I was thinking of Frankie and Lee today. I wonder how life is going for them. I miss those two dearly.
Oh hey hi, that's just about the sweetest ask ever 🥺 Thank you 🧡 You're making me feel all the feels, and for once I don't even mind it. I miss them, too, but I never thought I might not be the only one 🧡
Ok listen. They're doing great. Just before the summer, I was in dire need of comfort, so I started working on an over-indulging, tooth-rotting sweet drabble about their life in Rochester, but then my stress level skyrocketed etc, fast forward to your kind, lovely ask, and now I'm thinking maybe I can get this drabble ready for next Friday? I'll do my very very best! Thank you for giving me the impulse 🧡
Here's a sneak peek, and a very HAPPY FRANKIE FRIDAY TO YOU 🧡🧢🧡
First, it’s the garage door creaking open. Rusty cogs laboriously heaving up the panels. Then, it’s the truck engine, revving like an angry roar as it pulls into the garage. Then everything falls silent.
Soft honeyed heat blooms inside your chest, your eyes flickering down to your wristwatch.
5:30 pm, sharp. He’s never late.
You lean down over the little girl perched on your lap, hips shifting over the thick, fluffy carpet.
“Papa’s home,” you whisper into Lua’s neck, breathing in the lingering baby scent of her curls, warm bread and honeysuckle.
To your surprise, no, to your delight, she places a firm little hand on your denimed thigh to stop you from getting up.
“I want to finish the puzzle with you.”
“Of course, baby girl,” you smile, “we finish the puzzle together.”
In the kitchen, the screen door swings on its hinges, and the back door swishes open. His boots are a light stomp on the tiled floor, and the house instantly feels homey. Safer. More... complete. There’s a thud on the table, the rustle of a plastic bag—dinner?— and the diffuse shadow of his tall frame on the wall. A glimpse of what’s not fully him yet, enough to tense your belly in thrilled anticipation, before Lua reclaims your full attention, nudging your arm this time.
“This one here?” she asks, holding down a piece between her tiny fingers.
The jigsawed fragment of orange poppies is a perfect match for the empty slot in the colorful picture of a wildflower field.
“You’re the boss, sweetie. I say you try it,” you encourage her, making a pointed but vain effort not to look back up.
A couple of long strides toward the archway, and he’s here.
Frankie’s here.
Standard Heating Oil cap firmly set on his head, crisp October air clinging to his trucker jacket, taut corduroy over his shoulders. He pauses on the living room threshold, shoulder leaning against the jamb, the divot of his dimple slowly dipping. You watch him watch you, sat in front of the coffee table with his kid on your lap, your hand a safe curl around her chubby waist. She pays him no mind, however, her soft little body hunched over the puzzle.
Frankie’s smile blossoms, luminous, crinkled eyes of deep mahogany brown, and you blink against the blinding sight of his rough beauty. The hotel room flashes behind your eyelids, yellow curtains, brown carpet. Shed skins, healing scars, hushed secrets. Your heart trips, somersaults, the wild creature catches it.
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I almost hesitate to even ask but would you consider sharing what the unhappy endings you originally had planned for TYBTM and PTMY were? I don't want to know because it will make me cry but also I desparately want to know lmao. Love you and hope you're well, can't wait to read whatever you're working on next!
Oh sweet Nonnie, of course I can share! It's no secret, I think I've posted about it before.
In PTMY, Gabrielle was supposed to go home. Just like she had decided. I don't know if you remember the chapter Auf Achse? Initially, after breaking up with Benny, Gabrielle was supposed to go back to her place, close herself in for a while, and then fly back to Paris, determined not to ruin Benny and Frankie's friendship. Frankie did not try to stop her, out of respect for her bodily autonomy. The fight scene between Frankie and Benny at the bar was the same, which rendered her sacrifice worthless. I don't know how I ever thought I'd be capable of such cruelty. Anyway, I called in the big guns to the rescue, and by "big guns" I mean Izzy, who talked some sense into her baby brother. I struggled very hard to write their dialogue, though.
As for tybtm, same lemonade, as we say in French! Lee was supposed to fly to New York to her sister, to start over. Clean slate. Nothing from her past, including Frankie. Who again let her go because our beloved man knows women are free. And, it's kind of cute, up until the epilogue, I was dead certain I was on the right track. I really thought I could keep these two apart, lol.
That's it! Tell me what you think? You might be relieved to know I've given up on all future attempts at writing something with a sad end. I may have been raised on Wuthering Heights, I'll be damned if I leave our man unsatisfied 😌
Thank you SO MUCH for this ask, Nonnie! I've been mostly away for a while, but I'm trying to make time to come back, I miss the Orange bedroom and my besties too much 🧡🧡🧡
Have a good week 😘
ETA: Nonnie I’m so sorry, I just found this in my drafts, I don’t know WTH I did, I thought I posted it. I’m so sorry. Have a good week nonetheless 🧡
hello, i'm the worst but i was wondering if you could post a snippet of the next chapter of TYBTM, no rush at all, whenever suits you well, but... i just finished my first re-read and cannot get them out of my head right now.
Hey Nonnie 🧡🧡🧡
You’re not the worst, you're the best, and I’m very thankful to you and for you 🧡 Your ask is like fuel, or vitamin D, it's giving me strength to keep going 🥰
I’ve recently been tagged by some lovely writers for the WiP Wednesday game, so thank you, too, @frannyzooey @whatsnewalycat @chronically-ghosted and @evolnoomym 🧡🧡🧡🧡
And Nonnie, here’s a very rough first draft of chapter 6 for you, along with all my love and gratitude 😌🧡👇🏻
“What do you mean, the room is taken? Taken by whom?”
“I’m sorry, sir, I cannot disclose this kind of information.”
Raul’s affected attempt at hotelier’s etiquette has Frankie scoffing into the receiver. Or is it Joachim? No, you said his name was Raul.
“Wait, it’s taken now, but it is booked tomorrow? I just need it on tomorrow. Friday. Just move your costumer to some other room, I’m pretty sure you got plenty of vacancies.”
Why is he behaving like an ass to this poor man who’s only trying to do his job properly? Why is he getting so nervous over this? How does it matter if you’re not in room number 2, this week?
“We have vacancies, but I am afraid I cannot ask the lady to change rooms, sir. She hasn’t specified a date for the end of her stay.”
Frankie feels like a bucket of ice is being poured over his head in slow motion.
“What lady?” he rasps, his throat suddenly parched. “Who’s in there? Is it the– Is it the woman who comes in every week? With me?”
Raul doesn’t answer, but his silence tells Frankie everything he needs to know.
“Alright, thanks,” he snaps, hanging up hurriedly.
An hour and a half later, he’s pulling up into the motel’s parking lot. Lupe has been gracious enough to agree to pick up Lua from day-care, even though Thursday is his day, so he’s got the rest of the afternoon to sort this out.
This is foolish. He, is foolish. Your car is not even here. He’s probably overreacting.
The thing is, his gut instinct tells him he’s not. It’s almost a familiar dread. Like the vision he had on Christmas evening. Your lonely silhouette sitting by the window on the edge of the bed.
He gets out of the truck swiftly, with a quick glance at the reception office, and walks straight to room number 2. The place looks even shittier in the bright afternoon sun. The contours of the low building are pressed flat by the blinding light and the heat. The lime wall between rooms 2 and 3 is streaked with deep, long winding cracks. The paint on the porch’s poles is chipped, it comes off the dried out wood in large, crispy flakes. The hanging lights are rusty and the base of the railing is moldy.
Once more, guilt squeezes his chest tight at the thought that he’s made you come here, week after week. That you tacitly agreed to it, and never said a word. That you kept coming back. Back to this place. Back to him, too.
The door is locked. He rattles the doorknob again, harder this time, more to shake off his own frustration than to achieve anything else, really. The yellow curtains are drawn, and no matter how hard he squints, he can’t see jack shit inside the room.
He’s probably overreacting.
What if he picked the lock? Just to make sure you’re not in here?
“Jesus,” he sighs heavily, running a palm over his face, “the fuck is wrong with me?”
He stands in front of the door a while longer, head hung and hands propped on his hips, so still he can feel the sweat beading on his nape. Eventually, he lifts his cap and combs his fingers through his hair, then turns around and steps down the porch.
He’s halfway to his truck when your sedan appears at the end of the road and turns into the parking lot.
—
NP tags!!! @secretelephanttattoo @jolapeno @juletheghoul @saradika @mrsmando and anyone who wants to share 🧡
If this is annoying of me I apologize but do you fact an eta for when we can expect the next chapter?
Dearest Nonnie,
I think I should be annoyed, but I'm not, really.
What I am is exhausted, because this year, and especially these past few months, have been a lot, emotionally, personally and professionally. Also, because writing literally drains me. Tybtm especially.
I'm also sorry (raised a Catholic, obviously) that this next chapter is taking me so long. I've had zero time to work on it since I posted the previous one. I still found some, to the detriment of a healthy sleep schedule. Do I have an eta for when you can expect it? Unfortunately, no. I'm going to try and squeeze it out of me by the beginning of August. But I'd like it to be good, you know? And if I rush this, I know it won't be. I'm running on empty.
I'm also, in a twisted way, pleased that someone out there is actually waiting for that chapter. I hardly ever think my shit is of any interest to anyone else but me. Zero self-esteem and zero dignity, what a sexy combo.
So Nonnie, know that I should have more time to work on it in July, that I'm doing my very best, and thank you for reading 🧡
I wish you a Happy Frankie Friday 🧡
ETA: you can count on my exhausted gothic heart to be overdramatic. Nonnie, all you gotta know is that I'm on it 🧡
LOL @ your top song of the year. I would literally wait until next December for the next part of TYBTM. I would re-read it several times and I would miss them but I would still wait patiently while you cooked. Let’s be honest, I’d wait beyond next December! Point is, thank you for sharing anything with us at all. ❤️
👆🏻Me, reading your ask.
Nonnie I love you 🧡
I’m on the bus, alone, slightly tipsy, listening to sad love songs, and you nearly brought me to tears, albeit the best kind there is. Thank you. My first reaction is that I probably don’t deserve so much kindness, but I’ll take all of it anyway. And I promise I won’t keep you waiting until next December! I’ll do my very best to deliver as soon as possible 🧡🧡🫂🧡🧡
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Does Lee ever feel the need to tell Frankie what to do in the motel? Like if she had an extra terrible week, and she needs to let her anger out somehow? Would he do what she said? Or not?
Hello Nonnie 🧡 How are you? What an interesting question, thank you so much for sending it 🧡 And for reading 🧡 And for caring about them 🥰
It got me thinking, but the answer is actually pretty simple: YES.
I hadn't realized (am I this stupid?) how much this story actually revolves around Lee learning to articulate what she wants and needs. When the story starts, she's spent her whole life trying to be someone she's not to please her parents and fiancé. She's erased herself. So she doesn't even know what she wants anymore. I don't think she's physically able to feel the need to express what she wants.
But then, Frankie walks into her life, and oh boy, does she want him. Entirely, and immediately. That's the magic of him. Of their connection. Only, she doesn't know how to express it. She's been shamed for doing it before. She has unlearned.
But she does go after him in the bar's parking lot, that first night. She can't answer, when he asks her what she wants, but he still gives it to her.
Frankie wants nothing more than for her to feel safe enough to ask for what she wants, and give it to her. It's his purpose. It's a looooong learning process for Lee, but you can measure her progress when, after getting hurt, she manages to tell him that she needs him inside her. She's shy about it, but she still says it. And he gives her what she wants.
Frankie is always going to be commanding in the bedroom, that's who he is, that's how she loves it. This said, she could ask him anything, and he'd give it to her. And you can safely imagine that, in a not so distant future, she'll be able to greet him into the room and tell him, "hey Frankie baby, tonight I want you to fuck my face."
Thank you so much for reading, sweet Nonnie 🧡 I'm so tired I'm not sure if I'm making any sense, but I hope that's the answer you were waiting for 🧡
I’m obsessed with your Frankie and Lee. Thanking you endlessly for sharing them with us. 🩷 TYBTM is everything… immersive, intense, lyrical, HOT. I have been poking around your page, couldn’t agree more with your sweet anons. You are truly a poet through and through. The idea you would ever doubt your style… unacceptable! It is a struggle to have a distinct writing style for sure and to articulate it, but yours is unmistakable. I often find myself taken aback by how great some of the writing in this fandom is, it is kind of absurd, but coming across your work I feel like I am back in school close reading poetry but in the best way AND so much better because it’s also hot and heavy (in all the ways) lmao. Will be re-reading TYBTM soon because it’s that type of writing, you have to revisit and re-immerse yourself and rediscover. Also, the implication in the latest chapter that Lee might not want to leave one man to immediately be with another (might have misread that) fucked me up so much. I loved the storytelling choice but I was screaming internally. NO, LEE… FUCK YOUR FEMINISM AND KEEP FUCKING FRANKIE 😂 I want to start PTYM asap too. I already know I will be as obsessed. I’m scared it might destroy me based on the fact it has estrangement woven into it but can’t turn away from the abyss unfortunately. Excuse me in advance if I return to harass you about how you’re one of my favorite writers. P.S. Do you do any non-fandom writing for yourself? Curious because you’re really that good!
Hello there, lovely 🧡
Your ask has taken me on a rollercoaster of emotions I never want to get off of 🧡 First thing first, I'm sorry for hogging it to myself for so long. I do that. A lot. You're entirely too kind to me and like my readers, I'm very shy when it comes to expressing big feelings. And you've given me all the big feelings. Ily, thank you so fucking much 🧡 Thank you for reading my words, for appreciating them, for being so invested in my story, and for taking the time to tell me about it 🧡 Just like you, I'm often blown away by the talents in this and other fandoms, but also by people's kindness and generosity in their interactions with others 🧡
I do actively try to be poetic in my writing, and feel alternately proud and awfully self-conscious about it. It's always nice to receive some validation about a choice, I'm not too shy to admit it! So thank you again. And what you said about having a distinctive style being a struggle struck me, because I had never considered it that way, but it can be, in many aspects (I don't want to bore you with my writing introspection, here).
And then you said NO, LEE… FUCK YOUR FEMINISM AND KEEP FUCKING FRANKIE girl please!!!!! This should be my eulogy!!!! I'll be grateful to you till the end of times for this sentence! Believe it or not, I re-wrote this line of dialogue a dozen times, and I could never find the right words, because I was precisely thinking LEE YOU NEED TO KEEP FUCKING FRANKIE PLEASE GIRL PLEASE 😂 I can't say too much about this now because I don't want to spoil the next chapter, but I needed her to have this growth. The poor girl has never been allowed to be herself, she's finally getting a glimpse of whom she might be, I owed it to her to at least acknowledge it wouldn't be wise to slide from one relationship into another... But 🤫
To answer your last question (thank you. Are you kidding me??? THANK YOU 🧡), no I don't at the moment. I tried, recently, and ended up writing another variation of the Pilot™️, but I'll share more on this endeavour very soon. Before I went on a stupid self-imposed 20 year writing hiatus, I used to write non-fandom horror stories! I write a little for work, but I'm an archivist so it's mostly a nerdy snooze fest....
I hope I didn't take up too much of your time with this lengthy answer. I'm sorry to be repeating myself so much, but thank you so much for your ask 🧡 If you read it, I sincerely hope you liked PTMY.
Ahahahha!!! No don't worry, this one should be sweet! If I manage to keep the angst at bay (but it's me, so...) (perhaps that why I'm having a hard time with it, lol). The troubles will come later... 😈
