#Broncos United

[chaos-footy]

if i had a nickel for every time a queensland team lost the grand final this weekend with less than two minutes remaining by an absurdly close margin I'd have two nickels. which isn't much but its weird that it happened twice

finally queensland sports enjoyers are united against a common enemy: interstate grand finals

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Found another of my former posts that didn't sell. This is a 1925 Pullman railroad car converted to a home. I think that the problem is that it's out in the middle of nowhere and it has to be moved. I have no idea how you would transport it, but the seller is willing to help facilitate the move. Right now the 3bd, 3ba home is in Bonner, MT. It comes furnished and is $249K.

It's got a western theme. The shades have cowboys on bucking broncos, and I love the soft velvet furniture. Look at the chairs w/scenes on the fabric.

This sofa is an original train seat.

Now, here we have a beautiful desk that looks like it could be original & a chair, plus another vintage bench seat with storage drawers.

Small room flex space.

Outside this bedroom there's wallpaper and a shower curtain with a barbed wire print.

I like the stainless steel shower (there are 3 of them, one for each bedroom). There's also a very private toilet in each bedroom next to the chest of drawers.

Above the toilet is a clever unit with a mirrored medicine chest and a pull down sink.

Cute room with bunks and vintage cowboy wallpaper.

The bedroom toilet units and chest of drawers must be original b/c they're built-in. They probably had bunk beds, but these wouldn't be the originals.

The dining room fits 6 in comfy upholstered chairs.

An antler chandelier matches the smaller antler sconces around the home. On the right is the hall to the bedrooms and showers.

A nice built-in serving cabinet has cowboy stained glass to match the window shades.

The kitchen also looks original. It's completely stainless steel and commercial. I trust that all of this works

At the end of the car is this cute little original seating area.

I'm not sure if even a small chair can fit out here, but it sure is cute.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/Nhn-Nka-Bonner-MT-59823/2054689249_zpid/

[ccbb2222]

I Can Fix That — Bradley Bradshaw x Reader One Shot

It's been awhile...hasn't it? Summary: Bradley has a new neighbor, and he's more than willing to come to her rescue on more than one occasion.

Warnings: Swearing, fluff Also....yes the title is a reference to Holes :)

The first time Bradley Bradshaw comes to your rescue is on moving day.

The heat was unforgiving, your UHaul was filled to the brim, and you were beginning to doubt that you could handle moving all on your own. With an aching back and a scowl, you begin to pull on the side of the loveseat that you had somehow managed to lug into the UHaul just hours before. Panic struck your eyes as you realized it was about to topple over directly on top of you. "Woah, woah, woah," You hear a gruff voice say as a muscular arm makes its way into you peripheral vision. The love seat levels out, and you turn your head to thank your hero.

Deep, honey colored brown eyes, soft and warm distract you for a moment. "Thank you," You say, voice soft, as you realize just how close the handsome stranger is standing to you.

A deep chuckle makes its way out of his mouth as he smiles, "No worries. No one should die by the hands of a sofa." Over the course of the next hour, Bradley, as you've come to learn his name, helps you unpack your UHaul. You try not to get distracted by his gentle coaching, "Just a bit to the left, you got it. Nice, just a bit further." Your mind wanders to thoughts of Bradley wrapped in your sheets, instructing you this way and that. Your cheeks warm, and you're grateful of the excuse of manual labor as the cause.

Sweat drips from both of your bodies in the San Diego heat as you stand back with your hands on your hips. Bradley expertly pulls the sliding door down on the back of the rental truck, and you admire his back muscles as they ripple against the his shirt.

"I cannot thank you enough," You say, daring a glance at him. His biceps glisten under his black t-shirt, and you're momentarily entranced by him.

"Don't mention it," He says turning to face you with a ruffled brow, "This is a lot for one person to handle. Why didn't anyone offer to help you?"

Your smile falls slightly as you remember the cause for your move. Your break up. It was unexpected, to say the least. You walked in on your boyfriend of four years with his "work friend," tangled in the sheets of your four post bed. The bed you had picked out together at a flea market, and the one you left behind despite your love for the aesthetic. It was ruined now.

"Let's just say I was in a rush to move," You supply vaguely, and Bradley nods his head, unbothered.

"Well, if you need anything, just come find me, I'm in 24B."

"Thank you Bradley," you say, and he smiles softly, raising his hand for a wave, and heading back into the building.

_____ The second time Bradley comes to your rescue is after you forget your keys to the main apartment building. Why had you decided to take your trash out in a torrential downpour? You scowl, picturing vividly your keys hanging on the key rack. Inside your unit. Leaving you stranded and your clothes seeping through.

You try to buzz your neighbors, truly anyone, to let you in. But following a notice from the building warning against letting in non-residents, you weren't surprised when your buzzes went unanswered.

"Fuck," You say, trying to press your self to the side of the building, the small overhang not providing much relief from the wind and rain. Your white t-shirt was fully soaked through, and there was a 99% chance you resembled a drowned cat.

As if your luck couldn't get any worse, you see a familiar Bronco pull into the parking lot, and you shut your eyes in defeat. Of course your hot neighbor had to once again come to your rescue.

You knees nearly buckle as you see him, dressed in what looks like a flight suit making his way to you, a slight jog in his step as he dodges raindrops.

"Locked out?" He smiles, fishing quickly for his keys.

"Nope, just enjoying the storm," You say with a playful sarcasm.

He chuckles and unlocks the door, motioning for you to go in before him.

"Thank you," You turn to him while collecting your sopping wet hair over one shoulder and quickly making your way into the dry lobby. "Hey," You say, taking in his full appearance, "I didn't realize you were in the service. Guess that explains why you're so helpful all the time." Bradley smiles, "Yes ma'am," God, that sent a shock straight to your core, "Naval aviator at your service." Now that...made him even hotter.

"Very impressive," You nod your head approvingly, "Although, it's nothing compared to a work-from-home graphic designer. I've had life or death moments with Photoshop like you wouldn't believe." Were you...flirting? And was he...kinda into it? "Oh," he clutches at his chest, "the agony, I'm sure." The two of you walk towards the elevator and he once again motions for you to step in first.

"Are you also locked out of your apartment?" He asks, scratching at his neck, and you try not to get distracted by his bicep, "You're welcome to come hangout while you wait for a locksmith." "Luckily I left my door unlocked," You say before you can even catch the words coming out of your mouth.

He nods, and looks down.

Fuck. You had an in. You could've been in his space, with him and you blew it. "But thank you for the —" the elevator doors open quickly and you realize you're on your floor, "offer Bradley. I appreciate it!" He smiles with a nod, and you exit the elevator, turning to see his eyes once more and his lips quirk up in a smile as the doors close.

______

The third time Bradley Bradshaw comes to your rescue is when your oven is, quite literally, on fire. You intended on baking Bradley some thank you brownies (and okay, it was also a ploy to see him again), but it turned into a complete disaster. Somehow you didn't notice the crack at the bottom of your glass baking dish, and brownie batter dripped onto the bottom of the oven, causing smoke and eventually flames.

"Jesus Christ!" You let out an exasperated cry as your fire alarm starts buzzing, smoke starts to fill your apartment, and you throw open your door to find the nearest fire extinguisher.

You're stunned to see an equally surprised looking Bradley outside your door.

"What are you doing here?" You say, not impolitely, but given your frazzled state, you instantly feel paranoid about your outburst. "I was coming by to see if you happened to have any eggs to spare, but I can see you have bigger issues to deal with," He smirks at you and pushes past you to assess the damage. Smoke is quickly filling your small kitchen and you cough as you just point mutely to the source.

Bradley reaches up to disable the fire alarm, and turns the oven off before asking, "Do you have any baking soda?" You quickly throw open the fridge and hand it to him. He calmly opens the oven, dumps the baking soda on the flames, and you watch in awe as they begin to simmer.

"What — how? Baking soda?" You stammer, words failing you completely.

He chuckles, "My mom was a terrible cook. I learned how to put out an oven fire at a young age. Baking soda kills the oxygen, and the fire with it." You laugh nodding, "Well, that's good to know. Those were...supposed to be for you." You admit, pointing to the sad-looking, burned brownies.

"For me?" He smiles softly, and opens your apartment window to let out the smoke.

"Yeah well," You say, fanning out the smoke with a dish towel, "You came to my rescue more than once over the past few weeks, and now I guess I owe you more than brownies." You motion for him to join you in your smoke-free living room and he follows obediently. "How about dinner?" He says, a smile once again on his face as he leaned his beautiful body against the door way.

You blush instantly. Dinner? Your heart rate races as you return a shy smile. "Dinner sounds nice."

He lets out a chuckle, "For what it's worth, I'd put out weekly oven fires if it meant I could make you blush like that." "Stop it," You say, grabbing at your flaming cheeks. "Oh, did still need those eggs?" You turn to go back into the kitchen and recover from your embarrassment. Bradley grabs your arm softly and turns you to face him, "I never needed eggs. Just needed an excuse to visit my favorite neighbor." __________________________________________________

IM ALIVE.

Helpful neighbor Bradley just hits different.

[nevzatboyraz44]

Monument Valley Navajo Tribal Park 😲😲😲, situated on the Arizona-Utah border in the southwestern United States, is a breathtaking landscape renowned for its iconic sandstone formations. Managed by the Navajo Nation, this park holds profound cultural and spiritual significance for the Navajo people, known as the Diné. The towering buttes, mesas, and spires that dominate the horizon are not only natural wonders but also integral to Navajo mythology and traditional ceremonies.

Visitors to Monument Valley can explore the park via a 17-mile scenic drive loop, offering unparalleled views of formations like the Mittens and Merrick Butte, which have become symbols of the American West. Navajo-guided tours provide deeper insights into the park's history, culture, and sacred sites, including ancient petroglyphs and traditional Navajo dwellings known as hogans.

The park's visitor center serves as a gateway for information, permits, and tour arrangements, emphasizing sustainable tourism practices that respect the environment and preserve Navajo heritage. Monument Valley Navajo Tribal Park stands as a testament to the enduring connection between the land and its indigenous stewards, inviting visitors to appreciate its natural beauty and cultural richness.

[beyondthesefourwalls]

To Make a House a Home

Summary: House hunting in California was proving to be a challenge. Leave it to Bradley to manage to pull off the biggest surprise you’ve ever gotten.

Pairing: Bradley Bradshaw x Reader (no use of y/n, can be read as unnamed OC) 

Word Count: 1.6K 

Warnings: smut, fluff, language 

Notes: This was written off the blurb request I got during my TGM Blurb Party by @cherrycola27​. She requested Bradley. Smut/Fluff. House. “You can’t trick me into confessing my secrets” and it ran away from me, so she gets a one shot instead. Hope you like it and that it worth the wait, girlfriend!

------

“I don’t think I can handle an open house today, baby. Can we just go back to the apartment instead?” 

The dejection in your voice was clear. You had been on the market for a house for months now that you had relocated to San Diego from Virginia. But the market was nearly impossible right now, and you were dealt rejection after rejection for every single offer you put in. You were renting an apartment on a month to month basis with the majority of your things packed away in a storage unit, and both of you were so eager to get out of the third floor walk up and into a place you could make a home. 

Bradley squeezed your hand before bringing it to his lips as he took an exit off the freeway. It was sunny but not too hot today, and the wind from the open windows made the strands of your hair flutter around your face. “Just one, okay? I have a good feeling about this."

“Just one?” you asked, hesitation and reluctance in your voice. But you would humor him, he knew, because he never asked for much. 

“Just one,” he confirmed. 

You sighed, and Bradley knew you really didn’t want to, but you agreed with him nonetheless. You weren’t happy now, but his own excitement started vibrating under his skin, because he knew you would be. He couldn’t wait to see the look on your face. 

It was only another few minutes before he pulled into a neighborhood. He saw how you sat up a little straighter in your seat and how your brows pulled together out of the corner of his eye; you started to recognize your surroundings, taking them in. You didn’t say anything right away, but Bradley could practically feel the wheels in your head turning. You waited until he pulled into the driveway of a very familiar house before turning to him.

“What are we doing here?” 

The here in question was a house that could only be described as your dream home. It had almost everything your Pinterest Home Goals board could ever imagine, and maybe even a little bit extra, and you had fallen in love with it the moment you saw it during your house hunting more than a month ago. Your eyes had lit up in a way that Bradley had never seen before, only to be stamped out when the offer you had put in before you had even left the driveway was rejected the very next day. It had been hard, but you had simply smiled at him and said you would find another dream home, and that as long as you were with him, it didn’t matter. He knew you were being truthful, but he also knew that every home you looked at afterward simply didn’t compare. When he got the phone call from the realtor last week that it was back on the market after the original buyers had fallen through, he knew he had to move fast. With a little more cash down and a pre-approved loan for the rest, he had managed to sign all the paperwork and get the keys with you being none the wiser. 

Bradley turned the Bronco off and got out. You were still giving him that same confused, skeptical look when he rounded the vehicle to open your door for you like he always did. He couldn’t help but lean forward and place a kiss on the top of your scrunched up nose. 

“Come on,” he said, helping you down and closing the door once you were safely on the ground. “We should go inside.” 

“Bradley, there’s no one else here. And isn’t this house already sold?” 

You sound dumbfounded, and more than a little confused. You climbed the few steps to the closed front door, and Bradley couldn’t keep it to himself any longer. A smile took over his entire face and he dug around in his front pocket until he held his hand out. A shiny, silver key laid in his palm. 

“I..I don’t…what’s happening?” 

Instead of answering, he took the key and inserted it into the lock. The door swung open easily and he gestured for you to go in. You did so slowly, not taking your eyes off of him until you crossed the threshold. You gasped when you looked around. The large open concept living room and kitchen were bare, not a single rug or piece of furniture to be found as of yet. But on one of the walls right there in front of you, your favorite photo of the two of you hung, snug in its frame that had been sitting in your storage unit up until he had retrieved it earlier this morning. You stared at it in shock for a long moment. Bradley closed the front door and wrapped his arms around you from behind, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. You turned to look at him, that same look of disbelief on your face, but your eyes were bright with love and awe.

“This is ours?” you asked quietly, like you were too scared of the answer. He nodded. “You bought this?” 

“We bought this,” he corrected, “but yes. We did.”  

You didn’t say anything, just stared at him for a long moment before squealing and launching yourself into his arms. The unexpected force of your body made him lose his footing and sent the both of you to the ground. He braced your fall with his body, but even then, he was laughing. 

“Bradley! This is our house!” 

“It is,” he agreed, looking up at you with the biggest smile on his face. You squealed again before leaning down to kiss him and he returned it eagerly. His hands settled on your butt, squeezing softly through the denim. 

“How did you pull this off without me knowing? You aren’t sneaky!” 

“I’m plenty sneaky when it means surprising the love of my life, thank you very much,” he remarked. You rolled your eyes but kissed him again nonetheless. 

“Our house,” you mumbled against his lips. He hummed in response, nodding. His cock twitched in his jeans. You always had a powerful effect on him, but combined with the way your body pressed against his, wiggling in excitement, and knowing that the happiness radiating off of you practically in waves was because of him, he was almost fully hard in a matter of moments. You could feel it, too. He knew by the way you ground down into him and tugged at his hair. You pulled away after a moment, rolling off of him and climbing to your feet.

He was about to push himself up as well but stopped when you tugged your shirt over your head. His jaw dropped as the material fluttered to the floor beside where he lay. You kicked off your shoes and worked on getting your jeans and panties off next. You returned to him as soon as you were left only in your bra, and you immediately set to work on undoing his belt and pulling his zipper down. 

“Don’t you want to look around?” he asked, even as he was finally getting with the program and raising his body just enough to quickly discard his own shirt. 

“No, I want to fuck you in our house. Right now. And I want you to tell me how you managed to do all of this.” 

He groaned in pleasure when you freed his cock from the confines of his boxers. “You can’t trick me into confessing my secrets. Oh, fuck, baby, god damn.” 

You had taken his length into your mouth with no preamble, sucking and licking him in the sloppy way that you knew he loved. The back of his head hit the hardwood floors as you hollow your cheeks. He cursed your name when you hummed around him. He threaded his fingers loosely through your hair. “Oh my god, you’re so good to me.” 

You didn’t work him with your mouth for too long, pulling off of him after only a minute or two, but he couldn’t bring himself to complain about it when you were climbing up his body and lining him up with your glistening wet pussy. You sank down slowly, and your matching groans echoed off the walls of the empty house. 

“You’ll tell me eventually,” you breathed, clenching around him as he bottomed out. You ran your hands over his chest, your nails scraping against his nipples as you went. His hips jerked up into you at the sensation and he knew you were right; despite what he said, your tricks always worked on him. 

He rolled the two of you so you were on your back below him. He thrusted in and out of you with long, hard strokes, you begging him for more the entire time in that desperate way you always did when his cock was buried inside of you. He wouldn’t be surprised if neither of you lasted long, but that was okay, because you had an entire house to christen.

“Welcome home, baby,” he grunted, slamming his hips into yours and reveling in the sounds you were making for him, echoing around him like music, “welcome home.” 

-----

Masterlist

Notes: In my head I was picturing the couple from the first TGM one shot I ever wrote, A Change to Everything. You don't have to read that to follow along with this, obviously, but check it out if you haven’t! 

Tag List (please let me know if you’d like to be removed or added!) :  @roosterforme - @mak-32 - @hoyaharper - @wildxwidow - @gretagerwigsmuse - @bradshawburner - @iamaslytherin0 - @lilyevanswhore - @too-fangirl-to-fuction - @fav-fanficssss - @benhardysdrumstick - @fandomxpreferences - @acatwriteshere - @1234-angelika - @double-j - @cocoskween - @sunflowersteves - @teacupsandtopgun - @littlezee80 - @sometimesanalice - @je-suis-prest-rachel - @khaylin27 - @infamous-reindeer - @hotch-meeeeeuppppp - @sarahjoestewy-blog - @sunnysidesidra - @notroosterbradshaw - @yanna-banana - @inthestars-underthesun -@avengersfan25 - @wkndwlff - @zbeez-outlet - @lt-spork - @indynerdgirl - @loveforaugust - @mssleepy876b

@kassieesworld - @luckylexie - @lovemesomevesey - @mizzzpink - @books-for-summer - @a-serene-place-to-be - @deviltsunoda - @tv-fanatic18 - @memoriesat30 - @melody-death - @imnotcreativeenoughforthisblog - @dabisblackprincess - @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy - @realdirectionx - @waywardhunter95 - @myownworstenemyyy - @sexualparkour - @sadpetalsstuff - @almostgenerallyalways -@alilstressyandlotdepressy - @14readwritedraw96 - @ccbb2222 - @taytaylala12 - @alittlechaotics-blog - @starkleila

@shelbycillian - @mavrellover91 - @vici111 - @merishfit - @plaper1 - @lunamooncole - @pariahsparadise - @bunny-nonnie - @blackwidownat2814 - @huang-the-geek - @jpgliv - @bluelicious - @loveyhoneydovey - @pisupsala - @nuvoleincielo - @olivezeppelin - @jynxmirage - @shanimallina87 - @ouralcohol - @lumpypoll - @discowitchyy - @bellaireland1981- @princessmiaelicia - @eighthwvnder - @floydflys - @smile-child-13 - @rashelruby10 - @csoutsider - @cowboybarbie - @haydensith - @itsizzythebell - @phantomxoxo - @myhealthymarvelobsession - @winterrebel04

[hangmanssunnies]

Square Peg, Round Hole

Summary: You love Bradley Bradshaw. He really is like a dream. You just wish that your parents didn't love him as much as you do.

Pairings: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Reader

Word count: 2k

AO3 link

Warnings: complicated parental relationship, childhood trauma, venting, healthy relationship, bad jokes, slight angst. Let me know if I missed any.

Authors note: Did this scene in The Good Place ever make you cry? Or have your parents ever liked your partner more than you? If so, this fic goes out to you. <3

"Was I too much with your parents again?" He asks you. It's only moments after he passed you a milkshake and eased his foot off the break. The Bronco creeps forward out of the drive-thru, and Bradley checks both ways before turning back on the road home. You sip your milkshake and consider his words carefully. 

It was one of those things. It didn't bother you…not really, but then again, maybe it did. You had always felt that you weren't really meant to be your parents' kid. And you loved your parents, of course you did, but it never really fit not the way it was supposed to. And your parents were bursting at the seams for parental love. You just weren't really the right shape for it. On the other hand, Bradley Bradshaw was the perfect shape; your parents adored him, and he loved them right back. The only reason Sunday brunch had started as a tradition was because of Bradley willing it into existence. You think your parents were more into Bradley than flies were with honey. They just clicked and latched on to Bradley's natural charisma and bright personality. 

It was a beautiful thing for you to think about sometimes. How, at least, you could bring them together. It wasn't your purpose to be your parents' perfect kid. It was your destiny to unite this lonely man with a family, though. It's hard to describe. It's not like you saw Bradley in any shape or form, your brother. However, you knew that if they felt they could get away with it, your parents would choose Bradley over you if you ever broke up. 

"No." It's not until you say it that you realize it's true. "No, you've made me love my parents again."

"What is it then?" He asks. 

"It's hard sometimes to see you with them. See how they are with you," You laugh and put your milkshake down in the free drink holder next to Bradley's own. "I mean, my dad watched four documentaries on the Navy and listens to a podcast about the history of TOP GUN while he drives to work. Then, my mom, she tells you to eat more! She fucking glows when you agree to play that cheesy keyboard they bought me in high school. The one that I never learned to play." You're quiet for a moment then, spinning your ring around your finger, fiddling with it. You hope the action will put you at ease, but it's primarily unsuccessful. You want to try to explain yourself more, and the hurt aching in your chest. However, the words don't come, forcing you to sit there with it. 

"I'm sorry," Bradley eventually says. 

"I don't want you to be sorry. I think you are the most amazing man on the planet," You immediately tell him, not wanting Bradley to get how you were feeling all twisted in his own head. 

"I'm not sorry for my actions. I'm sorry for you, baby. I'm sorry for the hurt you feel," He amends in a soft, gentle tone.

"Don't be sorry for me, Bradley. I have a happier family than I ever dreamed about in my adult life." Despite your brave words, a few tears burst from your eyes. You quickly wipe them away, drying your hands on your side. It feels like when you forget to grab a napkin for the movie theater popcorn, not really gone, mostly just smudged. 

"The way they are with you made me realize I was wrong. I think that's my big issue. I always thought they just weren't built to be parents. They weren't meant to love someone else like that. So, it wasn't that they couldn't change or they didn't have the capacity to love me. It's that I wasn't ever good enough for them."

Bradley's heart fucking broke hearing your confession. It broke into a hundred more pieces than he thought it could. He loved your parents and couldn't conceptualize any parents making you feel the way you did. His own parents had loved him wholeheartedly and openly right up until the moment they took their last breaths. They were never shy about it either, ensuring he knew they adored him. He never questioned that he was loved. Having made it one of his life missions to love you, he never wanted to see you feel anything less than that. Yet, you could tell the idea of it all made him uncomfortable. 

"So, I'm not mad at you. I'm not even mad at them because they are so happy. I love seeing them so happy, and I love seeing you so happy. All of that makes me happy. I'm not actually mad at myself, but maybe I'm mad at the little girl inside me. Or maybe she's mad at me. But either way, one of us, or both of us. Me. I wasn't enough for them to love me like that, and I never will be." Abandoning your ring, you clench your hands over your knees hard. The winded explanation made your emotions regarding the situation bubble hotly in you as more tears threatened to spill. You stop looking out the window and decide that Bradley's broad form is much better at capturing your attention.

  "First," Bradley starts, slowly drawing out the word, "I want to say I think you are enough, and I love you so much. Next, will you hold my hand?" Bradley's primary love language was physical touch. He was always touch starved. Any time he was with you, he needed to touch you somehow, even if it was just the edge of your foot pressed into his calf. Sometimes he twisted his pinky with yours or would stroke an ankle on the couch when your feet were in his lap. You knew he needed to touch you to feel reassured. You took his hand then, slotting your fingers together. You could see him visibly relax and shift at your touch like it helped pull him back from an edge.

"Thank you," you whisper in a watery voice. 

"How can I support you right now, my love? Would you like me to listen, or do you want a solution? Or I can call your parents and tell them off." Bradley's deep timber tells you just how serious and involved he is in this conversation despite driving. Fuck, you loved how good Bradley was at communicating. You were worried about being with him at first. Military men don't really have the best reputations, but he was so mature and so good to you. You were unreasonably in love with him, it was consuming, but that wasn't something you were upset about. 

"Can you listen a little more?" You ask. 

"Of course, baby. Why do you think these ears are so big? It's to hear you better." 

"Bradley," you whine with a half laugh. Bradley's mouth spreads into a wide grin, and he gives your hand a gentle squeeze. Only when his thumb starts tracing soothing circles into your skin do you find the energy to speak again. "When I was growing up, they weren't how they are now. And every time we see them, part of me is always prepared for how they used to be. For them to be cold and mean, or indifferent, or criticizing, or any of the other things that made me feel so much less than. I wish I could just accept that they had changed, but I don't think I'll ever really believe that, no matter how much time has passed. And then it's so frustrating that I'm caught up on this. I'm an adult! So, why do they have this grip on me? I just want to be free. I want to be done with this hurt."

"There is nothing wrong with you feeling this way. That little girl in you that they hurt, that they still hurt. She is allowed to have her feelings hurt, but I don't think that you should ignore her and how she feels like they did."

"I don't know how to do that, Bradley. I can't just be having a breakdown all the time."

"Well, we can start by making sure you feel safe." He pulls the Bronco into the driveway and puts it in park. As soon as he does, he turns to give you his full attention. 

"We are home, and you're safe. You are also so loved. I love you and the little girl you used to be too. I know I can't fix this hurt for you, but I want to see you happy, and I want to help in any way I can. Okay?"  Bradley's big eyes sparkle with emotion, and you are briefly concerned that he might cry too. When you give him a small nod he continues, "Well, we can talk about this more whenever ready, and we can work through it however you need." 

"You don't have to take care of me, Bradley."

"I want to," He says earnestly. "I maybe even need to sometimes. So, if you'll let me when you need that or want that, I'd love to take care of you. I think you don't let me do enough."

You take a deep, slow breath to steady yourself. Bradley's face is serious but open. His lips pull taught under his mustache, with his warm eyes still a little misty. Leaning forward, you connect your lips with his. It doesn't even take a moment for Bradley's lips to move with yours softly. The gentle comfort of his lips makes you feel a little warm and gooey. The tears dripping off your face. The storm cloud hovering over you doesn't disappear, but the rain lets up a little, and you feel like you can breathe right again. Pulling away from Bradley, you give him a weak smile before requesting, "Please make me laugh."

"Yes, Ma'am. I think that's something I can do." He says after leaning over the console to peck your lips one more time. "What do you call a fish wearing a bow tie?" 

"What?" 

"Sofishticated."

The terrible joke does get a small snort out of you, and you roll your eyes at him. "You could have done better than that."

"I will have you know I have been working on that joke for weeks and was saving it for our aquarium date." That gets another chuckle out of you, and a wide triumphant grin spreads across Bradley's face. However, it fades a bit as he cups your face and swipes away the remaining tears off your cheek. "Can I actually say something more?"

"Yes, of course," you answer.  

"I'm sorry I don't have parents to give you and make you feel jealous, baby." He didn't say it in a condescending way. He was genuine in his want. You knew that if Nick and Carole were still alive, he would wish you were getting the mountains of love they would have showered on you.

"I'm not trying to make anything about your parents about me," you tell him quickly.

"You aren't," he reassures you. "They would have loved you, though."

"Thank you, Bradley. Now can we drink milkshakes and watch our show?" 

"Absolutely, baby," He says as he reluctantly lets go of your hand. Immediately grabbing it again when you two are out of the car and walking inside. 

"You know, I do have Mav, and you are more than welcome to him." 

"Maverick!?" You giggle at the very idea of Bradley's charming uncle and pseudo-father spending time with you. 

"I promise, he is just waiting to get rid of me. And he already likes you more."

"One, Mav loves you. And two, no one could want to get rid of you, Bradley,” you protest.

"Are you sure about that?" He asks.

"Yes, I'm very sure because I want to keep you forever."

"Yours forever? I like the sound of that."

"Me too," you tell him squeezing his hand before letting go to unlock the door. Bradley's free arm wraps around your waist, and he starts peppering your neck with tickling kisses, not caring how much harder it makes for you to get the door open. 

[the-authoress-writes]

Up Where We Belong Part Three

Pete “Maverick” Mitchell x Writer!reader

Up Where We Belong Masterlist

Synopsis: When a writer experiencing horrible writer’s block goes to the Apple Valley Airshow for inspiration, she meets a certain older, daring naval aviator, leading to maybe a little more than just inspiration.

Warnings: Mentions of family member deaths, cancer, some to-be-expected cursing, age gap (reader is in their late thirties to early forties).

But really, this is just fluff.

Author’s Note: This was a pain to finish—you know the feeling when you know what you have to do, but you don’t know how to do it?

(Insert Ben Solo/Kylo Ren/Adam Driver gif here)

Yeah, that was this.

So many parts of this were so stubborn, even when I knew what the next story beat was; combine that with the inner critic being a bitch and the imposter syndrome impostoring, this was a labor of love.

Obviously, I pushed through, and here we have the final chapter of “Up Where We Belong”, which I am very proud of.

Again, I name a story after a song, from another movie about the Navy, funnily enough.

(Only three of my stories on my masterlist are not named after songs)

I can’t stop, apparently.

So here we go!

Even while her phone was telling her she was on the right path, she briefly wondered if she was, in fact, lost.

It couldn’t be more obvious that she was in the middle of nowhere, lonely desert stretching out before her for miles and miles, with nary another car in sight, much less a building that could conceivably be a hangar.

It comforted her to see a blue Bronco pass her by at a brisk pace as she continued down the route indicated by her phone, having not seen another car for the past fifteen or so minutes.

She eventually turned when her phone instructed her, the hills along the road she’d been driving next to giving way to an enormous desert plain, and the slightly heat-distorted sight of a building in the distance, probably a mile off.

A smile crossed her face, that had to be it.

As she drew closer, the nerves she’d been tamping down started to bubble up again, and she cursed herself. “Get a grip, woman, you’re here to review a scene, not to go on a date.”

Despite that, the fact that she’d spent nearly half an hour planning what she’d wear today felt like a Freudian slip—a loose orange tunic with small blue embroidered flowers on the hem and sleeves, dark wash skinny jeans and brown ankle boots—eventually deeming it not too much, but not like she didn’t care.

As she got closer, the building became more impressive, despite its rather homely outward appearance—from the white-painted wood panels worn down to their natural color here and there, the fading “United States Navy” emblazoned at the top, to the faint, sun-bleached squadron insignia on the open bay doors—it just felt beautiful in a wild way.

She parked about several yards away from the hangar doors and shut off the engine. “Okay, what’s going to happen will happen,” she muttered, “you’re going to survive it hook or by crook.

And besides, you don’t even know if he’s married or in a relationship.”

And with that rousing Crispin Crispianish speech, she picked up her messenger bag, slinging it onto her shoulder as she got out of the car.

The desert heat and silence washed over her as she moved towards the doors, calling out, “Hello?”

“In here,” came the reply.

She stepped inside the hangar, the shift to relative darkness briefly obscuring her vision, causing her to blink as her eyes adjusted, to see Pete standing by Bianca, looking somehow even better than she remembered, like something out of a movie.

His gaze was fixed intently on her, the slightest smile on his face, and she couldn’t help but match his expression, a “Hey there, sailor,” thoughtlessly slipping from her lips, which she immediately mentally kicked herself for saying; “Damn it, woman, how awkward can you be?” flashed through her mind like a neon sign.

Thankfully, he only brightly replied, “Hey, glad you could make it.”

Her smile widened. “Not going to miss it—for all I know, this is a one-time opportunity,” she truthfully replied, determined to make the most of this opportunity in regard to her novel—other… hypothetical motivations notwithstanding.

He shrugged, eyes sparkling, his movie star smile as devastating as a whole volume of honeyed poetry. “Who said it was?”

She chuckled, wrenching her gaze away from him before she said or did something stupid, settling for the sting of her teeth on her lip to knock her back to her senses.

Her eyes flit about the hangar, eventually landing on Bianca, the frontispiece of the whole room. “Great place you’ve got here, must’ve been hard to get, though, with it being Navy land.”

“Not that hard when you’ve got friends in high places,” he replied.

The sentence itself was vaguely humorous, something wry, an inside joke, but there was a weight to his tone, like the joke had lost its humor, and instead turned into something to grieve.

She tilted her head slightly, another enigma comprising Pete “Maverick” Mitchell revealing itself.

But before she could think too much, he broke the sudden silence. “Anyway, uh,” he clapped his hands, “you had a scene that needs checking?”

She blinked and raised the leather messenger bag on her shoulder. “I have my laptop right here.”

He gestured grandly to his couch, and as they moved towards it, she surreptitiously wiped her hands on her thighs, perspiration disappearing in the dark wash of her jeans, then busied herself with opening her laptop, finger fumbling on the start screen as she felt him settle in the seat next to her—realistically, she knew he’d likely sit next to her, but just because one knew something didn’t prepare one for experiencing it.

Again, the blinking cursor on her MacBook’s screen seemed to cackle at her, but she ignored it in favor of typing in her password, opening the laptop to the dreaded dogfight scene. “Here it is in all its misery,” she half-joked.

“May I?” he gestured to the device.

“Go ahead,” she sighed.

Pete picked up the device, leaning back with it in his lap, eyes darting about the screen, mouth moving slightly as he read, and in a matter of moments, his hands came up, mimicking the movements she’d written, while his face alternately made skeptical, approving, and a few amused expressions.

“It’s bad, isn’t it?” she plaintively asked, bracing for the worst, when he carefully placed the MacBook on his coffee table what seemed like an eternity later.

“It’s not bad at all,” he shook his head, an earnest expression lighting his features. “There are some maneuvers there that are only plausible for the P-51 in a rare set of conditions, and a… couple that I’d say are more in line with the capabilities of the F-35–or the 18 in my hands—but overall, it’s pretty damn good for a self-professed newbie to writing a dogfight scene.”

Her jaw fell open. “You’re kidding me.”

“Swear on my wings,” he laughed, the sound so musical, it was almost annoying how perfect and beautiful this man was.

“How would you fix it?”

He pointed, “Do you have a pen and notebook?”

“Never go anywhere without one.”

That beautiful smile of his spread his lips. “Well, let’s turn and burn, then.”

They worked for a couple or so hours, Pete writing out more plausible maneuvers to replace the impossible ones, demonstrating them with some models he’d run off to another corner of the hangar to retrieve, both of them mutually deciding to leave most of the only slightly implausible ones in, save for the ones where the bounds of reality were a little too stretched for the aerial conditions she’d already committed to, while she elaborated on what he’d written, fitting it into the novel’s style.

Eventually, she released a breath of victory, and proffered the laptop to Pete again, now actually proud of the dogfight scene. “You want to read it again?”

“Alright,” he easily agreed.

He read it again, the scene before her the same as over two hours ago, but this time, the skeptical and amused looks were replaced with a captivated and admiring expression.

“Well?” she prompted.

He blew out a breath. “It reads even better than I thought it would, you’re really good at this.”

She leaned forward, needing to be sure she hadn’t imagined him saying that. “It’s good?”

Pete leaned forward, into her personal space, matching her, as he fervently said, “It’s amazing.”

Her breath caught as the moment stretched taut around them, the two of them close enough for her to see the light reflecting off the peridot and aquamarine flecks in the brilliant jade of his eyes.

She looked around the hangar again at his earnest gaze, the itch to do something stupid scratching at her skin once more—she had a feeling that that would be a pattern for her with Pete Mitchell. “So, tell me, what exactly is it you do for the Navy, Captain Mitchell?”

He froze minutely at the end of her sentence, swallowing thickly as he processed the question.

“If you’ll have to kill me, there’s no need to tell me,” she joked, as she literally saw his brain reboot.

He blinked and chuckled softly, coming back to himself. “No, no, nothing as secretive as all that; I’m an instructor at TOPGUN—basically, I teach the Navy’s best aviators how to be better.

That’s why I talked about students during our phone call.”

“We’ll have to compare notes sometime to see who got it worse—I used to be a high school English teacher.”

Pete winced. “Ooh, teenagers, I don’t envy you.

But imagine taking hotshot twenty-somethings who fly multi-million dollar weapons as a career, who think they’re the best and know everything, shoving them into one room, and having to show them quite vividly that they don’t know everything.”

She gave her own wince. “Ooh.

But come on, you can’t have it that bad—especially if you fly an F-18 anything like how you flew Bianca at Apple Valley.

You’re telling me they’d still act up after getting so thoroughly schooled?”

He tilted his head from side to side, amused. “You’d be surprised, but uh… well, let’s just say that most of the “old man” comments typically tend to lose their bite by the end of the first hop.”

She laughed loudly, throwing her head back, just imagining the reactions of those hotshot kids. “As they should—I’d pay to see their reactions, come to think of it.”

She looked back at him to see his gaze was intently focused on her, but it didn’t send a shiver down her spine—at least not in the unsettling way it usually did when men stared at her. “Maybe my next class cycle, you’d like to come down to North Island, sit in the control tower, listen in on the first hop or two,” he said.

“An opportunity to see an experienced naval aviator in his element; I must say that’s an appealing offer.”

“You just let me know if you want to take me up on it.”

It was sheer instinct to say, “You know, I just might.”

Lowly, he replied, “I’d like that.”

The honestly there was breathtaking.

A glance out the bay doors showed that the sun was starting to hang low in the sky, casting a yellow-orange glow on everything, and caution nipped at her heels. “It’s kind of getting late, and I don’t want to bother you into the evening, I should go.”

Pete’s face fell ever so slightly. “You’re no bother, but I understand if you need to go.”

The slight drop of his features felt like a fall from a high precipice, sinking like a stone in her stomach. “Thank you so much again for your help, I really can’t thank you enough for everything,” she reassured.

“It’s no problem,” he said, almost resignedly.

She felt an intense yearning in her soul to strip that lonely note from his voice, to lift the sadness from him which came in like a squall, so she said the first thing that came to mind, her heretofore carefully-maintained caution getting unceremoniously kicked to the curb. “Uh, this might be stupid, and I’m so sorry if I’m being a nuisance, so feel free to tell me off, but… would you mind if I called you again?

Honestly—I, I don’t really have anyone to talk to about this in much detail with, and—and I’d love to talk with someone who understands the perspective my granduncle might’ve had.”

To her happiness, he brightened. “Not at all, I’d li—it’d be ni—” he sighed, a little wry smile playing on his lips, “feel free to call.”

She resisted the urge to giggle at his fumbling for words. “Okay, I’ll do that.

Thank you.

I promise not to call at like, 2:00 in the morning, when you’re asleep.”

He laughed, but pulled a face that had her mentally frowning as they both stood; however, she didn’t mention it, and instead gathered her things before Pete escorted her to her car, opening the door for her. “I’ll uh, expect your call?”

If the former sadness in his tone tugged at her heart, the thinly veiled hope now there positively wrenched it, and caution was nowhere to be seen. “It might come sooner than you think.”

The boyish, excited expression on his face was enough to make her heart skip a beat. “I look forward to it.”

By the time she reached home, while eating some ramen on her couch for dinner, she found herself picking up her phone and going to Pete’s message thread.

She typed and retyped her message again and again, debating whether or not to send anything at all, but eventually settled on “Just thought I’d let you know that I survived the drive home to bug you another day 🤣”, and sent it off before she could think too much.

Her finger was on the verge of clicking her phone off, but then she caught sight of the typing bubble, and she absentmindedly chewed her lip as she waited for his reply.

Eventually, after about a minute of the typing bubble popping up and disappearing, a message finally came in. “I had every confidence that you would. 😉”

She leaned back, setting into her cushions as she figured out her next message.

The week passed by, and she didn’t pass a day without messaging Pete at least once—he was so easy to talk to about pretty much everything, and it was so comfortable, to just pick up her phone and ask a question or say something non sequitur, his reply coming within the hour, if not within the next ten minutes, starting a conversation by text or a subsequent call, either of which could last hours.

However, this had a drawback.

It meant she didn’t work on the novel nearly as much as she should, and she eventually found herself staring again at her cruel, blinking cursor as her mind stubbornly remained blank.

It wasn’t nearly as bad as her first block, or the block regarding the dogfight scene, but she was starting to get a little frustrated.

Deciding to take a little break from blinking at her laptop’s screen, she traded it for her phone, open, as usual, to Pete’s message thread. “Feeling a little frustrated right now…” she shot off.

Forty-five minutes or so later, she got his reply. “Sorry to hear that.

You want to talk?”

“You free?”

A beat later, her phone rang. “So—frustrated, huh?”

Just hearing his voice had some of the frustration draining from her. “Yes.

It’s absolutely infuriating; I know what happens next, it just doesn’t want to—” she gestured sharply even though he wouldn’t see it, “you know?”

He hummed, “I know the feeling, the same thing happened to me a couple of times when I was writing my paper for my Master’s.”

“You have a Master’s.” she restated, shocked.

“Two, actually—Aerospace Engineering and Physics.”

It was said so matter-of-factly that she simply blinked for several seconds, impressed. “Another layer to Pete Mitchell,” she said, once she found words again.

“Like an onion.”

His joke made her snort while he continued, “I’ll let you in on a little secret—you’d be surprised how many naval aviators are actually nerds.

Don��t let the flight suits and Ray-Bans fool you.”

She laughed, but soon grew serious. “Oh God, Pete, I don’t know what to do—I mean, the last time I productively wrote anything was last week, at your hangar.”

There was a long pause, so much so that she thought the call had dropped, but when she looked at her screen, the line was still connected. “Pete?”

“Yeah, I’m here.” He sounded tentative. “Uh, if, if you wanted, you could—could come down to the hangar this weekend—you never know, being where you were last productive might shake something loose.”

“Sure, I’d love to—I mean—anything to make any progress, and—and the company’s pretty good too.”

She tried not to sound too eager to see him again, but she knew she probably failed at that.

“…Is there anything I can do to turn that ‘pretty good’ to good?” the now-familiar smile could be heard in his voice.

“We’ll see what happens this weekend, Captain.”

This time, when she stepped into the hangar, Pete was kneeling next to one of his numerous motorcycles, hands buried somewhere in its engine, dressed again in a white t-shirt and jeans. “You know, I’m starting to think you live in a white t-shirt and jeans,” she joked, though it was undeniable how good he looked in them.

He looked up, a warm chuckle escaping him, “That’s not true; once in a blue moon, the shirt’s black, and you’re forgetting my flight suit.”

She grinned, “Oh, we have a comedian here, yet another layer!”

“I’ll be here all weekend,” he bowed and swept his arm out to the side before standing and wiping his hands on a nearby rag. “You’re welcome to make yourself comfortable in the living area, can I get you any coffee or anything?”

“Uh, maybe a coffee?”

“Sure thing; how do you take it?”

“Two teaspoons of sugar, splash of cream if you have it.”

With a nod, he strode to the trailer further in the hangar, and soon emerged from the silver Airstream, steaming cup in hand, which he set on the small table beside the couch, where she had settled. “Just ignore me and do what you have to do.”

“Thank you for letting me intrude on your space.”

“No problem, you’re a very welcome change from my usual routine and company.”

She placed a hand on her heart, “Gee, you sure do know how to make a girl feel special.”

A mischievous light entered those beautiful eyes of his, and he leaned down, placing a hand on the back of the couch, making her crane her head up to look at him. “Oh, you haven’t seen anything yet.”

She swallowed thickly, and he glanced down, tracking the movement, but her “Is that so, Captain?” had his eyes meeting hers in a flash.

“Yeah, I’d say that’s so.” The slight rasp in his voice could have been a trick of her imagination, but before she could think about it, he cleared his throat and stepped back. “I’ll let you get to work.

Like I said, just ignore me,” he said, tone light once more.

She wasn’t sure if ignoring him was completely possible, but she replied, “I’ll call you if I need your opinion on anything.”

He threw her an insouciant salute, before heading off into the depths of his hangar.

The blinking cursor of her laptop was just as evil as it always was, but it didn’t seem so daunting here, so she buckled down, beginning to shave out some progress with the soft sounds of tools in the background—it wasn’t as much as she’d like, but anything was better than what she’d been doing, or rather, not been doing the last few days.

After an hour of sitting and writing, she stretched and stood, looking for Pete, curious as to what he was up to.

“Pete?” she called out.

“I’m back here!”

She followed the sound of his voice to a workbench near a sink in the recesses of the hangar; he was looking through a jar of screws, placing the contents into several smaller jars. “You make any progress with the writing?”

“Mm-hmm—not as much as I’d like, but it’s something; I just wanted to stand and stretch for a bit, take a little break from my screen.

What are you doing?”

“I’m working on some upgrades to one of my bikes, but I, uh, got a little sidetracked and I am currently sorting my screw collection,” he sheepishly said.

“Ah,” she nodded, “I know the feeling, the side quest that you absolutely have to complete before you can do anything else.”

“Yeah,” he grinned, “it’s crazy, isn’t it?”

She laughed, a frown soon creasing her brow as she happened to look off to the side.

Involuntarily, she stepped closer to the photo-covered cork board on the wall, gaze fixed on a photo of a young, flight suit-clad Pete, helmet in hand, standing in front of a jet, a tall, familiar-looking man next to him.

The other man was the spitting image of Pete’s son, the only difference perhaps being perhaps ever-so-slightly lighter and straighter hair.

“Bradley looks exactly like him, doesn’t he?” Pete’s voice intruded on her confusion.

She looked to her left to see him standing beside her, an old grief shining in his eyes.

“Yes, he does,” she breathed carefully, knowing somehow that she was in different waters. “Who was he?”

“Nick Bradshaw—Goose—my backseater, back in the eighties, when I flew F-14s.

My brother in all but blood… Bradley’s father.”

The story he proceeded to tell was tragic and heartbreaking; she didn’t even have to see the muted grief in his eyes as he spoke to imagine the anguish he must have endured that day, having to hold Nick’s lifeless body in his arms for what undoubtedly felt like an eternity.

“I became Bradley’s legal guardian after his mother died of cancer, and… while there were a lot of rough years where we didn’t talk to each other, we made up late last year; came out stronger for it, I think.”

“I’m so sorry, Pete,” she breathed.

He smiled ruefully. “Wasn’t all bad, though; got some pretty good brothers out of all that, though I can’t say they’re all still here.”

The dots connected in her head. “The friends in high places?”

He nodded sadly. “My best friend—he was my wingman for decades until he became an Admiral, ended up the highest ranking one this side of the country, in fact.

He died shortly before Bradley and I made up; cancer.”

She didn’t know what possessed her, but she reached for his hand, lacing their fingers together.

His breath hitched, and he looked down at their linked hands, before turning glassy eyes to her.

She was caught in that piercing gaze, which seemed to look right into her soul, and something told her that she was incredibly lucky to be seeing this vulnerability.

The weight of that was almost enough to bring her to her knees, but she pushed that aside in favor trying to ease the sadness in his eyes. “Cancer really fucking sucks, doesn’t it?”

He burst into a watery laugh. “Yes, it fucking does.”

She laughed along with him, squeezing his hand, making the callouses on his palm press against the soft skin of hers. “You want some help with your screw sorting?”

He sniffled, chuckling, “I feel like you’re using me as a distraction.”

“Yes, I absolutely am; are you complaining?”

Pete looked down at the floor, shaking his head with a soft smile. “Not at all, but I’m giving you five minutes before I make you write again, I’m not about to be blamed for any lack of progress.”

True to his word, after the five minutes were up, he shuffled her off to the couch, and she was glad that he wasn’t enabling her procrastination, thankfully able to make a fair bit of progress from there.

Some time later, while in the middle of spell checking what she’d written, she looked up to see Pete place a fresh cup of coffee next to her before sitting in a chair opposite her, picking up a small stack of paperwork and a pen from the coffee table. “Just pretend I’m not here,” he whispered.

For a while, they worked together in silence, as the California sun set, but soon, curiosity began dogging her thoughts. “Doesn’t your wife mind that you’re here late?” she asked.

His gaze almost audibly snapped to hers, his jaw working as he seemed to carefully consider his answer. “…I’m not married.”

Her traitorous heart skipped a beat. “Girlfriend?”

“Don’t have one of those either,” he casually replied. “How about you?

Anyone waiting for you back in San Bernardino?”

She took a deep breath. “Not unless you count my neighbor, Mrs. Moscovitz.

She gets worried when I don’t come home before ten.”

A faint smile crossed his lips. “Good neighbors are hard to come by.”

“That they are.”

They worked in silence for another half hour before she stood and stretched; it was beginning to get dark, and while she was a little more confident driving the desert roads, she wanted to hit the highway before the sun fully set.

“Going now?” Pete asked.

“I want to hit the highway before it gets really dark.”

He smiled ruefully, “I understand, we got to get you back safe, I don’t want Mrs. Moscovitz to kick my ass.”

“And she could, believe me,” she laughed, gathering her things, and exactly like last time, Pete escorted her to her car, opening the door for her.

It was when she turned to face him that a thought body-slammed her. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“I’ve been writing a lot here, and I’ve thought of some of the best moments here, actually.

Um… I guess what I’m trying to ask is… would you mind if we made this—me coming over to write—a regular thing?”

He blinked, seemingly taken aback.

“If I’ve overstepped, please pretend I never—”

“I’m here every weekend, from Friday night until Sunday morning,” he interrupted.

“So that’s a yes?”

“Yeah, it’s a yes.”

“Okay,” she breathed, grinning. “I’ll see you next week, then.”

He matched her grin, “I look forward to it.”

Over the next three months, she made regular weekend visits to the hangar, the two of them learning each other, slowly growing closer as she told him about her life growing up in a family of pilots, her years as a teacher, leaving more and more of her heart behind in the desert each time.

Her heart panged remembering the day he told her why the P-51 was named Bianca.

“Uh, __?

I, er, kind of need some help,” Pete called.

Immediately rising from the couch, she walked over to where he was standing next to Bianca, hands deep in her engine. “What do you need?”

“Could you hand me that wrench there that’s out on the cart?”

After handing it off, a few turns of the wrench later, he stepped back, admiring the old girl while wiping his hands with a rag. “There we go, sweetheart, that’s more like it.”

“You spoil her, you know?” she shook her head.

“How can I not spoil her—look at her!” he replied, with a mock-affronted expression.

“Yeah, she is gorgeous, isn’t she?” she said, turning to look at the marvel of engineering Bianca was.

“She is,” he murmured, and something in his tone made her look back at him, only to see he also had turned to look at Bianca.

“Why’d you name her Bianca?” she asked, wanting to draw out the conversation before he would undoubtedly shoo her back to writing.

He sighed wistfully, “I named her after my mother.

Her name was Bianca Rivelli; Mitchell after she married my dad, of course.

She was from South Philadelphia—Little Italy in that part of town—and she met my dad when she was visiting friends in New York City during Fleet Week; it was love at first sight, she always said.” He hesitated, and a pit sank in her stomach. “She uh, passed from a heart attack when I was seven, but I know that it was heartbreak that really took her, after my dad was shot down and killed in Vietnam and branded a traitor, all because he died during an off-the-books mission.

She tried so hard to hang on for me, I know, and I don’t blame her for leaving—not anymore, not for decades—and when I got the P-51, I wanted to commemorate her somehow.

So I named her Bianca.”

She didn’t even think twice before lunging and pulling Pete into a hug.

He stood stiffly for a moment, and she was just about to pull away, but then he positively sank into the embrace, wrapping his arms around her.

“You’ve suffered so much pain, and it only made you kind,” she sniffled after a long while.

“I can still be an asshole sometimes, you know?” he said, voice wavering.

“Maybe, but you’re still unbelievably kind.”

Now, as she was once again driving to the hangar, trepidation settled at the forefront of her mind; she was nearing the end of the novel, and in fact, she was sure she’d finish it today; but what would happen without a reason to visit Pete?

This was the twenty-first century, a woman had the right to tell a man if she was interested in him, but if he didn’t feel the same, she might just torpedo the best friendship she’d had in a long time; she loved to talk to him, spending time with him was the easiest thing in the world, and not having that anymore seemed incomprehensible.

The hangar drew closer and closer, but she was getting more and more confused, and so decided to engage in the oldest, most revered of writerly traditions: procrastination.

She’d just hope that she’d find the opportunity, the thoughts, and more importantly, the courage, to say something to him.

Fear and nervousness dominated her emotions as she walked into the quiet hangar—much too quiet for a space inhabited by someone like Pete Mitchell.

“Pete?”

“You’re right on time,” he breezily said, coming out of the Airstream, cup of coffee in hand, “something told me to make your coffee already, and here you are!”

“Seems like you’re getting ESP,” she lightly replied, trying to belie the mess of emotions she was feeling.

“I don’t know about all that—maybe just for you,” he softly laughed, his eyes endearingly crinkling at the corners like they always did when he was genuinely happy.

And if that didn’t make her heart absolutely melt—truly, how this man was not married or in a relationship at this point, she didn’t know.

She settled into what she had dared to start thinking of as her “spot” on the couch, the coffee cup he was holding clinking onto the table beside her the next second.

“I’ll let you get to it,” he nodded, squirreling off to a corner of the hangar before she could get a word in edgewise.

With nothing else for it, she reluctantly began writing, and in a sick twist of fate, the words came easily, when she most wanted them not to come, in hopes of drawing this status quo out for just one more week.

One more week of driving to this lonely desert hangar, one more week of seeing those ubiquitous white t-shirts and Levi’s, one more week of hearing his voice, seeing his smile when he caught sight of her.

But fate was cold and cruel, and after roughly two hours, the draft was finished.

Tears welled in her eyes, but for completely different reasons than she would have said when she first began rewriting her Uncle Joe’s story.

“Hey, what’s wrong?

What happened?”

She looked up into Pete’s warm, concerned gaze, and didn’t that just make things worse? “I—I finished the draft.

It’s done,” she croaked.

“Hey, congratulations!

That’s great!” he encouraged, a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“Yeah… yeah, it is.

I… I can’t believe it’s over… and I’m really feeling sad right now,” she numbly breathed, deciding for a little honesty.

He moved to sit beside her, his leg pressed against hers, and her breath caught at the proximity.

“Well, that’s understandable, you’ve devoted a lot of time to this, and it’s something very important to you,” he softly replied. “But hey, I have every confidence that this is going to be a bestseller—every publisher is going to want you, and won’t that make everything you went through to get to this point worth it?”

His words made her remember her PopPop, when he encouraged her to write about Uncle Joe and Céline, shortly before he died, and it made her smile despite herself. “It will.”

“That’s the spirit.” He reached up, cupping her cheek, thumb delicately brushing away a tear she didn’t even know had fallen, and almost subconsciously, she leaned into his touch.

He seemed to swallow reflexively, eyes quickly darting down before he met her gaze again and lowered his hand from her cheek, leaving her feeling bereft. “Uh, since it’s not every day one finishes a first draft and all,” Pete gestured, “how—how would you feel about taking a little celebratory flight?”

Her eyes widened. “In—in the—in Bianca?”

A smile she would venture to call sad inexplicably crossed his face. “Mm-hmm.”

“I’d love that.”

What better way to celebrate finishing her granduncle’s story than a flight in the same plane he flew?

At the very least, if she crashed and burned her friendship with Pete because she happened to find some heretofore unknown reservoir of courage, she’d have something shining and beautiful to remember him by.

It felt absolutely surreal to sit in Bianca’s backseat, and it didn’t feel any less surreal as they cruised through the air.

Sitting up here, over two thousand feet above the ground, while she was happy with the direction she’d taken in her life, she felt she now truly understood why the better part of her family had dedicated themselves to the skies.

It was breathtaking and awe inspiring; with the mountainous desert vista out below, the clear blue sky above, she thought she’d never seen anything so beautiful in her life.

To get to see this every day, and to have the controls of a marvel of engineering beneath your hands as a pilot… the feeling was surely beyond exhilarating.

“How you doing back there?” Pete asked, voice tinny through the headphones.

“Just perfect—I can really understand now why you and my family do this for a living, it’s amazing up here.”

“I know, right?

There’s nothing like it,” he breathed, and she could almost feel the joy in his voice.

They flew on in easy silence for a while before he broke it again. “So, I have a question for you; we can keep flying nice and easy like this until you want to land or until we have to, or… we can have some fun—nothing like what I did at Apple Valley, but uh, it’ll definitely be a little bit more exciting than nice and easy.”

As much as she wanted to immediately say yes, she was still a little apprehensive. “You promise not to make me throw up?”

“Swear on my wings,” he solemnly promised, “and if you feel uncomfortable during anything, all you have to do is let me know, and I’ll immediately level off.”

She inhaled and exhaled deeply. “…Alright, go for it.”

“Okay, here we go!” Gently, he brought Bianca into a sweeping banked descent, and from there, while she was sure it was nothing for Pete, who’d done far more daring things in Bianca, and surely in his career as a naval aviator, this was the most thrilling thing she’d ever experienced in her life.

Before she knew it, Pete said, “We’ll have to land in fifteen minutes, so I’ll bring us back around, okay?”

Her heart sank. “So soon?”

He laughed, “We’ve been up here for almost an hour and a half.”

It felt like they just got up here. “What?!”

“Time flies when you’re having fun!”

“You’re corny, Pete Mitchell,” she chuckled.

“Guilty as charged!”

But the joyful mood didn’t last long—soon, the hangar and runway were in sight, and sadness suddenly overwhelmed her; she breathed mournfully, “How can I ever thank you for everything?”

“No need to thank me,” he replied, seemingly overtaken by the same sadness she was, though it didn’t have any bearing on how smoothly he brought Bianca onto the tarmac, and how he brought her back into the hangar.

The leaden pit in her heart and stomach seemed to grow even heavier; she’d been waiting the whole day for the time and courage to tell him how she felt, but she wasn’t able to find a moment or the courage to speak, and now her chances were slipping away, the sudden sound of silence as the engine cut and the canopy slid back feeling like the first handful of earth dropped on a casket.

“You need any help?” Pete’s voice intruded on her thoughts.

“No, I got it.” It wasn’t completely the truth, but anything to draw out the moments she had left.

With a nod, Pete eased himself up out of the cockpit and slid down the wing.

Finally, she was able to unclip herself from her harness and stand up, easing herself onto the wing—

“Ahhh!” she yelped, having lost her foothold on the wing, abruptly sliding down the warm metal, and then—

She suddenly stopped, toes just touching the ground, pressed against a firm chest, her hands fisting in white cotton, warm arms wrapped around her waist.

It was almost a replay of the day she met Pete, and it felt like fate was giving her one final chance.

She looked up into his eyes, knowing that if she didn’t say anything now, she never would. “Pete, I—”

The words died in her throat as he moved his hand to cup her cheek like he had two hours ago, and just like two hours ago, she leaned into the warmth of his touch, her breath hitching as she felt the gentleness with which his rough, calloused palm caressed her cheek.

He scanned her face, searching for something, and seemingly finding it, his viridescent gaze lighted on her lips, which had her heart stuttering in her chest and the air shuddering from her lungs.

“Don’t think, just do,” he muttered, leaning in, and like lightning, her mind sharpened; she leaned forward, pulling him the minuscule distance to her with a hand on his neck.

Suddenly, she found herself taking flight in a completely different way from five minutes ago.

Pete kissed her like he flew; with complete dedication, and like this was the last moment of pure, unrivaled, unfettered joy he’d ever have again, and her knees went weak, an entirely different thrill rushing through her, as she felt him push her up against Bianca’s fuselage.

She was breathless, she was taking the first breath of air she’d ever had—it was fire, it was light, it was incandescent.

She only realized the burn in her lungs when he drew back, both of them gasping for breath.

“God, you don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he breathed, voice deep and rough, eyes dark.

An actual whimper fell from her lips, and she replied, “Holy shit, I don’t care if it’s done, that’s definitely going in the book.”

He huffed a low chuckle, that devastating smirk on his face. “In that case, you want a little more inspiration?”

“Oh hell, yes,” she breathed, and pulled him back into her.

The End

Previous Part

I very much had an inner debate as to whether the ending of this story was too similar to that of TG:M, but after a lot of soul searching, I decided that this was the only conceivable way to end this.

It starts with the P-51, and it ends with her.

You could call her Mav’s wingwoman, I suppose.

The Hangar, as I learned from an interview I will not be able to dig up from my YouTube history, is actually owned by Tom himself.

He said it in the aforementioned interview, and I honestly should have seen it coming.

The hangar was even featured in the background of the iconic video where Tom took James Corden flying in the P-51, and I am somewhat ashamed to say that I recognized it from shots where you only saw the corner of the building.

Yeah, do me a favor and please don’t bring that up.

“Crispin Crispianish” is a reference to the St. Crispin’s Day speech from Shakespeare’s “Henry V”, from which the title of the WWII book and series “Band of Brothers” is taken.

“Turn and burn” is a colloquial aviation saying which describes being cleared to takeoff from the runway generally without having to hold short of it for any duration of time, which leads to the aircraft immediately turning onto the runway from the taxiway shortly before the pilots push the engine thrust levers to Take Off/Go Around, which produces maximum thrust, and presto change-o, you have a generally expedited takeoff.

“You’d be surprised,” is absolutely a reference to Bradley almost punching Jake’s lights out in TG:M.

Yes, I am aware of the amount of art imitating life here; my writer and myself were very much twinning in our frustration with what we were writing.

You can pry ADHD/Neurodivergent/Genius IQ Mav from my cold, dead hands.

Here we have the answer to why the P-51 is named “Bianca” in my story.

I headcanon Mav has Italian heritage, and I thought this would be a nice way to put it in here.

I also made his mom from Philadelphia, because there’s a Top Gun ‘86 costume test shot of Tom wearing an Eagles sweatshirt, and as a Philly-adjacent girl, I had to somehow reference that even obliquely.

“You’ve suffered so much pain, and it only made you kind,” is an adaptation of a line from “Doctor Who”, which I thought perfectly describes Mav.

Taglist

@ohtobemare

@callsign-skydancer

@permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88

@tadomikiku

@malindacath

@aviatorobsessed

@lynnevanss

@djs8891

If you’d like to join my taglist, just send me an ask!

[katmcpheeuniverse]

Katharine McPhee sings the United States national anthem before a game between the Denver Broncos and the Las Vegas Raiders at Allegiant Stadium on January 07, 2024 in Las Vegas, Nevada.

[fuckyeahmarxismleninism]

By Mary Lou Finley

On July 15, Terrell Davis spoke out after he was handcuffed and escorted off a United Airlines plane by the FBI and law enforcement. Davis was a Denver Broncos running back from 1995 to 2001 who was inducted into the NFL Hall of Fame in 2017 for rushing more than 2,000 yards in a season

Mr. Davis, an African American or African man, was wrongfully handcuffed in front of his wife and children and all the other passengers and removed from a United Airlines flight after it landed in Santa Ana, California, on July 13.

[tip-top-cloud-surfer]

A Walk Down Memory Lane - Coyote

Pairing: Javy "Coyote" Machado / Bradshaw! Fem! OC | Reader

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: Bradshaw! Reader w/ a callsign (Tweety), no other descriptors, suggestive references, Third Person POV

This work, all of my other works, and my entire blog are 18+ Only.

Summary: Rooster and Tweety Bradshaw look through their mom’s belongings as Tweety’s wedding to Coyote approaches.

A.N. This was purely born out of a terrible joke. Since Tweety (Bird) and (Wile E.) Coyote are both Looney Tunes characters. And Tweety is a bird, so it's a Bradshaw callsign, obviously.

.....

I'll just escort myself out.

Master List

“Turn right here,” Tweety told Coyote, pointing at the upcoming intersection.

Coyote followed her directions and headed down the road to the storage unit facility. After their mom passed, Tweety and Rooster rented out a unit for the stuff from their childhood home. Over the years, Tweety and Rooster cleaned it out bit by bit, but there was still quite a mess left. And now that they were both putting down more permanent roots, it was time to finally clean it all out.

“Are you ready for this?” Coyote asked Tweety, who nodded in return.

“Yeah. It’s time,” she replied, staring straight ahead. Smiling over at her fiancé, she grabbed his hand and squeezed it. “Thank you for coming with me.”

“Of course,” Coyote replied, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand. “You let me know if you need a moment or anything.”

“I will,” Tweety promised him.

She directed Coyote over to their specific storage unit. Coyote backed up his truck, placing his hand on the back of Tweety’s seat to see better, before putting the truck in park. They got out of Coyote’s truck and Tweety pulled out her keys to the unit. With a quick flick of her wrist, Tweety unlocked the door and they pushed it up together.

There were several stacks of cardboard boxes and miscellaneous furniture scattered around the storage unit. A bunch of clutter blocked the manmade aisles between the boxes, but it honestly was not as bad as Tweety or Coyote was expecting it to be.

“Did you want to wait for Rooster and Mav?” Coyote asked, turning to his fiancée.

“No, I’m sure that they’ll be here soon.”

And true to Tweety’s word, as she and Coyote started to pull out some of the cardboard boxes, Bradley pulled up in the Bronco. Rooster hopped out of his car and strutted over, still dressed like he was walking out of the ‘80s.

“Where’s Mav?” Tweety asked, putting down another cardboard box.

“He should be right behind me with the trailer,” Rooster stated, gesturing behind him. “Did you find anything good?”

“We just started,” Coyote stated, opening the box that he carried out. “This looks like a bunch of old records and everything.”

“Is the record player in there too?” Rooster asked, stepping up beside Coyote.

“Even if it isn’t, you can just find one online,” Tweety reasoned, pulling out a record.

The sound of a rattling trailer caused Rooster, Tweety, and Coyote to pick their heads up. Maverick waved to them through the window before parking beside the Bronco with his trailer facing the storage unit. Maverick slid out of his car and walked around.

“What do you have there?” Maverick asked, walking over to them.

“Some of Dad’s old records,” Tweety replied, holding out the record that she grabbed from the pile.

Maverick took the record from Tweety and let out a humorous noise to himself. Tweety and Rooster shared a confused look while Coyote handed Tweety some more of the records in the box.

“What?” Tweety asked her godfather.

“I’m pretty sure that this was your parent’s go-to album,” Maverick explained, causing Rooster to frown with confusion.

“What do you mean?”

“Their. . . you know,” Maverick trailed off, gesturing in a way that made Rooster and Tweety go green.

“Gah!”

“What the fuck, Mav!?”

“Please stop talking!”

“Burn that!”

“What songs are on that?” Coyote joked, leaning over to look at it.

“Javy, no!” Tweety yelled, pulling her fiancé away from the cursed record.

“What? It doesn’t hurt to know.”

“We already have a playlist. I’m not adding any of my parents’ sex songs to our playlist,” Tweety replied, causing Rooster to gag.

“Oh, my fucking—can you all just shut up!?”

“I’ll just set this aside,” Maverick chuckled, placing it back in the box.

“That whole box is contaminated now. One of you can take it,” Tweety stated, shaking her head.

After unpacking some more emotional trauma from finding their parents’ old sex song record, Tweety and Rooster started sorting through the contents of the unit with Coyote and Maverick’s help. The two Bradshaw siblings took what they wanted and whatever they didn’t want, Maverick set aside in a pile to take to a second-hand store or the dump.

“Hey, I found Mom’s wedding dress,” Rooster called from the back of the storage unit.

“Can you bring it out?”

Rooster set the slightly weathered rectangular box on the ground. Tweety kneeled down and cut through the tape wrapped around it. Sifting through the plastic, Tweety pulled out her mom’s wedding dress for all of them to see.

Though time had yellowed the fabric, the lace patterns of the bodice were still quite pristine given the circumstances. And maybe with a little treatment, Tweety would be able to salvage some of it for her own wedding dress.

“Are you thinking of wearing it for your wedding?” Maverick asked, stopping beside Tweety.

“I won’t be seven months pregnant at my wedding, so I don’t think that’ll work,” Tweety replied with a small smile. She pulled out the front of the dress to show the extra fabric. “See how much space Bradley’s fat head took up.”

“Very funny,” Rooster scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Did you happen to see the box with her veil and everything back there? I can’t wear her dress, but I was hoping to salvage the veil,” Tweety requested from her brother. 

“Let me look again.”

Rooster shuffled a few more boxes around before pulling out a smaller one from the stack. Together, the Bradshaw siblings shifted through the box. After a quick search, Tweety pulled out Carole’s veil, which was preserved in a thin cardboard box.

“Should I see this?” Coyote asked Tweety, who shrugged in response.

“It’s up to you. I already bought the dress, so that’s still a surprise,” she replied, sharing a smile with Coyote. “But if you want to wait until our wedding day, I understand.”

“I’ll just do some sorting over there. Let me know when you’re done,” Coyote decided after a moment.

He pressed a kiss to the side of her head and stood up, busying himself so that he was fully surprised on their wedding day. Tweety waited until Coyote was a few steps away with his back to her before pulling out her mom’s veil.

Tweety was relieved to find that her mom’s veil was still intact. It was a little yellowed, just like her dress was, and there were a few tears and runs here or there. But with a little bit of delicate bleaching and a few minor repairs, it would be perfect for her wedding.

“That’ll be beautiful on you, sweetheart,” Maverick assured Tweety, who tried to not tear up herself.

“I know. It even matches my dress,” she replied, running her thumb over the lace.

“Well, now I’m glad that I didn’t see it,” Coyote called, causing Tweety to smile over at him.

“You got a lacy dress?” Rooster commented, looking down at the veil.

“I’m not going to say,” Tweety stated, glancing over at her fiancé. “You were invited, Brad Brad, but you chose not to come.”

“You insult my fashion sense every other week. Why would you want my opinion?”

“Hey,” Tweety snipped, pointing a finger at her brother. “I insult your fashion sense every week, not every other week.” Grinning to herself, Tweety packed away her mom’s veil. “And besides, I wanted you to come to take pictures of Maverick’s reactions.”

“Is it true that you cried?” Coyote called to Maverick from inside the storage unit.

“A little bit,” Maverick admitted, waving his hand to the side.

“A lot,” Tweety corrected Maverick before putting away her mom’s veil in Coyote’s truck. “Javy, honey, it’s put away.”

Coyote walked out of the storage unit with some more boxes to sort through. But when he stepped beside Rooster, he lowered his voice.

“Phoenix sent me the video of Maverick crying,” Coyote whispered to Rooster, like he was trading government secrets.

“Can you send it to me?” Rooster immediately asked him.

“‘Course.”

They finished sorting through the storage unit and started to pack up for the day. And once everything was swept up and tied down, it was time to say goodbye.

“Well, I guess that’s the end of an era,” Tweety sighed, staring up at the storage unit.

“Think of it as a start to a new one,” Maverick stated wisely, standing between the two Bradshaw kids with Coyote standing on Tweety’s other side. “I mean, you’re getting married in a few months, Tweety. And Rooster is . . .” Tweety tried to hide a giggle as Rooster turned to Maverick with a lightly annoyed expression. “. . . leasing a new apartment on his own and—”

“—Really, Mav?” Rooster interjected, very much offended.

Tweety let out a laugh and leaned against an amused Coyote as Maverick fumbled for a recovery on that verbal disaster. Coyote pressed a kiss to the top of Tweety’s head and grabbed her hand.

“Are you okay?” he asked her, just checking in.

“Yeah, I’m good,” she assured him, smiling brightly. “Thank you for coming with me.”

“Anytime,” Coyote replied softly. “I can’t wait to see you in that veil.”

“Just the veil?” Tweety quipped, resting her chin on his shoulder.

“Maybe after the wedding,” Coyote stated, causing Tweety to grin.

“We can still hear you!” Rooster announced loudly, ruining their moment.

[duckprintspress]

Yeehaw! Queer Western Book Recs!

What’s the occasion? There is no occasion! We just thought it’d be fun to make a list of queer cowboy/girl/enby books and westerns! Say “Howdy, pardner” to our 8 picks. The contributors to this list are: Shadaras, Meera S., hullosweetpea, Nina Waters, boneturtle, and two anonymous contributors.

American Hippo (River of Teeth series) by Sarah Gailey

Years ago, in an America that never was, the United States government introduced herds of hippos to the marshlands of Louisiana to be bred and slaughtered as an alternative meat source. This plan failed to take into account some key facts about hippos: they are savage, they are fast, and their jaws can snap a man in two. 

By the 1890s, the vast bayou that was once America’s greatest waterway belongs to feral hippos, and Winslow Houndstooth has been contracted to take it back. To do so, he will gather a crew of the damnedest cons, outlaws, and assassins to ever ride a hippo. American Hippo is the story of their fortunes, their failures, and his revenge.

Done and Dusted (Rebel Blue Ranch series) by Lyla Sage

She’s off-limits, but he’s never been good at following the rules.

For the first time in her life, Clementine “Emmy” Ryder has no idea what she’s doing. She’s accomplished everything on her to-do list. She left her small hometown of Meadowlark, Wyoming; went to college; and made a career for herself by doing her favorite thing: riding horses. But after an accident makes it impossible for her to get back into the saddle, she has no choice but to return to the hometown she always wanted to escape.

Luke Brooks is Meadowlark’s most notorious bad boy, bar owner, and bachelor. He’s also the unofficial fifth member of the Ryder family. As Emmy’s older brother’s best friend, Luke spent most of his childhood antagonizing her. It’s been years since he’s seen her, but when she walks into his bar and back into his life, he can’t take his eyes off her. Despite his better judgment, he wants to do a whole lot more than just look at her.

Emmy’s got too much on her mind to think about romance. And Luke knows he should stay away from his best friend’s younger sister. But what if Luke is just what Emmy needs to get her spark back? Or will they both go up in flames?

Outlawed by Anna North

The day of her wedding, 17 year old Ada’s life looks good; she loves her husband, and she loves working as an apprentice to her mother, a respected midwife. But after a year of marriage and no pregnancy, in a town where barren women are routinely hanged as witches, her survival depends on leaving behind everything she knows.

She joins up with the notorious Hole in the Wall Gang, a band of outlaws led by a preacher-turned-robber known to all as the Kid. Charismatic, grandiose, and mercurial, the Kid is determined to create a safe haven for outcast women. But to make this dream a reality, the Gang hatches a treacherous plan that may get them all killed. And Ada must decide whether she’s willing to risk her life for the possibility of a new kind of future for them all.

Prize Money by Celeste Castro

Eva is saved from impending disaster by a tall, dark, and handsome bullfighter–a woman. Toma Rozene is an equestrian stuntwoman fresh off the set of a blockbuster film when a family emergency calls her home to help run the family business: rescuing fallen rodeo riders before blustering bulls and bucking broncos trample their dreams. Eva and Toma’s shared passions and competitive spirits make friendship easy, but, as their feelings deepen, they must decide if the divergent futures they seek will stand in the way of love.

Wake of Vultures (The Shadow series) by Lila Bowen

Nettie Lonesome lives in a land of hard people and hard ground dusted with sand. She’s a half-breed who dresses like a boy, raised by folks who don’t call her a slave but use her like one. She knows of nothing else. That is, until the day a stranger attacks her. When nothing, not even a sickle to the eye can stop him, Nettie stabs him through the heart with a chunk of wood and he turns to black sand.

And just like that, Nettie can see.

But her newfound sight is a blessing and a curse. Even if she doesn’t understand what’s under her own skin, she can sense what everyone else is hiding—at least physically. The world is full of evil, and now she knows the source of all the sand in the desert. Haunted by the spirits, Nettie has no choice but to set out on a quest that might lead her to find her true kin . . . if the monsters along the way don’t kill her first.

Trigun: Deep Space Planet Future Gun Action!! by Yasuhiro Nightow

Somehow the past has placed a sixty billion double dollar bounty on Vash’s head, and the gunslinging pacifist can’t seem to get away from money grubbing, itchy-trigger-finger citizenry. Find out why Vash is worth so much money dead! Feel the clumsy worry of the unfortunate citizens of the pulverous planet! Follow the follies of an unlikely hero in a forbidding world! Join Vash the Stampede – with his troubled past and an uncanny ability to dodge a gazillion bullets – and a cavalcade of unlucky characters on a dusty, desert planet in the distant future.

Frontera by Julio Anta

As long as he remembers to stay smart and keep his eyes open, Mateo knows that he can survive the trek across the Sonoran Desert that will take him from Mexico to the United States. That is until he’s caught by the Border Patrol only moments after sneaking across the fence in the dead of night.

Escaping their clutches comes at a price, and lost in the desert without a guide or water, Mateo is ill-prepared for the unforgiving heat that is sure to arrive come sunrise. With the odds stacked against him, his one chance at survival may be putting his trust in something, or rather someone, that he isn’t even sure exists.

If you’d asked him if ghosts were real before he found himself face-to-face with one, Mateo wouldn’t have even considered it. But now, confronted with the nearly undeniable presence of Guillermo, he’s having second thoughts. Having spent his afterlife guiding migrants to safety, Guillermo knows things about the Sonoran Desert far beyond what could be explained by a mere hallucination. But even as Mateo forms an uneasy partnership with Guillermo, survival is still uncertain.

The Sonoran Desert, with its hostile temperatures and inhabitants, is teeming with danger as the Border Patrol, rogue militias, and animals prowl its deadly terrain. As his journey stretches on, Mateo will have to decide exactly what and who he’s willing to sacrifice to find home.

Bitter Springs by Laura Stone

In 1870s Texas, Renaldo Valle Santos, the youngest son of a large and traditional family, has been sent to train with Henry “Hank” Burnett, a freed slave and talented mesteñero—or horse-catcher—so he may continue the family horse trade. Bitter Springs is a sweeping epic that takes themes from traditional Mexican literature and Old Westerns to tell the story of a man coming into his own and realizing his destiny lies in the wild open spaces with the man who loves him, far from expectations of society.

Bonus Recs:

Caravan by Whisperforge – audiodrama

First rule of Wound Canyon: No one who gets in, ever gets out. So when a brilliant, ghostly specter flies through the sky amid the rain and lightning, Samir stumbles off a steep cliff and into a hidden world, one in which demons, vampires, and all other manner of paranormal creatures take sanctuary. 

Second rule of Wound Canyon: No one makes it alone. Samir’s decided to tag along with Argeaux’s Caravan, a band of supernatural bounty hunters and vigilante peace-keepers. Together with an ever-expanding train of fantastical tagalongs, Samir and his new friends venture deep into the bowels of the canyon to find a way out of the magical boundary that imprisons all who cross it.

Cowboy Bebop – tv series

A ragtag crew of bounty hunters chases down the galaxy’s most dangerous criminals. They’ll save the world – for the right price.

What are your favorite gay cowboy books?

Want to chat your favorite reads with us? Join our Book Lover’s Discord server!

Love reading queer books? Our Queer Book Challenge is running on Storygraph through the end of 2024. Come join us!

[thedroneranger]

Call You Mine

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw

Précis: It's hard to get over Bradley Bradshaw. And who can blame you? Love makes us crazy. If it doesn't, are you doing it right?

Note: Excited to finally post this! Life made this one take a little longer. This is one of two entries for @cherrycola27’s #top gun taylors version challenge! Congratulations, on the milestone, babe—I'm sure we'll be celebrating another soon! This fic is inspired by a T. Swift favorite of mine, Don't Blame Me. Enjoy!

Warnings: 18+ only, explicit: stalking, violence, attempted murder, masturbation.

Word count: 3.5k

What did he see in her? 

It wasn’t the first time that thought had crossed your mind, and it surely wouldn’t be the last.

Her hair was down, and her outfit casual—light-colored jeans with a loose-fitting t-shirt front tucked. Sunglasses shading her eyes, she sipped coffee and scrolled her phone while she waited for him. After what seemed like an eternity, he joined her. 

Through narrowed eyes, you watched as she stood to greet him and they embraced. She threw her arms around his neck, getting on her tiptoes, while his arms slung low on her waist.

You and Natasha met a handful of times. Bradley insisted he and Nat were friends and nothing more. Of course, you didn’t believe Bradley for a second. Every touch, every hug, every late night phone call said otherwise. 

They were so natural together. Like birds singing as the morning sun rose or crickets crooning in the twilight. 

No wonder Bradley thought it couldn’t work with you. How could he when there was five-foot-seven worth of gorgeous grin and glowing skin staring at him over a coffee cup?

She had to go.

Sinking lower in the driver’s seat of your vehicle, you watched as they got up together. After disposing of their cups, Bradley walked Natasha to her SUV, which you knew was parked around the corner. As they disappeared, you punched the ignition button and pulled out of your curbside spot across the street.

“Catch you later tonight?” Natasha asked as she slid into the driver’s seat. 

“Absolutely.” Bradley rasped, holding the door open. They grinned at each other as he closed it. As she pulled away, and they exchanged waves through the window. 

Bradley waited on the street, hands in his jean pockets and watched until her tail lights illuminated at a stop sign before she drove through the intersection. Then, he walked a few spaces up to his Bronco and hopped in. 

This morning, when you tailed Natasha, her day was rather uneventful. You waited until you spotted her sleek SUV rolling out of the private garage of her condo building. Shifting into drive, you followed as she first stopped at the post office. Once she came back out, Natasha took a call while she sat in the vehicle, shuffling around, looking for something she eventually found. 

Next, she stopped for gas and went inside to get a shitty gas station latte. Seemed to be a routine indulgence for her. After that, she spent what seemed like an eternity in the grocery store. Once all her groceries were loaded into her vehicle, Natasha headed back to her condo that was tucked in a mid-sized building on the downtown main drag.

You’d found the building plans in the public records and knew which unit was hers. Although the building wasn’t that large, it was well-secured. In contrast, Bradley’s bungalow had a much lower security threshold. Plus, you were familiar with the layout. 

Since you’d followed Natasha this morning, and would bet your next month’s salary that she and Bradley were meeting at the Hard Deck tonight, you decided to see what Bradley was up to this afternoon.

Leisurely, you drove to Bradley’s, taking an elongated route. As you turned onto Bradley’s street, you killed the music, glided by his house, confirmed his Bronco was parked in the driveway and continued on to the street parallel to his. You parked in the spot that gave you the perfect view of his backyard and into his house through a couple curtainless windows. 

There he was. Shirtless. Floating around, bopping his head to the music surely streaming through the living room sound system. Watching through your camera lens, you snapped a few images. 

As you captured photos, you recalled the couple times you’d witness him and Natasha twirling around, dancing. Faces lit with laughter as he spun her around, and then dipped her for the finale. 

Bradley never did that with you.

The burn of jealousy you felt quickly washed away as your lens zeroed in on Bradley’s broad back. Your thoughts drifted to touching Bradley—every dimple, every tendon, every scar. 

Of course, the few months you and Bradley spent together weren’t sexless. For you, it was some of the best sex of your life, and Bradley seemed to have no complaints. A matter of fact, each moan or toe curl you were able to pull from Bradley seemed like a badge of honor.

Thinking about Bradley laying underneath you as your hand steadied yourself on his sculpted chest had you sighing deeply. You could practically feel his hip bones cradling your thighs as you rode him and his hands curving around your hips.

The memory of his thumb drawing tight circles on your clit had you sinking into your seat, squeezing your eyes closed and heat gathering in your lap. Replays of your sexcapades continued to flood your mind, filling your dam. You needed a release. Soon, your jeans were unzipped and your legs as wide as the car seat would allow.

Your lip disappeared between your teeth as you slipped your middle and ring fingers into yourself, slicking them to then paint your swollen clit so you could attempt to recreate even a fraction of the pleasure Bradley had given you several times over. 

Envisioning Bradley’s large hand palming your chest, and then sliding up to cover your throat, had you gripping the door handle with your free hand as your pace quickened. The heat in your belly was building to boil, the pot lid close to skittering off.

Bradley’s face as he finished—the furrow of his brow, twitch of his mustache—flashed through your mind and pushed you across the finish line. A sigh only for you left your lips as you let your release wash over you, dissipating the tension. Pulling yourself back together, you continued watching Bradley through the back windows. 

On his days off, he always hit the gym late in the afternoon. You attributed it to keeping his daily shower count to one. Because, undoubtedly, Bradley would come home post-workout to get ready for the Hard Deck. 

While Bradley was at the gym, you were going to the hair appointment you’d scheduled a few weeks ago. A smile pulled your lips as you perfectly parallel parked across the street from the salon. Marc, your stylist, was there to greet you with open arms and an Americano.

Like all trusted stylists, Marc knew all about your life, including Bradley. He knew all about Bradley’s longtime friend who had had her chance to shoot her shot with him. However, she hesitated too long, and now you were in the picture. But that didn’t stop her from crossing boundaries even though you asked her to stop. 

Tonight, you were going to end it once and for all.

After an afternoon in Marc’s hands, you were practically a new person. A cute sundress would compliment your makeover perfectly. Back home, you twirled in front of the full-length mirror in your bedroom, deciding which dress was best. Eventually, you decided on the knee-length one with flutter sleeves and a deep V-neck. 

Tonight was a night that your inability to be anywhere in a timely fashion paid off. By the time you reached the Hard Deck, the parking lot was fairly full, allowing you to park toward the back of the lot undetected. With one final look in the rearview mirror, you slid out of the driver’s seat and headed for the front door. 

Bradley’s Bronco was unmistakable, proudly parked as close to the entrance as possible. A few spaces down was Natasha’s luxury SUV.

The bar was crowded, so you easily disappeared into the sea of civilians and servicepeople. Head on a swivel, still waiting for Natasha or Bradley in your peripheral, you causally wound through the crowd, venturing around the venue. 

There he was. The floral print Aloha shirt wrapping his broad shoulders gave him away. Natasha stood tucked into his side, his arm draped over her shoulders. You recognized many of the faces they were laughing with from photos. 

With them in your sight, you headed to the bar to find a spot with a view but that also kept you in the crowd. The woman behind the bar didn’t recognize you as you ordered. One of the few times you’d been here with Bradley, he had introduced you to the bartender, who also owned the establishment. 

Drink in hand, you slipped into a seat that had conveniently opened up. Bradley and Natasha bantered with each other, with their friends and shittalked while facing each other in a game of pool. 

“Hey.” The greeting bore a hint of southern drawl. You turned to see one of their friends, the good looking blond, dragging his gaze over you. You coolly returned his greeting and took a sip of your drink. 

The man had no clue who you were. Not that you could blame him. He’d met you once and had seen you maybe two or three times total. Plus, with your drastic cut and color, you might as well be a complete stranger. 

He made small talk while he waited for a fresh round of drinks. As he departed, he invited you to stop by the group. Upon his departure, you gave him an open-ended response and a wink. 

It amazed you how few boundaries Bradley and Natasha had with each other. As the night wore on, you watched each touch grow more intimate. At one point, Bradley had his arm wrapped around Natasha’s hips with his hand in her front pocket. It was a move he had put on you while you two walked to keep you close. 

You watched as each drink made them a little looser, a little flirtier. At one point, you watched Natasha play wingman for every man in their group—except Bradley. 

At last call, the crowd began to thin. You finished your drink, cashed out and slunk to your vehicle. Hand on the door and a glance over your shoulder, you slipped into the backseat. Sitting behind the passenger seat gave you a better view of the building. To the unassuming eye, your vehicle was one of several destined to spend the night in the lot.

Before Bradley and Natasha spilled out of the Hard Deck, you watched the blond from earlier climb into a black F-150 Raptor. You were surprised to see him alone. Must be all talk. A few more familiar faces filtered out. 

Finally, they shuffled out with another friend. The friend you were convinced was pining for Natasha but was too shy to do anything about it. He and Bradley chatted while Natasha clung to Bradley’s side. She clearly was not driving tonight. They parted ways, the shy friend going to his vehicle, and Bradley putting Natasha in the passenger seat of the Bronco before getting in. 

First, Shy Friend eased out of the parking lot. Then, Bradley backed out and headed for the exit. A smile pulled your lips as he turned left, signaling he was taking her home with him.

This time you drove straight to the spot on the street parallel to Bradley’s that had the perfect sightline into his house. From there, you watched as he carried Natasha through the hall, disappearing in the direction of his bedroom. Eventually, the lights died and a stillness fell upon the house.

Quiet as possible, you slipped out of your vehicle. As you walked, you slipped on leather gloves you’d had for ages but never had a reason to wear. Knowing the family living in the house directly behind Bradley’s was away on vacation, you took the most direct route to his house. Under the cover of the thick trees and sparse streetlights, you snuck down their side yard and into the back. 

You easily scaled the standard chain-link fence that conjoined their yards. Thankfully, Bradley kept his yard tidy. Looking at his grill and the outdoor dining set made you think of the few times he’d grilled for you. Surely Natasha was reaping that benefit tenfold now. 

Standing in front of his backdoor, you gingerly grasped the handle and twisted the knob. It gave you zero resistance as the door floated open. Bradley would absolutely be locking his back door after this. Making sure the hinges didn’t  betray you, you took your time stepping across the threshold and closing yourself in. 

Enveloped in a new level of darkness, you stood for a minute, allowing your eyes to adjust. Slowly, you began to see the familiar lines of the counter and the silhouettes of appliances. 

You wanted to touch everything but knew to touch nothing. Your ears were on alert, listening for the slightest disturbance. So far, the only thing you could hear was Bradley’s deep breathing that, arguably, was a light snore. However, it didn’t sound like it was coming from his room.

Curiosity piqued, you glided toward the living room. Bingo. Splayed on the oversized, for his comfort, couch was Bradley. He was in a deep slumber. You admired him. Lips barely open, but enough to produce his audible breathing. Curls mussed and resting on his bulging bicep that acted as an extra pillow. The man ran hot, so the blanket he started his slumber with was now tangled at his feet, leaving his form clad only in drawstring gym shorts. 

As you watched him, the streetlight in front of his house gave the living room a bit more light, his chest rose and fell. Your mind wandered to why he was on the couch and not in his bed with Natasha. You didn’t think too hard about it, though. It made your task easier.

Releasing you had your fists balled at your sides, you unclenched them as you turned to head for the bedroom. The door was ajar, just the slightest. Using the back of two gloved fingers, you slowly pushed it open. 

Natasha was nestled under the fluffy bedding in the center of Bradley’s huge bed, sleeping soundly. Your eyes stayed glued to her as you crept into the room and put the door back the way you found it. Staying to the edge of the room, you calculated your plan of attack. Watching her sleep with a neutral expression, seemingly relaxed, you thought you might be beginning to understand why Bradley was so taken with her.

Gaze never leaving Natasha, you approached the edge of the bed. She didn’t stir. Removing a glove, you gingerly leaned onto the bed, knee first. Eyes still glued to Natasha for any sign of movement. Eventually, you were leaning over her, face-to-face, really studying her. 

Unable to help yourself, you ran your thumb along her full bottom lip. She was soft, angelic—maybe that’s why Bradley liked her so much. Your face was so close to hers—you really wanted to know what her lips would feel like against yours. Add evidence to the case for why Bradley liked her so much.

While you thought about Natasha’s lips, keeping your gaze on your face, you managed to mount her without disturbance. The amount of down bedding between the two of you was a huge aide in minimizing the movement ripples.

You looked at her one last time as you took one of the pillows her head wasn’t resting on and held it in front of your chest. “Sweet dreams,” you said barely above a whisper as you leaned forward to cover her face with it. 

Your grip was light until you felt her tensing. She was waking, trying to free her arms that were bracketed by your legs and trapped underneath the blankets. Her screams were muffled. “Shh, I’ll take great care of him.” Your closed eyes as you hugged her head with the pillow. Natasha was fighting less and less. 

“What the fuck?!” you heard from behind you. At the same time, you heard the door bang against the wall. You looked over your shoulder to see Bradley charging toward you. Before you could move, his hand was around your neck, ripping you off the bed. Natasha scrambled to the edge of the bed furthest away from you. Bradley was there, arms open, waiting to embrace her. 

Sheer size allowed him to throw you against the dresser a few feet away from the bed. You heard a thud and felt a sharp pain in the back of your head as you hit the heirloom dresser. Your eyes were having a hard time focusing as you slid to the floor. Involuntarily, your hand moved to the back of your head where the pain seared most. As your hand re-entered your field of vision, you could see your blood on your fingertips.

Bradley’s voice sounded distant. Question in his voice as he said your name. However, you looked up to see him kneeling in front of you. Your vision was slightly blurry. “You’ve gone too far this time.” Of course, Bradley still recognized you—some hair dye and a drastic cut wouldn’t fade your face from his memory. 

“What the hell are you doing?” His voice pulled you out of your mind and back into the room.

Natasha bound into the doorway, wearing one of Bradley’s t-shirts. He must’ve dressed her before he put her to bed. They exchanged looks before her gaze dropped to you on the floor. She quickly turned and disappeared.

“Let’s go.” Bradley gruffly grabbed your bicep. He gave you no time to get to your feet. Instead, three quarters of your body dragged along the floor as he pulled you to the kitchen. When he let you go, you slumped to the floor, your forearms stopping your face from hitting the tile. You were still lightheaded with fuzzy vision as you pressed yourself up on your palms.

“Bradley…” You slowly moved into a cross-legged sitting position.

“Don’t.” He cut you off. Bradley squared his body to you, arms across his chest. “There’s no coming back from this.” Bradley was pissed. 

You shook your head. “No, no.” Panic set in. “Don’t blame me!” you squeaked. Tears were beginning to well as you tried to get to your feet. 

“Stay on the floor,” he commanded. His look was deadly. Tears rolled down your cheeks. 

He sighed and ran his hands over his face. Bradley should’ve seen this coming. You were insane. The letters, showing up at his home unannounced, somehow frequenting the same places he did at the same. However, it never crossed his mind that you would try to murder someone, let alone his best friend.

While you reasoned with Bradley, Natasha was standing next to the couch, arms wrapped around herself, staring toward the kitchen. Eyes dilated from shock. She kept forgetting to breathe. When her body finally remembered, the sharp inhale would jolt her back to reality. She could hear Bradley’s voice but was not comprehending his words. The tones of your voice were grating her nerves, causing her arms to constrict tighter around her.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw the front door slowly open. Iced to her spot beside the couch, she watched fingers curl around the edge while the barrel of a standard-issue pistol poked inside. Holding the gun was a plain-clothes police officer. “Jay.” Relief washed through Natasha as she identified the face holding the weapon. 

“Hey, Nat.” Jay mouthed and flashed a reassuring smile. Quickly, he pressed his free pointer finger to his lips. A curt nod from Natasha let him know she understood his command, and then she watched as he stalked toward the kitchen.

A friend of Bradley’s, Jay was supposed to meet them at the Hard Deck earlier but had to cancel due to work. Of course, Natasha’s heart sank a little when she heard, but the text message from him promising to make it up to her eased the discomfort. 

Jay huddled in the kitchen doorway shadows, waiting for his partner to reach the backdoor. Natasha had briefed him on the situation when she called, so they plotted their entry on the drive over. Familiar with Bradley’s house, Jay knew the entry points, so your odds of escaping were minimal. 

Back to the door, you didn’t see a face appear in the corner of the window. Bradley noticed but did not acknowledge in a way that made you aware. Not that it mattered—your vision was hazed between your head injury and the tears. Plus, you were occupied mumbling apologies to Bradley.

Everything happened all at once. The backdoor sprang open, someone jumped on top of you, and a man you had seen a few times stepped out of the shadows, pointing a gun at you. Bradley had fallen back and was standing with Natasha in his arms at the living room-kitchen threshold.

Your mind was numb as the officers cuffed you and read your Miranda rights. The last thing you remembered was falling to your knees in the driveway and yelling for Bradley to forgive you. Standing in the doorway, he looked you dead in the eyes and closed the door.

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[bugattieb111]

votre eminance charles 3

vous trouverez votre reponse bientot

En echange de belotti 18 lateral droit #tommy #hilfinger hat green et kane tottenham substitute felipe anderson 10 milieu offensif lazio (-) courrier Einfild way rose 4 .. blu sky ... plus " le cadre de cr7 red devils adidas black (+) lines x 3 oranges epaulieres signer original one only one ... the special < One >

3. Kane 10 grenouille inception (10.000£) - green 7 hat (for me) tommy hilfinger 50.000£ <=> 60.000£

6. Broncos 6 jeep inception . compleat hat (+) t- shirt george

160.000£

9. Lebron 23 violet noir hat purple 9 atalanta-BC ... 5. Supercopter, yellow L.A.. Lakers sweet shirt 160.000 £ recupere just la casquette 5 (orange fluo psg) *man united 50.000£

Look the collection into meeting day netherland ok !

Me 7. sharks anayem 0 plus dolphins 0 miami hat regalo da comprare encora ??

34

Shaquil O' Neil los angeles lakers 7 ... hat 5 old yellow nubuck.. ? Starscream inception ultimate defense deceptikons ... <=> auto boots ! 160.000£

Man city 4 (thör) for harry man city blu + hat golf nike 160.000 £

From allianz arena 5 6 7 ...

And A casa di milano ac milan 1 2 3 4 ....

One peter super eagle's foot us... basket cloths survetement white red white nike air... consol Xbox One ultra slim 1 To HDD

Oichi cloths t shirt Donic short Donic raquette d' entrainement performante... consol PS3

2

NIKE BOB (+) ONE ECHEC'S GAME....

In continuity ... never other cloths football .. than AfA 3 *** and t-shirt pre-match

Fot me dear grand father ; hugo boss... weight 32... from longer 30/32 us size

2 costumes color bordeaux 300 € - 180 € and black 450 € / 250 € performances 2 chemises blanches avec emoticon (+) 2 chemises 44 elastane noires cravates plus pinces a cravates chaussure 43 stop

Society waikiki and best mountana lacoste shoes ... stan smith copy reebook ?, i have the right !

You' ll should be happy grand father ... the paquets posted returns into france ... why sir ... lord Biren... isn't unfortune ... yes we can !

Gamete igor + gamete harry dobble fecondation 2G gravity fuzion twins

I beleave in you mind uncle .... sam ( usa )

Oichi first .... Peter 2nd .... godfroy & arthur 3rd and 4th ...I wait into dobble soon as twins samely ... bref tu m' inspires la serenitude et le calm ... le plus grd ennemy que tu es c' est ta propre bouche si tu veux eviter d' avoir des problemes apprends a la fermer ...

On ne peut pas vendre le 107.5 fm on a les serbes qui deviennent fou ... le foutu four 4th war world orthodoxe versus europe !! Moi aussi ils m' ont douiller (tarifer,) 75kg /100 d'or mes etudes en ingeniery du son sound priver private tomber a l' eau !

pepites d' or ! #luxembourg on vous les echange a condition d' obtenir la mignolette de la world cup adresser a Materrazzi 2006... pour iomatrix-23 [, he took my name on tweeter ] i am exiged the beauty boop... the trophy => italia rend the le double col du cou plus les lanieres lacet a tirer la tete de nos joueurs attendez notre reaction ... puis rosebiff twickenam 7-56 pour le maillot du dragon ... ... SF PARIS ils se sont fait terasser ok !

@pentagon-net : recupeared thx a lot ... the cadre usa five monnay of paris ... excelent choice versus 1.200.000 $ (0.78£) . ok men ?

Price => 750.000 £ exchange acrylic peint 970.000 $ x 0.78 = 760.000 £ ...

Other point (1) BD clean shit. Soon as the tri tri nations will existing we aren't been both three ... team (8) rugby... football (7) .... basket (5)... the same in all sports category ... interrested for a confrontation direct between England France Italia 2 partys x 3 sports .. each will be played as RSA - Australia - New Zeland !

[spin-linn]

A Small Snippet from a story I'm writing

Heroes United [Working Title]: a Rise of the Brave Tangled Dragons novel

Hiccup’s POV:

The trail we followed to Old Corona was littered with a few too many tree roots and chuck holes for my taste. It was like a war zone, and the battle was being waged against my lack of agility. I tripped and teetered over so many times I lost count. I would have smashed my face against a sunken boulder had it not been for Jack, who quickly yanked me upright by the shirt collar just as I began to topple over a huge crack in the obliterated cobblestone road.

“Jings, you're as wobbly as a newborn foal,” Merida chortled after watching my clumsiness take over for the umpteenth time.

I gave her an irritated glare. “Yeah, yeah,” I muttered, shrugging her delightful personality off. “I get it, I'm a klutz. Tell me a new one.”

“As you wish,” she took my sarcasm as a challenge. “You're also as stubborn as a buckin’ cuddy.”

“Whoa! Watch your mouth, Mer!” Jack cackled, taking her words to be off-color.

“She wasn't cursing,” I chuckled, realizing Jack wasn't as well-versed in Scottish lingo as I was. As much as the Vikings hated them, my dad and a lot of the other adults sure enjoyed borrowing a lot of their slang and vernacular. I grew up hearing it a lot, so one could say I was fluent. I knew what a cuddy was. “She just called me a horse,” I explained. “Like, a wild one that someone's trying to ride for the first time. That's why she said I was like a bucking cuddy.”

“Oh, okay,” he seemed to understand, “like a bucking bronco, then? I know rodeos.”

“What the heck's a bronco?” I gave him a confused glance. “Or a rodeo?”

“Seriously? It's another word for a horse.”

“Innae no horse I've ever heard of,” Merida scoffed.

“Jeez Louise! It's an unbroken horse!” Jack enunciated, holding back laughter. He seemed to be reaping as much fun out of the strange conversation as he could. “And a rodeo is like a big show where people do horseback tricks and try to ride broncos or bulls.”

“Show riding, huh?” That got my attention. “We do that with our dragons from time to time back on Berk! Toothless and I have gotten pretty good at air tricks.”

“I can hit a bullseye from 50 paces on horseback,” Merida interjected, bragging to herself. “Been practicing for months.”

“That's impressive, Mer, but I would say barrel racing and lassoing cattle isn't exactly like that,” Jack chuckled, shaking his head. “You've clearly never seen a cowboy movie.”

“Now we're talking about cows?” My confusion only grew. “What even is this conversation?” I threw my hands up in defeat, beginning to laugh in spite of myself. “Now I'm lost.”

“I guess you could also call him a ‘brumby’, Mer,” mused Jack, still preoccupied with the whole “cuddy” confusion. “Picked that one up from a friend 'down undah',” he said with a funny accent.

“I have absolutely no idea what's going on back there,” Rapunzel called back to us as she led the path, studying Cassandra's notebook. “But I am enjoying the chaos.”

“Join the club, Punz!” I started to laugh.

_______________

If you've stuck around this long, thanks for reading! The story this is from has been a passion project for almost 10 years. I'm writing it as a form of therapy, and I'm not planning to post the finished product anywhere as of now.

I've been working on this story for several months now, and I'm just really proud of this dialogue exchange. I wanted to share it, even though I don't intend to share the whole story. Thanks for bearing with me, and I hope you enjoyed it!

[madamlaydebug]

John Amos in his 1958 East Orange High School yearbook photo.

John Allen Amos Jr. (born December 27, 1939) is an American actor known for his role as James Evans, Sr., on the CBS television series Good Times. Amos's other television work includes The Mary Tyler Moore Show, a recurring role as Admiral Percy Fitzwallace on The West Wing, and the role of Washington, D.C., Mayor Ethan Baker in the series The District. Amos has appeared on Broadway and in numerous films in his five-decade career. He has been nominated for a Primetime Emmy Award and an NAACP Image Award. On film, he has played numerous supporting roles in movies such as The Beastmaster (1982), Coming to America (1988), Die Hard 2 (1990) and Coming 2 America (2021).

John A. Amos, Jr. Was born in Newark, New Jersey. He grew up in East Orange, New Jersey, and graduated from East Orange High School in 1958. He enrolled at Long Beach City College and graduated from Colorado State University, qualifying as a social worker with a degree in sociology. Amos also played on the Colorado State Rams football team. After college, he was a Golden Gloves boxing champion.

In 1964, Amos signed a free agent contract with the American Football League's Denver Broncos. Unable to run the 40-yard dash because of a pulled hamstring, he was released on the second day of training camp. He then played with the Canton Bulldogs and Joliet Explorers of the United Football League. In 1965, he played with the Norfolk Neptunes and Wheeling Ironmen of the Continental Football League. In 1966, he played with the Jersey City Jets and Waterbury Orbits of the Atlantic Coast Football League.

In 1967, Amos signed a free agent contract with the American Football League's Kansas City Chiefs. Coach Hank Stram told him, "You're not a football player, you're a man who is trying to play football." He returned to the Continental League, where he played that year with the Victoria Steelers

[artzychic27]

Marc as Penalteam with the science kids and akuma class doing soccer match (shorties vs glamazons) with possible person that made him mad being Marinette or someone else.

Hamlet (Jean): Now, as long as we’re all in agreement on this, I think we can work well as a unit… This is Marinette’s fault; she caused this.

Purple Tigress: Agreed.

Lapin (Aurore): Oh, hell yeah.

Ladybug: Well, let’s not-

Minnie (Mireille): Yep. All her. I mean, who can blame Marc? The girl had the nerve to insult his own boyfriend!

CapriKid: She what?

Minnie: Yeah, she said it was a good thing Nath wasn’t here during the game since he’s bad at sports and would make her team lose. I mean, I know he’s not the best, but there’s no need to say it out loud.

Pluto (Zoé): So, we’re all in agreement! What’s our game plan?

Wyvern (Cosette): Uh… Kick the ball and don’t get totally slaughtered by the guy whose been playing soccer since he was five.

Pluto: Solid plan!

Bronco (Simon): I actually feel good about this.

King Cobra (Ismael): Great! LET’S FUCKING DO THIS!

*One minute later*

King Cobra: *Passes out* We’re so bad at this!

CapriKid: Why did no one help me? I have cleat marks up and down my back!

Ladybug: Guys, if we just follow my plan-

Fennec (Lacey): Boooo! Give us actual advice!

Wyvern: God, is it gonna be like this for three more quarters?

Lemon Bee (Reshma): And it’s only been one minute!

Leonardo (Denise): Forget this, y’all, because all of us are fucked. Okay, we can’t win. Game over.

Roi Singe: Oh, you think he’s just gonna let us leave? I’ve seen this guy play! Marc’s not gonna stop even if we surrender! Either we find Nath and have him talk Marc down, or find Marinette and force her to apologize!

Ladybug: … So, where’s Nath? I think he’d like having ten boyfriends fawning over him.

CapriKid: … *Sneaks away to transform back*

Bronco: Huh. You seem awfully eager to give him up like that.

Ladybug: W-well, it’d be our safest option, right?

Bronco: … Hm.