Writings inspired by prompts or my own mind or whatever--varied fandoms. I follow back as @ezras-channel-rat
| 🔞 | MASTERLIST | TAGLIST | Find me on Ao3: She-Devil-Jones | 32 | She/Her |
If anyone cares, I am considering deactivating this blog. If you like anything I've written, let me know and it'll remain up. Otherwise everything will be likely eventually be gone.
I'll add the taglist later so people are informed.
A friendly reminder—please put your age, decade, or age range in your bio. I like to know the people I'm interacting with are adults (particularly given the type of content I write), and if I cannot determine that from your bio, unfortunately, I will block you.
Can I just say that seeing some wonderful person working their way through several of my fics as they like and/or reblog along their way is *something that can be so personal.*
You have warmed my heart. Yes, you. I see you and I love you 💕
This is one of my favorite posts because that cat’s fucking name is fucking meatloaf
Let us just appreciate that this person’s dad didn’t know when they would be home and so he couldn’t plan for them to be able to join the family for dinner, but he knew with no doubts that dear sweet Meatloaf staying in that exact position for hours was an absolute in this scenario. Truly, that cat was named well.
A - Available?
B - Birthday?
C - Crushing on?
D - Drink you last had?
E - Easiest person to talk to?
F - Favourite song?
G - Grade i hated?
H - Hometown?
I - Icecream flavour?
J - Jellybean flavour?
K - Killed someone?
L- Longest friendship?
M - Milkshake flavour?
N - Number of siblings?
O - One wish?
P - Person who called me last?
Q - Question your always asked?
R - Reason to smile?
S - Song i last sung?
T - Time you woke up?
U - Umbrella colour?
V - Very best friend?
W - Which celebrity i’d marry?
X - X rays i had?
Y - Your last time you cried?
Z - Zodiac sign?
go clothes shopping with, go to ikea with, go grocery shopping with
Ezra, Maxwell and Oberyn :) thank you
Hmmmmm...
Go clothes shopping with:
Oberyn Martell.
I feel his fashion sense is impeccable. Though, he'd honestly think everything looks better on the bedroom floor...
Go to IKEA with:
Maxwell Lord
Though I have a feeling there'd be more than a few disagreements in regards to styles...😹 I do not trust the man's fashion sense in regards to clothes. LOL
Go grocery shopping with:
Ezra
After all the time in the Green and limited choices for food and drink...you ain't getting this man out that store easily. He's going to be choosing every little thing that strikes both your fancies. Though I see a grocery shopping trip with him just fun and possibly full of shenanigans. 😹
fight aliens with, fight zombies with, fight capitalism with
write a book with, read a book to, hit with a book
go on a six hour road trip with (no car radio, you choose who drives), sit next to on a six hour plane flight, sit across from on a six hour train journey
go clothes shopping with, go to ikea with, go grocery shopping with
go to a wedding with, go to a party with, go to a museum with
share a car with, share a bank account with, share a cake with
watch a soap opera with, go to a play with, watch your favourite movie with
netflix and chill with, go ice-skating with, play dodgeball against
Must be knowledgeable in Game of Thrones and Pirates of the Caribbean (just the first 3 films) to some degree. It's really hard for me to ask because I'm pretty private with my writing and not always been comfortable discussing it with anyone. I kinda grew up in the "fanfiction is taboo" age.
Any way, feel free to message me if you are or have any suggestion. Thanks in advance.
Warnings: drug/alcohol abuse, angst, swearing, death
Summary: Frankie deals with the aftermath of Tom’s death and you finally walking away. It’s been almost two years now but the pain hasn’t lessened and he can’t stand to be sober.
A/N: Part 4 of the Walk A Golden Road series, inspired/loosely based on the song “Tonight I Wanna Cry” by Keith Urban. Also part of @writer-wednesday. There may be a part 2 of this–depends on how the series goes. It’s not allowing me to write it in chronological order so…apologies. Sorta.
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He’d been too quick on the trigger…
Too quick, too harsh with his words…
Too weak to not give in to the pretty white powder…
He left the TV on in the living room, ignoring the white noise as tried to bury himself further into his bed. The sound of the rain outside was irritating and soothing all at the same time, the dying light of the sun casting the room in a dim glow. The street lights and city lights were slowly coming to life outside, headlights from passing cars flashing across the walls.
He lets one eye open to glance blurrily around but shuts it quickly when his gaze falls on just one of several photographs of you and him together.
Smiling.
Happy.
In love.
Sober.
He buries his face in the pillow as he feels his heart break for the thousandth time. He reaches one hand blindly over the edge of the bed, grasping for the bottle he knows is sitting on the floor. When his hand finds it, he grabs it like a lifeline and sits up just enough to swallow several gulps, ignoring the burning as it settles in his gut.
He didn’t want to be sober right now.
He wanted to let go of his self-control…what was left of it, that is.
Another swig before he tries to set the bottle back down on the floor, the crunching of paper making him lean over the side in puzzlement.
He wishes he hadn’t.
Memories flood back and his throat tightens as his eyes focus on the words swimming in front of him. Old letters from when he was deployed are scattered across the floor. Letters between friends that gradually became love letters as the years went on.
They say it hurts the worst before it gets better…
Except it’s been almost two years since you left…
It wasn’t getting better.
It hurts just as much as it did when you walked out his front door that day…when Tom’s blood splattered against the rocks in the Andes…
He always thought that being strong meant never showing his emotions, his feelings. Keeping tight self-control, like the military had taught him.
Frankie rips his gaze from the letters and flips himself so he’s facing the opposite wall, his breathing coming fast and harsh. He grasps the other pillow on the bed so tightly his knuckles turn white and his muscles cramp.
Night blankets the city fully now…
The rain starts falling more heavily against the window…
Frankie doesn’t try to stop the tears this time.
‘To hell with my pride.’
Sleep finds him, tears still staining his face and soaking the pillow beneath…
A moment of peace and solace, finally.
Banging coming from his front door shatters it before the nightmares can even start.
Frankie startles out of bed, nearly falling face first onto the floor when his comforter gets caught around his legs. Knocking over an empty bottle after freeing himself, he staggers to the front door, the pounding on the other side of it echoing in his already pounding skull.
“Fucking hold your horses!” he calls out hoarsely.
“Fish, open this goddamned door, pendejo!”
Santi.
Of course it would be him to show up on the night Frankie lets emotions go and cries himself to sleep, silently begging God for peace. Or whatever being or deity may be there to witness his breakdown…
He leans heavily on the door frame as he fumbles with the lock and then opens the door a crack, too drunk, too out of it to even glare at his best friend.
“What you want, Pope?”
Santiago’s jaw tightens at the state his best friend is in and knows what he had to say was not going to make anything better. He just hopes Frankie is sober enough to comprehend it.
He doesn’t hesitate to push the door open and Frankie gives little resistance or protest except verbally.
“Hey, man! What the fuck?!”
Frankie shuts the door before trying to hurry after Santiago as the man walks into his kitchen. His best friend says nothing about the numerous empty bottles of various types of liquor and beer and just grips the back of one of the kitchen chairs.
“Fish, how sober are you?”
Frankie flops heavily into the kitchen chair on the opposite side of the table from his best friend. He buries his face in his hands to try to alleviate his headache.
“Apparently too sober since I answered the door…”
Santiago sighs heavily. “Frankie…there’s no easy way to say this so I’m just going to say it. There was a bad accident in town tonight, a single fatality.”
Frankie doesn’t look up. “So? Auto accidents happen all the damn ti–”
“Frankie…it-it was Conejita.”
The pet name he and the boys had for you slices through him like a shot, ice cold and freezing him as it settles in the pit of his stomach.
He raises his head from his hands, comprehending and yet not comprehending this bombshell.
“What?”
The exclamation was soft, full of disbelief and fear but Santi just looked at him somberly, swallowing thickly.
This is the masterlist for my Frankie series, Walk A Golden Road.
UPDATED: 16 March 2022
Summary: Based/Inspired by several Keith Urban songs, this series follows Frankie and his lady through the course of several events. Takes place just before, just after, and several years after the events of Triple Frontier.
Angst ahead, I make no apologies. These will be listed in chronological order though probably not posted in chronological order. Warnings will be updated as required.
6: What makes this fic special or different from all your other fics?
7: Where did the title come from?
8: Did any real people or events inspire any part of it?
9: Were there any alternate versions of this fic?
10: Why did you choose this pairing for this particular story?
11: What do you like best about this fic?
12: What do you like least about this fic?
13: What music did you listen to, if any, to get in the mood for writing this story? Or if you didn’t listen to anything, what do you think readers should listen to to accompany us while reading?
14: Is there anything you wanted readers to learn from reading this fic?
