I'm not i take my meds Jenny-40♏♐🇵🇦-Pansexual-Lives Philly-Born in NYC-Wrestling-Anime-Gaming-Comics. we all grow everyday show a little love to one another.
i don't know who needs to hear this but actors are also just people interpreting the text. you don't have to agree with them anymore than you have to agree with a random person online. in fact, they can't even be as honest about their feelings as a random person online because they're clearly contractually obliged not to shut interviewers down even if the question is awful. if you do agree with them on some things, great! but don't force yourself to believe things that don't fit your interpretation of the story just because an actor says it and don't try to force others too either.
As if Joanne couldn't get any shittier, she misgendered and insulted a woman who called for support, all because the woman had PCOS/PMOS and "didn't sound feminine enough."
Fuck her.
Your shitty children's series isn't more important than people's lives.
Summary: a new neighbour moves in and changes everything.
Character: Frank Castle
Warnings: dubcon, noncon, NSFW. This is a dark drabble like most of my stuff so take this as your warning to stop reading.
Part of the Trailer Park AU
Please leave a comment and reblog. Or send an anon ask! Always happy to hear from y'all. ♥️❤️
"We got things to do." Frank says again. You can't think of one. You have nothing going on. Nothing that belongs to you. "Be good to get some distance, huh?"
You shrug and stare at the floor. You sit on the fold out sofa and mope. "I guess..." You murmur. You swallow. "Thank you, Frank. But... My grandma is right, I can't do anything right--"
"What do you mean? You made me that dragonfly. You make good coffee. And you got a sweet soul, girl. We're not gonna listen to her. And we're done talking about her." He says as he slides his wallet off the counter top and flips it open quickly before closing it and tucking it in his pocket.
"I'm sorry." You sniffle.
"Don't need none of that," he drawls gently as he puts his keys in his pocket. "I don't think I got no shoes that'll stay on ya, so..." He approaches and you get up.
"Oh... Yeah..." You look down at the borrowed socks. Even rolled, they're slipping off.
"No worries." He says and scoops you up just like the night before. You're just as surprised, letting out a pitchy help. "You best to stay off that foot anyhow."
"Frank." You gasp.
"My name never sounded nicer, I think." He chortles. "Come on."
He carries you outside and around his truck. He has you open the door before he puts you up on the seat. You steady yourself and sheepishly smile.
"Don't forget to buckle in." He warns and shuts the door.
He strides around and climbs into the driver's side. He twists the ignition as you pull down the seatbelt. He grips the ridge wheel with one hand and cranes to back out.
"First thing, we'll get ya some shoes." He says as he cranks the wheel to put the truck straight.
"Um, oh... But..."
"I don't want ya to worry about it. Let me tell you, I never do nothing I don't wanna." He steers along the gravelly road. You refuse to look at your grandma's lot. "'sides I got other things to take care of. Been meaning to and all."
You nod and rub your palms together nervously. You stare out the windshield, floating off into the full blue of the sky. The engine rumbles through your anxious trance. Frank's not gonna put up with you forever, no one does.
You wince as Frank reaches in your peripheral. He flips the radio on. It lights up as the cassette inside winds through the track in progress.
They say compassion is a virtue, but I don't have the time
So many people have no problems
I'm not interested in their problems
I guess I'll experience some problems
The man's unique voice and cadence underline each lyric with an erratic energy. It's different. Confusing but intriguing.
Frank pulls into town as the music feeds your anxiety. He stops at a plaza and cranks the shifter to park. He clears his throat and runs his hands over his hair.
"I'ma run in quick and get something to put on your feet for now." He explains. "What's your size, sugar?"
It takes a moment to answer. You've been shoving your feet into too small hand me downs for years so you tell him a size bigger than the faded numbers on the insoles. He slaps the wheel before he goes, telling you to lock the doors.
You reach over to push down the metal stick on his side. He stalks into the general store as you wring your hand around two fingers. You can't do anything but what he tells you to. There's nothing bad about that but you need to figure out what you'll do when he's done with you. It's happened twice, it'll happen again. You can't always be someone else's problem.
Frank comes back out. You unlock the door for him and he sighs as he get in. He looks down at the pair of cotton shoes in his hand. The cotton ones with eyelets but no shoelaces, just an elastic strap sewn inside.
“It's what they had.” He offers. “But it'll do for now. There's a place a town over. I wanted to go there instead–“
“Is it far?” You ask as you take the shoes. “Thanks. They're cute.”
“Yeah? They only had grey.”
“It's good.” You assure him.
“Ain't too far,” he clicks his seatbelt into place. “Won't complain for time together, huh?”
You carefully bend your legs, one at a time, and slip on the shoes over your socks. You hum in agreement, nothing else to say in your head. He pulls out of the lot and continues onto the roads.
“Tape's done,” he says as you get to the town limit sign. “There's some more in the glove box. Your choice.”
“Oh, um, I just listen to whatever uh…” you stop yourself from mentioning your grandma. “Okay.”
You open the glove box as he ejects the tape. He hands it over and you switch out The Talking Head for Fleetwood Mac. You know them a little.
“Good ear.” He praises as he blows down the country roads.
“Mm, I just picked whatever.”
“No complaints from me,” he intones.
You look out the window and watch the trees dwindle to farmland then pop back up. You nearly squeal as a weight settles on your shoulder and squeeze. “You okay?” Frank asks as he steers around a bend with his other hand.
“Good,” you cheep as you put your head straight.
“Almost there.” He promises as his hand trails down your arm and he lets go.
“Okay,” you accept as you wiggle your foot anxiously.
“Maybe we'll grab something to eat while we're at it. It's gon be a long day.” He says.
“Oh?”
“Yeah, honey, you take your time. I want you to pick stuff you like.” He explains.
“Erm.” You chew your lip.
“You know, this isn't probably where you wanna be. Stuck with me.” He says. “But we'll figure out, won't we?” He shifts slightly and stretches his neck with a grunt. “You're a nice woman and you're creative. You got a lot goin' for ya and I'm sure once you know it, you'll be leavin’ me in the dust.”
“What?” You squeak. “No.”
“It's okay. I'm an old man, sug. And you're so…” he goes quiet and shrugs, fingers tapping on the wheel. “Well, ya know, I'm just an old soldier. I'm used to losing people.”
You pout. Your heart sinks. You don't want to hurt him or anyone. If only he knew, how afraid you are of him doing the same to you.
Oh I know that sort of phrasing. He's being soooooooo subtle, soooooo subtly manipulative. Self depreciation on someone with low self-esteem. He's clever. Shady.
i’ve seen this user post this photo as a sort of reaction image a couple times now and it makes me laugh every time. because this is the incredibly elusive marbled cat and they really do just have a tendency to look so pitiful, guilty, and empty in the head. so here’s some more photos of them looking like there’s just one marble bouncing around their skull:
them hoes depressed @crookedmoonsaultpunk - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
