#no-more-womens-black-tshirt

[n1kk11-blog]

https://www.zazzle.com/z/aogzm6v8?rf=238378723538093137

FANTASTIC

[pinbones]

There's two types of people who use transandrophobia to decribe transmascs' and trans mens' experiences:

- Simply specificity, language used to hone in on a specific way being trans affects people who just happen to be men

- As both the above and as a springboard to discuss how societal misogyny, radical feminism, gender stereotypes, and bioessentalism affect all people who can be pecieved as men or masculine by others, and how bigotries compound in meaningful ways with stereotypes and bigotry surrounding maleness and manhood

Like. Half of you are saying "maleness is a hollow experience which is standard, and exists in opposition to gendered oppression, and transandrophobia is therefore when dudes experience misogyny and transphobia"

and half of you are saying "Being percieved and/or transitioning towards male uniquely affects how I am treated, because, for example, how people perceive my blackness or mental illness or kinkiness or femininity is compounded with my manhood in ways that don't usually happen to gender conforming cisperi women"

Which are two fundamentally different approaches to transandrophobia as a concept. One suggests that maleness is a simple downy layer of privilege that coats a person through their male life, and the other acknowledges that a man (or somebody perceived as masculine/male) can experience oppression in ways that those NOT perceived male may not.

Only one of these interpretations is intersectional. Black individuals who are policed more hashly when interpreted as masc know they are risking dangerous experiences when transitioning to male, as has been discussed before on here (to no avail). Male or percieved male people with personality disorders are treated as more dangerous than women with similar symptoms, and are sometiems diagnosed with different disorders entirely based on percieved gender differences. This affects transmascs too, especially considering the already dire state of queerness in psychiatric institutions. Being a male birthing parent is a whole shitshow of transphobia because men are not supposed to give birth, and transmascs are lucky to access related healthcare at all, let alone access it without being ceaselessly misgendered and treated as a stigmatised 'other' to deleterious affects on parent and baby. These are just a few examples, there are many more ways maleness can screw a person over. And that's not to say that female privilege is a thing instead of male privilege, but rather to emphasise that men are not supposed to be minorities. Men are not supposed to be assaulted, men are not supposed to be outliers, men are absolutely not supposed to be trans.

When a man is autistic, he's not just autistic, he's an autistic male, and that makes him more likely to be killed by cops (especially if black). When someone says "you claim you're not ableist but you're scared of the homeless x on a bus talking to xself", they always say the person is a man, because that sounds more significant (and cops think so too). Consider when a person's rape/abuse is considered to not be all that serious due to the victim being male, or when a man's attraction is considered to be more exploitative than a woman's, or when a fat man is considered more creepy/sexist than a thin man or a fat woman. Consider why so many caricatures of evil and creepiness are men with deformities. Consider the fact that men's bathrooms don't have baby changing tables, and that a man may get less support from others after their child's death than the mother might. Maleness can negatively compound with things like minority status, vulnerability, aggression, sexuality, etc. in ways that screw that person over, both in social spaces (such as queer communities that dislike/distrust maleness and masculinity, or how isolation affects men harder), and in more tangible ways, like their rates of suicide and being murdered.

There are tangible ways in which transitioning to male can negatively affect a person's life even if you remove (hypothetically, not really possible) the transphobia element, and these also constitute as worthwhile topics of discussion. If you think maleness is the lack of gendered oppression, then you're not intersectional in your feminism at all. If your life as a male is genuinely sunshine and rainbows (apart from the transphobia if trans), then good for you, genuinely that's great, but not everyone lives in a radfem fantasy world.

Being unable to tell the difference between men talking about mens issues/liberation, and right wingers talking about oppressing women more, isn't feminist. It's ignorant and antifeminist. (MRAs don't care about actual mens lib, and are actively worsening it because they are sexist and opposed to gender lib. You guys know that, right? That male and female liberation aren't oppositional or binary, but the same gender liberation that is entirely oppositional to patriarchy?)

These men and mascs talking about issues facing men aren't ignorant womanhaters who deny misogyny and want ultraprivileged men to be coddled, they are good faith members of your community with experiences just as varied and valid as yours. Treat them like it.

[depresseddepot]

god I love good thrift stores with changing rooms

[flowerandblood]

Glass Cuts Deepest Epilogue

[ professor! • Aemond x student! • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, smut, angst, trauma, mention of sexual harassment and panic attacks, the power of fluff ]

[ description: Aemond and Wright have a year of their relationship behind them, full of joy, but also difficult situations for them, related to demons from his past. Despite this, they find their own ways to live normally and happily. Aemond, jealous that Cregan is now her professor, decides to find out if the girl who changed his life still loves him. Sexual tension, childhood traumas and sweet fluff. ]

This oneshot is the events that take place one year after Glass Cuts Deepest Series. This is a special chapter written to celebrate my one year on this platform, which falls on March 22.

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

My other works: Masterlist

_____

When a year had passed since he and Wright had officially announced that they were together, he was relieved to find that his panic attacks had almost disappeared, and if they did occur, they no longer involved vomiting and convulsions, causing only discomfort and a feeling of tightness in his stomach.

Wright was perfectly capable of recognising its symptoms, spotting instantly when he froze or turned pale, not touching him at the time, just asking quietly if he needed a moment alone or if he would like her to embrace him.

More and more often he wanted to simply cuddle up to her, so he would then ask her to let him, but not to touch him herself. He would then draw her close and sink his face into her neck, taking in her wonderful scent, listening to her breathing until he calmed down.

"− I'm sorry −" He mumbled then, ashamed that, as usual, he thought he had got it over with, that it was so good after all. He fought then against the grim thoughts that he would never be normal, that she had to live with someone who didn't cope, who was constantly afraid.

"− don't apologise −" She whispered softly, resting her cheek on his head, playing with the fingers of her hand, waiting patiently for him to be able to function normally again.

"− I'm glad that now when you feel unwell, you don't feel discomfort when I'm close − it's very important to me −" She said warmly, kissing his hair, and he felt his muscles relax slowly − the fact that she never made sudden movements, never tried to embrace him against his will, made him feel safe.

She respected the fact that he knew for himself what was good for him and what he needed, and she never forced him into anything − on the contrary, she always carefully studied his barriers.

Once when she showed him a picture of a nightgown, finding it lovely and pretty, white, lacy and strapless, of slippery, shiny material − he turned pale and shook his head quickly, looking away, seeing her enter his room then, what she was wearing was all too similar in his mind, a cold sweat on his back.

"− oh, I'm sorry − I won't show you this kind of things anymore − I just − I'd like to buy myself some nice pyjamas − the kind you'd like −" She muttered, looking up at him, turning on the couch − he sighed quietly, rubbing her bare legs that rested on his thighs.

"− I like it when you wear my Tshirts − nothing turns me on more −" He hummed, looking at her out of the corner of his eye, seeing her blush as she lay dressed in his black shirt covering her thighs − he knew she had nothing but panties underneath, just the way he liked it.

"− oh −" She mumbled quietly, embarrassed, pretending to scroll something further on her phone.

Since he had left the university and focused on his own studio, he felt that the immense frustration that had been with him all those years, of having to deal with strange women, having to constantly explain his decisions and apologise for the way he was, had left him.

In his new workshop, more spacious and brighter than the one he had worked in before, he felt free, and the only girl who was allowed inside was Wright.

Sometimes he couldn't help himself and would ask her how Cregan was doing in his job, seeing that she was progressing more and more each month, jealous that now someone else was her professor − she was spending a lot of time in class which was hard for him to come to terms with after they had spent so much time in each other's company up to that point.

"He is a really good teacher. He has a lot of patience and explains complicated things so that they seem simple, or he shows us something by doing it himself and we can watch." She said lightly, standing beside him, helping him cut out templates for his new commission, which he was working on with some of his former students he had hired. He hit the side of her cheek with the tip of his tongue, impatient for some reason.

"That's good." He replied dispassionately, feeling her cast him a quick glance upon hearing the tone of his voice, leaning lower to bend forward and look at his face.

"Are you jealous, Professor?" She hummed softly and he pressed his lips together, recognising that he hadn't given a shit, that he'd wanted to do this for a long time.

She squealed quietly as he grabbed her by the arm and turned her around facing the backlit table − his hands slid her panties down in a swift, sure movement, leaving her in a state of shock, his hand on the nape of her neck forced her to bend over. The material of her dress lifted slightly, revealing her naked buttocks − he noticed out of the corner of his eye her puffy entrance, glistening from her wetness.

She was his Eve, and although neither of them had ever completely undressed, and he wasn't sure he would ever be able to do so or endure such a sight without the memories overwhelming him, the sight of her partial nudity no longer frightened him, for her body was his temple, pure, warm and safe.

"− I've been thinking about this ever since I met you − you don't even know how many times I've stood over you barely restraining myself from fucking you good on a table like this −" He breathed out, quickly unzipping his trousers, lowering them a tad once with his boxers, not waiting a moment, forcing the swollen head of his cock between her swollen, weeping folds.

"− wider − that's it − fuck − are you okay? −" He muttered, casting her an uncertain look after he thrust deeper into her, sliding all the way in, her tight walls resisting him as he hadn't prepared her for this as well as usual.

"− y-yes − keep going − just − take it slow −" She mumbled softly, and he hummed under his breath, leaning down, placing his hands on either side of her on the backlit top of his table on which he usually cut glass, his lips pressed against her long, perfumed neck as his hips began to rock slowly inside her, barely sliding out of her without any rush, letting her walls get used to his size.

"− so warm − fuck, baby −" He gasped out, hearing her first shy moans, feeling his cock slide into her with increasing ease, slick with her moisture, her muscles began to throb around him, squeezing him − he looked down, watching as he opened her wide with deep, sure thrusts of his hips.

"− please, Professor − please −" She mewled and he sighed loudly; she knew how it affected him, she knew how much it aroused him − he involuntarily picked up his pace, his thighs began to slam against her buttocks with loud splats, all around them just their panting and the sticky clicks of her leaking wetness.

"− you have no shame − begging for your Professor's cock − is this how you got good grades at university? huh? − you like it when they fuck you well? −" He sneered, clamping his hands over her bare buttocks, letting go of control completely, allowing his subconscious to take over him and his movements, his pushes faster and more aggressive, rubbing her where she needed it. She leaned back on her palms against the table top, responding to his thrusts by rocking her hips, her hot, wet muscles sucking him inside with her moans of delight.

"− n-no − I work so hard −" She muttered frightened, as if some part of her really believed he could think that about her − he chuckled under his breath, running his hand through her hair, pounding into her so fast and deep that he was no longer sliding out of her with loud slaps of skin against skin.

"− I can see how hard you're working − how much it costs you to fit it in −" He scoffed, and she whimpered at his words, responding more and more eagerly to his thrusts, his knee spreading her thighs wider, forcing her to bend over again with her loud gasp of exertion.

"− I-I'm sorry − I promise I'll be good already, I promise, I promise, I promise −" She mewled, moaning low as he felt her muscles begin to throb in orgasm, her body arching backwards. He embraced her around the waist, his other hand gripping her cheeks, his lips pressed against hers in an aggressive, greedy, hot kiss as, after a few sloppy, messy thrusts, he came deep inside her with a heavy sigh of delight.

"− I know − my sweet little girl, am I right? −" He gasped, panting loudly along with her, embracing her tightly from behind, nuzzling his cheek against hers, her hands clasped around his arms, stroking them steadily, his half-hard manhood still twitching deep inside her.

"− yes −" She mumbled, burying her face in his cheek, as she always did after their rapprochement, needing his closeness and the tenderness he never denied her.

"− you don't think of him that way, do you? −" He asked quietly, ashamed of his insecurity, of his own fear and imaginings, of the fact that someone else, someone better could easily take his place at her side when he needed her so much, loved her so much.

"− oh, no, silly − I never felt anything like that before you − I think I was in love with you long before I realised it −" She said warmly, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye, a sweet, girlish smile full of tenderness on her lips that melted his heart, his confirmation that all was well.

"− yes − yes, me too −" He murmured, leaning lower, placing warm, wet kisses on her face. He began to wonder intensely if the ring he had chosen for her, which lay tucked deep in one of his drawers where he kept his designs was still there, and if he would be a complete idiot to propose to her now.

After a moment he decided that yes, he would be a complete idiot and sighed quietly, smiling involuntarily under his breath, sliding out of her gently. He helped her put her panties back on over her buttocks, then zipped up his trousers, looking at her out of the corner of his eye − she turned to face him, all red from exertion, her eyes big, her breathing still slightly accelerated.

"Take me today to the church where you first saw the stained glass windows. You told me that story once, I think you mentioned that your father took you there." He said softly and she blinked, curious, cocking her head, leaning her palms against the edge of the table.

"Alright, why not, Professor. Where did you suddenly get this idea?" She asked cheerfully, excitedly, and he snorted under his breath.

"You'll see."

[doberbutts]

The stud article you just posted reminds me of a funny story from my baby queer days:

Basically, I was going to some like Amazon warehouse hiring event, that I had mistakenly thought was more of an interview thing than it actually was. Being very newly out of the closet, I got all dressed up in my newly bought, rather poorly fitted suit obtained specifically for job interviews.

So I arrived to this powerpoint presentation with like 30 other people there, most of whom were in tshirts and jeans or at most like polos and slacks. The whole thing was just like. Let us explain what this job is and then you need to do a drug test and if you pass you can put down your availability and we'll get back to you if it fits with an opening we have. I am seVERELY over dressed for this whole experience and feeling pretty awkward.

Then this very handsome, kinda masc, Black woman walks up to me and we start chatting and actually found out we lived fairly close to one another. Anyway, towards the end of the conversation she asks if I'm "a stud". I, being both a very baby gay and also white, don't quite know what this means and assume it's something closer to "hunk" or lady's man kinda thing. So I was like "lol I'm trying??"

We chatted a while longer and then she had her turn to go sign up for the schedule. I didn't wind up taking the job and tragically never ran into her again, but i still think of that little meeting with fond amusement

Handsome black women my beloved. Truly they make the world go round

[leslie-lyman]

Election Night

A Euclidean Geometry drabble

Summary: Election night 2024 does not go as they’d hoped.

Pairing: modern!Pero Tovar x Frankie x Jack x nameless!OFC/f!reader (written in third person, reader is only referred to as she/her/their girl, with no physical descriptors)

Word count: 1.1k

Rating: G, just some election-related angst/hurt/comfort

a/n: Trying to work through my feelings about the 2024 election results. Would like to have three large Pedro boys comfort me. Had a breakdown. Wrote this.

Masterlist.

———

She hadn’t wanted to stop watching the results come in.

Not even after the swing states had started to fall, one by one, like red dominoes. But at some point the hands she’d pressed tightly over her mouth had begun to shake, tears spilling down her face, breath catching in her throat with each shallow inhale.

Frankie had finally turned off the tv, slipped her phone into his pocket, and carried her to bed. They’d pressed in tight against her as she sobbed, soaking the front of Jack’s tshirt as he held her against his chest, crying so hard she nearly made herself sick.

I don’t understand, she’d said, over and over. I don’t understand. This can’t be happening again. I can’t do it, I can’t face another four years of this…

In that moment the worst thing is how helpless they feel. The three of them are smart, strong, capable men, men who are trained to protect, to figure out how to get out of impossible situations. And if they could they’d burn the world down if anyone or anything caused their girl to hurt like this. But there’s nothing they can do to fix it.

She’s scared for herself, yes, but they know she’s far more worried about the three of them. The horizon of possibility stretches terrifyingly wide before them.

Pero has his green card, but will that matter? How careless and indiscriminate will the promised deportations be? At the end of the day, being a tan-skinned, Spanish-speaking immigrant may be more than enough to put a target on his back. Frankie and Jack are citizens, but neither has to branch out terribly far in their respective family trees to find relatives who are undocumented.

To say nothing of the fact that the four of them live together in a queer, polyamorous relationship. Where even now they have to be vigilant in public, wary of how obvious they are, always aware that simply being who they are out loud could result in unexpected attack. How much worse will it get? How much harm will be caused?

And as they do their best to soothe the woman they love, they know this reaction isn’t just about fear, or frustration, or anger.

It’s grief.

It feels like suffering through a death because that’s what it is. The death of a hope, of a dream, of what could have been and what should be if there was any justice or common sense or decency in the world. And even though this grief inwardly pummels them black and blue too, they know they will never truly feel it the way their girl does. The unique pain of women, who hope so much for so little, for even just the opportunity to be equal, and to be denied so resoundingly. To have gotten so close to a woman president and to have that chance ripped away by a man as odious as he is dangerous not once, but twice? It’s just cruel.

They do what they can for her, holding her close, letting her cry it out, murmuring soft words of reassurance.

It’ll be okay, sweetheart. Just let it out.

We’re here. We’ve got you. We’ve always got you.

I’m sorry, darlin’. I’m so sorry.

Tears roll down their cheeks and they try to muffle their sniffles for her sake, but the looks they share with each other are pained and haunted.

At last their girl quiets, having cried herself into a fitful doze. The clock on the bedside table reads 1:37am.

Jack, Pero, and Frankie all lie awake, ingrained military instincts refusing to let them sleep when they have something precious to keep watch over.

Jack breaks the silence.

I’ll call our lawyer later today, he half-whispers. Make sure we have all our paperwork in order. Wills, power of attorney, that sort of thing. So we’re as protected as possible, legally speakin’, should anything happen to one of us.

Frankie and Pero nod in silent agreement.

We should sit down with Robert soon, Frankie adds, mentioning their financial advisor. Reassess where we’re at, have a contingency plan in case we decide we need to move.

She’ll want to increase where and how much we donate, Jack adds, looking down at their girl with her head on his chest, one first curled into his shirt.

This is good. This is a plan. This is what they need.

We should go away for a bit. Pero’s voice is low and deep in the dark. Take some time somewhere remote, just the four of us.

I can think of a long weekend in January when I wouldn’t mind be disconnected from the rest of the world, Frankie quips humorlessly.

There’s an old Daniels family cabin in the U.P., near Mackinac, Jack says. Snow-covered trees, big roaring fireplace, little to no cell service…

Their girl shifts to blink sleepily up at him, just awake enough now to interject.

What about someplace warm, Jack?

Oh you’d be kept plenty warm, sugar. Don’t you worry about that.

He softly brushes her hair back from her tear-stained face, placing a delicate kiss to her forehead.

How are you feeling, querida?

She reaches for Pero’s hand to anchor herself before she answers him.

Sad. Scared. Angry.

That is how you should feel, Frankie murmurs, and the validation is strangely reassuring.

And tired, she says, tears starting to clog up her throat again. Fuck, I’m so damn tired. Tired of fighting, of resisting, of feeling like I’m screaming at the top of my lungs to have my and others’ basic humanity recognized by people too devoid of empathy to care. I’m so, so tired.

I know, querida, I know you are. And it seems overwhelming right now. But the alternative is giving up. And that is the only thing that truly feels impossible to do, no?

Her hand squeezes Pero’s as she nods, reluctantly conceding that he’s right.

But not at this moment, Frankie says. We should rest. There’s nothing else we can do at this moment.

Their girl turns to face him, making sure she’s still touching all three of them before closing her eyes and snuffling down into the pillow.

Should call our lawyer, she mumbles, starting to slip away into sleep again. And Robert…make sure we protect ourselves…as much as possible…

The three men share an amused look.

Those are great ideas, baby, Frankie praises her quietly, pulling a blanket up to her chin. We’ll do that.

And maybe…find a place to go…a beach somewhere?

Muffled chuckles break out around her.

Whatever you want, darlin’, says Jack.

It doesn’t matter where they go. And whatever happens next, they can face it, as long as they’re together.

[v-eee]

jungkook x you

warning: smut : this content is intended for mature audiences.

Jeon Jungkook knows he should stop meeting you.

But he can't.

He had try many times to not coming here looking for you.

Again and again, he failed.

You are beautiful. You are mischievous. You are cunning. You are not his ideal type. His type is someone who will submit and loyal to him.

But not you.

You are one of the famous hostesses in this club. Maybe that’s why you hardly listen to his demand because you can choose any client you want to serve and accompany their drink. You choose anyone who can pay you more.

When he first spend the night with you he was shock knowing he is your first but he also shock seeing you don't act like he is your first at all. And the morning after, you left him…as the night before is nothing for you.

“They looks good on you…” he praised from the bed after seeing you change into the black lacy bra and panties he bought for you.

Jungkook was mesmerized by the sight of the tiny panties covering your crotch and ass.

“Really?” You chuckle as you climbed on top him and straddled his hips.

“Mhmm…” Jungkook mumbled. His hands pulling your waist so that you could sit on his bulge.

Then he reached out to touch the panties, his thumb rubbing the slit through the lacy material.

You moan “Mhmmm…”.

Jungkook press his thumb along the slit.

You moan again as your hip arch to get more friction from his thumb.

Jungkook bites his lower lip as his eyes looking at your expression and the way you began moving your hip in circular motion on his bulge. You are too beautiful and enchanted to his eyes.

He slide the lacy material to the side to expose your wet labia lips. He rubs your labia with his thumb. His cock inside his pants was rock hard as he continued to rubs the lips.

He removed his hand from your panties and placed his wet thumb to press on your right nipple. His upper body raised as his mouth take your left nipple into his mouth and sucked it gently.

Jungkook's tongue flicked over the erect nipple, making you moan louder. His tongue stick out and swirl around your nipple, he looked at you and smirked as you smile down at him before grinding harsher into his bulge.

His cock inside his sweat throbbing. He needs to be inside you.

In a few seconds, he flipped you until your back lay on the mattress.

He get up from the bed to remove his tshirt, sweatpants together with his underwear.

Your eyes widen seeing how big and hard his cock down there.

Jungkook's cock stood straight up, pointing at the ceiling. He climbed back on the bed, moving closer to you. He grabs both your ankles and wrap your legs around his waist until his cock gently nudging against your wet lacy panties.

"Ah," you gasped at the contact.

"Don't act like this is the first time we do this…" He chuckled. He knows that it feels so good for you. He slowly pulls your panties off, leaving them around your ankle. He looks down at your pussy. It's so wet, he can see your juices glistening in the light.

He rubs the head of his cock along your wet labia lips.

"Mhmmm," he hums as he began to press the head of his cock on your clit.

You let out a soft moan as he teases your clit with the tip of his cock. "Mmm…" Your squeeze your right breast. Jungkook smile before leans down and kisses the nipple in your hand.

You are not the first girl he ever have sex with.

But after the night he spend with you, ye had stopped meeting other women. He's craving to feel only you.

You tightened your legs wrapped your legs around his waist to let him know you wants him inside you.

And he understood.

Jungkook moves his hips forward, sliding his cock between your pussy lips.

You gasp when his throbbing cock slid inside you.

Jungkook slowly pushes his cock deeper and deeper into you until his heavy balls touching your ass.

He slowly pulls out, then pushes himself back in.

His balls slap against your ass.

You and him moaning each other name as the feeling is incredible.

He repeats the same action a few times before his hips start to thrust faster and deeper into you.

You could feel yourself getting closer and closer to an orgasm, so you pull on his broad shoulders, circling you arms around his neck.

Jungkook leans down, pressing his bare chest against yours as he kisses you deeply.

"Jungkook..." you pant against his lips.

"I know..." he replies, hips thrusting harder. He knows he is not going to last much longer too. His tongue slips back into your mouth and kisses you passionately.

After a few thrusts, he feels you cumming on his cock and a second after that he releases his own load deep inside you. His hips still moving as he pumps his load into you.

Finally he stopped.

He looks at your eyes, "You are mine." His voice breathy.

You chuckle. "I am yours?"

"Yes," he said, serious. "Let stay like this..." he moves to the side with his cock still inside you. His arms hug you close against his body.

Jungkook doesn't want to let you go. He knows if he pulled out his cock out of you, you will leave the room.

[thelesbianpoirot]

Talking about boy moms for a bit because a post hit close too home. My mom never hugged me as a kid. I still find it strange to give and receive physical affection because she never showed me much. She cared for all my needs but she was so distant. Our bonding included her taking me to a women's clothing store for a couple days every summer to berate me about my weight and refuse to buy what I actually wanted, a black tshirt and jeans. She'd get me to a salon to get my hair painfully braided for school or permed, and badger me for complaining about pain and discomfort the whole time. We briefly watched a few movies and tv shows together, but then she was just so critical of me that I couldn't stand being around her. She'd remark how terrible I was at being a daughter she wanted, and comment on envious she was of other mother and daughters. As if I was to blame.

When my little brother was born and my big step brother came to live with us, I saw her making their favorite foods when they wouldn't eat the main dinner, buying them video games, not letting them clean, hugging them, calling them her princes, etc. She was no where as affectionate with me and my sister, yet she comments on how sweet and affection the boys are, and how all the girls want to escape her, my sister moved out at 16 (for a boyfriend's place) and I left at 17 (for college). I know there are many girls with close relationships with their mothers, but so many more with like coldness or hatred between them. Do you think the homosexual taboo is why some mothers prefer sons and some father prefer daughters. Is it just easier to give affection and love to the opposite sex child because that's what society trains you to do?

[beyondthesefourwalls]

The Double Negative Effect

Summary: Javy knows deep down after he goes into G-LOC that he’s not going to be selected for the mission. He goes to a bar on his own to drink away some of his sorrows, and while he’s there, he meets someone who is having just as rough of a time as he is. Misery loves company, and together, they cancel out the bad day the other is having, replacing it with a night they’ll remember for all the right reasons. 

Pairing: Javy Machado x Reader (no use of y/n)

Word Count: 2.5K

Warnings: mentions of almost dying/being lucky to be alive, language, mentions of blood and injuries. 

Notes: Written as a little gift for @roosterforme. I’ve been itching to write another Javy fic, so I hope you enjoy this one, babe! Thanks to her and @mak-32 for reading over it for me, as per ushe💚💜

----

---

Quite honestly, Javy had never felt sorrier for himself in his whole Naval career. Perhaps even his whole entire life.

It was irrational, he knew. 

G-LOC wasn’t something that an aviator could ever really stop once it set in. He had done everything that he could to prevent it from happening. He had relied on his training and was keeping his breathing as regulated as possible, he was tightening and releasing all the right muscles to keep his blood flow moving normally. But the higher g’s he was sustaining proved to be too much. He didn’t even realize what had happened until he was snapping out of it and seeing the mountain side coming at him with alarming speed. 

He was lucky to be alive, and he knew that’s what he should be focusing on. But he couldn’t get over how of all times for this to happen, it had to be now. 

There was no way he was being picked for the mission. The actual event would be so much more intense than the training route, and his body had proved that it couldn’t handle it this time. He should just consider himself honored that he was one of the twelve that had been called back to be into consideration for it - one of only four solo pilots in the entire Navy. He knew that later on, he’d be able to appreciate all of those facts. 

Now, though, he was going to enjoy his pity party, attendance of one, ignoring his phone as it dinged in his pocket with Hangman checking in on him. 

He knew all of the others were at the Hard Deck, but he hadn’t been in the mood to be surrounded by the rest of the squad. So he had ventured a little further from base and found some nondescript place near a strip of corporate offices. It was mostly full of men in suits and women in heels, grabbing a drink after work. He knew he stood out wearing dark jeans and a black tshirt, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. 

Javy sat alone at the bar, nursing his bottom shelf whiskey. It burned his throat when it went down, but he welcomed the feeling. 

“Work, family, or your love life?” 

His eyes, which had been staring into the dark liquid in his glass, snapped up at the sudden voice. When they met yours, he sucked in a breath. 

You were sitting a few seats over from him, and he truly wasn’t sure how he hadn’t noticed you when you sat down, because he definitely would have noticed had you been there when he got here. You were one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen, and you were talking to him. When you raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, he realized he was staring, with his mouth open nonetheless. Embarrassment heated his cheeks and he cleared his throat. 

“Sorry?” 

You shrugged a shoulder that was covered by the silk of your dark green button down shirt and took a sip of your own drink. You crossed a leg over your opposite knee as you turned more toward him, and he couldn’t help but track the movement with his eyes. Even with black dress pants and sitting down, he knew you had to have amazing legs. He had always had a thing for legs.

“You’re alone at the bar, staring into that glass like it might have the answers, looking like someone kicked your puppy. Oh!” you exclaimed once you realized what you had said, pretty eyes widening, “was it your dog?” 

Javy let out the first laugh he had been able to muster since regaining consciousness in his F-18. He shook his head, informing you that he had never owned a dog in his life. You let out a sigh of what looked like relief, before raising both eyebrows at him again. God, you were so cute. He could practically feel some of the tension he had been holding slipping off his shoulders just by looking at you, and how you were looking back at him. 

“Work,” he told you. 

“Ah. I was betting on your love life.” 

Your tone was playful, and there was a glint in your eye that had him smiling. With another chuckle, he motioned toward the empty barstool directly beside you. “May I?” 

“Please,” you said, and Javy stood and carried his glass a few steps until he settled into the seat next to you. He held out a hand. 

“Javy,” he introduced. You told him your name, slipping your hand in his to shake. Your skin was soft against his, and warmth spread through his whole body at your touch. He repeated your name softly under his breath, and realized he liked the way it tasted on his tongue. 

“What about you?” he asked, gesturing to your own drink once you had pulled your hand away. “Work, family, or your love life?” 

You tilted your head slightly, a teasing smile on your lips as you seemed to consider his question. You tapped a finger against your chin in thought. You took another sip of your drink, your eyes never leaving his face. 

"Well, let's see. Work is demanding, family is complicated, and love life... Well, who really has time for that nowadays when you have the first two taking up all your time?" 

"Tell me about it," Javy replied, a hint of wistfulness in his tone.

“Wanna talk about it?” you offered, waving your hand in front of you. “Misery loves company all that.”

Javy hesitated, contemplating whether or not he should. The whole situation had been weighing on him since it happened, consuming his every thought as he went over it time and time again. He was surprised when he found himself not as worried about it now all of a sudden. 

“I was…in consideration for something at work,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “Something really big. But I had a bit of a setback, and it most certainly messed with my chances.” 

You hummed at his words. “That sucks.”

He huffed out a laugh, nodding in agreement. He finished his drink and motioned to the bartender for another one. When he looked at you with a silent question, you finished your drink off as well, nodding to the bartender. 

“What about you?” Javy asked. 

“Asshole clients. Even more of an asshole boss. Plus parents who say I’m not living up to my potential.” 

He winced in sympathy. “Ouch.” 

The bartender set down the fresh round of drinks, leaving quickly to tend to other customers. You lifted yours in his direction, a small, intriguing smirk on your face. “Here’s to bad days and strangers.” 

Javy tapped his glass against yours with a smile before bringing it to his lips. For a moment, the rattling sound of ice and the sound of the bar around you were the only things filling the silence, but you never looked away from each other. 

Once you set down your drink, your eyes twinkled in curiosity and you leaned toward him. “So tell me, what do you like to do when you’re not sitting alone in a bar?” 

Conversation flowed effortlessly after that. It was like once the two of you started talking, neither of you could stop. He barely noticed how much time had passed. You traded questions back and forth as you got to know one another, swapping stories and hobbies and beliefs. The dimly lit bar offered a temporary escape from the rest of the world, and you were the best company that he didn’t even know he needed to get lost with. You exuded an air of confidence as you talked, your voice pulling him in like a magnet. Javy found himself completely captivated by you. 

He noticed that you tended to talk with your hands, something he found absolutely adorable. As you animatedly spoke about a book you had just finished, you knocked into the glass you had been drinking from. Your reflexes had you reaching out to try and stop it from falling, but you were just a millisecond too late. It shattered on impact, and a jagged shard from it scraped your palm. A sharp gasp escaped your lips. 

Without hesitation, Javy grabbed a napkin and grabbed your hand, applying pressure to the wound to stop the bleeding. When he looked at your face, your eyes were wide and your mouth slightly open, and your breathing was coming quicker. 

“Hey, it’s okay. It doesn’t look too deep.” 

You didn’t seem to hear him, or if you did, you didn’t acknowledge his words. He said your name again, and then once more. This time, you met his eyes. You swallowed thickly and took a shaky breath. 

“Um,” you began, voice unsteady, “now might be a good time to tell you I am…not great with blood.” 

“Oh. Shit.” 

Despite the panic on your face, you managed to muster up a weak laugh at his reaction.  “Yeah.” 

Javy quickly scanned the bar, spotting the bartender who was just returning from grabbing a crate of glasses from the back.  

“Excuse me,” he called out, trying to get his attention. The man looked over, eyes widening at the sight of broken glass and him holding a wad of flimsy bar napkins to your palm. "Do you have a first aid kit or something?"

He nodded and went to the other end of the bar, grabbing something from under the counter. He returned with a small first aid kit in his hands. Javy thanked him as he took it. Glancing around, he noticed a few pairs of curious eyes looking in their direction. 

“Hey,” he said gently, waiting until you met his eyes to continue. “Let’s go sit over there, okay? It’s a little more private.” 

You seemed to catch on to what he was saying, and you nodded jerkily as you slipped off your barstool. You thanked him under your breath as he led you to an empty corner booth, gratitude clear in your voice. He let you slide in first before he slipped in next to you, angling his body to keep you away from prying eyes. 

Opening the, admittedly dismal, first aid kit, he grabbed some sterile gauze and adhesive tape.

"I'm sorry about this," he said, voice filled with sympathy as he reached for your injured hand again. "Just look at me, okay?”

You still looked a bit shaken, but you seemed to trust him. He couldn’t deny that the notion filled him with warmth. He gently pressed the gauze against the wound, applying steady pressure. Despite your unease, you managed to keep your focus on him.

As he cleaned and taped you up, Javy spoke softly to try and keep you distracted. He told you about flying in the Navy, and shared that ironically, he had a bit of a fear of commercial airplanes. The look you gave him in return was completely incredulous and full of disbelief. 

“You’re kidding.” 

“I’m not,” he assured you with a laugh, “A fighter jet is completely different. I’m one person, manning a very small aircraft. A plane that can hold hundreds of people and cargo, and only be flown by one or two people? Just doesn’t make all that much sense to me.” 

“That…might be the best contradiction I’ve ever heard. Wow.” 

Javy grinned at your bewilderment. He didn’t care if it took spilling one of his more embarrassing secrets, because you were smiling too, the panic in your eyes having almost completely faded. 

Once he finished with your hand and made sure it was covered properly, he rubbed his thumb over the dressing.  

"There we go. Should be good as new in no time," he said. 

You nodded, releasing a deep breath as you briefly glanced down at your injured appendage. You assessed the bandage before looking back at him. "Thank you, Javy. Really.”

"It was no problem," he replied sincerely, enjoying the way his name sounded on your lips. "I'm just glad I could help."

You stared at each other for a long moment, not saying anything. He swore you were starting to lean toward him when a loud cheer sounded from across the bar. It seemed to break the spell and you coughed, looking away. He groaned at the missed opportunity.  

You both seemed to realize how late it had gotten after that. Javy had an early flight tomorrow, and you mentioned a meeting first thing for you, too. He picked up both of your tabs despite your protest before he offered to walk you to your car. He didn’t want the night to be over quite yet, so he was glad when you accepted eagerly. 

“This is me,” you told him, stopping beside your little blue car. Javy cleared his throat, swallowing down some of the nervousness he was suddenly feeling.  

“I’m glad you asked me if my dog just died.” 

Your eyes widened and you let out a loud, surprised laugh. Javy knew his grin was spread out across his whole face. “Well I’m glad that wasn’t the case. But I’m happy I did, too.” 

Javy gazed at you, taking in your radiant smile and the way your eyes sparkled under the harsh glare of the parking lot lights. It was shocking how his night had turned around, all because of you, and he somehow knew deep down that it was meant to be that way. 

A soft breeze rustled through the air. He reached out to gently brush a strand of hair behind your ear. He traced his finger down your cheek and you shivered. 

“I want to see you again,” he stated. Relief flooded him when you nodded immediately.  

“I’d like that.” 

You exchanged numbers, and once his phone was back in his pocket, your eyes locked. There was a heat in the air between you as you stared at each other, more intense than what it had been sitting in the booth in the bar. When Javy took a step forward, you didn’t step back. Instead, your small hands came up to rest on his chest. He took that as his silent permission and leaned down, pressing the gentlest of kisses against your lips. Electricity shot through him, just like he seemed to know it would. He thought he could kiss you all night and not get tired of it. Still, he didn’t linger, pulling away after only a moment. Your eyes fluttered open, and with a wink, Javy reached behind you and pulled open your car door.

“I’ll see you soon, sweetheart.” 

You smiled shyly at him, drawing your bottom lip between your teeth before you nodded. “Goodnight, Javy.” 

As he watched you drive away, he couldn’t help but think that there would be other missions, but he would never have the opportunity to meet you for the first time again. Somehow, it made it all worth it.

----

Notes: Oh, Javy. I love you so much, you sweet underrated man. As always, feedback is appreciated 💚

Masterlist

[elsweetheart]

hi kittie!!

i literally love the way u write ellie, and i have some questions abt for u abt her.. just outta curiosity 👐🫶

what do u think her phone case would look like? if it’s clear, what would be in it 🧐

what kinda bathing suite would she wear?? like shorts and a tee?? 🤤

what do u think her closet would look like? 👕

what do you think her top 5 favorite movies would be? 🎥

thank you so much !!

1. she’s a clear phone case warrior for sure. but, she’s a sentimental lil sap so wedged in the phone case would be a photo booth column you guys took together on one of your first dates !!

2. i feel like she is a shorts and a tee kinda gal. and if you guys are at a beach, she’ll go to the gift shop and buy the wackiest hat she can find to protect her head. either a cheap cowboy hat or a truckers cap that says something like “women love me fish fear me” on it, sometimes she’ll even buy a dumb tshirt too that says something obnoxious like “ I ❤️ BAD BITCHES” on it and just wear it around 😭

3. i feel like a lot of neutrals, muted colours, foresty tones. majority of her clothes are black and grey, especially if it’s just basics, sweatpants, hoodies etc. she has a couple of khaki items, like jackets and pants, and some dark reds maybe in the shoe department with her converse and t-shirts, and probably some faded dark blues too — sweatshirts, sweatpants, waterproof jackets, sneakers. she thinks her wardrobe is pretty boring but you love it bc it’s so her.

4. she’s a star wars girl til she dies i know that for sure, probably favouring the original trilogy bc she’s nerdy like that. i’d say that’s number 1, then of course not to be cliche but the jurassic park / world series at number 2. i think number 3 would be something more niche, gritty and gory like Nightcrawler. at number 4, i’d say it would have to be her sexual awakening movie which she watched on a tape she found at her uncle Tommys when she was younger, Wild Things (1999) — probably rewinding the pool scene one hundred times. at number 5 i think she’s a spiderman fan for sure — most likely toby maguires spiderman specifically. i think she’d like spiderman 3 the most !!

[msbarrows]

Dec 27 - Deboned the ham I baked for Christmas and made a vat of stock from the bone and scraps. I have a platter in the fridge with vast amounts of spiral-cut ham to divide up and freeze and find uses for.

Also, with the Canada Strike over, a package that I'd ordered all the way back in early November finally arrived. I'd ordered a couple more kaftans made of recycled vintage saris, from an Etsy shop in India that does free delivery by regular post, and around the time I was starting to think 'those should arrive soon-ish' (it takes a while), the strike started and added roughly a month to their shipping time.

I won't be wearing them much before the weather warms up anyway, since they're kind of lightweight for winter, but I love how pretty they are:

I now have one of each length of kaftan the shop sells, and think I like the midi length the most, since it goes all the way down to mid-thigh on me (methinks I need to alter my maxi length one to the same length). I find the short kaftan is a couple of inches too short for my height; still wearable, I just prefer stuff that runs a bit longer. Though I do love the sari fabric used for that one; it's a dark blue with blue-black leaf or plume patterns, with the leaves edged with a stroke of metallic gold. It's just so pretty. The other one is also attractive, it's all watercolour-ish blended streaky blue-green-beige with touches of purplish-pink and a bamboo leaves print.

I am almost certainly going to order more midi-length kaftans later in the new year, it'll be nice to have some pretty clothing for wearing this summer instead of just the plain men's tshirts that are my current mainstay (men's because I can find tall sizes easily in men's clothing, unlike in women's clothing where it's near-impossible to find, much less in larger sizes).

For supper I made fish stick and oven fries.

[verdemoun]

hi im back on my "overlooked things" bullshit

the gang and clothes. oh god that must've been chaotic. What the fuck do you mean you don't have to wear a union suit. What do you mean you??? Just??? Get to dress however you want??? Hello whY IS THERE SO MANY WOMEN WEARING PANTS WOW???

Comfort clothes. Kieran and clothes was already mentioned once, but I'm thinking about others. Some stick to their style, probably. I see Hosea as such a guy. John is living out his emo dreams /j

Charles, his newfound hobby of (insert vague gesture here) you know, and special clothes for this sort of thing. And protection. Good gloves, goggles, all that. Mate's in heaven. You cant tell me otherwise.

The first shopping trip is a fucking journey every time a new person appears. The availability. Prices. The materials. PRINTS. (I work with prints on fabric and lemme tell you. That shit is wild even for me. Let alone 1899 people.) The vast amount of styles and all that.

And, dumbass designs of course. The weird ones you can get from AliExpress or whatever and it's a fucking trip every time. As much as I wanna say it's Sean who discovers those first, I'd say it's Arthur. My guy wasn't too quick to learn tech and stuff so he saw a nice tshirt for a low price, ordered it, and he didn't look at it what was written.

His 1899 mindset of "i have it therefore it cannot be thrown away i can't afford more" wins out and he keeps it. You can't tell me otherwise.

welcome back always get the happiest hand flapping stim getting to long asks

absolutely assuming every woman who wears pants is a lesbian for the longest time

wearing pajamas for the first time. clothes being so plentiful they have a designated for sleep. and sleepwear being so much more comfortable than a union suit or ye olde undergarments the first time most of them wear flannel is a life changing experience.

bessie accidentally bought hosea clothes whenever she saw something she thought her husband would like it was her way of coping with him being gone for so long. he is rocking the brown loafers looks like he owns a yacht the beige pants but also coziest old man sweaters

john and arthur both just wear slightly modernized versions of their regular clothes they are dorks. john has the black leather bikie jacket with stupid fashion belts and buckles he looks amazing like generic punk outfit

CHARLES bordering on hoarder with the gloves. guilty of buying gloves in different colors just because he likes the color even though he already has 3 pairs of the same glove. most of the time enjoying the comfort of looking like a southern dad with the plaid and jeans but also work pants with the extra knee padding and a dozen pockets a different tool in every pocket walking down the street need a screwdriver? tape measure? wrench? electrical tape? timber screws? always on hand.

lenny and sean are the temu fashion disasters. bird shirts floral prints galore. the technicolor because it's so new to them!! the most hideous busy patterns but somehow making it work

sean accidentally bought a blue lives matter shirt and lenny had to draw the line and explain sean no. he started wearing it inside out instead of throwing it out and attempted to bleach the crappy iron off

arthur is so self conscious and so convinced he is ugly he is hyperaware of not sticking out in modern era he went through plain shirt and unremarkable pants for months. guilty of having a hoodie he won't leave the house without until he eventually settles on just modern era gunslinger outfit. owns 4 versions of the same outfit because he has npc energy in modern era can fit every piece of clothing he owns in a backpack.

[x-choutenchan-x]

Hi! I wanted to ask a question about Jirai kei <3

For a bit, I've wondered if I'm a jirai kei girl. I've been doing my research, gotten some girly kei clothes, been making some of my own in fact (I'm in America and my parents don't trust most websites I can get girly kei clothes from), but I'm aware that Jirai Kei girls have been wearing more of a punk type style. I wanted to know if I can be a jirai kei girl even if I wear girly kei clothes, even if the style is changing? Also, I wanted to know if I can even be a jirai kei girl. I'm an indian living in america, and my skin is darker than most (ik it sounds silly), and i do live some of the jirai lifestyle (sh, and bpd, no drugs yet), and I really wanna know if I qualify. I couldn't ask on your jirai kei blog, so I hope I can ask here. Please feel free to delete this, but if you do respond, thank you so much!! <33

thanks for the ask! and i will say: anyone can be a landmine—though it is a subculture primarily in japan, it is also a subculture that has become rooted in the internet as well. otherwise, i myself would likely not be jirai kei. the only thing that really matters in labeling yourself under this term is that you are aware of the nature of the subculture, and label yourself as “jirai kei” knowing it is not supposed to necessarily be a good thing. the term is derogatory for a reason, this kind of suffering should not be sought out.

this also brings me to say that jirai kei isn’t the clothing you wear, despite it being a subculture related to certain kinds of clothing trends. though it has become less common, girly kei is still sometimes worn among landmines. and, if it’s what you like wearing, then wear it! just like how wearing girly kei doesn’t make you a landmine, not following clothing trends doesnt really mean anything as to whether or not you are a landmine.

to clarify the current trend, to my understanding the “punk” look is more of just an alt fashion:

something sort of like this (after a lazy google search that’s the best picture i could find)? i personally am not completely confident in my understanding of current trends, but i believe it focuses on the look of a baggy print tshirt/hoodie, leg warmers and arm warmers, fishnets, etc. and both twin tails and jellyfish haircuts are popular. of course, black is a common color but platinum is another choice. heavy piercings on the ears and face still are common, and skirts can be worn underneath the shirts (usually pleated). once again, i could be entirely wrong on this and would encourage you to do your own research on this if you’re curious.

and, once again, anyone can be a landmine. jirai kei is determined by the person’s mental health—hence the “landmine type.” if you’re going to emotionally explode, you pretty much fit the bill. of course, the other big factors in the subculture is the pien and booze, but drugs, sh, and of course the bpd like you mentioned are also all factors. the tokoyo kids are one big part of jirai kei’s history, and i’d encourage you to learn about them if you can. there’s also the kabukicho stuff with the men in host clubs taking advantage of vulnerable women and eventually putting them into sex work under the guise of a “romantic relationship,” and even the jirai kei not directly involved with these groups have their own turmoil that they suffer with. whether you “qualify” to be jirai kei is really up to you, and if you decide to take this label, then i hope you find comfort here.

i will reiterate, it is good to do your own research and take everything i say with a grain of salt. however, i would ABSOLUTELY avoid tiktok at all costs when it comes to information on jirai kei. from anything ive ever seen, tiktok is invaded by fashion landmines who would absolutely harass you if you were to tell them any of the info ive said here. they view lifestyle landmines as insane, and insist that jirai kei is only girly kei fashion. there are various accounts on tumblr that discuss jirai kei as a subculture, and one of the best people ive seen for this info is zirazyo (hello if you stumble across this post btw), and they probably have better sources than i do for a lot of this. i am only one person in this community, and i absolutely do not know everything. but, i hope that i was able to answer your questions well! ♡

also, thanks for letting me know that my inbox isn’t open on my jirai blog—i’ll make sure to go fix that!

[pink-evilette]

I rly want to understand the coquette subculture. It seems neat! but I'm so confused. I thought I got it, but the more I look into it, the less coherency I see (at least, in a way I understand). I don't see any consistent color palettes, textiles, topics, ideology, makeup, hairstyles, music, community language or signals. I can see ballgowns & lace w/ glitter & then tshirts and flannels in a dingy laundromat. I've seen people recommend Little Women & American Psycho in the same breath w/ no further elaboration. Celebrities w/ completely separate style influences are often grouped together. I see a lot of idealization of wealthy femininity ("old money", luxury brands, mostly rich celebrities, preppy vibes, heavy amounts of skincare/selfcare/"wellness" routines which cost $$$$) but also lots of depictions life's struggle w mental illness, substance abuse, & others things commonly associated w poverty & lack of class/femininity (Cigarettes, sweatshirts, the aforementioned laundromat, not eating, pills, speculating about Anya Taylor Joy's coping mechanisms??). What is it that unifies y'all? What is it that I'm missing? I feel so lost & I want to figure it out :/

this is a great question and I can totally understand your confusion! the way I see coquette/faunlet is more of an attitude than a specific style/aesthetic but I still call it an aesthetic if that makes any sense. it's about reclaiming your own girlhood in whatever way that looks to you, we all look and dress differently but have the same sorta energy that connects us as a community.

it all began with nymphet, which was all about classic americana, lolita, lana del rey, gingham, coca cola, diners, priscilla presley etc. but the tag got censored by tumblr because many kink blogs were infiltrating this innocent subculture with sexual material. in this era girls were feeling connected to dolores haze from lolita through their own experiences and related to her as a tragic figure.

the community was revived many times but the current home of the community is with @coquette-club which was created by @lovesickbrat and also used by @bbabyyy ♡ there is a lot more to our history that I'm missing out on but if you look on my blog you will find more explanations.

there are many subtypes of coquette which is why you see so many conflicting aesthetics within the tag, from coquette noir (which is like an expression of French new wave film stars, 1920s aesthetics, Betty boop, mainly black outfits etc.) to bubblegum coquette (all things pink and girly, electra heart era marina and the diamonds, barbie etc.) and many coquettes on here either fit into these substyles or blend some together to make their own personal style!

the old money aesthetic is popular but controversial due to its implications, and I'm personally more into the thrifty side of coquette, and using pieces that I've had for years in my looks.

as a community we usually try to distance ourselves from the pro-ed/pro-ana communities as they can be harmful to our vulnerable members, since they promote eds and make them look glamorous which is something we don't want associated with our subculture.

I hope this answers your question - in short, coquette is about being authentic to yourself, reclaiming girlhood, community and sisterhood, incorporating your own aesthetics and interests (e.g. horror coquette) and expression ♡ if you have any more questions I'll try my best to answer them!

[juancarlos-ortiz]

Marked for Carnage - Chapter 2 (Juice Ortiz x OC Fic)

Marked for Carnage Masterlist

A/N: My apologies for the lateness between uploads! I am hoping to upload 1 chapter a week at the least but I am a mum to 2 young ones and uni has just gone back so I'm trying to find time when I can. This is probably going to be a slight slowburn for Juice and Ronnie so hopefully people are into that! Also wanted to state that this series will include swearing, alcohol and drug use, violence, death and potentially smutty scenes. This is 18+ please do not read or interact if you are under 18. I hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 2929 words

Juice frowned as he exited the clubhouse, making his way across to the garage. He had just told his brothers that his insider at city hall had told him about Hale having a warrant to search their warehouse. The warehouse that was very much blown to pieces and currently still holding the burnt bodies of two women. It had soured everyone's mood, being an issue that no one wanted to deal with right now. He slowed his steps down, a smile flashing across his face, and his mood lifting immediately as he spotted his mystery girl from the hospital a couple of days ago walking up the driveway towards the garage. Changing his direction, Juice walked into the office through the garage, hoping he was the only one there and that he could catch her on her own. To his delight, the office was empty. He rested against the front of the desk, crossing his arms - maybe or maybe not flexing them a little more than usual - and waited for her to enter.

Ronnie knocked on the office door and pushed it open when a husky voice told her to come in. To her surprise, she was greeted by the man who had called out to her at the hospital about her tattoos. Her stomach flipped as she took him in, that bright dazzling smile, and shoulders and arms pushing against the fabric of his black tshirt snugly. His choice of haircut was different, and if it was on anyone else she might roll her eyes at it, but coupled with his tattoos and the cut he wore, she decided it suited him. And she kind of liked it. "Hi," she smiled. "Hey," he grinned back. Suddenly Ronnie scrambled trying to piece together a sentence before the silence got too awkward. "My car," she blurted. He raised an eyebrow and smirked. Ronnie huffed a laugh and continued explaining. "My car… I need to pick it up. It's here. Because it’s a piece of shit," she concluded, throwing her hands up in a shrug.

Juice laughed as the woman in front of him shuffled from foot to foot, cracking her knuckles. He thought it might be too presumptuous to conclude that it was him making her nervous, but he seriously hoped it was. "Yeah sure, which car?" he asked, already knowing she drove the black Toyota but not wanting to come across as some kind of creep. She scanned through the window out to the lot, pointing at the car he had seen her drive. Juice nodded and began to look through the key case for her keys, not having any luck. "They must still be in the workshop," he explained. "I'll be right back."

Ronnie watched him walk out the door and took a seat on the small sofa near the door. Suddenly the door burst open, making her jump. "Veronica Winston," Gemma Teller smiled down at her from where she stood in the doorway. Ronnie stood and stepped into the woman's open arms, closing her eyes. "Hey Gemma," she sighed. Gemma had been the closest thing she had to a mother after her parents divorced and her mom left with Opie. She had gotten her through her teenage years pretty much up until Ronnie left town. Gemma pulled away, holding her at arms length. Then she pulled a hand back and slapped Ronnie lightly on the shoulder. "Why didn’t you tell me you were back in town, you little shit," she griped. Ronnie sighed, looking at the floor. "Was real difficult to even come back Gemma," she admitted. "Guess I just wanted to do things slowly. Not make a big deal out of it."

Juice stood at the door into the office, keys in his hand. He had seen through the window Gemma embracing the girl and them speaking as though they knew each other quite well. This was certainly intriguing. He had never seen her around but it seemed that maybe she wasn't a complete stranger to Charming. Gemma opened the door, stopping in her tracks when she saw Juice so close by. "You eavesdropping, Juice?" she asked, in her most "try me" Gemma way possible. Juice shook his head, holding the keys to the toyota up in exclamation. "Just giving these back to their owner," he pointed to the open door. Moving past Gemma, he passed the keys over to the woman, smiling when their hands touched. Her skin seemed soft, even in that fleeting moment.

After paying, Ronnie exited the office, surprised that Juice followed her out. "So," she said as they walked towards her car. "Juice?" He smiled, scratching the back of his neck as they continued to walk. "Yeah it's uh, not really a long or interesting story but. Just kind of stuck," he shrugged. Ronnie laughed softly and slowed her walking, coming to a stop and facing the man. "I'm Veronica," she stated holding her hand out to him. Juice stared at her hand before grasping it in his. It was rough, calloused no doubt from riding and working in the garage, warm against her palm. "But everyone calls me Ronnie." Juice smiled, nearly knocking the breath from her. Jesus Christ, she had hardly met the guy but he was doing a number on her. "Ronnie," he said her name as if he was testing it out on his tongue, his voice making the hair on her arms stand on end. "Nice to meet you Ronnie," he smirked and began to back away in the direction of the clubhouse. "See you around maybe?" he asked. Ronnie smiled as she made her way to her car, calling over. "That would be nice." As she reached her car she looked over to the club house, double taking when she noticed her brother sitting at a table there, glowering at her. She waved at him, rolling her eyes when he only continued to glare, sending a seething look in Juice's direction as well.

Juice smiled as he watched Ronnie getting into her car, his eyes lingering on the curves of her body that seemed to fit snug in her jeans and her soft arms exposed by the tshirt she had tucked into them - completely oblivious to Opie's death stare directed at him from where he sat. "What was that about?" he asked Juice. Juice jumped, turning to face Opie. "What do you mean?" Opie nodded his head towards where Ronnie's car had been parked, now gone. "Was just helping out a customer," Juice explained. Opie scowled at him before getting up and heading into the clubhouse where Clay was calling for Chapel. Juice stood staring at the seat that Opie had vacated in confusion. Did he know Ronnie? He hoped for his sake that that wasn't the case, and that someone had just pissed in Opie's proverbial cereal this morning and that’s why he was in a bad mood. He was into this girl. God, he wasn't looking for marriage and a mortgage - but she was beautiful, and new and exciting. Maybe they could have some fun together.

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

Later that night, Ronnie placed the pizza boxes down on the bench, pulling out two plates and loading them up. She took them to the living room where she handed one to her father and took a seat on the couch next to him. Piney pursed his lips and placed the plate on the table in front of him. Ronnie rolled her eyes. "Dad, you need to eat something. Even if it is shitty pizza," she said. Piney grunted, patting the bottle of tequila at his side as if that would fill him just fine. "God your liver must be screaming," Ronnie mumbled, tearing into her first slice. "You can hardly talk," Piney stated. "Not one fresh fruit or vegetable in that fridge. And microwave boxes in your trash," he pulled a cigarette out from his cut, rolling it under his nose. "Should cook yourself some real food." Ronnie huffed and put her plate down next to her fathers.

"I grew up with you remember," she muttered. "Didn’t teach me shit." Her father snorted a laugh. "Gemma was always there. You know she would have loved to be the one to teach you. She's a better cook than your mom." Ronnie smacked her fathers shoulder. "No way was I stepping in that kitchen with Gemma," she replied. "One fuck up and she would probably cut one of my fingers off. Use them as sausages or something." She wiggled her fingers in front of her, a frown on her face. Piney smiled at his daughter. Yeah, she had been mostly vacant from his life for nearly ten years but he still couldn’t believe how much she seemed to have changed. She had been a scrappy little thing when she was in high school. All elbows and knees, her face always painted heavily with makeup. She tended to roll with the rougher kids, always wanting to be as tough as her older brother. She was always trying to follow Opie and Jax around, get in with their crew of friends but the boys wouldn’t have it. So she made her own connections, which had unfortunately led to her nearly disappearing from their lives entirely. Now, Piney took her in as she sat on the couch with him. She was filled out these days, and her face was soft and kind. She reminded him of her mother in that respect. She had grown her hair out a lot longer than she ever did in school, the brown tresses falling to her waist.

"You seem like you’re doing ok back in Charming, sweetheart," Piney remarked. Ronnie turned to him with a raised brow. "You making any friends?" he asked. "Meet any… guys." He didn't even try to hide the distasteful frown on his face as the question came out of his mouth. "Jesus Christ, dad," Ronnie uttered. "You really gonna try and give me the talk? I'm 28, and - despite trying to scrub it from memory - we stumbled through that nearly 12 years ago." Piney waved her off. "Not talkin' about that. Just want to make sure you're getting' out. Being social. I don't think having your father as your only friend is very… 'cool' these days." Ronnie smiled and nudged her father with her shoulder. "Going soft on me, old man?" she joked. "Don’t worry dad, I'll try to get out more. But," she laid her head on his shoulder. "I love spending time with you. Don’t care if its cool or not."

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

Ronnie pulled her SUV into the Teller Morrow parking lot. Her father had polished off his bottle of tequila, and despite his arguments that he had made the trip plenty of times before, she refused to let him drive himself back. She had seen the results of MVAs involving alcohol and wouldn’t let that happen to her father or anyone he crossed paths with, even if the trip was short. She got out of the car and made her way around the car to help Piney. He waved her off as he got out of the passenger side. "I got it, I got it," he grunted. She helped him anyway, putting herself under his arm in support. Slowly they walked towards the clubhouse.

"Wow," Ronnie breathed as they walked in. "It's just like I remembered. But smaller somehow." She helped Piney to the bar, her arms out to steady him as he got himself seated on a stool. "Shouldn’t have bought you here as much as I did," he sniffed. Ronnie shrugged, making her way over to the wall filled with mugshots. She spotted her father easily enough, and Opie and Jax. Her smiled widened when she spotted Juice's face on the wall. His hair was grown out of the mohawk but still buzzed close, his mouth pulled tight and soft eyes staring down the camera. She felt as though she could tell he was overdoing it - that the tough guy thing wasn't 100% him. "Member's kids are always hanging around here," she reminded Piney. "Don’t matter. Still shouldn't have done it. Would have been better off if you went with Ope and your mother," Piney reached for the bottle of tequila that had been left out on the bar.

"Pops," Ronnie sighed, running a hand through her hair. "We are not having this conversation right now. I wanted to stay here. It was my choice and you and mum let me make it. End of story." Piney just scowled and knocked back a sip from the bottle. "You gonna be ok if I head out?" she asked him. He nodded and held his arm out to his daughter. She stepped into him, giving him a brief hug. "Not my first night at this bar, sweetheart." She smiled and bid him farewell. "Hey, one last thing," Piney called after her. She spun around to face him. "Your brother, he came to me today. He's," Piney waved the bottle around slowly. "Having some… money… issues." Ronnie sighed and tilted her head. "If he wanted my help dad, he would have come to me. You know what he's like. Will be too stubborn and proud if I go to him first." "He's your brother," Piney pointed the bottle at her. "Put that shit aside and help him if you can."

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

Juice walked beside the Prospect through the parking lot to the clubhouse. Jax and Chibs had already jumped on their bikes and taken off. Today and tonight had been hard work, with them pulling off the fake shootout to keep Hale off their backs about the warehouse. He needed a beer, a shower and a croweater if any were around. "That shit was crazy," Half-Sack chortled, his excitement from the night seeming to last a lot longer than Juice's. "See how we were all lined up and just," Sack held his hand up in the shape of a gun. "Bap, bap, bapbapbap. Straight into that dude!" Juice rolled his eyes. "The guy was already dead," he laughed. Half-Sack dropped his hand to his side, offence flashing across his face. "Don’t rain on my parade man, that's the most action I've gotten in months!" Juice raised an eyebrow at him. "I mean," Sack scratched the back of his head. "Not like that… I get action. I mean I have before. But that's not what I meant!" Juice laughed as the Prospect fumbled.

They neared the entrance to the clubhouse when suddenly a woman walked out. Juice was surprised to find it was Ronnie. She yelped when she spotted them, holding her hand to her chest. "You okay?" Juice heard Piney yell from inside the clubhouse. "Yeah, I'm good," she yelled back. His confusion increased. What was she doing at the clubhouse this late ? Did she know Piney? He had seen her closeness to Gemma earlier. Was she more ingrained with the Son's than he realised? "Sorry, we didn’t mean to scare you," Half Sack said, smiling a little too friendlier at her than Juice liked. Ain't no way someone else was pushing up on her before he did, let alone Half-Sack. "Get inside Prospect," he snapped. Sack groaned and followed his orders.

"What are you doing here?" Juice asked. Ronnie looked taken aback at his question. "Dropping someone off," she pointed over her shoulder. "Why? You don’t like bumpin' into me Juice?" she asked, the smirk on her face heating his blood. Jesus Christ, what was she doing to him? He felt like he was 17 all over again and had no control over his body. "Actually," he began, taking a step toward her. Her eyes widened for a second before she tried to play it cool, making Juice smirk this time. "I've been hoping to bump into you since this morning," he admitted. She turned her head, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. Juice eyed the movement. "Really?" she asked, tucking her hair behind her ear. "Yeah," he nodded. "You forgot to tip me." Ronnie's eyebrows furrowed, her lips pursing in confusion. "Tip you?"

"Mhm," he nodded. "For my outstanding service, getting your keys located for you and all that." Ronnie laughed, and Juice's heart did a funny thump in his chest. "My bad," she smiled. "And what kind of tip are you after, Juice?" she asked, her warm eyes cutting into his. Avoiding making an inuendo - although tempting - he answered. "Your number would be a good start." Ronnie huffed a smiled and laughed again, holding her hand out to him. "Gimme your phone then." She typed her number into the new contact page and handed it back to him. She walked past him towards her car, her shoulder brushing his and her scent filling his nostrils. Sweet like vanilla but also a little woody. Whatever it was he decided it was his new favourite smell. "Better put it good use, Juice," she said over her shoulder. Juice smiled, holding his phone to his chest as he watched her drive out of the parking lot. But his smile fell when he remembered how strange it seemed to be for her to be here at this time of night. And who was she dropping off? Piney? Juice turned and headed into the clubhouse in search of that beer and shower. He didn’t give a shit about finding a croweater anymore. He needed to find answers.