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marigoldenblooms · 23 days

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Unica Semper Avis - Chapter 2

Pairing: Cleric!Wanda x Fem!AvianShifter!Reader x MonsterHunter!Natasha

Prompt: Ever since you’ve come of age, you’ve never been able to stop yourself from transforming into a monster. Whenever the sky would dim with a New Moon, you’d ravage the world with a fury unknown by many. Such is the bane existence of your species. This time, however - something was different. Now, you need help. On the feeble doorstep of the so-called ‘Spirit Healer,’ you found yourself both at the mercy of a cleric, and of a monster hunter’s blade. Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

MINORS DNI - 18+

TW/General Tags: No mention of Y/N, slow burn, stranger to lovers (Wanda), enemies to lovers (Natasha), eventual smut (lord have mercy), Swearing, Fantasy violence, occasional descriptions of light body horror during transformation, slight self harm, slight restraint, angst, fluff, will add tags as they appear!

Chapter Warnings: Non-consensual touching (arms/shoulders), slight transformation description, threatening, mentions of pain (burning), intimidation tactics, arguments, manipulation, angst, canon-level violence, mentions of scarring/burnt skin, restraint, we're finally leaving Belmoor y'all

A/N: Holy crap y'all, thanks for the incredible responses on everything once again! We finally get some trio dialogue going in this chapter ^^ Natasha’s interrogation is based within Latin, while R’s occasional text is built primarily within greek. Russian is also here, as expected. I had nothing for Smut Saturday, so I hope lore will suffice ^^' We will see if the writing block ceases, lol

Equally, we’ve got a Unica tag list coming along! Let me know if you’d like to be added to it!

Word count: 3.9k - Read Length: 14 minutes, 29 seconds. ~~~

You’d never dreamt awake before.

You could feel your mind faintly, cognition ghostly as you’d blink within your own head. Your transformation’s destruction was never something you were aware of until you rose out of it, covered in viscera from your form’s hunt. Was it really your body, after that? As you’d drift hazily in a river of your own thoughts, you couldn’t separate feathers from skin. You and your monster were one in the same.

You’d try to shut your eyes again, fall back into the painless slumber your molt offered. A part of you knew the horror you’d awake to- perhaps your succession had slaughtered them all, friend and foe alike. You would grieve her as you had the others, the fiery healer with her crimson magic. The knight would become a cliff note to your psyche, a tack onto an endless tally-board. You were used to being hunted.

It’d be minutes before you realized you weren’t alone.

Gaze snapping upwards, you’d bare your teeth towards the intruder which marred your thoughts, only to find a translucent figure. You could feel her chill from here, Her feathered speckling like a shawl over her shoulders, the wings behind her blanketing into a beautiful frame. She reached a hand towards you, although her smile was too thin to be kind. She didn’t look much different than she’d appeared days prior within your dreams yet again. The Aegyptius creation deity. Why was she here?

You didn’t shy from her gaze, looking at her with both respect and provocation. She was in your mind, fragmented as it was while your body rampaged elsewhere. If there was anywhere you were dominion of, it was this. “I know who you are now, Matron,” you’d assure, your voice echoing in the dim expanse, rippling along the water of your thoughts. She seemed to catch your words, and her grin grew wider, eyes narrowing. She’d tut, and in a second you could feel her cold, mist-like hands on your shoulders, “I expect something more reverent from my martyr..but you will learn.”

“Martyr?” Your expression grew sour as she wouldn’t elaborate, toying with your frustration as she’d run her palms down your arms. An uncomfortable shiver would brace through your body, and you could feel your form stretch beneath as if her touch spurred your transformation all over again. She was cruel, a pained sigh leaving you as your teeth would clench.

Her grasp on you would tighten, feeling the brittleness of pin feathers beneath flesh, “Your mind may not remember, fledgeling…but all my creations know my whims. And yet you wish to rid yourself of me?” Her laugh would be musical, but the bite in her tone was awash with rage, thinly veiled as the Matron stalked circles around you.

The frustration that had flowed through you prior to your molt was flimsy now, embers against a cold snap. You felt your gut sink, fear bubbling thickly in your throat. You’d stopped looking at her by now, your gaze piercing down into nothingness. All you could manage was a pitiful nod, and you couldn’t tell if her snicker was anger from your lackluster response or joy from how compliant she’d rendered you. They were one in the same with your kind, you supposed.

“You cannot..although I’m certain you’ve already understood that.” She’d pause in front of your face, ghostly touch icy as she’d claw your chin to meet your gaze with hers. Her phrase would come quickly, as if she was excited to utter it, “And for penance…you must kill that witch.”

“What?” They weren’t dead already? Your molt would’ve torn her to shreds by now. What was happening in the waking world? Even within a dream, the thought of murdering another with your conscious mind churned your stomach, especially one that brought you food. Mercy. “Command my body to do it, then-”

“No. You must do this as human,” Her smile was dagger-thin now, and you swear sparks flashed from her maw when she spoke. “Not as bird. Your hunger will be your guide.” Her hands would cradle your face now, the chill of her spectral palms almost forgotten as your mind would rush and lurch. You could feel the knaw of famine in your gut, a terrible feeling, all too real.

“I reject this- she has been kind, I-” The Matron would’ve disappeared immediately, the thawing of your flesh the only reminder. Your plea would be met with silence, hyperventilation coaxing your heart into overdrive. Thudding in your skull, you could almost feel the weight of bone in your jaws, your throat suddenly parched. You’d rasp, drawing your hands close to cradle yourself as the world grew fuzzy and vague, “I don’t want to be a monster..”

“Oh, my martyr..” She’d murmur, her voice suddenly swirling along the shell of your ear, freezing your hunch in place.

“That’s what I made you for.”

Your mind would swim, lucidity and unconsciousness blending into tar which filled your brain. You’d blink, heavier than before..and just before you’d wake, you’d feel her touch on your shoulder again.

“Survivε, mυ μάρτυρας..”

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You’d regain your mind halfway through it all. Your body ached and tore within you, the subtle itch of plumage molting from your skin a feeling you couldn’t soothe. You were in the barn.

Your arms were held back as you’d kneel on the floor, a searing heat plaguing your wrists as you’d fight against its hold- your chains. They’d manage to cage you. If you hadn’t been in so much pain, you would’ve wheezed relief at that. Your tongue was dry, the taste of blood and bone absent on your lips. You hadn’t eaten anyone during your transformation, and yet your body twinged with agony all the more for it. You had no fuel to offer you shifting body, and so it ate you from the inside to power your return to being humanoid. Panting a low whine, spasms would twitch your form as your bones would grow heavier within your flesh, solid all the way through. Even through your strain, a quiet shuffle would draw your eyes immediately- your heightened instincts were always the last things to go. In the recluses of the barn stood your prior attacker, although her attention was focused elsewhere, ghosting over something in the palm of her gloved hand. Thank fuck.

It was only now you could get a good look at her. Her hair was auburn, braided sharply in cascading strands which met the nape of her neck. It had been chilled near its ends, pale and almost wispy, as though something had leached the color from it. Sorcery? Stress? You couldn’t tell at first glance, but the perpetual scoff that seemed to mold into her face signaled the latter.

Blueish gray irises stared into what she held, and it was only when you growled a restrained snarl at the sight did her eyes lock to yours. She was holding one of your shorn feathers, the visage making your hackles raise. You wouldn’t shy from her gaze as you had with Wanda, even raising your chin higher so you looked down at her with pinprick pupils- you were an adversary. A challenger. You didn’t fear her. Your head throbbed, the heavy burn of your engraved chains a constant reminder.

She’d approach you with malice- unsurprising given your circumstances, but the prick of a metal blade against your neck was a little more shocking. This early? Damn. You’d grit your teeth but remain steadfast, even as she’d glower over you.

“Ossifraga, dic omnia quae scis.” She’d spit, her words foreign yet familiar in your ears. ‘omia’ was a word you gleamed in an instant - ‘everything’, yet the rest was butchered in her mouth. You’d bare your teeth at her, grin sickeningly raw even as she’d press her knife’s edge to your nape. “Dic mihi omnia Fraga, ne te interficiam sicut columbam-“

Her anger would shatter at the creaking barn door, flinching just as you did. At least one similarity between the two of you. A familiar soothing tone would echo to you, honeyed and thick, albeit strangled from…anger. Anger?

“I leave you for one second, you глупый козел-“ Wanda muttered harshly, her stomping footfalls sharply rattling in your skull. She’d pluck the knight’s hand away from you, grip harsh as she’d try to wrestle away their weapon- futile, as their shock to Wanda’s insult only lasted so long. From your attacker’s reaction, it seemed they shared a language. Interesting. “And here you are, nicking my patient-“

You’d struggle at Wanda’s words, trying to show her your discomfort. Your wrists continued to burn, and you swear their imprint would be branded on your skin if they weren’t taken off soon. And yet, it may be safer if you remain chained. The Matron’s words still throbbed in your ears, a blinding sight locking your gaze onto Wanda before you bit it back down. You’d breathe, ragged, before gasping a sound which seemed to catch her attention. Her nimble fingers would move to start unshackling you, before being caught by Natasha’s rough grip, pulling her immediately back, “What are you doing-!? It’ll kill you-“

“I won’t harm…her..-“ You’d hiss, finding your bearings as your larynx would thrum with your voice again. You’d glare at the hunter, voice steadfast even through your pain, “You’re- a different story, knight..let me go, and maybe I’ll consider.”

You saw her jaw flex at your tone, malice seeping from every beat of her heart. She’d release Wanda with a tight-lipped grumble, your wrists losing their binds seconds later. You’d rub at the tender flesh for a split second, gasping and hiding away as it’d still bubble with scorching heat. You were too late, and soon your wrists would scar over. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt as bad next time, perhaps.

You’d sit up, movements sluggish as you’d sync again with a heavier frame. Your glance would be wary, looking to Wanda as if the knight wasn’t there. You saw annoyance flash across the hunter’s expression, and satisfaction bloomed in yours. Let her be upset. “What happened..? You shackled me, I am thankful for it.”

“And yet your wrists don’t look happy..” Wanda would respond with muffled concern, although you’d retreat from her scarlet magic’s attempt to heal- scars proved you had lived, this one above all. This one showed you could trust the healer to protect you when you couldn’t protect her. The slow rumble of starvation proved you wouldn’t be able to protect her for a long time. She’d sigh, but wouldn’t press further. “You’ve been in the barn for three days, we put you here on the evening of the first-“

Your expression faltering would quiet her words, a shaky inhale slicing into the room’s air. Three days. “I’ve never been..” you’d grip your hair as you spoke, bending to pull more of you closer. You’d stare at your shorn feathers, brilliant white where they lay unheated, almost ghostly in the thin light of Wanda’s shed.

“I’ve never been transformed for that long.”

“And why should we believe you? You could feather again as we speak- kill us all.” The knight would glare at you, though there was a chance she never stopped, boring a hole into your skull which you gladly challenged. You’d bark a laugh, the sound uncomfortable in your raw chest and yet you reveled in how she flinched away. The air grew thick and still, “If you hunt my kind with that attitude, you obviously know nothing of the Aegyptius.”

“Then enlighten me, Fraga-”” She said that like an insult to you, and yet it didn’t register.

“And why the hell should I-?”

“Because we have a common goal, you dolts-“

At Wanda’s interjection, your voice would sliver and slip away, her face red and scrunched with frustration. It was almost adorable how her nostrils flared with her words, yet the rage in her eyes was something that stirred sorrow inside you. Something clicked in the back of your mind, memories from your brood when you were young, and yet nothing registered in the fog of retorting anger. There was curiosity on the hunter’s face, shoulders squared back at Wanda’s tone, and yet your mind still held what the knight had said before.

“What did you call me?” Your words stumbled as you’d shift to stand, legs frail under the weight of yourself. You wouldn’t see the knight’s bewildered expression until much later, too busy keeping your feet underneath you, “Fraga…do you not even know what you are?” “Enlighten me,” you’d taunt, clipped thin between your barred teeth. Wanda would scoff, shaking her head in your peripheral.

“You are Ossifraga. Bone-breaker, the unclean bird..” Your eyes would narrow, but not in the way the hunter wanted, it seems. These names meant nothing to you. “A mistake upon your feathered kind. A blight-'' Her words would build in strength, low as she’d stalk dangerous steps towards you. You looked towards Wanda, her hands slowly raising as scarlet magic grew to weave around her fingers.

“Others of your kind can be minstrels, songbirds or doves- even raptors can experience valor as warriors…but you, Fraga, are the mutated husk of your false god.” She spit her tone with vitriol, acidic. The receding down on the back of your neck rose as your blood ran cold- Your heartbeat thudded in your ears, a lump swelling in your throat, but it wasn’t all fear. There was something else, a chill unfamiliar to your waking form, coaxing your mouth open. You resisted, even your back reached the worn wood of the barn’s walls and the knight’s voice swarmed back into focus.

“A dangerous monster, consuming the bones of innocents and leaving plague in your wake,” A gleaming metal shone near her wrist, and your stomach dropped all too late. The knife was probably sacred, intricately carved with markings you could hardly make out in the blur of motion, her gloved hand grasping your shoulder while the other swung to pierce your stomach.

“You’re the infection I must quell-”

Your maw opened before you could think.

“Αμολάω-!” You’d shriek, your voice hissing with the inflection of many. You heard the clatter of metal on the ground as your tone echoed forth. The knight would barrel backwards, clutching her head as Wanda flinched behind her, the shockwave of your words hitting her fainter the further it went from your mouth.

You kicked away the knight’s dropped blade, another command echoing from you, your tone no longer your own, cold and bitter on your tongue, “Γονατίστε, παράσιτα- Θα σε καταβροχθίσω χωρίς δεύτερη σκέψη..”

The hunter sunk to her knees before your sentence had finished. You’d gasp a second later, your lungs filled with air as though they’d never have before. Blinking, you’d feel a tenseness in your body, arms trailing with thin plumage which quickly sunk beneath your skin. You’d watch it leave with a cold numbing shock, jaw slung open with a heavy breath. Your thoughts translated your foreign words after a few moments, ‘Let go. Kneel, vermin. I will devour you without a second thought.’

Your feathers had never grown beyond your molt, confined to the hellish day a month where you were no longer yourself. Your hands tremored, ghosting over the goosebumps that had been left behind. It’s like the feathers had never been there- and yet you could feel your body creak and crunch, as though impatient.

The hunter stood a few seconds later, gait slow as she’d physically wrench herself from your command’s thrall. She’d brush at her scuffed armor, plagued with the barn’s dirt which clung to the metal, “I know what you’re saying. Your pronunciation is weaker, and yet it is still-”

“The language of my kind,” You’d mutter without sympathy, scoffing as the knight seemed to take offense to your interruption. “You’ve stripped it of its history..it's what you spoke before.” You’d never learned your own tongue, and yet half your thoughts spoke in it now. A shiver rolled down your spine, a cascading chill that felt like an awaiting grasp.

“Ah, so it can listen..” She’d sneer, glance harsh as she’d eye her forlorn blade again. Wanda’s interjection would be seen before it was heard, scarlet magic weaving around the hilt before daintily grasping it, pawing it over to her awaiting palm. “And so must you, Romanova..” The way she curved the words had a sense of familiarity, drawing a frustrated huff from the other woman. You’d narrow your eyes, but it wasn’t your turn to speak anymore, “You both listen, or you leave my barn with nothing but a death wish. Am I clear?”

You’d nod slowly, and by Wanda’s sigh, you assumed the knight did the same. “Alright. Let’s go somewhere cozier, shall we?”

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Wanda’s home would’ve been just as comfortable as it had been the prior evening, albeit more cramped. Between three people in the living room, a thin glow of red magic seeping through the slats of wood that boarded the kitchen up, and the deadly eye contact you and the knight shot at each other every second, the air was never thicker.

“And you tore through the kitchen wall,” Wanda’s words were analytical, the gnawing feeling of guilt settling heavy in your gut. You kept your distance from her, a pang of hunger grinding into your thoughts the second you grew closer to the witch. You chewed at the inside of your lip as her palm waved towards the construction her sorcery partook in. Her shrug was too easy, “Not afraid of remodeling, after Romanova mistook my window for a door-”

She’d almost bite towards the hunter, a simmering scoff laced between her accented tone. “Is that your name? ‘Romanova’?” The knight would leer at your question, slinging her arm against the heavy metal of her armor. From Wanda’s scoff, it seems she’d gotten the same reaction while you were out. “You butcher my family title, Fraga-”

“Give me your name and I won’t have to.” You’d raise a brow as her eyes locked to yours, your breath thin and still. You felt the cold in your throat again, creeping like a retch up your windpipe- yet you swallowed it with huskier words, “Since we’re all in the sharing mood. Aren’t we?”

Her sigh was almost palpable, hissing in a low breath, “I am Natasha Alianovna Romanova. Templar of Latrodectus, it’s esteemed widow.” That title meant nothing to you, although your unfitting reaction seemed to knock her down a few pegs. Her reply was less angry than curious, “Did you ever earn a name, Fraga?”

“Earn?” Your snort brought an angry heat to Natasha’s face, perplexed laughter ricocheting through your solid skeleton, “You really do know nothing of my kind. We do not remember names. Unimportant.”

You wouldn’t see Wanda’s furrowed look until she exhaled sharply, looking away from you with crossed arms. Your mind sunk and crackled whenever you looked in her direction, suddenly parched. The flutter in your stomach remained, bringing an uncomfortable nausea rather than burst of curiosity. You kept your eyes on Natasha, expression hollowed, “Why do either of you stay? This..is your house, Wanda, I know-”

“Because we want to help you-” “She does- mhph-” Wanda’s hand would outstretch towards Natasha, blocking her mouth with a wispy scarlet sheen. You looked at Wanda’s shadow, feeling her sigh as your gaze never met hers. Her voice was calmer yet thin, strained between forces, “Do you want to rid yourself of your feathers?”

“Yes,” Your quick response earned an unseen smile from the witch, although your skin grew clammy at the thought. Natasha shuffled, and when you met her eyes you saw hers were raised, almost in shock, her mouth still clasped closed. “Then we have a common interest. This one can find a method beyond violence- and if your transformation is progressing faster, then it is my role to bring you back to normalcy.”

You’d meet her glance now, her smile radiating a warmth into you that culled away some of the chill, satiated you. Your palms felt your own, awkwardly poised as you offered your hold to the witch, her touch filling you with an unfamiliar satisfaction. You shook her hand against yours, ignoring Natasha’s silent indignation burning into your skull. Perhaps you could control yourself- you could protect each other, “Thank you, Wanda.”

“Ah, none of that- you are a medicinal marvel..” She’d tease, your thanks rolling right off of her. You met her grin with your own, her words shushing as she’d lean to you, “Think of what it will do for my prices, to heal an Ossifraga-”

Your laugh was a startling welcome, filling you with mirth as it was returned. “I will pay you then. How many feathers-?” Her hand patted yours before receding, wiping her palm along her clothed side. “...I’ll keep a running tab for you, Птичка.”

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The sun had risen into midday, and you basked in its sunlight. Your shoulders felt tense as you hauled supplies towards the wagon Wanda and Natasha had acquired an hour ago from Belmoor proper. You’d hung back, admiring the hazy scarlet tendrils which packed Wanda’s belongings. The two had found you handing random objects to the sorcerous helpers when they returned, although Natasha was pulled away by the witch before she could crow about the non-essentiality of bringing Wanda’s butter churn.

The mule that was attached to the wagon- Daisy, Doris, something like that- had been chewing on the turf as you’d settled another crate of rations along the wagon’s bed, pushing it into place with a heavy shove. It was a ten days road travel to Arkridge, the capital of this province, as you’d been told. Its libraries held what could be the first of many secrets. The forest never spoke of it, yet its grandeur was palpable even through Natasha’s gruff words. She hadn’t tried to stab you again, although her glare was seething whenever you met it.

You passed each other by as you’d return towards the house, huffing an unimpressed groan as her haul was much smaller than yours. She’d abandoned her armor for now, and you watched as the musculature of her back shifted as she’d set her barrel down. You could take her if you had to, even without your strength- though the scabbard along her back gave you pause, the longsword’s hilt gleaming in the light. It had been engraved, similar to the leather sheath that bound it, and you’d guess it was the same inscription. Runic and familiar, it brought your thought to your chains, their markings similar yet worn. Perhaps you’d find a way to ask about it, if you could have a conversation without insulting each other.

Your side met Wanda’s as you leaned in her vicinity, your gaze locked onto the knight a dozen meters away. The witch’s voice was smoothed and sweet, honey-like as she’d offer her palm to yours again, inspecting the scarring along your skin as you’d accept. “Your name isn’t Margo, is it?”

You shook your head, still in her embrace, “No. I just needed something to give to you. Satisfy..”

Your words petered out into silence, her squeeze of your hand gentle, shying away from the raw flesh of your wrists. “You don’t have to do that, Ласточка. I have countless things to call you that you won’t forget.” Her wink made your face flush, shying away from her gaze as her tone wrapped around your thoughts. Her giggle wasn’t lost on you, a fondness in her expression you couldn’t decipher. “Will you tell me what that means?”

She’d shake her head, just before you heard Natasha’s heavy footfalls towards you. The forested grove retreated behind as you three would set forth a few minutes later, silence thick. Bellmoor would be forgotten, in favor of new memories. Perhaps your first night at camp would be more riveting.

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avastrasposts · 9 months

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The Pilot and his Girl - ch. 21 **

The aftermath of that dramatic transfer to Arlington QZ, poor Frankie!

Series Master List

I've updated the master list of the series so all chapters containing smut are now marked with ** (so yes, there's more smut in this chapter 🔥)

Warnings have their own post but expect canon typical violence and smut.

Word count: 7.7k

Please comment and reblog, I love hearing your thoughts on the story and my writing! And BIG thank you to all of you who continue to support this crazy little one shot that's grown so much!

Frankie stays close for the next two days in the hospital, pushing the bed they bring in for him flush against yours so that you can sleep next to him. And you’ve been sick around Frankie before, a couple of colds and period cramps sometimes, and he’s always made sure to take care of you, bringing painkillers, your favorite food, fluffy socks or one of his softest hoodies.

But this is on a whole new level, he doesn’t want to leave your side, always watching you with worried eyes for any sign of discomfort and refusing to let you walk down to the mess hall with him for food, even though the doctor said it was fine and good for you to move around a little. He reluctantly lets you get into a wheelchair so that he can roll you down for meals after you tell him he can’t wrap you in cotton wool for weeks.

But when your two days in the hospital are up he still insists on rolling you over to the new apartment in the wheelchair and then proceeds to carry you up three flights of stairs to the new apartment. Benny walks behind him, rolling his eyes at you and shaking his head at Frankie’s determination to not let anyone else carry you. With a groan he carefully puts you down on your feet in front of the door with a number eight.

“Are you sure you don’t want the wheelchair, I’ll get it for you, cariño,” he asks as you put weight onto your feet and carefully stand up, his arms around your waist, anxiously looking at your face.

“I’ll be fine, Frankie, and the doctor said I need to start moving around or I risk getting a blood clot,” you say, wincing slightly as you straighten up. Frankie’s eyebrows immediately bunch together and he grabs hold of your arm.

“Are you in pain? Do you need to sit down?” He checks his watch and frowns, “You can’t have another painkiller until noon, maybe you should lie down for a bit?”

“Fish, chill, you’re fussing like a grandmother,” Benny sighs, sticking the key in the lock and opening up the door.

You give Frankie a smile, “I’m fine, sweetie, the skin is just a bit tight around the wound.”

“Ok, but any-”

“I know, Frankie,” you interrupt him, “if anything, I’ll tell you and you’ll move heaven and earth to make things right,” you smile at him and kiss his cheek, his eyebrows unfurrowing as he smiles back.

The apartment is in an older building in the city, not far from the river, and close to the café where Frankie and you had your first date. As in Franklin it’s only got one bedroom, but this one has a bigger kitchen, big enough for a large kitchen table with six chairs around it and island in the middle of the counters and cabinets on three sides. The living room itself is spacious and;

“Holy crap, please tell me that works?!” you exclaim as you spot the large open fireplace, flanked by two french doors.

“It does, but wood for it might be hard to come by, unless you wanna chop down a tree in one of the parks,” Benny says.

“That I can do,” Frankie says, flexing his hands that are still showing the calluses he gained while chopping endless logs at Denny’s cabin. You give him a small smile, squeezing his arm at the memory of how he used to try to handle his dark thoughts.

There’s a knock on the door and it swings open to Pope and Hannah walking in.

“Hi!” Hannah smiles and wraps her arms around you for a hug. She’d come to the hospital on your second day, you'd’ both started crying when she hugged you tight, and you’d spent a few hours talking through all that had happened since you last talked on the phone on outbreak day. She’s aged in the few months that have passed, there’s a strain around her eyes, a sadness that seems to simmer just under the surface. Will is constantly on her mind and when she sees Frankie fuss around you in the hospital bed she drops her chin down on her chest. You’re too occupied with trying to find a position that doesn’t make your abdomen ache, but Frankie sees her watery eyes and pulls her in for a hug, gently stroking her back as she sobs into his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” she says, swallowing back her tears, “I try not to cry but I just miss Will so much and seeing you two…” she trails off and you take her hand as Frankie puts his arm around her shoulder.

“Don’t worry about it,” he soothes, “we all miss him and I’d be a wreck if she was missing,” he looks over at you, “I couldn’t even keep it together for the hour she was in surgery.”

“And we’re gonna keep looking for him, Hannah,” you say, “I know the odds are bad, but we’re not giving up on him.”

Now Hannah is helping you unpack your meager belongings into the closet in the bedroom and when you’re done she pulls a flat package out of her bag.

“I got you a house warming present,” she smiles and hands you the package.

Your eyes widen in surprise as you take it from her, “You didn’t have to do that!” The present is wrapped in children’s birthday wrapping paper and you carefully tug it off to reveal a silver photo frame. “Frankie told me you brought a photo from your old apartment and I thought you might like to have it framed. I got a frame for his photo too.”

You pull her in for a big hug, “Thank you so much, I love it!” While you were in hospital Pope had found out that both yours and his apartment were outside the QZ area now, and had most likely been bombed. That meant that since most of your possessions had been lost on the way to Franklin, the photo was all you had left of your previous life. It’s your favorite photo of you and Frankie, taken at a BBQ at Will and Hannah’s place. Frankie is smiling at the camera, his eyes crinkling at the corners, as you kiss his cheek with his trusty Standard Oil cap backwards on your head.

You open up the frame and slide the photo in, closing the frame again and putting it on the bedside table. Seeing the photo in the frame makes your heart twinge, except for Frankie, everything else in the photo is gone.

Hannah gives your arm a squeeze and brings you out into the living room again. Pope and Frankie are in the kitchen sorting through the supplies and preparing lunch with some extra rations that Benny brought over. When you come into the kitchen Frankie comes over and carefully puts his hands on your cheeks, cupping your face under his warm hands.

“How are you feeling, cariño?” he asks as he anxiously scans your face for any signs of discomfort.

“I’m fine, Frankie, no pain at all right now,” you smile at him and tug gently at his scruffy chin, making him smile back at you.

“I’ll stop bugging you next week, I promise,” he chuckles, “just let me fuss over you for five more days.”

“Deal,” you reply as he makes you sit down at the kitchen table for lunch.

A few days later Frankie goes in to see the officer in charge of new FEDRA recruits together with Pope. They both come back looking disgruntled, Pope slamming the front door behind him as you sit up on the couch.

“At least you won’t have to work for the prick,” you hear Pope grumble from the hall as the two men unlace their boots. “At least you have a proper job, I have to go out and find whatever’s available for ration cards;” you hear Frankie snap back, stomping into the living room. He slumps down on the couch next to you, giving you a quick kiss on the cheek.

“What happened?” You ask, rubbing your hand over Frankie’s shoulder.

“I’m not allowed to work for FEDRA, indefinitely, due to my ‘unstable condition’,” Frankie replies. “They’d heard about what happened at the hospital and decided I’m not fit for service.” Frankie had told you about his episodes at the hospital, you’d noticed the cut knuckles on his hand at first and when you questioned him he unraveled the whole story, eyes downcast, rubbing his thumb over the fleshy part of the other hand. Now he leaned back and sighed.

“I’ve got to find some other job, or maybe I can convince them to let me do training, or weapons maintenance or something.”

Pope sinks down at the other end of the couch, “Like I said, at least you don’t have to work for that prick,” he looks over at you and pulls a dissatisfied face. “There’s a new head guy, the other one got killed when they cleared out a new building QZ last week.”

“He got bit?” you ask, horrified at the prospect of infected inside the QZ.

“No, that’s the irony, the guy stumbled and fell down a staircase, broke his neck.” Pope says, shaking his head in disbelief. “Of all the ways to die in the apocalypse. Anyway, Benny says he was a really good boss, this new one has a reputation for being a prick and he did not disappoint. He put me on latrine duty, I literally have to stand guard over people digging latrines.” Pope makes a disgusted face but Frankie growls.

“I’ll be the one digging the fucking latrines so I don’t wanna hear any complaints from you.”

Both men sigh and sink further into the couch next to you and you give Frankie’s arm a light squeeze in sympathy. You’ve been told that you’re back on kitchen duty which is lucky, it’s a good job that keeps you out of danger and it pays fairly well. With Frankie out of FEDRA you’ll need all the extra ration cards. But secretly, you’re relieved, and you know Benny and Pope are too. Frankie’s nightmares were never really gone, and they’d multiplied after Lucía died, but the past weeks have been worse than ever. The dark rings under his eyes, and yours, show the evidence. What’s worse is that he’s starting to show symptoms during the day too, in ways you haven’t seen before. Some you recognise, like when he jumps and grabs you when a window in the apartment slams shut. Others are harder to pinpoint, spending almost an hour in the bathroom with the door shut, answering only in monosyllables when you ask him if he’s ok. When he comes back out his eyes are downcast and shoulders hunched, moving with slow movements, sluggish. And when he does the same in the morning, leaving the apartment without even saying goodbye because he seems to shut off after being to the bathroom, you get scared. It worries you and you’re grateful he’s not going back to active duty like this.

Another week passes and you’re deemed well enough to start working, at least without any heavy lifting, and it’s a relief to be out of the apartment. And you need to talk to Pope without Frankie around. The FEDRA HQ and kitchen in Arlington is housed inside a mall, the big food court in the middle serving as the main mess hall for all the soldiers. The shops have all been looted for anything useful and the first few days you walk past the broken shop fronts with a feeling of complete surreality. You’d been to this mall countless times, you and Frankie had been to the movies here. Just the week before the outbreak Frankie had dragged you to see the new Riddick. It was terrible. If you’d know the world would end you would’ve forced Frankie to another movie.

Frankie has got a job clearing rubble around the QZ, clearing the streets, emptying out buildings and gathering anything FEDRA deems useful. It’s fairly safe work but sometimes FEDRA soldiers have to go first into closed off buildings, there’s always a risk of an infected hiding, locked away somewhere inside. He’s been on the job for three weeks and so far things have gone ok, they haven’t found any infected inside the QZ for two months and the job is physically exhausting. Frankie’s always coming home bone tired but unharmed, but his PTSD symptoms are getting worse.

Today Frankie has been assigned to a street on the other side of the QZ and Pope comes by to pick you up at the end of your shift. He lives in the same building as Frankie and you, as does Benny and Hannah, a perk of it being Benny and his C.O. who signed off on your transfer.

Pope is leaning against a pillar outside the door of the restaurant where the kitchen is set up when you step outside. He’s smiling at two of your colleagues who came out just before you, both of them giggling and throwing not very discreet looks at him as he shamelessly winks. One of them, a beautiful dark haired woman with an ass even you looked twice at, was absolutely his type and by the way she looks at him, you know she’ll be asking about him tomorrow.

“Hey Santi,” you smile as you reach him and he looks over at you, dropping a chaste kiss on your cheek, before glancing back at the two women again.

“Hey, hermana,” he says, “are they colleagues of yours?”

“Yes, they are, and yes, Olivia is single as far as I know,” you chuckle.

“Which one is Olivia?” He looks back at you, staying on you this time.

“The dark haired one, she’s your type right?” you ask with a grin, Santi was so smooth with women but subtlety was not his forte.

“You know me too well,” he laughs and slings an arm around your shoulder as the two women disappear behind a corner, “But just for the record, you’re my type too, I just let Frankie have you to be nice to him.”

“Sure, Santi, sure,” you laugh. This had been an ongoing joke for as long as you’d known Santi, always drawing a deep chuckle from Frankie whenever Pope tried to convince his friend that you would’ve given your number to him had he asked before Frankie. Your answer was always ‘Hell no!’ but it didn’t stop Santi from insisting he was right.

You start walking slowly towards the exit of the mall and out into the spring sunshine, “Which way home today?” you ask, continuing the tradition from Franklin to take different routes home every day to learn the city inside and out. You knew Arlington a lot better than Franklin but less so on foot.

“Let’s go this way, I heard about a new market popping up near Washington Park,” Pope says and turns right. You walk a little while talking about your respective days, Pope grumbling about new recruits the same way Frankie had done when he was with FEDRA. It seemed the standards of the former Delta Force men were decidedly higher than FEDRA’s recruiting officer. But once you’re away from the crowds milling around the FEDRA HQ you change the subject.

“I need to talk to you about Frankie,” you say and Pope looks over and raises his eyebrows. “He’s doing worse than he was in Franklin, he’s not as shut down as he was after Lucía died but he’s acting strange,” you push your hand through your hair, “And I don’t know how to handle PTSD, I need your help.”

“What’s he doing?” Pope asks and you tell him about the nightmares, the jumpiness and the long periods of locking himself away.

“Does he still talk to you?” he asks, furrowing his forehead and shoving hands inside the pocket of his jacket.

“Yeah, he does, but not much about what’s in his head, more about everyday things, mostly work and stuff. But he’s quieter than usual, I mean, Frankie was never a chatterbox, but you know, even for him, he’s quiet. But it’s the way he shuts himself away that worries me, and how sluggish he seems to be getting.”

Pope shakes his head and sighs, “He used to do that when he first stayed with me, when he lost his job and his apartment, before he started going to the NA meetings.” Pope stops and turns so that he’s looking at you, “I don’t want to worry you if I’m wrong but…” he pauses and sighs again, “the first few weeks at my place he would lock himself away in the bathroom. One afternoon I kicked down the door because he refused to open up, and he was using, doing coke, scrambling to hide it when I came in. I’d suspected it for a few days but…yeah, he was still using.” You close your eyes and drop your head, “Fuck, Santi, you think that’s what he’s doing?”

“I don’t know, hermana, I’m just telling you what he used to do, how he hid it.”

“How would he even get hold of coke now? And how did you get him out of it?”

“I’m guessing someone still has a stash of coke that they’re selling for rations cards, you can probably get hold of other drugs too, if you know where to look.” Pope puts a hand on your shoulder and nudges you along, a couple of FEDRA soldiers are walking in your direction. “I was offered to smuggle different drugs in Franklin but, with Frankie’s history, it was the last thing I wanted to get involved in.”

“And how did you get him out of it?” you ask, gratefully accepting Pope’s arm around your shoulders, you’ve feel like a lead weight has been dropped into the pit of your stomach, the thought of Frankie using drugs to handle his PTSD, in part because you got shot, has made you go cold.

“That evening, when I found him in the bathroom, our friendship almost ended. I tried not yelling at him but I was so fucking pissed. He knew he was going to become a dad, he’d already lost everything, his job, his apartment, most of his friends, and there he was, risking even his unborn child, just for a fucking high. So I yelled and I was prepared to stay pissed at him for a long time but you know what Frankie’s like.” Pope gives a chuckle, “First he yelled back at me, still high and trying to excuse his behavior, then he cracked, crying and begging for a second chance. And I know I should be immune to those puppy eyes of his but I couldn’t, the man has saved my life countless times, and he was at rock bottom and I had to help him. So I locked him in the apartment that night, literally, I put a padlock on the door and slept with the key on me. The next morning we threw out the coke together and then I drove him to an NA meeting. And then I kept driving him to them for about three months, every day for the first month, different meetings all around the city.”

Pope stops and sinks down on a bus stop bench, and you sit down next to him.

“You really saved his life, Santi,” you say, “I know he’s grateful for that, but he might need your help to do it again.”

“Yeah, and I’ll help him, hermana, but do you think there are NA meetings in Arlington now? And he needs to talk to a professional about the PTSD, because the shit that gave us all varying degrees of PTSD was at least over when we came back home, we didn’t have to face those types of missions again. But here?” Pope waves a hand at the broken city around the two of you, “Here he’s confronted with triggers every day and he needs tools to handle it and neither of us are able to help him with that.”

“Can you talk to Benny when you see him tomorrow, ask him if there’s someone, professional, that Frankie could talk to? Maybe there’s like a former psychiatrist or something in the QZ, someone who has at least some experience of helping with mental illness.”

“I’ll ask, sure, but you need to ask him if he’s using again, I don’t think he can lie to you, and from what I remember, what he said last time, the first step is for him to admit that he’s got a problem again.”

You nod, leaning back against the bench and tilting your head back.

“Fuck, Santi, as if things weren’t complicated enough.”

Santi sighs and pulls you to his side, giving you a side hug on the bench, “I’ve kicked him back into shape once, before, I’ll do it again if I have to,” he says and you give a weak smile. At least you’ve got Santi and Benny to help you with Frankie this time.

After you get back to the apartment, leaving Santi on the second floor to go to his own place, you pace across the living room, waiting for Frankie to get home. You’re chewing on your lip, going over how you’re going to ask him if he’s started using drugs again. However you form the words in your head, it comes out wrong. You don’t want to accuse him, you don’t want to make him defensive or angry, you want him to understand that you know the kind of personal hell he’s going through and that you’re not judging him. But he needs help, professional help.

But in the end, it turns out you don’t need to say anything. Frankie comes in through the door while you’re still pacing the living room, and catches sight of your pinched face. His hand immediately shoots to the pocket on his shirt, and his face falls when your eyes follow his hand and tears well up in your eyes.

“Are you?” you ask, your voice shaky, and he doesn’t even try to hide it. Stepping into the living room he nods, eyes on his toes, and when you hold out your hand he pulls a small bag from his pocket, four white pills in it.

“What are they? You take the bag from his hand and look at them, you were expecting coke, but this is something else.

“Xanax,” he says, his voice as low as yours as he sinks down onto the couch, he can’t bring himself to look at you when you sit down next to him, the bag still in your hand. “To help me sleep,” he whispers.

“You don’t take them just to sleep,” you say, it’s more a statement than a question and he gives a barely perceptible nod.

“They take the edge off,” he shrugs, his eyes still on his toes, “everything, in my head, the work, and it makes me sleep.”

“But it’s changing you, you’ve been sluggish and quiet, withdrawn,” you reach down and gently put your hand on his cheek, cupping it so that you can run your thumb over his scruffy beard and lift his head to make him meet your eyes. “You’re not yourself anymore, Frankie.” You feel him lean his head into your hand and he closes his eyes, a deep exhale escaping him, like he’s been holding his breath. .

“I’m spiraling, cariño, and I don’t know how to stop,” he whispers.

Suddenly he reaches out and grabs your waist, pulling you onto his lap so that you’re straddling him, burying his face against your chest and pulling you tight. You gently wrap your arms around his neck, cradling his head and dropping your nose against his soft curls. You can feel him breathe hot air over your t-shirt, drawing deep, shaky breaths, his nose pressed against the soft curve of your breast.

“You’ve got to talk to someone, Frankie, and I’m going to try to find you someone professional,” you whisper, caressing his scalp, running your fingers through his hair. “And you’ve got to talk to me, and Pope and Benny. We all love you and,” you pull away a little from him so that you can look down at his face, “I’m sorry to say this, but…you hurt me, and them, when you let yourself spiral without telling us. You have to let us help you, Frankie.” He drops his gaze and leans his forehead against your chest as you let your fingers run through his hair again.

“Remember one of the first times you had really bad nightmares when I stayed at your place?” you ask. “You were in such a dark mood the next day and you told me your sponsor had said that you should tell the people closest to you when you started spiraling, but you always thought that was the hardest thing.” You can feel Frankie nod against your chest.

“I told you I feel like I fail when I lose control, I feel so guilty,” his voice is low, guilt ridden already.

“And you said you thought I would leave you, think you’re a fuck up and not worth the effort.”

You cup your hands around his cheeks and pull him back, looking down into his warm brown eyes, riddled with anxiety and guilt now. “And I told you, you will always be worth the effort. And I think I’ve proven more than once that I meant that.” You bend down and press your mouth against his soft lips, feeling them part under yours as he tightens his arms around you..

“I love you Frankie, more than anything else, I’ve already said I want to spend the rest of my life with you, to be your wife.” You’re mumbling against his lips as you pull him to the side, climbing off his lap so that you can pull him down over you on the couch. He catches himself over you, sinking down on his forearms, caging you in as you kiss him again, your hands on his cheeks now. You can feel him sigh against your mouth, a low shaky sound, and his hands move under your head, holding you up to his lips. He’s warm against you, his heart racing under his flannel shirt and where your fingers rest against his neck, you can feel his pulse fluttering.

“Frankie,” you whisper against his mouth, “relax, we’ll get through this together, you and me.”

With a groan he sinks down on your side, angling himself so that he’s not resting on your injury. You turn your head so that you can still feel his lips brushing against yours. “You’re my Frankie, you’re mine,” you tangle your fingers into the curls at the back of his head and bump your forehead against his for emphasis, “I’m not giving up on you, ever. I’ll spend every night awake with you if it keeps you from taking the pills, I’ll join your work detail too, I’ll never leave your side if that’s what it takes.”

He cups your cheek, running his thumb over your nose, lips, down the line of your jaw before he replies, his eyes are calmer, softer now. “I’m an idiot for not saying anything to you, but I didn’t want to burden you with it on top of your injury.” He presses his thumb to your lips when you open your mouth to protest, “I just want to protect you at all costs, even from me, but I know you don’t think I should.”

“If I didn’t want to deal with your problems, I would’ve walked away after you told me about them that Sunday, remember?”

“Yeah, I remember,” he replies, “I was sure you were just gonna leave, I couldn’t believe it when you asked if I wanted to get dinner instead,” a small smile actually tugs at Frankie’s lips and you smile back at him, remembering how Frankie had refused to take his hand off you even while he ate his pizza.

“I wanted to take you home with me that night so badly, but you were all Mr. Sensible and decided we should wait,” you giggle, “despite a raging hard on in your pants.”

“I did not have a raging hard on,” he protests with a small chuckle, pinching your cheek and making you laugh and you can see his mood lightening.

“You did, you couldn’t even walk straight back to your truck.”

Frankie’s ears have turned a beautiful shade of pink and his eyes crinkle as you pull a genuine laugh from him for the first time in a long time.

“Yeah, ok, maybe I had a bit of a boner, but you had me pulled up against your car, hands down the back of my pants if I remember correctly,” he’s chuckling as he leans in and runs his nose along yours, “You were so damn sexy whenever I saw you, still are, I have a hard time keeping thoughts straight in my head when I think about getting into your pants.”

“There’s my Frankie,” you smile, kissing him, chasing his lips with your mouth. “Did I ever tell you I had a sex dream about you that night?”

Frankie’s eyebrows shoot up into his hairline and he pulls back a little so that he can see your face, his eyes wide and filled with mischief. “No, you never told me that. Tell me everything!”

You laugh and pull him closer, “Take me to bed, Francisco, and I’ll show you.”

“My pleasure, hermosa,” he smiles and scoots off the couch, bending down to pick you up, bridal style, with your arms around his neck.

“I can walk you know,” you giggle, “I’m not even in pain anymore.”

“I know, but I also remember you saying you like it when I pick you up, something about the cave woman in you finding it sexy.”

“That is actually very true, and I still find it very sexy.”

Frankie grins and gently lays you down on the bed, “Now tell me about that sex dream,” he demands, sitting down on the edge and quickly unlacing his boots. You giggle and suddenly feel self conscious, your cheeks heating up.

“Did you ever have a sex dream about me?” You ask instead, to deflect Frankie’s amused gaze on you as he pulls his boots off.

“Sure, I had many sex dreams about you, and I’ll share them as soon as you tell me about yours, I’m really curious,” he gives you a mischievous grin as he climbs on top of you, propping himself up with his elbows on either side of your head again. You bite your lip, trying to hide the embarrassed smile that’s threatening to spill out, but Frankie doesn’t miss anything when he’s hovering over you, just inches from your face.

“C’mon, don’t get shy on me now, after we’ve literally fucked in every way possible,” he grins, rolling his hips against yours, “You’ve even got me hard, just thinking about it.”

“It’s silly, not some advanced sexcapade,” you say, but you let your legs fall open, caging his narrow hips with your thighs. “We were at my old place, and you had me sitting on the kitchen island there, and your fingers were inside me while you were kissing my neck, and…ooh, yeah, li-like that…” you stutter as Frankie drops his face into the crook of your neck and starts kissing the soft skin, trailing up towards your ear.

“Go on,” he mumbles, rolling his hips again, the hard length inside his jeans pushing up against your core, rubbing the fabric of your own pants against you in a way that makes your breath catch.

“Uuhm..we…” you gasp as Frankie’s teeth scrape across your neck, his tongue trailing softly at the same time. “You were pumping your fingers and I wanted you to fuck me so that I would come, I begged you to do it, and then you took your pants off and….then I woke up,” you giggle at the end, remembering how frustrated you’d felt when you woke up. You can feel Frankie smiling against your neck before he continues to trail kisses along your jaw, his teeth nipping at the skin, making you squirm under him.

“What did you dream about?” you ask, running your hands over his shoulders and down his back over the soft flannel of his shirt. You slide your fingers in under the hem, pushing up his shirt and Frankie sits back and pulls it over his head, flinging it off the bed.

“Definitely that,” he smiles, his fingers undoing the buttons of your jeans and pulling them down, gently lifting each of your legs to free them. “And then having you bent over my couch, and you riding me on the couch, and then eating you out when you were sitting on the couch.”

“Lots of stuff on the couch,” you giggle as Frankie carefully pushes your t-shirt and bra up over your breast, taking his time caressing them, letting the soft flesh spill through his fingers, before he pulls the t-shirt over your head, making the bra go the same way.

“I had a bad habit of falling asleep on the couch before you moved in, and I was always thinking about you when I was on it so…” he gives you a wink.

“Fantasy mingling with dreams? Are you telling me you jerked off on the couch thinking about me?” You can’t help but giggle as Frankie’s ears turn pink and he gives you a sheepish smile.

“Sounds so crude when you say it like that, cariño.”

“I like it,” you smile, “I like the thought of you getting off thinking about me, what did you think about?”

Frankie moves off the bed, standing to remove his jeans. You can’t help but smile as he pushes down the boxers too and you see how hard his cock already is, springing free from the fabric and curving up against his small, soft belly.

Frankie sees your eyes drift to his cock and gives you a crooked grin, “I used to think about what you would look like underneath me, your legs around my waist, moaning as I fucked you.” Frankie’s voice has dropped dangerously low and you feel a jolt of electricity shoot through your body as he steps up to the bed again. All embarrassment about telling you what he used to think about has melted away and now he stands over you, looking down with a wicked grin. “I’d picture you on top of me, how tight and hot your pussy would feel as you sank down over my cock, how I’d grab your hips and fuck up into you as you feel apart on me, moaning my name.”

Your breath hitches in your throat as you feel a rush of heat gathering between your thighs, making you squirm under his eyes, and he sees it, his gaze darkening and trailing down your body.

He bends down over you, caressing his thumb over your parted lips, letting his fingertips move down your neck, over your breasts, giving both nipples a gentle squeeze before pushing your legs apart and sliding two fingers through your folds, pulling a gasp from you as your back arches against his hand. “I really love hearing you moan my name, hermosa,” he mumbles, his eyes flitting up to your eyes before he looks back at how easily his fingers slip into your pussy.

You close your eyes and shudder, your limbs feel like liquid as he lets his fingers slide through the wet heat that started dripping from you as soon as he touched you.

“Fuck, Frankie,” you moan, lifting your hips against his hand, pushing for more of his hand and he chuckles, bending down to your ear with his fingers still teasing your enterance.

“Just like that, cariño.”

When he removes his hand you protest, closing your legs to keep him there but he pulls away, sliding both arms underneath you and picking you up off the bed again. You can feel his hard cock press against the small of your back as he settles you into his arms.

“I’m gonna give you the ending of that sex dream,” he smiles, walking into the kitchen, “I reckon the height of the counter is just right.”

“Should’ve told you ages ago if I knew this would be the reaction,” you cup his cheek and pull his lips to yours as he sets you down on the counter, scooting you around so that he’s between your legs, pulling you against him and you can feel him smiling against your mouth.

“I should’ve told you ages ago about how I used to get off thinking about you, if I’d known this is how wet you’d get,” he mumbles between kisses. “Let me taste you first though, I want to put my mouth on you before I give you a dream ending.” He pulls back and wiggles his eyebrows up and down, “get it, ‘dream ending’?”

You give him a light slap on the chest but you can’t help but laugh, “That was so lame, jeez, Frankie,” you giggle as Frankie’s eyes crinkle at the corners from his warm smile. He leans in to kiss you, gently pushing you back against the cool granite on the kitchen island and you gasp as your skin touches the surface. It’s a strange sensation, cool stone against your back as Frankie presses his hot body into your front, his warm tongue slipping between your lips and his hands pushing your thighs apart, making room for himself between them.

He sinks his tongue into you, deepening his kiss as his hand wraps around his cock so that he can slide it through your folds. You hear him groan into your mouth, his grip on your hip tightening. He seems to fight with himself as he pulls away, stepping back so that he can press his mouth against the inside of your thigh but he moans as he does it, his tongue trailing down your body until he reaches your legs. Hooking them over his shoulders he nudges his nose against the top of your slit, dragging the tip down through your folds, stopping to gently rub against your aching clit. The action makes you keen loudly, your hips bucking against him and Frankie chuckles, the hot air of his laughter blowing over your wet pussy, making you clench around nothing.

“Tranquilo, hermosa,” he mumbles, putting his arm across your hips to keep you still underneath him. He lets his tongue travel a familiar path from the edge of your opening, dragging flat through your slick folds up to the swollen button at the apex, teasing around the edge with the tip, flicking across it when you whimper under his touch. He loves the sounds he can pull from you when his tongue teases you, every whine and moan goes straight to his cock, egging him on, making him moan into your wet heat as he buries his face, scratching your skin with his beard. You push your hands into his curls, tightening your grip as he moves his tongue down, driving into your opening, curling it back as far as he can reach, his nose pressing against your clit. Sometimes you worry that you’ll break his nose with how hard you want to press your aching core against it, but somehow he never lets up, always pressing it firmer against you.

He feels your thighs tighten around his ears, your fingers running through his hair, scrambling for purchase as he pulls your clit into mouth, tasting the sweet and salt as he sucks on it, every pulse of his mouth pulling louder moans from you. He swipes his hand over his cock, pressing down to stave off the ache, and gathers the precum on his hand. With an extra flick of his tongue he opens you up on his fingers, tightening his hold on your hips as your body arches off the counter at the feel of two of his thick fingers sliding into your wet heat.

“Frankie, Frankie, Frankie…” you gasp, stuttering breath caught in your chest, his fingers are impossibly deep, curling up into that one spot he finds so easily. “I’m gonna…” you pant, gripping hard on his hair and you feel him growl into your pussy, speeding up the smooth passes of his fingers, pulling back just a fraction to look up at you. Your head thrown back, your breasts pushed into the air as your body arches under his arm.

“Please, my gorgeous girl, let me taste you, come for me,” he urges you, flicking his tongue over the hard bundle of nerves before he sinks his mouth down over it again. Every muscle in your body tightens, that familiar fire building fast under Frankie’s hot mouth, and with a cry you feel the tension snap. Frankie licks through your overheated folds, pumping his fingers deep, keeping your climax going until your muscles go limp under him and you fall back onto the blessedly cool counter with a gasp.

You feel him stand up and kiss slow, wet marks over your warm skin, his hands skating up your sides, his hand gently brushing over the compress you still wear over your wound. He kisses around it, butterfly soft lips dusting over the tender skin. His arms go around your waist and he pulls you up to sitting, his mouth finding yours as you push your fingers into dark, damp curls at the back of his neck. His cock is throbbing, aching hard and pushed up against your slick pussy, and he moans as you roll your hips on to it, teasing the tip with the heat his mouth left.

“I need you inside me, Frankie,” you mumble into his mouth, “please fuck me now.”

He groans, his hands sliding down to your hips as his fingers dig into your flesh, pushing your thighs apart.

“Say it again, hermosa, beg me again,” he mutters, his hand moving to wrap around his cock, pumping it with a groan as he looks at you.

“Please, Frankie, I love how hard you get for me, fuck me, please, make me feel it.” You bring your hand down between your legs, sliding through the mess he made, parting your puffy folds for him to see your opening aching for him. Frankie growls, a deep rumbling in his chest as your fingers slip through your pussy. His hand tightens around his cock and he pushes the blunt head into you, feeling the muscles contract around his cock, making him stutter and grind his jaw.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Frankie sputters, squeezing his eyes shut. His hands are back on your hips, pulling you onto him as you keen under the feel of his thick cock.

“Always so fucking big, Frankie,” you moan, “always so…oh fuck…” you loose your train of thought as he snaps his hips, pulling you flush against him, his cock bottoming out. He draws a deep breath before he does it again, pulling back and slamming his hips against you, setting a forceful pace. Your legs wrap around his waist, your heels digging into his back, holding on to his shoulders as his fingers dig into your flesh. His mouth on yours in a messy kiss, heavy breathing and tongues slipping over teeth as he fights to keep control for as long as he can. Your pussy is squeezing him tight, his mind is blank, the only coherent thought how he wants this feeling to last forever, wet, tight heat around his hard cock, your soft, warm body pressed against his, wrapped around him, your hands in his hair and on his shoulders, whimpering in his ear as he slams his cock deep inside your tight pussy.

“I need to feel you come on my cock,” he groans, “I want to feel you come around me, sweet baby, please, come for me again,” he’s panting, pulling back to slide his hand between your bodies. With practiced ease he gathers slick on his fingers and starts to circle your clit. His eyes are black with arousal, fixed on your face as you whine under his touch. He knows you’ll come again, easily, he knows every button to press to make you cry out, but he likes to ask you for it, urge you to come for him, to make him feel how you shiver as his words run straight to your core

Your pussy starts to convulse around him when he tightens the circles around your sensitive nerves, your head falling back just the way he likes. If he couldn’t feel how hard your pussy was gripping him right now, he’d still know that you were close, your head back, whimpering his name, your body trembling against him. You feel his mouth against your throat, he’s marking you, his teeth nipping the thin skin as he moans, groans, panting hard as he fucks himself deep into you. White heat collects in your core, his fingers pushing you over the edge as he grinds himself hard against you, the ridges of his hard cock hitting every nerve ending as your pussy tightens impossibly around him. You squeeze your eyes shut and and cry out for him, his own release impossible to stop, he sinks his teeth into your soft shoulder, groaning your name like a prayer into your skin, his hips stuttering in their rhythm, wet heat filling you up, pumping himself deep as he pulls your hips even closer.

After, his head rests on your shoulder, his hot breath, deep lungfuls of air, slipping down your breasts. Your arms wrapped around his strong shoulders, nose buried in the sweat damp curls behind his ear, smelling him, only him. His release is slipping out between your legs, with a low hiss he pulls out and lifts his head. You let your hands stroke his warm cheeks, scruffy beard and bare patches and he tilts his forehead against yours, another deep breath escaping him.

“Every day, somehow, you make me love you more, hermosa.”

Chapter 22

Taglist: @pimosworld @i-own-loki @casa-boiardi @littlenosoul @stormseyer @mxtokko @javicstories @nunya7394 @welcometothepedroverse @harriedandharassed @meveispunk @hiroikegawa

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wonder-worker · 3 months

Text

I really dislike (the second half of) David Baldwin's biography of Elizabeth Woodville, tbh. It's the first modern biography of her, and probably the most "academic" one out there till date, but it's unfortunately heavily flawed.

He takes Elizabeth and her family's "general unpopularity" as a given.

He wrote that after Edward IV's death, "Elizabeth allegedly urged Rivers to bring the young King to bring the young King to London as quickly as possible and with as large a force as he could muster...There can be no doubt that Elizabeth wished to see her son crowned before anything could frustrate it." In Baldwin's view, it's only after Hastings expressed reluctance that she decided to act as a "peacemaker" instead. How on earth is this any different from what Ricardians have said about Elizabeth during this time?

He claimed that after Richard of Gloucester seized 12-year-old Edward V - against his will, I might add - "The Woodvilles [Elizabeth and Dorset] tried, unsuccessfully, to raise an army to recover the initiative", referring to her unpopularity as a reason for why she wasn't successful, and incorrectly states that both Croyland and Mancini refer to this. They don't - only Mancini does. Croyland, on the other hand, does not write of any Woodville attempt to raise arms, but does write that after Elizabeth sought sanctuary, adherents gathered under Westminster "in the queen's name". Mancini presents Elizabeth as aggressive and unpopular, Croyland presents her as understandably worried and widely supported.

He believed that Elizabeth of York genuinely wanted to marry her brother-vanishing uncle Richard III and quoted George Buck's letter on this.

Even worse, claimed that Elizabeth Woodville "approved and encouraged" her daughter in this, because she was "cynically hoping that a marriage between King Richard and her daughter would restore her [meaning EW] to her position at the centre of affairs". Like. Do I really need to say anything?

And lastly, he believed that Elizabeth genuinely plotted against Henry VII and her own daughter in Simnel's Rebellion due to her own desire for power and prominence, along with "resentment" towards Margaret Beaufort, and was subsequently imprisoned and deliberately depowered for it.

While Baldwin certainly gives credit and sympathy to his subject, his biography of Elizabeth during Richard's usurpation and Tudor rule is effectively no different from the way Ricardians and other general histories write about her. He is inconsistent, objectively incorrect, and never once questions the blatantly propagandic narratives (both misogynistic and classist) that were spread about her. Some of the things he said about her in his book "The Kingmaker's Sisters" aren't expecially great either, but I'll leave those out for now.

Again - this is the most academic biography of Elizabeth till date, and this is the crap it said about her. That's literally how bad historical studies of her have been till date.

This epitomizes another problem I have with most - tbh, pretty much all - of Elizabeth's historians. They focus primarily on contradicting post-contemporary rumours and accusations about her (Thomas Cook, the queen's gold, the Earl of Desmond's death, etc). It's understandable to an extent: these are "safer", less contrary, less disruptive. They probably won't offend most of their readers. But when it comes to actual contemporary accusations? Every single historian till date has been utterly lacking and disappointing. This applies to both Warwick's rebellions and Richard III's usurpation. They never question the fundamental narrative of 1483. If they do focus on propaganda, it's the more overt ones (eg: Richard's letter accusing Elizabeth of treasonable necromancy). And even then, they never acknowledge - let alone emphasize - the true extent of what was said about her, and how much of it was very unprecedented when it came to queens.

The greatest irony is that it's two of Richard III's historians - Rosemary Horrox and A.J Pollard - who have done a better job highlighting the extent of Ricardian propaganda (reflected by Mancini, an innocent newcomer, who unknowingly painted Elizabeth and her family as aggressors and Richard as a victim of circumstance forced to defend himself). Of course, while Horrox and Pollard analyzed this mainly from Richard's perspective, with little attention given to Elizabeth herself, the mere acknowledgement is still somehow better than anything that any of Elizabeth's historians have ever done till date. That's a shame, tbh.

#elizabeth woodville #arlene okerlund's is better in the sense that she doesn't repeat such trash but hers is very generic and in some places equally frustrating #is routledge making a biography of her? I remember reading it somewhere but I've lost track...if they are I really hope it's good

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sixofravens-reads · 4 months

Note

re: 2023 new releases. hope you're ready for a long message because there were a lot.

hot new releases/things that were relatively popular

He Who Drowned The World, Shelley Parker Chan (Chinese mythological historical, very gay, very stabby a la Baru Cormorant. Book 2 of 2. A particular favorite of mine from this year)

Witch King, Martha Wells (New fantasy book by author of murderbot fame. I didn't actually click with this one but I'd be remiss to leave it off)

House With Good Bones, T Kingfisher (Southern gothic rose horror by the very talented Ursula Vernon)

Translation State, Ann Leckie (high sf alien horror regency romance. Wheeeeee. I had a lot of fun reading this. You can read it as a standalone, but you get deeper context if you've read the ancillary justice series, also highly recommended)

Will of the Many, James Islington (futuristic roman empire aesthetic rigged murder school. Not precisely good but appallingly catchy, I read all six hundred pages in pretty much one sitting. If you liked red rising you'll like this, if you hated red rising you will Not)

OH YEAH THE ACTUAL NEW MURDEBOT NOVEL (System Collapse)

A Power Unbound, Freya Marske (book 3 of 3, magic alt edwardian romances with murder. This is more romance proper but it's about equal with the action plot and Marske is very good. I don't think you've read these so you'd have to start at book 1)

Some Desperate Glory, Emily Tesh (The book that absolutely knocked my socks off, my pick for the best sff release of the year. I forget if I've already told you about this one)

Starling House, Alix Harrow (Southern gothic house drama. Similar feel to Ninth House or The Book of Night)

The Adventures of Amina al-Sirafi, Shannon Chakraborty (Divorced lady pirate adventure-drama a la Arabian Nights.)

Emily Wilde's Encyclopaedia of Faeries, Heather Fawcett (Charming, heavily fairy tale trope themed, vaguely reminiscent of the Lady Trent books)

more obscure new releases from this year that I thought were cool, but not in the Hot New Reads You Can't Miss Because Everyone's Read Them category

Under Fortunate Stars, Ren Hutchings (sf timey wimey space shenanigans with aliens. Immensely cool premise.)

Small Miracles, Olivia Atwater (fallen angel sent to tempt a too good mortal. Extremely charming)

The King Is Dead, Naomi Libicki (vaguely persian flavored fealty romance, very heavy to the fealty. Original, thorny, and intriguing)

The Deep Sky, Yume Kitasei (What if we terribly traumatized everyone going on a generation ship by making them go to viciously competitive boarding school together and then act surprised when a murder mystery occurs. Heads up that it's more interested in the human drama than the SF worldbuilding)

The Saint of Bright Doors, Vajra Chandrasekera (early modern fantasy world anti-imperialism fever dream narrated by a cult survivor. Brilliantly written, spectacularly original, one of the best books I read this year)

Things for 2024, content warning for being (obviously) things I haven't read and thus without quality control

The Warm Hands of Ghosts, Katherine Arden

The Familiar, Leigh Bardugo

The Dead Cat Tail Assassins, P Djeli Clark

Long Live Evil, Sarah Rees Brennan

Goddess of the River, Vaishnavi Patel

The Woods All Black, Lee Mandelo

Exordia, Seth Dickinson

A Sorceress Comes To Call, T Kingfisher

Running Close To The Wind, Alexandra Rowland

Wow tumblr just lets me keep writing words. I didn't think they let me have this many in asks. Oh, and pro tip-- keep an eye out for tordotcom's most anticipated upcoming books for the first six months of 2024. They should be publishing it within the next week or so and I always add masses of books to my tbr from there.

oh holy crap, thanks!! I'll have to check these out!

thoughts on a few of em:

He Who Drowned The World - still have to read She Who Became the Sun lol but hopefully I'll get to em next year!

Witch King - Martha Wells has been recced by like All my sci-fi mutuals now lmao I REALLY gotta get into her!

House With Good Bones - THIS ONE IS ACTUALLY ON MY SHELF!! I just didn't fucking read it this year whoops. Very excited for new Kingfisher

Starling House - I was on the fence about this one since I really didn't like Once and Future Witches, but those comparisons give me hope! I'll add it to the library list!

Some Desperate Glory and Emily Wilde's Encyclopaedia of Faeries are 2/3 of the books published in 2023 that I actually managed to read (the 3rd is The Woman in Me lmao), I can't remember if you recc'd Some Desperate Glory, but it was SOOOOOOOO GOOD OMFG

Small Miracles - my aunt has been trying to convince me to read Atwater for quite a while, I'll have to give this one a try!

The Saint of Bright Doors - I have this one on hold!! Saw a post for it a week or so ago and it sounds absolutely delightful!

The Familiar - SO SO EXCITED for this one! I hope Bardugo is maybe...slowly....extricating herself from the Grishaverse and going to write more books not related to it... (not that they're all bad, I loved the Six of Crows duology, I'm just not into it anymore and I reeeealllly like her adult books lol)

Running Close To The Wind - oh yay new Rowland! I still haven't read her last book (the one with the guy on the cover who looked EXACTLY like my boss to the point where it became an Office Meme that [Boss] Is A Gay Romance Cover Model, still meaning to get a UK version of it but haven't yet) but I'll have to look this one up!

#seriously this is SO MANY RECS THANK YOU!!

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the-river-runs · 11 months

Text

Back at it again with a post from my best friend! This one is another edit she's made!

Once again, I have been asked to post this to my tumblr for Fandom, and all content was edited by her.

Here's her Instagram!

Fandom has also asked me to relay this message:

"Hello everyone tagged here! (Hi again Naff <3)

To show my love and appreciation for the DCA content creator community, I dedicate this edit to all of you. Whenever if you draw art, write fanfiction, or both, I would like to thank you. You guys make outstanding work and are insanely talented 🫡

I already introduced myself to two of you, but to most - hello! My name is Fandom and my Instagram is @ http.redshoes. If you have an Instagram, hmu!! I would love to follow you if I haven’t already. I hope that everyone enjoys the edit! 💕💕

Ac: dex.editz (TikTok)

Vc: JazeCinema & Kyle Allen Music (YouTube)

Sdt: @naffeclipse , @zhench , @lavenoon , @bamsara , @paper-lilypie , @crow-n-tell , @spaciebabie , @sorveteir , @skizabaa , @solitary-star , @zus-a-fungi , @venomous-qwille , @pure-plum , @xitsensunmoon , @kandidandi , @bri-does-art , @pillowspace

Blender credits (on thumbnail): EliteRobo04 (Reddit)

Let’s give a big round of applause to these creators!! 👏👏👏

(P.S. - I tried doing a new editing style in CapCut so apologies the quality is a bit iffy. I’m attempting to make it resemble After Effects since I usually make simpler edits. I wanna know if I did a good job at it or not 👀)

(P.P.S. - if the one and only, the myth, the legend themselves…Solar Lunacy, Demon!Bakugou w/ Human!Izuku “let’s make an accidental ‘friendship’ deal bc we’re oblivious also my mom’s almost killed me for this one DEKU but thank goodness you don’t seem to really remember me” AU, the one that carried the Invader Zim fandom and made that one ET Katy Perry comic with Dib and Zim, while they’re being delulu about not being rivals but FRIENDS they are FRIENDS your honor but they don’t want to admit it, Bam the Sara ™ sees this…I told River to bake me cupcakes if most of the users I tagged for a separate post on Insta would see it. They all did, but not Bam Sara the Sara Bam ™. It is a sad but a true story. I got my cupcakes and they were absolutely delicious, but!! I told my bestie, River, that if Sara the Bam Bam Bam ™ saw my post, she needed to bake me a cake and throw a celebration party. This whole baking thing was an inside joke at first, but now it’s getting real. If they see/comment on this from Tumblr, Insta, or on both platforms, I will *literally* return the favor to my best friend here and bake her something. Throw a little celebration party too while we’re at it 💥💥)

(Bam, if you do actually see this, apologies for remixing the crap out of your username; I only did it for the sillies. I’m a huge fan of your content and you’re so SO creative you have no idea. Your art skills are everything and I wanted you to be appreciated as well!)" -Fandom

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obsessedwithstarwars · 2 years

Text

Short Nocturn in Gotham prompt

I have an idea, and no brain space for it so here ya go. If anyone makes a story off this, please tag me!

This is a dp x dc crossover. And Anger Management because I’m obsessed with Jazz x Jason.

Jazz lives in Gotham, and works as a psychologist for Arkham. Things are going as normal as can be expected for Gotham and an Amity Parker. She’s only dealt with a few muggings and kept her head down because she’s Liminal! and doesn’t want to get the attention of a certain group of vigilantes.

What if Nocturn came to Gotham? (I don’t remember much of the episode so hopefully this tracks)

I would personally start it out trying to trick the reader. (Sorry, It’s fun!) A cute chapter or 2, where Jazz and Jason are together. So normal. Super accepting of each other. With so much fluff it hurts. But slowly, as the story goes on, more and more things seem off. Like déjà vu, like she’s done this before?? (Kind of similar to the vibe of that one Doctor Who episode where Donna Noble gets saved to the Library database. I can’t remember if it’s a 2 part episode? I think it’s called Silence in the Library??? I don’t know, and I’m not looking it up. If you see River Song’s first episode with David Tennant’s Doctor then you’ve got the right one. I think.) Jazz just slowly sees inconsistencies, and brushes them off at first. Hey, she deserves a chance to be happy, okay?! But as time goes on, there are just too many to ignore. She has a nagging feeling something’s not right and briefly wonders if it’s a ghost. But the only one that makes sense is Nocturn and he can’t be in Gotham right? Right??!

When she discovers Jason’s Red Hood, the revelation almost shocks her awake (total mistake on Nocturn’s part. He thought the vigilante thing would keep her asleep or deepen her sleep since it’s kinda normal for her with her brother). She does some quick thinking as she feels herself waking up, and yep, it’s definitely Nocturn, and decides she needs help stopping him. Makes a plan. Not a great one, but hey, it was last second. Literally.

Meanwhile Jason POV shows he’s struggling with believing it too. Thinks she’s too good to be true. (I don’t know anything about the DC universe. I’m going off of the fic Friendly Neighborhood Vigilante by @gilbirda Go check it out, it’s amazing!) And when she discovers he’s Red Hood, she does something ghostly (prolly eyes or strong stuff) and he’s like holy crap she’s a meta, and before he’s had a chance to process anything she says something like “Come find me when you wake up.” (gives me Edge of Tomorrow: Live. Die. Repeat. vibes which just feels fitting here) and shoots him in the chest right before shooting herself (non lethal bullets cause what if you can die in your dream?) and that shocks him awake.

She wakes up at her desk in Arkham to find out that all of Gotham is asleep. Thankfully this includes the villains. (But not for long!)

Does she call Danny or try to deal with it herself?

Is Danny the Ghost King?

Does Jason actually go or does Jazz have to find him?

She’s definitely questioning whether what she had with Jason was real. He does the same with her. Personally, I would keep Batman asleep for a lot of it but that’s because I know nothing about him aside from Wayne Family Adventures (which I’ve been told doesn’t count), the classic old show I watch when I’m sick, and a few episodes from Batman: The Brave and The Bold. Also Young Justice, but that was years ago. Before season 3.

If they have nightmares:

Would Jason’s nightmare be the Joker killing him?

Maybe Jazz’s nightmare is about Dan trying to kill her? Or coming back?

And that’s all I got. Maybe I’ll try to write something eventually, but right now my heart is heavy and my brain is fog. So if you have any ideas, go for it and tag me! I would love to know how you would change/finish it!

#dc x dp #dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #dp x dc prompt #danny phantom #dani phantom #jazz fenton #anger management ship #jason x jazz #jazz x jason #batman

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allamericanb-tch · 12 days

Text

crimson rivers thoughts (12)

@tastetherainbow290

chapter 26

rip james potter’s leg he’s gone full peeta

sirius is visiting reg

reg ☹️

talking about throwing up is arguably the worst part of this fic so far

“It's fine. I didn't even like this shirt. (Sirius really liked this shirt.)”

i am legitimately shaking but i don’t know if this is important so i need to read it

please stop talking about throwing up

poor regulus i feel so bad

and hes throwing up again

i cant even think about this what if i just skim the rest

ok pov switch thank god

oh no i forgot remus has to go back…

sirius is so considerate

nooo remu

sirius pov again im praying there isn’t any more throwing up

and there it is.

poor regulus ahhhhh i just feel so bad for him like. i want to give him a hug.

why doesn’t regulus want to see james ☹️

sirius is visiting james now

that was sweet. sad, but sweet.

remus pov again

remu ❤️‍🩹

can someone tell me why the rat is my 5th most used emoji

"You're so precious to me, did you know that?"

remus loves sirius (duh)

chapter 27

i’m sad for wolfstar what’s gonna happen

"You can trust that the only person I have an interest in seeing naked is your brother." 😭

this hallow drama is actually hilarious

reggie 💔

i’m scared that pandora is going to die in the future bc we have t seen any of her pov

this is so sad.

no thoughts just sadness.

“i’m collecting them all” i’m glad to see you making jokes reg

"Oh, this is just the bruise finally blooming from where I tripped and fell the moment I saw you,"

this was a lighter chapter but still sad

chapter 28

back to james pov

oh no a nightmare

CRAP I FORGOT ABT MY MATH HOMEWORK it was due yesterday but she hasn’t graded it yet so if i turn it in now she won’t take of points for it being late

math homework is finished! back to reading (suffering)

oh yeah. nightmare. ☹️

"I wasn't supposed to go through this," no james, you were not. i’m sad now (i have been sad)

james leave regulus aloneeee (don’t leave him alone)

shrodinger’s cat mention

“james”

i’m actually crying right now.

nooo why are the fighting

james is getting his glasses back soon!!! huzzah

"I don't want to be a great, big tragedy anymore,"

baby

“it’s a parting gift” i’m crying again

regulus and remus friendship <3

“we broke up” “you were together?” 😭

ugh this is so sad. already i’ve cried more times than reading atyd AND choices and ive barely made a dent in cr

oh no interview prep

evan mention 💔

every time i see the word hallow in this fic im like “i need to add this (hallow/hollow) to my list of homophones” and i never do bc im writing all my thoughts in my notes app and my homophones list is in a different folder than my marauders thoughts

chapter 29

oh me oh my hanky panky happening in this chapter i wonder for who

every time i call sex hanky panky i give myself the ick

"We broke up? This is news to me” james 😭

“No one needs romantic love to be fulfilled as a person. Not everyone wants it, and then there are those who aren't ready, and all of it is okay. That doesn't mean there's an absence of love, or that you're getting it wrong. You're not, Regulus, I promise."

they’re holding hands (but for sad reasons)

interview time i’m scared

evan ☹️☹️☹️

vanity ☹️☹️☹️

“We love your love, don't we?" 💔

this is so sad omg i genuinely don’t know how im going to survive this

GLASSES!!!!!!

so he’s just been wearing contacts this whole time?

ok i need to go do my duolingo.

i am back from duolingo.

james telling sirius to go have sex with remus on their last night 😭 i mean fair. they should

"I'm absolutely thinking about your brother right now." oh, james

james telling sirius about him and reg 😭 poor sirius

sirius asking james for tips 💀

“i expect all the details” james fleamont potter 😭

sirius is such a good brother. i love him.

remus pov !!

“i would not have known joy if i did not have the pleasure of knowing you”

ugh wolfstar. i love you.

😯 hanky panky

spine has been realigned

ok but any time any of them ever talk about getting off it just makes me think about one time when i was at a district choir concert and when we were practicing one of our songs the director said “there won’t be a dry seat in the audience” (he meant dry eye, bc the song was beautiful, but it just came out like everyone in the audience would dream their pants 😭) but. unnecessary story and it isn’t really that funny unless you were there but.

chapter 30 (?!)

evan 💔

god.

remus ‘reading’ sirius’ mind 😭

they have to say goodbye ☹️

barty mention!!!!

*singing* i just miss you and i just wish you were a better man

“i love you” eeeeeeeee

omg kissing

and it’s over.

“i don’t want to hurt you anymore” 💔

eeeee they’re kissing again

“it’ll take a while but later—much later—james will look back on this and wonder, sadly, if it was a parting gift, too.” WHAT

sirius kissing the mask so remus will always have a sirius kiss

i love pandora

wolfstar goodbye 💔

the fact that all of this happened in the span of two weeks

effie and monty!!!!!!!!!!

the next chapter is lily… should i read it or go to sleep

#crimson rivers

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rolaplayor101 · 2 months

Note

So I've just read your post "A Silent Voice Aspec Analysis" and I am so happy but I wanted to ask is...how exactly is Shoya from OAA rep? Could you direct me to all instances which made you think that he is? Thank you in advance!

9/13/22

So it’s been a year and a half since I got this ask and I’m only now answering it— I think about this ask a lot, and it’s not that I don’t want to answer it, it’s that I was waiting for the right time. I wanted to answer it during either asexual awareness week or Arospec awareness week last year or even the year before, but either because I forgot or because I procrastinated it, I never got to it. Now it's ASAW 2024, and I have finally decided to lay down and write this essay, so here we go:

There’s a few points I want to discuss, but in respect for the reader’s time, I will lay them all out right here as a tl;dr before I write them all out thoroughly.

Shoya shows himself to be both repulsed by romance and sexuality as soon as it is pointed towards him. This presents itself in his dialogue, his facial expressions, and his thoughts throughout A Silent Voice.

Shoya often is seen blushing in most instances, whether he’s with Shoko or not, of if he’s embarrassed or upset or neutral. With this point, I think it’s poignant to say he has rosacea.

Shoya himself says multiple times that he is not interested in Shoko, who is his main concern for all of the manga.

The way other characters in A Silent Voice show attraction is completely different from anything Shoya ever does.

The movie changes certain aspects of the manga to get the overall point across and stick to the most important plot lines. One of the things that it changes is literally all the scenes where the other characters assume Shoya likes Shoko romantically, unless it specifically pertains to Shoko’s side of the story, the character who DOES have romantic feelings in this pair for the other.

Shoya shows his immense dislike for romance and sex a variety of times, as aforementioned, but does seem to enjoy physical, sensual touch, including holding hands, and, secondly, the only time he feels jealousy in reference to other people's relationships is not when he thinks Shoko is dating someone, but when he sees her getting closer platonically with other people(Sahara).

The entire story is about Shoya trying to redeem himself for past deeds, and learning what friendship is. Romance only ever ties in when it’s related to other people that aren’t him.

This might have to be split into multiple posts because I have a lot of manga panels to use as reference. First, let’s start at the beginning. On the very first page of chapter one, we are immediately met by Shoya experiencing allonormativity and looking extremely annoyed. As soon as he hears the word “boyfriend” he is amiss, as is implied by the boldness of the word boyfriend. He immediately informs them that he’s not her boyfriend, with a sweating face, and balling in on himself, a thing he does multiple times to show he’s uncomfortable and anxious, while also always having the four little blush marks under his eyes as a character design choice, not a proof of attraction.

In fact, one of the first things we learn about Shoya is that he doesn’t like girls, next to the fact that he’s not supposed to jump into the River, he doesn’t like his mom’s nickname for him, and that he has a sister whose boyfriend sucks, because he can’t “play with them”. Crushing on one doesn’t even cross his mind, but it does for everyone else he interacts with in his class:

“isn’t that great, Ishida?” Naoka asks in response to learning that the new transfer student is a girl.

“Huh? I don’t give a crap!!” He replies, his expression one of genuine confusion and annoyance, with his eyebrows furrowed downwards and his pupils small, mouth low on his face without a hint of a smile or blush.

Shortly after we have a montage of him bullying Shoko along with his friends, we are met with his first instance of romance repulsion at a young age:

Amongst being touched— holding hands with a girl— he does not blush or smile, neither does flowers appear around him in thematic fashion of romantic attraction; instead, he looks angry, his brows furrowing, even the lines of rosacea on his face disappearing to show him paling in disgust. The next panel with his face shows him grimacing, a shadow falling over his eyes and bags appearing under his eyes with sweat pouring down his face. He is not enjoying the physical touch from her. Finally, as he whips his arm away, a blush appears on his face, but only as he hears his friends behind him laughing at him. He’s embarrassed and angry. We get the second bout of amatonormativity from his friends:

He’s blushing, but not from attraction, like his friends joke, but in embarrassment. The next scene shows Ishida saying a word that appears over and over from here on, and the dialogue is, “she’s creepin’ me out” as he walks away with Kazu and Hirose. We will get back to that.

This is only the beginning of Shoya’s journey through navigating allonormativity and deconstructing what friendship means to him. His “friends” aren’t good ones, for sure, and this comes up as a theme throughout. In fact, the allonormativity keeps on even til the end, but I’ll expand on that later, as well. Skip only a 20 pages later, and you’ll see this little scene:

Here, Shoya actively reveals his repulsion towards romance once again by even just being around a place where people go on dates often, and gets angry and upset. Now, it is a common trope for children in tv to hate romance and be seen to grow out of it, as if it’s childish to see it as disgusting and unlikeable, but, in Shoya’s case, even as time passes, he continues to share these feelings, although more quietly, with his elementary school self. Even here, when he’s all scratched up, you can see the blush on his face when he notices Shoko seeing him, but again, this blush, in context, doesn’t seem to be one of attraction, but of embarrassment. In context, he’d just been pushed around by his ex-friends, and chastised by his mom, and has now been seen kicking a wall. There’s no romantic tension or reasoning to this scene for it to be a blush of romantic attraction on his face.

Time skip to him in his teen years, senior year, in chapter 5:

He’s being a bit dramatic by the end, but even so, in the beginning, it’s obvious that his thoughts are his own. In the ten year anniversary edition, his dialogue is, “And you butt-ugly bastards, stop talking about dating. It makes me sick.” This change in dialogue leaves out the “it doesn’t suit you” which can change the connotation a little bit. It changes the meaning from, “You acting like you can date the way you are is creepy” to “just talking about romance at all is gross to me”. And then, sexually, it’s also the same. It’s not only romance, but sex that also creeps him out. “That goes for you too.” (These are also taken out of the movie, because it’s once again not relevant, and also makes Shoya more palpable as a character you can be sorry for. His comments here do sound a lot like endorsing rape culture in a victim blaming kind of way). Then there’s this little nugget a few pages after:

“Apparently, there are some things in this world you just can’t attain. The moment I realized that, my future became clear.”

One of the noticeable things he “can’t attain” is a girl or boy to be in a relationship with in high school. That, or if you look at it in things he can’t be a part of, like, say, being in the class photo, or getting into college, or being In a group of friends, or having a full head of hair, etc., it’s also possible to view the scene of him walking past the couple as him not being able to avoid seeing couples, as all the other things he is actively working towards or interacting with/looking at. As in, “I won’t be able to be in the class photo, I won’t be able to avoid couples, I won’t be able to go to college, I won’t be able to make friends”, or, “I won’t be able to be in a relationship” whether that being because no one wants him or because he himself doesn’t want to be in one despite everyone else in school wanting it so badly, due to the allonormativity he’s experienced convincing him that’s the case.

After this scene, we are back in media rez, where he just denied being her boyfriend. In that context, he just the other day thought about romance being something he either can’t attain because he doesn’t want it, or can’t get it, and when these aunties call him Shoko’s boyfriend, he shows a rather plain disgust and discomfort with it, implying that it’s something he doesn’t want, instead of can’t get.

Then we get this legendary scene: ”Nishimiya…could you…and me..be friends?”

He has a blush here that is unlike the usual four lines we see on his cheeks under his eyes; this one is further into his cheekbones, and it's not from anger or embarrassment, but rather from a shyness. And this shyness doesn’t come from romantic feelings, but for platonic feelings. His words inform the expression, that he wants a friendship with her. And then this happens:

His expression changes instantly. It’s not necessarily one of disgust, but of panic, of discomfort. He’s still blushing, but he’s sweating now, just like before, in elementary school, and he can also hear the ladies in the back making comments just like his friends from before. He’s not angry, as his brows are raised instead of furrowed, but he’s deeply unsettled.

In this next set of panels, Shoko notices the ladies and pulls away, and Shoya’s face is a bit different and more comical. He’s still sweating and blushing, but his mouth is open wider as if to say something, and his hand is limp. When she pulls back. There’s a spark that’s closer to her than it is to him, which I think symbolizes a sudden awareness on her part rather than his. He also looks a bit happier that she let go, with only one sweat drop on his face instead of multiple. His brows are also more relaxed, and his mouth jaw is closing slightly. This is presumably how Shoko is seeing him in this moment.

And when someone interrupts, presumably one of the women who were laughing at him, he gets all stiff again and his blush mostly disappears. Then the panels start being viewed from either Shoya’s side or from his perspective again. Fast forward to when they’re feeding bread to fish a few minutes later.

He blushes at the thought that he’s having a normal friendly conversation with Shoko, the girl he used to hate, not just “a girl” or “a person my age that’s a girl for the first time since I hit puberty”. He’s not blushing at a romantic encounter or moment, but that he’s making a friend, he’s nervous that he has zits in his face, not because he thinks she’s pretty or something like that, that doesn’t even cross his mind, but that he can have a positive relationship with someone who isn't in his family or someone he works with. And someone he ruthlessly bullied five or six years ago.

Another example of his Asexuality comes right after this, when they both jump into the water under the bridge to rescue Shoko’s old notebook. He accidentally looks up and sees her skirt lifted, but he immediately closes his eye and looks down again without a blush on his face, and immediately focuses back in on finding the notebook without even a moment to get his bearings. It doesn’t bother him at all.

sorry about the bad quality, i had to take this picture for the sake of time instead of finding it online.

The next chapter features the biggest theme of the entire manga and anime besides redemption:

This is brought up again once Shoya meets Yuzuru, who wants to keep him away from Shoko. Yuzuru asks, “Are you really her friend?” And it brings about this entire thought process for Shoya, again and again, in the series. And then he meets Nagatsuka:

This is an example of my second point: Shoya’s blushing. A lot of “evidence” people give for Shoya liking Shoko is that he blushes around her a lot. This is a false equivalence, for Shoya blushes all the time and for anyone and any reason. Here, Nagatsuka does something extraordinarily nice to him for no reason, and he blushes, his confusion evident in the furrow of his brow and him asking, “Why’d you do all that for me?” In the 10th anniversary edition. Nagatsuka’s friendship from here on causes him to blush just as much as Shoko, and it doesn’t stop there. Later in the series when he befriends Miki, he’s also seen blushing around her, and not only that, but there are symbols seen around characters all the time to forward the notion of different points of view within a panel.

Image 1: Blush blush blush~ all of this at the notion of friendship, a complete turn around from whenever anyone mentions romance or sex around him. He’s forming connections with people for the first time since middle school, or even elementary school, to further Point 7. His need for platonic relationships greatly overshadows any hint of romance that is ever brought up, especially with Shoko.

Image 2: Miki sees herself as cute, which is why the bubbles appear around her, signaling a slight pov change. Shoya himself never shows any interest in Miki, nor Miki for him, and it especially shows in this scene with his expression and his thoughts not at all aiming towards her. And when Miki says Mashiba is handsome, a particularly aesthetic, romantic, or sexual form of attraction, this is something Shoya doesn’t even notice; yet, when she says Mashiba wants to be his friend, his eyes go wide with sudden interest. His disinterest towards romance and sex also take into account men, as well.

Image 3: once again, Miki has bubbles around her, but this is not Shoya’s pov until the next panel. This is a good example of background and environmental symbolism not necessarily reflecting on Shoya’s own thoughts and feelings, but those around him.

If we go to the movie, in image 1, this scene is shown with Shoya and Nagatsuka doing a secret handshake, which has a lingering touch between them that doesn’t make Shoya uncomfortable like Shoko’s attempt at handshakes/handholding does, and it’s in the midst of a conversation about friendship, in contrast to how the ladies from sign class assumed it to be a romantic thing with Shoko and Shoya. And speaking of, shortly after image 1, we run into them again:

Once again, the blush appears, but his brows furrow and he has a frown on his face that shows his discomfort, along with the sweat. He runs away because he’s embarrassed, not because there’s any truth to what they’re saying. This bring us again to point 3: Shoya points out multiple times that he does not like Shoko romantically. For the sake of convenience, I’ll add the rest of the times that he does this, and the chapters, to show that he doesn’t change his mind even by the end of the manga.

chapter 15

Chapter 20 (genuine confusion, doesn’t see it as romantic in the slightest, regular rosacea blush on his face. Pure amatonormativity and relationship hierarchy)

chapter 21

chapter 40 (this one needs further explaining but I’ll do it in the next post)

chapter 41

chapter 61 (til the very end, the literal second to last chapter, his friend is being allonormative while he’s perfectly happy and blushing at his friendship with Shoko. His expression holds a seriousness that implies it’s not a joke on his part, as well as the excited look he has as he gets an answer to the question)

Since I can only post 30 picture at a time on tumblr, I’ll stop the post right here and finish on a reblog some day. Yes, I know about the interviews with the author, and yes, I’ll supply those in due time as well.

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