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crayonurchin · 2 years

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How Alicarth got tangled in the criminal underbelly of a hopeless city

A short story of how Alicarth, my Dragonborn rogue, got acquainted with the man who'd be his shitty boss and accidentally save him from starving to death for 10 years

Mons belongs to @strawbkiwijuice

Alicarth was doomed to be small from the moment he was born. Dragonborn more often than not are broad shoulders, powerful people reminiscent of their heritage, but his parents were the products of rats nest. Mother was a slight thing, scales stretched taut over angular features, his father a pitiful scrap of a man. On top of that, there’d never been enough food even before they died, and Alicarth never seemed to grow more than a fraction every year.

Eight years of life and four months since he joined the hoard of orphans in this stain of a town, Alicarth was no more bigger than he’d been before. Perhaps even smaller, bundled up in a grown mans tunic held in place with a scrap of rope. Making due without shoes was fine, as was going without a waistcoat or cap. No, the troublesome bit was quickly becoming the cold, and his envious eyes were forever fixating on the equally downtrodden boys who had mercifully found jackets and shawls.

He hurried along, hoping his various hiding places were not yet claimed for the night. The bog was out of question, already starting to glitter with frost, and each alley was claimed by different groups. Drunks took one, companions of the night took another, and orphans claimed their own. But even then there was hierarchies. Gangs were top dog, taking the warmest doorways and abandoned buildings. The big and strong came second, the sneaky and conniving after them. At the bottom of the ladder sat the miserable and weak, and that was where many of them accepted a rapidly approaching death.

Not Alicarth thought.

Alicarth was miserable and Alicarth was weak, but he was NOT about to accept death.

The wind shot through the streets like a whip, making the boy stumble and shiver. The colder months brought out the worst in people, though this hardly felt possible in a pit as putrid as Rats’ Nest. Drunks who before looked you over now picked fights, angry it seemed at the very air itself and taking it out of whoever was unlucky enough to be near. The teasing of children morphing into near sadistic attacks fuelled by hungry desperation. If Alicarth was any bigger, he’d be taking out that same famished fury on whoever crossed his path, but even the vermin at his feet were too nimble to be stamped upon.

It hadn’t exactly been a productive day. Stealing from the market was a fine craft, as the vendors protected their wares fiervely, hardened to a rookie pleading face or begging voice and wiser to sneaky hands. It had been easier when it was warm and the ground spat out soft potatoes and wood flavoured carrots, but with each morning the stocks got smaller and the vendors got fiercer. Alicarth had watched most local groups of urchins trying all manner of tricks to pinch greasy pies or unripened apples, and almost all had failed. The air was dangerous with bared teeth and poorly masked sorrow, so most of the day had been spent on the road. Sometimes people passed through, usually a poor bastard in transit but occasionally a curious traveler. The travelers never stayed long, but before they ran you could tug at their heartstrings for a few coin. And if they were hardened, you could try tugging at their coin purses.

But nobody travelled through, and as soon as the sun crawled up it crawled away, letting the starless night drape the town in a windy frozen veil. This was only the start of the winter months. Alicarth was not schooled, and was not even sure if Rats Nest had a schoolhouse, but he wasn’t stupid. Unless he could find a secret place to hide away from the world and all its frozen cruelty, he would join the hoards of frozen brats and drunks that littered the cobblestones each and every morning.

So he walked, though he was faint for lack of food and his scaled feet were numb. There were beggars and drunks a-plenty against the buildings, the whites of eyes peering out of shadows to watch him closely. Alicarth paid them no mind. He had a destination to reach.

Rats Nest didn’t have much, but it did have a tavern, which seemed the only business in regular function. Those with coin to waste drank and laughed and fought until they could forget everything wrong with their lives, waking up kicked out the door or under tables with heads so sore only hair of the dog could save them. Others who climbed the ladder with the right connections did business there, discussing unsavoury deals and plans. Alicarth knew this because it had quickly become his favourite spot to hide in. He may have been weak and puny, but he was a very good hider. Tucked away under benches and tables, he could sit and enjoy the warmth and dry, snatching crusts of bread and ale dregs, all the while listening to the ins and outs of patrons. If the barkeep had seen his, they’d been kind and ignored him. Many guttersnipes had been turfed out for loitering without intent to pay, and they all cursed something fierce. But not him. His one victory was known only to himself.

He had no intent on staying there all night, just hoping to thaw his limbs and steal some leftovers. When his head wasn’t foggy he could figure out sleep.

It may have been his foggy head that made him do what he did next.

A man fell out of the tavern, clutching the wall for support, laughing at a joke nobody told. He was large, barrel chested and stocky, with golden scales that caught the light of the watery torches. At a passing glance he’d almost look impressive. Then he started shouting 99 bottles of beer on the wall and you remembered he was clearly a resident of rats nest.

Alicarth ducked behind an upturned crate, crouching down to stay out of sight. It was doubtful the man even know where he was, but all the same the habit stuck. Waiting for him to wobble by, Alicarth gave him a thorough inspection. He knew this man. His name was Mons- or something of the sort. He was in the tavern every single night, gambling and drinking until he was stupid, yet somehow always managing to seal dangerous sounding deals. Some people could make Rats Nest’s unique situation work for them, and Mons had done just that. While his underlings wore ratting thinning burlap, he wore clothes of hide and leather, metal buckles on his belt and boots. And he was clearly not wanting, his limbs and neck thick with muscle, dragonscale all but shining like a gold coin. People jumped out of his way when he walked, and even while alone and drunk as a sailor, not a single soul dared try anything.

All of these would be good indicators to leave him well and truly alone.

But Alicarth was starving.

And the coin purse was just… there.

Hung by a thin leather string on the man's belt.

He’d gotten good at pickpocketing over the months when it was abundantly clear there was no charity or work to spare. Unfortunately most people had nothing in their pockets to pick. But Mons? Mons certainly would.

Creeping out of his hiding spot, he walked in pace with Mons, masking the sound of his tiny footsteps with his lumbering stomps. No matter how much the man swayed and stumbled, Alicarth stayed behind him, making sure to avoid his peripheral vision. Before long he was upon the man, smelling the stale beer on his body. The coin purse was like a Christmas ornament, beckoning him over. He could almost hear it!

As Mons leant against the wall for breath, Alicarth took his chance, swiftly untying the purse and holding it tight to stop the coins from clinking, sliding the string away from the belt. Just before the string fell slack, a hand grabbed his collar and hoisted him up, making his squawk.

“Oi Mons, you’ve got a stray cat following you!”

One of the burlap goonies held him aloft by his tunic as if he were a kitten, laughing as he peddled his legs and tried to twist around to attack his grappler. Mons turned like a lumbering cow, eyes bleary and confused, though he seemed to sober up at the sight of a dirty faced brat clutching his coin in a vice.

“Well, you’re brave.” He muttered, eyeing Alicarth up and down. Alicarth snarled, burning furiously at how pitiful it sounded.

“Or stupid. J’yno who I am, kid?”

Even held aloft, Mons still towered over him. He wasn’t even particularly tall for a dragonborn, he was just… big. His deep voice alone seemed to give the air of a goliath, the dark shadows in his eyes making it clear he wasn’t to be messed with.

If he was going to die, he wouldn’t give these men the satisfaction of seeing how scared he was.

“You’re Mons. You trade drugs and news. You drink like a drain and girls only like your money.”

The man holding his aloft tightened his grip. Alicarth swallowed a whimper, keeping his eyes focussed on Mons and set into a scowl. It was at this point it began to rain, and it was the first time he considered the gods merciful for hiding his tears.

Mons didn’t smack him or stick a knife in his kidney. In fact, he held a finder to his chin, face furrowed in thought. Several moments trickled by like treacle, unable to be washed away in the approaching storm.

“Er, boss? What do you want me to do to ‘im?” The goony asked, breaking an apparent spell as Mons blinked hard.

“Right. Yeah, you can make yourself useful and fuck off. Leave the kid.”

When the man was too stunned to move, Alicarth kicked a leg back and delighted in catching his chest.

“You heard him, fuck off.”

Hissing, Alicarth was dropped directly on the ground, landing face first in the muck. He picked himself up and glared daggers at the man as he stomped wordlessly into the night.

“You listen, do you kid?” Asked Mons. Alicarth nodded.

“Mh. I listens. What’s it to you?” Mons stooped down to meet his eye, and Alicarth saw this man's face fully for the first time. His skull was like an ox, thick and adorned with chitinous horns that were menacingly large. Fangs peeked over his lower jaw, some cracked from previous fights but most intact. He was just as intimidating down here as he was up there.

“What do those girls say that make you think they only like my money, hm?” The voice was low and dangerous. It was a tone that demanded respect. But as far as Alicarth was concerned, he’d just wronged Mons. He was probably going to die. At least the dead aren’t hungry.

“They talk. They pass tricks onto each other. Their trick with you is to make you drink until you’re down. Then they get a night off and you pay em in the morning. They laugh at you.”

Mons stood up and looked behind him, so Alicarth couldn’t see his expression. He swore he heard dark muttering, but all that was gone when the man turned back.

“You’ve got a death wish, kid. I got people everywhere and all of them know one thing. Don’t piss me off.”

Bracing himself for a killing blow, Alicarth stood his ground with his fists clenched, breath held.

“Nobody would tell me shit like that if they wanted to live. Which is frankly, a fuckin pain. Now I got a score to settle. Thanks for the tip, kid.”

In a fell swoop Mons snatched back the coinpurse. Cold disappointment knotted in Alicarths stomach, but it untangled when Mons pulled out a shiny silver piece and rolled it between his fingers.

“I could use someone who’ll actually tell me the shit I need to hear. Do you want this, kid?”

He nodded, and cursed himself for looking so needy. Mons chuckled, and flicked it towards him with a -ting-.

“You can get another one if you find something out I’ll want to know. Otherwise, I want to stay away from me unless I want you, got it?”

Alicarth understood completely. He ran past the giant golden man and past the eyes of freezing nobodies.

Perhaps in the morning he’d kick himself for getting caught in this web. But not now. Right now he had a silver piece clenched so tight in his palm the engravings were imprinting in his scales. Right now, he had a lifeline.

Alicarth was small and weak and he was not going to die tonight.

#urchin art #urchin writes #dnd #d&d #dungeons and dragons #dragonborn #rogue #dragonborn rogue #alicarth #my very edgy boi and his origins #I literally set out to make a rogue stereotype with this guy and I love him #he's such an angy babi #also MONS #HE'S AN ASSHOLE #but it's complicated #IT'S NOT HE'S AN ASSHOLE

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tragedyslut · 10 days

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" you'll never get away from the sound of the woman that loves you " `some nsfw + angst`

a/n : angst ellie wow. based on the song above !! enjoy<3 some nsfw but not solely nsfw.

you and ellie had dated. it was, a good time for both of you. then you left her. just simply because you had commitment issues.. and an avoidant attachment style. it was just too serious for you.

you still thought about her, you were both still in Jackson, you had been with her back in Seattle. you were with her after joel died. you had been with her through everything, and you had left. you couldn't say you didn't regret it, because you did. but you had a new girlfriend, or.. sort of girlfriend. you were just talking,

meanwhile, ellie was still crushed by you leaving. she knew you had a new girlfriend. she couldn't help but lay in her bed and think about what you probably said to your new girlfriend now. did you tell her she was pretty? did you say that she loved you? did you actually commit to her?

she couldn't escape it. she began to not love you, to let go, but everytime she'd just run back to that same spot. waiting for you to miraculously come back. she wondered if you thought it was worth it, did you feel better now?

she knew you'd never forget her. or at least thats what she hoped everytime she was crying in bed about you. she was just so crushed. she could have loved you, really loved you, but you wouldn't let her.

One day she decided to stop wallowing in her pity, and show up at your door. this wouldn't do anything good for her, she knew that. if anything, it'd make things worse. but she just, needed to shout at you about how shitty you made her feel.

she knew where you lived. you hadn't moved.

god, she couldn't stop thinking about you.

she was laying in bed, pillow between her knees as she desperately rode it. she couldn't forget how you made her feel, sexually and in general. her clothea were discarded to an unknown corner of the room as she kept desperately riding her pillow.

after a while of no she relief all, she got frustrated. she was so desperately horny. she couldn't do what you did to her by herself.

in a daze, she sloppily pulled on her clothes and stumbled out of her home.

she walked down the rigid pathway from her house, towards the little scheme of houses you lived near. she kept thinking about you the whole time. she saw an old lady drinking tea in her living room, (whom she knew) who probably thought she was insane for wandering about this part of Jackson at this hour.

she finally got to your door, and didn't hesitate to knock on your door. she didn't even realize what she had done until you swung the door open.

you talking = small caps orange

ellie talking = orange italics<3

" ellie? what the actual fuck are you doing here? " you mumbled out, half asleep still. what could she possibly be doing here at this hour, and in her pjs no less.

" we need to talk. " she deadpanned, staring right at you.

" okayyyy.. well its 4am. can it not wait? " you said, still trying to keep your voice down because it was late.

ellie shook her head and pushed past you into the house. you had no idea how this whole thing would.. play out.

you followed her into the house, and then watched as she plonked down on your couch. you sat down next to her, giving her a confused and mad look.

" you're a dick you know that?? you left me and now you're just moving on! you left me like it was nothing!! you have no fucking idea how much you crushed me and you can just move on like its nothing!! "

" ellie. i haven't moved on. i think about you all the time. "

" why did you have to leave me like that..? i loved you. i really- i really could've loved you. but you didn't fucking let me. "

" ..what if i let you now? "

" what did you just fucking say? "

" ill let you love me. we can start again. "

ellie just started sobbing when you said that. it was everything she wanted, but she was just.. so upset. still.

" why did you not just stay.. " she sobbed out, not being able to contain herself. even when you embraced her, she only just kept sobbing.

after around an hour of her sobbing and breaking down, she finally pulled herself together.

" im sorry ellie. you deserved better than me leaving you like that. i promise. i won't do it again. if you'll.. just let us have another chance? "

" you can't ever get away from me and you know it. " she sniffled, giggling softly at her own comment. she was right though.

#Spotify #lesbian #ellie tlou #joel tlou #the last of us #tlou #tlou2 #ellie tlou smut #ellie williams smut #abby the last of us #abby tlou #abby anderson #abby being soft for once #abby being the dom bitch that she is #abby smut #ellie being a massive sub #sub ellie williams

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ijustreallylikecaptainamericaok · 1 year

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thoughts on old steve bc he is my religion (if you want to and also hi it's random anon again hope you are doing well!)

Hey! Well, I'm tired and out of it after a bunch of Halloween prep, but okay. :-D Hope you're doing good, too!

As for Old Steve, I have a whole tag for him, if that tells you anything. It's pretty simple to me, he's still Steve, so I love him. Plus, I'm glad that at least one version of Steve got to retire and just live. I wish we could've had more time with Old Steve in the MCU, but obviously they made him old so that he wouldn't have to be in it anymore. But ya get what I mean.

I know he was old for longer in the 616, but outside the issue with Deadpool (which I LOVED) I haven't read much of that period. I started the She-Hulk run that he appears in, but I haven't gotten to him yet. I'm looking forward to it, though. Oh! I've also seen the panels where he introduces Sam as Cap and says how he loves Sam "with all my heart." If he'd said that in the MCU I would've died. Though "That's why it's yours" already kills me enough. Just... overrun with feels.

Now with the positive stuff out of the way, fuck this fandom and the way it treats Old Steve. If people want to dislike the ending, whatever, but the ageist and plain gross things people have said (and continue to say) are just unnecessary. I swear, when this fandom isn’t being shitty about Old Steve, they’re being ableist and weird about pre-serum Steve, or acting like post-serum Steve isn’t the ~~real~~ Steve. It’s all so bizarre.

Thanks for the ask! :-)

(”thoughts on ___” meme)

#curious anon #replies #world's raddest grandpa #fandom woes

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x-mutation · 6 years

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The stucky feels is going to be 500x worse in Avengers 4 and here’s why

heavy spoilers for IW below

The Russos said that those who did not play a central role in IW will be important in A4, meaning that Steve will probably be pivotal to defeating Thanos and reviving those turned into ash.

Aside from Loki, no central recurring character truly died yet and to make space for phase 4, there will be heavy casualties. Some of the original avengers will be dead for good. e.g. tony stark. RDJ has no reason to continue to be iron man for money or for his career.

And of course Cap is also in the danger zone cause he already have a pretty complete character arc and a trilogy.

But Bucky isn’t because of the whole “White Wolf” thing that’s just set up. Marvel wouldn’t bother uttering White Wolf two times and giving him a whole end credit scene just to kill him off one movie later.

One of the cast members (was it Seb?) said that in a4 there is an epic scene of everyone together. So that means resurrection happens before proper deaths. ie. Steve gets to see Bucky come alive and they get to fight side by side. It would be a sweet reunion.

Sacrifices have to be made in order to defeat Thanos. So imagine Peter begging, “Mr Stark please... don’t go” as Tony’s arc reactor goes out. Or Steve uttering, “I’m sorry Buck, can’t be you till the end of the line this time...” as he does some dumb selfless suicide action and gets blown into a million pieces or fall into a pit like Gamora (would be nice to have a corpse like superman but I can’t see Cap dying from stab wounds). Cue devastated Bucky as the role reverses. This time, Buck is the one watching helplessly as his bff dies in front of him.

If marvel doesn’t want to kill off million dollar characters they can always pull a DCEU and show Cap breathing in his coffin or something.

Even if Cap doesn’t die we still get to see his reaction seeing his supposedly dead Bucky come alive for the second time.

And as long as Bucky is alive there will always be Stucky moments, and Seb still has five more movies in his contract.

#avengers #stucky #avengers 4 #marvel #infinity war #avengers infinity war #bucky barnes #captain america #infinity war spoilers #mainly because they are both going to have plenty screen time #can't wait to see where the white wolf thread is going #is it shitty to hope cap dies?#but in an epic way?#what if bucky becomes the new captain america like in the comic

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helloalycia · 3 years

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the new recruit [four] // wanda maximoff

summary: a stakeout with Wanda couldn't be so bad now that you were friends... right?

warning/s: none.

author's note: so glad you guys are loving this! it’s gonna start getting a little more interesting now 👀

"Surveillance? Again?! C'mon, Cap, it's so boring!"

Steve crossed his arms and looked down at me disapprovingly. "It's not supposed to be fun."

I frowned. "Can't you send Sam?"

"He's following a lead with me," Steve countered.

"Okay, well what about Nat? She loves sitting still and staring through a camera," I suggested. "Or even Vision! He literally can't get bored. He'd love this job!"

"It's you and that's final," Steve said sternly, before motioning between Wanda and I, who were sat around the empty table with him up front. "You're both the youngest, the least known and the most capable for this mission. You can remain undercover without anyone knowing and it doesn't require powers, so you'll be fine."

I sighed, already tired at the thought of doing a surveillance mission. They were my least favourite – stakeouts existed to make me suffer. And even though it was my job, I wasn't excited in the slightest.

The mission was to watch a target who Steve had suspicions would lead us to Brock Rumlow, the HYDRA agent that infiltrated S.H.I.E.L.D. and messed with Steve's best friend, Bucky Barnes. Steve had been tracking him down since he was supposed to have died almost a year ago and this was the closest he'd gotten, hence the urgency of the matter.

"Where is the mission based?" Wanda asked the important questions, since I was too busy sulking.

"Paris," Steve answered, and I instantly perked up.

"Ooh, Paris? I've never been there," I said excitedly, glancing at Wanda before noticing the stare Steve directed my way. I swallowed hard, smiling sheepishly. "Right. HYDRA. Bad guy. Sorry. Continue."

He sighed, massaging his head. "I know you can both handle this, that's why I gave it to you. It's a simple in and out stakeout. Follow the target, see if he can give you a lead on Rumlow's whereabouts, then come back. Easy."

Stakeouts weren't my thing. But I usually did them with boring partners. Wanda wasn't boring, and we were going to be in Paris, so surely this one couldn't be that bad.

"I'm trusting that you won't kill each other," Steve added with a warning tone. "I heard you guys are friends now. Let's hope I won't regret this choice."

I stared at Steve with a deadpan expression. "Oh, no. I'm definitely planning on murdering Wanda when we're there. It's the perfect opportunity."

Steve clenched his jaw, agitated by my unprofessionalism, which was strange since he usually cracked a smile. This Rumlow thing was clearly taking its toll. I felt a slap on the arm from Wanda, and I looked over to see her expression softening as she stared up at Steve.

"We'll get the job done, Steve," she promised him. "We won't let you down."

I exhaled quietly. "She's right. We won't."

He seemed to be put at ease as his shoulders relaxed. "Good. Thanks. Jet leaves tomorrow so you should get packing."

We shared a look before nodding. Paris it was.

—

3 hours in — 2pm

When Wanda and I landed in Paris at 11am, it was slightly chillier than I expected, but the flat we were subjected to was comfortable upon arrival. It was in a building opposite the target we were surveilling – some scientist who supposedly had a link to Rumlow, though we had to figure out what that link was.

The place wasn't too bad; I'd been in worse spaces on surveillance missions. This one was an open-plan, small-ish flat with a kitchenette, tiny fridge freezer, a couch with a shitty TV and two single beds. Could have been worse, I guess.

Wanda and I got to work immediately, with me taking the first shift on watching our target through the camera pointed at his window. It was our target's – Jackson's – flat and it gave us the perfect view of what he did, who he did it with and what he was saying. We had planted a microphone on his front door upon settling in, so we had very good quality audio of everything that took place inside.

Whilst I sat on the chair that was already growing too uncomfortable for my liking, looking through the camera and yawning at the lack of activity from Jackson, the front door opened and in came Wanda. She'd gone grocery shopping since two of us didn't need to sit and watch, and we needed to fill the cupboards since we had no idea how long this would take.

"Hey," she greeted when she set the bags on the kitchen table. "Anything interesting happen whilst I was gone?"

I sighed dramatically, lowering the volume on the radio before leaning back in my chair and glancing to Wanda. "He's been watching TV for the past three hours. You'd think he'd be doing something important since he's a literal scientist, but nope."

Wanda suppressed a smile as she rooted through the bags. "Well, I think I have something that may cheer you up."

I quirked a brow, intrigued. She pulled out something before holding it towards me. As I took it, a smile tugged at my lips when I recognised it as the Czech cookies she'd let me try that one time.

"I found them in the convenience store on the way back," she said as I tore open the pack. "It was very unusual, since we're in the middle of Paris. But turns out the guy at the counter was from the Czech Republic! Strange, but I'd like to think it was a sign."

I chuckled at her explanation, certainly finding it a coincidence, but a great one. "Well, thanks. This has definitely made my day better."

"I also got these," she added, before pulling out a pack of gummy bears from the top, and I was sure I couldn't have looked more overjoyed. "Your favourite, right?"

"How did you know?!" I asked with genuine surprise, before reaching out and grabbing the air with my fingers.

She laughed and held them out for me to grab. "Well, you eat them a lot which is a big giveaway. But I actually saw them in your cupboard one time when I tried to prank you."

I squinted my eyes at her playfully. "Wow. Of course."

I was kidding, but I was surprised that she'd noticed something like that. It was nice of her to remember.

She laughed again before beginning to put the rest of the groceries away. "I bought some food to last us the week, if we even stay that long."

"Awesome, thanks." I looked through the camera again, but obviously nothing had changed except Jackson was now grabbing a snack from the kitchen. "We can switch shifts in a few hours when my butt becomes too numb to feel."

"Sounds good," she answered, and I could hear her attempt at not laughing. If only she knew I was serious.

—

6 hours in — 5pm

I was reading a book on my bed when Wanda decided to startle me by throwing a jacket at my face.

"What the hell are you–"

"C'mon! He's leaving his flat!" she exclaimed before I could question why she'd jumped away from the camera.

Realising she was talking about Jackson, I widened my eyes and grabbed my jacket, before pulling my shoes on halfway down the steps and joining Wanda in leaving. When we got outside, we just about saw Jackson leaving his own building and caught up with him, following from a distance. That's when I realised that he was heading for the grocery store down the road.

"He's just getting groceries," I realised, stopping my speed-walking as he headed inside, before looking to Wanda with a judgemental expression. "Seriously? I almost fell down the stairs because of groceries?"

She smiled sheepishly. "How was I supposed to know?"

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "Oh, well. I needed the walk anyway. It was getting way too stuffy in that flat for my liking."

She gave me a knowing look. "It's only been six hours."

I shrugged. "Your point? A room is a room."

She rolled her eyes with humour. "Enjoy the fresh air because as soon as he's out, we have to head back."

"Yeah, yeah..."

"I'll cook something for dinner when we're done here," she suggested, making me raise my brows.

"I don't know whether to be thankful or wonder if you're doing it to get out of surveillance duty," I said suspiciously.

She shoved me in the shoulder slightly, though a smile ghosted her lips. "That's a perk, of course, but I'm doing it mostly because I want to eat something edible and don't trust to leave it with you."

I feigned offence. "Wow. Harsh." She tilted her towards me knowingly, making me sigh. "Fine, you're not wrong."

She smiled, before the two of us hung about in the distance, eyes on the grocery store entrance until we saw him return. It was the wrong time, but because we were trying to look inconspicuous, I started to think about when we first met.

"Hey, can I ask you something?" I asked, earning her attention.

She nodded, motioning for me to continue.

"You know a few days after we first met, like the first time," I started, "I was coming to apologise to you. In the training room."

"Okay..."

"When I walked in, you threw a bottle at my head," I reminded her, and she smiled awkwardly, suddenly avoiding my eyes at the memory. "I'm not, like, bitter or anything, but what was that about?"

She chewed on her lower lip as she thought momentarily, before looking to me apologetically. "At that point, I was practicing using my powers. And I just happened to be practicing with the bottle. I didn't mean to hit you. It wasn't done purposely."

Okay, I guess that made sense.

"But you never said sorry," I remembered, squinting at her curiously.

"I believe you swore at me straight away, not giving me chance to," she recalled. "And then I got mad, and like with everything else, it got out of hand and I just– yeah."

"Huh." I pursed my lips, thinking back to how stupid it all seemed now. Simple miscommunication and circumstance ruined so much of our time together.

"Why are you thinking about that anyway?" she asked, nudging me in the arm gently.

I shrugged. "I don't know. It just seems silly now."

She hummed in agreement. "It does, but it's the past. And we made up, right? Unless you still hate me and want to put another snake in my shower."

I cracked a smile at the memory. "Nah, I think I'm good."

She cursed in Russian under her breath and I laughed quietly before focusing my attention back on the grocery store.

Jackson didn't even spare us a glance as he began walking back home ten minutes later. We followed after him, noticing how he didn't stop to talk to anyone or make any stops on the way. When we returned to the flat, I took a seat at the camera as Wanda took to the kitchen to start cooking again.

Again, Jackson didn't do anything remotely suspicious until Wanda had finished making dinner and I actually needed to get up. Just my luck.

"One second!" I told her before turning the radio up and grabbing a pen and paper to note down what he was saying.

Wanda paused, standing beside me and hovering as I noted down Jackson's phone conversation. It was gibberish, but it was clearly code for something. I'd have to figure it out, but not right now since I had nothing to base it off. No previous conversations or anything. When he was done, he headed to the kitchen to have some dinner and that was the end of that. I sighed, rubbing my forehead as I tried to decipher what I'd just heard.

"Please tell me you're just as confused as I am," Wanda spoke up first, and I glanced up to see her furrowing her brows and pursing her lips.

"Very," I confirmed, before looking at my notes again. "It sounds like he's talking about some project he's working on, but I have no idea what it is."

Wanda squeezed my shoulder gently, making me shiver at the sudden, unexpected touch. "Forget it for now. Let's just eat. Today's been too long."

I nodded in agreement, knowing this was just one piece of the puzzle. Heading to the table, I saw the small spread Wanda had set out, along with both plates already made up with what looked like roasted chicken, roasted potatoes and vegetables.

"This looks amazing," I admitted, my stomach rumbling at the sight of it all. "It explains what's been smelling so good for the past hour."

She cracked a smile, an attempt to disguise from her pink cheeks. "Thanks. It's nothing too fancy. Just a recipe I learnt from my parents."

Her bashfulness was quite cute, I realised, before scolding myself internally for even thinking such a thing. I took a seat as she did the same opposite me, and I tasted the food instantly. Of course, it tasted better than I expected and I found myself staring at the brunette with disbelief.

"This is seriously delicious," I complimented as soon as I finished chewing. "Are you sure you weren't a chef in a past life?"

"Very sure," she said with a shy smile. "But I'm glad you like it. And I'm just glad it turned out well. I haven't cooked it in a long time."

I glanced up at her through my eyelashes, noticing the nostalgic expression that replaced her smile. She never spoke about her family, not since I'd discovered she even had a brother. So, this was new. And I found myself wanting to learn more.

"D'you miss it?" I asked without thinking, and she was as taken aback by it as I was, as she looked up unexpectedly. I swallowed hard, shaking my head when I realised how stupid I sounded. "I meant Sokovia. Though, I guess, it was dumb. Obviously you miss it."

She sipped her drink with thought, and the action was so prolonged that I was certain she'd pretend she hadn't heard my question, which we both knew was impossible. But then she set her glass down and her dark blue eyes met mine.

"Sokovia is– was my home," she said softly. "It was all I had for a long time. Was all Piet and I had."

She looked down to her plate at the mention of her deceased twin, and I felt extremely guilty for even bringing it up. I was about to apologise, but she spoke up again.

"I think that what upsets me most is that all anybody will remember of it is the war-torn streets and destroyed buildings, rubble filling the country from battles that weren't fair." She shook her head slightly, grasp tightening around her fork, contrasting the gentle expression she wore. "It's what I remember, too, I guess, but it wasn't always like that. It was beautiful."

The silence that hung in the air was too powerful for me to handle. I felt like anything I said would be fruitless against her pouring her heart out. Her lower lip trembled, but she sucked up a breath and met my gaze again. It was startling, intimidating and beautiful all at once.

"My dad used to have these old photos in our home," she explained, and I wasn't sure why she trusted me, but I felt lucky to have heard it. "They were photos of what Sokovia used to look like back when he was a child. And it was stunning. It was so full of life. We had some of our own, too. Family photos of us all. And now they're just... gone."

I didn't know what to say that would make her feel better because the truth was, I could never relate to that helpless feeling of losing my home like that. She'd experienced so much terror and heartbreak at a young age and I wasn't sure anything could make it better.

"To answer your question," she said after a moment, awkward smile forming on her face as she looked away, "yes. I miss it a lot. Always. But I can't do anything about it."

I set down my fork and tried not to second-guess myself as I reached across the table and rested my hand on hers. She looked up at the surprise contact and I offered her a small, hopefully comforting, smile.

"Thank you for telling me all of that," was all I could think to say that wouldn't offend her. It was the only thing that felt right. And thankfully it was, since she exhaled calmly and and nodded slightly, eyes fluttering close.

"Thanks for listening."

—

11 hours in — 10pm

Later that evening, after dinner, Wanda was happy to take the night shift. I told her that she could split it with me, since we'd both been up as long as each other and it could get pretty exhausting staying up by yourself, watching somebody sleep, but she insisted she could handle it. So, I got ready for bed and slipped under the covers in the dark.

"You sure you won't get bored?" I asked her, seeing the silhouette of her sat in the chair by the window.

She hummed lightheartedly. "This is our job, Y/N."

I knew she couldn't see me, but I gave her a knowing look. "Still."

A short laugh flew from her lips, momentarily lighting up the dark room. "I'll be fine. Just get some rest."

There was no explanation for the smile on my lips as I turned to get comfortable. "Okay. Just wake me if you need anything."

"Yeah, yeah..."

Falling asleep took no time at all – everything from waking up early to make my flight, the long flight itself, and having interrupted sleep throughout the whole thing was enough to knock me out in minutes. The bed wasn't the most comfortable thing I could sleep on, but it did the job. Maybe I was too tired to care at this point.

When I woke up to a sliver of sunlight streaming in through the curtain, I yawned and stretched, making an inhumane noise, before looking to see how Wanda was doing. Of course, when my eyes landed on her, I noticed she was slumped back in her chair with her head leaning on her shoulder in such an uncomfortable way that I was certain she'd have neck cramps.

I stretched once more before getting out of bed and dragging myself towards her, calling her name. She didn't answer, and when I stopped beside her, I saw that she was passed out despite the odd angle. I stifled a smile as I pushed her hair from her eyes; she was cute when she wasn't speaking.

My hand moved behind her ear to move her hair then rested on her neck as I straightened her head gently, hoping she wasn't in pain.

"Wanda, come on, you should get in bed," I said quietly, shaking her a little.

Her eyes twitched as she attempted to wake up and I moved the earphone from her ear, setting it to the side, before grabbing her hand with my free one and tugging her up.

"I'm sorry, I'm up," she mumbled, one eye opening and revealing a bright green colour, before snapping shut and squeezing with discomfort.

"It's okay, c'mon," I reassured, before leading her to the bed in her half-conscious state. "You should've woke me up if you were tired."

Her lips were still pressed together as she mumbled something incomprehensible. I rolled my eyes playfully before forcing her under the duvet and pulling it up to her chest. Thankfully, she was too tired to put up a fight.

"Go to sleep," I encouraged, a small smile curling on my lips at how innocent she looked when she was without the constraints of reality.

She licked her lips, giving me the slightest of nods, before doing just that. I squeezed her hand once before letting go, trying not to think about the absence of warmth. When I found myself lingering, I shook my head and slapped my face to wake myself up. Definitely still tired.

After popping the earpiece into my ear so I could still hear what was going on in Jackson's flat, I freshened up and had some breakfast before taking a seat at the camera, ready to begin my 'shift'. It was the same old thing for the first few hours, until he got a visitor at the door – a fellow scientist. I translated as much of their conversation as I could from French to English, and that's when Wanda woke up with a yawn.

"And sleeping beauty finally awakens," I teased playfully, turning to look at her.

She sat up and rubbed her eyes before breathing out through her nose. Her cheeks were a faint pink colour, which she attempted to hide behind a shy smile.

"Sorry," she apologised instantly, voice raspy with a lingering sleepiness and bringing out her accent much more than usual. "I didn't mean to fall asleep."

I chuckled, shaking my head and trying not to let my gaze linger. I couldn't help it, okay? She was a cute tired person!

"It's all good, but you should've woke me up if you were tired," I told her with a hint of seriousness.

I thought she'd decline, but she simply ran a hand through her hair and smiled sheepishly. "Maybe. Yeah."

A stifled laugh escaped my lips as I nodded to the kitchen. "Coffee should still be warm. Help yourself. I've got first shift anyway."

She smiled gratefully before rolling out of bed to wake up properly. I found myself smiling, too, as I turned back around and looked through the camera to continue working.

—

27 hours in — 2pm

"The Black Widow, easy," I named instantly.

Wanda rolled her eyes and handed me the notebook and pen. "Okay, it was easy because you can't really make it challenging. She's named after a spider. What else could I have done?"

I laughed as she crossed her arms, feigning annoyance, before taking the notebook and pen and knowing exactly what would cheer her up. We were bored, since Jackson was taking an afternoon nap, and there was only so much TV you could watch before the French channels became boring. So, we thought it would be fun to try and draw the Avengers without actually drawing them. Stupid, but very entertaining.

Wanda stayed quiet as I hid the page from her, detailing my drawing the best I could, before I flipped it around so she could see it.

"It's obscure enough to provide a challenge, but really easy once you make it out," I commented with an amused smile. "Plus, you have an advantage."

She glanced at the drawing and then at me, raising an eyebrow. "I do?"

"Yes! Now focus. It'll come to you."

Wanda chewed on the inside of her cheek with thought, tilting her head as she attempted to decipher my drawing. After thirty seconds of nothing, I gave her a look of disbelief.

"Seriously?! C'mon! It's not hard!" I exclaimed.

She scrunched her nose, unaware of how cute it was when she did. "I really don't know. I give up."

I sighed dramatically before pointing to the page as I spoke. "Okay, so it's you. Look. There's a magician's wand here, like 'Wand'–a. Then, there's a minimum, maximum lever here and I even circled where it says 'max' like 'Maximoff'. It's Wanda Maximoff!"

She continued to study my drawing before entertained laughter escaped her lips. "That's so stupid!"

I put the notebook on the table as I felt my cheeks heat up. "Well, I was quite proud of it, but okay."

Her laughter only increased, causing her eyes to squeeze shut and enhance the crinkles by them. Hands clutching her tummy to stop her from bending over, teeth on display as an addicting laugh sounded around us.

I smiled to myself, realising I quite liked making her laugh.

—

31 hours in — 6pm

"Did I ever mention how much I hate surveillance missions?"

Wanda hid her smile behind her cup of hot chocolate. "Only every half an hour."

I groaned and sunk further into the bench we were sat on, clutching my hot chocolate for warmth. Jackson decided to take a stroll to the park today, despite how cold and dark it was outside, so Wanda and I had no choice but to follow him.

But we'd been here for an hour now, waiting as Jackson, too, waited for his contact to show up and meet him. It was clear he was being stood up, but Wanda and I couldn't leave until he did, so we sat close together, trying to stay warm with our hot chocolates.

"Can we at least play a game?" I asked, looking away from Jackson and to Wanda with hopeful eyes.

She tilted her head, glancing at me sideways. "Fine. What do you want to play?"

I looked up in thought, eyes eventually roaming around the park for some idea of what we could do to pass time. Then the perfect idea struck me.

"You can read minds, right?" I asked rhetorically, and she quirked a brow patiently. "How about this. I guess what people are thinking and you tell me what they're actually thinking."

"Y/N," she started to decline, but I pouted.

"C'mon, it'll be fun! You said you only do that for missions and technically this is a mission."

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously and I gave her my best convincing smile. She eventually gave in, rolling her eyes and nudging me slightly when I nodded contently.

"Okay, him," she started, nodding subtly to a guy who was buying a hot chocolate from the vendor we'd gone to not long ago. "What's he thinking right now?"

I straightened up, a newfound energy taking over me as I watched him watch the vendor make his drink. Squinting with focus, I nodded with certainty.

"He's thinking about how he stuttered over his words when asking for his drink."

Wanda chuckled, raising her eyebrows. "What?"

"That's what I'd be doing," I said simply, making her laugh before focusing on the man.

A hint of red flashed in her eyes, fingers moving subtly, before she looked to me with a cocky smile.

"Well?" I prompted.

Her eyes twinkled with amusement. "He's thinking about how he can't wait to get home to his kids."

I scrunched my face up, unconvinced. "Nah, I don't think so."

She stifled a laugh before looking around for the next target. I glanced at Jackson meanwhile, but he was still pretending to read a newspaper, so I sipped my drink and waited for Wanda.

"That woman," she said, nodding to a lady who was bent over and fussing over her kid in a pram. "Go on."

I watched as the woman was pulling a hat over her kid's head, a disgruntled expression on her face. "Easy. She's wondering why the hell she decided to have kids when all they do is poop and cry."

"Y/N!" Wanda said between a grin, slapping me on the arm. "Don't be mean!"

"What? It's true!" I defended, though I appreciated the brightness her smile brought to an otherwise gloomy day.

She rolled her eyes before looking to the woman, using her powers to find out the truth. When red eyes returned to green, she gave me a knowing look.

"She's thinking about how she needs to hurry home before it starts raining."

Huffing, I glanced up at the grey, overcast clouds. "Me and her both. Can we go now? I'm cold and–"

I was cut off when a spit of water hit me in the eye, making me flinch. Then another, and another, and–

"Of course it's raining!"

Wanda laughed at my dismay, and I watched as the woman and her kid made a beeline for the exit of the park. She had the right idea – the rain was getting heavier in seconds, leaving me to pout into my cup and narrow my eyes at Wanda.

"Now can we leave?"

She put her empty cup in the bin beside us before pulling her coat closer around her and trying not to be affected by her now wet hair.

"Not until he does," she said responsibly.

I groaned yet again, pushing my hair from eyes and mimicking Wanda's stance in hugging myself. Stupid rain and stupid cold and stupid Jackson. Paris was not living up to my expectations, that was for sure.

"He's getting stood up, he knows that right?" I asked rhetorically.

A smile ghosted her lips but she said nothing. So, I sucked it up and sat there, trying not to let the rain bother me. But damn, was it annoying.

Half an hour more passed before Jackson decided to call it a day and head back home. Thankfully, that meant Wanda and I could go home, too. I practically ran back, wanting to get out of this horrendous weather and wrap up in warm clothes. Wanda seemed to feel the same, though I could tell she was dying to tease me when I entered our flat and shook myself off like a wet dog.

"That was the the worst thing ever," I stated, taking off my coat and shoes. "Let's never do that again."

"Or we could bring an umbrella next time," she countered with a mirthful look.

I rolled my eyes, squeezing my sopping wet hair into the kitchen sink. "I like my idea better."

She laughed at my dismay before heading to the bathroom and returning with two towels, one of which she tossed at my head. I pulled it from my face and stared at her with disinterest.

"What, do you need me to dry you with the towel, too?" she poked fun, tilting her head condescendingly.

I scoffed, looking away. "Please. I'm not a baby."

"Then don't act like it," she countered, making me glare at her.

We both dried ourselves the best we could and got changed into our pyjamas before wrapping a blanket around our shoulders and huddling around the camera by the window. Jackson seemed to be doing the same as us – attempting to get warm – but I was waiting for him to get in touch with the contact who stood him up.

It was getting hard to focus though, as Wanda's side pressed closely to mine, providing a warmth shielded in the blanket wrapped around us and making me forget all about the atrocious weather outside. Suddenly, her hand began to wave in the air, red wisps flowing from her fingertips. I turned slightly, realising she was boiling the kettle and preparing cups of tea for us without even looking. Impressive.

"Looks like your powers aren't completely useless then," I said casually, making her nudge me in the side to shut me up.

The smile on her lips was apparent, matching the same smile on my own.

—

47 hours in — 10am

"Okay, I'm gonna go have a shower," I told Wanda with a yawn, stretching my limbs at the same time. "Then I'll take next shift."

Wanda stood up from her place at the camera and quirked a brow. "I mean, technically, it's your turn on shift now."

I wasn't sure what she was hinting at. "What are you talking about?"

Her eyes flickered behind me and I soon realised it was to the bathroom door. "I was gonna have a shower."

"Just have one after me," I said, like it was obvious because it was.

"I've been up all night," she pointed out. "The least you can do is let me shower first."

I narrowed my eyes. "Exactly. You've been up all night and you knew when I was going to wake up, so you should have had a shower earlier so we wouldn't clash."

Unimpressed, she said, "I couldn't shower until you woke up. You'd want a shower as soon as you did anyway. It would have been impossible for me to shower earlier."

I rolled my eyes. "Look. I can't be bothered with this. Just wait and have one after me."

As I made a move to leave, I heard her say, "You have one after me!" then the sound of her feet hitting the ground as she broke into a run.

"Wanda!" I scolded, but attempted to run to the door before she could beat me there.

One cocky wiggle of her fingers and I tripped over the fallen duvet, sending me tumbling to the ground. I immediately pushed myself off the floor and bit my tongue when I found myself face to face with Wanda; she was stood in the doorway to the bathroom, smirking at me proudly.

"See you in twenty minutes," she quipped in an obnoxious voice.

I glared at her tiredly. "I hate you."

She grinned, waving to me, before closing the door in my face. I groaned loudly and headed to the camera to 'start' my shift. Sometimes she could be a real pain in the butt, y'know?

#marvel #elizabeth olsen #wanda maximoff x reader #marvel imagine #wanda maximoff x you #mcu #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff imagine #scarlet witch imagine #scarlet witch

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bookishofalder · 3 years

Text

Catfish & Sunshine

Frankie Morales x Fem!Reader Mini Series

Summary: Frankie is secretly in love with his best friend. Thanks in part to Benny’s shitty horror movie recommendation and stray ice cream, feelings come out unexpectedly during movie night.

Warnings: Language, SMUT, little angst, lots of fluff, poor writer understanding of US military benefits/retirement. WC 8,215.

A/N: I dreamed this up after rewatching Triple Frontier about a month ago (for the plot, of course) and let it sit for a while. Became inspired to finish it off this week and share it with you all-so please let me know your thoughts!

For over a decade, Saturday nights were, for Frankie Morales, usually spent with his best friends over drinks at their favourite bar. When deployed, the bar was instead smuggled whiskey that they shared under the stars, an attempt to imagine they were anywhere other than the current hellhole. As Special Ops soldiers, Frankie and his buddies had been through the worst of the worst together, until one by one they retired or were forced to retire, and then they were back to regular appearances at the local bar, for a while the five of them, then four.

Until Frankie met you.

Had someone come up to him during one of those nights years before and told Frankie that one day he’d be bringing you along to the bar to join him and the guys, he’d have laughed in their faces. But for a while, that was exactly what occurred, until you and Frankie grew so close that you usually ended up making different plans, like going mini-golfing, or lounging at his apartment and watching movies. Not that you didn’t love the guys, all whom you’d met except for Santi as he had been off the grid for just over a year when you and Frankie had met.

It was thanks to the elder Miller brother, Will, that he had even met you at all. Working at the VA office, Will had learned of one of the few retirement perks they had for putting their asses on the line for their country-physical therapy. And you came highly recommended, a star PT who had worked magic over his friends' ailments. Knowing Frankie suffered from shoulder and neck pains, Will handed him your card and encouraged him to book an appointment.

He hadn’t called straight away. He’d popped your card onto his fridge and every day he’d pass by it, consider calling, and then talk himself out of it. Until the pain became too much to bear, his latest menial job just a little too physical for him, causing him to consider using again just to dull the ache. But he’d walked by your card moments later and instead of making a terrible decision he had promised himself he’d never make again, he called your office. Made an appointment with your friendly receptionist, who thankfully had his name already because Will had put in a good word for Frankie and asked that they try and get him in straight away, whenever he finally did call.

Two days later Frankie was standing nervously in the treatment room, looking at a wall decorated with your various degrees and certificates. He was anxious not only because he worried he’d get his hopes up that this would help the pain only to be disappointed, but also because he had no idea what to expect. Years of service as a pilot had made Frankie into a man who planned, meticulously, leaving little in the way of surprises. But he’d reasoned that calling the office back and demanding they give him a minute-by-minute account of what the appointment would be like was probably going too far.

And then you had walked in and immediately his worries morphed into concern over the fact that he required a beard trim, that he looked like he’d just rolled out of bed and popped his usual cap on, probably appearing a little gruff. And fuck, he almost couldn’t breathe when you gave him the most dazzling, genuine smile like you were greeting an old friend. You were bright, a rare energy radiating off of you as though you absorbed it straight from the fucking sun, and you were beautiful. No wonder Will had winked at Frankie when he’d handed you the business card.

You were observant, introducing yourself and seemingly sensing his overall discomfort. Instead of launching straight to business, you gestured for him to sit and spent a good twenty minutes casually chatting, pulling information you needed from him while putting him at ease entirely. He learned then that Will had already sung Frankie’s praises, given you the heads up that he was a worrier and even told a few stories that showcased his talents as a pilot.

If Frankie didn’t know any better, he’d think his friend was trying to play matchmaker.

All thoughts of Will Miller, and pretty much every other thing on the planet, vanished the moment you laid your expert hands on to Frankie. You zeroed in on the worst source of pain and slowly worked away, and he could only agree with Will that you had magic hands. He could have died happily right then, as you chatted away and brought him the most relief he’d felt in years. You would pause occasionally to check in with his pain levels and make sure he was doing alright, always asking him to look at you to answer and searching his face as he spoke to ensure he was telling the truth.

The care you gave Frankie in just one appointment was enough to start him falling. And he kept going back, multiple appointments a week that not only had him walking taller, feeling lighter on his feet and reducing his migraines to seldom, but also allowing him to get to know you better. You were the kind of sweet-natured person that cried when you saw a sad commercial, laughed freely to the lamest of jokes, and seemed to wake up on the right side of the bed every day. You were sunshine, literal, tangible sunshine, and Frankie thought you might not even realize it.

Though Frankie had convinced himself early on that a woman as beautiful and kind as you could never be interested in a grouch like him, with his crows' feet and a closet full of demons. The longer he knew you little seeds of hope would sprout whenever he made you laugh so hard you had to stop the treatment just to hold your stomach as you giggled. Or when you’d share something with him innocent enough but, upon reflection, he would think it wasn’t something a normal patient-provider relationship would find exchanged.

But there was the age difference, a decade between you both that, if nothing else worked, would successfully extinguish his hope. He had wondered if perhaps you were just a decent people person, that the friendship he felt was there was entirely one-sided.

Until one day, a few months into coming to you for treatment, Frankie sat waiting for you to come in the room only for you to appear looking entirely unlike yourself. He booked his appointments always for the end of the day, a routine that promised he would get plenty of uninterrupted time with you and the conversation could flow without a time constraint. He had been so surprised that you weren’t grinning as you stepped into the room that he stood abruptly, filling with concern.

When he asked, softly, if you were alright, you didn’t brush him off like he might have expected. You instead looked up at Frankie, your lower lip trembling as your eyes filled with tears, and sobbed unexpectedly. That sound had torn a hole right into his chest and he had pulled you straight into his arms and hugged you close before asking you to tell him what he could do to help.

You ended up explaining that you had come in that morning to the news that a regular patient of yours, an elderly man you’d known the entire time you’d been working for the VA office, had passed away in his sleep. And you’d apologized to Frankie while sniffling and wiping at the tears, telling him you’d held it in all day but couldn’t do that when your friend asked you, and he had been baffled to realize you were referring to him. As your friend.

He had cut off your apology to hug you close again, smoothing your hair gently as he whispered calming words and sentiments to you in Spanish. And though you didn’t speak the language, you had since told Frankie it had done exactly what he’d hoped and made you feel all the better.

After his treatment that day, Frankie asked if he could take you for a drink to toast your friend's life. He waited for you to close up the office, and then you’d followed him in your car to drive over to his usual bar. And you both drank to the veteran who passed, then ended up ordering dinner and remaining at the bar until late, talking even more freely outside of the office. If Frankie didn’t already have it bad for you, that night sure sealed it for him.

After that, you and Frankie began texting regularly, sometimes even calling one another to share a funny story or talk about something in the news. He had joined you for your former clients funeral, his hand rubbing comforting circles into your back before he took you out for lunch, then you’d ended up at his place to watch a cheesy movie, ordering pizza when you both realized there was a sequel that, if it was as bad as the first, you absolutely needed to watch.

And just like that, Frankie saw his life altered completely when you became his best friend.

Currently, Frankie was seated comfortably on his couch, where he frowned at the TV playing a horror movie that you had insisted was supposed to be good, because Benny had recommended it. Considering the younger Miller brother could barely sit still half the time, that was supposedly good enough for you.

You were tucked into Frankie’s side, eyes fixed on the screen until a jump scare had you jerk, then twist your face to press into his chest, because you hated the gory bits.

“Fuck! How does this not scare you even a little, Frankie?” You whined, unknowingly causing Frankie to swell with pride when he heard the note of admiration in your voice. He had started to suspect that the reason movie nights were becoming exclusively scary movies was that you were determined to find one that actually frightened him.

So far, you’d had no luck. But Frankie didn’t mind, because though you were already a touchy person in general, you were especially clingy when you queued up the next horror flick as if you trusted him to keep you safe.

Frankie didn’t reply, his chest rumbling with silent laughter that made you teasingly poke his side. He jumped, because you knew exactly where to aim, then cleared his throat. The scene ended, and he began to extract himself from your grip. “My sweet tooth is calling, cariño. I’m going to get some ice cream.”

You let him go, your head popping up, a big grin on your face, “Can I have some too, please?” And he nodded, smiling at you before walking across the open concept apartment and into his kitchen.

He stretched his back before opening the freezer where he had some bars next to an off-limits pint of Ben and Jerry’s. You had put it there months ago, telling Frankie it was for days when you got together and one of you needed to cry over a bad date. You called it ‘emergency’ ice cream. Frankie considered it to be ‘fuck you’ ice cream, because every time he opened his damn freezer he saw that pint and ended up thinking about how neither of you had been on a date with anyone since becoming friends over a year before, then falling into the same circular argument with himself-that the friendship was too important for him to feel the way he did, that he was jumping to conclusions and maybe you had gone on a few good dates that you just didn’t tell him about, and he was out of his mind if he thought you would ever feel the same way.

“Here you go, Sunshine,” He plopped back down next to you and passed you your bar, watching as you beamed at him widely, the inevitable result of his use of the nickname he’d dubbed you with a long time ago.

He desperately hoped you never realized the amount of affection truly behind that nickname.

Because how could he even begin to explain that you were literally sunshine in his dark life?

“Thank you,” You pulled the wrapper off, glancing at the movie and frowning. “Uhg. Benny promised the one was good! I’m starting to think he only recommends movies if they have at least one pair of tits.” You took the first bite of your ice cream bar while Frankie nearly choked on his own.

Amused as he was whenever you joked about your shared friends, Frankie also loved it when you swore. You were a goofy, happy little thing most of the time and curse words just seemed so out of character for you, pulling laughter from Frankie any time you caught him by surprise. You spent your days around gruff veterans and never seemed to lose any light, no matter how many real horror stories you heard. So whenever you managed to sound so uncharacteristically blunt, he couldn’t help but laugh.

“Benny has always been a tits man,” Frankie agreed, and you giggled. He tried to refocus on the movie then, but it hadn’t captured his interest in the least. After a moment, you spoke again and he had to work on not choking.

“What are you, Francisco?”

Your tone was playful, light; Frankie’s head jerked in surprise to gaze down at you and you wiggled your brows, going for laughs. You seemed completely unaware of the roaring in his ears, the visceral reaction your words brought forth within him. You and Frankie had shared intimate tidbits like that before with one another, often during nights at the bar with the Miller brothers. After a few drinks and usually, because his friends knew exactly how he felt about you and tried to steer the conversations into dangerous waters and watch Frankie try to save himself.

Only, Frankie’s friendship with you during the last few months had become...deeper. After the operation Santiago had brought Will, Benny, Tom and him in on, your relationship had evolved. Because that nightmare had reminded Frankie just how dark shit could get in the blink of an eye, and he’d had to do things he thought he was done with when he retired from service. Worse, because they were just civilians using Santi’s connections and intel to rob a drug lord.

And you had no idea what he’d gone through, how hard he’d fought just to get home to you because he couldn’t-wouldn’t-tell you. Yet you still patched him up, physically and emotionally, when he’d come home three weeks later than he’d promised. You held him as he cried and never became angry with him, never questioned him for answers as to why he’d come home with one less friend and a whole lot of mysterious trauma.

After that, Frankie realized he was hopelessly, irrevocably in love with you.

So a simple, flirtatious little question? Yeah, it really managed to fuck Frankie up.

His friends had sensed the change as well, noticed how you held Frankie up when he felt like he couldn’t stand, how you comforted them all when they got home and cried along with them over Tom, over Santi not coming home even though you’d only met him once, briefly. You held strong for him at Tom’s funeral, which prompted the Miller brothers to tell Frankie in no uncertain terms that he simply could not let you slip through his fingers. If that fucking mission had taught them anything, it was that life was too short and you might as well live it to the fullest.

But the thing was, Frankie depended on you. Your friendship was the one real, good, pure thing in his life. And you gave it so willingly and unquestionably even after what he put you through that there was no fucking way he was risking it by telling you how he felt.

Christ, you even had a spot in his bathroom for your own toiletries, a favourite pillow on his bed for the nights you stayed, a fucking hook for your coat that he installed just a little lower than the other because you were so much smaller than Frankie.

And still, he wouldn’t look at what that might mean because he was afraid, and as much as you seemed to think nothing scared him, the truth was that a gory horror movie, or losing his friend, or even fucking live combat could never come close to the fear he felt when he pictured life without you.

You were Frankie’s Sunshine, and he never wanted to be alone in the dark again.

Aware he was still gazing down at you, Frankie found himself entirely at a loss for words. You didn’t seem to mind, simply waiting for him to respond while taking small bites of your treat. His cock twitched at the combination of your words, the innocent way you gazed at him, because Frankie hadn’t touched himself in quite some time and it didn’t take much to drive him up the wall.

His life with you had become remarkably domestic, routine. You often stayed multiple nights in a row at his place, preferring his company over being alone, and the shorter distance to your office. His spacious condo had one large four-piece bathroom, which meant there had been a few times where one of you was in the shower and the other came in, desperate to use the toilet before their bladder could burst. The shower had a thickly frosted glass enclosure, which provided plenty of visual privacy from both sides, the only indication that someone was in the shower was a very faint tint. This was never an issue until it was.

Exactly sixty-two days prior (not that Frankie was necessarily keeping count of passing time since his last orgasm), you had burst into the bathroom one afternoon unexpectedly. Returning early from your jog because you needed to pee, while Frankie stood in the shower. He listened to you tell him about a cute dog you’d seen outside his building. The thing was, Frankie had expected you to be gone longer, and you were in the middle of a three-day visit that had left him needy and horny because he hadn’t had time alone and yet you walked around in his fucking clothes, slept next to him in his bed, and he needed release.

He was grateful the tinted glass prevented you from having any idea what he was doing on the other side. And he had been close already when you came in, one hand fisting over his cock while the other pressed into the tile wall, and guilt sprang up in the back of his mind because he had been thinking of you as he touched himself. And you were just feet away, unaware and fuck if that didn’t lead him to the edge.

But it was when you had sat down to pee and he heard you give a little moan of relief that Frankie lost it, giving in to the most powerful-yet silent-orgasm he had had in fucking years. Rope after rope of cum, his legs violently shaking, and he’d wondered if he would pass out it felt so good. Then you’d flushed and continued speaking, washing your hands before telling him you were going to put on a pot of coffee. And the guilt Frankie felt was so immense that he vowed right there he wasn’t going to touch himself again. He cared for and respected you too much to reduce you to his graphic thoughts without your consent.

Sixty-two days later and you were testing his limits unknowingly.

“I, uh, I’m not sure,” He replied, keeping his eyes locked on yours. You frowned a little, kitten licking the ice cream absentmindedly. Frankie almost groaned, wondering if you were trying to kill him. “I guess, it depends on the person.” He was never, ever going to admit he was a you man, that your ass, your perfect tits, your pretty little mouth were everything he could dream and more.

He tried to shrug casually, as if indifferent.

“I guess it’s a funny question,” You said after a moment, laughing a little, “I mean, no one asks a straight woman if she’s an ass or cock girl!”

Frankie took a too-large bite of his treat, the cold painful and giving him instant brain freeze but it was just the distraction he needed because seeing your plump lips wrap around the word ‘cock’ might just kill him. He coughed attempting to laugh at your joke despite the brain freeze, and you leaned closer in concern.

“Sorry, are you-ah, shit!” A piece of your ice cream bar, which you’d moved to hold higher as you were checking on Frankie, fell off and landed on your chest, instantly staining the pale pink t-shirt. You hopped up with a noise of discontent, catching the fallen glob and hurrying into the kitchen to toss it in the sink. “Damn it!”

Frankie reached out and paused the movie, standing up and intending to follow you. He took two steps, adjusting his cap as he moved, and then looked up to where you stood at the sink, running your shirt under the faucet. Freezing, he took it the sight of you standing in his kitchen, your shirt removed to run under the water, leaving you wearing yoga pants and a simple white bra. For a moment, he just shut down and stared at you dumbfounded, before internal alarms started sounding and Frankie’s eyes were sweeping over your curves, his eyes zeroing in on the lack of support your bra had, your breasts perky and full and fuck, he had to look away.

He looked up at his ceiling at cleared his throat “You uh, want me to grab you a shirt?” His voice came out much deeper than he was expecting. He hoped you didn’t notice, though with only being able to see your profile even if he did dare to look at you, he’d never be able to tell.

“Can I borrow your big sweater, please?” You asked him, and Frankie nodded as he hurried away, down the hall to grab the sweater he knew you meant from his room. He would have laughed at your suggestion it was his sweater when he barely got to wear it himself anymore, but he was trying to remember how to breathe.

Once out of sight in his bedroom, Frankie took a few steadying breaths before grabbing the sweater off the end of his bed. He was going to subject himself to a cold shower after he handed this to you because you were staying the night again and he could not climb into a bed with you this worked up.

One of the reasons that you and Frankie just worked as friends were your opposite ways of navigating life. Where Frankie was a detailed, meticulous planner, you flitted from idea to idea spontaneously until something landed right, and you seemed to enjoy pulling him along with you as you followed those random whims. And he let you pull him because he trusted you so completely. Even if he would still make a new plan in the back of his mind, it still felt like he was taking chances he never would have without you leading the way.

Planning was Frankie’s way of keeping control. Of keeping himself, his squadmates, his loved ones, safe and secure. After Columbia, where every bit of the plan had gone completely to shit, he’d needed to let you lead more often just so he could feel grounded because he didn’t trust himself any longer. And you had been happy to lead, to test his limits by pushing aside any planning he attempted and pull him from his comfort zone. You had taught him how to grapple with his instincts and his desires, giving him real-world methods to cope, including breathing as he was now.

So focused as he was on his breathing, Frankie hadn’t noticed you had joined him in his room, standing just inside the doorway. If he had heard you, he wouldn’t have spun around abruptly and take two long strides before realizing how close you were, nearly knocking you over as he did. He dropped the sweater when he reached out with both hands to grab your upper arms and steady you, and then he met your gaze.

Frankie couldn’t say whether it was the heat of his hands on you so unexpectedly, or the way you each shivered at the electricity that seemed to pulse from him to you. Maybe it was everything combined, years of friendship, longing and pining and then almost dying in the middle of the jungle only to come home and have you climb into his lap and sob in relief that he was home, and a million other moments in between.

But when Frankie met your eyes there in the doorway of his bedroom, he knew his expression was giving him away completely.

You were looking at him with wide eyes, your mouth slightly open in surprise, whatever words you were going to say long since lost. And then he saw it, was looking right at you when your expression shifted, no longer the innocent, playful woman but instead, one who was suffering just as much as he was, longing and love and this hunger on your face he’d never seen before.

Without hesitating, without thinking or planning his next move, Frankie tugged you against him and leaned down to slot his lips over yours, taken aback when he saw you close your eyes and stretch your neck up to meet him. When your soft lips connected to his, Frankie trembled and groaned, loving the feel of your body pressed against him, the way you smelled like something tropical, how even with your perfect curves you were so small compared to him. Kissing you was everything he’d dreamed and more.

He wanted to deepen the kiss, taste you, but even as he thought it his mind jumped ten steps ahead and imagined you on his bed and he had to stop himself from getting carried away. With great effort he pulled back, first breaking the kiss and then taking several steps away, panting heavily.

“Frankie?” You were out of breath, confused, and deliciously flushed. He could see your nipples tightened against the thin fabric of your bra, goosebumps along your skin. Just the knowledge that he’d had that kind of effect on you was enough to make him want to cum in his pants right there.

“Cariño, I can’t, I’m sorry,” It was physically painful now, his hard length straining against his jeans, but he was more concerned about you, and how afraid he was to lose you. “I-I’ve wanted to do that but you gotta know, I love you. I’m in love with you.” He couldn’t meet your eyes, instead choosing to look at his feet and rubbing his hands over his face.

You approached him again, just as quietly, taking him by surprise when you spoke from just inches away. “Frankie, look at me,” It was an order, a tone you rarely used but that always worked on grounding him, and he realized you understood he was struggling right now not to break down, terrified he’d fucked up the best thing in his life in a moment of weakness. He reluctantly met your gaze, swallowing thickly as he did.

“I need you to hear me right now, okay? Tell me.”

“I’m listening,” He confirmed, heart about ready to beat out of his chest, “I can hear you.”

“Good,” And you closed the gap between your body and his, pressing your hands into his shoulders. Frankie caught his breath. “I want you to do that again, and I don’t want you to stop. Please, kiss me again, Frankie, because I love you too and I’ve never wanted anything more in my whole life than I want you-“

Frankie cut you off, a growl ripping from his chest before he gathered you roughly into his arms and kissed you again, this time quickly swiping his tongue across your lips for permission to enter, and you gladly parted them for him, moaning when his tongue licked into your hot mouth. He slid one hand to the back of your head, his fingers weaving into your hair carefully before he pressed your face to his, needy to taste you more, to get drunk on you. Fuck, you were perfect.

When you whimpered against him, the sound almost lost in his mouth, Frankie moved, walking you back until you hit the wall and crowding you there. He ran his free hand across the bare skin of your side, heat coursing through his veins when you shuddered at his touch, keening for him. He hadn’t realized he was rolling his hips against you, his erection pressed into your stomach until one of your small hands somehow slipped between your bodies and ghosted over the front of his jeans curiously.

“Fuck,” He broke the kiss, this time simply to lower his head and kiss along your jaw, down your neck, “Sunshine, I fucking love you, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, sweet girl.” He licked the column of your throat as he moved to the other side of your face before biting gently. The sound that tore from you was so filthy he groaned again, dropping both hands to grasp your forearms.

“Frankie, fuck, don’t stop,” You were tugging at his shirt, and despite your request, he had to move back slightly to pull it over his head, his bare chest revealed to you and even though you’d seen him shirtless before, the intimacy of this time, of finally being with you after so long, made him self conscious. If you saw anything you didn’t like, you didn’t show it. Instead, you bit your lip as your hands tentatively roamed across his chest, trailing over his stomach lightly enough that he shivered. When you spoke next, you yet again took Frankie completely by surprise, your brows furrowing as your expression became more than just hungry, “Mine.”

You whispered it, but to Frankie, it was like you’d just announced it to the entire world. The possessive edge wasn’t lost on him, no, it shot straight to his core and snapped the final cords of his restraint.

“I should...I need a minute, Sunshine,” Frankie pressed his hands into the wall on either side of you, “I haven’t done anything in a long time, haven’t even cum, I don’t think I can be as sweet to you as I want to be.”

Your lust-blown eyes met his, “Why haven’t you cum?” He could hear trouble in your voice now, the not so careful way you spoke pulling dangerous images in his mind as he stared down at you, his jaw tense. When Frankie made no reply, you pressed your pointer finger to the middle of his chest, your eyes never leaving his as you slowly, lightly, moved it downward, trailing his dark hair. “Is it because you think of me? Are you that amazing that you won’t even let yourself cum because you think it’s wrong to think about me like that?”

A strangled noise was all he could respond with, his hands pressing desperately into the wall. You knew him too well, understood exactly what he’d meant without having to ask. And then you kept talking, and honestly, Frankie was floored at how dirty you suddenly were for him.

“I have to admit, you’re better than me, Frankie,” That finger trailed so slowly, closing in on his belly button now, “I’m not good like you, I think about you all the time. Especially when I touch myself, usually after I’ve spent a ton of time with you and I can’t fucking wait for a second longer. Wanna know what I picture?”

His voice was husky, a warning if ever there was one, “What did you picture, sweet girl?”

You moaned, your finger now closing in on the waist of his jeans, “You, bending me over the couch, that one is a favourite. Or waking you up with a blowjob, swallowing everything you’ve got because I know you taste delicious,” You unbuttoned his jeans now, sliding the zipper down with care, “But I think the winner, the one that always makes me scream your name, is thinking about riding you, Frankie. Climbing in your lap and just-“

Fuck, fuck he couldn’t hold back. He’d told you he couldn’t and yet you wouldn’t shut up and all thoughts of making love to you gently were out the fucking window, Frankie instead growled deeply and grabbed you by the arms, all but throwing you on the bed. You were smirking up at him, your eyes dark with lust and shining with triumph.

“Fuck, sweet girl, you wanna scream my name?” He removed his pants and briefs in one motion, his cock spring up, hard and leaking precum and you licked your lips, giving a little whimper at the sight of him. Frankie grasped himself, pumping his hand a few times as he stood over you, “Like what you see?”

“Jesus, Frankie-you need a new nickname,” You said, eyes glued to his cock, “Catfish makes no sense when you’re walking around with that fucking bat-wait!” He froze in the middle of removing his ball cap, looking at you with concern to see you bite your lip a little shyly, “Keep it on. The hat.”

Warmth spread through him at your request and Frankie replaced the hat on his head, then dropped to his knees next to the bed, his hands running up your thighs as you writhed. At your waist, he grasped the tops of your yoga pants and tugged them down, enjoying the way your body arched when you lifted your hips to help him. The only item of clothing either of you wore now was you in your bra, and fuck were you a sight.

Frankie gazed up at you from the floor in awe, his eyes roving over you hungrily as you watched him, propped up on your elbows. He started kissing up your thighs then, pushing your legs apart and spreading you, his hands kneading your flesh. “Sweet girl, you have such a pretty pussy, better than I imagined.” He moaned, biting into the soft flesh of your inner leg and drawing a whimper from you, “I can fucking smell you already, so wet and ready for me, fuck.”

“Oh god Frankie, please, touch me. I can’t wait anymore, I need you!”

“Told you,” Frankie climbed over top of you, his legs on either side of your body as he reached down and dragged you further onto the bed, his show of strength making you whimper, “It’s been a while. And you walk around here wearing my fucking clothes all the time. You don’t know what you do to me, Sunshine.” He grunted as he repositioned himself between your legs, his hands grasping the backs of them to haul your body against his, his cock pressed painfully against your thigh, “Gonna fuck you, sweet girl.” And with one careful, quick motion he thrust forward and each of you cried out at the pleasure of Frankie filling you.

“Frankie! Oh!” Your legs wrapped around him instantly, urging him as deep as possible as he split you open so deliciously. Once he was fully seated within you, Frankie dropped forward, propping himself on one arm, and cupped your face with his free hand. He looked into your eyes as he started a fast, hard pace, thrusting deep and reeling over how wet you were for him, how perfectly your velvet folds wrapped around him.

“Fuck, cariño, you’re fucking tight,” He grunted, kissing you sloppily as you threw your arms around him, hugging him close, “So tight for me, so perfect making those pretty noises, fuck.” Frankie groaned when you clenched around him as he spoke, “You like it when I tell you how perfect you are?”

“Ye-yeah Frankie, I love it. Oh, fuck!”

You were trembling now, squeezing him each time he whispered in your ear. Frankie kept up a string of praises and filthy words, taking note of the ones that had you gripping him extra hard.

He’d always had a casual enjoyment of dirty talk, nothing over the top, easy enough to shut off if it wasn’t enjoyed by the other person. But something about talking like this to you had his balls tightening that much faster, his thrusts becoming brutal.

Still murmuring in your ear, Frankie lowered his hand to your clit, experimentally rubbing, circling and pinching it to see what you liked. He was going to cum soon, and he’d be damned if you didn’t cum too. Though, as Frankie settled on circling you, both feeling and hearing how this was definitely how you liked it, his worries quickly dissipated when your hips were suddenly bucking up to meet his and you were screaming his name.

“That’s it, let go for me sweet girl,” Frankie’s thrusts were becoming increasingly sloppy as he neared the edge, “Are you-fuck, where should I?” He couldn’t even form a sentence now, he was so close and you were squeezing around him so perfectly as you closed in on your orgasm.

You understood though, your eyes meeting his as you pulled yourself together enough to reply, “Frankie, cum inside me please, please fill me up, pleasepleaseplease-“

“Fuck! H-here you go, perfect little thing!” He roared, dropping his weight over your and growling as he spilled inside you, as you bucked and writhed beneath him and screamed out, toppling over the edge and into oblivion with him. He heard himself cursing in Spanish as he experienced the most intense orgasm of his entire life, his hips slowing to continue to draw it out, still more cum filling you and you were a wreck under him, shivering and moaning.

“Yes, Frankie, yes.” You whimpered, your hands sliding into his hair-knocking his cap off-and tugging at his curls.

It took several minutes to recover, though Frankie had enough awareness to shift his weight so that you could breathe properly. Still hard inside you, he began to kiss you all over, peppering your face and neck before biting a few more marks into your neck, his tongue laving out to soothe. He enjoyed the way you whimpered when overstimulated, twitching when he pinched your nipple over your bra, squeaking his name when he pressed himself as deep inside you as he could one last time before pulling out.

Frankie collapsed on the bed next to you, then quickly tugged you into his arms and kissed the top of your head. His fear began to bubble back up now that the haze of passion was clearing, and he was starting to question every single moment that had occurred since you'd asked him if he was a tits man or an ass man.

What had he done? Was he going to lose you after this? Lose his entire reason for living for one amazing orgasm?

But it was like you could reach his mind, as only a few minutes had passed and then, with a little groan, you pulled yourself up so that you were on your elbow, looking down at Frankie. You took one look at his face and frowned, “That was quicker than I thought.”

Frankie stared at you, “What was?”

“I guessed it would take more than two minutes for you to start regretting this.”

Sighing, he pulled himself up, sitting on the edge of the bed. You followed, but crossed your legs and shuffled next to him. “I meant what I said, I love you,” Frankie explained, rubbing a hand over his face, “I love you so much, so fucking much it hurts. But the idea of messing this up is terrifying me, Sunshine. I don’t think I could lose you, I think it would kill me.”

“Frankie,” You crawled over him, straddling his hips and settling into his lap. You cupped his face firmly, looking into his eyes. Your expression was open, warm and vulnerable and a little incredulous, “You aren’t going to lose me, not ever. I want this-I want you, and everything you come with, okay?”

Though his heart was soaring, Frankie still worried, shaking his head, “I come with a lot of dark baggage, sweet girl. Not to mention the age difference.”

“Jesus, Frankie, do you really think I don’t know what I’m saying when I tell you I’m all in?” You asked him, not waiting for an answer before continuing. “I love you. Can I tell you when I knew?”

Frankie peered at you, his hands coming to hold your waist as he nodded.

“The boys trip.” You stated, using the term each of you agreed upon when referencing his three-week disappearance to Columbia. “When you first left, I knew something was off but I trust you, so I didn’t question it. But then after a few days, with no word from you, I started to really worry,” You paused, momentarily lost in thought, eyes dark now with the painful memory of his absence and the little information you’d come to learn about it since. “Did I ever tell you I booked a ticket to Columbia?”

This caught Frankie off guard because you most certainly had not told him that, “What, are you serious?”

“Yep. Booked it for the day after you ended up calling me. I don’t know what I was planning to do, but I knew you were there and, even if you were dead, I needed to be as well.” You stroked your thumbs over his cheeks, “After you called, and I knew you were alive and coming home, I realized that the way you said it meant you almost didn’t make it home, and I knew you weren’t saying something. I hung up and sat in my room for a minute and it occurred to me that you could have died and I would have never seen you again. That was when I knew it wasn’t just a crush.”

Heavy emotion filled his chest, rendering him unable to immediately respond. Frankie gathered you close and stood, clutching you against him and carrying you into the bathroom. He set you on the toilet before turning to his massive soaker tub and switching it on, fully intending on spending the rest of the night in there with you. When he turned around, you were carefully tidying yourself up. With a grunt, he grabbed a washcloth and ran it under warm water before kneeling in front of you and taking over.

“Why didn’t you say anything? After I came home, I mean.” His tone was light, as he didn’t mean to come across as accusing you of anything-it’s not like he had said anything to you. Good-natured as you were, you simply smiled at him, a little sadly.

“Too afraid, right at first,” You admitted, your eyes fluttering shut as he took care of you with the warm washcloth, “But when you came home you were a fucking wreck, Frankie. You lost your friend, Santi didn’t come back with you either, and Will and Benny had the same expression on their faces whenever I saw them. You saw some shit, did some shit, I don’t know and I’ll be real here, I don’t need you to ever feel like you should tell me what exactly happened. But after the first day you were back, I could see how much it changed you and I thought it would be selfish to tell you how I felt and add more emotional bullshit onto your plate.”

Frankie continued to kneel in front of you after tossing the washcloth into his laundry hamper. For a moment, the only sound in the room that of the tub filling. He stared into your eyes, seeing only how truthful you were being, how incredibly kind. He had never realized how completely he could love someone until he met you.

“I thought about you the entire time I was gone.” He admitted before carefully standing and checking the temperature of the water. He added a bath salt mixture that you’d bought a while ago, claiming it was a gift when really you were the one to use them, locking yourself away for hours to soak because you didn’t have a tub at your place. He shut the water off and held his arms out for you, which you eagerly stepped into and allowed him to guide you both into the water.

Once settled, your back against his chest, you replied. “Your face when you came home, I’ll never forget your expression.” His legs were on either side of you, and you began to lazily trace along his right thigh as both of you fell into your painful memories of his ill-fated trip.

Frankie sighed sadly, “I’m sorry I ever left, Sunshine. I never should have left you,” He tightened his grip around your waist under the water, one hand spread flat across your stomach, “It was just...fuck, everything went bad straight from the start. We had a moment of luck and then it was like nothing could go right. And I don’t know, I’m fucking gutted that Tom is gone, but it’s worse that Santiago won’t come home. He’s like my brother, and he blames himself for everything.”

Frankie knew you had no idea what he meant. You knew he and the guys were former special ops that served together, but when Santi had asked him to go to Columbia Frankie had only told you the basics-the country, who he would be with, that he might not have a lot of chances to call, and that it would be about a week. Santi had picked him up and you had been there to see him off that morning, and his friend had casually referenced a ‘boys trip’ while speaking with you as Frankie loaded his shit in the back.

Of course, you weren’t stupid. You worked with the VA, met a lot of former service members who ended up contracting out their skills after retiring or leaving due to injuries or lifestyle changes. And you knew Frankie, understood him like no one ever had before, which is why as he gave you further details you didn’t flinch or freeze up, you simply listened. When Frankie had gone quiet for a while, you eventually turned to gaze up at him over your shoulder, your cheek on his chest.

“From what I could tell,” You began slowly, your words cautious, “Whatever you did, what happened, you all put it aside to get Tom’s body home to his family. And considering the type of work Santi was doing out there for three years before he came here to ask you guys to join him, I figure you all must have almost died a few times each, probably took out some terrible men along the way.”

Frankie had to bite back his sob, turning his face away from you to stare, ashamed and remorseful at the wall. You reacted quickly, pulling yourself up and turning over, your naked body pressing over his as you grabbed Frankie’s head and gently turned him to look at you. “Baby,” You cooed, your eyes shining with concern, “Don’t do that, don’t hide from me.”

That was all it took. Frankie let the sob out and the relief of it was instantaneous, so much so that he let out another, then another, all while you held him and murmured soft, sweet words and pressing chaste kisses to his cheeks, his forehead, along his jaw. It didn’t last long, he’d cried so many times over everything that had gone down, but this was the first time you had revealed you sort of had an idea of what they had been up to, and you were still supporting him and loving him and it was all very overwhelming.

A short time later, Frankie wiped his eyes and shot you a grateful look, hoping you could sense how much he appreciated you. You settled into the water again, knees pulled to your chest as you faced him and trailed your hands comfortingly up and down his chest. “Sunshine,” He whispered, catching one hand and holding it against his heart, “I love you, thank you for being so fucking incredible.”

He tugged you closer, joining you in laughing when a little water sloshed up over the edge of the tub as you landed against him. You snuggled close and kissed him, your fingers carding into his curls and holding him steady. When Frankie took you to bed that night, there were no pillows between your bodies, not a shred of clothing separating you. He held you close, falling asleep faster than he had in years.

And for the first time in Frankie’s life, he felt whole and complete, like nothing could ever bring him into darkness again, not when he had you, literal sunshine, lighting his existence.

PART TWO

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obsidiancreates · 3 years

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A Basic Breakdown Of My Vampire Egos from My Base Vampire AU

Dark: Was turned by Actor in the 1920's, a small sliver of The Manor Entity is stuck in his soul and has influence over him. He fought to maintain his sanity for 30 years, but Celine's death broke him and The Sliver gained a lot of power. He's now obsessed with building a "family". He picks a target, stalks them, lovebombs them, makes them dependent on him, and turns them. He always asks first, only two have said no. He turned them anyway. He gaslights the family a lot, and basically keeps the entire city they live by under his thumb to make hunting easier.

Doc: Didn't want to be turned, always trying to escape. Vampires need to feed once a day to be healthy, Doc will push himself to almost two weeks without feeding. He despises Dark. He's forced to be the family doctor. Whenever he tries to escape, Dark always manages to catch him again. But Doc is made of Spite and A Moral Compass, so he always tries again. Dark's favorite, because Dark sees a lot of Damien in Doc and wants Doc to become just like Dark.

Bim: A total asshole. Raised by neglectful and abusive rich parents, he became obsessed with Getting Attention and Taking His Rage Out On Others. Also has the world's biggest ego. He runs the city's most popular gameshow, and no-one realizes that the contestants actually die. Everyone thinks it's CGI and special effects, and Dark helps cover up that the murders are real. Bim wants to be Dark's favorite more than anything, and is violently jealous that Dark pays so much attention to Doc. If Dark wasn't there to stop him, Bim would kill Doc.

Bing: A cyborg-vampire. He woke up in a junkyard with no memories, only know that he was a cyborg and his assigned name was Bing. He made his way to the city and met Dark while working a shitty job, and Dark became Bing's only friend. Bing suffered a lot from overheating issues and such in the past, but becoming a vampire fixed all of that. Dark saved him, so hes blind to Dark's true nature. He just wants Doc to be happy, but in those efforts adds to the gaslighting and invalidation of Doc's feelings because he just can't believe that Dark has any plans or feelings for them other than Caring. Best friends with Yancy.

Yancy: First person fully turned by Dark in the 50's, very soon after Celine died. At first he was horrified and fled but after killing his parents in a fit of Feral Hunger he went back to Dark as a form of self-punishment. Now convinces himself that Dark's belief of "Everyone is in The Family because Fate Says They Should Be" is true, because otherwise it means his parents died for less than no reason. Former musical actor, now only hums tunes to himself when no-one else is around. Best friends with Bing.

Host: Same basic backstory as in the Cyndago videos, but when he got shot Dark (whom had been his friend for a while) smelled the blood while walking over and came in. Dark turned Host right before Host bled out. Host's powers mutated thanks to the Vampire DNA and he lost his eyes. Very antisocial, spends most of his time in his room narrating what's happening with The Family and The Hunters. Lies to Dark about how strong his powers are so the story can play out naturally with no-one at any extreme advantages.

Eric: Almost died in the bus crash that killed his brothers, but Dark was also on the bus with him and turned him to save him. Eric is forever grateful to Dark for taking him away from Derek and fully believes that Dark is a good person and keeps them all safe. Spends most of his time in The Manor because Dark takes advantage of his anxiety disorder to keep him close. Drinks mainly from Blood Bags gathered by The Googles rather than going out and hunting.

The Googles: Androids that Dark found and brought home for Bing to repair. They were altered to have fangs and bags in their stomachs so they can gather extra blood so The Family always has an emergency store at home. Also Dark's personal weapons/bounty hunters. When Dark can't do something in-person he'll send a Google.

Wilford: Turned by Actor, not Dark, unlike the rest of The Family. Lost his mind because he couldn't handle being a monster and needing to kill to live, so his mind stopped processing that Death is permanent to alleviate the guilt. Mysterious powers that even he doesn't really understand, but as long as he doesn't cause too much trouble he's pretty much allowed to do whatever he wants.

Mark: A Vampire Hunter, in the world-wide Hunter organization. Also a vampire turned by Dark. Dark intended to bring him into The Family, but Mark woke up halfway through turning into a vampire and managed to escape. He was rescued by The DA and they're now best friends, and the best Hunters in the entire organization.

The DA: Was the first person Damien bit the morning he woke up a vampire, but was only half-turned. They live forever, but their strength and speed are capped (other vampires just get stronger and faster forever with no limits). Was a nomad for many years before The Hunters picked them up with the promise of Curing them someday. Had many trust issues before Mark came along and showed them how to have friends again. Likes knitting. Despises Dark because he's "a monster parading around in their dead best friend's body."

Celine: Fled The Manor after a close call where Actor almost bit her, and dedicated her life to finding a Cure for vampirism. Later she learned William had been turned as well, and even later that Damien had been. She put Damien and William up in the family cabin and brought them weekly blood bags while she and a team of gifted scientists/alchemists/magic users/scholars all searched for a cure. Sadly the stress and strain cut her life short, and she passed away in the cabin holding Damien's hand hopeful for her brother's future.

(Sadly, her group was taken over by someone greedy and horrible after he murdered Celine's chosen successor, and this group became The Hunters.)

Actor: Was turned by The Manor. The more souls The Manor controls, the more powerful it is and the more it can expand the borders of it's power. Actor was intended to be the tool to gather souls, starting with his family, but it all went wrong. Actor now refuses to ever leave The Manor, and spends all his time waiting by the door for his family to return. He's certain that they will, eventually, and refuses to turn anyone until they come back. The Manor has tried to force him to turn stray hikers who wander onto The Grounds, but with only Actor under it's control it's too weak to fully break his resolve.

And that's the basic summary! Though there's many iterations of this AU. Like the Sia RP. That's a whole other ballgame (that you can read on @a-vamp-and-a-half) or the many Anon Jim RP threads (also on @a-vamp-and-a-half but I'm bad at organizing so I'm sorry it's so scattered)

#markiplier #markiplier egos #Darkiplier #Dr. Iplier #wilford warfstache #bim trimmer #eric derekson #eric derickson #Dr Iplier #Actor Mark #WKM Actor #WKM Celine #celine the seer #Bingiplier #awhm yancy #the host markiplier #Googleplier #Vampire AU

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lottiebagleywritesobx · 3 years

Text

Love Language

At the time they'd made it the language had felt like no one would ever be able to understand it.

They were only 9 and JJ had been granted permission to stay at her house, her parents used to be around a lot, although they weren't anymore, and they'd always welcomed her blonde best friend leading to his near constant presence at their home.

It was late for two kids, maybe 10 pm, and they'd been wrapped in blankets in her box sized room that felt so much bigger when they were young.

They always got each other in a way no one else understood for reasons way more complex than a secret language they would use to write each other messages, but at 9, all they needed to know was that the language was another thing that tied them together.

It was simple: to spell a word you combine the first letters of the other words.

So to write Hello you would write Hungry Elephants Love Lollipops Okay

It had stuck a lot at first, they used it everyday and it drove Pope and John B insane, but as they got older it died out.

It was used a few times at 12 when they had an annoying teacher who made students read notes out if they were caught passing them, to everyone else it sounded like gibberish.

It was used once at 15, the world help spelled out when an older Kook boy wouldn't leave her alone and she knew he was reading her phone screen over her shoulder, not wanting to trigger him.

Now, at 17, she had laughed out loud when she'd unfolded the note tucked into her locker.

In JJ's scrawl that only she could read with ease.

Ukraine

Rollercoaster

Penguin Ranch Eyelash Tractor Tangerine Yoghurt

You are pretty. She blushed a little, looking around for any sign of the familiar blonde boy but he was nowhere to be seen, she tucked the note into her bag, hating the way he made her heart race, before shoving the books she didn't need over the weekend into her locker and walking down the corridor and out of the front doors.

When she arrived at the twinkie her friends were already there "Took your time," John B smirks from his open window, occupying the front seat

"She was probably busy flirting with Mack," Sarah teases from the passenger side

"For the last time Sarah, he just needed tutoring in bio,"

"You are shit at bio," Sarah smirks even wider

"Better than you sweetheart," The girl grins, climbing into the back and diving out of Sarah's reach as she moves to try and flick her. Both girls laughing loudly

"I'll get the door then," Pope chides

"Thanks P, i can't get too close or Sarah will attack me," She grins, Pope rolls his eyes but sends her a grin as he leans forwards to pull the door to the twinkie closed.

She moves through the seats to her usual space, she always sat next to JJ, no matter what. They could be drinking at the chateau, relaxing at the beach, adventuring on the boat. No matter what they were next to each other. It wasn't uncommon when one of them was feeling tired, or clingy, or touch starved for her to end up in his lap, his arms wrapped around her stomach and his chin on her shoulder.

She leans up pressing a quick kiss to his cheek, it wasn't uncommon in their friendship, often used as a greeting, a thanks or even just out of the blue, and so the other's don't think anything of it even though JJ feels himself melting into a puddle. What is a little different though is the way she grabs his hand giving it a tight squeeze before pulling her own away and settling down in her seat as John B starts up the van. He knows what it is. It's a silent thanks for the note, not wanting to say anything in front of their friends but it was a sign she got it and she was grateful for it.

He wraps his arm around her shoulder, his touch gentle but Pope gives him a knowing look, the touch is supposed to claim her. She either doesn't notice or doesn't seem to mind though, instead leaning into his now open side as she chats happily with Kie.

It's monday morning and JJ is in first period history. He fucking hates history, yet, it had become his favourite subject simply because it was the only one all 6 pogues shared. He opens his school bag with sigh, placing the textbook on his desk and starting to fish around the bottom of the bag for a loose pen.

Pope turns around from the seat in front of him, placing a pen on his desk with a knowing smile. JJ drops his bag to the floor, opening the text book only for a note to fall out.

Her neat writing fills the page and the smile on his face is immediate.

Umbrella

Rocket

Happy Ant Neck Drop Surf Olive Mars Egg

JJ tries to ignore the feeling of a red hot blush creeping up his neck as he turns to look at the next desk along, she's already looking at him with a smirk shooting him a week before turning to face the front, god if JJ can't feel himself falling.

It continues for weeks.

Tucked into the wind screen wiper of her old shitty truck.

Taped to the sandwiches she would bring him to lunch.

On her pillow when she went to bed one night.

Stuffed into the pocket of the hoodie she borrowed.

Her school bag.

The bathroom mirror at the chateau.

They both started to home a large collection of notes. Her's placed neatly in a drawer in her bedroom. His tucked in a box under the floor board that lifts up in the room he claims as his at the chateau.

"What you writing?" John B questions as he steps onto the porch

"Just a note for y/n,"

"You guys have been passing a lot of secret notes recently," John B comments, JJ shrugs placing the pen down "It's sweet,"

"What d'ya mean by that?" JJ questions, John raises his eyebrows giving JJ a knowing look before having a realisation.

"You still haven't told her you're head over heels in love with her?"

"No," JJ admits, he was way past his days of fighting back when his friends accused him of being in love with her. "I don't know how to. You know me, I never say things right and I just- I really don't want to fuck this up. Only got one shot at it,"

"So write it," John B shrugs like it's obvious

"I can't,"

"You can,"

"What if she doesn't feel the same?"

"JJ, you're the most annoying person I know and she puts up with you all the time and has done since you were 2 . She feels the same,"

She's only wearing a bikini and a tshirt that belongs to JJ when she exits her house on Saturday morning. Her plans to meet at the Chateau go surfing with Kie already made, she grabs her board and at first she doesn't even notice it, attached to the cool box full of water and fruit she'd loaded up the night before is a note.

Ice

Art Magic

Igloo Note

London Orange Venus Elephant

Wine Ill Tiger Hungry

Yam One Under

It takes less than a minute for her to decipher the note, abandoning her surf board and the cooler in favour of sprinting to the Cheateau.

JJ is seemingly waiting for her when she arrives, he's pacing in front of the house, going still the second he sees her.

"Are you kidding?" She questions, he's stares, eyes wide not quite able to process why she looks so hopeful. "Because JJ, if this is some fucked up joke I will literally never speak to you again,"

"It's not a joke," He assures

"It's not?" She questions, it's het turn to still, having expected to arrive for him to laugh and ruffle her hair like he was her brother.

"No. I'm in love with you. I've been in love with you since we were 12 and you stole my cap and started wearing it everyday,"

"We were 14 and you snuck into my room because my parents were fighting and you read harry potter to me cause you knew my parents used to," She states

He nods, now it was all out there in the open neither of them quite knew what to do.

"For fucks sake kiss already!" Pope shouts, they turn seeing all the pogues watching them from the porch.

JJ looks at her, an unspoken question in his eyes. "Just promise me if this all goes tits up we will be friends, cause I can't loose you maybank,"

He holds his pinky out, smiling as she loops her with his and squeezes slightly. He pulls her into his chest with their pinkies. Lips crashing onto hers, spare holding her closer to him by the small of her back. Her empty hand moving to play with the blonde curls she's wanted to run her fingers through a thousand times. Their pinkies stay linked by their side, his thumb stroking at her hands lightly.

Yeah, she'd be keeping the note he left in there little love language.

#jj #jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #jj x reader #jj maybank x y/n #obx fic #obx #outer banks

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theramseyloft · 3 years

Note

You go on about how intelligent/emotional pigeons are, but you treat them like objects and that bothers me. You separate bonded pairs of these intelligent, loving animals so frequently as if they don't have any feelings. And then you wonder why these birds afterward do not just take a new mate instantly. You are continually traumatizing these animals and causing them to shut down because they probably begin to realize any new bond they make will only be severed.

I do that because they are.

There is a huge difference between treating a living being like an object and acknowledging that the feelings of a non-human will not often perfectly align with those of a human.

Different species are different.

They have different physical, emotional, and social needs, even if there are a lot of close parallels.

And there are certainly a lot of parallels between humans and pigeons;

They are self aware cooperative social learners.

They form societies.

Those societies have a culture that varies regionally and they have a base line of values...

But their society, culture, and values are different from a human’s because pigeons are not human.

Nothing specializes in preying on humans. We generalize in preying on everything, as a species, as a whole.

We change our environment to suit our needs as much as we are able, and we are more able with every generation.

While things, objectively, can happen to any human at any time, out of nowhere..

On the whole, we generally don’t expect them to.

As such, our monogamous relationships are, ideally, “Until death do us part” meaning “Until we both die of old age, preferably around the same time.”

To the extent that closely bonded humans are emotionally devastated by the loss of that life partner.

To many of us, a life partner is also counted as lost if they engage in sexual infidelity, and if this happens, we are just as devastated (if not even more devastated) as we could have been if that partner had died.

Pigeons are a prey species that evolved in a cheetah-and-thompson’s-gazelle-style arms race with the Peregrine Falcon.

Their monogamous relationships version of “Until Death do us part” can be better translated; “Until one or the other of us gets eaten on a foraging trip.”

And sexual fidelity does not enter into the equation for a pigeon unless their partner is treading or being tread by some one else at the exact moment that bird wants to tread or be tread by their partner.

A cock who wants sex will seek out his wife first, but if she is not interested, he will go asking all the hens away from their nest until one agrees and crouches for him.

If his mate changes her mind and wants him to tread her, she will seek him out and crouch to present herself.

He will tread his wife, and after they do the cute little “I just had sex” dance that’s reserved for mated pairs (side flings get neither this nor courtship. Just sex and separate.) she goes off to do what ever she wanted to do.

If the cock is satisfied, he goes with his wife.

If he still needs or wants more sex, he can tread as many hens as he wants. His wife will not care, because she has had her turn.

If a hen wants sex, she will seek out her husband, generally, but if he’s busy or away, she’ll present for who ever she likes.

Her husband does not care who filled the egg. He only cares that she lays it in his nest and he gets to help set and raise it.

Pigeons divorce partners they consider to be inadequate. Cocks who fail to fill eggs, hens who refuse to set eggs, partners of either sex that don’t spend enough time reaffirming their bond with their spouses...

Unrequited relationships and love triangles are also relationships that pigeons find themselves in.

A pair is considered to have divorced if one partner or the other moves in and spends their nights in the nest of another partner, not for mating with some one else.

Some times, divorces are mutual, and both birds move on to other mates.

Some times, they are not. And the partner left will pine and keep making overtures to reconcile with the partner that left them.

But when a mate just disappears and doesn’t come back, they are assumed by the remaining partner to have been eaten.

If they were closely bonded, the remaining partner may wait a week or so at most, in case they were lost, in hopes the missing bird will make their way back and reunite.

If, after a week, the remaining bird is keeping to them self and not socializing, something is physically wrong, and anthropomorphizing it as “depressed” can get the bird killed.

The veterinary term ‘depression’ describes an animal that is physically ill, be that from a pathogen attacking it to ingesting or absorbing a toxin or simple vitamin or mineral deficiency.

For example;

A week after I became aware that breeding pigeons could become salt deficient and gave the flock a salt and trace mineral brick, birds that had shown no interest in bonding or courting for months are suddenly flirting with everything that moves.

They were not too traumatized to before.

They had a mineral deficiency.

They did not court because they did not feel good.

With the addition of their supplement brick, lo and behold, they all feel better and are courting again.

I have an entire flock to take care of, and I am responsible for the wellbeing of every individual I bring into the world.

To avoid overcrowding, I have a cap of 10 breeding pair.

Because that is the number of adults and their offspring under 6 months old that my loft can comfortably house.

When ever a new breeding bird leaves quarantine or a keeper reaches 6 months, a bird of the same sex has to be retired and made available to avoid overcrowding and the stress and disease that come with it.

Who retires when is not arbitrary.

There are very strict criteria.

1. Physical health.

Regardless of whether or not I have a replacement ready, a bird who may be hurt by the physical process of reproduction or the strain of rearing young, or who may pass on genes that may be harmful to potential offspring is retired on the spot and adopted out with a strict nonbreeding agreement.

Gus is a sweet boy,

But this happens to him every molt, and we have since found out that it runs in both sides of his family, proving it to be genetic and cumulative.

As cute as he and Leela were together, I cannot let him breed.

Because I would have to be a monster to be willing to knowingly pass that painful condition on to another generation.

He has a forever family familiar with his condition to whom he is going on Monday.

2. Undesirable structure

I do not mean anything as stupid as “This animal isn’t pretty enough.”

Cody is not only gorgeous, but an excellent father who has served our program very well.

But his muffs are big enough to make walking uncomfortable, so while I like the rest of his traits, that’s one I want to breed away from.

Now that I have a brother and Sister of his with short muffs that do not cause them discomfort,

Farthing

and suki

will continue contributions to the project

and Cody is available.

3. Antisocial behavior that disrupts or disturbs their flock mates.

Indica

And Pookie

Are the poster children for flock disruption.

They are a gay and bi mated pair of cocks, who are literally turned on by prying other treading pairs off of each other.

If they see another pair treading, Indica will grab the hen by the scruff, Pookie will grab the cock by his, and they will pull in opposite directions, prying the treading pair apart, and marching them in opposite directions towards the wall.

Indica and Pookie will then throw the bird they have at the wall and then run back to meet each other in the center of the floor, smooch-feed each other back and forth, and take turns treading each other.

On top of this, they defend 15 of the 36 total nest boxes in my loft, refusing to pick a specific one or let any other pair settle in a box to lay.

You may or may not have noticed that when I advertised the available birds on Thursday, I made a point of saying that I would prefer these two be adopted together because they are bonded and would be happier that way.

A prospective new family is coming to meet them on Monday.

But they are SUCH a violent disruption to their flock mates that if only one had a home lined up, it would be unkind to the rest of the flock to keep them both on the insistence that they go together.

4. Shitty parenting history

Parents who tend to ignore eggs or peeps, leaving all the work of setting or feeding to their partner.

This is a personality trait, and such a parent puts dangerous strain on their partner and stress on their peeps.

Their partner will usually divorce them for that, so adopting the bad parent out isn’t “Splitting up a bonded pair”.

Their former spouse is usually looking for or has found some one else with out any interference on my part.

5. Too many offspring/grandchildren

This is to avoid any more inbreeding than necessary.

Betty is one of the best studs here.

He is an outstanding father who sits tight on his eggs, pumps his peeps full, and educates them carefully though weaning.

MANY are his children and grand children, and he has a strong preference for birds with faces like his.

He has already bred with his niece to produce Sherry, and I would like to avoid having him breed to any more of his kin.

Once his peep with Liang is weaned, he will be adopted.

Liang is very skittish, and she liked him right off the bat, so I delayed his retirement to give her more time to feel secure with the flock.

But with her egg hatching, she is allowing herself to be casually flirt with more.

Wukong still likes her. So do Cherub and Ginger, so she’ll have her pick when Betty goes to his new home.

6. Temperament

The Therapy Bird Project is working towards developing a performance breed with a temperament conducive to Therapy work.

All else being equal; The birds are all physically sound with no known detrimental genes, no embellishments too exaggerated, not overly aggressive to flock mates, great parents... Then the bird least interested in human company gets retired.

The ground work of physical and mental base soundness has to be laid first and foremost for that excellent temperament I’m aiming for to shine in their handler’s lives for as long as possible.

You probably have not noticed that when bonded pairs retire at the same time, I make a thing of them being bonded in hopes that they will be adopted together.

Dodger and Alex retired close enough to each other that both are still here, and I would prefer they be adopted together.

But if one of them gets a perfect home lined up where I think that individual will be happy, I will not refuse them that good home for the sake of not splitting up a pair.

You care about the idea of that a LOT more than the pigeons themselves do.

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