#this book just got too many people in it idk what else to say man

[dykedvonte]

I am making grabby hands and begging for more of your lovely Benny HC’s pleeeeease

Okie Dokie!!! Kinda long so under the cut it is

Benny is baby-faced and mid-20s. I like the idea he was so roped into House's offer because he was and still is kinda young and impressionable. His lobes aren't fully cooked yet and it shows.

Short and just now getting stout. Being a wastelander means you stay kinda lean and now he takes a lot of opportunities to fill out and look bigger.

Weirdly naive. He can spot a lie/lair from a mile away but if you somehow can charm your way past that intuition he's all too trusting with you on personal matters. All boot riders are like this actually as they rarely are wary of someone considered their own.

Moves like a lizard, very still one moment and then fast/jittery the next. He's not very predictable outside of being a backstabber.

A hand talker who can't keep still or quiet for long. Gets bored easily which is why he never was the casino desk man.

Was just called Gecko before but mainly for his eyes and not the aforementioned behavior. Very cold and sharp like a Mojave golden Gecko but also pretty.

All his smiles are practiced. There's a certain menace his natural smile has, too many teeth, too big, too wild, too mocking. Kinda like a dog barring his teeth and combined with his eyes it's rather intimidating. All the fake smiles are coy and rather closed lip.

Doesn't like using guns but it gives him an edge. Likes to get in close and feel like he's earned the kill during a fight but he's got an image now...

Not religious and doesn't get organized religion. Part of House's doing as House of course would explain it as something superfluous but Benny's own opinions are more "If a god was real why would he make life suck this much ass"

Maria means nothing to him but is part of his image. Following the point below, what he got from House is like a uniform for him, even if he doesn't want to go back to it, it is physically comforting.

Got to choose his name from a list House gave him. Chairmen had the most things altered about them. Treats his name like a title more than anything, interestingly enough.

If he ever defected he would join the followers. They share a lot of viewpoints and he'd act as a spokesman vs anything else. He is a likable guy, just not a guy you can get close to while keeping a "likable" opinion of him.

Doesn't sleep that much. Not much to do with the plans he has but he is a wastelander at heart. The city while secure isn't what he's fully used to still and the lights/sounds keep him up

Emotionally repressed and doesn't know it. Has a hard time actually connecting with most people cause he struggles with determining if a relationship is serious. People are friends or FWB and little else cause it's never been important to his or the Chairmens' prosperity.

Follows Boot-Rider customs discreetly and says Chairmen shit for show. A lot of the family would tell you a big reason Boot-Rider traditions aren't gone is that he won't let them die even if they gotta be silent about them.

He's eerily people smart. Intelligence is subjective here as he's not book smart but he gets people he knows what they want to hear even if he doesn't genuinely believe it. The comic knows he pays attention to what makes people vulnerable and he's like idk FNV Heather Chandler. Not introspective at all though.

My last point for now is: Violent. Maybe a better word is intense but he lacks inhibition and temperament control in a lot of aspects. If he's forced a direction he kinda just runs wild even if he was taking it slow before. He has hard opinions and makes plans with a sense of finality to them and doesn't act until that's achievable. Like I'm sorry but he gets mean at you and whatever he say to Yes-Man about the khans must be crazy with how YM talks about them. He is so willing to get his hands dirty, I can imagine he misses being able to get messy.

This is not organized at all but these are major ways I see Benny. He's like borderline an oxymoron who avoids it by small margins. Everything about him can be explained even though we don't get a lot of personal info about him, we know his habits. He's a guy who has such a detailed facade you can't tell what his actual face is most of the time and when he does show it, it's only in very specific and wild scenarios it can be hard to say it's how he'd really be. I'll just say the opening of the comic with him fluctuating from motionlessly looking at Vegas, to calmly talking to Swank, to rage and settling on something almost like commercial charm when talking about murdering what is basically a family member is just so indicative of what Benny is and how I tend to characterize him in my head.

[whiteskullofroses]

Noch einer!

(Dieter Hellstrom x reader)- slight nsfw

A/N: Man idk, it's 1 am and Dieter is baby girl. I don't support nacizm/any of this man's ideologies. Enjoy!

🍻 Imagine being a Yugoslav Partisan camouflaged as an SS officer, when attending a nazi meeting in the basement you meet Dieter. After a few too many shots you slip up, but luckily he is too busy thinking about you rather than the things you say.🍻

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The room was getting louder and louder with every second running by, yet you didn't budge. At least on the outside, on the inside though, you were on fire. The gun on your belt looked lovelier with every nazi that walked in and sat down at the table you were sitting at.

You couldn't believe that you approved of this "genius" plan The Basterds came up with. No matter how stupid it seemed, there was a possibility it could work and you wanted nothing more than to have these Schwabs out of Europe and sent straight to hell where they belonged.

The SS uniform felt too tight and uncomfortable, you tapped your black boots against the cold cement and silently cursed every officer that came in the basement, however, you decided to busy your mind with something else and stretch your legs. You got up, lit a cigarette in between your middle and pointer finger, and noticed the gramophone hiding behind a wall. Just as you noticed it, it stopped playing. Walking up to the gramophone to restart it, your eyes noticed a figure in the corner.

The yellow light from the candle lit up the left side of his face.

The SS officer was reading a book and drinking beer. The more you stared at him, your mind forgetting about the music, the more attractive he looked. "No, Y/N this isn't right," you said to yourself: "I shouldn't pray on men today, especially nazis."

Without realizing he was staring right back at you until he finally spoke: "Fräulein? Was ist los?" You broke eye contact and didn't reply.

He took a deep breath and closed the book, his hand patting the sit next to him, gesturing for you to sit down.

Your heartbeat quickened, the tension was unbearable and not in a good way.

"Y/N, do not show any compassion to him, his people are killing yours on the lines out there, he doesn't deserve it." Were the only thoughts running through your head the whole time you were slowly walking up to his side.

But for now, you had to be an actress to stay alive. His cologne smelled nice. That was the first remark you truly noticed about him, besides his amazing looks. "Wie heißt du, Liebling?"

"Liebling? Hah," you thought: "what an attempt to get me flustered."

"Erika Shauenberg."

It wasn't your real name, of course.

"Zigarette?" the man asked you, smiling. His smile wasn't bad either, in fact, he was the most perfect man you've ever seen.

"Why does he have to be a piece of shit?"

Your cigarette from before burned up by itself without you even putting it in your mouth. He really got you distracted so much that you forgot to smoke.

Nodding and taking one out of the box you thanked him: "Danke."

With one slick move, he pulled out a lighter and lit it. German cigs tasted different than the Yugoslav ones, but for the time being, they were good enough.

"Oh!" He remembered: "Es tut mir leid, dass ich vergessen habe," putting one in his mouth as well: "mich vorzustellen."

Blowing smoke into thin air: "Major Dieter Hellstrom."

Dieter? What an extraordinary name.

"Erik!" Dieter called out to the waiter as he approached our table. "Scotch, zwei Gläser!"

Grinning, he leaned closer to you and half whispered: "Erik hat eine Flasche Jahre alten Whisky aus dem schottischen Hochland-"

"Would you mind if we continued in English?" You interrupted him: "I was raised in France as a German kid." Tapping your cigarette on a black ashtray: "I never learned proper German because my father, well..."

Think Y/N! Think!

"He was killed in combat and my mother died from the flu when I was only 5 years old." Putting on a sad face you sighed: "I was given to a foster family in France."

"Where?" Dieter wondered.

"Menton."

"Ah, Erik!"

The waiter brought the two of you your drinks and left the scotch bottle on the table. Amazing, this was going to be a long night.

However, in reality, you couldn't complain about being in his company. Yes, he was a nazi, and yes you hated nazis, but damn was he charming.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

1 hour later....

You've never had this much fun in your life. How many shots you drank, how many cigarettes you smoked? You didn't care, and neither did Dieter. He was just as shitfaced as you.

You both laughed at each other's stories from the past.

"Noch einer, Liebling?"

"Ja, bitte!"

As he took your glass to fill it up, you watched the golden liquid splash on the table as the bottle slipped from his hand. You quickly picked it up, slightly touching his hand while leaning over the table to reach it, and laughed out loud.

"You know this reminds me when I lived in Yugo-"

Shit. No no no no no!

"Yugo? What Yugo?" he looked at you, his eyes glassy, gazing upon your face.

You swallowed hard: "Yugo? Yugo! Ah, yes!"

Think Y/n, think!

"Yugo's apartment .."

Good job Y/n

"We dated in highschool."

It was quite impressive how your foggy brain could still have such a wild imagination.

For a second he looked at you and said:

"You're aren't German, are you?"

Silence

You simply started at him and ran over the words he just spoke.

He said it's so effortlessly, his drunk tongue didn't slur one word in that sentence, as if that didn't mean that you were about to die. There was no solution in getting out of this. You do not have any evidence that you in fact were German, nor that you lived in France! Hell you don't even know France that well at all! You were pretty sure these were your last moments alive before his pretty German pistol would shoot you in the head and leave you for the rats feast on.

Suddenly the clock on the stone wall behind you started ticking slower, your heartbeat sped up and your palms got sweaty.

Meanwhile, he took a deep breath and slowly let it out. His left hand was in his pocket the whole time, swiftly he pulled his hand out of his pocket and grabbed your face, to your surprise he didn't press a gun to your lips, he pressed his lips against yours. He kissed you.

To be continued...

[whatsnewalycat]

Designated Person | Chapter 6

Pairing: Francisco “Catfish” Morales x F!Reader

Chapter 6: Present

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Series Summary: When posting bail for Frankie Morales, your former employer and former lover, you unwittingly designate yourself as his third party custodian during his pre-trial release. Your often tumultuous relationship with him is given a new set of rules and put to the test. Can the two of you co-exist peacefully, or will you crash and burn?

Word Count: 9.2k+

Content / Warnings: Frankie POV, infidelity, past romantic & sexual relationship and related flashbacks, angst, food, AA meeting, alcoholism, abuse mention, lying, confrontation, crying, mutual masturbation, panty snatchin' (sorry idk what else to call it)

Notes: Hello hello hello! If you want the taglist, spotify playlist, or AO3 link, head on down to the masterlist. I appreciate your patience in waiting for this, thank you so much for reading. Ok love u have fun!

[ Previous Chapter ][ Series Masterlist ][ Next Chapter ]

Tonight, the AA meeting is being held in the conference room of a value hotel. 

The three-story venue is ripe with families on vacation and traveling professionals who likely booked their rooms as a cost-saving measure. They certainly didn’t choose to stay here because of its charming features, such as the floating island of dead bugs in the outdoor swimming pool, or the dingy low-pile carpet darkened in high-traffic areas, or the generic, faded landscape portraits in shiny golden frames. 

Its conference room is windowless, the only source of light buzzing from long fluorescents overhead, dousing everything in a twitchy, vague sort of green that grips Frankie’s stomach. 

Or, maybe it’s just the story he’s listening to that’s making him feel ill. 

Maybe a little bit of both, it’s hard to tell. 

“She had her heart set on leaving, ‘n’ I told her, nobody fuckin’ wants you here anyway, Mary Beth, go on home!” 

The haggard old man, who introduced himself as Fred, says this in a jovial, rehearsed way that tells Frankie this story has been told many times. Probably over drinks, to coworkers, or friends, or anyone who happened to be within earshot at his regular barstool. 

Fred glances around over his puffy, purpled nose, like he half expects his spectators’ laughter, but the only noise is the squeak of people’s uncomfortable shifting in seats. Either because the story is too relatable, or because these folding chairs are hell on the tailbone. 

“She told me if I didn’t get my ass outta that barstool, she’d be gone when I got home,” he looks at the floor and his cheeky grin falls, “I didn’t go home ‘til barclose. ‘N’ she was still there. Knew she would be. She always was.”

The room is silent as he gathers his thoughts. 

“She passed away, few years back,” he looks around, putting his calloused hands up defensively, “‘N’ I miss her everyday, don’t get me wrong, but—”

The well-weathered skin of his face sags into solemnity, “I kinda wish she woulda kicked me to the curb, y’know? Was always waitin’ for it, for her to get fed up ‘n’ leave, but she never did. ‘N’ I think, sometimes, maybe… she woulda lived a better life if she did. ‘Steada waiting around for some drunk, she coulda really made somethin’ out of herself. And I feel…” he frowns at the floor, trying to pinpoint the correct emotion, a skill undoubtedly atrophied by decades of avoidance.

“Regret, I think? Wasting so much of her life. It’s one thing wastin’ my life, but her’s… I dunno. It don’t sit right,” Fred clears his throat and swallows, then sighs, “Guess that’s it. Our anniversary’s coming up next week, she’s been on my mind ‘n’ I wanted to get that out.” 

The ringleader for tonight is David, as is usually the case at the Monday night meetings Frankie attends. He thanks Fred for sharing, then asks for another volunteer. 

Frankie leans back in his seat and presses his fingers to his lips as another participant clears their throat and begins to talk. He’s stuck on the old man’s story, though. His knee starts bouncing as he turns it over in his mind. 

I’m not that bad, right? I wasn’t that absent. I didn’t go to the bar every night. On the weekends, sure. And on weeknights, I’d drink myself fuzzy and numb, but at least I was at home.

Was he really present, though? 

Before you, when Angie was home with Sarah on maternity leave, he’d come home from work and visit with them for a while. Knock a few beers or drinks back. After dinner, he would continue to drink in the garage, or in the basement. Somewhere Angie couldn’t raise her eyebrows every time he finished a beverage and retrieved a replacement. 

Even after you, this ritual continued. You distracted him enough to slow the drinking those few hours after he got home. But once the table was cleared after dinner, he would tuck himself away somewhere in the house to drink alone. 

It wasn’t always that way. 

He drank, sure, but it wasn’t every day. It wasn’t to the point his mind went blank. 

No, that didn’t start until he returned from South America. 

Every time his eyelids closed, it played on repeat. The mansion. The crash. The village. Redfly’s vacant eyes. Over and over. His culpability hung around his neck like a noose. 

The guys didn’t want to talk about it. A silent agreement not to mention their sins. Angie didn’t want to talk about it. Too pissed at him for going in the first place to feel bad for him. 

It just stayed inside him, replaying again and again on loop. He needed something to wipe the slate clean, and booze worked. 

Not like he was sober before then. Drinking himself blind on the weekends. Fuck, Angie was the same way. Before she got pregnant, anyway. That’s how they ended up meeting, that summer night back in 2018. 

He and Benny went to one of their frequent Saturday spots. The bar was crowded and loud, heavy throngs of people attracted by a popular local DJ. Summer heat crept into the air despite the industrial air conditioner running at full blast, Florida’s relentless humidity hung thick in the air, leaving a dewy residue on every surface. 

The only thing Frankie could smell was that primal, earthy scent of sweat. He pinched his shirt and pulled it away from his chest with a few quick tugs, trying to get some kind of a breeze going. When he looked around the bar, swathes of exposed skin all surrounded him, people wiping their foreheads and fanning themselves. 

He spotted two women sitting at a high-top table, leaning over their drinks and talking to each other. One of them was a pretty, unassuming brunette. The other had glossy black hair that shone in the neon lights, cascading in waves down the open back of her dress. She looked put together and fucking luminous, the way her copper skin seemed to glow. He couldn’t look away. 

Benny was in the middle of a sentence when Frankie cut him off, “Holy shit, look at her.” 

“What—who?” Benny followed Frankie’s line of sight and guffawed, “Her? She would eat you for fucking breakfast, man.”

“I fucking wish,” Frankie gave Benny this dopey smile, nodding towards them, “You getting a feel on the friend?”

Benny glanced her over and shrugged, a smirk turning up the corner of his mouth, “Pretty brunette?” 

“Right up your alley, huh?” Frankie grinned, then nudged his friend, “So?”

“Fuck it, why not?” Benny chuckled. 

“Atta boy,” Frankie smacked his shoulder a few times, then started off towards the table. 

“Hey, how’re you two doing tonight?” he asked as he leaned against the table, looking between the two women, who sized him up scrupulously, “Yeah, uh, my name is Frankie, this is my buddy, Benny. Mind if we join you?” 

“Why?” the subject of his desire asked, her big, round eyes searching Frankie’s face. 

“Why?” he raised his eyebrows and chuckled, “Well, because you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my life. I’d sell my goddamn soul for an opportunity to talk to you—”

“Oh yeah?” she smirked and tilted her head, bringing the tip of her tongue to her top teeth before shrugging, “Prove it.” 

“You—you want it? My soul?” he grinned and leaned closer, “It’s yours, beautiful, for the low, low price of this barstool next to you. And maybe, if you’re feeling generous, a dance later?”

“That’s a hell of a deal,” she raised her eyebrows and joked, “For you, I mean.”

“Oh yeah?” he laughed, “What if I throw in a sweetener? I’ll buy your drinks, too, how’s that sound?” 

She scrunched her face up in contemplation, then smiled, “Deal.”

“Yeah?” Frankie beamed, extending his hand to her, and as she took it, he grazed his thumb against her soft skin, “What’s your name?”

“Angie,” she answered, eyebrow quirking as she told him, “This doesn’t mean you’re taking me home tonight, though.”

“Noted,” he smirked, dropping his eyes to her lips, before meeting her gaze, “So what’re you drinking?”

He woke up the next morning in his bed, head spinning, stomach clenching. 

Before opening his eyes, he tried to recount the night, following the path of breadcrumbs his memory allowed him. Meeting Angie, taking shots, flirting with her relentlessly, more drinks, dancing with her. Kissing her on the dance floor. The sidewalk slabs uneven beneath his feet on the walk back to his apartment. A woman’s razor sharp giggle as he fumbled to unlock the door. 

The mattress shifted beside him and he cracked one eyelid open tentatively, releasing a sigh of relief when he recognized Angie as the person tangled up in his sheets. Traces of the previous night’s makeup still held in tact on her face, oily pools gathering in the soft wrinkles of her forehead and eyes, black mascara clinging to her lashes in clumps and flaking onto her cheeks, a faint red outline where her lipstick was before he kissed it off of her. He rolled on his side towards her and brushed some of the sweat-dampened hair from her forehead. 

She hummed and frowned, then took a deep, wakeful breath as her eyes blinked open. They were stunning in the light. Golden streaks like sunbeams stretching from the middle of her iris into a deep, rich brown. 

“Oh, fuck,” she murmured, “We fucked, didn’t we?”

“That’s what it’s looking like,” he smirked, “How’re you feeling?”

She groaned and pinched the bridge of her button nose, “Still drunk.”

“Regret this yet?” he chuckled, half-joking, half-wondering. 

“Having sex with a stranger? Yeah, I’m having some regrets,” she scoffed, shaking her head, then threw her hand down at her side. She sighed and studied his face, “You’re cute, though. Kind of wish I could remember it.”

“Ditto,” he said, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear with a shrug, “You know, we could have a do-over. Since we’re already here and regretting it. You could… let me have another chance to, ya know, make a lasting impression.” 

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” her dark eyebrow arched. A smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth. She brought her long, red fingernails to his hairline and combed them through his bed head. 

“Yes ma’am,” he nodded, dropping his gaze to her lips, “Plus, that way, when this hangover inevitably kills me, I’ll die a happy man.” 

“Is that right?” she giggled. The sound made his heart sing in harmony. 

“That’s right,” he reached out to her under the covers, smoothing his hands along her soft skin, coaxing her closer as he murmured, “What do you think, princesa, hmm?”

“I think,” she wriggled on top of him, the sticky heat of her naked body clinging to his, “I could give you a fighting chance.“

She hovered over him, meeting his eyes for an intoxicating moment before he pulled her lips to his. From there, it was full throttle. Kissing, biting, gasping, moaning. Torrid, frenzied movements that burned bright and hot. 

Their relationship took off at break-neck speed. 

From that day onward, they were doing nightly sleepovers at each others’ apartments. Every free moment spent with the other, most often spent drinking or fucking. Six days into their relationship, Frankie got a text from some girl he was casually seeing. Angie read it when he was out of the room, then confronted him, resulting in their first drunk screaming match, and, subsequently, their first instance of drunk make-up sex. 

She worked at a global manufacturing plant’s central office with hundreds of other carpet-walkers and pencil-pushers as a financial analyst. Her hours often ran long and wound her up tight. 

When she would show up at Frankie’s apartment after work, she’d be ready to burst. He’d fix her a drink and listen to her bitch about coworkers and projects and idiots who used reply all instead of reply, waiting for her to ask him anything about his day. She never seemed all that curious about him, though, which irked him. 

They did have fun together, when they had sex and went out to bars, but by the end of the second month, he found her presence to be draining. That bug of discontentment wriggled beneath his skin. He realized they had little in common aside from their coping mechanisms and combustibility. 

He started to think about breaking things off with Angie, but, by then, it was too late. 

“Who would like to go next?” David asks, glancing around the circle of metal folding chairs and their scattered occupants. 

Frankie meets his eyes and points his index finger at the ceiling. 

“Floor’s yours, Frankie.” 

“Thanks,” Frankie nodded and crossed his arms, sitting back in the squeaky chair, “Growing up, my dad wasn’t around much,” his mouth opens, but a thought occurs to him and he chuckles, shaking his head, “There’s one for the AA Meeting Bingo Card, huh?” 

This actually earns a few amused grins and a snort of laughter from his peers. 

He leans forward, pressing his elbows into his knees with a shrug, “Anyway. Even when he was living with us, whenever I did see him, he had a beer in his hand. And I thought it was normal, like everyone’s dad went to the bar every night, so I didn’t think much of it. I’m not sure when that changed. When I started to notice, I mean, that it wasn’t normal.

“When I’d go to my friend’s house, I thought they were… I dunno, fucking weird? Because they sat around the dinner table and talked to each other while they ate. And—and they didn’t seem afraid of their dad. Like, they didn’t have to walk on eggshells when he was around, which made me… uncomfortable, I guess,” he grimaces and shakes his head, “Jesus Christ, that’s fucked up. But, anyway, the point I’m trying to make is that, to me, my dad’s behavior was normal. 

“There would be times when he would come home and be three sheets to the goddamn wind, and he’d yell and throw shit, and my ma, she would lock me in my bedroom and tell me not to come out. Said my dad wasn’t feeling well,” he crinkles his nose and shrugs, “They split when I was twelve. And I don’t blame her for leaving him, I really don’t, but… I didn’t see him again until I got out of basic.”

He stops and leans back, taps his fingers on his kneecaps, then crosses his arms. A knot tightens in his throat when he remembers that day. Knocking on the door of his dad’s shitty apartment in Orlando. When it swung open, Frankie barely recognized him. 

Seven years left to his own devices aged him decades. Deep wrinkles carved into his droopy forehead. His nose and cheeks were darkened and bumpy, like he had a pubescent case of acne. He looked Frankie over with glossy, barely-there eyes and slurred, “There’s my boy! Hey, come in, Francisco, come in!”

Frankie’s stomach soured when the words hit his face, thick and swollen with whiskey. A warning signal that laid dormant in his veins for years reawakened, gushing hot and electric beneath his staticky skin. 

His father turned and started waddling into the apartment, so Frankie followed him, closing the door left wide open behind him. The apartment was threadbare. A dingy beige couch sat on one side of the living room, facing a small antennaed tv propped up on a milk crate. Some blonde news anchor chattered on the tv, but the gurgling buzz of the air conditioning unit effectively muted her. In lieu of a proper dining room setup, his father had a folding chair tucked into a card table, which was cluttered by piles of unopened envelopes and empty beer cans.

While the stranger pulled two beer cans out of his fridge, Frankie managed to stitch some words together, “So, how’ve you been, Dad?”

He didn’t seem to hear his question, just held one aluminum can across the countertop to his son, “You’re a real man now, huh? Have a beer with me, Francisco.” 

Frankie took a few steps forward and went to lean onto the counter, but decided against it when he realized how sticky the surface was. He accepted the beer and opened it. 

“It’s been too long, my boy, too long. What has it been, four years?”

“Seven,” Frankie corrected, averting his gaze to a tower of dirty dishes emerging from cloudy, gray water in the sink. The wet, bacterial, rotting stench made his nose crinkle. 

“Ah, well. I’m, well…” he trailed off and swallowed three big gulps of beer, then grinned, “So, Special Forces, huh?”  

“Yeah, I—”

“I’m proud of you, Francisco.” 

Frankie’s head jerked backwards and he met his dad’s dark eyes, “Wh-what?” 

“Takes discipline,” he responded, nodding, “I’m proud of you. Your mom, she did a good job with you.”

And he wanted to say a million different things. He wanted to say thank you and I love you and I forgive you and I hate you and fuck you. He wanted to yell: No thanks to you, you drunk old bastard. You woman-beating fucking coward. A different part of him wanted to cry: Why did you abandon me? Why wasn’t I good enough? Am I good enough now?

But when he licked his lips and opened his mouth to respond, his dad shuffled off into the sad living room, changing the subject. 

Frankie shakes his head and sighs, then looks around the room, “When Angie got pregnant, I vowed I’d never be like him. I—I wanted to be there for my kid, to be better than he was to me, and give my child a better life than I had. 

“Ang and I don’t always, um… see eye-to-eye. We have our problems. I’m trying to make it work, but I’m just so,” the word catches in his throat and burns behind his eyes. He takes a deep breath, swallows, and admits, “I’m so scared it’s not going to work. And Ang will take her. And I’ll end up just like him.”

He clears his throat, then takes another wide, cleansing breath before starting again.

“The only things I’ve ever been any good at are being a soldier and being a dad,” he says, staring at the floor, “It’s hard enough only seeing her a few times a week right now. I fucking hate it. I hate not being there when she wakes up in the middle of the night with a nightmare, and not watching Happy Feet with her twice a day, and not cuddling on the couch with her in the morning,” his stomach clenches and he feels a swell of tears starting behind his eyes, but continues, “The only thing getting me through this right now is knowing that it’s temporary. But if it doesn’t work with Angie, and I lose Sarah, I lose fucking everything. And I—I fucking can’t do that. I won’t.”

Frankie buries his face in his hands and feels a sob bubble up his throat. The echo of his crying returns to his ears and he becomes acutely aware of the other people in the room. That hardened part of his brain scolds him, growling at him to fucking get it together. He pushes the chair out behind him and keeps his head down as he walks out of the room, muttering, “I need a minute.”

When your shitty old car pulls into the hotel parking lot, Frankie is still outside pacing, trying to gather the courage to go back inside and face the group. 

He breathes a sigh of relief and starts towards it. You furrow your brow at him through your cracked windshield. When he opens the car door and sits down, you ask, “Why aren’t you in there?”

“It’s fine,” he frowns and pulls his seatbelt over his chest, locking it in place, “Got out early.”

You narrow your eyes at him, then scoff, “Bullshit. What happened?”

“Nothing—”

“Oh my god, Frankie, come on,” you cross your arms and lean back in your seat, searching his face, “You’re all flustered right now—”

“I am not,” he protests.

“You’re such a liar, you are flus-tered,” you blink at him with authority, raising one eyebrow, “All jittery, and your eyes look red—did you cry? Is that it?”

It’s irritating how well you know him. 

He rolls his eyes and looks out the window, muttering against his fingers, “Can we just go?”

“It’s ok, you know, to cry,” you say quietly. 

His leg starts bouncing and his jaw gnashes from one side to the other.

Like you’re one to talk. 

Like you don’t go out of your way to hide from him every time tears pool in your eyes. 

“Hey,” you coo and tug on his hand. He lets you take it, interlacing his fingers with yours. The contact makes his heart skip a beat. When he looks over at you, your brows are threaded together, earnest eyes searching his face, “You’re not the first person to cry in AA, I promise. They’re there to support you. Give them a chance to help.” 

He glances up at the hotel’s exit and sees a few people from the meeting filing out, and shrugs, “It’s over now, anyways.”’

“Did you get your paper signed?” 

“No.”

“C’mon, at least get credit for your work,” you smirk, squeezing his hand, “I’m sure they’ll understand why you left.” 

He groans and scrubs a hand over his face, “Fine.” 

“Atta boy,” you grin, “Do you want me to come with or do you got this?”

“I got this,” he flashes a weak smile, and has to hold himself back from bringing the back of your hand to his lips. 

He unbuckles his seatbelt and gets out of the vehicle, nodding at a few familiar faces as he makes his way back into the building to the conference room. 

In the room, a few people are putting away chairs or talking in small, quiet groups. David stands by the snack table, signing off on someone’s attendance form. Frankie lines up behind them and avoids David’s gaze when it’s his turn to hand over the attendance sheet. 

“That was really vulnerable, what you shared with us today,” David tells Frankie as he unfolds the form. 

His nostrils flare and he scoffs, “I thought I was supposed to share things.”

David frowns as he signs off on the paper, shaking his head, “It’s a compliment. Being vulnerable is good, and I appreciate your vulnerability.” 

“Oh,” Frankie shifts his weight to one leg and frowns, “Thanks.” 

“Yeah, of course,” David hands the form back, and when Frankie takes it, he can tell David is gearing up to say more. His face grows more solemn. He pushes the wire frame of his glasses up the bridge of his nose and says, “I know how conflicting it is being an alcoholic father with an alcoholic father. It’s hard to know if you’re doing the right thing. Being apart from them is hell, even if it’s when you’re doing something to make yourself better. I just wanted to let you know that I get it.” 

Frankie nods, searching the man’s face, “Thanks, man.”

“No problem,” David flashes a polite smile, then turns to the snack table and starts picking things up. 

When the two of you get home, Frankie goes into your bedroom to haul the TV back to its normal spot in the living room. 

He finds himself lingering at the foot of the bed, staring at the side he slept in last night. At the covers, still drawn back from when he woke for work this morning. At the stuffed panda bear you set in his place at some point today. 

My place. 

He needs to stop thinking like that. It’s not his place. It can’t be his place. 

Not permanently, anyway. 

Part of him feels guilty for not leaving once you fell asleep. Staying was pure self-indulgence, no matter how many times he tries to convince himself it was for your benefit. 

It can’t become a habit. 

But all weekend he wanted to hold you. To feel your beating heart and shallow, wheezy breath against his body. Proof that you were still here, after seeing you gasping for air, lips tinged blue, eyes wide with fear. 

In his life, he’s faced a lot of scary and uncertain situations. Situations that threatened his own life and that of people he cares about. But this… this was different. At least in combat scenarios, he had training and experience to guide him. 

This weekend he felt powerless. 

If he had to quantify the terror, he was at maximum capacity. Never been so fucking afraid in his life. He felt so helpless, he folded his hands and bowed his head at your hospital bedside, reaching out to something or someone in hushed whispers, pleading for your recovery. 

So, no, he couldn’t bring himself to leave you alone in your bed last night. Not when you fell asleep in his arms, your head on his chest, curled up at his side. 

The answer to his prayers. 

When he was sure you were sleeping, he pressed his lips to your forehead and told you what he’s only barely been able to admit to himself. 

In a million different ways, I’ve always loved you.

It was indulgent. Undisciplined. 

But mostly, it was a relief. 

Even if his words fell on your sleeping ears. 

Even if he can probably never tell you again. 

With a heavy sigh, he follows the TV’s power cord to the wall and unplugs it. He freezes when he spots something on the floor next to your dresser. You cough at the other end of the house, and he glances over his shoulder just to make sure you’re not around before he picks it up. 

A pile of soft teal lace. Your underwear. 

He brings them to his nose and inhales, the familiar scent inspiring a deep, heated churn at the base of his spine. Without another thought, he shoves them in the front pocket of his jeans, then unplugs the TV. 

Frankie settles on the couch with a groan, then glances over to where you’re curled up into a little ball and asks, “Were you able to get some rest today?”

You nod and your mouth stretches into a yawn, then you murmur, “Still kind of feel like shit, though. Hopefully it’s better by Wednesday.”

“Oh yeah, how’re your kids doing?” 

“Marla said they’re doing better, getting back to their normal selves. Em’s going back to school tomorrow.”

“That’s good,” he leans back and spreads out in his corner of the couch, “You like it, working for them?”

“Yeah,” you shrug, “They’re sweet kids. Whole different vibe than Sarah, though,” you glance at him and chuckle, “Don’t tell anybody, but she was my favorite.” 

A grin stretches across Frankie’s face. He presses his fingertips to his lips and looks over at you, “She is pretty great, huh?” 

“The best,” you agree, a wistful smile playing on your lips, “I hope that when I, um,“ you falter here, smile dropping. You clear your throat and shake your head, “Sorry, I lost my train of thought. Are you guys doing anything fun tomorrow?”

“Not sure yet. Angie, um… yeah, I don’t know,” he frowns at his knee as it starts to bounce, ��She’s pissed at me. So probably, you know, dealing with that.”

“Because you skipped out on Saturday?”

He nods, and when you don’t say anything, he glances over at you, “It’s fine, though, she’ll get over it.”

“Sure,” you smirk, raising an eyebrow, “Have things been going ok outside of that?”

“Aside from the alcoholism, my pending felony, and the fact that I’m living with another woman?” he snorts, “Things are going great.” 

“Don’t forget the affair,” you tease. 

“Mmm, you mean the isolated incident?” he corrects, rolling his head on his shoulders to look at you. 

You scoff and shake your head, “Wow. Yeah, isolated. Sure. Just a mistake, right?” 

He searches your face, watching your eyes go dim and your jaw clench, and furrows his brow, “N-no, that’s not—“

You clamp your lips closed with your teeth, like you’re holding yourself back, then open your mouth anyway, “That’s what you tell her, though, right?” you blink, “It was a mistake, it meant nothing to you, it’ll never happen again, blah blah blah?”

His jaw hangs slack and throat croaks as he tries to yield some kind of truth that will both spare your feelings and help him evade scrutiny, “I’m—sorry.”

It’s all he can come up with. 

You roll your eyes and sigh, then mutter, “Whatever,” before turning your attention back to the TV. 

The silence that settles is tense. It writhes beneath his skin and trickles into his stomach, twisting it into knots. 

You start to wriggle in your seat, like it’s bothering you, too. He can feel a jagged energy rolling off your body, and, predictably, you break. 

“If you ever want things to actually work with her, you’re going to have to come clean,” you huff, then glare at him, “You know that right? That you can’t just lie to her forever? There’s no way she fucking believes you.”

Frankie sighs, picking his hat off his head to run a hand through his hair, “Can we not?”

“Sure, we can just not,” you snip and sit up straight, crossing your arms across your chest, “We can just pretend things are cool and groovy and you can get your life back and I can fuck off into oblivion.” 

“Jesus Christ—”

“Well, fuck, that’s what you want, right, Frankie?” you stare at him, “You’ll be nice to me while you’re here, and cuddle with me, and hold my hand, and what the fuck ever, but when this arrangement is over, then what?”

“I don’t fucking know, ok?!” he snaps, then stands and starts pacing the living room, shaking his head, “I don’t know if—if I’m going to fucking prison, or if I’m going to lose my job, or if my wife will fucking divorce me and take my daughter away—”

Frankie stops and turns away from you, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. A few quiet seconds go by as he gathers himself and wrangles the burgeoning tears back into his skull. When he turns back around, he throws his hands out at his side, then lets them fall loose, “I don’t know what anything will look like after this,” he meets your glossy eyes, all wide and pained, and tells you in a hoarse, shaky voice, “Look, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for being a fucking asshole to you for so long. I lied to you. I pushed you away. I fucking—I fucking hurt you and I understand that.”

He takes a few steps forward. Your eyes, pooling with tears, stay glued his, following seamlessly when he crouches down in front of you and pleads, “I’m trying to be better, I swear to god I’m fucking trying. I—I care about you a lot. And I’m sorry I can’t give you a better answer for what you and me will look like after this ‘situation’ is over with, because I have no fucking clue what anything will look like.” 

You swallow hard and nod, then drop your gaze as your face crumbles. A sob bubbles up your throat and quickly devolves into a coughing fit. 

“Ah, fuck,” he mutters, glancing around. He spots your inhaler on the coffee table and hands it to you, “Need this?”

You take it and inhale a few puffs of albuterol. When your breathing evens out, blink the tears from your eyes and croak out, “Sorry.” 

He reaches up and smudges a fat, swollen tear on your cheek with his thumb, “It’s fine, sweetheart.”

A pained expression crosses your face. You lean away from his touch, so he sits down beside you as you exhale a thick sigh and look around the room.

“I understand why you wouldn’t tell Angie everything. I just—” one of your cheeks pulls in like you’re gnawing at the inside. You release it and tell him, “I just hate the idea of you saying we were a mistake. I don’t know. Is that dumb?” 

Your eyes flick to his and they’re so sincere, his stomach flips upside down. He shakes his head, “No, that’s not dumb.” 

“Ok,” you sniffle, nodding as you look at the TV, “Ok.”

A minute goes by, each second amplifying the buzz beneath his skin. He looks over and realizes you’re squished against the armrest of the couch, curled up in a tense knot of limbs, brow furrowed, biting at your lip. 

“Hey,” he coos, beckoning you closer, “Come here.”

You give him this kind of pathetic, kind of cute pout, but accept the invitation. As he wraps an arm around your shoulders, you drape your legs across his lap, rest your head in the crook of his neck. He lays his cheek on the crown of your head and tucks you into an embrace. 

Maybe it’s one-sided, but Frankie feels heat humming between your bodies. 

The floral, minty scent of your hair, mixing with the musk of your soft skin, all dewy from humidity. Your breath rolling hot across the column of his throat. 

You wriggle closer, and the weight of your body settles between his legs. Presses firm down on his half-hard cock. 

His insides twist with a nagging, all-consuming want. The kind that usually fogs his brain when he thinks about booze. It claws at him like an animal caged within his ribs. Teeth bared, ferocious, growing: I need her I need her I need her

In the same cadence it always howls: I need a drink I need a drink I need a drink

The tips of his fingers scrape against your shoulder. A little whimper sneaks out your throat and drips down his spine. Your muscles shift and he can feel your lips hovering over his thudding pulse. 

This is dangerous. This is a line. A tightrope teetering beneath the soles of his feet. 

You breathe his name and it grazes his neck. His body surges with desire, cock throbbing, and he’s unable to stop the whine that croaks out his lips. 

He looks down at you, meeting your darkened, heavy-lidded gaze. You study each other, but neither of you move, despite the palpable current of electricity between you. 

“I—I should go to bed,” you whisper with little conviction, eyes darting to his mouth.

“It’s still light out,” he says, brushing the back of his hand against your cheek. 

You shiver and your lips part, panting, “I need to clear my head—I’m… not thinking right.”

Frankie imagines you clearing your head in your bedroom with the door closed. Your fingers working between your legs, eyes pinched closed while you flip through the mental catalogue of all the times he’s fucked you. 

“Can I come with you?” he asks, voice ragged, “I won’t—I won’t touch you if you don’t want me to.”

You search his face, brows pushing together, and nod. 

This is stupid. 

You both know it. 

But he follows you to your room and closes the door behind him. 

Sinks into your bed as you lay out on the other side. 

You start slow, hands roaming the curves of your body. Over your tight tank top, no bra underneath, just the clear outline of your nipples. Along the middle of those little cotton sleep shorts he likes so much. 

He keeps his distance, blood pounding thick in his skull, as you ruck your shirt up your chest and roll a hardened bud between your fingers. You whimper and bite down on your bottom lip, eyes locking to his as your other hand slips beneath the waistband of your shorts. 

In his periphery, he can see the outline of your wrist flicking under the fabric, but he can’t part his eyes from yours. It’s entrancing. Your mouth opens in a moan, lips pouting out into a whimper as you start to gain traction. 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he groans, pushing his palm against his swollen length trapped within the confines of his jeans, begging for attention. He unbuckles his belt and tugs his pants off. At the same time, you pull your shorts down. Some sort of silent trade agreement.

Frankie wraps his hand around his cock and drags his grip down, pulling the sensitive, aching skin taught. His palm is dry and rough as he starts to rut up and down, but the friction gives his touch an edge that makes him shiver. 

You’re watching him do this while you trail your fingertips along the shiny ridges of your sex. Saliva pools in his mouth when he remembers what you taste like. Imagines his tongue tracing the soft folds of you.

Your hips buck and you whimper when you touch your clit. You roll the pads of your fingers against the engorged bundle of nerves, eyelids fluttering as you work yourself. 

You both find a steady rhythm, panting and whining, glancing between each other's legs, hands, eyes. The increasingly frantic movements make your bed squeak. 

The two of you are so lost in the haze of pleasure, Frankie knows either of you could suggest physical contact between your bodies and the other would immediately say yes, but this fucked up little loophole has you both blissfully dangling on the precipice. 

He’s trying to keep his commentary to a minimum, but you’re driving him fucking crazy. 

Your blown-out pupils watching him fuck his hand. The sheen of sweat lacing your skin. A thick, gleaming layer of arousal coating your pussy and fingers. He wants to lick it off of you, taste you, drive his cock inside you and feel that divine squeeze. 

As his heartbeat starts to gallop and the fire in his belly laps its way up his spine, he pants, “You’re so fucking hot, holy shit—do you like this? Like me watching you get off?”

“Yes,” you gasp, meeting his gaze, working yourself faster, “I do, Frankie, I like it.”

His name on your lips is like an electric jolt to his insides. He groans, “Say my name again.”

“Frankie,” you whimper. 

A wave of heat washes over him, “Fuck yes, that’s so fucking good, baby—say it again—”

“Frankie,” you moan, sinking two fingers into your cunt, a sick wet sound squelching out as you start to fuck yourself. 

“Such a good girl, holy fuck, that’s it,” he grunts, pumping himself faster, lightning churning in his belly, “Gonna make yourself cum, sweet girl?”

You nod feverishly, face pinched up with pleasure, hips arching into your touch, “Frankie—fuck fuck fuck—”

“There we go, baby, you can do it,” he rasps, and watches as your movements come to a fever pitch, then your body starts to shudder and you belt out this strangled moan that pushes him over the edge. 

Pleasure ripples through him and he grinds his fist down a few more times, pulsing his load all over his hand, across the bedding, a few splatters reaching your hip. He groans and slows.

His muscles start to melt. He throws his head back into the pillow, then rolls his head on his shoulders to look at you. 

Your chest is heaving and you’re all blissed out, a hazy smile on your lips. 

“You’re not gonna freak out, now, are you?” he pants, searching your face. He reaches over and gives you a playful poke to show he’s only half-joking. 

You meet his eyes smirking for a beat before you chuckle, “I don’t think so, but—could you get my, umm—inhaler?”

“Yeah,” he nods and rolls off the bed. 

When Frankie returns, you’re pulling your shirt down over your tits and propping yourself up on some pillows. 

“Thanks,” you murmur, then take it from him and inhale a few puffs. 

“You ok?” he asks as he rolls onto the bed next to you, wrestling a pillow under his chest. 

A coy smile plays on your lips when you glance over at him, shaking your head, “This was really dumb.”

He chuckles and shrugs, “Probably.” 

“Fuck,” you giggle, burying your face in your hands, “Frankie, why did we do that?”

“Because we’re big dumb idiots?” he laughs. 

“Speak for yourself,” you snort, curling up on your side to face him. 

“Sure, yeah, of course. You’re super smart,” he teases, pointing between him and you, “This is definitely something that smart people do.”

“Oh my god, shut up,” you push his shoulder weakly. After a few moments of comfortable silence, you say, “We’re never going to speak of this again, are we?” 

He opens his mouth to make a joke and attempt to sweep it all under the rug, but stops when he realizes it probably warrants a conversation. 

“Do—is that what you wanna do?” he asks instead, stammering, “Because we can, you know, talk about it if you want to.“

“I don’t know what I want,” you sigh, your face folding into a thoughtful expression. A few moments pass, then your eyebrows shoot up and you look at him, “Ok, this is a weird time to ask this, but, I meant to ask you earlier and forgot.”

He nods, “Shoot.”

“My sister is getting married over Labor Day weekend, and because I’m her bridesmaid and family and blah blah blah, she wants me to go stay out there for the week, and umm, I don’t know how that works with your parole and stuff—”

“Do you want me to ask Ralph tomorrow?” 

“Well, yeah,” you meet his eyes, “But—but also, can you come with me?”

It takes a moment for Frankie to register the question, and when he understands, his mind starts whirring with uncertainty. Angie. Court. Ralph. Sarah. Prison. 

“Not, like, as my date or whatever,” you add, waving your hand around nervously as you explain, “I just–I haven’t been home in years because my family is the worst and I—” you sigh, face pinching up as you admit, “I could use a friend.” 

That makes up his mind. 

“Yeah,” he answers, “Yeah, as long as I’m not in fucking jail by then, I’ll make it work. Let me… let me talk to work and Ralph, see what I can do.” 

You give him a restrained smile and say, “Thank you.” 

After the two of you decide to get dressed and watch a movie, he goes into his bedroom to change into a pair of basketball shorts, while you supervise a packet of popcorn in the microwave. Giving his closed door a quick glance, he pulls the bundle of soft teal lace out of his pocket and opens a dresser drawer to tuck them away, but pauses when his thumb grazes something damp. 

His brows furrow, then shoot up as he unfolds the underwear and recognizes the slick substance coating them. He brings the fabric to his nose and inhales, confirming his suspicion. 

You must have noticed them when he was getting your inhaler. And rather than taking the panties back, or saying anything to him, you cleaned your arousal off and replaced them. 

He grins at the present, because that’s what it is, really, then shoves the lace into his dresser drawer. 

“Daddy, look, that’s Mumble,” Sarah tells Frankie, pointing one chubby, blueberry-stained finger at a plastic baby emperor penguin. 

Her collection of penguins is lined up on the edge of the dining room table, in order of smallest to biggest. She wriggles around on his lap, looking up at him with those big brown eyes, waiting for acknowledgement. 

“That one does look like Mumble,” he agrees emphatically, “What kind of penguin is he?” 

“A empreror penguin!” she beams, throwing her hands in the air. 

“That’s right,” he chuckles, “An emperor penguin! How many penguins do you have?”

Sarah’s eyes light up at the exciting new challenge, and she turns her attention to the plastic figurine lineup, counting each one out loud. 

Frankie glances across the table at Angie. She‘s glaring out the window, her arms crossed over her chest. 

“Ang,” he rumbles, but she doesn’t respond. A hot wave of frustration weaves through his muscles and pulls them taught. His nostrils flare and he shakes his head, muttering, “Whatever.”

The dining room chair scrapes against the floor as she pushes it out and stomps out of the room, down the stairs like a petulant child. 

Sarah stops counting and tells him, “Mommy’s mad.”

He chuckles softly at this and nods, “Yeah, I think so. I’m gonna go talk to her, ok, sweetie?”

Sarah resumes her counting when Frankie stands and sets her in the chair. He finds Angie in the laundry room, folding clothes with sharp, agitated movements. 

“Can we talk about this?” he asks. She doesn’t acknowledge him, so he continues, “Angelica. Come on. You haven’t said a word to me since I texted you on Saturday. Please, just tell me what’s wrong.”

“The fact that you don’t know what’s wrong is exactly what’s fucking wrong, Francisco,” she growls.

He sighs and steps closer, leaning one hip against the washer, “As much as I would love to be able to, I can’t read your mind. So if you could help me out, maybe give me a clue—”

“Do you need me to spell it out for you?” she snaps, tossing the small pink t-shirt in her hands into a laundry basket.

His head jerks back and he scoffs, “Sure.”

“You passed up time with your wife and daughter to be with your fucking mistress,” she blinks, then throws her hands up in the air, “Is it really so fucking inconceivable that I’m mad about that?” 

“First of all, she’s not my mistress,” Frankie asserts, crossing his arms, “Second, she almost fucking died, Ang, I couldn’t just leave her alone in the hospital.” 

“So, what, she didn’t have anyone else that could come sit with her in the hospital?” Angie snorts, raising an eyebrow, “I was about to say she’s a grown woman, she can take care of herself, but,” she sucks on her teeth and flashes him a faux sympathetic smile, “That’s barely true, isn’t it?”

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, rolling his eyes, then stares at her, “You know that’s not true, and—and no, ok? She didn’t have anyone else to sit at the hospital with her. None of her family made it out, she doesn’t have any friends. Her boyfriend didn’t even come to visit, so,” he pushes off the washing machine and pinches the bridge of his nose, then drops his hand and lies, “I felt fucking bad for her, that’s all. She couldn’t breathe and was all sick and shit, and nobody cared enough to visit her. It was, I don’t know, it was sad and I felt shitty about leaving.”

She seems to consider this, then gives a little shrug, “That is kind of sad.”

He nods, searching her face, dark eyebrows all scrunched together in contemplation. 

“She has a boyfriend?”

He nods, “Yeah. They’ve been together for a while.”

Not exactly a lie, but he can tell a little truth stretching will bring this conversation to a more comfortable place. 

“I missed you,” he says in a pleading tone, meeting her eyes, hoping she buys it. 

She sighs, “I missed you too.”

The glint in her eyes tells him it’s safe to approach, so he does. He presses his lips against her forehead, closing his eyes as he murmurs, “I love you.”

When Frankie gets home, you and Rory are sitting on the couch watching a movie together. His arm is draped over your shoulders and you’re huddled in his lap, head on his chest. 

It reminds him of how the two of you are when no one else is around. 

His blood pressure spikes and heats his veins. You perk up as you notice him, putting space between your body and Rory’s. A nervous smile spreads across your face. He doesn’t return the smile, just nods in greeting as he closes the door behind him, “Hey.”

Rory looks him up and down, then turns back to the TV. 

“Hey, how’s it going?” you ask. 

Frankie frowns and shrugs, “Fine. What’re you guys watching?”

Your phone starts ringing before you can answer. You sit up and grab it off the coffee table, muttering, “It’s my sister, I’ll be right back,” then tiptoe through the house to your bedroom, leaving him and Rory alone. 

Frankie steps on the heel of his boot and starts to wriggle his foot free. 

“Hey, man, I wanted to tell you—thanks for looking after her last weekend.”

Frankie glances up at Rory as he kicks one boot off, then the other, “Sure, yeah,” then starts off towards his room. Rory keeps talking, though, so he pauses. 

“When she didn’t respond to me for a day I figured, ya know…” he shrugs, staring at him. 

Frankie frowns and shakes his head, “Figured what?”

“Figured she ran off with you, man,” he chuckles, but his eyes aren’t smiling. They’re studying. 

Frankie snorts and brings his hands to his hips, “What, really?”

Rory stands and saunters over, looking the way you left to make sure you’re still occupied, then tucks his hands in the front of his jean pockets and shrugs again, “Seems like y’all are pretty close. She doesn’t really like to talk about you. Kinda weird for someone who’s supposedly a friend.”

What kind of macho man bullshit is this? Is he… flexing? 

“Yeah, she’s pretty private,” Frankie searches the other man’s face. 

“Y’all ever fuck around?” he asks. 

Frankie jerks his head back and frowns, “Uhh, sorry, what?”

Rory doesn’t say anything, just lets the air between them grow more hostile, flicking his eyes around Frankie’s face like a challenge. One that he’s not fucking interested in taking. Christ, what a fucking mess that would be. 

Frankie scoffs and shakes his head, “No, we don’t fuck around. We’re friends. Ok?” He holds his hands up and tries to soften his face, “So, take it easy, she’s all yours.” 

Rory seems to relax a little, then says, “Alright.”

“Alright,” Frankie chuckles with amusement, “We good?” 

“Yeah,” Rory grins, offering a clenched fist to Frankie, “Sorry, man.” 

“Hey, don’t sweat it,” he bumps knuckles with the meathead and tells him, “You two have a good time, alright?”

Frankie retreats to his room and locks the door behind him. 

Every muscle in his body starts to deflate. 

His thoughts are fuzzy and loud. 

He starts for his bed, but pauses, and turns instead to the dresser, thinking of that teal lace. 

Today is one of those rare July days where it’s not just tolerable to be outside, it’s actually enjoyable. 

A slight breeze rustles the palm fronds above. The sun kisses Frankie’s skin. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, inhaling the scent of a neighbor’s charcoal grill. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

He cracks an eye open to find you standing over where he’s laying in the hammock and grins innocently, “What?”

“WhAt?” you mock him and snort, but pull up a chair and drop your little wicker basket in its seat, warning, “Ok, well, you’re sharing the hammock, at least.” 

“Come on in, the water’s fine,” he tucks a hand behind his head and watches you roll into the hammock facing him.

You wriggle around for an entire minute, and when he starts to giggle at your restlessness, you whine, “Oh my god, scoot over.”

“Here,” he murmurs, shifting his weight so you lay roughly hip to hip, hooking one arm under your legs, “Better?”

“Yeah,” you breathe. Your body calms. 

Then it’s quiet. 

And the silence isn’t anything but peaceful, really. 

“This is good,” you say eventually. 

He’s not sure what this you’re referring to, but he agrees, “Yeah.”

You point to the sky, “That cloud looks like a gator.”

Frankie squints upward, examining the fluffy cotton balls hanging in the electric blue atmosphere, “That one looks like a cloud.”

A snort erupts from your face and you lay a playful smack on his thigh, “Oh, come on, use your imagination!”

“Ok, let’s see,” he clears his throat and tilts the bill of his hat back to take in more of the view. Then one catches his eye. He points to it, “Butterfly.”

You follow his direction and murmur, “Oh yeah, look at that. Neat.” 

He studies it for a while, watching the two wings tumble and morph as it moves across the sky, until it’s just another nondescript cumulus cloud. Then he turns his attention to the basket you brought outside. 

The hammock wobbles in protest when he sits up and lays it across the middle ground of your bodies. Frankie surveys the contents of the shallow wicker basket: a baguette; a dish of soft, white cheese with a little spatula-like knife sticking out the center; a bowl of red grapes and sliced strawberries; a couple of mandarin oranges. 

He rips off a piece of bread and spreads some cheese across the soft inside, then sits back and takes a bite. You do the same, topping the cheese with some strawberries. As the two of you eat in a content silence, looking up at the sky, Frankie starts to ruminate on the confrontation that is surely lingering on the tip of your tongue. 

Neither of you have dared to mention how you got off together in your bed. Surprisingly, it hasn’t changed the energy between him and you. But he’s found himself wondering if he’s just oblivious and unable to sense your disquiet, like he has in the past. 

And now, since it’s Family Dinner, State of the Union, or whatever Ralph calls it, he braces himself for impact.

“Alright, let me have it,” he says after he finishes his second chunk of bread, nerves getting the best of him, “Do you wanna talk about it?” 

The hammock shifts unsteadily as you sit up and put the basket back on the chair, then you lay back and stretch out, releasing a heavy sigh, “Honestly… I kind of don’t know what to say about it. I—I don’t know. I don’t feel different or have any kind of strong feelings about what happened.”

Frankie hums and looks over at you, watching your serene, skyward face. 

“What about you? How do you feel?” you ask, leveling your gaze with his. 

“I feel… the same,” he answers, frowning, “Like I should have a strong feeling, but I—I just don’t?” 

“Yeah,” you chuckle, shrugging, “Well, I don’t know, should we just… leave it?” 

Relief washes over him and he nods, “I’m ok with that if you are.”

“Ok,” you grin, then look back up at the sky, “Anything else you need to get off your chest?” 

Frankie rifles through his brain, pausing to think about Rory and the odd confrontation that happened the other day. It left a bad taste in his mouth. But, he shakes his head, “No. You?” 

“I can’t think of anything.” 

“Alright,” he inhales the blissful breeze that tickles his sun-warmed skin, then exhales, repeating your earlier sentiment, “This is good.”

[ Next Chapter ]

[milfjuulpod]

Down The River

request: yes

Can you do one of Melissa protecting fem reader after someone tries to hurt them or something? And then she holds them while they cry?

warnings: uhhh idk scrape/minor yelling?

A/N: carissima=a more “serious” term for my dear.

thank u for sending a request! it means the world, and i hope i did it justice ! much love ��� also this gif wow anyone else got butterflies

Somehow between Janine’s persistent pleading and Melissa’s not-so-empty threats, you found yourself at the Twin Tubing River with more of your coworkers than you would have liked. Sure, you got along with everyone well considering it was still your first year teaching at Abbott, but something about Ava’s “tubing era” made you a bit uneasy. Floating down the river with Melissa would be a dream, the two of you finally sealed the deal recently after months of flirting. Despite being head over heels for the red headed woman, the both of you wanted to wait before telling everyone such an intimate detail about the both of your lives, now shared.

So here you are, at a picnic table playing with the rope on your tube, surrounded by such an odd group of people, but you were happy to be there nonetheless. Of course, Janine and Jacob brought way too many snacks for a day in the water, the table overflowing with food. Ava was busy attaching makeshift pillows to her float, getting ready to round everyone up to make their way down. Somehow, your eyes found themselves on Melissa again, taking in every detail of her. The green bathing suit she wore looked so good against her skin, her hair was blowing in the wind so perfectly, as if there was a fan propped right in front of her. Her eyes locked with yours, and you both knew she caught you staring. She gave you the sweetest smile she could, and went back to flipping through her book.

“Alright y’all, buddy up and attach with ropes, I don’t want to have to hire new staff next year,” Ava said to the group, passing out said ropes. Melissa immediately stood up and walked over to you, laying her arm over your shoulder as casually as she could. “I’ll take the kid, make sure she doesn’t drown,” She teased you. Blush made its way to your cheeks, both from your girlfriend and the attention it brought to you from everyone else. Although you and Melissa hadn’t explicitly come out as a couple yet, the two of you had a hard time keeping your hands off each other, and none of your friends are that blind.

One by one, all of you descended into the cold, Melissa and you holding hands under the water, of course. Despite your nerves earlier, you had to admit this was nice. You did love everyone you worked with, and everybody had found their own groove to follow. “What are you thinkin’ about over there?” Melissa asked you quietly. She could always tell when you were deep in thought. “Nothing much,” you answered honestly, “just appreciating where I am, and who I’m with.” If Melissa’s eyes could turn into hearts, they would have in that moment. Each and every day spent together she could feel herself falling deeper and deeper in love.

“You’re too sweet,” She shrugged the compliment off. “Yeah? Sweet enough to get a present when we get home tonight?” You asked, giving her your best begging face you could in that moment. Melissa’s grip around your hand tightened, and even with the sun as bright as it was, you could never miss that dark look in her eyes when her thoughts about you became…less than professional. “Yeah baby, maybe even sweet enough for two,” She smiled at you, and there were the blushed cheeks again.

After about an hour of the river, the gang decided it was time to head back to land and have some lunch. The way back was, to say the least, less than successful. Everybody piled up by the stairs, trying their best to exit their tubes gracefully. A couple was at the exit at the same time as you, a man and a woman. Just your luck, as you were making the exit, so was the man, who was much larger than you. As he swung his tube out of the water, his arm and float shoved into your back, pushing you onto the concrete. Before you could even express the sudden pain in your knee, the clumsy man started yelling. “Why don’t you stay out of people’s way and things like this won’t happen?” He exclaimed. You felt your stomach drop in fear. Not from the man, not from the wound on your knee, but from Melissa.

If there was one thing Melissa would protect more than anything, it was you. “Are you fucking kidding me?” She yelled back, her voice much louder than his. “Maybe if you were actually using your head you would’ve looked around before swingin’ that thing around like a god damn dance ribbon,” Melissa was now out of the water, hair tied up, and she was just a few feet away from a fight. Luckily, Gregory stepped in and took Melissa’s arm, pulling her more towards your direction rather than the idiot who caused the scene. The sight of you still on the ground pulled Melissa back down to earth and she immediately rushed to your side. “Come here baby, let’s go,” She said, not caring about the pet name in front of anyone anymore. She took your arm in hers and started walking you towards the bath house.

You didn’t have to ask her for anything, Melissa jumped right into taking care of you. She turned on the shower and let it warm up before walking you in with her. “Let me rinse it hon, does it still hurt, are you okay?” She asked. Moments before, Melissa was red hot with anger, and now here she was, being oh so gentle towards you. When you didn’t answer, she again knew something was wrong. For whatever reason, you had started crying and couldn’t stop. The scrape from earlier was stinging, the confrontation was overwhelming, not to mention it happening in front of so many people. Your chest heaved as you began softly sobbing in the shower. You reached out for Melissa, desperate for her touch. You wanted to calm down and tell her everything going on in your head, but all you could get out was her name.

“It’s okay carissima,” she whispered, taking you in her arms, letting the hot water hit your back. “You’re okay, I got you, you know that,” she assured you, gently planting kisses on your head as you cried into her chest. The tears didn’t last much longer, with Melissa they never do. She always took care of you, like nobody else did. You were special in her eyes, and she made sure you felt it every day. “Thank you, Mel,” you finally said, tears subsiding. She lifted your head from her shoulder and gave you a kiss, this time on the lips. “You don’t have to thank me, it’s what I’m here for.” Most times your showers with Melissa were much more sensual, but right now, with her gentle caresses and words, all you felt was love. Pure happiness and love.

The door to the bath house opened, shushing you and Melissa immediately. “Hey, it’s just me. You okay?” Ava’s voice sounded from beyond the curtain. “Yeah, I’m alright, thank you though,” you told her, hoping she would take that answer and leave you back to your girlfriend. “Alright, just wanted to check on ya. Oh and Melissa, while you’re in there can you look for my shampoo bottle? I know you have better eyesight than the other one,” Ava said, and walked back out the door. Melissa and you stared at each other wide-eyed. “Well, I guess Ava knows now,” you said. “Yeah,” Melissa said, giving you another gentle kiss, “I guess she does.”

[daenerystargaryen06]

Jon Snow meeting Daenerys

Based on my rewatch of GoT with my friend, I found that I really don't like the meeting D&D created between Jon Snow and Daenerys. What could have been a monumental and great scene between two amazing characters meeting for the first time after going through all they did- it just pisses me off and feels bitter over the way D&D handled it.

My biggest gripe is the way they handled Jon going to Daenerys to ask for her help against the WW within the show. Not even ask, more like demand, without giving Daenerys anything in return.

Jon, when arriving within Dragonstone, knew that Daenerys had an ongoing war occurring against Cersei. Daenerys was declaring herself Queen of the 7k, she was vying for the throne, and was obviously going to war against Cersei for said throne. War is never easy. Dealing with Cersei (mainly within the show) wasn't going to be a cake-walk (mainly because Tyrion was written as the sympathetic man who needed to 'keep Daenerys' temper in check and give her crap for plans'). Jon knows that wars take up time, require heavy focus and planning, need men and resources, etc. yet he decides to ask Daenerys to drop her war against Cersei and help him fight against magical walking dead creatures that exist on the other side of the Wall without giving Daenerys anything in return.

This is not how any sort of politicking works. Jon can't just waltz in and expect Daenerys to drop her war against Cersei (someone Jon knows is a crazed lunatic who wants his family dead and anyone else that she considers her enemy and the North under her rule) just because he states that these magical walking dead men exist without bringing proof nor giving Daenerys something in return for what he wants.

Jon also knows that the people of Westeros aren't going to believe in the WW just because he says they exist. This was shown even in the first episode of season 1 when Ned executes a deserter from the Night's Watch who said the WW returned and nobody believed him! Tyrion and many other characters referred to the WW as nothing but 'grumpkins' and 'snarks'. Hell, even Jon himself didn't believe the WW's existence until he got attacked by one himself. This is lazy writing on D&D's part. Having a character miraculously think his word alone would convince others (especially a Queen who he needs the help of) that the WW exist without any form of proof or giving something in return for their help, and somehow 'forgetting' all the experience he went through of people discounting the WW existing from the very first season despite them having returned.

This just made Jon appear incompetent, forgetful, and demanding.

I also dislike this scene for the implication it gives- 'poor Jon Snow needs to convince the arrogant Dragon Queen that the WW exist and are a threat to humanity'. Let's be real here. Nobody else knows the WW exist, especially not Daenerys who lived a majority of her life within Essos (excluding book!Dany that is- due to her dream of riding into battle against the Others upon the Trident). Daenerys has a perfectly viable reason not to trust what Jon is saying, nor to suddenly drop her war against Cersei just because he demands her help, especially when he doesn't give anything in return for her! This man deadass looked Daenerys in the eye and basically said: "Yeah, I need you to drop your war with Cersei, come North and give all your power into helping me fight against dead men that nobody else believes in. Oh, and I don't have anything to give you in return, and I won't bend the knee because idk you. K, thanks."

This was obviously very poor negotiation which would definitely not happen within the books. D&D made Dany more hardened, and the way they framed the scene with her and Jon made it seem like they wanted to further play into the slow descent of attempting to pit the audience against her. I have seen people say that Daenerys was too 'arrogant' and 'egotistical' in this scene with Jon due to the way D&D framed the interaction and characters within this. Not to mention the fact that afterwards they had Tyrion be the one to start negotiations with Jon for his alliance AFTER his dumb plans costed Dany her allies in the first place. When we all know book!Dany to be politically savvy, intelligent, and a negotiator/compromiser. It just painted Daenerys in a bad light overall. Even for show!Dany, how do people seriously expect her to be willing to immediately agree to Jon, drop her entire campaign against Cersei, go North, and give her power for some random man that comes to her and says 'magical walking dead men exist and I need your help to fight them' without having a compromise/input from Jon for her aid? The ONLY thing Daenerys wanted from Jon was for him to bend the knee and acknowledge her as Queen, and she would have helped him.

And let's be honest here- I get that the North fought for their freedom and such but that was only due to Cersei and the Lannister's after Ned's execution. There was the quote from the show- "it was the dragons we bowed to." Now dragons are back. Jon admitted that even just after meeting Daenerys she was better than Cersei. He should have been willing to bend the knee to Daenerys, as she had agreed to fight for the North and help Jon if he did so, giving him the aid of her armies and dragons. The showrunners did this stupid parallel between Jon and Mance Rayder. Mance refused to bend the knee to Stannis even if it'd help his people, with Jon asking him- "isn't their survival more important than your pride?". They then did the same with Jon refusing to bend the knee even if it'd help his people, and Daenerys asking him the same thing. This parallel is unneeded, and only showed Jon as being incompetent, as he had that experience with Mance and should've known that pride doesn't get you anywhere when you're a ruler over others lives and need help.

Also- I doubt the North would last long being independent from the other Kingdoms. Limited resources with a coming winter on top of it all after a war against the Bolton's? No way Jon or Sansa could think that would ever work in the North's favor for it to be independent in the long run. Especially with the war against the dead that was yet to come.

I swear it was like the writers had Jon drink stupidity juice for this entire thing and thought 'wow. This is really something. Our best writing yet.' over that horrendous scene. My sanity cannot take it.

[a-court-of-moonlight-and-ire]

I got caught shoplifting a few weeks ago so Im gonna have a court proceeding (? if thats what you call it in english idk) in a couple hours and Im a little bit nervous but the shit I stole was only worth 7€ and it was my first time getting caught so I dont think it'll be too big of a deal. Honestly Im just glad I didnt get caught while I was stealing ~85€ worth of acotar books, because my punishment would not only be wayyyy harsher it would also just be embarrassing, imagine stealing sjm books when theres so many good books you could steal from a bookstore

Anyway, speaking of acotar books, its livebloggin time. Last time, Feyre and Rhysand came to this cabin in the woods/inn in the middle of nowhere and stayed in a room thats so small that you couldnt even have sex in it and then they had sex. not penetrative sex, they just fingered each other. Which is to say Rhysand fingered her vagina and Feyre fingered his wings because god forbid a man be on the receiving end for anything other than a blowjob. Also, I guess Mor, Cassian and Azriel are somewhere else? I didnt wanna say anything about them being gone bc I just kinda assumed they were staying with Feysand but they seem to be gone. whatever I dont care about those guys anyway

Chapter 49

Feyres internal declarations of love and wanting to be with Rhys forever feel very shallow when you consider the fact that 1) theyve only had like 3 months worth of non-traumatic interactions with eachother, and 2) she thought the exact same way about Tamlin and then she DIED FOR HIM and then she left him after barely half a year

'"You know exactly that I would do anything for my people and my family."' 'Your people' consisting of one (1) city

Feyre's pussy feels slightly raw from getting fingered hours ago?? thats not a good sign.

'"I'm not gonna turn away from you. Not from you," I promised him quietly.' honestly, i can believe that, if you can fully forgive someone for physically torturing and sexually assaulting you after like a month or two you can forgive them anything, I have no idea why Rhys would be worried about that

can you imagine if Rhysand got shot with poisoned arrows and he just died right here. Life could be a dream but alas, I live in a nightmare world

I actually really like Feyre going feral over her love interest like this (even if that love interest is Rhys) I dont we're gonna get much more of that in this series so I shall savour it

Yeah, now that she mentions it, how come one ash arrow was enough to straight up kill Andras but Rhysand gets hit by like a dozen and hes just fine after this. I guess it could be that Feyre shot Andras in the eye so it was more lethal than Rhys getting shot in the back and wings but still, afaik there are no longterm consequences from this, like hes not even gonna have to deal with idk, his back hurting at certain points or something

Im not a fan of Feyre being so murderhappy now when she was reluctant to even kill animals at the start of this book, like at a certain point Im not so much bothered by Feyre's character being retconned from ACOTAR but her character from start of ACOMAF

Damn I didnt think the sex would be anything other than a pointless diversion, but here it is, being plot relevant

How come these guys have been torturing him by just stringing him up and leaving the arrows while they whip him, if I was an evil torturer and had just gotten my hands on a guy with wings Im sawing those badboys off immediately. or should i say batboys ahahahha.hahha

Oh, just a splinter of ashwood can he deadly but of course Rhysand is gonna be pretty much fine after being impaled with seven whole arrows

'"And Elain would love [Velaris], I'm sure of it. Although she would probably cling to Azriel the whole time, looking for safety."' smth about that line feels icky to me, I think its the fact that I dont think Elain actually properly interacted with Azriel at this point and also, Velaris is a perfect paradisical city what on earth would she need his protection for there

ughhhh all this bullshit with the dresser is so unbearably annoying

I guess I'll see how this all actually pans out next chapter, but right now I gotta say I dont like the fact that Rhysand's wounds just heal on their own, I couldve used some good whump with him. And Im not just saying that because I dont like him and Im a sadistic little bitch, even though both of those things are true, Im saying this because I think seeing him in a vulnerable position for an extended time would make me like him more

[eremorte]

Badwolf’s graduation day

So recently I’ve been thinking about the last episode of ever after high. Specifically the scene where Professor Badwolf warns his daughters about being too obvious about their heritage/relationship, and then follows up with

“Until graduation our family must remain secret.”

This makes no sense to me. What is he still worried about?

At this point in the series the Story Book of Legends is revealed to be a macguffin that is more symbolic than anything as if his family exsisting for roughly two decades wasn’t enough proof (I’m including his relationship with Red in this).

What, pray tell, changes for Ramona and Cerise between that argument and graduation? I’m sure the radical youth of ever after royalty will probably write a few new laws in place to be more just (or the commoners demand it) but ultimately it’s the same rule book pre/post graduation day.

Cerise has been at school the whole time and has befriended a lot of people (list below) despite her supposedly withdrawn persona. (Which I imagine is more a product of familial conditioning than what she would be like if she was allowed to breath) including literal royalty which should have an impact on how safe her family is if they were to every travel outside of the dark forest.

In no particular order Cerise has befriended🫂/cordial with 😊/knows her family secret 🐺 with the following:

Raven queen 👑🫂🐺

Cedar wood🫂

Madeline hatter 🫂🐺 (and her dad)

Lizzie hearts 👑😊 (spring unsprung)

Hunter huntsman 😊

The charming trio 👑😊🫂 (Darling and Daring both have a respect for Cerise and their own reasons to sympathize with her cause. Dexter would be fine regardless of how cannon the cerise and the beast book is)

Briar beauty 👑😊 (diaries)

Rosabella beauty 👑🫂 (doll box)

Ginger breadhouse 🫂 (doll box)

Jillian beanstalk 🫂 (Doll box)

Tiny 😊 (also the fee fi go fum deal has me believing that he knows Cerise’s secret but doesn’t say anything)

Kitty Cheshire 😊🐺 (I remember photos from epic winter which make them out to be friends, but like ehhh)

dishonorable mention: Blondie lockes 😊 (diaries and epic winter).

Idk how widely spread out everyone is due to the show not elaborating on what the kingdom borders are (if mentioned in the books I have since forgotten) but that shouldn’t matter much. And while Badwolf and Cerise might not get the chance to catch up all that much I’m pretty sure he’d be aware of at least Raven, Cedar Rosabella, and Ginger. Raven has a lot of power behind her and would be willing to go to bat for Cerise if for whatever reason some other royal Royalty has control over hood hollow and wanted to be petty and cruel about the hood/Badwolf union.

Why would they really need to care that much about all the other kingdoms knowing? Are they known to be this unhinged? This line also implies to me that the events of Unfairest of them (book) all haven’t happened in the show which is fine I don’t remember that many events from the series I am aware of discrepancies between cannon and IMO show wins out. But if they had they begrudgingly accept Cerise and Ramona.

The last obstacle I can think of is Milton. But that man fell into obsolescence that Spirng Unsprung if not Thronecoming he doesn’t appear to make anymore threats about destiny though I understand if his presence still holds weight.

I also refuse to believe that the events of way too wonderland SBOL being split up weren’t broadcast absolutely everywhere.

The only reason I can think of is selfish preparation on part of both red and badwolf. Like they can’t adjust their plans or badwolf is planning to quit his job and they all plan to move somewhere else. (In the event show cannon wouldn’t have lined up with book cannon regarding hood hollow acceptance) Or maybe it’s connected to why Ramona got sent to the reform school?

if there are any details I missed or someone has an answer I’d be glad to hear it.

Edit: 3/19

Reread Unfairest of Them All specifically the section(s) on Hood Hollow and I was partially right. The family is kinda just waiting for Badwolf to feel confident enough to show off his family.

"I could loose my job for going off script, but even worse your mother and I could be banished along with you."-Badwolf (Chapter 8)

EXCUSE ME? His fears are valid even after the basket run trial but the guilt trip? Wouldn't it be better if all three of you went instead of just Cerise? And Cerise is completely fine with it. Red says nothing does she agree with him? She was crying her eyes out at the idea of her daughter dying by mob a few sentences ago.

[rosesradio]

Hello, i'm a valdangelo fan because 100% if Nico was a girl and/or if Bianca went through Nico's story in PJO (not a Huntress, his STORY), Rick Riordan would have PAIRED them together. They would have been endgame status. He would not have had Leo act weird with Hazel, either, because that familial dyniamic would have stayed intact into a "we could have been family, and ironically enough, years later we kind of are because I have a crush on your older SIBLING."

Leo and Nico together makes sense on every standpoint once you think of them like that. A couple that got the short end of the stick. They have weird history like this that barely touch one another, like regarding Leo's father and Nico losing his sister at the Junkyard. Why not use all those storylines, their individual arcs, and wrap it together? They DO work as a couple, they were not given the CHANCE because of gender, specifically. No, Nico coming out doesn't negate this. They dropped the ball by not pairing them together because three books of Leo and Nico interacting in the MAIN story as MAIN characters (Nico is secondary, but he is as important to readers) is what should have happened and would have Actually Been Brave as a book series, they were just too chicken at the time and dumped both of them off with random characters nobody was even thinking about.

anon i’m sending you flowers rn

i don’t have much else to say because you put it into words perfectly. but watch me ramble anyway lol

there’s a certain level of frustration to it—like come on Richard, you could have had a really great pairing here!! but i think one of the glaring issues would be, like you said with nico being a girl or bianca following nico’s storyline, how richard considers Leo the straightest of all, the bitchless Ladies Man(tm). He and calypso don’t make sense to most of us because they have nothing in common, meanwhile he and Nico have a lot in common while still being very different characters.

yk seeing the tv show (if you’ve been watching idk if you are), I’ve seen A Lot of changes from the source material, and many people say it’s almost as if richard is rewriting tlt for a modern audience. He wrote the lighting theif twenty years ago, and heroes of Olympus ten years ago…i can’t help but wonder, if richard did get the opportunity to rewrite HoO…what would he change?

probably not valdangelo being canon lol, and that’s okay—canon and fanon are equally fiction, neither one is more ‘valid’ than the other. but perhaps, if he showed just a bit more of Leo & nico exploring their characters & how they interact with each other…other people might see what we see.

or we can just convince them with fanfiction lol. by chance have you read Ceaseless Eve?

i’m annoying lol, thanks for the ask 🤠

[helmarok]

hrmmm lukas headcanons

he's 18 in season 1 and 28 in season 2

short king, 5'4"

he's bisexual and poly. he's got two hands one for jesse and one for petra

him and aiden/maya/gill were all raised together by his grandma, the other 3 being adopted. everyone would ask lukas why he sticks with those assholes, and it's because they're his family, and they grew up together and it would hurt to break off from them and it DID hurt when aiden decided to cut him out.

bro loves baking as a hobby. everyone loves his cookies. aiden too but he never admits it and always says something's wrong with them but would eat half the batch every time without fail

he's a cat guy, but also a horse girl. his old horse was named reba, she went missing when the witherstorm hit. he kept the black horse he rode from the witherstorm on and named her dolly.

very good at archery because i decided the ocelots are a hunting group, not primarily builders though they are good at it. his melee combat though... yikes. in sky city when he meets aiden in the throne room, he's almost immediately taken down.

not a big fan of loud or busy environments. after moving from the treehouse to beacontown, he tried to live with petra and jesse for a while but didn't like the city life and moved.

he HATES the cold! no amount of layers can save this man. that's another reason why he moved away from beacontown. it's too far up north for him.

lukas kinda like the therapist of the group cause he's the most mentally stable and best at feelings and best at handling them and overall he is just comically perfect idk what to say. he doesn't like it when people hold everything in and explode because that's kinda what happened with aiden. this puts him at odds with petra in season 2.

he wears a really gay cowboy belt with an ocelot on it. also walks around in cowboy boots.

definitely has an ocelot fursona that he has many doodles and lore of in his little journal. he has also doodled the whole order fursonas: jesse a pig, petra a wolf, axel a creeper, olivia a sheep, and ivor a bat. if anyone asked him what their fursona would be, he has an answer. but the only people who know this information are jesse and petra who accidentally found it looking for another book and he made them promise not to tell anyone.

lukas is real easy to become friends with so he became closest with ivor before anyone else in the order. this is partially because they share an interest in history and old legends and reading and nerd stuff like that. sometimes they just chill and discuss these nerd things over tea.

big fan of country music and classic rock

you're not gonna believe this but his favorite drink is a nice warm glass of milk

lukas was the closest thing petra had to a friend before the order came to be, so he always had discounted deals when it came to rare items. once in a blue moon, she'd even give him something cool for free as her way of saying she likes having him around without actually saying it.

he's very humble, and even when the order is drowning in riches and the hall is decorated with gold and diamonds and everyone has fancy enchanted armor and tools, this dude is still running around in iron pauldrons and still got a set of iron tools. his bow isn't even enchanted, despite petra begging him to let her put something on it since she enchanted everyone else's stuff.

i think he has a book series that's like minecraft warrior cats. like his biggest book is obviously the one on the witherstorm but his cat books are definitely a renowned series with fans all over the world. and he tooootally didn't base some of the characters after his friends...

i have more but this is just off the top of my head so maybe i'll make another post one day

[skaruresonic]

you can just taste the salt pouring from this man lmao. I only dismissed an entire medium as never being able to be art, why are you all whining

1.) Myst released in 1993, the same year as Sonic CD. Calling it an example of games "from the infancy of the form" following the video game market crash of the '80s is laughable

2.) "I particularly didn't want to play one right now, this moment, on demand" - uwu I just shittalked this entire-ass medium and now people are saying I should try to know what I'm talking about before I talk about it and I don't wannaaaaa

This is just. Rude? Idk how else to put it. Your friend goes to the trouble of offering to fetch a game and a console for you, installing everything necessary to set it up - even offering to send the console back to Sony when you're done so you don't have to spend a single dime - and your response is to make some excuse as to why you can't do it.

You could have just said "no," Roger.

yeah it's almost like talking out of your ass "purely on theoretical grounds" without engaging with the thing you're slagging off makes you seem too ignorant to hold a valid view on the thing you're slagging off. or something.

also "This is the gratitude you get for responding to comments at all" lol these salt levels could dry out the Dead Sea

my man has never heard of video games with linear narratives before

Billy cracked dick jokes, Ebert. Billy wrote his plays to appeal to the common people's interests, Ebert.

then why are you talking about video games if you don't want to be told to play one? real "I'm a Sonic fan who hasn't played the games, stop telling me to play the games you're picking on me" energy

The fuck is up with this weird capitalistic pitting of one art form against another? This isn't some zero-sum game where literature loses if video games win. Gamers read too, Ebert. In fact, many games take inspiration from literature, such as SH2 drawing inspiration from the themes of Crime and Punishment; The Witcher being based on Andrzej Sapkowski's book; and Metro 2033 springing from the self-published book of the same name.

I could name more. I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream (Harlan Ellison even voiced AM!). Classic RPG Parasite Eve is a spiritual successor to Hideaki Sena's 1995 sci-fi horror novel. Beev will probably want me to add Castlevania as an example as well, taking the titular character from Bram Stoker's Dracula.

Category:Video games based on novels - Wikipedia

Acting like games and literature are two disparate mediums with no overlap is... frankly, deeply disingenuous. You spoke with fucking Clive Barker, Roger, you should know this. FFS.

Besides, anti-intellectualism runs a lot deeper than New Medium Bad. It has more fascist roots than simply "The kids want to play Fortnite all day and don't want to crack open a book!"

Roger goes on this tangent about how it's difficult to find a definition of art that would preclude video games. Even the one he settles on, his view that art ought to teach him empathy for other people - which... has its limits and when taken too far, borders on requiring moral didactism in art; my man has never heard of art for art's sake - doesn't necessarily rule out games. Because video games literally require you to step into the player character's shoes.

you are such a condescending ass, oh my God. could you not?

"I don't personally know how gamers can learn about other human beings despite the entire conceit of the medium requiring you to assume the role of another person, but whatever, I'll give you guys this one because I've run out of things to say. Perhaps one day gamers will learn to have refined tastes like me, the Movie Review Man. anyway y'all losers, I got better things to do despite the fact that I typed out this wall of text poorly defending my position"

[fraudulent-cheese]

So i watched the first half of ROTI! i don't have many thoughts honestly?

I don't care for Staci, i'll be honest. Her gimmick is repetitive and im glad she got booted first if this was the only thing the writters were gonna do with her. It would be funny if there was a grain of truth to her claims tho.

Dakota's pretty fun and i like the added focus on the interns this season, because let's be honest outside of one "haha the interns keep dying" joke in both TDI and TDWT there isn't much i belive? So yeah

also samkota's cute, idk what to say? God i wish the writters explored Dakota's character before the whole mutation thing.

Honestly all the ROTI girls are great, wish they got more than arcs about which boy they wanted to kiss because MAN ANNE MARIA AND JO ARE GREAT, Jo especially, she's currently my fav of the season. I wish they did more with both of them man!!! I don't like the jabs made about her appearence but i find them fine from Anne Maria specifically? Like yeah she would do that! I wish the girls were fighting for longer!

Dawn's one of the better characters but i wish her conflict with Scott lasted longer than one episode. Same with her friendship with B! What is it with Total Drama and throwing away interesting rivalries the episode they start at?!

B's fine i'll be real. I like how they don't actually make him speak! Other contestants do make jabs about it but like, they're teenagers, and one of them is from Scott and he's kinda shitty so it works lol

SPEAKING OF! Scott's pretty fun! He's not the best antagonist ever but he's fun to watch and that's enough for me rn. He's pathetic and shitty it's great

Team man is also fun, i like Brick especially. Don't like the frequency of the pissing himself jokes tho. Like, i get it! he's a military boy who likes fashion and pisses himself! Do something else!

I don't care for Cameron i'll be real. Neither for Zoey, i wish her flaws were explored more because dang she's judgy in episode 5!

I guess i'll talk about Mike here too? I think he's ok, but man i wish his alters were treated more like people. I don't mean the other contestants, i mean by the show. Svetlana's great for the small amount she's on screen for, and I like Chester and Vito more than i thought i would! Please show explore them a little more! (and, well, to state the obvious, don't call it mpd why did it call it mpd it wasn't even the actual term for it when the show was being written)

My least favorite part is the love triangle tho. It's suffering from a critical case of "Warrior's miscommunication": a miscommunication plotline that could be solved in a single conversation, but the characters involved don't tell anyone because we need to stretch this book to 300 pages! or in this case, the plotline to last the whole season!

I get Mike not wanting to tell Zoey because his whole thing is not wanting to tell people, and Vito not telling Anne Maria because he's fucking dumb and considering his relationship with Anne Maria wasn't in a position where he needed to disclose it, but LIKE!!! COME ON MAN!!! this could be solved so easily and they just,,, didn't. Also why can't Vito still date Anne Maria at the end he's his own person!

i'll be real i think i like the idea that Anne Maria and Vito are still friends they just make-out too, mostly because that's all they really do in the show (and also i like Jomaria more)

OK ENOUGH ABOUT THE SYSTEM MORE ABOUT THE LAST CONTESTANT

I don't care for Lightning oops. He's funny sometimes. The "Jo is a guy" jokes get old quick tho.

THAT'S IT ON CONTESTANT THOUGHTS SO FAR!

The challenges are fine? I think a couple are pretty good (the treasure hunt for instance) but a couple are less good? (the Obstacle Course is eh, i don't really care about the mine one) but honestly i wish they just executed a couple better. Like the Embarrasing questions, climbing the mountain, hell even the relay-race could've honestly been wayyy better than they actually were! At least they're camp related!

But yeah so far ROTI's pretty good, 6/10 with 8/10 characters.

[girljpg]

i warched good omens season 2

i have a lot to say that doesn't really amount to anything so i'm gonna start typing at random

i liked the romantic vibe of the season and all the cute flashbacks. the dialogue between the leads was appropriately trusting and sweet. they really leaned into showing how they rely on each other. i also like that the conflict was pretty small in scale compared to season 1. it's not armageddon, but there were still some stakes if you include all the humans that almost died. although.... heaven and hell seem to know exactly where crowley and aziraphale are... yes, they fooled them at the end of s1, but wouldn't they idk. try other means? why didn't they get their names erased from the book of life earlier if that was something higher up angels could do? whatever

i like that there were real actual gay characters (lesbians even! who looked like real people!) even though I was worried they were getting together too fast, the reveal towards the end that they were going to move slow felt realistic. but them having to talk crowley into confessing his feelings felt ripped straight from a fanfiction. the lesbians comparing themselves to aziraphale and crowley was a bit on the nose. many moments did in fact feel like fanfiction. the dancing together, the "I need you!", the "We can just be us." all of that was cute and probably something i would've written idk could you do any better??? i am not immune to fluff. but also, that's a grown man. does it not take agency away from the character to have his relationship explained to him? and then they had the gall to not even show us this conversation. ideally he would've come to a conclusion about his feelings on his own-- perhaps after seeing gabe and beez fuck off to alpha centauri and going huh. i guess you can just do that. or even just through way of flashback-- oh no wait. all of the flashbacks were from aziraphale's point of view for some reason. why didn't azi get any realizations? you know michael sheen would've ate

the "i was wrong dance" well here's the thing i did clap

I thought the set of the street in london with all the little shops looked nice although there were always so so many extras walking around. is london really that crowded?

i thought they kind of wasted muriel's character. she seems to disappear for a long time before the plot calls for her to conveniently be there. i know she's meant to be a bit dim but surely she noticed 70 demons walking down the street.... ALSO i thought the book crowley handed her was going to be good omens but it. was not

looooved shax loved new beelzebub. who else. idk everyone was really giving it their all. megatron showed up for all of two episodes i think but was pivotal for the ending. what are you doing neil. gabriel is also doing. things. they wasted jon hamm as well by making him a frustrating himbo. one of the only scenes i liked with him was crowley yelling at him for trying to kill aziraphale in s1 and then trying to jump out a window and then calling crowley nice. but that whole bit felt more like a crowley scene than a gabe scene. he does get a mug with his name on it tho and hypocritically falls in love with the fly lady so all is forgiven.

i'm gonna be real with you all.. the way they filmed the kiss felt awkward. the way the camera swings around and crowley grabs him felt very....... rehearsed? a little unnatural, i think. the way crowley LUNGES. idk i need to rewatch the last ten minutes again. and it went on so long. we got like three of four angles on it like whoah. but the reaction face we got out of michael sheen. mamma mia

"I forgive you." asdejgkasdgahdgdfs when i say i paused the ep for extended laughter lmfaoooooo. clutching a wine bottle to my chest and cheering. this fucken guy. babygirl is distraught for all of about ten seconds before it's time to start the new job. i did start yelling at my screen after that point. he had no right to look crowley dead in the eye across the street and not run back to him. COWARRD. i understand why he did it but COWARD. why, after sooo long, would you think crowley would jump for joy to be an angel again... i watched all eight minutes of the credits certain that there was going to be more but nope. catch ya next time for the second coming (of jesus?? <- does not know things about the bible)

so i was pretty satisfied with that watch. i wish the season was longer than 6 episodes but tbh they had to make this story from nothing and it shows in the romcom hijinks and threadbare mystery. but it was fun and went by quickly. then i check on the fandom and they're, get this, upset for some reason about this ending. there's no pleasing some fans i guess. good job neil you've pissed off the people who wanted them to kiss AND the people who didn't want them to kiss, bravo! hopefully in a month or so everyone will cool down about it. and if not well. plenty of fanfic fodder until season 3. not that i read good omens fanfic, but it'll be there. just be happy there was a kiss alright!!!!!!?!!!1

(i just know we're going to get a flood of people calling aziraphale a big meanie and crowley a poor little scrimbly blimbo meow meow who got rejected. booooo stop that right now)

[f0linasahl0]

you know i have too many thoughts but i can't seem to place them well enough to make a single post.

like i'm just thinking about (multi fandom thoughts god save me):

-dustin and steve's friendship and how genuine it is. same with robin and steve. idk i think steve is just a good guy when around good people.

-thinking about how dustin was wearing rings in a stranger things teaser im literally going to break down

-thinking about how tyler's singing voice changes through each album. like idk how to explain it other than that. it's just good

-thinking about how draco malfoy deserved more than what he got. he deserved a better family. a chance at being an actual kid rather than caring about his family's image

-thinking about spencer reid. just spencer reid. loml

-there's so many songs i'd be so excited to hear on the clancy world tour. so many songs i'd break down to. so many songs that if they skip it i'd actually be heartbroken.

-thinking about how penelope garcia held that fucking team together shut up. she was the glue that held the bau together argue with the wall.

-still thinking about how fucking broken tyler looked through the livestream experience. how clancy was a puppet for the bishops through SAI. imagine how horrifyingly humiliating that would be. a man who tried so hard to fight something like that just to be the poster boy for it.

-still wondering what jenna and debby's roles are. like sure that's not a big thing but i care about it i wanna know where they are in the lore. like even if it's not meant to be something big id like to know

-i think i ended up liking draco malfoy as much as i do is because looking past the little boy who's a bully, look at his family bro. he had no choice in what he could be. his character is more complex than initially thought

-harry potter, as much as he deserved to be, was so whiny some times 💀. ron is just whiny in the later books. like come on you think this kid who's gone through hell wants to keep going through hell for some money?? ronald come on calm your tits and talk to him. just that whole fight in goblet of fire could've been avoided if he just talked to his friend. like you fucking think he wanted that ronald?? calm down.

-there's a few characters that if they die in s5 of stranger things im literally going to break down. specifically dustin, steve, and robin. if they die--dude like absolutely not

-peter parker you deserve the entire world you deserve everything. all the peter parker's in the marvel cinematic universe and marvel comic universe. literally i--UGH

-there's a few twenty one pilots songs that while i listen to them i specifically remember the music video and i think that's really funny. to note, some of them are stressed out, lane boy, somewhat fairly local, house of gold, guns for hands, i just remember the livestream ones for shy away and choker, there's so many but like--there's parts that remind me of the mv

-i don't think i ever hated SAI i just distanced from twenty one pilots in 2021 (which honestly was the worst time for me to do so but here we are) and thinking i disliked SAI was better than turning away from the band that probably saved my life from further depression and instead turning to dumbass minecraft youtubers that ended up just being awful awful people. i hate that. i hate that i was so awestruck by these mcyts that i didn't think about how bad they could've been. SAI is a good album i just never got into it like i am now and that makes me feel so sad. i don't want to be one of those "oh you just came back because the lore said this album was...blah blah blah" like okay thanks for the words and shit i don't really care let me LIVE

.....

anyway those are some various thoughts. idk what else to put anymore so enjoy this thought dump i guess 🤷

this is what i mean by multifandom i like too many things 💀

[bookhighlightss]

BOOK REVIEW ON DREAMLAND BILLIONAIRE TRILOGY

I. The fine print

1. Okay I love how he created a whole ass person who did her drawings for her lmfao.

2. HE WATCHED ALL SEVENTEEN VERSIONS OF PRIDE AND PREJUDICE BECAUSE SHE LOVES PRIDE AND PREJUDICE. and the way he sometimes related his situation to mr. Darcy, yea adorable.

3. I love Zahra's brains and overall the way she helped in making Rowan realise how he messed up with the employees salary and shit. Independent girly. Love it.

4. I love how she wears and collects batches and the backstory behind it was adorable.

5. Rowan's relationship with her sister was so cute. I was here for it.

6. I don't rmr much of the book but yea they were cute and I like how iris stood up for herself when he treated her like shit and didn't give in easily. ( I don't remember much of the book I read it a month ago)

II. Terms and conditions

1. OMG WHEN I TELL YOU IM OBSESSED WITH THESE TWO I MEAN IM OBSESSED. i love them the most out of this series.

2. They are probably the only couple in this series that actually communicated properly about their feelings and considered each other's feelings too.

3. The way Declan genuinely tried to change and become a better person was wow. Also the fact that he liked her way before the marriage contract.

4. Super obsessed with them and they live rent free in my head alongside Alex and ava.

III. The final offer

1. When I tell you I have so many complaints on this book I mean I GOT COMPLAINS.

2. Okay first of all I get that they were childhood lovers or whatever and then he threw that away and got an alcohol addiction but that never gave the people in their stupid ass town to bring him down that much. Because first of all it wasn't like he vandalised or abused shit when he was drunk so the whole town putting their nose in and being all judgey was unnecessary because they saw how broke alana was after the breakup. Like did u see Callahan being all cheery? No. But okay sure go ahead and judge bcs what else do u have to do in a small stinky ass town.

3. Okay when I say alana had no character development, I mean zero. Nada. Bcs she didn't once ask him why he drank so much and as much as I'm against drinking, people don't drink that much unless they got baggage. She was legit waiting all throughout the book for a chance for him to hurt her and when he did she didn't hear shit she was ready to be like ha I proved myself right, u r an asshole.

4. The sole reason this worked out was because Callahan was down bad for her because she never communicated properly. Homegirl was so stuck on the fact that he left. He drank. He broke my heart. And didn't put herself in his shoes once. Callahan had a lot of baggage and idk I just wanted him to have a conversation with her about all his shit but I never got that so that ticked me off.

5. Okay I love Callahan and his whole personality. I mean mans went to therapy just to fix himself for her. But alana is a big no for me. Idk maybe if she had a character development in another universe I would be here for it.

Overall the books were fun to read. Super fast paced. Will help u get out of your readers slump.

If I had to rate the book from most favourite to least favourite:

1. Terms and conditions ( the best book out of the trilogy).

2. The fine print

3. The final offer ( I'm mega disappointed in this book but I LOVE CALLAHAN the most out of the three brothers )

Most favourite to least favourite kane men:

1. Callahan kane ( hands down the best )

2. Declan kane ( he was amazing )

3. Rowan kane ( he was lowkey toxic)

Most favourite to least favourite kane women:

1. Iris kane ( love love her )

2. Zahra kane

3. Alana kane ( yk why )

[youaremysunshine-court]

OMG WITCHER THOUGHTS

Putting all this under the cut bc its incomprehensible at eh best of times

Yenn writing Geralt letters!!! kdfjdsjfhjdghs i love them so much i love that sh eknows shes done wrong and is trying her best to right it

Jaqskier’s forst scene being him getting thrown out for sleeping aorund. she broke his lute :((((( also wtf is he bi he got sweet talked by a pansy prince...

Geralt being. good. dad. amazing showstopping i love him i want to bite his biceps

yenn-geralt-jask all travelling together and teasing jask my poor little fandom heart! this is the plot of so many fics i have bookmarked lmao

Ciri wanting to do good for the woirld shes such a little muffin i need to protect her

- inserting quick rant here because this thought srtuck me during the split up scene - Geralt isn’t going to be the White Wolf who unites teh nations, as so many fics have suggested. Ciri is (and fair warning all book canon I know is from fics and fandom meta, so i have no idea what the plot actually does, but I have a Feeling about this.) obvy ger’s gonna be there for her and do a lot of the heavy lifitng but shes going to be the reason peace comes to [continent name]

WARRIOR PRINCESS CIRI OMG MY! HEART!

dara... dara! omg its dara what is he doing

Watching Ciri fight and immediately after seeing Geralt decimate them really puts into perspective what a witcher can do, like yes shes strong shes skilled but geralt is just engineered to fight hes on a whole other level when it comes to fighting (also HE USED HIS SIGNS LETS GO))

Geraskier geraskier geraskier send help im melting (Joey batey plays a bi man so well btw, he does the same flick-my-eyes-away-becuase-youre-being-too-sincere-and-im-in-love-with-you thing that I do, also GEralt thanking him made me scream out loud)

PLEASE SAY JASK GOES WITH GERALT TO FIND RIENCE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE

During the fight scene, I was like oh this seasons soundtrack is going to Fuck and it IS

Geralt being a good dad is really something everyone needs tbh

The interpersonal relationships this season are so so so good, I feel bad for bashing on the last season’s ending, but I’m still withholding judgement until I’ve finished this season, but still yenn-geralt, yenn-ciri, geralt-ciri, geralt-jask, yenn-jask all seem more real this season and more like conversations people would have rather than plot-furthering conversations, I feel like they’ve actually put effort into this season’s emotional value, rather than just plot value yk

it’s fuckign heartbreaking how hes still carrying his broken lute around, idk if its meant to be a metaphor for his emotional wellbeing but im getting that sense from him

Also what the fuck jaskier why would you make decisions for ciri without consulting her or her dad/ You are sending her there to be married off to some fuckface isnt thaty what you ran away from in the first place what the fuck jask,

Wait so are Geralt and Jaskir not travelling together? He said Jaskier was waiting for him in [unspellable city name] but then it looks like he’s saddling up roach alone?

1) is that Cintra? 2) who is that? 3) Doesn’t he know it’s rude to burn someone else’s baby pictures? 4) if they bring in a brother fighting ciri for hte throne plotline I will NOT be happy