#most miserable dilf to ever exist

[jesuistrestriste]

happy father’s day to this tortured blonde ! ! ! !

[femboyhunting]

Older au questions I have

1: sydney is a doctor- but is he a good or bad one- is harper still around? If so how do they interact

2: what happened to baliey?

3: kylar becomes cruel and awful but what happened to his parents??? Mercy kill? Church involvement? Other???

4: I know Mickie leaves and becomes a DILF but when does he leave- what shoves him to that point? At what time does he decide he needs to be healthy

Sydney is a therapist! He has his own little private practice. My impulse is to say that being a therapist in doltown would be unbearable and frankly impossible so Sydney would move away. But for whatever reason I don't really see Sydney leaving? I think probably part of it is his family. And maybe he wants to do his part in helping others in any way he can. He seems, at his core, to be a truly kind and altruistic person with a lot of empathy for others. And Doltown really does need an actual therapist. He's chronically overworked and develops unhealthy attachments to his clients, but he really does care deeply for them and genuinely wants to help. He works on a sliding scale, and will often take clients for free. It's not very good business practice. His real job is the sex club he opened at the edge of town, though so at least he's getting some amount of revenue to stay afloat. It's actually a pretty nice place, lots of bouncers to enforce strict safety rules. Sydney I think has the most wholesome future, which isn't at all surprising for his character.

Harper might have pushed back, and Syd definitely was hesitant because of this since he didn't even want to see his fucking face, but he was busy at the moment with the attack on the hospital and having lost an arm from it. By the time Harper was even aware enough to be in the know about Syd opening a private practice, he was not very happy but figured he'd let it be as long as Sydney didn't create problems for him. And Sydney doesn't! He really doesn't like the idea that he's not speaking up against Harper but he knows that won't end well. Sydney's just doing what he can to help as many people as he can.

2. I'm not too sure what happened to Bailey. He's an older man now and likely has retreated into more safety. His name still strikes fear in people though. I think someone else must have taken over the orphanage though. Maybe Robin.

3. I wouldn't necessarily say "awful". He just doesn't care. He probably wanted, at some point, to end their miserable lives. If they retained any iota of their former selves their existence must be pure torture. He missed them like crazy, of course. Like their absence as their former selves was a gaping wound in his chest. He'd vowed to care for them like they had him and one day change them back. And then MC/Mikie was gone and everything went wonky. He told himself that he'd be back like always, that his beloved would never leave him. But everything was so much harder to endure without him there. He spent his time searching, he couldn't go about his day normally like everything was ok it was agony. He really spiraled. A year went by before he finally lost hope and decided a life without Mikie wasn't worth it. Long story purposefully vague, he got carted off to the asylum. Then something no one had anticipated happened. From his dark claustrophobic cell, he heard a cacophony of blood curdling screaming, slamming, and horrific wet tearing noises. They had him on so many meds he was barely aware and kept fading in and out. But when he awoke again he was home, and in the cold clammy embrace of one of his parents, the three of them smeared with drying blood. He would discover later that the asylum had been attacked, countless people lost their lives. After that, no one ever saw him again. But he's out there. Specifically, deep in the woods. He's getting better at the occult. He figures that maybe if he gets good enough maybe he can bring his beloved back to him from the other side. It's been so long though, he's hardly the same person he was back then, would he still love Kylar even as he is now? Well, no matter, he could make them. If he could bring them back to him, prove that love truly is eternal, making them love him back would surely not be that hard.

4. I think Mike has always wanted and planned to leave. He has some idealistic plans in the mean time at one point. He though if he could just make the right moves in the shadows, get the right people to trust him, he could dethrone the bastards in power and make a real positive change. He thought there was enough good in the world that if everyone worked together they could save each other. He thought he was real fuckin' smart. He really thought he could outsmart people who have been playing this game since before Mikies papa even creampied his mum. There are some victories sure but the more Mikie learns about how the town is actually run, he realizes that he's dealing with forces beyond his comprehension. And he's just some guy that used his cute ass to get a guy to set fire to some crops. Every victory is so ephemeral and meaningless in the grand scheme of things. Every failure is devastating. He tries so hard and again and again he's reminded that he's in over his head. The traumas only build and build. The asylum, the prison, the way he can't go a day without being assaulted. Trying to get revenge on Leighton and realizing that the people in power create the law so the law will never persecute them. Beaten down over and over, reminded that he is nothing. It's hard to remain hopeful. He wonders if there's anyone who he can trust, anyone who actually cares about him or are they all using him. He isn't even really sure who he is anymore. But he is sure that no one knows him. All they see when they look at him is a reflection of their own desires. All they are is vampires, bleeding him dry. And he can feel himself becoming emptier every day.

It's possible it's not even a conscious choice, really leaving. Near the end he hardly really thinks at all, it's like his head is an overfilled water balloon ready to pop, everything he hears sounds like he's underwater too. He used to go empty when bad things happened to him, his eyes would go blank and he'd just wait until it was over. Near the end, he has trouble coming back, even in the good times. He doesn't really remember much. He doesn't feel human. Maybe one night he's slinking through the shadows back to the orphanage and into his tiny room. It's ransacked, someone's obviously been there. In the back of his brain he has a passive though that nowhere is safe. He rubs the bindings on his arms against the rough edge of a piece of furniture until the loosen and he can rub the angry red rope burns on his wrists. He catches a look at himself in his mirror. His hair is tangled and matted, it hangs in his face. His eyes are wide, bloodshot, and ringed in dark colors from a combination of chronic sleeplessness and bruises. His body is marred by cuts and scrapes and bruises. Dried blood crackles and pulls at his skin uncomfortably when he moves. Another passing thought; if he's ugly will anyone love him? When his abused body finally crumbles in on itself will anyone want to hold him anymore? Is that all he is? A pretty body degrading and rotting day by day?

He doesn't think about it, really. He just stockpiles food and money. Gets a little more withdrawn. Not enough to worry anyone who might stop him. He doesn't think about Sydney or Robin or Kylar. He doesn't think. Everything around him feels so far away. Buys a backpack. A train ticket. And he's gone. No one even worries for a good while, Mikie has a reputation of disappearing and coming back.

[aliwritesfic]

The Night Shift part 5 (F!Reader x Frankie Morales)

Quick summary: You learn the meaning behind Frankie's nickname

Warnings: None, I think, please let me know if I need to add some <3

W/C: 1.7k

Spotify (mainly just vibes, some songs have meaning, also updated regularly)

Part 1 Part 6

The smell of cooking bacon made your stomach growl as you entered the diner on Tuesday evening. You hadn’t eaten much all day, just a piece of toast and a handful of stale cheerios. Frankie was in the kitchen, his back to you. Your throat dried at the sight of him, remembering what you had done and how you had fantasized about him only a few hours earlier.

“Hi, Frankie,” you said, pushing thoughts of what you wanted him to do with his hands out of your mind. Stop being such a hornbag! You scolded yourself. Then he set those dark brown eyes on you and your brain ceased to function. Could he see your secret written on your face?

“Hey,” he said, smiling up at you. “You look tired.”

You almost sighed in relief. Maybe he couldn’t tell at all. You grabbed the coffee pot and poured yourself a cup. “I didn’t sleep much today. I was . . . worried about the kitten.” It wasn’t a whole lie; you really were worried about the kitten. The vet hadn’t sent you any updates, and you hoped that was a good thing.

“Are you gonna keep the kitten, if she lives?” Frankie flipped eggs as he spoke and set up a couple of plates.

“I can’t,” you grimaced, “Kurt would never go for it. He’s not really a fan of pets.”

Frankie made a face. “Not even adorable kittens?”

“Not even then,” you sighed. “It’s fine, though. It’s not like I have the time to properly care for one. I’m here most nights and I’m so busy with housework during the day when I’m not sleeping that it just- it just wouldn’t work.”

You kept your tone light, aware that customers could be listening. You didn’t want to scare off any tips with how miserable the subject made you. Frankie seemed to understand, because he didn’t bring the subject back up.

You were surprised at how easily you two worked together. Completely in sync when you had to be, entire sentences seemed to be translated through quick looks and raised eyebrows. This guy is a serial complainer. Want me to do something about those frat boys? Can you pretty please make me one of whatever this lady’s having?

All too soon it was 5:30 and the morning crew was there, breaking the comfortable silence between you. You found yourself lingering again, although you weren’t sure what for. You didn’t exactly need to stay. But still.

~*~

Frankie was shocked to see you still there. He was pulling his keys out of his jacket pocket when he saw you, standing outside, shivering in the early spring air.

“Thought’d you’d be halfway home by now,” he said, but he was still pleased to see you. He had come to the conclusion last night that you had a boyfriend, he would respect that and not make any untoward moves on you. Friendship suited him fine, even if he did think your boyfriend was a bit of a freak for not wanting a pet.

“I wanted to ask you something,” you said.

“Go ahead,” Frankie prompted.

“How’d you get the nickname Catfish?”

At this, Frankie’s lips twitched. He hadn’t been expecting that. “Before we were deployed, the boys and I went on a fishing trip. Well, one thing led to another and I had a huge catfish on my hook. This was a catch and release type of situation, you know?” When you nodded, he continued. “So, I reach in this creatures mouth to unhook it, and the bastard clamps down! Whole hand, in its mouth! And the thing about catfish, is they don’t have teeth, so they can’t technically bite, but they suck. It was like my hand was in a vacuum seal. When I eventually managed to get it out, no help from the boys mind you, it looked like a giant hickey on my hand. So, that’s where the nickname comes from.”

You snorted with laughter, and Frankie began to laugh too. At the time, it hadn’t been funny but looking back, he knew he would have been laughing his ass off if it happened to any of the other boys.

“I think Santi got a photo of it, I’ll try and find it for you if you want,” Frankie said. You nodded eagerly, wiping a tear from your eye.

“Please do, I’d love to see it,” you said with a grin that made his heart do something it really shouldn’t. Frankie nodded, making a mental note to call Santi and demand that the bastard rip apart his house to find it if he had to.

You turned to leave, and before he could stop himself, he was asking “do you want a ride?” Friends gave each other rides when they needed it, he reasoned. You hesitated, and Frankie kicked himself. Of course he’d overstepped. You didn’t know him that well, he was just the fry cook.

“Uh, yeah actually. It looks like it might rain.”

As if you had summoned it, thunder rumbled low overhead. Fat drops of rain began to fall slowly painting the ground. Frankie jangled his keys and you both sprinted to his truck. He opened your door for you, and ran around to his side. He didn’t miss that you sat with your back ridgid, your hands curled so tightly your knuckles were white.

“You okay?” he asked, although you obviously were not.

“Yeah, no, it’s just . . . You’re aware your truck looks like a death trap?”

Frankie snorted. He was very aware of this, but he was also very aware of what was under the hood. He trusted this truck more than any fancy modern car. Still. He decided that this was the perfect opportunity to mess with you. Just to see how you responded.

“Have you ever seen The Fast and The Furious?” He began, and you raised an eyebrow at him, your face skeptical. “Tokyo Drift, specifically. Well, this truck won me the title of Drift King several years in a row. That’s how well she runs.”

“Oh, fuck off!” You rolled your eyes, but you were laughing. “That’s not even slightly believable.”

“Yeah, you’re right. But how cool would it be if it were true.”

You rolled your eyes again, but you were smiling as you did it, and Frankie counted that as a victory. You gave him directions as he drove, surprising him with how close you lived to him. Only a five minute drive away. How long had you been this close? How had he never noticed you in the neighbourhood? Had he been blind, all these years?

“Thank you,” you said quietly as he pulled up outside your building, a three story walk up with a faded brick facade. The rain was coming down hard now, and lightning flashed.

“Anytime,” Frankie said in a tone that he truly meant any time. You nodded and ran through the rain, disappearing into the building. Frankie idled for a moment, wishing he could call you back and kiss you goodbye.

But he didn’t, because it wasn’t decent and it wasn’t what friends did. Friends didn’t crush on their friend like a fucking idiot kid.

So Frankie drove himself home and drove all thoughts of your mouth out of his head. That was until he checked his phone, and saw a text from an unknown number.

Thanks for the ride, I really appreciate it :) sent 5:57AM

Frankie quickly saved your number in his phone, not taking the risk of losing it somehow. A second message from you buzzed through.

Oh and lunch on Sunday is at Taylor’s Bistro, on High Street if you still wanna come sent 6:01AM

Frankie wrote his message quickly.

Wouldn’t miss it x

He stared at it for too long, erased the x, replaced it with a smiley face and hit send before he could overthink it entirely. Then he remembered his promise to you, and called Santi almost instantly.

“Fish, what the fuck man? It’s four in the morning,” Santi groaned into the phone.

“It’s six you dope, but I need a favour,” Frankie said.

“Money?”

“No, man, nothing like that. Do you still have that photo of the catfish on my hand?”

“Yeah I’ve got a copy in my wallet.” Santi sounded more awake, and Frankie could hear his fancy espresso machine whir to life.

“Why do you- nevermind. Look, I need a copy ASAP.”

“What for? If it’s to destroy it just know I’ve thought ahead and I’ve got four physical copies and one in the Cloud.”

“No, nothing like that. It’s for a girl at work, she asked how I got my callsign and now I’ve gotta show her the photo.”

“Oh?” Santi sounded intrigued. “Who’s this girl?”

“A friend,” Frankie said a little forcefully. “She has a boyfriend.” As if that closed the matter. Apparently, it didn’t.

“Why should that stop you?” Santi asked. “You’re hot, I don’t know this chick but she’d be blind to not be into you.”

“Well, for one, my brain isn’t directly wired with my dick.” At this, Santiago scoffed. Frankie continued, ignoring him. “Secondly, she’s like, twenty five or six. She’s probably not into old guys.”

“You’re thirty-three, you’re not old. Also, chicks dig DILFs.”

“I don’t have a kid.”

“And yet you still have big DILF energy. I wonder if there are any little Francisco’s running around that we have yet to discover.”

“Shut the fuck up, man, it’s bad luck to say that kind of shit. Just get the photo to me, please.”

Santiago roared with laughter as Frankie hung up. Trust Santiago to work one of his deepest fears into conversation. Frankie wasn’t sure what he was more afraid of: having children, or having children and having no clue they existed. It wasn’t that he was against having kids altogether, it was just he knew he wasn’t in the right headspace to take care of someone who depended on him entirely. Some days he forgot to take care of himself, he didn’t want a kid to suffer. It wouldn’t be fair.

He brushed the thought aside as he climbed into bed. It was bad luck to linger on bad thoughts, at least, that’s what his abuela always told him whenever he complained about something as a kid.

He wasn’t sure why exactly he had told you that there was photographic evidence of a catfish latched onto his hand. Maybe he wanted to impress you? But no, he reasoned, there was nothing impressive about that. It was just plain embarrassing. He realised with a start that what he wanted was willing to do anything to hear your laugh again.

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