#mentions of domestic violence

[ejzah]

Random head canon (quite dark):

The first memory Deeks has of being afraid of his dad is from when he was five years old. Gordon Brandel was never a cuddly type of guy, even before he became violent. Realistically, there were probably a lot of little signs that little Marty Deeks never picked up on, or blocked out. Either way, Deeks clearly recalls the day when everything turned. He’d sat at the kitchen table, legs swinging as he ate Oreo cookies and colored a picture while his mom cooked dinner. His dad had come in then, slightly drunk and angry. Deeks hadn’t paid much attention; Gordon was angry a lot those days. He blocked out his dad’s shouting, and his mom’s less aggressive response as she tried to appease him. Then suddenly there was a sharp sound, a gasp, and when Deeks looked up, Roberta cowered against the cabinets, cupping her cheek while she stared at her husband in horror. His dad stood over her, hand still drawn back. Later that night, his mom sported a hand-shaped mark on her cheek. And the next day, little five year old Marty earned his first black eye when he forgot to put a toy away.

[genderqueerdykes]

women are capable of abusing men, people gotta snap out of this.

my sister is 13 years older than me. i've always had an estranged relationship with her, but once i learned about how she has treated her 2 husbands, i became utterly disturbed. her first husband was a very kind, quiet man who put together computers and played trumpet. he had big dreams to become a professional trumpet player. not only did my sister constantly mock him for this, but she also mocked him for having no interest in sex. he was very likely asexual and she tormented him over this

her second husband was also very kind and she treated him like absolute shit as well. he has since passed, but while he was living, she would threaten to physically assault him when he got on her nerves. once in the car with her, she told me she told him "If I snap and hit you, nobody will believe you. You can go to the cops all you want, but they'll laugh at you and won't believe you for saying you as a 6' tall man got beat up by a 5' 4" woman."

my sister is not physically weak. she does a lot of DIY projects by herself. she very well could injure someone gravely if she tried. my sister also constantly misgenders me and talks down to me for being a man and not wanting to call me that. i am physically disabled and she has yelled at me before for not shoveling snow for her, and telling me that if i'm a man i need to "Act like one" which in her mind meant do physical labor. she would get pissed off at our neighbors who were men because they wouldn't automatically try to help her with her yardwork and chores.

this isn't accounting for the shit that my mom did, either. i have one very vivid memory of her smacking me so hard my jaw clicked out of place.

women can be assholes. women can be abusive. we have to stop pretending this doesn't happen because the victims of this abuse never get to talk about their experiences. we can't continue to let shit like this happen. women can hurt people. acknowledge this

[byjove]

It’s crazy how so many misogynistic men will say “Well, you should have picked better.” or “You shouldn’t have put yourself in that scenario.” when a woman is a victim of domestic violence or sexual assault. But when a woman says “Hey, this person is making me uncomfortable, I don’t want to be alone with them or around them for a prolonged period of time.” they treat her like a vile judgmental bitch. They’ll always find a way to make excuses and take the side of the man in the scenario.

[thesmokinpossum]

If My Body Could Speak, Blythe Baird | The Godfather, Mario Puzo | My Father's House, Sylvia Fraser | To The Daughter Who Secretly Longs For Her Mother’s Affection, Lynne Shako | Storms from Jupiter, Wanda Deglane | DO NOT REPLY, @filmnoirsbian

[c1trvswurld]

Was gonna write something exploring silcos trauma in the "good au" with vander. Because I wonder. If deep down inside at the deepest parts of the night, does silco ever get reminded of that river? When vander comes in for a hug and puts all his weight into it, does the pace of his breath quicken just for a split second, bracing himself. Every kiss, every soft embrace, every bit of contact...do you think his mind goes still and replays the day vander held him under. Used that same weight in his hugs to suffocate him. Those same hands that craddled his face were the ones yanking his collar and taking away every breath. Still, somehow, they brush through his hair and hold his waist like it never happened even when he shudders at the thought.

[blitzwhore]

I'm certain this has been pointed out before, but...

“Lust shouldn't be about force.”

“Oh! No! Never. NEVER that.”

When Stolas said he would never do that to Blitz, he really meant it. After all, he knows intimately well what it's like to be forced.

[panlight]

There's a Stephenie Meyer quote I think about like, once very few months, and it's this:

I don’t think my books qualify to be Oprah books. I think you have to take on bigger issues than Vampire/Werewolf love to make her interested. I don’t have any incest, adultery, spousal abuse, mental disease, molestation, anorexia, suicide, cutting, etc. 

Which, okay, yeah, Twilight is not a literary novel that explores any of these topics in depth, which is SM's point. It is very much a love story with a girl and a vampire (and kind of also a werewolf but not really), but . . . a bunch of these topics DO appear in her books?! Edward did try to kill himself. You can argue if what Bella was doing in New Moon actually qualifies, but Edward very much went to Volterra with the intention of committing if not something like assisted suicide, then the vampire version of suicide by cop. Also, ESME (as a human) and CARLISLE (as a newborn vampire) both tried to kill themselves in their respective backstories. ESME suffered spousal abuse. ALICE's father committed adultery with the woman who was to become her step-mother. ALICE was locked up in an asylum. EMBRY's unknown father committed adultery. BREE's father abused her and murdered her mother. SM didn't mention rape in this quote, but it happens a few times in female characters' backstories, most notably Rosalie, a pretty major secondary character.

And while the Cullen siblings all being married to each other isn't technically incest, it's like, incest adjacent or at least looks incest-y to the human population. And there's an argument to be made the Cullens' whole thing with blood is a kind of eating disorder.

Again, I get her point, she's not exploring this stuff. This isn't a 'serious' story about 'serious' topics, it's a YA paranormal romance and yeah, Oprah's Book Club doesn't pick those. But most of that stuff IS there to some degree, and the fact that it's not the point, and most of it is in backstory I guess means she doesn't think it "counts?" Which is fascinating to me in a weird way, like "oh only the secondary characters had to deal with that, it's not really in the books!" or "it only happened in backstory, it's not really in the books." But Edward does attempt suicide, and Bree is the main character of her novella (To be very fair, this quote may pre-date the Bree Tanner book, I think this is from the TwilightMOMS forum that no longer appears to exist).

I don't know. I just think about it a lot. It fascinates me.

Also, and this is less important, calling it a story about "Vampire/Werewolf love" makes it seem like she's pairing a vampire and a werewolf.

[furiousgoldfish]

It doesn't matter if they only lift a hand on you once. You still knew they were capable of it from that day on. You knew they could do it again anytime, and with this knowledge, you knew you had to go out of their way to please them, obey them, make sure they never get angry or upset, only to protect yourself from possible violence. It set you up for a life of fear, for the potential that you live in a violent place and your actions alone could change it from temporary peace to violent assault.

Even if they only threatened violence, they were telling you they were capable and willing! They were telling you 'Do as I say, or I will assault you'. You had to face the possibility that you live with people who would cause you pain to force you into actions against your will. You were forced to live in anticipation of violence, change your behaviour to actively try to prevent or avoid it. You had to make it your responsibility to prevent being assaulted in your own home. You had to live wondering when and if they were going to do it, or do it again. Since the moment they did it or threatened it, you were not safe. You lived with people you knew wanted to hurt you.

[captainmaxatx]

Poor Blake Lively has to be in domestic violence the movie while her husband and boyfriend get to wear silly little costumes and make the funnest movie ever together

[daniclaytcn]

♡ SPOTIFY WRAPPED MEME ♡ @ice-sculptures asked 95 + the buckley siblings → seven by taylor swift

@lgbtqcreators creator challenge — color

[ianthine-ichor]

I had an ask for this story but it was sadly eaten by the Tumblr gods 😔

So for the anon who asked for John Price x Reader who comes to him years later after a bad breakup because they are in danger, this one's for you!

John Price x Reader ~ All I Have is You

Summary: You come running back to John years after a nasty break-up in hopes of finding some help out of a horrible situation.

Word count:: 6.5k

Tw in tags

John's life could never be simple. No matter how hard he tried, no matter how many loose ends he pulled together by the skin of his teeth. There always managed to be something he let lay dormant, something he let fall to the wayside just long enough for it to maybe even slip his mind. And damn near every time it did, it came back with a vengeance.

However, of all the things he knew would come back to haunt him, you were what he expected least of all.

He had believed you a long dead part of his life, a piece of himself better numbed in alcohol than thought about. A face he'd spent endless nights trying to forget the smile of, endless partners failing to take your stead. He'd long since conceded to that aspect of himself being buried, hardly remedied by the ‘I love you’ that would fall from whoever had been his most recent escape from the icy cold of his bed.

But then, on a day like any other in this silent little place he'd given up trying to make feel like any sort of home, he'd opened the door to your unmistakable features.

He didn't know what to feel in the years of silence that seemed to pass. His mind and muscles tore themselves apart trying to find what reaction seemed appropriate. A part of himself didn't believe it, a similar part almost reached out to hold you, and another felt infuriated. He wasn't sure if it was because even so close you felt like light years away or if it was because he wanted to slam the door in your face for daring to ever come back. And for a moment, however small, he seriously considered the latter of the two.

But then you spoke. And suddenly whatever amount of spine had led him to the thought melted like butter.

“I need to talk. I know I have no right to ask but…” you paused, your voice softer than he thinks he's ever heard you speak. There might have even been a quiver in it, but he could hardly believe such a sound could come from the person who had once held together his broken pieces like you'd been solving him your entire life.

“I need your help” your chin raises and you meet his gaze, his skin flashing with the familiarity in how your eyes narrowed and your face snarled. It's hard to take your attempt at strength seriously with how feigned of an attempt it was. He says nothing and just the same he watches as you crumble. Your eyes avert, your hands twitch, your body leans away from him.

He hardly recognizes you.

But he steps aside all the same, a nod inviting you in as he keeps his vow of silence. You almost hesitate, but step in soon enough. Like a long lost ritual you kick your shoes off at the door, hanging your jacket and bristling as the light cold leaves your skin. He notes how you don't let him out of your sight but he can't tell why your eyes burn as much as they do.

Eventually he leads you to the kitchen. He wonders if you notice the empty frames. He wonders if you even care to look.

Like some twisted version of an old dream, you take your spot at the table where you used to sit. And before he even realizes what he's doing he's perking coffee, his eyes turning to you.

“Coffee?” He asks, but he isn't even sure why he does. Looking at you would be enough of an answer. You looked like you hadn't slept in months. You nod anyway.

He pretends to forget how you make your coffee. Out of spite? Anger? Frustration? It doesn't matter. He simply couldn't find the energy to put into someone whose presence made his heart find an old pace that left him biting his tongue at the bittersweet taste. Either way you get your coffee and he somehow finds the energy to sit across from you.

“You wanted to speak. Speak” his words come out harsher than he means them yet he doesn't find regret settling in his chest. Only minor annoyance as he watches you almost recoil from him, your drink pulled to your chest. Your eyes seem to search around for a moment, as if the words you needed so badly to speak would simply appear in front of you. He remembers how he used to find it sweet and can only react by biting his tongue harder.

“You haven't changed much” you begin. He can't help the grimace he shows as the annoyance in his chest grows. He catches how you straighten up under it.

“And you have” he answers back. You say nothing for a long moment and he isn't sure if he offended you or not. But he watches as you take a deep breath, your face hardening in a way he doesn't like.

“I know this isn't exactly…great for you. But it isn't for me either-”

“Why’d you leave?” the words slip out of his mouth before they had even been a thought in his head. Yet where he expected a look of anger or annoyance of your own, you only pause. And soon after, your look manages to grow colder.

“Because you didn't love me anymore” you answer back succinctly, calmly. He feels rage bloom in his chest at the words.

“Bullshit” he mutters through gritted teeth. He doesn't catch the sudden grip you hold on your cup and the way you slightly shake. But other than that you don't break.

“I must have phrased that wrong” there's a tone in your voice, an inflection of something horrible on your tongue.

“You did a piss poor job of making me feel like I was anything other than your fucking bed warmer” your words fall like acid on him. They soak through his marrow and into his bloodstream and become him. And his body rejects it just as quickly.

“You knew the type’a job I had when you met me” his voice is low and restrained as he tries to hold himself back

“It had nothing to do with your work-”

“Well what the bloody hell did it have to do with then!?” He stands, his hands slamming on the table as you immediately flinch away.

“Sit-!” You yell almost instinctively, the only thing he catches is the sudden terror in your tone. You take a stilted breath before speaking again.

“Sit down…please” your voice is much calmer but it does a horrible job at hiding the hitch in your voice or how your subtle shaking suddenly isn't so subtle. The strange demeanor stuns him for a moment, long enough for his flash of frustration to cool back to a simmer. There's a horrible feeling that crawls up his spine at your reaction, this gnawing, biting disgust that rips through him in a way he can't quite explain. He listens despite its elusive source or how he hates the way your eyes are locked on his every movement.

A horrible quiet passes that only further smothers the flames that had grown in his chest. You both hardly took any sips of your coffee as you seemed focused on your breathing and he was focused on loosening the sudden tightness of his muscles. Soon enough he spoke again, though he wasn't about to attempt that conversation again, as unsatisfied as he was by your answer.

“Why are you here?” He asks and this time he finds that his voice is weaker than he'd have liked it; betraying the words that he had meant to sting.

Yet despite that, he watches as your breath pauses and your grip tightens. How had you managed to grow even more tense?

“I don't have anyone else left” you answered, your eyes finally missing him, flickering away for what was barely a single moment. In spite of how hard he fought against it the painful beating in his chest left him worried. He tried not to show it. He hoped he hid it well enough for you not to notice.

The silence seemed to get to you. That or his stare had. Either way you continued.

“I just need somewhere to stay. Just a few months. I’ll figure it out by then and be gone. Just long enough to get some cash together” you try to explain and finally he spots something familiar in you. But it is not a part of you he once knew that he sees. No, he spots something else.

“You’re running from something” he interjects at his realization, your movements freezing at his accusation. You don't seem shocked so much as worried. He hated that you would ever even try to hide the fact from him.

“Yeah um…I am- but it's- it's complicated okay? I just need somewhere to stay-”

“Is it someone?” He questioned, your words lips closing into quiet once more. It stings a strange part of his soul that you seemed so unwilling to tell him outright.

“...It doesn't matter” you finally speak and he hides how his fists tighten. He hates that he cares at all. He hates that he can't help it.

Your plea for shelter lingers in the air for moments longer than either of you cared for. You couldn't handle the quiet of that for long.

“I don't have much, but I'll give you what I can. I'll get a job and pay you back I-”

“No” he shut you down immediately. Your face fell, the desperation of your gaze fixed on him.

“You can stay and I don't need your money” he clarifies and despite the lack of smile, your relief is more than visible.

“Thank you. I promise I'll be gone as quickly as I can get everything in order” you try to instill any sort of confidence that you would be of little bother, that he would hardly notice you here at all.

He couldn't help but feel his stomach fall to his feet at the words.

-

The first month you stayed had been…surreal, to say the least. For the most part the two of you did pretty well with avoiding each other. For moments of the day he would even wonder if that had been some weird fever dream. You? At his door? After so long? It all just felt so strange. Stranger yet that the circumstances were all but ideal. He thought about asking further, about pushing for what it was that led you here and why you had even been running in the first place. But he found that his tongue nearly died in his mouth every time he saw you around. It almost didn't feel real.

And despite the cold that still ran up his spine, the emptiness that found refuge in his chest, the blood that sat heavy in his veins; despite it all…

You still felt like home.

Yet you were still so far out of reach. Words seemed like complicated equations, conversations like rocket science. His words never left the way he wanted them to, his tone always the wrong amount of harsh. And with the way your eyes tracked his presence when he was around, almost unwavering from him…it all just felt so hard to explain. Something had changed, of course it had. It had been years since you two had last seen each other and it had hardly ended on good terms. Still, there was something so wrong here. Something in the way you ever so slightly leaned from him, or the way your eyes flickered to the closest door, or how it all seemed so familiar in a way that wasn't like home. In a way that was more like the warzones he'd grown so accustomed to.

And he could just see it, that fight in your eyes. That twitchiness that you had never had around him before. And he couldn't help but wonder why. Why. Why. Why. Why. What were you fighting and why did it almost feel like it was him?

It was horrible, the way that question had finally been answered.

The front door had slammed open, startling him from the dinner he had been making and setting every one of his senses aflame. It slammed shut before he had even made it to the hall and when he had he could hardly bring himself to swallow the scene.

You stood pushing on the door like it would hold damn near the whole world at bay. With how violently you were shaking he almost wished it would. Your hiccups and sniffles filled the air as you tried and failed about a hundred times to turn the lock. Your clothes were disheveled, your jacket gone and your shirt caked in dirt and…

No, no that wasn't…

“Y/n?” He hardly even remembered opening his mouth before your name fell out. Quiet and worried in a way he hadn't meant to show.

When your head snapped to him all of his insides twisted in a sickly mess. Features he remembered days of leaving soft kisses on were now warped by deep bruises and bleeding wounds. Your eyes wide and glossy, your skin a mix of blood and tears. Your breath had hitched as if any movement would turn him against you. He couldn't help but feel worse at the notion. He moves. Just one simple step closer.

And suddenly it's as if a dam breaks. Your murmuring words he can't understand, a panic on your face he hadn't seen in all of the time he's known you. You yell and thrash and he can't tell if you even know what you're doing, he can't tell if you even see him anymore. His body almost acts on instinct as he quickly grabs the nearest cloth near him before making his way to you. He places the cloth in your hand, your body flinching in a way that makes him hesitate a moment before he guides you to cover your bleeding nose.

“You gotta breathe” he mutters, no longer attempting to cover the look of confused worry that covers him. You seem to try, but a bloody nose makes that a little difficult. In the meantime he guides you to the bathroom, sitting you down as he fishes out a medkit. You stop talking altogether at that point, going eerily silent.

And it stays that way as he wipes away the blood and around deeply forming bruises. It stays as he cleans the wounds and makes sure your nose isn't broken. It stays when the peroxide hits your skin and when the bandages cover them. It's a horrible, false silence. A silence so loud his ears ring, though that could have just as well been the adrenaline leaving his veins. For a while he's fine with it, for a while it's better than the terror-filled panic, for a while it's better than the way you stared and twitched and sobbed.

But then you get a look in your eye. A dangerous look. A look he's seen too many times in his line of work. And suddenly the quiet isn't so safe anymore.

“Still with me there?” He asks in an attempt to gain your attention. To his relief your eyes flick to him and nod. He doesn't quite like how quickly they had turned cold again. In fact he's sure he hates it.

“What happened?” He finally asks and watches how the distant look in your eyes dissolves. Your lips quiver as you try desperately to hold onto a calm that wasn't coming. Your hands grip tightly onto a bloodied paper towel in your hands.

“I-” your voice cracks and you clear your throat. Your eyes avoid him like a simple glance would kill you.

“It's complicated I-” the panic in your voice rises again.

“I have to go- John I have to go-”

“Now hold on” his hand lands on yours, your body tensing under his touch. He can't help but feel sickened at the thought of you scared of him.

“Whatever happened, I promise it's safe, alright? No one's getting in here. You're safe. Just…” he pauses for a moment, his eyes showing his hesitation before he, as gently as he's ever done anything in his life, he places your hand to his chest. Your fingers flatten against him, familiar and comforting, as he lets out a deep breath.

“Just breathe” he almost pleads, something he finds himself regretting almost immediately. Yet despite feeling that he was doing a horrible job, it seemed to calm you all the same. Much to his relief you managed a few deep breaths, your hand still pressed on his heartbeat that he forced to slow.

He is surprised, after all of this, to hear a faint laugh fall from your lips. Quiet and saddened yes, but a laugh nonetheless. And he couldn't have felt more ridiculous than at that moment.

“What?” Or perhaps it seems he could, his dumbfoundedness not hidden in the tone of his voice. It isn't hard for you to wipe the smile from your face, if it had even really been a smile at all.

“Nothing I just…I remember when I had to do this for you” your tone is bittersweet.

“I never thought I'd be on the other side” your voice is breathless and strained, a certain feeling behind it he couldn't quite place. He finds himself snickering along as the once painful memory hits him. He would agree. He never imagined someone strong enough to pull him back to reality could ever need him to do the same.

“Yeah…world's got a fucked up way of making circles” he replies and you give a half-hearted attempt at agreement. And it seems that a moment too soon you pull away and he feels almost as if you take his heartbeat with you.

“Yeah…Yeah, it does…” you murmur, a sentiment far too true found in the quiet whisper. There is almost silence until you speak again.

“I'm sorry” the apology falls in a way not meant to ever leave you. The sound was as sorrowful as seeing a bird stripped of its wings. An act against nature, a horrible twisting of what should be.

“I’m sorry” you break again, though this time you don't shatter so much as you crumble. And he knows then that those words aren't for him. That he hated how they sounded coming from you, how they weren't what he wanted, how he could only wish you'd take them back so that he didn't have to feel the hole in his chest trying to carve its way through his skin.

And how useless he felt then, sat in front of your broken state knowing that you had once done the same with him. How utterly and completely he knew that there was nothing he could do to wipe this looming, horrible terror that was held so deep in your eyes he could only see a warped reflection of himself in them.

And he simply couldn't handle it. He felt weak, hopeless, useless. But what was there to do? He had never seen you so truly pained, he had only ever known the other side of this situation.

So he did the only thing he could. He pulled you close, slow and cautious, before the both of you crashed into one another. Hands that had twitched at his mere presence now held him as tightly as the shirt on his back. As if, should you let go, you'd be cast adrift again into the crimson rapids. And he could only hold just as tightly, hoping that if he just held on tight enough that the falling parts of you would stay, that he might save even a single piece from the agony you were lost in a sea of.

You two stayed like that for a long while, hardly caring about that time that passed. At some point, so overtaken by the exhaustion of your endless bouts of tears and the near-death experience you'd just endured, you'd passed out in his arms.

And like some cruel twisting of a memory he held dear, he carried you to bed. He tried not to glance too much at your features, the cuts and bruises sending sickening waves through him, as he laid you down. He took a shaky breath as he covered you in a blanket, taking care to be quiet as he left the room.

In the absence of your presence there was only rage.

A fire unlike any he had felt struck him like lightning, a burning hatred at who could have ever done this to you. His feet moved but his mind was preoccupied with who and why and- god why didn't you just tell him what happened? What could have ever led to this?! What had you done? Who had you upset?

The thoughts plagued his mind as he set up his spot on the couch. Yet when the pillows had been laid and the blanket placed, he could not find it in himself to rest. He could only pace and snarl and burn with such a horrible feeling. How dare they. How dare they. How could anyone do this to you? To his-...

It was only those final words that managed to slow his thoughts, a sinking feeling resting in his chest.

Not his. You were not his. Not for a long while, not anymore…

But there was no hiding the fire in his skin. No denying how deeply he held you, how desperately he wished to never let go again. He could only curse whatever higher power could hear him. Curse them for ever doing this to either of you. Of ever letting him know your name.

It was a horrible pain to want so desperately to have you back, but there was no pain worse than you returning in broken pieces. Worse yet to know that, maybe, had he done things differently, you might not have left his arms to shatter against a world he could have protected you from. To know that he failed.

He lit a cigar with a shaky hand. He knew then that there would be no sleeping tonight.

-

Your eyes were heavy as they opened, protesting against your attempts to wake up. You thought, in your groggy state, that it might be better to never open them again, to give in to what they demanded from you. To close them a final time.

But it was only a passing thought in your utterly exhausted state. A whisper held at the back of your mind just waiting for the moment that it might scream itself into existence. But not today. Not now, at least.

And so you forced them open, a groan halfheartedly falling from your lips as you pushed away the comfort of infinite dark. You managed enough strength to sit up, regretting it almost immediately when a dull pain burned your side. You would have been confused, maybe even a little worried, if not for the returning throbs of the many cuts along your face and arms that swiftly and brutally remind you of yesterday.

So close. You had been so close to the end. You were lucky to have made it out alive. It was honestly a miracle you had.

Cornered, like an animal. You remembered the feeling well. Trapped right where you didn't want to be. It was like he could smell your terror as he bared his wolfish teeth in the warm street light. A wicked smile, one that scorched itself into an unhealthy scar upon you. Never to be forgotten, a thing of nightmares.

You had run as far as you could go, lungs empty and feet sore, your hands covered in the warmth of your own blood as you tried to hold even just a part of yourself together, to manage to escape through the skin of your teeth once more. You had done it before, but a second time was surely a test of fate.

You had been lucky, then, that a bus was passing by. It shouldn't have been there so late so far out of town. But by some higher being or just through the world's sick way of fucking with you it was. You had never been so relieved to be met with headlights in your life; you practically screamed in relief as you waved it down. Your hunter was as scared as a doe in them, slithering off into the shadows like the coward you knew him as. The driver, a woman in her forties, looked horrified at the state of you. But you had brushed off her panic and worry and told her to simply drive. You were thankful the bus was empty. You couldn't have handled anyone else's questions in your utter panic.

You had only been a five-minute drive from salvation, from the home you had long since abandoned, only to return to in your time of need. Five minutes.

He must have known. Someone might have told him or you might have mentioned John in one of your many pain-filled benders. It didn't matter. He knew where you were, and it seemed his patience had only grown thinner. You were sure now that he would not stop with breaking you under his iron grip, but utterly destroying you.

All at once these thoughts hit you, flooding your mind with panic and worry. You're breathing shallowed as your mind falls down this path, stopping only when the end of the memory comes to mind.

John…

You tried to move him from your mind, to rid yourself of the sinking feeling that came when you thought of how quickly he had jumped to help you, even after years of silence and weeks of ignoring each other. You try not to think of his attempts at gentle touch, calloused battle-worn hands not quite built for the kindness he was showing. You remove from your mind how he held your hand to him, how it seemed like no time had passed from when you left with how quickly he knew what would truly calm you. And most of all, you try to remove the feeling of his arms around you, desperate and worried and familiar and home. You try, as little as that means nowadays.

You deduce that sitting in silence isn't the best way to distract you from these things, and so you finally stand from the bed, noting only then that you don't remember falling asleep here. But you let that slip your mind as well. You prefer the static buzz of being busy over thinking too much about any of this. It only made things harder.

So your feet moved without you, intimately familiar with the halls and doors and light switches. After all, it had been your home, once upon a lifetime ago.

You hardly stagger as you make your way to the kitchen, accustomed to the constant lull of pain in the back of your mind. A whisper of its own, and one you realized it better to ignore.

You are close to allowing the static buzz to take over, close to numbing and leaving your brain on autopilot. Close to the preferable numbness. So very close. But upon taking a step into the kitchen, you are met with a sight so twistedly familiar you are shocked back into yourself.

John sat at the table, two plates laid out and coffee poured. A quaint scene, an old one. A memory from a different time, faded and aged and different in ways that leave you sick. Because he didn't stare with the complete adoration of a man in love, nor did his eyes avert, distracted and tired, as they had on the day you had left him here. But instead they tear through you. Locked on you the second you entered. It amazed you how his eyes of crystal blue, so similar to that of a frozen storm, could burn through you so easily.

You think for a moment that this is it. That he's going to kick you out with only a final meal and that you are going to be thrown to the starved wolf you knew lurked just outside. You prepared yourself to plead, to apologize, to ask for any bit of mercy he might show you. After all, you had lost your dignity a long time ago, and it wouldn't be the first time you had begged for your life.

But then, as if the elements of himself collided, the fire in his eyes cooled to a warm glow. Soft and familiar and warm, warm, warm.

You almost wished then that he'd return to his fiery glare.

“Sit, love” It isn't a command as much as a quiet plea, his voice is soft and calm and maybe even worried, a rare combination for him. It's a sound so foreign now that you almost don't trust it. His expression falls further as you hesitate.

“I just wanna talk” he tried to explain, to give you any reason to trust him. It works, though only barely. You take a hesitant seat across from him.

The smell of the food hits your nose and only then do you realize you hadn't eaten last night. The waft of coffee only seems to make things worse as it reminds you of how tired you are.

“We can eat first” you can't tell if it's a question or a statement, but either way you take the opportunity. You were too weak to deny how much you needed this right now. You would regret it later, you were sure, but for right now you would allow yourself this small indulgence.

And so it was quiet, absent the sound of forks hitting plates. Quiet in a way that you weren't sure if you liked or despised. You wondered if it even mattered.

It was a few bites in and halfway through your coffee that he spoke again.

“I saw a butterfly this morning” his words cut the silence in a way that baffles you out of the static once more. Out of your head and your thoughts and the sinking feeling in your chest.

“Oh?” You respond almost too naturally, almost too much like you used to. If it weren't for the heaviness in your voice, you might have even forgotten that this wasn't like it used to be.

“Yeah. Should’ve seen it. It had all your favorite colors” his words are almost light in spite of the tense atmosphere and, despite it all, it manages the smallest smile from you.

“I’m sure it was beautiful” you reply and watch as the look on his face changes. You can't quite read it, a strange softness is all you can take from it. But there never fails to be that lingering sadness there. That worry. That pain you can't quite bring yourself to address. And so you look away, your eyes turned down to your food once more.

The silence that follows threatens to suffocate the two of you, drown you in this horrible replication of better times, and punish you for daring to seek even this small comfort. And so, knowing that there is only one way this will go, he finally asks.

“What happened last night?” You feel your throat tighten almost immediately, not daring to pick up your fork when the weight of that question falls atop you. You find it hard to give him an answer, let alone one that might satisfy him.

“I…It’s…” you struggle and hope that maybe you might just disappear, that maybe all of this was some horrible nightmare you'd wake from. But as seconds passed it became clear it wasn't. Clearer still that you had to give him an answer after what he'd seen.

“It's complicated” you try to explain but you knew the moment the words fell that they wouldn't be enough. You think that maybe he'll be angry at this, that he'll slam the table like he had before and demand a better explanation. But a glance shows that his expression only deepens in its worry.

“Then explain it to me” he pleads once more. It was a rare day he ever pleaded, begged, or even so much as asked for something. Rarer yet that it's genuine. Your mouth goes dry and silence remains. You can't bring yourself to look at him.

“Love-” his hand reached for yours and the contact shocks every nerve in your body. You flinch away from him, regretting it a moment later when his worry turns to pain on his face. He retracts his hand with the most hesitance you've ever seen from him; a man so usually sure of himself.

“I just need to know what's happening. I-...” he falters, another rare sight. He takes a shaky breath.

“I won't hurt you” those words come out stronger than the rest, as truthful as he could have possibly made them. And, despite its softness, it seems to tear apart the very walls you had built to keep you safe.

But safe from what, exactly? When the wolf lays outside, and this place is your final sanctuary, what does that make him? You weren't quite sure, but somehow you knew that whatever this was, it felt…well it felt familiar at least. A devil you knew well enough to find some comfort in the warmth of.

Your head turns away, arms held against you in a pitiful attempt to comfort yourself. You think, for a moment, that you might run from here. That you might leave everything behind in the wake of the words that threaten to leave your tongue.

But he wants the truth. And who are you to deny him it? It couldn't make things much worse than they already are.

“Where do you even want me to start?” You ask him, voice hollow and cold and empty. There was no more of yourself to give than a story. You wondered if the sacrifice would even matter.

“Wherever you need to” he answers back, his shoulders squared: tense. You had half a mind to comfort him, but you doubt it would've helped. So, with a deep breath that does very little to calm your nerves, you finally answer him.

“When I left I didn't want to start over, but I didn't want to see you again either. So I moved a few towns over” you started, your voice detached from yourself, like it came from someone else entirely.

“A few months later I met someone. He had been so kind at first. Loving, attentive. He made me feel like I existed in the world again. Made me feel wanted” your words murmur and a snarl forms, even talking about it makes you sick.

“I was stupid, blinded, didn't pay attention. Didn't care, really…” you pause, your hands indenting into your skin as if to keep you where you sat, as if to stop you from fading from here.

“I married him” your words come out much more mournful than you mean to, your snarl nothing more than a quivered lip now. You had married that monster.

You didn't have to glance at John to know the look on his face. Anger, rage, a twisted form of jealousy. It was a knife to his back, you imagine, that you might have married another man before he had ever put a ring on your finger. But you weren't quite sure you cared anymore. After all, it wasn't you who had been so cold to him those final days you were together.

“I didn't realize who he was until then. He'd always been…rough. Arrogant, quick-tempered, prone to violence. But I guess I just thought that he wouldn't ever treat me like that. That I was different. That he loved me” your words shake and you do your best to pull those broken strings together. To steel yourself. To not be so pathetic.

“I was wrong…” you allow yourself the pain of those three words and in so scar your heart further as you admit it. He had never loved you.

“I tried to get away, I tried to start over again, but he wouldn't let me leave. I can't get a job without him finding me, can't get a place to stay, can't start over. I thought maybe if I came here, maybe if my name wasn't on anything, maybe if I was careful enough then I could figure it out…I was wrong about that too” you curse yourself when tears sting at you. You do your best to hide it, to disappear in front of his own eyes. But there was only so much you could do. Hiding from him had never been your strong suit.

John feels…well he doesn't quite know. A mixture of everything horrible, he thinks. He can't stand how your eyes avoid him as the words fall, how with each passing word he can only find regret. Regret that he hadn't held you closer, that he hadn't kept you safe. And he hates that the consequences don't fall to him, that he wasn't the one burned, that instead he watches you crumble and break and shatter. He had loved you, he had always loved you. That hole in his heart, that void you filled. Ripped from him and torn apart as swiftly as a flower in a stormy ocean. He hardly had the mind to blame you anymore, hardly had the heart to. He could do nothing but blame himself and the cruel creature he could hardly call human. The one who had dared to lay a finger on you. The one he could imagine tearing apart with his bare hands.

There are questions that circle his brain, words that travel from the top of his head and almost meet his tongue. ‘What’s his name?’ ‘Where can I find him?’ ‘How long had this been happening?’ ‘Why hadn't you said something sooner?’

He lets out a shallow breath, his eyes closing in thought for only a short moment before he stands. The sound of the chair startles you into watching him once more. His steps are slow, and deliberate, as they make their way towards you. You lean away for a moment, as you had since you'd gotten here, but it calms as you watch him. His movement is predictable; safe.

And soon, just as slow and just as softly, his hands fall on your face as they had hundreds of times before. Calloused but warm, a softness he only ever found with you. He is gentle along your bruises, careful with them. You can't look from him now, eyes searing through him. But he had nothing to hide, and so he stared back.

“We're gonna figure this out” he speaks to you, words like comforting slashes against your soul in how they tear your emotions from you. Your attempts to hide were all but vain now, tears falling freely and only barely held from a sob. Your breaths shake as your eyes close into the comfort, hands falling onto his as if he might just slip away. He presses a kiss, hesitant yet desperate against the crown of your head.

“He ain't ever hurting you again” his words are a promise as he mumbles them against your skin before placing his head against yours. You make no attempt to pull away, instead finding that a broken smile falls on your lips, one of utter relief. Somehow you find a will to speak.

“I missed you”

-

Potential part two? Maybe? Probably? Definitely?

[bandomfandombeyond]

the state of education in the USA: I'm trying to convince the school to care that an extremely religious right-wing teacher in my program thinks it's acceptable to say "I have a gun" and "I think I should be allowed to shoot criminals on sight" in the same breaths.

[c1trvswurld]

Now if i said zaundads content would be way more interesting and dynamic/nuanced if they explored the very real trauma and domestic violence of vander putting his hands on silco and how somehow, by some mystery, they seemed to have overcome that in the 'vi is dead' au would I be stoned.

[torchflies]

*Little blurb about Jake’s terrible childhood and the five siblings he raised on his own. It might become a series 😉*

“Ness Seresin is born on Caddo Lake, split between Texas and Louisiana.

He comes a month too early.

(Or, a brief look into the childhood of Jake Seresin, who wasn't always Jake, and the five kids he raised).”

[ent-is-indecisive]

Hello! I'm part of the artists offering artwork slots for The good we do (see a much more detailed post here)

I can offer 2 commission slots in exchange for proof of donation to WAVE or Women's Law, both organisations provide support for people impacted by domestic violence.

Details regarding what you can get from me is under the cut, don't hesitate to dm me and i might open more slots if you're willing to wait a bit for your piece! :)

Tier information (donation for either organisation) :

10 ($/€/£) : thanks! I'll be happy to sketch something of your choosing! (<- this is aside of the limited 2 slots given that the actual minimum tier for all artists is 25bucks :) (tbh any donation at all will get you some level of sketch ♡)

25 ($/€/£) : Cheers! I'll be offering a portrait/bust/equivalent pfp!

50 ($/€/£) : Whoo ! That's a fullbody character! I'll throw in a background and some sparkles no problem!

75 ($/€/£) : That's incredible! We're going up to 2 characters and a detailed background! Thank you!

100+ ($/€/£) : That's amazing! This opens up the "as many characters as you want" option, in full illustration style!

If there's an outstanding donation i am also open to a comic page !

I can't plan for everything so feel free to ask but in general i'm okay with any pairing/character, gore, and i can go up to suggestive in heat level, sadly i have no skill in sexually explicit content.

[babygirl-diaz]

The Price You Pay (TW: Domestic Violence Reference)

(There is no actual domestic violence but some characters think there is)

***

“You were getting hurt as a kid and that’s exactly what you’re doing now!” Mom yelled over the phone. 

Kick. Duck. Punch. Duck. 

“You’re not a child anymore, Evan. Do you even want to see your 40th birthday?” Dad decided to chime in. 

Kick. Duck. Punch. Duck. 

“No, I don’t think he does, Philip.” Buck could hear the disappointment in his mother’s voice. “He doesn’t care if he lives or dies. He doesn’t care what happens to us if he’s gone. What happens to Maddie? To his boyfriend.” 

Kick. Du- SHIT. 

“Keep your head in the game, Evan,” Tommy told him. “If this was an actual match, you could have gotten hurt.” 

Buck nodded and wiped the sweat off his brows with the back of his hand. He bounced back and forth, while carefully watching Tommy’s movements. 

“Maybe if Daniel was alive-” 

“Well, he’s not is he?!” Buck interrupted his mother before she could finish that sentence

“Well, maybe if he was then we wouldn’t have to live with this- this constant state of panic,” Mom’s voice was suddenly cold. 

Buck went quiet for a moment when it hit him what she was trying to say. “You really wish it was him alive instead of me, don’t you?” 

“Maybe I do…” 

“Margaret!” Dad gasped. “Evan, she didn’t mean tha-” 

“FUCK!” 

Tommy’s scream brought Buck out of his thoughts and he saw his boyfriend lying on the floor nursing his nose.

“Shit!” Buck hissed and immediately got down by his boyfriend’s side. “Tommy, Tommy, hey, you okay?” When Buck touched Tommy’s face, he felt blood and that’s when he realized that Tommy’s nose was bleeding. Turns out, Buck had kicked him in the face and potentially broken his nose. “Tommy, can you sit up for me?” Buck got into first responder mode and helped Tommy sit up, with his back to the corner post. “Lean forward and pinch the bridge of your nose.” When Tommy followed his instructions, Buck rushed to find an ice pack and a towel. He came back with them and gave the ice pack to Tommy, asking him to put it on his nose as he helped him up. 

“Shit, baby, I am so sorry,” Buck felt so bad. 

“It’s okay,” Tommy replied and wrapped an arm around Buck’s shoulder. 

“Come on, I’ll take you to the ER,” Buck told Tommy and led him out to his jeep. He helped his boyfriend inside and closed the door before getting into the driver’s side. He kept looking over at Tommy to make sure he wasn’t choking on his blood as he rushed them to the ER. Once there, they filled out a few forms and then waited for the nurse to call them in. Buck kept a protective arm around Tommy’s shoulders and kept checking on him. 

“Thomas Kinard?” The nurse called out

Both Buck and Tommy got up and went to her. Buck kept holding onto Tommy’s hand and the nurse gave them a wary look. 

Once they were in the examination room, the nurse asked them a few questions. “How did you get hurt?” 

“Oh I am just clumsy and fell down the stairs,” Tommy replied. 

Buck furrowed his eyebrows and wondered why Tommy didn’t just tell her the truth. When he looked over at his boyfriend, Tommy gave him an assuring look. 

The nurse didn’t look too convinced but told them the doctor would be in soon after asking them a couple more questions. 

Once she left Buck looked over at Tommy again. “Why didn’t you tell her the truth? It was an accident.” 

“You’re already feeling so guilty-” 

Buck was about to protest when Tommy stopped him. “Don’t even try to lie to me. I know you and I know this is killing you on the inside. I didn’t want to make you feel worse in front of her.” 

Buck sighed and sat down beside Tommy on the examination table and wrapped an arm around him, kissing the side of his head. “I am sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I was just-” Before Buck could finish that sentence, someone cleared their throat and Buck looked up to see the doctor standing there. He hadn’t even heard her come in. 

The doctor asked Tommy questions and then examined his nose and his face. “Well, it’s definitely broken,” she pointed out. “I’ll write you some painkillers and we’re going to do a few tests to make sure you don’t have a head injury.” 

“My head feels fine,” Tommy pointed out. 

“It’s just a precaution,” the doctor replied and gave Buck a look he couldn’t quite decipher. 

Tommy was soon taken for tests and Buck waited outside the room. Once they finished, they were asked to wait in the examination room. Buck stayed close to Tommy, drowning in guilt but trying to stay strong for his boyfriend. He held his hand and kept pressing kisses to his forehead and temple now and then. 

When the doctor returned, she told them that the results looked good and there wasn’t any injury to Tommy’s head. But then she did something odd. “Um… Do you mind waiting outside? I just- I have a few more things I need to check and then Mr. Kinard can go home.”

“Why can’t he just stay?” Tommy asked. 

“Tommy, it’s okay. I’ll go get the jeep in the meantime,” Buck told his boyfriend and kissed the top of his head before leaving. 

He waited in the jeep with his hands gripping the steering wheel as his mind kept going back to what his mother- no- what MARGARET said earlier. He let go of the wheel and sighed rubbing his forehead. He already accidentally hurt Tommy because of her. He didn’t want to dwell on what she said and make things worse. 

When Tommy finally came out, there was an amused look on his face. He was clutching onto something and twisting it between his hands. He then shoved it into his hoodie pocket. 

“You good?” Buck asked Tommy when he got in. 

“Apart from the busted nose, yeah,” Tommy chuckled. 

When Buck frowned at him, the older man leaned in and kissed his cheek. 

Whatever Tommy had slipped into his hoodie pocket earlier was sticking out and Buck noticed it said something about abuse. His eyes widened and he pulled out the paper to realize it was a domestic violence pamphlet for victims. 

Buck's heart sank to the bottom of his stomach. “They- they think I am abusing you?” Buck asked on the verge of tears. 

Tommy immediately cupped his face and shook his head. “They’re idiots. I told them it was an accident but they just thought I was lying. In hindsight, I probably shouldn’t have told them that I fell down the stairs,” he said cringing. 

“I didn’t do it on purpose,” Buck told him panicking a little. “I swear, Tommy. It was genuinely an accident. I was thinking about what Margaret and Philip said to me and I just-” 

“Hey, hey, hey, you don’t have to explain anything…” Tommy assured him. “I know you didn’t do it on purpose. I was there, remember?” He leaned in and tried pressing a kiss to Buck’s lips but Buck pulled away. 

“Punch me,” Buck told him. 

“What?” Tommy asked furrowing his eyebrows

“Punch me. Let’s make it equal,” Buck replied. 

“Okay, now that would definitely be considered domestic violence.” 

“It won’t because I am asking you to punch me,” Buck insisted. “Just punch me!” 

“NO!” Tommy yelled and cupped Buck’s face. “That’s not how this relationship works. I’m not punching you on purpose when I know the kick was accidental.” 

“But-” 

“But nothing,” Tommy told him. “I love you, Evan, and I would never hurt you on purpose. Just like I know you wouldn’t hurt me.” 

Buck wrapped his arms around Tommy and pulled him into a tight hug. “I love you so much. I am so sorry.” 

“Shhh… It’s okay, baby. I’m okay. I promise,” Tommy said kissing the side of Buck’s head. 

Buck buried his face in the crook of Tommy’s neck and took in his smell. “I love you,” he said again.