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allfearstofallto · 3 months

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The Sweetest Spoil of War

Yandere! Demon King Kirishima x Fem! Reader

Word count: 5k

Synopsis: a war ended with an unwilling marriage. The fighting ceases, but at the cost of your hand.

TW: Forced marriage, NSFW implications, size difference, mentions for Dub/Non Con, virgin! Reader, yandere/obsessive themes

AN: another one that has been sitting in the drafts for years!! But I finally finished this first part. Hopefully I'll have the second, more smutty part written up soon!!

A brush of blush across the cheeks. A swatch of color on the lower lip. Many swipes of a comb through your hair. The tightening of your bodice fixed your posture, and you were adorned with heavy jewels and rings. All the while, a celebration was happening outside.

It wasn’t a celebration you could see, you weren’t allowed to move a muscle, couldn’t even turn your head to look out the window, in fear that you may disrupt the many people who were spending their time making you beautiful. But it was one you could hear. As the maids picked and prodded at every part of your body, cleaning you here, applying makeup there, covering this, uncovering that, you listened to the happiness of the people. Your people. Well, technically not your people any more.

They popped fireworks and sang songs. Their cheers grew louder and louder as the minutes went by, as you got more and more dolled up. Street vendors loudly advertised their wares and you could hear children playing in the streets again. It was probably the first time they’d left their house in months, it was probably the first time it was safe enough to do so, they had every right to celebrate. But at what cost?

If they knew the price that was paid for their safety, the price they paid for freedom from the war, the war that they were losing, would they still cheer? Would they still dance and sing? Would the celebration still continue?

The price was you, of course. The second daughter of the King of the land and the gem of the nation, or so you were called. Good deeds came like second nature to you, they were as easy for you as breathing. The way you donated and volunteered was like nothing the royal family had seen. Your kindness was a tall tale spread around like wildfire and marriage proposals were in abundance for you. You were like a tourist attraction. Rather than coming to visit your country for sights, people would visit to meet you, as if you were some sort of celebrity.

Your nation was small, but what it lacked in land, it made up for in stocks and trade. It was a modest business that made more than enough money. But greed is a drug, one that your father was heavily addicted to. Expanding was a bad option, you always told him so, but your words fell on deaf ears, and as the farmers marched further and further upon land that wasn’t theirs, the true owners of it fought back.

For a year, your father insisted that the war with the rival nation could be won. You always wondered why he thought that. The land that he’d intruded on belonged to none other than the demon king himself, a man feared but rarely ever seen. His endeavors were like horror stories spread across the nation, and your tiny little country didn’t even have an official army. Rather, there were a few patriotic men who were sent off to fight first. There wasn’t much of them left to bury when they returned. Then who left was decided by draft. The first men were a warning for what was to come and everyone knew that. Moral dwindled when people began running away from their own country, rather than fighting for it.

Negotiations started when the supply chain got cut off by the demon king’s army and with a nation as small as yours, no other kingdoms were offering help. The talks were started through letters at first. Your father sat at his desk, lips in a tight grimace as he read the sheet of paper over and over again before writing his response in return. Things went on this way for months, the writing back and forth as war raged on right outside your door. Until the day he showed up.

You didn’t think that the demon king himself would come, but you watched out from your front door as the carriage pulled into the town. It was large and ornate, covered in shiny stones and what appeared to be bone as well. It was a mixture of the high class of the aristocrats and the barbarian ways of life of the demons. The hoofs of the horses clopped down the road and the carriage swayed ever so slightly side to side. The windows were covered so you couldn’t see him, but you knew he was in there.

The driver of the carriage himself was also a demon. A burly blond one with piercing, blood red eyes and horns like a ram. When he snarled at one of your citizens, you could see his teeth. They were sharp like the heads of arrows, like they could bite through the flesh of a mere human at any time. It made your skin run cold as you realized that all demons shared the same few traits, long nails, horns, and sharp teeth. You could only imagine what those natural advantages were doing against the measly weapons the army was given.

You could already feel your palms sweating as the carriage stopped in front of your castle. The entire family had to come out to greet guests, as were the rules, but all you wanted to do was slink back into your room and pray that the war would end naturally. And you weren’t the only one silently wishing to leave. You spared a glance out of your peripheral to the rest of the family and saw that they too stood stiffly, or did everything they could to avoid eye contact with the large carriage that casted an almost laughably ginormous shadow over your family.

The blond boy pulled at the reins of the horses, stopping them in front of the castle, before stepping down from his seat in front of the carriage. Even for a demon, his face was easy to read. He didn’t want to be here, and he most definitely didn’t want to have to be cordial. You could see the hatred for your father in his eyes, the way he wanted to just lunge at him and end things in this very spot, but he didn’t.

“His Highness, King Kirishima Ejiro,” he said almost sarcastically. Then he opened the door to the carriage behind him.

Big didn’t even begin to describe the man. He was humongous. Not only was he tall, but he was also thick with muscles and hands that looked like they could crush your skull with ease. You looked at him and you saw a demon. His hair was long and spiky, and unlike the companion he’d brought along who had curled horns, he stood straight up, only adding to his monstrous height.

The suit he was wearing was still adorned with demon-like paraphilia, bones and bottles filled with what you could only assume were potions. His scarred hands were covered in rings and the sly smile he gave your family showed you enough of his teeth to prove to you that you’d rather die than go near his mouth.

You didn’t know where to look, you could barely even think as he stood before you. His eyes weren’t red like his subordinate, rather, his were a beady, inky black color that scanned across your family. They were taking in every single sorrowful and fearful face, until they landed on you.

You felt your heart stop beating completely when he looked at you. Your breathing became shaky and you felt yourself about to lose consciousness from his gaze alone. Why was he still looking at you? The rest of the family only got a glance, but you, it seemed like he had to forcefully peel his own eyes away from you.

“You have a lovely family,” he said. His voice was deep, yet booming, it felt like your ankles were shaking, just from hearing him speak. If not for the fact that he scared the life out of you, you would’ve scoffed at him. A beautiful family that he was going to ignore when negotiations started. But maybe that was for the better.

He was led inside, following behind your father who was shaking in his boots. He had to duck to get through the door and his footsteps on the tile floor sounded more thunder cracking inside the walls of your home. He looked around with a strange look on his face, one that seemed almost enthusiastic, but that couldn’t be right. He couldn’t be happy while he was in enemy territory, not while he could easily be killed.

And that was the plan at first. Lure him in and have the army raid the palace, he’d be powerless since he expressed through his letters that he’d only be bringing one guard. Your father thought he was stupid or naive, but casting eyes upon him showed you that one guard was enough. Anything else would’ve been overkill.

They were in talks for what felt like a few mere moments and he was coming back down the stairs with a smile on his face. You’d long since hidden in your room to keep from having to entertain the blond demon that was sitting in your living room, but curiosity made you peek your head out when you head the door to the office open. Your father was aggressively shaking the demon king's hand, but you could see the horror in his face. There was sweat pooling on his forehead and he looked like he would throw up at any moment. You later found out why he looked that way.

At the dinner table that very night he announced that the war would be ending and the supply lines would open back up. There was a unanimous cheer from the family as you and your siblings argued over who would get to tell the people of the nation that they were free to roam the streets again. You were so ignorant. The way your father looked at you should’ve told you enough. It should’ve told you that the war wasn’t going to end with a trade or an apology, it was going to end with a wedding.

The fireworks continued to boom and crackle as they filled the night sky, while a little more blush was applied to your cheek. No one else in your family knew, they thought you were getting married to some commoner who you’d fallen in love with. Only you and your father knew the truth, and resent didn’t even begin to describe what you felt for him.

Your dress was too heavy, your hair was uncomfortable, you had to stand a certain way, or makeup would get on your collar and the entire look would be ruined. You looked beautiful, that’s what they said to you, but could they not see the hurt on your face? Or the fear? If they saw, they didn’t care, and you were guided down the stairs.

Past the home that you grew up in, the walls lined with family portraits, and your family themselves waiting for you at the bottom of the steps. Your mother was crying, dabbing her eyes with a tissue. When she found out the truth, she’d be crying for real. They were going to find out eventually, you knew they would, you just wished you could see the aftermath of it.

A carriage was waiting for you, one of your family’s own. Normally in an aristocratic wedding, the carriage from the family of the groom would be sent to pick up the bride, but the story your father spewed gave an explanation. The man you loved was too poor to even afford his own carriage, but love doesn’t know money. You scoffed, but held your tongue. If it were for the sake of your family and your country, you’d go along with it.

You would ride your family’s carriage into the forest, about halfways to the demon king’s palace, then you would switch into one of his. That way, your family wouldn’t catch on, that way, they didn’t have to watch in horror as you were given away to a demon, even though your father knew that they wouldn’t allow something like this, but he did it anyway.

It was an unpleasant ride. People rarely ever traversed through the forest so the carriage shook and jolted. You were getting farther and farther away from the noises of celebration, farther and farther away from your people. If only for one night, you would like to celebrate too, the war was a horror that you were living in as well after all.

You pressed your lips together to keep from crying. You’d already cried enough and you truly didn’t know him or how he’d respond to your tears. You spent hours sitting in that chair getting ready for him, what if he were the type to get angry if just one thing was off? If your make up was smudged or your eyes puffy, would he kill you where he stood? You held it in and pretended to be strong.

The carriage stopped and your door was opened, the second he did. The driver gave you a knowing look as he offered you his hand to help you step down. His fingers were cold, that’s all you could think about as you looked over to see the new carriage that you’d be riding in. The same one that had pulled the demon king into your family’s palace. Your heart sank as you realized that he might be in there. You weren’t ready to meet him up close, not yet.

The blond demon was here again, standing at the side of the carriage. Horses from the demon kingdom always felt much larger. Like they were eight foot tall monsters and not animals. You couldn’t believe you were focusing on the horses, you were trying to look at anything, anything, that would keep you from having to get into that carriage. But he was already opening the door and the carriage from your nation had already turned and pulled away, not even waiting for the transaction to be completed.

That felt like the final straw. Being left behind by one of your own and stuck with a demon. A demon who was obviously sick of waiting for you and who looked like he was just going to force you inside himself.

“The king doesn’t like waiting,” he said, gesturing towards the door. With a meek nod, you walked towards it. Dead leaves crunched beneath your feet and the sound of an owl made the entire ordeal more ominous.

You looked to the demon, then back to the carriage door. He didn’t expect you to go in by yourself, did he? Even in your home nation, the gentleman would offer the lady a hand and help boost her up the step, a boost that was much needed, since demons were naturally taller and the step was too high for you to even reach on your own.

“What is it now?” he grumbled, eyes having already practically rolled into the back of his head.

The step seemed as if it came up to your waist in height, yet he asked you what you needed. “I obviously can’t get up there by myself,” you spat, holding your hand out for his help. You’d never felt the skin of a demon before and honestly, you didn’t want to now, but there was no other choice. The deal had already been made.

He didn’t even pass a glance at your hand, stepping closer to you, he placed his large palms around your waist and hoisted you up with little effort. You tried not to squirm in his hold, afraid that he might drop you. Even for a moment, you were so high up, before you were placed into the carriage, with the door being slammed shut in your face.

The carriage began to move before you were even fully seated and you were thrown back. If this was the way the demon kingdom treated their royalty, you could only imagine what was going to happen to you. But you tried not to dwell on it. Your chest was already tight with fear and sweat was beginning to bead on your forehead.

This was it, you thought to yourself, even as you gazed out the window, all you could think was that this would be the end of you. All alone, all by yourself. You wondered what your siblings were doing, what your mother was doing, if anyone was even thinking about you at all, of if the celebration was just too much for them to care.

The carriage swayed and thumped against the ground for what felt like hours. The pretty dress you were in had grown a bit damp from your sweat and you tried to fan yourself. You were nervous. Hot and nervous and all you could do was listen to the hooves of the horses as they hit the ground and wait for your eventual marriage.

Then everything stopped. Of course the carriage driver demon was rough with this as well and you were thrown off of the seat and onto the plush floor of the vehicle. You barely had a moment to catch your breath and regain your bearings before the door swung open quickly, making the whole carriage shake from the force.

Still on the floor, still a bit sweaty, with fearful eyes, you came face to face with the demon king. His teeth were once again what you noticed, those big, sharp teeth that were held in a mouth that was grinning at you cheerfully. He looked overjoyed to see you, even in your crumpled up, terrified state.

“By the gods,” he whispered quietly while still looking at you all over. It seemed like his eyes couldn't focus on one place. Your face, your hair, the swell of your breast, the small of your waist, from your heel clad feet, to your hair that was put into an ornate updo, he couldn't get enough, “You're even more beautiful the second time around.”

You were shivering. God you were shivering like you were freezing. Your stomach was in your ass and your heart felt like it was going to leap from your chest. All that time, all the time you spent being picked and prodded at in that chair, being made to look good for him, all that time and it just now hit you what was happening to you. It started before you could even think to stop yourself and while he looked you over like you were a gift from heaven itself, you began to cry.

Tears ran down your pretty cheeks, smearing your makeup in their wake and you started to hic and sob. You had no control over it and the way his smile fell when you began to weep, made you cry even harder. You were going to die by this demon's hands. You were going to die because your father, the coward that he was, sold you off.

Kirishima turned to look at his subordinate, his face a mix of emotions. So quickly, you could barely see it, he grabbed the blond male by the collar of his shirt and lifted him, “I thought I told you to make sure she was taken care off,” he growled those words between those closed sharp teeth.

“I did,” the blond male muttered back. His tone, his attitude, even the way he was looking at the demon king was disrespectful. He didn't seem the least bit afraid or even bothered by the fact that he was being scolded. If anything, he looked annoyed.

“Then why is she crying, Kastuki?” He spoke the words slowly before dropping the man back down onto the ground. He landed with a thud, but didn't protest, “I've told you about your driving. Humans are fragile! They can't handle something like that!”

He merely scoffed and rose from the ground, “Then do it yourself next time.”

Kirishima opened his mouth to speak, but stopped before he said anything. Instead, he focused on your trembling form, still sitting on the carriage floor, “Are you alright, darling?”

He tried his hardest to be gentle with his voice, to be quieter so not to scare you. He reached a hand out to you, but you flinched away from it. You didn't know what to say or even what to do. A part of you felt like the second you left this carriage, it would all be real, you'd really be engaged to this demon, you'd really be with him for the rest of your life.

He tilted his head at you, trying to give you a reassuring smile to the best of his ability, “I'm sorry if Katsuki scared you, but I promise nothing will hurt you.” He reached into the carriage and grabbed you by the wrist, pulling you closer to the door with ease, it was like you weighed nothing to him, “but we should really get you inside the castle and into something more comfortable.”

Your body was tense and you tried to think of what to do. A way out of this. How would you be able to run away from a demon, in the whole nation of demons? Would you even be able to go home? Would you getting away make a war start?

You couldn't even think about it to yourself, couldn't even respond before you were picked up by him and held against his firm chest. He was so much bigger than you, so much taller, being in his arms made it feel like you were fifty feet above the ground and all you could do was shiver.

He carried you into the castle. It looked nothing like your own home. It was more worn down, but somehow it was bigger. The tallest tower looked like it was piercing the clouds and the windows were the size of the doors you had back home. You sniffled and sobbed the whole time you were carried up the stairs, and when he finally reached out to open the front door, you finally managed to say something.

“P-please,” you managed to stutter out between your pathetic little hics.

“Oh, so she can speak,” he replied back a little too happily, “and here I was thinking you were mute. That wouldn't have bothered me though, you're still gorgeous.”

More tears ran down your face as you tried to regulate breathing, to get more words out, to hopefully beg for return home before the marriage was consummated, “My father…he…he made a mistake. I didn't want this,”

He kept walking into the castle as you spoke, the sound of his feet hitting the floor echoed off the walls. You were brought to a day room where he sat you down on a rather large couch, so big your feet just barely managed to touch the ground. He kneeled in front of you while you sat and cupped your cheek in one of his large hands, the more he touched you, the harder you seemed to cry, soaking his thick fingers with tears. He knew you were scared of him, but he just couldn't stay away.

“I know you didn't want this,” he cooed, his breath hitting your face, “I wanted this.”

Before you could speak, he leaned forward and pressed his lips against yours. The kiss was wet and suffocating and all you could do was sit there limply as he engulfed your mouth with his, tasting every inch of your mouth with his tongue.

He tasted of meat and alcohol, typical dishes for demons who were celebrating and his grip on you was firm. His hand had slithered down from your cheek to your shoulder, then to your waist. You couldn't pull away if you wanted to. Your strength and size was nothing compared to him, just one of his hands was almost enough to completely hold your back. You'd hurt yourself more if you fought back.

When he pulled back, you were panting, breathless. Your first kiss and it was so brutish and even worse than that, it was taken by a demon. Your eyes were still wet with tears and lips moist with saliva, but he was looking at you so longingly. The way you makeup was running from the sweat and tears, your hair disheveled from the kiss, the way your chest was rising and falling, he thought you were more enticing now than ever before.

“Such beauty doesn't exist amongst the demons,” he whispered against your lips, threatening to kiss you again, “I could've slaughtered everyone in that tiny, little kingdom, you know, and I was planning on it. Until I saw you.”

He traced up your back to where the buttons for your dress began. You could feel him fiddling with them, trying to get them to pull apart, but his fingers were too big and his nails too sharp. As more time went by with him unable to access your body, he grew frustrated until he just ripped the dress apart in the back. The fabric gave way easily to him. It was probably no harder than ripping paper.

“Your father didn't hesitate when I asked for you,” his hand was warm, almost hot, against your bare back as he kept ripping the fabric away, “a part of me was angry about that. His own daughter, his blood. He gave you away so easily. But I was also ecstatic. Even if you don't want me, I want you. I know how you feel about me, how I as a demon scare you…” the dress was pulled forward, over your shoulders, but he stopped there, “The war may be over on paper, but if you ask for it, I can kill him.”

You gasped, “Why would I want that? Why would anyone want that?” You were shouting and you didn't know why. Maybe it was because of how scared you were. Or how easily he mentioned killing someone. Or how a part of you actually wanted it. A small voice in your head wasn't upset about the idea of him killing your father for putting you in this predicament, and that scared you.

“He gave you away,” he stated plainly, “You have every right to be angry. Angry at him for giving you away,” he pulled the dress down so that it was sitting around your waist. His tongue, that large, hot tongue licked down from your neck to your now exposed breast, making your breath hitch, “and angry at me for taking you.”

“You could still give me back,” You begged quickly, hoping that maybe if he was showing some empathy, some care for what you were feeling, he would let you go.

He shook his head and gave you a knowing look, “I wish I could, but I know how you humans work.” He didn't hesitate to reach his hand up beneath the ripped fabric and tulle that was once the skirt of your dress, “you wouldn't be wed again anyways, not after what I'm gonna do to you.”

Your sobs grew even louder at the words. Despite your abstinence, you knew the implications of those words, you knew what he meant. Despite your lack of experience, you knew why he was spreading your legs and easing his body between them, you knew why he was ripping away at your bloomers, exposing your wet core to the cool air.

“I told myself I'd wait till the night of our wedding, but I fear myself slipping with need for you,” this “need” made itself known when he began to grind his hips against you, the fabric of his pants spreading your lips and rubbing directly against your clit, “They sent you here looking like this, and I'm supposed to contain myself?” he bit his lips with those sharp teeth of his, gripping the fabric of the couch so hard that he was ripping holes in it.

“I won't take you without your permission,” he stated, but he was still grinding his clothed cock against you,like his mouth and his body were two completely different entities. He was speaking one thing, but actively doing the opposite.

You whimpered as you felt him, your eyes just leaking tears. You couldn't speak a word, your labored breathing wouldn't let you. Your chest was heaving as you tried to open your mouth, with only sobs and pleads coming out. Instead you just shook your head, praying that that would be enough of him to stop.

Despite your begging he still pressed his lips to yours once more in another passionate kiss. This time he felt even more roughr than the last. Was this a game for him? You thought to yourself. Did he get off on watching you beg and plead, just to take you anyways.

But he stopped nonetheless and pulled away. It seemed like he was straining to even do that, the way he was looking back at you like he could pounce on you again. He let out a shaking, sigh and clenched his fist together before stepping back and finally giving you space away from his large form and body heat.

“The wedding will be held in three days,” he said with a forced smile. He picked up a blanket from the other couch and tossed it over you, covering your modesty. You held onto that blanket as if it were your life line, hiding your nude body behind it as you shivered and looked at him, “I can guarantee I'll stop now, but I'm not so sure about then.”

And with that, he was gone. He closed the door to the day room, leaving you alone in this large demonic mansion with only the ticking of a clock as your company. You were too afraid to move, too afraid of what was to come next. You didn't know where he wanted you to go or even if he wanted you to move at all.

But you did know what he wanted from you, and the thought sent a shiver down your spine.

#my hero academia #yandere my hero academia #yandere my hero #yandere my hero academia x reader #yandere kirishima #kirishima eijirou #kirishima x reader #yandere kirishima x reader #yandere my hero x reader #yandere x reader

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thot-of-khonshu · 4 months

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All Access, Chapter 1

All Access Masterlist | Ko-Fi | A03 Link

Pairing: 70s rockstar! frankie morales x f! reader

Rating: 18+ (explicit, minors do not interact)

Word Count: 6.4K

Summary: It's 1975 and you're one of the rare women given the opportunity to write for Rolling Stone. When you get the opportunity of a lifetime to travel with the hottest band in the US, Triple Frontier, you're welcomed into their den of sex, drugs, and rock and roll. But what happens when you fall for their bass player and it becomes more than just a story?

Content: explicit drug use, heavy partying, triple frontier as rockstars, eventual smut, 1975 au

A/N: Thank you so so so much to my beta readers @heythere-mel, @proxima-writes, @nostalxgic, and @pedropascal-whore I am so insanely, eternally grateful you have no idea! Thank you to anyone who has been waiting for this story since it was just a random idea in 2022. I hope you all enjoy it and it makes you sing as loudly as Santiago.

TRIPLE FRONTIER: FROM BATTLEFIELDS TO CENTER STAGE

As the dust of the Vietnam War settles, a new sound emerges from its ashes. Four war veterans—Santiago, Benny, Will, and Frankie—unite under a new banner, Triple Frontier, capturing the soul of a generation seeking peace, love, and rock 'n' roll.

Triple Frontier's latest self-titled album strikes a chord with raw passion and unflinching honesty of their previous work. We can trace their meteoric rise in the music world back to their time serving together in the Vietnam War, an experience that has left an indelible mark on each member and seeps into every note they play.

At the forefront is Santiago Garcia, the charismatic lead singer with vocals matched only by his charm and stage presence; Behind Santiago, Benny Miller lets loose on the drums, laying down the heartbeat of their sound. Will, Benny's older brother on lead guitar, is the soul of the band. He's intuitive and artistic with the guitar akin to Robbie Robertson.

And then there's Francisco Morales on bass. The stoic backbone of the group, his basslines are more than just musical notes—they're lifelines. His bass weaves the music together like a thread that ties each member of the band.

Tom Davis, their manager, has been instrumental in their rise. A fellow vet, he understands their shared history and has transformed their raw, visceral tales into a finely-tuned musical odyssey. Speaking about their journey, Tom says, "These boys have stories that the world needs to hear. I'm just helping amplify their voices."

The band's name, Triple Frontier, references the tri-border area in Southeast Asia—a location many veterans from the Vietnam War will recognize.

Despite the weight of their past, or perhaps because of it, Triple Frontier brings a refreshing authenticity to the rock scene. Their music isn't just entertainment; it's a balm, a therapy, a reminder of the indomitable human spirit.

As they gear up for their nationwide tour, one thing's for certain: Triple Frontier is here to stay, and they're just getting started.

Despite your boss stating he just needed a simple puff piece about Triple Frontier, whenever you reread that review you couldn't help but feel a sense of pride when you saw your name in print in Rolling Stone. It wasn't the first time, and it certainly wouldn't be the last.

You were on the fast track to doing something big at Rolling Stone by the time you were thirty, you could just feel it. After freelance writing post graduation from college, you landed an entry-level job at the magazine. You knew what you were getting into, the long hours and the male-dominated office could be a lot at times, but you were living the dream as far as you were concerned. To write about music and make it your living was a gift you never wanted to take for granted.

It was a Tuesday afternoon and you were done at work surprisingly early. You lugged your 1969 Dodge home and immediately went to the back patio to light a joint. You slunk back in your chair, inhaling deeply from the joint, and watched the sun dip lower behind the tree line; the warm glow of the Los Angeles sunset never got old. As the smoke filled your lungs, you felt the day slowly dissipate.

The sound of your phone ringing jolted you out of your high-induced stupor but you heard your roommate Jenna flit across the house and yell "I'll get it!" before answering. You took another deep pull off the joint and exhaled, watching the smoke dance around the sky as it faded out.

You heard Jenna call your name from inside. You walked into the kitchen and saw her standing with the phone receiver in her hand, she was looking at you with an expectant expression.

"Who is it?" You asked.

"Some guy named Tom Davis? Sounds foxy." She grinned at you and wiggled her eyebrows. You rolled your eyes and swatted her away before taking the phone from her.

"Hello?"

"Hey! I hope you don't mind me calling you at home. Your work number was listed in the phone book, but I didn't know if you'd want to take this call in the office or not. Figured home was probably better."

You had talked to Tom a month back for the Triple Frontier article. You remembered him as a no-nonsense type of guy who didn't beat around the bush, so you knew even though he was calling you at home it wasn't for a dinner party.

"No, that's okay. What can I do for you? I hope the article came out okay?"

"That's actually why I'm calling, I wanted to thank you again for doing such a great job. The guys really loved it and the boss did too. And we've had some new interest in the band and they think an interview series might be a good way to build some buzz during the tour."

You felt excitement bubble up in your stomach. You didn't want to be presumptuous and assume this was an offer, but you also didn't want to say no.

"I'd love to write more about them! I'm not sure if you just want a song by song review or..."

Tom chuckled on the other end.

"Nah, nothing like that. I know this is actually last minute but we're playing a show at the Troubadour on Friday night and we'd love for you to come. I've already cleared it with your editor at Rolling Stone if you're game."

You tried not to sound too eager. Of course you knew about the Troubadour show, it had been sold out for months. You knew this wasn't an easy ticket to score or an opportunity that just falls into your lap like this.

"I would be an idiot to say no."

"That's what I like to hear! I'll be in touch with more details, but I'll have your ticket and backstage pass ready for you on Friday night."

"Awesome, thank you so much."

"Thank you, we'll talk soon!"

He hung up the phone. You stood in the kitchen with the receiver in your hand. You felt like someone had just punched you in the gut, you couldn't believe it. The Troubadour, backstage passes, exclusive interviews... it was the break you'd been waiting for.

This was real rock journalism, the rock journalism your mom cried over when you said you wanted to move out west and pursue this as a career.

Will Mom still think you're dabbling with the devil if your name is under the biggest story for Rolling Stone with the hottest band in the country?

-------------------------

By the time Friday night rolled around, you felt like you had a permanent case of butterflies in your stomach. It wasn't often you had the opportunity to attend a show and not write about it, so the fact that you had no other reason for going besides seeing the band was enough to set your nerves on fire. But meeting them?

You'd spent the whole week building scenarios in your head - Would these guys even take you seriously? Would they see you as just another fan? Were they even that interesting to interview, or were their music and looks all there was to them?

You shook the thoughts from your head as you walked up to the Troubadour. The line outside was already around the block and you could feel the energy from the crowd. You saw women with long hair down their backs in tight jeans and crochet tops, some men with hair even longer than theirs and dressed in flared pants and vibrant shirts. You could already smell the weed wafting off some people.

As you approached the bouncer at the back door, he glared at you, intimidating and unwavering.

"I'm here to pick up a press pass from Tom Davis." You tried to exude confidence, even though you felt the opposite. He arched his brow at you before reaching into his back pocket and pulling out a paper.

"Name."

You gave him your name and also added what you thought would cement your legitimacy. "I'm with Rolling Stone."

He looked over the paper before his eyes settled on your face.

"Right. This way."

The man turned and opened the door behind him, beckoning for you to follow.

Once inside, he led you through the dimly lit back corridors of the club. You were immediately welcomed into a heavy musk of smoke and sweat. You passed other roadies carrying guitars, amps, and microphones. You felt the excitement rising up again and you had to remind yourself to act cool.

He led you into a dressing room with a large group of people. Everyone had drinks in their hands and seemed to be chatting amongst themselves. The walls were covered in posters and various band members from over the years had scrawled their names on the walls where Tom was seated, reading over a sheet of paper.

"There she is! Good to see you." Tom immediately spotted you from the crowd, his tall and imposing figure stood up and made his way over to you. He was wearing a black leather jacket and his hair was pushed back with gel. He looked every bit the rocker, and you couldn't help but wonder if he always dressed like that. With the band but not in the band.

He reached into his back pocket to pull out a laminated press pass. "Here you go, this should get you access to whatever you need."

You took the press pass and held it up, smiling. You were still in shock.

"I can't thank you enough, Tom. This really is an honor."

Tom chuckled and clapped a hand on your shoulder. "Honor's ours. We're looking forward to the piece."

"Speaking of pieces, If you're gonna write about the band you might as well meet them. Come with me."

He started making his way toward the back of the room. As he passed, the people parted to let him through. You followed closely behind, trying to not lose him.

He led you towards a cluster of men in the corner. They were talking amongst themselves, beers in hand and laughing. You recognized Benny–the drummer–from the album cover, by his shaggy, dirty blonde hair. He was bouncing off the soles of his feet, drumsticks tucked in his belt loop, and was the center of the circle.

Will was leaning against the wall, his long blonde hair tucked in a bun. He had a cigarette dangling between his lips and a guitar pick in his hand, fiddling with it.

Next to Will, Santiago was sitting on a couch, his arm draped over the back with a glass tumbler in his other hand. His eyes shined as he was talking to the other boys, taking his hand to smooth out his jet-black hair.

It was true what every girl said - his pants were as tight as his voice.

And then there was Frankie.

He was standing next to Santiago, a beer bottle hanging loosely from his fingertips. He was leaning on his elbow on the wall behind Santiago, listening to Benny.

He was handsome. His brown hair was covered in his signature baseball cap, and the stubble along his jaw along with his mustache gave him a rugged look. You couldn't help but notice the muscles underneath his thin shirt. You could see his arms flexing underneath the material, his fingers wrapped tightly around the neck of his beer.

He was the first one to notice you, looking at you before he did Tom. His eyes were dark and unreadable, but you could tell he was assessing the situation.

"Boys," Tom boomed, "I want you to meet the writer from Rolling Stone."

Santiago and Will turned their heads in unison, but Frankie's eyes stayed fixed on you.

Santiago's smile broadened, and Will raised his eyebrow and nodded. Frankie's expression didn't change.

"Well, hey, welcome to the party." Santiago stood up and extended his hand. You reached out and took his, shaking it. His hand was soft and his grip was firm.

"Nice to meet you." You tried to sound confident.

"You've already met Tom, obviously," he gestured towards Tom, who smiled at you, "and this is Will and Benny, and that's Frankie."

Benny smiled at you, and Frankie's eyes flickered over to Santiago as he said his name, but he didn't speak. You had a feeling this was his way of letting everyone else talk.

"Nice to meet you all, I'm a huge fan." You offered them a friendly smile.

Benny spoke up, "Well then, I like you already. You'll make us look good!"

Tom looked down at his watch and then snapped up at the guys. "Shit–we have ten minutes before showtime, you guys need to get down to the stage."

They started moving and shuffling: Will stubbed his cigarette out in the ashtray, Benny put down his beer, and Santiago tossed back his drink. Frankie had disappeared into the crowd, leaving you to watch them all go by.

Tom turned back to you, "What are you doing? You're going down with us. ‘Can't write about the show if you aren't there."

You felt the rush of adrenaline surge through your body. Your face broke out into a huge grin.

"Yeah, right. Okay."

Tom smiled and turned, heading for the door. You followed him, trying to keep up with his strides. Backstage was a flurry of activity and you felt like you were on a hamster wheel trying to stay out of the way. You couldn't help but stare at the scene before you, the lights and the sounds, the smell.

After navigating through the throng of people and equipment, you found yourself on the side of the stage, the lights dim and the sound of the audience humming through the floorboards. While Tom had stopped to talk with one of the lighting guys, you could see the boys getting into their instruments and tuning up.

You looked over and saw Frankie. He had taken off his hat and was carding his hand through his thick hair. His mouth was turned down into a frown, but you could see the glimmer of his eyes.

He looked up at you. Your breath hitched and you could feel your cheeks start to burn. He held your gaze for a moment before turning away and putting his hat back on.

Suddenly, the lights dimmed and the audience erupted in cheers. The guys, including Tom, went into a huddle and you slowly inched yourself closer, not wanting to miss this moment.

You heard Benny shout, "Let's get it done tonight, boys! Let's give the fans what they came for."

You could see Santiago's grin spread across his face, "This is our mission. Our job. Our purpose."

Tom placed his hand into the middle, "I'm proud of you, boys. Now, let's go fucking rock this shit."

They put their hands together and Santiago began to sing "Stop, hey, what's that sound..."

Like a ritual, the rest of the men in the circle sang "Everybody look what's going down."

With that, the boys dispersed and you felt so lucky to be in that moment. You feel their connection, their comradery, their love.

You saw Tom pat Benny on the back. "Showtime!" he boomed. Benny ran onto the stage and the crowd roared. You could hear the clatter of sticks in the air as Benny hit the cymbal to start playing their song "Echoes".

The rest of the guys filed onto the stage and you were immediately struck by the sheer energy radiating off the crowd. They were cheering, clapping, dancing. There was so much movement and excitement and you felt the hairs on your arms stand up.

The band started their set with a bang. You watched as Santiago worked the crowd, his voice smooth and strong. He walked slowly, confidently, swaying with every step. The crowd was eating out of the palm of his hand.

You'd never experienced a concert like this, being able to watch from the sidelines and take in everything. The lights, the sound, the way the crowd responded.

Your eyes drifted to Frankie. He was focused and precise with his guitar, his hands moving effortlessly across the strings. You watched the muscles in his arms flex and strain as he played along with the concentration in his eyes.

The rest of the concert flew by. Before you knew it, the band was finishing up their final song, and the crowd was going crazy. You watched as Santiago, Frankie, Benny, and Will took their final bows.

The audience screamed. Santiago leaned over and spoke into the microphone, "Los Angeles, thank you. We love you! Goodnight!"

And with that, the lights dimmed and the guys filed off stage. Tom turned and motioned for you to follow as he led you to a different area where the guys were drinking bottles of water and catching their breath.

Benny was sweating, his face flushed red. "Man, we really fucking killed it."

Santiago grinned, wiping his brow. "You bet your ass we did. That was one of the best shows we've done."

Frankie was leaning against the wall, a bottle of water in his hand. He was drinking it slowly, his eyes looking up and meeting yours.

Will looked over at you and gave you a wink. "Did you enjoy the show?"

"Oh my god, yes. That was incredible." You were trying to be professional, but your excitement was starting to show through, an excitement that Santiago could start to see through.

Santiago clapped his hands together. "Excellent. Now that we've broken your legs, I think it's time for the afterparty. Are you coming with us?"

"The afterparty?"

"Of course," Tom chimed in, "you don't have to go, but it might give you some time to chat with the guys more and get some quotes. These things tend to be a good time so I can also book you a room, on us. It's at the Chateau Marmont."

"Holy shit."

"That's the spirit." Santiago winked.

You hesitated, knowing how big a decision this was. The idea of the afterparty excited you, but it was also a chance to spend more time with these guys. To talk to them one-on-one and maybe get some insights that would really sell the article.

You took a deep breath and looked around the room, at the guys waiting expectantly.

"Alright, count me in."

You could have sworn you saw Frankie's lip twitch up into a smile.

-------------------------

The afterparty was at a bungalow at the Chateau Marmont and it was a mess of people, noise, and debauchery. You tried to take it all in but you just couldn't. There was too much happening at once.

You found a bar top to sit at, watching the scene unfold. Santiago was at the piano playing some old jazz tunes and laughing with gorgeous women surrounding him. Tom was chatting up some record exec, a scotch in his hand. You even saw Benny and Will having an impromptu arm wrestling match in the corner. Frankie so far wasn't anywhere to be found.

The music, the lights, the alcohol. All of it was almost overwhelming and you were starting to wonder why you decided to come.

This world of excess and debauchery was so foreign to you, a far cry from the quiet solitude of your apartment where you usually did your writing. You've been to parties but nothing like this. You thought about your male coworkers at Rolling Stone, who seemed to fit seamlessly into the rock and roll lifestyle, effortlessly bonding with their subjects over shared experiences and unspoken understandings.

You focused on scribbling notes in your notebook, trying to make sense of the chaos around you and organize your thoughts about the concert. The more you wrote, the more your head cleared, and you found yourself able to better compartmentalize everything you'd experienced.

As you were finishing up your notes, you felt a tap on your shoulder.

"Hey."

You turned and saw Santiago standing behind you. He had a bottle of Jack Daniels in his hand and his eyes were slightly bloodshot.

"Hey." You replied.

He moved to stand beside you, looking at the party in front of you.

"What are you doing over here by yourself? Having fun?" He asked, taking a swig of the whiskey.

You shrugged, "I guess I just wanted to take everything in, get a feel of the scene. "

"Through your notepad?" He asked, gesturing towards your notes.

"Yeah, uh, it's easier for me to write things down."

"Ah," he took another swig, "can I ask you a question?"

You looked up at him. He was staring down at you, a smirk on his face.

"Sure."

"Why do you wanna write a story about us?"

It wasn't the question you were expecting. You had prepared for a list of generic questions like how you got into writing and your favorite bands, but this one caught you off guard.

"Because..." You hesitated, not sure how to answer, "...because I think you guys are cool."

Santiago smirked, leaning in.

"Cool? That's it?"

"Yeah," you said, feeling slightly defensive. "I think you guys have something special."

He chuckled to himself, taking a joint from a walking passerby, and taking a hit. "That's what they all say."

"All who?"

"People, the press. They all want to write a story about the cool, rebellious, rock and roll band, but the thing is, no one ever actually gets it."

"Maybe because the people who write about you are only interested in the glamorous lifestyle and not the reality of it."

He cocked his eyebrow.

"The reality?"

"Yeah," you said, closing your notebook. "I don't want to write a story about what I see here. This is a party, a show. It's not what's real."

Santiago studied you for a moment, and you felt the tension in the air between you. It was as if he was trying to read you, to figure out what made you tick.

"I'm here to witness the magic, the brotherhood. You can feel the bond between you guys: it's real, it's tangible, it's magnetic. People come to see your shows to see it. Shit, people come to the Chateau Marmont at 1 AM to see it. People want more."

You met his gaze, unwavering. You weren't going to back down.

He laughed, taking a step back. "Okay, okay. I believe you."

You smiled, relieved.

"But I'm gonna let you in on a little secret…Tom? He's over the moon, hunky fuckin' dory that you're writing this piece, but the truth is? We're a little skeptical, a little worried. We wanna look good but we also don't want this to be a puff piece. You've convinced me though, I believe you when you say you wanna do something different. So here's the deal - if you want the real story, the one that matters, you need to prove it."

You swallowed.

"And how do I do that?"

He smirked, gesturing to the crowd. "Come hang with us, chill out, see how we are when it's just us. If you can do that, I'll tell you whatever you wanna know. If you wanna get to know the real us, you gotta dive in."

Santiago offered you the joint, and you took it from him, putting it to your lips and inhaling.

He grinned. "Welcome to the team."

You hesitated for a moment. You wanted to get the real story, the one that mattered, but you were afraid. What if you didn't fit in? What if the guys didn't like you?

But Santiago had a point. You needed to prove yourself, and what better way than by actually hanging out with the band?

So you sucked it up, took a long drag off the joint, and threw caution to the wind.

----------------------------------

You weren't sure how much time had passed, but the party was still in full swing. The doubts and fears that plagued you had floated away along with your sobriety. Santiago had been a great host, introducing you to people, making sure you had a drink in your hand, and keeping the conversation going. You'd lost track of how many drinks you'd had, but you were feeling good.

He'd also gotten you better acquainted with Will and Benny. Will was reserved but he was incredibly knowledgeable about music, and you spent most of your conversation talking about some of the more obscure bands you both liked in common. With Benny, he was the life of the party. He had an infectious smile and was quick to laugh.

Frankie was another story entirely.

Frankie had eventually been found at the party but he'd stayed off to the side, talking quietly with a group of people, occasionally smoking a cigarette or sipping from a glass. You watched him throughout the night.

He'd glance at you from time to time, his eyes dark and unreadable. His gaze would linger, sending shivers down your spine. You would try to catch his eye, but he'd look away before you could make contact.

A model that you recognized from a cover of Cosmopolitan pulled out a baggie of coke and offered some to everyone at the table. You politely declined and headed for the bathroom.

You walked around the hallway and saw a few sets of doors. You opened a door to see Tom sitting on the bed, the phone cord stretched across the room.

"Of course I'm thinking about this damn offer, it's all I can think about. Fuck, I just don't know if this is the right move. If I had another band under my roster the boys would kill me, but the money they're offering? It's the kind of money we can't turn down."

You tried to back out of the room quietly, but sobriety be damned, the heel of your shoe clicked loudly on the hardwood floor as you tripped. Tom turned, his eyebrows raised and his expression a mixture of surprise and concern.

You mouthed an apology and quickly made your way out of the room. Humiliation and embarrassment flooding through you, you decided you needed some air.

You made your way outside, the cool air hitting your face. You inhaled deeply, trying to clear your mind and slow your racing heart. You only had a bit of context but you knew that wasn't a conversation you were supposed to hear.

You sat down on the ground, resting your head against the wall. You could feel your body relax, the tension easing from your shoulders.

As you closed your eyes, the events of the evening replayed in your head. The music, the energy, the excitement.

Suddenly, you felt someone sit next to you. You looked over and saw Frankie, his expression still unreadable.

"Hey."

"Hi." You tried to sound casual, hoping the high pitch in your voice didn't sell you out.

He lit a cigarette, taking a long drag and exhaling slowly. The smoke curled in the air, dancing in the breeze.

You sat in silence for a moment, watching the smoke drift away, trying to distract yourself from the man in front of you.

"Having fun?" Frankie's voice was low and husky, his question caught you off guard. "What do you think of all of this so far?"

"It's definitely not what I'm used to."

He chuckled, and you couldn't help but smile. He took another cigarette from the carton, offering one to you.

You took the cigarette from him and he lit it, the flame flickering in the darkness. You felt the smoke fill your lungs.

"What are you used to then?" He asked, his eyes locked on yours.

"Lighting a joint at the end of a long day, writing a draft for an article, and throwing it in the trash. Sitting at home alone and wondering if I'm ever gonna break out."

Frankie smiled. "We're not what you expected, huh?"

You laughed, shaking your head. "Not at all."

You took another drag of the cigarette. The combination of weed, whiskey, and nicotine was making your head spin, and you couldn't stop the giggle that escaped your lips.

Frankie smirked.

"Lightweight."

You nodded, leaning your head against the wall. You looked over at Frankie, his profile illuminated by the moonlight. He was handsome, his jawline sharp and his lips full. His hair was tousled under his hat and his stubble was perfectly trimmed. You could see the muscles in his arms flex as he brought the cigarette to his mouth, and you felt your breath hitch.

You looked away, feeling a blush creep up your neck. You weren't sure if it was the alcohol, the drugs, or his presence that was making you feel so flustered.

"What are you doing out here anyways?" You asked, trying to distract yourself from the butterflies in your stomach.

Frankie shrugged, the corners of his mouth twitching. "I could ask you the same question."

You laughed, the alcohol and weed finally settling in.

"I was feeling a bit overwhelmed, I needed some fresh air."

Frankie nodded, understanding. "I'm not really one for big parties."

"Is that why you weren't around earlier?"

He gave you a curious look. "You really are quite the observant reporter."

You grinned. "I'm a professional."

He smirked, your gaze turning back to the sky. You couldn't help but feel his eyes linger on your skin, you felt like you were burning up.

"I'm just not a huge fan of the crowds. I like the music, the shows, but the parties are sometimes too much."

"I can understand that."

"Can you?"

You looked at him, surprised by his question. "Of course."

He raised his eyebrow. "How so?"

You shrugged. "I've had my share of experiences. Not quite like this, but enough that I get it. Sometimes I'd rather just sit back with a joint and observe it all."

Frankie's lips twitched into a small smile. "Me too."

You couldn't help but smile back. He seemed much less guarded now.

You took another drag of your cigarette; the smoke swirling around the two of you.

"Can I ask you a question?"

Frankie glanced at you, the corner of his mouth twitching again.

"Sure."

"What brought you into music? How'd you end up here?"

He considered your question for a moment, tapping the ashes of his cigarette.

"Well, I just always loved music. I was a quiet kid and my parents weren't around a lot. Santi moved to Miami when we were eight and we just immediately hit it off. Whatever he did, I did. If he joined the baseball team, I joined the baseball team. And then he started playing guitar. We'd sit in his garage for hours and play. I never knew I wanted to be a musician until then. It just felt right."

He paused, taking a long drag of his cigarette.

"How'd you get into journalism?"

You froze. The truth was, you had no idea. You just always felt drawn to writing. You had a knack for it and it came easily to you. You never had any grand plan or vision, it was more like a calling.

"I guess I just felt called to it. I was always writing stories as a kid and then I wanted to write about real people and real stories."

He studied you, his eyes searching yours.

"So far, do you like my story?"

You grinned, "I don't know your story yet."

He smiled, exposing a dimple as you felt your heart skip a beat.

"It's been a long time since I've actually talked to someone like this."

"Me too."

There was a moment of comfortable silence. You could hear the sounds of the city around you, the cars honking, the music and laughter drifting from inside. Suddenly, you heard the door open and Tom stepped out.

"Some chick from Apple Records just threw up on my Italian boots. This is a disaster."

Frankie rolled his eyes. "You've had worse, Tom."

Tom groaned. "I'm gonna call it a night. You guys have that radio station interview tomorrow and I need to get ready for it in the morning."

"I should probably get some sleep too." Frankie stretched out and yawned, his shirt riding up and exposing a strip of skin above the waistband of his jeans.

You felt your mouth go dry and quickly looked away.

"Did you get the room key I left for you?" Tom asked you. "We rented out the whole second floor, so you've got your pick of rooms."

"Yeah, thanks." You dug into your back pocket, pulling out the key.

"I gotta clean this shit up so I'll see you guys in the morning."

He retreated away from the cottage, leaving you and Frankie alone once more.

You stood, dusting off the back of your pants. "I guess I should get some sleep, I'm pretty wasted."

"I'm heading up myself, so I can walk you to your hotel room."

"Oh, okay." You said in a high-pitched tone.

"Unless you don't want me to."

"No! No, I want you to, I just wasn't sure if you wanted to say goodnight to the guys?"

"They're honestly too fucked up to remember anything right now. Besides, I'd rather make sure you get there safe."

You blushed, the alcohol and weed still affecting you. "Thanks."

You and Frankie made your way back into the main building, the party still raging on from the cottage nearby. While you walked through the halls and into the elevator, you marveled at the luxury of the famous chateau. You'd heard so many stories but to say you'd gone to a party there, even for a couple of hours, was something you’d never forget.

The two of you got into the elevator, and you were acutely aware of Frankie's presence. He was tall–at least a foot taller than you–and his shoulders were broad and muscular. You could smell his scent, a mixture of spice, nicotine, and citrus.

The both of you got off on the second floor, walking silently down the hallway. The hotel was dark and quiet; it was as if the rest of the world had faded away.

You reached your room, fumbling with the key and unlocking the door.

"This is me."

Frankie nodded. "Good night."

You stepped into the room and turned around, watching as he walked away.

"Good night."

You watched him disappear around the corner, the butterflies in your stomach erupting again.

Once the door had shut behind you, you exhaled a breath you didn't realize you were holding. You were still buzzing from the alcohol and the pot but there was something else, an energy that you hadn't felt before.

You stripped off your clothes, letting them pool on the floor, and crawled into the bed. As you drifted off, you felt yourself smile.

-------------------------

You were jolted awake by the shrill ring of the hotel telephone. Before you could even think, your head was already pounding from last night and its excess. You squinted at the clock next to you, the bold white words focusing on 9:30 AM.

"Hello?" Your voice was hoarse and still heavy with sleep.

"Morning! It's Tom." Tom sounded surprisingly chipper given last night's circumstances with his Italian shoes. Not one to beat around the bush, he started, "I have a proposition for you."

You were instantly alert, sitting up straight in the bed. "Oh yeah? What's that?"

"I had a long talk with Santiago this morning. About you."

You swallowed nervously. You knew that whatever it was, it couldn't be good.

"Okay.."

"He told me that you really want to tell the real story of the band, that you want to get to the bottom of who we are."

You paused, considering your words carefully.

"That's correct. I think there's more to your story, more than meets the eye."

"That's exactly what I thought, which is why I have an offer for you."

You held your breath. You didn't want to seem eager but you couldn't help the excitement building inside of you.

"I'm listening."

"Rolling Stone wants an in-depth piece, right? Well, what better way to get that than by joining us on tour?"

Your heart skipped a beat as his words sunk in.

"You mean..go on tour with you guys? Be a part of the band?"

"It's the only way to really understand us, right? Get into our world, our culture, and experience it for yourself. I already pitched it to your editor and he said as long as the label pays for expenses and you're game, he's game."

You were astounded at the things that Tom Davis could get done before noon.

"But..how would that work? Where would I stay? I don't have any experience touring or writing on the road."

You took a deep breath, processing everything Tom had just told you. "I'd be lying if I said that this wasn't an incredible offer."

"An incredible offer you can't refuse?"

You couldn't help but smile, the adrenaline coursing through your veins. "An incredible offer I can't refuse."

Tom let out a hearty laugh, "That's what I like to hear! Look, we've already discussed it amongst ourselves, and as for accommodations, we're a tight-knit group, we always look out for one another. You'll have a place to crash every night, always a nice hotel to stay in."

Your mind was racing with possibilities. The chance to immerse yourself in their world, to witness their artistry up close and personal—it was an opportunity unlike any other. "What about interviews? Will I have unrestricted access?"

Tom nodded enthusiastically. "Absolutely. We want this to be as authentic as possible. You'll have full access to everyone in the band, backstage, on the bus, wherever we go. Just promise me one thing."

"What's that?"

"Promise me you won't hold back. We want the real story, the gritty details, the highs and lows of life on the road. Don't sugarcoat anything."

You nodded with determination. "I promise, Tom. I'll give it my all."

"Good," he said with a satisfied smile. "I have a feeling you're going to fit right in."

As you pressed down on the end call button, a surge of adrenaline shot through your veins. This was it - the opportunity to delve deep into the core of the band and capture their raw energy in words for all to experience. Just thinking about it made your heart race, and as you thought of Frankie, you felt an unfamiliar warmth in your belly.

You'd have a new adventure ahead of you, one that would change your life forever.

157 notes · View notes

morallyinept · 4 months

Text

What a year it's been for fic writing!⭐️

There have been soooo many stories I've read and enjoyed this year, that's it's been super hard to pick favourites, and I've spent a good amount of time this year trying to narrow it down to just 25.

Listen, every single story I've read this year has been absolutely amazing. I am blown away by the sheer amount of talent and creativity we have in this fandom!

If you're not featured here on this particular list, it's not because I don't like your work or didn't enjoy it - far from it. I've simply put together a list of my personal favourites this year, based on how they made me feel, how often I re-read them, and some that have completely floored me.

And if you want more than just the 25 fic recs I've mentioned here, then please check out my Pedro Character Fav Fic Rec List where all the stories I've read/want to read and come across are featured. My TBR is through the roof, let me tell you, but it's a great problem to have!

And if your story isn't on my fic rec list, it's more than likely because I haven't found your work yet, so please yell at me to check it out! I'd absolutely love to!

Keep on writing, writers. You're all amazing!

So, without further ado, please find my top 25 Pedro Character Fics that I've really enjoyed reading this year! 🖤

☝️In no particular order, and includes a summary from the writer, where provided. Some series may still be ongoing. Please check the specific triggers/warnings on each story individually as some may not be suitable to your tastes:

• I Am Touchin', I Am Grabbin', Everything I Can't Be Havin' - @chronically-ghosted Dieter Bravo "A storm and a dead phone leaves you at the front door of your uncle’s mansion in LA. Thing is, you haven’t seen each other in over a decade and neither of you quite remember the other one looking like that. But what’s one night gonna do? Well, as it turns out – as Dieter spirals at a breaking point in his career and you’re so lost in life you can’t see up from down – a whole fucking lot."

• Rock Bottom Series - @ghostofaboy Frankie Morales "Frankie is spiraling after Tom’s death. Drugs lead to some unhealthy friendships, and too ashamed to reach out to his former teammates for help, Frankie is drawn into a world he’s afraid he can’t get out of."

• Palomino Series - @fuckyeahdindjarin Agent Whiskey "Unable to get a refund for a week-long horse-riding pack trip you’d booked with your ex, you decide to go solo. As it turns out, a rebound with a cowboy named Jack while traversing the wild landscapes of Wyoming might just be what you need."

• Stepwise @the-scandalorian Din Djarin "Requests for both soft and smutty touch-starved head canons spiraled out of control and became this."

• It Pours From Your Eyes - @the-blind-assassin-12 Joel Miller "Some things don't need to be said. Until they do."

• Transplant Series - @marisferasiop Joel Miller & Ezra "You are a resident and the only trained doctor in Jackson. You're bubbly and sweet, outgoing and friendly, and also in an unlabeled "situationship" with the town scrooge, Joel Miller. He won't say you're together, but he'll scare anyone else off. When Tommy drags back a half-dead man and girl from a patrol, you dutifully patch them up and help them settle into their new slotted house - across Rancher Street from yours and Joel's houses. Ellie and Cee get on like a bonfire, and when Joel sees how often you talk to your newest patient, his insecurities make him draw up and away from you. As you slowly give up on him and start something with Ezra, Joel's pining turns to frustration. Tommy convinces him to see if you'd be interested in being a throuple. Surprisingly, you and Ezra are both open to the idea. But can Joel's insecurities and possessiveness withstand such an arrangement? Or will the blow of another loss be what finally breaks him?"

• I'll Know It When I See It Series - @bageldaddy Joel Miller "It's the golden age of porn. Sex and sin are the national pastime. Your career in adult films starts opposite a man who goes by the name Texas."

• Compulsion Series - @iamskyereads Ezra "Beatrice is a Drifter, a member of that oft-maligned, enigmatic subsection of workers on Baylor Corporation’s long haul expeditions. Ezra is a man with flowery language and a dark past, but he plays guardian to a strong willed, soft spoken teenager. In a madcap scheme to steal precious gems from the corporation’s mining operations, Ezra and his ward, Cee, form a reluctant alliance with this lone Drifter."

• Left In Lincoln Series - @toxicanonymity Joel Miller "After you were orphaned by the Outbreak, Bill and Frank raised you, sheltered in their closed community. Now 21+, you're still inexperienced. They leave to get treatment for Frank and ask Joel to look in on you while they're gone. The town begins to creep you out, but Joel is glad to provide comfort and protection."

• Summer Schooled Series - @boliv-jenta Dave York & Joel Miller "Needing some cash before college, you start babysitting for Mr Miller and Mr York. When you decide to spend the summer teasing them. They decide you need to be taught some lessons."

• I Urge You, Bite Me - @netherfeildren Joel Miller "Sometimes love hurts like a split nail, and sometimes we like it like that. Sometimes Joel hurts like a split nail, you like him like that too."

• Sex Worker Frankie Series - @prolix-yuy Frankie Morales "Francisco “Catfish” Morales, a former sex worker at Pope’s escort service, takes on a final client and is met with something unexpected."

• Said The Spider To The Fly - @blueeyesatnight The Thief No summary provided by author, and I won't spoil it, however this is an awesome little fic which I urge you to check out if you haven't already!

• Catalyst Series - @ezrasbirdie Frankie Morales & Joel Miller "You've been nursing a crush on one of your closest friends, Frankie Morales, for a year now. At his 40th birthday party, you finally meet his new friend and neighbor, Joel Miller, who Frankie hasn't been able to stop talking about. You hit it off a little too well."

• Just A Piece - @palioom - Dave York "Dave only married you to keep his life as a hitman hidden. But when he comes home one day to you having cooked one of his childhood meals, he is doubting if he only married you out of necessity."

• This Charming Man - @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin Frankie Morales "Frankie’s wife kicks him out and files for divorce following a second trip to retrieve their money. He feels lost and hopeless until he meets someone new. He falls hard and fast for her. He’ll do anything to have her."

• Lemon Cakes & Lust - @thetriumphantpanda Oberyn Martell "Just a lowly kitchen girl, that’s all you were. A life of struggle behind you, masked by the facade of the palace. A tray of lemon cakes holds your fate with Prince Oberyn and you are only too happy to oblige his wanting of you."

• Headshots Series - @secretelephanttattoo Marcus Pike "You're a photographer and you get a job working for the FBI, taking corporate headshots."

• Starving Season Series - @wannab-urs Dave York "You and Dave York are two people with nothing left in this world. You find yourselves starving for each other, trying to fill whatever void you each have in yourselves."

• Akrasia - @sp00kymulderr Ezra "Ezra quarantine smut that focuses much less on the lockdown and much more on the smut."

• Sequins - @trulybetty Joel Miller "On a night out with friends, you run into a broad-shouldered stranger and there's no denying that there's an immediate attraction between the two of you."

• Kill Shot Series - @magpiepills Ezra "A lonesome prospector comes face to face with a dangerous stranger. What happens when you can’t resist his charm?"

• Send In The Clown - @covetyou Dieter Bravo "You lose your scarf on a visit to the carnival. Send in Dieter Bravo - washed up actor turned circus clown."

• Precious Possessions Series - @exquisiteserotonin Dave York "Work conferences were supposed to be boring. A meeting with a mysterious man sets your life on a very different trajectory."

• Rumour Has It Series - @senorabond Marcus Pike & Javier Pena "You've recently transferred from a promising job in D.C. to Texas when DEA Special Agent Javier Peña approaches you with his current case. Rumor has it you have an in with the FBI art crimes unit, and the DEA could use your skills and connections on a suspected narcos money laundering case. You need to do well on this case to prove yourself, but you're not sure Marcus Pike will even help after the way you left."

Thank you so much to all the writers for writing such amazing stories this year!

⭐️And as a bonus, I've picked a fic from my own writing that I feel is my absolute favourite piece that I've written this year:

The Pit - Ezra - "Ezra and you stumble into an ominous pit on a prospecting mission for coveted azure diamonds on the Narillan moon, and find more than you bargain for."

🖤

PEDRO CHARACTER FAV FIC REC MASTERLIST

#pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #joel miller #javier pena #frankie morales #ezra prospect #dieter bravo #agent whiskey #marcus pike #dave york #comandante veracruz #oberyn martell #din djarin #jett's fic recs #jett's top 25 fic recs of 2023

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dailydreamling · 4 months

Text

Canon Divergence

My Stranger, My Dream by SigniorBenedickofPadua (Words: 67,154)

Warning: Non-Graphic Violence

Pairings: Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling

Roderick Burgess' spell does not summon Death, but someone who has been touched by Death. Hob Gadling ends up in his cellar instead of Dream.

Canon Divergence

your body is an anchor by Ark (Words: 6,792 )

Warning: None

Pairings: Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling

"The love of your life," Dream says softly. "That is quite a declaration to make, Hob Gadling, when one considers how many lives you've lived, and how many still await you."

Canon Divergence

in my mind's eye (i create someone i could love endlessly) by youcanseethecosmos (Words: 21,740)

Warning: None

Pairings: Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling

Because home isn’t a place – not for Hob Gadling. It’s quiet conversations and purple and pink galaxies within starlit eyes. It’s glow-in-the-dark stickers and running around barefoot in the rain. It’s stubborn excuses, heated arguments, and the dip in the mattress with whispers of "I’m sorry" through the old creaky bed springs. It’s lifting the blanket and feeling a grounding warmth curl into your chest and letting it stay there long after the morning sun has risen.

It’s jet black hair, gangly limbs, and pale skin. Home is the person who’s holding onto him like a lifeline. Because Hob likes to think Dream sees this as home too – sees Hob as home.

Canon Divergence

A Waking Nightmare by KydrogenDragon (Words: 17,303)

Warning: Implied/Referenced Drug Use

Pairings: Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling

Hob has started hallucinating his Stranger for the past seventy-odd years. When his Stranger actually turns up, he thinks it's another hallucination. Shenanigans ensue to get the pair on the same page.

Canon Divergence

fly me to the moon by apocryphal (Words: 11,857)

Warning: Ambiguous Slash, Panic Attacks, PTSD

Pairings: Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling

Dream discovers that after being locked in a cage for a century, it turns out he's contracted the mortal affliction known as claustrophobia. Inconvenient. He enlists Hob to help him resolve this issue ASAP. Obviously, that goes well.

See below for more recommendations!

Canon Divergence

Metaphysics by Quilling (Words: 3,199)

Warning: Dubious Morality, Canon and Historically Typical Violence

Pairings: Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling

In order to perfect humanity’s own dark mirror, one needs not look for evil or greed. In the true heart of darkness lies a sort of ambiguity. Hob taught him that.

Canon Divergence

In Waking Dreams by cuubism (Words: 49,309)

Warning: None

Pairings: Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling

In 1389, Hob married a man in his dreams, a lover conjured only by his imagination -- or so he thought. Five hundred years later, a mysterious ransom letter has Hob questioning everything he knew about his dream husband, who coincidentally disappeared from his dreams seventy years ago.

Several miles away, trapped in a glass bowl, said husband is really regretting letting his marriage be only a story in dreams.

Canon Divergence

the shape this light could take by bacondoughnut (Words: 12,617)

Warning: PTSD, Emotional Baggage, Trauma

Pairings: Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling

In Hob's defense, he doesn't think anyone in the history of people keeping fish as pets has ever been so offended by a standard glass fishbowl.

Canon Divergence

Dream of a thousand kisses by fellshish (Words: 6,335)

Warning: None

Pairings: Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling

Dream wants his reunion with Hob to go perfectly after their big fight so he visits Hob’s dreams to rehearse the moment. During one of those practice dreams, Hob suddenly kisses him.

Alternate Universe - Post The Kindly Ones

Beautiful, Strange and New by Moorishflower (Words: 223,030)

Warning: References to The Kindly Ones, Suicidal Thoughts

Pairings: Dream of the Endless | Daniel/Hob Gadling/Dream of the Endless | Morpheus

On a bright and unforgiving Sunday morning, Hob Gadling, having attended the Wake of his best friend, opens his kitchen door to find...his best friend. Changed. Alive. Human, and carried in the arms of the being intended to replace him. Given one month to decide if life is worth living, Hob and Daniel attempt to convince Morpheus of his worth at the same time as all three of them navigate their feelings for each other.

Alternate Universe - Overture

Forgotten Preludes by Astrophel_Hireath (Words: 6,438)

Warning: Bittersweet, Memory Loss

Pairings: Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling

“Fuck it,” Hob mutters, a series of complex emotions tumbling across his face in quick succession to each other - too fast for Dream to log. Fingers tap compulsively at Hob’s side, fidgeting in deep conflict. “I definitely won’t remember any of this?”

Dream’s brows slant. “No.”

"Perfect.” Hob says, only somewhat hysterically, before closing the distance between them in three purposeful steps.

Hob’s Students Fics

WTF is Gadling's Deal, Anyway? (Assorted Theories) by JustJReally (Words: 13,915)

Warning: None

Pairings: Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling

Five theories Professor Gadling's students came up with to explain His Whole Deal (and one time he told them the truth). In which Morpheus is mistaken for a student, Hob is mistaken for many things, and no one is good at spying.

Hob’s Students Fics

Quarantine Debacles by Picture_Yourself (Words: 3,964)

Warning: None

Pairings: Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling

An examination of what exactly would occur if one were to take an oblivious anthropomorphic personification of dreams, a rant-prone history teacher and a Zoom call filled with queer students and toss them all into one metaphorical room.

Canon Divergence

A Dream interrupted by ColorMeHappy (Words: 30,763)

Warning: None

Pairings: Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling

Meeting Dream had gone from once a century occurrence to every six months, to just every month, then to around once a week, a change of pace Hob would be eternally grateful for, if only people stopped bloody interrupting them.

(Five times someone in Hob's life interrupts him and Dream's meetings (dates) and one time it's someone Dream knows.)

Human AU

would you let me know?/ I could make some time if you wanted by BeatnikFreak (Words: 150,934)

Warning: None

Pairings: Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling

Dr Hob Gadling's been assigned a new colleague to co-teach his second year class, Dr Dream Oneiros, who is both utterly beautiful and completely unable to act like, y'know, a human being. But Hob's nothing if not indefatigable, especially when faced with a fascinating man who probably needs to talk about his feelings more, and who listens to every stupid thing he says like it's the most profound poetry.

Human AU

On Broken Wings by Konstadt (Words: 57,191)

Warning: Implied/Referenced Suicide, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts

Pairings: Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling

An AU where they meet on the university campus and Hob gets more than he bargained for when he decides to be a good person

Human AU

Let Me Down Easy by sanyumi (Words: 21,747)

Warning: None

Pairings: Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling

“... Mr. Gadling will be your photographer today.” Hob hears Morpheus’ shoes scuff and halt on the wooden floor before he turns around, taking a deep breath and holding it as he finally meets Morpheus’ eyes for the first time in five years. Christ, Morpheus looks at him like he’s staring at a ghost. It almost makes Hob laugh.

“Hello,” Hob croaks. He knows this is the part he usually shakes hands with his model, but he doesn’t move his hand. He doesn’t want to touch Morpheus.

Canon Divergence

wouldn't you like to see something strange? by rainbow_shine (Words: 3,629)

Warning: None

Pairings: Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling

Dream looked exactly the same as always. Yes, his coat was longer and his eyes were darker, but that was it. There was absolutely nothing that would indicate that his friend was disguised as something even remotely scary. Hob would even go as far as to say that Dream looked cute. He didn't know why no one else seemed to share his opinion.

Soulmate AU

Passing Stranger! (You Do Not Know How Longingly I Look Upon You) by WyvernQuill (Words: 25,112)

Warning: None

Pairings: Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling

Hob has known that Dream is his mildly star-crossed soulmate since their first meeting in 1389, but believes they have a mutual understanding not to acknowledge it; Dream, meanwhile, was under the impression that the Endless have no soulmates whatsoever, up until their sixth meeting in 1889. Finding out they're wrong comes as a bit of a shock to both of them.

Retire Dream AU

Next to Nothing by Cheshyr (Words: 6,056)

Warning: Angst with a Happy Ending, Insecurity, Emotional Hurt/Comfort

Pairings: Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling

Dream knew that retiring from Endlessness to live a human life with Hob Gading wouldn't be easy. He wasn't expecting Hob to laugh at him so much though. (In which there are misunderstandings, Dream hides things he shouldn't, and being human is hard.)

Omega Verse AU

lover, be good to me by CinnamonCake (Words: 100,265)

Warning: Past Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Abortion, Hurt/Comfort

Pairings: Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling

Dream de Endless was suppose to be his family’s most prized jewel, but when he is taken, he loses the last thing the world considered valuable about him. Broken down to his core, he does not expect anyone to want him again. Until Robert Gadling walks into his life

#dreamling fic #dreamling fanfic #hob gadling #dream of the endless #dailydreamling #masterpost #ao3 fanfic #hobmurphy #fic rec #DailyDreamling Fic Recs #dream x hob #dream of the endless x hob gadling

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imaginedanvrs · 6 months

Text

my demon gave me everything

part 1 | masterlist

summary: dark!natasha romanoff x reader. Natasha Romanoff saves the world. Morals, lifestyle and past aside, the fact is that she puts her life on the line for everyone else. And for this, she believes she’s owed something. She saves billions of lives on the regular, so why not take the occasional one for herself?

word count: 3.7k

warnings: kidnapping, drugging, stalking, character death, obsessive behaviour

“Hi, Peggy,” you greeted the veteran warmly, pulling her from the memories playing before her in the photos by the impeccably made bed. Though the quality of the crumpled papers weren’t the finest of that generation's technology, the scenes that the woman could recall just from a glance at the hazy faces were enough to bring their characters and stories to the present. In the months that you had known Ms Carter, you had spent hours listening to her adventures from the war, enthralled by every word. Of course, you weren’t meant to have favourites, but Peggy’s life had been unmatched, so naturally, her presence was too. You missed her greatly in the months that followed.

“Hello, dear,” Peggy replied with an aged smile. “How are you?” She asked, lifting her hand to you. You took it in your own and rubbed your thumb over the back of her hand with a shake of your head.

“You know that’s what I’m meant to ask you,” you tutted, though of course appreciating the care she showed.

“Yes but I’m not the one on my feet for twelve hours a day,” Peggy was swift to respond.

“And I’m not the one that’s fought in a world war,” you countered, earning a soft chuckle from your resident. You placed her hand back down on the soft sheets gently and set about busying around her room. “I heard Steve’s coming in to see you later,” you said as you began watering some of the pots along the window frame.

“That’s the plan,” Peggy agreed. Of course she understood better than anyone that the job of someone like Steve Rogers meant that plans could be cancelled at a moment's notice. Majority of the time though, he made it. Luckily for the super soldier, the home was discreet enough that he didn’t have to worry about any press or genuine threats interrupting his visits with the woman he loved. The home was tucked away just outside the city and only housed a manageable amount of residents for a small team of staff. It was perfect for a retired war hero, even if she did have some complaints about being in a home to begin with.

“I believe he’s bringing Natasha with him as well,” Peggy added.

“Really? Do I need to get the spare red carpet for her too?” You quipped as you smiled at the last flower pot, fully aware of the look Peggy was sending your way.

“Now dear, don’t you start making a fuss too. You’re the only one who doesn’t treat them like a touring rock band.” Peggy sighed. “You’ll give them a complex.” At this, you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Bit dramatic, don’t you think?” You chuckled as you folded and put away the cardigan that wouldn’t be needed for the rest of that day.

“I don’t think so, dear. Things aren’t how they used to be, you know?” You smiled as the familiar rant about the changing world started again. “When me and Steve fought, we fought for freedom and only that. Now you have so many so-called ‘super heroes’ out there showing off their gifts for the crowds instead of using it for good. And that’s not even the worst of it. I’m sure some are all together corrupt,” she said with a disappointed frown. “Steve earned his abilities because he’s a good man but there are some that-” Peggy’s rant was cut off by the chesty coughs that stole her breath. She leaned forward to best support herself as you grabbed her glass of water and knelt besides her, masking my worries as best you could. It was easy for you both to forget the veterans age and limits.

“Take it easy,” you encouraged with a gentle hand on her back. Peggy gratefully took the water and allowed it to ease her irritated throat before leaning back into her bed with a tired sigh. “Okay?”

“Best I’ve ever been,” you hummed and refilled her glass before setting it on the bedside table again.

You took Peggy’s hand in my own once again and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “I should hope so, you have to come with me next time I go back to England,” you said matter of factly. Prompting Peggy to chuckle, more than happy to go along with the fantasy.

“Ah yes, I still haven’t met the queen and she’s been on the throne almost as long as I’ve been alive,” Peggy exclaimed.

“Would be pretty nice if she could pay for our plane tickets,” you added to which the older woman continued to chuckle just as a light knock could be heard from the other side of her door.

“Come in,” she invited, the hope in her voice clear and thankfully rewarded when Steve poked his head around the door with a broad smile to the older woman that he extended to you after a second. You placed Peggy’s hand back to her bed just as a shorter woman crept in behind Steve.

“Oh Steve,” Peggy beamed with a twinkle in her eye she reserved solely for the Captain.

“Hey Peggy, how’s my favourite girl?” He greeted, his eyes just as full of love as Peggy’s as he knelt down where you had been a second before. “Hi, y/n,.” he said, his voice still nurturing.

“Heya Steve,” you smiled back and glanced away from their embrace. Too often did you try to live through them in hopes of experiencing a love nearly as strong as theirs some day.

You glanced towards the silent woman who was already looking at you with interest. “Hi,” you muttered, finding it near impossible to hold such an intense gaze for more than a couple seconds - not that you were the first to find difficulty in making eye contact with the world’s greatest assassin, of course. She was the Black Widow. For a second you had to remind yourself that she was a good guy and that you had nothing to worry about.

“Hi,” she replied, a friendly smile taking over her features so smoothly you wondered if it was sincere.

“I’ll leave you guys to it in a minute but before I go, Peggy, are you comfortable?” You asked. “Not too hot?” You knew the older woman didn’t like to make a fuss and that if you didn’t ask then, she wouldn’t say anything until her visitors left.

“A little,” you were glad to hear her admit, “perhaps there’s no need for the extra blanket.” You nodded in agreement and took the extra blanket off her bed and put it away in her cupboard to grab again before the night. “Thank you, dear,” Peggy said with a grateful nod.

“No problem, just shout if you need anything,” you said as always as you made your way out the room and shut the door behind you, unaware of the eyes that followed you the whole way.

Natasha didn’t believe in any kind of instant connection. She had never looked at someone and felt a desperate need to have them, kiss them, date them, fuck them. It had simply never occurred and she didn’t believe it happened to others. She believed anything remotely close to ‘love at first sight’ was some bullshit horny people told lonely people in order to get in their pants faster. You were no exception.

What Natasha did experience was interest. Interest of woman she would typically define as her ‘type’. It wasn’t that she saw a hot woman and wanted to fuck them, instead, Natasha saw fragile women and wanted to break them. She wanted to surgically remove every part of them that made them the picture of innocence and ruin it. Because no two people are the same. No two people can have that many overlapping traits. Everyone was unique which meant everyone had a unique way to be broken, that was what sparked Natasha’s interest.

In less than a minute in the same room as you, the spy had watched how you interacted with Peggy, a vulnerable lady that you had ensured the comfort of. She had watched how unfazed you were by two superheroes that many had paid thousands just to shake hands with. It had sparked her interest and made her wonder how you would respond to numerous scenarios. She wondered what you would look like when your mind and body had been broken, if it would be any different than the women before.

The one thing Natasha knew for sure was that she was going to find out.

Peggy’s death came two weeks later. Steve couldn’t be there at the end but he thanked you that you were. You held her hand as she passed and told her it was okay, managing to hold back your tears until her final breath. You all knew this meant she wouldn’t have to suffer anymore, but the absence of her presence was felt across the home and would for a while.

The funeral was a blur, a lot of people were invited, unsurprisingly. Peggy had touched many lives that you were beyond grateful to receive an invitation yourself, even if you didn’t know anyone there except for Steve who had enough people to greet. You stuck to the back of the hall and made small talk with a few people and managed to hold back tears until the end of service when you snuck away to the bathroom.

After ten minutes of hardly effective breathing exercises you found on the internet, you made your way back out, hoping to say goodbye to Steve before you left but figured he had to leave early as he was nowhere to be found. You tried to make an unnoticed exit but the small touch to your back told you that you failed in that. You spun around to see Natasha with that same, slightly off, smile you hadn’t forgotten..

“Hey,” she greeted, putting her hands back into the pockets of a coat that probably cost more than a year's worth of your salary. To be fair, she saves the world.

“Hey yourself,” you said with a weary smile, hoping your eyes weren’t too red from crying. She looked perfect.

“Y/n, right?” She tested.

“Yeah and you’re… Natasha was it?” You tested back, making the redhead’s smile become more real.

“That’s me,” she chuckled. You eased up slightly, finding her presence less intimidating than your last meeting. “How are you? I mean, how are you doing?” She continued, her softer gaze becoming more watchful again. You wondered then if that was just her way of showing she was listening and giving her full attention.

“I’m alright,” you lied. Natasha noted it internally. “How are you? How’s Steve?” Another note.

“I didn’t know her all that well but Steve’s not having the easiest time.” You nodded, recalling the affection that never faltered when he looked at Peggy. “He’ll be okay though, he’s a tough guy.”

“Is he here?” You skimmed the faces in the crowd once more but still couldn’t find the blond.

“No, he had to go,” Natasha said.

“He doesn’t need you to help save the world with him?” you teased to try and distract from the resurfacing raw funeral feelings.

“It’s not bad enough to require my skill set,” the spy quipped with some undisguised smugness. You hummed. That was pretty hot. “So seeing as there’s nothing that requires my immediate attention, you need a ride home?” Natasha offered with expecting eyes.

“Thank you, but I can just order an uber I’m not too far-”

“Then you won’t be out of my way then,” Natasha called over her shoulder as she headed for what you could only guess was the flashiest car on the grounds and left no room for arguing. You trailed along behind her as Natasha opened the eagle doors from her keys while you pretended not to be completely awestruck by the vehicle and its driver.

“So was this a gift from Nick Fury or…?” You asked as the spy revved the engine and swiftly made her way out of the parking area and started on the long lane out of the grounds.

“You could say that,” she smirked, making you wonder if there was a story behind the car's ownership. “Do you drive?” The redhead asked instead.

“Um, no. Haven’t really gotten around to it, you know, what with moving here a year ago from England and all.” You admitted in a quick attempt to cover the embarrassment you always felt when people asked.

“That’s fair.” Natasha nodded understandably. “Besides, what are you? Twenty?” She continued with her eyes staying on the road.

“Nineteen,” you corrected. Natasha hummed and you suddenly wondered how old the Avenger was. Definitely not too old for you to see her as attractive but probably too old for her to see you as attractive, as if that were ever a possibility.

Once you reached the main gates to the grounds, Natasha pulled up her screens map and asked you to put your address in then continued on in that direction.

“So how long are you planning on staying in the states?” The spy inquired.

“My visa doesn’t actually last much longer than a year so I’ll have to head back home soon.” You explained, counting down the weeks before your flight.

“Oh? You reckon you’ll come back?” Natasha continued, stopping herself from pushing as much as she wanted to.

“I’m not sure yet. I mean it’s pretty nice here but it’s not home, you know? That’s where I want to be.”

“Yeah, nothing beats that,” the older woman muttered. You were about to ask Natasha about her own home when the car pulled to a stop outside your three story apartment building. “But I suppose this is it for now.”

“Pretty different to yours, I bet,” you mused, only imagining the kind of place she lived.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Natasha chuckled.

“Kinda,” you admitted with a light laugh as you got out of the fancy car. “Well, thanks for the ride, it was fun,” you smiled gratefully towards the redhead.

“Anytime,” she winked and sped away once you were a couple steps back. As you watched her go, you assumed that would be the last time you ever saw Natasha Romanoff.

It’s pretty nice but it’s not home. That’s where I want to be.

Natasha had pondered on that as she pulled into the rusting garage, only being lit by the glow from the inside of her car. She tapped her steering wheel and considered what that meant for her. It meant you were going back to England and you probably weren’t coming back. The redhead hummed as she pulled up your visa on her tablet, seeing the expiration date was only a couple months time and concluded you could be leaving any day between now and then. When she returned home she would find what date you had booked your flight for so she could know for sure.

That was new. The spy had never faced a deadline with any of the past women. It was exciting, adding a new risk she hadn’t encountered before. It made the challenge all the more enticing. With that on her mind, Natasha left the garage through the back door and had to give it several kicks when shutting it back into place.

Shit hole.

The building wasn’t really that bad, more just a little run down because it was in the forgotten part of town, just outside the busy city that had no time to acknowledge it. Natasha, being far more used to her luxury penthouse suite in the heart of New York, thought it was below her and couldn’t wait to show you just how differently she lived.

Once the redhead made her way up to the top floor, and assuring no one was around to see, she slipped inside the empty one bedroom apartment and headed straight for the window at the opposite end of the living space. Sitting in the sturdy foldable chair, Natasha peered through the S.H.I.E.L.D issued camera that was already staring right into your bedroom window down the street.

You were crying again. Natasha tutted. She had liked getting a sneak peak at how you looked when you cried the first time, but had since grown irritated that she wasn’t the one causing those tears to fall. It made her agitated and grew her need to have you.

When you finally took your shirt off, the spy’s interest peaked again and she gave a light groan. It was only the second time seeing you without it and the first time had only been through your webcam. You usually knew to close your curtains when getting changed but the emotions clouded your better judgement.

Such a dumb pup.

You dipped out of view to remove your bra so Natasha switched tabs on her laptop to peer through yours. Turned off. She switched to my phone. In another room.

“Fuck,” Natasha huffed, pulling a cigarette from its packet on the windowsill and grabbing the lighter from her pocket. She held the flame against the end and waited for the orange glow to send off its small grey whisps.

The Avenger had put cameras in some of the other women’s apartments, but given that she was able to see through several of your windows from across the street, she didn’t deem it necessary for you. She preferred it that way. She wasn’t exactly desperate to see you naked. That wasn’t a big part of it. She just wanted to see you. She enjoyed learning your small habits from afar, they would help in a few days. She enjoyed seeing you all on your own and knew it bothered you. You craved companionship and it would make you more open to hers the more desperate you got. It was just a shame she couldn’t drag it out for longer.

When you reappeared, you were in my unicorn pjs. Natasha smiled at the innocence of it all. Nineteen. The redhead didn’t usually go for women that young but you were an adult by law so she deemed it okay. Besides, she knew of your exes. She knew that older women were your type and that thirty definitely wasn’t too old. The spy also knew those exes were inadequate and what Natasha could offer you was something you had yet to experience from anyone, even them. She wondered just how badly you craved it and how soon you would admit it to her.

All that mattered was that you would never experience it from anyone else.

Several days passed since Peggy’s funeral and things were returning to how they were before you met the veteran. Her room at the home was still empty and you hoped it would be until you left. That would always be Peggy’s room. Thankfully, you were able to distract yourself throughout your working days by completing unnecessary tasks to make the day go quicker and stop your mind wandering too much to how lonely you were again. Peggy had been a friend, granted an unlikely one but a friend at that.

You were able to keep yourself preoccupied outside of work too. Whenever the weather permitted, you headed out into the parks in town with your sketchbook and spent hours, sometimes most of the day, doodling pretty much anything you could see. The crowds of flowers around the edges of the park; the moments different wildlife crosses paths; the unique landscapes when the city turned to town; the families and couples enjoying the last of the summer. Everything had a spot in your nearly full sketchbook that you had gotten especially for your trip. You were hoping to recreate them digitally when you got home.

The silver lining in it all was that you slept soundlessly through the nights. From the moment your head hit the pillow you were fast asleep and woke up feeling refreshed until grief gave you a sudden slap. But it wasn’t just you that benefited from my new found deep sleeping habits. In fact, it was what made Natasha able to make her move so fast.

It was 3:36 when the spy stepped foot in your apartment. She crept around without a single breath to be heard and peered around the studio apartment. Due to the layout, Natasha was able to see your sleeping frame as soon as she stepped into your living space. You were of course sound asleep when she saw you, but Natasha still noted where the creaky floorboards were and swiftly manoeuvred around your apartment.

The redhead didn’t make her way immediately to you as she knew you wouldn’t stir. Instead, she took some time to feed her curiosity and opened the cupboards in the kitchen she hadn’t been able to see. You had a lot of snacks, most of which Natasha didn’t approve of, and less ingredients for actual dinners. She knew you weren’t much of a chef and more often than not just put a collection of snacks on your plate for dinner than cook. The older woman would fix that for you soon enough.

She was pleased to see that you kept the studio pretty much spotless. There was no washing up left out, no crumbs on any surfaces, the floor didn’t need to be moped. She wouldn’t mind if you managed to stay in her home a while.

After a few more minutes of assessing the rest of your living space, Natasha continued back to you and hovered over your sleeping body for a while, knowing you wouldn’t have a rest this peaceful for a while. Luckily she had something to make sure you could make the most of it. The syringe in the leather pocket was only a slim one with a needle small enough that you wouldn’t feel it in your sleep. She traced along your neck with the back of her finger before sinking the needle in and flushing the liquid into your system, ensuring you would be no trouble when getting home.

“That’s it, detka,” Natasha cooed when you turned onto your side facing her and nuzzled further into your pillow. She leant down and placed a gentle kiss on your temple and the trace of a smile fluttered across your lips. “Get lots of rest.”

#natasha romanoff #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #black widow #dark!natasha x reader #dark!fic #dark!marvel

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pedrostylez · 6 months

Text

How The Crow Flies: pt. 1

Javier Peña x fem!reader x Frankie Morales crossover

Word count: 5.7k

Chapter Summary: Introduction into the HTCF world, Peña is a menace

Chapter Warnings and Disclaimers: 18+ only. I am not responsible for what you read on the internet. You have been warned! Locations and descriptions of places may be inaccurate in comparison to each story (Narcos and Triple Frontier). Timelines are obviously different between the two stories, so we are going to meet in the middle and say we are in the early 2000s. These are not necessarily canon characters in regard to how they act, how they treat people, and their current relationships. mean!Javier, violence, dubcon, SMUT!!!!!, anger, fighting, PTSD, mentions of rape, derogatory use of slut, whore, and the like

Please support by commenting, sending me respectful thoughts, and reblogging. I appreciate every single one of you!

Taglist: @thevoiceinyourheadx @suzdin @survivingandenduring @bariskaplans @inept-the-magnificent @casa-boiardi (please let me know if I missed anyone that was interested or if you would like to be added)

You used to be new to Colombia.

You had never really thought you would be invited to the Embassy as a guest DEA agent, struggling to pull your bag through the airport with your purse in your other hand, but you’d made it-and the heat was different from Miami heat.

But you had worked hard in Florida, stopping drugs from passing through the border, starting your career in the mail office, and working your way up.

You stood on the docks of Miami undercover so many times that you were considered the local siren, stopping drug mules in their tracks just to talk to you, only to find out that you were there to bust them.

Your coworkers, male and female alike were proud of you, happy for you. You had been blessed with people who surrounded you and were supportive.

When you got to Colombia it was like you were back at square one.

Your boss, the well-known Javier Peña, had a stick up his ass.

“Would you give these to Noonan?” Peña had swept by, plopping papers on your desk before trying to run further away.

You stopped him, holding out your hand and wrapping your fingers around his suit sleeve. “Sorry, sir. But what are they?”

“You don’t need to know that.” He scoffed, pulling his arm from your grasp. “You’re sitting in one of my agent’s chairs, and I need you to bring that to Noonan as soon as you’re done setting up her computer.”

You scoffed back, standing up and placing a hand on your hip. His eyes followed your hand, eyebrows raised in interest until you said your name. “I am the agent that sits at this desk, Peña.”

“My apologies.” He said quietly with no hint of actual remorse. “Still, please bring that to Noonan. Our new employee meeting starts in five minutes.”

You immediately regretted wearing the pencil skirt, thinking it would be a good first impression as if that was the reason that Javier Peña had mistaken you. From then on you wore cargo pants and a fitted t-shirt, like the rest of the team, arguing with your boss at every corner.

“I told you to stay here. And what did you do? You fucking went out there anyways.” Peña had this thing about slamming the door to make a point, even though everyone could clearly see into his office where you were standing, arms crossed, eyes rolling toward the ceiling.

“Jason said he needed help. I helped him.” Standing your ground came naturally, and Peña clearly hated it. He wanted you to bend over backward for him, just like Jason, and just like David.

“You don’t need to help him by getting yourself killed.” Peña gritted out, turning to you before sitting at his desk.

A quick mumble came out of your mouth, “Would rather do that than push your pencils around like some secretary.”

“Are you going to hold that against me for the rest of the time you’re here? Because if that’s the case then maybe you should go back to Miami.” He was back standing, pointing at you and what he assumed was the general direction of Florida. Sweat beaded at his hairline, eyes dark with annoyance.

“I’m not holding anything against you, boss.” You snark, twisting around to the door to look out into the bullpen, where everyone is pretending to not watch. “Are we all done here?”

Peña was quick to brush you off after staring, motioning at the door resting his hands on his hips, and pacing behind his desk.

But then after a successful mission, Peña brought you and the others out for drinks. A Friday celebration for “catching the bad guys” as Jason had always said, downing the free beer that his boss provided.

You were all for taking advantage of Peña’s money if he was going to pay for drinks. Quick to order tequila sodas, letting them slide down your throat like water and sway back and forth as you spoke with office staff and the other agents.

You avoided Peña like the plague. Any time you turned your head you saw his back towards you, speaking to any girl he could find that wasn’t part of the team he was paying for.

One too many tequila sodas had you stumbling to the bathroom, struggling with the button of your pants, and taking much longer than you had the last time you went. You were thinking that it is about time to take yourself home, walk down the sidewalk for some fresh air, and then hail a cab, but when you finally manage to get out of the bathroom of this bar, your coworkers are filing out.

“Where are y’all going?” You slur to Jason who is holding the door open for one of the archive girls. It’s like he doesn’t even hear you, stepping through the door wrapping his arm around her shoulder, and whispering in her ear.

You mumble out a few curse words, turning toward the bar counter where that same head that you had been staring at all night is now facing you. His eyes are watchful, glass to his pouted lips as he takes a sip of what looks to be whiskey. “You want water?”

“Another tequila would be nice.” You perk up, slouching into the seat next to him with hooded eyes. In the back of your mind, you’re aware that you will be having a hangover tomorrow but don’t care enough to stop it.

Peña motions at the bartender, nodding at you to indicate that you would like another drink. He takes a beat before saying, “So, you still mad at me?”

“I’m not mad at you.” You hiccup, furrowing your brow as the bartender sets a glass in front of you. You take a sip, noticing that there is no fizz, and know immediately that you’ve been cut off. “Damn, he gave me a water.”

He chuckles, draining his glass and turning fully towards you. His eyes scan behind you and the surrounding area before settling on your face. “I shouldn’t have assumed you were Noonan’s secretary.”

“No, you shouldn’t have.” You sigh, taking another sip of the water. You’re suddenly extremely thirsty.

Peña waits for you to say more, but shakes his head when you begin tapping your fingers against the counter. “I’m trying to apologize.” He huffs out, resting his head on one hand, propped against the bar.

“You are?” You laugh, pushing the glass of water away. “I didn’t hear one.”

“I wasn’t thinking, that day I walked in and asked you to go to Noonan.” He sighs, explaining himself. Still not an apology. “I’ve been under a lot of pressure to get this right this time, and I was told I was having a female agent added to my team that had done great things in Miami but didn’t know anything beyond your name.”

You shrug, sliding off your seat. “Okay, boss. No big deal. It was months ago.” You give in, thinking it’s about time to walk home.

When you stumble away from Peña, he reaches for your arm to hold you up, hissing out between his teeth. “You need a ride home.”

“No, I’m fine.” His hand is warm at your elbow, seeping through his skin to yours so quickly that you break out in a shiver. You attempt to yank your arm away, but his grip is firm and guiding.

If he notices you trying to pull away from him or the shiver, he doesn’t say anything. “Wasn’t asking.”

You think you roll your eyes, but you’re not too sure based on how the room is moving around you. “Haven’t you drunk too?” Your hand twists out to grip his shoulder, too dizzy to be pulling away now.

“Not as much as you.” He mumbles with a short chuckle, guiding you to the door after slipping the bartender some bills. You aren’t sure how much he’s paid, but you think it’s a lot based on how happy the guy looks.

The typically humid air is crisp against your skin as you step out, and you can’t help but curl your fingers into the sleeve of his shirt. The noises around you feel muffled, and when you turn to Peña he’s already looking at you expectantly. “What?”

He huffs out his nose, trying to keep his composure. “Where do you live? In the same block as the other agents or somewhere else?”

You shake your head, confused by his question but tell him your address anyways. “I can make it home–”

“No.” He cuts you off, lightly pressing into the small of your back to lead you toward his Jeep. “You’ve had more to drink than others, and I need you to be ready by Monday.”

“Oh, I’m definitely calling in sick Monday.” You hiccup, grabbing onto the handle of his car as you hop into the passenger seat.

Peña walks around to the driver's side, sliding in and watching you as you buckle in clumsily. “Don’t get sick in my car.”

“No promises.” You mumble, laying your head back against the headrest and shutting your eyes as he pulls away from the curb. The drive feels familiar, turning at the right moments, and the hum of his car seems to have you slipping into sleep.

You didn’t realize you had fallen asleep until Peña’s warm hand was on your elbow again, shaking it gently. “Hey, you awake?”

You startle, sitting up straight and looking out the windshield before flashing your eyes over to him, glancing down at his fingers drifting over your elbow in soothing circles. You clear your throat, reaching for his door handle. “Yeah, sorry.”

“S’alright.” He reaches for his own door, gets out, and walks around the front of the car to where you are stumbling toward your door. “Where’s your key?” You mumble incoherently, reaching into your pocket and dangling the key in front of him for a moment before he snatches it out of your hand and into the lock. “Let me make sure you don’t get sick all over yourself.”

“I’m not even that drunk.” You scoff, brushing past him to the bathroom. You are mostly just dizzy, a nasty side effect of tequila that you’ve never been able to curb. “Since you invited yourself in, there’s soda in the fridge.” You clip from your mirror, reaching for a washing rag and turning on the water.

“What, no beer?” He calls, chuckling quietly before you hear the sound of the fridge opening, his footsteps going quiet when he gets back to your living room and sits on the couch.

When you’ve finished scrubbing your face, you step back into the living room and see Peña with his soda half tilted up, glancing at you and down to your coffee table where a glass of water is waiting. “Thanks, boss.” You mumble, sitting on the other side of the couch and taking a sip.

He nods, eyeing you quietly before setting the half-empty bottle in front of him. “Javi is fine.”

You quirk your eyebrow at him, humming to yourself before taking another sip. “Are we getting personal now?”

Peña squints at you, pursing his lips to hide a smile that seems to be growing on his lips. “Only if you tell me something personal.”

You scoff, setting down your glass and leaning back. The air conditioner in your apartment is only in the bedroom, leaking out into the rest of the living space slowly and heavily along the ground. Your toes are cold, realizing suddenly that you have taken off your shoes and it seems like Peña did as well, his toes wiggling under his socks. “Something personal? What do you want to know?”

He shrugs. “Anything. I don’t know much about you at all besides that you worked your way up in a field that isn’t kind to women, and moved here from Miami on recommendation from Noonan to help catch the Cali cartel.”

You tilt your head over to him to watch him, his arm flexing as he reaches for his soda again. You feel this sudden urge to lean forward and touch his arm– “I hate the heat.” You blurt, stopping yourself from reaching for him as he looks at you inquisitively. “I-I grew up in Utica, New York. Love the snow.”

He smiles, nodding his head. “Why did you go to Miami, if you hate the heat?”

You shrug. “Wanted to be different.” You laugh to yourself, leaning forward again for your glass. “Couldn’t stand staying in the same town, or just moving to the next city over like all my friends did.”

As you’re talking your hand knocks the glass off the coffee table, water spilling over your feet and onto the carpet. You jump, leaning toward Peña to lift your feet off the floor before they get wet, but you aren’t quick enough. “S’alright. Let me get a towel.” He says quietly, grabbing the glass from the floor and his soda before heading to the kitchen.

When he returns with a kitchen towel that you think was hanging on the oven’s handle, you don’t expect him to sit so close and wrap his hand around your calf and lift it onto his lap. He wipes at your feet gently, hand still holding you steady as he glances up at you. “Texas.” He clears his throat, looking unsure before he continues. “I grew up in Texas. The heat was different than here, but…I’ve never seen snow.”

You smirk, watching as he slows his movements and rubs his thumb along your calf. “You’d probably hate it like everyone does.”

You both stare at each other, not sure if you should pull your leg away, ask him to leave and thank him for the ride, or see where this goes.

You start to pull away, realizing that this is your boss for fucks sake when he tightens his grip. “I’ve always wanted to see snow on Christmas. With the lights and real snowmen…” He pauses, leaning forward and flicking his gaze to your mouth. “I don’t think I would hate it.”

You gasp when his hand slides up your leg to behind your knee, pulling you closer and over his lap more. “Peña–”

“Javi.” He breathes, taking a deep breath that expands his chest and has the buttons straining under the pressure. “I-it’s Javi.”

Your head is swimming with the feeling of his hand on you, over and over, looking from his parted mouth to his eyes. His pupils dilate, his hand tightening around you in anticipation as you start to lean forward.

Your eyelashes flutter, closing for a moment before opening them again and finding your nose brushing against his, his eyes cast down to watch you ponder the next best move. “Javi,” You whisper hoarsely, swearing you can taste the mix of whiskey and soda in his mouth from how he lets his bottom lip run against yours. “You’re my boss.”

He nods quickly, the bridge of his nose running against yours as he takes a deep breath. “I know.”

It’s only another split second before you make the decision, tilting your chin towards him and sealing your mouth to his.

He groans, wrapping his hand around the back of your head and into your hair to hold you to him. He swirls his tongue with yours, eager and ready to have you against him and not moving away to take a breath.

He pulls you closer, bracketing his own hips with your thighs, digging his fingers into your hips to hold you against him. When you begin rolling your center against his, your jeans in the way of each other, he holds you firm. “Don’t do that.” He swallows, shaking his head and looking up at you. “Unless you want me to fuck you right now.”

On wobbly legs you stand, pushing away from him enough that you can reach for the button of your pants, sliding the material down your thighs. You break out in a shiver, forgetting how heavy the air feels right now.

Javi reaches out with one hand, running his fingers down the side of your thigh before leaning forward to wrap his hand fully around you. His other hand is expertly undoing his own jeans, eyes on you, and a smirk rising on his face. “Needy, aren’t you?”

Biting your lip has little effect on your ability to keep your noises at bay, a groan coming out of your mouth as his fingers grip into the plush skin on your ass. “You’re just as bad.”

“Oh really?” He laughs, pulling you to your previous position hovering over him. “Work for it then.”

Your thoughts stutter, furrowing your brow as you shakily bring a hand down to the opening of his pants. Gently wrapping your fingers around him, jeans halfway down his thighs already and not a pair of boxers in sight, you swear your mouth begins to water. You glance back up to his face, his knowing wink giving you pause. “What do you want me to do?”

He tilts his head, a small smile rising before he licks his lower lip. “Don’t just stare at it, ride it.”

You gasp at how quickly he reaches forward and slides your panties to the side. His finger glides at your center, opening you up to feel how slick you’ve gotten for him. He groans, satisfied with what he finds as he holds the fabric with his thumb, his other hand roughly guiding you by the hip to sit lower.

The head of his cock presses into you in one instant, and in the next, you’re fully seated on top of him. Thighs tight, a sheen of sweat covering your forehead, you whine at the feeling of him inside you. He shushes you, bringing one bruising hand up from your hip to your face, moving your hair out of your eyes. “I know, Hermosa. Too big for you, huh?” You nod, feeling faint as you shut your eyes for a moment. He taps roughly with two fingers on your cheek. “Easy now, don’t lose focus.”

Your eyes snap open as he shifts his hips up, his hair at the base of his shaft rubbing against your clit. He begins thrusting, holding you steady by where his hand is placed on your cheek, digging into the hair at the nape of your neck. Your mouth opens, slack-jawed at the feeling of him thrusting up into you.

“That’s it.” He growls, pulling your head back tighter. “Just like that.” He pistons up, leaning further back on your couch and pulling you away from him so he can better get a view of you. You’re taking it, turned on, and pretty sure you’re ruining his jeans in the process.

He doesn’t last long, and neither do you. His words, forced through his teeth and puffing breaths spur you on to the finish line, his own orgasm leaving a mess on your underwear and stomach. He pulls out quickly, hurriedly rubbing at himself with your slick covering him before closing his eyes and moaning as ropes of his spend stick to you.

Standing on shaking legs, you walk toward your bathroom, grabbing a towel and wiping yourself off before looking in the mirror briefly. You look like you’ve been fucked-hair a nest on your head, your underwear wet. When you step back out toward the living room, ready to offer him a towel or the shower, you stop dead in your tracks when you don’t see him immediately.

Confused, you step into the kitchen, looking around briefly before stepping back into your living room. The soda is half gone on your coffee table, and the kitchen towel that he brought is tossed haphazardly on the couch. You look toward your front door and notice his boots are gone just as the lights from a car shine through your window. Peña had just fucked you and ditched.

It hadn’t really been a surprise to you that Peña wanted to pretend like nothing had happened. Just a quick fuck, and nothing serious-you could handle that. Peña must have thought you would be beating down his door because he avoided you for two full weeks before reappearing in the office at the same time you were there.

You had continued on; business as usual.

It surprised Peña so much that when you had gone into his office to give him reports to review and then left soon after, he was at your apartment that night asking what your issue was.

“It was a one-time thing.” Peña was circling your island, rubbing at his jaw and eyeing you every once in a while.

“I figured.” You roll your eyes, leaning against the doorway. “Do you have something you need me to do, related to our job? Because if not, can you just leave?”

“Was I more hammered than I thought?” He questioned, looking at you incredulously. “I swear you came.”

“I did.” You confirm.

“Then, how are you…are you not? I don’t-” he growled frustrated, running his hands through his hair.

“I’m not obsessed with you. Is that what you’re asking?” You laugh, shaking your head. “We were drunk, we fucked. You’re my boss, I’m your employee. Let’s just move on. Now will you leave?”

“I don’t want you to be obsessed with me.” He says quietly, face going red with embarrassment.

“Great, I’m not.” You shrug, tapping your fingers against your pant leg.

He stares at you, grinding his teeth before he steps toward where you appear relaxed. He’s silent as he reaches out, running the back of his finger against your exposed arm. You shiver, rolling your eyes at how he smiles.

You tilt your head at him, asking with your eyes what are you doing? As he shrugs, he kneels in front of you, hands coming up to hover over your pants. “Let me feel you, hermosa.”

You and Peña continued like this, back and forth for weeks. He would eye you a certain way after berating you in his office as code to meet in the archives.

You would say something snarky with Jason and David looking on, and he would show up at your apartment later that night.

Or sometimes, you both would stay late, working until you couldn’t keep your eyes open anymore to then look up and see Peña still sitting at his desk in a similar state as you were. He would sigh heavily, call you into his office, and tell you to go home like everyone else had.

You never did.

This seemed to be the most stable thing in your life, even though you and Peña were not an item, and adamantly told each other so when he was deep inside you or when your throat was constricting around him.

You thought everything was routine at this point-yeah, you fucked your boss, and you still argued with him, but the job wasn’t bad. You were making headway into things that Peña and your team worked on extensively to get to the bottom of the cartel. And when you were having another meeting with Peña, Jason, and David, you were shocked to find out that Peña had a new job for you.

“I need you to go into the jungle.” He said, looking directly at you with a pinched mouth.

You stared at him, trying to assess what that exactly meant as Jason and David stared between the two of you. “And do what, exactly?” You question, flicking your eyes over him.

“I need intel on Gabriel Loreas. He is an upcoming drug dealer that is supposed to be the local cops' responsibility.” He says quickly, flipping through the file on his desk before leaning back and crossing his feet.

“So why have her go out there?” Jason questions quietly, concern covering his face.

Peña’s eyes flash in anger, raking over Jason. “Because I don’t trust the locals to not screw me over in the end. And…we have a mole.” David and Jason begin bickering, Peña cutting them off. “I need someone that can infiltrate his home without causing suspicion.”

“And why can’t that be one of us? No offense,” David turns apologetically to you. “But it’s extremely dangerous to be doing that alone.”

Peña rolls his neck, trying to hold his temper. “His security guards are looking for…working girls.”

It’s silent in the office as Jason and David look toward you, bug-eyed and scared. You take a deep breath, chuckling quietly. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Peña freezes, eyes widening briefly before leaning forward. “Now, listen–”

“You want me to whore myself out? For your little side mission? Like I’m some piece of meat?” Your voice is increasing in volume, Jason wincing at the sound of you wobbling through the last few words. He knew how you felt being used as bait while in Miami, and now it seemed to be happening all over again.

“Everyone out.” Peña glared at Jason and David, waiting for them to file out of his office, and shut the door tightly behind them.

When his eyes find you, he stays frozen while you remain stoic. He takes a deep breath, cursing under his breath briefly. “I need you to help me out, here.”

You attempt to not scoff. “Why the fuck should I be doing anything you say?”

“You don’t have to actually do anything.” He’s earnest, stepping closer to you while one hand rests on his hip.

You can’t help the emotion lacing your voice. “You’re kidding.” Shaking your head, you open your arms wide. “How do you expect me to get anywhere without actually offering up anything?”

He growls in irritation, taking another step toward you. “I just need you to stakeout-talk to the men that come back into town, and get a feel for it. When things get heavier we will send Jason and David out.”

You stare at Peña for another minute, waiting to see if he flinches. If you can see the shift, the change of mind. When you don’t, you sigh. “I’m taking the rest of the day off.”

It’s like a blow to the chest as he steps back. “What?”

“You heard me.” You snarl, opening the door so Jason and David can hear your announcement as well.

As you step out, not waiting to see if Peña has anything else to say, Jason follows you to the elevator. “I’ll talk to him, don’t–”

“It’s fine, Jason.” You sigh, shaking your head. “I just need to get in the right mindset. Don’t worry about it; I don’t want you telling Peña anything.”

He shuffles, holding the elevator open. “Are you sure? He’s such a hard ass to you, maybe if I tell him what you told me he would change up his plans…”

You give him a forced smile, grabbing his wrist and pulling it out of the way. “It’s fine. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

As the elevator door slides closed with a small wave from Jason, you see Peña’s eyes watching, assessing the interaction. As the door shuts, you take a deep breath and exhale, trying to recenter yourself before stepping into the parking garage.

You had an inkling of who it would be when you heard a knock on your door a few hours later. You sit on your couch, silent as you wait, and hope that Peña will just walk away. He will understand that you need space.

You had already cried the minute you stepped over the threshold, feeling that pit in your stomach that you always got when you stepped out onto the docks in Miami. How hands and lips felt against your heated skin where you didn’t want them–

“Hermosa,” Peña calls through your door, jiggling the handle to test if it is locked. “I know you’re there. Let me in.”

You sigh again, waiting for another knock before slinking over to the door and quietly unlocking the deadbolt. He hears it, pushing open the door quickly after and coming face to face with you.

He huffs, kicking the door shut and shrugging out of his suit jacket. “Were you not going to let me in?”

“No.” You say quietly, sitting on your couch and back down to the book you have bookmarked with a receipt from the corner store.

He’s silent, standing above you while you refuse to make eye contact. He’s waiting for you to break, but you’re too tired to. When he finally caves, you try to control your lips from ticking up in the corners. “I really need this, hermosa.”

You pick at your fingernails, patiently waiting.

He sighs again. “There’s a lot of money on the line. Like, millions, if what I’ve been told is correct. The local guys, they’re getting paid on the side by this guy and I need someone in there.”

He’s pacing now, back and forth in front of your coffee table.

You break your silence, leaning back and crossing your arms. “What’s in it for me?”

Peña pauses, turning to you. He looks flustered, hands having run through his hair by how it sticks out away from the side of his head. “Cash. Cold, hard cash.”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “So, I will really be a whore then, won’t I?”

He frowns, shaking his head. “No, I don’t want you doing that.” He stretches his neck, clicking his tongue in disgust. “You just, pretend. Don’t do anything crazy–”

You feel anger bubble up inside, over your tongue, and spitting out at him. “You don’t fucking get it, do you?”

He freezes, shocked in front of you.

“I don’t get to just say no. I have to be stronger to say no. I have to be strapped to say no. I have to be cute enough to say no. I can’t just not do something once I’ve pretended to offer those things, Javi. These aren’t college boys trying to not catch a rape charge.”

He waits, biting the inside of his mouth as he grows more frustrated. He must know you’re right, must understand what he’s asking you to do. “I won’t let them.” He says quietly, flicking his gaze up to yours. “You have my word, hermosa.”

“I can’t trust that.” You feel worn and tired of the argument. You’ve resigned to the fact that you will have to do this if you plan on keeping your job, and you do plan on it. “I’ll do what you ask of me. It’s my job.”

“I won’t let them touch you.” He growls, reaching forward and squeezing your arms so tightly you squeak. “You’re not going to get hurt in this. I won’t allow it.”

It’s pitiful, really, how you want to laugh in his face. He doesn’t understand, because he’s a man. No matter his reputation with working girls, he doesn’t know. You attempt to pull away from him, but his fingers dig harder into your skin. “Go home, Peña.”

He clicks his tongue at you, tilting his head as if to threaten you. “What happened to Javi, bonita?”

You go to protest, trying and failing again to pull away as he pushes you toward your couch. You clumsily sit back, frowning at him. “I’ll do the job. It’s fine–”

“Lay back.” He barks, kneeling in front of you, his fingers working quickly at the button of your pants.

You shake your head, resting your hand over his in a silent question.

He ignores you, pulling the waistline over your hips and down your thighs, underwear soon following as cool air wicks over your skin. You shiver, the contact of his warm fingers, calloused over and rough, over your skin has your legs relaxing wide.

He lifts one leg easily over his shoulder, smirking when his eyes land on your center. Without further warning, his tongue swipes up your folds, spreading you wide with a groan. “I can’t stop wanting this.”

You throw your head back, unsure if what he said was meant for himself or for you. Words are stuck in your throat, fingers wrapped tightly in his hair, and pulling as his tongue swirls over your clit and down to your center. You want to tell him to keep going, to make you come, but you’re afraid that if you voice your want he will retreat from you.

One hand squeezes into the skin of your thigh resting on his shoulder, his other working the buttons of his shirt open before coming to your entrance with a sigh. He lets his tongue rest there for a moment, pressing in with the tip and letting you contract around him.

Javi pulls away, muttering under his breath as he slides one finger into you, a quick “Fuck, so wet for me.” before wrapping his lips around your clit again.

You swear he would be laughing at you for how quickly you crumbled to his touch if he wasn’t busy with his mouth around you. “Please, I–”

Another smirk appears as he pulls away, curling his fingers inside you to search for that spot he has found again and again. “I won’t let you come,” He breathes, pressing a kiss to your shaking thigh. “Unless you agree to the job.”

You huff, breaths labored and your stomach tightens. “I already agreed.”

“Nuh-uh, mean it hermosa.” He nips your skin, chuckling as your hips jump in an attempt to get away, only pressing his fingers deeper. “Be my little slut, and I’ll share the cash with you.”

You close your eyes to try to focus, his fingers pressing, pressing, pressing against that spot inside of you that he has an obsession with, holding your breath. It’s overwhelming, the pressure in your core building and overheating.

Sweat pools in the dip of your collarbone, the shirt you still have on soaking it up as you pull on his hair again. “Yes, yes–fuck. I’ll do it.”

Javi hums, leaning forward again to press his lips to your center, his tongue and fingers working in tandem as a wave of ecstasy crashes over your skin.

You’re floating, feeling him slow between your legs and breathe against your skin. He says something you can’t really hear, gently setting your leg down on the floor before adjusting himself. A pointed look is thrown your way, your furrowed brow indicating that you didn’t hear him.

He shakes his head, wiping at his mustache for a moment. “Stakeout starts next week.”

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction #frankie morales #frankie morales smut #javier pena fic #javier pena narcos #javier pena fanfic #javier pena fanfiction #javier peña #javier pena smut #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #fic:how the crow flies #tw: dubcon #tw: mentions of rape

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waitmyturtles · 7 months

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THE MORNING AFTER: ONLY FRIENDS, EPISODE 8 ("TAKE A LOOK AT YOURSELF IN THE MIRROR AND CRY") EDITION

Oh my gosh, I am shaking my head and just laughing. I have no idea where to start writing this, but it's gonna be damn fun to pick this episode apart.

Because of the clues that Jojo Tichakorn (below) and Ninew Pinya dropped before and during the episode's airing yesterday, my mind was totally on Freddie and Queen. I captured the tweet below and couldn't help but think of lyrics.

And the episode was titled "Save Me"!

Before I go on, I have a little personal note. During my watch of MAME's TharnType, I talked a bit about the bigotry against the queer community that I grew up with in my Indian family. During my childhood, Freddie Mercury was -- everything. He was everything to me. A part-Indian man who blasted past any obstacles that could have held him back to become a superstar, while leveraging unbelievable talent. My dad often wanted to snap my Queen CDs in half to keep Freddie out of our house. Up until I went to college, when a new world of music awaited me, Queen was MY BAND. I'll never forget watching his memorial concert on television in 1992, watching Axl Rose destroy "We Will Rock You," and subsequently watching Axl host a Queen documentary on MTV that got repeated for years and years. This shit was formative to my childhood, and I'm gonna guess, to Jojo's and Ninew's childhoods as well. We be old bags in here.

I'll get back to Freddie in a few minutes. but besides all of the Queen themes (quick note: the dude that Sand was about to make out with was wearing the same costume that Ninew caught in his IG stories, as Freddie sang "Love of My Life"), oh my fucking god, did this episode ever touch upon ephemerality, highs and lows, change, and a resistance to change that people have unto others.

Top and Cheum -- especially Top -- were clutching their pearrrrrllllsss at Mew's changes.

Top and Cheum notice that Mew's trying on a new suit. And Mew admits it! He says to Ray in the bookstore -- after the most BRILLIANT call-out to a BL trope if I ever saw one, the CRACKING of the romantic memories montage, which, omg, are we EVER seeing in Dangerous Romance, like three times a bleeping episode, LMAO -- "I'm bored with myself."

I love -- I hate it, but I love that this episode calls it out -- I love that Top and Cheum are calling this behavior out as if it were a bad thing.

Is it?

.... is it not okay for university students to take a bump of coke if they're curious about it? Barack Obama did it -- and Obama admitted it, AND wrote about it, AND became president, twice. Judge him, I dare ya.

On another side, Nick susses out Boston, and wants to check in with him. Boston wants Nick to go bye-bye. Nick tries a guilt pull. And Boston ain't having it.

Fuck. (Side note, Boston was my man this episode.)

I'm shaking my head in wonder for Mew and Boston to be addressing Top, Cheum, and Nick in this way. We've established (here and here, cc @ranchthoughts and others) that the kind of toxicity that this OF group of friends exhibits is just -- common, and pedestrian, and awful to think about existing, but in part, it's so awful for us to be thinking about it, because actually, it's ever-present in our lives, and so many of us survive dealing with other people on a daily basis by using means by which to ignore or avoid that toxicity, like our addictions to our phones, or addictions to other vices, like sex and drugs -- which takes us right back to Only Friends.

The dynamic I saw happening in this episode was like vultures (the friends) circling their prey (their friends), but instead of the friends eating their friends -- what some of the friends are doing is trying to correct the behavior of their other friends. Top and Cheum want Mew to... go back to being the old Mew, maybe. Nick wants Boston to know -- morally, I think you're a bad person. And Boston says, I paraphrase, "see. if. I. fucking. care." and literally creates the NeoTitle ship before our eyes, lmao, all while walking silently and ignoringly away from Nick.

Top, to Mew, says, "Are you sure?" Are you sure you want to be like this now, Mew? Cheum shares with Top her concern about Mew's changes, and literally teams up with Top to bring Top back to Mew to, what, straighten Mew out?

Last time I checked, Mew's a big boy. Mew's made his decisions to be with Ray, to drink with Ray, to snort coke with Ray. Are those behaviors questionable? Sure. Are they normal behaviors for a university student who is bored with himself, and wants to try something new? 100%.

I have written before, in my review of Theory of Love, that while behavioral change can oftentimes be massively difficult, there's another side to change that needs to be considered. When one person changes -- there are many others within that person's sphere that do not want that specific person TO change. If one individual changes, within a worldview of a group -- that changes a group dynamic. People like Top and Cheum are unsettled that Mew and Ray are dating, and that Mew's getting wasted and high. Are they rightfully concerned for Mew's health? For sure. But what about Mew's agency and happiness? Are the friends understanding that this is actually Mew's choice to do these things, regardless of how the friends judge his specific actions?

The fact that Top and Cheum are questioning Mew's agency, to me, is a ROOT, a FOUNDATION of the awful toxicity of this friend group, BESIDES the general drunkenness of the group, and Ray's particularly contradictory and dangerous behavior. THERE IS NO TRUST IN THIS GROUP.

Top and Cheum do not TRUST Mew -- an adult young man!!!! -- to make his own decisions. Cheum doesn't trust Boston with her little bro (oh, woops on that, big sis). Almost no one trusts Ray, although I'm not sure about Mew on that. Boston doesn't trust Nick. The list goes on.

Without trust, without a foundation of love and respect, without an acknowledgement that individuals within a group have agency to live their lives independently -- what you get in a group dynamic is UTTER mush, just a bucket of vomit like what we're seeing here in Only Friends. I am OBSESSED that Jojo and team are picking this apart SURGICALLY, and asking US to question OUR, the viewers', judgement of all of this. These friends are contradictory as fuck. Boston was SO right to ask Nick: "who are you to judge?" Nick acted as filthily as Boston in violating Boston's privacy and rights -- TWICE, bros, TWICE.

And Top.... @lurkingshan said it the best yesterday when she made sure the girlies knew that what Top was doing TO (NOT FOR, TO) Mew at the end of the episode was not consensual. Welp. Tie up Mew's agency with a bow and throw it out into the fucking dumpster, Top.

I haven't touched as much on the Sand/Ray dynamic in this post, but of characters that are acting at least consistently to their... what, their moral judgements or ethical structures, at least Sand, Ray, and Boston remain consistent in my eyes. Anyone who was surprised at Ray's behavior in this episode -- it was bad and icky, and the episode laid it on thick, but I found his behavior to be expectedly toxic.

This was a two-steps-forward-and-one-step-back episode for Sand, as I see it, as he stepped in to try to keep Ray from going to jail (and how interesting was it that it was Top who ended up sealing that deal). One other note about Sand: the show HAS to be making fun of First's inability to sing, right? That guitar practice in 2/4, oof. And to have Sand dress up as Freddie, one of the most magnificent singers in rock -- ironic. We know that Sand doesn't aspire to be a singer; he just wants to go to festivals, and... that's the right decision, my dude.

Anyway. To bring this back to Freddie and Queen. Talk about shapeshifting. In his 20s in the 1970s, Freddie Mercury started out with long hair and flowing, robe-y costumes. As the 1980s progressed, he took on an identity of a mustachioed, slightly muscular man -- very, very closeted, but clearly gay to anyone who caught the signal.

The dude that Sand was about to make out with at the party? He made a reference to Mary Austin, Freddie's longtime companion and best friend. They were lovers for a short period, before Freddie came out to her. And they remained friends all of the rest of his life. While Freddie died with a longtime lover by his side in Jim Hutton, Mary was always present and devoted to Freddie. Mary's presence often caused consternation with Freddie's lovers, especially after his death, what with inheritance controversies. But no one ever questioned Mary's loyalty, and her commitment to keeping Freddie's identity secret and safe.

Freddie and Mary's friendship was in part a protective arrangement for his life in the closet. He only revealed he had AIDS the day before he died. But Freddie claimed the friendship, claimed agency to it, and wanted it in his life. The friendship was steady, and never wavering.

Quite the opposite of the devotions, or lack thereof, in this group. These young folks are demonstrating NORMAL resistance to watching each other change. But while that resistance is normal... it doesn't make it all the less toxic. I'm afraid that as of right now, I read that all of these friends want to sell each other out for the sake of their own selfish desires, and for the benefit of their own worldviews alone.

HAPPY SUNDAY, Ephemerality Squad, if we can be happy after this demonstration of toxicity, ha! @slayerkitty @ranchthoughts @chickenstrangers @lurkingshan @twig-tea @distant-screaming @clara-maybe-ontheroad @neuroticbookworm @elizabethsebestianhedgehog @thatgirl4815

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indie-ttrpg-of-the-week · 7 days

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Apocalypse World

Did you know that some early PBTA games used to have *Blank* world as a naming scheme? it never really caught on

Touchstones: Fallout, Mad Max

Genre: Post-Apocalypse, Drama

What is this game?: Apocalypse World is a roleplay focused post-apocalyptic roleplaying game, its also the game that spawned the very popular PBTA framework

CWs: Apocalypse world deals with many dark themes, it's considered an "R-Rated" game citing Language, Sex, and Violence, it also features Mind control, mentions of drug use, and general post-apocalyptic horribleness, however I will attempt to stray away from those themes if possible

How's the gameplay?: OK, I'll likely actually link back to this review a few more times as we talk about other PBTA games, just so we can skip explaining the PBTA gameplay every time, so we're gonna try to be pretty thorough this time Apocalypse World's primary mechanic focuses on the use of Moves, Playbooks, and a 2d6 resolution system, where 1-6 is a miss, 7-9 is a weak hit, and 10-12 is a Strong hit, however your roll will always progress the story in some way, this way even failure can be fun! Moves trigger when doing specific actions, and they all interact with mechanics in some way, the prototypical move in Apocalypse world reads like this: "When Narrative trigger: gameplay effect", then this will either help you with a roll around the gameplay effect, or have you roll for a new gameplay effect, whereupon it'll read like this: "On a 1-6, Failure with consequences, on a 7-9 Success with Consequences, on a 10-12 Success with no consequences" Moves will usually add a stat to them, Apocalypse world's stats are Cool, Hard, Hot, Sharp, Weird, and HX, HX being an asymmetrical stat determining your relationship with other characters.

Playbooks are your character's narrative role, it will give your characters their narrative abilities, gameplay moves, relationships, appearances, basically everything about your character beyond things such as name (and even then, some games remove THAT distinction too), you pick one at the start and generally stick with them the whole game, think of it as a class, in Apocalypse World specifically every playbook has a "Special", a move that generally triggers when characters have sex, this might seem like the type of thing that other games in the framework dumpster pretty quick, but you'd be surprised it actually took a bit for people to get rid of that one

What's the setting (If any) like?: It has one Ok, in all seriousness, Apocalypse World's setting assumes you're playing in an edgy, presumably nuclear, mad max inspired post apocalypse, characters are grimy, aesthetics are leathery and gritty, mutations are common, and shit's BAD. Otherwise, feel free to work on the specifics, maybe you just want to play 1-to-1 fallout, or maybe you want to create your own fully original apocalyptic version of The Butt, Coventry, UK

What's the tone?: Dark. Apocalypse World makes it very clear that the world sucks, and the characters (probably) suck, while you could play a ragtag group of do-gooders, the game assumes a morally gray cast in a world that is actively hostile towards them. Apocalypse World's tone is, not for the faint of heart

Session length: Variable but 3 hours is usually enough to do quite a bit

Number of Players: 3 Minimum, but obviously more can help

Malleability: Apocalypse World's setting is generic to non existant, letting you play a ton of post apocalyptic settings, while branded apocalypses like Fallout or Mad Max might be difficult due to the inclusion of overt supernatural elements, you could really do any nuclear apocalyptic setting within this framework.

Resources: Apocalypse World has quite a few resources just due to being one of the oldest PBTA games, a google sheet exists, I've seen some short scenarios, and the game provides you with Move and Playbook cheat sheets, fan playbooks also exist and there's some pretty good ones if you look around enough, it's not a lot but it's enough for what the game is And here's the big cheese! While most modern PBTA design comes from Monsterhearts and Masks, this is the game that started it all, its gritty and very rough around the edges, but I still really like it

#indie ttrpg #ttrpg #ttrpg community #ttrpg of the week

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entomjinx · 9 months

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Uta is NOT a Mary Sue

I wrote this on twitter for a "what's a controversial One Piece opinion" post, but I definitely want it here too. Also I apologize for any typos, as I'm physically incapable of not making at least one.

Uta, by definition, is not a Mary-Sue despite how people seem to believe so due to her past, abilities, family, and how she's introduced into the story.

Definition: The term "Mary-Sue" comes directly from whether or not the character in question is 2 dimensional, depicted as lacking any flaws, which makes them unrealistic, and the rules of the story tend to bend to them second they would stop the character. Other notable things about Mary-Sues is that they are typically free of any weaknesses, they're innately virtuous, and typically attractive.

So let's break this down bit by bit.

Right off the bat, I will say she's attractive, but so are most characters in One Piece. If attractiveness is all it took to make a Mary-Sue, then everyone would be a Mary-Sue. It's the same with the fact that she has a unique design.

Uta has several very clear weaknesses:

One: her devil fruit is stamina based. If she falls asleep, they all return to their bodies. If she dies, they die with her. She has to die to take her opponent down like that, and it is therefore, a weakness.

Two: she doesn't fight much outside of the song-world. This could be because of a lack of training to fight, as shown by her unwillingness to harm someone's body. Instead, she has to have unconscious people fight for her.

Three: If they can't hear her, they're unaffected. There is a whole scene depicting marines in headphones to block her voice, and it works until they're knocked off.

Four: she's not omnipotent while in the song-world. Several people were able to hide from her and the things she created.

Five: she can't alter a person's will, only their form. Sunny, Bepo, and Blueno fought against her after their bodies were changed. The people from the audience still called out for Uta to stop.

I could continue, but I think these get the point across.

She's not virtuous; she's morally gray, like most characters in One Piece.

She wants to start a new era, but the way that she plans on doing so removes people's freedom and will kill them. That's not virtuous, even if she believes it is. It makes her similar to a cult leader. Even if they somehow had everyone's best interest in mind, wouldn't call a cult leader virtuous, would you?

Everything above covers how she has character flaws, but I'm going to add a few more.

She begins to panic when things don't go how she expects them to. That's why the audience gets turned into stuffed animals and such. If they won't stay themselves, then she has to keep them there.

She was eating wake-shrooms the whole movie. Those are literally in universe stimulant drugs. Another point against virtuous and towards character flaws.

She didn't seek help for the things that were bothering her, which ultimately led to her crazed idea. Her isolation led to her being so independent that she probably didn't know asking for help was an option.

And finally, the big one: is she a two dimensional character? Definition first: a 2 dimensional character is a character with little to no character development. They're too simple, and show little to no serious thought. The have no real dimension to them.

Guys, the whole movie is about her. We see how her trauma changed her from loving being a part of the red haired pirates to not being able to stand pirates at all. How her lack of outside help and isolation only made everything worse, and what ut eventually turned into. We see her realize she was wrong the second she's able to process a fraction of what she's done, which if you pay careful attention to the movie, you know that not all of it was fully her. Parts of it were the wake-shrooms, which make people slowly go insane. (How many shows was she using one or two on, I wonder?). Some theories even believe that Tot-Music was still affecting her mind after the first summon, but I digress.

She just needed help.

There's so much more I could put into this analysis, but I've made my point. She's not a 2 dimensional character.

To address some of the concerns I know will come up:

"She's the daughter of the strongest Yonko." Being Shanks' daughter doesn't make her a Mary-Sue anymore than being Garp's grandson and Dragon's child makes Luffy one.

"She's Luffy's childhood friend. He was supposed to be alone." Being friends with Luffy doesn't make her more of a Mary-Sue. If anything, it adds more depth to both characters, as it helps explain why Luffy wanted a musician so badly. It also explains part of his hatred for loneliness. He had one friend who went missing and he never saw her again. ("Being alone is more painful" -Luffy's flashback post Marineford) -She was adapted into that spot of the story very well. "Luffy's never mentioned her before." Luffy never mentioned Ace before Alabasta either. In case you haven't noticed, Luffy doesn't really talk about things unless he's asked directly or has a direct reminder.

"She's so overpowered that she almost killed 70% of the world at once." Yes and? Kaido regularly attempted suicide. Big mom steals people's life spans. Luffy has a god devil fruit that the government renamed because they couldn't get a hold of it for 800 years.

All of them are objectively stronger than Uta in terms of strength. She had to become popular enough for most of the world to listen to her, and then strategize exactly how this would play out. There's also the fact that some people may be immune because of Haki (gorosei)

She had a plan and it was effective because she blindsided everyone with it. That's a talent and a half, and it wouldn't work more than once.

It also has nothing to do with whether or not she's a Mary-Sue and I think it's silly to bring it up, but I know how people are.

And finally: nothing is stopping you from continuing to dislike her. You don't have justify disliking her by calling her something she isn't. If she doesn't vibe with you, she doesn't vibe with you. Everyone has things they dislike, and that's perfectly normal.

If you'd like to know what an actual Mary-Sue looks like, then I recommend trying to read just five chapters of "My Immortal," with the main character Ebony Darkness Dimentia Raven-way, the Mary-Sue of Mary-Sues. Everything is so exaggerated that it's easy to spot.

If you genuinely want to discuss any of this, then I'm down to talk about it, but if you're here to hate and didn't even bother to read everything, then I'm not interested.

Thank you to everyone who made it this far, and I hope you have a good day <3

#uta one piece #one piece uta #film red #one piece #uta op #uta #monkey d luffy

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sunyot · 1 month

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Must See T.V. Moments - Invincible 2024

*****SPOILERS for SEASON 2: EPISODE 6*****

I'm in my T.V. Phase now...

*******I MEAN IT. SPOILERS AHEAD******

The 'parasitic alien' remains a classic Super Hero villain. My personal first introduction to this villain came from watching Batman Beyond. In a two-episode Saga, Terry gets the opportunity to fight alongside The Justice League of his era. Naturally, he finds discord only to discover... well you get the idea.

This concept plays on one of our fears as people: being controlled. As gamers, we're so used to being puppetiers. Yet imagine Being the puppet. Imagine further maintaining a small hint of consciousness; an out of body experience where you watch your every action taking place. We might wonder if we'd still feel pain? Would we feel anything at all? The parasite would probably have a total lack of self-preservation, and that scares us.

This show still reigns as one of the best-written shows on television. Robert Kirkman handles tension so well. I'm avoiding reading the comics, but when I see an episode as good as this one it's very tempting. The series integrates so many layers, adding a density to the storytelling. Amazing story craft like this, in my opinion, is the cause of fiction withdrawal. I know the feeling well.

Sometimes, a series feels like it's speaking to you personally. It becomes a drug that taps directly into your veins. I keep a list of shows on my phone that give me this feeling. Maybe one day I'll share them. Really, I keep them to remind myself which shows give me the true feeling I'm searching for. I do this in the hopes of limiting my sometimes lengthy searches for new entertainment.

Let's start with the obvious.

Do you Ship 'Mark X Amber' or 'Invincible X Atom Eve'?

Fans of the series remain vocal about their preferences. And I get it. They prefer for Mark to spend the majority of his time as Invincible, the superhero. They want to see him at his most powerful, going on adventures, fighting alongside a crew, and receiving the admiration of beautiful potential partners. Seeing Mark in a more ordinary human life could feel less fun. And Amber is, in a way, a representation of that. Her groundedness reminds Mark, and the audience, that he's still just a guy. This can cause conflict between the audience and certain characters. Protagonists often serve a cathartic outlets for viewers. Fans of Twilight want to see the quiet, studious, normal young lady swept up into an extraordinary series of events. Seeing someone like themselves, allows them to live vicariously through the plot.

Likewise, superheroes serve as one of our culture's best self-insert fantasies...

This is good. This is healthy, I'd argue. Being able to explore yourself in an idealized fashion can help people create fragments of identity which can sometimes become the sparks of our moral centers. All that said, writers like Kirkman, understand that stitching these fantasies to universal human experiences are what make them memorable. It's the filtering of the wild through the boring that make our stories sing.

In real life, we have relationship problems. We screw up. We do poorly in school. We fail at our obligations time and time again, while the world forces us to push onward because our obligations are always with us. As Mark continues to try and do the right thing, his humanity outshines his Viltrumite heritage.

*****SPOILERS for SEASON 2: EPISODE 6*****

Rexsplosion reads Home Decor Magazines - Invincible 2024

"I actually thought Rex died..."

This series plays with tension brilliantly. It also avoids having too many moments of relief. When the immediate danger fades, the characters still live in a state of worry. They're always waiting for the other shoe to drop. We learn something quirky about Rex, but only because he almost died. This semi-sweet moment humanizes him, yet emphasizes the ominous nature of the series. Our heroes have to take their happy moments when they can get them. The Team, now scattered, became a question mark. This world cannot afford uncertainty surrounding its heroes. We saw their near demise in Mark's absence.

And with a few quick scenes of Mark's loved ones, we're of where he's most vulnerable.

This brings me to my favorite aspect of the episode:

- The Fiction inside the fiction -

This will always be one of my favorite methods of storytelling. Seeing characters in fiction read or watch their own fiction lets us see how they relate to their world. Sometimes it's done through myths and legends. Sometimes in other clever ways...

When Mark receives a box of science fiction stories (stories written by his father) we are able to more directly relate to the character.

This look of wonder and skepticism on his face. This is all of us...

My father introduced me to Star Wars. He had the original trilogy on VHS tapes. He recorded the movies when one of the major networks aired them without commercials. I wore those tapes out, watching until my imagination expanded to the vastness of any epic tale; spilling over into my daily life sunshine I could carry in my pockets.

At this moment in the show, I am Mark. I'm sitting on my bed, hearing my father's voice as the story plays out on the pages and in my mind. And I'd wager, I'm not the only one.

In dramatic fashion, we now get to go on the journey inside this new universe. This fiction within a fiction is crucial as it becomes the notion of creation from the perspective of beings we know to be created. How funny is that. Funnier still, to Mark this tale plays as cinema. Whereas to us, it's still animated; which is a wild concept when thinking of sentience.

Even the title 'The Man with the Invincible Gun' ...feels like foreshadowing to me.

*****SPOILERS for SEASON 2: EPISODE 6*****

I'm sure most of you caught on quick, realizing that these stories are based on Mark's Father's real adventures. I think it's funny seeing a character like Mark, superhero, space traveler, one of the strongest beings in the Universe, forget all that, and lose himself in the story. Again, this character trait displays Mark's humanity. Of course, he eventually realizes that these stories are far from lore.

Knowing his father, it's probably safe to assume these were not heroic journeys of an idealistic space explorer. More than likely they were unsuccessful Viltrumite invasions of unsuspecting alien inhabitants. I also think we'll at some point get to meet some of these aliens and learn the truth of these encounters. But still, it's fun to dream.

This episode makes me want to read a good book...

It also makes me want to write. It's been a while since I've done that either.

A few more things. Seeing the Seth Rogan alien makes me wonder when I'm going to be able to hear him as his own character because every time he talks, all I hear is Seth Rogan. His is the only character that does that to me. I'm hoping my brain eventually adjusts.

Also, let's readdress the title screen.

What does it mean this season? In Season 1, the answer felt obvious. The blood splattered across the title showed the surprising violence of the heroes world, which slowly dragged Mark deeper into its depths. In this season, the classic 'Invincible' logo cracks away to reveal a red one.

What's the meaning, I wonder. Mark might be one bad event away from turning into Omniman, a true Viltrumite warrior, like the Mark of the other Universe. And speaking of other Universes...

Our friend Giant-Brain-Outside-My-Body-Man returns to get a bespoke suit from a tailor with four arms.

This tells me that no matter the universe, timeline, or year, nothing feels better than wearing a fresh new suit. We also get to see him do a little multi-dimensional hopping.

I wonder which Universe this could be...

Cryston

#sunyot #sunyotmedia #invincible #nolan grayson #omni man #debbie grayson #invincible show #viltrumite #amazon #amazon prime #amazon prime video #prime video #robert kirkman #tv stills #steven yeun #invincible season 2 #invincible spoilers

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billfarrah · 1 year

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I don't know if I'm in the minority here but what I loved about season 2 is actually Simon's storyline! I get wanting to dive deeper into his family life and that better be the plan for season 3 if they get one, but all the things we did get I thought were brilliant. I loved loved Simon in season 1 but he at times he came across a little perfect with his incredibly strong morals and such a clear understanding of who he is. I mean yes he was selling booze and drugs to help him and Sara make it through Hillerska but that felt pretty justified.

I don't know how anyone can say that Simon was just reduced to a love interest this season when those romances worked so well to bring to light the way Simon struggles. We learned that he runs away from difficult feelings instead of really dealing with them, he can be talked into things he knows are not right (we can say whatever we want about Marcus and his manipulation but Simon should have never even went on a second date with him) and we learned that to an unnerving level he doesn't let himself break down (that gun scene and the way Simon held all of his anger in - chef's kiss acting from Omar).

And clearly there's something about Wille that just makes him feel all the possible emotions and he's so drawn into that and maybe a part of it is the fact that he gets a little bit off on the drama (hello the whole swinging a ball at Wille's face and then proceeding to make him jealous at the locker room and at the ball despite the fact that he knew perfectly well that Wille is already so fucking jealous). Now that I think about it, and don't hate me for it, I suspect Marcus all in all is a little too boring for him. A kid he went to pre-school with who knows all of his personal shit because their mothers are friends? That's not the life Simon wants, he doesn't want to stay in Bjärstad, he's told us this in so many ways. He wants to be a singer probably. Listen, he kissed an obviously closeted Prince of Sweden after spending the equivalent of one day with him, he is looking for drama just a little bit. Simon is good and honest and he loves the people around him so much but he's also a little messy and a little petty and he doesn't always make the right choices and all of that just makes me love him a thousand times more.

Sorry for the insanely long message I just have a lot of thoughts that I'm desperate to share 😂 Love your blog and the incredibly thoughtful conversations you are having here 💞

I love this I love this I love this I want to have this framed. This is exactly how I’ve come to view Simon’s storyline in season 2 after sitting with it for a while.

At first I was a little bummed that we didn’t get more of Simon’s family life, but if you think about the way Simon’s storyline ended in s1, it leads perfectly into his storyline in season 2. His season 2 arc begins when Sara tells him he lets everyone piss on him and when he tells Wille that he has to deal with things on his own. Simon took what Sara said to heart and said it was time to start prioritizing himself. He had no reason to stay in contact with Micke and the main thing he’s dealing with in season is his heartbreak over Wille and the video situation. What we see is a Simon who is desperate to move on and forget everything that happened the previous semester and the way he deals with that is by running away. He does it in season 1 too (for example when he runs away from his and Wille’s argument in the music room).

I understand why people say he was reduced to a love interest, but to me, the centre of this story is the love story, so of course Wille and Simon’s character arcs are going to heavily deal with that. Wille’s storyline was heavily about his feelings for Simon as well - Simon is all he wants after all. The focus of the season was them trying to live without each other and it not working.

I also agree that Marcus is too boring for Simon. It’s set up in season 1 that Simon wants more out of his life as you said and he’s very clearly drawn to Wille - Rosh even calls him out on it in season 2. He is scared of getting hurt but can’t help but be drawn in. He keeps Wille at a distance but then pulls him back in when he feels him drifting away. As you said, he’s a little messy and petty and he experienced so many emotions this season and I thought it was brilliantly done.

Simon has a fire inside of him just as much as Wille does and that’s why they’re so drawn to each other - they bring that fire out in each other.

I also loved that we got to see more of Simon’s love for singing. I thought that part of his character was underwritten in season 1 and I’m so happy they expanded on it.

I wish I had more to add but you explained it so perfectly. Feel free to slide into my DMs with your thoughts anytime; this was a pleasure to read!

#young royals #wilmon

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bellofthemeadow · 10 months

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The Road Ahead - ch 6 | Frankie Morales x female 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: 9K (Sorry T.T)

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: Summer without your husband. You don't know what to except for the months ahead with Frankie away in rehab, but you know you want to learn who you are again.

Notes: Hey everyone, thank you very much for the support for this fic, it means the world to me to see people liking, reblogging or commenting!!! This fic is approaching the end unfortunately, as much as I love these two together, it was always meant to be on the shorter side. Since its my first ever story, I wanted to see if I could stick to a story without my mind fizzling and apparently I can ! SO HURRAY! I am anticipating 1 more chapter and 1 long epilogue after this.

I've already started working on fic #2 and #3 and I will be posting the summaries/ series masterlists later tonight or tomorrow morning :) I was also thinking on opening a poll to ask which stories you guys want me to do first.

But in the meantime, hope you all enjoy this chapter !!!!

A Change of Season

MONTH 1 - JUNE

"Are you sure, Alma? I don't want to impose on you too much..." you ask hesitantly, internally hoping Alma will agree to your last-minute request.

"Nonsense, mija. It's my pleasure. You know how I always enjoy spending time with Estrelita, and it gives me a chance to spoil her rotten. Truly, it means the world to this old woman that you trust me to stay with your little Princesa." Alma responds warmly.

Relief washes over you as you let out a grateful sigh. "Thank you so, so much, Alma. I hate asking so last minute, but my boss just called me to cover this Saturday since I have to take Ella to get her shots today. And I know Ella would be thrilled to spend time with her favorite abuela.”

Alma Vargas Morales snorts angrily on the other end of the line. "I can't believe those pendejos would make you work over the weekend like that. As if baby shots could be re-scheduled like a nail appointment! I'm tempted to march over there and give them a piece of my mind!”

You can't help but let out a laugh, picturing Frankie's spirited 72-year-old mother storming into the Florida Community College library, grabbing your boss by the ear, and dressing him down loud enough for the dean of strudents to hear. You’d pay good money to see that. “But seriously, Alma, I can't express how much I appreciate this. You're a lifesaver.”

"And you are an amazing mother, mija..." You can hear Alma taking a deep breath on the other side of the line. "Not many women would have done what you have for your daughter and your husband."

"Alma..." you begin to interject, but she cuts you off.

"No, mija. Francisco was so out of line he couldn't even see the line anymore. I didn't raise my son to act like this, and you are way better than he deserves at the moment." Alma's words carry a mix of frustration and disappointment.

Alma takes another breath, her voice softening. "I love mi hijo, I nursed him, took care of him when he was sick, I saw him grow from a shy little boy into a handsome and self-assured man. But he was never really happy until he met you, mija. Now, es el momento de que Francisco se arrepienta de sus pecados." Her tone finishes somberly.

You're left speechless, both deeply moved and unsure by Alma's sudden outburst. The woman had always been strict but loving. When Frankie was young, they didn't have much. His father died young and without insurance, leaving Alma alone to raise Frankie and his two sisters. But Alma had done her best to provide for her three children and give them every opportunity she could.

Now, Frankie's younger sister followed in her mother's footsteps as a nurse, while the eldest had become an accountant before deciding to stay home with her own children. Alma was a strong woman whom you had always admired. When you first met her, she had looked at you for only a couple of seconds before grabbing you by the neck with her tiny yet stout stature, pulling you into a tight embrace. "Thank you for taking care of mi hijo, God knows that knucklehead needs it! Just like his dad, that one is! " she had whispered in your ear before releasing you and playfully swatting Frankie's head. "What the hell was that for?" Frankie had exclaimed.

"No decir groserías," Alma had answered, her gaze piercing Frankie. "That was for hiding this lovely girl all this time and for not minding your manners. You haven't even offered her anything to drink yet!" Frankie rubbed his head and muttered, "Esta es tu casa…"

"Qué dijiste Francisco?" Alma questioned sternly.

"Nada, Nada," Frankie quickly replied, trying to diffuse the situation.

Throughout the entire interaction between mother and son, you had held back your laughter. But as Frankie's cheeks turned pink, he made his way towards you, and you couldn't help but think that you would love to be a part of this family. Since that day, you had loved Alma, and she had become the mother figure you had never truly had in your life.

"Alma, whatever happens between Francisco and me will never have any repercussions on your relationship with Ella. I would never take her away from you or your family. Ella is a Morales, and you can see her whenever you want," you assure her.

On the other side of the line, you hear Alma's sniffles. "Maldito Francisco, eres un estúpido muchacho," Alma mutters, her voice filled with frustration. "Francisco has made a lot of mistakes, but the one thing he didn't mess up was marrying you, mija."

"Gracias, mama. I promise that whatever happens, Ella and I will always be there," you express sincerely.

"Gracias, mija," Alma replies warmly.

"Is it okay if I drop Ella on Saturday around 7:30 am? I have to be at the library by 8:15," you ask.

"Of course, es muy perfecto! I'll make my famous tostadas!" Alma responds enthusiastically, her excitement palpable.

You can't help but let out a laugh at Alma's enthusiasm. "Alma, you know that Ella is just 5 months old, right? She won't be able to taste your famous tostadas for a while yet."

Alma lets out a huff, acknowledging her oversight. "I got ahead of myself; I suppose."

"I'll pump some milk and have it ready for you in her bag," you suggest. After a brief pause, you add, "Will you call me to tell me how everything is going?"

You can hear Alma's affectionate tone as she responds, "Mija, I'll send you updates every hour on your phone, with those messages things you kids always send each other. You don't have to worry. I've raised three babies, and they all reached adulthood, although some have made questionable decisions."

"Thank you so much, Alma. I really appreciate it," you express gratefully, feeling a sense of relief knowing that Ella will be in capable and loving hands.

"ESTRELLA MORALES!" The loud voice of the tall brunette clad in blue scrubs resonates through the large waiting room.

"Sorry, mama, I have to go. It's Ella's turn," you whisper urgently into the phone.

"Te quiero, mija. I will see you tomorrow morning."

Quickly, you close your phone and grab the stroller where Ella is peacefully napping. Gathering your belongings, you ensure that everything is in order before hurrying after the nurse. As she leads you into a smaller room, she introduces herself. "My name is Coral, and I'll be administering the vaccines for little Ella today," she says, reaching for the files on her desk. "I see she is here for the DTaP-IPV-Hib vaccine. It shouldn't take too long."

Coral glances inside the stroller where Ella has woken up from her nap and is looking around anxiously. "Well, isn't she a cutie? Hello, baby," Coral greets Ella warmly, taking out a bright pink rattle and shaking it in front of her. Ella responds with a delighted laugh, momentarily distracted from the unfamiliar surroundings.

"All right, mama, I'm going to need you to hold your baby while I give her the shots. She won't like it, as few babies do, but I'll be as quick as possible," Coral informs you, her professional demeanour evident. She briefly scans the page of Ella's file before her eyes narrow slightly. "I also wanted to confirm something with you. I only see one signature on the parental form, but there is a Francisco Morales listed on Ella's file. Should we be made aware of a change in the files?"

Your heart drops at the insinuation, and a mix of emotions floods over you. "Frankie... I mean, Francisco is Ella's father," you explain, your voice tinged with a touch of defensiveness. "He is currently unable to sign off on the documents due to personal reasons, but I promise he is 100% supportive of every medical decision I make for Ella."

You realize that you're frantically trying to justify yourself to this stranger, feeling the weight of judgment and the need to ensure that Ella's well-being is understood. Coral looks back at you, then at the file, before letting out a sigh. "Look, I'm not trying to trick you," she begins, her voice filled with a mix of empathy and professional concern. "But as medical professionals, we have a responsibility to ensure that the environment at home is safe for Estrella. You understand what I'm saying.” The mere mention of home safety sends a chill down your spine, the silent threat of involving CPS clear in Coral’s tone.

With a knot forming in your stomach, you gather your thoughts and respond cautiously, your voice betraying a hint of fear. "Yes, I understand," you manage to say, trying to keep your composure. "I assure you that Estrella's home environment is safe and loving. We prioritize her well-being above everything else, and we take every precaution to provide her with a secure and nurturing space. My husband is just… unavailable right now.”

Coral glances back at you, her eyes narrowing slightly as she processes your response. "As you say," she acknowledges, her tone carrying a hint of reservation. However, her sunny disposition quickly resurfaces, and a warm smile returns to her face. "All right then," she says, her voice brightening. "Shall we proceed with this little shot?”

MONTH 2 - JULY

You sit outside, enjoying the warmth of the sun on one of the only free benches in front of the library building. With a tomato sandwich in one hand, you type a message to Mrs. Hu, asking about Ella's day so far. Almost immediately, Mrs. Hu responds by sending you an adorable picture of Ella on her belly, reaching for her favourite cat plushy, a big orange thing with oversized ears and fuzzy white paws. It melts your heart, and for the 100th time, you can’t help but be amazed at the wonderful being your love with Frankie created.

Frankie... Oh, Frankie. Today feels bittersweet, as on the one hand, you hadn’t thought of him too much, but on the other hand, you felt guilty because you hadn’t thought of him that much. Some days are almost unbearable, as your mind becomes entangled with memories of… memories of everything before it all went to hell. You replay moments: the goods, the less-than goods and everything in between. But still, all these moments were what made you and Frankie a team, a partnership. It was a life you built together. Still, you couldn’t help but question your actions and wonder if anything could have prevented the events that unfolded over the last two months.

Yet, dwelling on these thoughts only serves to torment you further. Now when these thoughts surface, you try your best to follow the guidance of your new therapist. You try to let the memories wash over you like rain on an umbrella, try to let them come, accept them without letting yourself be ruled by them. But they persist, stubbornly clinging to every corner of your mind. It's a difficult battle, and despite your earnest efforts, grief and longing persistently infiltrate both your waking hours and restless nights. The weight of it all hangs heavily in the air, casting a sad shadow over your life. You yearn for a bit of reprieve from the ceaseless ache that Frankie's absence has left behind. But today is a good day. So far.

The blaring alarm on your phone abruptly interrupts your lunch break, signalling that it's time to return to work. Hastily cramming the last remnants of your sandwich into your mouth, you briskly make your way toward the imposing building. Upon reaching the entrance, you make your way to the help desk, where you settle down and begin reviewing emails and addressing various queries from staff and students.

As you open the first email, which seems to be part of an infinite pile (how is this possible after just half an hour?), your attention is diverted by the approaching figure of the library director. A distinguished-looking older man, his hair hangs in wispy white strands, lending him an air of wisdom. His tweed suit, more reminiscent of academia at Oxford than the sunny locale of Florida, accentuates his scholarly aura.

"Sweetheart, do you mind coming into my office?" You can't help but cringe at the nickname. You've never been fond of the nickname. You were initially uncomfortable but later learned from Roberta, another librarian who looked like she was born between the bookshelves, that he addresses everyone this way. Annoying and reductive, perhaps, but ultimately benign. And honestly, apart from the cringeworthy calling, Director Robertson is an amicable presence with no noteworthy complaints.

"Of course, Mr. Robertson. Would you like me to come in now?" "Yes, please," he says, his fingers delicately twirling his long mustache, "I know you've just returned from your lunch break, so I presume you haven't embarked on any new tasks yet." Captivated momentarily by the whimsical sight of his mustache dance, you acquiesce and rise from your desk before placing a sign that reads "Keep reading - Be back in 15 min." Trotting diligently behind your boss, you traverse the expanse of the library, guided by the soft glow of sunlight streaming through the windows. Finally, you arrive at his office nestled at the rear of the building, granting an enchanting vista overlooking a courtyard where students are rushing to their next classes.

Director Robertson gestures toward the plush, cushioned chair positioned in front of his grand wooden desk, silently inviting you to take a seat. With a touch of unease, you settle into the chair, your hands nervously intertwining in your lap. There's something about Director Robertson's stern grandfatherly demeanour that always makes you feel like a scolded child in his presence. Seeking solace, you follow the advice of your therapist, taking a deep breath and counting silently (1-2-3), before releasing it slowly, allowing the tension to dissipate. Untangling your hands, you place them gingerly on the armrests of the chair. After all, sometimes you have to "fake it till you make it," right?

"What can I do for you, Director?" you inquire, maintaining a composed facade despite the underlying nervousness.

"AH! That's what I appreciate about you, dear!" Director Robertson exclaims with a hint of enthusiasm. "You don't beat around the bush, and you don't try to kiss my ass like everyone else around here!" His words, while somewhat brash, sound genuine.

"I am glad to hear it, sir..." You respond, feeling a sense of perplexity. The sudden shift in conversation catches you off guard, leaving you momentarily lost.

"How is that little girl of yours? Your little baby, right? How old is she now?" Director Robertson inquires, a touch of warmth underlying his words.

"Ella, sir. She's just about 5 months old," you answer, a fondness evident in your voice as you think of your daughter.

"Still so young! Ah, well, you still have a couple of years before she becomes unbearable. I've had 5 of those, my dear, and let me tell you, it doesn't get easier," Director Robertson responds with jovial teasing, his words laced with a sense of seasoned experience.

"Right, well hopefully I'll survive the tween years unscathed," you respond, trying to match Director Robertson's teasing tone.

Director Robertson bursts into a hearty, full-bellied laugh, his amusement filling the room. He reaches inside his desk, retrieving an official-looking letter. "Do you know what this is, dear?" he asks, a gleam of anticipation in his eyes.

"I'm afraid not," you reply, your throat suddenly dry with anticipation.

"This is a job offer that the University of Florida sent me last week for the directorial position in their library," he reveals. Your heart skips a beat. The University of Florida—the dream institution. Positions like that were nearly non-existent, as it seemed their librarians were born and died at their posts, passing the torch down the line.

"That's amazing, sir! You must be really happy," you exclaim, genuine excitement resonating in your voice.

"Well, I declined the offer," Director Robertson confesses nonchalantly, his words causing a mixture of surprise and confusion to wash over you.

"Oh, but why? The University of Florida has some of the best facilities in the state, and the salary must be significantly better than what we have here. And the access to all those books—it must be incredible!" You can't help but let your tone drift into wistfulness, envisioning the possibilities.

"I'm sure it is, but I'm reaching a certain age, and I promised my wife that we'd retire in her family's home in Capua," Director Robertson explains, a hint of nostalgia colouring his words. "Let me tell you, deary, I'll take Capua, Italy over the University of Florida any day. And you know what they say: 'Happy wife, happy life,'" he playfully scrunches his nose. "Make sure your husband remembers that dear," he adds, teasingly.

A heavy rock settles in your belly at his words, but you manage to smile through it. "I'll make sure to remind him," you reply, masking any personal turmoil beneath a veneer of cheerfulness.

"You better. Men sometimes need a good whack on their head to remind them that they would be nothing without their wives," Director Robertson remarks, his fingers fidgeting with his mustache once again, as if deep in thought.

"I'm sorry, sir, but I'm not sure I understand why I'm here," you ask, your uncertainty evident. The words hang in the air, seemingly snapping the older man back into focus. His pale blue eyes settle on you before a secretive smile graces his face.

"Because when I said no, I recommended you for the job, my dear," he reveals, his voice carrying a sense of pride and hidden intentions. Your heart stops, the revelation jolting you with disbelief.

"You... You... You did what?!" you stammer, your voice escalating into a screech. Heat surges through your body, from head to toe, as a mix of shock and astonishment overwhelms you.

"Deary, you've been here for how long? Seven years? And in those seven years, you've completely revamped this library," Director Robertson calmly begins. "All the programs you added for the students have made this place thrive. The faculty-based librarian assistance program was a stroke of genius if I may say so. And the digitalization of our database was an incredible achievement that completely propelled us into the 21st century."

He pauses, allowing his words to sink in. "There was no one I would have felt comfortable recommending, as it is my name on the line. But you, my dear, I know that you have the capacity to make anything your own and make it shine."

The weight of his words hangs in the air, the realization of the immense opportunity dawning upon you. Director Robertson's faith in your abilities washes over you, mingling with the heat that had consumed you moments ago.

"Now, you don't have to accept, of course," Director Robertson remarks, his tone understanding. "The university is about an hour's drive from here, so it would be quite the commute. But it would come with a hefty pay raise." With a swift motion, he slides the papers across the desk, urging you to take a look.

You turn the papers over, and your eyes widen as you see the figures before you. An 8 followed by another 8, followed by a series of zeros that threaten to make you faint. It's more than double your current salary, a staggering amount that fills your mind with all the possibilities that would come with such a raise. "That's... That's a substantial amount of money," you whisper, the words barely escaping your lips. The weight of the figure displayed on the paper sends a shiver down your spine, leaving you momentarily speechless.

"Indeed, deary, indeed," Director Robertson affirms, his voice filled with a sense of reassurance and pride.

"I can't believe it; I don't know how to express my gratitude. Sir, I am so incredibly thankful for this opportunity!" you exclaim, a mixture of excitement and nerves coursing through you. "Should I send an email to someone? Who should I reach out to? Should I prepare for an interview? Oh my god, what about my work here?”

Director Robertson's smile remains warm and comforting. "Please, don't worry about your current work here. I have every confidence that Jocelyn will step up and shoulder her fair share of responsibilities. As for the university, they already have all your information and will soon send you a comprehensive email with all the necessary details. At this stage, any interview would primarily be a formality, as I know without a doubt that you will excel.”

You rise to your feet and extend your hand towards Director Robertson, gripping his hand firmly. "I promise, sir, I won't let you down. I will do my best to be deserving of the trust you have placed in me," you affirm with determination, your voice filled with gratitude.

Director Robertson's eyes soften even further, reflecting a genuine warmth. He clasps your small hand in his wrinkled, larger ones. "There's no need to worry about any of that, my dear. Just go out there, impress them, and let your radiant spirit shine like the sun," he kindly encourages,

Tears well up in your eyes, and with a small, trembling voice, you squeak, "Would it be too presumptuous to ask for a hug, sir?"

Director Robertson's kind smile widens, and he extends his arms, inviting you into an embrace. As he wraps his arms around you, you inhale the comforting scent of old cotton and pines, a fragrance that exudes reassurance and kindness. "Thank you for everything, sir," you murmur, your voice filled with gratitude.

"You deserve every bit of it, my dear. I don't think you fully understand the immense potential that resides within you. If you could truly see it for yourself, you would be unstoppable," Director Robertson assures you, his words resonating deep within your being.

Unstoppable. The word dances in your mind. You like the sound of that.

MONTH 3 – AUGUST

“Estrelita, my little love, I wish I could give you the biggest hug in the whole wide world. Even though Papa is away, please know that you're always on his mind. Let me tell you my all-time favorite story, the one your abuela used to tell your tias and me when we couldn't sleep. It's called "El Conejo y el Coyote," and it starts like this; Una vez el coyote se encontró a un conejito y le dijo….”

Frankie's voice fades as he skillfully imitates the rabbit and the coyote on the recording. Ella seems entranced by the story, yet unsure to hear her papa's voice without seeing him there. You've developed the habit of playing the recording at least once a day for Ella, so she can always be close to her papa, even when he's away. And if you're completely honest with yourself, you also play it for you. Even after all this time, hearing Frankie's voice still makes the butterflies in your stomach flutter.

Frankie's letter remains unopened on your bedside table. You haven't been able to open it yet. You don't know if you will. As much as you miss Frankie and hope he's doing well in rehab, you still don't know what you'll do when he leaves at the end of next month. You know he'll be allowed visitors as of next week, marking three whole months he's been there. But you don't know if you should go if you're completely honest with yourself. You know Ella has to go, that's not even a debate. But should you?

Alma is also unsure if you should go, stating that with your new job and the new hours, you should focus on yourself and Ella. She kindly offered to bring Ella with her when she goes for his weekly allotted visitation time. You might take her up on that offer.

Frankie's voice comes to a stop, signalling that the story is over, and Ella appears heartbroken. You notice her bottom lip flutter angrily, and her face turns red. Unable to resist, you chuckle and say, "Don't get mad peanut. Do you want to listen to your papa's story again?" With a smile, you walk over to the recorder and press rewind, filling the air with Frankie's voice once more. Ella's clapping and happy expression from her playpen make your smile widen.

Currently, she is nestled on a mountain of soft pillows, engrossed in playing with the play gym you got her when the rattle lost its appeal 3 weeks ago. It's hard to believe she's already in her sixth month—time has flown by, and she has grown so quickly. The thought nearly brings tears to your eyes. Ella is determinedly reaching for one of the planets hanging from the chord, but her little arms fall just short of grasping it. You laugh at her expression of determination, reminding you of Frankie and his own determined expression when he was working on revamping an old beat-up mustang, he got at a garage sale.

However, your thoughts are abruptly interrupted by a rapid succession of knocks at your door.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

"Coming!" you bellow loudly, making your way toward the door.

You open the door and are greeted with Benny's grinning face, in one hand holding a 6-pack of beers and in the other holding a toolbox. You roll your eyes and say, "You didn't have to bring anything, Benny. You're helping me, so I should provide the beer."

Benny smiles and replies, "Don't worry about it, sunshine. I had to make sure the good stuff would be here."

Teasingly, you inquire, "Are you doubting my beer selection, Benny?"

He lets out a laugh and says, "Nah, not you. Just Fish. You know he drinks that watered-down piss that passes for beer. I had to make sure there'd be something with more substance available."

"You're such an idiot, and you know I have tools, right? Frankie's got the locker full of them."

You scratch your head in embarrassment and continue, "I just don't know how to use them, that's all."

Benny laughs and says, "I can't in good conscience use another man's tools. Those things are like sacred, you know? Can't go around and mess up Fish's system or whatever."

You look at the large toolbox and see the name "W. Miller" written in large white letters on the front. You snort, "So that's why you took Will's tools?"

Benny's ear turns slightly pink as he responds, "He's my brother, everything that’s his, is mine or whatever."

You roll your eyes playfully, "All right, well, can I offer you one of the beers you brought then?"

Benny replies, "Nah, not right now, sunshine. I've got to be on my A-game to fix your shit. Where is it, anyway?"

You lead Benny toward the bathroom, where the fan is closed. Flicking one of the two switches, a loud groaning noise emanates from the top of the shower.

"The fan is busted. Now when I take a shower, I turn the whole place into a sauna. And I'm getting a bit afraid that mold or mushrooms are going to appear, you know? The landlord said he was going to fix it, but it's been 3 weeks with no answers. If Frankie were here, he would..."

You stop yourself, not wanting to finish the sentence.

"Anyway, I told the landlord that if he provided the materials, I'd fix it, and here we are."

Benny smiles and says, "Shouldn't be too hard. Are you ready to play assistant contractor, Sunshine?"

You snort and reply, "Sure, boss. Lead the way."

Benny puts the toolbox next to the sink and goes to inspect the damage. You hover around the door, keeping an eye on Ella who is still in the same position as earlier, now listening to Frankie tell a story about two volcanoes who fall in love. The scene brings a smile to your face.

"Hey, assistant, before I get started, do you mind shutting down the electricity for the bathroom, so I don't become Toasted Benny?" Benny asks. You nod and reply, "Sure, give me a sec." Making your way to the electrical box, you turn off the power in the bathroom. On your return, you quickly check on Ella, who is still determined to grab the hanging planet. You smile and give her nose a tiny kiss before making your way back inside the bathroom.

"All closed, Ben," you inform him. Benny responds, "Awesome. Can you grab me one of the adjustable wrenches? It should be on the top of the box. I'll just take out the old fan, disconnect the wiring, and fit the new fan inside. Should be all done in an hour."

You nod and pick up what looks like a wrench, though you're about 73% sure it's the right one. You ask, "Is this okay?" Benny extends his hand and says, "Yep, all good. Give it here." You place the wrench in Benny's hand, and he smiles at you, saying, "See, you aren't so hopeless. By the end of today, you're going to be the best assistant contractor in Florida."

You smile at Benny's puppy-like excitement and reply, "Sure, Ben, sure."

You watch Benny diligently work on the fan, removing the old moldy contraption. He lets out a whistle at the sight and exclaims, "Fuck, when was that thing installed? The fucking Stone Age?"

"Pretty sure caves weren't equipped with centralized electricity," you quip back. Benny looks down from his elevated position on top of the bathtub and retorts, "Ha. Ha. Ha, aren't you clever." You give him a broad smile and reply, "I know, right?!"

"Why don't you be clever over there and throw that old fan away," Benny suggests. You nod and reach for the old fan, making your way toward the bin. As you do, you hear Benny shout after you, "Make sure to bring back the new one!" You roll your eyes playfully and respond, "I'm not that clueless, Benny!" A loud chuckle echoes from the bathroom as you head to the counter where the shiny new fan awaits. Your eyes briefly glance at Ella, and...

"BENNY, BENNY, COME HERE QUICKLY!"

You hear a commotion coming from the bathroom as Benny stumbles out, panicked. "What?! What's wrong?!?!" he exclaims. You simply point to the living room carpet, your eyes filled with happy tears. "Look!!!" you say, barely able to contain your excitement.

Benny follows your gaze and looks down to see Ella on her belly, attempting to crawl toward the coffee table where the recording of Frankie has stopped playing. You urgently shake Benny's arm. "Quick, quick, grab your phone!!! Oh my god, she's never crawled before, Ben!!! I have to film this. Quickly, my phone is in the bedroom, grab yours!!!"

Benny's eyes widen with a mixture of astonishment and joy. Without wasting a second, he retrieves his phone from his pocket and opens the camera “Go to her! I’ll be your own cameraman!!!”

You smile warmly and swiftly make your way to Ella, crouching down next to the coffee table as she momentarily pauses in her crawling. She looks up at you with tired yet determined eyes. "Come on, my little peanut, you're almost there!" you cheer, feeling a surge of pride and excitement. In the background, Benny chimes in with a playful exclamation, "Let's go, Ella! Show them who's the best fucking baby in the world!"

You shoot Benny a disapproving look, and he responds with a sheepish smile. "Sorry, Sunshine, I'm just...so excited!" he says, his words stumbling out of his mouth. Rolling your eyes, you turn your attention back to Ella. "Come on, peanut, you've got this!" you encourage her, your voice filled with loving adoration.

Ella's determined expression, so much like Frankie's, reappears on her face as she resumes her crawling. Benny and you continue to shout words of encouragement, your voices filled with excitement and pride, as she inches closer and closer to her destination.

Finally, Ella reaches the coffee table, and without hesitation, you bend down to grab her, gently scooping her into your arms. Overwhelmed with joy, you give her a crushing hug, unable to contain the immense love and pride you feel in that moment.

"You did so good, baby. Mama is so, so proud of you!" you whisper, your voice filled with pride. With a tender smile, you softly nuzzle your nose against Ella's. Ella coos happily in response, her little sounds of joy filling the air and further melting your heart.

You bring your face up and turn towards Benny, who is still holding the camera, a hopeful look in your eyes. "Did you catch all that, Ben? Wasn't she absolutely amazing?" you ask, eager to hear his response. Benny's face lights up with his signature megawatt smile, and he exclaims, "SHE WAS GREAT!!! Ella, you are just like a shooting shining star!!!”

Benny continues, his excitement contagious. "Now, proud mama, you got anything to say to the camera?" he prompts. With a radiant smile, you twirl around, holding Ella close to your heart. "Only that I've got the bestest little peanut in the whole world!" you declare with overflowing love and pride. Ella lets out a happy squeal in response, and the sound of Benny's laughter echoes in the background.

MONTH FOUR – SEPTEMBER

Frankie found himself seated at one of the picnic tables outside, overlooking the tranquil man-made pond in the rehab facility's backyard. Nervously fidgeting with his fingers, he’s been reflecting all morning on the past three and a half months he’s spent here. His mother had eagerly awaited the fourth month when visitations were permitted. However, Frankie had approached the session coordinator and asked for a delay in visits. Despite his deep desire to see his mother, sisters, daughter, brothers, and… You, he didn't feel emotionally prepared for it. Not yet.

The day before September 1st, Frankie had experienced a crippling panic attack that left him completely incapacitated. The following morning, he gathered the courage to stride into the office of the head therapist. Once there, Frankie had explained to him that he needed more time before he would be able to face anyone. Dr. Stevens had smiled and told Frankie how proud he was that he was finally setting boundaries and acknowledging his limits. If there was on thing Frankie’s time in the rehab had taught him, it was the value of recognizing his own needs, a lesson he had never truly internalized during his years in the army. He had become so accustomed to unquestioningly following orders, regardless of the harm they inflicted on him, that he had forgotten that he needed to care for himself and listened to his needs sometimes.

During therapy sessions, Dr. Stevens had emphasized the significance of listening to Frankie's own desires and engaging in introspection. The therapist pointed out that, by consistently ignoring his own wants, Frankie's inner turmoil found an outlet through self-destructive behaviours. Dr. Stevens believed that if Frankie started paying attention to his own needs and delved deeper into self-reflection, the compulsion to numb his pain with cocaine might gradually diminish, even if only minimally.

Frankie sighed heavily, his hand sweeping across his face as he noticed a mother duck leading her adorable ducklings across the serene lake. These past few months had undoubtedly been the most challenging period he had ever faced, and Frankie had been shot multiple times before. So that’s saying something. Confronting the stark contrast between the person he believed himself to be and the person he had become, all while battling intense withdrawal symptoms, had left him feeling lethargic during the initial weeks.

Throughout his life, Frankie had always viewed himself as a provider, a dependable man on whom others could rely. Memories flooded his mind, particularly the day his father passed away when Frankie was just a young boy. He vividly recalled how, the day before his father's death, the man he had admired for his strength and dedication to his family had called upon ten-year-old Frankie. "Francisco," his father had spoken with pain, surrounded by the incessant beeping of medical equipment, "I need you to take care of your mother and sisters when I'm gone. You will be the man of the house, and it's your responsibility to look after those you love."

Frankie had internalized those words and earnestly tried to fulfill his father's wishes, caring for his mother, sisters, and eventually you and Ella. However, in the end, he felt that he had failed spectacularly. When he confessed these deep fears to Dr. Stevens, a wave of vulnerability washed over him, tears streaming down his face. The older therapist regarded Frankie with a sympathetic expression, moving closer and offering a tissue.

"You haven't failed anyone, Francisco," Dr. Stevens reassured him, gently patting his back. "Yes, you've made mistakes, but now you are making the right choices and striving to make amends. You don't have to live up to any expectations or face external pressures alone. Your focus should be on taking each day as it comes. As long as you care for your wife and your little girl, it will be enough. I am certain that if they were here, they would tell you the same."

Then, Dr. Stevens had Frankie make lists. A list of the things he was most afraid of:

Loosing you and Ella for good

Seeing his brothers die

His mother never forgiving him

Dying before he could see Ella grow up

Not being the man, his father wanted him to be.

Then a list of all those he had hurt,

You and Ella, the two persons cherished the most.

Ben, Will and Pope, the brothers who counted on him and whom he let down.

His mother who didn’t raise him to be what he his today

Tom, whose life was lost due to the choices he made.

Himself himself

Then a list of all he regretted

Lying to you, betraying your trust.

Bringing drugs home, staining the sanctity of the home you built together

Taking your love for granted, failing to appreciate you.

Keeping himself closed off, unable to fully express his emotions.

Shooting first Causing Tom’s death

After finishing the lists, Frankie was instructed to go back to his room and engage and reflect on what he had written. Left alone with his thoughts, Frankie delved into the profound weight of his past actions and the far-reaching consequences they had on the people in his life.

Even though it was incredibly tough, Frankie drew strength from imagining you and Ella right there with him, offering unwavering support. Your smiles and hopeful expressions fueled his determination when he felt overwhelmed and tempted to give up.

Frankie knew how crucial it was to take his recovery seriously. He understood that unless he fully committed to it, the chances of winning you back would dwindle. But it wasn't just the fear of losing you that pushed him forward. Deep down, he genuinely wanted to change. He wanted to be a better man, not just for you but also for himself. He didn't want to be that scared and dishonest boy anymore.

Frankie was well aware of the pain he had caused you, and he acknowledged that the drugs were only a fragment of the larger issue. He understood that his actions stemmed from a deeper problem — his reluctance to open up and reveal the parts of himself he found most fearful and repulsive. The mere thought of you looking at him with disgust in your eyes was unbearable to him.

Deep down, Frankie knew that such concerns were unfounded. He knew that you would never judge him for his past or hold his mistakes against him. However, fear and self-hatred have a way of distorting one's thoughts and leading to irrational behaviour. Frankie recognized the irrationality of his actions and the influence fear and self-doubt had over his decisions.

But Frankie was learning. He was slowly coming to terms with the fact that his fears and self-judgment were hindering his progress. He began to realize that the path to healing required vulnerability and trust, especially in his relationship with you. Overcoming his own insecurities and learning to open up was a crucial step towards rebuilding the trust he had broken.

For Frankie and you to have a chance at reuniting, he understood the importance of treating you as an equal partner, rather than just his wife in need of protection. Opening up and being honest with you were crucial steps he needed to take. In the group therapy sessions, the topic of his treatment towards you had come up, and one woman in particular, Ronnie, didn't hold back in expressing her opinion. She bluntly stated that if she were in your position, she would have swiftly shown Frankie the door, recounting her own experience with an ex-husband who had been a taciturn statue throughout their short-lived marriage.

Ronnie's words struck a nerve with Frankie, leaving him feeling exposed and vulnerable. He felt raw and tender. But he could only acknowledge that she had a valid point. He had failed to communicate and share his thoughts and emotions with you, and that had taken a toll on your relationship.

Dr. Stevens had attempted to calm the group, but the impact of Ronnie's words lingered within Frankie for a couple of days afterward. Frankie had no choice but to confront the truth of how his behaviour had affected you and how he had fallen short of being the partner you deserved.

Frankie's thoughts were abruptly interrupted by a firm clap on his back, drawing his attention away from the peaceful pond. Frankie's face lit up with genuine joy when he catches the blue eyes of Will looking back at him.

"Will! Man, it's so good to see you!" Frankie exclaims, rising from his seat to embrace his friend in a tight hug. "How have you been, brother?"

"Good, good. Same old routine—VA visits, giving speeches, and keeping Benny out of trouble," Will replies, "Oh, and I might have met someone special," he adds, a playful grin on his face.

Frankie's face lit up even more. "That's fantastic, Will! I'm really happy for you," he exclaims, gesturing for his friend to take a seat on the opposite side of the picnic table. "This spot gives you the best view of this place," Frankie remarks, pointing towards the serene pond and the ducks swimming on its surface.

Will settles into the seat with a contented smile. "I can see why," he replies, appreciating the calm scene. His eyes then shifted to Frankie, noticing a change in his friend's demeanour. "You look good, Fish. Actually, better than I've seen you in a while," Will remarks, his voice filled with genuine warmth.

Frankie's expression softens, gratitude filling his gaze. "Thanks, Will. I feel good too," he confesses, a mix of relief and newfound understanding in his voice. "Being here has given me the time and space to confront things I wasn't ready to face about myself. I wish I had done it sooner, instead of being so stubborn. It was the best thing I could have done for myself and for them," he explains.

Will's smile widens, expressing his genuine happiness for his friend. "I'm glad to hear it, Fish," he replies warmly.

As the two friends catch up, their conversation started to delve into the time they had spent apart. Frankie eagerly sharing his experiences in group therapy and the progress he had made with his personal therapist. He spoke openly about the challenges he faced during the initial month of withdrawal, recounting the intense loneliness that had enveloped him during that period.

Frankie's voice grew heavier as he broached the topic of guilt surrounding Tom's death. Will's gaze turned serious, his eyes locked onto Frankie's, conveying a sense of understanding and empathy. With a firm conviction in his voice, Will interrupted Frankie's self-blame.

"None, and I mean it, Fish," Will asserts, his words laced with sincerity. "None of what happened in Colombia was your fault. We all had a part to play in those circumstances, and you don't have to shoulder that burden alone, alright?"

Tears welled up in Frankie's eyes as he nodded, his voice trembling with gratitude. "Thank you, Will," he chokes out, his voice thick with emotion. "I needed to hear that, to be reminded that I'm not alone in this. It means the world to me."

Will reaches out and places a comforting hand on Frankie's shoulder, offering both physical and emotional support. "You never have to face this journey alone, Fish," Will assures him, his voice filled with unwavering loyalty. "We're in this together, and I'll always be here for you."

A brief pause hung in the air as Frankie's gaze shifted to the side, a touch of melancholy crossing his face. He mustered the courage to ask the question that had been weighing on his mind, his voice tinged with longing. "Did you see my wife and Ella while I was away... How... How are they doing?"

Will's smile softens, his own eyes wandering toward the ducks in the distance. "They seemed well," he replies. "Ella grew like a weed, you know. And your lady, she's doing great. Got herself a new job with better pay. I could tell she was really proud of it."

Frankie closes his eyes, allowing the words to wash over him. For a fleeting moment, guilt threatens to seep in—the guilt of not being there by your side. But just as quickly, it dissipates, replaced by an overwhelming sense of love and admiration for you and the strides you were making while he focuses on his own journey of healing. "A promotion, huh? She's so smart. I can't wait to tell her how happy I am for her," he whispers. A spark of excitement flickers within him. "Did you guys celebrate? Because I can organize something once I'm out."

Will's smile broadens. "We thought we'd wait for you, but we did take her and Ella to Outback Steakhouse," he reveals. "Is she planning to visit before you leave?"

"I'll be out in two weeks, and Mama is coming with Ella next week, but I think it's best if we wait until I'm out," Frankie explains, his voice tinged with a mix of longing and practicality.

"That's fair," Will nods understandingly. "She seems well, Fish, but I can tell she's lonely. She looks like she misses you."

Frankie's eyes brim with tender determination, "She could never miss me as much as I miss her and Ella. This time here has made me realize how fortunate I am and how close I came to squandering it all. I'll never make that mistake again, Will, believe me."

A twinkle appears in Will's eyes as he reaches for his back pocket. "Wait, I have something for you," he said, pulling out his phone and opening the camera app. He scrolls through a collection of pictures; some he had taken himself and others that you had sent to him. "These are for you. Your lady wanted to make sure you knew they were doing all right."

As Frankie continues scrolling through the photo albums, he was greeted by a plethora of precious moments captured between you and Ella. Each image held its own story, showcasing the love and joy that radiated from your little family. In some pictures, you cradled Ella in your arms, your eyes filled with tenderness. Other photos focused solely on Ella, capturing her adorable expressions and mischievous nature. And then there were the silly selfies—the ones that always brought a smile to Frankie's face. They were the ones you both loved to take, capturing the candid, carefree moments of your lives.

There were morning snapshots, featuring tousled bedheads and tired smiles, Ella playfully blowing raspberries at the camera. Other pictures overflowed with warmth and sunshine, showcasing the adventures you embarked on during the summer. Ella in her tiny bathing suit, her chubby fingers clutching a plush cat toy. You and Ella wearing matching sundresses adorned with elephants, holding a basket full of produce from the farmer’s market. Frankie's heart swells as he sees an image of you delicately feeding Ella a small bite of ice cream.

Tears well up in Frankie's eyes—a mixture of longing and joy. Joy because he is so grateful to see you both thriving and creating beautiful memories. Sadness because he has missed out on these precious moments. As he continues scrolling, he stumbles on a video. With a quick double-tap, he initiates the playback, and your voice resonates from the phone's speakers.

"Come on, quickly, take out your camera..." your voice echoes, filled with excitement.

"Fish, wait a second, you should turn that off," Will's voice interjects, attempting to grab the phone.

But Frankie evades him, his body turning towards the lake, his back to Will. His heart yearns to hear your voice, to immerse himself in the presence of the family he deeply misses. The camera comes into focus, and there you are crouched next to the coffee table with Ella... Is she crawling?! Frankie's heart tightens as he watches his little Estrelita grow up right before his eyes, slowly making her way toward you.

And then he hears it, a voice echoing through the phone, "Go to her! I'll be your personal cameraman!!!" It's Benny's voice and Frankie's body tenses in response. The video continues, capturing your shouts of encouragement to Ella, and even Benny's voice cheering, "Let's go, Ella! Show them who's the best fucking baby in the world!"

Frankie catches your disapproving look at the camera, and Benny offering a sheepish apology. Sunshine. Benny called you sunshine. But it's just Benny being Benny, right? It has to be. Benny would never... he couldn't possibly… Do that. But deep down, Frankie can't help his mind from wandering into unsettling territory.

The video plays on, but Frankie's focus wavers. He can't seem to see anything else on the screen. And then, finally, Ella reaches you, and Frankie is jolted from his daze by your scream of excitement. Suddenly, a cold shock washes over him as he hears Benny's voice again, "Now, proud mama, you got anything to say to the camera?"

Your radiant smile is directed at Benny; Ella's happy satisfied face is all for Benny—it's all too much. He isn't there. But Benny is. Benny is there. Frankie can feel himself spiralling.

The phone is snatched from his hands, and Will sits down next to Frankie, gripping his shoulder firmly. "Benny was just there that day to fix the fan in the bathroom, it was all just circumstances, I promise you," Will reassures him. Frankie's voice trembles as he responds, "The fan was broken? And I wasn't there to fix it. But Benny was."

"No!" Will's voice booms with determination. "Don't go down that road, Fish. Understand? There's nothing going on between your lady and Benny. You've made incredible progress these past few months, and I'll be damned if you let yourself fall into another dark place. I wasn't there last time, but this time, I'm right here with you!"

Frankie's mind whispers, "Maybe it would be easier if I didn't come back. She has a new job, and Ella seems well. They'd probably be better off without me." He looks down at the ground, feeling his hands twist anxiously.

"Are you kidding me?!" Will exclaims. "Frankie, these girls love you more than anything in this world. If you leave, they'd be shattered. You're not thinking straight right now. Remember why you made that recording? So that Ella wouldn’t forget your voice. Fish, you knew you'd miss a lot of things by being here. But look, today you've been telling me how much progress you've made, how you're ready to open up and communicate better with your lady. With us. Well, let me introduce you to a new concept: trust. You need to trust that she would never do anything to hurt you. And you need to trust that Benny would never betray his own brother like that, okay?" Frankie takes a deep breath, absorbing Will's words.

“You are right. Of course, you are right. Sorry for freaking out like that.”

"It's all right. Are you really okay though?" Will's voice is filled with genuine concern.

Frankie's mind balks. Is he really… Okay? He doesn't have a definite answer. The old Frankie would have brushed it off, assuring Will that he was fine and that he didn’t care that Benny was seemingly playing house with you and Ella. Then he’d go snort a line in the bathroom to take the edge off.

"I don't know, Will. I don't know if I'll ever be all right." Frankie puts his head in his hands, feeling the weight of his emotions bearing down on him. Will places a reassuring hand on Frankie's upper back. "Then we'll take it one day at a time.”

One day at a time. Just 14 more days until he sees you and Ella again. Only 14 days until you decide if you want him back. Just 14 days until he must confront the consequences of his actions and the pain, he caused you over the past few years. Those 14 days stretch before him, both seemingly endless and surprisingly close. Is he truly ready? The honest answer is, he doesn't know.

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