#( ft. bradley )

[gwyndolence]

for @bradleyxharper

It was just leaning towards midday when Gwyn stirred from his reverie in the gardens, stretched out beneath the shade of a well-kept hawthorn tree. A few slow blinks at the light confirmed how much time had passed since he'd laid out and a satisfied smile tugged at the sith's lips as he closed his eyes again. Gwyn had left his suites that morning with a mission: to keep his word. Quite frankly, it was easier than expected to slip into the council room unnoticed and it had taken no time at all to leave his mark on the portraits there. Raphael very frustratingly even wore the goatee and devil horns well, but Tiernan's dour face was much improved by jester's makeup, in Gwyn's opinion. Kell's complaints adequately addressed, he had sidled triumphant out into the castle halls again, the rest of the day at his fingertips.

Most masters seemed to scorn the growing light of this time for the comfort of their rooms, even with the sun rings, leaving mostly staff and the claimed to enjoy a relative bit of quiet. Perfect for Gwyn too, to enjoy the day's loveliness without any impositions. Peace was rare for the sith, a condition often self-inflicted, but alone in drowsing moments like these he nearly felt he could dream again. Except, he realized in a moment of sharpened focus, the gentle scratching of pencil against paper buzzing in his ear, the young master was not alone.

Gwyn cracked open one eye, found the shape of his companion in quietude in a warm-skinned youth bent with focus over his work, occasionally glancing up in the sith's direction -- an artist. How darling. The light was too bright for Gwyn to make out more of him without sliding the mercy of his dark-lensed glasses back over his eyes, but his smile spread as he tilted his head towards the other man, not even bothering to sit up from his sprawl as he called out in a lilting voice, "What has your eye, stranger?"

[itsgonnabemei]

↳INSTAGRAM: @moviesbymei uploaded a photo:

so far. (context for #3: i was told i would get free coffee and to ‘shut up and do what ripley tells you’. brad did it cuz he’s whipped.)

[persephoneacts]

DM: @SPIDEYBRAD

@sephyblake: hey quick question @sephyblake: did you know that your instagram handle is scribbled on the wall of a public toilet with the words 'DM for sex and feet pics' next to it?

[marcusmixes]

↳INSTAGRAM: @producermarcus uploaded a photo:

Thanks for the photos @bwprestwick.

[shatteredgossip]

@sephysblakes: NOT sephy's little twink changed his twitter display name to White Heathcliff sdfgf hashtag WHIPPED

[ghosthuntingwithmicah]

↳INSTAGRAM: @micahabiola uploaded a photo:

baby boy bradders

[anniebaxterthefuture]

TEXTING: BRADLEY Annabelle: Is there anyone Matty doesn't wanna fuck tbf tbf!!!!!!! Annabelle: So to conclude Annabelle: You don't wanna fuck me, Jax, Persephone, Matty OR Simon? Sad

TEXTING: ANNIE Bradley: This whole exchange has made me want to throw my phone in the Hudson Bradley: The river not Simon Bradley: Who I’m sure Matty also wants to be in Bradley: Whaaaaaaat

[mxrcusflint]

hit the gas

hangster ft. dagger squad crack chat fic because this is truly the pattern now I guess

Phoenix has unblocked Hangman Phoenix: Bradshaw is too old to be on his knees for that long Hangman: I don’t hear him complaining Hangman: but to be fair, his mouth was full 😗 Phoenix has blocked Hangman

read more on ao3

[noooodle-snek]

I'm so fucking grateful that the Maxley blow up happened in a time when people don't automatically make the canon female love interest the villain

[gwyndolence]

for @bradleyxharper

A small shower of metallic confetti rained down on Bradley as the Seelie made his way towards the front entrance of Euphoria, a bright laugh indicating the most likely source as Gwyn grinned and slung an arm around the faerie's shoulders, popping up from behind him with a cigarette propped between the fingers of his other hand. "Enjoying yourself tonight, my darling?" He queried happily, tucking close to the other's ear so Bradley could hear him over the whooping and shouting of the crowds packing the village's streets, "Care for a smoke? I was just enjoying one before fighting my way in for another drink. Or perhaps you don't indulge in such grimy, mortal things!" Gwyn punctuated that with a teasing wrinkle of his nose, steering Bradley out of the line before he waited for a real answer. He'd missed the little faerie since Halloween and, well, Bradley hadn't exactly protested about a bit of kidnapping that time.

[juvinile]

xavier wished sometimes that he could see the world the same way she did. not out of a jealousy for her rough exterior - the wounds it kept tucked within - but so he could understand why she saw him the way she did. like something to keep at arm's length, like something unencumbered. it never occurred to him how unfathomable her background truly was to him. how counting hours on the wall in tally marks, blowing smoke into the bathroom air vent, meant so little in her wake. xavier wanted to shove the way she said our into his mouth, chew on it's single syllable until his jaw ached. let the sound of it reverberate through his head until it started to leave a bruise. "it's making me sick, b. like my stomach's churning and shit." and he leaned an arm on her shoulder. fuck it. before he could think twice about it. it took everything not to lean harder into her when she started mocking the stranger, not to grab her and throw her over his shoulder, laughing all the while. the weight distracted him from the twang and pang of piano chords filling his chest. how, if he was lucky, he might never know the tightness of a tendon, the sound of plucking muscle instead of ivory. instead, he knew the sound of bradley's voice when she was tired and the sun was starting to rise and he thought with sleepy, lovestruck delusion it could be her championing it in a carriage. snapping the reigns on her fiery horses, letting the flame lick her hands unscathed. even so, now he shifted his weight so he wasn't pressing too sharply into her shoulder. watching himself around her like she might break. he knew she hated it and he couldn't help himself. he turned to her, before the stranger had even stormed off, already wiping him from his mind like a salt scrub, "your accent's improved. you sound just like one of my shithead cousins when they used to come stay with us on .." and his nose crinkled with mock disgust, affected the accent himself, "holiday." bradley has been there one summer, when his cousins had bounded out of the airport taxi like labradors, throwing out soccer balls and tennis rackets and whatever other equipment his faraway aunt and uncle had sent them over with. he hated their clanging chatter, but more than anything he hated that they had each other to make the noise with. his house was always impossibly quieter when they left. his breath caught when she finally met his gaze, the one he'd had turned to her so long he'd stepped into the spit at their feet, only realizing it was there with a squelch. "fucking - god damn it, man. these are off-white jordan's. that asshole owes me a grand." throwing a hand out, sounding more angry than he felt, deflecting in his own way. the insult slid off his shoulders all the same and he finally stepped back from her enough to take a sip of his whiskey coke. the smell of her cigarette alone intoxicating. "i'm not taking the loss well, clearly. but we persevere. heard lego's got my number, so it's a matter of time before i'm out of here for good." he remembered the last time he left, wanting to burn everything that even remotely reminded him of irving to a crisp, let it ash on the ground like bradley's smoke. "you eye's are still creepy as hell. like a doll that's come back to life to fuck with me. nothing should be that blue." catching his lip between his teeth. "spare a cig? for an old friend? add it to my tab."

Sometimes, in her sleep, Bradley took a kitchen knife to herself like a bruised peach, sliced off the dark, mushy parts in an attempt to present Xavier something to eat that wasn't so marred; every time, all that remained was a pit slicked in sweet juices, so deceptively sweet, in fact, that he'd promptly pop it into his mouth, swallow and choke. It wasn't feasible, the two of them. Not with the way she was raised. He was the type to be regimented into a strict rehearsal schedule for fucking, cello, or whatever else sounded best on his transcripts; Bradley had been made to examine the flinching fibroelastic of tendons in the flesh stripped arm of one of her father's squealing subjects of interrogation, sit through jokes about what kind of melody they might produce to play. She still saw human veins whenever the branches of trees shuddered stark and spindly against the white skies come winter. Sometimes imagined plucking her own strings in a bloody one man orchestra as her father smiled coolly from the front row. "Yeah, got a weeabo on our hands. Christ, can't believe what we're dealing with. Welcome to his twisted mind, I guess." It felt prickly, talking to Xavier like that, churning over a fistful of nettles, silently contemplating just how much it stung, the impossible urge to itch; one corner of her lips couldn't help but twitch, just slightly, before her eyes evaded elsewhere, reminded themselves to stick to the scheduled programming. "Pair of you are fuckin' twisted. Got somethin' fucked in both ye' noggin's." Bradley immediately pulled a face. "Oi, we got sumfin' fucked in both ah noggin's, 'av we? Fucking Oliver Twist in the building, all of a sudden, hello? Can't even hear him, smothered under Queen Elizabeth's big, sopping breasts, motorboating the shit out of her. She's dead, you sick fuck." An expert puff of a smoke ring. Bradley gestured up at it floating off with a jilt of her head. "Go on, I know what you are." Bit of a Twilight reference. "See a hole, have to try and fuck it. Scram, cock-eyed terrier. Minute of underwhelming fucking grunts awaits." Utterly gobsmacked by such a verbal backhanding, he spluttered momentarily as he gawped between the two. "I'd say good luck but you two -- fuckin'... deserve each other." He spat on the ground to bid his adieu. "Fuck, yum. Gonna slurp that up, later." Deserve each other. Deserve each other. Bradley steadied her molars. Scowling back at her, his retreating stomps meant that she had to confront their sudden lack of a distraction; shifting her gaze Xavier's way, blue-eyed as shark infested waters, invisible cogs whirred behind her irises like clockwork, dictating an appropriate strategy. It was unnerving, really; like her father, that way, an ill-fitting suit from childhood that she'd forced herself to grow into, seams that'd finally come to pinch. "Head's still square." Deflection. Another flick of ash from her depleting cigarette. "Your audition to star as one of the slabs at Stone Henge get rejected again? Rough. Showbiz is fucked."

[itsgonnabemei]

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it’s true what you’ve heard (brad likes em long n thick)

[persephoneacts]

↳INSTAGRAM: @sephyblake uploaded a photo:

Movie day with @spideybrad and @ripleyluwho makes for a happy Seph. (Photo cred to Bradders who I can only apologise to for filling up his camera roll with my mug)

[shatteredgossip]

@maiaonbroadway: Mom has invited her new boyfriend to her birthday dinner and, predictably, Brad is not coping.

[talesofthetardis]

@talesofthetardis: @.spideybrad Haha, my number one fan! :) You’re the best!

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No new episodes of the pod this week, sorry gang! Took some time to see some friends and enjoy the last of the sun! It’s been a blast. :)

[fyrewalks]

“you didn't have to step in and help me, but you did, and i appreciate that, and i'm also sorry.” // @entriprises

Bob isn't sure his actions qualify as helping. He had, to Bradley's credit, literally stepped in. It was truly poor, or spectacular depending on the view point, timing. Instead of Bradley getting decked, it had been Bob.

"Sorry for what," Bob mumbles, eyes crossed as he tries to watch Bradley dab at the blood on his cheek. He thinks the cut came from his glasses, now sitting broken beside him on the counter; he also thinks Bradley needs to stop saying sorry. It isn't his fault.

"Oh! Motherfucker," he hisses, leg kicking out at whatever Bradley's applied to the fresh cut. "You dick," Bob grouses.