#amelia 🌻
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amy's arc is SO surgery shaped... the universe pouring into her head as a dissection of a whole being, separation of the mind and the body (you are too much for one body to hold!!! you are haunting yourself from within!!!! every haunted house suffers from the illness of dichotomy, a desire to unite the ghosts haunting it with the present moment), pregnancy storyline unites flesh with technology, amy is now reduced to a surgical instrument with the story functioning as the patient. pieces of a person scattered across time and space, the reading glasses, the mini tardis, the sunflowers are what keeps amy eternal, in this way she is the operating room because the world didn't just take from her, it took her as its own right hand. but she can never leave the OR. she can never be forgotten, but she can never live either.
#i feel like this leans into saint amelia reading in some ways just!! idk i'm just... she's just...#amy pond 🌻#jo in the tardis*
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Amy should have gotten a time vortex manipulator from River (RIVER TEACHING HER HOW TO USE ITTTTT) and then she could travel on her own, but Rory could also work (the show doesn't talk enough about how much his job means to him :(, I want more dorky!Rory asap) and then at the end of the day she could come home and geek about her travels at dinner and Rory could geek about his job and Amy could write all about her adventures and pursue writing as a career.
OH MY GOD YES FUCKING YES
this is so good!!! rory wants a "normal" life on earth (which seems impossible towards the show, i mean, he lives in BRITAIN. and also he has a timetravelling wife and a timetravelling daughter) and amy wants a adventurous life out in space.
and the times amy is at home, she'd probably be calmer and like the times with rory more if she had been, well, close to death right before.
and river and amy gets mother-and-daugher time together, which seems cute
amy is an author now. and she'd be great. brilliant!!
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"well... that happened."
"Bueno... Siempre digo que podría ser peor" sentenció tras ver el desastre ocasionado. Estaba seguro de que el responsable no pensó que haría explotar el caldero y acto seguido salpicaría una poción desconocida en todo el lugar. Pasó una mano por su cabello y observó la sustancia viscosa que la había alcanzado. "Está bien, esto se puede quitar" pronunció. Volteó a ver a la persona que le acompañaba y cuestionó, con una ceja en lo alto. "¿De casualidad no fuiste tú, verdad?"
☁️ * ; para @p3ach3snplums
#te traigo a mi amelia <333#puedes darme a quien tú quieras bb <3#*le deja un abracito*#꒰ 🌻 ; 𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐚 𝐛𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬 — she had a marvelous time ruining everything. ꒱#p: dannie#p3ach3snplums
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"La cosa più difficile è la decisione iniziale di agire, il resto è solo tenacia. Le paure sono tigri di carta".
Amelia Earhart🌻
Foto Pinterest
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April Spring into Love Schedule 🌻🌷
April 6th - Blind Date Book Club
A bookstore owner finds love and direction in life after agreeing to review a famous author’s new novel in her blind-date-with-a-book club. Starring Erin Krakow and Robert Buckley.
April 13th - Legend of the Lost Locket
When an antiques expert takes on a quest to find a long-lost locket that promises to bring the wearer true love, she finds herself in conflict with, but also attracted to, the town sheriff. Stars Natasha Burnett, Viv Leacock.
April 20th - Falling in Love in Niagara
After her fiancé leaves her before their wedding, Madeline goes to Niagara Falls to honeymoon without him. There, she reconnects with her adventurous side, learns to let go, and finds new love. Starring Jocelyn Hudon and Dan Jeannotte.
April 26th on Hallmark Mystery - Curious Caterer: Foiled Plans
Goldy Berry's Medieval feast at Hyde Castle gets interrupted by a murder. She teams up with Detective Shultz to solve the mystery before the murderer strikes again. Nikki DeLoach, Andrew Walker.
April 27th - Branching Out
To help build a family tree, single mom Amelia tracks down her daughter's IVF donor. It becomes a journey of trust, love, and discovering the meaning of family. Stars Sarah Drew, Juan Pablo Di Pace.
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i’m so sorry if you’re busy 💃🏽✨💐 but blow your mind has me whoreishly wondering, are ever we gonna “see” rhett and robby both wearing cowboy hats? do they ever hit up that state fair again, or any other bigger out-of-town rodeos? does rhett try to dress reader and robby up a little (lend them hats, boots, shirts or ask them to bring something of their own) or does he just let them wear whatever they want? does robby ever steal rhett’s signature brown cowboy hat? does reader? does reader wear it when they ride rhett or robby? does rhett wear it when he rides reader or robby? i feel like robby would secretly be very, very, very into rhett wearing his cowboy hat while riding him...
👀now, these are quite some concepts 💃
I like to think that the festival becomes a yearly tradition. An excuse to spend the weekend cozied up in a hotel room, buying things they don't need and joking about their not-so-perfect origin story. Even if they're all living together, it's just something they do.
There are a handful of rodeos, too; Reader and Robby always seem to make it to those rodeo finals and a few in-between ones too, but Rhett's rodeos taper down after he wins in the Amelia County Rodeo Finals. Partially because of a nasty knee injury he suffers from in the following season, but mostly just because he wants to venture out to where Reader and Robby live more. A little too sick of Wabang, a tad curious about what life is like outside of Wyoming.
Rhett's possessive ass absolutely tries subtly wrangling them into his clothes; he's been known for hiding Bobby's boots and 'accidentally' leaving his flannels in Reader's laundry. He thinks he's sly; hasn't realized that Reader and Bob started catching on within the first week of him doing it. They just let him think he's getting away with it, because it's cute to see him light up when they wear his clothes.
And that absolutely goes for his hat, too.
Robby is a little shier about wearing it, doesn't think he's "worthy" of wearing a cowboy hat when he's not a cowboy. He mostly steals it in private; where he feels most comfortable and like nobody is going to side-eye him for it.
Reader though? Absolutely steals it 💃if Rhett's hat miraculously grows legs and walks away from where he left it, then it's usually on the Reader's head. Acts all dramatic, like he's been robbed of his life savings, but he's melting on the inside and won't actually take the hat back.
"Nope! 🙄It's yours now. I don't want it anymore." Accompanied by a stolen kiss or three.
BUT?
HELLO?
ROBBY IS ABSOLUTELY INTO RHETT WEARING THAT OLD TATTERED HAT WHILE RIDING HIM.
He tries to find ways to knock it off, too. Thrusts up to meet Rhett halfway just to watch it bounce; intentionally knocks his head against the brim when he goes to kiss Rhett, trying to dislodge it. Sometimes, if that doesn't work, he rolls their bodies over so that it has no choice but to fall off and lay beneath Rhett's head.
There's a day when something pisses Robby off (*cough*, buckle bunnies, *cough*), and he wears the hat while he rides Rhett. Rhett says it's the hottest thing he's ever done; Bobby refuses to even speak of it because the memory makes him turn redder than a stop sign.
Half the time, Reader doesn't even start riding them with the hat on. Rhett and Robby are very guilty of reaching over and putting that hat on Reader's head; have some unspoken kink for the damn thing. But it's only for that old, felt brown hat; Rhett's summer hat almost never gets to join in on those escapades.
Sort of unrelated note, but I had this thought while I was writing this; they have absolutely tried roleplaying as cowboys.
Rhett's got his usual hat. Bobby and Reader wear old hats they dug out of Rhett's closet. But it ends in laughter because they keep knocking their hats off. Bobby's hat is too big and keeps falling into his eyes; Readers is too small. Who could have known that it's hard to kiss someone when you're both wearing cowboy hats?
🌻💕
#bob floyd x reader x rhett abbot#rhett abbott#bob floyd#robert floyd#robert bob floyd#i swear im answering the other ask you sent too lmao#ive been saving it for this weekend 💃💃#delgato's asks#💐#rhett abbott headcanons#robert bob floyd headcanons
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See Me
CW: Light angst (kind of, I guess); fluff; smut (PiV, protected), 18+ only.
Word Count: 6707
Other Pieces: This is a sequel to this.
AN: For the lovely @nuvoleincielo! 🌻
When Frankie wakes the next morning, some of his bravado around breaking up with Amelia is gone. It’s like it bled away in the night, and now, in the cold light of morning, he second-guesses himself.
He knows he sounds like a sad asshole when he says it out loud to anyone, but he really does think that Amelia is the best he can do. He doesn’t think he’s got much to offer any woman. The negatives in his column are significant: no money, but plenty of demons from his time in the military. An ex-wife, a daughter he sees every other weekend.
He’s broken-down, used-up. Who could possibly want him?
After his morning coffee, he dresses and goes outside. He has to run some errands in town, so he starts his truck and sets to scraping off the ice that accumulated on the windshield overnight. Halfway through the effort, he hears your front door open and then shut, and he catches sight of you. You have your arms around a big bag of birdseed, and he watches as you go from feeder to feeder, refilling them for the birds.
Pope made a joke about it once, how you’re like Snow White with all your woodland creature friends. You feed the birds and the squirrels, and when the rabbits get into your garden every summer, you just shrug and say that rabbits need to eat too.
Frankie knows that if his truck wasn’t running, he could probably hear your commentary. A lot of the birds are half-tame around you, sitting in nearby branches as they watch you lay out more food for them. You talk to them, he’s noticed before—sometimes you pretend to be a master chef on a cooking competition, explaining what you’ve brought them.
“Today we have a seasonal blend of various seeds,” he heard you tell them once. “Locally-sourced and organically harvested. I especially am proud of the thistle, which offsets the safflower nicely.”
He peers closer at you now, and yes….he can just make out your lips moving as you walk from feeder to feeder. He smiles to see it, and something about the everyday moment bolsters his resolve from last night.
Who could possibly want him? Well, he thinks you might, and if Frankie Morales is honest with himself, he wants you too.
-----
He breaks up with Amelia a few days later. He tries to be gentlemanly about it—offers to meet her somewhere, wants to do it in person—but she’s busy and abrupt when he tries to make plans. They end up breaking up over the phone, which isn’t ideal…but something about Amelia’s tone leads him to believe that she’s not that upset about it.
-----
He tells you a few days later when he stops over at your house in the afternoon. He layers it into the conversation as naturally as he can, tries to say it casually.
“Amelia and I broke up,” he says, and you stop what you’re doing—chopping vegetables for the stew you are making—and look at him.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, Frankie.”
He chuckles. “No you aren’t. You didn’t like her.”
You give an embarrassed shrug before turning back to the potatoes you are cutting up. “Yeah, but I know you liked her, and that’s all that matters, in the end. I hate to see you sad.”
“No one said I was sad about it, hermosa,” he says, and he smiles to see the way you pause and then duck your head at his words, at his term of affection for you.
-----
He doesn’t ask you out right away. He doesn’t want you to think that you’re a rebound and anyway, he wants to find a meaningful way to do it. He spends a week agonizing over it until Pope calls him and tells him to stop dragging his feet.
“You like her, don’t you? She likes you. Why are you taking so long?” Pope asked.
“I do like her.” Frankie shrugs, even if Pope can’t see it. “I just want it to be special.”
He can hear his friend scoffing over the line. “Screw special, Fish. You gotta get on that before someone else scoops her up.”
“I know.”
“She’s a catch.”
“I know.”
“I think I might actually ask her—”
“Fine!” Frankie sighs and runs his hand through his hair, mussing the messy curls even messier. “Fine, I’ll do it now.”
-----
He does. Well, he tries to. He lets Pope get him hyped up, then he tries to march next door to ask you while his courage is still with him.
You aren’t in your house. Your studio is behind your house, a small outbuilding where you do all of your studio sessions for your photography business. He can hear music faintly from the studio, so he walks around to the backyard.
When you work, you usually leave the door unlocked. Since Frankie didn’t see a second car in your driveway, he assumes that you’re alone….and you are. But the door is locked, and when he knocks, it takes a moment before you answer.
You don’t let him in, which feels weird. You stand between him and the inside of your studio, only peeking out at him through the few inches you’ve cracked the door.
“Frankie! What’s up?”
He rubs the back of his neck, suddenly nervous. “Can I come in?”
You glance over your shoulder, then turn back to him. “I’m prepping for a studio session.”
“It won’t take long.”
Instead of letting him in, you reach back and snag your coat, and then you come outside to join him in the snow. It’s weird, and he cranes his neck to see what you are doing in your studio. You’re being secretive when you’re usually so open with your work.
“What are you up to?” he asks, almost forgetting to be nervous for a moment.
You give him a sheepish grin. “Boudoir session. Don’t want to invite any unwanted dude energy into the space.”
Frankie has traveled the world for his work in the military, but in some ways he’s a sheltered innocent. “Boudoir session?” he asks, the words spilling out a split-second before his mind starts to understand what you might mean.
“Tasteful nudes,” you clarify. A beat, and you look at him closer. You smile and ask, “are you blushing, Frankie?”
“What kind of prep do you do for that?” he asks, stammering just a bit.
Your smile widens. “Oh, you know. Light some candles, play some music. Put silk sheets on the bed and artfully rumple them.”
He doesn’t know what to say to that, and you laugh.
“You are blushing,” you add.
He’s a little embarrassed, and he can feel the heat in his face. He knows you’re the photographer, not the subject, but the thought still makes ungentlemanly imaginings float to the top of his head, and he can feel his blood heating up.
“So what’s up, Frankie?” you ask, gently bringing him back into the moment.
He’s so stupefied by the idea of you setting up a sensual environment—the image of rumpled silk sheets does something to him, especially when he imagines you tangled in them—he forgets to be nervous about his question.
“Wanted to see if you’d go out with me.” The words spill out without much thought.
He shouldn’t have been nervous. Pope was right: you like him, he likes you. There was nothing to be afraid of.
“I’d like that, Frankie,” you reply with no hesitation. “What did you have in mind?”
-----
Since his divorce, Frankie has struggled with dating. There’s a lot of reasons why—being a single dad, for one. The PTSD, for another.
He also doesn’t have a lot of money. With his military pension and the money he makes as a handyman, he is comfortable enough…but not wealthy. He doesn’t have the disposable income to woo a certain type of woman. He can’t afford endless expensive dinners, or concerts, or vacations. He can’t buy a lot of jewelry or clothing or anything a woman may want as a gift.
If he knows one thing about you, though, it’s that you prefer experiences to things. Meaningful moments with people to material goods.
Your first date isn’t fancy, but it’s you. It’s both of you, and it goes so well that Frankie silently curses himself for wasting all of that time with Amelia when you’ve been waiting so patiently next door.
There’s not a single awkward moment. You come over to his place one evening, and he makes you dinner. He’s not a master chef, but he has some skills in the kitchen. He bakes some chicken, makes linguini. You bring a bottle of wine that you split, and it’s so easy, the way the two of you chat over dinner.
It would feel just like your occasional dinners together before, but this is more. Before, the two of you might share a meal—usually you inviting him over, claiming that you made too much and framing it as needing his help.
Tonight, the air is thick with a tension that Frankie hasn’t felt in a long time. The tension of possibilities. He showered before he started dinner. Took the effort to put on a shirt without wrinkles and the jeans that fit him better. Trimmed up his beard, tried to tame his out-of-reg curls. In a bit of mad confidence, he put on the expensive cologne he’d bought back when he was still married, hoping that you like the musky, smoky scent.
He thinks you’re gorgeous in anything—from the jeans and t-shirts you wear around your house, to the sequined dress with the short skirt he saw you in once before you drove off to a party—but you’ve clearly put in similar effort as him. You’re in jeans tonight, but you’ve paired them with a soft-looking sweater that brings out your eyes. You’re wearing perfume too; you smell like something sweet, like brown sugar and vanilla. He thinks you might taste just as sweet, and he has to swallow hard against the thought.
For dessert, he serves you hot chocolate laced with brandy. The wind is howling outside, throwing icy pellets of snow against his windows. When you shiver at the atmosphere, he lights a fire in his fireplace, and the two of you sit together on the couch and just talk.
It’s cozy. Frankie’s not sure if he can remember feeling this way on a date before—he had married his wife after a pregnancy scare, and his dating life post-divorce has been bleak. He can’t remember a date where he felt so completely at ease. In fact, he can’t remember the last time he felt so much like himself. With the guys, maybe, with Pope and the Miller brothers, who have seen him at his worst. Never with a woman though.
Until now. A recovering addict, he keenly remembers the lure of the coke that he was hooked on. He knows the cliché of cocaine: the jitters, the too-fast talking, the nervous tics. For Frankie, the coke made him feel powerful. The moment that white powder went up his nose, every little doubt left him. The coke burned away his fears, his self-doubt, his anxiety.
He won’t tell you, but you make him feel similarly. Not the sped-up version of coke, but a calming version of it. Sitting beside you, sipping his own hot chocolate, he feels all of his anxiety shed off of him. He’s not Frankie Morales, the divorced single dad and veteran in recovery with nothing to offer anyone.
With you, he’s Frankie Morales. Passable cook. Engaging date. Good conversationalist. You laugh at his jokes and listen attentively when he talks, and it hits him like a drug in his bloodstream, makes him feel light when he usually only feels bent under all of his baggage.
The conversation turns to your photography. It fascinates him, the way you look at the world. You have a way of revealing the magic of mundane moments, a true artist, and he tells you so.
You laugh and shrug at his praise. “I’m hardly Ansel Adams,” you say.
It’s because of you that he knows who Ansel Adams even is. So he jokes, replies, “yeah, Ansel Adams didn’t shoot tasteful nudes.”
You laugh again, harder. “You were so scandalized, Frankie. You honestly didn’t know I did boudoir shoots?”
He shakes his head with a smile. “Why would I know that? I’ve checked out your website and it’s all weddings and nature photography.”
“I keep the sensual photography in a separate portfolio.”
“Like Hustler, only classier.”
Another laugh from you, so strong that you clap a hand over your mouth until it subsides. He loves this. He’s loved this since he met you: making you laugh. Better than any drug, really, the sound of your laughter.
“Well, I don’t have outlandish letters to the editor,” you tease as you swipe that the errant tear that crept out of the corner of one eye. “You know, ‘dear editor, you’re not gonna believe the encounter I just had with these twin cheerleaders...’”
He arches an eyebrow at you, gives a playful frown. “How do you know the formatting of Hustler?”
You only take a sip of your hot chocolate, grinning around the rim of the mug.
“I think you’re bullshitting me anyway,” he says. “Because it’s Penthouse that had the letters to the editor. Hustler had…uh, other things.”
He pulls himself short at the last minute, realizes that he almost just said “Hustler had the Beaver Hunt” to you, which feels like an easy way to cut a date short, being vulgar. He can feel the blood flood to his face, his cheeks warm at the near-blunder.
“If you’re such a connoisseur of pornography, why were you so scandalized by the boudoir shoot the other day?” you ask, noting his aborted sentence but not commenting on it.
He can’t tell you the truth: that even though you are the photographer and not the subject, he still pictured it. His mind still went right there, right to picturing you in lingerie or even naked, tangled up in silk sheets, hair tousled and lips kiss-swollen. Maybe eye makeup, a little smeared, dark-rimmed around your eyes from—
The blood in his face reverses course, heads southward. He takes a sip of his drink. Takes a steadying breath.
“I didn’t really know it was a thing,” he says.
And he loves this too, the way your face lights up when you talk about your work. You tell him all about the boudoir shoots, how they are empowering more than titillating. How it gives people their confidence back—or gives it to them for the first time ever. Pregnant women, women whose bodies changed after pregnancy. Older women who are struggling with a society that worships youth. Curvy girls who think they are too fat to be beautiful. Thin girls who think they are ugly because they have small breasts and narrow hips.
“I’ve even had some men,” you tell Frankie. “One guy, he had an eating disorder most of his life. It nearly killed him, but he was in recovery. He still struggled with the dysmorphia, and we did a private shoot to help him see that he was wonderfully made, just as he was.”
“Wonderfully made,” Frankie says, his tone thoughtful. “That’s a really nice thing to say.”
You reach across the couch and flick him playfully on his arm. “You’re wonderfully made too, you know. You’re always talking down on yourself. I hate it.”
He hates that he does something that you hate, but you’ve always been too generous with him, and he says so.
“You’re just repeating other people’s words for you,” you scoff.
“Maybe.”
You tilt your head and study him. “Want to do a photo shoot with me?”
The thought horrifies him. He hates having his picture taken—usually slouches behind one of the Miller brothers, if it’s a guys’ night out, pulls the brim of his hat low to hide his face—and he hates the thought of you studying him with the benefit of a lens. Committing him to film.
“Absolutely not. Nope.” He shakes his head so hard that you laugh at him and reach across to flick his arm again.
“You could keep your clothes on, Frankie. Come on. It would be fun!”
“Fun for you,” he grumbles with a rueful smile.
“I promise it would be fun for you too,” and now you have the chaotic energy of a Golden Retriever puppy, all shining eyes and bouncing from excitement at the prospect of turning your camera on him.
And he loves this too, being the object of your excitement. So he lets you wheedle him a bit more, then heaves a giant sigh when he agrees to it.
It earns him his first kiss with you, right then and there: a playful smack that you deliver on his cheek, and when he turns his head to face you, a second, gentler kiss on his mouth.
-----
This is his second date with you. A damned photo shoot in your studio.
Frankie has never been so nervous. He showers in the morning but sweats clean through the first shirt he chooses. He has to change, and he forgoes his usual second cup of coffee. The last thing he needs is more jitters.
He’s nervous when he turns up at your studio, but it bleeds off a little the moment he sees you—your softly smiling face, happy to see him. The general warmth and calm you always seem to exude washes over him, and he finds his heart hammering against his ribs for a different reason altogether.
“Thought you might chicken out on me, Frankie,” you tell him. “You’re braver than I thought.”
“Well, if I can survive the military….” He jokes, trailing off. Implying that the prospect of a photo session is more daunting than being shot at by enemy fire.
“It’ll be fine, I promise.” You tap his arm as you walk past him to lock the door behind him. “Want something to drink?”
-----
Frankie has joined you on plenty of nature walks with your camera, so he knows that you’re good. But you’re good.
You put him right at ease. You and not the beer he half-nurses and then forgets about, the bottle going flat as the two of you work. You joke around a lot right away and get him to laugh. You put on a playlist that is purely ridiculous—disco and one-hit wonders from the ‘80’s that make him laugh too.
“I thought I’d at least get Marvin Gaye,” he teases, and you arch an eyebrow at him, tell him that Marvin Gaye is reserved for tasteful nudes only.
Halfway through, you pop the memory card from your camera and pull up the photos on your laptop. Frankie can barely look, he’s so embarrassed to see an entire roll of his own dumb face, but you coo over some of them. Click around on your laptop, play around with them.
“Look,” you tell him, and you pull up one shot that you had tweaked the coloring on. He doesn’t know the technical term, but you bled out some of the color, made him look like he’d been rendered in watercolors. It softened the blue in the plaid shirt he wore, made the brown in his eyes look warmer by comparison.
“You’re too good at this,” he says, grudgingly admitting that he doesn’t look half-bad.
Another series of clicks, then another photo that you show him. This one—he didn’t even realize you caught it. It’s him mid-laugh. To Frankie, it’s an awful photo. It lacks his best feature (his eyes, because they are squeezed shut in laughter), and highlights his nose.
“Okay, maybe you’re not so good at this,” he teases, and he’s rewarded by your scoff of outrage and a playful smack with the back of your hand to his arm.
“It’s good!”
“That’s a terrible picture.”
“Frankie, come on.” You cluck your tongue in disappointment. “You’re a handsome guy.”
He flushes at your words. Scoffs at you.
You scoff back at him, louder. You stand up and stride over to a bookshelf that holds all of your portfolios. He’s paged through a few before—you have them divided by subjects. Examples from weddings, maternity shoots. Family portraits. Your nature photography, books full of landscapes and sunrises and wildlife.
You pull one of the thick black binders down and stride back over to him. Instead of sitting in the chair at your desk, though, you sit beside him on the sofa.
“Here,” you say, and you open the portfolio between the two of you, half in your lap and half in his. You’re pressed close to him, your shoulder against his, and he catches that warm, sweet scent of you again. He swallows down the Pavlovian response he has, how he wants to lay a trail of open-mouth kisses against your skin to taste you.
“What’s this?” he asks, but he can already see. It’s a portfolio of friends. Candid shots, staged shots. He’s in a lot of them.
His Fourth of July party. The day at the beach where you’d joined him and the guys. Pope’s birthday party. His daughter Eva’s birthday party, last year when his custody schedule aligned perfectly on her fifth birthday.
You’ve captured so many moments in his life. Small moments, like the picture of him and Will laughing at something, Will’s hand on Frankie’s shoulder, the two of them laughing so hard that they almost look like they’re crying. The picture of him and Pope talking, both faces serious.
The picture of him at the beach, shirtless and speckled with sand, curls damp with salt water. He should be embarrassed—you caught the softness around his belly—but he looks….not bad in the bright summer sunlight.
Then the pictures of him and his daughter at her birthday party. A whole series of them: her blowing out her candles, her with a smear of icing around her mouth.
“Oh,” he breathes out. What else can he say? You’ve seen him. You’ve always seen him.
“I suppose it’s a good time to give you your Christmas gift,” you say, softly. You stand up again and reach into your desk drawer, and you pull out a narrow box wrapped in silver paper. “Merry Christmas early, Frankie.”
He gapes at you for a moment until you jostle it at him, and he takes it from you. You sit back down beside him. He unwraps the gift slowly, and he mutters that he didn’t get you anything. You wave him off, say that you don’t need anything, and that his company is gift enough, and he rolls his eyes at how undeservedly kind you are to him.
It’s a framed photograph. The frame is a simple wood one, polished black cherry, from the looks of it. The matting is a rich cream-color, and the picture is in black and white.
It’s him and his daughter at her birthday party. Him in an unassuming plaid shirt, Eva in her princess dress. He doesn’t even remember the moment. It had to be before the cake because Eva’s face was frosting-free.
It’s just the two of them. You’ve done something to the photo, blurred away the background so that he and his daughter are the focus of the image. Neither of them looking at the camera, both of them looking at each other. Him smiling in profile, her grinning her gap-toothed grin at him.
He can’t say anything at all now. His throat is so tight that it feels like he’s breathing through a pinhole. Unshed tears burn behind his eyes.
You seem to sense it. You lay your head gently on his shoulder and point at the picture. At the magical moment you captured between him and his daughter.
“See?” you say softly. “You’re wonderfully made.”
For the first time, Frankie believes you.
-----
There’s the issue of a Christmas gift now. Frankie is tortured trying to come up with an amazing idea for you.
He doesn’t have a lot of money, but even if he did…he’s not sure what you’d like. Your home is decorated exactly as you like it. You have a million camera accessories, and anyway, he wouldn’t know a filter from a lens. You don’t really wear jewelry other than a watch.
He texts Will, asks what he got his girl for Christmas. Will responds with an oblique, “some coat she wanted.”
Unhelpful.
He texts Pope next. Pope is single, but he was in a relationship last year. He responds with an even less helpful, “don’t remember.”
Frankie sighs, scrubs his hand down his face. Tosses his phone aside, but it chimes a second later.
Pope: Why you asking?
Frankie sighs again. Types out his reply. Says he’s fishing for ideas because he’s stumped….and he’s starting to panic.
Pope: You’re overthinking it.
Pope: You always overthink it.
Pope: You know her. Don’t overthink it.
Simple advice, but good advice.
-----
Frankie, not overthinking it, comes up with a plan. There’s a dead week between Christmas and New Year’s when you are both free. His daughter is with her mother in Florida, visiting her grandparents and extended family. You take the last few weeks of December off from photo sessions.
“I have a surprise for you for Christmas,” he tells you. “But it’s a few hours away, and it would be an overnight trip.”
You grin at him. “You taking me to a secondary location? I don’t know, Frankie. I watch a lot of true crime. Seems risky.”
But you agree to go with him. He only gives you some parameters—to pack warm clothes and comfortable clothes. He doesn’t need to tell you to bring your camera. You bring that everywhere.
Last minute, he panics, tries to tell you not to get your expectations up. He has the sudden worry that you’re expecting something exotic and glamorous, and it’s definitely not that.
“It’s not fancy,” he warns you, but you only kiss him on his cheek and tell him you aren’t a fancy person and that you can’t wait.
-----
It’s the Miller boys’ cabin. Set in the woods with a view of the mountain ridge to the east, it seems like a perfect place to take you. It reminds Frankie of all the nature walks he’s accompanied you on.
Frankie asks Will and Benny for a few days in the cabin, and they happily grant it. It’s the dead of winter anyway, so no one else has a claim on it. Pope is the one who steps in to help set it up—goes up a day before to air out the cabin, put clean sheets on the bed, stock the icebox and bring in the firewood for the massive sandstone fireplace.
Of course, Pope being Pope, he’s also a meddlesome shit: when Frankie opens the door to the cabin and ushers you inside, he sees that Pope has also left a cheerful poinsettia on the kitchen table…and a box of unopened condoms, right in clear view where you can see it.
You duck your head and smile, embarrassed, but you know his friends better than he realizes.
“Did Santi stock the place for you or something?” you ask, and Frankie laughs, scrubs the back of his neck in mortification. Makes a promise to himself to pay Pope back the next time he’s courting a woman.
-----
Still, it’s a good surprise. A good Christmas gift. You wrap your arms around his neck, hug him tight, and you brush a sweet kiss to his mouth but then pull away. Already you are going for your camera and your winter boots, and Frankie finds himself in a familiar position: walking a few steps behind you, watching you work.
It’s so damned peaceful. Like that day he drove you to the state forest, when you were chasing golden hour and he was feeling low and anxious about another date with his then-girlfriend. Only now he’s even more peaceful: no anxiety at all. No meddlesome thoughts. Just you and him crunching through the snow, and the sound of your clicking camera.
Then back to the cabin. You peel out of your damp clothes, and Frankie builds a roaring fire in the fireplace. He makes you sit there to thaw your frozen feet, and then he makes dinner. The two of you eat, split a bottle of wine. After dinner, he cleans up and then settles beside you on the worn couch, and you heave a content sigh. Curl up against him like a cat, your head on his shoulder.
“This is perfect,” you say. “Thank you.”
He turns and kisses the top of your head. “I know it’s not fancy—”
You cut him off. “Hush. Don’t do that thing you do.”
“What thing?”
“The thing where you try to convince me that you or something you’ve done for me isn’t as good as it is.”
He grins at that. Kisses the top of your head again. “You know me too well.”
You hum and don’t respond. You only adjust, curl against him more firmly.
The two of you sit in comfortable silence. The only sounds are the cracking of the fire, and the occasional whine of the wind in the chimney. Frankie doesn’t want to break the spell, but there’s an unspoken issue between you.
“I didn’t come here with any ideas,” he says, halting. “I can sleep on the couch, no problem. And Pope…I didn’t tell him to stock…” He trails off, too embarrassed to say the word condoms, mortified to the depths of his soul that Pope dragged the unspoken tension between you and Frankie out into the open so crudely.
“You don’t need to sleep on the couch,” you say.
“Hermosa, I can—”
You cut him off again. “I don’t want you to sleep on the couch, Frankie.”
-----
It’s no coordinated dance, no making out on the couch that leads to the bedroom. The two of you get ready for bed. Get changed into sleepwear, brush your teeth. Frankie lets you go first, so you’re already waiting for him in bed while he stares at his reflection in the mirror of the tiny bathroom. As he psyches himself up, repeats Pope’s mantra to not overthink it.
As if it’s that easy. As if you aren’t you, the woman who sees him for who he is and still wants him. Who thinks him better than he is.
But you’ve been getting to him. It’s your voice he hears in his head, gently chiding him to not think so poorly of himself. Reminding that he’s wonderfully made.
-----
The bedroom is chilly, so there’s no suave way to climb into bed with you. Instead he dives under the covers, bumps his head into your shoulder. The motion makes you laugh, and Frankie opens his mouth to say something, but you rise up and cut him off with a kiss.
The two of you have kissed plenty, but this is different. There’s an obvious hunger in the way you kiss him, the way it lingers. The moment stretches, expands, until the rest of the world falls away and all Frankie can focus on is the feeling of your mouth on his, your tongue sliding against his. Then the feeling of your hands, gentle, touching him. One cupping the back of his head, then pushing into his curls, gripping them lightly. The other skating lightly down his front, ghosting over the soft cotton of his t-shirt, finally settling on his chest, right over his heart.
He lets you lead the moment. Frankie rarely cedes control, but you’re so sweetly dominant: kissing him, touching him. Pushing his shirt up and off of him, then pushing him back against the bed. He can’t remember when he’s been so gently touched, but there’s an urgency to you too. It makes him feel drunk: his head has that light, buzzy feeling, like he drank too much champagne, all sweet and bubbly. But it’s not champagne. It’s only you.
Your hands, your mouth. You shed your clothes and get him out of his. Then you’re on him. Skating your fingertips over every part of him—his shoulders and arms, his chest. The little swell of his belly, and he squirms in discomfort but you reassure him. Whisper that he’s perfect. That you wanted him from the moment he moved in next door.
And your mouth, kissing a careful trail across the planes of his body. You linger in certain places—the junction of his shoulder and neck, and he can feel your smile curving against his skin when an involuntary moan slips out of him. You linger at the scars he has, as if the soft press of your lips can heal any lingering pain there.
Frankie tries to touch you back, smooths his palms over as much of you as he can reach, but you’re too focused on him. Almost worshipful in the attention you lavish on him, and it’s the strangest feeling ever: a sense of safety, of calm, shot through with hot-blooded lust and the sharp ache of desire.
You only part when he can’t handle it anymore, when he mutters a warning that he’s not going to last much longer if you keep torturing him so sweetly. You apologize with a light laugh and release him, and he reaches for the condoms that he had moved to the bedroom earlier. Peels open the box, tears one off of the strip. Opens the foil and rolls the latex onto himself with hands that tremble, and then he lies back down. Holds his arms open in invitation for you.
He’d be happy to let you keep control, but when you climb onto him and mount him, Frankie’s own control snaps. He takes a single moment to relish the sight in front of him: you settled against his thighs, the straining length of him buried in the clenching grip of your pussy. The sight of you above him, your lovely breasts bouncing just a bit as you ride him in a slow, languid tempo.
His control snaps. Frankie grips your hips, and he sits up underneath you. Pulls you closer to him until your breasts are pressed against his chest. He wraps his arms around your back, holds you close, and he can feel your heartbeat against his. The pulse turning irregular until he swears that your hearts sync up and beat the same tattoo, and the saccharine thought makes him surge up to capture your mouth.
It shifts the angle, you in his lap like this. It’s hard for you to ride him properly, so you mostly grind against him, and he presses his hips upward for the fraction he can. It’s far more intimate than he’s ever had as a first time with a woman. With anyone else, Frankie would flee from such tenderness. Sex has always just been a release for him, but this feels like release and a connection.
The change in angle, the hot sweep of his mouth against yours—it does something for you. You grind harder against him, clutch at his shoulders as you rock in his lap. You slip one hand to the back of his head again, tangle your fingers in his curls and steer his head. Pull his mouth from where he’s sucking a mark against the side of your neck so that you can kiss him again.
You’re so quiet when you come. There’s no overblown theatrics, no yowling. No screaming out his name. It’s just your breath quickening, then a quiet moan against his mouth that he swallows down. Then a sigh, heavy and heartfelt, and he feels you still against him. Feels you shudder in his arms, feels the way you clench and ripple along the length of him, gripping him tight as a fist.
But it’s the way you whisper his name, the harsh, punched-out hiss of his name, your forehead pressed against his. The heartfelt oh, Frankie that pushes him over the edge. He only manages a handful of thrusts before he comes too. He turns his head and presses his mouth against your shoulder, lets your soft skin absorb the groan slips out as his orgasm rockets through him.
-----
The bedroom is chilly, which is a convenient excuse to stay in bed with you. You’re like a snake, slithering under the covers, seeking the heat of his body. Pressing the length of your own against him, which ratchets up his unending desire for you. What started as a Christmas gift with the thought of you taking pictures of the winter landscape ends as three days in bed, with occasional breaks for food and drink, until the food and drink and condoms run out.
When the two of you finally leave—you cast a glance over your shoulder as you climb into his truck, full of longing—and return to where there’s cell service, Frankie’s phone chimes with a million texts. Most of them are from the guys, speculating about where Frankie is.
Early in the string of texts, Pope wrote, “Fish is probably making good use of the present I left him.” Which of course led to an entire exchange of filthy innuendos that he only sees now.
“Everything okay?” you ask when you catch him frowning at his phone. The two of you stopped for gas and drinks, halfway home.
Frankie locks his phone and slides it into you pocket. He smiles at you and hooks an arm around your shoulders. “Everything’s perfect. Just catching up on texts. The guys are being…well, the guys.”
You laugh and wind your own arm around his waist, and Frankie kisses the side of your head. Takes a subtle whiff of you, that faintly sweet, warm scent. But now he doesn’t need to guess: you taste just the same.
“Will and Benny are throwing a party for New Year’s Eve,” he tells you. “Thought you might like to go with me.”
You squeeze him a little. “That would be nice.”
The two of you standing like this—in each other’s arms, your face tucked against him—Frankie has the courage to ask the question. He’s felt his anxiety rising each mile that separated him from the cabin, and he worries that it was just a fluke, just a few days of magic that will dissipate when you both return to being next door neighbors.
“Hey,” he says, and his mouth feels dry from nerves. He tries to channel the bravery he had in the military, and he pushes through. Swallows down his anxiety.
“What’s up?” you ask.
“Thought…” He hesitates, then forces the words out. “Thought we could make it official. If you want to, though.”
He can’t see your face, but he can hear the smile in your voice. “You asking me to go steady, Frankie? Be boyfriend, girlfriend?”
He smiles to hear your smile. “Yeah, I am.”
“Okay. I’d like that.”
He pushes you out of his arms so he can see your face. You tilt your head up to him, a soft smile curving your lips. Lips that are a little chapped after three days in bed with him.
“Yeah?” he asks, smiling wider. His heart thumps painfully in his chest, barely able to believe his luck.
“Absolutely, Frankie.”
He dips his own head and kisses you gently. He can’t believe his luck, actually: he moved in next door over a year ago, fresh off of his divorce. Broke. Broken down. Struggling with his addiction, feeling like a failure to his daughter.
And you saw all of that. Saw the mess he’d made of his life, but you saw so much more. You saw the potential of him, saw how he wanted to be a better man. Saw the goodness of his heart, the way he tried to be a better father.
You saw him. You see him. You always have.
~~~Tag List~~~
@bananas-pajamas @massivecolorspygiant @imspillingcoffee @amneris21 @paintballkid711 @mad-girl-without-a-box @bestattempt @rosiefridayrogersunday @strawberrydragon @hoeforthefictional @greeneyedblondie44 @leannawithacapitala @stardust-galaxies @buckybarneshairpullingkink @harriedandharassed @thatpinkshirt @isvvc-pvscvl @mrschiltoncat @stillshelbs @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @tobealostwanderer @nuvoleincielo @knivesareout @frankie-catfish-morales @prostitute-robot-from-the-future
#Frankie Morales#francisco morales#frankie morales x reader#francisco morales imagine#francisco morales x reader#catfish morales#catfish morales x reader#catfish morales imagine#Triple Frontier
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a sapphic lit primer 🌸
also known as, an opportunity to insist you read my favourites
if you’ve ever found yourself wanting to read more sapphic books, but not quite sure where to start, let this be the post for you! if you’re looking for even more sapphic books, i hope you find something in here too.
there are a few books on here i’ve not read, that i wanted to include to raise awareness of them, more than anything. those are marked by *. as such, you will probably also see a fair few more well known books and authors missed off (but i promise i know about them!).
this is not meant to be at all exhaustive! it’s a collection of sapphic books that i’ve read and would rec, meaning there are still tons more out there. & you can find some of those more at @sapphicreadsdb, readsrainbow (which i co-run with @tenderpotter), sapphiclitbot on twitter & my list of every sapphic book i’ve read.
as ever, this was meant to be a relatively short post. haha.
(i promise i did put links on this post, but for some reason those aren’t working on the blog page. dashboard version seems fine, i think.)
🌼 middle grade
🌻 contemporary
hurricane child by kacen callender
in the role of brie hutchens... by nicole melleby
hazel hill is gonna win this one by maggie horne
candidly cline by kathryn ormsbee
how to become a planet by nicole melleby
proud of me by sarah hagger-holt
the science of being angry by nicole melleby
middletown by sarah moon
p.s. i miss you by jen petro-roy*
almost flying by jake maia arlow*
in the key of us by mariama j lockington*
kenzie kickstarts a team by kit rosewater & sophie escabasse*
⚔️ fantasy
the strangeworlds travel agency by ld lapinski
the tea dragon society by kay o’neill*
📜 historical
tell no tales by sam maggs & kendra wells*
⁉️ mystery/thriller
goldie vance by hope larson
pepper’s rules for secret sleuthing by briana mcdonald
drew leclair gets a clue by katryn bury*
🦇 paranormal/horror
artie and the wolf moon by olivia stephens
🧪 science fiction
our sister, again by sophie cameron
🌼 young adult
🌻 contemporary
we are okay by nina lacour
this is what it feels like by rebecca barrow
the gay girl’s guide to ruining prom by siera maley
the liar’s guide to the night sky by brianna r. shrum
i kissed shara wheeler by casey mcquiston
the flywheel by erin gough
amelia westlake by erin gough
how to make a wish by ashley herring blake
taking flight by siera maley
like water by rebecca podos
don’t date rosa santos by nina moreno
all the invisible things by orlagh collins
orpheus girl by brynne rebele-henry
the henna wars by adiba jaigirdar
you should see me in a crown by leah johnson
love and other natural disasters by misa sugiura
rise to the sun by leah johnson
epically earnest by molly horan
if you still recognise me by cynthia so
truth be told by sue divin
thieves by lucie bryon
ask the passengers by a. s. king
starting from here by lisa jenn bigelow
annie on my mind by nancy garden
laura dean keeps breaking up with me by mariko tamaki
the stars and the blackness between them by junauda petrus
the last true poets of the sea by julia drake
i kissed alice by anna birch
fiebre tropical by juliana delgado lopera
melt my heart by bethany rutter
laurel everywhere by erin moynihan
every body looking by candace iloh
something certain, maybe by sara barnard
⚔️ fantasy
a dark and hollow star by ashley shuttleworth
the scapegracers by h. a. clarke
girl, serpent, thorn by melissa bashardoust
down comes the night by allison saft
engelsfors by mats strandberg & sara b. elfgren
summer of salt by katrina leno
from dust, a flame by rebecca podos
spellbook of the lost and found by moïra fowley-doyle
girls made of snow and glass by melissa bashardoust
out of the blue by sophie cameron
witch, cat & cobb by j. k. pendragon
girls of paper and fire by natasha ngan
the afterward by e. k. johnston
the never tilting world by rin chupeco
the midnight lie by marie rutkoski
the dark tide by alicia jasinska
the midnight girls by alicia jasinska
sweet & bitter magic by adrienne tooley
wench by maxine kaplan
way of the argosi by sebastian de castell
ash by malinda lo
the raven and the reindeer by t. kingfisher
the last magician by lisa maxwell
shatter the sky by rebecca kim wells
we set the dark on fire by tehlor kay mejia
queen of coin and whispers by helen corcoran
ghost wood song by erica waters
these feathered flames by alexandra overy
the bone spindle by leslie vedder
into the crooked place by alexandra christo
edie in between by laura sibson
crier’s war by nina varela
the winter duke by claire bartlett
sofi and the bone song by adrienne tooley*
girls at the edge of the world by laura brooke robson*
dauntless by elisa a. bonnin*
📜 historical
dangerous remedy by kat dunn
forgive me if i’ve told you this before by karelia stetz-waters
the pearl thief by elizabeth wein
heavy vinyl by carly usdin & nina vakueva
valiant ladies by melissa grey*
a curse of roses by diana pinguicha*
⁉️ mystery/thriller
far from you by tess sharpe
the girls i’ve been by tess sharpe
people like us by dana mele
summer’s edge by dana mele
the truth about keeping secrets by savannah brown
i hope you’re listening by tom ryan
eight pieces of silva by patrice lawrence
bad things happen here by rebecca barrow
the things we don’t see by savannah brown
the hollow inside by brooke lauren davis
throwaway girls by andrea contos
you’re next by kylie schachte
a lesson in vengeance by victoria lee
the sullivan sisters by kathryn ormsbee
cold by mariko tamaki
the killing code by ellie marney*
rules for vanishing by kate alice marshall*
🦇 paranormal/horror
the dead and the dark by courtney gould
to break a covenant by alison ames
shallow graves by kali wallace
wilder girls by rory power
afterlove by tanya byrne
house of hollow by krystal sutherland
specter inspectors by bowen mccurdy
burn down, rise up by vincent tirado
hollow by shannon watters & branden boyer-white
missing, presumed dead by emma berquist
perfectly preventable deaths by deirdre sullivan*
the dark beneath the ice by amelinda bérubé*
ghost walk by kay solo*
🧪 science fiction
joyride by jackson lanzing & collin kelly
crownchasers by rebecca coffindaffer
the good luck girls by charlotte nicole davis
cosmoknights by hannah templer
jane, unlimited by kristin cashore*
🌼 adult
🌻 contemporary
summer of the cicadas by chelsea catherine
take a hint, dani brown by talia hibbert
in the event of love by courtney kae
night tide by anna burke
beautiful world, where are you by sally rooney
spell heaven and other stories by toni mirosevich
far from home by lorelie brown
once ghosted, twice shy by alyssa cole
spindrift by anna burke
cow girl by kirsty eyre
the split by laura kay
tell me everything by laura kay
everyone in this room will someday be dead by emily austin
transcendent kingdom by yaa gyasi
the fat lady sings by jacqueline roy
conversations with friends by sally rooney
flamingo by rachel elliott
the wrong end of the telescope by rabih alameddine
a map of home by randa jarrar
mostly dead things by kristen arnett
patsy by nicole dennis-benn
little fish by casey plett
undone by bryce oakley
satisfaction guaranteed by karelia stetz-waters
tack & jibe by lilah suzanne
all at sea by cheyenne blue
i kissed a girl by jennet alexander
january embers by hildred billings
the simple answer by lily seabrooke
under the rainbow by celia laskey
the world cannot give by tara isabella burton
la bastarda by trifonia melibea obono
the one hundred years of lenni and margot by marianne cronin
all are welcome by liz parker
the romance recipe by ruby barrett
disoriental by négar djavadi*
the thirty names of night by zeyn joukhadar*
bastard out of carolina by dorothy allison*
among other things, i’ve taken up smoking by aoibheann sweeney*
marriage of a thousand lies by s. j. sindu*
honey girl by morgan rogers*
too much lip by melissa lucashenko*
delilah green doesn’t care by ashley herring blake*
the secret lives of church ladies by deesha philyaw*
the barrens by kurt & ellie johnson*
28 questions by indyana schneider*
there are more things by yara rodrigues fowler*
⚔️ fantasy
the unbroken by c. l. clark
the jasmine throne by tasha suri
wild and wicked things by francesca may
the true queen by zen cho
isola by brenden fletcher
the impossible contract by k. a. doore
foundryside by robert jackson bennett
the traitor baru cormorant by seth dickinson
the empress of salt and fortune by nghi vo
the bone shard daughter by andrea stewart
blackheart knights by laure eve
the velocity of revolution by marshall ryan maresca
the gracekeepers by kirsty logan
in the vanishers’ palace by aliette de bodard
the priory of the orange tree by samantha shannon
thorn by anna burke
penhallow amid passing things by iona datt sharma
sing the four quarters by tanya huff
city of lies by sam hawke
moontangled by stephanie burgis
burning roses by s. l. huang
a master of djinn by p. djèlí clark
ashes of the sun by django wexler
fireheart tiger by aliette de bodard
bestiary by k-ming chang
the black coast by mike brooks
night flowers shirking from the light of the sun by li xing
the councillor by e. j. beaton
silverglass by j. f. rivkin
water horse by melissa scott
high times in the low parliament by kelly robson
into the broken lands by tanya huff
the fire opal mechanism by fran wilde
among thieves by m. j. kuhn
the factory witches of lowell by c. s. malerich
the forever sea by joshua phillip johnson
the final strife by saara el-arifi
brother red by adrian selby
the winged histories by sofia samatar
the vanished queen by lisbeth campbell*
the northern girl by elizabeth a. lynn*
the bladed faith by david dalglish*
the worthy by anna k. moss*
📜 historical
the wicked cometh by laura carlin
the pull of the stars by emma donoghue
she who became the sun by shelley parker-chan
infamous by lex croucher
devotion by hannah kent
under the udala trees by chinelo okparanta
after the wedding by courtney milan
heathen by natasha alterici
mrs martin’s incomparable adventure by courtney milan
the night watch by sarah waters
tell it to the bees by fiona shaw
kept animals by kate milliken
a lady’s desire by lily maxton
the ophelia girls by jane healey
that green eyed girl by julie owen moylan
the perks of loving a wallflower by erica ridley
the companion by e. e. ottoman
her countess to cherish by jane walsh
paris, 7a.m. by liza wieland*
mademoiselle revolution by zoe sivak*
dark earth by rebecca stott*
⁉️ mystery/thriller
dirt town by hayley scrivenor
the lighthouse by fran dorricott
after the eclipse by fran dorricott
the final child by fran dorricott
proper english by k. j. charles
the last place you look by kristen lepionka
the better liar by tanen jones
fortune favors the dead by stephen spotswood
real easy by marie rutkoski
the best bad things by katrina carrasco
the case of the good-for-nothing girlfriend by mabel maney
the kill club by wendy heard
bury the lede by gaby dunn
beloved poison by e. s. thomson
the lady upstairs by halley sutton
ash mountain by helen fitzgerald
last call at the nightingale by katharine schellman
return to blackwater house by vikki patis
payback by charlotte mills*
a reason to kill by eve zaremba*
the heard by andrea bartz*
snare by lilja sigurðardóttir*
amateur city by katherine v. forrest*
the savage kind by john copenhaver*
the dime by kathleen kent*
the verifiers by jane pek*
🦇 paranormal/horror
abbott by saladin ahmed
the animals at lockwood manor by jane healey
black water sister by zen cho
hearts in the hard ground by g. v. anderson
they drown our daughters by katrina monroe
meddling kids by edgar cantero
yellow jessamine by caitlin starling
our wives under the sea by julia armfield
briefly, a delicious life by nell stevens
dead woman’s pond by elle e. ire
tripping arcadia by kit mayquist*
🧪 science fiction
a memory called empire by arkady martine
this is how you lose the time war by max gladstone & amal el-mohtar
the unspoken name by a. k. larkwood
the space between worlds by micaiah johnson
dead space by kali wallace
the quantum thief by hannu rajaniemi
ninefox gambit by yoon ha lee
ancillary justice by ann leckie
motor crush by brenden fletcher & cameron stewart
unconquerable sun by kate elliott
compass rose by anna burke
a big ship at the end of the universe by alex white
the light brigade by kameron hurley
empress of forever by max gladstone
the doors of eden by adrian tchaikovsky
seven of infinities by aliette de bodard
hard reboot by django wexler
last exit by max gladstone
sisters of the vast black by lina rather
gods, monsters, and the lucky peach by kelly robson
so happy for you by celia laskey
battle of the linguist mages by scotto moore
bluebird by ciel pierlot
an ancient peace by tanya huff
god’s war by kameron hurley*
barbary station by r. e. stearns*
this will kill that by danielle l. roux*
valkyrie by meg ludwa*
night sky mine by melissa scott*
the stars undying by emery robin*
🌼 poetry
if not, winter by sappho, trans. by anne carson
floating, brilliant, gone by franny choi
evohe by cristina peri rossi
bestiary by donika kelly
soft science by franny choi
rummage by ife-chudeni a. oputa
the world keeps ending and the world goes on by franny choi
bone by yrsa daley-ward
dream work by mary oliver
living as a lesbian by cheryl clarke*
womanslaughter by pat parker*
oral tradition by jewelle l. gómez*
the black unicorn by audre lorde*
hermetic definition by h.d.*
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🌻Grey’s Anatomy masterlist🌻
Amelia Shepherd
Somebody that I used to know
Even though years change people, the love for them stays the same.
#grey’s anatomy fic#grey’s anatomy#grey’s anatomy imagine#grey’s anatomy fanfiction#grey’s anatomy masterlist#amelia shepherd#amelia shepherd x fem!reader#amelia shepherd x y/n#amelia shepherd x you#amelia shepherd x female!reader#amelia shepherd x reader#amelia shepherd fanfic#amelia shepherd imagine
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hi, I’m Isabelle. 🌻💛
I started going by Amelia yeaaaars ago for a whole lot of reasons. I didn’t like my name; didn’t like myself; didn’t like where my life was; needed to feel in charge of something. something this last year shifted for me. I feel so at peace and happy and confident in my life now and where it’s going and I think it’s time to reclaim my name.
plus it sounds so good when my boyfriend says it. 🤤
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why did my friend send me this i thought we were past chain mail
" Hi can u put your name in it and send it to 10 different people We’re trying to make the longest iMessage for the 2021 Guinness World Records. Put your name below (copy it) and send it to 10 people, Don’t be th e one to break the chain
🐱Sylvia🐱
🐷Sadie 🐷
🦋Brynley🦋
🌸Karsyn🌸
🐴Carly🐝
⚾️Matthew ⚾️
😎Spencer 😎
🏀JoJo🤙
⛸Olivia⛸
👌Tessa👌
💔madison💔
🐉Elise🐉
🌻Lacey🌻
🦎Gabriella🦎
😝Siobhan😝
🤤Bella🤤
🥴Mia🥴
🤪Kaylee🤪
😒Allegra😒
🍫Daniella🍫
🤠Audrey🤠
💖Kortney💖
🥶Kayla 🥶
🤘🏼Brianna🤘🏼
🏁thomas🏁
🌈Justine 🌈
📍Aniyah 📍
🔐Priscilla🔐
🦄Marissa🦄
😹Lauren😼
☺️jocelyn☺️
🌺Janneth🌺
🦋marycruz🦋
💔Evelyn💔
🍎Karina🍎
😇Anjela😇
💙Janice💙
🖤Astrid🖤
💎Audrey💎
💍Mia💍
❤️Layla❤️
🤞Emily 🤞
💋Aaliyah💋
😁Melanie😁
😜Brenda 🥎
⭐️Maria⭐️
🥵dezire🥵
🤩Melissa🤩
🤣Alex🤣
🍯giuliana🍯
🥺Madelyn🥺
🥱Laryssa🥱
🐱Emerson 🐱
😛Amelia😛
⚽️Gracie⚽️
🥸Sierra🥸
🥎Ava🥎
⚽️Katia⚽️
🐷thea🐷
😈Marissa😈
🐘McKenna🐘
🦒Rylee🦒
😱Skyler😱
🤪Kimmy🤪
🤸🏻♀️Abby🤸🏻♀️
🦮Aubrey🦮
😛Bryn😛
🥳Embry🥳
🎉Sawyer🎉
🦄Willow🥳
🤪Stella🐶
👋🏻Kaitlyn🦄
⚽️Sedona🥰
🤤Lucy🤣
😷Maureen😷
😺Keira😺
😇Molly😇
😚izzy😚
✌️CJ✌️
🤣Levi🤣
🐶Nicky🐶
🔥Rohan🔥
🏈 Vishal 🏈
🌐Arthi🌐
🦊Sahithi 🦊
🐶Homa🐶
🐣Chetan🐣
🦜Saketh🦜
🐰Sravya 🐰
🦚Bhavita🦚
🌊Saanvi🌊
🥳Sloka🥳
😜Raaga😜
😁Sriram😁
🐘Risha🐘
🥸Cora🥸
🤪Riya🤪
💕Navadha💕
💔Ally💔
🥀Seher🥀
✌️Lauren✌️
🙃Emily🙂
❤Addison💜
💃🏼Jacqueline 💃🏼
Chloe🏒
Alex🏒
😻Audrey😻
✨Raegan✨
🐶Sienna🐶
⚽️Meg⚽️
🏄 Reilly 🏄
😂Lyla😂
😋Hailey😋
💗Gigi💗
🥳Evelyn🥳
✌🏽Willa✌🏽
🌻Bianca🌻
🥵Jaylah🥵
💋Sariah💋
💀⛓Corine ⛓💀
🤠Jessica🤠
🫐Brei🫐
🙃🥸Jenna🥸🙃
💖Alexis💖
🤍Mia 🤍
💗marli💗
🎀Aylah 🎀
😎Breanna😎😎
😏Ava😏
🌻Bella🌻
💛Avery🌻
🧩Makenzie🧩
🪴Merrill 🪴
💕 Kendal 💕
🍬Chloe 🍬
🍭 ♡Taylor ♡🍭
🍡𝙼𝚊𝚍𝚍𝚒𝚎🍡
💋💄MARYLIZ💄💋
💖Aniya💋♥️
💁🏻Adia😂❤️🥳
😜Reece😜
🐻Keira R.🐻
🥳Karis🥳
🐝✌🏽Hannah ✌🏽🐝
🤩Mandie🤓😏
🤗Arial🤗
💋Samie💋
🤪Tom🤪
🦊Lexi🦊
🐺Rainey🐺
🍀Jeseni🍀
✨Isaac✨
👉fabian👈
🏀Dominic⚾️
📣Amie⚾️
💖Johannah 💖
📣Amie⚾️🥁
🦥C
arlyn 🦥
🏵Emily 🏵
🍔Taylor🍔
🦋𝓴𝓪𝓼𝓱🦋
♡︎𝔸𝕟𝕟𝕒♡︎y
🤤𝕃𝕚𝕝𝕝𝕚𝕒𝕟🤤
🌈Caroline💥⚡️
✨Vanessa✨
🐋Caroline🥥
🌺Sofia🐾
🏳️🌈 Rayno 🏳️⚧️
🍄Kate🐛
😂📚Lucy🤩🤦🏼♀️
🥰Katie⭐️
🏃🏻♀️🤪𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚐𝚎📖🥸
👽🍕SAdiE🍕👽
🥝🧸 Tessie!! 🧸🥝
🍑Lucy🍑
🍍grace 🍍
😋Ada😍
💀 Lucas 💀
🤩Allie🤩
😭Pheobe 😭
🦻🏻 Sierra 🫀
🥭Lydia🦦
😁Elliott😝
😩Zoey😏
⚽️Tristin🫐
⚽️𝕃𝕀𝕃𝕐⚽️
🟩Aubrey♠️
♎️ANNORA🏳️🌈
😎Peighton😘
🤓Joanie🤓
🏐Kylie😜
🏆Kate😂
🌙Selah🔑
🦄Kinsley🌈
🥎Hadley🥎
❤️Bailey❤️
🩰Audrey🩰
🦩Lailagh🦩
🐾Kailee🐾
🍉Macy🍉
⚽️Malia⚽️
Layna⚽
Fiona😜
🏀Brooke🏀
🌸Lily🌸
🌊Brooklyn
🐷Tinzley
🤗Emilio🤗
🦖Gisella 🦖
🦋Nolah 🌼
💅illy💅
🌺Khloe🌻
🐛Eisley🦋
🐸Alyssa🪱
🦕Avery🐋
☁️macey☁️
🐳Bella🐳
💛Tarah🍄
🧊Eli🧊
🙃Peyton🙃
🏈 Will 🤪
⚽️Marvin🔥
⚽️Dominic🥶
⚽️Parker😝
⚽️Noah 🤡
⚽️Caden 🇮🇪
⚽️Brady🤨
🏈Nate🥍
🐓Conrad🐔
😏Ishan🎾
🏀Drew😭
🏈Gavin🏀
🍓Mia🍓
⚾️Gavin🏀
⚽️Davis🏈
🏋️♀️Marc🤼
🏀Quinn🏀
🏀Liam🥍
🏒Jack⚾️
🏒Joey🏈
😎Carson🦆
🌸Isabella🌸
🐢Ava🐢
🧸Makayla🧸
⚽Evangeline👑
🌸 Beatrix🌸
🐸丂ㄖ千|乇🐸
🦑 LuCiA🐳
🐬Claire🐬
🐱Stella🐱
🐧Max🐧
🐾 Abby-Rose🐶
💛Sadie🌸
⚽️Amelia⚽️
🎬Daphne🎬
😂N҉a҉d҉i҉a҉😂
🥎Hailey🥎
🥵Zoey🥵
🥶Kylie 🤫
😏Phoenix🏐
🧃Olivia🧃
🤍Evy🤍
😋Natalie😎
🌈Ailey🌈
🏀Sophie🥎
🥎Julia🏐
🥎Abby🏒
🏐Lily🥎
🥺Claire🥍
🤪Ava🦋
⚾️rylan🏒
🥓Daniel🏒
😤Brady🥶
💴Wesley🐤
Colton💪
💞Leighton💞
❤️Trinity❤️
🥎Ava🥎
⚽️Gracie⚽️
🐶Anna🐶
😎Molly😎
🌸Taylor 🌸
✨Greta✨
🇸🇪Jordan🇸🇪
🌑🐺Natalie🐺🌑
😍Olivia😍
🌺Dailyn 🌺
🩰Whitney🩰
🍩Harper🍩
❤️Kaylee💞
🏀Ava🐶🐔
🍉Charlee🍉
🐻Bridget🐻
🌮Jacqueline 🌯
🦒McKinley⭐️💫
🌻Alli👭
⚽️Emery🐶
🦆liv🏒
🍓Evie🍓
🏐Roci🐶
🐵Alivia⚽️
🐱 Aria 🏊♀️
🐢Maggie🍌
🍄 Evelyn 🍄
👾Isaac 👾
🍕Pearl 🍕
🐹Margaret 🐹
🥋Zoe🥋
🙄Piper🙄
👩🏻🎨Siri👩🏻🎨
♋️Piper♋️
👩🏻🎨🥞🥗🍕🍝🍬Siri🛼⛸️⛷️🛹🎨
😺Maya😺"
temped to put my name and pass it on now
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For the Ask Game: 🌻🧩🦋
Please and Thank you!
Hi love, thank you for asking!
🌻 ⇢ tag someone you appreciate but don't talk to on a regular basis
@fionnrose and @atelier-amelia are both wonderful people to be in fandom with and play DnD with and have the patience of saints to deal with me, really. And they're both absolutely hilarious. <3
@madnessmadness Fantastic writer and person, I really blame my lack of brain and energy cells we don't get to talk with more. Same with @mydetheturk
@tardisready and @whatever-you-can-give-me are two writers that are just, wow, I'm not cool enough to be in same room with them, but they've talked with me?? And they're so nice??Just epic across the fucking board, truly. Just, their stuff rewires my brain and brands it into infinitely.
🧩 ⇢ what will make you click away from a fanfiction immediately?
My brain cannot parse it if there are no paragraph breaks. Sees a block of text and just makes the Windows shut down noise.
🦋 ⇢ share something that has been on your heart and mind lately
Is the noose you weaved the rope for kinder than the one someone purchased the rope for, at a store from some large manufacturer, 'best hanging rope this side of country' on the label?
Send me writer truth or dare?<3
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Amelia’s 5.1k Celebration
Dang, we just got done with 5k 😅 Y’all are amazing!!
I’m switching this one up a bit because I’d like to make these celebrations a bit more ✨ creative ✨
🌻 - I’ll look at your profile and tell you which character vibes give off (specify which fandom)
🍂 - Send me a character, a show, an artist, a song, practically anything and I’ll create a moodboard.
🍃 - Send me a mood/character/show/movie and I’ll create a playlist.
🍁 - Hot Takes! Let’s deep dive into our character’s psyches and discuss their trauma! Jk, but also not really lol
✨ - Headcanons. Choose something/someone from my many fandoms (listed under my name in my bio) and I’ll write something. (Let’s keep it PG, y’all!)
🌹 - WIP. Choose a fic and I’ll post a snippet!
tagging some lovely mutuals: @jcusack @mads-weasley @babygirl-jonathanbyers @darkroastjoel @betharmon @hopelessfandomfreak @dilf-din @yenfers @roughroadhaley @glen-powells @slmonsnow
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🌻🗺️
sunflower = hmm hmm hmm ... i think skywatcher...at least i dont think he ever had a pov? iii dont remember xp!! his story is really interesting To Me. also red from skyclans destiny teheee
map = well i could go on and on forever but i do really like amelia b's turn around amv, louixie's youre gonna go far kid amv, and anything rebe adventures/thunderc1an makes :3 oh also that one po3 era horror map to its alright by jack stauber
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Watson Amelia 🌻🔎 by AkiZero
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hihihi could u maybe do cym as emojis? love ya <3
FUN!
@karate-adjacent - 🔮
@god-nonsensical - 🛸 (<- tardis in disguise)
@a-dash-in-the-middle - 🎸(bowie's <3)
@the-girl-who-cried-wolf - 🎨
@mais-e - 🌼
@itsybitsybookworm - 🌙
@jonismitchell - ❣
@amelia - 🌻
@brian-ur-bruh - 🎸 (paul simonon's)
@stellaluna33 - 📝
@robarazziofficial - 🌌
@cadence-blackburn-for-queen - 🌹
@ithinkheknowss - 📖
@caseysbyers - ✍
@madwoman14 - 💜
@usermoa - 🧬
@terrainofheartfelt - 🎶
@insistonyourcupofstars - 🌠
@afterallhealingmyheart - 🌟
@thehoax - 🧫 (my friend petri dish :")
@gabrielcoded - 🍁 (because. clara <3)
@elevenriver - ✨
@lumiereandcogsworth - ☀️
@freakwiththeknifecollection - 💖
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Last Seen Blogs
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