rvbiddog

[rvbiddog]

hell im in our storm shelter under severe tornado warnings, who tryna keep me occupied with some good plots 🙂‍↕️🙏

still doing frenchie x boys muses but am dying for some righteous gemstones love too. gimme all the keefe/kelvin lines!! also am super down for writing some as gideon as well :-)

[rvbiddog]

unsure if I plan on keeping this a Boys heavy blog or if I wanna transition back into Righteous Gemstones verse. the series finale reignited my love, and I'm dying to rebrand as Keefe or Gideon. anyone up for plotting?

[rvbiddog]

Once Frenchie had succumbed to sleep, he was not typically the type to arise in alignment with the SUN. Truthfully, it was a miracle to see the Frenchman slip out of bed before noon broke — seemingly, only the drive of a deliciously ALLURING aroma emitting from the kitchen had the ability to successfully ' poke the bear ' .

It wasn't something he had ever experienced the blessing of being woken up to, aside from perhaps the handful of times that Cherie would prepare him eggs of a morning. This scent was incomparable to that, however; remarkably SWEETER, delicate and with traces of… maple ?

Frenchie's nose twitches, heavy eyes finally peeling open and bringing him to a state of semi-awareness. The small male rubs limp fingers over his eyes, instinctively arching his back to fulfill the call to stretch. " Mon champignon ? " The beckon presents him with continued silence, apart from the hushed sizzling that can be heard from down the hall.

His wandering into the kitchen awards him with a sight that immediately urges a SLEEPY smile out of him, head cocking to the side in a wave of curiosity as he peers to the stove that Kerwin works over. The labor combined with the stray splatters of apparent pancake batter along the countertop brings him to elicit a soft chuckle. " I see that you are busy , mm ? "

"Promise...?" Kerwin mumbled.

Whatever Frenchie's answer was, it didn't matter. He was already dead asleep.

Kerwin's dreams were distressing. The usual taunting bullies from his childhood, except Frenchie was now among them. Posing questions drug up from the depths of his heart:

"Why would I really date you?"

"So clingy."

"You should've gone right to sleep. I didn't want you."

"I'm with you because it's convenient."

The supe shook himself awake four hours later; breathing hard and coated in a cold sweat. He blinked the sleep and tears from his eyes, glancing down at his boyfriend.

Frenchie was indeed asleep, all cozy and content--for once. Breakfast in bed.

Kerwin carefully slipped out of bed, tucking Frenchie in. The smaller man quickly replaced Kerwin's body with the pillow that smelled like him. Kerwin crept into the kitchen and began quietly making pancakes.

[rvbiddog]

im not dead i promise im resurfacing tonight i promise 🙏🙏 been going thru it

[rvbiddog]

♡♡♡♡♡!!!!!!!!

Prompt: "Get a job."

To my beloved moot, @rvbiddog. This prompt made me think of them.

Kerwin sat on the rusty barstool, watching Frenchie take five unprescribed Adderall and tinker with the homemade pipe bomb. He sat awkwardly, trying to avoid getting tetanus from Frenchie’s ���garage’.

“Why don’t you… get a job?” he ventured.

All tinkering stopped. Frenchie side-eyed him.

“And what do you mean by that, mon champignon [my mushroom]?”

Kerwin cleared his throat, fiddling with the flaking paint on the stool, “Well, you just seem to do stuff for The Boys, none of which is legal. Have you ever thought about ditching the drugs and bombs and, you know, getting a real job?”

“Are you telling me to, what’s the phrase, ‘put the fries in the bag’?” Frenchie mocked. Kerwin bristled, snatching the Adderall bottle from the Frenchman.

“I’m serious, man. What are you going to do when The Boys disband?”

Frenchie’s brows pinched, he was starting to get frustrated, “You’re always telling me to get a job, but I don’t see you working, infection fongique [fungal infection].”

“I have a job!” He defended, “I work at Vought.”

“Undercover. Illegally.”

Oof. He had him there.

Kerwin raised his hands in a placating gesture, running his gloved fingers along Frenchie’s intricate tattoos. As always, the man mellowed out immediately. 

“We’ll get jobs together, then,” he offered.

“Tu vas être ma mort [You’re going to be the death of me].”

[rvbiddog]

a look into frenchie's mods <3 [insp to my sweet kerwin @kerwinthefrog for even making me think to do this due to their piercing diagram]

starting strong with a very realistic interpretation because even the cut lines up 🙏 he was totally one of those sixteen-seventeen year old tat first-timers to get the most cliche of phrases inked on him therefore, i can totally see the whole culmination here; 'blessed', same font, same placement and for a while, he totally thought this was badass. now, he likely forgets it's even there.

i have reason to believe that even though people are starting to riot over cybersigilism being over done, i think that would have been a style that frenchie jumped on EARLY. the scratchy offsets, the deep blacks and overall tangled, cluttered demeanor to the style; it's got that appearance of "intentionally careless" and the edge that he'd be drawn to, just because it's different at this point in time. i mirror him to having something similar to jesse pinkman's borneo scorpion, top of wrist tattoo, seen here :

— highly inspired, but loose in my terms of actual, determined lineart and placement. overall, he definitely has something that begins at the wrist and traverses into 'hand tattoo' territory.

falling back into cybersigilism, i do also firmly believe said wrist design would be connected to something stemming from his forearm. i'm thinking nothing of true meaning; just scratchy fades and harsh, pure black filling.

i feel the gunshot wound on his ankle is something he would actively seek to hide therefore, ankle traveling onto foot tattoo. daggers and basic hand-to-hand combat weaponry speaks to him, and what better thing to cover a bullet wound than a dagger? (LOOOOOOSE loosely based on this design. I doubt he would have it shot through a heart, much less so blockily shaded but, a dagger near the foot, all the same).

the eyebrow piercing, i have everyone else but myself to blame. just looks good on him, okay?

the throat tattoo. good golly, no reference, no background on this one. saw this photo of tomer and thought, "yeah, checks out." his character practically begs for a distinguishing, in your face sort of tattoo and this was my choosing. totally think he would've rolled with the basic 'obscure eye in an unexplained place' motive as well.

tongue-tip piercing. nuff said.

[rvbiddog]

Not for a moment had Serge's fingertips ceased their GENTLE, heeded travels along Kerwin's skin, having initiated the caresses at the SHARP of his collarbone. A curious but loving collective of his index and middle finger brush along the skin of his bicep, down his forearm before soon enough, passaging back upwards to continue his pattern of mindless shapes against Kerwin's chest where his head laid.

Frenchie can still be found GAZING up at the other. This routine had begun to ring familiar each night they had crawled into bed with one another; hours spent on wanton and asinine rambling, some evenings filled with more shared laughter and loving kisses than the silence that had dawned over them tonight. But, despite the variances, Frenchie was ultimately comfortable. He wouldn't have altered a single aspect of what had begun to form in terms of their connection, and how they DEVOTED their alone time.

He can't help but smile sleepily when Kerwin's eyes flutter closed. " I believe I'd informed you of such the first night you slept over . . . I do not require a babysitter , mon coeur . " Frenchie whispers back, but concludes such a statement with a gentle KISS pressed to Kerwin's neck. He nuzzles his head into the warm crevice shortly thereafter. " I see the exhaustion in your eyes — " Serge points out. Now, intimately rubbing a soft palm against Kerwin's chest. " — I will manage , no ? It's . . difficult for me to fall asleep so peacefully , you see . But I will get there . "

Kerwin shivered with delight at the sound of his French accent. His eyes drifted to their phones charging together on the nightstand--they charge their phones together now--and saw it was almost 4am.

He pulled Frenchie closer, making sure he was snug under the quilt. There was something so satisfying about feeling the warm pressure of his boyfriend on top of him. Although, he did find himself wincing every time he felt Frenchie ribs; the Frenchman thin from years of substance abuse.

I'm making him breakfast in bed, Kerwin thought determinedly.

"No, no--" a break to yawn. "If you're awake; I'm awake."

We're a pair, the unspoken vow. Kerwin had worked hard to snatch Frenchie up, and he wasn't going to let go.

-- Kerwin covered him in butterfly kisses, dragging his cold piercings along his warm skin. His eyelids drooped.

[rvbiddog]

There was no point in refuting Bo's statement there; the bar's washroom was certainly in no shape for such an ENDEAVOR to take place and frankly, after successfully obtaining precisely what he'd been unknowingly searching for, Frenchie's desire to step foot back into that pub had fallen flat.

The INTIMATELY revealing exchange the pair had traversed headfirst into posed enough risk as is, with either one of their identities at likely prospect of being compromised; not to mention, stuck acting in accordance to a TICKING timeclock. Once Vought ascertains just how lengthy Bo's radio silence has been, no consistent postings on the progression of his objective, they'd surely be at his heels.

It's a self-implemented reminder that prompts Frenchie to act selfishly quicker, UNDAUNTED to seek the full extent of pleasure he pined for before the two parting ways was even brought to question.

He finds opportunity in Bo having pulled away from the crevice of his neck to crane his head, peering desultorily around the corner to confirm the present coast was clear— clear enough, rather. It was only inevitable that the establishment would continue to pour out groups of DRUNKEN folk, stumbling down the sidewalk but, Frenchie- perhaps too deep in his own misguided credence- isn't so worried about the complications they'll prove.

Looking back to Bo, he gently shoves the other Supe off of him long enough to briskly unfasten his own belt, CLUMSY hands wrestling with the buckle before working open his jeans. The attire is tugged down just enough for the direct bulge in his boxers to show and promptly, Frenchie would pull Bo back in by the force of his hips to start doing the same to his bottoms. An eager, pierced tongue traces over his lips, highlighting a single fang in the process and he fights little to sway his broad SMIRK.

" Public indecency is an easy charge to fight . I doubt it is to dirty up your record too poorly . " Frenchie jests, head cocking off long enough to spit directly into his palm before eagerly searching his own painfully erect cock out of his boxers. A SLICK hand and soon busy wrist begins to work around himself in a display of slow strokes. " Call me insane but , I'm quite fond of an audience myself . "

Bo is more or less finding this to be done a little out of spite, but he is very much enjoying it for the same reasons anyone would.

He has absolutely no clue as to why he's feeling this specific way towards this specific man, but there's just something that grabbed him and pulled him into this. It's mostly physical yes, but there's a deep vulnerability in every move he makes with Frenchie. This entire thing could have gone hundreds of different ways, and quite honestly Bo is glad this is how it's going.

There's something to say about doing something you're not supposed to, especially after a lifetime of only ever doing as you're told. For Bo, he's always known his role, being a supe and all, but Frenchie is his way of getting to break out of that and do what he really wants to do. It's not like he's oblivious to the way Vought really is behind closed doors, if he felt like he had a say, he'd probably be against them just like The Boys. But just this moment of being with a supposed "enemy" like this, he feels damn good in his choice for once. He's not worried about any of this, he's not scared or disgusted with himself, he just feels good.

Feeling Frenchie squeeze his thigh between his legs brings him back into his thoughts about the other man. His breath hitches in his throat as he feels the denim on denim friction, knowing full well what the other is after. He can't help see it as anything but pathetic, probably because he knows exactly what the thought process is in doing it. Though when he feels his own arousal being targeted, he moves in pretty much as closely as he can, pressing his hips pretty firmly against Frenchie's. He can't resist grinding back, letting a low groan slip when both their bulges meet.

He keeps up the long strokes of his tongue against the cut skin, removing most of the blood and leaving his saliva in its place. The taste is just a reminder of how real this is, how dangerous the situation could have been for either of them. Being held onto makes him feel like this is a lot more personal than either of them want to admit.

Bo reluctantly pulls back from Frenchie's neck with a half laugh, the idea of even using a bar bathroom for normal purposes makes him cringe. "I think we're less likely to catch a disease fucking inside an actual dumpster than in that bar's toilet stall." For a minute he's left amused by his own words, though really he doesn't care where they go. He just wants to keep going.

[rvbiddog]

It was safe to presume, from alleviated reaction alone that Frenchie had never been HELD in such a manner before.

The touch, the composition of their resting state had evidently done numbers for Frenchie's discomposure. Had it not been for the spikes of ill-settling throughout, his naturally strung out nature, this would have been the perfect disposition; right now, it was as CLOSE to such as he could get.

Kerwin's hushed tone relays him at further ease. Any other given instance, Frenchie would have been quick to ridicule; relent about how silly such a nickname was, and yet throughout said tangent, his cheeks would FLUSH with wildly vibrant hues of rosiness. But tonight, all he is able to fixate on is how Kerwin's body feels against him. How his temperate warmth swallows his much smaller frame and envelopes him in unadulterated COMFORT, and how the feeling of metallic adorned lips brushing against his hair evokes a prolonged, contented sigh of out of him.

There were a million and one answers he could have offered Kerwin but, he settles on : " Nothing worth wasting tonight on . " He finally brings himself to glance up and find the blonde's eyes, the following seconds spent in silent admiration. He still wasn't so sure how he had managed to luck up in this way; why Kerwin bothered striving to fix someone so irreversibly DAMAGED.

" You should sleep , mon amour . You have been up with me for quite a while now . "

Kerwin had one arm slung loosely over Frenchie's lower back, the other massaging the nape of his neck. He could feel the knots of tension slowly unwinding the longer they laid in the dark bedroom. The only light came from the dim glow of Kerwin's touch lamp, the one with the mushroom shade.

"Ssshh, shhshh..." soft hushes slipped through his teeth. "What's got you so pissed off, ChiChi?"

He continued using that silly petname, no matter how much Frenchie objected.

He felt Frenchie's protruding fangs against his collarbone. He must really be pissed. Kerwin brushed his lips against the crown of his head.

They hadn't been together long; they were still learning the ropes. The ins and outs of affection and healthy romance. The dos and don'ts of dating an emotionally volatile druggie and a push-over with self-esteem in the negatives.

-- But it was nice. This was nice.

[rvbiddog]

the feminine urge to take an enormous chomp out of someone’s raw flesh

[rvbiddog]

Despite how Frenchie may have chosen to perceive himself , a LAP DOG was precisely what he had been.

John did not know the half of Frenchie's capabilities, the true extent of his VOLATILE nature and even if he had a glimmer of recognition, it was to be precedented for his superior to play oblivious; anything to retain that DISCIPLINED, subservient image of Frenchie. Who, over the course of the past couple of weeks, had unwillingly welcomed true amenability that played in John's favor. The rapid atrophy of his own power was somehow both piteous and applaudable. In truly biddable, yielding nature, however, Frenchie relished in every second —

— every second of John OVERTHROWING of him, of showering with him just as many degradations as praises. Moreover, the feeling of John's heat occupying every square inch of his mouth is worlds beyond addicting. The blonde's words evoke an accidental WHIMPER out of Frenchie, who can't seem to supress the gentle gag that's evoked as John's head collides with the back of his throat.

He has only a fleeting moment to gather his quiet cough, to lap up the exceeding drool that pools from his now rosy lips before he's forcibly drawn into a pleasantly hungry kiss that he deepens plentifully. Frenchie wastes few seconds urging his tongue against John's own, but it seeks far more than such a messily coordinated makeout to distract the pace of strokes he maintains around John's painfully hard length. Feeling the URGENCY of the man's arousal as his wrist works busily to milk out every drop of precome that his surpassing had built up does a number on Frenchie's own cock, with soft, much weaker moans pulled from his lips when John's thigh presses right into the denim.

" As if that doesn't please you to know . . . to witness . " It could go without vocalization, precisely what the pair were reaching for and Frenchie was happy to oblige; doing John the favor of hastily tugging open his own jeans, now graciously STAINED by John's incessant grinds. With his unoccupied hand, Frenchie imprudently swims beneath the layers of burdensome fabric to free his erection from the aviary of his boxers, the exposing chill of the room ensuing a silent demand for anything John would offer to counter it.

" You take great pleasure , no ? In watching each day as you continue to BREAK me . . . more and more . " Frenchie pants out. " Do you get off on knowing you've ruined me ? "

.

An uncontrollable moan escapes between his parted lips, light pink blush sitting high on his cheeks from the display the man puts on for him, it's messy, dirty, wet and sinful and John is here for it. He cants his hips up in Serge's grip when he takes a hold of him, the palm of his hand coated with saliva yet feels rough and calloused on the sensitive skin of John, he can‘t help the movement of his own body, willing for more touch, more, everything that he can take from the man..

Frenchie flashes him a cute, small smile. Clearly happy to be serving John in any way helpful. The silver piercing in his brow catches the light and John licks his lips, absentmindedly asking himself if Serge had a piercing on his tongue too..

He goes willingly and wraps his thin lips around John, leaving the other man a trembling mess, suddenly enveloped by silky warmth, every cell in his body begs for a release and he has to bite on his tongue, grip at the edge of the table with both hands to stop from finishing too soon..

"Sh-shut up! Y-you talk like- like you're some wild animal" He scoffs, sweat beading at his forehead, blue eyes pinned on where Frenchie has him inside his mouth "you're just a lap dog, Frenchie. That's what you are. You don't need to be tamed because you were born this way, always following someone around and obeying blindly.." 

The head hits the back of Serge's throat suddenly and John's breath hitches, he pulls the man up by the lapel of his shirt "fucking- get up!!" And kisses him as he slides one thighs between his legs rubbing up over Frenchie's hard member hidden inside the cage if his pants, his own hardness throbbing, angry-red and leaking precum on Serge's trousers.

[rvbiddog]

THIS is the frenchie you get when you write with me. I do NOT be writing that bitch bald 🙅‍♀️ you get that faux hawk or NYOOTTHINN

[rvbiddog]

Okay you first! Then you can hit me with it.

SWEETHEART'S CRADLE :

The best conililator to heal the ongoing division between Frenchie's uncontrollably RACING thoughts, wildly overwrought, and his tensely fretting body, he had begun to learn was found in Kerwin's arms. Another disquieting, heavy-handed comedown finds him TUCKED into the blonde's side, reverently drawn into the warmth he naturally emits, so much so that the generous bedspread was hardly necessary.

Undisturbed skin to skin, Frenchie's cheek rests against Kerwin's CHEST. The lull of his low, composed heartrate is soothing to the ear. The smaller's dreary eyes have grown so burdensomely heavy, it's a laborious task to keep them open; but all the same, he does to sleepily watch as GENTLE fingertips trace mindless, soothing shapes along Kerwin's bicep.

[rvbiddog]

@deadgirlwalked you asked and I delivered

My favorite, took too long. B&W, just a general "this is Kerwin" line art.

Frenchie dumped Kerwin in the trash :(((

Kerwin with full piercings and eye color, based on his face claim:

[rvbiddog]

Ship?

send 🚢 or ( 'SHIP' ) if you ever considered shipping our characters romantically and want me to fill out the following form for our muses. bold all that definitely applies, italicize what could potentially apply. feel free to add more if you think certain options are missing or you just want to add more.

do i ship our characters together?: yes | no | not yet but maybe soon

would i like to ship with you?: yes | maybe, i'm willing to try | no

type of relationship i could see: childhood or high school sweethearts | exes | engaged | married | long-term relationship | crushes | unrequited love | fling | long distance | online relationship | just dating | new relationship | toxic lovers | friends with benefits

tropes i'd enjoy writing for them: friends to lovers | enemies to lovers | exes to lovers | fake relationship / dating | forbidden love | grumpy and sunshine | star-crossed lovers | surprise pregnancy | second chance | soulmates | amnesia / mistaken identity | forced proximity | secret relationship | slow burn relationship

would i rather plot first or jump right in and see where it goes?: develop their relationship first | jump right in | something in between

what now?: let's plot something | send me shippy memes | i'll send you shippy memes | write me a random starter | i'll write you a random starter

anything else i want you to know about me / my character / my shipping habits: ( already plotted : love our two together <3 polar opposites, they compliment each other so well; )

[rvbiddog]

i can't take shots and then respond to rps yall, two in and im like "somebody oil them up and let them make out"

[rvbiddog]

The vocalized agreement to the objective at hand was something that Frenchie had almost instantly chose to REGRET.

The demanded level of thought, of true consideration pertaining to what he'd agreed to was extensive, knowing otherwise, he would only prosecute himself for acceding. It even urges him to wonder if BUTCHER had exhorted the younger male to conclude in a state of tears, knowing well enough that was enough inducement for Frenchie.

The thought of utilizing his abilities again SICKENED him ; to dwell on what it felt like to have sharpened canines push their unforgivable way through his gums, to feel every uncomfortable atom and emotion as his body BOILED with impenetrable rage . . . even to remember what it felt like to slice another breathing individual's throat clean open with nails alone.

The crumbled bills pull him from DISTASTEFUL reminiscing, and he eyes the wrinkled paper trail carpingly. What the hell was he supposed to ingest for a measly $40 that wouldn't ultimately kill him?

Nonetheless, Frenchie reaches out to quickly SWIPE the bills from Kerwin, glancing to him disdainfully. " $39,960 left to be expected . " He notes aloud, though his particular calculations are directed more towards Butcher than the residing, lingering pair.

He obtained another drag from the cigarette hanging between his lips but, opts to relinquish the smoke from the corner of his mouth this secondary time. " When do we start ? "

Kerwin's eyelid twitched as he was referred to as a science experiment. His rate rate began to flutter and spores sprouted from his hair.

"I.. you're.. Butcher said--" Kerwin started to stutter, his freckled face flushing.

He no longer saw Frenchie. He saw a blurry sea of faces. High schoolers. Jeering. Laughing. Throwing things at him. Calling him things like Skyscraper and Mold Eater.

He felt the sharp tugs on his once long hair and old piercings being ripped out. His vision swam with unshed tears as he tried reminding himself that Frenchie wasn't targeting him specifically.

He heard Hughie's voice in his ear. A younger Hughie. A happier Hughie.

"You gotta stand up for yourself, Winnie. Tell them how you feel. Don't let them argue."

Hughie was never good at taking his own advice.

Kerwin sniffled once before stepping up to Frenchie, blinking rapidly to dispel his tears.

-- "We need someone Vought doesn't know, and Butcher doesn't trust me alone. If you want your payment, take it up with Butcher. But I am doing this whether you like it or not, and I can and will go alone. We don't need you."