Rudeness And Racism In The Fandom.

First Look - Frankie Morales x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Francisco "Catfish" Morales x Fem!Reader Summary: It’s your wedding day and there are a few surprises in store for your husband-to-be, Frankie. Word count: 3k Rating: T Warnings: Fluff fest. Language. Benny doing Benny things. You and Frankie have a preschool-aged daughter. DILF Frankie deserves its own warning. No use of y/n. I know very little Spanish. A/N: Valentine’s Day on Morales Monday?! This calls for Frankie fluff! This started as a quick thought and somehow exploded (as my thoughts always do, apparently), and I hope you enjoy it. Happy Valentine’s Day! I hope this warms your heart and soul and has you yearning for our dear Frankie ❤️

Frankie is a nervous wreck, his heart pounding in a way that makes him fear it’ll rip through his chest and destroy his rental tuxedo. A culmination of all things led him right here, to this very moment – when he finally could see his beautiful bride. It’s been a long journey to get here. Frankie can easily navigate a helicopter through damn near any condition, under any amount of pressure – but navigating a relationship? That’s been a damn near impossible feat - one he couldn’t have done without you.

A bead of sweat falls down his forehead, but he pays no notice to it. He fidgets with the finger where the physical representation of your love will soon be placed while his mind runs a million miles a minute, thinking about what he'll say when he sees you; how beautiful you are, how excited he is to finally make you his wife. He’s also reminding himself to hold it together and not find a way to fuck up this moment, this day, because today is all about you, and for that reason alone, he wants everything to be perfect.

He doesn't understand why he’s so nervous. The two of you are already married in every respect except by law: you share a home, you share expenses, and you even share a daughter together. Most importantly, you share a deep love for one another. Even with all the struggles through the years – yours, his, both – your love has never faltered. You were there for him through the cocaine addiction, through the rehab, through the weeks you were home alone with a newborn worrying he was dead in some jungle in Colombia while on that stupid mission with Pope, and through the PTSD he experienced after he returned home. Your constant unwavering support amazes him, along with how fully capable you are to give him a swift kick him in the ass when he needs it – especially when he doesn’t realize he needs one.

What did I do to deserve you?

Dozens of memories of your relationship flood Frankie’s mind as he stands in the clearing of the forest. This place is special to you both, one that he introduced to you and brought you to countless times afterward - and one you brought him to when you knew he needed a breath of fresh air to help clear his mind. Many nights were spent here stargazing in the bed of his truck, flirting, giggling, and talking about the future. Not to mention the unmentionable things you’ve done in the privacy of the forest. It’s where your relationship grew – and was sometimes tested, considering the number of arguments and deep conversations you’ve also had here. Getting married here just made sense.

Frankie senses a figure approaching from behind, drawing him from his thoughts. He quickly changes his posture, but struggles to decide what to do with his hands. He settles on standing with them in front of him, his right hand clasping his left wrist. The photographer snaps away with her camera before pausing to offer instruction, but the words are muffled in his ears. All he can hear is his heartbeat, the pulsing seeming to build in intensity as the seconds tick by.

Finally, he feels a hand tap his shoulder and verbal permission to turn around to see his bride. Taking a deep breath, he turns around, and immediately locks onto a pair of piercing blue eyes.

Wait…those aren’t your eyes.

For a moment, Frankie questions whether he has somehow lost his mind somewhere in the chaos of the day. Had the heat finally gotten to him? He’s looking at a bride, but it sure as hell isn’t his bride. It’s not you. It’s not the warm smile that he’s accustomed to. Instead, it’s Benny Miller smiling brightly at him, wearing an old wedding gown and veil he picked up at the Goodwill when this plan was first formulated. His muscular arms look absolutely ridiculous in the strapless dress, his tattoo on his right shoulder on full display. A hint of chest hair peeks out of the loosely fitted sweetheart neckline.

Realizing what’s going on, Frankie doubles over in laughter, his hands on his knees to keep him from falling to the ground. Benny immediately follows, roaring as he throws his head back. Somewhere in the background, hidden amongst the trees, Will and Santi are howling with laughter, having held it in for so long while watching it all play out. Tears fill Frankie’s eyes, and when he finally is upright again, he flicks them away, feeling the stress of the day fly away with them.

As the laughter begins to die down, Benny grabs Frankie’s hands. Looking deeply in his eyes, he says breathlessly, “I love you. I love you, Francisco. Can I…Can I please make a baby with you?”

Frankie laughs one more, then pulls Benny into a hug, the two men enthusiastically patting one another on their backs as they embrace.

“Congratulations, man,” Benny bids, breaking from his charade long enough to express her feelings to one of his best friends. “I’m happy for you.”

“Thanks, hermano…,” Frankie begins in sincerity. He pushes back to take a look at the man, then adds, “For whatever the fuck this is.”

Benny grabs Frankie’s face with his big hands and turns it to the side, planting a sloppy kiss on his cheek, eliciting another big laugh from Frankie.

“Fuck you, pendejo,” Frankie jokes, lightly pushing him away.

“Don’t you love me anymore, Frankie, baby?” Benny teases. He pushes up on the bustline of the dress, which is hanging loosely from his lack of cleavage. Frankie pulls on the neckline, playfully looking down, causing the two other Delta members to whoop and holler in the background.

“Like what you see?” the blond man questions.

“You’re beautiful, baby!” Santi teasingly yells from across the way.

The photographer finally interjects. “Can we do a prom pose with the lovely bride?”

The two men immediately get into position, Frankie standing closely behind Benny, his hands wrapped around the younger man’s waist. Another laugh escapes Frankie’s lips, then he plants a kiss on Benny’s cheek, causing the man to chuckle as well.

“I can’t,” Benny wheezes, breaking away from Frankie. “I can feel your cock on my ass.”

“You know you like it,” Frankie jokes, slapping him on the ass before he’s out of reach.

“Oh!” Benny exclaims dramatically. “You dirty boy!”

“Get your ugly ass out of here,” Frankie commands in a playful tone, shooing him away. “And tell the other two to stop drinking until after the damn ceremony.”

"You can't tell us what to do, Morales," Will shouts.

“Fine! I’ll find someone who loves me for the way I am,” Benny responds, dramatically flipping the veil out of his face and over his shoulder before walking away

Frankie shakes his head, feigning disapproval while trying to contain his laughter, though the stupid grin on his face gives it away.

The photographer instructs him to return to his original position so they can move forward with the first look. He nods, moving to stand with his back toward the way you’d be coming from. Though he’s still anxious, he’s far less stressed than he was before. Gratitude overflows in his heart as he thinks about his friends and their willingness to do whatever it takes to ease tension. He is sure he chose the right people to stand next to him at the altar.

After patiently waiting for a couple minutes, the photographer finally says, “Alright. Turn around and take a look.”

Frankie’s confused at first, wondering why you hadn’t tapped his shoulder, as Benny had. He doesn’t question it though. Instead, he eagerly turns around. Once again, he doesn’t see you. In fact, he doesn’t immediately see anyone at all.

Hearing a little giggle, he drops his gaze and is met with a carbon copy of your eyes, though they don’t belong to you. Instead, they belong to your daughter, dressed in a flower girl dress, a flower crown on her head, dark curls flowing freely. She looks up at her father with a crooked smile.

“Hi, Daddy!” she exclaims.

“Mija!” Frankie cries, instantly dropping to her level, his arms outstretched for her. She happily runs to him.

“Hi, baby girl,” he says, holding her in a tight, warm embrace. He is in shock not just at the sight of her, but how beautifully she’s dressed, like a little lady. “You’re not who I was expecting!”

“Were you waiting for Mommy?” she questions, pulling back and standing with one of his arms still wrapped around her back.

“I was,” he responds, fussing with her dress, trying to fix where it had wrinkled. Then he adjusts the crooked crown on her head. “But I’m just as happy to see you.”

“Mommy’s so pretty!”

Frankie glows. He didn’t need his daughter’s word to know that you’re beautiful. “She’s always pretty.”

“But extra pretty today,” she emphasizes.

“Okay, mija,” he concedes. “I believe you, but I can’t wait to see for myself.”

Her little hands reach out and touch his jacket, feeling the fabric. She fiddles with one of the buttons. “Am I pretty, Daddy?” she questions.

The smile on Frankie’s face widens, revealing his dimple, watching while she examines his black tuxedo. “Beautiful.”

She looks up at him, then touches his freshly-groomed face, giggling as she feels the stubble on his jaw, which relaxes beneath her touch. “You’re pretty too.”

“Thanks, baby.”

“Do you wanna see my shoes?” she questions, backing away and lifting up her dress before he can even answer, showing off her heeled dress shoes.

“Oh, wow!” Frankie theatrically gasps. “They’re so shiny.”

“They make me taller!” She raises her hands in the air and jumps for emphasis.

“They sure do, mija,” he responds. He gazes at her, his eyes shining with pride. How did he have a hand in creating something so wonderful? He credits you, mostly, but he knows if you were here, you’d assure him that he’s had just as much of a hand in forming her.

His pride quickly turns into sorrow as he realizes that one day she will grow up and no longer need him. His eyes swell with tears, listening as she rambles on about her shoes and dress. He quickly wipes away the tears before they can fall, but it didn’t prevent her from noticing.

“Daddy, are you crying?” she asks, looking concerned.

“I’m happy, mija. These are happy tears,” he assures her. “Promise me you won’t grow up too fast, okay? I'm afraid I'll blink and you’ll be a big girl. Then I’ll be walking you down the aisle.”

She gasps in shock. “I’ll get married too?”

“One day,” he says with a nod. “If you want to.”

“Who will I marry, Daddy?”

Frankie hates when he doesn’t have answers to her questions, but he knows that there are some things that just can’t be answered. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, but I don’t know.”

“I wanna marry you!”

Frankie chuckles. “No, baby girl. I’m sorry…but I’m marrying Mama, and some day, when you’re big, you’ll fall in love with someone and marry them.”

The little girl crosses her arms across her chest and huffs, stamping a foot on the ground. “If I can’t marry you then I don’t wanna marry anybody.”

Frankie chuckles. “I won’t argue with that.” He reaches up and grabs her small, soft hands, caressing them with his large, calloused ones. “That doesn’t mean you won’t have my heart forever, mija. I promise you that no day will pass where you don't feel my love. Okay?”

She nods. “Okay, Daddy.”

He offers his daughter a comforting smile. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

He pulls her to him and she wraps her arms around his neck. Holding her tightly, he closes his eyes, savoring the moment, wishing he could keep her there forever, to keep her little forever, and to protect her from all the things he’d endured in life.

“Mommy!”

The sudden shriek surprises Frankie, especially because she yelled right into his ear. He winces as he lets go, allowing her to run to what made her so happy: you.

“Hi sweetie,” you greet, bending at your knees to meet her.

“Mommy, you look like a princess!” she says, looking at you in awe.

“Thank you, baby,” you say. “You do too.”

“I know! Daddy said I’m beautiful.”

You giggle. “He did, did he?”

She nods.

“Well, he’s right. Hey…” You quickly change the subject, knowing it’s time for her to go elsewhere while you get some private time with your future husband before the guests start to arrive. “I heard Uncle Benny is trying to sneak a piece of cake. You should go find him before he does.”

The girl audibly gasps, then turns and, after picking up her dress, runs off toward the large tent in the distance. “UNCLE BENNY!” she shouts. “NOOO! No cake!”

At first, you’re proud, thinking you sent her to stop Benny, knowing the little girl always wants to play police and catch bad guys in action. However, when she adds, “Not without me!” you start to question your decision. Those two are trouble together.

Oops.

Standing straight, watching the little girl run as fast as her little legs and heeled shoes can take her, you cannot help but laugh. She is perfect to you in every way; the perfect combination of you and Frankie.

Frankie…

You turn, a smile plastered on your face as you catch sight of him. He is still, standing with his feet glued to the ground, as if the mere sight of you had turned him to stone. Your heart leaps for joy the moment your eyes meet. He’s so handsome, and looking at you as if he had just seen the face of God.

What did I do to deserve him?

Biting your lower lip, you pick up your dress and slowly walk to him. He shakes his head, as if in disbelief that he’s seeing you. The moment you stop in front of him, he lets out a sob, then turns away and covers his mouth with a fist, trying to collect himself.

“Frankie, baby…,” you coo, reaching out to put a hand on his shoulder.

He lets out a tearful laugh after hearing the pet name. “I wish I could say that’s the first time I’ve been called that today,” he snorts, putting his hands on his hips.

You chuckle, knowing what had transpired, having been in on the planning and watching it safely from afar. “Benny?”

“Benny,” he repeats, shaking his head once more. He inhales deeply and releases it, then finally turns to you. He looks at you with a warm glow in his eyes, tenderness radiating all over him. His eyes are dark and wet, but also warm and calming, like the cups of hot chocolate you've shared here so many times in the past.

“Dios mío…,” he mutters under his breath. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

You giggle nervously. “Not the first time you've said that.”

“You look…” He swallows and furrows his brow, trying to find the right word, but none of them seem good enough. “Incredible,” he finally gets out.

“Really?” you question, never able to easily accept the compliments he so often showers you with.

“Really. Let me look at you.” He extends his hand, which you accept, then he raises your arm and you give him a twirl, allowing him to see you from every angle. After your spin, he pulls you close to him. You let go of him and place both of your hands on his chest while his own fall to your hips.

“Preciosa,” he softly murmurs. Gorgeous.

You look up at him through your eyelashes. “Aren’t you going to kiss me?”

“Can I?” he questions.

You giggle once more, thinking he’s asking permission like some awkward teenage boy at a middle school dance. “It’s not against the rules to kiss me before the wedding. I mean, we’ve done far worse things here.”

The heat instantly rises in his cheeks. A chuckle escapes his lips as he looks down for a moment, before looking at you once more. “I just mean…I don’t want to ruin your makeup.”

“When has that ever been a problem?” you ask.

“You’re not a bride every day,” he insists.

“Frankie…,” you sigh, dramatically rolling your eyes. “Shut up and kiss me.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he responds.

He immediately acquiesces, and as soon as your lips meet, everyone and everything melts away; it’s just the two of you. All you know is the kiss; all you feel is his lips pressing into yours.

You’re unsure how long your lips stay locked, but when you break, he lays his forehead against yours. The two of you stand there with your eyes closed, enjoying the presence of one another.

“It’s not too late if you want to back out,” Frankie jests, causing you to chuckle.

You open your eyes, looking up at him with all the love and adoration you can offer. “Sorry, Morales, but you’re stuck with me.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Mhm. Want me to prove it?” you question.

His cocked eyebrow implies he is internally wondering what you are up to. He smiles coyly, then says, “Alright. Prove it.”

The lips of your mouth curl into a sly smile as you gently push yourself off him. He puts his hands on his hips as he watches you back a couple steps away from him. You then extend your hand to him and say, “I’ll marry you. Right now.”

He looks from your hand to the ground, a chuckle escaping his lips. After a moment, he looks up at you, a bright smile on his face, one that reaches all the way to his eyes, causing the skin around them to crinkle. It’s one you’ve seen several times before: when you first agreed to go on a date with him, when you accepted his proposal, when you told him he was going to be a father, and when your daughter entered the world months later. It was filled with love, radiating happiness from deep in his heart’s core, the glow of it warming your own body and soul.

Without hesitation, he reaches out and grabs your hand. “Alright. Let’s go get married.”

Ooh, may I have # 18 on the soulmate prompt list with Marcus Pike, please? I'm very curious as to what sort of animals show up and where it's gonna happen! 💕

Thanks so much for the request! I really love the idea of this universe, and there are so many possibilities! I had to think long and hard about what kind of animal Marcus might have, before I settled on the bloodhound - loyal, gentle, determined, it's ability to sniff out leads... that ones a bit of a stretch but I stand by it lol Also how can you say no to either of their faces?! I hope you enjoy it! Soulmate AU prompt list here can be found here!

Marcus Pike x Reader, Soulmate AU where everyone has a "soul animal" that only they and their soulmate can see

The hallway outside your apartment was littered with boxes and furniture, a team of movers working to get everything inside and placed. They nodded apologetically at you as you maneuvered through the maze they had created but you waved off their worries. You had heard someone was moving into the vacant apartment across the hall and apparently today was the day. You hovered near the open door to the apartment, considering popping in to introduce yourself to the new tenant. From the doorway, you tried to watch for someone who didn’t have the same uniform as the other movers, but no one passed your field of view.

One of the movers was hanging a large piece of art on the far wall. The painting took up the majority of the open space, a swirl of colours but mostly red and yellow. It was more abstract than anything, and you wondered if it had any particular meaning. A dog sat a few feet behind the mover, watching intently as he worked. It was nearly comical that the dog seemed to be supervising the mover, like he was worried something would happen to the painting.

Almost like it sensed a new presence, the dog turned over its shoulder to spot you. It stood right away, his long jowls and wrinkles swaying as he faced you. Before you could greet the dog, he barked one low woof at you.

The stoat on your shoulder startled at the bark. You felt it uncurl itself from where it was happily laying, perking up on its hind legs to stare at the dog. It started chirping angrily at the large, wrinkly bloodhound. You learned over the years to follow the instincts your soul animal had, so you backed out of the apartment, leaving the dog alone. You wondered why the slow-moving creature had aggravated your little stoat, trying to get it to settle down as you made your way to the elevator. Aspen, as you had named it when your family had gone skiing when you were young, eventually stopped chirping and squeaking, but it seemed on edge for the rest of the day. You wondered if the dog was mean, or if your stoat was picking up on the energy of its owner. You hoped your new neighbor wasn’t going to be hard to live near.

You didn’t see the newest occupant of your floor for a few days afterwards. The movers and clutter were gone, so you assumed they were settling in, possibly even sorting out their routine. Things like commuting to work, where the nearest stores were. Moving somewhere new was a lot of work. Despite not seeing them, Aspen still seemed extra on alert anytime you passed their door.

You were standing in the hallway, unlocking the door to your apartment, when you heard the sounds of another lock being opened. Before you could turn towards the sound, wondering if you were finally going to meet your new neighbor, your soul animal had skittered down off your shoulder. You watched as it bounded towards the opening door, stopping only when a man stepped into the hallway.

“Hi there,” you called over to catch his attention.

He looked up at you, seemingly startled but he quickly recovered with a polite smile. “Hello.” He greeted, adjusting the hamper on his hip. He was wearing a plain t-shirt and sweatpants, clearly on his way down to do laundry.

“You must be the new neighbor.” You pointed out before giving him your name.

“Marcus.” He introduced himself, closing the door now that the bloodhound had toddled out beside him.

“What’s your dog’s name?” You asked, curious.

Marcus seemed to freeze on the spot, looking at you with wide eyes. You faltered under his spooked gaze, almost wondering if you had said something other than what you had meant to.

The stoat on the floor started chirping at the dog, kicking it’s little feet. You had never seen it get this worked up before. You frowned, worried that this man and his dog really meant trouble. His bloodhound looked at your stoat, tilting its head curiously before letting out a lone bark.

Your own eyes widened as you watched the stoat move closer, the bloodhound sniffing at the ground as it took cautious steps forward. You had never seen an animal react to your stoat before, you thought only you could see your soul animal-

“You can see Silver?” Marcus gaped, slowly setting down his hamper.

It took a second for you to catch up. The dog could see your stoat, your stoat could see the dog, you shouldn’t be able to see the dog-

“Silver is your soul animal?” You breathed.

The bloodhound had lowered it’s head to the ground, showing submission to the stoat. Apparently pleased, your stoat closed the gap, sniffing directly at Silver’s nose. Silver’s tail began wagging as he patiently let the smaller creature examine him.

“And that…” Marcus pointed, apparently having not seen your animal until he was no longer holding the hamper.

“Aspen,” you filled him in on the name you had given your soul animal as a child.

“Aspen is your soul animal.” Marcus stated.

You watched in disbelief as Aspen climbed up on top of Silver, sniffing at the dog’s fur on it’s back once it was there. Silver looked over one shoulder then the other, trying to keep an eye on the tiny creature. His tail kept wagging even as he tried to locate it.

You looked away from the animals, meeting Marcus’ eyes properly for the first time. He was looking at you with soft, brown eyes. Even in the short distance between the two of you, you could see the shine of hope and affection he wore on his sleeve. You’d never been looked at quite like that before.

You smiled shyly under the attention. Marcus was attractive, and you could tell under his lounge clothes that he was fit. You had just returned from running errands, sunglasses pushed on top of your head, lazy sandals on… You wondered what Marcus thought of you.

“I, uh…” You started nervously. “If I knew I was meeting my soulmate today, I would have dressed up.” You joked, trying to ease the tension.

Marcus smiled brightly, a dimple showing on his right cheek. It was absolutely adorable. “No, that’s a perfect outfit to wear to dinner.”

“Dinner?” You frowned, quirking an eyebrow in confusion.

“Unless you already ate…” Marcus backtracked, starting to look a bit like a wounded puppy. You had to grin, already beginning to understand his soul animal. Even if you had, how could you say no? Those eyes were going to get you into all kinds of trouble, you could tell.

“Dinner sounds great.”

Marcus’ smile shone once more, relieved you'd accepted his invitation, although it fell quickly only a moment later. “Any recommendations? I don’t really know the area yet.” He chuckled, running a hand through his hair.

“I’ll take care of it.” You nodded. “Meet me back here in 5?”

He picked up his hamper, resting it on his hip as he opened his door once more. “Make it 3.”

Having noticed Marcus opening the door, Silver stood up. He shook his head, his jowls wagging back and forth. Aspen jumped ship, choosing to jump off instead of being thrown off the larger dog. It chirped in annoyance of being dislodged from the bloodhound’s back. The stoat seemed to already be pretty attached to the slow, lazy dog.

“See you in three.”

Tagging @wickedfrsgrl​ @din-damn-djarin​ @seasonschange-butpeopledont @kesskirata @phoenixhalliwell @vonschweetz​ @insideafictionaluniverse​ @driedgreentomatoes​ @computeringturtle​ @spideysimpossiblegirl

I was raised agnostic and tend to remain ambiguous on theological matters.

-but my house has a porch on the second story that affords me a terrific view of my neighborhood and the Colorado Front Range and I was partaking of some peace before the 4th Of July Finger-Loss Festivities begin, and I have had a

~*Spiritual Experience*~

I just watched my neighbor try to unload an actual wooden pallet that had to have been forklifted into the back of his insecurity pickup worth of fireworks.

Except that he does not have a forklift in his garage.

He does have so much sports memorabilia and cardboard boxes of unsold MLM Merchandise and patriotically themed camping gear and posters of women in bikinis and flags of suspect political organizations in his garage that there is only BARELY enough space for the fireworks and certainly none for his truck.

So he had to unload the individual boxes of recreational explosives from the back of his truck and stack them in the minimal space he had cleared by hand. This is a tedious and time-consuming process as this neighbor has purchased a wide variety of recreational and locally illegal explosives instead of many of just a few types, so the individual boxes are rather small.

He begins, and this is crucial to what happens next, by cutting apart the industrial-grade saran wrap his explosives dealer had so carefully wrapped his merchandise in, and discarded it unsecured on his lawn.

Where Outdoor Conditions sometimes happen.

His process for unloading the fireworks is to 1. Climb up through the gate into the bed of his pickup truck (a feat made unusually difficult due to the slope of his driveway, and this man's fascinating decision to wear the world's Siffest and least Flexible Denim Overalls. 2. Once in the pickup bed, he selects ONE (1) box from the pile He is apparently from a niche religious institution that doesn't believe in stacking things. 3. Carries it awkwardly around the palette that barely fits in the truck bed 4. His wife yells "Be careful!" when he nearly falls out of the pickup. 5. He Yells "SHADDUP!" back at her. 6. The Large German Shepherd barks from inside the house. 7. He yells "SHADDUP!" back at her too. 8. He sets the (1) box down on the gate 9. Slowly and awkwardly climbs out of the pickup bed 10. picks the box back up, and carries it into the garage.

Question: Aren't you going to help this poor man? Answer: Absolutely Not.

There's four military veterans, MANY dogs, and several people with dementia in this neighborhood, all of whom are terrified by this chicanery every year and many neighbors have repeatedly asked him to maybe do the fireworks somewhere else. (This is the Eighth Year Running he's held a major demolition event in his driveway, and for those of you who can do math, you may be able to guess the precipitating incident to this little ritual) Additionally, I live in Colorado, a state marginally less prone to spontaneous and catastrophic conflagrations than a rotting grain silo, but only marginally. Our recreational explosives laws are written accordingly.

I am in fact calling the Non Emergency line to report Fireworks violations, and reading off the brand labels to someone named Dorothy, who is gleefully totaling up a SPECTACULAR fine for my oblivious neighbor.

However, while I'm on the phone with Dorothy, I notice the wind begin to pick up. and by "Notice" I mean "The Industrial Saran Wrap he left on his Lawn earlier is suddenly swept up about 100 feet into the air by an updraft intense enough to make my ears pop" And by "Pick Up" I mean "I look up to see the sky has turned a fun and exciting shade of glass green, and the bottoms of the clouds are bumpy and rounded, and the overall effect is not unlike looking up through the bottom of the cup at God's Matcha Boba Tea."

For those of you who do not live in places with Inclement Weather, these conditions mean "You have about 30 seconds before a Major Meteorological Event Occurs."

I move under the eaves. "Hang on Dorothy." I say, nose filling with Petrichor. "The show is about to be cancelled." "Oh, that doesn't matter!" Dorothy cheerfully informs me. "It's illegal for him just to possess those, no matter if he actually gets to set them off or not." "Terrific, because he's gotten maybe five boxes out of a hundred inside."

Sometimes, the weather gods are Merciful and give you a verbal warning, typically in the kind of thunderclap that makes your ears ring.

The Gods were not merciful today.

It's not often that I am in the time, place, correct angle or in a properly observational frame of mind to see this, But I got to see it today. Huh. I thought. I've never seen a cloud just DIVE for the ground before. Oh. I realized as it got closer. That's RAIN.

Sometimes, a thunderstorm will form in such a way that the rain that would normally be distributed over an area of say, five to tent square miles, is instead concentrated into an area of say, my neighborhood exactly.

So today, I was granted the rare privilege of being able to actually see the literal wall of water descend from On High and DIRECTLY onto my porch, my street, and my neighbor's truck, and his pile of unwrapped fireworks.

The sheer impact force of the downpour immediately scatters the teetering pile of fireworks boxes in the back of the truck, like the wrath of God striking down the tower of Babel. Boxes tumble, then are washed out of the bed of the truck by the deluge. Smaller Boxes are carried down the road in a little line by the stream forming in the gutter, like little impotent explosive ducklings.

My neighbor was definitely yelling something, but I could not hear what over the DEAFENING noise several million gallons of water makes upon high-speed contact with the earth's surface, but there was a lot of arm-waving and faces turning red as he went looking for the saran wrap that had probably blown to Nebraska by now, while his wife started disassembling the complex three-dimensional puzzle of interlocking material goods in search of a tarp. They do not have a tarp. They have one of those wretched Thin Blue Line flags though, and my neighbor jogs out in a futile effort to cover what's left in the truck.

Which is when the hail begins.

"HELLO?" Yelled Dorothy. "HI!" I shouted. "WE'RE HAVING SOME WEATHER!" "OH GOOD!" she shouts back. "WE NEED THE MOISTURE!"

I watch for a minute longer, but the loss was immediate and catastrophic- the hail is the size of marbles and dense and cares not for your pitiful cardboard and cellophane, ripping the boxes asunder and punching holes in the few things covered in plastic. The colors on the Thin Blue Line Flag are seeping all over the remains of that it was supposed to protect in a particularly apt visual metaphor. Not even the few boxes that made it into the garage are spared, as the German Shepherd escapes from indoors, and in an attempt to assist her humans, jumps directly into the small stack of not-yet-ruined boxes, scattering them into the driveway and deluge. She even picks one up so her humans will chase her around the yard, before dropping it in the gutter to be swept away.

So. I was raised Agnostic -but even I can recognize when God slaps someone upside the head and shouts "NO!" at them.

---

(If you laughed, please consider supporting my Ko-fi or preordering my book of Strange Stories on Patreon)

And now, back to the scheduled programming...

Someone made this on Twitter and it's my favourite thing ever. I want to credit them so if you know who made it please let me know so I can tell them they're a genius. Thank you.

Why tagging female reader fics is so important

I’m starting to get really fed up with the lack of tagging in this fandom, so here’s a quick explanation as to why it’s so important to tag your female reader fics as female reader.

1- This should be common knowledge, but apparently not: not every person who reads fanfic is female.

It’s become standard to assume readers are female. And honestly, it’s just flat out disrespectful. It shows us non-female readers that you don’t care enough about our comfort in the fandom to do something as simple as put “character x F!reader” instead of “Character x reader”. It's incredibly othering and disrespectful towards those of us who are not female.

2- “Reader” can easily be assumed to be gender neutral.

It very rarely is, but there’s no way of knowing whether something is going to be gender neutral or not if you don’t tag it. It’s INCREDIBLY frustrating to start a fic and find out a few paragraphs in (or worse, halfway through), that it’s female reader. Not only is it frustrating, it can be triggering to some people: it can trigger gender dysphoria in trans people, bring up trauma from cis male readers that may have experience abuse related to their sexual orientation, and many, many more people.

3- It’s harmful to trans people.

Many AFAB trans people (trans men and AFAB non-binary people) experience gender dysphoria. It’s seen as incredibly dehumanising to misgender a trans person, and that’s essentially what you’re doing by assuming that all readers are female. At best, misgendering a trans person reminds them they don’t fit the cishet expectation society has of them. At worse, it triggers extreme feelings of gender dysphoria, memories of past (and current) abuse, and reminds us that representation is a luxury we rarely experience. It’s not just the pronouns either; sometimes I’ll read a fic and it’ll describe body parts that trigger my gender dysphoria (breasts, hips, reproductive parts, etc.). As a cis person reading this, it might not seem like a big deal. But trust me: it’s a huge deal. Being misgendered takes a HUGE toll on a trans person’s mental health. We spent a huge part of our lives being misgendered, pretending to be someone we’re not, and to read a self-insert fic and have the reader be gendered as female reminds us of the time when our lives were at the lowest. Trans people who don’t pass as their gender identity, who are non-binary, or who cannot transition, are misgendered all day, every day, and for many of us, fandom is the only escape… until we’re trying to read a fic and are misgendered there too.

It’s not as simple as “it’s not for us”. For me, it’s sometimes an inconvenience. Other days, it triggers my dysphoria so bad I totally shut down and can’t function for hours on end. And my gender dysphoria is much less intense than many trans people’s.

4- It’s not difficult.

It’s just not. It’s as simple as putting “f!reader” at the top of your fic. If you want to be extra awesome, you can put it in the tags too. Not doing it shows that you’re too lazy to respect people who aren’t comfortable reading female reader fics.

5- It’s a waste of our time.

You’re not getting any extra notes by doing this. You’re just not. If anything, you’re losing prospective readers. As a non-binary person, I occasionally read f!reader fics. But if I can’t mentally prepare for it in advance, I’m not going to be able to finish reading. Those of us who can’t read any female reader fics won’t be very likely to read any of your other fics, even if those are actually gender neutral. So we have to get partway through reading a fic that isn’t for us when we could have just scrolled past it. You’re proving to non-female readers that your blog isn’t a safe space for us, and it’s very unlikely you’ll get a second chance from that reader.

Please know: I’m not trying to personally attack anyone. If you didn’t know it was harmful, that’s okay, just start tagging your fics. It’s not difficult, and it means the world to non-female readers. I'm trying to be as polite and patient as I can with this, but I'm getting to the point where I'm done asking nicely. It's pushing a lot of people out of the fandom, and honestly I'm tempted to leave tumblr myself because of it.

You don't have to write for male or gender neutral readers, but telling people the reader is intended to be female is not optional.

I was walking through the toy aisle at Target when I found this thing and had a VIOLENT AND IMMEDIATE FLASHBACK to when JP first came out and they had a bunch of REALLY COOL T Rex toys that I would have sold one of my scrawny small-child limbs for but my mother wouldn’t get me one because they were “too violent and also ate people” :(

Hi if anyone thinks racism or transphobia (or literally ANY kind or prejudice or discrimination) is okay get the fuck off my blog.

🍃🌺🌙If you receive this you make somebody happy. Go and send this to ten of your followers who make you happy or somebody you think needs cheering up. 🌙🌺🍃

Awe!!!! You always cheer me up!! I love you!!

I hope you have a wonderful day my amazing friend!!

To all the fic writers out there that are not currently writing. Either it's because of RL, health, writer's block or something has happened that have disheartened you. Thank you for what you've written, and don't ever feel pressured or stressed - fanfic should be something good for all of us; both reader and writer. You're more important than what you do, but thank you for what you've done!

*sweeps all of my AU ideas under the rug* why must I be called out this way?