you, but after the day we've had, the girls and I will fall asleep the moment we get home."

You really hope that tonight will bring some peace to him.

______________________________________________________________

"And then guess who the fuck came out of the barn with his pants around his ankle, getting chased down by a fucking chicken!" Benny paused for dramatic effect. "Fucking Will 'Ironhead' Miller! More like Leadhead, am I right?" Will could only shake his head affectionately. "What can I say? The chicken literally caught me with my dick out. Couldn't even take a piss in peace." Everyone starts laughing at the story, even Frankie, who had been quiet for most of the night, managed a smile.

As you regained your composure, you playfully pointed a finger at Benny. "Nice try, but you'll have to do better than that!"

Benny chuckled as he raised an eyebrow. "Oh, you think you're quick, huh? Well, let's see if you can dodge this!" Swiftly, he crumpled another napkin into a ball, before launching it in your direction. The napkin ball connected with your face, eliciting laughter from everyone at the table. Playfully nodding your head at Benny, you vowed, "You might have gotten me this time, but I'll get you later!"

Benny grinned, proudly flexing his arms. "You can't beat this, baby! I'm the strongest and fastest one here!" Will interjected with a fond tone, "Sure you are, bro, sure you are."

"Yeah, but still, with the coke thing, I was sure that was going to be it, you know," Benny admitted, a tinge of guilt in his voice.

"Benny..." Will interjected, his tone urging caution.

"Yeah, that's what Benny meant. Don't pay attention to him," Will interjected, attempting to diffuse the tension that hung in the air as Benny looked guilt-stricken.

"Are you two lying to me?" you asked after a brief pause. "Is there something you guys are not telling me?"

"Look..." Benny started, but Will cut him off abruptly. "Shut up, Benny. It's not your place to involve yourself where you don't belong," Will said with displeasure.

"This is none of your business, Catfish will talk when he is ready," Will interjected once again, his teeth clenched in frustration.

Frankie promised.

Will gazes at you with a tinge of sadness. "It's all right. We'll be okay. I just think you should wait for Fish. I don't think you should drive in your current state."

Frankie lied.

"I'll be fine. I can't stay, Will. I can't," you repeat before abruptly rising from your seat. You offer a fleeting wave to the table before sprinting toward the exit, tears streaming down your face.

Frankie promised. Frankie lied.

"Nice going, Benny!"

"Shut up, Will! How was I supposed to know?!"

______________________________________________________________

Frankie impatiently taps his fingers against the countertop, frustration building as he watches the bartender cozy up to one of the girls at the bar, completely ignoring him for the past 15 minutes.

"Excuse me, how much longer is it going to take?" Frankie asks, trying to conceal his annoyance.

Finally, the bartender sets the glasses down in front of Frankie, then turns back to the blonde, who appears to have unbuttoned even more of her shirt, if that's even possible.

"What the hell is wrong with you two?" Frankie asks, pushing Will's drink toward him.

"Ask Benny," Will replies curtly. Benny's scowl deepens, and Frankie raises an eyebrow.

"What's going on, man? Is everything alright?"

"You're such a fucking idiot, Fish!" Benny explodes.

"What the fuck is your problem, pendejo?"

"My problem is that out of all of us you have it all: a wife who loves you, a little girl who looks at you like you hung the fucking moon, a nice place but you can't help to do everything to fuck it up!" Benny rages. Frankie feels himself grow pale.

"Where is she, Benny?"

"How was I supposed to know you didn't tell her anything?! You're always preaching about how open you are with her! About seeing a shrink and going to your meetings and all that bullshit! Were those all lies, Fish? Have you been lying to your own brothers like you’ve been lying to your wife?

"That's enough, Benny," Will interjects, attempting to diffuse the situation. "You've said enough."

"WHERE IS SHE!" Frankie's voice booms as his hands slam loudly on the table, causing drinks to topple and spill everywhere. The bar falls silent after Frankie's outburst.

"You always wanted her, didn't you, Benny? And now you thought that because we were going through a rough patch, you could just swoop in?! I have a child with her, you fucking bastard! I love her!"

"You TOLD us you were going to tell her! How was I supposed to know you were a lying asshole on top of a goddam deadbeat?"

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck." As Frankie orders an Uber, he can only hope that you'll give him another chance, even though he knows he's far from deserving it. Far from deserving you.

After a 35-minute ride, Frankie arrives home, 15 minutes longer than he would have liked. He leaps out of the car and forcefully opens the door.

"I want you to explain whatever the hell this is, Frankie. And no lies this time."

#frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader #francisco morales fanfiction #frankie morales #frankie catfish morales #francisco morales x reader #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fic #so much angst #triple frontier #fanfic #ao3 #angst #francisco morales #smut #frankie morales smut

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shoshiwrites · 2 years

Note

Jo: A, B, P, Q, X? please and thank you!

Thank you so much, friend!! <33

A. AFFECTION. How does your muse show affection?

Spending quality time with someone. Sitting still with someone. Not being afraid to share silence. Being more physically affectionate is a big one. She's a very genuine person, but she’s got J.R. Brandt The Together Reporter and then…Jo, who reads with her legs over the arm of the chair while drinking her coffee and making messy notes and daydreaming about her husband. When she cares about you, she checks in with you without any sort of polish or pretense.

B. BOUQUET. Does your muse like flowers? Which ones are their favourite?

She does, but she never asks for them. Occasionally, she will buy some “for the kitchen,” and always loves when Joe ges them for her on birthdays and special occasions. Nothing too bright or overdone, which Joe and her friends know. She loves wildflowers, and peonies and roses in softer colors. Anything with a lot of greenery, too.

P. PARTNER. What does your muse look for in a partner? Looks / personality?

Someone who’s straightforward, and genuine. Tough but kind. Unfussy. Unthinkingly perhaps, gravitates towards people who knew a particular kind of hardship growing up. Can’t resist A Smile or soulful eyes. Also, honestly, the moment I realized how alike Frankie and Joe are (snarky, care deeply) was kind of a lightbulb one. In hindsight snarky’s probably not the right word but like…something adjacent to humor as defense mechanism. I don’t care, they said caringly, as they care deeply, etc.

Q. QUESTION. Would your muse ask the big question or expect their partner to?

I don’t think she would necessarily take the initiative to ask (and it certainly wasn’t as much of a thing in the 1940s, if it’s even much of a thing today, women asking), but equally she wouldn’t expect that, specifically, to fall solely on her partner. She expects…definition, after a certain point, and clarity. Not to be strung along. She will definitely initiate those convos if she has to, but also expects that of her partner as well.

X. XOXO. Does your muse use / like pet names?

Have you seen how she gets when he calls her Josie? Yes. Only if you know her well, though. Sweetheart only gets you somewhere if she wants it to get you somewhere.

Usually goes for calling Joe sweetheart in polite company, if she’s not using his name. Baby in less polite company. Under certain circumstances.

Re: nicknames and any other sort of sweet talk: she likes to think there are things Joe doesn’t get away with, but she’s very, very wrong. She kind of knows. He definitely knows.

[Valentine's Day alphabet!]

#tortoisesshells #answered #jo's tag

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starswallowingsea · 3 years

Text

I think I talked briefly about it either here or on discord but One Piece/Maplestory au

#/crossover. isekai bc maplestory DEFS needs another one of those after sengoku and friendstory and-#anyway obviously ur main 5 would probably be like regular explorers? maybe snooj would be resistance just bc #loof would be pirate subclass ofc. whatever one uses knuckles for the main weapon icr atm #nami would go magician route. she somehow becomes both ice/lightning and fire/poison mage #uh zoro is a warrior. idk much about the warrior subclasses on main oops #usopp would also be pirate but he'd be corsair methinks #and if snooj is going explorer route he would be....... oh uhm. hmm #ough idk actually #maybe same pirate subclass as luffy? since they use some kicking moves at least during first job advancement #OH ACTUALLY USOPP BOWMASTER #and snooj n loof r buccaneers but sanji spends a lot of time w tangyooon instead of training #franky would be resistance mechanic i think #chopper probs went for bishop or sth or he's a vacuum pet sorry buddy #robin and brook and jinbe left....#ough warrior robin but she kinda does her own thing bc thats where all the archaeologists are #or thief robin...#zoro dual blade but only bc its the only multi blade wielding class in the game/j #and shadower robin i thinks #uh brook. dawn warrior for the irony of losing his shadow #jinbe is jinbe and he ends up just in aqua road jadpsiofais he vibes with everyone else there #shay speaks #my thoughts are all over the place im sorry adjfpiaodsjfioa

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uomo-accattivante · 4 years

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Fantastic (but long) article about Theater of War’s recent productions, including Oedipus the King and Antigone in Ferguson, featuring Oscar Isaac. The following are excerpts. The full article is viewable via the source link below:

Excerpt:

“Children of Thebes, why are you here?” Oscar Isaac asked. His face filled the monitor on my dining table. (It was my partner’s turn to use the desk.) We were a couple of months into lockdown, just past seven in the evening, and a few straggling cheers for essential workers came in through the window. Isaac was looking smoldery with a quarantine beard, a gold chain, an Airpod, and a black T-shirt. His display name was set to “Oedipus.”

Isaac was one of several famous actors performing Sophocles’ “Oedipus the King” from their homes, in the first virtual performance by Theater of War Productions: a group that got its start in 2008, staging Sophocles’ “Ajax” and “Philoctetes” for U.S. military audiences and, beginning in 2009, on military installations around the world, including in Kuwait, Qatar, and Guantánamo Bay, with a focus on combat trauma. After each dramatic reading, a panel made up of people in active service, veterans, military spouses, and/or psychiatrists would describe how the play resonated with their experiences of war, before opening up the discussion to the audience. Since its founding, Theater of War Productions has addressed different kinds of trauma. It has produced Euripides’ “The Bacchae” in rural communities affected by the opioid crisis, “The Madness of Heracles” in neighborhoods afflicted by gun violence and gang wars, and Aeschylus’ “Prometheus Bound” in prisons. “Antigone in Ferguson,” which focusses on crises between communities and law enforcement, was motivated by an analogy between Oedipus’ son’s unburied body and that of Michael Brown, left on the street for roughly four hours after Brown was killed by police; it was originally performed at Michael Brown’s high school.

Now, with trauma roving the globe more contagiously than ever, Theater of War Productions had traded its site-specific approach for Zoom. The app was configured in a way I hadn’t seen before. There were no buttons to change between gallery and speaker view, which alternated seemingly by themselves. You were in a “meeting,” but one you were powerless to control, proceeding by itself, with the inexorability of fate. There was no way to view the other audience members, and not even the group’s founder and director, Bryan Doerries, knew how numerous they were. Later, Zoom told him that it had been fifteen thousand. This is roughly the seating capacity of the theatre of Dionysus, where “Oedipus the King” is believed to have premièred, around 429 B.C. Those viewers, like us, were in the middle of a pandemic: in their case, the Plague of Athens.

The original audience would have known Oedipus’ story from Greek mythology: how an oracle had predicted that Laius, the king of Thebes, would be killed by his own son, who would then sleep with his mother; how the queen, Jocasta, gave birth to a boy, and Laius pierced and bound the child’s ankles, and ordered a shepherd to leave him on a mountainside. The shepherd took pity on the maimed baby, Oedipus (“swollen foot”), and gave him to a Corinthian servant, who handed him off to the king and queen of Corinth, who raised him as their son. Years later, Oedipus killed Laius at a crossroads, without knowing who he was. Then he saved Thebes from a Sphinx, became the king of Thebes, had four children with Jocasta, and lived happily for many years.

That’s where Sophocles picks up the story. Everyone would have known where things were headed—the truth would come out, and Oedipus would blind himself—but not how they would get there. How Sophocles got there was by drawing on contemporary events, on something that was in everyone’s mind, though it doesn’t appear in the original myth: a plague.

In the opening scene, Thebes is in the grip of a terrible epidemic. Oedipus’ subjects come to the palace, imploring him to save the city, describing the scene of pestilence and panic, the screaming and the corpses in the street. Something about the way Isaac voiced Oedipus’ response—“Children. I am sorry. I know”—made me feel a kind of longing. It was a degree of compassion conspicuous by its absence in the current Administration. I never think of myself as someone who wants or needs “leadership,” yet I found myself thinking, We would be better off with Oedipus. “I would be a weak leader if I did not follow the gods’ orders,” Isaac continued, subverting the masculine norm of never asking for advice. He had already sent for the best information out there, from the Delphic Oracle.

Soon, Oedipus’ brother-in-law, Creon—John Turturro, in a book-lined study—was doing his best to soft-pedal some weird news from Delphi. Apparently, the oracle said that the plague wouldn’t end until the people of Thebes expelled Laius’ killer: a person who was somehow still in the city, even though Laius had died many years earlier on an out-of-town trip. Oedipus called in the blind prophet, Tiresias, played by Jeffrey Wright, whose eyes were invisible behind a circular glare in his eyeglasses.

Reading “Oedipus” in the past, I had always been exasperated by Tiresias, by his cryptic lamentations—“I will never reveal the riddles within me, or the evil in you”—and the way he seemed incapable of transmitting useful information. Spoken by a Black actor in America in 2020, the line made a sickening kind of sense. How do you tell the voice of power that the problem is in him, really baked in there, going back generations? “Feel free to spew all of your vitriol and rage in my direction,” Tiresias said, like someone who knew he was in for a tweetstorm.

Oedipus accused Tiresias of treachery, calling out his disability. He cast suspicion on foreigners, and touted his own “wealth, power, unsurpassed skill.” He decried fake news: “It’s all a scam—you know nothing about interpreting birds.” He elaborated a deep-state scenario: Creon had “hatched a secret plan to expel me from office,” eliciting slanderous prophecies from supposedly disinterested agencies. It was, in short, a coup, designed to subvert the democratic will of the people of Thebes.

Frances McDormand appeared next, in the role of Jocasta. Wearing no visible makeup, speaking from what looked like a cabin somewhere with wood-panelled walls, she resembled the ghost of some frontierswoman. I realized, when I saw her, that I had never tried to picture Jocasta: not her appearance, or her attitude. What was her deal? How had she felt about Laius maiming their baby? How had she felt about being offered as a bride to whomever defeated the Sphinx? What did she think of Oedipus when she met him? Did it never seem weird to her that he was her son’s age, and had horrible scars on his ankles? How did they get along, those two?

When you’re reading the play, you don’t have to answer such questions. You can entertain multiple possibilities without settling on one. But actors have to make decisions and stick to them. One decision that had been made in this case: Oedipus really liked her. “Since I have more respect for you, my dear, than anyone else in the world,” Isaac said, with such warmth in “my dear.” I was reminded of the fact that Euripides wrote a version of “Oedipus”—lost to posterity, like the majority of Greek tragedies—that some scholars suggest foregrounds the loving relationshipbetween Oedipus and Jocasta.

Jocasta’s immediate task was to defuse the potentially murderous argument between her husband and her brother. She took one of the few rhetorical angles available to a woman: why, such grown men ought to be ashamed of themselves, carrying on so when there was a plague going on. And yet, listening to the lines that McDormand chose to emphasize, it was clear that, in the guise of adult rationality and spreading peace, what she was actually doing was silencing and trivializing. “Come inside,” she said, “and we’ll settle this thing in private. And both of you quit making something out of nothing.” It was the voice of denial, and, through the play, you could hear it spread from character to character.

By this point in the performance, I found myself spinning into a kind of cognitive overdrive, toggling between the text and the performance, between the historical context, the current context, and the “universal” themes. No matter how many times you see it pulled off, the magic trick is always a surprise: how a text that is hundreds or thousands of years old turns out to be about the thing that’s happening to you, however modern and unprecedented you thought it was.

Excerpt:

The riddle of the Sphinx plays out in the plot of “Oedipus,” particularly in a scene near the end where the truth finally comes out. Two key figures from Oedipus’ infancy are brought in for questioning: the Theban shepherd, who was supposed to kill baby Oedipus but didn’t; and the Corinthian messenger to whom he handed off the maimed child. The Theban shepherd is walking proof that the Sphinx’s riddle is hard, because that man can’t recognize anyone: not the Corinthian, whom he last saw as a young man, and certainly not Oedipus, a baby with whom he’d had a passing acquaintance decades earlier. “It all took place so long ago,” he grumbles. “Why on earth would you ask me?”

“Because,” the Corinthian (David Strathairn) explained genially on Zoom, “this man whom you are now looking at was once that child.”

This, for me, was the scene with the catharsis in it. At a certain point, the shepherd (Frankie Faison) clearly understood everything, but would not or could not admit it. Oedipus, now determined to learn the truth at all costs, resorted to enhanced interrogation. “Bend back his arms until they snap,” Isaac said icily; in another window, Faison screamed in highly realistic agony. Faison was a personification of psychological resistance: the mechanism a mind develops to protect itself from an unbearable truth. Those invisible guardsmen had to nearly kill him before he would admit who had given him the baby: “It was Laius’s child, or so people said. Your wife could tell you more.”

Tears glinted in Isaac’s eyes as he delivered the next line, which I suddenly understood to be the most devastating in the whole play: “Did . . . she . . . give it to you?” How had I never fully realized, never felt, how painful it would have been for Oedipus to realize that his parents hadn’t loved him?

Excerpt:

If we borrow the terms of Greek drama, 2020 might be viewed as the year of anagnorisis: tragic recognition. On August 9th, the sixth anniversary of the shooting of Michael Brown, I watched the Theater of War Productions put on a Zoom production of “Antigone in Ferguson”: an adaptation of Sophocles’ “Oedipus” narrative sequel, with the chorus represented by a demographically and ideologically diverse gospel choir. Oscar Isaac was back, this time as Creon, Oedipus’ successor as king. He started out as a bullying inquisitor (“I will have your extremities removed one by one until you reveal the criminal’s name”), ordering Antigone (Tracie Thoms) to be buried alive, insulting everyone who criticized him, and accusing Tiresias of corruption. But then Tiresias, with the help of the chorus, persuaded Creon to reconsider. In a sustained gospel number, the Thebans, armed with picks and shovels, led by their king, rushed to free Antigone.

“Antigone” being a tragedy, they got there too late, resulting in multiple deaths, and in Isaac’s once again totally losing his shit. It was almost the same performance he gave in “Oedipus,” and yet, where Oedipus begins the play written into a corner, between walls that keep closing in, Creon seems to have just a little more room to maneuver. His misfortune—like that of Antigone and her brother—feels less irreversible. I first saw “Antigone in Ferguson” live, last year, and, in the discussion afterward, the subject of fate—inevitably—came up. I remember how Doerries gently led the audience to view “Antigone” as an illustration of how easily everything might happen differently, and how people’s minds can change. I remember the energy that spread through the room that night, in talk about prison reform and the urgency of collective change.

###

Again, the full article is accessible via the source link below:

#oscar isaac #theater of war #oedipus the king #antigone in ferguson #creon #frances mcdormand #john turturro #jeffrey wright #david strathairn #frankie faison #bryan doerries #sophocles #zoom #the oedipus project

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jawabear · 4 years

Text

Hot (”Catfish” x Reader)

Not my GIF

A/N: I had this idea because Frankie is hot. So here you go. I apologise for the bad title. The GIF has nothing to do with the story, I just really like it. I hope you enjoy. Sorry for any mistakes. Stay safe.

Genre: Fluff, Smut

Warnings: fem!reader, Smut, oral (female receiving), sex on a car, just Frankie being all cute, Pedro Pascal comes with his own warning

Summary: On a particularly hot day, Frankie is out fixing his truck, and he looks good...really good

She could hear the hum of music buzzing through their home as Frankie worked out in the garden. Having a record, Frankie found it had to find work which he would enjoy. He told her countless times that he didn’t care if he enjoyed it, he just wanted to earn a little money so that she wasn’t left to pay for everything. She had a stable job that managed to pay the bills, pay for food and maybe the occasional treat but Frankie wanted to be able to take her out to dinners so they weren’t always stuck inside having takeaway or his god-awful cooking, but it really wasn’t that bad.

(Y/N) had gotten a little bored of just looking through papers. She had been grading them for the past two hours and her head was starting to hurt, and Frankie hadn’t come in to see her which was unusual. She grew slightly concerned at this, worrying something had happened to him, but it’s not like he would run off anywhere, although, he did run off to South America with his old army buddies only telling her last minute. But they had managed to move past that after nearly three weeks of arguments and the silent treatment.

She closed her laptop and set it to one side along with the ungraded and graded papers. She stood from the sofa and made her way out to the back garden. She saw that the garage door was open, his truck inside. No doubt he was making yet another repair to it, mainly out of boredom, but also because it was an old truck but he had attachment issues, he didn’t want to get rid of it.

Making her way into the garage she saw that he was once again under the truck, she could hear the clicking and rattling as he messed around with it. She never understood when he was talking about all that. Mechanical engineering wasn’t her forte, she was much better with woodwork, that’s where they differed, but it was useful.

She turned down the music on the portable stereo that she had bought him for his birthday two years ago. He was always talking about how the speakers on his phone were far to quiet and he hated having headphones on. So she got him one that he could connect his phone to so it was louder. She didn’t think it was anything special but he very much disagreed with that, claiming it was the greatest gift he had ever gotten, aside from her of course.

He rolled out from under his truck, sliding between her legs as she looked down at him with a smile. “Hello beautiful” he said to her, bringing his hands to rest on her legs as he sat up. They were covered in grease but she didn’t care.

He looked good. Really, really good.

Hair brushed back. Sweaty skin. His hands dirtied with grease, but they looks so good. He hadn’t shaved in a few days and the scruff of a beard was just the icing on the cake, the few grey hairs scattered in it that he hated but she loved. If only he didn’t have a shirt on...

“Baby?” He asked pulling her out of her daydream. She looked back down at him and bit her bottom lips.

“How’s it going out here?” She asked as she ran her fingers through his sweaty hair.

“Good, sorry, I got a little bit carried away, I was meant to come back in and check on you” he pushed her back slightly and stood. Her breath hitched in her throat slightly. He looked good. She saw his sweat sinking into his grey shirt, it dropped down his head, he used the back of his hand to wipe it away. The sun shone beautifully over his perfect form. He was hot.

Her teeth dug into her bottom lip as she trailed her hands over his shirt, feeling it stick to his skin. “I know, I’m disgusting” he laughed “I should probably go take a shower”

“No” she said loudly as she shook her head.

“No?” He asked. He noticed her expression, how her eyes were full of lust as her hands raked over his chest. He a raised eyebrow and there was a hint of a smirk on his lips. “Don’t tell me this is...turning you on baby?”

“Is it...bad?” She asked quietly, she looked down and away from him, feeling a little embarrassed.

“No” he chuckled “it’s not bad” he took her chin between his thumb and index finger, lifting her head to meet his gaze “just didn’t think you would like a messy look”

“If it’s you, I’ll like anything” she spoke almost breathlessly. There was just something about him that made her go weak. And with him looking this good, she was dying. “Let’s go” she said as she balled her fist in his shirt and pulled him against her lips harshly, teeth clacking together at the force. His hands were forced to rest on her hips as he sunk against her lips.

“Go where?” He muttered against her lips.

“You’re cute” she shined as she pulled away slightly giving him that look. “I meant, let’s go” she repeated slower, clearer. He now understood her intentions. His eyes widened slightly as he looked around the mess of the garage they were in.

“Here?” He whispered.

She nodded her head wildly. He couldn’t say no to her. And the look she was giving him was making it harder for him to resist. “Please baby” she whispered to him, her lips brushing against his.

Whimpering slightly, he nodded. His hands grabbed her hips and spun her around, lifting her onto the hood of his truck. His mouth was hot and fast against hers, her fingers tugging at the damp strands of hair. Thank god he wasn’t wearing that damn hat, he loved it to much to get it dirty, plus it would most likely get in the way.

He hooked his dirtied fingers into the waist band of her legging and skilfully pulled them and her panties down her legs, letting them fall to the floor. He realised that he wasn’t to touch her with his hands, but he could still eat her out.

His kisses trailed down her jaw and her neck, dragging his nose down her body until he was eye level with her glistening wetness. His tongue shot out to wet his dry lips, although he was practically drooling at the sight of her. He always was. It felt like a gift to be able to get between her legs and have his way with her for as long as he wanted.

Frankie dragged his tongue through her folds, earning a loud gasp from her as she fisted his hair. He didn’t bother teasing her, he dived straight in. Flicking and sucking at her clit, eating her like a starved man even though she knew that it was only the night before that he had had this same meal. Her hips shifted around under his mouth, his hands tightening their grip on her to keep her in place. She felt like she was in heaven, adoring the way his scruff scratch along her thighs. He was definitely in his element between them.

“F-Frankie” (Y/N) hummed as she threw her head back “fuck baby, you’re so good” her feet stroked over his back as he continued to abuse her clit “I love you so much”

“Hmm...love you too” he mumbled against her, her hips rose again of the metal she was sat on. (Y/N) began rolling her hip against his beautiful mouth. She could feel her end nearing.

“Frankie,” She panted “F-Frankie...”

“Come for me baby” he said. The vibrations of his voice electrified her nerves making her shiver in lust and want for her sexy man who had his face buried between her legs. “Come for me” his voice was low and almost demanding. He gave a harsh suck to her clit making her tumble over the edge of pleasure. Her mind going white as her hips began to stutter against his tongue. She was thankful they didn’t have any neighbours, the noise she made was a little horrendous. A loud scream of his name followed by a strangled moan.

He hummed as he pulled his face away, with great struggle I might add, he gave her a sweet smiled and made a show of licking his lips clean of her wetness. She pulled his against her again, smashing her lips against his. Her hands were quick to reach his crotch, grabbing him through the fabric of his slacks. “Fuck” he blurted out as his mouth fell off hers. She smirked proudly, knowing how easy it was to make him fall apart for her. Too easy.

She began to massage his length and his breath began to falter. “B-Baby” he stuttered, his eyes heavy as they met hers. She didn’t torture him for much longer, reaching for the waistband of his slacks and pulling them down slightly, along with his boxers to allow his hard length to slap against the pesky shirt covering his delicious body. She brought him into her hand and began to pump him slowly, softly, making his eyes roll backwards and his teeth dig into his lip. He fell forwards slight, his hands flat on the hood of his truck either side of her as he struggled to find his breath.

“Such a good boy” she whispered into his ear. He let out just the most adorable sound when she said this, his hips feebly thrusting into her hand. She spread her legs a little wide and sat back slightly, one hand resting behind her to steady her, while the other guided him to her aching hole.

Frankie slowly pushed into her, they both groaned at the delicious sensation that filled their bodies. He pulled himself almost completely out of her before slamming back inside. He did this a few times before finding a steady and incredibly satisfying rhythm. “So good...” she mumbled “so fucking good, baby”

He just moaned in response, his lips desperately searching for hers. “I love you” he mumbled against them “I fucking love you”

“I love you too” she breathed, shifting closer to him, wrapping her legs around his waist. His arms wrapped around her back to hold her flush against his chest while he fucked her on his truck, it wouldn’t be the first time they had done that thought. In fact, their first time together was in his truck.

The tip of his dick brushed against that special spot inside her, making her squeak. She didn’t have to say anything, he knew that noise well enough to know what it meant. And he kept hitting that spot over and over again. Her head rolled back, exposing her neck to which he took full advantage of, his mouth latching onto her skin, sinking into that one spot that made her knees shake. He knew every soft part of her body, every part of her that would make her weak for him. And she knew all his.

“Frankie” She panted, her hands rising to dig into his shoulders as her hips rolled against his “Frankie, Frankie, fuck...” she cried “I’m so close”

“Me too, baby” he groaned “fucking Come for me...let me feel how you squeeze me again...”

It wasn’t much longer until the pleasurable scream of his name rolled off her lips. Her walls clenched around him making his groan into her neck, shooting his load into her. His hips slowed down as he rode them both through their highs before finally stopping. He raised his head, blindly searching for her lips again, pressing a messy but passionate kiss against them.

“I really love you” she told him.

“I really love you too” he panted. He slowly pulled out of her and pulled up his boxers and his slacks, tucking himself away. He assisted in dressing her bottoms half, being careful of her sensitive folds “and I really need a shower. Care to join me, Mi Amor?” He hummed kissing her again.

“Definitely” she smiled. He pulled her off his truck and took her hand leaded her out of the garage and back into the house “next time you go out there...can I watch?”

“Is that all you want to do?” He asked, leading her towards their bathroom.

“Maybe...maybe not...” she teased. He just laughed, clearing thinking she was joking. They finally got to their bathroom and he turned on the shower as she began to undress. “Seriously though...”

Masterlist

25/06/20

#francisco catfish morales #Francisco catfish morales x reader #francisco catfish morales fanfic #francisco morales #Triple Frontier #fluff #smut #perdo pascal #fanfic

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tellmewhatyouc · 3 years

Note

frobin?

ship ask memes: 1 | 2

first of all YES

What made you ship it?

i think when i was watching the water 7 saga and went looking for ~franky content~ i realized people shipped them? and the more i saw them interact in enies lobby the more i just. yes <3

What are your favorite things about the ship?

i love their canon relationship. i don’t write them a lot for that specific reason- i don’t have much to add to it! i just really like how they interact and how they’re like the mom and dad of the straw hats.

Is there an unpopular opinion you have on your ship?

idk if this is unpopular but? i don’t really care if it becomes canon. like i’m sure if in an epilogue, oda’s like “once they retired the pirate life, franky and robin got married and had 3 kids” i’d be like :) but as of right now i really like the fact that there’s not really any prominent romance in op. i like that they can riff off of each other and have a close relationship without any “what are we” stuff or the drama that often comes with romantic relationships in media.

PRE-RELATIONSHIP

How did they first meet?

we know this but in a modern au i like the idea that they met in college or something, maybe at one of their jobs? i’m partial to mechanic franky so maybe she came in for repairs and franky was just instantly smitten

What was their first impression of each other?

i think, aside from all the enies lobby Drama, robin thought he was just a big goof with a heart of gold (which lbr he is). once franky could settle down after everything he got a good look at robin and was like oh my god. she’s beautiful

Did any of their friends or family want them to get together?

it doesn’t matter the universe i love the idea that all their friends ship them

Who felt romantic feelings first?

hmmm franky, like i said i think he was just instantly smitten but maybe robin took a bit to warm up to him

Did either of them try to resist their feelings?

nah, i think maybe robin might have some trouble being Truly Vulnerable with another person but i think because of their circumstances in enies lobby they were pretty close from the start. she’s comfy.

If you had told one of them that the other would be their soulmate, what would they think?

franky would just be 😍😍😍 and i think robin would probably laugh but warm up to the idea pretty quickly

GENERAL

What would their lives be like if they had never met?

i forgot to answer this one apparently but u know what it's fine we don't wanna think about it

Who initiated the relationship, and how did it go?

i think franky probably initiated things and i’d say it was well received, like robin was just sort of Waiting

Did they have an official first date? If so, what was it like?

i think they go v traditional and go out for a nice dinner together

Were they each other’s first anything (kiss, relationship, etc.)?

What was their first kiss like?

slow and gentle and Tender

i think franky is robin’s first, but maybe not the other way around

What’s their height difference? Age difference?

franky is so goddamn tall but i feel like more realistically in a modern au he’d be just a few inches taller than her

What’s their relationship with each other’s families?

well. neither of them seem to have any biological family left, and their chosen family is pretty much the same people so pretty good i’d say

Who takes the lead in social situations?

hmm probably franky, i feel like he’s more extroverted

Who gets jealous easier?

i’d say franky’s more Protective but not necessarily jealous

Who whispers inappropriate things in the other’s ear?

ROBIN

LOVE

Who said “I love you” first?

oh franky

What are their primary love languages?

i feel like franky does like. big romantic declarations of love and he’s big on pda. robin is more reserved but she likes to give him compliments and make him blush

Who uses cheesy pick-up lines?

FRANKY he loves to act like they’ve never met before and she’s this beautiful woman he’s seeing for the very first time (and the fact that he’s done that in canon jst makes me Cry)

How often do they cuddle/engage in PDA?

like i said franky’s bigger on pda but robin doesn’t mind it, she’s happy to go along with it

Who initiates kisses?

i’d say it’s pretty evenly split

Who’s the big and little spoon?

oh they alternate

What are their favorite things to do together?

they like to go out to eat and try new restaurants together, they go to a lot of museums and aquariums too

Who’s better at comforting the other?

i’d say robin’s better at comforting franky bc franky is so much more Emotional and just ends up crying with her

Who’s more protective?

mmmfranky

Do they prefer verbal or physical affection?

i think franky’s bigger on verbal affection but robin’s more physical

What are some songs that apply to their relationship, in-universe or otherwise?

oh,,, sucker and what a man gotta do by the jonas brothers i feel those

What kind of nicknames do they call each other?

i don’t think they do nicknames much? maybe franky uses pet names sometimes

Who remembers the little things?

hmmm robin

DOMESTIC LIFE

If they get married, who proposes?

franky probably

What’s the wedding like? Who attends?

oh it’s a big bangin party with all their friends

How many kids do they have, if any? What are they like?

a couple at least, i think they’d be very kind and smart like their parents 🥺

Do they have any pets?

i think i wrote them with a cat named tom once bc i just love giving characters pets named after their dead relatives idk

Who’s the stricter parent?

franky but only bc he’s more protective & cautious

Who worries the most?

FRANKY,

Who kills the bugs in the house?

,,robin

How do they celebrate holidays?

probably going to their friends’ parties/hosting one themselves, but they make time for each other too

Who’s more likely to convince the other to come back to sleep in the morning?

oh robin for sure

Who’s the better cook?

neither of them are Stellar but they do their best, they like to cook toghether

Who likes to dance?

they both do but i think franky initiates it more often

#I HAVE A LOT TO SAY #ty anon #ask #headcanons

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feverinfeveroutfic · 3 years

Text

chapter twelve: steam engenius

“i was born in the factory, far away from the milk and tea, what’s the use? oh, what's the use? you chitters are split in half: a mechanical sacrificial calf for you. oh, all for you.” -“steam engenius”, modest mouse

Okay, but what should I do with these drawings, though?” Sam asked Frank in a hushed voice. The two of them had huddled back into the closet to remain out of earshot from Charlie and Marla, given the two of them were completely oblivious to everything else that wasn't Stormtroopers of Death. Billy had finally woken up, and he climbed off of the floor, and he staggered into the kitchen for a cup of coffee courtesy of Charlie himself. Their voices floated in through the wall and the slight crack between the closet door and the door frame, but the two of them needed their time alone for the time being.

Frank huddled closer to the far corner of the room even though the apartment had warmed up a fair amount from the time in which they came back from upstate. He bowed his head as if saying a prayer and yet his eyes were open.

“What’cha looking at?” she asked him as she inched closer to him.

“I dunno, Sam,” he confessed with a swallow and a shake of his head.

“Don’t know what?”

“How it’s all gonna play out with us.”

“What do you mean?” She knitted her eyebrows together and pressed her hands to her hips. Frank sighed through his nose and shifted his weight. Indeed, she knew that if she was to get into art school, she would have to show some of her journal to Charlie, and that included sharing those five cartoons in the first five pages. Frank never answered, and thus she moved in closer to him.

“Frankie, listen,” she began, and she set her hand on his shoulder. She had no idea as to where she was going with all of this, but she also knew that she needed to speak at that very moment.

“Let’s just keep it between you and me,” Sam insisted. “Charlie doesn’t ever have to see anything from my journal. We bothed vowed to keep it between the two of us. I can promise you that as much as the day is long.”

“Yeah... but—” Frank ran his fingers through his lush dark hair.

“What?”

“These things have a weird way of slipping out into the open, though.”

“I won't let that happen,” she vowed, to which she never wavered for a second and yet she knew it was something she couldn’t completely promise given the possibility of her attending school. He kept his fingers in place in those lush locks, right down by his collar bone, and he glimpsed up at her with a big, wide eyed look on his boyish face.

“But what about school, though?” he whispered.

“I'll figure it out,” she quipped, even though she didn't have a plan.

“Charlie bought you that journal.”

“Right. But I'll figure it out, though. I promise, Frankie.” She extended her pinky finger. He swallowed and then he nodded his head, and then, albeit with a bit of reluctance, he extended his right pinky finger and hooked it around her own. He held it there for a full minute: that strong little finger coiled around hers tight like a pair of snakes entwined around each other. He then let go and sighed through his nose again.

Charlie said something in the next room and Marla burst out laughing. Sam moved in closer to Frank and they both gazed down at the journal on the carpet before them.

“Would you like me to draw you something?” she offered him in a low voice.

“Please. If you don't mind.”

“Not at all,” she said, and she couldn't hardly resist the smile from crossing her face. “New best friend.” He then sank down onto the carpet down by her feet, and she followed suit right next to him. She reached for the journal and the pens and the pencil, and she crossed her legs. He did the same as she plunked the journal open to a fresh new page. She caressed her fingertips over the smooth surface of the paper.

“What do you think I should draw?” she asked him as he inched closer to her there on the carpet, so close that the side of his knee brushed up against hers. He glimpsed at her with those eyes still large and deep.

“You want me to draw you again, don't you,” she teased him, to which he shrugged at her.

“If you want,” he replied in a small voice.

“I could use more practice with hair, especially yours.” She eyed the especially long parts of his hair, the strands down over his collar bones and his shoulders, and the part down his back. Thick and dark and very healthy looking; his bangs brushed against his brow such that his dark eyes stood out to her.

“I want to look further down inside of your hair,” she admitted. “It's so textured and just looks so soft.”

Frank lifted himself into a more upright position.

“You wanna check it out?” he asked her with a small smile on his face. She turned her head for a look over at the door, which hung ajar enough still for them to hear their soft voices out in the living room. She returned to him right as he moved his head in closer to her: she could pick up the faint aroma of the cologne on the side of his neck. She set the journal down on the carpet, right before her knee, and she reached for the sides of his head.

She let the strands of his hair twirl around her fingers: it was extra soft down by the roots and near the back of his head. The hair near the base of his neck felt like a layer of silken tapestry, and given where it lay on his head, it was solid black. Meanwhile the hair at the crown of his head felt a little more coarse and rough while still holding that sweet softness. He closed his eyes as she ran her fingers through the hair over his shoulders. She caressed his collar bones and the sides of his neck with both hands.

She held her hands over the top of his chest for a little bit longer to feel his warmth and his heartbeat. Frank kept his eyes closed as she kept her hands there upon his chest. Sam wanted that warmth inside of him and she wanted to put it on that sheet of paper in front of her. She moved her hands back up to the sides of his head to feel those soft silken roots again.

She caressed the roots at the base of his head again, and she could feel the hair there was tightly curled, almost like the finest of ribbons. She twined a lock around her pinky finger, and it was a perfect fit, a perfect ring around her finger. Her fingertips ran over his scalp.

Every inch of his hair was soft and smooth, and even his head carried enough of that silky warmth for her to relish in it long enough. She then ran her fingers through the hair on the sides of his head and let it fan out. She held out her hands to let the hair drift back down onto his shoulders and the sides of his neck.

He then opened his eyes and she noticed slight dark circles underneath them: they did fall asleep on the hard floor of a closet. She then reached for her journal again, to the new blank page in question. Without hesitation, Frank lay down on his stomach and propped his chin up in the palm of his hand as if he was a young boy watching cartoons in his parents' living room. He kept his eyes within the line of sight of her pencil: even though he was upside down, he watched her draw out his head first, that time from a full view from the side. She made sure the tip of his nose was upturned and slim, and she kept the thickest and tightest of curls intact near the base of his head, right underneath the smoothest and straightest hair at the back of his head.

“I'm like that Egyptian queen,” he remarked at one point.

Sam hesitated for a second.

“Egyptian queen,” she echoed in a near whisper.

“You know, the one with the bust made—uh, she had like a column of hair atop her head? Almost like the Bride of Frankenstein, kinda?”

“Nefertiti?” she threw out there.

“Nefertiti, yeah! This is almost like the bust of Frank Bello.”

“Bello of Frankenstein!” she quipped, which brought a laugh out of him. Once she began sketching out the crown of his head, out of the corner of her eye, she could make out the sight of him gazing up at her with those big dark eyes. She looked up from the page in the sketchbook for a view into his eyes. It was like drawing for a young boy, especially since he kept his chin propped up with both hands and he lifted his feet up.

“Shall I use the smaller millimeter pens or the larger ones?” she asked him.

“Larger. I wanna see the larger of the pens all around my head.” He had a little twinkle in his eye and a warm little smile on his handsome face. She then set the pencil down on the carpet next to her knee, and she reached for the middle size pen for the outline of his head, his neck, and his shoulders. She never lifted the tip of the pen from the paper, even as she ran it back over the original line of ink for a thicker, more cartoonish rendition. She ran the pen all around his eyes and then the outline of his nose.

The column of hair atop of Queen Nefertiti's head, except she was drawing Frank's soft lush dark hair, especially the tight curls all around the base of his head. Sam wondered if she could change the pens for the shading all around his neck and his head, and yet he still had that look in his eyes. She started at the crown of his head, complete with short pen strokes to make it look as though he had a little bit of shine about the top there. She could still feel the softness of his hair on her fingertips as she brought the pen down towards his shoulders, which she didn't realize were bare at first. Bare naked and shirtless.

She gave the skin around his eyes and the side of his face just a handful of hatch lines to give it some depth, and yet it was as if she was feeling him for real once again. She drew a few little spirals upon his right shoulder, and then she followed it up with a bit more smooth silken hair on the top layer for some depth. Sam moved her hand to the back of his head for some windswept tendrils. The pen tip snaked along into a wave shape at the back of his head, to which she added a few little spirals at the end, as well as a pair of large ones near the top of his bangs.

A few touches here and there, especially a few near the very tip top of his head to emphasize the sheen on his lush hair, and within time, she signed her initials at the bottom of the page and dated the drawing.

“All for me?” he whispered to her.

“All for you, baby,” she whispered back to him; right as the words left her lips, a knock on the door caught their attention. She closed the journal with a bit of haste and then they turned their attention to Scott poking his head into the closet.

“Oh, there you guys are,” he declared in a broken voice; even from clear across the room, they could smell the coffee and the spearmint on his breath: he had brushed his teeth at some point.

“You were looking for us?” she asked him, and she clutched the spine of her journal with her left hand.

“Yeah, I was wondering if you guys went back to your place,” he said with a nod and a slight grin flashed to her. “Charlie told me to lock up the place just in case.” Sam and Frank glanced at one another, and then they returned to him.

“No way,” she promptly said.

“Nah, no way,” he echoed her. Sam realized the rest of the apartment outside of the closet was silent.

“Where'd Charlie and Marla go?” she asked Scott.

“They and Billy left just a minute ago to hand in the demo tape and also take Billy home. I guess he's real hungover at the moment.”

“The dude could hardly get up so, yeah,” Frank replied with a shrug.

“And if we were still here, what else did Charlie want you to do?” Sam asked Scott.

“Dunno, he just said to lock up the place if you guys weren't here.”

“Wanna head on back to my place, though?” Frank offered her.

“Yeah, sit on something comfy,” she replied as she stretched her arms over her head. He climbed to his feet first and he extended his hand to her. She locked eyes with him once again, but that time it was to grip onto his hand, and she stood up before him. He picked up her journal, the pencil, and the pens for her.

“Sit on something comfy and also maybe take a nap, too,” he suggested. “Leaning back on a hard wall isn't the best sleeping position.”

“I never would've guessed,” she chided, which coaxed a laugh out of Scott.

“C'mon, you two, I'll walk you outside,” he offered them with an outstretch of his arm.

The three of them strode on over to the front door, where they put on their coats and, once Scott had pressed the button in the doorknob to lock it, they headed on out of Charlie's apartment to the cold, snow covered street outside. Sam adjusted the lapels of her coat before she stepped out to the frigid, biting New York cold. Frank huddled closer to her once they reached the sidewalk and Scott walked right behind them all the way.

The clouds broke up enough to the point Sam could make out a small patch of the bright blue sky over the far edge of the Bronx; before they reached their apartment complex, a fluffy tuft of white covered up the patch and she shivered from the feeling of the snow around them. A pillar of steam billowed up from the manhole cover in the middle of the street, to which Sam shuddered and tucked her hands into her coat pockets. Everything felt so clean and crisp, despite it being the street on the northern side of the Bronx: perhaps it was from sitting in that tiny closet that allowed her to focus more on everything around her. Meanwhile, Frank still held onto her journal, the pens, and the pencil, and she wondered what was about to happen in that apartment once Scott had gone.

“So you guys gonna be okay?” he asked them as they reached the front step.

“Oh, yeah,” she assured him, and she put her arms around him. Scott was a bit taken aback by the gesture, but he returned the favor with his hands firm upon her upper back. He shook hands with Frank before they were met with a blast of warm air from the vent in the front corridor. Emile stood in his doorway and it looked as though he was arguing with someone in his apartment.

“Yes, I keep telling you,” he was saying, “it's just for the best.” He turned his head and his face lit up at the sight of Frank and Sam walking towards him.

“Ah! There you are, Frank.”

“Here I am. What's going on?”

“My wife was just telling me about your playing down the hall.”

He gaped at him.

“Oh, no, I'm so sorry—I'll try to be more careful next time,” he promised in a single breath.

“No, no, no, no, no,” Emile said with a wave of his hand, “she was complimenting you on it.”

“Oh.” Frank brought his free hand to his brow and swept it across his bangs. “Phew!”

Emile and Sam both chuckled at him, and the woman in the apartment said something: she was tucked away in the next room in there and thus Sam couldn't hear exactly what she had said.

“Huh?” Emile called out, and she and Frank kept on going to his apartment at the end of the corridor. He handed her the journal, the pens, and the pencil, and he reached into his coat pocket for his key. She brought the journal up to her chest and she noticed the fatigue settling in over his head and shoulders.

“Phew, Jesus,” he muttered as the door swung open. He stepped inside first and she ducked over to the kitchen table. Before Sam could ask him was wrong, she watched his steps shorten up. He staggered to the couch and he fell head first onto the cushion on the far end. She swore he hit his head on the arm, but he collapsed onto the couch and relaxed once he landed. He buried his face right into the cushion and his right arm dangled over the edge: his fingers caressed over the carpet.

“Frankie?” she called out to him. He never replied or even so much as moved. She knew she would have to head on upstairs at some point, but she recalled their talking about buying a new journal for herself. They lived a ways away from that art shop where Charlie had bought the journal for her, but she knew she would have to find a new one for herself. She would have to find an exact copy of that one just to make sure he would never see those secret drawings meant for Frank's eyes.

Sam peered up at the clock on the wall. The day was still very much young, even though the whole subway trip down to Manhattan took up a whole day. She was still very much the new girl, despite having fit in with ease. But Frank had fallen asleep and she wondered if Charlie knew where they had gone to. She would have to quickly move along no matter what happened.

“You want me to go back out again,” she declared in a low voice, and with the thought of what Charlie had said earlier firmly in mind. Frank never stirred, and thus Sam fetched up a sigh. She picked up the pencil and the pens and tucked them into her purse, right next to that photograph: however, she could tell her purse was far too large for it. She turned to Frank laying there face down on the couch.

She would have to keep in mind where she was about to stash her journal, right underneath Frank's head and upper body. He never stirred as she lifted up the cushion and slid the journal into its new hiding place. She fetched up another sigh and doubled back out to the corridor: Emile had disappeared which was good news for her. She need not waste any time on her way to the subway station up the street.

A chill ran down her spine as she walked at a brisk pace to the wrought iron fence around the terminal. She kept a hand on the strap of her purse, even though the station was deserted. She paid the fare for the ride down to Manhattan and waited for a few minutes at those low metal grated benches.

She gave her hair a flip back with a flick of her head and she peered around at the vacant tracks before her. A cold day in New York City and yet she knew there had to be more people roaming around.

Within time, that smooth silvery subway train slithered out of the darkness to the right and slowed to a stop before her. The doors squeaked open and she scurried onboard, and she stood near that silver bar near the double doors, and she held onto the rung overhead with her free hand. Within time, the subway train shot forward into the darkness; she was the only one on that part of the train. The ceiling lights bathed the crown of her dark hair in that pale yellow light: she took a glimpse at her own reflection in the window. She gazed on at the young girl in the reflection and she knew she would have to take the subway solo even more times.

Time to go from girl to woman, she thought to herself as she adjusted her grip on the strap of her purse.

The ride down to Manhattan went by quicker than the first time with Frank and Charlie, and yet she couldn't hardly recall where the art shop was from the second she stepped off the subway train and surfaced to the bustling streets. The gray sky hung over her head and the towering buildings around her, to the point it all appeared monotonous and similar to one another. She held there for a few seconds, and she glanced around the street for any sign of some sort.

She walked forward, away from the terminal; the sun hidden behind the wispy gray clouds didn't help matters given she lost track of time somewhere around Time Square.

But then the memory of where she had gone to before returned to her once she reached the street corner. Indeed, she spotted the art shop up the block. She clutched onto her purse and strode up the sidewalk with the cold wind blowing through the roots of her hair. She spotted a boy wrapped in a long black overcoat over by the coffee house next door: he carried a black guitar case on his back and a serious, almost grave look on his face. He paid no attention to her and the sunglasses hiding his eyes didn't help matters, and yet she wondered about him, given she recognized him from the music shop not too far from there. Even from a ways away and standing there at the front door, she could tell he was tall and lanky for a young boy. And before she stepped inside of the art shop, she noticed a little blue and white knit yarmulke upon his head.

But Sam pressed onward to the art shop and she wasted no time in finding a new sketchbook for herself. An exact copy of the first journal. She thanked the clerk in there and she returned outside to the cold.

The boy had crossed the street and he strolled up to that familiar building with the rehearsal space. She watched him hoist the guitar case on his back and then he stepped inside there. Sam made a mental note to ask about him, given all the other bands that went through there. Add to this, he looked young, as if he was still in high school.

She headed on back to the subway terminal for the long ride back home. Indeed, that time around, the train was loaded full with passengers: she held onto the rung with her free hand once again and she kept her elbow pressed onto her purse. Even though she only lived there for a couple of weeks, she began to feel like a true New Yorker right then and there.

When she returned to Frank's apartment, she found he was still sound asleep and yet Charlie had showed up there with a cup of coffee in hand.

“Hey,” she greeted him as she stepped inside.

“Hey,” he echoed, surprised and stunned at the sight of her.

“I—wasn't expecting to see you here,” she told him.

“Frankie left his car in front of my place and so I came here to tell him that and I found the door was unlocked,” he explained in a single breath. “What's up with you?”

“I—just had to go and run a little errand,” she said. It was the truth: she had to make an errand, and yet she chose her words with care, especially since she held the bag with the new sketchbook close to her body. Lucky for her, the bag was comprised of that heavy white parchment paper so he couldn't see it for himself.

“Is that your sketchbook?” he asked her with a little nod of his head. Or perhaps he did.

“The—one you got for me?” she answered.

“Yeah.”

“Yes!”

At some point, she would have to make a switch between the new sketchbook in her arms and the one under Frank's head.

“Earlier, Frankie and I were talking, and—I finally came to the conclusion I want to do a demo for you. Just for you, too.”

Even behind his bangs, Sam could see him raise his eyebrows at her.

“Where's Marla, by the way?” she asked him.

“Oh, she went home—Bill and I handed in the tape and she was like 'I gotta go!' and I was like, 'okay, babe...'” His voice trailed off, and Sam watched him turn his head towards the couch. Frank was still asleep there on the couch, which meant Sam and Charlie were alone together.

“So, would you like me to—?” Even as the words left her lips, Charlie lunged for the chair closest to him. He set down his cup of coffee in front of him and folded his hands together in one fell swoop.

“Do I need to ask?” she chuckled as he patted the top of the table to his right. She set down her purse on the table, followed by that black journal wrapped in that white parchment. She unraveled it so he could see for himself.

He bowed his head over the cover for a whiff.

“Still has that fresh outta the shop smell,” he remarked. She fished the pens and the pencil out of her purse, as well as the photograph. Frank never moved once on the couch behind them, and yet it was only between her and Charlie at that point. He sipped on his coffee and gave his rich dark hair a toss back from his face. The memory of Frank's hair was still fresh on her hands and fingers, even after her dealing with the subways and the art shop. She wondered if Charlie would ever find out she had done that given the soft aroma left over from Frank's hair stayed firm on her skin, or perhaps it was just her imagination.

Regardless, she picked up her pencil and gazed on at the photograph of the two young boys, the younger versions of the two men in that room with her. Again, it felt as if she was feeling them, as if she ran her fingers through their soft hair and she held their little faces in her hands. Charlie sipped on his coffee every so often and yet he never took his eyes off of her.

That time around, she used the side of the graphite instead of switching over to the ink pens to her right. The graphite left behind a soft haziness in its wake, and she made use of it: within time, the faint sketchy outlines disappeared into the blanket of graphite, much like how the sun often disappeared behind those cold gray clouds outside, or how the steam from the manhole cover out in the street vanished into thin air.

“Genius at work right now,” Charlie breathed out at one point. He propped up his chin in the palm of his hand and he watched her every move.

She added the final gentle touches on their hair when Frank’s yawning caught their attention.

“Hey, he’s awake!” Charlie declared with one last sip of coffee.

“And just in time, too—“ said Sam as she added a bit more shading on the side of Charlie’s head.

“Yeah, come here and look at this, Frankie!” Charlie stood to his feet and lunged for the sink to rinse out his cup. Frank lingered behind her and gasped, and he froze.

“Holy shit,” he muttered.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” Charlie said over the trickle of water.

“That’s just stunning,” Frank noted, and he set a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Yeah, you’re getting into art school, for sure.” Charlie padded out of there and headed back to the bedroom.

“Where you going?” Frank called after him.

“Where’s your camera?”

“It’s on top of my dresser.” Frank returned to Sam and the drawing, and his expression turned serious. “Wait a minute, is this a new sketchbook?” He lowered his voice so Charlie wouldn’t hear him, and she nodded her head.

“The other one’s under the couch cushion,” she told him with a wink.

“Oh, you’re good,” he told her. “Like that’s genius.”

#fanfic #fanfiction #anthrax fanfic #anthrax #frank bello #charlie benante #scott ian #oc tag #chapter 12 #artistry #drawings #fever in fever out #fever in fever out fanfic #long reads #also on ao3 #text #writing

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popgreenz · 3 years

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@the-flaming-spade [ 🎯 ]

Usopp watched in slight fascination as Ace went about heating up the rod of metal, dark iron slowly turning red hot wherever the logia user applied heat. How convenient it would be to have something like that on the crew permanently. An endless supply of heat and fire would definitely help more than just him. Sanji, for example, wouldn't constantly have to worry about their cola stores and firewood stores. The thought had a hum emitting from Usopp's throat. Donning a pair of thick, heavy-duty heat resistant gloves, Usopp took the heated metal from Ace when it was presented to him, and he began gently forming the rod in the shape he needed, finding that it was much easier to do than when he used his torch. Interesting. He supposed it had something to do with the way Ace was able to distribute the heat evenly, or something. ❝ Luffy was getting bored with just using the canon. So we're making a catapult mechanism. Usually they're made with wood... but with Luffy's inability to handle his own strength I figured metal would be the smarter choice. Wanna play around with it when it's done? ❞ It seemed only fair to ask Ace if he wanted to try the thing he was essentially helping create. Without really thinking, Usopp pressed the still quite hot metal down onto the lawn deck so he could step on it with one of his boots—also heat resistant, of course—and continue forming it. The sizzling of charring grass had him instantly cringing, but there was no point in stopping what he was doing now; the damage was already done. He could already hear the scolding from both Nami and Franky in his head when they found the scorched mark later.

#the-flaming-spade #——— 𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘺; ic.#|| all i can think of #is usopp going #'hey ace wanna catapult flaming projectiles around?'#like a dumbass ||

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frankieshq · 4 years

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[ itzy vc ] hey, hey, hey, it’s your girl summer coming at you with her twenty years of mediocre existence to present miss FRANKIE KWON. meet my self-conscious, awkward babie who uses sarcasm as a defense mechanism. you can find info about her under the cut !! i might have written a long ass bio that i didn’t bother to finish on a google docs but will be linking that one soon.

BACKGROUND

[tl;dr: young girl grows up in a matriarchal household that is heavy with regret and blame. dad comes and makes her childhood a bit happier, only to leave and break her heart because he’s an asshole. grows up thinking her smarts is gonna save her, but it’s actually her humor that does]

to truly understand frankie kwon, one must go way back--back to when her grandparents first immigrated to michigan. landing in detroit, sunhwa kwon and her husband didn’t have it easy. she had a two-year-old hanging by her neck and a brilliant but unambitious husband. she had to struggle with odd jobs for years while taking care of her family and helping her husband learn english, so he can use his engineering degree in america. she became a severe woman, never softened by affection but hardened by grit and hard work. eventually, the her husband was able to land a stable job and the family relocated to chelsea.

sunhwa made sure to train and hone her daughter jina’s natural intellect, but her methods were severe and lacking in affection. jina looked for the affection she didn’t find at home elsewhere. she fell in love with the first boy that called her beautiful, and at eighteen, gave birth to francesca areum kwon.

and so it goes that frankie was born in a household heavy with guilt, blame, and regret. there was love there somewhere, but it was constantly shadowed by feelings that existed way before she did. the emotional scars her mother and grandmother inflicted on each other were too deep-seated that their love for each other hid behind a cover of blame and snark. at a young age, frankie learned how to read a room, learned what to say or do so as to not aggravate the precarious balance of their household. she learned how to figure out whether her mother was too tired from work or whether her grandmother was in a snappy mood. it was a tightrope dance she learned how to perfect, growing up faster than she should have.

all her grandmother’s lost hope for her mother transferred to frankie, and her grandma supervised her education with the same vigor. although, this time, she was a tad bit more affectionate to her granddaughter (i mean all grandmas can’t resist their grandchildren, let’s be real). her mom wanted to protest, but aside from the guilt, she was always busy. being a single mom was hard enough, but she also had to take care of her aging mother.

frankie is a shy kid by nature, but her household just intensified this predisposition. she had few friends because she was scared about approaching kids first. she spends her time watching cartoons, studying, and writing in her journal.

enter: frankie’s dad, andrew grant. he left chelsea and his pregnant ex-gf bc he’s an asshole. but he comes back nine years later because he failed at whatever version of the american dream he was following at that time.

he taught frankie to have fun !! she’d spend afternoons at his car shop bantering with him and telling jokes. eventually, she relayed these jokes to people at school and was shocked when people actually laughed. she became more well-liked, developed a sense humor, and had more friends. the ages 9-12 were probably her happiest.

at 12 years old, she got invited to a middle school sleepover for the weekend. but she had a big test on monday, and her grandma doesn’t allow her to go to stuff if she has tests the next schoolday. with the help of her mom, she was able to go to it by pretending it was a school event. had so much fun and forgot to study. she didn’t get a grade high enough for her grandmother to be happy, though. once her grandma found out what she did and her mom’s involvement, she was livid !! that was the biggest fight her grandma and mom got into and frankie was grounded for a month. the worst part was, throughout the fight, frankie felt like she was a burden to the two women she loved the most. she felt like she was the reason her mother was always tired, constantly nagged on by her grandmother about wasted potential.

to make matters worst, her dad left town again. fell in love with some other venture. he told her he would come back but never did.

since that day, frankie dedicated herself full force to her studies. she felt like she needed to make it up to her mom and grandma for all their sacrifices. she built a wall around herself because it’s easier that way. she had few friends, but it was better for her.

her grandmother died during her senior year of high school. she loved her grandma, but she felt as if a weight lifted from her chest. her mom encouraged her to go to school as far as she liked.

she got a scholarship to columbia and studied statistics like the big nerd that she is !!

she met roman and lucy here, finally felt that she had friends that she felt she can really open to.

after college, she worked for a firm. she finally felt secure, like she payed some sort of unsaid debt to her grandma but she wasn’t happy, folks :(((

she first did stand-up as a dare on an open mic and she was so shocked that people laughed. she was tipsy then, and kept made self-deprecating jokes of her childhood trauma. love that for her.

the more stand-up she did, though, the more nervous she got because she gets really worried if she’s doing things right. instead of improving, she got worse because her nerves always get to her. don’t get me wrong the jokes are great, it’s just that her execution doesn’t always land.

comedy was just a vERY beloved side hobby for her until a small production company based on youtube offered her a writer position. she would get to write their skits and stuff, but she it payed wAY less than her present job. she was like fuck it, and took the offer. she wanted to make people laugh.

that leads us to here, a girl who is still unsure whether leaving a secure job was the way to go, secretly hoping to be a famous comedian.

PERSONALITY

frankie is like a spring roll you guys. outside, she masks her awkwardness and shyness with some cRunCHy self-deprecating jokes and sarcasm. so, she has an intimidating exterior because she tries to be tougher than she actually is. inside, she’s just a soft and sad girl. she doesn’t talk much if she isn’t comfortable with you, but once she is, she talks a loT. but it does take a while for her to warm up to people. can be extremely judgmental (a trait inherited from her grandma), but her mind can be changed. isn’t stubborn, though, and is actually a doormat. the type of person to say something and obsess over it because she’s scared that it might have offended someone.

HEADCANONS

lots of repressed femininity because there was a lot of internal misogyny in her household growing up !! it was only until college with the help of lucy, that she was able to access her girlier side.

is a lesbian, but has a lot of internal homophobia as well. her grandma was a very traditional woman, so frankie feels very guilty about liking girls, and is very hesitant about going on dates and actively looking for relationships even though she’s really lonely.

likes writing a lot !! used to keep journals since she was 8 because it honestly made her feel less lonely growing up.

nOBODY CALL HER FRANCESCA. she hates that name, but likes her second name a lot. only her grandma called her areum tho.

spends a lot of time at mon’s deli, and mon could also be counted as her bff. she and the old man gossip and chitchat about the bennington street residents for hours. is this also because she is in dire need of a father figure?? maybe, yes, absolutely

used to have really low alcohol tolerance, but sort of grew out of it?? if she doesnt drink for a month or two tho, her tolerance goes back to zero like dont ask me, i dont make the rules

still a big fan of cartoons and kid humor !! loves amazing world of gumball and steven universe

makes her own kimchi because her grandma and mom have a special family recipe, will happily share if she likes you

i imagine the level of closeness she has in the group varies, like she’s closer to some people than others and acts differently around them

would really like to do stand-up again but still has stage fright

want her to either end up working on something as big as snl or writing movies or overcoming her stage fright and becoming a successful stand-up comedienne !!

#laughtrackintro #hello hello im late for everything #did not put a connections part bc i will be dm-ing all you

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myinconnelly1 · 4 years

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ArchAngel Ch 1 Lost But Never Alone (pt 3)

Word count: 1,622

Masterlist

Natalie mulled over what she knew of ArchAngel Incorporated and what John was doing. He had called the brothers and told them that he was hunting a demon. It was a term she had never heard before, and she knew she needed to find out. She got off at the California bus stop and looked around for a clue as to were to start.

Natalie realized as she wandered aimlessly for days that California was a huge state. And she didn’t have a single lead on John Winchester. She threw her hands into the air in frustration and turned right into a large alpha.

“Shit.” She whispered, her eyes going wide.

“Hey,” He looked pissed as he swiped at the stain from a sloshed drink, then took her look in. “Wait, I know you. Your sister is looking for you.”

Natalie turned tail and ran as fast as she could away from the hulking man.

“Wait! Don’t make me chase you!” He shouted drawing attention to the two of you. She turned a blind corner into a dead end.

“Fuck!” She shouted slamming the sides of her fists against a solid wall.

“Well, that was anti-climactic.” The alpha said coming around the corner. “Seriously, Frankie says you are a trouble maker.” He sneered then squeezed the lock mechanism on an ArchAngel canister. Natalie covered her face with her jacket, knowing full well it was a useless move.

“Hey!” Natalie’s head snapped up to see John Winchester standing behind the alpha with an ArchAngel issued tagging gun. She saw her opening and darted out of the little alley past the two circling alphas.

“What do you want Winchester? I thought they had you off on some goose-chase?” He snarled.

“Well, I saw your name on the pick-up list and I couldn’t resist.” John's smile was almost cruel. But Natalie didn’t stay to see what else happened.

She ran as hard as she could down the sidewalk pushing people out of the way. When she finally stopped hundreds of yards later she was gasping for air. Sweat dripped down her body and her muscles all over her body ached and burned.

She needed to know what was in that canister. A hunger settled low in her belly, and she realized that she hadn’t eaten yet that day. She would need to figure that out. And she would need a place to hide. A smell caught her attention. It was familiar and tugged at that hunger in her body.

Natalie opened her eyes and took in her location after she had let her feet carry her toward her craving. She was hot and clawing at her clothes by this point. Everything hurt and she needed… something.

She was standing in the parking lot of a run-down motel that could have passed for a pay-by-hour establishment. There was no food here that would be worth eating, but Natalie was in the fog to deeply to care. She passed a black truck without a care about the owner then found herself leaning against the wall to hold herself up.

“You know, there was a time that you could’ve been in the same room as me, and I wouldn’t have known you were there.” A deep voice said as Natalie struggled to turn her head to see him.

“Dean?” She muttered taking a step toward him and collapsing into his arms.

John outstretched his arms and caught the omega activist before she could collide with the concrete they were standing on. A brief look of confusion crossed his face as he considered why she had mistaken him for Dean. To his knowledge, Natalie had never met Dean. He looked around in a paranoid fashion, then scooped her up and carried her to his motel room to deposit her on the bed.

She seemed different from the last time she had scented her. She was more mature now. And for the first time since he had known her, she was in heat. The scent was wrong though, and he remembered that the alpha in the alley had a canister in his hand. She had been hit with an ArchAngel pheromone gas.

John knew that he should tag her, and leave her here for ArchAngel to pick up, but his recently gained insight into how the company operated left him doubting his current employer. He glanced over at the pathetic girl on the bed. She had no place in this fight, no way to protect herself from the dangers of the world. He noticed a strange mark on the inside of her leg.

He walked over to her and grabbed her leg, lifting it for inspection. It was an old bruise that was starting to fade. Natalie mewled pitifully as he touched her, but he ignored the noises. The bruise was from a bite mark, he determined. Someone had bit her.

John was about to let go of her leg and move away from her, intent on calling Caleb or Bobby for help when Natalie grabbed his arm.

“Please, Alpha, I need you.” She groaned, her nails digging into the flesh of his forearm. John thanked his years taking the green steroids after Mary died, as he was at a point now where he was practically immune to the throws of rut.

“Listen, I’m not who you think I am,” John said detaching himself from her grip. There was no way that John could leave her here, someone would find her and that would be bad. “Come on, Natalie. I got places to be.” He wrapped her arm around his shoulder and walked her out to his truck. He refused to stay in a motel room with her overnight, while she was in heat. That would just invite disaster.

He placed her in the passenger seat of his truck, leaning her head against the opposite door, then listened to the message from Dean again. His sons thought they had a lead on the demon that killed Mary. John was pretty sure that it was a too good to be true situation, but he was not about to let the chance slip by if it wasn’t. He put the truck in gear and drove away from California.

“Hey!” Dean shouted as he and Sam walked into their motel, bloodied and a little worse for wear. “Dad?” He asked as John turned around and they could make out his face from the shadows.

“Hey boys,” John whispered. It was a heartfelt reunion between the boys and their old man. Apologies were issued along with many hugs before John revealed that he was getting close to finding the demon that had killed their mom, and he was intent on killing it.

“What is a demon?” Dean asked hoping to glean more insight into what the hunt was on for.

“Some kind of twisted amped alpha or omega. I heard of a few of them breaking free from headquarters.” John explained. But before he could get further, the alpha from the warehouse had found them. He tore the three of them apart until Sam had the brilliant plan to stun it with a flare. They ran out of the motel and out to where their cars were.

“You can’t come with us,” Dean said to his dad as they reached their cars. Sam protested but in the end, they all knew it was true.

“Maybe you boys can do me a favor,” John said as he opened the door to his truck. “I found this one in California. I couldn’t leave her there, and I don’t trust the company with her. Her sister works there and has been looking for her.” John hauled a nearly delirious Natalie from the cab.

“Nat?” Dean gasped when he saw her. The boys cleared their throats as they got a whiff of the tainted scent of her heat.

“Yeah, she was caught by a pheromone bomb. Be careful. They want her, and are looking for her.” John seemed to let the fact that the boys knew her to slip to by the way.

“We will Dad,” Sam responded helping Dean hold Natalie up before they all piled into the two vehicles and leaving.

“This feels strangely familiar,” Dean muttered as they made to leave the state, and he rubbed his cheek against the top of Natalie’s head.

“Yeah,” Sam grumbled keeping his distance and sighing hard. “Why didn’t you tell me you two were sleeping together last time she was with us.”

“I figured you’d get all up in arms about it. It was just sex.” Dean tossed his little brother a look that spoke volumes.

“Yeah, well you were right.” Sam shifted in his seat uncomfortably. “You were with like three different chicks in the time that Natalie was gone. What is with you man?”

“Nothing,” Dean said scrunching his brow as pushing his brother’s question away. “So she has a sister that works at ArchAngel? Well, that at least explains why she knew so much about it.”

“We are gonna have to do something. The pheromones will wear off after a couple of days but she is still in heat.” Sam said chancing a glance at the panting omega on Dean’s arm. “Why would she have gone to Dad anyway?”

“Most of the omegas try to find the closest alphas when they are hit by those gases. That’s why they are so effective. Dad must have been closest.” Dean shrugged, not wanting to delve into the omega psyche. “Besides it’s not like we can just order her an alpha hooker.”

“I know.” Sam shrugged uncomfortably. “So any ideas?”

“Yea a bad one that you will hate,” Dean said looking at his brother over Natalie’s sleeping form.

@waywardbaby @destielhoneybee @snffbeebee @deangirl7695 @spnbaby-67 @maddiepants @tabrown2021 @ladywinchester1967 @woodworthti666 @miraclesoflove @tumbler-tidbits @emilyshurley @akshi8278 @mannls @wendibird @bobasheebaby @flamencodiva @theoneandonlymelol @chelsea072498 @donnaintx @justsomedreaming @supernaturalenchanted @kalesrebellion @prettydeaneyes

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creative-type · 6 years

Text

Confidentiality

Word count: ~4000 AO3 Summary: He was the youngest, most naive Straw Hat, but Chopper was also a doctor, and doctors keep their patient's secrets.

"Any dizziness, lightheadedness, or blurred vision?" Chopper asked as he listened to Nami's heart.

"No, no, and no."

The newest Straw Hat was learning quickly that hearty constitutions were the norm for this strange little crew. For someone who had been deathly ill less than a week prior, Nami seemed to be in remarkably good spirits. But the fact remained that she had nearly been killed by a prehistoric disease, and that regular checkups were a must until Chopper was certain she would not relapse.

Lub dub, lub dub, lub dub. The steady, even rhythm was soothing. It really did seem like she was fully recovered. It was the closest thing to a miracle Chopper had seen in his short medical career.

"Hey, there's something I wanted to ask you earlier, but I forgot," Chopper said.

"Sure," Nami said with a soft smile that made him want to squirm in delight.

"Who's Arlong?"

Lub dub, lubdub, lubdublubdub…The room went deathly silent as Nami's heart began to race, and Chopper realized he had asked something very bad without even meaning to.

"Where did you hear that name?"

The sharp, almost panicked tone in her voice made him cringe. Hiding his face with his hat, Chopper tried not to see that his indomitable navigator (his new friend) was scared.

"Y-you did. When you were sick." Nami paled, and the scared look was replaced with one of horror. "Y-you were delirious. You said something about maps, and that…and that you'd have them finished on time."

Nami's arms went limp by her side, and she stared blankly ahead without seeing.

"You asked him not to hurt you."

The statement snapped her back into reality. Nami grabbed the front of Chopper's lab coat, her gaze burning with anger. "Don't you dare tell anyone. I'll deny it till I'm blue in the face. I'll call you a liar and make you wish you were never born."

"I-I wasn't going to!" Chopper stammered.

"You said it yourself, I was delirious. No one would believe you anyway."

"Nami, I'm your doctor! I would never tell anyone what happened when you were sick!"

"I—you wouldn't?" Nami seemed to remember herself, letting go of his clothes as if they were on fire.

"No, I wouldn't!" Chopper exclaimed as he took a step backward.

"Oh." Nami looked away, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Then her hand moved to her shoulder, tracing her tattoo with one finger. "I'm sorry. It's just that Arlong…Arlong wasn't a very nice man."

Chopper nodded his understanding. "Neither was Wapol, but he's gone now. Arlong's not here either, so you're safe." His spirits lifted when he saw a small smile on the navigator's face. "But if you want to talk about it, I'm here."

Nami reached out and touched his cheek tenderly. "Thank you, Doctor. I appreciate it."

With a metal nose, blue hair, and forearms bigger than a normal man's thigh, Franky could never be described as normal. Add in cola-fueled energy systems, air cannons that shot out of his hands, and the ability to turn into a reverse centaur, Franky was downright freakish.

Chopper didn't mind. There were monsters aplenty aboard the Thousand Sunny. Franky and his cyborg body fit right in with the rest.

Besides, the shipwright was proud of his handiwork. Hardly a day went by where he didn't demonstrate some insane feature he had installed into himself all those years ago. He and Usopp would often joke with one another about what upgrades he would attempt next, each more ridiculous than the last.

Seriously, who else besides Franky would think that nipple lights were a good idea?

There was, however, one sore spot, one not-so-insignificant part of himself that Franky deemed less than super.

"Promise not to laugh?" he asked nervously the first time Chopper examined him.

"I never laugh at my patients," Chopper answered solemnly.

"I can't…I can't have kids."

Chopper blinked, unsure of what he was supposed to say. Franky rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. "When the sea train hit me, it did a lot of damage, er, down there." His cheeks flushed bright red with embarrassment. "I made sure it looks normal, and there's still feeling, but I can't…"

"Have kids," Chopper answered for him.

"Yeah."

"Is that something you want?"

"No! Not now, but in the future, yeah…maybe, I dunno. It's not…manly."

Chopper nodded his understanding, although he was still amazed he was having this conversation with Franky, who seemed more interested in mechanics and robotics than romance and children.

He put a hoof on Franky's knee and gave him an encouraging smile. "If something, or someone, makes you change your mind in the future, talk to me. There are some treatment options we can try."

"Really? That's…that's super. Thanks, bro. And…if you don't mind keeping this to yourself…"

"Of course."

"What happened?!" Chopper shrieked, resisting the urge to punch Zoro right in his big, fat chin. The bleeding had stopped, but the wounds would reopen with the slightest provocation. He had seen Zoro beaten and bloody before, but the mysterious altercation at Thriller Bark had left him shredded. In places it had been difficult to find enough healthy tissue to stitch back together.

"Nothing," the swordsman replied with the same unnatural calmness he had exhibited since regaining consciousness. Normally when injured he was rushing to resume his training, wanting to excise the weakness that had led to him being hurt. This time was different. Zoro had accepted the outcome of this particular altercation with surprising grace.

It was infuriating, and Chopper was at his wits end. It was moments like this that led him to believe that Doctorine was right to throw scalpels at her patients.

"I. Am. Your doctor!" Chopper exclaimed. "I need to know what happened!"

"No you don't."

Without thinking, Chopper transformed into his full human form, looming over the swordsman as he poked a finger at the one unbandaged part of his torso. "And if you bleed to death because I didn't know the proper means of treatment?"

"Then that's as far down the path I could make it," Zoro said with a lopsided shrug.

"No, you selfish asshole!" Chopper yelled. He had never talked to one of his crewmates like this before, and he hated it. He hated it, because it wasn't even necessary. Sometimes Zoro's pride was as bad as Sanji's chivalry, but at least Sanji had the decency to admit his deference to the fairer sex would someday be the death of him.

"If I can't heal you that means…that means I failed. That I'm n-not good enough for my dream…" Chopper's vision blurred, and he couldn't keep the tears from falling. "I d-don't want you t-to die. I c-can't help you if I don't kn-know what's wr-wrong."

With one piteous sniff, Chopper reverted to his normal hybrid form and sat in the middle of the floor of his infirmary. He cried, not because he was frustrated (that happened all the time with Zoro as a patient) but because he was exhausted. The Straw Hat Pirates had been in so many life and death situations in such a short amount of time, Chopper wasn't sure how much more he could take.

He heard Zoro sigh, and the swordsman joined him on the ground. Leaning back with a small wince, Zoro looked at the ceiling in thought.

"I'm through the worst of it now," he said. "I'm not gonna die."

"B-but it doesn't make sense. Your injuries, I've never seen a-anything like it before. I'm s-scared, b-because….because I don't know what could do that to you, or if it'll happen again." Chopper wiped his eyes with his hooves. "It's as if…as if something was pushing from the inside out. All your muscles and major blood vessels had damage in their innermost layers. Like…like…"

"Like they'd been stretched," Zoro supplied.

"Yes, like if Luffy stretched his whole body too far all at once." Chopper shook his head when he thought of their captain. For once, Luffy had managed to come out of an adventure unharmed. If anything, it was the opposite.

"Exactly like Luffy," Zoro repeated, before falling silent and letting him put the pieces together.

"…You didn't," Chopper whispered when it dawned on him. "How…?"

"That doesn't matter," Zoro said, this time his tone indicating the subject was closed for good. "I'm not going to die. You did your job, Chopper, just like I had to do mine."

"O-okay."

"Luffy can never know," Zoro said. "I only told you so you'd stop worrying."

It seemed impossible, but in that moment Chopper's respect for Zoro grew even more. And to be trusted with a secret this huge meant that Zoro respected him back. Chopper nodded, brushing away the last of his tears.

"Okay."

"Hey, Chopper, is it normal when people talk to themselves?"

Chopper roused himself, blinking sleepily at Usopp. It was a quiet, warm afternoon, and the crew was all worn out from a recent skirmish with the marines. "That depends, I guess."

"Oh." Usopp leaned back on his haunches.

"Why do you ask?"

"No reason," Usopp said quickly. "It's just…I know this guy…"

"Sogeking?" Chopper asked excitedly. Since Enies Lobby, Usopp had kept in touch with his superhero friend, and was more than happy to regale to anyone who would listen with stories of his heroic exploits.

Usopp thought about it for a moment. "Actually, it is. It's not him, per say, but his, er, sidekick. Yeah. Sogeking's sidekick, Sniper Lad, has been, well, talking to himself. He—that is Sogeking—is concerned. Because that's not normal, right?"

"What's he saying?" Chopper asked.

"Nothing bad. Pep talks, mostly."

"Hmm. It's hard to say. I don't want to make a premature judgment when I've never seen the patient."

"I understand."

"But…" Chopper tapped his chin. "Mental health is a spectrum. Health in general is a spectrum. A lot of people like to have black and white definitions of 'sane' and 'insane', but it doesn't work like that, just like there isn't a clear-cut way to say someone is 'healthy' or 'unhealthy'.

"As the sidekick to a successful hero, Sniper Lad has a very stressful and demanding job. If he's not contemplating doing harm to himself or others and uses it simply as a means to cope...Did Sogeking say if these 'pep talks' helped or not?"

"They've gotten the job done," Usopp said.

"Okay. Without knowing more information, I'd say there's nothing to worry about. People deal with stress in different ways, and if that's what works for Sniper Lad…" Chopper looked back up towards the sky. "Who is anyone else to judge?"

"That's good. I, er, Sogeking was getting really worried there for a second."

Chopper closed his eyes, ready to resume his nap. "I'd like to meet Sniper Lad someday. It's a shame Sogeking had to leave so quickly after Enies Lobby. He would have been a real help against Oars. But I guess he's busy with hero stuff."

"Yeah," Usopp said quietly. "I guess he is."

It wasn't often post-battle checkups made Chopper feel sad. Angry, incredulous, or frustrated, yes, maybe even awed if a wound was spectacular enough. But never sad.

His assessment of Robin after her rescue made Chopper sad.

A single, massive contusion covered her abdomen, the bruises a harsh bluish-purple. An abrasion started at the crest of her hip, disappearing beneath her pants. Worst was the bruising on her shoulders. Chopper could still see the individual finger prints from where she had been grabbed.

"Elephant sword, mostly," Robin said, answering the question he was too scared to ask.

Chopper made a distressed noise and tenderly touched a mark by her kidney. It was uncomfortably similar to the shape of a boot, and he was grateful he had already run the tests that ruled out internal bleeding. "Robin, how long have you had suicidal thoughts?"

"Excuse me?" Robin asked, shying away from his touch for the first time.

"You said you wanted to die," Chopper said, eyes misting at the terrible memory. "H-how long have you thought that?" And how long have I missed clinical depression in one of my patients?

Instead of avoiding the question as he half-feared she might, Robin tilted her head in thought. "I don't know exactly how long it's been, Doctor. Archeologists think about death a great deal simply by the nature of their work, and when I started doing more…unsavory deeds to ensure survival, my awareness of my mortality only increased. But actually wanting to die?" A tiny frown appeared on her face, and her eyes grew distant. "Fifteen years, maybe? It's not constant, but during low moments I've at least entertained the notion."

Chopper's stomach twisted into knots. Fifteen years was as long as he'd been alive, humanly-speaking. "Have you ever tried to…to…"

"Not directly, no. I owe too much to too many people to take my life with my own hand, no matter how badly I may have wanted to in the past." Robin looked down at Chopper intently. "Doctor, I'm asking for your discretion in this matter. The others can't know, not after all that's happened."

"A doctor never tells his patient's secrets."

They were silent as Chopper continued his assessment. Robin probably had a few cracked ribs, but there was little he could do for those other than pain control. As he examined her skull, he found several tender areas and a scab where a chunk of hair had been ripped from her scalp. One of her teeth had a large chip in it.

Sensing his mounting distress, Robin touched Chopper's shoulder reassuringly. Her eyes were tired, but her smile was warm. "I left because I didn't have those thoughts here. From the time I joined Straw Hats until Aokiji's attack…I was happy. After digging out of the pit and tasting the sunlight, I didn't want to go back to the darkness. I thought the betrayal was inevitable, and I had no choice but to go back. I was wrong, and I will fight with every fiber of my being to stay with this crew for as long as I can."

Her battered body was evidence enough of that. "Good. But, Robin, if anything happens and there's another low moment…I'm here for you."

Robin's smile widened, and she squeezed his shoulder. "I know."

One of the most exciting things about reuniting after two years was discovering what new things the Straw Hats had learned during their separation. Usopp had his new arsenal of plants, Sanji could set things on fire under water, and Brook…

Brook's new abilities were totally awesome.

"I can't believe it!" Chopper exclaimed. "You got your head cut off and lived!"

Brook took a sip of tea, obviously pleased with himself. "Well, yes. I suppose I did, didn't I?"

"That's amazing!"

"I would have thought you would be more impressed with Mr. Franky's new machines," Brook chuckled. "All I did was improve my control over my Devil Fruit."

"That's cool, but do you know what that means for me as a doctor?" Chopper nearly burst with excitement at the thought. "I have a patient who can get his head cut off and not die. That makes my job so much easier."

"Well, technically, I've already died…"

"Think of the possibilities!"

Brook set his tea down. "I have, actually, and I'd rather not do it again," he said quietly.

"Huh? Why not?" Chopper asked.

"My body was already somewhat durable. A skeleton does not truly need to eat or drink, nor does it have fleshly parts that can fall prey to disease or decay. I've lived this second life for over fifty years, and I am no different than the day my soul returned to my body."

The crux of Brook's problem dawned on Chopper, and some of his elation deflated.

"My body is held together with the energy of the Underworld. You will all age and will eventually pass on, and even when I'm reunited with Laboon, he will not live forever. I've lost those closest to me once before, and I don't want to experience that ever again."

"Oh."

"But," Brook said sadly, "I'm not certain I can die. Perhaps if what is left of me was destroyed completely, maybe, but I've learned how to project my soul outside my body. And obviously it's not something I want to go around testing, on the off-chance I'm wrong. Not yet, at least."

Chopper was quiet for a moment. "You know, Doctorine told me stories of dying people remaining in an unconscious state for over a week until family could arrive to say goodbye, and others who hold on long enough to see their children married or to hold the grandchildren for the first time and only to pass a few hours later. She always thought that people had some control over when they died. You've got a lot to live for, but when your time comes I think you'll be able to let go."

"Yohohoho, I had never thought of it that way. Thank you, Chopper. Of course, there's quite a lot I wish to accomplish before that happens." A grin spread across his skull, and Brook patted the top of Chopper's hat. "Let's not talk of such unpleasant matters any longer. It's been too long since I've seen you…though I don't have eyes…and I want to know how you've managed to develop such wonderful new transformations."

Sanji claimed he never got sick, and technically that was true.

He did, however, get short of breath.

Chopper shook his head as he pulled his stethoscope away from Sanji's chest. The symptoms were subtle, but to Chopper's sensitive ears they were as plain as day. "I know you don't want to hear it, but I think all those cigarettes are catching up with you."

"You 'think'?" Sanji said.

"It's polite doctor-speak for 'smoking two packs of cigarettes a day is going to kill you'. But I'm sure you knew that already."

"Hey, no need to be hostile," Sanji said crossly. His fingers twitched, and Chopper knew he was fighting the urge to pull out a cigarette at that moment. Chopper was very flexible when it came to doctoring, but he absolutely refused to let Sanji smoke in his infirmary.

"We've been through this before. I guess I'm just frustrated," Chopper said. "You know the risks."

"I do, and that doesn't change the fact I'm going to light up just as soon as I go through that door."

"Can't you at least cut back a little?" Chopper pleaded. "No girl's going to want to kiss you if your breath smells like tobacco."

Sanji threw his head back and laughed. "Oh, you poor, ignorant bastard. Why do you think I started in the first place? It gives me an aura of mystery that matches perfectly with my handsome charm. Look up debonair in the dictionary, and there's probably a picture of me with a cigarette."

"That same picture would also be listed under lung cancer," Chopper said.

"Well, if I live long enough to get to that point, I give you permission to laugh at my sorry ass."

"No. I'll be too busy trying to keep you alive, despite your terminal case of hopeless idiocy," Chopper said, managing a smile.

Sanji snorted. "That's something, I guess. How bad is it, Chopper?"

"You're in the early stages of lung disease. I'll make up some treatments, but as far as I can tell none of your abilities have been compromised yet."

"That's good," Sanji said, and the relief in his visible eye was nearly palpable. "No reason to give Moss Head another reason to exercise his superiority complex."

"And there's no reason to worry the rest of the crew," Chopper agreed. "All the symptoms are reversible. For now."

"Okay." Sanji stood to leave. "I'm sure there will be plenty of I-told-you-sos later, but I really need a smoke."

"Good doctors don't say I told you so," Chopper said quietly. "They stick with their patients, through thick and thin."

Sanji stared at him in surprise, unlit cigarette dangling from his lips. "Then I'm glad you're my doctor, 'cause you're the best there is."

Burns were tricky. Really, having a large amount of scar tissue regardless of cause was tricky. The new skin wasn't as flexible or strong, and if the wound went deep enough the underlying areas were affected as well. No matter how cool looking, Chopper was glad when his patents didn't scar. It was healthier that way.

It was, of course, impossible to avoid all of the time. The Straw Hats were pirates, with all of the danger that entailed. But Chopper considered it a matter of pride that he was able to treat his friend's wounds without leaving behind long-term complications.

Which, in a way, explained why he felt so guilty when he saw Luffy's chest. The X-shaped scar showed how he had been unable to be there in his captain's time of need, not just during the battle, but during the time of recovery as well. Whoever had done the initial treatment had done a serviceable job, though Chopper believed he could have done better, had he been there to try.

"Does it hurt?" Chopper asked softly, palpating the edges of the wound.

"Every day," Luffy said in his normal, simple way, as if it were no problem at all.

"I could help with that," Chopper said. "It's the least I could do after I wasn't there to help…"

"That wasn't your fault, Chopper. I don't want you to say it was ever again, captain's orders," Luffy said, with a seriousness that was usually absent from his voice. "I was the one who wasn't strong enough. Me, and no one else."

"But…" Chopper faltered when Luffy glared at him. "It's not your fault, either."

Luffy leaned back, a sullen expression on his face. "Maybe not, but I'm still gonna make sure it never happens again. I'm strong enough now, I swear."

"I know."

Slowly, Luffy's normal grin returned. "I'm not good at very many things. I can't be the Pirate King without you."

"That doesn't make me happy at all, asshole," Chopper said, delighted.

"Shishishi," Luffy laughed quietly. Then he looked down at his scar, and the serious expression came back. He blinked a few times, very rapidly as if he were trying not to cry, and when he looked at Chopper again his eyes were shiny with unshed tears.

There was a second reason Chopper did not like scars, one that was more psychological than medical. He did not like his patients to be reminded of their trauma every time they looked in a mirror. When Chopper was able to heal someone without leaving a visible mark, he liked to think he had helped heal them on the emotional level as well. He would never pretend that the pain had never happened, but he did think that it made it easier to move on.

Luffy didn't have that opportunity. Every day he would be faced with the evidence of his brother's death.

"And we've gotten stronger, too," Chopper said. "We'll be right behind you, no matter where you go."

A look of pure relief coursed through Luffy's body. He wiped his eyes and gave Chopper a wobbly smile. Maybe two years wasn't enough to completely heal him from the events that took place during the Marineford War, but that was okay. Luffy was well on his way, and Chopper would see to it that his broken heart was made whole again.

#One Piece #One Piece Fanfiction #Chopper #Usopp #Nico Robin #Monkey D Luffy #Roronoa zoro #Franky #Brook #Nami

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theoutoftheshadowsuk · 5 years

Text

‘Bird’ just went plural with Kendra Houseman and David Breakspear. Dave appeared on our very first episode of Bird ‘Mental Health Behind Bars | Can Lessons be learnt?’ and Kendra came into our lives at episode 3 ‘ UK Street Gangs | A Look Inside’

We couldn’t resist the opportunity to interview them for a second time, and better yet together on the same blog. You get two for the price of one with this read. We wanted to delve even deeper and have the opportunity to compare Dave & Kendra’s different paths through life. We’ve been so inspired by the stories these two have shared so far and we hope readers of this blog will be too.

1.Tell us about yourself

David:

I’m a, nearly, 50-year-old father of one daughter and two sons, along with being a grandfather to my two gorgeous granddaughters. I live in Kent, with my partner Kelly. Kelly manages the Twitter account for the world’s longest serving transgender prisoner, who is located here in the UK, Sarah Jane Baker. We live with our two dogs, Bonnie, she’s a Westie, and Frankie, he’s a Staffie, plus our cat, Millie.

I am also a former prisoner with extensive experience of the criminal justice system, which I hope to put to good use. I wish to use my negative, and positive, experiences to promote and influence change within our prison and criminal justice systems.

Kendra:

I’m a very private person. Even though I blog and tell everyone things that have happened in my past or my views on things I don’t let many people “In”. People often think I am a party animal or love being out but that could not be further from the truth. I am happiest when I am alone or its just me and the children. I spent a long time trying to understand who I am, and now I kind of do, I like who I am. Also….I LOVE cheesecake….but I am lactose intolerent….kind of sums up life!

2. Top 3 things we need to know about you?

David

In May 2007, I was on the BBC2 quiz programme ‘The Weakest Link’. I only went and won, picked up just over £2,000 in prize money.

Whilst in prison, this time, I was nominated for and received, two prisoner recognition awards for the work I was doing in helping others and the prison itself.

When I’m not researching, writing or talking about the criminal justice system, I use my spare time to: research, write and talk about organised crime. I write for two online journals, ‘National Crime Syndicate’ (www.nationalcrimesyndicate.com) and ‘London Crime’ (www.londoncrime.co.uk). Check them out, you can find all my articles for the National Crime Syndicate on my blog, or of course online, as with London Crime.

Kendra

3 things you need to know…interesting…. Ok 1, Once I am done with someone that’s it. If you cross me there is no going back. If they must be part of my life, I will almost become robotic in their presence. I think it’s a coping mechanism from way back. 2, No living person comes even close to the love I have for my children. Not even a fraction. I would be as bold to say that the only people I truly love are my children. I may have “Love” for people, but that’s it. 3, I like cats a lot more than I like people. There is a high possibility that I will become the “Crazy cat lady” that people speak of.

3.Every journey is different – what makes yours unique?

David

Although not viewable via Google Maps, I would say the criminal justice journey, for many, is very similar. I call it ‘from detention to incarceration’. I don’t believe all youngsters on detention will follow the path, but you’ll have a good idea of which ones will, especially after factoring in the other criteria: broken home, poverty, environment and so on. I feel, it is because of that similarity, we can actually spot a high percentage of those at the paths entrance and redirect them to another path, unfortunately, not one made with yellow bricks though. I think the uniqueness comes from the individuals: perspective, potential and outcome. There’s what, 70,000 or so, people released from our prisons each year? Not many are doing what I’m doing and how I’m doing it, I suppose that is my uniqueness, along with the fact I went back to prison in order to be who I am now. I was always a better person in prison, so I kept that character and personality as my default. The fact I am about to successfully disengage from the criminal justice system, for the first time in nearly 40 years, I believe, is justification I did the right thing.

Kendra

I have re-written this answer 5 times. It’s a hard question because I am not sure that my story is unique. I am going to say what makes mine a bit different from some is the fire in my belly. I have been a fighter of life from a young age and that flame has never gone. Its been darkened a few times and almost extinguished once or twice but it has always stayed burning, the desire to get away from the ghetto and make a better life for my family.

4. At what point did you decide you wanted to get your voices heard and create change?

David:

Good question. I’d like to think, over the years, I have always been an advocate for change, if only in the system and not myself. However, and as I mentioned in the previous question, I found I was always a better person in prison and knew that I could make a difference. If I was to put my finger on when that was, I’d say it was back in 2005. I had spent part of the previous year in HMP Pentonville, on remand then sentenced. In January 2005, I was, thankfully, transferred to HMP Blundeston. It

was here that I took up my first mentor role, as a ‘Toe-By-Toe’ reading mentor for Shannon Trust. In fact, it was a fellow prisoner, along with an officer and I, that introduced the scheme into Blundeston, not only was I a mentor, I was also a Co-ordinator for the scheme. It was being a Shannon Trust mentor that influenced me into becoming a ‘Listener’. The rest as they say is history.

Kendra:

I think it was when I realised that nothing had changed from when I was a kid. When I saw that kids were still going country, that gangs wert sill 10 paces ahead of the police and services. When I had a girl sit down in front of me and tell me what was happening to her and it was like she had picked my brain of my deepest memories and she was reading them to me, but this was her life just my story being repeated over and over.

5.What’s been the struggle or challenge about doing this?

David:

I cannot tell you how many times it was the last time, or how many times I told people it was the last time. Being released in June 2017 I was apprehensive that I would not be accepted. I wouldn’t be taken seriously this time. So many false starts and promises, I wouldn’t have blamed anyone for sneering at me, this occasion was different though. Another fantastic proverb for those the other side of that grey veil is: ‘Actions speak louder than words’. I didn’t just talk a good game this time, I walked the talk. Those important to me could see the progress I was making, the commitment I was showing and the determination I had. I showed enough to be given another, other, other, other, other, other second chance and I have grabbed it with both hands.

Kendra:

Denial. Denial from the police, from services and professionals. Denial from schools and education providers. Denial from parents and care givers. The only people not denying it is the children and young people who are living it. Sadly, they may not deny it they are also to scared to speak out first.

6. In terms of people you’ve met and worked with, can you tell us someone else’s story you’ve found inspiring?

David:

For me, this is the easiest question to answer, and could be the longest. However, it is also very surreal, especially when taken video calls from this person (although the novelty has worn off over time. Hahaha) and even if I say so myself, bloody interesting.

Due to the life I had been living, I found internet access extremely difficult, and could say, also risky. So, social media, although aware of it, as a platform was new to me. As someone that hasn’t exactly been a stickler for the rules, while I was in the two AP’s, for three months following release, as part of my licence, I was in possession of a smart phone – it was only recently I knew that smart phone and android was the same thing – this is against the rules of AP’s, due to some of the other residents that I found myself having to share a hostel with. A situation I struggled with. So, I was able to stay in contact with people via social media, which in a way made the strict licence conditions that little bit more bearable, and is probably how I negotiated those first 3 months of restricted liberty after being punished once and paying my dues.

I had caught a story on the book that is face, about this guy, a couple of years younger than me. I read on, I was so impressed by what was written that I felt compelled to send a private message in admiration to this person. Alan Gunner Lindbloom was once described by the FBI as “an enforcer for elements of the Detroit Mafia”. Not only is Alan a colleague of mine at the National Crime Syndicate, he has also, along with his amazing wife Maria, become an extremely close friend. It doesn’t end there, Alan, along with being the author of what a lot of people are saying will be the next “Godfather”, with his fictional books, based on real events, volumes 1 and 2 of ‘To Be A King’, also owns an apparel company called ‘Our Thing’ – the English translation of La Cosa Nostra – a company in which I decided to invest and am proud to say I part own with a fantastic group of people.

Alan’s life eventually saw him with a prison sentence of 13-50 years, but rather than waste that time, Alan discovered a love for writing, and set about writing nine complete novels over the thirteen years he subsequently served.

Although Alan lives in America, we stay in constant contact, mainly as friends, but we do have business discussions as well, as we both look to build on the strong foundations we dug and filled whilst serving prisoners, on opposite sides of the pond. I love Alan and Maria as closely as any family member.

Kendra:

There are a few. The most inspiring person I have ever know is my Mother. Apart from my Mother I will have to say Fiona Broadfoot. I have only met her in person once, at a Filia Feminist conference, but she is truly amazing. She Is also a survivor of CSE and was forced into prostitution for many years until she was able to leave. She is now an activist and leads a project called Build a Girl that works with young women at risk of exploitation.

This woman has some passion running through her let me tell you. Watching her speak on the day of the conference made me realise that that there are others out there just like me, fighting for change whilst also dealing with their own lives. She made me feel like I was not alone. Her story inspires me on many levels.

7. Tell us about a time when you felt like you were making a difference.

David:

Sorry to repeat myself, but it was again, whilst as a mentor for Shannon Trust. I have discussed this story many times and do not ever bore of doing so. One of my first mentees was a lad called ‘Billy’. Billy had quite a low level of literacy skills. ‘Toe-by-Toe’ was a scheme where using a process of techniques, mentor’s on a one-to-one basis with the learner would spend a maximum of twenty minutes a session with each learner, that figure, I believe, is based on studied concentration levels, building up their reading skills. In a lot of occasions, it would also improve the written skills of the learner. Whilst on a social visit, a few months after beginning with Billy, his Mum, who was also visiting Billy at the same time as my visit, approached my table after she had spoken with an officer, told me the officer had given her permission to come and speak to me because she wanted to say a massive thank you to me for the first ever letter she had received from her son, in which he also expressed his love for his mum, also for the first time. That was when I knew.

Kendra:

There have been many times I have questioned myself if I am making a difference. I will try to make this short as I can. I can sometimes “sense” that something is not OK with a young person without them speaking a word. I can’t tell you how or why just that I think I have only ever been wrong once. I had that feeling with a 11-year-old girl but was told by all professionals involved that she does not disclose to anyone. After meeting her mother, I knew that things were beyond bad for this child so decided to give it a shot.

I can’t ever really explain what happened in my office that day. It was like the world stopped for a whore and me and this little girl were the only ones in existence. It is quite noisy where I work but they whole time she disclosed to me it was silent. She said that there was no point in telling me because no one could help her. I said that I never make promises that I can’t keep such as I can help her, because sometimes it doesn’t work like that. But I promised her that I would belie what ever she told me and that I would fight for her as if she was my own child. And she told me everything. And boy did I fight. She was removed from mum and I never hardly spoke to the child again. A few months later there was a planning meeting to keep her and siblings in care. They read out a load of questions they had asked the children like “Do you feel safe” and “Are you eating well”. I was just taking notes and then they said that they had asked her “Who keeps you safe?” I started typing “mum” because that is the usual answer, even when abuse has taken place. But they read out “Kendra, Kendra keeps me safe”. Took every inch of my being to not break down there and then and could feel myself physically holding the sobs in.

That’s the day I knew I am making a difference. I think I would also put this girl in the list for question 6.

8. What are your hopes for the future in terms of your own projects?

David:

This, for me, is easy to answer. CHANGE and REFORM in the system. Those are my driving forces. Not fame and fortune.

Kendra:

I want to be able to reach as many people as I can and get them to understand what exploitation looks like through the eyes of a child. I would kike to have several facilitators going around the country educating people and I would also like to create a central hub in east Kent where children, young people and families can access 247 if they need support around gangs and exploitation (I have created a plan for this and one day I hope I can use it)

9. Any advice for others looking to do the same?

David:

Again, one thing I’ve mentioned previously, ��actions speak louder than words’ is the best piece of advice I can give, along with being positive. It’s incredible how lucky you get, and how many doors open, when you put in hard work and do things using the points on a moral compass

Kendra:

Always remember why you are doing what you are doing and don’t forget who you are or where you have come from

10. If you could wave a magic wand, what might you have done differently?

David:

Sorry, but not sorry, because I wouldn’t change anything. I really wouldn’t. Look! I’m nearly 50, I’ve had some wonderful times in the past, at certain points in my life. But! when all is said and done, I have never been so proud of who, and where I am, or as continuously happy, as I am right now. All because of what my previous life was like.

I would do it all again, the same.

Why would I not?

There is no way I would want to risk losing the feelings I have these days.

Kendra:

Self-care is the only thing I would change. I have never been kind to myself or looked after myself. Everything else…… Made me who I m today.

Ok David, What advice would you give a 14-year-old me?

Dave:

“Don’t forget to participate in your own life, it’s okay to be the thing you want in life, and not what everyone else wants you to be”

This would be my advice to 14-year old David: “Things happen to us that are not our fault. Its not OK but it’s the truth. Just don’t let them things define who you are. Never be too proud to cry. Crying is good for the soul”.

Hope you enjoyed our due blog.

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You can find out more about Daves journey Here

3 Little Birds ‘Bird’ just went plural with Kendra Houseman and David Breakspear. Dave appeared on our very first episode of Bird ‘

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