#until we thought rationally about that bullshit

[cinnabarsilly]

when you stumble across their tiktok page and they reposted a video claiming that they dealt with an abuser in their last relationship (THEY WERE THE ABUSER)

[nathaslosthershit]

Some Bad, But a Whole Lot of Good (LS2)

Summary: To the fans, it wouldn't be unreasonable to assume the week after his replacement had been hell for newly dropped Logan Sargeant, but to the people who knew him, they weren't worried. Warning: James Vowles slander, a lot of it, I made Logan yell at him because I want to yell at him

Getting fired a week before your first child was born wasn't on anyone's bucket list. But here Logan was.

He was mad- no he was furious. Sure, the past few months with the team have been miserable, but this was the worst timing possible.

"Why now? Why not the two weeks we were off on break?" Logan asks yells. He doesn't lose his cool, at least not like this, not by yelling at his boss.

"Logan, you have to understand we are in between a rock and a hard place. I am truly sorry but it's a difficult time for us-" Vowles begins to explain.

"A difficult time for you? I am about to have a fucking baby, James. Next week! What the fuck am I supposed to do?" He got up and ran his hand through his hair. "You just had a baby a year ago, I would have thought you of all people would have thought this through more."

"Believe me, we have Logan, we have discussed this at length for a long time now."

"Oh fuck you! You have been thinking about this for a long time and choose now to do something about it? God, James, why do you hate me so much? I know I haven't met expectations, I know I have fucked up, but I still have given everything to this team and this is how you end it?" he finally met his boss'- ex boss' now, I guess, stare.

As Logan looked at his team principal, he tried to see any remorse or sincerity in his eyes but just as he had suspected, James' apology was bullshit, completely insincere. He knew this wasn't going anywhere, he didn't even know why he was fighting.

Formula 1 had been the dream for a while. Logan had let himself sacrifice everything he could to achieve it. He tried to tell himself that he had made it and that he was happy, but it wasn't true. He couldn't face the reality of the dream he worked so hard for not being everything he had imagined.

After meetings about contract termination and how they were to proceed, a sad little goodbye party filled with people that were probably thrilled to have him go, and an actually heartfelt apology and goodbye from his teammate and those he worked closely with, the American left the factory for the last time.

The most difficult part of this whole affair? Telling his very pregnant wife that he was now unemployed, a week until their first child's due date.

After tears, cursing a certain British boss' bloodline, and dissociative silence, Logan sat next to his wife as she suddenly burst into laughter.

He was stunned, she was practically doubling over, at least as much as she could in her current condition. The sight so ridiculous given the circumstances that he began to laugh too.

Several minutes were spent laughing until their stomachs hurt and then trying to catch their breath before either one of them could say another word.

"This is such terrible timing!" she said, wiping her eyes as she continued to giggle.

"Could not me a worse time" he replied as he started to laugh even harder.

"God, we shouldn't be laughing at this! We have officially lost our minds"

"Perfect timing too! Just like everything else"

It was ironic, this was the absolute worse scenario Logan could come up with but this was also the hardest he had laughed in a long time. When was the last time he actually laughed? The last time he actually felt joy about anything involving his job?

As if she could sense what he was thinking, she took a few deep breaths, finally calming down, as she said, "This is insane of me to say, but maybe this is a good thing?"

He knew where she was going, he thought the same, but he needed to hear her rationalize it before he agreed.

"I mean, honey, you were miserable. And I am sorry because I did love some of the people on your team but most of them were jackasses! It was such a time commitment and you have spent so long giving everything to them just for the team to spit in your face. Plus, with savings and such, we have enough to be fine for a while, even with the baby. You finally can put your family and yourself first"

She was right, it was time he admitted to himself how much he had hated his job in the past few months. How miserable it made him. How he could hardly enjoy anything in his life because he was always thinking of how to improve, how to show he still has potential even with the shitty car he was given.

"Im sorry. I- its not fair that I spent so long chasing a dead end dream that I couldn't actually enjoy what I do have. I mean, I could never race again and I would be 1000 times happier with out little family then I could ever be in F1. I will never not put you both first again." He said as he looked at her, held the bump, and genuinely got to relish in what was to come.

The first race weekend since Logan was replaced, he wasn't stewing in his misery, he was sitting in the hospital next to his wife, holding his first born, and the last thing on his mind was what was happening anywhere else in the world outside of the room his entire life was currently in.

logansargeant

liked by alexalbon, jensonbutton, and others

logansargeant New job

user1 hey! so this is insane

user2 unemployment has never looked better

alexalbon This is a crazy way to hard launch fatherhood but good on you, mate!

logansargeant got to keep them guessing

user4 dilf era yes please

oscarpiastri how long is the contract?

logansargeant full time for 18 years, then after there is a bit more leeway, but there is certainly no retirement in my future

user3 replaced right before he had a BABY?! oh that British fuck better watch out

jensonbutton Such a big moment! So happy to see where life takes you, I know it will be great!

A/N: Had to finish this right after the news he is testing for indycar in november dropped!!! U-S-A U-S-A!

[byechristopher]

can you make a chris make up sex??? please

Make it up to me.

– CHRIS STURNIOLO SMUT, FLUFF.

Author's note: love me some good make-up sex – sorry I took so long to respond! Thank you for the request, dear. Hope you like this. Do not copy/steal my work. :)

Warnings: smut smut smut. Minors dni! Didn't proof-read!

"I feel a little neglected lately." my voice is timid but I let a little sigh of relief leave my lips.

I am not used to speaking about my emotions loudly like this, expressing them so freely, let alone in front of Chris. He is my boyfriend but I've always had trouble doing that – it's something I've been trying to fix for a while now.

"Neglected?" he has a tone in his voice that I don't appreciate and I am already regretting my decision to speak my mind, "I don't have time to fucking rest, what are you talking about?" he scoffs and leans back, one of his hands still grab the steering wheel and he sighs, fluffing his hair up with his free hand.

"Just forget it." I roll my eyes, leaning back against the car seat as well, glancing out the window, "forget I even said anything."

"Don't play that card now." I can feel his eyes on me but I refuse look at him.

"I'm not playing any cards. Would you rather have me not telling you anything? Because you know damn well I can do that." I shrug, finally looking at him.

"No, I don't want that. But you're being irrational." his eyebrows are raised and so are his shoulders.

"And you're being rational?" I narrow my eyes, almost like challenging him, "I understand that you are busy but when I tell you I fucking feel neglected, I'm expecting.. I don't know.. maybe a little bit of affection?" I cross my arms, "or is that not possible? To ask that from my relationship?"

"Stop being like this. You just have to understand me! I just don't have time!" he tries to defend himself but every time, he just says something that pisses me off even more.

"Well, that's your fucking problem, Chris. Because I'm working a lot too, you know? But I always make time for you, no matter how exhausted I am. And that's what relationships are about! Making constant sacrifices for each other." I try to explain as much as possible, "and I do understand you, I've been patient for a long time but now it's your turn."

"Well I never fucking complained about you being busy!" he knows he's just saying irrarional bullshit now.

"You never had to! Because I've actually got my shit together. You never had the chance to feel neglected." I stare into his eyes, "oh and also, what I just did, was not complaining. It's called 'expressing my goddamn feelings', something that you're terrible at, even more than me."

And with that, I get out of the car, quickly taking out the keys so I can open our apartment door. He makes me so angry sometimes – he is the best boyfriend in the world, but sometimes, he just doesn't get it.

Hours pass by and we haven't said a single word to each other; I refuse to speak to him, until he understands that he has to make sacrifices too. I can't always just chase him around, taking a step back just to avoid conflict.

A knock on the door of our bedroom is what wakes me up from my own thoughts, "can I come in?"

"Yes, you can."

Chris opens the door and takes a careful glance of me – I am just laying on the bed, under the covers, I am only in my underwear and a t-shirt just to be comfortable. He sighs and lifts the covers so that he can lay beside me, cupping my cheek so gently, his touch is careful and timid.

"I needed some time to think about what you said. And I wanted to apologise." he whispers, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, "you're right. You're working a lot too, but you always make time for me and I am very grateful for that."

I don't say anything, I notice that he's still thinking, just waiting for him to continue.

"I don't want to make any excuses but I felt very overwhelmed lately because of work, and I didn't want to admit it. I haven't been able to sit down and actually try to manage my schedule but I promise to work on it immediately." he smiles apologetically.

"Baby, I know you didn't do it on purpose." I sigh, "but when I tell you how I'm feeling, I need you to try to understand before getting defensive."

"I know and you are right. It was the part of me that didn't want to admit that I'm actually so busy, so tired and so awful at trying to fit everything in my schedule. This is why I got defensive. Next time I will be better, though." he says and I nod, leaning into his touch, rubbing my cheek against his palm.

"I know you will. We all do mistakes. Thank you for taking your time to think about it." I grin and he wraps an arm around my waist – I waste no time, I immediately press my body against his.

"Of course, baby. I needed to be sure before I come and find you." he sighs and hugs me tightly, sneaking his leg in between mine. I smile and lean in to place a kiss on his lips.

He keeps talking but I am too focused on his lips, or the leg between my legs, or the hands that hold my waist. I listen to what he says but I can feel my arousal burning me. My thighs squeeze his leg and my lips rub themselves against his – I stick my tongue out to lick his bottom lip and that's when he takes the hint.

"What are you doing there, hm?" he hums, his fingers gripping my sides a little harder now.

"I think you need to make it up to me, no? For making me wait all this time while you were thinking." I murmur, my lips going from his lips to his cheek, to his chin and then finally his neck.

He groans and pulls his sweatpants down, not wanting to lose any time either. He places his leg between mine again and I press my clothed pussy against his thigh, making him feel my wetness as I start to rub myself against him.

"I'll make it up to you as many times as you want." he bites down his bottom lip as he slowly takes my shirt off. He's only wearing his boxers and I'm wearing my panties, we're still under the covers.

He grips my waist and I start to fully grind on him, rocking my hips, moving them back and forth on his thigh, "Chris. I want you." I whisper and he smiles.

"I can feel it." he whispers and leans in to take my earlobe in his mouth, sucking on it, moaning into my ear as he sneaks a finger between his thigh and my pussy, rubbing it while still putting pressure with his leg.

I almost whine at how much wetter he made me in just one second, and I travel my hand down his body to grab his clothed dick, taking it out to wrap my fingers around it, rubbing up and down his shaft.

He moans and I can feel his body shaking a little bit – he leans in and takes my nipple in his mouth, groaning around it and biting it gently. I gasp and tug on his hair. He grabs his own cock and brings it closer to my pussy, rubbing the tip of it against my panties, making it even wetter.

"Mmm, Chris.." moaning, I wrap my arms around him, trying to rub myself against his cock as much as possible.

With his fingers, he pushes my panties to the side and starts rubbing the tip of his wet cock against my clit, making sure to run it over my entrance, collecting my juices and then rubbing them all over my clit again.

"Please fuck me already, I am ready for you." I whine, I want to scream how much I want him right now.

He moans at my words and completely takes my panties off. He grabs my leg and hooks his arm under my knee, keep my leg lifted as he teases my pussy. He finally pushes inside of me and I lose it – I couldn't believe I could get any more wet, but apparently I can.

"Shit, baby.. you're so wet and warm." he moans, burying his face into my neck to press kisses all over my skin. His thrusts are gentle and slow as he fucks into me with love, while bruising my skin with kisses at the same time.

I moan and cup his cheeks, making him look at me before attacking his lips with passionate kisses. He grabs the leg that he's been lifting up again, making me wrap it around his waist as he rolls over to his back, making me get on top of him while still being inside of me.

"Fuck.. yes.. like this.." I whisper in his ear – I am completely laying on top of him, my breasts pressed against his chest, my legs on either side of him, my face buried in his neck and my hands grabbing his hair.

I can hear him moaning my name as he starts picking up the pace, fucking me a little harder this time – his hands are on my buttcheeks, squeezing them and spreading them as he pushes his cock in and out.

"Hell.. I don't think I can last any longer, baby girl.." he curses under his breath and moans into my ear softly, heavy breathing, placing a soft kiss on it.

"I'm gonna cum.." I warn, too, my pussy clenching around him as I feel him lifting my body up and down – I am at his mercy, completely.

"Mhmm, cum on my dick." he whispers and I let out a loud moan, tugging on his hair again. My body is trembling as he gives my butt a little smack and that's all it takes for me to cum with a loud moan of his name.

He groans and starts thrusting into me with a much faster pace, his fingers digging into the skin of my ass as he finally cums inside of me with a loud moan as well. I can feel him filling me up and my eyes roll to the back of my head.

We sit there in silence for quite a while, "I love make-up sex." I mumble against his shoulder and he laughs.

"I love you." he whispers, he hasn't moved an inch, still inside of me.

"Good, I love you too. Let me stay like this for a while."

[ivymarquis]

Say You Won’t Let Go

A Zombie Named Fred

Pairing| John Price x F!Single Mom!Reader Rating| E Word Count| 2.9k Kinks/Content/Warnings| Post Apocalypse!AU, Single Mom!verse, pregnant reader, the author is still on her bullshit about the pepperoncinis, they’re both a little crazy but it’s the end of the world, the author does not have first hand experience nor a formal education on pregnancy, John is giving soft dom vibes

First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Not even 48 hours in and you’re having your first argument.

You can tell by his expression that you’re not giving him the expected response. However he’s clearly no shrinking violet and doesn’t cow to your anxiety-turning-agitation.

“I was only gone for a bit and you were asleep,” he defends himself, standing his ground.

You pry your gaze from the stash of goodies he very obviously acquired with you in mind, the wheels in your brain clearly turning as you decide how much effort this will warrant and if you’re willing to expend that effort.

You’ve been a loose, limp thing for him to drag around as he sees fit. No protests so far as he uses his teeth to scruff you.

“You didn’t even tell me! It’s dangerous out there- what if something had happened?”

“I’ve been in far worse situations, Love, I can assure you that. If I’d have told you last night would you have still gone to bed?”

No.

The apocalypse has taken societal norms and attachment styles and turned them on their heads with no hope for recovery.

This man is a complete stranger to you and yet he is firmly entrenched as the center of your social circle at the moment. You most assuredly would not have responded well last night.

Your silence is loud, giving away the answer entirely.

“I needed you safe, tucked away, and not fretting,” you can feel yourself being mollified against your will, softening back up despite your desire to still prickle in displeasure.

“We don’t know how long we’ll be here until it’s safe to leave,” he continues, “and you are in no condition to be traveling far- we need supplies stocked while the area is still mostly clear from the last herd wandering through.”

That is the one good thing about herds even if they’re an absolutely terrifying sight.

Lions and tigers and bears might be scary predators, but living predators aren’t mindless killing machines. They act in a reasonable way for their species. Leave them alone, don’t fuck with their offspring and don’t make yourself look like easy prey, and they will likely leave you alone.

Zombies? The virus eats away at any rational reasoning or need to sate an ingrained desire. They want to bite, to consume, to spread the virus.

So put together a group of several hundred or several thousand and they are the stuff nightmares are made of.

But if you survive a wave of them wandering through, they pick up any stragglers in an area. They’re gregarious, for whatever that’s worth.

Still terrifying though. The peace in knowing that the local zombie population drops drastically is knowing the price comes at more individuals being added to the herd.

In short, now is about as safe a time as ever to scavenge.

You’re still staring him down, still resisting acquiescing to him on principle.

Of course, there’s little doubt that the captain views your displeasure on par with a disgruntled kitten- yowling and hissing and batting at him but harmless and ineffective.

He steps towards you- close enough he makes you tilt your head to maintain eye contact. “You can just say “Thank you” and go enjoy your peppers, Love,” he asserts, offering you an easy out.

The thought crosses your mind to dig your heels in and be stubborn.

But just the mention of the jar of pepperoncinis placates you as your craving from yesterday returns in full force, pulling your attention away from John and to the jar sitting on the counter.

He’s got you hook, line, and sinker and he knows it too.

“Thank you,” you yield, once again becoming soft and pliant in his hold.

“You’re welcome,” he steps away then, eyes following your every move as you slip past him and do in fact beeline for the peppers.

It’s the end of the world- you can have peppers for breakfast if you want to.

The only problem though is you can’t get the damn jar open.

There are certain changes with your body that you expected with the discovery of your pregnancy- the swell of your belly and your breasts, the stretch marks that criss cross your skin- and some that you learned first hand and it’s annoying.

It’s your body starting to relax itself to prepare for labor, you were told. The tendons and ligaments relaxing. Hips widening.

It also makes your grip weaker which is so incredibly frustrating.

John is at your side in a moment, prompting you with a “Give it here,” to hand him the jar to twist the lid for you.

Any lingering surliness from the discovery of John’s midnight stroll abates entirely as the smell of the peppers hits your nose.

He looks pleased with himself, giving you back the jar as you thank him.

The rest of the day passes peacefully between the two of you. This is not a permanent home, so no renovations or improvements to be made. The biggest line of defense you have here is blending so well into the rest of the abandoned houses that nothing will draw unwanted attention. The windows covered and boarded. There’s no true perimeter to check. You don’t want to catch anyone’s eye by wandering around outside.

You’ve been on the move for so long, constantly fighting and scrapping that it is nice to just sit in one place. The preggie pops despite their silly name are a Godsend. You feel like a person for the first time in months rather than a vessel just waiting to vomit at the wrong provocation.

You get nosy, looking through photos and albums of the owners. The man’s name is Fred. The woman’s name is Wilma.

There’s a fucking lego set that Fred and Wilma never got around to opening. You alternate killing time between working on that and reading. You’re in no hurry, taking your time. John putters around doing something but swings back every so often to check on you.

Eventually you will need to sort laundry, but that can probably happen in a day or so and doesn’t need to be right now.

The water still works so you figure you can just wash your clothes in the sink and then hang them somewhere outside to dry. Simple, but will occupy some time and establish a sense of normal for you. Maybe you can find some sort of clothes line if there’s not one already.

Once again the sun sets and John comes to round you up for the night and herds you up the stairs. You settle into your bed and hear John getting ready over in his and yet despite the fact your pregnancy exhausts you, you can’t sleep.

Your ears are honed in for any sort of attempt on John’s end to sneak out again.

You try to quell the concern and anxiety coiling within you, but everything is a feedback loop just building intensity until you feel like you’re going to snap.

Sleep is a lost cause at this point.

Getting out of bed is a process so you’re not rendered immobile like a turtle on its back. It takes a moment but you manage on your own.

No sooner than you sneak out to the landing you have your answer if John is still in the house. It’s not obnoxiously loud, but you can clearly hear the sound of him snoring on the other side of his door.

Your anxiety quells with the knowledge that he’s still here but doesn’t dissipate entirely.

Not quite ready to return to bed, you decide that maybe a quick snack (something other than the pepperoncinis, the baby says) is in order.

Despite being a grown adult, there’s a part of you that feels akin to a teenager sneaking out of the house.

You are not going to leave. Unlike a certain captain, you don’t have a death wish sneaking out in the middle of the night. While the soft sound of his snores assure you that he’s still sleeping you know he’d be displeased knowing you’re about to venture down the stairs by yourself.

You’re careful- equal parts trying to avoid the parts of the stairs that squeak because you’re not sure how light a sleeper John is, and equal parts simply not wanting to eat shit on the stairs. God forbid you give his concerns credibility- you don’t even want to think about what he’d do.

You haven’t been downstairs after sunset since the first night you stumbled into the house. John rather jealously keeps you herded upstairs.

You contemplate what the baby wants for a midnight snack as you cross from the stairs through the living room and into the kitchen.

Chef Boyardee sounds appealing and you don’t care about eating it cold- which is a plus because it’s one less thing for you to do versus something you’d want to eat warm.

The quiet in the house gives you time to come up with stupid fucking ideas like looking out the windows.

By and large you have been leaving them alone. There hasn’t been any sort of conversation about it between you and John, but you feel you’ve got enough of a read on him by now.

The main defense you two have is that the neighborhood is abandoned and there’s nothing special about the outside of the house. If someone happens to be strolling by and sees you moving the curtains in broad daylight- well, that seems like a good way to get your ass chewed on by John. Hence why you’ve left the windows alone.

But it’s nighttime and you’re alone.

The windows at the front of the house are boarded up, but in a slapstick, hurried fashion- there’s large gaps you can peek through as you bring your opened can of ravioli.

The street is deserted which is exactly what you expect. Not so much as a zombie shuffling through.

The neighborhood seems like it was beautiful before the end of the world. The kind of place that you always fantasized about living in.

What a weird way to get what you want.

Your mind wanders, focusing on the practicality of the fact you need to wash your clothes.

When out in the wild and forced to survive how you can, you learned to make do with dirty clothes that were lived in far longer than you prefer. But if you’re going to be cooped up in the house until your little hostage evacuates, it would be a good idea to clean them.

Curious if the backyard already has a clothes line, you carefully peel back the curtain blocking the view-

Only to be greeted with the sight of a zombie standing on the back porch right on the other side of the glass.

Your startle reflex has been trained out of you. There’s no big yelp or jump or dropping your food. Making loud noises like that can get you killed in situations where you might be able to survive if you can sneak away unnoticed.

Safely on the other side of the glass and obstructed by darkness- the zombie cannot see, hear or smell you. He gives no reaction to you, clearly having no knowledge of your existence.

You realize rather quickly that this is Fred, albeit far more gray and decayed than in the photos of him in the house. You wonder what happened to Wilma.

(It’s the goddamn apocalypse so you know statistically what happened, but a macabre curiosity for the details eats at you)

It’s not often (re: ever) that you’re in a situation to just…observe the undead. Always keeping an eye on them, always keeping tabs on what currently holds their attention, but never just a passive observation. They’re always a threat and you’re always trying to figure out how to get by or through them unscathed.

The small flick of you moving the curtain might have initially caught Fred’s attention but without the confirmation that you’re a meal to be devoured he shuffles slowly and moves away from the glass.

He’s caught in the yard, confined by the perimeter fencing. No chance of joining the herd.

You wonder why John hasn’t killed Fred yet. A singular zombie isn’t much of a threat.

Maybe he hadn’t seen Fred? The curtains had been drawn shut when he picked this house and he just kept them that way?

Seems unlikely, but arguably plausible.

You don’t see any sort of established clothing line to dry your clothes after you wash them.

You’re so fascinated by the Fred situation that you’re oblivious to the fact that John’s snoring stops. Or his door opening. Or his pause at the landing, eyes falling to your open door. Or his descent down the stairs and the huff of relief when he lays eyes on you.

You are not oblivious to the way he snarls “What in the devil are you doing?”, closing the distance between the two of you to haul you away from the glass.

The drop of the curtain catches Fred’s attention again but not enough to do more than cast an eerie shadow as he approaches.

“Why is there a zombie in the backyard?!” You keep your voice low as you hiss at John despite acquiescing as he pulls you along back towards the stairs.

“He wasn’t worth the bullet but that was before I realized you were going to go opening doors in the middle of the night!”

“I wasn’t opening the door!” You protest, suddenly aware that this conversation isn’t entirely unlike this morning’s argument when John slipping out in the middle of the night had ruffled your feathers.

“Then what are you doing down here?” He stops at the foot of the stairs, his question answered as his eyes land on the can in your free hand.

“I was eating!” You hold up the can as a beacon of your innocence, not missing the way the agitation on John’s face softens ever so slightly.

You take advantage of the opportunity to pull your arm out of his grasp.

He doesn’t try to wrestle you back into his grip- satisfied with your reasoning and the confirmation you hadn’t gone bat shit insane trying to let zombies into the house in the middle of the night.

In another life, one where the dead stay dead, you think maybe you’d still be able to wrap the captain around your finger and make him fold to your whims as easily as you accept his.

You’re pretty sure, however, that it’s just your delicate state that’s got him yielding to you. That keeping you alive, and ultimately getting you and your baby back to this settlement that he and his group watches over gives a sense of purpose where he’s otherwise aimless, trapped like an animal in a vivarium until he can safely find his way back home.

“Go finish your food,” he tells you firmly- still far more subdued than moments ago.

Again, not unlike this morning when he diffused the argument then.

Both of you are still maintaining your ground, but finding a way to keep the peace- you’re all the other has got in this situation.

He hovers as you make your way back to the kitchen- the moonlit shadow of Fred gone from the curtains, implying he’s aimlessly wandering the yard.

You don’t have much left of it, which is a good thing because eating while being watched just feels weird. You know he wants to drag you by your scruff back up the stairs and situate you for the night.

And that’s exactly what he does after you quickly clean after yourself.

Always with him and the stairs, he guides you up while following behind.

Where he throws you for a loop is when you expect to slink off to your own room, only for you to find one of his arms wrapping around your torso and cutting you off from your intended destination.

“Need to make sure you don’t go sneaking off again,” is all the reason he gives as he herds you towards his bed.

He’s the one who started all this by leaving last night on his own, but you decide to not light that particular candle. You can admit to missing the comfort of sharing a bed, and that the nights have been getting colder as fall begins to give way to winter.

Before the end of the world, you’d be giving this a long hard think. But the rules are different now- the way you interact and mesh with people has changed so drastically. Everything is in the fast lane.

You’re utterly dependent on John. Been at his mercy for days. If he was going to do something, surely he would have done it by now?

So you yield to the arm pressing lightly at your side- a request that while stern is not escalating to a demand.

You let him guide you towards his room.

A wave of exhaustion hits that holds your interest more than the decor of the room- there’s no personal touches or stashes of goodies hidden away. You get yourself situated under John’s watchful eye, and yet somehow it feels weirdly intimate to watch him so you look off at the wall as he gets in.

John stays on his side between you and the door, you stay on yours and if he says anything you don’t hear it. One second you’re blinking at the wall and the next you’re out like a light.

[charlottesbookclub]

ser gwayne hightower fluff alphabet 💚💚

Summary: just what it says on the tin: fluff alphabet for my boy gwayne (do people still do these anymore? idc I'm doing it bc I love reading them and I thought I'd try writing one myself 😌😌)

Warnings/Tags: gn!reader; spouse!reader; established relationship (marriage); we are all going to have fluff-induced cavities after this, I fear (it's more absolute tooth-rotting fluff, y'all!); let me know if I've missed anything! ☺️

Words: 2985

Author’s Note: I'm meeting with my phd advisor today which is going to be totally fine (she is so super sweet) but my brain decided we were going to have major anxiety about it, and what better way to distract myself than by writing fluff for gwayne!! 🥰💚 I've never done one of these before, but I always enjoyed reading them, so I thought I'd try it myself! ☺️ I like that it lets me explore his character without having the pressure of a plot lol

as always, I hope y'all enjoy and feel free to let me know your thoughts!! ☺️💕

template by: magical-warlock

A ctivities - What do they like to do with their s/o? How do they spend their free time with them?

Honestly anything. I feel like if it was something you enjoyed, Gwayne would find himself enjoying it too, just because you were happy. But I think like he would really like going on leisurely walks or horse rides together. It’s an activity that allows you to talk and get to know one another, but where you can also explore the beauty of a garden or forest together. I could totally see him bringing a book along and reading it aloud to you under a tree.

B eauty - What do they admire about their s/o? What do they think is beautiful about them?

Everything lmao. But your eyes stand out to him, especially when he can read all the things you don’t say out loud in them. I feel like he would also appreciate intellect, common sense, and wit. He is clearly sooooo done with Criston’s weird dumb bullshit, and I think someone who was rational and level-headed but not afraid to crack a joke or two (especially at Criston’s expense lmaooooo) would be really appealing to him.

C omfort - How would they help their s/o when they feel down/have a panic attack etc.?

My mans would not be much help at first because he’s freaking out too. He wouldn’t want to see you in any kind of distress, especially if he’s not sure where it came from or what’s causing it. I think if it happened more than once and you talked about it and expressed what you needed, he would be more than willing to do whatever you needed from him. My sense is that his first reaction (after the initial freak out) would just be to hold you really tightly and whisper reassurances to you until you were feeling better.

D reams - How do they picture their future with their s/o?

Given the society that Gwayne lives in, his expectations have kind of been set for him in the sense that his future is pretty much expected to involve marriage and children. And honestly, I get the sense that this isn’t something he’s necessarily opposed to. Especially since he found you and realizes he gets to marry someone he actually loves, he’d be pretty thrilled about the whole prospect. It just doesn’t seem like life on miliary campaign is something he’s super jazzed about, so his ideal future would likely be just settling down with you in Oldtown. 

E qual - Are they the dominant one in the relationship, or rather passive?

I think it’s pretty mixed, especially depending on the context. Again, given the societal expectations placed on him, I do think he might tend to be a little more dominant (especially if he thinks/knows that he’s right about something) but I also don’t think he would ever force you to do something you didn’t want to. He’d also back off on just about any subject if he noticed you were getting upset about it. I also think it really depends on your temperament, since I think he could really go either way depending on what energy you brought to the relationship.

F ight - Would they be easy to forgive their s/o? How are they fighting?

It would be really hard for him to stay mad at you (and vice versa). Unless it was something truly awful, I just don’t think he could stay upset with you for very long. As we’ve already established, he’s a pretty rational person who seems to value clear communication, so I think “fights” with him would be more like difficult discussions about hard issues rather than an actual fight. This is really nice because then you both get to speak your mind and actually come out with a better understanding of the other person and a stronger relationship because of it.

G ratitude - How grateful are they in general? Are they aware of what their s/o is doing for them?

I do tend to think that he’s a pretty grateful person, but I think he’s better at showing it than saying it sometimes. Not that he can’t verbalize his gratitude – he totally can – I just think that gestures come more naturally to him (like winning a tourney in your honor, buying you something extravagant, taking you on a nice trip, etc.)

H onesty - Do they have secrets they hide from their s/o? Or do they share everything?

Yes and no. If there was something he knew that would put you in danger if you knew it, he would not tell you. He would never forgive himself if something happened as a result. Pretty much anything else though, he’ll tell you. He won’t always offer everything, but I think he would have a hard time lying to you or keeping things from you if you asked about them. Depending on what it was, he might tell you a sanitized version of the story because he doesn’t want you to worry, but he’d be as honest as he felt he could be in the moment.

I nspiration - Did their s/o change them somehow, or the other way around? Like trying out new things or helping them overcome personal problems?

I think in any good relationship (romantic, platonic, or otherwise) people change each other for the better. Gwayne is no exception to this, and I think it’s likely that he picks up habits from you (just as you do from him). I can definitely see that if he had you as a confidante to rant about Criston or just to express his worries and doubts about politics, his family, etc. that he might be a little less overtly antagonistic and instead might just smile and nod a little more but internally be like “wait til my s/o hears about this fucking bullshit.” He’d definitely still give Critston attitude tho

J ealousy - Do they get jealous easily? How do they deal with it?

Yes and no. Gwayne is a fairly confident person, and I think he feels pretty comfortable with himself and with his relationship with you for the most part. However, I don’t think he’s immune to jealously, especially if it were to seem like another person was paying you a bit too much attention. In that scenario, I’m sure he’d have some quip at that person’s expense and whisk you away or be very obvious about using your title as his spouse. The one thing that might make him feel truly insecure is if it seemed like you were becoming interested in someone else. But let’s be real, if you get to marry Ser Gwayne Hightower, that’s not fucking happening 

K iss - Are they a good kisser? What was the first kiss like?

Oh, he’s definitely a good kisser. I don’t think he was one to have a lot of trysts prior to meeting you (despite his bravado, I think he really values an emotional or intellectual connection to the person he’s with, meaning I don’t think many of the flings he might have had made it all the way to the hook-up stage). But he’s a handsome man who likely had a lot of admirers, and I do think he got a bit of practice with kissing in his youth. He’s absolutely very attentive to what you like, so I think he’s only gotten to be an even better kisser over the course of your relationship. In terms of your first kiss with him, these lyrics from “All My Love” by Noah Kahan are very applicable here: “I leaned in for a kiss thirty feet from where your parents slept / and I looked so confident, babe / I swear, I was scared to death.” Especially early on, I think he really wanted to project this confident and suave vibe that he totally knew what he was doing, but as soon as he realized he was in love with you, he was actually a nervous wreck and desperately did not want to mess it up. 

L ove Confession - How would they confess to their s/o?

re: Gwayne’s penchant for gestures, I have a feeling he had a whole well-written speech planned out (he based it on the dramatic love confessions he read in old ballads). However, despite all his preparation, I think the confession actually ended up just slipping out one time when you were together and he couldn’t keep it in any longer. He probably stumbled over his words and was very embarrassed about it and his face turned bright pink, but it was so adorable and endearing that you actually preferred it to whatever speech he might have had planned.

M arriage - Do they want to get married? How do they propose? What would the wedding be like?

As I mentioned above, I think that marriage is pretty much a given for Gwayne considering the realities of the culture in which he lives. He also probably didn’t propose in the traditional sense, since the marriage was likely arranged, but I can absolutely envision him proposing to you privately after the betrothal has been officially announced and after he’s spent enough time with you to realize that he is genuinely in love with you. It would be sort of a love confession/proposal where he basically says “I know you were chosen by others to be my spouse, but I also personally choose you because I love you.” The wedding would be fairly large and befitting of his rank and station, and it’s likely that neither of you would have much choice in how it was conducted. Gwayne definitely likes the idea of a large and fairly public wedding because it’s a way for him to show his pride for both his house and his betrothed.

N icknames - What do they call their s/o?

Very sweet things! Mostly “my dear,” “my love,” and “dearheart,” with a sprinkle of “my darling” mixed in on occasion.

O n Cloud Nine - What are they like when they are in love? Is it obvious to others? How do they express their feelings?

He gets very love-struck, especially when he’s with you. Spending time with you is like spending time in another world for him, and I do think he becomes a little more uninhibited when he’s around you. If people watch the two of you together, his lovesickness is pretty obvious to anyone who knows him. Even if they speak to just him, they might notice slight changes, like the fact that he talks about you a lot and always finds a way to bring you into the conversation. He’s careful though, and would never reveal the depths of his affection for you to someone who might you it against him or hurt you to get back at him. In terms of expressing feelings, as I mentioned above, I get the sense that he’s one for gestures that demonstrate his feelings. He gets nervous and stumbles over his words more than usual when he tries to verbalize things to you, and that’s an unusual and uncomfortable experience for him at first. The longer you’re together though, the better he gets at it.

P DA - Are they upfront about their relationship? Do they brag about their s/o in front of others? Or are they rather shy to kiss etc. when others are watching?

Because your betrothal and marriage are pretty much public knowledge, Gwayne definitely feels comfortable being upfront about the relationship. And oh he totally brags. He’s very proud to call you his spouse and is not afraid to make sure everyone knows about it. Based on societal and cultural expectations, I don’t think there would be a lot of open PDA (like hugs, kisses on the lips, etc.). But hand kisses?????????? All the fucking time babeyyyyyyy!!!!!!!! So many kisses on the knuckles wherever and whenever – it’s his favorite little gesture of affection

Q uirk - Some random ability they have that’s beneficial in a relationship.

Mans is a killer shit talker. We know this. He can and will throw shade with the best of them. He wants to know all the drama in your friend circle and will happily judge everyone with you for hours. That one “friend” of yours who turned out to be wildly toxic and conniving? Well he never liked them anyway and he’s got a bulletpointed list of reasons why. You start a conversation with “can I be mean for a moment?” or “you know I love this person, but…” and he is SAT. He’s always on your side and ready to talk absolute shit about anyone who caused you even a minor inconvenience. 

R omance - How romantic are they? What would they do to make their s/o happy? Cliché or rather creative?

At the end of the day, he’s something of a hopeless romantic and would do whatever he could to make you happy. There are a lot of times when the cultural and societal realities of the world he lives in prevent him from doing everything he might want, but if it came down to it, he would do almost anything for you. A lot of his romantic gestures are a little cliché, but in the best, most endearing way possible. As he gets to know you though, and as your relationship matures, he’ll probably get a little more creative and do things that are more specific to the two of you.

S upport - Are they helping their s/o achieve their goals? Do they believe in them?

Believes in you and supports you 100000% no question. Again though, I think this impulse can be a bit hampered by the social structures in which he lives. He’ll do whatever he can to help you achieve your goals, but there are limits based on birth, status, etc. that you are both cognizant of and which might influence what those goals look like and how far either of you would go to achieve them.

T hrill - Do they need to try out new things to spice up your relationship? Or do they prefer a certain routine?

We’re talking about Ser “I’d rather stay at a comfy inn than camp out” Gwayne Hightower here – I think he appreciates a level of routine and comfort. There’s so much in his world that is chaotic and out of his control that I think he would really relish having that consistency and stability in his relationship. Not that he would never try anything new – especially if you asked him to – I just think his natural inclination would be to have a comforting routine that works for both of you.

U nderstanding - How well do they know their partner? Are they empathetic?

Considering he picked up on Alicent and Criston’s weird vibes in like 5 seconds, I’d say he’s pretty good at reading people. He definitely makes an effort to get to know you, and can confidently say that he knows you very well at this point. Especially since you’re someone he cares about and spends a lot of time with, he’s quite good at reading your moods and guessing how you’re feeling.

V alue - How important is the relationship to them? What is its worth in comparison to other things in their life?

Very important. Again though, there are cultural expectations placed on both of you that may necessitate you and Gwayne placing your relationship further down your list of priorities than you normally would choose to. If it were completely up to him though, his relationship with you would be right up there at the top with his loyalty to his house and his family.

W ild Card - A random fluff headcanon

I talked about this much more extensively in this fic, but the necklace you gave him? He. Does. Not. Take. It. Off. EVER. It’s his little piece of you that he gets to carry everywhere, and he could never ever bear to part with it.

X OXO - Are they very affectionate? Do they love to kiss and cuddle?

In private, abso-fucking-lutely! As I mentioned in the PDA section, he’s more retrained in public, but still likes to demonstrate his affection for you via hand kisses. In private though, he loves to cuddle. And honestly, he doesn’t really care where or in what position – curled up in bed, sprawled on a couch, his head in your lap, you tucked against his chest – he just likes to be touching you and knowing that you’re right there next to him, that you’re safe, and that you love him.

Y earning - How do they cope when they’re missing their partner?

It’s a reality he has to face more than he would like, given the exterior expectations placed on him. If he had his way, he would live quietly with you at his family’s property near Oldtown forever. When he has to leave though, he always asks for your favor to take with him, regardless of how long you’ve been together or how many times you’ve bestowed it. As mentioned above, he also always wears the necklace you gave him. Definitely a top tier professional yearner though – he misses you and thinks of you the whole time he’s gone.

Z eal - Are they willing to go to great lengths for the relationship? If so, what kind of?

This answer will be pretty similar to the answer for “V” – yes he is, but he also has to be cognizant of outside pressures that might cause him to act in ways that don’t always align with his personal inclinations. He would both die and kill for you though, not that you’re asking him to do either. In fact, you’re usually telling him not to do either of those things.

[alittlebitofloveliness]

Purly got Arrested Fic

This is so not his fault. 

If he’s going down for it- and it definitely seems like he is, considering the holding cell the blond haired cop with the gross cologne is locking them into seems pretty hardcore- he just wants to make that very clear. This is not his fault. 

Ok, so maybe it was his idea. But it was the kind of good idea that seems great when he’s lying in the lot passing a joint back and forth with Curly, the same kind of good idea as buying a drink for a stranger when you’re drunk, or baiting Steve into a fight until you find out Evie’s mad at him- not an actual good idea. He, being a very rational, very smart individual, knew this. 

Curly, apparently, did not. And since Curly is like a dog with a bone, or like that freakish raccoon he feeds with a box of soggy McDonald’s fries, he refused to let it go. So they did it. 

In both of their defense, while it was stupid, it wasn’t something he thought they could be arrested for. Ok, that’s wasn’t exactly true, but it definitely wasn’t something he thought they’d get caught doing. Something tells him that defense isn’t exactly gonna go over well with Darry. Soda might have thought it was funny- if it hadn’t been Curly he was doing it with. 

Bullshit.

“One phone call boys.” Officer Dipshit Cologne reminds them with a frown, then crosses to sit at a desk on the side of the room opposite the holding cell. 

Just great.

It’s kind of anticlimactic all things considered. Two-bit and Steve tell such tuff stories of being hauled in that he’d thought he’d at least feel cool the first time he got arrested, but so far it’s just been like, super annoying and inconvenient. He doesn’t feel very cool. Mostly embarrassed. And kind of hungry. Darry is supposed to be making chicken tonight and he really hopes he can get outta here before dinnertime because Soda will steal his share if he isn’t there.

He sighs and exchanges a look with Curly.

“You gonna call Tim?”

Curly scoffs.

“Why bother? Bail is five bucks we don’t have, ‘specially since I'll be out tomorrow. ‘Sides, he bailed me out last month when I lit that fire in the park, so it’ll be at least half a year ‘fore he does anythin’ like that again.”

“Shit.”

“What?” Curly grins, entirely in his element. Hell, he almost looks more relaxed than usual, standing in this glorified cage, leaning against the bars without a care in the world. Ponyboy can’t decide whether the sight makes him want to punch him or snog the life out of him. It’s a familiar feeling at this point. “not lookin’ forward to callin’ good ol’ Darry?”

“Shut up,” Pony glares. Fuck, he definitely wants to kiss him. Stupid fucking Curly Shepard with his cocky grin and that catlike arrogance, driving him mad when he should actually be mad, “the second I call Darry is the second my life ends.”

He’ll be grounded for life for this. He’ll be forty years old and sitting bored out of his fucking mind in the living room while Darry glares at him from the armchair. Curly, unfortunately, is an asshole and so refuses to see the gravity of the situation. Instead, he fucking laughs.

So much for “solidarity” and “don’t worry it’ll be fun” and “I’ve got your back, so quit being a pussy and just fucking do it already.”

Bullshit.

“Quit bein’ dramatic.”

“Oh if you think it’s gonna be such a calm and collected conversation why don’t you call Darry and explain that we got arrested for public indecency.”

“I think they called it disturbin’ the peace when they was cuffin’ me actually.”

“Lucky you,” Ponyboy snarls, because yeah, okay, Curly did have his pants on when they got arrested, but he definitely hadn’t had them on when that old lady called the cops, so really, they should both be getting the indecency charge. 

Bullshit.

“Real talk though,” Curly says, “I don’t mind callin’ Darry for you. The big man loves me.”

“Do not.” 

Darry was actually being like, really cool about his friendship with Curly but this whole incident would change that. And don’t even get him started on what would happen if Curly called the house and Soda answered. Then the holding cell would be a blessing, simply because Soda couldn’t commit a murder if Curly was already locked up.

“Well unless you’re fixin’ to stay here overnight and cuddle, one of us has gotta call someone.”

“What about Angela?”

“What about her?” Curly props his elbow on Pony’s shoulder.

“Would she come get us?”

“Hmm,” Curly considers it, “she might come get me. She owes me for helpin’ her sneak out without Tim catchin’ her last week, but she definitely won’t come for you.”

He’s right. Ponyboy knows he’s right because he and Angela kind of can’t fucking stand each other. He wouldn’t bail her out, not even for Curly’s sake, so it makes sense she wouldn’t bail him out either. Still, it’s fucking rude.

“You could call Matthews,” Curly suggests, “bet he’d be cool about it.”

“I gotta better chance of gettin’ the president on the line than Two-bit.”

“Guess you’re shit outta luck then,” Curly shrugs, beckoning him over to the bench on the other side of the cell. There’s a greasy looking guy passed out drunk leaning against it, so they take a seat on the opposite side, “you can always just stay the night with me. We could get real cozy if y’know what I mean?”

He waggles his eyebrows suggestively and Pony swats at him. Dealing with Curly, he’s learned, requires skills not unlike those one would need to tame a rabid dog or a toddler on crack. Which, given Curly’s upbringing, may have been something that happened once or twice. 

“I can’t not go home,” Ponyboy reminds him, “they’ll lose their shit.”

Which is fair. After Windrixville and Johnny and Dal it makes sense that Darry and Soda go apeshit when he’s late for curfew and doesn’t call ahead, which is why he tries his very best to keep them informed. Still. This is not a situation he is looking forward to informing them of.

“Aren’t they gonna lose their shit anyway?”

“Well yeah, but it’d definitely be worse if I don’t go home tonight and then they find out it’s because I was arrested.”

“I mean,” Curly points out, “you wouldn’t have to tell them.”

Shows what he knows. Curly has never had to sit on the couch with Darry using his freaky mind reading powers and Soda’s huge disappointed eyes boring into him to get him to confess to maybe, hypothetically, potentially cussing his teacher out in science class. Those two can get him to be more truthful than a polygraph. It’s so annoying.

“Yes I would. And I can’t not call. I just…I can’t.”

Curly seems to finally get it because his eyes light in understanding and he headbuts him in the shoulder. It’s kind of sweet.

“Better do it sooner than later then, huh?”

“Yeah,” Pony sighs, waving the cop over, slapping a hand over Curly’s mouth when the other boy goes to say something because he knows that look in Curly’s eye. It’s the same look he had when he told their gym teacher his shitty attitude probably wasn’t why his wife left him it was his looks.

Two minutes later he’s standing in front of the phone, that cop- who’s cologne is still terrible and giving him a headache- practically breathing down his neck, and wondering if he’s really going to go through with this. 

The cop clears his throat and that’s when Pony realizes that yes, he is indeed going to do this, because he does not have a choice.

Sighing, and refusing to glance at where Curly is audibly laughing at him in the holding cell, he carefully dials the number. Of course the first  number is a nine so he has to watch as the rotary phone slowly winds back to zero before he can wind it over to the six.

Finally, the dial tone sounds in his ear. It rings once. Twice. Three times. He’s just starting to worry that maybe no one is home when he hears a click and Darry’s smooth baritone filters through the speaker. 

“Hello?”

“Hey Darry,” his voice comes out a lot squeakier than he hoped and he fights to keep his feet from fidgeting. That cop had made it clear he didn’t appreciate it, and much as he’d never admit it, he was still kind of scared of cops, maybe even more so after Windrixville. 

“Ponyboy?” He can hear the slight concern in Darry’s voice. It’s an odd time for him to be calling, considering it isn’t even six yet and curfew is still hours away. “Everything ok?”

“I need you to come pick me up.”

“Okay…” Darry sounds almost suspicious now. He can hear hollering in the background- probably Steve and Two-bit arguing over the tv. “Where are you?”

“Don’t get mad.” Pony begs, and apparently it’s the wrong thing to say.

“What did you do?” Darry isn’t shouting- he’s a lot better about that now- but the resigned exhaustion in his voice is almost worse.

“Nothing!”

“Ponyboy,” Darry warns and it’s his I-swear-to-god-kid-you’re-gonna-send-me-to-an-early-grave voice, “where are you?”

“Before I answer that I need you to think about how good I’ve been lately. Straight As at school, track awards, hell, I even did the dishes yesterday even though it was Soda’s turn-”

“-You got arrested, didn’t you?” Darry cuts him off and Pony has to hand it to him, in the past year, ever since they got close again, Darry really has learned to read him like a book. 

“...yes.”

Darry sighs. It’s world weary, but if Pony didn’t know better he’d swear there was an undercurrent of amusement there. The arguing in the background has abruptly cut off, which is kind of rude. He’s just as tough as the rest of them. Him getting arrested shouldn’t be this surprising.

“What did you do?”

“Before I tell you I need you to keep an open mind-”

“-Nevermind.” Darry cuts him off again, firmly, “just…what’s the charge?”

“I’m not exactly sure,” Pony admits, “they said public indecency when they were cuffing me, but Curly swears it’ll only count as disturbing the peace-”

“If I get down there and you don’t have pants on so help me god, Ponyboy-”

“Cool it Dar,” he rolls his eyes, “the cops let me put them back on before they cuffed me.”

“Jesus christ,” he can almost see Darry through the phone, resting his forehead against the wall and rubbing his eyes, “you better have a damn good explanation for this.”

Good? Maybe not. Interesting? Definitely. Not that he was about to say that. This was going better than he could’ve hoped, all things considered, but he wasn’t about to test his luck.

“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes,” Darry continues, “don’t answer any questions and don’t do anything stupid- scratch that, don’t do anything else stupid. And tell that friend of yours I’ll be payin’ Tim a visit on my way over.”

The line goes dead. 

He can’t help but grin as he places the phone back on the receiver. Sure, he’s still in huge trouble but that went like, so much better than he’d imagined. Hell, his grounding might even be lifted before he graduates.

As the cop walks him back over to the holding cell he can’t help but hope Soda wasn’t home to hear the aftermath of that particular phone call. Not that he thinks Soda won’t support him, but if Darry mentions Curly then the chances of him making this whole thing a lot more of an issue than it needs to be are 1000x higher. 

“Well?” Curly grins as soon as the door clanks shut behind him, Officer Dipshit Cologne’s key jangling in the lock, “How’d he take it?”

“He said he’s stoppin’ to talk to Tim on his way over here,” Pony tells him, hoping to wipe that smug look of Curly’s face, “so don’t get too comfortable.”

“Comfortable?” Curly snorts, stretching out on the bench, “Ponykid, this place is practically my second home at this point. ‘Sides, I already told you Tim ain’t comin’, not for somethin’ like this.”

“He might if Darry asks him to.” Pony points out. Curly doesn’t deign to answer. It doesn’t matter: they both know he’s right, even if Curly doesn’t want to admit it.

“Move over will ya?” Pony nudges Curly into a sitting position, taking a seat next to him on the bench. 

Curly elbows him back because he’s a menace.

Pony shoves him.

Curly hip checks him, hard enough he almost falls off the bench.

Pony tackles him. 

Then they’re really wrestling, rolling around on the concrete floor. Curly smells like Marlboro cigarettes and dirt and cheap shampoo, but somehow it works. They’ve rolled a bit, bit Curly’s got him pinned right now, and jus like every time they fight its unlike fighting anyone else. He’s hyper aware of everywhere Curly’s body is pressed against his- knees bracketed on either side of his hips, one hand pinning his shoulders down, the other reaching to smack at him half heartedly, in a way Pony knows is Curly’s version of playful.

He loves it, and like every time they tussle like this, he kind of also wants to explode.

“Hey!” Officer Dipshit Cologne rattled the door of the cell, “Knock it off you two!”

Ponyboy and Curly exchange a look and burst out laughing. Curly climbs off him, pulling Pony to his feet and the collapse on the bench together. 

Their mirth doesn’t last long.

“Ponyboy Curtis!” A second later Darry Curtis is striding into the station, green flannel tucked into his jeans in an attempt to look respectable, wearing his best ‘responsible adult’ face, and Ponyboy remembers he is still in so much trouble. “I’m here for my brother, Ponboy Curtus.”

Beside him, Curly has gone stiff. 

“No way,” he mutters, looking like he had that time they explored the old Bronsen house on halloween- that is to say, like he’d seen a ghost, “theres no fucking way…”

Ponyboy looks up and sees what stopped Curly in his tracks. Tim Shepard, as grim faced and dangerous looking as ever, prowling after Darry like a panther.

Pony shoot Curly a smug look. Curly swats at him without taking his eyes off his brother.

“This ain’t good…” he mutters, as Tim starts talking to Officer Dipshit Cologne alongside Darry.

“Sure ain’t.” Ponyboy agrees as the officer marches toward the cell, Darry and Tim at his heels. Golly they look pissed.

“Wanna make a run for it?”

“Fuck no,” Pony murmurs back, “I’m already in enough shit as it is.”

“You fuckin’ dumbass,” Tim barks as soon as the door’s unlocked, and he seizes Curly by the ear, ignoring his pained yelp as he half drags him out of the police station, scolding him in rapid fire spanish. Pony doesn’t understand much but his name gets thrown in there a few times and he can’t help but wince. The last thing he needs is to be on Tim Shepard’s shit list.

Darry doesn’t look too happy but he doesn’t look near as mad as Tim. Pony thanks his lucky stars for that.

‘C’mon kiddo,” Darry jerks his head, “let’s go.”

Pony follows him out to the truck, explains the thought process behind stripping down and trying to steal the coins in the fountain at the park because it seemed like there’d be enough for cigarettes and movie snacks. He pretends he doesn’t know what Darry means when he tells him he of all people needs to be careful about indecency charges, while his cheeks heat and Darry gives him terrified, significant, half pleading looks. 

Still, he can’t bring himself to regret any of it. Not even when Soda spends half an hour ranting to him about how Curly is the spawn of the devil on earth. Not even when Steve laughs at him about why he got arrested.

Like everything when it comes to Curly, it was just too much fun to regret. 

[erme-aeterna-arts]

so i’m watching black sails, and i’ve been having thoughts about s1-s2 and why they feel different from each other and how it serves the narrative.

so, the first impression from s1 was that somebody lied to me and the show is just your average one. like you see the characters who act a certain way, but you can’t tell why the hell they are doing what they are doing. see, eleanor, flint, they say what they’re doing it for, but it’s not what actually drives them, as we discover later. but in the beginning it still feels shallower and simpler than it is. even the relationship between eleanor and vane seems to have a completely different power structure (at first, the viewer is lead to expect the usual toxic dynamic with vane as the abuser, but i’d argue that eleanor has always had all the power, whenever she was with him, she used it for her political ambitions). or ned low who we expect to be the villain of the season and then he’s very quickly decapitated (bc he isn’t not the true villain of the story). there are many examples, but the point is that the viewer in s1 (and partly in s2) is an outsider to the story, is making assumptions based on what we are used to seeing in media, on the expectations and tropes we all subconsciously know and naturally employ to interpret situations when lacking information and later hold these interpretations as the ultimate and indisputable truth. and then they start debunking all that. the viewer begins to learn the truth, begins to immerse into the story.

and this experience of the viewer is necessary to the following dismantlement of the idea of “civilization”. this is the word being thrown left and right in s2, and it’s no coincidence that right until miranda is dead even flint still wants, desperately, to make peace with it, to be a part of it. discourse is a power structure, it is desired, everything that is spoken exists within it and according to its logic, like the concepts of good and evil, men and monsters. and if in the beginning to flint the purpose was to somehow make himself, his family, nassau, worthy of being a part of it, he later realizes that this will never mean freedom, so he tries to build a world outside of the reach of the empires, outside of the discourse.

because that world was never going to accept flint, a queer man, even though we see in his face before miranda speaks up that he would go through with peter ashe’s plan to tell the whole truth. because that world never existed for us, and i relate so much to it, the entire season is the pinnacle of the queer experience.

to sum up, the parallel that is drawn here is that in both cases the viewer is reminded not to trust the expectations we have of the world, not to expect what seems to be the truth to actually be it, that what you are being told is all lies and bullshit. because when miranda says that nobody but her knows why flint is doing it [trying to destroy the fort], we should believe her; because when we see the flashbacks with james and her, we should not assume automatically that the affair is between them, as it was only stated as a fact by other people like eleanor’s father, because it was thomas that james was in love with, because it was all the “civilization” needed to destroy their lives, because we, the lgbtq+, have always been pushed aside, into the shadows, from which captain flint as a persona was born; because when they, the empire, claimed then that this persona is the essence of the person, they did so to excuse the damage they’d inflicted, to hide the fact that the pain brought into the world was caused by them.

* i’d like to add something about the idea of the western world as a discourse (i’m including imperialism, patriarchy, queerphobia here as the basis of the power structure, hence the generalization), in the show it’s not just the word “civilization” that is used, it’s also “reason”, “society”, “rationality” and so on, bc they belong to this discourse. a very illustrative scene is the negotiations between jack rackham and that captain about sharing the prize like “reasonable men”. where it turned out that reasonable ≠ fair, that it meant that the one with more power was to have everything, according to “reason”, and the other one to end up with nothing. it’s a detail, but everything is connected in this show and so fuck the discourse :) fuck the empire :)

[peepism]

Stitches // Levi x Reader

A top a snowy mountain lay a few small cabins, each designed for separate uses just like the ones back at training camp. Although the storm was raging on, morales were high as the cadets rambled on, each telling stories to pass time. Though their superiors were watching on, they didn't bother quieting the troupe down as they figured they needed to let them be kids in this cruel world. 

"SASHA, quit eating all our rations! We don't have a whole lot! We're here for a few more days" screamed a decently tall boy. Even though he wasn't the tallest of the group, he still had some fire in him. Which is why he was currently in a wrestling match with the brunette. This wasn't the first time they had gotten in quarrels over her ravenous hunger. 

"Forget it Connie. Just let her finish it." Another quipped up, a boy named Jean. His palm dragging across his face with a roll of his eyes. 

This is how it typically went with the 104th trainee's. They'd get along for a few minutes before hell seemed to break loose. It was a wonder Shadis, or even Erwin wouldn't decide to just forget about all of them and find better listening teens. Was it the military or a damn daycare? Levi often wondered. 

He stood among the logged walls of the cabin, watching each scene unfold with sharp steel eyes, no form of amusment to be seen. Why the hell did the commander decide it was a good idea for him to be watching over them? Something about 'building trust'? What a load of bullshit in his mind. He couldn't trust them to clean properly, nonetheless to free humanity. Not just that, they were too idiotic at times to see just how horrible their existence was- not in the way most would think. Maybe the tiniest part of him hated to see how hopeful they were, sure, some of them were there when the first wall fell, and they each had seen their fair share of things, but they weren't fully tainted just yet. They were teens, just babies. It killed him to know that within any moment their joyous sparks would be smothered out, the same way a fire extinguishes without oxygen. 

Now Hange on the other hand seemed to be letting loose as well, encouraging some of the arguments between Jean and Eren. To which earned hard glares from the Ackermans. 

"What if we... told stories..?" Squeaked out a an angelic voice, belonging to the name of Krista Lenz, which earned a loud obnoxious laugh from Ymir. "ARE YOU KIDDING ME? STORIES? My dear Krista, you really think we'd all sit around like children? Who's going to be the one reading it to us, nonetheless making up one on the spot seeing as we have no books in the vicinity?" 

This earned the girl to have her face flush with red out of embarrassment. For someone who couldn't leave her alone, Ymir definitely wasn't the nicest at times. 

"OH, I know! Levi! Why don't you get involved? Tell us a memory of yours, huh? At least make it this once, you mysterious hunk of meat!" Chortled Hange, her hand colliding into Levi's shoulder which made a loud smack that reviberated across the room causing everyone to stop dead in their tracks, faces filled with horror.  

The wind blowing outside that caused the windows to occasionally shake was all that could be heard, as utter silence fell upon them, various gazes directing to the short Captain as they awaited to hear his booming voice or possibly to watch him beat the living shit out of the section commander for even laying a finger on him, but nothing. No one dared to make a move, until a soft sigh left his parted lips. "Very well." Shock soon became present, even from the mad scientist, although she was mainly joking around she didn't quite expect him to actually agree. Yet she definitely wasn't going to pass this opportunity down as she had never heard anything from the man before her. He was mysterious, closed off- 

"If I share my background as a story, then I expect you all to tune up on your disgusting cleaning habits. Even you, shitty glasses." 

Without any thoughts, feet scrambled causing the floors to creek, earning an even bigger sigh of annoyance from Levi.

"My tale starts with Y/n Gibbs."

"Squad Leader Gibbs?!" 

Inquired Armin.

"Yes, now can all of you shut the fuck up and let me get this over with?" Levi grumbled with arms crossed, as he peered down at all the sitting cadets (and Hange) who all seemed to be way too excited.

God, he really was becoming some form of a father figure it would seem, not that he knew what that was really like. But that didn't matter, he knew you would be glad he'd be sharing this part of him, and he'd be sure to tell you when they all got back from the freezing mountain point. 

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

For those interested in reading more, feel free to find the other chapters on AO3!

[welcometocaritas-creations]

so i wrote the draft for a Diego/Lila s4 au fic last year

It's about 150-200k in length and it's going to be a while before I can get it post worthy (soooo much editing to do) and I still have my wolfwren fic to finish first. BUT in light of the horror show that was s4, I thought I'd give you guys a sneak peek to cleanse the palette

When I do post, it will be on my AO3 account here . So if you want you can subscribe to me and then when I post it, you'll know :) It's sort of a Lila-centric fic that deals with her trauma and how impending motherhood impacts that and is impacted by it - but obviously Diego/Lila is a huge part of the fic.

So without further ado. . .

. . .

“Gracie. If it’s a girl.”

Diego’s brow furrows. “Wait, really?”

Lila shrugs. “Sure. Why not?”

In truth, she’s a little intimidated by Grace Hargreeves, though they’ve never met. Or at least, she’s never met the version of her that Diego holds up on a pedestal. Half robot or not, Lila knows she was a better mum than she can ever hope to be. That she was soft where Lila is hard, quiet where she’s loud, sensitive where she’s callous. Lila will never be even half as good as her at this mothering bullshit.

But she wants to be.

The name can be a reminder. And, though logically she knows there can be no better reminder than her own flesh and blood child standing in front of her, the deck is stacked against her. So she’s willing to pull out all the stops. Rational or not.

Besides. . . she was Diego’s mum. Gave him a soft place to land growing up. Gave him love when there was none to find.

When they were in the asylum, Diego never had a nice word to say about anyone.

Except for her.

Lila thinks that’s something that deserves to be honored. Celebrated, even. The fact that one of them had a mum growing up that wasn’t complete shit. Even if she was prevented by her own programming from actually protecting her children.

(this, at least, is one thing Lila thinks she can do better. Protecting her child. She’s not a robot designed by her kids’ abuser, after all. She’s also more skilled in a fight than her birth parents. A winning combination, really.

She may not turn out to be a good mum in any sense of the definition but she’ll be damned if she can’t keep them safe.

And who will keep them safe from you?)

Lila’s skin feels hot. And sweaty. Like she’s skipped breakfast. And lunch. And three nights' worth of dinners. “Diego. . . what if we screw this up?”

“Then we’ll do our best to unscrew it.”

She snorts. Laughs.

Appreciates the words more than if he offered an infuriatingly optimistic denial. The reassurance that: of course they won’t screw up their kid, how silly of her to even entertain the thought.

“Unscrew our kid?”

Diego smiles - probably at her laugh - and shifts until he’s seated beside her on the bed, rather than behind her. So she has no choice but to see the earnestness in his eyes. And there is so much bleeding earnestness. She’s not sure how this man ever convinced himself he was a lone wolf. This is a pack animal through and through. “Yeah, listen, Lila. . . we’re sort of stumbling around in the dark here. You’re not the only one who feels that. Who’s scared shitless.” This too is a comfort. “But that’s how I felt with Stan and things didn’t turn out too bad.”

“He was Kugelblitzed.”

“Well, that’s hardly going to happen again.“

She smacks him on the shoulder. “Oh God, now you’ve jinxed it and it’s definitely going to happen again. Are you crazy?”

She could kill him.

Diego grins through a wince, refusing to grasp the grievous error he’s just made. “The point is we’re going to make mistakes. Big mistakes. Small mistakes. Lots of mistakes.”

“Is this supposed to be comforting?”

(Lila knows he’s only slightly less emotionally congested than her but, still, she expected better)

He leans closer, into her space - a dirty move that makes her breath catch. “Your mother and my father made mistakes too. The difference is they never saw them that way. Never tried to fix them. Never learned from them. . . They never tried to do better. To fix what they’d broken. They didn’t want to. . . That’s not us. That will never be us. Because, yeah, Lila we’re going to make a mess of things. A big huge stinking mess. But we’ll clean it up afterwards. And the next mess will be a little less messy.”

“I hate cleaning.”

His eye twitches. “Can you just- I’m trying to do a whole speech here.”

“I know and it’s a surprisingly good one.” Diego’s brow knits together like he’s not sure whether to take that as a compliment or an insult. “Maybe instead of trying to save a president by cutting off some bloke’s trigger finger you should just run for office. I think you’d be brilliant.”

“I would suck as president. I’d stab someone within the first hour.”

“Like I said,” Lila wraps her arms around his neck with a grin, “Brilliant.”

(she’d vote to see that)

Diego rolls his eyes at this but rewards her masterful plan with a kiss. “You would make a pretty badass First Lady.”

. . .

[this is just a short excerpt from like the seventh chapter but I figured it would be a nice read after, well. . . everything]

Also here have some Lila and Diego fanart:

[https-harlow]

Fight The Feeling- Part 14 Long Way From A Wife And Kids

Summary- Right before New York Fashion week, Jack's song Mockingbird Valley gets released, which includes a line that you don't take in the way Jack meant it.

You and Jack had flown into New York on Thursday night, about a week and a half after the Grammy Awards. Jack was featured on a song with DJ Drama, “Mockingbird Valley” that was coming out shortly after you landed. You tried to stay awake with Jack but ended up falling asleep about 30 minutes before the song came out. Sure, Jack could have just played the song, but you wanted to be surprised. And when you listened to the song the next day, you certainly were, but not in a good way.

You woke up to several texts about Jack’s song, or more specifically a specific line in the song. At first, you thought everyone was overreacting, so you ignored it. It wasn’t until later in the day when Jack was in the shower that you had a moment to listen to the song. 

“Long way from a wife and kids”

You were pissed yet you didn’t know how to feel at the same time. You wanted to be rational and have a conversation with Jack about the line, but your emotions got the best of you. 

You and Jack had plans to get lunch before going to watch a Chanel runway show. You were already ready as Jack walked out of the bathroom pretty much ready except for throwing on a hoodie. You didn’t acknowledge Jack as he walked into the bedroom which was unlike you.

“Everything okay?” Jack asked, walking over to the bed.

“I don’t know, you tell me,” You said and Jack sighed softly.

“Okay, what did I do?” Jack asked, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Does “long way from a wife and kids” sound familiar?” You asked sarcastically.

“I can explain.”

“I don’t want your bullshit explanation, Jack. I thought you were taking this seriously and wanted to be with me but you lied to me. You’re making me look like an idiot by being with someone who doesn’t want to be with me. Worse than that, you’re saying you don’t want to have a kid with me when I am currently pregnant with your baby.” 

“It’s not like that. I didn’t mean it in that way. Just give me a chance to explain,” Jack started but you interrupted him.

“Don’t make it worse. Let’s just pretend to love each other, go to lunch and the Chanel show then we can come back to the hotel and you can go back to not wanting to be with me.” Jack sighed, but he knew better than to argue more. 

You were hurt and you felt lied to. Jack knew you needed to get through your initial reaction to the lyrics first, then he knew he could explain and make things right. Plus, it would be easier to do at home anyway.

“I’m going to explain when we get home, and I promise it will make sense,” Jack said and all you did was ignore him, getting up from the bed, grabbing your bag, and walking out the door. Jack sighed before following you.

The city was already filled with paparazzi, but since you were staying in a hotel where several other celebrities were also staying, your building was surrounded. Jack walked in front of you, shielding you from the paparazzi, holding your hand so you didn’t lose each other. Once you got to the car, Jack let you get in first, and as soon as the door was closed you dropped Jack’s hand.

Urban ended up meeting you and Jack for lunch. When you went to the bathroom Urban decided to ask Jack how you reacted to his song.

“So I take it she’s not upset? She’s acting fine.” Urban said and Jack shook his head.

“Oh no, she’s pissed. She yelled at me in the hotel before we left. She’s only acting like she’s not angry since we’re in public.” You, Jack, and Urban were in the corner of the restaurant where you could be seen, but you weren’t close enough to anyone else so they couldn’t hear you.

“Even after you explained?”

“No, she won’t let me explain.

“Dude. You know as soon as you explain it everything will be fine.”

“She won’t let me. I’m just going to let her be pissed at me until we get home, then I’ll explain.”

“I mean if you think that’s what’s right, but I don’t,” Urban said before Jack nodded his head, signaling that you were coming back. Urban changed the subject.

“I’m ready whenever you two are,” You said, Jack had already paid so the three of you left and made your way to the Chanel show. 

Watching the show was uneventful. It was nice to not think about the situation with Jack for a short time. Even if you wanted to shrug off his arm that was around your shoulders the whole time. 

Once you and Jack returned to the hotel, you immediately got ready for bed, almost completely ignoring Jack until you were getting in bed. Jack had gotten ready for bed at the same time, already lying in bed.

“Goodnight,” You said as you turned away from Jack.

“Goodnight,” Jack said, sighing softly.

The next morning was spent trying to ignore Jack and for the first time, Jack let you. You were walking in one of the two runway shows you were in that night and Jack didn’t want to make you more upset so he left you alone.

You had to be at the venue early in the afternoon to get your hair and makeup done, so Jack decided to meet you there a little later. As soon as you left, Jack placed an order for dinner from the pizza place you ate from the night you met, which happened to become your favorite pizza place in New York.

On his way to the venue, Jack made sure to stop by a local florist where he had ordered you a bouquet of flowers a week prior. 

As soon as he walked into the venue, he showed his credentials to be allowed backstage, asking to be led to your private dressing room. Not many models received private dressing rooms, but you would occasionally still experience morning sickness as a side effect of your pregnancy so it was something you asked for before you agreed to do the show. Luckily the venue was able to accommodate and the brand agreed to your request. 

Jack knocked softly on the door.

“Come in.” You called out, looking into the mirror that was in front of you so you could see who walked in. You sighed softly when you saw Jack walk in, closing the door behind him.

“Hi. I’ll leave you alone after this if you want, but I wanted to give you these.” Jack said, handing out the bouquet so you could take it. “They aren’t apology flowers or anything. They are just simply I’m proud of you flowers. Even though I’m sure you hate me right now, and I don’t blame you, I wanted you to know that I’m extremely proud of you. I’m saving the I’m sorry for when we get home.”

“Thank you.” You smiled softly as you took the flowers. “I also don’t hate you, I could never. I’m mad at you, but I don’t hate you. You can stay in here, I already double-checked that your seat was reserved.” Jack nodded as he sat down.

“Oh, and I might have ordered pizza from our favorite place that will be delivered to the hotel right about when we get back.” 

“That is the best thing you could have done.”

“Ordering pizza?” Jack asked and you nodded.

“Yes, I have been craving that pizza since the last time I was in New York.”

You and Jack sat in your dressing room making small talk. You were still mad at him, but it was less awkward to ignore it for now than to sit in silence. Jack went out to his seat when you were getting your hair and makeup touched up. 

Jack watched as you walked down the runway two separate times, cheering a little louder for you than he cheered for anyone else. Unlike when he surprised you in Paris, he didn’t have to hide his support for you, so he didn’t.

Your second show the next day and the rest of your trip went very similar. Slightly awkward, neither of you wanted to address the lyrics or the fact that you were mad at Jack, but you also couldn’t act like you weren’t.

When you landed back home from New York it was late at night so you and Jack went to your apartments. You wanted a little time alone to think about everything and even if it didn’t help you figure out the situation, you did feel better after. 

The next day you had a doctor’s appointment which Jack came to. When he dropped you off at your apartment, he walked you to your door.

“Um, can I come in and maybe explain everything?” Jack asked nervously, one of his hands playing with something that was in his pocket.

“Yeah,” You said hesitantly, you weren’t sure if you were ready to talk about the lyric, but you wanted to get it over with. Jack followed you into your apartment, both of you sitting on the couch.

“I know you probably want to yell at me, and I don’t blame you, but can I explain first, and then if you still want to yell at me you can?” Jack asked and you nodded.

“Yes, you can explain first.”

“I wrote the line ‘long way from a wife and kids’ after we broke up but before I found out about the baby. It wasn’t meant to be a dig at you or saying that I never wanted to marry you. It was coming from a place of I knew how much I hurt you and how upset that made me. I fucked up our relationship so badly and I knew that it was going to take me a while to get over losing you. I wasn’t going to be ready to marry or have kids with anyone for awhile. I didn’t know if I would ever want to marry or have kids with someone other than you.” Jack explained. 

“Jack,” You started but he cut you off.

“I’m not done yet. I did want to marry you. I planned on it. This isn’t a proposal, but I even got you a ring.” Jack said, pulling the ring box out of his pocket. He opened it before he handed it to you. “I had the ring for a little while, I just didn’t know how I wanted to propose so I never got a chance to. I still do want to marry you, I never stopped wanting to marry you and one day I think I will get to marry you. I want you to have this ring because when I do get to propose, I don’t want to do it with the same ring I bought you before I cheated on you. I did buy it for you though. I don’t have to propose to give you a ring”

You didn’t say anything, you weren’t sure what you wanted to say.

“You don’t have to tell me how you feel right now.” Jack told you.

“Can I have some time to think? I don’t know what to say.”

“Of course. Do you want me to leave so you can have some time alone?” Jack asked and you nodded. “Okay, let me know when you’re ready to talk. If you need anything, call me okay?” You nodded before Jack left your apartment.

Tag list @jackharloww @harlowcomehome @nattinatalia @hoodharlow @itsyagirljaz @heavyhitterheaux @harlowsbby @awhore4moree @harlowslefttoe @twerkforambrose @jackmans-poison @ilovenudy @taniapri @killatravtramp @easternparkway @macey234 @toocriticalharlow @lightsoutstyles @rachxc13 @iknowdatsrightbih @idktbh101 @blossomluvv @middlechild404 @hufflewhore128

[hanbxnn]

girlll,, what about this idea where we all know mammon is teased by his brothers and seen as incompetent or always messing things up here and there. but the fact that he’s the second most powerful demon of the bros shows, he’s not some baby that always needs saving. his brothers are teasing him and mc stands up for him, he appreciates it and later on that night dotes and kisses on them in thanks. but it’s like a switch flips and he starts getting rough, and turning mc to putty in his hands to also let them know that he isn’t incapable and how powerful he really is but rarely shows

enough is enough

paring: mammon x gn!reader tags: hurt/comfort (?), slight angst, swearing, kisses, suggestive, sexual tension, love bites, dom!mammon notes: dom mammon has me hdfhwhedihwgb if the responses for this is good i might turn it into a longer fic c:

it was infurtiating.

to listen to the same shit the brothers spout every night at the dinner table as if it was a normal everyday occurrence.

the grip on your spoon tightened by the second without you even noticing, to hear such degrading and pointless words over what should be a peaceful and joyful time of catching up with one another.

mindless rambles immediately quietens the moment you slam your hand down onto the table, unable to take another second within the suffocating conversation.

"don't you guys think you're going a bit too far? the jokes stopped being funny after the first time you guys said it." you lifted your head to scan across the room, watching everyone's shocked expression turn towards you.

"even if mammon has the patience to listen this, i really don't have it in me to entertain your guys bullshit." you cleared your throat as you stood up, pushing the chair back as you glanced down at your half eaten plate of food.

"sorry, i've lost my appetite. you guys can eat my leftovers, if not, put it in the fridge and i'll eat it if i get hungry later. i'm calling it early for tonight." not bothering to spare anyone one last glance before you made your way out of the dining hall.

it was only when you got back to your room were you to finally able to take some deep breathes to calm down.

you weren't the type to get angry often but it just goes to show how much you had to endure to get up to this point. you couldn't even begin to imagine what mammon was feeling seeing as how the time you had spent with the brothers were merely a single fraction of the time he had.

you shook your head at the thought, deciding to check up on him a little later after you've cooled down enough to let you talk rationally without your emotions taking over.

thinking that it'd be best to freshen up first, you headed into the shower in hopes that by standing under the hot steam, you'd be able to clear your head a little.

after the shower, you hummed a soft tune as you put on your pajamas, glancing at the time and wondering when it would be best to make your way to see mammon for the night.

though your thoughts were put on a halt when a knock at your door catches your attention.

'speak of the devil and he shall appear' you thought to yourself amusingly as you opened the door to reveal none other than the mammon himself.

"come in." you smiled as you lead him inside.

mammon, being the familiar guest he was, sits down on the edge of your bed and only gives you a moment to close the door before tugging you to sit beside him once you were within reach.

you allow the silence to fall within the room first, waiting as mammon pieces together what he wanted to say in his mind without giving him the sense of any urgency.

just as his thoughts falls into place, he takes your hands within his, lifting your gaze until they met with the sincerity of his. "thank you. thank you for stickin' up for me."

you couldn't tell what broke your heart more, the fact that mammon seemed to be speaking so soft with hidden questions unasked behind his words, questions like 'why' and the elaboration of your whole reasoning for your outburst, or his genuine gratitude for something that was a given.

you gave out a soft sigh, squeezing mammon's hand as you brush your thumb over the insides of his wrists.

"you don't have to thank me for doing what i should have done a long time ago," you continue to speak as mammon begins to tug you into his embrace, pulling you onto his lap where he could bring his arms around your body. "i know you say it doesn't bother you but that still doesn't make it right."

your fingers untangle from his, bringing your hands up to brush through mammon's hair, playing with the shorter strands that lay at the back of his neck.

"compared to you guys, i'm not strong at all but i still have the power to say something if i don't believe the situation is right."

silence falls over the both of you as you watch as mammon just gaze longingly into your eyes. his replies to you were received in soft patient kisses that gradually begin to turn feverish in nature.

you gasp into his lips at the sudden change of tension in the air. before you could process what was happening, mammon had already flipped the position, pressing your back firmly onto the bed as he continues his trails of kisses along your face.

"yer have no idea how much it turns me on to see you stick up for me, it's cute really." he mumbles against your collar, his voice rumbling deep into your core, creating a heated ache in your lower abdomen.

"i think you forget sometimes that i'm the second eldest but it's alright, my love. i'll be sure to remind yer while i pay back my thanks with interest."

as he strips you of your clothes, his body cages over yours, holding you down with just enough force that you could wiggle your way out of, if you had really wanted to, but his heated gaze leaves you pliant and docile in his hands.

the sudden switch of his usual jokingly playful side felt like whiplash, taking the oxygen in the room and leaving you almost breathless.

all you could do with pant heavily, holding in soft whimpers as mammon drags his teeth along the side of your neck.

this was one of the very rare moments in where you could feel the amount of power that mammon really has.

the fact that he wasn't even in his demon form but solely exerting his dominance through his presence alone brought shivers down your body.

you felt like a mere puppet in mammon's hands with the way you moved and bend at his command. with just one swift movement, he molds you in the position he wanted.

his tongue mapped around your body as if he was following a treasure map, marking down coordinates with blossoming love bites.

as he hooks his hands around your knees, bringing them up to your chest as he forces your body to bare itself just for his eyes, he leaves light pecks along your cheek before meeting your eyes that were blown with lust as he rocks his erection against your crotch.

"deep breaths, pretty baby. i'm gonna take my time ravishin' yer tonight and remind ya why they call me mammon."

[ijustwanttoreadfanfiction]

Friendly Sex - Chapter 6 - The Darkroom

"Ok Google, play Smells Like Sex by Sizzy Rocket."

The response the latest update has been phenomenal and I'm so grateful to you all, here's a smutty little something, something to say thanks. Throws Fred Benson under the plot bus. Chapter 7 should be up by tomorrow evening (10/04 9pm GMT), the updates might then be a bit more spread out as I'm back to work.

Chapter warnings: MDI (18+ only), oral sex (m receiving), rough oral sex, throat fucking, female masturbation, explicit language, smoking, mentions of drug taking, mentions of upskirting, slightly mean!Eddie?, Eddie calls reader a whore but she's into it, overuse of pet names (sweetheart, etc, etc) as ever at this point.

***********************************************************************

You made it to Robin's practice with seconds to spare, not that it mattered, mentally you were checked out.

You had kissed Eddie, kissed him like you would kiss a - boyfriend, the word jarring in your skull. It was intimate and terrifying. You tell yourself it’s because you’ve been starved of affection for so long, you’re bound to be a little drawn to Eddie, the person who is giving you that affection; but the thoughts wouldn’t rationalize.

You didn’t call him that evening, like you said you would, justifying there was nothing new to say to each other and that he would find a re-cap of Robin’s band practice boring. You would speak to him tomorrow…

Tuesday… 

You didn’t purposely duck into Ms Thompson’s classroom to avoid Eddie who was walking straight towards you in the corridor, you just remembered a query you had about your most recent paper.

And at lunchtime the weather was so nice it felt wasteful to sit in a packed cafeteria.

Wednesday…

You honestly didn’t see Eddie wave at you across the parking lot, too busy in conversation with Robin, and come to think of it, you weren't even sure it was Eddie. 

You were in the shower when your phone rang that night, and by the time you had dried your hair it was too late to call back.

Thursday…

You had to skip the class you shared, ‘dental check up’.

You had work in the evening, no time for plans.

Today…

You’re walking between 3rd and 4th period when a strong hand grips your arm, hauling you into the photography club’s dark room, you find yourself with your back to the door, Eddie staring down at you with an unreadable expression.

“What the hell Eddie, I have to get to class!” You hiss, rubbing at your forearm.

“You’ve been avoiding me.” He says calmly.

“I’ve not been avoiding you.” You say cagily, crossing your arms, refusing to look him in the eyes.

“Bullshit.” He snorts, pointing at you. “You got spooked in the woods, why?” 

“I had to get to Robin’s practice, just like I've got to get to class now.” You move to open the door, but Eddie braces his arms on either side of you, effectively caging you.

“You’re not going anywhere until you tell me why you’ve been avoiding me.” He repeats, but his voice has an edge this time.

You bite your lip, eyes locked on the floor tiles feeling oddly tearful, heart hammering painfully against your breastbone with the stress of the situation.

“Hey, look at me.” His tone is gentler than a moment ago, you risk a glance at his face, he looks sad. “Sweetheart, you know the rules, if you aren’t having fun we can just call it a day.” 

“But I am having fun!” You say, kicking your heel back into the door frame, frustrated with yourself.

“So what’s the issue?” He asks confused, his palm coming up to rest against your cheek. “Did I do something wrong? Shit, did I hurt you?” His eyes swimming with concern.

“No, you didn’t do anything. I just -” You struggle to find the words, feeling amped up, unable to think properly in such close proximity to him. “ARGH! I’m not used to this.” You huff out in exasperation, gesturing weakly between the two of you, turning away from his touch.

“Not used to what exactly? Fucking around? Enjoying yourself? Having someone take care of you?” He quizzes.

“All of the above I guess-” You admit, biting nervously at the skin around your thumb, sighing heavily as he pulls your hand away from your mouth. “- I kissed you Eddie, when I had no reason to.”

Your words hang in the air for a second, then Eddie laughs, and honestly you want to punch him in the face. 

“That’s what this whole thing is about?” He chuckles, as you stare open-mouthed like a fish out of water, an angry fish out of water. “Sweetheart, we are two horny teenagers who have great sexual chemistry. There are gonna be times that we don’t have a reason, you’re just going to have to accept that we're gonna kiss and it’s gonna feel really, really good.” His voice drops a little lower, leaning in to brush his lips against yours.

  You could feel yourself relenting, deep down you knew it wasn’t just a really good kiss, you’d had plenty of those with him already, but you quashed the little nagging voice in favour of sucking on Eddie’s bottom lip before biting it in a minor retaliation for laughing at you.

He was on you then, kissing you so fervently your head smacks into the door, but you couldn’t care less. Your hands in his hair tugging harshly, neither of you willing to part even to take a breath. You feel his hands at your hips, squeezing desperately, pulling you away from the door and lifting you up onto one of the countertops.

"Fuck, I've been losing my mind all week, need you princess." He moans, slotting in between your legs like a puzzle piece, his words light a fire in your belly, your hands busy unzipping his pants as he reaches under your shirt to unclasp your bra. Then the door opens flooding the room with bright light, Principal Higgins and Fred Benson staring in confusion.

"What on-." 

The four of you freeze until Eddie clears his throat, a masked attempt at zipping his fly.

"Uh - and that is how you develop a photo, Miss Y/L/N, any questions?" Eddie asks you in an affected tone of authority, you can only shake your head as he helps you down from the counter, hand in hand edging towards the exit. "No? Wonderful, well then we best be off."

“No so fast Mr Munson -" Principal Higgins says, stepping in front of the doorway. "-if I'm not mistaken you’re supposed to be in Mrs. O’Donnell’s class right now. And you young lady-” You feel yourself shrink a little, as he rounds on you, Eddie squeezing your hand slightly. "-where are you supposed to be?”

“Mr Mundy’s class, Sir.” You mumble mortified beyond belief.

“So would you care to explain to me why you are here instead?” He asks, taunting you before the inevitable.

“It’s all Fred’s fault Principal Higgins, he took a bad photo of this poor girl, she was just devastated!" Eddie says, pointing accusingly at a startled Fred. "And seeing her so upset, well it broke my heart Sir. I had to be a good Samaritan and destroy all the copies.” He implores, hamming it up.

You don’t know whether to laugh or simply curl up in a ball and die.

“Detention, both of you.” Principal Higgins snaps. “And Mr Munson, if I find you anywhere you shouldn’t be again, I will have you permanently expelled before you can achieve your diploma. Is that understood?”

You’re shaking in your proverbial boots, but Eddie simply grins, offering a two finger salute from his forehead; definitely going to curl up and die. 

Principal Higgins had the foresight to put you in separate classrooms for your detention, which allowed you an entire hour to panic about Fred Benson. Not only was he an incessant gossip, but he also worked on 'The Weekly Streak' school newspaper alongside Nancy, if he told Nancy what he saw, she could tell Steve and then... let chaos reign.

Eddie was leaning against the lockers waiting for you when you emerged from Mrs Bridger's classroom at 5pm.

"Hey there little jailbird." He smiles, bumping your shoulder affectionately.

"Hey." You mumble back unable to keep the miserable expression of your face.

"Why so sulky?" He asks, falling in step with you as you both head out to the parking lot.

"Fucking Fred Benson, he’s a liability." You say, biting once more at the skin around your thumb, you wouldn’t have a hand left by the end of this year with the way you were going.

"Don't worry about dear Freddie, I've taken care of it." He soothes with a grin.

"You kill him?” You ask hopefully, reaching Eddie’s van leaning against the side, he laughs standing next to you, lighting up a cigarette.

“No I didn’t kill him, just gave him a little unfriendly advice.” You reach out for the cigarette with wiggling fingers, taking it happily and gesturing for him to continue, he rolls his eyes and lights another for himself. “You see, being Hawkins High’s best drug dealer gets me a lot of information, and it turns out our budding photographer Fred has been taking some pretty inappropriate photos.”

“Such as?” You ask warily.

“You ever worn a skirt when you’re sitting on the bleachers?” He asks, you nod on an inhale feeling perplexed. “Yeah, maybe don’t do that around Fred.”

“Oh my god, that’s disgusting.” You say, choking slightly on the smoke.

“Well I don't know baby -” Eddie says in a slow teasing voice, pushing off the van to stand in front of you, warm hands resting on your hips, bringing your pelvis towards his own. “- I can’t say I blame him, the things I'd do to get an upskirt photo of you.” 

This time you roll your eyes, but can’t ignore the heat coursing through your veins at his touch.

“You’re such a pervert Munson.” You mutter.

“Guilty as charged.” He grins, lifting your hand with the cigarette to his mouth, taking a long drag whilst maintaining eye contact; it makes your knees go weak. “You keep looking at me like that princess, you'll find out just how perverted I am.” He warns breathing out the smoke.

“Maybe I want to find out.” You say with a coquettish smile, pressing your hips forward to brush over his crotch, placing a lingering kiss on the pulse point in his neck.

Eddie snatches the cigarette out of your hand, stubbing it quickly under his sneaker with his own, yanking the passenger door open.

“In. Now.” He commands, eyes black with lust.

“Why?” You ask innocently, but your heart is thumping violently, blood rushing straight to your cunt.

“Because sweetheart, we’re going for a drive and then I'm going to fuck your mouth.” He says darkly.

Eddie had driven you close to Skull Rock. The ride had been intense, neither of you talking, he hadn't even bothered to put the radio on; four days of pent up sexual frustration bubbling just below the surface, threatening to boil over at any minute.

Eddie took your hand as he pulled you through the woods, the grip almost painful in his haste to get you alone, you're about to ask where exactly he's heading when he stops dead, causing you to bump into his back.

"Ok. Here's good." He says breathlessly, barely giving you a moment to register your surroundings before he's backing you up against a tree trunk, lips attacking you with the same ferocity as in the darkroom.

We have got to stop fucking around outside, you think to yourself, wincing as the tree bark scrapes against your back.

"You still want me to fuck your bratty little mouth princess?" He asks, biting none too gently at your earlobe.

"Please." You say weakly.

He beams at you, kissing you quickly again before stepping backwards.

“Get on your knees for me baby.” He says, the air of authority back in his voice.

You sink immediately like some invisible force is pushing you down, kneeling on the leaf strewn ground, looking up at Eddie; he slips his thumb into your mouth, a shiver rippling through him as you suck on it.

“So fucking pretty.” He breathes out, awe-struck, thumb leaving your mouth with a string of saliva.

You reach up, hands trembling slightly as you unbuckle his belt, trying to focus on the task at hand but Eddie is making it difficult with the way he’s looking at you; like you’re the most precious thing in the world but also like he wants to eat you alive.

You pull his pants and boxers down enough to unleash his length, taking him in your hand you find he’s already impossibly hard, making your mouth water. Pumping him steadily, kitten licking teasingly at the red and swollen tip, before placing soft kisses all the way down to his balls and back again.

“Open your mouth princess.” He instructs roughly.

You lick your lips before tucking them over your teeth, tongue stroking the underside of his cock as you take the first half of him without issue, moving slowly back and forth his cock throbbing in your mouth  

“Fuck. Take me in sweetheart, all the way.” He growls, hand moving to gather your hair up into his fist, his hips jumping forward allowing his cock to slip all the way to the back of your throat, a small gag and shudder running through you.

“That’s it, good girl.” He growls encouragingly.

He holds you there for a moment by your makeshift ponytail, and god help you, you can feel your own wetness pooling in your panties; a low heaviness making your inner walls clench. You dip your fingers below the waistband of your jeans, to rub slowly at your bud. 

“Want me to fuck your throat?” He asks again, and you whine around his length, trying to nod. “Ok, breathe through your nose baby, just breathe.” 

Eddie begins to slide in and out, using the hold on your hair to keep your head tilted up, his lust-blown eyes focused on your face. You’re drooling, each thrust of hips making his cock kiss the back of your throat, your fingers moving quickly over your clit moaning around him.

“Oh fuck, do that again, moan for me again sweetheart.” He pleads, you moan again as instructed, his grip on your hair tightening almost to the point of pain, making your eyes water.

He thrusts quicker and harder, thoroughly fucking your mouth, your nose meeting with the coarse hairs at the base of his cock.

“Fuck yes, keep breathing princess, you’re doing so well for me.” He pants. “Look at you taking my cock like a fucking pro.” 

You whimper, a fresh rush of wetness coating your fingers, swirling it around your swollen clit so close to cumming, rising up slightly higher on your knees to give your hand more space to work. Eddie notices your movements, his breath hitching, cock jumping in your mouth.

“Jesus you getting off to this sweetheart? He laughs wildly, eyes wide in adoration. “You like me using your mouth like a fucking whore?” You try to nod again, gagging, choking on your own desperate moans.

“Oh fuck, you’re gonna make me cum baby. Is that what you want princess, want me to cum down your throat?” His thrusts are getting sloppy, cock filling your stretched mouth at a brutal depth. “You wanna swallow my cum sweetheart?” He groans.

“Mhmm.” You moan heavily in response, feeling your own orgasm break, hips rocking as your pussy clenches around nothing.

“Fuck, fuck, take it, swallow it all.” He begs, thick ropes of cum coating your tongue, pooling at the back of your throat.��

"Oh my god." He says, his thumb tracing across your swollen lips once more as you swallow. 

  He drops to his knees in front of you so suddenly that you think he's fainted, until he grabs the nap of your neck and pulls you in, kissing you so passionately it's borderline violent. 

"You alright?" He pants, both of you sucking down air as you break away.

"Yeah." You whisper croakily.

"It wasn't too much? I didn't hurt you?" He asks caressing the sides of your throat with gentle hands, eyes searching yours.

"No, it was good. I'm good." You smile, feeling immensely proud of yourself.

"More like fucking outstanding sweetheart." He breathes out, kissing along your jaw. "Should give you a trophy."

You flush in a mixture of pleasure and embarrassment at his praise.

"Somehow I don't think my dad would be too happy about having it on the mantle." You say, and you both burst out laughing, Eddie's hands still holding you tenderly about the neck.

"I'm sorry for avoiding you." You mumble, ducking your head to place a small kiss on his cheek.

"Water under the bridge sweetheart." He grins. "Come on, let's get you home." Holding out a helping hand to you as he stands.

Eddie shuts off the van two blocks from your house, you had enjoyed smoking and singing along to KISS on the way back from Skull Rock, the awkwardness and tension seemingly resolved, allowing you to remember why you had liked spending time with him to begin with, even before all this.

"So-” He says slowly, hands shifting across the steering wheel nervously. “my uncle is working a double shift tomorrow night, did you - uh - maybe wanna come over and hang out?"

"Hang out?" You repeat, your tone full of insinuation given what had just happened between you.

"Mind out of the gutter sweetheart, I am not that kind of guy." He says, acting scandalized, you raise an eyebrow in disbelief. "Ok, so I am that kind of guy, but I genuinely mean to hang out. We can order a pizza, have a couple of beers, smoke some weed, and watch a movie. Get back on track, I'll even get us some snacks." He coaxes.

The little alarm bell was ringing shrilly in your head again telling you it was a bad idea, the whole thing was too familiar, that there was no way you'd be able to just hang out with Eddie.

"What kind of snacks?" You ask with a small smile, effectively chucking the alarm out the window.

"Whatever you want princess." He grins broadly.

"Red Vines, none of that Twizzler shit."

"Done."

Taglist: @avalon-wolf @mystars123 @lolalanaie @eddiemunsonsgf2 @eddieslildarling @bakugouswh0r3

[plnkdemon]

I HAVE HEARD IT SAID THAT LOVE TURNS PEOPLE SOFT BUT I HAVE NEVER BEEN MORE BRUTAL.

satan x gn!mc (but this is personal venting, so written to express the trauma of repressed female rage)

cw/tw: nothing, mc’s inner thoughts could be read as self-critical, one implication of trauma from family

please let me know if i’ve missed anything

“i’m not interested in being easy on the eyes. i want them to flinch, think twice before they reach out their callous hands to bruise. i want to be a constant reminder to men that not everything is theirs for the taking.”

“you’re beautiful,” satan whispers through the seam in the door. in my head we’re both sat with our backs against the wood like our very own scene from a movie, iconographic and symbolic of two sides of the same coin or some other allegorical bullshit that would make reality seem more impactful to the audience. “i mean, you always are but you make wrath look so breathtaking. i’ve never felt that way about my sin until i saw it on you.”

the echo of my laughter sounds watery and defeated. “it’s a family heirloom,” i admit to the image in my head of him.

“generational trauma. i read an article about that.”

cautiously, i slide my hand across the tiles so that my fingertips brush against his that still peek out from beneath the door. unlike the movie screen in my mind, his hand feels warm and calloused and his index finger has a groove from a scar long since healed.

“satan?” i call out even though i know he’s still there.

“yes?” he answers dutifully.

“do you hate me?” the question itches my throat from the raw vulnerability, but his presence gives me hope that one day i’d be able to speak like this face to face without feeling like acid is burning me from the inside out.

“no — “ his fingers curl around my own. “ — even when i hate you, i don’t hate you. even when i get so angry i could kill you, i can’t bring myself to leave a scratch on you. i love you when it’s easy and when it’s unbearable. even when we both hate each other, i’m completely and unconditionally in love with you.”

my breath catches as a sob escapes me. for once i don’t second-guess my rationality or trustfulness. instead, i believe him and while i’m still alone in that tiny bathroom with chipped tiles and stained grout, it doesn’t feel like i have to be anymore. satan’s hand flounders for a second when i pull away — most likely anxious that he’s said the wrong thing or revealed too much — until i turn the handle and open the door, falling into his arms with no doubt that he’ll catch me.

[panniya]

"iIf I went back to shake his hand and forgive him, that would condone everything he's done. He'd have got away with it. He's got to go to his grave knowing for a fact that I hate him and that Liam hates him and that my Mam doesn't want anything to do with him. He's got to fuckin' pay for his sins, man. Simple as that. Fuck him. He beat me up when I was kid. He actually physically had me on the floor, and I had black eyes because of him, up until I was 16, 17." His father has always denied this. But for Noel a reunion is off the cards. "There's no fuckin' way. There's nothing that anyone can say to me like 'but he's your dad'. Big deal."

-----------

So fond, in fact, that he recently went to a sanctuary and acquired two donkeys, because they reminded him of his childhood summers in Ireland. At their Buckinghamshire home, Noel and Meg also have four cats, some geese, some goats and five dogs (two Dobermans, two Jack Russell's and one mongrel they found abandoned in a shop doorway in Camden). He's hoping for a Staffordshire bull terrier for his birthday. Noel Gallagher? An animal lover? Who would have thought it. "They're for the kids, really, when they get a bit older

--------

I'm the only person who'll tell it like it is. He has a lot of people who pussyfoot around him and say, 'He does this because of that'. Fuck him. He's 27. He's a millionaire. I'm not having it that his life is any worse than someone who's living in fuckin' Leicester, who's got two kids and no fuckin' job. I'm not having any of that shit."

Liam doesn't always like hearing that, or reading it in print; it seems demeaning to him. "But if it wasn't for me," says his brother, "he'd think it was all right to go on a bender for three days and not see his kid. He'd think that was fine. He sees me and I'm, like, 'You're a disgrace.' It's for his own good. There's two sides to Liam: when he's pissed, he's fuckin' horrible, and I hate him, and I really mean that. I fuckin' hate him. It's just psychotic alcohol bullshit and I've got no time for him. When he's sober, he's a top geezer and you can have a rational conversation with him about anything."

-------

Her short-lived column in the Sunday Times, while curiously compelling, did little to enhance the band's mystique. Noel was not keen. "I went fuckin' ballistic. We have heated debates about stuff like that. To me it was just celebrity name-dropping and it was wrong." But the paper was offering her £50,000, and her party-organising business with friend Fran Cutler had not, at that point, taken off. "She wouldn't want anyone to think that she sits at home all day, eating cream cakes and spending my money. She's her own woman. At the end of the day, we had to agree to disagree. I would never put my foot down and tell her what to do. She'd tell me to piss off."

[clatterbane]

My first real appointment through orthopedics to finally try and get set up with an aftermarket leg is coming up on Monday.

The previous referral last year just didn't work out, for multiple reasons, and I was a bit bummed over that. I think part of the problem was it falling through the cracks because nobody really seems to be sure what to do with somebody showing up from completely outside their system already minus a leg.

But, we thought to ask that new endo for a fresh referral. So, I did get an intake appointment set up through ortho, with no schedule collisions this time.

In one way, I'm excited to hopefully get moving toward with the process of getting set up with a prosthetic. I would really like to be able to get around better again! And, you know, be able to take my sorry ass off paved surfaces and up steps and stuff again!

OTOH, due to the person I am? I am trying not to borrow too much trouble and drive myself crazy worrying in the meantime. Especially the closer that draws.

Frankly, not least that somebody is gonna just say, "Oops, it's been so long and this entire situation does not fit into any familiar procedures. We just can't/won't help you!”

Yeah, I know there is going to be an awful lot of PT ahead, likely before I even get to the point of any fitting. I have some other concerns about that, after some sufficiently unpleasant experiences as a troublesome-bendy individual, with rehab-focused PT after injuries/knee surgeries (directly coming from the probably-EDS) in the past. My knees are also pretty damned terrible, and also kinda further destabilized by said surgical tinkering.

But, I am much older and more confident now--and not nearly as eager to take any "no pain, no gain!" bullshit seriously. Much less push in ill-advised ways until I do my bendy self an injury.

But yeah, even right now? I would place good money if I had it on the likelihood that I am currently in better shape than 75% of the new patients they see much sooner than this after surgery. Who are statistically much older and otherwise in pretty damned bad health. Probably I've been staying more physically active over the past few years than a lot of that demographic have been able to, even under the current circumstances

Mean age at the time of the first registered amputation in our sample was 74 years (SD 14); women were older (78, SD 14, CI 77–79) than men (72, SD 14, CI 72–73). 43% of the patients were 80 years or older by the time of the primary amputation (Figure 3). The mortality rate of the registered patients was 19% within 6 months and 24% within the 1st year after the last registered amputation. The 1-year mortality rate after TFA was 40%, after KD 38%, and after TTA 24%.

("Lucky" transtibial/TTA here. Those figures are from the Swedish national database, BTW. Because there is one. You see dire mortality rates after this sort of surgery come up? That's a lot of why. Those demographics and the occasional nasty accident requiring amputation seriously skew things.)

There were reasons they kept going on about how young and healthy my middle-aged ass that had just barely cheated death was when I was stuck in the hospital in Romford. And therefore considered a candidate for prosthetics at all under that system. Not going off on that rant right now.

Still, the majority of those elderly patients in otherwise not great shape DO get successfully set up on replacement legs here. Which is encouraging, that they are likely not looking hard for excuses to avoid spending the money. (We're talking the equivalent of a new not-cheap car, back in the US. Region Skåne is still set to lay out a fair chunk of change here. We are thankfully not directly.)

I do rationally doubt that I would get turned away just because I have been off that leg for several years now, and my knees were terrible even before that. And I fucking suck at trying to use forearm crutches, which I am not at all used to and have a very different feel than the type I do have too much experience on.

But yeah, my brain just won't leave things alone as usual. That's just one of the crappiest possibilities it's seized onto right now.

[antaresr]

I just noticed that women are beings perfectly capable of making decisions for themselves, taking responsibility for their actions and being mature people until you say something that a man doesn't like and then you are not mature, you are not rational and you have no right to make that decision you made.

To contextualize, my best friend's friend started flirting with me, I am under the asexual umbrella and I hardly have romantic relationships, I can count all my relationships on one hand and I would have most of the fingers left over.

I told this guy "I'm demisexual, I'm genderfluid" he said he understood, I thought he did.

I mainly clarified to him that I am gender fluid for the reason that due to my gender dysphoria, many things that are feminine in my body cause me conflict, such as menstruating, sometimes having breasts, sometimes my voice, my small hands, among others.

So being pregnant is out of the question, it would be an extremely traumatic experience for me, I also have depression and that would only aggravate it and there is a lot of history of miscarriages in my family, it would be a lot of traumas and things that I couldn't go through without trying kill myself.

I told him and he said it was fine that as long as I didn't want to put a penis in him everything was perfect, but it was meant as a joke and I understood it because I also make those jokes with my male friends.

The biggest problem came when the topic of getting married and having children came up. I have never, EVER, wanted to get married or have children and I clarified it to him "I don't want to have children."

and I went from the girl of his dreams to an immature girl who doesn't know what she wants and who still needs to grow up and get to know the world to realize that she does want to have children, man, if it really matters to you, get a girl your age ( We only have 5 years difference but yeah, you get it).

I told him no, I had never wanted to, plus I don't think I have to justify my sexual reproductive decisions, I didn't do it with my mother (who was glad I didn't want to have children) so I won't do it with a guy who doesn't even is my partner and we were just seeing if I wanted to have something with him.

And he answered me (I just had to laugh at this because otherwise I was going to get angry): I used to say that at your age, now I do want to have children, so you're going to want it too in a few years.

The nerve, I just laughed, I laughed so hard that my mom knew something had happened, the guy continued with his bullshit about "if you don't get married you'll be alone, if you don't get married where are you going to live, if you don't... "and blah blah blah, well I don't know about you pal, but I have an inheritance from my aunt and my dad, and living alone has never been a problem for me.

Just to be a joke, I told him that I didn't care because my older brother would support me, give me a house and I wouldn't work a day in my life, the guy continued with "your brother will make a life without you and you'll be alone" friend, my brother doesn't want to get married either, and he has always said that he will live with me and my mother, he will probably have a separate life at some point but I don't care, he will always be my brother and if I need help he will help me as always he has done it, telling me those kinds of things instead of scaring me makes me angry.

In the end I was getting really angry, and as "the immature girl that I am and I don't know what I want" I stopped answering his messages and ghosted him, I mean, I'm a childish girl, right? What could he expect then?

So yes, men do not like that you as a woman can make decisions separate from their needs, you must want to have children, you must want to get married, you must want to serve them, yes, it is not all men, but that specific sector always tells you: you must make your decisions and take responsibility for them and then tells you that you can't think that and you have to do what they want.