#cigar society

[haute-lifestyle-com]

The Cigaiol Leather Cigar Humidor is a well-appointed, elegant, portable humidor that presents a lifestyle and comes complete with all the accessories, including a stylish clipper and lighter for your Cigar aficionado to enjoy fresh cigars anywhere.  Men's Accessories - Cigaiol Leather Cigar Humidor - Portable, Passes Through TSA, Stylish & Complete -  #janetwalker #hautelifestylecom #theentertainmentzonecom #humidor #cigar #cigaraficionado #cigarlife #cigarlifestyle #cigarlounge #cigarsociety

[renardsruses]

Watched Blood blockade battlefront and all it’s convinced me of is that Nightow’s gotta have a smarmy flavored, smoking joy boy with scoliosis levels of posture in all of his media

[keithfloydno1fan]

Keith in the club

[busterkeatonsociety]

This Day in Buster…June 26, 1927

The Evansville Courier & Press recommends “The General” & recalls the beginning of Buster Keaton’s career.

[un-poeta-desenamorado]

Que sentido tiene correr cuando huyes de ti ?

[fourgottencoast]

i hate having to be the angry-note-taped-to-the-door neighbor but i think regularly doing what sounds like construction (??) loud and forceful enough to shake my whole apartment (and the upstairs neighbors' too apparently!) and terrify my cat at 4-5am absolutely earns you a severe social scolding

[isawken]

“lol that’s against clown code! 😂” “omgggg that clown is gonna get so fired for violating clown code” do you think clowns are some monocultural society? do you think every clown has the same values and belongs to the same organization that reinforces singular performative norms?? that clown code is specific to one american clown organization that was established in the 80s. it’s not universal. the history of clowns is hundreds of years old and “thou shalt not smoke a cigar” or whatever has only ever been a creed a relatively tiny percentage have held to. i am gripping your shoulders now. do not assume you are privy to the internal workings of a subculture based on contextless snippets and Fun Facts. i am leaning in very close to you now. clowns deserve better. i am now pulling a long string of handkerchiefs out from behind your ear

[beloveds-embrace]

Dukedom au masterlist (yes i need to update it ik) and we will not talk abt the abrupt ending 😭

The grand ballroom of glittered with the light of a thousand candles, their flames dancing across marble floors and golden fixtures hung from the ceilings. A symphony played softly in the background, a perfect complement to the hum of ongoing conversation and chatter. You stood at the center of it all, draped in a gown of midnight blue silk, embroidered with silver thread that mirrored the stars. A gift from Simon, one that had you staring at the beautiful dress in awe.

Tonight, you were the very image of grace and poise.

Your face and movements are calm and collected, hiding what you truly feel beneath. Lately, whispers of dishonor had begun circulating; rumors that your husband had fled a border skirmish back when he’d been deployed, abandoning his men, yet had paid for the matter to be buried. Vile lies, born of cowardice and malice. John’s name, his reputation, and the honor of your house were at stake; disloyalty towards the empire was seen as treason, and that was unforgivable.

You would not allow it.

The first spark of rage had ignited the moment you’d overheard the vile accusations from another lady, one of your more arrogant rivals who had laughed snidely. From there, the rumors spread like wildfire, poisoning the halls of the court and society.

But you were no stranger to such games like these. Tonight, after much planning, you’ll put an end to this farce.

You began with your loyal ladies-in-waiting. Each one owed their position to you, and in return, they offered their unwavering loyalty. “Listen carefully,” you instructed them during a private meeting in your sitting room, the door locked behind you. “Go into the court, the markets, the salons- anywhere whispers thrive. I want names, places, and patterns. Who speaks these lies, and who listens too closely?”

They curtsied and departed without hesitation, melting into the bustling world outside of the manor. Meanwhile, you turned your attention to your maids and house staff. Servants were the lifeblood of any noble house, privy to secrets thought hidden.

You met with them personally with Kyle’s help, ensuring they understood the stakes. “Speak subtly,” you said, your voice calm but firm. “Let it slip that those who spread these rumors do so for their own gain, that there’s no substance to the rumors. Plant doubt. Create cracks.”

“As you wish, my lady.” Kyle nods his head, hands on your waist. He leans down, and kisses your forehead, and you smile all sweet and pretty at him. “Whatever you want.”

While you wove your network of spies, John watched quietly from the shadows of the manor. Though he trusted you implicitly, he couldn’t help but feel a mixture of awe and unease. He didn’t want to doubt you, but he worried nonetheless for you.

In his study, he sat with Kyle.

“How’s she faring?” John asked, puffing a cigar as he leaned back in his chair. Papers were scattered on his desk, though they didn’t require immediate attention or replies. Pressed close to Kyle, bodies warm, he didn’t want to go back to working for now.

Kyle hesitated for a moment, choosing his words carefully. “She’s… efficient, John. The staff is utterly devoted to her even without my help. I’ve seen no signs of hesitation in her plans.”

John chuckled dryly, though there was a flicker of appreciation in his eyes. “I am not surprised. She’s scarier than any battlefield, Kyle. And they love her.”

With the groundwork laid, you began preparing to host a big gala at the manor. Invitations were sent far and wide, carrying the promise of exquisite dining, captivating entertainment, and the opportunity to curry favor with one of the most powerful families in the region.

None dared refuse.

Johnny worked tirelessly to ensure every detail of the menu was flawless, and though he would have helped anyways, he still enjoyed all the kisses he got as reward from yoh. “You’re pilin’ it on thick, Duchess,” he remarked one evening, wiping his brow as he inspected a rack of lamb. “Even for you.”

“This isn’t just a party, Johnny,” you replied, humming. “This is war.”

“War it is, then. Anything for you, bonnie.” he muttered, diving back into his work with renewed determination. After a very heated look from you that had him preening, though; he looked handsome in his element. And you’ll make sure to really show him your appreciation for all his hard work later, in the privacy of your rooms.

At every other gala and gathering, you moved through the crowd like a dancer with a purpose. You guided conversations subtly, planting seeds of doubt and faltering those who tried to be a bit too brave- and your reputation as a “people’s princess” helped so greatly. Your allies- the few you trusted among the nobility-played their roles perfectly.

Simon, especially. You had specifically asked for his help, curled warm and cozy on his lap one night. He’d kissed you breathless and told you he would always be there for you.

“Lord Marcan, was it?” Simon mused during one party, his glass of whiskey balanced effortlessly in his hand. The others immediately listen to him; though he isn’t the most talkative noble, his words carry weight. “I’ve heard some interesting things about him. Did you know he’s deeply in debt? I wonder how far a man would go to escape ruin.”

The other nobles exchanged glances, uncertainty flickering across their faces. You watched from a distance, satisfied as Simon delivered the blow with effortless charm.

Your web was nearly complete, each thread pulling tighter around Lord Marcan- the instigator of the rumors- until he had no room to maneuver. At the final ball of the season, the one hosted by you and John, you made your final move.

You descended the grand staircase as the guests gathered, your presence commanding attention. At your signal, the servants unveiled a surprise: a performance of actors reenacting a scene from an old skirmish. But this was no ordinary play; it was a dramatized retelling of that battle, one that highlighted John’s bravery and leadership even when Lord Marcan had tried to say John had fled that day.

The crowd was entranced, all earlier doubts finally wavering and shattering. You saw Marcan shift uncomfortably, his face pale as his lies unraveled before him and eyes turned towards him in disgust.

From the balcony above, John watched with Simon and Kyle at his side. “She’s terrifying.” he murmured, though his voice carried a note of awe.

Simon smirked. “You married a bloody tactician.”

Kyle simply nodded. “She fights for you, for us, John. And she wins.”

By the end of the evening, Lord Marcan was a broken man and his wife, Lady Marcan who had laughed at you by the rumor, was seething. Their allies abandoned them, their name tarnished by his cowardice and deceit and her aftions.

And the rumors about John’s supposed abandonment of his men? Gone.

That night, as you removed your jewelry in the quiet of your chambers, John approached you. His hands rested on your bare shoulders, his touch warm and grounding.

“You’ve been busy, beloved.” he said, his voice soft but laced with admiration.

“I did what needed to be done.” you replied, meeting his gaze in the mirror. “I know you could have simply challenged him to a duel… but we didn’t have full confirmation it was him who started. I had to do it this way.”

He leaned down, pressing a kiss to your temple. “You’re terrifying, love. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

From the shadows of the room, Simon leaned casually against the doorframe. “She’s not wrong, John. Best keep on her good side.”

Johnny’s voice echoed from the hallway as he came by with a tray of food. Kyle comes as well, carrying glasses of wine. “Aye, and keep feeding her. Keeps her from plotting.”

Kyle sighs, though he has a smile on his face as he sets the glasses down and instead comes to help you. “…he isn’t exactly wrong. You were incredible…. And scary.”

“Perfect, in other words.” John hums, an eyebrow raising. You do not have enough time to ask anything before he and Kyle are gently turning you around on the seat, face to face with John who kneels down. “You’ve worked so hard for me, for us, my Duchess. Let me take care of you now, hm?”

“John…“

“No more words, my love,” he shakes his head, Kyle’s hands reaching to unlace your dress, your corset, until your breasts spill out. John doesn’t even seem mildly bothered by the layers of your skirt, flipping them up until you are indecent in front of your men and he is face to face with your panties. The way they look at you, so much want…

You don’t mind. The slick spot forming speaks more than enough anyways.

“Tonight,” John murmurs, kissing your inner thighs. “Will be all about spoiling you, wife.”

[j-lo-ker]

Are those Cubans?

[lostintransist]

You're cooking with that gym one.. keep going

Here is my submission for you anon.

John rubbed tiredly at his face. His feet pressed in turn to the rotating belt of the treadmill. He did not want to be here.

Base doc told him he wouldn't be getting clearance to go back on jobs until he got is cholesterol down. He, wisely, did not question how his cholesterol could be high when the only things he consumed were cigars, toast, and coffee.

Having tried the base gym a few times he found it...full of distractions.

If he could be found on base he had everyone, including the devil, showing up at his side. If it wasn't questions, it was paperwork. He fucking hated paperwork.

Gym etiquette said to, when possible, leave a machine open between you and the next person over on treadmills. You had already been on a machine when he arrived. John walked with no music. Oppositely you jived and mouthed along with whatever you were listening to. He appreciated that you didn't sing as you walked. Soap's of kilter voice drifting from the showers was more than enough.

John lifted a brow at the young man who stepped onto the machine between you and him. The man didn't spare him a glance. John shrugged. He maintained his pace, eyes fixed on the news. Damn he should start bringing his glasses. Those subtitles were stretching his limits of vision.

"Come on, just talk to me already!"

The man beside him shouted. John turned in time to see the man hit the off button and step off the treadmill. Glancing at you he his concern rises. Tight jaw, nose flaring wide as you suck in breaths, and white knuckles gripping the arms of the machine tell him a lot.

When the man appears before your treadmill John is already reaching for his off button. He's a bastard. His ex-wives agreed on that, but this was unacceptable behavior.

You surprise both men when you rip your headphones off.

"I know you don't listen to your mother either, but let's see if your kindergarten teacher was right about you being a good student." A look of disgust adds sting to the words you whip at the man. "If a woman is ignoring you, she's busy. When a woman gives you a closed mouth smile after you attempt to flirt she is uncomfortable but won't say so because she doesn't want to be raped or murdered in the next alley over. Now unless you have something of value to provide to society as a whole, you will get out my face."

All that said without you missing a step.

"God, no need to be a bitch," the man sneered up at you. "I was going to tell you I thought you were beautiful."

"Women are only beautiful when you want to stick your dick in them. Buy a flesh light instead and leave women alone. Leave me alone." You throw up double middle fingers at him.

The fucktard shouted hate as he stalked away.

John, no longer tired, laughed so hard he started to cough. He paused his machine. Covering his mouth with a fist he laughed again when he could breathe. You are staring at him when he looks up. Distrust paints the color of your eyes.

"His kindergarten teacher?" He asked, starting to chuckle again.

The tension melts away from your shoulders. The tip of your tongue makes an appearance on your lip as you give him a sheepish look. You open and close your mouth as your fingers work themselves into knots.

"So ya see..." You can't finish your thought before you are laughing too.

"I'm John," he offers you a hand to shake over the empty machine.

"Good to meet you, John," you shake his hand and give him your name in return.

"That happen to you often? If so, I would love to witness more of you cutting men off at the knees." John can't help but smile, full and wide at the embarrassment that sparks through your posture.

You sigh through your nose.

"More often than I care for," you admit.

"Well, if you need a gym buddy I am in need of a good laugh," John pulls his phone from his pocket and hands it to you to add your phone number.

"I am at your service, John. My misfortune is yours to witness," you pass the phone back with a flourish.

John can't remember the last time he laughed so much.

Gym Adventures:

SoapGaz | Simon | Phillip Graves

[blindmanspuff]

La Gloria Cubana Society Cigar - Blind Cigar Review

La Gloria Cubana Society Cigar - Blind #Cigar Review @LaGloriaCubana #cigars #blindmanspuff #SmokeBlind

Cigar Info In August of last year, La Gloria Cubana announced a new limited cigar that used the brands fans to create the blend, packaging and vitola. The La Gloria Cubana Society Cigar gets its name from that group of cigar smokers that interact with the brand regularly both online through the LGC website and offline through La Gloria events across the country. The La Gloria Cubana Society…

[eleu22]

just some random task force 141 headcanons

tw: drugs, dead baby jokes?

gaz

- has been approached by model scouts on nights out with the 141 and is so gassed by it but pretends not to be

- got holding onto his tactical vest straps from price because he thought it looked cool

- popular as fuck in school

- side eye king (canon)

- used to do ket when he was younger and is now paranoid price will find out somehow and be disappointed in him

- highlights during briefings and soap calls him a neek

- deleted tiktok because he got addicted to those ingrown hair removal videos

- borderline illegible handwriting

- type to laugh when hes really mad (its lowkey scary)

- has once described himself as a “thought daughter”

- paces when hes stressed

- terrys chocolate orange enjoyer

- tried to grow out a beard but it was weird and kind of patchy

soap

- will be looking at a nice view and will always say how a huge explosion would make it look so much cooler

- does that thing where he tells you to straighten your legs and then kicks the back of your knee

- cannot stay still in his sleep and has once woken up with half is body off the bed horizontally

- has a comic book collection and if you touch it he will kick you out

- goes to life drawing classes sometimes in his free time

- all of his exam papers had doodles on them

- the type of guy to draw a penis in ur notebook

- all of his socks have holes in them but refuses to buy new ones, some are literally the concept of a sock at this point

- smells his armpits unabashedly to see if he smells or not

- will ask to tell you a secret and burp in your ear

- when someone drops like a plate or a cup is the type to scream “wheey!!” and clap and he did that at a pub once and got them kicked out

- will make a fart noise and loudly blame it on you (especially in packed elevators)

-booger flicker

ghost

- makes zero noise when sneezing but still acts it out and he looks like hes bugging

- nose bridge pincher

- doesn’t clip off his fingernails he literally just bites them off and spits it into the bin

- type to say “well done.” sarcastically

- casual dead baby joke enjoyer

“how many babies does it take to paint a wall?”

“depends on how hard you throw them.”

(silence)

- really enjoys solitaire mobile is on level 177

- he once made a recruit run laps for microwaving tea

- off duty he has terrible posture

- chapped lips 24/7

- favourite takeout is chinese food and always get the vegetable spring rolls - he will buy takeout in bulk and then live off of leftovers instead of actually buying groceries

- has 3 forks one knife and one spoon

- has literally no sense of rhythm what so ever , cannot dance to save his life

- loves making social situations awkward in purpose but would never admit that so he just comes off as slightly off putting a lot of the time

price

- sneezes and coughs ridiculously loudly

- weirdly territorial about his hat (i find it so funny he has a waterproof version of it)

- has a weird mole on his back he refuses to get checked out - his reasoning is if he dies via mole it was natural selection

- has extensive knowledge on art history and hates conceptual art (has a tate membership card)

- licks his finger before turning a page

- casual moomin enjoyer

- cuts his cuticles - likes his maintenance has a beard grooming kit

- says he doesnt watch tiktoks but he watches tiktok dog video complications in youtube and they have the most npc ass audios

- is on the “cigar society” on facebook and gives reviews for them

- does the head tilt of disappointment (if its thrown at gaz he literally will not get over it for days)

- slaps his knee when laughing really hard

- also nose bridge pincher

- is the type of make those hiking comments to people who walk by

- really enjoyed the lego batman movie

- unabashedly itches himself

- takes fish oil supplements

- always puts his hand up to say thank you when cars stop for him

- flirts with baristas

- had a brief midlife crisis where he wanted to become a mystery novelist (still has the drafts hidden somewhere but you couldn’t waterboard that information out of him)

thank you

[fictionadventurer]

I have to talk about Chester Arthur. His story makes me go crazy. A mediocre president from the 1880s who's completely forgotten today has one of the best redemption stories I've ever heard and I need to make people understand just how cool his story is.

So, like, he starts out as this idealist, okay? He's the son of an abolitionist minister and becomes famous as a New York lawyer who defends the North's version of Rosa Parks whose story desegregates New York City's trolley system.

Then he starts getting pulled into politics and becomes one of the grimiest pieces of the political machine. He wants money, power, prestige, and he gets it. He becomes the right-hand man of Roscoe Conkling, the most feared political boss in the nation, a guy who will throw his weight around and do the most ruthless things imaginable to keep his friends in power and destroy his enemies.

Because Arthur's this guy's top lackey, he gets to be Controller of the Port of New York--the best-paying political appointment in the country, because that port brings in, like, 70% of the federal government's funds in tariffs. He gets a huge salary plus a percentage of all the fines they levy on lawbreakers, and because he's not afraid to make up infractions to fine people over, he is absolutely raking in the dough. Making the rough equivalent of $1.3 million a year--absolutely insane amounts of money for a government position. He's spending ridiculous sums on clothes, buying huge amounts of alcohol and cigars to share with people as part of his job recruiting supporters to the party, going out nearly every night to wine and dine people as part of his work in the political machine. He's living the high life. Even when President Hayes pulls him from his position on suspicions of fraud, he's still living a great life of wealth, power, and prestige.

Then in 1880, his beloved wife dies. While he's out of town working for a political campaign. And he can't get back in time to say goodbye before she dies. Because he's a guy who has big emotions, it absolutely tears him up inside, especially because Nell resented how much his political work kept him away from home. He has huge regrets, but he just moves in with Roscoe Conkling and keeps working for the political machine.

And then he gets a chance to be vice president. The Republican Party has nominated James Garfield, a dark horse candidate who wants to reform the spoils system that has given Conking his power and gave Arthur his position as Port Controller. Conkling is pissed, and he controls New York, and since the party's not going to win the election without New York, they think that appointing Conkling's top lackey as vice-president will pacify him.

They're wrong--Conkling orders Arthur to refuse--but Arthur thinks this sounds like a great opportunity. The only political position he's ever held is Port Controller--a job he wasn't elected to and that he was pulled from in disgrace. Vice President is way more than he could ever have hoped for. It's a position with a lot of political pull and zero actual responsibilities. He'll get to spend four years living in up in Washington high society. It's the perfect job! Of course he accepts, and Conkling comes around when he figures out that he can use this to his advantage.

When Garfield becomes president, Arthur does everything he can to undermine him. He uses every dirty political trick he can think of to block everything that Garfield wants to do. He refuses to let the Senate elect a president pro tempore so he can stay there and influence every bill that comes through. He all but openly boasts of buying votes in the election. He's so much Conkling's lackey that he may as well be the henchman of a cartoon supervillain. On Conkling's orders, he drags one of Garfield's Cabinet members out of bed in the middle of the night--while the guy is ill--to drag him to Conkling's house so he can be forced to resign. He's just absolutely a thorn in the president's side, a henchman doing everything he can to maintain the corrupt spoils system.

Then in July 1881, when Arthur's in New York helping Conkling's campaign, the president gets shot. By a guy who shouts, "Now Arthur will be president!" just after he fires the gun. Arthur has just spent the past four months fighting the president tooth and nail. Everyone thinks he's behind the assassination. There are lynch mobs looking to take out him and Conkling. The papers are tearing him apart.

Arthur is absolutely distraught. He rushes to Washington to speak with the president and assure him of his innocence, but the doctors won't let him in the room. He gets choked up when talking to the First Lady. Reporters find him weeping in his house in Washington. Once again, death has torn his world apart and he's not getting a chance to make amends.

Arthur goes to New York while the president is getting medical treatment, and he refuses to come to Washington and take charge because he doesn't dare to give the impression that he's looking to take over. No one wants Arthur to be president and he doesn't want to be president, and the possibility that this corrupt political lackey is about to ascend to the highest office in the land is absolutely terrifying to everyone.

Then in August, when it's becoming clear that the president is unlikely to recover, he gets a letter. From a 31-year-old invalid from New York named Julia Sand. A woman from a very politically-minded family who has been following Arthur's career for years. And she writes him this astounding letter that takes him to task for his corrupt, conniving ways, and the obsession with worldly power and prestige that has brought him wealth and fame at the cost of his own soul--and she tells him that he can do better. In the midst of a nationwide press that's tearing him apart, this one woman writes to tell him that she believes he has the capacity to be a good president and a good man if he changes his ways.

And then he does. After Garfield dies, people come to Arthur's house and find servants who tell them that Arthur is in his room weeping like a child (I told you he had big emotions), but he takes the oath of office and ascends to the presidency. And he becomes a completely different man. His first speech as president mentions that one of his top priorities is reforming the spoils system so that people will be appointed based on merit rather than getting appointed as political favors with each change in the administration. Even though this system made him president. When Conkling comes to Arthur's office telling him to appoint his people to important government positions, Arthur calls his demands outrageous, throws him out, and keeps Garfield's appointees in the positions. "He's not Chet Arthur anymore," one of his former political friends laments. "He's the president."

He loses all his former political friends. He's never trusted by the other side. Yet he sticks to his guns and continues to support spoils system reform. He prosecutes a postal service corruption case that everyone thought he would drop. He's the one who signs into law the first civil service reform bill, even though presidents have been trying to do this for more than ten years, and he's the person who's gained all his power through the spoils system. He immediately takes action to enforce this bill when he could have just dropped it. He becomes a champion of this issue even though it's the last thing anyone would have expected of him.

He oversees naval reform. He oversees a renovation of the White House. He still prefers the social duties of the presidency, but he's respectable in a way that no one expected. Possibly because Julia Sand keeps sending him letters of encouragement and advice over the next two years. But also because he's dying.

Not long after ascending to the presidency, he learns he's suffering from a terminal kidney disease. And he tells no one. He keeps going about his daily life, fulfilling his duties as president, and keeps his health problems hidden. Once again, death is upending his life, and this time it's his own death. He's lived a life he's ashamed of, and he doesn't have much time left to change. He enters the presidency as an example of the absolute worst of the political system, and leaves it as a respectable man.

He makes a token effort to seek re-election, but because of his health problems, he doesn't mind at all when someone else gets the nomination. He dies a couple of years after leaving office. The day before his death, he orders most of his papers burned, because he's ashamed of his old life--but among the things that are saved are the letters from Julia Sand, the woman who encouraged him to change his ways.

This is an astounding story full of so many twists and turns and dramatic moments. A man who falls from idealism into the worst kind of corruption and then claws his way back up to decency because of a series of devastating personal losses and unexpected opportunities to do more than he could have ever hoped to do. I just go crazy thinking about it and I need you all to understand just how amazing this story is.

[cameronsbabydoll]

TIED TO TRADITION — ARRANGED MARRIAGE AU

WARNINGS: not proofread but just subtle boy talk and traditional aspects

The soft sound of music playing in the background filled the space as Rose and you continued to look through table cloth options. Rose was eagerly flipping through pages of bridal magazines, throwing out suggestions about flowers and fabrics, while you were mostly nodded absently. The entire atmosphere was forced cheerfulness, a veil over the growing anxiety in your mind.

“You know, I’m so excited for this, honey! It’s going to be perfect!” Rose exclaimed, her eyes twinkling as she looked through the pages of the wedding planner. “You’ll look stunning, and Rafe will just melt when he sees you walk down the aisle.”

You offered a half-smile, but your mind wandered, thinking back to Rafe’s indifferent attitude toward the wedding. Rafe wouldn’t care, you thought, and he definitely won’t care how you look.

Rose continued chatting, oblivious to the quiet discomfort settling into your chest. You were lost in the fantasy of a perfect wedding.

—

Rafe leaned back in the lounge chair on the deck, the cool night air mixing with the warmth from the low firepit crackling in front of them. He’d kicked his shoes off, letting his feet rest on the railing as the haze of cigar smoke curled around the group. Topper, Kelce, and a couple of other guys from their circle were lounging around, each nursing a drink, laughing too loud, and making the kind of jokes that wouldn’t fly in front of his father or any of the high-society folks they mingled with.

He exhaled a plume of smoke and took a long sip from his glass, the burn of whiskey soothing the tension he’d been carrying all day. It wasn’t about the marriage—well, not exactly. It was more about how his father had handled it. He’d felt like a puppet, strings pulled by the men who had been shaping his life since he was a kid. But right now, with his friends and a few drinks in his system, the whole thing seemed... bearable.

Kelce kicked his feet up, letting his beer bottle rest on his stomach, his eyes drifting toward the house. “So, what’s the deal with the wedding? They’re really putting it all together, huh?”

Topper let out a laugh, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Yeah, I heard they’ve got the venue locked down. You’re really gonna settle down with this one, huh?”

Rafe smirked, his mind drifting to you. He didn’t really know you that well—at least not the way he knew women he’d had fun with in the past. But he knew enough. You were the perfect match for what his family expected. Sweet. Polite. The daughter of a man who only wore Ralph Lauren and made small talk over scotch and cigars at the country club. You’d fit right into the role of a wife.

“You’ll make her a good wife, Rafe,” Kelce said, his tone shifting to something more playful. “She’s perfect for that.”

Rafe shot him a look, his lips curling into something that wasn’t quite a smile, but not a frown either. “Yeah? Why’s that?”

Topper leaned in, his fingers tapping his cigarette against the ashtray. “She’s got that... whole, you know, sheltered vibe. Looks like a poster girl for ‘good wife’ material. Your dad’s gotta be thrilled.”

Rafe exhaled a laugh, swirling his drink. “I’m sure he is. Everything’s lining up the way he wanted.”

Kelce grinned, clearly enjoying the conversation. “I’ve seen her around the club a few times. Definitely fits the bill. She’s all about that ‘traditional’ look. You know, the quiet type.”

The more they spoke, the more Rafe felt his mood shift, not to irritation, but to something darker—something like... amusement. It wasn’t so much the marriage that had him feeling tense anymore. It was the fact that they all saw it the same way: a transaction. Something that made sense on paper.

“You’re not worried about the whole... settling down thing?” Topper asked, the grin not leaving his face. “You’ve had your fun. I know you’re not a one-woman kind of guy.”

Rafe took another drink, the burn of the alcohol feeling right for the moment. “No,” he said, with a hint of cockiness, leaning back in his chair. “I’m not worried.”

“I bet she’s a good girl, though. Just what your dad wanted. She’s probably gonna make your life nice and easy. You know, get the house in order, keep the family dinners perfect.”

Rafe’s lips twitched again, his thoughts drifting to you. Maybe you were all of that and more. But he wasn’t going to admit it to them. Not yet, anyway.

“You think she’s gonna be a real dutiful wife?” Kelce teased, raising an eyebrow.

Rafe rolled his eyes, taking in the scene. “I don’t know. She’s in there planning the whole wedding with Rose, doing all that ‘girly’ shit. So, yeah, I guess.”

“Damn,” Topper said, sitting up straighter, the light from the fire casting shadows on his face. “You’re really getting the full package, huh? She’s gonna be good at playing the part. You know, the kind that knows when to smile, when to be quiet, and when to look like she’s got it all together.”

There was a silence, broken only by the crackling of the fire. Rafe didn’t even need to answer. He knew how they all saw it. He could picture you in the kitchen right now, making something like tea or whatever, fitting the image of what everyone expected.

“She’s good for you, man,” Kelce said, his voice a little softer now. “She’s got the looks, the family backing, and she’ll keep your world from falling apart.”

Rafe leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, staring into the fire. “Yeah,” he said, his voice lower now, thoughtful. “She’ll keep things... in line.”

—

The conversation on the deck shifted as the guys continued to drink and laugh, the noise growing fainter as the night wore on. Rafe sat back in his chair, half-listening, his thoughts drifting to the house. To you.

Inside, the soft glow of the living room lamp illuminated the space where you were curled up on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, your head resting gently against the cushions. Rose had long since gone to bed, leaving you to your thoughts and the faint hum of a rom-com playing softly on the TV.

You weren’t really watching, your eyes half-lidded, the weight of the day finally catching up with you. You’d been running around planning, discussing details, and putting everything together—everything his family wanted. And now, with the house quiet and no one around to expect anything from you, it felt nice to just... relax.

Your breathing evened out, your eyelids fluttering closed as you slowly drifted off, still wrapped in your blanket, the TV’s soft chatter the only sound in the room.

It wasn’t long before Rafe quietly entered the room, the sound of his footsteps muffled by the carpet. He glanced over at you, his gaze softening at the sight of you slumped against the couch, the blanket bunched around your shoulders.

He walked over, bending down with a quiet grunt to scoop you up in his arms, careful not to disturb your peaceful slumber. You barely stirred, your head resting against his chest as he carried you toward the bedroom, the warmth of his body a comforting contrast to the chill in the house.

“You’re really going to make this easy on me, huh?” he muttered, more to himself than to you as he made his way down the hall, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

He gently laid you down on the bed, pulling the blanket over you, his gaze lingering for just a moment before he stood up and walked out, leaving you to sleep undisturbed.

TAGLIST: @vanessa-rafesgirl @lolasangelz @malibuhearts @popou61 @jaasworld @slut4you @drewrry

[un-poeta-desenamorado]

ALGUIEN POR UNOS CLONAS ?

[red5tars]

price finding you as he takes a smoke out in the alleyway, unperturbed by the droplets of water that threaten to put out his cigar. despite his charm, he has no interest in taking a pretty bird home tonight. the man has no want, no need for company, making him an outlier in his squad. simon and johnny act like they keep to themselves (even if the captain has caught the stoic lieutenant rubbing his sergeants knee), and even kyle has a bird(s) back in london.

in short price is alone.. but not for long.

his head snaps at the sound of tin hitting the damp concrete. it’s hard to see in the dark, but price can make out a dim shape. his hand comes up to his hip, ghosting over where his gun sits. he stalks towards the cretin that disturbed his smoke, figuring out whether he’ll need to take the gun out of his holster or not. as he inches closer,

he notices that the thing beforehand is a person. at least, at first glance it is. it looks feminine, having curves his body lacks. price tilts his head, straightening himself before he asks, “excuse me, ma’am-“ he doesn’t expect to be hissed at in response. confusion etches itself into the hard lines of his face, realizing that this thing, it, has a pair of furry ears protruding from the top of it’s head. his eyes trace downward, rags concealing what underwear should, but a hole is cut in the back to free a fluffy tail.

john wonders if he brought a different type of cigar with him for a moment. to check, he reaches forward again with another “ma’am-“ and he knows he has a plain cigar when it hisses at him, sharp fangs threatening to sink into him and give him a disease.

he‘s heard of things like it before him, a hybrid. ‘one of god’s mistakes’ many people like to call them. to his knowledge, most of them were taken into research facilities, cut open and splayed out as scientists figure out how such beings can exist, and what it means for the future of society. that’s where it should be. however, it didn’t make the cut to be put on a table. instead, it continues to dig through the trash, clawing up some soggy nachos that the maggots have luckily avoided.

john watches as it shovels the garbage into their mouth, and he has half a mind to turn away. the droplets are falling more consistently, cutting his smoke short. additionally, it doesn’t seem to keen on making friends, and john isn’t either. “..well, i’ll leave you with your dinner,” john says, turning away and walking back towards the door of the pub.

he’s about to open the door, but he’s ears perk up to the sound of a sharp meow. he turns his head, watching as it’s bent halfway into the bin, scraping for any bit it can find. a whine leaves it’s lip as it crawls out, ears pinned back to it’s hair. it’s face screams of disappointment and frustration, and john realizes just how thin this creature is.

he’s not much of a cat guy, and he certainly can’t categorize it as… a cat, but a part of his heart sinks knowing it will live the last of it’s days surviving from barely edible (literal) garbage. all alone. like him. a part of him knows he’s going to regret this as he walks forward. the moment he crouches down before it, the cretin goes back to hissing at him, tail straight and pointed. there’s still time to turn back, someone in his mind nags at him, but he shuts him out with his own words;

“ever had tuna?”