#the mustache and clear glasses really does something for me

[unhinged-nymph]

Thinking about him tonight

[roger-that-cap]

delicate

bradley bradshaw x fem!reader

warnings: cheating (it’s not bradley who does it but it is on the reader), slight emotional cheating, alcohol use, uh that’s it really! unedited as always!

word count: 4.4k

summary: bradley bradshaw has a best friend. he is also in love with his best friend. it’s a shame that everything’s just a little too delicate to mess with.

the way that i’m actively participating in this fandom is literally so funny to me considering i swore off posting my work in any fandom in like 2022 but here we are. my obsession with the white man with the mustache cannot be thwarted by words of the past. or the man with the cute glasses. or the cocky one with the toothpick. but we’ll take it one day at a time

also this is inspired by delicate by taylor swift ofc 🤪 this is for all my lover girls/boys/friends who want hot guys to dream of them. we are cut from the same cloth and we are two sides of the same coins.

Bradley Bradshaw was an outgoing guy. He was the guy that stopped the music just so that he could put on a show of his own. He was the guy that walked in late, expected attention, and got it. He was the guy that took other people out of their shells. He was confident in a way that was endearing. He was steady on his feet and he never faltered.

Until he met you.

The first time he saw you at the Hard Deck, he was intimidated. You were having so much fun on your own with your little group, clearly civilians who ended up in a bar full of sharks in uniform. That first night, all he did was look from afar.

The second time he saw you, your group was a little smaller, but you were still sporting that same smile. He was close enough to hear you turn a few men down over the course of the night, and that was enough to throw him off again. If it was meant to be, he’d see you again, he thought to himself.

And then he saw you again.

It was the night Penny finally put a karaoke machine in the bar. Bradley managed to convince all of the squad to come, simply because he scheduled himself for at least 3 songs. So they all showed up, and just as he was about to start thinking of what his opener was going to be, the bar music stopped and the karaoke machine started playing, accompanied with girly laughter.

There you were. Standing right at the front of the room with sunglasses over your face and a mic to your lips, fighting a smile as you started a one woman rendition of “End Game” by Taylor Swift.

It was clear by the grin on your face that you were doing it purely to make your friends laugh. He watched you in awed silence, dancing all over the small space and laughing when you took a misstep.

“She’s more ballsy than even you, Bradshaw,” Hangman said, nodding up to you dancing. “Or maybe the word is obnoxious.”

“She’s so cute,” Natasha said, laughing. “I love it.”

“Big reputation, BIG reputation,” you were saying into the mic, leaning halfway over.

“I’d have to be so drunk to do that,” Bob muttered to himself, but even he couldn’t deny the guts it took to go up there even as a joke.

The song ended, and you kindly handed the mic to the man standing at the machine, a sheepish look on your face until you were surrounded by your laughing friends.

“You gonna top that, Bradshaw?” Jake asked, and then Bradley looked over at you again, still smiling.

“I’ll let the bar cool down and prepare for me,” Bradley said, still looking over at you. It was then that Jake caught him.

“Why don’t you go talk to her?”

“Huh?”

“You should talk to her,” Jake repeated, and Bradley frowned at him. “She's pretty. Looks nice enough.” There was a pause, and then that ever-mocking smirk that came to haunt everyone’s dreams. It meant Jake was up to something. “Or I will.”

So, he did. He walked up to you, thinking it couldn’t possibly be that bad. The worst thing you could do was say “no”, and he would take that in stride. He never had to before, but he would if it meant he could just talk to you. Just see.

He was walking up to you, coming from behind, and then it was like you knew he was coming, because you whipped right around. And then he caught your eyes and all he could say was, “I love your hair.”

He kicked himself in that moment, but he realized afterwards that was probably what saved him. It was a strange comment, but it was better than a sleazy one. It was probably the only reason you didn’t tell him to leave you alone right away.

“Thanks!” You looked him up and down, but it wasn’t super flirtatious- you were just looking, like you were searching for a genuine compliment to give him. You just looked so sweet. “That mustache and shirt combo is awesome. I wish I could pull off colors like you.”

And that was the story of how you and Bradley became close friends. In the beginning, he told himself that he was okay with being just friends with the pretty middle school teacher. He was totally okay with you having a boyfriend, because he was your friend, and only that. But every time he saw you smile and laugh or how passionate you were while creating your lesson plans, he couldn’t help but know that he was lying to himself.

It didn’t help that your boyfriend was a piece of shit. Originally he wasn’t one outright, it was just the little things. He walked on the wrong side of the sidewalk. Bradley witnessed him make you split the tab at the bar. He had a wandering eye. He touched you only when another man got close, almost like he was guarding a treasure rather than protecting the love of his life. It was all wrong, and it all left a sour taste in Bradley's mouth.

The sour taste only got worse when five months into knowing you, that same good for nothing boyfriend of yours got another girl pregnant.

Bradley could have sworn that he was going to get discharged for beating up an enlisted man the first time he heard the news. You were crying, bawling your eyes out over the phone in the middle of the night, crying so hard you were nearly throwing up. You told him that you were calling him because you had nowhere to go and you had to get out of your house. He didn’t blame you. In fact, he had never driven so fast.

So, you stayed at his house that night. One night turned into three, and then three nights turned into a week, and it snowballed from there. At first, it was easy to hide his feelings. You were sad, and making a move was the last thing on his mind. All he wanted was for you to feel better, and soon you eventually did. But his selfish mind almost wished that you never had, because the second you started smiling again in his house, in such close quarters to each other, he felt his resolve slipping.

He felt the words coming on the tip of his tongue every morning. You left earlier than him to go to your classroom and set up, and you always left coffee out for him. Sometimes you made his eggs if you had enough time. You made dinner more often than not, insisting on doing that if he wasn’t going to charge you for staying with him. And then you would pick the best movies and you liked the ones he picked, too. You sang in the shower and the bathroom you used always had makeup and face wash and a comb in it, but you still kept it neat. The words were close to escaping his mouth, but when he clamped his teeth down and held it in, it made that same sour taste that your boyfriend did.

That very sour taste in his mouth was there at the bar when he realized he was watching you far too often for it to be friendly. The last thing he wanted to do was make it seem like he was trying to make a move on you while you were clearly still trying to get over what your ex had done.

“You’d better get your girl, Bradshaw,” Jake drawled, and Bradley rolled his eyes.

“She’s not my girl and she’s a grown woman, she can do what she wants,” he said tiredly, his voice so monotonous that the words sounded rehearsed. He knew that all his friends knew that they were, and it seemed like everyone but you had caught on to the hopeless romantic act he was hiding.

“Well, she never drinks and she doesn’t look like she’s handling it too well.” And then Bradley’s head whipped to the side, just where he knew you were.

Just as Jake said, you were walking up to the karaoke machine, an equally drunk Natasha by your side as you looked through the selection, no doubt about to pick something obnoxious. You weren’t as alert as you usually were, and it worried him. You hated being out of it, that’s why you never drank. He walked up to you quickly, knowing that if you started a song there was no taking you away until it was over.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Bradley said from behind you, and he saw your shoulders tense. “I think it’s time to wrap it up.”

“Wrap it up?” You slurred, looking up at him with those pretty eyes that always made his heart skip a beat. “Wrap it up?!” Natasha grimaced at you and then at him, already knowing exactly where it was going. “You know who didn’t wrap it up-”

“It’s okay, that’s not what he meant,” Nat rushed out, turning to look at Bradley. Natasha was one of those that could be four times over the legal limit and no one would no. He envied her in that regard. You were clearly the opposite.

“I just wanted to sing a song,” you said, poking Bradley’s firm chest. “You gonna let me sing a song, Rooster?” There was something about the way you said his callsign that had his cheeks going red. You always called him Bradley, except for when you had that one look in your eye, the one that really had him biting his tongue. “You gonna get off that perch and sing with me?”

“I think it’s time to drop you off at your place,” he assured you without even thinking, but he immediately wanted to swallow his own words when Natasha shook her head rapidly.

“I got kicked out,” you hiccuped, giving him a pointed look. “I sleep in your bed, remember?” You had no idea how much he wanted that to be true.

“Not in my bed,” he corrected quickly when Natasha’s brows shot upward. “In my house.”

“Well, you should probably take her home before she starts a song,” Nat whispered. “She was about to pick “Cowboy Casanova”, that was going to be a disaster.”

He chucked a bit as he touched your arm, his heart fluttering as you looked up at him with your pretty, expressive eyes. His laugh died in his throat. “A-are you ready?”

“Do I get a Bronco ride?”

“You sure do,” he said, and then you two were walking out in the night.

It was easy to get you in the car. You were an easy drunk, just loud. He buckled you up easily and shut the door as you started your own rendition of some Taylor Swift song you had probably told him to listen to.

After your song ended, the ride was quiet. He was happy with the quiet. He was happy because that meant he didn’t have to open his mouth to talk, which meant that he could physically roll his lips shut. Closed lips meant that there was no possibility of him saying something and fucking up a good time. But he couldn’t ignore the fact that you were grinning from ear to ear.

“You’re all smiles now,” he couldn’t help but point out, and he saw you turn towards him.

“You make me smile,” you said easily, still drunk, but it made his heart skip regardless.

Once again, the ride was quiet besides the purring of his Bronco and the occasional blinker noise. Even the music was turned down, but your head was bobbing to some imaginary beat. He couldn't help but make himself see this as a nicer moment than it really was, as a sweeter moment. In reality, he was taking you home because you were about to drunkenly sing a Carrie Underwood song that was going to have you feeling humiliated by the morning. In his mind, he was simply taking you home and making sure you got inside safely. In his mind, it was a simple night, free of drama. There was certainly no cheating boyfriend and no tears.

“What do you dream about?”

Your quiet yet certain tone broke the tension in the atmosphere of his Bronco. “What?”

And then you spoke again, somehow sounding completely sober. “What do you dream about, Bradley?”

“Uh,” he said, feeling his cheeks get a little pink. “I guess it depends.”

“Sometimes I can’t help but wonder-” a small burp escaped your lips— definitely drunk—, “do you ever dream of me?”

His heart stopped. He was so glad you were drunk. There was no way you were going to be able to remember the way he uncharacteristically stuttered or didn’t respond for a few seconds. There was no way you’d remember the flush of his cheeks under the bright light.

“W-what?”

You seemed deadly serious. “Do you ever dream of me?”

“I…” almost to his place. Almost to his place. “I think about you a lot,” he settled on saying, his voice much higher than usual.

“Thinking is nice. I can take thinking as the answer. At least thinking is on purpose,” you reasoned with yourself, seemingly to have forgotten he was even there to begin with. “But dreaming is different.”

He was intrigued. His heart was racing, and his hands felt sweaty on the steering wheel. “How so?”

“Dreaming is you being unable to escape a thought,” you said, and he wondered just how you were managing to get your point across so easily while being so smashed. “Dreaming of someone would mean that you think of them even when you’re not thinking. Your subconscious mind lies with them. It’s deeper.”

You were right. He hadn’t thought about it that way, but you were right. There were plenty of things that he swore he was over that he still had nightmares about and every time they happened, he had to face the music.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is that I really hope you think about me enough to see me in your dreams.”

He couldn’t say anything. What was he supposed to say? That he certainly did, and that every free moment his mind had meant that it was a free for all full of you and everything about you? Hell, he had once even thought about what your next classroom theme could be. You were that embedded into his mind.

“Wait, is it cool that I said all that?” You asked, blinking up at him slowly as the car came to a stop in your driveway. “I just get really in my head sometimes, sorry if I ruined tonight,” you said, shaking your head with a huge smile, as if you didn’t just rock his entire world in a ten minute drive. “Okay, goodnight.” And then you were jumping out of the car.

“Woah,” he called, racing around from his side and picking you up off the ground. You were laughing, clearly not aware that you had just fallen all over the cement of his driveway. You held onto his arm as he walked the both of you up to his front door, and you almost tripped on a crack in the cement.

“My keys.” You had them in your hand, and for a second, he just watched you calmly struggle with that stupid little smile on your face, like you had all the time in the world as the key kept missing the hole that it didn’t even belong to. “Maybe it’s the wrong door.”

He couldn’t help but laugh when he took the keys from you, already halfway forgetting your conversation from earlier. He held onto your keys as he unlocked his door with his own. He opened the door easily and let you in, prepared to tell you goodnight and go right to his room and try to forget the other was right on the other side of the wall, like you two had done so many times before.

“Where ya going?” Before he could even answer, you frowned at him. “You’re ditching me?”

He turned back around. “Do you need help?”

“I’m a big girl, I can take my dress off,” you said with a grin. “But I- I don’t know. I don’t wanna be alone yet.”

“Okay,” he breathed out. “Okay, you don’t have to be alone.”

And so you weren’t. He stood at the doorway of his guest bathroom, the one that had the makeup and pink towel and even a pink rug. He had given up the space to you without second thought, and as he watched you dart around in it and start to take your hair down and take your makeup off, he couldn’t help but feel his heart swell. You looked so comfortable in his house. It was all he ever wanted wrapped up in just one moment.

“Do you wanna know what broke me the most?” You asked out of the blue as you started to wipe your lipstick off, eyes connecting with his in the mirror. You took a deep breath to wind up for the next round of words even without his response. He knew that you were going to talk regardless. It was one of the things he loved about you.

“I wasn’t even sad about the fact that he cheated. I was happy.”

He was thrown on his ass again by you. You had a habit of taking his breath away more than once a day, probably once every two hours or so to be exact, but this was different. You were pulling no punches. You were throwing hand grenades in the form of words tonight, and he wasn’t even sure you were aware of it.

“It gave me an excuse to leave him. But then there was three or so moments and I realized the reason I was okay with it was because I was finally free of guilt, because the whole time I was with him- I’m an awful person,” you started sobbing and you let yourself sink to the floor, sitting on the pink rug. His brows lifted to his forehead for a split second before he went right down to the ground with you, and his hand found your skin and your back soothingly.

“You’re not a bad person, not even close.” He shook his head. You were an angel. He was genuinely convinced of that.

“I wanted you the whole time.” you slurred, eyes wide but not as present as he wanted them to be. Not while you said the exact words that he had been harboring since what felt like the beginning of time. “Almost ever since I met you. And I can’t help but feel sick when I think about how what he did is my karma.”

He was in shock. He didn’t know if he was more surprised about the fact that you were being so open about something that he was so hush-hush about, or about the fact that you said you wanted him. You wanted him. This was something out of his wildest dreams- just as you had predicted. And then he crashed back down to reality and realized you were drunk off your ass in a party dress, so fucked up that your legs were going every which way and your lipstick was smeared.

“Nothing happened, you didn’t do anything wrong,” he said quietly, ignoring the fact that his stomach felt like it was doing a Simone Biles level floor routine.

“But I would’ve,” you admitted, “if you had given me the sign.” Your bottom lip wobbled, and then you were full on sobbing. “I’m a disgusting person. Awful. Oh my god,” you whined, hands over your face as you hyperventilate on his wooden floor.

You were fucked up.

You were so gone, there was no denying that. He forced himself to let the words go in one ear and out the other, and when he took a few deep breaths of his own, he realized that you were still crying.

“You’re not a bad person, I promise.” You didn’t say anything, but after a few moments, he was sure you weren’t going to change your mind. “I think you’ll feel better if we cleaned you up.”

Your mascara was running, your lipstick was still smeared, and you kind of looked like a hot mess, but you were still gorgeous to him. You always would be. You didn’t say anything, and he took a makeup wipe from the counter and without a word started to wipe your face.

It was a silent exchange. Probably because the both of you were too scared to say much else. You let him wipe your face off and then he helped you stand. You let him take your heels off for you. He left for a few seconds and came back with some of your clothes, the nice pajamas he knew you liked to sleep in, and then started the shower and left. You were in and out.

When you were all done, he was sitting at the table. It was late, but he was drinking a beer with his back turned to you. He heard you clear your throat, and he had to stop himself from jumping.

“Goodnight,” you said quietly, and when he said it back, he heard you turn around and walk back to the room he had given you, and the door hut.

He wasn’t going to sleep well at all.

§§

It was Sunday morning. The worst morning for this situation to be happening. If it was a weekday, you would’ve already been gone, at least. He would have had the whole day to think about how to go about it. But it was Sunday morning, and neither of you went to church. You were stuck.

He didn’t expect you to be up. He knew that he could probably walk to the kitchen and be in the living room for most of the morning without you coming out. Your hangover had to be awful. So, he padded out of his bedroom, rubbing his face and going straight to the coffee pot.

That already had coffee in it.

“Hi.” His entire posture changed.

How he had entirely missed you sitting at the table, he didn’t know. But there you were, a cup of coffee in your hands and a small smile on your face.

You were beautiful. He didn’t know how you didn’t look like you were hit by a bud considering how messed up you were last night, but how could you ever? You always looked so out together and so cute. Of course you could smile with a hangover.

“Good morning,” he said, his raspy voice coming out surprised. He was looking at you cautiously, not quite sure if you remembered what happened. “How’d you sleep?”

“Like a baby,” you said, now you were grinning. “It was so nice. Peaceful.” He decided that you definitely didn’t remember a thing, and he relaxed.

He ignored the wave of sadness that came with the loss of tension.

“What about you?” You asked, genuinely wondering, and he sighed. “You have any dreams?” He took a look at you from over the coffee mug he was drinking from. “You know I minored in psych, I love dreams.”

“No, no dreams,” he said, trying to shut out that whole conversation from last night. “I just can’t believe you’re waking up so… happy. Everyone but me and Bob was so drunk.”

“I had a rough night? I cried a lot, huh?” You asked, and he almost laughed in wonder. How did you not realize that he was literally in love with you? How could you forget that the words you said last night were probably the most important ones he had ever heard?

“Yeah, but it’s okay. Everyone has a rough night every once in a while. I’m surprised you don’t have a headache or anything.”

“Yeah. It’s probably canceled out because of the lack of stress I feel now,” you said, and he nodded his head when he assumed that you were talking about shedding the skin of the man that was holding you back. “It was real nice to get all that off my chest.”

He froze.

You were just drinking from your mug, making annotations in your book. He was staring at you with wide eyes as he tried to understand what to make of what you just said. “Thanks for taking my makeup off, too. That would have ruined my skin progress.”

Holy shit, you remembered everything. “What?”

You had to be playing with him. There was no other way. You finally shut your book, and then you leaned forward on your hands and looked at him with your eyes, one of his biggest weaknesses. “I meant everything I said, Bradley.”

“You remember?”

“Yeah, I always do,” you said, shrugging your shoulders. “That's why I don’t drink. I do things I normally wouldn’t but I never have the luxury of forgetting, so I always wake up embarrassed.”

Did you realize that you were holding his heart in your hands? “Are you embarrassed now?” Please don’t be embarrassed that you said those things. Please don’t be embarrassed because they’re not true. God, let it all be true.

“Only if you want nothing to do with me,” you said softly, looking at him with such vulnerability that it made his heart skip a beat.

“Are you kidding?” He finally said, and he knew then that you were right about letting the feeling lift off of his chest. “You’re in my dreams almost every night, that’s gotta count for something.”

You made the first move to get to him. He realized then that you were a master at making the first move- he had only done it once (after striking out twice) but you had done it twice in two days. And then you were all in his space, breaching it with a certain confidence that made him weak in the knees. It made him want to hold you and hold onto you.

“Almost?” you asked, and as he looked down at you from so close up, he knew what he had already suspected to be true; he was a goner. “I want every dream.”

“Who would I be to deny you?” And then he made a move of his own, kissing you and effectively tying the score 2-2.

*******

AH

[bazooka-overkill]

ive been working on actually tallying each boxer's infraction count becuz i don't really think that rlly popular video does them justice. i'm still working on it so any suggestions to add or change one are welcome /gen

list under cut :3

i was considering adding that none of the boxers are seen shaking hands after losing a match but then i remembered theyre probably fucking dead due to little mac

infractions will count in total between contender and td. i.e. glass joe kills a man or some shit in contester, and then hits the quan on little mac's body in td. in total glass joe has 2 infractions, rather than contender and td be two separate characters 

THESE R DEFINITELY SUBJECT TO CHANGE, WHETHER THAT BE ADDING OR REMOVING. I AM NOT A REFEREE SO I NEED TO FACT CHECK THESE LMFAO

little mac: 9(?)

note: his tank top is allowed in minor circuit, known as a “singlet,” but he’ll have to remove it in major and world circuit. i’m counting two infractions for that. also has a coach in his corner (doc)

no mouth piece (birdie had one in super PO so idk why they removed it?)

underage (ban until he’s legally allowed to box)

im iffy on his star punch as he jumps(?) to do it. (jumping isn't mentioned in boxing rules, but you will get warned by ref if you jump and attack)

faces his back towards opponent when he does a star punch (does a little spin teehee)

ducks so his head is below opponent’s waist/belt line(? might just be a perspective thing)

tank top in major and world circuit. see note

too young to hold a belt/title, so three infractions(? not sure if this is an infraction or something else entirely)

glass joe: 2

no coach/trainer in corner

no mouth piece

glass joe TD: 2

did some research and headgear isn’t allowed period. +1 infraction for joe

his hair also peeks out of his headgear. even if headgear was allowed, he can’t have his hair poking out

von kaiser: 6(?)

no coach/trainer in corner 

no mouth piece

improper wear (pants, boots)

hits with inside of glove during his attack attack thing

may or may not have some sort of ptsd regarding children so um. yeah. would probably be banned until he got therapy sooooo

mustache is more than 10 cm in length(? someone fact check me on this please)

von kaiser TD: N/A

yeeyee ass haircut (placeholder)

disco kid: 3

note: i love this guy. im also not counting his disco ball becuz it’s really just theatrical intros and gives a little swaggah to his fights

no coach/trainer in corner

no mouth piece

honestly the only thing i can get him on are his headphones. even though they’re audibly playing music, they’re still against the rules

disco kid TD: 1 (so far)

leotard. no clear line between waist and lower half

too cool (placeholder)

king hippo: 7

no coach/trainer in corner

no mouth piece

no weigh in and most likely no actual license

head covering (crown)

ear clap move

indecent exposure (? can i even write him up for this or is this a legal issue)

shoes are not boxing approved, seem to be slip ons

king hippo TD: 2

BRINGS A MANHOLE INTO THE RING???

bandages are allowed in the minor circuit, but not at the world circuit

fat /j

piston hondo: 4

no coach/trainer in corner

no mouth piece

head covering (head band)

unsportsmanlike behavior in the ring (bowing w/ eye contact. it's subtle but i'm still counting it)

piston hondo TD: 0

nothing! at least that's what i think.

bear hugger: 5

no coach/trainer in corner

no mouth piece

improper attire (overalls give no clear discern between his waist and legs, so low blows are hard to tell. plus his boots)

beard (needs to be clean shaven or well groomed)

does an ear clap move (need a hug or whatever the fuck he says before it i dont care)

bear hugger TD: 2

bringing a squirrel into the ring (im gonna count this as bringing someone into the ring willingly, as the squirrel has boxing gloves on and isnt trying to run away from the ring. the squirrel is willingly fighting and understands what is happening)

head covering

great tiger: 10

note: his head covering is for religious reasons, so it doesn’t count towards infractions. i also won’t be counting his magic carpet as he only uses it during intermission to entertain the crowd and it isn't seen in his actual fights.

another note: his clones, in my mind, act like actual people. great tiger is shown controlling them, but during intermission they can be seen lounging around and talking. this may just be theatrics for the crowd, but i see it as they’re all separate people. 

no coach/trainer in corner

no mouth piece

leaves his corner of the ring

5 infractions (for each clone he spawns, 5 being the max he can spawn. i also want to point out that a boxer can only have three corner men at a time, so great tiger having 5 people/clones, much less while he’s boxing, is basically cheating within cheating. aran ryan much lmfao)

pants go below the knees

mustache is longer than 10 cm(?)

great tiger TD: dead

did little mac kill a man in this fight (placeholder)

don flamenco: 5

no coach/trainer in corner

no mouth piece

spraying perfume on himself between rounds

head covering (toupee LMFAOAOOOAOA BALD ASS)

personal branding on his shorts

don flamenco TD: 2

turns his back repeatedly, which counts as being knocked down

emo /j

backhand punch

aran ryan: banned (12, still counting)

no coach/trainer in corner

no mouth piece

loaded gloves (DQ)

due to the fact that he was able to load his gloves, i’m willing to bet his fists aren’t properly wrapped and weren’t examined.

headbutting (DQ. also uses the ropes to gain leverage for said headbutt, so two for one combo there)

hits with elbow

once knocking little mac down, does not go to farthest neutral corner while ref counts

refuses to make an attempt to fight at certain points (his taunt)

breaking of WVBA property (seen in his contester win animation)

personal branding on shorts. unless a clover is his sponsor’s logo, it isnt allowed

attacks the ref in his intermission cutscene (banned)

i KNOW theres more i just cant THINK OF THEM GRR

aran ryan TD: 4

brings a fucking flail into the ring. im counting his flail as two infractions, both for bringing a foreign item into the ring. one for the rope and one for the glove. i’m willing to bet that the purple glove is still loaded, but im not sure of that but im counting it so FUCK YOU

steals little mac’s gloves. idk if this is a criminal charge or an infraction

tries to get a hit in right as he’s going down

soda popinski: 7

no coach/trainer in corner

no mouth piece

improper attire

doping (the soda)

foreign object (soda bottles)

also giving him an infraction for drinking the soda during his matches 

mustache is longer than 10 cm

soda popinski TD: 4

foreign object (soda crates. im giving him three infractions, one for each crate of soda he brings in)

hits the side of mac’s head with a punch (DQ)

bald bull: banned (4)

no coach/trainer in corner

no mouth piece

anger issues, would have to get that sorted out before anything else

attacking a ref (perma ban)

bald bull TD: N/A

uhh

being bald

super macho man: banned (9)

no coach/trainer in corner

no mouth piece

as much as i want to keep looking at his ass (WHO SAID THAT) i gotta write him up for improper wear. also adding that he has personal branding on both the front and back.

COLD CLOCKED THE FUCKING REF HELLO??? (PERMA BAN)

also didn’t follow ref’s instructions to go back to his corner; can be seen in the little cutscene between rounds

uses camera to take selfies

wearing jewelry (gold chain and earrings)

i also want to point out that he may have some tanning lotion on due to how FUCKING SHINY HE IS COMPARED TO EVERYONE ELSE

super macho man TD: N/A

racist (placeholder)

mr sandman: 2

no coach/trainer in corner

no mouth piece

thats it. thats literally the most i can get on him /srs

note: this is the BIGGEST fucking stretch i’ll make on this document but maybeeeeeee the way he’s stretching the ropes in his contender intermission could be an infraction??????? not really becuz he doesn’t break them but ugh idk it might just be more of a “the ropes r very fragile so plz dont do that mr sandman world champion sir” than an infraction LMFAO

i also noticed that when he gets knocked down, a subtle song that sounds like what those little carousels that go above a baby’s cot starts playing. cute and its a nice reference to his name 

mr sandman TD: 0

note: the "make up" under his eyes are eye bags, not eyeshadow. mr sandman may be emo in td but not like don

nothing!

my references

“According to rule 4.2. 5.2. 2 of IBA Technical & Competitions Rules, “a boxer can have a beard and mustache, but either must not cover the neck and must not be longer than 10cms.””

https://law.lis.virginia.gov/admincode/title18/agency120/chapter40/section350/

[my-soupy-brain]

Fuzzy Feelings

Description: You and Ted have been close for months but one night of solitude for each of you brings him to your door.

Relationships: Ted Lasso/ Reader

Warning: Heavy making out, humping, and implied intercourse. Flufffffff.

Spice: 🔥🔥

—-

You were alone in your flat.

Everyone was out, your friends texting you to join them, but you weren’t much in the mood.

Work had been hard the last few weeks. A few Richmond losses made things stressful, especially managing the media’s shit-slinging.

And your crush on the head coach, well, it was getting worse. The passion you saw in how much he cared — not just for the team but the entire club staff — made you fall deeper in love with him.

Sure he was attractive. You loved his soft hair, the sweaters he wore, and his cologne. His voice always made your heart flutter, and he always made such good eye contact when you spoke. Like he really listens, because he does.

He brought you a coffee on mornings you didn’t get much sleep. He checked on you when you didn’t pop by his office to say hi. He texted you to remind you of new episodes of your shared favorite shows. After months of this, you can’t imagine your life without him.

How his wife threw him away, you’ll never know. Because Ted Lasso means the world to you.

But after these last couple weeks of work exhaustion, you just aren’t feeling yourself. So you cozy up and decide to stay put.

A glass (or three) of wine and you’re feeling just fuzzy and floaty enough to turn up your record player and see where the music takes you.

But outside your window is a contemplating Ted Lasso, out for a walk and feeling the hope of clearing his head.

And he sees you: Dancing, carefree, laughing. Clearly alone, but enjoying yourself.

Your smile captures him. He brings you coffee as a reason to see your face every day. The way your eyes bunch up and widen when he vents about his own life, such care and concern you show. The light in your laugh when he makes a joke.

He’s lost without you, and he’s so glad you’re in his life. And right now he’s glad his feet have brought him here. They’re now carrying him up the steps to your front door.

In the middle of one of your favorite songs, the doorbell rings, startling you for a moment.

You peek in the peephole and see a smiling Coach Lasso on the other side, your heart doing a somersault in excitement. You make yourself proper for a moment before opening the door.

“Ted! What brings you here?!” you exclaim with a smile.

Ted sheepishly looks away, your flushed face and wild hair from dancing makes his head swim with want.

“Hi, uh, well I just happened to be out for a walk, unwindin’ my old noodle and I saw you in the window. Didn’t know ya lived so close.” He smiles, his mustache tilting up, his hazel eyes sparkling under your porch light.

“Well, shoot Coach, come on in! It’s a bit chilly tonight,” you offer. The wine is in your blood. Not drunk, but hospitable enough to invite him in.

He kicks off his shoes and removes his jacket. He’s in a tshirt and gray sweatpants, you notice. And you notice…um…something else in those sweatpants too.

Once inside he takes in your form: sleep shorts, your smooth legs running long. Your tank top with your breasts snuggled neatly in the built-in bra, showcasing the cleavage he sometimes notices in your work blouse.

He wills himself to behave, not let his blood travel south.

“Wine?” You offer from the kitchen. “Or I have whiskey.”

He smiles, your taste like his. “Whiskey, just a splash,” he accepts.

You pour a glass and he sees you twirling your hips to the music still playing low in the living room. He takes a peek at your decor — the eclectic mix of art and posters, your vinyl records scattered on the floor, a throw blanket on a large, cozy couch. He smiles at how “you” it all feels.

As you hand him a glass, your pink-painted fingers brush his and he smiles.

“Come, sit. Tell me what’s on your mind if it would help.”

You usher you both to the couch, and oh it feels lovely compared to the hard one in his flat. He sighs, relaxed.

“It’s just been hard. You know, with anxiety…missing my son. Feeling like I’m not doing the job well,” he says, his face defeated.

You’re bold enough to grab his hand.

“I understand completely,” you offer. You take a deep breath. “But Ted, you must know what a difference you’ve made. Despite the losses. That team is finally a unit. Not just men competing against each other. You’ve brought a new point of view - a healthy one - to the sport…”

He smiles at you. Your eyes are full of passion as you speak.

“You make a difference in the lives of every person not only in Nelson Road, but people you meet. You’re amazing, inside and out. I’m proud to know you.”

He twines his fingers with yours in his hand and nods.

“Thank you, truly. I needed that…more than you know,” he says.

“I think you’re just the bees knees,” you say with a giggle. “But seriously. I want you to know that I’m here and I care about you.”

He smiles again, his eyes shining. His heart hammering. “I care about you too.”

“Need a refill?” You offer, standing to head into the kitchen. Ted nods. “Just a little one.”

You make your way into the kitchen, still bobbing to your music. Ted watches from the couch and slowly rises to join you.

When you turn around, his hands are in the pockets of his sweats, a tendril of hair falls on his forehead. Oh, you could gobble him up.

“Can I get you something else?” But before you can offer anything specific he takes a few steps and opens his arms.

“A hug, if you’d oblige me. You can say no,” he counters. You smile wide, nodding. Your hair bounces and your cheeks blush and Ted feels like he could die.

“Yes, I’d love one.”

He ropes his arms around your body and you return yours over his neck. He smells like he always does, and you sigh.

“I care about you,” he mutters again. “I can’t describe how much.”

Your heart flutters. Is this an admission?

You pull back to make eye contact, and his look so hopeful. Fuzzy from wine or just from love, you raise your hand to his stubbled jaw.

“I’m truthfully…crazy about you,” you whisper, smiling and biting your bottom lip. “Absolutely certifiably crazy about you. And I just want you to be happy.”

His eyes dart from your lips to your eyes and back. “You make me happy,” he whispers.

And with that you both lean in to kiss.

It’s electricity. His lips on yours, his mustache tickling your face. His arms are around you, hands moving up and down your waist and hips. You moan at the sensation and he runs his tongue along your bottom lip, and you open to him — letting your mouths move in perfect unison, tasting each other.

Without a second thought he pops you up on your counter, standing between your legs, which are now wrapped around his middle. His lips love from yours to your jaw, under your ear, your neck, and back up. He whispers: “I’ve been falling in love with you.”

“Oh Ted,” you sigh, your hands in his hair.

Your lips meet again, heated and wanting. He picks you up off the counter and walks you to your couch, sitting down with you straddling his lap.

You notice his incredible length and hardness in his sweatpants and you groan, bucking your hips against him. His hands are everywhere — in your hair, running down your back, and then settling on your hips where he encourages you to move.

“Fuck, you feel just as I imagined,” you sigh, making him moan your name before your lips meet once more.

“Oh, sugar. I wish I could describe how I’ve dreamed of this,” he mutters into your neck between kisses. “You light me up like a Christmas tree.”

You giggle, always with his Ted-isms.

You pull back for a moment, looking into his eyes, heavy with lust.

“I don’t want to press you but…do you want to…go to my bedroom?” you ask, sheepishly.

He smiles, his hair a mess. “I thought you’d never ask.”

—

The next morning you wake, Ted’s arms over your body, his belly and chest (oh god, that chest) snuggled up to your back.

Your thighs are sticky with last night’s activities. You remember how his body felt with yours, how he felt inside of you. His caring touches, his moans of your name. His hands everywhere. His lips all over your body. The things he said, and how low and lusty that southern drawl goes when he says them.

How he throbbed for you while you gripped him and saw his face in ecstasy. Ted Lasso doesn’t pack light. Your core throbs at the memories.

How he brought you to pleasure over and over.

You grin and stifle a giggle.

“What’s got you giggling, my sweet girl,” he whispers into your neck, his soft lips kissing your shoulder.

“I just can’t believe you’re mine,” you answer. He holds you closer, the hair on his chest feeling so intimate against your naked body. His hands skate your waist and hips, and he smiles in disbelief.

“To hear you say that, darlin’, is music to my ears,” he answers.

You turn to face him, your fingers pushing hair behind his ear.

“I love you, Ted. To the moon and back.”

He smiles, blushes. His eyes dreamingly looking back at yours.

“I love you…”

Your lips meet, sweetly.

“How about some pancakes?” you ask gently. “My treat.”

He nods. “I’d love that. But you’re already my treat.”

[grimacingheron]

It's a longun and took me two days separated by weeks. Got prosey, but I have no regrets.

I live for these pixel men(among other things).

Sebastian takes one final drag from his cigarette before putting it out in a pocket-sized ash container. He had gotten it as a gift from Hero, so he wouldn't need to travel far for a trash can and he wouldn't feel the need to litter. They really got on his case about that.

The sun's still blindingly bright when he makes his way down to the community center from the mountain lake. His boyfriends decided to take advantage of this "gorgeously warm" afternoon. 'Yeah, right. More like "unnecessarily blistering," but whatever,' Sebastian mocks, but he can hear the sickening fondness even in his own head.

He's trying to get a breeze down the front of his long-sleeve when he sees his gaggle of partners infesting the playground and fountain benches. By the looks of things, Harvey and Shane are locked in discussion over something while the other two are sitting on various bits of equipment.

The two of them look like gossip girls; holding hands over their faces and whispering in a way that isn't loud, but still obnoxious because you can't hear what they're saying, but you know they're saying something about you. Sebastian exasperatedly sighs.

Once he stalks closer, it becomes evident why they're whispering. No one ahould have to hear the sugary shit these two are currently spewing.

"Oh my gods, look at 'em. Elliott, look!" Hero is on the swing, legs excitedly kicking while they attach a hand to Elliott's arm. He's roughly jostled and brilliantly smiles despite the sand Sebastian sympathetically feels getting in the author's shoes. Elliott does look, but gets immediately distracted by the appearance of Sebastian.

"Sebastian! Good of you to join us." Elliott's tone is teasing, but he still grimaces for not arriving sooner. It's smoothed over when Sebastian latches on to the offered hand. They give each other a squeeze.

A gasp startles them and Elliott is quickly jostled again. This time, the shaking is so severe it affects Sebastian as well.

"Sebby, my beloved, look!" The farmer kicks their legs on the swing, specks of sand go flying, "They're so cute! They're talking and so close and I am," they cut their sentence off with a sound. It's more of a groan as they seem unable to express the feeling through words. Elliott uses his and Sebastian's clasped hands to pat Hero's hand on his arm.

"We know, dear, we know." It's clear Hero's been at this for a while. Elliott sounds so long-sufferring, Sebastian felt the need to give the author his own comforting pat. He's not even sure what's so interesting that Hero has become incapable of human speech. Obviously, they're exclaiming about Shane and Harvey over on the bench, but nothing in particular strikes him as "I can no longer function normally" in the way it seems to have hit Hero.

That is, until he squints just a little, roving over the view before his eyes and he sees it.

Something shifts in the scene before him. Like someone knocked the rose-coloured glasses that he thought he'd lost down in front of his eyes and the soft reds and pinks fill in gaps he didn't know were there. It's small, but it's there. It's tucked away in tilted postures and casual smiles and hand waving and looks and words.

Harvey and Shane aren't sitting side-by-side. They are positioned on the bench, nearly falling off, as they turn towards each other like polar-opposite magnets. The doctor's posture is straight, yet comfortable as if he's never known rigidity. He's attentive, as always, but some invisible forces glitters his eyes, unticks the smile beneath his mustache. It's toothachy.

Shane, on the other hand, is slouching in a way looks forced, but not by discomfort. After getting to know Shane in the way he has recently, he can recognize the put-upon casualness of someone unaware that their very existence is already loved astronomically beyond what is perceived possible. He's chatting like he hasn't a care, but it's so visible in the dramatics of his hands. Harvey's legs are crossed, but Shane's are open and one's bouncing, unable to be still.

Just now, his anxious leg brushes against Harvey's foot and settled by Harvey's hand on his knee. Shane's whole body seems to settle as his hands slow down, but don't stop, and his eyes don't make direct contant, but don't leave Harvey, either.

"They are just so," Sebastian struggles to find a word and makes a face, "ugh," He means it in an incomprehensibly positive way.

[thisblogisboundforglory-blog]

#23 - "I Don't Feel Like Going to the Omelet House," Said No Las Vegan. Ever.

Just about a mile away, up Main Street and west under a railroad bridge and an interstate highway overpass, along a road that was already old when John Fremont first walked it and that still becomes a river when the mood strikes it, a tall, sandy-haired man sits alone in a booth at a busy restaurant. The place is made of layers and layers of inexpensive wood paneling, fake plants that, for four decades, have somehow escaped the notice of the Southern Nevada Health District inspectors, and the happy buzz of people eating omelets, drinking coffee, stuffing their mouths with slices of crispy fried potatoes, and taking care of the business that makes shiny glass mega-resorts grow out of the baked desert.

The sandy-haired man is tall, in early middle age, and blue-eyed. He nurses a cup of coffee and smiles at the life going on around him.

He smiles like a man who has done it often enough to achieve mastery.

The waitress arrives at his booth with an order-pad and pencil in hand. She's writing on the pad, eyes on her work, and has navigated the crowded and cramped dining room without once looking around her.

Seriously. Echo-location. All Las Vegans have it.

"I should warn you," she says without looking up, "See that on the wall?" She flicks her eyes in the direction of a small metal plaque mounted on the wall above the table, "If Themselves come in, I'll have to find you another place to sit."

The smiling man reads the plaque. It tells him that he is occupying the customary booth of Mayors Oscar and Caroline Goodman. The smile on his face falters for a micro-moment, but he rebounds.

"Got it," he says.

The waitress looks up, sharply.

He smiles. He was already smiling, but, somehow, his smile has smiled.

She doesn't breathe.

"Don't be afraid," he tells her, calmly. "I don't know what's going on, either. But this is really me."

She tucks the pencil into the red hair that is drawn back behind her ear. The gesture is so automatic that it barely registers as a detour on the route her hand takes to clutch the small cross around her neck.

She still doesn't breathe.

"Do you need to sit down?" He asks, making to rise and help her into the seat opposite his.

"No," she says, quickly, and then takes a deep gulp of breath, holds it, lets it out through her mouth and repeats the process. One has the impression that she is counting as she does it.

"Can I get you a glass of water?" He asks.

She looks at him. Hard. He lets her do it, only slightly self-conscious and wishing he still had some coffee in the cup so he could drink it to hide his own unease.

"But you just," she says. "Was it a – but you look – it can't," she concludes.

"And you're looking as lovely as you did when first we met," he tells her.

She blushes. "It is you, isn't it?" She says. There is a girlish note in the three-pack-a-day voice that makes clear her longing for this to be true.

"It is," he says. Then he lowers his voice to a confidential whisper and adds, "I'm afraid I haven’t a cent to pay for this coffee.”

The color slowly returns to her cheeks, just as a smile transforms her face into something very like the face of the 22-year-old cocktail waitress whose virtue he defended – just in the normal course of his busy day – all those years ago. "Your money's no good here," she tells him. "This is a miracle, sir. A miracle from God. What do you need?"

He is just about to thank her when a baritone voice, soft but with a hint of gravel, says, "Pardon me."

The voice comes from behind a tall wooden screen separating one booth from another. They turn in that direction to see a slender man rise from the chair, straighten the creases out of his impeccable gray suit, and regard them both with gentle brown eyes. The eyes are crowned with lush eyebrows darker than the whitening halo that frames bare skin on the top of his head. The eyebrows contrast with a pencil-thin mustache that neatly outlines his upper lip. He bows his head to the waitress and offers to shake the hand of The Smiling Man.

Who is now radiating astonishment. Genial astonishment.

"Is there room for one more?" Asks The Gentleman.

[everyhowlmarksthedead]

seeing someone else.

BISHOP LOSA. MAYANS MC ┃ USEFUL LINKS

❝ request by @encounterthepast: Hello lovely Aurora, can I request angst prompt number 7 with Bishop please, thank you, 💕

❝ prompt: “Don’t you dare to lie to me again”.

❝ request by @arveeee: Hello my dear, so I was thinking, and there is one sentence to that can't go out of my head. So it is: "let me in" with Bishop (I know I'm boring). Well I believe in you, I love you , and I love your writing. Say hello to Arya.

❝ request by anon: Hi, Aurora. I love your writing sm 🥺 I was wondering if I could request an imagine with my man Bishop? I was thinking of something like the reader and him being in kinda like a friends with benefits situation, but she decides to break it offf because she’s really upset. And maybe Bishop doesn’t understand so she eventually explains to him that she wants more out of their relationship and he reassures her they are more and they always have been? Maybe leads to like soft/romantic smut? Thanks so much!

❝ request by @meteora-fc: hello hello! so, that new trailer huh?😵 would absolutely love if you could write me something for a stressed out bishop with the prompts "Stop ignoring me, it’s driving me crazy!" and "Let me help you make it better." Thank you tons!!💖

❝ words: about 1.4k.

❝ a / n: as always, don’t forget to comment and reblog if you liked it!

Another tequila shot goes down your throat, ripping it off as you almost smash the small glass on the table. Tossing your head back as you rest your back against the sofa, sitting on the floor, you take a look around you. The gloomy has taken over your house as the night has fallen a couple of hours ago. It's the fourth night you are trying to forget about Bishop and whatever you two had. But you can't dismiss from your mind his caresses —his fingers drawing patterns on your back, his lips touring your neck with delicate kisses as if he was afraid of breaking your skin, his mustache tickling your inner thighs, his raspy voice articulating your name in moans. It's the fourth night miserably failing, remembering the last time you spent together, the way he was holding his back pretending he wasn't sad because you were leaving him.

“Obispo, it's over. Don't make a big deal. We're just friends who occasionally fucks”. You scoffed somewhat annoyed because of him and his interrogation, but how could you tell him you were falling in love with him?

“I ain't making any deal, (Y/N). I just want to know what made you change your mind and keep a wide berth”.

“I'm seeing someone else”.

"Don't you dare to lie to me”. He growled, taking a step closer towards you with the intention of stopping you from picking up and packing the less stuff you had in his house.

“Think what you want”. You replied, rolling your eyes.

The first tear flows in the left corner of your mouth not appreciably at first, but then, some more until finding yourself crying. You miss him so much. You miss watching him sleep peacefully in the small hours, drifting slightly when you caress his cheek using your fingertips. Flexing your knees to your chest, you wrap your arms around trying to contain the loud sobs, hiding your face between them. How have you been so stupid to fall for him like that? The two of you made it clear from the very first moment. Friends with benefits. But after a couple of weeks, you started to notice that he used to push away any other woman that it wasn't you, he didn't spend much time in the clubhouse preferring to do it in your house —cuddling, watching movies, playing poker; kissing every single inch of flesh covering your anatomy.

Reality hit you the moment he murmured something like you're a miracle, thinking you were calmly sleeping between his strong arms and your back stuck to his chest, no distance among your bodies. You knew it was a thing produced by the alcohol running through your veins and it wasn't fair for you to fantasize about the idea he was catching feelings for you. So you just ran away, like a coward.

Some clumsy knocks on the front door of your house bring you back to reality. At first, you try to ignore them. It's not like you're in the mood for visits, knowing that probably it's Leti at the other side of the place, worried because you haven't replied to her text all day. But she insists and insists. And you know how stubborn she can be sometimes. Serving yourself another shot and drinking it in just one gulp, because you're too sober to endure another of her Ted talks about positivism and what he has lost, you stand up on your bare feet. Everything around you spins dizzyingly for a second until you can react, feeling every knock like a hammer hitting your brain.

“I've heard you the fi—”.

Opening the door to receive her, your vocals get frozen as you face Bishop in a deplorable drunk state. Just like you are.

“Let me in”. He barks, not being able to look at your eyes, trying to pass you away to the inside, but you stop him.

“Go home, Obis—”.

“I'm home, shut the fuck up”. He frowns taking a sip from a bottle of whisky you haven't noticed till now. “You think you can kick my fuckin' ass outta your life by saying you're seeing someone else? You think I'm fuckin' stupid, queri— Were you crying…?”

From anger, his tone of voice falls to one lower and lower, as the concern and the worry cover his annoyance completely. Throwing away his drink to somewhere over the grass of your yard, he holds your face onto his palms. His touch causes you to tremble. His warm touch causes you to break into aching sobs, panting as you can't breathe properly. All this time you've been thinking you have missed him, but you didn't have a real idea of how it feels until his fingers have been laid on your wetted skin.

Bishop comes closer to you, touching the tip of your nose with his. You can smell the mixed scent of cigarettes and whisky emanating from his cracked lips, it doesn't bother you, tho. “Don't kiss me, please”.

Until this precise moment, he has loved your begs and pleads to his bones, but now he hates them more than anything he could ever hate in his life. It breaks his heart. He can't deal with your rejection one night more.

“Why…? Why can't I kiss you?” He asks desperately at the edge of his tears. “Please, stop ignoring me, it's driving me crazy. I can't even take care of my own shit without you by my side”.

Your knees feel weak at his words, still believing he only says that because you're just a good lover, the best in the sheets, as he told you once.

“I… I…” You babble nervously, trying to not place your hands on the laps of his leather kutte to finally push him into the needed kiss you've been craving for the last four days. “I love you”.

And why the confession doesn't take him by surprise? Why doesn't he look confused? Why does it seem like he already knew it? Bishop can't help but draw a fleeting grin across his face.

“Do you think I came here, falling into pieces, just because it feels like being in Heaven when I'm deep inside you?” He whispers, clicking his tongue slightly. “I didn't believe you when you told me you were seeing someone else. But the minimal thought I could have about it made me lose the less sanity I have”.

You blink stupefied at his own confession about his feelings. Your fingers tour his abdomen up in slow motion, starting to have some faith in his words.

“Mi amor…” Bishop mumbles in soft giggles shaking his head. “I adore you, mi amor. I don't want anything else than to share my life with you, and only with you”.

He doesn't wait for a signal from you to kiss your lips, he just takes what it's his. And you can't hold back a painful gasp, expelling in it all the sorrow you've been carrying for the last four days being separated from him. Your hands grip his shirt in two fists, pushing him as much closer as the two of you can be, about to melt in the same figure. All this time you have been trying to not love him, to forget him; and you were just delaying the inevitable. You are made for each other, that's a fact. Your lips fit to perfection —your bodies, your hearts.

“Tell me you love me”. You whimper against his mouth, causing him to smile because of your need of making it real by these simple three words.

“Love isn't enough to express what you make me feel”.

Bishop bends down without prior notice to wrap his huge hands on the back of your thighs, urging you to jump onto him and surround his waist with your legs. You haven't forgotten how good his warmth takes over you when he holds you like that, walking inside your house and kicking the door close. Guiding his steps across your place and its hallways, he reaches your dark dorm barely illuminated by a post light outdoors. He lies you down on your bed —a bed that has welcomed you for the last eight months in every kind of state. Drunk, tired, happy.

Now, you're a mix of them. Drunk in tequila, tired of crying, but happy for having him back for the rest of your life.

GENERAL TAG LIST: @mayans-sauce @peoniarose @destynelseclipsa @band-psycho @myakai13 @petlaufeyson @-im-fantastic- @horsesandwolvesaremyanimals @rocketqueen @rosieposie0624 @ellyseveronica @Jessprins13 @diaryofkali @ravenmoore14 @starrynite7114 @kenbechillin @miahelen @monkeyluver4546 @sheeshgivemeabreak @jadesamhart @rawrlittlepanda-95 @megapeacelovemusic-blog @katsav17 @skits90s @wildsould1221 @littlekittymeow @tenderclio @badame1240 @regalbanshee @greeneyedblondie44 @phoenixhalliwell @codenamewife

MAYANS MC: @multiyfandomgirl40 @countryash345 @skyofficialxx @lovebishoplosamiguelgalindo @bellisperennis0 @chibsytelford @trulysuccubus @purrrrfect @witching-hour @leathercladmenfics @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @queenbeered @sesamepancakes @gemini0410 @pinguinstudiert @oscars-wifeyyy @meteora-fc @lozaa94 @arveee @joupym @hanster1998 @missswritings @arana-alpha

[newtonsheffield]

Oh Molly! I am hooked. I am so hooked that you can call me the captain of the Jolly Roger. Honestly, I will grow a mustache and everything.

I can not wait to know where are you going to take us with Good Girls, but I already know that we will LOVE every single minute of the ride. Oh mamma! What a ride will it be! I need this fic like Tinkerbell needs applause to life if I am going to survive what's going on in Royals (seriously, I know now what I am going to talk in therapy next Thursday. I can already see my therapist face saying "is Molly making Kate and Anthony appart again, not making them admit their feelings? How does that make you?")

But I have to ask (If you can answer, if it's not gonna spoil anything that you have planned for us) how the "Meet the Siblings" (Bridgerton edition) is going to be, specially those who are not yet in school and Kate has never seen before.

I hope you have an amazing Sunday (or is it already Monday?) and I hope you are taking good care of your self!!

I'm gonna go and take a nap with Aristóteles!!!

Lots of love and puppy kisses!!!

Bro!

It's always comforting to know that I have reduced someone to therapy with my writing! Love that for me!

No but honestly, In the chapters to come in Royals here's what we're gonna see: Tensions bubbling over in Anthony's apartment, A very stern talking to from one, Violet Bridgerton, a Royal Weddi ng, Some guards, a wild Edwina, and a ground breaking.

So plenty still to come!

Here's a light little Headcanon to lighten the load:

Anthony buys each of his children a puppy for their second birthday. Edmund has a corgi who he names after his favourite person (Much to her dismay) and Edmund and Eddie cause quite a bit of mischief together. Miles has a Golden retriever whom he dubs Pikachu. Charlotte insists on the ugliest english bulldog Anthony has ever seen, whom she calls Buttercup. And Mary is desperate for an Old English Sheepdog called Hades Because she thinks Hercules is very funny.

Now, I do have a scene planned where Kate meets the younger Bridgertons. She's already vaguely aware of the older ones though she doesn't really know them, Edwina is the same age as Daphne. But let's just take a quick look at it

"Excuse me, Miss." Kate looked down at the small boy, his glasses flashing in the neon lights of the fair around them, tugging at her skirt.

"Are you lost buddy?" Kate crouched in front of him, checking him over for any signs of distress, but the boy was just staring back at her calmly, his Jurassic Park T-shirt lightly stained with something at Kate suspected was ice cream.

The boy shook his head. "Are you Kate?"

Kate felt herself frown a little, nodding her head. It seemed odd, but she supposed she had organised the fair, she was standing at an information booth by the entrance, with a name sticker on.

The little boy seemed to take in her response, doing a huff that seemed oddly familiar to her. "You're just as pretty as my brother said. Maybe Prettier."

Kate's heart did an odd flutter, her mind racing. "Um, who's your brother?"

"Gregory!" Anthony's voice yelled out, appearing seconds later, two other children following behind him like little ducklings, his face thunderstruck as he dropped to crouch beside his brother.

"Greggy, I told you to stay holding Daph's hand. You can't just run off like that, you really worried Mum and me." Kate could hear the panic in Anthony's voice, the worry there, something about it made her heart beat oddly for him. And she supposed that was the thing about Anthony, he was always so different than he seemed.

"Sorry, Anthony. But I wanted to meet Kate. You said she was here, but that you wouldn't get to see her, so I found her for you." Gregory was gesturing at Kate, the sweetness of it filling her heart even as Anthony flushed in the low lighting finally turning towards her.

He looked so nervous, so sorry as he stood, bustling his other ducks around him, his hand nervously in his hair.

"I'm really sorry, he sometimes just gets excited." He seemed to be curling in on himself, desperately different than the confident boy who drove her home most days, an odd intake of breath. "Um, this is me. This is my family, well part of it, You've met Greg, and these two are Eloise and Francesca."

She could tell what his nervous voice was really saying I have things to do, Kate, That's why I told you I wasn't coming tonight. That's why I pushed you away.

Kate cleared her throat. "Well, Greg and I had just decided on getting some candy floss, maybe you could help us?"

And the real problem was, when Anthony Bridgerton smiled at her like that, she forgot that she wasn't supposed to be falling in love with him.

[disney-android-foundation]

Hey if you’re still taking requests/asks…(and I think u might like this one ;) ) Can I get a Yandere Alemeda Slim???? Robot AU and regular please.

;)

Normal

- There are two possible ways you could’ve met Slim, him up front or him as Yancy O’Del.

- Meeting Slim up front would be rare considering that he only ever comes out at night without his disguise, he can only go out in the day time with his disguise. So you’d have to be the owner of some land and Bulls to even have a chance of encountering the real Slim. Now normally he doesn’t take anything but the cattle, so you’d have to be pretty darn special in order for him to take you.

- When he does take you, he keeps you in a makeshift cell. It would most likely be a ransom kinda holding where he requests money from your family or maybe the town you sold to. Since you’re already there, he talks to you, just basic things, nothing that seems obsessive. As time goes on, maybe a week (he works quick), the questions he asks and topics he brings up kinda sound like he’s planning something more than just a ransom. He starts sitting closer to your cell now, obviously believing that you can’t do anything. Now he even lets you out of the cell from time to time, but you have to be by his side at all times.

- When asking why he’s suddenly wanting to get close to you now, he puts an arm around your waist and pulls you close, he confesses his feelings for you and how you’re the only person to ever make him feel this way. Even though he poured his heart out to you, you refused him, saying you can’t be with a criminal. Slim is just, stunned. How could you possibly refuse him?! You two have spent so much time together (You’ve known them for a week Slim calm down-) how could you not like him?…… Well the thing is, he’s not taking no for an answer. You’re gonna be with him no matter what, if he has to break a few bones, so be it.

- If you met him as Yancy O’Del, perhaps you’re an innocent shop keeper for a general goods store. You’ve had a regular customer come in to buy either mustache oil, hair gel, beef jerky, whiskey, or rope. He was always kind and gentleman like to you when making his purchases, always making conversation with you. It becomes clear that he buys from you constantly just so talk to you, so you inform him that he doesn’t have to buy anything just to talk to you, you have no clue how happy that made ‘Yancy’.

- You two started talking outside of your work schedule, and then you started to date 2 months later. At this point you still have no idea that it’s Alameda Slim under the glasses and coat (bith is you dumb??? JK), but ‘Yancy’ believes it’s time you knew. So he brings you to a secluded location away from society, to you it’s a possible marriage proposal, to Slim it’s something else. Once he mustered up his courage, he went behind a rock, he was there for awhile before emerging as not Yancy O’Del, but as Alameda Slim.

- You were absolutely shattered by the news, how dare he lie to you for so long?! He was shattered as you were, you really can’t like him for being a wanted criminal, after all you two have been through? Of course, he makes it seem like he’s letting you go as long as you don’t go spewing off the town like tweety bird about how famous land owner Yancy O’Del is actually the notorious Alameda Slim. You agree, not actually knowing what Slim was planning.

- In the dead of night, you were woken up by the smell of smoke. The inhalation of smoke caused you to start choking on it. You run out of your now on fire house, wondering if maybe you’d have left a candle burning, your thoughts are quickly interrupted by the sudden hog tie you have been put in. Through your daze of confusion, you see familiar gloved hands forcefully shove a drenched rag on your nose and mouth, conciseness slowly fading. The last thing you hear is, “You don’t get to decide that this relationship is over. That’s up to me, and I sure as hell don’t plan on letting you go.”

Android

- Slim was bought to help you on your chicken farm. Yeah it seems silly having such a big man help handle such small birds, but he hasn’t complained much.

- You’ve had a Mcleach droid before Slim. He mostly kept predators away from the coops. Plus it was mentioned in reviews that Mcleach’s and Slim’s are best friends so it would be great for the two to have each other while you were busy elsewhere. So you can imagine how shocking it was to arrive home to see Slim nearly beating the life out of Mcleach.

- You had to pull Slim off of him, asking what the hell was going on. Slim didn’t answer you, just stared at you weirdly before picking up some notebook and calmly walking out of the house. You couldn’t be bothered to follow him, you had to get Mcleach to a repair shop immediately.

- Upon arrival, bystanders and the repair team were just staring in awe. “Wha, What happened to your Mcleach?!” “My Slim droid went berserk on him! Aren’t they supposed to be friends?” “Well yeah usually, let’s work out his voice box first so that we can get the full story.” They fix his voice box and the whole story spills out.

- On the second day of Slims arrival, Mcleach noticed that Slim would stare at you for a long time without your knowing. Way longer than what should be necessary. Mcleach asked him why he kept staring at you, but was only given a “mind your damn business” they weren’t exactly friends at this time so it was understandable that Slim would want to keep to himself rather than just spill everything there is to know about him. So weeks go by and he still catches Slim staring at you, now he’s been writing in a journal. Mcleach would try to peek at what’s inside, but Slim seemed very protective of it so it was hard to even glance at it without Slim noticing. So he waited until the day Slim finally let his guard down enough to where he would leave the journal behind or just plain forget about it. You had left to go to the market and Slim heard some of the roosters fighting so he had to go sort that out, leaving the journal defenseless on the table. Mcleach had to be fast, so he quickly but quietly darted for the table. He didn’t even care to start from the beginning, he just opened a random page and started reading. The entries were all about you. Everything you have done while Slim has lived here, everything you like and love, every shower, everything you’ve eaten, what time you usually go to bed at, how you look when you slept. There were some entries on Mcleach, mostly on how he’s nothing but an obstacle and must be dealt with as soon as possible. Mcleach was so caught up in the reading, he didn’t even notice the cowboy, right behind him. That’s when the fight started.

- Everyone in the repair shop was horrified by Mcleach’s story, an employee immediately called a task force to retrieve the Slim droid immediately. They had you stay in the repair shop until they gave the ok.

- The task force definitely saw the damage that Slim made in the house but couldn’t find him there. So they had to start checking the surrounding area.

- You requested to go home after 3 hours of searching, saying that your chickens need to be cared for. The task force was reluctant but agreed so long as an 2 officers were at home with you.

- Even with the officers, you were on edge and jumpy about every little thing that went bump. The officers tried their best to calm you down, but how can you be calm knowing a deranged robot that you thought you could trust could be stalking you at this very moment?

- Despite the worry, you still needed to go to bed. One officer stayed in the house while the other would guard the outside. Not matter how strong Slim may be, he isn’t resistant to bullets.

- You woke up early in the morning like usual, you had to feed the chickens or else they’ll wake up the neighbors. You put on a bathrobe and work boots, strange, shouldn’t at least one of the officers be heard?

- You open you door, only to be met with an all familiar cowboy. You tried to scream, but your mouth was quickly gagged. “I don’t need you makin so much noise, not when I’m tryna bring you home!” Bring you home?! What was he talking about?!

- Slim bound your hands and feet together and slung you over his shoulder. He started to walk out with you, that when you saw the mess that he made, the officers weren’t moving, they didn’t even look like they were breathing. You quietly started to cry as Slim made his way into the woods, where he promises your new home will be better than your old one.

[mudhornchronicles]

teamwork | jack “whiskey” daniels

pairing: jack “whiskey” daniels x reader

warnings: age gap, shootin + some gunsss, eggsy’s wink-a-roo

a/n: thank you so much @meshlamando for your help! i wanted to make sure whiskey gets a good debut, and you made it happen! a real yeehaw bitch there.

request by: @ickleronniekinsemotionalrange

masterlist

“T-this isn’t - fuck - a very good time, Champ!” You grit into your earpiece. You bring your elbow back and jab it into a man’s stomach behind you and kick the other in the shin, bringing them both down. “Whiskey! Will you stop clowning around and come help me?” you yell.

Your partner, Jack or also known as Whiskey, decided it was a good idea to get the ladies in the pool area to safety and leave you to your own devices taking down 7 grown men. You find it quite hard to fight off these weaponed guys with your boss screaming in your ear.

“No can do, Brandy!” You roll your eyes as you throw a chair in the fifth man’s direction and shoot the man behind him. “I got three boys tryin’ to get in a tussle down here!”

“Champ wants us back in the office, Whisk! What happened to teamwork?”

You hear him grunt and a ‘bang’ in the distance. “What does he want us for?” You hear him let out a hah! and then another grunt. “This is teamwork! I’m the distraction! Hey partner I ain’t finished with you yet!”

You laugh at hearing him on the other end. Your partner tends to like teaching bad guys lessons and you’re sure this is probably one of them.

__________

You struggle holding in your stomach’s contents as you see Jack continuously flirt with the three young ladies who are easily twenty years younger than him. You see him leaning on the desk, twirling a redhead’s hair in his fingers while the other two giggle like school girls. You roll your eyes and let out a sigh.

You were also younger than Jack, but that didn’t stop you from harboring a crush for your cowboys partner. From the moment you were an official Stateman, he was the first to treat you as an equal and offered to be your partner and show you the ropes.

That was almost two years ago.

Champ’s assistant calls you in and you give her a warm smile that soon goes away when Whiskey tips his hat at her and looks back as he passes her. You give him a back handed smack on the chest and a glare. He motions a confused hand movement and mouths ‘what?’ You smirk and look back at the office girls, the girls who went back to their daily jobs.

“You do realize that those girls are just old enough to rent a car right?”

Whiskey shrugs and adjusts his tie. “Yeah, but that don’t I can’t have a little fun, do it?”

You widen your eyes and chuckle. “So you just flirt with anything that walks… for fun?”

“Mhm. Don’t you?”

You simply shake your head side to side, earning a dry chuckle from him.

“So ya flirt with the people ya actually like? People who ya wanna date?”

“Yes, Jack.”

He laughs a single laugh. “I wouldn’t put that on a cat’s ass.”

You shake your head with a laugh as you finally walk in the office, but soon come to a stop when your eyes meet a young man’s own. He stands and gives you a smile. Whiskey tenses behind you as he follows your eyes to this new man on the other side of the table.

“There’s my two favorite liquors!” You laugh at Champ’s old, but timeless joke. “I want you to meet someone!” He turns to the young man and motions to him. “This here is Eggsy. He’s a kingsman across the pond. Kid, this young charm is Agent Brandy. The newest but one of the best.”

Eggsy extends a hand to you, and as you shake his hand, he gives you a wink. A wink that makes you blush and makes your partner clear his throat loudly. You look back and see Jack stand behind his usual chair offering a two-finger salute to the kingsman. “That there,” Champ says, “is Agent Whiskey. These two make up the best team ya ever laid your thick-rimmed eyes on.”

Throughout the meeting, you and Eggsy exchange a series of quick glances and small smiles. As you go to steal yet another look at the Brit, Jack kicks the back part of your chair, causing you to quickly look back at him. He pretends he doesn’t notice and looks at you with a nod.

And that’s what he does… he pretends.

He pretends he didn’t kick you. He pretends he didn’t see you and this new guy look at each other with goo-goo ga-ga eyes. He pretends he didn’t see you give the brit the smile he knows to be your flirting smile. He pretends that throughout the past two years, he hasn’t been looking at you differently than ever. He pretends he never thought about the idea of having you by his side when he wakes up. He pretends he never caught feelings for his partner in crime.

“So that’s where Brandy comes in. Everyone got it?”

Yourself, Whiskey and Eggsy all turn your attention to Champ, the person your attention was supposed to be on in the first place. You had no idea what the plan even was, but on the hologram, you saw your name and Eggsy’s on the same game plan. Naturally, you agreed to the plan sharing a smile with the newcomer, but the celebration was interrupted by Whiskey standing up and disagreeing.

“Brandy ain’t going alone, Champ. They’ve been my partner for two years so for that reason, I’m comin’ with.”

“Daniels, I don’t need two of my agents out there. Brandy can take care of themselves.”

“Sir, with all due respect, but-“

“Whiskey. Brandy is going and they’re going alone. Do I make myself clear?”

You look at your partner’s defeated look and stand up. “Champ-“

“Brandy, I ain’t tryin’ to hear it. You and Eggsy leave tomorrow. Whiskey stays here. If it makes ya feel better, Whisk, you can have an earpiece linked to Brandy’s. Better?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Thank you, sir.”

________________

You hear a knock on your door as you’re ready to load up the jet. You knew the knock anywhere. The six-beat knock you’ve heard for two years.

“Come in, Jack.”

“Sweetheart, you ain’t goin’ alone.”

“Jack, you can trust me.”

“I know that, but it’s that Eggsy guy I don’t trust.”

You place your hands on your hips and cock your eyebrow. “And why not? He’s been nothing, but sweet.”

“That’s just the English talkin’! Why does a Kingsman need help from a Statesman?”

“Because we’re their American counterpart? We help eachother, Whisk!”

“Brandy, just 'cause trouble comes visiting... doesn't mean you have to offer it a place to sit down.” With that Jack gives you a tip of his hat and walks out. You’re left confused, but worried about your partner.

“What trouble are you talking about, Jack?” You say to yourself.

______________

“I don’t think your partner likes me very much, Agent Brandy.”

You take a sip from your glass, letting it go down before answering.

“Are you talking about Whiskey? He seems to be like that with anyone I’m asked to work with.”

Eggsy nods understandingly. “Seems to me like he’s jealous.”

“Of?”

“Everyone you’re asked to work with.” He laughs.

You smile and shrug. “He likes to be the only one who gets to bug me on missions. He can be annoying, but he has never let me down once.”

“Sounds like a great agent.”

“He is.” You say. You place your glass on the holder and stand. You wink at Eggsy and place a finger on your lips. “He’s a great agent and friend. He always likes to make sure I’m okay even if that means hiding in the bathroom.” You say as you quickly slide open the bathroom’s door.

Jack has his gun aimed, but quickly lowers it as he sees it’s you.

“I knew we had a stowaway.” You laugh out.

“I couldn’t just let my partner go to Germany alone. What kind of gentleman would I be?”

You grab Jack by his jacket and pull him out of the small bathroom and push him to sit down on an empty chair. You sit back on your own as you and Eggsy cross your arms over your chests.

“Do you really not trust me, Agent Whiskey? I’d never let a beautiful soul like Brandy get hurt,” Eggsy says.

“That beautiful soul is my partner. If I’m ever a goner, Brandy promised to be the one to deliver my last words.”

“Exactly. If you’re a goner. Not me.” You huff.

“I’m your partner, darlin’! I gotta return the favor, right?”

_________________

“Jack, will you stop? I think my outfit is fine!”

“You’re showin’ too much!”

“I’m not showing anything! That’s the only problem here”

Jack continuously tries to fix and adjust your outfit, making sure everything is covered - unfortunately.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I just wanna make sure you're comfortable. Is that crime?”

You grab Whiskey’s hands, tearing them away from your outfit, and forcing him to look at you.

“Jack, it’ll be fine. I’m just going to get Eggsy into this party and my job’s done.”

Jack lets out a groan and throws his head back. “No, your job’s not done. You said you still have to stay in there and go into a room with this crime ring guy so you don’t raise any suspicion!”

“I've done it before, Jack! Why is it such a problem now?”

“There ain’t no problem” he sternly says.

“Yes, there is,” you groan out. “You’re so worked up about nothing. You were a tense mess in that office. What is it that you’re not telling me?”

Jack begins to pace around the room shaking his head. He removes his hat and chucks it on the table. You know there’s something is very bad when Jack carelessly throws his hat

“Jack! If you don’t tell me, I’ll call Champ right now and-“

His hands are suddenly cupping your cheeks. You look as Jack leans into you and droopily closes his eyes. His lips are on yours and his mustache tickles your nose. You’re in shock.

Your partner’s kissing you. The man you’ve had a crush on for what feels like decades is kissing you and you’re on such a high that you don’t kiss back. You’re scared that this may just be a daydream. You don’t want this moment to be a trick in your mind.

As he pulls away, you look at the sadness in his eyes. You’re a deer in the headlights as he shakes his head, apologizing for his actions.

“I’m so sorry. I- I just… Brandy, I just couldn’t take seeing someone actually woo you. I- I can’t lose my girl.” He rambles on and on, but is cut off by you.

You grab his face, as he did yours, and you kiss him. You kiss him and hold him tight, wishing this moment never were to end. He wraps his arms around you and deepens the kiss, mumbling please as he does so. You pull away with a final smack of the lips and smile.

“It’s about time you made a move, cowboy. Guess I really had to scare you to make you say somethin’ huh?”

“What are you on about now?”

“You really don’t know me, Jack!” You laugh out. “I don’t have to stay in a room with this guy! What am I? Crazy? I just have to help Eggsy get into this party through my contact! Then I get to have drinks on my own while Eggsy does the rest and only get involved if he messes up, which he might.”

“You’re bustin’ my balls, ain’t ya.”

“Nope. Since you’re here, we can have drinks all night until Eggsy’s done. If he messes up, that’s where our teamwork comes in.”

“So… you ain’t got your eye on this kid?”

“Well he’s attractive, yes. But I would’ve rather paired up with techie genius Ginger than work with a cowboy who can’t seem to focus on a mission when there’s people to flirt with around, if I didn’t like you.”

“I do not flirt with everyone.”

You scoff and smirk at the cowboy. “Would you like me to read out our ever-so-growing list of incidents?”

He places a chaste kiss on your forehead and you smile.

“No…”

[ofpineapplesanddawns]

I am still trying to figure out what sort of vampire he could be, cause he clearly can go into the sunlight without dying (but it probably doesn’t help his constant exhaustion, I think it drains him), but I can work with the photograph and mirror thing!

I want to save the holy ground and iconography stuff for its own story, because I want to give that some more thought. :O

Warning: implying that there is something that happened to Hardy that resulted in an injury

On with the fic!

--

“I’ve looked you up online.” Lucian said from where he sat across from Alec in his home.

Alec frowned, sitting up straight. “That’s rather creepy to just say like that.”

“I was curious of you.” Lucian rolled his eyes. “And don’t tell me you didn’t try to look me up when you found out I was a lycan.”

The look on Alec’s face clearly indicated that, yes, he had. “I had never heard of a lycan before, I wanted to know what I was dealing with. There... isn’t a lot of information on your people, or on you.”

A chuckle came from Lucian as he picked at the takeout sitting before him. Alec had ordered it for him, though the vampire only had toast sitting before him. Was that really all he could eat that didn’t make him sick? Was he able to eat raw meat or things mixed with blood? Lucian had heard of some vampires that could do that, and some that could eat human food, to a point.

“We made sure that we were just the stuff of legends. Even my own name is, there are some accounts of a beast leader named Lucian, who rose up against a clan of powerful warriors and monster hunters. Clearly that was the vampires way of tricking humans into thinking we killed a bunch of humans instead of vampires in our battle for freedom.”

He popped some of the takeout into his mouth, then spoke when he swallowed. “But I looked you up to know more about you, about this mysterious detective.”

“I’m sure you saw a lot of the stuff from recent years.” Alec said, his mouth twitched.

“I did. Not... flattering, a lot of those articles. Though this does explain that bizarre shirt you have. Worst cop in Britain, eh?” 

Alec groaned, rolling his head back. “That was Miller’s fault, a joke gift for me, she said she would do it, and she did.”

Lucian chuckled, of course she did. “But no, I skimmed through those, I wanted to dig deeper. I... found the article about your death, of the ‘original’ detective Alec Hardy, from 1943.”

Killed during a case, ended up having his blood drained from him by a so-called vampire killer that had been attacking people throughout an area of Scotland. His body had gone missing right before his funeral, so his grave his empty, they feared that the killer took the detective’s body as a way to mess with the police.

Turns out the dead man was sitting right in front of him, looking at him with a frown.

“I’m shocked you found articles on that.” Alec finally said.

“I’m surprised you’re using your original name.”

“I’ve used a number of aliases over the years.”

Lucian nodded, he had stumbled upon those, actually. He had seen reports of a brilliant detective that stayed in towns for a few years before leaving. He had seen some photos of the detective, looking very much like Hardy, though with different hairstyles, sometimes in glasses, sometimes not, a beard here and there, a mustache once.

Though some photos looked so strange, they weren’t clear. His face was blurred, smeared as if he had moved during the taking of the photo. Those were for much older pictures, ones shortly after his death.

He had seen a photo for Alec’s obituary, he looked much healthier in it, though still clearly tired, stressed, but nothing like the vampire before him. Four of the photos taken of the ‘new’ detective in a different city looked dreadful, you could barely tell it was him.

“Why did you come out blurry in older photos after you started changing your name and pretending to be someone else?” He had to ask, it had him curious. 

He had actually been surprised that Alec even showed up in photos at all, a lot of vampires don’t. Hell, some of them don’t even have reflections or shadows. The vampires that Lucian knew had these, but they were still oddly human, in a sense.

Was Alec in a similar state, human, yet undead?

Alec sighed, toying with the mug in front of him, it was empty, but there were red smears inside of it still. “For a few years after my ‘death’, cameras were still using silver in them.”

Oh. 

Ooooh.

Silver had a weird effect on Alec, Lucian had discovered when the idiot had taken a silver bullet for him. It had made Alec very, very ill and he couldn’t push it out, so Lucian and Ellie had to pull it out. There was still a scar on Alec’s chest from them extracting it. If anyone asked, it was a pace maker scar.

“Do you have a reflection?” He asked and Alec snorted. 

“Course I do, you’ve seen it! That’s a stupid question.”

“I’m just asking, you’re the most stubbornly bizarre vampire I’ve ever met!”

“Of course I am.” Alec shrugged. “But yes, I do, except with old mirrors that have silver infused in them. There’s one in the Traders bar, I did everything to avoid standing in front of it when I stayed there when I first arrived. Apparently it’s very old, an antique, so I’m not surprised that silver is in it.”

“I’m shock on how much silver affects you, if I didn’t know, I’d think you were lycan yourself.” Lucian chuckled. 

“I’ve had a lot of time to learn that it’s a threat to me. Had to make sure that when I got married to Tess that my ring was steel, not silver. She and Daisy have always been good to keep silver jewelry out of the house, just in case.”

“That’s very kind of them.” Lucian smiled, he was surprised how well his family was with Alec, but they clearly cared about him. Well, with Tess, to a point, as they’re divorced, but Daisy was always so good at making sure her father was taken care of.

Ellie was good about it as well, constantly checking up on the man, getting him blood, and telling him to drink when he needed to.

Lucian liked that, he liked that this strange, stubborn fool had a good support system. And that included Lucian, as he wanted nothing more than to protect this vampire.

He took another bite from his dinner. “Alright, so old mirrors and photos, what about video?”

“Oh please, I wish I didn’t show up on those! Then I wouldn’t have to make a complete arse outta myself on live TV for police reports!”

This made Lucian laugh and got a smile out of Alec. 

--

Silver is thought to be a purifier, so when it was used in old camera films and mirrors, it was thought that because of this attribute, vampires wouldn’t show up.

In the case of Hardy, he has no reflection (except of his clothes) in old mirrors, and photos come out very messed up. 

Also, I picture 1940s Hardy looks like Crowley from the Blitz scene. 

Oh! And a thank you to out-grid for the World Cop In Britain shirt! 

[mimisempai]

I made a wish and you came true

Summary:

Sylvie asks to see what the prince of Loki looks like. When he shows her she laughs at him. Count on Professor Loki to give her a lecture about his Prince.

🌈 Happy Pride month ! 🌈

To celebrate, 1 day, 1 story.

Be ready for smiles, laugh, fluff, tooth rotthing fluff, positive vibes and a lot of love!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/32183185

1731 words - Rating G

In storm-black mountains, I wander alone

Over the glacier I make my way

In the apple garden stands the maiden fair and sings,

"When will you come home?"

Loki had to stop, overwhelmed by emotion.

Sylvie, her eyes devoid of all mockery, said softly, "So there is a would-be-princess somewhere..."

Loki chuckled sadly before replying, "I like metaphors you know, in this instance, it's not a princess, it's a prince, and I don't know if he's waiting for me or hoping to see me again, it's not even really my home, but..."

"...but you'd like to believe it, right?"

Loki could only nod.

"Show me your prince."

"No way," Loki replied, shaking his head.

"Come on, please Loki!" she paused before continuing, "If you show it to me I'll tell you in detail how I enchant people!

Loki couldn't resist, so he turned his hand and there appeared a mini hologram of Mobius.

Sylvie approached and looked at him closely before sitting down again.

Loki made Mobius disappear.

"Don't tell me that that little man with no stature, no class is YOUR prince?!"

Loki wished he had his brother's hammer to blast her with lightning bolts.

"Yes this is my prince! And your impudence has earned you a lecture on the definition of Prince Charming by Professor Loki!"

Sylvie snorted and told the passing maid to bring her a glass of champagne, because finally she was going to need it.

"First of all, you should know that the charming prince doesn't exist only in fairy tales.

In real life, he is not perfect but he has many qualities that are essential to be wonderful. Is Mobius my Prince Charming?" He didn't wait for an answer.

"To find out, I'll show you point by point that he meets all the criteria that make him a prince for me."

Sylvie settled back in her chair to enjoy the show.

"First, the Prince Charming is generous. He is generous in every sense of the word. He doesn't hesitate to invite you to an excellent restaurant and to offer you a gift you've been dreaming of. Ok, ok, I agree, I didn't have time to fully test that point. But that's not all! He is also generous in giving you all the time you need. He is also able to have an attention that will brighten your day. And Mobius devoted an enormous amount of time to me, when nothing required him to."

Loki thought back to the time Mobius had spent with him just before they left for the mission. He had taken the time to show Loki that he wasn't the villain he thought he was. Nothing forced him to.It wasn't necessary for the mission. In a place where everything was about time, Mobius hadn't hesitated to give him time.

Sylvie simply nodded and waved her hand impatiently for Loki to continue his «  lecture."

He took a sip, cleared his throat and continued.

"Second, the Prince Charming committed. He knows what he wants. He gets up every morning knowing exactly where he is going and what he wants to do. He is also resolute, he has goals in life and intends to achieve them. What is touching is that he is not bragging. Humility is his middle name. Quite my Mobius."

Sylvie noted, fondly, the possessive pronoun, but said nothing.

"Even though he pisses me off, because he is narrow-minded about the TVA,  what he thinks is real. Nevertheless, he still manages to impress me because he believes that what he does is his reality and that he does it for a better world, he does it with all his heart. And when he talks about it there is so much candor that even I have a hard time getting him to see the reality of things."

Loki remembered their discussion in the cafeteria.

Loki had asked him completely sincerely, because he wanted to know what made Mobius go on, "I mean, you really believe in all this stuff, don't you?"

Mobius had replied simply, "I don't get hung up on, 'Believe, not believe.' I just accept what is."

Loki had tried to show him the absurdity of a world ruled by the 3 time keepers and Mobius had replied by telling him that his story, Asgard, mystical realm, beyond the stars, Frost Giants was the same thing.

He remembered Mobius' words perfectly, "Actually it's exactly the same thing. Because if you think too hard about where any of us came from, who we truly are, it sounds kinda ridiculous. Existence is chaos. Nothing makes any sense, so we try to make some sense of it. And I'm just lucky that the chaos I emerged into gave me all this... My own glorious purpose."

Loki had chuckled, to hide the fact that he was disturbed by the accuracy of Mobius' argument.

Mobius concluded by saying, determined, "Cause the TVA is my life. And it's real because I believe it's real."

Committed, yes, his prince was. Loki realized that he missed their discussion. Rarely had he met someone who could resist him intellectually.

"Hey! Loki! Are you there? "Sylvie was waving her hand, seeing that he was lost in his thoughts.

Loki regained his composure and moved on to his next point.

"Third, the Prince Charming for me must be smart but not pretentious, yes because there can only be one pretentious and that is me of course. Who wouldn't want a smart, educated man? Mobius is extremely smart! Can you believe that he knows hundreds of languages more than I do because he has been working in the multiverse for so long! And best of all, when I tried to manipulate him on my first consulting assignment, he figured me out. He almost knew right away that I was trying to play for my own side. Okay, it's a little humiliating. But that's the charm of him."

If Loki was honest, that was when he started to fall under Mobius' spell.

He had been so sure that he could get what he wanted from him. He was sure he had hooked the fish and then Mobius had blurted out, "He's lying. Just playing games. There's no one out there."

Loki blushed slightly as he thought about how he had been found out by Mobius at that moment. That's when his interest had been piqued, because Loki couldn't resist a challenge.

"You know Loki, it's almost cute how you have it bad."

"There's nothing funny about that." retorted Loki before resuming, "Fourth, my prince is someone I can lean on. He is a pillar on which you can rest. Imagine, Sylvie, we were working at the same desk and I fell asleep. And on top of that he let me sleep. You know he has this quiet strength. That thing that makes me know that with him I don't have to pretend anymore. But anyway, I was talking about Mobius, not me."

Sylvie moved closer to Loki and said with a smile, "From my point of view it's the same thing."

"What?"

"Nothing, go on."

Loki looked at her strangely before continuing.

"Fifth, my prince is listening. You know I talk a lot and three quarters of the time to say nothing important. But Mobius, even if I tell him something stupid, he listens to me as if it were the most important thing in the world. And most importantly, he really hears me. He can read between my lines and my metaphors, which he also loves. He's much better at getting people to talk than I am. He was able to see and make me say things about myself that no one had heard before. Sometimes I feel like he's the only one who knows who I really am."

Loki had to stop because the scene was still so present in his mind.

"I can't go back, can I? Back to my timeline. I don't enjoy hurting people. I... I don't enjoy it. I do it because I have to, because I've had to."

Mobius' tone, his look, his whole being turned toward Loki when he had said just that, "Okay, explain that to me.

Then Loki told him that he knew he was a villain.

Mobius' simple but straightforward answer was, "That's not how I see it."

"Hey Loki? You okay?" Sylvie had put her hand on his arm, looking concerned.

Loki pulled himself together.

"Yeah I'm fine."

He coughed and continued, "My Prince Mobius has an incredible number of qualities but I've summarized them for you because we don't have enough time. So I'm going to conclude this lesson by telling you that the quality that attracts me most to him is that he's surprising. He surprises me all the time. Which is paradoxical after all, I am supposed to be chaos and he is supposed to be order. But he surprises me. Where everyone else hates me, he is there and sees qualities in me that even I don't see. When everyone wants me gone, he doesn't hesitate to put his own head on the line so that I don't get erased. Mobius is not perfect, but he is perfect for me. Because precisely, he doesn't put me on a pedestal but he doesn't make me feel inferior either. He treats me as an equal."

"Okay, okay, okay, it's fine he's a Prince. But the mustache though..."

Loki looked mischievously at her and leaning in close to her ear, he said softly, "His moustache is very nice when he kisses me."

"Loki!" she moved back and flicked him on the forehead.

He took a sip of champagne and they remained silent for a few moments.

"And you told him all this, well not in so many words of course?"

Loki's smile disappeared.

"Because of you, I didn't have the time. And I hope that all of this won't have ruined this beginning of a relationship.Anyway, I'll tell him when we meet again, or at least I'll try to, as long as he wants to listen to me..."

Sylvie smiled softly, clinked her glass against Loki's and said softly, "You're insufferable to the core, but I sincerely wish you'd have the chance to talk to him. "

Loki nodded, this time he was determined to fight, because for the first time it was his own happiness that depended on it.

_______

The whole serie here : The story of Loki and Mobius

Not beta'd I hope you enjoyed it 🥰

[anomander-dragnipurake]

Bowuigi Valentines

“Sir, I assure you this is a rather unwise decision,” Kamek said as soon as Bowser finishing telling him where they were headed and why. This was exactly why Bowser hadn’t wanted to bring him in the first place but he’d invited himself aboard and they’d took off before Bowser had realized. But it was too late, they were already on the airship, well on their way to the Mushroom Kingdom. “And I’m not just saying that because I disapprove of you wanting to date him, even though there’s that too. What if Mario’s there or Princess Peach?”

Bowser hadn’t considered that but… “It’s Valentine’s Day, why would they be at Luigi’s place?” Surely, they had to have better things to do be doing in general but especially today.

“They could be. Also, what makes you think asking the brother of your former nemesis out on a date is a good idea? It was bad enough you’re being friendly with each other and letting him babysit your kids. What if he betrays you, huh?”

“First off, Mario is still my nemesis, the fact that I haven’t kidnapped Peach in ages doesn’t change that. Second, Luigi’s not going to betray me.” Bowser was typically pretty skeptical of people too but with Luigi, he just didn’t see it happening. And that was a large part of why Bowser had fallen for him. Of course he could still turn Bowser down which would suck but… it didn’t hurt to try, right?

Kamek adjusted his glasses in that obnoxious way he always did before going off on a rant about why Bowser should or should not do something. Thankfully before he could even get out a single word, the airship bell rang outside, indicating they’d reached their destination and were beginning to descend. Bowser quickly gathered up the heart shaped box of chocolates and bouquet of flowers off the desk and fled the captain’s cabin.

He’d never been to Luigi’s home before but it being a mansion made it a bit hard to miss even before he’d reached the ship’s railing. It was bigger than Luigi’s description had made it seem. And despite having only relatively recently been cleared of ghosts, it didn’t look haunted, just kind of old and a little dilapidated, fancy though. Overall Bowser liked it even if his castle was still better.

As the ship neared the ground, Bowser vaulted over the railing, landing with a thud on the ground below. He didn’t look back at it as he started down the path for the front door. Let Kamek be mad and disapprove, he was old and single so what did even know about romance anyway? Besides Bowser was the Koopa King and thus he did as he pleased.

Despite his resolve, he faltered a little as he reached the front door. He was a big bad fire breathing reptile, a former enemy of the Mushroom Kingdom, what were the chances someone as pure hearted as Luigi could possibly feel even slightly romantically inclined towards him? Not good, right? Even if they were friends now. … He was already here though and going back now would be the same as listening to Kamek so… with a deep breath, he pressed the doorbell, careful not to push it too hard.

He had to ring it twice more a couple minutes later before Luigi answered. That was just like him, he had a whole mansion and a bunch of money but did he hire any kind of house staff? Nope, of course not. Why would he when he could just do it all himself?

“Who…” Luigi cut off, freezing in place as he stared up at Bowser. “Oh uh… hey Bowser. What are you doing here and uh… um… why are you dressed so nicely?” Ah, good he seemed to like the suit. Or maybe not, it was hard to tell but he’d certainly noticed it and felt some way about it.

“I came to ask if you would do me the honor of being my Valentine?” With a flourish, Bowser pulled the box of chocolates and flowers out from behind his back to offer to Luigi.

Once more Luigi froze solid, only his eyes moving as he looked at the gifts then back up at Bowser’s face and then back again. He made a vague gesture towards himself. “M-me? Really?” That wasn’t a ‘no’ so… perhaps Bowser stood a chance after all?

“Yes, you!” It wasn’t often Bowser was unsure or nervous about something but… he really didn’t want to mess this up. “I already have a diner reservation at the fanciest place in my kingdom or yours if you’d like to go with me.”

“I uh… um…” Luigi shifted, looking away. … Oh no, he was going say ‘no’, wasn’t he? That made sense. What was Bowser even thinking, coming out here to ask him this?

“It’s fine if you don’t…”

“Yes!” Luigi interrupted with surprising amount to intensity. “I mean uh… I would love to be your Valentine and uh… go on a date with you.” He accepted the flowers and chocolate with a large smile.

Intense relief washed through Bowser, making him feel almost like he needed to sit down. “Wonderful,” he said because he needed to say something. “Whenever you’re ready go, the airship awaits.” He gestured back towards it. As per his instructions the shy guys had lowered the boarding plank and rolled out a carpet on it. They flanked it, waiting for Bowser and Luigi to board. Kamek was nowhere in sight, he was probably still sulking in the captain’s cabin; whatever, he’d get over it eventually.

“Oh wow uh… I should get ready then, huh? Just… give me a moment. And uh… feel free to come in.” Luigi ducked back inside, leaving the door open for Bowser to follow.

Inside, the foyer was unsurprisingly clean and tidy. The floorboards creaked under Bowser’s weight which was the eternal problem with wooden flooring. Luigi was already off somewhere, presumably to his room to get ready, leaving Bowser to wait here for him. Which was fine, he needed some time to get over his nerves anyway.

He didn’t have to wait long though, not even five minutes later, Luigi reemerged from the upstairs room. Bowser’s heart skipped a beat at the sight of him and what he wore; a lovely flowing green dress. “You don’t mind if I wear this, do you?” he asked as he nervously descended the stairs. “I can change again if you’d prefer.”

“Nah, don’t. It looks good on you.”

Luigi seemed to almost let out a sigh of relief as he reached the bottom of the stairs. “Also uh… before we go, I went back and forth a lot on whether or not I was going to mail this to you and then it eventually became too late so I thought I wouldn’t but then… here you are so… here.” As he reached Bowser, he pulled out a card he’d been holding behind his back and handed it to him.

‘Happy Valentine’s Day’ was written on the front in fancy lettering in the middle of a large red heart. Inside Luigi’s handwriting was neat and tidy. ‘Dear Bowser, you’ve come a long way since I first approached you about no longer going after Peach to fight Mario and we’ve been friends for a while now. Honestly, I’ve grown rather fond of you so I hope it is not too forward of me to ask if you’d perhaps like to try being more than solely friends. Answer next time we chat or just ignore this if you’d rather not, it’s totally fine. Yours truly, Luigi.’

Bowser chuckled as he looked back up at Luigi. He hadn’t been the only one thinking this at all, wonderful. “I’d like that very much.”

Luigi’s mustache partially hid his blush it was still unmistakably there. “I’m glad! Though… this does mean we’re probably going to have to tell Mario, huh? Keeping a friend secret is one thing but keeping a romantic partner a secret is uh… something else.”

True and that was honestly the only real downside to any of this but… “We’ll worry about that later.” Bowser waved that thought away, it didn’t matter right now so why even bother thinking about it? “We have a date to get to if you’re ready.”

“Uh… yeah, we can worry about that later. I’m ready to go.”

[shieldmaidenofgod]

Writing Our History––Prologue

This is an Arthur x reader fic I had an idea for a while back. Hope you enjoy it! Story below the cut.

(Y/N) sighed for what felt like the hundredth time that morning. She set her delicate embroidery on her lap and looked around the parlor as if something in the room would suddenly be able to entertain her.

After a few more painfully intricate stitches, she decided to forgo her embroidery work and laid it on the seat of her chair as she stood. She made her way to the gardens to get some fresh air, smoothing the small wrinkles and crumples out of her wide skirts on the way.

Once (Y/N) was outside of the mansion, she took a deep breath of the crisp spring air. A soft breeze danced through the arches of twisted rose vines and rows of bluebells and forget-me-nots, sending their fragrance through the air and swirling around (Y/N).

Giggles rang through the gardens and (Y/N) smiled, knowing it was her young cousin Percival playing between the neatly-trimmed hedges.

(Y/N)’s aunt Marjorie and her son Percival had moved to America with her family back in 1895. The Great Land of Opportunity had apparently intrigued Marjorie as much as her brother, (Y/N)’s father. Percival hadn’t been so excited to leave all his friends in the private school he attended in England, but he hadn’t had much choice.

Mr. Gilbert Hawthorn had decided to uproot his entire family from their estate in Halifax, England and move them all to America, and had succeeded in making something of himself. He had gone from simply being a wealthy man with a daughter every young man wished to marry to being a wealthy man and partner in a booming business with a daughter every young man wished to marry.

(Y/N) Hawthorn had not been too pleased with her father’s decision to leave England for America, but she was in no place to argue with her father, nor did she wish to be. (Y/N) was not a confrontational young lady, especially toward men, and even more so toward the man who clothed and fed her.

(Y/N) took a deep breath to clear her mind and watched her wide skirts brush up against the rows of bluebells along the sides of the garden’s pathway. The numerous full layers of linens, velvets, and crinolines were so big that seeing her legs move was practically impossible. Percival had once said that it looked like she was floating instead of walking.

Percival must have caught sight of her bright yellow dress between the tall leafy hedges, because he shouted her name and began running to greet her. (Y/N) turned the paved corner of the walkway and grinned at the sight of her cousin, opening her arms for a hug. Little Percival ran into her poofy skirts and wrapped his short arms around her legs. Her heart swelled at the thought of the immense love the little boy had for his cousin.

(Y/N) laughed lightheartedly and squeezed her cousin. “Hello, Percy!”

“I found a turtle by the bird baths!” Percy cried, hopping excitedly.

“Oh, did you?” (Y/N) picked up her skirts to raise them above the grass and began to follow Percy, who was skipping ahead of her off the path. “I wonder why he traveled all the way out here. The pond is decently far away; I’m sure that’s where he came from,” she mused aloud.

“See?” Percy pointed to the small turtle that was slowly inching toward one of the bird baths.

“Oh! He is rather cute, isn’t he?” (Y/N) bent down to get a closer look at the animal as Percy picked it up.

“Can I keep him?” the little boy asked.

“Well, that’s not really up to me to decide,” (Y/N) said, straightening up. “I’ll tell you what. You go and find something to put him in and then go see if your Uncle Gilbert will let you keep him in the greenery room. How does that sound?”

Percy nodded, ecstatic that he might now have a pet of his own, and ran off with the turtle into the mansion.

“Oh! Careful!” (Y/N) called after the boy. “Make sure he doesn’t end up upside down!” (Y/N) smiled and shook her head with a chuckle, walking back to the path to finish her garden stroll.

<*>*<*>*<*>*<*>*<*>*<*>*<*>

That evening, (Y/N) sat at the mahogany desk in her room, writing a letter to one of her friends in England. A knock sounded at (Y/N)’s door and she announced for the knocker to enter.

“Supper will be ready in five minutes’ time, Mademoiselle,” a maid said in her thick French accent.

“Thank you, Dominique. I’ll be right down,” said (Y/N), wiping her fountain pen’s nib clean and closing the small inkpot with its cork stopper. With all the doorways she’d have to squeeze her voluminous skirts through, it was best that she left then.

After navigating through long corridors and twisting staircases, (Y/N) made it to the spacious dining room just as her mother, father, aunt, and cousin were sitting down to eat.

Supper began quietly as the servants doled out portions of boiled potatoes and cabbage, cream corn, roasted chicken, sautéed collard and mustard greens, and flakey buttered croissants.

“(Y/N),” the girl’s father spoke up after swallowing his first bite, “tomorrow morning, Dominique will prepare your hair and assist you in dressing. We have an important visitor arriving in the afternoon.”

“Oh?” (Y/N) raised her water glass to her lips. “Is it another one of your business partners?”

“Yes. He and I will be discussing a, ah . . . different sort of ‘business’ prospect.” He put another large spoonful of cream corn in his mouth, his bushy mustache brushing the food and picking up a coating of the cream. “Your marriage.” He said this rather bluntly, as if it meant nothing, although it was quite the revelation to his daughter.

(Y/N) choked on her drink and coughed into her glass at hearing the mention of her supposed wedding. She raised her napkin to her mouth to avoid spraying water on anyone as she spluttered for air. Dominique rushed from her position alongside the other servants against the wall to (Y/N) and patted her back.

“Mademoiselle!” the maidservant exclaimed. “Are you all right?” (Y/N) nodded, still coughing, but Dominique didn’t move from her side.

“Honestly, dear,” (Y/N)’s mother said with an irritated sigh, not even bothered to look up from her plate, “must you carry on coughing like that? Surely you do not need to be so dramatic.”

(Y/N) glared at her mother with red, watering eyes and continued to cough into her napkin.

“Perhaps I should escort Mademoiselle (Y/N) to her rooms and she can finish her supper there?” Dominique suggested in an attempt to prevent any heated argument from arising (as they so often did at the dining table).

“Yes, I think that would be best. Mrs. Hawthorn, do pass the butter,” Mr. Hawthorn said to his wife.

Dominique quickly arranged (Y/N)’s supper on a silver tray and led her to her bedroom, the fuming girl slamming the door shut behind them.

“I can’t believe him!” (Y/N) shrieked. “Marrying me off to a business partner like I’m some . . . slab of meat he can sell to the butcher!”

Dominique shook her head. “It’s revolting.” She set down the tray on (Y/N)’s desk. “Oh, Mademoiselle. I do wish there was something I could do.”

(Y/N) plopped into an armchair with a huff. “I don’t think there’s anything anyone can do.”

“Well, I suppose I’ll just do my best with your preparations anyway,” Dominique said.

“Yes, I think that would be best,” (Y/N) agreed.

Later that evening, (Y/N) laid in bed, her hair having been washed and dried by Dominique, ready to be styled the next morning.

Nearly all of (Y/N)’s anger had turned into a twisted, mangled knot of anxiety and betrayal that’d made its home in the pit of her stomach. How could her father think it was all right to give her away to some man she probably had never even met? Did her father and mother even love her anymore now that she was of age to be married? Did they ever care to begin with?

What if he’s old? (Y/N) thought. What if he hits me? What if he just wants a pretty face to parade around and show off at parties?

As the moon began to lower in the sky, (Y/N) eventually fell into a fitful sleep, her thoughts swirling around like a hurricane in her mind.

She woke early, the first rays of sunlight shining through her large bay windows and into her eyes and causing her to squint. Dominique strode quickly into (Y/N)’s room with her arms full of pressed crinolines, petticoats, skirts, a corset, and a basket of supplies hanging on her arm to fix (Y/N)’s hair.

“Oh good, you’re awake,” Dominique announced. “Out of bed now, Mademoiselle, we’ve a lot to do before your . . . ah . . . meeting,” she said with a cringe-like grimace, “and you must eat breakfast before all that, too.”

(Y/N) nodded and yawned as she stood from her bed. Dressing and hair styling was quite boring, but (Y/N) had a book of Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s poetry to lighten the mood. Nothing much besides Dominique’s skillful hair styling was going on, except for when (Y/N) noticed something out her window.

“What is that?” she asked, pointing to the dark blob on the horizon.

Dominique squinted out the window. “I’m not sure,” she said. “Looks like it might be someone on a horse.”

(Y/N) hummed. “I wonder what they’re doing,” she mused.

A sudden knock sounded at the door, startling both Dominique and (Y/N).

Mrs. Hawthorn opened the door. “The carriage will be ready in ten minutes,” she announced, a haughty, almost triumphant look on her face. “Be finished by then.” With that, she left just as quickly as she’d come.

Dominique sighed, finishing the braid she’d been working on. “I wish you the best of luck, Mademoiselle,” she said softly, brushing non-existent debris off (Y/N)’s shoulder.

“Thank you, Dominique,” (Y/N) murmured, reaching out to hold and pat the maid’s hand. “I’m sure I’ll be back for supper.”

[ffakc]

Pony - a Jeffrey Dean Morgan fanfiction

I’ve always wanted to write a story from JDM’s POV, especially when it comes to eating 🐱, because I imagine he’d be really good at it. I also got really lost in this when writing it and got insanely turned on, so I hope y’all feel the same way!

@negans-attagirl @happysgal @iluvneganandjamie @mrsnegan

I had grown out my beard for the newest season of The Walking Dead. Negan was going to be in prison for the next year, so I had to look the part. I also hate shaving, so this was my dream come true. I was also promoting my new movie Rampage with my buddy Dwayne. Dwayne Johnson, that is.

My gal also loved the long, grayness of it all. She had been texting me flirty things all day from the hotel room and it was absolutely driving me wild. It’s damn near impossible to do press junkets with a raging hard on.

“Reading the script, this is exactly the movie I’ve always wanted to-“ my phone pings loudly, “Aw, shit. I’m sorry, man. I meant to turn my phone on silent. Cut!” I joke and glance at the text from my Princess: I want to ride your beard like a pony, Daddy. I exhale loudly and shove my phone in my pocket.

“You good, homie?” Dwayne asks.

“Yeah, I’m fine, thanks! Just family stuff,” I reply. My pants were painfully tight in the crotch at this point. “Anyway, where were we?” I place my glasses on top of my head. “It’s just one of those classic popcorn flicks, you know?”

The interview seemed to drag on as my phone silently buzzed with filthy messages and pictures. What a dirty girl I had.

***

“What the fuck was that?” I smile at my gal. She looks adorable in my hoodie and her short shorts.

“Did I do something?” she replies, feigning innocence as she slides her legs between mine, running a finger over my lips and kissing me. My breath quavers as she moans into my mouth.

“Teasing Daddy while he’s trying to work. Bad, bad girl,” I groan as she grips my balls gently as she nibbles my neck. She reaches into her back pocket and I hear a jingling sound. A puzzled expression takes over my face, “What do you have there, Princess?”

“Since you’re going to prison for the next year,” she giggles and pulls a pair of handcuffs from behind her, “Maybe you should get used to wearing these bad boys.”

“You think you’re in charge, hm? Might I remind you who your Daddy is-“ I smirk. She grips my throat, cutting me off by making me lose my breath.

“I’m in charge tonight,” she growls. “Lay on the bed, Daddy. Flat on your back, come on,” she commands, snapping her fingers.

“Yes, Mistress,” I do as I’m told. My gal meant business. I look up at her as she walks around the bed.

“Good boy. Don’t move,” she praises. She strips her clothes, revealing a skimpy, crotchless number. I hold out my hand to pull her into a lustful kiss. “I said, ‘don’t move’. Did you not hear me?” Her stern tone sends a chill down my spine. She sucks my finger and throws my hand back on the bed. I giggle like a little kid, her dominant streak was amusing. This role reversal was going to be fun. “Is something funny, Jeffrey Dean? Take your shirt off.” I follow her orders and she grabs my arm and cuffs one hand to the headboard, then the other. She pulls my glasses off, folding them and placing them on the nightstand.

“You sound like my mother,” I smirk.

“Oh, so I’m ‘Mommy’ now?” she bites her lip, trying not to laugh and stay in character. I glance at my cuffed hands.

“What are you going to do, baby gi- I mean, Mistress?” I ask. She leans down and laps around my nipples. I suck my teeth, god that felt good.

“I’m going to make you my fuck toy tonight,” she moans in my ear. She climbs on the bed, straddling my chest. I could feel the slickness of her dripping pussy, leaving a small damp spot in my chest hair. “If it’s too much, just tap my thigh hard three times”. I felt like I was about to bust out of my jeans, but she made it clear I only existed for her pleasure. I felt more submissive than I ever have in bed with her and it was so fucking hot.

“Baby doll, I don’t think I could ever get enough of your pussy,” I moan. She inched closer to my face. My breath was hot against her inner folds, giving her chills. “I’m ready,” I murmur. She smelled utterly scrumptious. The Tommy Hilfiger perfume coupled with her salty, sweet wetness was intoxicating. She pressed my head between her deliciously thick thighs as she rocked against my mouth. I wanted so bad to squeeze her ass to bring her closer, but I wasn’t allowed.

“Jeffrey,” she whimpers my name. I’m lost in a sea of bliss. I love making her feel like the goddess she is. “Your beard feels so fucking good. Oh Daddy!” I smirk and go back to work. I circle my tongue around her clit, sucking it between my lips. She grasps my hair as my head gets squished a little tighter. I chuckle softly to myself, I know that means I’m doing my job right. I lick a stripe from her entrance to her precious jewel. “God, your gray hair drives me insane,” her hips rock faster and I try to match her movements with my mouth.

“Does it now? You love that I’m old enough to be your dad? You love with age comes,” I kiss around her drenched inner lips, “Experience. You love that I take care of you, don’t you, Princess? Daddy loves you.”

“Fuck yes, baby. Oh my god!” her thighs begin to tremble and the familiar throbbing sensation begins like a faint drumbeat from deep inside her walls. I squirm beneath her, wanting release so bad, but I’m not allowed. “Please let me cum, Jeff! Please!”

“You’re in charge, remember?”

“Jeff, I’m going to drown you in my-“

“Fucking drown me, doll. I won’t waste a single drop. God, you taste so sweet.“

“Jeffrey!” my gal screamed out as her juices soaked my beard. I lap my tongue like someone who hadn’t drank water in weeks. She shakily slides down my chest, grabbing the key from the nightstand. She unlocks the handcuffs and collapses onto my chest. I pull her into a kiss.

“Making you feel good,” I say in between kisses, “Makes me feel good. I would go wash my face, but tasting you in my mustache turns me on all over again. You sure have a yummy little treat there, sugar. I love the shit out of you.”

“I love you too,” my gal is still catching her breath.

[seancekitsch]

I was Never Young: A Klaus x Reader fic

Anyways uhhh heres my fic based on the Klaus spin off series!! I made sure not to really spoil anything in the series if u guys haven't finished it yet but it does take place after the series events. there's no smut which is weird for me bc i usually write just smut but like yolo this is where it went.

Klaus had been through the ringer. Los Angeles seems to just be more of the same, so why even leave home? Right, he’d been kicked out and cut off. Well, at least one of those problems has disappeared, he thinks as he pats the ugly little satchel full of money at the side of his hip.

He meanders down the street, no real direction or motive as he shuffles down. The diazepine is starting to wear off, and he’s going to need something to dull the corners of his mind in about an hour. A neon green sign draws his eyes, looks as sick as he’s about to be.

‘Cobra’s’ the sign says, and this one is probably as good as any.

The bar has exactly six people inside of it, he realizes as he pushes the door open. It’s hazy, full of the stale and welcoming scent of menthol tobacco. Perfect, Klaus thinks.

The bartender is a stern looking man, like he used to be a wrestler. Maybe this is what Luther or Diego will look like in thirty years if they don’t eat their wheaties.

There are two other men sitting in a booth by the corner, deep in conversation with one another. They’re boring suits, no one that Klaus could have for company. He’s just looking for someone alive to have a conversation with while he numbs himself. Someone alive, he clarifies to himself. His last friend left for heaven’s greener pastures, which he’s happy for him, but maybe the guy could have stuck around on this plane of existence for a weekend longer.

There’s a couple at the end of the bar that looks like they're on a date. In the middle of the day? Wonder if their spouses know they aren't at work. Klaus laughs out loud, poor bastards.

And then there's you, with your mixed drink, absentmindedly swirling it with your little stirrer. You seem like a safe bet, so his feet drag him over to sit down at the middle of the bar near you. He more or less throws himself into the chair, his feet immediately feeling the relief. He’s still clammy and feverish in the come down, his stomach hurts, but that’s nothing a little booze and sugar can’t help.

You notice the guy as soon as he walks in. Of course you do. After a few years, you start to recognize people even if you don’t know them. You don’t recognize him. He looks paranoid, fresh off a set and worried about what a job will do, for and to him. Poor thing. Probably one of those River Phoenix types. Young, pretty, and overwhelmed.  In teen mags one day, in the obituaries the next. All preventable, hundreds of people that could step in if money meant more than the people around you.

“Hey,” the guy next to you greets you, his voice uneven, watery and cautious. His hands shake a little as he pulls a stack of cash out of his threadbare satchel, pulling a few bills from the rubberband holding it together and flattening them out against the bar.

“Hey, yourself. You new here?” He looks surprised as the words leave your lips, but is interrupted by the bartender approaching.

“Yeah, whatever that special is for today, that’ll do,” he orders like he doesn't really know what to do at the bar. He turns back to you, looking ever so boyish and lost with his big green eyes.

“How did you-?”

“How did I know you're new here?” You throw the rest of your drink back, carelessly placing it at the far end of the bar from you, “Because you don't look absolutely beaten down. I mean, you look a little twitchy, but you look fresh.”

Fresh? That’s not at all how Klaus would describe his look, having not slept in days and having been using an extreme amount of controlled substances, even for his standards.

The bartender slides a glass towards him, and he scrambles to catch it. There’s a total of two umbrellas, a flamingo stirrer, and two straws in it. In all, garish and hard to look at. The bartender takes the money, and they nod at each other.

“You look kinda young to be here,” with that remark, Klaus takes a long sip of the fruity cocktail he ordered, a sickening blue color so intense you bet it could substitute as hair dye.

“You do too,” you quip. You’d been working in this town for a few years now, on and off movie sets and bartending clubs with live acts. This boy? He looked fresh. Like he’s just been taken for his first ride. He looked rough and unused to it.

“How old are you?” he asks,  he can’t place your age or accent. You look just as young as him, if not younger. You sound southern- Boston- Chicago- western and somewhere European he can’t place. Is that what Hollywood does to people's speech patterns? Is that gonna happen to him? But you seem to be as much an anomaly here as he does.

“How old are you?” you mimic back.

Klaus stares in awe as you rest your elbow against the bar, making sure he sees that as you snap your fingers, a cigarette materializes between them. You quickly shift the rolled tobacco to rest between your index and middle finger, ready to place it against your lips.

“Listen, I’m old enough.” That's all you have to say about that.

“Yeah,” he agrees, “Sometimes I think I was never young.”

You exhale sharply through your nose, the hint of a laugh.

“Yeah, alright.” You fish around in your jacket pocket for the lighter and ask, “Do you wanna get out of here? Only smoking bar in town, but it ain’t got hotdogs.”

Hotdogs, Klaus thinks, He remembers having sausage back home, but he’s never had a hotdog.

“Why are you lookin’ at me like that? You never been to a baseball game or something?”

He shook his head, no. Klaus hadn’t ever seen a baseball game. He knew the history of it, the impact it had on American society. All from a very clinical and academic standpoint. Sports weren’t really his thing.

“Nah, I always preferred activities with a bit more... uh, substance.” He laughs at his own joke, whether you get it or not really doesn’t matter.

“Right, right. So River, what’s your real name?” You talk with the cigarette but between your teeth, lighting it quickly, before the lighter in your hand vanishes from sight.

“It’s….. uh, It’s Klaus.”

You give him your name, and he repeats it, tests the name out on his tongue.

You take a deep inhale, blowing the smoke out of the corner of your mouth.

“So Klaus, wanna buy us some hotdogs?”

You leave as soon as he finishes his drink, and he talks in a way that he thinks might be too much. But you listen. You’re the first living person that’s actually listened to what he had to say since he got here. He asks about you, your story, but he doesn’t get as much as he wants. You like your smoking, you’re a special effects designer, you dropped out of high school to come out here, and you fucking love Alonzo’s hotdogs.

“Hey ‘Lonzo!” you shout, interrupting Klaus mis sentence, raising both arms above your head, the baggy sleeves of your jacket falling closer to your elbows.

“How’s my kid doin?” The man shouts back. A tall man, with heavy brows and a mustache. “And who’s this?”

“My friend Klaus here just directed a movie! With Vivian Clarke, and the kid’s never had a hotdog! Can you believe it!” Your footfalls come quicker, starting to jog as you clear the end of the block, Klaus starts to shuffle quicker to catch up. When he gets to see the man up close. clear chocolate brown eyes greet him. He looks pretty trustworthy, Klaus thinks, Like Santa Claus, or John Stamos. Basically, like anyone but Dad or Viv.

Alonzo asks all about Klaus’ recent accomplishment, not exactly something he wants to talk about, but he likes that Alonzo is genuinely curious and polite. The only thing you say is “extra relish, on both. Big shot director pays.” during the conversation, focusing more on finishing your cigarette and stubbing it out with the toe of your boot. Klaus looks down and the cigarette butt leaves no trace on the concrete.

“So back there,” he says as you wait for your dogs to be handed over, “That cigarette business, are you a magician?”

“Nah,” you say, not fully meeting his gaze, “I’m a Libra.”

You nod at the guy as he finally pulls the dogs over the edge of the cart he operates. Extra relish, just like you asked. When he places the hotdog in Klaus’ hands, the redhead’s eyes go wide. Guess he wasn’t kidding about never having relish, you think.

“Huh,” he starts, dumbfounded by the hunk of grease and meat and relish in his hands, “I’m a Libra too, actually.”

“Guess that’s something about balance or something,” you say, effectively ending the conversation again by opening your mouth as wide as you can to accommodate the sheer mass of one of Alonzo’s hotdogs.

He looks at the meal, his first and probably only for today, and then takes your lead, opening his mouth as wide as he can before finally chomping down on a huge bite of it. The bite is… heavenly. Pickled vegetables and chutneys exploding on his tastebuds, the coolness of it contrasting with the fresh off the grill meat. No offense to mom or Pogo, but none of their cooking could ever hold a candle to this street hotdog.

“Good, yeah?” Your voice, distorted by a mouth full of food, breaks his almost nirvana like trance.

“So good,” he tries to say, mouth just as full as yours. He finishes chewing, swallows with a huge gulp.

“You got any more food spots to show me?”