#dv watches charmed

[luxurychristmaspudding]

Pickup Truck

summary: frankie hates your boyfriend. in fact, everybody does. but he’s willing to give him a chance. you’re his best friend, after all. until frankie discovers something he can never forgive.

pairing: frankie morales x f!reader

ratings/warnings: 18+. MDNI. this fic contains allusions to, but no descriptions of, domestic abuse. please do not proceed if you know this will upset you.

frankie's pov. no lady and no baby for our boy. drinking, violence (against pos bf), angst, lots of hurt, allusions to dv. comfort, fluff. frankie to the rescue. unprotected p in v (wrap it irl!). oral, f receiving. creampie. bad spanish (again). kings of leon references. happy ending, of course.

wc: 9.8k

an: whew, this was an emotional one to write. but i hope a good love comes to all of you in time, no matter where you are at the moment. and if you already have it, may it always keep you safe. lovely divider from @saradika.

Frankie really doesn’t like your boyfriend.

Scratch that. Nobody does.

Nobody really knows where you found him, either. A sweet, smart girl like you, moved back to your small town from your big city life, and it looks like you picked up the very first guy who sidled up to you in a grimy bar.

Which, if you’re really honest, is exactly what happened. Because he was nice at first. Real nice. He was charming and sweet and interested - he bought you drinks all night and didn’t push to come in when he walked you home. You went for dinner a few times, and sure, he could be a little rude to the waitstaff, but it was only because he was so focused on you. He bought you flowers and took you for rides, and sure, sometimes he’d come home far too drunk after seeing his friends and get a little too close, a little too loud, but he always apologised.

And sure, he sometimes made you cry, but he always made it up to you. Sweet promises, small gifts. And he'd never laid a finger on you.

Not until last week, anyway.

You don’t know what to do. You don’t know who to turn to. The thought of it makes you so sick you have to lock yourself in the bathroom at work. How did this happen? How did it turn so sour?

And how do you get out?

Walk you home to see

Where you're livin' around

And I know this place

Frankie walks you home from the bonfire. He always does.

It’s his favourite moment of the night.

He gets to have you all to himself. Gets to watch your cheeks cool in the night air, watch as the blush from the heat of the fire subsides. Your giddy, wide eyes, your tipsy babbling about stories which had been swapped over the flames, picking out particularly scandalous details for you two to giggle about before doubling over into breathless laughter over something Benny had said. 

He likes to hold your elbow, your hand, as you catch him in your amusement, gripping onto his bicep. He loves to lose himself in this little pocket of time with you.

He loves the sparkle of the stars, the glow of the streetlights as they light your features.

Frankie loves you.

And he’s so glad you’ve moved back from your life in the big city to come and be around your real friends again. So glad that you’ve all found your way back to each other. Tonight has left him with such a mellow tingle in his bones that he finds he can’t stop smiling at you, looking at you, on your walk home.

Bonfire nights have always been your monthly hangout, a time when you can be sure you’ll get the whole gang together. There used to be more of you through highschool, and still a fair few during college. It dipped when the boys joined the forces, when people moved further east and further north. But eventually Frankie, Benny, Santi, and Will had come back. Jessa, your other best friend, had returned too. A few others coming and going - Lily, Marcus, Maggie - also back and forth from their new homes to their old ones. And then eventually folk had just… settled. 

Frankie felt like he was one of the last, like he was maybe the one finding it the hardest, retired to a life of civvy duties. Unable to hold down a girlfriend, struggling to stick at a job, sofa surfing around friends’ places. He was still flying whenever he could, but then this coke allegation happened, and it was like the world was finally swept from under him. 

You were the first person he had called, the first person to talk him down from his panic, that debilitating squeeze around his heart when he thought about the future. The first person who made him feel like it would be okay.

So of course his joy when you had come back had been immeasurable. Maybe this time, he’d thought.

And then you’d met Tanner.

He’s pulled from his thoughts as you drag your hand out of his, skipping a little further up the dark street until you reach a corner. Frankie watches as you spin on the spot in the quiet neighbourhood, gesturing down the pathway before you. 

‘This is me.’ You say.

But you don’t turn to keep walking. You watch him, a small, excited smile on your lips. Like you’re waiting for him to work it out. 

Frankie drags his eyes from you, away from thoughts of your new boyfriend, to look up and down the street you’ve led him to, and for a second he is pulled beneath the ebbing flow of memory, towed with the riptide of things forgotten. 

This is his grandmother’s street. Was his grandmother’s street.

The cracked concrete, the peeling paint of the porches. The weeds, the flowers, the smell.

He breathes your name like you’re the only thing tethering him to the now.

Breathes your name through the bright, sunny flashes of his childhood. His mama bringing him here with his brother, his papa swinging him by his legs in the flower-riddled front garden. Cartoons in the ripe heat of the afternoons, him and his cousins stuffing their faces with Guagitas and Frugele until they’d made themselves sick while the younger siblings napped in the sunbeams of the bedroom next door. Cycling over on his bike after school to sit at her kitchen table to do his homework, letting her fuss over him - his height, his friends, his grades, girls -

A skinnier, younger Frankie stopping by his abuela’s house with you to pick up her up for his nineteenth birthday party, along with her homemade tamales, her chiles rellenos, and specially made pumpkin sopaipillas for later on. The way you had chatted to her, natural, easy going, how you had made her laugh, her eyes sparkle. How, when you had taken some of the plates to the car, his abuela had pinched his cheek. I like her, she’d said, Será tuya algún día, mm, mijo? And Frankie had flushed bright red, batting her arms away as she chuckled at him. He had hidden in the back bedroom when you came in from outside, and listened a little longer to your conversation as he waited for the heat of his face to die down. When he reemerged, you had helped his grandmother into her shoes, her cardigan, and kept ahold of her arm until she got into Frankie’s beat up old car. At the end of the night, his abuela had kissed both your cheeks several times, rocked you back and forth in a hug, and clapped her hands as she said how she looked forward to seeing you again.

When you came home from college every summer, you’d have tea with her in her garden. She always asked Frankie about you, about how you are doing. When he told her you were coming home, she’d been so excited. Quizás este sea el momento? She’d said to him, squeezing his hand. He’d smiled, his heart quietly full of hope. Tal vez, abuela, he’d said.

When he called you two weeks later, his voice weak from crying, to tell you that she’d passed, you had been heartbroken. And it seemed like her wish, the red thread she’d seen between the two of you, had been snipped, too.

Pour yourself on me

And you know I'm the one

That you won't forget

Frankie likes to listen to you talk, because he’s never much been one for talking. 

He supposes you just bring it out of him, though. Because here on this street, in the moonlight, he tells you more about his grandmother. You spend hours walking up and down the pavement as he recounts every story he can remember; him and his brother, his parents, aunts and uncles, cousins. Birthdays, weddings, funerals. The street comes alive with the ghosts of people, the spectres of feelings. You and Frankie talk of growing up. Of falling in love. Of each other. 

Your small, well-loved house is half way down the street, four up from his abuela’s. It does something strange to his heart to have two of his favourite people, who loved each other in their own ways, so close but so far away. 

Your fingers hold his wrist as he shows you a scar on his palm from eating shit on his bike when he was eight, and when he looks up, your eyes are shining under the streetlights. There is a glint of moon in your teeth, and a shocking want so clear on your face, but when he meets your eye there is suddenly hesitation, a realisation, a shuttering. Frankie stops his story. There is a moment, and then it slips away like sand.

You shiver, chilled all of a sudden, and wrap your arms around yourself. Frankie tries not to look too hard at the goose bumps blossoming on your bare skin, tries to fight off the urge to kiss the little raises until you’re warm again under his touch.

‘Cold?’ he asks, and you smile back up at him. God, his heart.

‘As a hole,’ you giggle, and he feels himself smile goofily back at you. ‘We gotta warm up.’ You say, and then freeze.

It takes Frankie a little while longer to hear the inadvertent invitation in your words.

Boyfriend. Boyfriend.

You both stand on the porch, frozen, like some great frost has swept over the land. If Frankie squints, he can imagine the glitter of your eyeshadow, now fallen, dusted on your cheeks, is a collective of tiny constellations of ice. 

Your body is wracked with a shiver again, but when Frankie looks you in the eye, you’re burning up from the inside. He swallows.

If he could only make the steps towards you. If he could only will his heavy feet to move, if he could summon his nerves to do exactly what his brain says, he would already be in front of you. He would have your face in his hands, be able to look into your eyes to see that deep, hidden want again, and kiss you. Again and again and again, and he wouldn’t stop, because things like that shitty boyfriend of yours wouldn’t matter anymore.

No. The whole world would be glitter and stars and constellations of ice crystals.

And then you blink, smile softly, and wish him a goodnight.

When he can finally lift his foot to move, your door is already closed.

And in your denim eyes

I see that something's awry

And I see you’re weak

You don’t see Frankie for a while after that, always finding a way to brush off his attempts to hang out. 

At first he doesn’t worry too much about it. You’ve just moved back - you have a new job, a new place, new friends to get to know. Tanner. 

Frankie finds other things to do. He gets business cards made up for the flying school he’ll be setting up next month. He pilots people across the state, sometimes across the country. He sees the boys for drinks, even sees Jessa for a coffee. He starts to worry when they say their texts have gone mostly unanswered, and they haven’t seen you either.

It must be why he turns up on your front step one day, a six pack in hand. 

You open the door on the second ring of the doorbell, and Frankie finds himself rendered speechless. You look… different.

Tired and wary, a little thinner. And when he gets you chatting, you say you haven’t really been anywhere, done anything. You’ve been settling in, getting used to it. You have two beers each, but you seem on edge, like you’re waiting for a knock on the door. And then Frankie asks about Tanner, and your eyes linger on the entryway a little longer.

‘Yeah,’ you say, ‘He’s okay.’

Frankie’s jaw twitches, his stomach clenching uncomfortably.

‘Just okay?’ He asks. 

Because you should be excited. You should be gushing and giddy and falling in love. But you’re not.

‘Yeah,’ you shrug. ‘He’s good.’

There’s something in your eyes. Something which shrinks away, skitters back. Something drained, something sapped of life, of energy. Hurt, maybe. Fear, perhaps.

When Frankie thinks back now, he knows he should have pressed you harder. Maybe should have taken you to his, made you talk a little more for a little longer. Away from Tanner, the threat of his presence. But he didn’t. He didn’t.

And he hates himself for it.

When he comes around

I see you're fixin' to shine

And my face won't speak

When Frankie next sees you, you’ve had a hair cut, and there are deep, dark bags under your eyes. Both of these things worry him equally. 

Your beautiful hair that you’d been growing out since you were young, hair that you swore you’d never cut shorter than it was in seventh grade, when your mum had to chop it into a bob after you got gum caught in it. And here it is now, much shorter. 

Jessa says she likes it, and you give her a watery smile, a weak thank you. She asks where you had it done, when. She asks if you like it, and you shrug. You say you’re trying something new. You say Tanner likes it.

Over your shoulder, Frankie exchanges a look with Santi.

You’re quiet the whole time you're at the bar. Far too quiet, so far from the bubbly conversation you usually hold, your loud cackle, your bent-double amusement. Your affection for your friends - the hands on knees, arms around shoulders, kisses pressed to cheeks. It’s hardly there. 

Frankie offers to walk you home, but you wave him off kindly. Tanner’s picking me up, you say, he’s probably outside. Jessa frowns at you.

‘Are you sure, babe?’ She says. ‘It’s not even late yet.’

You smile and nod at her, gather your stuff to go. Jessa catches your arm.

‘We’re still on to go shopping Saturday, though - right?’ 

You smile at her, the first warm one you’ve mustered all night.

‘Of course,’ you say, ‘I’m looking forward to it.’ 

When you stand to leave, you hug everybody goodbye. Tightly, for longer than usual. Frankie doesn’t give you an option when he walks you out to Tanner’s car. The smug prick is hanging out the driver’s seat window. He watches Frankie as you walk up, hostile, threatening, arrogant, and somehow still ridiculous. And, Frankie thinks cruelly - ugly.

Frankie pulls you into his arms a few steps away from your boyfriend. He kisses your hair, and you sigh.

‘Have a good time on Saturday,’ he says softly. You twitch a smile at him. 

‘Thank you, Frankie.’ You say before stepping back and walking to open the passenger door. As you climb in, Tanner winks at him. 

‘Gettin’ a new one tomorrow,’ he says, stupid fucking grin on his face. ‘New car. Exciting stuff. Anyway, better get this one back,’ he says, squeezing your knee a little too hard. You don’t look at Frankie, something like humiliation colouring your cheeks. ‘See you around, Frank.’ Tanner says.

Frankie steps back from the car as it glides forwards, and he watches it disappear up the street. 

Deep anger burns in him. And a kind of fear. It crawls over his skin, cooling the sides of his neck. His heart churns uncomfortably in his chest.

He tells your friends about it when he returns to the table. And they form a plan. Jessa texts you a time she’ll pick you up on Saturday. You say you’re excited again, you need some new clothes.

But Frankie knows Jessa won’t take you shopping. 

No, she brings you here, to the beach, to the bonfire. To him, to Santi and Benny and Will. Because they’re worried.

So worried, they tell you.

They sit you down in one of the chairs around the fire, and they explain why they’re worried. They tell you they love you - so much - and they just need to know if you’re okay. Because they can help. They want to help, want you out of this, because he’s not good for you. The silence, the hair, the clothes you were going to buy. They tell you they hate the way he doesn’t let you speak, how he speaks to you. And you are so quiet through all of it, Frankie begins to get more worried. He speaks to you gently over the fire, but you can’t meet his eye. He tells you his worries, their love for you again. He swallows down his own confession, anything to make you see. How they don’t want you pushed closer to him, want you to be pulled closer to them instead.

But your eyes are so vacant, so far away, that Jessa leaves her deckchair next to you to sit on the burned up log closer to you on your other side. She takes your hands, and you finally, finally look at her. You open your mouth, and you say so quietly -

‘You’re right. You’re right.’ 

It feels like the biggest gulp of oxygen Frankie has ever taken. He feels lightheaded from the relief, from the knowledge. They were right, they were right, which is a terrible, terrible thing.

Will clears his throat, and Frankie looks at him to see similar thoughts flicking over his face like film reel. He licks his lips, opens his mouth, and -

Hate to be so emotional

I didn't aim to get physical

But when he pulled in and revved it up

I said, ‘You call that a pickup truck?’

And in the moonlight I throwed him down

Kickin', screamin' and rollin' around

A little piece of a bloody tooth

Just so you know I was thinking of you

Whatever Will is about to say is cut short by the sweep of headlights over the brush near the dunes. 

A beat up old pickup truck bumps up the track and pulls up alongside Will’s Ranger. The driver’s side window slides down, and Tanner’s face emerges from the gloom. He revs the engine loudly, making you and Jessa jump. A sick feeling curls in Frankie’s stomach as he watches him, this piece of shit who’s been so busy crushing you down. 

Tanner leaps out of the truck, and slams the door. Frankie looks over at you, visibly panicked on the other side of the fire. How the fuck did he find you?

‘Hey baby,’ Tanner says, sickly sweet as he strolls towards you, ducking to press a kiss to your unresponsive mouth. He turns to the rest of the group, eyes skating over Will and Ben until they land on Frankie. Tanner steps towards him, offers his hand.

‘Good to see you again, Frank,’ he says, ‘Told you I’d be getting a new ride.’ 

Frankie stares at his hand. He takes a deep swig of his beer, breathing deeply before looking Tanner in the eye, refusing to shake it.

‘I’m surprised to see you.’ He says to the dirty-haired man.

Tanner tries his best to appear unfazed, but there’s a glimmer of something hot behind his eyes.

‘’Course man, wanted to show off the new pickup.’ He says, grinning broadly. He looks around again, eyes falling hungrily on Jessa. She shifts uncomfortably on the log, rearranging her body so there’s less for him to look at. A deep heat begins to rise in Frankie’s chest.

He glances again at the ancient car that Tanner’s driven up in. The front bumper almost hanging off, the red paint aged and scratched, bumps caved in all up the sides, the roof sagging. 

‘You call that a pickup truck?’ Frankie says lightly. Tanner narrows his eyes at him, angry, before he catches the sound of Santi’s laugh.

He whirls around to the other man and spits -

‘Who the fuck are you?’

Frankie almost laughs, too. Almost.

Pope spreads his hands. He looks up at him through his brows, a glint in his eyes that Frankie is violently familiar with. You must notice it, too, because you clear your throat and say -

‘Santi’s one of my friends.’

Tanner doesn’t even look at you. Just keeps staring at Pope. 

The moment seems to last an eternity. Frankie feels like he’s watching everything through sludge, like he’s in someone else’s dream. His whole body is on edge, vibrating, ready to lunge - he’s just not sure at who. He looks between the two men before he catches your eye through the flames. The adrenaline in Frankie’s heart gutters at the look of panic in your eyes.

Please don’t let them do this. Please help me stop it.

Frankie glances back to Pope, and says, so softly only he can hear it -

‘Pope.’ 

And Santi immediately looks away, taking a swig of his beer.

Tanner stands there still, clearly baffled at Santi’s sudden lack of interest. Then he turns to the rest of the group like a petulant child, a toddler who has been ostensibly robbed of its favourite toy.

‘It’s a good truck,’ he says, before turning to you. ‘Ain’t it, baby?’

You hum your agreement as Tanner scoops a beer from the pile by Will’s chair, shucking off the top with his teeth. Jessa looks away, disgusted. He settles himself in the deckchair at your side.

‘Y’aint allowed to touch it, of course, sugar,’ he says to you, before laughing into his bottle. ‘Ruin everything you come into, anyway. Root of all my problems, ain’t ya?’ Tanner takes a pull of his beer. The group is silent around him. Around you. Tanner notices.

‘Boy, fun bunch you are.’ 

You look at him through your eyelashes.

‘Baby, that’s enough.’ You say as softly as possible, and Frankie cringes at the pet name. 

Tanner looks at you sharply. Dark, furious. It’s in the pinch of his jaw, the anger at what you’ve said so obviously rolling around in his skull.

Frankie hates him for it. And he hates that he hates him for it. There are already so many things he hates him for, but he’s so fucking stupid it’s almost funny. Not your equal in any way. In kindness, in conversation or in intellect. And not even willing to try. To learn. For you. Just trying to dumb you down instead, squash you into smaller, more digestible bites to chew on. 

When it comes down to it, Tanner has nothing smart to say back. He just pushes a short breath from his nostrils and mutters out a little -

‘Well, well, well.’

Then he flexes his fingers against the chair, and you flinch. 

You flinch hard, your brows coming together, chin scrunching, waiting for the blow to land. And when it doesn’t, your eyes flicker open slowly. Hollow, bereft, drained and dim. 

Tanner hasn’t noticed, but everyone else has.

The awful unveiling of your last secret.

Frankie forces the bile down his throat. His head swings forward to the ground of its own accord, a faint, resonant ringing in his ears. When he looks at his hands, they aren’t his own. In fact, he recognises no part of his body as the ringing gets louder, as he gently places his beer bottle on the floor. When his eyes leave the dirt, the mix of faces around the fire are all mirror reflections of each other. Horror, disgust, grief. Grief that this is what you hid from them, this is what they have taken too long to pull you from. The burning building splintering around you, your shell of a body immovable in the middle. 

You won’t meet his eye. You won’t meet anyone’s eye as your hand shakes around your bottle. Jessa notices. She stares at your trembling fingers for too long, but she can hardly say anything. None of them can. Her eyes shine like beacons from her seat, wet with tears. Frankie sees her bottom lip quiver, her chin dimple. And then she swallows, swallows again, and reaches for your hand.

You flinch again, softer this time, and Frankie is sure everyone around the fire - everyone in the town, the world, must hear his heart crack. Because he feels it so keenly, so deeply, that it takes the air from his lungs. His breath is caught in his throat, and no matter how hard he tries to draw it, it seems impossible to claw it down. He’s drowning. He’s drowning right here in front of everybody, and it makes it all the worse to know that this is how you must feel. Every damn day.

Come on, he hears Jessa say, Let’s go and get another drink. And through the dark swirling of his mind he watches the two of you stand slowly and disappear towards the back of Frankie’s truck. He waits until Jessa has you hidden from view, her arms around your hunched back as you bring your hands to your face - crying - and that’s when the thread snaps.

Frankie gets to his feet, slowly.

Pope and Will watch him. Benny is still staring at Tanner.

Tanner looks up at him, chin jutted out, smirking as Frankie approaches. 

He’s challenging him. He’s waiting for a war of words, for the shouting to begin, for the insults, the observations to fly.

He expected the wrong war from a soldier.

The first punch sprawls him out of his seat. It makes a satisfying cracking sound, and the first trickle of blood starts to bleed from behind his lip.

Then Frankie kicks him. He kicks him hard in the ribs, making sure he doesn’t have enough time to recover from the punch to deflect Frankie’s boot. 

Tanner clutches at his abdomen, wheezing, gazing up at Frankie with bewildered eyes. Fucking coward.

Frankie grabs him by the front of his shirt, pulls him upwards. He has nothing to say to him, but the fury he feels, this deep, endless, swirling pit of rage, he lets him see. He lets it fill him from the soles of his feet all the way up through his eyes, and he lets it bleed out. He lets the blackness flood the ground. He lets Tanner watch it, lets it petrify him, and then Frankie swings again. Tanner takes it on his chin this time, his jaw snapping closed, and when it goes lax, a couple jagged bits of tooth fall out. Frankie grunts in satisfaction and swings again, again, until blood spouts from Tanner’s eyebrow and his cheek begins to bruise and swell. Frankie breathes deeply, in rhythm, doesn’t even feel it when Tanner manages to land a lucky punch to his eye socket. He plants a knee into the other man’s crotch, lands him an elbow to the back of his head when he keels over, and then shoves him to the ground. Frankie gets on the floor with him, raining blows down on Tanner’s body, his face. He’s methodical about it, a punch to each eye, the crack of the cunt’s nose, one to either side of his mouth, then bloodying up his jaw. He’s aware, somewhere, that Tanner is screaming. Strangled, gargling sounds trying to claw up his throat. And then he’s aware of two pairs of hands around each armpit, dragging him away, pulling him up. Will is saying something in his ear, that’s enough, Frankie, alright now, and Benny is speaking, too, panicked - you’ll kill him, Fish, come on man.

Frankie blinks, really looks at Tanner where he lays bleeding on the dirt. His eyes already swelling, a couple more teeth scattered on the ground next to him. His face different shades of red and purple, a mess of a man, and Frankie is pleased. He could keep going. He wants to see him bleed much, much more. Will and Benny keep their grip on him.

‘Leave,’ Frankie growls, low, without a quiver in his voice. ‘And don’t you ever come back. You ever look at her again, I’ll gouge out your fuckin’ eyes. You ever touch her again, I’ll break every bone in your body. I’ll make sure they don’t find anything left of you.’

Tanner doesn’t say anything, which must be the only smart thing he’s ever done in his life. But he still doesn’t move.

The four men watch him for a moment, the silence heavy, broken only by the crackle of wood and Tanner’s heavy, wet breaths.

Then Benny lets Frankie go, steps forward and picks the man up by his collar, swinging him around to the direction of his truck. He throws him down on the dirt.

‘Move,’ he spits. ‘Get out of here. And if you have the courage on the way, wrap your fucking truck around a telephone pole.’

Tanner finally has the good sense to crawl over to the vehicle. He hauls himself up the scarred body work before creaking open the driver’s door and slipping inside. The truck sputters to life, yellow bulbs flooding the bonfire site again before it quickly backs away, turns, and drives off. Frankie watches its blinking red brake lights until he’s sure the cunt is gone, and then he turns around.

You’re stood with Santi’s arms wrapped around you, back from the fire where Tanner’s blood is drying. Pope strokes your hair, squeezes you tightly as your body shudders. And Frankie can only stare. 

Minutes might have passed. Hours. And Frankie is terrified. Terrified that he’s scared you, broken you, pushed you away. And then you turn your face on Pope’s chest, moving your head from shoulder to shoulder, and you’re looking at him. Eyes red-rimmed and raw, face flushed and damp, and it’s like Frankie’s trance breaks.

Frightened, he takes a step forward. He breathes your name.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says, and you shake your head. Fuck. What has he done? What has he allowed himself to do? ‘I’m sorry, querida, please - I know, I know -’ but what does he know? He looks to Santi, pleading for help, and the man offers him a small smile as you step out of his arms. 

Through a fog, you come towards him. Your chin wobbles. Your eyes swim. You’re a little wide-eyed, a little shocked. And something else, something beyond his reach. 

You get to him, and your arms make their silken way around his middle as you begin to cry. Hot tears stain the front of his shirt, and he cradles you to him, holding your skull gently, enveloping your abdomen. A loud sob looses from your ribs.

‘I’m sorry,’ he whispers, ‘I didn’t mean to scare you.’ You wrap your arms around him tighter, press your nose into his sternum.

‘I’m not scared of you, Frankie,’ you sob into his chest. He clutches at the back of your head, holds you even closer, strokes your hair. When you speak again your voice is higher, strained with your tears. ‘I could never be scared of you.’

The sting in Frankie’s throat becomes hot, burning. He doesn’t know whether to pull you impossibly closer or to push you away, to run as far as he can from your broken, heaving body in his arms. Because what he’s done should scare you. It should. He’d lost all control. The only thing he’d been able to see, to feel was his all-consuming, depthless fury. And Tanner’s face as it splintered, bloodied, swelled. And he’d wanted to keep going, until there was just pulp. No nerve endings, no teeth, no eyes, no mouth, no body that he could ever hurt you with again. He doesn’t want you to hurt any more.

‘I’m sorry,’ he whispers into your hair.

Trembling misery

And as cold as a hole

I hug your bones and skin

Frankie holds your hand the whole way home, the drive passing in a dazed silence.

You still don’t talk when you get to his place, when he unlocks the door, lets you in, and locks it behind him. You take his hand in the quiet cool of the house, lead him upstairs. He follows, slowly, sore, exhausted. Trying to process it all.

When you reach the landing, you turn on the bathroom light, and he trails behind you. He stands propped against the sink as you dig around in his medicine cabinet, finding wipes and bandages and anything else you think might be useful. You take Frankie’s hand again, examine his bruised, bleeding and swollen knuckles with solemn eyes. You are so gentle, twisting his hand in the light, inspecting. You look over it for a while, and Frankie watches you. When you reach for an antiseptic wipe, your hand is shaking.

Frankie winces silently when you start to dab at the blood on his knuckles, cleaning it away with minute swipes. You chase the dried rivulets of blood down his fingers, over his palm. The scar there from when he ate shit riding his bike.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says. You ignore him, breathing shallowly as you inspect his hand, holding his wrist, cleaning blood which is no longer there.

‘Might be a hairline fracture or two,’ you say, distant. ‘I won’t bandage it, gonna let it dry out first. But you’ll need to rest it. And we’ll need to ice your eye.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he says again, into your hair. You shake your head, and the light catches the different colours in every strand. Frankie’s throat tightens.

‘Please stop apologising.’ You whisper.

A shaky breath pushes itself from between Frankie’s lips.

‘No, querida,’ he says softly, ‘It wasn’t right. Shouldn’t have done it. And I shouldn’t have let you see -’ he swallows thickly, throat bobbing. He looks over your head at the white tiles behind you as your grip on his wrist tightens. You still don't look up at him. ‘But it’s not how you treat someone you love. Not how it should be. Should be protecting them, treating them right, loving them the way you love -’ him. He cuts himself off, because he realises as he says it he’s wrong. So wrong.

Right to be like you in your gentleness. In your care, your touch, your tenderness, your loving. But Tanner deserved none of those things. He didn’t deserve your faith, didn’t deserve your protection or your silence either. None of it. 

He closes his eyes.

An image of you flickers through Frankie’s mind. Your fingers on his wrist as they are now, your eyes shining under the streetlights. The glint of your teeth, and the want so clear on your face, then the hesitation, the fear, the shuttering - 

And if only he had kissed you then. If only you had taken him inside. He could have shown you what it was supposed to feel like. He could have saved you from the hurt, the fear which lay ahead.

There’s a splash of warmth on the pale skin of the underside of his forearm, and he opens his eyes again. You’re still hunched over his hand, but your movements have stilled. Frankie waits, confused, before another warm drop lands on his arm and you hiccup a sob out. He whispers out your name, and you turn your face up to him, devastated.

Frankie’s face crumples, and your grip on his wrist loosens enough for him to lift his hands to your face and cup your cheeks.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says, ‘I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have said it. I wasn’t thinking -’

‘You think I love him?’ You croak.

Frankie’s jaw works around his next sentence, his next thoughts. He tries to process what this means. That look in your eyes, your tears, your implication. His lips move, but no sound comes out.

‘I don’t love him, Frankie,’ you choke, ‘I don’t. Christ - I don’t think I ever did, I never could -’ you suck in a deep, stuttered breath. ‘I’ve never - never hated anyone more. I couldn’t stand him, couldn’t have him near me, couldn’t have him touch me -’ Frankie flinches at your words. ‘But I was so scared. And embarrassed. I didn’t know how to leave - I didn’t know how to tell anybody about what was going on. I was terrified of what he’d do. To me, to you guys, if he found out I’d spoken about it. And he made it so hard for me to see you, so hard for me to get away.’ You sob now, panic and relief forcing out your words. ‘I thought - wherever I go, he’ll find me. He’ll track me down, and he’ll bring me back - and somehow - somehow that was worse than if he tracked me down and - and - I don’t know, killed me or something -’

Frankie’s eyes shutter. He can’t even follow your thought, so awful is the image, the gaping emptiness. He pulls you close, he lets you cry. Curled into his chest, your body wracking with tears, shaking, tense and uncontrollable, the sounds you make rooting in his brain. They file themselves away in a box where very few things go. Deployment. Tom. The darkness after his investigation. You break and break in his arms, and it’s all he can do to hold the pieces of you together. To press kisses to your head, breathe in the smell of your hair, rub his hands over your back, cradle you like a child. 

He doesn’t know how long the two of you stand there for. He waits until you stop sobbing, stop crying softly, stop hiccuping, stop sniffing. He waits for a few more minutes in the silence, too. And when he pulls away, he presses a long, sweet kiss to your forehead. 

You blink up at him through red, swollen eyes.

‘You’re safe here.’ He says, and you nod.

‘I know. Thank you. For - everything.’ You say thickly. Frankie swallows, nods. You know it all anyway. Any time, for however long you need.

He pads downstairs to get you a glass of water, and while he’s pouring it, he can hear you blow your nose, wash your face. Somehow, they are the most perfect sounds in the world.

Crackling wood’s gone white

And my eye swole up now

I can see the light

Frankie gives you one of his sleep-stretched t-shirts and an old pair of shorts for you to wear to bed. 

The clothes dwarf you a little, and he can’t wipe the small, thrilled smile from his face, even when he looks away. You look fucking adorable. 

You giggle at him every time you see it, your little what? only making him smile harder. It stretches his mouth until it hurts and his cheeks start to cramp up, squishing his swollen eye. Stop he tries to say, but it comes out as an equally breathless huff of laughter - and that only makes you giggle more. So much so that he sweeps you up into his arms to stash you under the covers, and you laugh even harder as he tucks the sheets in tight around you, just like his mama used to do when she wanted him to stay put. 

He looks down at you from the side of the bed, hands on his hips, and you laugh back at him - eyes shining, mouth open in wide hoots of delight, your hands coming up in a desperate attempt to contain yourself. He points a finger at you.

‘You need to calm down,’ he says, voice tight with bridled amusement. ‘It’s bedtime.’

But you cackle back at him, this glorious puddle of sunshine in his bed, only howls of laughter for a response. Unable to help himself, he returns your joy, turning off the bedside lamps to slip in beside you.

In the darkness, your snorts subside into ragged breaths, and you turn on your side to look at him. You study him as though you never want to forget a single line on his face; such warmth, such affection in your eyes that Frankie’s whole body swells and lifts.

You take his hand beneath the sheets and hold it between your faces, smiling softly at him.

The first and only girl he’s really ever loved. This brilliant, fierce, bright, intelligent woman damped down by the waste of fucking space who had bled by the fire. At the thought of it, Frankie feels his heart fall out of his chest, down through the floorboards, and plummet towards the middle of the earth.

And finally, he begins to cry.

He tries to stop it, he really does. It’s selfish, he thinks, so awful and selfish to cry in front of you when it’s you who should be wrapped in his arms, swept away by emotion again if you needed to be, safe and warm and unworried, never having to fret about anything again.

But he can’t stop it. It comes out in great shuddering breaths - pained, wracked sounds slipping past his lips, and he can’t help it. He tries to gather them in his hands to shove them back in his mouth, tries to scoop them in his arms and press them back into the caving ache of his chest, but he can’t.

When Frankie was a child, he saw his dad cry once. Only once, and exactly like this, after his father’s brother was killed in a car accident. He had seen it through a crack in his parents’ bedroom door, and it had hurt him. It had wounded him, as a child, to see his father break with such grief, such pain, such emptiness, and to know there was nothing he could do about it. And now, he is split into those two people - younger self, older self - as he thinks of you lying next to him on the bed. This person who he loves so much, who is now so full of the knowledge of the worst parts of living, wound up so tight within you that you let it settle, let it unfurl around your bones. He sees your hurt, your grief, your pain refracted around him tenfold, and he hurts with you. He sees you as the boy he once was, this poor creature looking in at a heart breaking, as he has unknowingly watched yours break for months.

And he’s so sorry, he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to stop saying it.

But here you are, still, performing the ultimate act of kindness. Comfort.

He feels the mattress move as you slide closer to him, and then your hand is on his back, swooping in gentle movements. He feels the scrabble of your fingers under the ribs he has pressed into the bed, the pressure of your arm moving under him so you can hold him properly. Frankie sobs harder, but he opens his body to you. You press closer to him, burying your face in his neck, and he breathes you in as he cries. Your scent is here, you are here. And like you heard him, you whisper -

‘It’s okay, Frankie. It’s okay. ’M here. I’m safe.’ And this realisation allows a little more air, but it doesn’t make Frankie’s guilt, his shame any better. But you’re right, he knows it. And somewhere in his crying, this turns his gasps to tears of relief. Softly, you retract your arms from around him.

You take his hands away from his face, and kiss the palms. You kiss each fingertip, each bruised and cracked knuckle. You lean forward and press a kiss to each tear, each trail of saltwater on his face. And you are so beautiful in the moonlight. Soft and wide eyed. Safe. Kind, always kind, and full of understanding. Frankie sees now that you have been crying against him, too, your eyelashes cloyed with tears. Sees his thoughts in your eyes as though you have had each of them zip to you through the air. When you were a child, you saw your dad cry once. Only once, and exactly like this, after…

A smile breaks through your eyes, chasing away the remnants of tears, glazing down, softening your lips. 

And Frankie doesn’t think this time. His feet don’t fail him. He doesn’t think of stars or glitter or constellations of ice crystals. He just kisses you. And kisses you and kisses you and kisses you. And he doesn’t stop, because nothing else matters anymore.

You’re safe. You’re warm. You’re in his bed. 

You’re here.

You tip your head back, deepening the kiss, licking into Frankie’s mouth. He gives in so easily to you he’s almost ashamed. But then your fingers clutch at him, ball at the bottom of his shirt, tangle in the thick of his hair, and all his thoughts are forgotten. He feels you slip a soft, strong leg over his, pulling him forward. You groan against him, and Frankie’s cock twitches. You feel it, you must do, as you pull your body closer to him, tight against him. Frankie is so lightheaded he doesn’t know where his hands are, what they’re doing - and when he concentrates, he finds them skating over your back, squeezing the tension out of the back of your neck, gripping your hip.

He moans against you as you rock your hips over his thigh, as he feels the heat of your sex against his skin. He feels like he’s on fire.

You slip a hand under his sleep shorts and palm him, brushing his silken length with two fingers, feeling him grow harder, thicker against you. You take him in your hand, pump him once, twice with the perfect grip, the perfect speed, like you were made for him. He’s gasping against you, panting as you suck his lower lip into your mouth.

‘Baby,’ he groans, breathless, ‘We don’t have to. We really don’t -’

You look up at him through gorgeous, glazed eyes.

‘I want to,’ you say, ‘Do you?’

Dangerous, dangerous question. 

Frankie tries to shake his head, look away, think of anything but the tight fist of your fingers around his cock.

‘I do,’ he says, ‘I do. But I don’t think - this is the right thing -’

You loosen your grip, draw away from him. His body aches with a shudder.

His eyes flick back to yours again - confused, hurt - fuck, he can’t do that to you, ever -

‘I - I don’t want to take advantage of it - of you,’ he says. Your eyelashes flutter against your cheeks as you look down the sheets towards your toes. His jaw tightens. ‘And - and I don’t want this to mean - different things for us. I don’t want it to ruin what we have.’ Frankie breathes out heavily through his nose. He has to tell you now. He has to. ‘I don’t want it to mean different things, because I love you. I always have. And if we do this, if I have you even just for a night, I - I’ll never recover from it.’ Tears spike in his eyes again. He tries to smile. ‘You’d ruin me. And I don’t think I’d ever forgive you for it.’

Your breath hitches in your throat, and Frankie watches as your eyes flit back up to his. They search his face, the dribble of his barely-shed tears, the slope of his sad smile. You bring a hand up to cup his cheek, running your thumb over his scraps of beard. He closes his eyes.

‘What you said earlier,’ you begin. Frankie swallows. He waits for the blow of rejection. ‘About me - about me loving him.’ He opens his eyes slowly to find yours, bright and clear. Something begs to bubble over in them. Something golden and warm. ‘You were wrong - obviously. And I couldn’t tell you truly why, because I was afraid. So afraid of pushing you away, even though I think that’s all I’ve ever done. I’ve never thought I was worth it, Frankie. I don’t deserve you. And I am terrified of how much I love you.’ You beam at him, eyes bubbling over with that thing - love - ‘I love you,’ you say simply, like it’s not the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard. 

A stunned little laugh ripples up his throat, and you copy it. He grips your face in his hands, and kisses you again, again, again.

‘I love you,’ he says.

‘I love you, too,’ you giggle.

‘And you are,’ he presses to your lips, ‘You are absolutely worth it.’

He rolls over on top of you, and begins to kiss your jaw, nipping at the skin there, before moving down your throat. He kisses you with a hot, open mouth, sucking marks into the sensitive skin at your pulse point. Mine, he groans, and you whimper against him, rubbing your thighs together.

Frankie pushes your shirt up - his shirt - so he can bite at your chest, press kisses to every bit of exposed skin. Every single part of you that deserves to be loved, every single place which has so far been unknown to him. He sucks each nipple into his mouth, delighted when you keen beneath him, panting, please, please Frankie, before he sinks lower down, peeling his shorts away from you to expose your glistening cunt. 

He groans, unable to take his eyes away from it as he leans forward, pressing his body into the mattress to lick a stripe from your asshole to your clit.

‘Frankie -’ you groan down at him as he begins to work at you, sucking and licking, nipping at your thigh before slipping his tongue into your hole, swiping and tasting everything you’re giving to him. He grinds himself into the mattress, hissing at the relief, the uncomfortable weight of his cock dragging below him.

‘Taste so good, baby,’ he tells you, and he doesn’t think he ever wants to taste, wants to smell anything else ever again. All he can do is eat at you, breathe you in, until you’re begging him -

‘Frankie, your fingers - please -’ And he flexes his hand at your hip before brushing a fingertip against your entrance and gasping at the pain. 

You try to bear down towards him, but he rips his hand away, lifting his head towards you.

‘Can’t,’ he gasps, and you mewl, bucking your hips up to his face, desperate. ‘Hand’s fucked,’ he says, and you still your movements before beginning to laugh again. It’s loud and from your belly, and it's bizarre. But Frankie gets it. He gets it, and he giggles too. He doesn’t try to fuck his broken knuckles into you, but he does try to continue lathing you with his tongue. You’re making it pretty fucking difficult, though.

‘Stop laughing,’ he huffs against your clit, ‘I’m trying to make you come.’

‘Okay,’ you say, gasping for air, ‘Okay. I’m sorry. I’m very sorry. You’re doing really well, by the way.’ But this only makes him laugh. He groans, leaning his forehead against your inner thigh. ‘This is impossible.’ He pouts.

‘Nooo,’ you cry, leaning up on your elbows to pout down at him. ‘Please, baby. I’ll be good. I’ll be so good. I won’t laugh anymore.’

‘Promise?’ He says. You hold out your pinky to him.

‘Pinky promise.’ You say.

Frankie stretches his hand out to you and tries to extend his pinky. He winces at the sharp pain which shoots from the movement, and grunts at you, your eyes sparkling with mischief.

‘You bastard,’ he says, trying and failing to hold his smile, ‘You knew I wouldn’t be able to do that.’

‘Just keeping you on your toes,’ you grin, and then before you can make any more smart remarks, Frankie resumes his ministrations, lapping and tonguing at your clit, your hole, mouthing hot, wet kisses to your pussy. He shakes his head from side to side, running your bud in tight, hard little circles until you’re a moaning, whimpering mess beneath him. Your hips buck unconsciously, and Frankie hooks both his arms around your thighs to hold you down, flattening his hands against your belly to keep you firmly in place. He reaches up to twist at your nipples and you gasp. 

‘God, Frankie, tongue feels so fucking good -’ 

He can feel you begin to pulse against his chin as your whines get higher in pitch, and he groans as you twist handfuls of his hair.

‘Come on, baby,’ he says, ‘Give it to me. Wanna see you come, querida. Wanna taste it. Come on my face.’

And you do, the sensation of it arching your back tight like a bow, a strangled moan cutting off into the ceiling.

‘Fuck, Frankie, fuck -’ as he drives you through it, nodding and murmuring against you as you try to wriggle free, squealing in protest until you manage to twist a leg and set a foot against his chest, pushing him off. 

‘Fucking - hell -’ You pant, and Frankie grins down at you, smug.

‘Good?’ He asks, quirking an eyebrow.

‘Oh, fuck you, Morales.’ You laugh, pulling him in for a sloppy kiss, moaning when you taste yourself on him. Your tongue explores every part of his mouth, every crevice behind every tooth, like you can’t get enough of him. Like there'll never be enough of him. ‘Now fuck me.’ You whisper.

And Frankie does not need to be told twice.

He rips his shirt up and off his back, shucks his shorts down his legs, and squeezes himself tight as he can in his left hand. He ruts into his palm, thumb swiping to slick his heavy beads of precum down his length.

‘Ready?’ he asks, looking down to find you staring wide-eyed at his cock. It twitches under your gaze.

‘What?’ He says, and you shake your head in quiet disbelief and amusement. You lift your eyes back to his face, and they are so dark with arousal he almost melts into the mattress.

‘Nothing,’ you shrug. ‘Just somehow never believed Pope and the boys when they said it was like two coke cans put together.’ 

‘Jesus Christ.’ Frankie laughs, his face pulling tight with a grin as he lines himself up at your entrance, swilling the head in your arousal.

‘I mean, what if it doesn’t fit?’ You babble, and he shakes his head.

‘It’ll fit, baby,’ he says. ‘We’ll make it fit.’ Then he sinks the first inch in, and just waits. He waits and watches you, watches as your mouth falls slack, all the smart things coming out your mouth grinding to a halt. He throbs at how tight you are around him, at how you clench already, trying to suck him in further. And fuck, you are so wet.

‘You okay, querida?’ He asks through gritted teeth.

You manage a nod, a broken whine escaping you.

‘Move Frankie, please baby -’ you beg, and he groans as he pushes further inside you, watching the obscene stretch of your pussy around him, the way it pulses, the way it gets wetter and warmer and tighter around him. When he bottoms out, he feels the hot rush of his orgasm leap towards him a little too quickly.

‘Fuck, baby,’ he breathes, closing his eyes just to make sure he doesn’t come right away. You squirm beneath him, canting your hips up, trying to fuck yourself. Frankie grips you, gritting his teeth. ‘Stay still,’ he hisses, flushing a little. ‘God, fuck, please - just for a minute.’ He opens his eyes to find you watching him, your bottom lip caught in your teeth. His eyes glaze down your body - his t-shirt bunched up around your chest, perfect tits, perfect belly, and your sweet, sopping cunt split open on his cock. 

He groans again, slipping out, watching as he retreats, soaked by you, before pushing back in. A high pitched whine leaves your lips, and you twitch your hands up to play with your tits. Frankie doesn’t think he’s ever seen something more sexy in his life.

‘That’s right,’ he says, ‘Keep playing with yourself like that, gorgeous. Look at you.’

So you do, looking up at him with doe-eyes as he fucks into you, soft at first, letting you adjust before quickening his pace, readjusting his angle, feeling you leak around him. His balls slap against your ass loudly, and you keen up at him, eyes wide, begging for something as you tighten like a coil around him, something you can’t quite voice. But Frankie knows.

He swipes his thumb against your clit, and your eyes roll into the back of your head, your back arching again. He groans at the sight, and works the bundle of nerve endings in tight circles, faster and harder, harder and faster, until you’re gripping him so tight he thinks you might push him out.

‘Come baby, come,’ he pants, ‘Please, querida, need to feel you - need to feel you soak me. Need you to come for me, come on this cock, baby, please -’

And he groans, long and loud as you clench and pulse around him, milking him, pulling him impossible deeper - fuck, Frankie, oh my god, feels so fucking good - the delicious pressure at the base of his spine at breaking point as he fucks you through it, as he pants and gasps -

‘Come, Frankie,’ you plead, ‘Please - want you, need you -’ and he spills himself deep inside you, hips stuttering, eyes clamping shut, overwhelmed and short circuited. He’s never known it could feel like this - good to the end of every synapse - and he’s fucking it in with three long thrusts, pulling out slowly just to watch it dribble out of you as he twitches against his thigh. He thumbs your clit just to watch you seize and sigh against him, then sits back on his knees to look at you.

‘You are something else,’ he says in disbelief.

You smile lazily at him.

‘Ain’t so bad yourself, Morales,’ and he laughs, throwing himself down next to you, kissing anywhere he can. I love you, I love you, I love you. Safe.

You lay there for a while afterwards, just feeling each other, calming your ragged breathing. Eventually, Frankie rises from the bed to grab a washcloth, coming back and swiping between your legs tenderly, gently, before collapsing back into bed and pulling you into his chest.

He feels like he’s in space, and he tells you as much. He spills secrets like a child at a sleepover. He tells you about the glitter and the stars and the constellations of ice crystals. You match him with a galaxy of feeling spanning the time he’s known you. And he feels that this is a dream, this love which floats like a nebula within the bed. He tries to keep his eyes open for as long as possible, even as you sleep. And even when he does drift off, he dreams of you. He dreams of you sparkling with stardust, waiting for him with your arms open.

When he wakes the next morning, you’re still there. Safe, soft and warm against him, furled into his ribcage, heart beating against the hand that’s pressed against your chest.

Everything’s okay. That red thread still intact, after all.

When the sun rises, bloody and mild, it’s never been so sweet.

A little piece of a bloody tooth

Just so you know I was thinking of you

[sid-the-sandwich]

'Obey Me!' character hobby mechanic

This is my second time writing this because I lost the first draft even though I saved multiple times.

Anyways, this is (Maybe) part 2 of stealing features from other games and incorporating it into the mechanics of 'Obey Me!' While writing the shops for each character, my mind wandered and I had a thought, what if there were hobbies like in 'Blush Blush'. Leveling up these hobbies would give rewards such as intimacy multiplier, icons, bonuses, and cards.

I'm a yapper, so this is going to be long. Not proof-read

--------------

firstly, i'll talk about the hobbies mechanics and what it would do:

There should be 4 types of hobbies:

Common- hobbies that almost every character has.

Uncommon- Hobbies that 5 or more characters have

Rare- Hobbies that 2, 3 or 4 characters have

Character specific- A hobby distinct to each character

the rewards for these would be:

Common/Uncommon- Grimm, AP

Rare- Grimm, AP, DP, DV, Character lines

Character specific- Grimm, AP, DP, DV, Character lines, Card pieces

NOTE: all four will add an intimacy multiplier that will apply to only characters who have that hobby

the rewards for the level max for these would be:

Common/Uncommon- an icon of Sheep MC doing the hobby

Rare- icon, Memory card of the characters with that hobby

Character specific- Icon, UR card of that character

The Hobbies:

Common:

Reading

Running

Bowling

Music

Watching TV

Board games

Uncommon:

Art

Cooking

Swimming

Sports

Dancing

Nature

Sleeping

Animal lover

Card games

Rare:

Horse riding

Gaming

Modelling

Partying

Piano

Calligraphy

Knitting

Marine Biology

Demonus tasting

Shopping

Working out

Technology

Character Specific:

Cursed Record collector

Gambling

Cosplay

Cat Enthusiast

Self-care

Competitive Eating

Stargazing

Chess

Tea tasting

Baking

Writing

Magic tricks

Trap making

Sewing

Journalism

There are a lot of hobbies listed above, however considering how long the game is running, and the amount of characters, a wide variety of hobbies make sense.

----------------

Now onto the characters:

Lucifer:

Common:

Bowling

Music

Board Games

Uncommon:

Cooking

Reading

Card games

Rare:

Demonus Tasting:

"I'd love to share a glass with you. Meet me in my study in 20 minutes" "Careful, i wouldn't want to drink too much, who knows what I might do"

Horse Riding:

"Hold on tight to my waist, I'll keep you safe" "Let's take a trip together, far from my brothers"

Piano:

"There's a piano in the music room, you're the only one i trust to use it" "Lets play a duet, naturally I'll take the lead"

Character Specific:

Cursed Record Collector:

"Come to my room, i want to show you a new record I acquired" "I used to have more records but Mammon is holding some hostage for money"

UR Card: Lucifer looking at a record player with Sheep MC on top of the record spinning.

Mammon:

Common:

Running

Watching TV

Music

Uncommon:

Card Games

Sports

Dancing

Rare:

Partying:

"YOOO! THE GREAT Mammon wants to hang out with you! lets go paint the town" "WHA! I CANT HEAR YA OVER THE MUSIC FROM YESTERDAY"

Modelling:

"You can look but ya cant touch... well, i g-guess i wouldnt complain if ya did" "Did ya see the new edition of Devucci? Top cover baby"

Shopping:

"Hey my favourite human, my first, my number one... ya really wanna pay for me today, don't ya?" "YES! I just stole Goldie back from Lucifer! let's go before he finds us!"

Character Specific:

Gambling

"Hey MC... whats your favourite number? thats gonna be my lucky number today" "MC you have to come to the casino with me! you're my good luck charm"

UR Card: Mammon holding Sheep MC running out the Casino

Leviathan:

Common:

Art

Watching TV

Music

Uncommon:

Card Games

Sleeping

Swimming

Rare:

Gaming:

"Luke befriended me in Mononoke Land... who knew he was so good" "Can you come to my room later? i brought a new game"

Marine Biology:

"Henry 2.0 is my friend... sometimes i think i should get him some siblings" "Once Belphie drifted out to sea... we didn't see him for a week"

Knitting:

"Wanna make a Ruri-chan doll with me? It's n-not like i wanna hang out with you or anything" "I'm just a Yucky otaku who likes knitting"

Character Specific:

Cosplay

"H-Henry? y-your dressed as Henry? E-eh d-dont taunt me like that" "Can you be the Azuki-tan to my Ruri-chan? BEST FRIENDS FOREVER!!!"

UR Card: A picture of Levi in a Ruri-chan costume and Sheep MC dressed as Azuki-tan

Satan:

Common:

Art

Board games

Bowling

Uncommon:

Reading

Pottery

Animal Lover

Rare:

Calligraphy:

"Don't talk, im concentrating... okay, now continue." "I wrote your name on your book for you... i know you'll enjoy it"

Piano:

"whats your favourite song? ill play it for you" "My heart is fluttering... your notes are really doing something to me"

Knitting:

"I learnt how to knit from Raphael... he's a good teacher... maybe i can teach you some tricks" "Want to knit some scarfs for each other?"

Character Specific:

Cat Enthusiasm:

"MEOW" "Sorry about that- i accidentally cursed myself again"

UR Card: Satan and Sheep MC with a cat filter

Asmodeous:

Common:

Running

Art

Music

Uncommon:

Nature

Pottery

Dancing

Rare:

Partying:

"hi <3 lets go out tonight!" "I can dance all night long! join me?"

Modelling:

"Why does Mammon have to be attractive? he's an idiot" "I'm ready for my close-up <3"

Shopping:

"You should wear an outfit i choose for you" "Lets go to the new lovers' Cafe, my treat"

Character Specific:

Self-care:

"Hehe! i have the cutest face-mask for us to try" "You have soft hands, lets join them..."

UR Card:

Beelzebub:

Common:

Running

Watching TV

Bowling

Uncommon:

Nature

Sports

Cooking

Rare:

Working Out:

"Lets play Fangol together... you remember the rules, right?" "Here... hold the stick like this... good, thats good."

Horse Riding:

"We could both ride on one horse... I'll hold you tight, I promise." "I'm not letting you ride a horse until you wear a helmet"

Gaming:

"You, me, Levi and Belphie should all play a game together sometime; its more fun with more people" "Lets play an easy game this time..."

Character Specific:

Competitive Eating:

"Woah! There's a human world sport that involves eating?" "MC, lets eat a whole pile of hot dogs together! I'll let you have the first bite"

UR Card: Beel eating from a plateful of hotdogs and Sheep MC cheering him on

Belphegor:

Common:

Board Games

Watching TV

Music

Uncommon:

Reading

Sleeping

Animal Lover

Rare:

Gaming:

"The last time i played with Simeon, i slept through 'DevilKart' and still won when i woke up" "Sleep is like life's pause button"

Knitting:

"I only started knitting because i wanted a new blanket, but its actually fun" "I can knitt in my sleep y'know... maybe i can trap you in one of my knitted blankets... heh."

Piano:

"Can you play me a lullaby?" "You really have a lot of time- huh?"

Character Specific:

Stargazing:

"You remember THOSE stars? Those are the one's Beel and I gave you" "I wonder if you think about me when you look at the stars... just like how i think of you"

UR Card: Belphie stargazing with Sheep MC on his chest looking up at the stars

Diavolo:

Common:

Running

Art

Music

Uncommon:

Pottery

Nature

Animal lover

Rare:

Horse riding:

"Lucifer, Mephistopheles, and I like to take leisurely strolls on the Horse ranches... those two are like best friends" "I wonder if Barbatos will allow me to take the day off to entertain you with a ride on my horse?"

Piano:

"Lets have a contest! Who can play better?" "I'll play a tune for you at the next Devildom festival... as our guest of honour"

Demonus tasting:

"Lucifer says the funniest things when he's drunk" "'I love you, now clean your room' such fun! Do i sound like Lucifer?"

Character Specific:

Chess:

"I've never been beat before... you really want to play against me" "If you win, I'll be your 'pawn' for the night"

UR Card: Diavolo playing Chess against Sheep MC

Barbatos:

Common:

Art

Board Games

Music

Uncommon:

Reading

Pottery

Animal Lover

Rare:

Caligraphy:

"The Young Master is lazy when it comes to learning calligraphy" "Its refreshing to see someone so young taking an interest in calligraphy"

Knitting:

"Knitting was something i didn't pick up for thousands of years, who knew it was so... amusing." "I created a quilt, a patchwork of human history as a side project"

Marine Biology:

"It's only logical to learn about the human world sea-life," "In another timeline, we are all fish."

Character Specific:

Tea Enthusiast

"It's piping hot... be careful." "Does it taste familiar? it contains ingredients from your home country"

UR Card: Barbatos and Sheep MC having a tea party

Luke:

Common:

Bowling

Watching TV

Board games

Uncommon:

Swimming

Nature

Animal Lover

Rare:

Marine Biology:

"I LOVE ALL THE CUTE FISHIES" "Barbatos likes teaching me about fish when we cook together"

Knitting:

"Simeon made me a sweater! its so cute! i wear it when i go to the human world!" "MC, can you help me start the row for my knitting?"

Gaming:

"I just sent Levi a friend request on Mononoke Land! he accepted immediately" "Simeon said I'm no longer allowed any more time on my DDD today!"

Character Specific:

Baking:

"Someone get Solomon out the kitchen. PLEASE!" "Can you reach the mixer for me? Simeon put it on the top shelf to hide it from Solomon."

UR Card: Luke and Sheep MC with chef hats and aprons mixing a batch of dough.

Simeon:

Common:

Bowling

Board games

Art

Uncommon:

Pottery

Nature

Reading

Rare:

Working out:

"Being an angel means i have to be in top shape!" "Lets do some exercises together... i'll help you do some stretches."

Modelling:

"A company called 'Majolish' asked me to be their model." "Mammon and Asmodeous gave me tips on how to pose; i could show you later if you want."

Knitting:

"I made Luke a little sweater... Raphael helped me with the design" "Solomon took a picture of me knitting... I'm hunched over."

Character Specific:

Writing:

"Leviathan keeps begging me for a new TSL novel... he really is an avid fan, huh?" "Luke said i should use a computer... i kept pressing the wrong keys..."

UR Card: Simeon typing on a computer, squinting with glasses with a Sheep MC (Also with glasses) doing the same on his shoulder

Solomon:

Common:

Art

Board games

Music

Uncommon:

Card Games

Animal lover

Sleeping

Rare:

Calligraphy:

"This is how we used to write in 'ye olden days'" "Hmm... who else can i taunt with my writing?"

Piano:

"Let me dream a little dream of you ♩" "I wonder what the others would say if i played your faverouite song?"

Marine Biology:

"I still cant believe I'm exiled from the sea" "do you think if i put Leviathan and Barbatos in a tank, they'd fight?"

Character Specific:

Magic Tricks:

"Get ready for the elusive Solomon-dini" "And for this trick, I will take your heart."

UR Card: Solomon in a magician hat with a magician wand, he points the wand at Sheep MC

Thirteen:

Common:

Art

Running

Music

Uncommon:

Sports

Nature

Swimming

Rare:

Modelling:

"I only model so that Solomon has to see my face everywhere!" "Do you... want to do a photoshoot with me?"

Partying:

"Yoooo! Lets go party, i'll sneak you outta RAD" "Lets set fireworks! hahaha!"

Demonus Tasting:

"When i first came to the Devildom, i didnt understand Demonus, now i totally get it!" "I wonder how a drunk Barbatos acts like..."

Character Specific:

Trap Making:

"If you ever need help, just text me... I'll send one of my traps over" "This is 'Spider-squid v4', i made it for you..."

UR Card: Thirteen shooting a net-trap from her contraption with Sheep MC ontop of the trap

Raphael:

Common:

Art

Board games

Music

Uncommon:

Pottery

Animal lover

Sleeping

Rare:

Calligraphy:

"You want to see my writing, why?" "I could write you a poem, I guess..."

Piano:

"I remember playing this tune in the Celestial Realm" "Could you do me a favour? Could you gather Lucifer and his brothers... i wanted to play a song for them"

Knitting:

"I made you a sweater... i heard this design was 'hip' with the humans" "Knitting is easy and repetitive, its addictive that way"

Character Specific:

Sewing:

"I remember sewing the brother's clothes in the Celestial Realm" "You know some new sowing techniques? You humans are incredible"

UR Card: Raphael sowing some clothes with Sheep MC's help

Mephistopheles:

Common:

Art

Board games

Running

Uncommon:

Sports

Pottery

Nature

Rare:

Calligraphy:

"Calligraphy is a forgotten art" "I wish to write your name in as many fonts as i can"

Piano:

"I can play a multitude of human songs I heard from the past" "Lord Diavolo once told me a story of a young boy, but he expressed it through the medium of piano... that was a long hour."

Horse Riding:

"Lord Diavolo takes Lucifer and I to ride horses sometimes, its always so... awkward" "I like racing horses, I've known how to ride horses since i was a mere boy"

Character Specific:

Journalism

"i think you should be on the front page of the school newspaper" "You enjoy spending time with me?"

UR Card: Mephisto and Sheep MC with magnifying glasses

[eclecticqueennerd]

Homelander as a Girl Dad

Trigger warning: DV, parental alienation, Homelander being Homelander.

Prompt: Anonymous asked: I don't know if someone already requested Homelander as a girl dad. But could I request him to have a supe daughter who is really close to him and loves him and yet also hates, fears him and can’t wait for the world to be rid of him.

This work is written as first a headcanon then transitions into a story. Enjoy!

You were Homelander's personal assistant and from the moment Ashley hired you, Homelander was infatuated. He would drop not-so-subtle hints of his affection and shower you with gifts and experiences you never thought you’d get. He’d take you to movie premiers and had you meet the members of the Seven. He would give you any and all dresses, shoes, and accessories you’d want. You were always attracted to Homelander; to his charm, his heroism, and his good looks. So, when you realized that the affections were mutual and he told you to call him John, you felt like the luckiest girl on earth.

When the relationship moved towards a physical one, John was as gentle as he could be with you. There were a few times when you had to remind him that you were just a normal person and not to be so rough. John would often say he’d want a family with you and that having a child would be the greatest gift anyone could ever give him. When you became pregnant and told John, both of your worlds were turned upside down. For better or worse, well it depends on your perspective.

You were okay with being in the public eye when working as Homelander’s personal assistant, and even more adjusted to it when the two of you started dating. Once the world heard that the two of you were expecting, the paparazzi increased tenfold. You were not able to go anywhere without paparazzi taking pictures and asking questions. One time the crowd of photographers was so dense, that a paparazzi accidentally bumped your baby belly too hard and made you stumble over in pain. Once that story went public, you were not allowed to leave John’s penthouse without him accompanying you. There were rumors that Homelander ‘took care’ of the photographer, but you chose to not believe them. Your sweet and charming John wasn’t capable of something so awful.

John is a busy man, attending meetings, social events, and the occasional hero work. You spent the majority of your days in the penthouse, there were people cooking for you and waiting on you hand and foot. You grew lonely, most of the people there either working in their positions to get a paycheck or out of fear, not speaking to you often. Whenever John came home, you’d run to him and embrace him, him being your only source of interaction. You’d ask him how his day went, sometimes he’d tell you, other times, he’d ask how the baby was.

When you gave birth, John was a little disappointed that it was a girl. You would reassure him that girls can do whatever boys can and that sometimes a father-daughter bond is stronger. John perked up after hearing that. In the beginning, John would be put off by the care of having an infant. They stink, they’re loud, messy and so goddamn needy. He did like the perk of you breastfeeding, it was always incorporated into sexy times with him. You thought of it as an undiscovered kink of his.

When your daughter was older, around toddler age, that’s when John started to take more interest in being a father figure. He’d teach Callie, your daughter, how to walk, how to use the potty, how to read. In the beginning, you were fine with it, it gave you a chance to take some time for yourself and watch the two of them bond. As time went on, you noticed that John would start to leave you out of the conversation and bonding experience as a family.

As time went on, John pushed you out more and more when interacting with Callie. He’d be the one taking care of her daily needs, ignoring you when you’d ask for updates on how she was doing in school, how her doctor’s visit went, and other important information. When you spoke to John about how you were feeling left out, he showed you a side of him you’ve never seen before. Hatred, malice, disdain. John wanted to be the sole caregiver to Callie. There were times that he’d shut you away in a room all by yourself, making you a prisoner in your own home. There were times when John would make the move to smack or attempt to hit you, but he’d always stop himself. After a while, he revoked your privilege of calling him John, you now had to call him Homelander.

You’d ask Homelander what went wrong in the relationship for him to treat you this way, but your inquiry was met with hostility. You began to contemplate leaving the penthouse whenever the two of them left for an outing. You know Homelander would never hurt Callie, he adores her. So, one day, you left…

“I’m home dad!” Callie said as she threw her schoolbag on the floor and walked into the kitchen to grab a snack. It’s been a few years since her mother left and she was told by her father that it was because her mother didn’t love her anymore. Callie was hurt by what her father told her, but she had no reason not to believe him.

“Hey sport, how are you today?” Homelander said as he threw his muscled arms around Callie. Callie grimaced but accepted the hug. Homelander noticed the change in her mood, he pulled himself away from her and asked,

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Uh huh, don’t lie to me missy. Tell me, what’s up?” Callie looks around the room, wanting to look at anything besides her father.

“I… uh… don’t think that you can help me with this. It’s something moms usually talk about.”

“Of course, I can help you, Callie. You can trust me with anything.” A few moments of silence and then Callie said,

“I got my period today.” Homelander blinked at Callie. Damn… I don’t know how to help her with that he thought. Homelander grabbed Callies’ hand and the two of them went to the entrance of the penthouse.

“Where are we going?”

“I have someone we’re going to talk to.” The two of them appeared in front of Ashleys office. Homelander opens the door, and a voice rang thru the large room,

“What the fuck have I told you about knocking Ashley?” Homelander and Callie came through the threshold. Ashleys demeanor went from hardened to frightened the moment she laid eyes on the man. Callie noticed this was a common theme with anyone that came across her father.

“Homelander, Callie. H-how can I help you?” Ashley said as her hand flew up into her red hair. Homelander sat Callie down on the sofa in the lounge area and went to mute the TV that was displaying the news.

“Callie here is now a woman. She needs to know some helpful tips about periods.” Callie turned to her dad and gave him a look that can be conveyed as ‘what the fuck?’ Homelander just shrugged as Ashley cleared her throat. Ashley walked from behind her desk to sit herself onto the armchair to the left of Callie. Ashley let out a nervous chuckle, looking at Homelander before she spoke,

“We’ll, as you know, periods are a normal thing for women…” Ashley looks around the room, trying to find inspiration in what she’s telling Callie. “Periods are a beautiful and natural thing for a young woman to have! They mean that—Oh my god!” Ashleys attention went to the TV screen, as did the other two. Displayed was a picture of a tall, bearded man in a trench coat and next to him, was you. The caption on the picture stated, “SUSPECTS WANTED FOR THE DEATH OF TRANSLUCENT” Ashley began stuttering, mumbling, and furiously twisting her hair in her fingers. Callie stood up and walked towards the TV, closely inspecting the picture of you in your disguise. Homelander approached the TV and promptly turned it off.

“Okay that’s enough for today. I think this kiddo has some homework to do dontcha bud?” Homelander grabs Callies hand and drags her out of Ashleys office. A million thoughts ran through Callies mind. ‘Why would mom join the bad guys? Why did she kill Translucent? Why did she leave me?’ Homelander picked up on the hurt on Callies face and said,

“Hey, it’s okay. I’ll get it all taken care of.” Homelander took Callie back to the penthouse and said that he needed to step out for business and that she could order a pizza for dinner. When gone, Callie gathered her key fob and left the penthouse in search of you.

*

It had been a few hours looking in the area you’d been photographed, but Callie had finally found you in the subway, tucked away in a corner waiting for the train to arrive. She took in your appearance; sunglasses, ballcap and a leather jacket with the lapels pulled up to hide your face. Callie approached you slowly,

“Hey mom.” You spun to face her, freezing at the young girl standing before you. It’s been years since you’d seen Callie, at least in person. You’d seen her on TV many times, making appearances with your ex. She was a perfect mix of both you and Homelander.

“Callie. What are you doing here?”

“I saw you on TV.”

“It’s not safe for you to be here honey.”

“Don’t call me that. You don’t get to call me that after how you left us. After how you left me!” Callie began raising her voice, emotions starting to grow inside her. You approached her slowly after noting the fists Callie was making and said,

“You’re right. I’m sorry.” A tear ran down Callies cheek. You desperately wanted to reach out and wipe it away, you however treated her like she was a frightened animal, careful with your movements.

“Why did you leave?” You never wanted to answer that question, wanting Homelander to have that special bond between father and daughter untarnished. Before you could open your mouth, you heard the train approach, looking in its direction, you were torn. Now was your chance to escape, but you also wanted to set things straight with your daughter.

“Callie… I-”

“Trains ‘ere.” The man that was with you earlier on the TV broadcast appeared next to you, voice heavy with a cockney accent. Callie looked at both you and the tall man, named Billy Butcher. Callie had heard her father speak of him from time to time and how he was the bane of his existence. Once the train stopped, you made the difficult decision to part ways with Callie, you didn’t want her getting caught up in all your bullshit. Homelander will keep her safe, he would never let anything happen to her. As you found your seat on the train, Callie sat down next to you.

“Callie!”

“You never answered my question, why did you leave?” Looking between Callie and the subway train floor, you told her everything. How Homelander was the nicest man you’d ever met, and he slowly showed himself to be a monster. You told her of the domestic abuse and the times that he would alienate you from being a mother to Callie.

“I love you so much Callie. I never wanted to leave you, but I couldn’t stay with your father. I knew he would never lay a finger on you, you’re all he’s ever wanted.” Callie’s world was rocked. Her whole life she’d heard from her father that she wasn’t loved by you, that the only reason why you wanted to be with her Homelander was because of fame and fortune.

The train rolled to a stop a few stations from when the three of them went on. As you got off the train, Callie followed you and Butcher. Callie noticed the whispers between you and Butcher, you look back at her.

“Callie you can’t come with us.”

“I’ve finally found you after all these years and now you want to push me away?! It’s not fair!” Callie clenched her fist and punched a brick pillar, knocking the blocks loose. Callie’s face widens in shock, she’s never done that before. She didn’t even know she had the strength.

“Callie, what we do, is too dangerous for you. I’ll give you my number so we can text but know that I can’t always reply. Butcher, go ahead to the hideout, I’ll take Callie back home.” You and Callie catch a train ride to a subway stop just a block from Vought tower. On the train, you two talk about school and what her favorite subjects are, its art, what flavor ice cream she likes, it’s the same as yours, and Callie asked you what to do when it came to periods.

“It’s important to keep yourself clean, shower at least once a day. There may be times when you will have a stain, don’t worry. This happens to all of us at some point. If it happens at school and it’s on your pants, wear a sweatshirt around your waist if you can. Also, don’t wear white pants if you can help it.” Callie absorbed as much information you had to give about the subject, appreciative that you’re willing to talk about such a sensitive topic. Callie was beginning to question her father’s animosity towards you, you were so warm and welcoming and kind, the opposite of his descriptors was for you. Finally reaching your destination and standing outside of the tower, you give Callie a quick hug.

“Text me anytime but please, don’t tell your father about this. I don’t know when I can see you again, but if this plan pulls through then it may be sooner than later.” Callie nodded her head and went inside the building and into the elevator. Callie stepped into the penthouse and saw a worried Homelander standing next to the kitchen island.

“And where were you?” Homelanders voice low, eyes narrow, almost like he knew what she was up to, he just waiting for her to confess. Callie met his menacing glare with one of her own, and replied,

“Out.” She then left to go into her room, revulsion filling her thoughts about her father. Homelander the world's greatest and strongest superhero, was a calculating cruel man who filled her head with lies in an attempt to hate her own mother. Callie hoped whatever plan her mother had up her sleeve worked.

taglist: @marvelspn-bishes @lazygrungekid @wiiwiiwii666 @z3r0art@jameshetfieldscumdump@sleepyqueerenergy@citrys@chungledown-bimothee@otherworldlycraft@jensensnackles69 @star-ligh7 @memoune0987 @archiveofthalience @pibetaphi2000 @amberembers @itsyellow @need-a-life-or-grass @lover1307 @z3tabyte @katherine-ann1 @stankyleg05 @lustendreams @psychoticbirb

[lullabyes22-blog]

A la “Have Some Madeira, M’Dear”. Love love love the journalist’s exploration of Silco’s new Zaun. One of the chapters briefly outlines how sex and relationships are quite casual and seen as natural parts of life, but that rape and other sex crimes are given harsh penalties. I forget if FNF or HSMM’D, mentions anything on domestic violence, because even in supposed “developed” countries IRL, there is still a huuuuge issue with how DV is handled in many places, and a lot of it, to me, has to do with the philosophy of how DV is seen, i.e. the loathsome British euphemism “domestic” which seems to encompass everything from a simple argument (“row”) to chasing someone with a golf club around the house (God how I hate that slang word). How much does the law involve itself in DV and how much is left up to a “you got yourself in this situation, you can get yourself out of it. That’s Zaun, baby.” I’m not expecting perfect laws in this city, but am curious about where the libertarianism begins and ends when it comes to the privacy of the household in this quasi metropolitan London/LA/NYC Steam-Chemical-Tech-Magic-Punk city. Also does Zaun have the death penalty?

tw: domestic violence, abuse

Thank you so much<3 So happy you're enjoying B. Goode's descent into the depths!

Honestly, given Zaun's libertarian ethos, private matters tend to be left… well, private. There's a pretty strong push, given the city's historic scars re: government encroachment, against anything resembling surveillance, invasion or oversight by a perceived "outside" force, even one that's ostensibly benign.

There's very much a mindset of: "What goes on within the four walls of the home is not the problem of the community at large unless those inside those walls bring the problems beyond those walls."

There are, of course, exceptions. These include:

1) if a minor is involved 2) if the parties in question are disturbing the peace 3) if the parties in question have been explicitly warned previously that their behavior is unacceptable and they have failed to change their actions or, indeed, intensified them. 4) if a member of the community is harmed by said actions.

In this case, it won't be the Eye's blackguards who'll intervene; it'll be a local authority, such as the underboss responsible for the sector, and the night watch on his payroll, who will be tasked with investigating the complaints and taking whatever measures are necessary.

However, this is an extreme rarity; more often than not, citizens are expected to deal with issues themselves or to take them up with a mediator before matters escalate. If they do, it's more likely the case will be tried by civil court and not criminal, as the law does not have any particular interest in, nor duty to intervene in, affairs that are purely a matter between two or more private individuals.

It's not a perfect system, and there are plenty of pretty horrific cases that make their way into the newspapers or into the public psyche. But on the whole, the citizenry is encouraged to police itself.

Silco, Sevika and the crew, having grown up in environments where the state was an adversary rather than a help, are very much in support of the hands-off approach. The fact that they all hail from backgrounds where abuse was commonplace plays no small part in shaping their mindsets, either.

For instance, Silco is fully one of those, er, charming types who'd call a slap in the face a 'minor disagreement' and a black eye a 'stern reminder.'

And, yes, this includes both dishing it out and getting it dished.

So, uh. Yeah.

Zaunites are, at the day's end, fiercely protective of their home and the right to be left the fuck alone.

Re: the death penalty- the city occupies a very gray zone. While it's not legally codified, there's an informal consensus that a particularly heinous crime is, well, a heinous crime, and warrants a punishment in kind. The courts and prisons won't enforce sanctions. But those within and beyond the system- inmates at Dredge, vigilantes on the streets, the black market, etc - certainly will.

If a crime is especially repulsive, and the perpetrator's identity is known, a mob may very well descend upon them and exact retribution.

If it occurs, the government will turn a blind eye rather than admit they condone such behavior. But it's no secret that Silco and his ilk believe in an eye for an eye, and that their city is better off for it.

Catharsis, as the wise man said, is good for the soul.

[indigoraysoflight]

This One Is For Melissa Mcbride (And Her Fans ❤️)

(original photo via @/calivero92 on IG)

~

Let me get straight to it. 

There should’ve been an official announcement of Melissa McBride’s return. After a lackluster final season, the absolute nightmare that last year must’ve been for her – she deserved nothing but joy, celebration, and endless praise for her in the media. Instead, her announcement was whittled down to a cheap click bait storm perpetuated by someone who had no right to speak for her (I don’t care how well-intentioned it may or may not have been). 

We all have some deep feelings about the Twitter storm + clickbait articles that followed yesterday. If you read the tweet in question and were hurt, angry, sad, confused, conflicted, or felt a mixture of everything – ALL YOUR FEELINGS ARE VALID. 

Let me preface this by saying I wasn't around for all that happened last year. But I have spoken to a lot of fans – many of them have emotional scars, asked reasonable questions, and were respectful towards people involved in the spinoff. From what I've seen, a handful of people crossed the line by harassing NR and threatening his family – that was vile and disgusting, and they should be called out for it. And they should’ve taken accountability for their actions. Nobody deserves that treatment. 

HOWEVER, bunching the entire fandom together with those few that didn’t control their vitriol and calling everyone “toxic” is infuriating and just plain sad. Especially when we remember that this relates to a TV show that THRIVES on showing us the gray areas of moral behaviour. 

These are the fans that put their wallets down to watch TWD. The people who passionately talk about their favourites, make fan art, write beautiful letters to the actors, and watch the shows to give them strength and hope in their lives. People who line up at cons, cosplay characters, buy expensive tickets and photo ops just to spend a few minutes with their favourite actors. 

But let’s talk specifically about Melissa McBride’s fans. 

My question is to anyone who believes all of Melissa’s fans are festering in toxicity – do you know what the fans she has ACTUALLY nurtured look like?

Let me introduce you. 

The majority of the fans that adore Carol are survivours like her. The type of abuse they face may have different names – but they resonated with Carol deeply because she showed them they were stronger than their trauma. Stronger than the people who caused those traumas. She taught them how to fight back. To rise up. 

These are some of the strongest, most vulnerable, perceptive, passionate, and empathetic people in the fandom. They’ve watched this show and looked up to Carol to get them through whatever difficult times they faced. Some are still deciding whether or not to subscribe to watch any future spinoffs.  

Here’s another question to anyone who believes the narrative from last year (not by Melissa or her reps) that was spread again yesterday – Do you *KNOW* Melissa McBride? 

Melissa McBride is the woman who has spent over a decade breathing life into Carol Peletier. She has shown us Carol’s strength, her raw vulnerability, and her tenacious spirit. Qualities that come from within Melissa that she harnessed to bring Carol to our screens. She is a class act. Everyone who has ever worked with her has called her wonderful and professional. She is charming, sweet, remarkably intelligent, and an extremely eloquent speaker.

And she can speak her truth for herself – when she wants to or if she wants to. 

She has written to her fans, and treated her fans with love and respect. She’s spent hours at cons speaking to them. With her performance, she has helped DV survivours leave difficult situations. She has inspired people to move through their traumas and get out of toxic situations. She even skipped the red carpet at the finale event to skip the limelight and go spend time with her fans. 

And through all this, Melissa has shown nothing but love, gratitude, and respect for her fans. She has been a beacon of light in the lives of her fans. And most importantly, she has taught us how to stand up for ourselves. 

Did they honestly think that when the time came to stand up for her – we would sit still? They better think again. 

Melissa McBride doesn't just deserve better...

She deserves the goddamn world.

[steampunkforever]

Party Monster is not a particularly good film, yet as I watched it I couldn't help but find myself captivated by the movie, the performances, and the charm of it all. Solidly deserves its cult status.

The performances from Seth Green and Macaulay Macauley Culkin Culkin (I personally like to use his middle name so as to avoid confusion) were dynamite, and even as the dialog was extremely canned and felt forced, by the end of the film it was clear this wasn't simply poor direction but a creative choice, showing us the extreme lengths of self-absorption and deep layers of ingenue the characters were operating under.

The dialog was good, as Culkin and Green were delivering more as Shakespearian archetypes than as verisimilar deliveries of real personalities in what is at its heart an extravagant if low-budget biopic about club kids that reads like a Scorsese adaptation overdosed on camp.

One of the worst and yet most interesting things about this film was the camera they shot it on, a Sony DV Camcorder, producing an incredibly interesting and bad image. compared to the Cinema cameras at the time its awful, yet even as I found myself from 5 years ago loathing the low quality visuals of films like this, watching it today I can't help but be charmed by the Camcorder cinematography in a way that distinctly recalls a certain Brian Eno quote. Even I must change, I realize.

[groovesnjams]

"A Psychic Wound" by Los Campesinos!

DV:

Watching Los Campesinos! on their recent US tour, I got hung up on the unique path they've taken through my affections: I loved "International TweeXcore Underground" (which apparently has a video that is a real fucking time capsule) in 2007, but I care a lot more about them as a band now then I did back then - it's like they burrowed their way into my head over the past 17 years without me ever quite noticing. And to be clear about bands I loved in 2007: I saw of Montreal recently; I'll be thrilled if Spiritualized play Chicago again. But seeing them is like catching up with an old friend who I don't have all that much in common with any more. Meanwhile there are Los Campesinos lyrics about my life, about my friends, about my partner! I'm not sure how that happened but it did.

And so Los Camp sound and feel more vital to me now than they did back when I first heard them, and I don't think there's any other artist I can say that about. (Admittedly there's very few artists who have been active since the mid-2000s that you can't describe as "nostalgia acts" at this point - if they're even trying to make new music at all.) So that's what makes LC significant: I've long since lost track of artists whose every word I hung on in 2007, but something like "A Psychic Wound" feels real even now that I can't grow long indie bangs if I wanted to. And maybe the production is a little too sleek, but a lyric like "It’s a cosmic check you never cashed/ Curse the universe for what you lack" is the kind of casually-dropped gem that few bands can manage once in their early days, let alone this far into their run. "A Psychic Wound" makes me wonder if Los Camp maybe will keep going forever, and if maybe they'll be the only band in history where that isn't a mistake. Most importantly, the song sounds like a singalong even before it's over.

MG:

DV and I have seen Los Campesinos! a handful of times over their career and most of those times I had one foot out the door only to be completely charmed by the group's all-in ecstasy. Until this last show I'd say Los Campesinos! were a band best experienced live -- mostly because aside from one brief period during lockdown, I don't listen to their records and this is what creates the little cycle of bliss to indifference in which I swirl. In fact, they are a nostalgia act to me, in that I want every concert to reproduce the same sense of fun and belonging the last concert did. I don't want to like my own sense of nostalgia but I also firmly believe we have no free will in this universe, so alas, here I was, very excited for this most recent concert and totally unaware that Los Campesinos! had gone through some sort of internet-led glow up. Things were going pretty much fine until, in the middle of the show, they acknowledged their newfound popularity and conducted a "marketing survey" where they tested whether or not you became a fan during the nascent days of social media or during its ongoing imperial phase. That's when they completely lost me. What a weirdly pro-Capitalist stance to be one of the few bands capable of maintaining your recording and touring artist career for almost two decades but to only feel successful once you can properly advertise. "A Psychic Wound" does everything a Los Campesinos! song should. It's full of witty lyrics and a chaos of instruments all delivered with a righteous enthusiasm. But now it just gets on my nerves.

[kmp78]

That's bullshit that she was stuck in a relationship. She was independent and had a job that took her everywhere. Nobody held her down. I'm not buying into the " poor Val" situation. Watch this space. Her marriage won't last long to DV. Her sister also jumped from man to man and her mother. What happened to her acting career? Her Harvad degree in Psychology? This chick is scatty and all over the place. " Fake Love " is what she gave Jared.

Anon ffs! 🙄

She was barely even an adult when she started "hanging out with" and then seriously dating JL, so essentially he was her only experience of what a relationship is!

And that's not saying much, considering that man she was with... 🙄

She may have thought he was her Prince Charming at the time (when she had nothing and no one else to compare him to!), but obvs when she finally woke and wised up and left to find someone better, she realized how wrong she had been all these years... 💯

[bisluthq]

https://vt.tiktok.com/ZS2LtRNd8/

I think a lot of discourse surrounding the it ends with us drama is unproductive, but I like this take.

I think this video is 10000% spot on actually. I’m gonna be honest - I’ve never read a Colleen Hoover book (I’ve read the pull quotes of people making fun of her lol and that’s enough for me frankly) but I have read enough to understand this plot in principle and I will also say that, for all Colleen’s faults as a writer per the pull quotes I’ve seen, this book was apparently inspired by her own family and the abuse she saw from her father towards her mother. She also worked as a social worker before she went into novel writing so she’s obviously been exposed to women in tricky situations.

and here’s where I think it gets interesting: she’s obviously a very bad writer lmao (Lily Blossom Bloom the freshly college graduated florist (???) who marries a neurosurgeon is like… stupid lol) but I don’t think she doesn’t understand DV because she grew up exposed to it and then she worked with families living through it as a social worker. So I think she *absolutely* understands that in the overwhelming number of cases of abuse, the abuser has a lot of good qualities and that’s why the victim believes things can change or that it’s their own fault or that these are one off incidents that don’t represent that person overall. And that *is* important for this story, however stupidly it’s written, because if Ryle was just an evil mf and Lily was super empowered and strong right off the bat then she wouldn’t have stuck around at all? Again, never read the source material and haven’t watched the movie and don’t much want to but as I understand it Lily grew up in a home where her father hit her mother and Lily grew to hate not only her father for doing that but her mother for staying and exposing them to it BUT AT THE SAME TIME obviously this was also normalized for her in a lot of ways. She falls for Ryle (who’s charming and successful and handsome) and when he starts taking his temper out on her he apologizes and she’s convinced she’s not like her mother, right, and Ryle’s not like her father and that she’s not a victim and Ryle’s apologetic and lovely the rest of the time so she tries to excuse that stuff away. Ryle’s also got his own sad backstory that like has led to his personality issues. He doesn’t WANT to be a villain. It’s what happened.

so yea like exploring that side of it - why do victims, even successful and independent victims, stay? Why do abusers, even when they want to be good people, abuse? Is an interesting topic. Why did Lily stay with Ryle when he was abusing her and when she did have someone else who cared for her to go to (and also her own ability to leave due to her business and shit)? Clearly LILY didn’t feel Ryle was the villain all the time. Clearly she felt he could change or that there was enough good in the relationship to tolerate his temper?

Blake hasn’t seemed to be willing to engage with that topic and idk that Colleen fans are in general, but it’s an interesting topic.

I also - because we’ve brought up Amber/Johnny in relation to this because of the crisis team Justin hired - wish we’d get more stories of imperfect victims. I don’t think that’s touched on in TEWU (and it isn’t like it happens in all situations at all and maybe not even as frequently as the victim finding reasons to stay) but in a huge number of DV situations the victim does fight back. It’s not always an evil abuser and a powerless victim. Many times the victim also responds with violence, with emotional abuse, with verbal abuse, might cheat, might steal (that’s actually advice given right to help you get out of that situation is try get resources to leave which may involve stealing some of usually his money/stuff tbh but you gotta do what you gotta do), probably lies etc. TEWU could’ve been more interesting if Lily DID have an affair with Atlas tbh and probably more realistic.

but yeah Blake hasn’t wanted to talk about this shit or why Lily was willing to stay or what Lily loved/loves about Ryle.

[freegrain]

BITCH YOU'RE RIGHT, MEAGAN TANDY IS FLAWLESS 😍😍 charmed literally-

[outerspacebisexual]

Better Man - Billy Hargrove

Summary: You wished that Billy Hargrove was a better man, because then maybe things would have been all right.

Pairing: Billy Hargrove x Reader

Word count: 4.37k

Warnings: 100% angst, canon typical-billy violence, swearing, please don't read if you don't cope with reading dv/abuse situations like in the show

a/n: i'm not a billy hargrove apologist and this will probably be the only billy hargrove fic i will ever write. i personally don't vibe with writing him because he's so shitty, but this fic idea wouldn't leave me alone

SERIOUSLY recommend listening to Better Man by Taylor Swift which this fic is based on. seriously. will make so much more sense if you do.

Sometimes in the middle of the night, you thought you could feel him.

You knew that it was just the loneliness pressing in around you, not him, but if you closed your eyes and tried hard enough, then that empty space was replaced with his chest, moving in sync with yours as you breathed.

But as soon as the comfort came, it was gone, leaving you utterly alone as you curled into yourself, wishing with all your heart that he was a better man.

+

It hadn’t been a small-town fairy-tale romance story.

New boy on the block Billy Hargrove hit the Hawkins like a well-built, hot as hell freight train.

You hadn’t been immune to his sly grin and bedroom eyes. He was straight out of a magazine with his looks and demeanour, making the girls of Hawkins High fawn all over him the way they once did with Steve Harrington.

You had been content with watching from the sidelines as he made his way around the school flashing smiles and winks at every girl he passed. He was bold and perfect and gorgeous, according to Marsha from your English class. He had already made his introductions to the popular girls; already had them practically drooling over him.

Your paths hadn’t crossed until part way through senior year when he had been sat next to you in science class.

His cologne wrapped itself around you before you had even looked at him.

“Hi,” he said, leaning back against his seat as he eyed you up. He seemed like he wanted a reaction out of you. He might have been attractive, but you still had some self-respect.

“Hello,” you replied, turning back to your worksheet. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see him still sat perfectly still, just watching you. “Do you have a problem?” you questioned.

“Just trying to work out how I haven’t come across you before now.” His tongue played with the toothpick between his teeth. It would have been easy to follow along with his little charm game. But you wanted to have some fun.

“I’m sorry,” you said, fully turning to him. “What was your name?”

He blinked and you fought to keep back a smile.

At first, you thought he wasn’t going to answer, but he did. “Billy.”

You nodded. “Billy…”

“Hargrove.”

“Well Billy Hargrove, this worksheet needs to be completed by the time class ends, which is in—” you checked your watch. “—forty minutes. Better get to it then.” You fished through your pencil case, pulling out a pen and placing it on his desk. “I noticed you’re lacking in school supplies. Feel free to keep it.”

When you turned back to your paper once again, he adjusted in his seat to look down at the blank worksheet in front of him, but you could still see him eyeing you.

The rest of the lesson passed by quickly, and you were up and out of your seat before Billy could even try and talk to you.

He watched you leave though.

Two days later, he was sat in the same seat beside your desk. It had surprised you because if you were honest, you thought he’d leave you alone after your antics in the last lesson.

“Hey,” he said to you, and you nodded to him in acknowledgement.

“I see you still have my pen, Hargrove.”

He glanced down at the pen spinning between his fingers. “Yeah.”

“Better put it to good use then.” You gestured to the blackboard with the lesson instructions on it before leaning closer, as if you were going to conspire with him. “It was my favourite, so it’ll feel left out if you don’t.”

You couldn’t deny the rush that went through you as his eyes went to your lips. He stared at them for a long second before returning to your eyes. “Sure thing, dollface.”

It wasn’t until after the weekend that Billy accosted you in the hallway as you turned from your locker. “Hey, L/N.”

You stopped short as he stepped in front of you. “Hargrove. What can I do for you?” You knew people were watching you and you tried to keep your cool as their eyes bored into you.

“Meet me after school?” It didn’t sound like a question, and you narrowed your eyes.

“Why?”

“Because I want to take you out,” he said, as if it was common sense, like you were missing something.

You blinked. “What?”

He rolled his eyes, half huffing as he repeated, “I want to take you on a date after school.”

You should have said no, but that smile he was giving you made your knees weak, so instead you said, “Sure.”

+

The world was so quiet at four in the morning.

You wished that the inside of your mind was as quiet as the streets outside. But you could do nothing about the thoughts that raced through your mind as you stared at yourself in front of your mirror.

Your eyes were haunted, bags more purple in the dim light from your bedside lamp. Your cheeks were stained from the tears that you just couldn’t stop.

“You did the right thing,” you whispered to yourself, despite how wrong it felt in your heart. “You know you had to do it.”

You didn’t recognise the woman sitting opposite you. She was so far from what you had thought you would ever be. You seemed so sad, so lost.

It didn’t matter how many times you repeated those words, it didn’t reassure you. It kept feeling worse. You didn’t feel brave. You didn’t feel like it was what you wanted.

You did the right thing. You know you had to do it.

You did the right thing. You know you had to do it.

You did the right thing. You know you had to do it.

+

Your conversation with your co-worker was cut short as arms wound their way around your waist.

“Billy!” you said, nearly jumping out of your skin. “You scared me. What the hell is wrong with you?”

He laughed as you spun around in his arms. “Sorry, baby.”

You smiled and brushed the hair from his eyes, those eyes that were so bright today, so blue that you could almost drown in them. You felt like you had been drowning in them for the past six months. “What are you doing here?” you asked, eyeing the almost empty JC Penny.

“I came to pick you up from work.”

You rolled your eyes. “I said I could walk home today. You didn’t have to drive all the way here to pick me up.”

He pressed a kiss to your mouth, utterly shameless in the middle of the store. “I don’t want you walking home anymore.”

Your heart melted. “I like walking.”

“I don’t care. Front seat has my girl’s name on it from now on.”

You found yourself as brash at him, kissing him back as you wrapped your arms around his neck. “How lucky I am.”

+

You tried to keep your tears back as your pushed through the crowded house, drunk teens swaying back and forth to the pounding music, not a care in the world. Just how you had been until thirty seconds ago when you walked outside to find your boyfriend kissing another girl.

You slammed the front door open, finally out into the fresh air. The cool breeze felt so nice against your flushed skin, but you didn’t stop as you made your way onto the street. You didn’t know where you were going. You didn’t even know how to get home. You just needed to get away from him.

Unfortunately, he was faster than you, and significantly more sober. You stumbled as he grabbed your arm, spinning you to face him.

“Let me go, Billy,” you slurred, trying to pull your arm free.

He tightened his grip, making you wince. “Listen to me, let’s go back inside.”

You laughed in his face. “You think I want to go back inside after seeing you making out with Marsha? You’re—You’re delusional.”

“It was just a kiss—”

“Yeah, with a girl who isn’t your girlfriend—who isn’t me.” You tried to reef your arm away again. “Let me go.”

“No. Listen, it was a stupid rush after smashing the keg stand. It didn’t mean anything.”

You scoffed. “Is that supposed to make it any better?”

“Yes. It is. Because I said I’m sorry.”

“You haven’t, actually,” you spat. “And—And I don’t want to see you right now. I want to go home.” Your voice cracked and you looked away from him. You wanted to be anywhere but standing on the street where other people were watching you cry.

He didn’t say anything for a long moment, and when you looked back at him, he heaved in a breath. “Fine.” He started dragging you back to his car.

“What are you doing?” You stumbled over your feet, but he caught you before you could hit the ground.

He opened the door and helped you in. “I’m taking you home.” He slammed your door shut.

“You’ve been drinking,” you said as he climbed into the driver’s seat. Even in your current state, you knew that he had had way too much to be driving.

“I can still drive,” he said, his Camaro roaring to life, drowning out the blaring music from inside the house.

You shook your head. You wanted to get out. “Billy—”

“Enough,” he yelled, and you flinched, leaning away from him. He looked over at you, eyeing the shocked look on your face. He swallowed, closing his eyes for a moment. “I can drive,” he said when he opened them.

You just stared at him, his figure swaying as you tried to see him through your drunken haze. He didn’t say anything else as he sped through the streets, jaw clenched tight.

You had never been scared of Billy before. He was scary by nature, his cocky, arrogant nature rubbing people the wrong way, but you had never feared him. You had even seen him fight other people before, patching up his split lips and bruised cheeks. But you had never been on the receiving end of his rage.

And you never thought you would be.

+

The mall was packed for a Sunday afternoon, and you found yourself more grateful than ever as you closed up shop for the weekend. You only worked a half-day on Sundays, and you were excited to have the rest of the day off to catch up on some sleep.

You checked your watch. Billy would still be another ten minutes to pick you up.

You weren’t allowed to walk anymore, he reminded you every time you left for work. It didn’t matter that you actually enjoyed the walk. It didn’t matter because he always picked you up.

Your eye caught the Scoops Ahoy sign and your stomach was grumbling before you could even enter the store. The smell of all the sweet treats wafted into your nose. As you approached the counter, a familiar face came through the back doors.

“Steve?” you said, shocked to see him.

“Y/N, hey,” he said, smiling at you.

“I didn’t know you worked here.” You hadn’t seen him there at all in the months that you’d worked in the mall.

He nodded. “I started a few weeks ago. Punishment from my dad for not getting into college.” He sounded bitter and you grimaced. You had been friendly enough with Steve in middle school to know that his dad was the absolute worst. It honestly did not surprise you that he would make Steve get a job at the mall.

“That sucks, Steve. I’m sorry.”

He waved it off. “It’s all good. Do you want something.” He pointed at the selection of ice-cream in the display cabinet.

You smiled and ordered one for yourself and one for Billy.

He happily obliged and began scooping them for you. “How are things since graduation?”

“As good as they can be, I guess. I didn’t get into college either, so I’m thinking of finishing up at JC Penny and then getting a job somewhere else. Something more—” you hesitated.

“—Grown up?”

“Yeah,” you laughed. “Crazy that we’re looking down the barrel at the rest of our lives.”

He rolled his eyes. “Tell me about it.” He handed you your ice-cream, and you thanked him as he got started on the next one.

You went to ask him about his plans when you heard you name being shouted. You turned to see Billy walking towards you, making his way through the crowd of people milling about.

He was early.

“Hey, Billy,” you said to him as he approached.

“I waited for you at the store,” he said by way of greeting, and you could see the cloud beginning to grow behind his eyes.

You had become used to it, the sudden mood fluctuations. You quickly tried to diffuse the situation. “Sorry, I was hungry and wanted to get something for lunch.”

He raised a brow. “Ice-cream?”

You could hear the disapproval behind his voice, and from the way Steve faltered as he scooped, you knew he could, too. “I just thought it would be a nice treat.”

Billy’s eyes went to Steve, who surprisingly held his ground against the stare. After a second, Billy’s attention flickered between Steve and you. Your heart started to race.

“We’re going.”

You faltered. “I got you one, too,” you started, pointing at the ice-cream Steve was holding, but Billy didn’t look away from you. He grabbed your arm.

“I don’t care.”

He started to pull you along. “I haven’t paid yet. Billy, I need to pay for it,” you rushed. His nostrils flared, and you went to reach for your purse, but Steve spoke up.

“You already paid, Y/N. Don’t worry.”

You looked at Steve, but his eyes were on Billy’s hand on your arm. You silently begged him not to say anything. He thankfully didn’t, but his eyes didn’t leave you until you were out of sight.

You and Billy were silent as you got into his car. He gripped his steering wheel, knuckles turning white. “What were you talking about with Steve?” The question was poised like casual conversation, but the ice behind his words was clear to you.

“Just about work,” you said, keeping it as simple as possible.

“Work?”

“Just work. And about plans now that we’ve graduated.” You tried to keep your voice steady.

He was silent again, just gripping the steering wheel as he looked straight ahead. You tried to keep as still as you could. He nodded after a few minutes, turning the key, and tearing out of the carpark.

+

The wind blew softly against your skin as you sat on the edge of the hill, the clouds dyed a beautiful shade of pink with the sunset.

Max breathed in the fresh air from where she sat beside you.

You turned and looked at her. Her long hair was pulled back from her face, eyes closed as she relished in the feeling of the sun on her face. She looked so beautiful, you thought.

Throughout your relationship with Billy, you and Max had grown close for many reasons. You didn’t have a little sister, and Max became that for you, even if Billy didn’t like it. There was one big reason you were bonded so closely, but neither of you dared speak about it. Not even in private.

She turned her head to you, and you smiled. “You look so lovely, Max,” you said. Her smile grew bashful, and she turned from you. “I’m serious.” You nudged her. “Lucas is a lucky boy.”

She laughed at that, even as she fiddled with the grass beneath her. “I really like him. Like, really like him,” she admitted. You reached out and placed your hand on hers.

“I’m happy for you, Max. I know you were scared at first, but this whole first love thing is really exciting. Lucas seems like a really nice guy. You should enjoy it without being worried about anyone else.” The words felt heavy as they left you, that little voice in the back of your mind reminding you that you hadn’t taken your own advice.

She smiled brightly at you, and you squeezed her hand.

The sound of Billy’s Camaro roared from behind you before it crested the hill. His footsteps were barely audible on the grass.

“Hey,” he said as he sat down beside you.

You turned to him, but the words died on your tongue as you noticed the bouquet of flowers in his hands.

“These are for you,” he said, handing them to you.

The paper crinkled as you took them from him. It was a multi-coloured arrangement, the colours muted by the bright pink sky. Your eyes clouded as you noted it contained all of your favourites.

You pulled your eyes from the flowers to him, and he just sent you his signature Billy Hargrove smile. The one that you had fallen for. The one that you would fall for time after time.

“You didn’t think I’d forget, did you?”

You had only briefly mentioned to him this morning that it had been your first day at your new job. You hadn’t expected him to get anything for you, let alone your favourite flowers.

You swallowed a sudden lump in your throat and said, “They’re so beautiful, Billy.”

He shot you a wink that still made your stomach flutter. “Only the best for my girl.”

You turned your eyes back to the flowers, fingers ghosting the array of flowers. It had been months since he’d brought you flowers. You hadn’t known if he would ever buy them for you again.

“Thank you,” you said after a moment, turning back to him. You leaned over and kissed him, relishing in the softness of the kiss, his hand coming up to rest on your cheek. When you pulled away, he was grinning at you.

“What?” you questioned.

He chuckled. “Nothing, I’m just watching Max gag over your shoulder.”

You spun around to see her looking anywhere else but the two of you. You laughed, holding out the flowers for her. “Do you want to see?”

She gingerly took them from you, and you watched her inspect them all. You could hear Billy moving closer to you until he was behind you. You looked back at him with a raised brow, but he didn’t say anything.

He just placed his hands on your shoulders and reclined you back until you were resting in his lap. He ran his hands up and down your arms, tracing gentle patterns there.

It reminded you of when the two of you used to come to this very spot when you first got together, spending hours here talking and…not talking.

You placed a soft kiss to the inside of his forearm, the skin warm from being in the sun all day.

This was your Billy Hargrove.

+

You tried to reason with yourself as you sat on the curb outside Billy’s house.

It had been a big night. His father had been in one of his moods, and they always affected Billy. They always made him worse. You knew that he would be back tomorrow to apologise. He always came back.

But as you nursed your arm and hissed as the cold night air pushed against your reddened cheek, you weren’t sure you wanted to be there when he did come back.

Neil had been in a mood as soon as he opened the door. You and Billy did your best to stay out of his way when he was home. Neil had never been one to shy away from saying what he thought, especially about you.

Normally, Billy and you let anything he said go, choosing to leave the house when he was in a mood.

But Neil had been on a warpath as he stalked over to Billy and pushed him against the kitchen counter. He hadn’t held back when he started yelling about something you couldn’t even remember. He hadn’t held back when he started to bring you into it, shouting awful things about you into Billy’s face.

Billy had done exactly what he did every time: he just tried to stay still and give one-word answers. And you had done what he had instructed you to do: stand still and don’t say anything, except for one tiny comment to Neil. One comment where you tried to defend Billy and your relationship.

When Neil had finally tired himself out, he left, car tearing out of the driveway.

You and Billy had stood in silence; him listening for his dad’s car, and you listening to his breathing as it got more and more raggedy.

“What did I tell you?” he asked you, turning to where you were stood.

“Billy—” you started, backing up as he came closer to you.

“—No. What is the one thing I tell you not to do?” he yelled into your face as you flinched back, trying to get as far away from him as possible.

“Billy, please—”

He grabbed your arm hard, yanking you away from the counter and closer to him. Your arm burned as he twisted it, getting right in your face. His eyes were icy, nothing of the soft Billy he had been just thirty minutes before. But it was still your Billy. “What is it?” he screamed.

You felt something strain in your arm and you cried out, but he backhanded you across the face.

You sobbed as you finally said, “S—Stay quiet.”

He pushed you away, letting go of your arm as you crumpled to the ground, cradling your face.

You didn’t look up at him. You didn’t dare to even speak as he just stared at you.

You tried to get your breathing under control, but every breath just brought more tears.

He didn’t say anything as he stalked out of the room, front door slamming on his way out. His Camaro roared to life, and you only cried harder as it pulled out of the driveway. You could barely think anything other than that you were glad the Max was at El’s for the night and Susan was still at work.

You had barely been able to see as you stood and made your way to his room.

You had barely been able to lift anything as you started packing a bag with the few things you left at his house.

You had barely been thinking as you dialled Nancy’s number, begging for her to pick you up.

It was only now, after thinking about the last thirty minutes that you started to second guess yourself. That you started to reason with yourself like you always did.

It was still Billy.

Your Billy Hargrove.

Billy who took you on dates and loved you. Billy who picked you up from work and loved you. Billy who brought you flowers and loved you.

He loved you.

But all you resolve disappeared as Nancy pulled up. Her eyes shot to your face and your arm and the bag on the ground beside you. You knew that she knew.

And you felt so ashamed.

She didn’t say anything other than a quick, “It’s going to be OK.”, as she picked up your bag and led you to the car.

She was so gentle as she opened the passenger door and helped you inside.

You barely noticed that there were other people in the car. Your eyes darted over Jonathan Byers, Steve Harrington, and Robin Buckley. You wanted to ask why they were there, but you couldn’t bring yourself to speak as they looked at you with such pity and compassion.

You sat quietly until she had asked you what had happened. You gathered that they could already put two and two together, but you knew that she was asking because she needed to know if she was correct.

So, you told her. You cried as you told her—and the others—about what had happened.

+

It was the weeks afterwards that were the hardest. The weeks after you chose to run.

When Nancy had told you that you were brave—that it was the bravest thing you had ever done—but it hadn’t felt like it.

It just felt like you had left your Billy Hargrove.

He had come looking for you. To try and apologise, just like he always did.

But just when you thought about going back, you stopped yourself. Because you were tired of it.

You were tired of hanging on to every careless word, hoping that he would go back to being the kind, sweet Billy Hargrove that he was at the beginning.

It took you three weeks to realise that there had never been a kind, sweet Billy Hargrove.

He had only hidden those parts of himself from you. Until he decided not to. Until he decided that you didn’t get to do the things you liked anymore. Until he decided everything that you could and couldn’t do.

It took you four weeks to rally your pride up again, and you held onto it as tight as you could.

But no matter how hard you tried to ignore that tiny part of yourself that missed him, you couldn’t stop it. You still wondered about him. You thought about every moment of your relationship, trying to work out where you went wrong.

Because you would still love him, if he was a better man.

And you guessed that you would never know if he would have become that better man.

You wondered if he had grown out of his father’s shadow, would he have been the one? If things had been different, if he hadn’t let that awful and hateful part of himself fester, would he have been a better man?

You weren’t sure that he would have. Because deep down, you knew that he was a bad person. It just took you getting out to realise it.

[moonyswriting]

Heart and Soul

@peggyrose19 and @wonder-womans-ex had their birthdays over a month back and I didnt manage to make them a gift. but I still wanted to make you something because I wont just drop it after I missed the day. so this is for you two. you are incredible and talented people and I'm honoured I get to call myself your friend. I hope you'll like it.

characters by @lumosinlove

thank you for beta reading @moonofthenight

Chapter 1

“Final seconds of the second period on the clock, Frank. The Saint’s going for the goal again, passing Tremblay and going straight in Nutty’s direction-”

“And that was a hit on Leo Knut, by the Hollow’s Saint’s winger Andrew Kline. And now, the expected punches follow. Marly, they could have really seen Logan and Finn coming, right?” “Definitely, Frank. No team likes it when someone fights with their goalie but these two seem to be particularly protective of our sunshine boy. Tremzy is already throwing punches at Ethan Bart and I can see O’Hara skating over to them.”

“Oh and here comes Luke. Throwing off his gloves and joining his teammates. Maybe with all those uncovered wrists we could actually get a chance to see some soulmate tattoos again. Last one spotted was Kasey Winter’s almost two years ago now, spelling out Natalie, the name of his girlfriend. They still seem to be going strong; I’m happy for them. That incident did however get most of the players to cover their wrists up,” Frank waited for a second before continuing, “How’s the fight? Looks like we got a big one tonight, eh?”

“It is! We’ve got three people from each team fighting at the moment, but the Refs are pulling them apart now. Coach Weasley doesn’t look too happy that his players are risking injuries for fights again. He’s calling a few over now and I do not want to be on the receiving end of Arthur’s wrath, believe me.”

“Same here, Marlene. Huh, that was weird. Did you see that?”

“It was. Loops just had to shake DV so he’d move. He had stared a hole into the ice and didn’t react to the Coach or his teammate. Haven’t seen him do that before. Hopefully, he’ll be fully focused again after the break.”

“I’m hoping it wasn’t a bad hit. The Lions really don’t need another injury right now.”

“Especially after only just getting Finn back from his small wrist injury that didn’t allow him to play the last two games.”

“Yeah. We’ll keep everyone updated of course. I’m sure he’s being checked right now.”

“In the meantime, there were some fantastic plays in there. It would be quite nice for the players to have a good game before some of them get to have a break.”

“Yes, All Star week is next week and we’ll be seeing a few of the Lions there, such as the newly wedded Remus Lupin and Sirius Black, but also last year's MVP Logan Tremblay, of course.”

“I’m excited Frank! We’ll be right back after a quick break for the second period.”

-

Luke was still feeling off after the fight, going through the questions Layla asked him on autopilot. No, he wasn’t hurt, there was neither pain there nor there, yes, he could still remember his address and full name.

Their new PT seemed at a loss. She could see that he was acting very strange and, honestly, she was getting worried about forgetting some usually obvious injuries for his behaviour. There was only so much a human could guess, so she simply asked.

“What happened out there, Deveaux?”

It took a moment for Luke to register he was being addressed, mumbling a “nothing” before continuing to stare at the wall. How stupid did this boy think she was? 

Letting out a sigh, she clarified, “I just need to know if you’re injured or not,” after a second of hesitation Kayla added, “but if there’s something bothering you or just occupying your thoughts, you can always go talk to Heather. She’s helped a few of your teammates too.”

She watched his expression while telling Luke. Some guys were embarrassed of going to therapy. There was no reason to be, of course. No one got shy about having the PT check on them but when it came to mental struggles, they somehow believed they have to handle it all alone. Society and the messed up way of thinking that they teach children, honestly. She was glad they at least had some people on the team who encouraged visiting Heather any time they saw someone struggling. She knew Sirius really did help them a lot by being so open about going to her office at least once a week.

There really was no way to tell how Luke thought about her proposal, he certainly seemed to be thinking, but there was no way to determine what about. Suddenly Luke broke the silence.

“Can I go?”

Since Layla hadn’t found any injuries and she couldn’t really do more than encourage him to visit Heather, she let him leave.

The brunette was out of the room the second after the words had left her mouth.

--

They had won. The locker room was already buzzing, the mandatory playlist echoing into the hallway. After their last game against the Saint’s, which they had lost, the whole team was even more excited about having won. There was even some kind of dance match between Logan and Sirius going on, not that Luke noticed. He had been a bit off for the rest of the game, much to the dismay of Coach Weasley. That got him to spend most of his time on the bench in the last period, but he didn’t mind. For once, hockey was not his main concern, not even during this game.

He had seen it. When number 7 had thrown off his gloves for the fight, there it had been in black cursive. A soulmate tattoo, spelling out “Luke”. Of course "Luke" didn’t necessarily mean Luke as in himself, but there was still a possibility.

A possibility that his soulmate was a Saint. A Saint. He would have been happy with almost anyone, but no, it had to be an ice hockey player. He didn't care about the gender. Luckily he wouldn't even have to hide a relationship between him and a potential boyfriend because of Remus and Sirius. But a Saint? Even in his thoughts, he knew he was whining. The real problem was that they would not only live miles apart and would have practically no time for each other half of the year, but they would be opponents. In ice hockey, the other team is the enemy. He couldn't befriend the enemy and he definitely couldn't date the enemy. Even if he wanted, he'd be blamed for not playing as hard as he could or making exceptions when it came to his hypothetical boyfriend.

So really, dating a Saint was not an option.

Still, his curiosity got the better of him. If this was really his soulmate, no matter how much he didn't want him to be, he had to know.

Standing up, he made his excuses and slipped into the hallway, running along until he got to the other team's locker room.

Great plan, idiot, what will you do now?! You can’t just go in and ask in front of everyone.

Then a group of people stepped out, each looking at Luke as if he had a kick-me sign on his forehead and as if they were considering it. Quite a few had walked past him and when one held open the door for his teammate, Luke could see that there were only three people left in the room. No time better than now, he told himself, gathering some of his Lion courage and walked straight inside.

“The fuck, Lion?!”, one of the players mumbled while he left the room too, shortly followed by the other player that wasn’t the one Luke had been looking for.

He took a deep breath. The tattoo wouldn't refer to him. Of course it wouldn't. Why would it be a Saint, really. Stepping closer to the boy lacing up his shoes, Luke's eyes met a pair of brown ones, looking up through gold curls.

“Why are you here?”, the other asked, narrowing his eyes and standing up to be on eye level with the Lion.

Oh, the charm of rivalry, always straight to the point, no need for formalities.

“Do you want to brag about catching up? Hate to break it to you, but you’re not in the lead and we’ll win the next one anyway.”

Even though his words sounded confident, he leaned back and knocked on the wood of the benches.

“No,” the brunette stated, looking him dead in the eyes. This boy had activated Luke's competitiveness so there was no turning back, “to both. We’ll just win as we did today. Last time was luck and you know it.”

The other raised an eyebrow at him. “The only thing that was luck last time was that you got a goal.”

The nerve this person had. Here he was, coming to actually try to talk to him and possibly get to know him to find out about the tattoo and just got insults in return. Luke was about to shoot something back when the door opened again.

“Babe, you coming?”

[bangtangalicious]

"they really are hot. like hot hot. he’d spoil & tease her so much ksjxkdjdowjbyeeeee" MA'AM YOU CANT DO THIS TO MEEE. Why are they so perfect together? Jimin who? Yoongey who? All I know is Tae and oc. How does he spoil and tease her? 👀👀👀👀

like idk theyre just, hot is the best word? think about it - taehyung is like this mysterious, slippery guy who cant be trusted. he's selfish and manipulative but sweet all the same. he's so charming, flirtatious and seems to really care

and then we have oc, who is manipulative in her own way, a classic escapist she looks for sex to deny her emotions and taehyung knows that, and he respects it. he'd be the type to be watching her fuck one of the others and just smile to himself like of course you would do that he just knows her really well from all the stalking and doesn't judge her for the decisions she makes

and whether he admits it or not, he does genuinely try to keep her out of harms way when he can. like with jimin he'd always be like if he does anything you dont want call for me, and despite knowing he cant be trusted and he's only after power, oc does trust him and she still would

their dynamic is so powerful and sexy. he fucks her like a lover and teases her like a fuckboy. he cares for her but is also weirdly perfect for her emotional unavailability - she gets overwhelmed by emotions and taehyungs not looking for that soft stuff either, in a weird way i see that working for both of them, a relationship built on mutual respect, sexual desire and authority

he's the type to come with you to like extort someone, watch you do it, tell you not to get too worked up but then you end up killing the person. anyways he thinks its hot and dom's you like crazy when you get home. you're the boss, but he knows how you like it.

and if they dated, like post-light ending when she takes over DV and he works for her, he'd spoil her so much. just imagine. he'd bend over backwards for her and it would be so subtle. he'd get her all the finest things, gift her on every occasion, doll her up even though he knows she can get it all on her own he loves to make you feel powerful. he would admire her lead, destroy anyone who spoke ill of you, carry out your every desire but not in a jungkook-type of way where he follows orders, he banters with you and will be straight up with you if you're making a mistake. he doesn't feel like he owes you anything. he just gets you.

anyways....they dont end up together. LMAO.

[whipbogard]

Thoughts on TLH? I watched it back-to-back and I am not sure if I actually liked it tbh.

Heyyyyyyyyyy thanks for asking!

As someone who thinks the TLH comic is messy, I sure find the movie was a bit more organised? But also, I made the mistake of going into Part 1 trying to compare it to the comic and was sorely disappointed with all the changes. It took a rewatch of Part 1 with an open mind for me to realise some of the good parts about the movie.

I love that the movie explained every mystery during the event. Not sure if I'm dumb or what but I actually hate how TLH comic never really explained about the ending? Like what, why, how. Who at when? These mysteries do not translate well to Dark Victory too but DV was slightly more structured imo.

I, for one, appreciate with how Harvey was portrayed in here. I'm big fan of actual cinnamon roll Harvey who honest to god is just trying to do his job to serve Gotham and that's what exactly he was in here. I'm utterly delighted to find that he's innocent uwu <3

Also Two-Face actually being protective of Harvey instead of belittling him like usual? Wow, sir, that's hot af and when you appeared in Falcone's penthouse and said "Judgement Day" I swear I almost died. He's just super, super charming imo LOL

I love how Bruce was portrayed as slightly more novice in here than in the comic. Everyone keep hinting that he's clumsy/dumb and I'm like please guys he's trying askhgkashg

And Selina?????? SHES SO CUTE????? I love her like this infinitely better T^T AND ALL HER SCENES WITH HARVEY WERE PROBABLY MY FAVS???? God I love their dynamics so much LOL

Now onto the dislikes.

Everything that I dislike about this movie has got to do with Gilda. I don't like how she's portrayed at all. When will I have a supportive Gilda that's probably a lil homicidal because she doesn't want anyone to bully his husband?

I also don't like how Harvey and Gilda's marriage was treated in here. JFC they were so cute in the TLH comic with all the talk about starting a family etc. In here? Cringe. When Harvey brought up the "D" word, I was all mAYBE ITS FOR THE BETTER MY DUDES.

I don't quite like the pacing too. Some parts felt super rushed and some parts felt super draggy?

Anyway, that was me trying to be objective with my review; the fanon/shipper-goggles were off. But with said goggle on, I am definitely HAPPY with all the BruHarvey (or more accurately, BatDent) and Gotham Justice Triumvirate moments aksghasg god I love love love that ending with the three of them on the rooftop????? MY HEART WAS SOARING IT WAS PERFECT

[charmingkat]

Answer the questions and tag 10 blogs you’d like to get to know better

nickname : mary, mar mar, kitten the bloodsucking vampire wench (don’t ask, it was given to me by a friend in college during my goth days) star   sign : scorpio/saggitarius cusp tho i am told i am more of an archer height : 5′4″ favourite   music   artist :  dropkick murphys; pretty sure that’s the only group i listen to steadily everything else is like irish mixes, disney, and broadway, with random 80s and 90s music thrown in there for good measure. basically i listen to anything and everything. last   tv   show   you   watched : wu assassins (still raging over the ending) what   kind   of   stuff   do   you   post : rp threads, meta, headcanon, my thoughts on what i’m watching, my love for tommy flanagan do   you   have   any   other   blogs  ? : boy do i ever; right now my attention is divided between here, @coolsville-sis (sugie from scooby doo), @daughtersofstoneybrook (a book based bsc multi), and @themanymusesofme (my oc multi). But I also have @girlsofthedcu (a dv comics multi), @girlsofthemcu (a marvel comics multi), @daughtersofauradon (a descendants/disney multi), @clevergirlcharlie (charlie from jurassic world) and several others I am probably forgetting. why   did   you   choose   your   url  ? : honestly? it’s the same one i’ve been using for kat since 2014. also it’s her name and she lives in charming; she also finds herself to be charming. so it works. hogwarts   house : slytherin all the way pokemon   team : what was the yellow one? i was the yellow one. favourite   colour :  black, purple, silver how   many   blankets   do   you   sleep   with  : one weighted blanket

tagged by @crowsung

tagging: whoever wants to do it. <3

[groovesnjams]

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..................number42 ....................of50

“Saoirse Ronan” by RXKNephew

MG:

About a decade ago my sister worked for a husband and wife boutique law firm in a mostly undefined role that often amounted to personal assistant. One of her jobs was to fetch gifts for the wife’s granddaughter, Saoirse. There’s something about learning how to pronounce that name -- once you know, it becomes the table salt of all your conversations. Here RXKNephew uses “Saoirse Ronan” like a vocal tik, cramming the actress’s name into every bar. At first the song is sort of about her but then it’s more about RXKNephew’s girl and then it’s just about how cool he can make certain words sound. My husband often pesters me about my lack of humor around music; I don’t like comedy songs and this extends to a lot of glam rock and everything by Cake. But “Saoirse Ronan” absolutely kills me, from lines about cooking as well as Hot Pockets to thoughts on which guys pull girls and which guys wear flannels it’s a master class in casual hilarity. All names are inherently funny, mostly because we take them so seriously, but RXKNephew makes a strong case for “Saoirse” as the funniest.

DV:

I’ll cop to being skeptical when MG introduced this song as the funniest she’d heard all year because yes, she has been drawing this hard line for as long as I’ve known her, or at least defines “comedy song” in a particularly idiosyncratic way (imagine a fan of The 1975 insisting she doesn’t like humor in music....now this is comedy.) But she’s right about “Saoirse Ronan”, as only a broken clock can be. RXKNephew casually dropped “She talkin bout let’s sit down watch Little Women/ Might get bougie with some Givenchy linens” and I was on board, but by the time he was name dropping Ashley Tisdale I was ready to admit this might be the funniest I’d heard too. Part of the appeal is the utter chintziness of the beat: like no one remembered the concept of bass existed, and even the snare seems to be an afterthought. It’s a goof, it’s one of the most charming songs of the year, it’s a guarantee that for the first time in my life I’ll be able to pronounce “Saoirse Ronan” with confidence.