#expression NOT the stache

[drrutherford]

"Capsule ward—" He cuts off with a scoff and a shake of his head. Why does everyone insist on acting like he can't tell the difference between a cravat and an ascot tie?...

He's never committed the faux pas of coming underdressed to an event like this one. if not to spare himself the public flogging, then certainly to avoid the wrath of his much more fashion-forward siblings. Because apparently, there's no greater crime among the rich than not to display one's ridiculous wealth at every possible turn. 

Gideon takes a step away from her and stalks towards the sink.

"I like to be comfortable in my day-to-day, Miss Hathaway, sue me." Except he can't afford a ridiculous lawsuit right now and they both know it. So really, she should let it go — along with that unfortunate photograph of him that Diana had plucked out of her private collection in hell. It's true what they say about old love, he rolls his eyes as he thinks about his ex, the blackmail is lifelong. "I'd make a very dull celebrity, and I'm afraid I've no interest in being a socialite, either... No offense, of course."

... That's debatable.

She's accosted him in about the most private place a man can seek to be alone, just to deliver a few mind-boggling backhanded compliments. Too late for oversteps.

Cecelia twirls about as if she's on a safari tour of the Secret World of Urinals, while Gideon watches her from the mirror. "Yes, we have soap. Exciting development, that one." He turns the faucet on, just for something to do. Really, he needs to take a shit. "Is Adam aware of your breathtakingly high opinion of the male sex?"

Maybe he's a little aggressive with the soap, because out of the blue she asks if he's feeling delicate. Delicate?... The only thing delicate about tonight is Cece's graceful neck and his sudden desire to wring it like a church bell.

"Have you overindulged, Ms. Hathaway?" He asks abruptly, turning to her.

"... You look a little flushed." She doesn't, not really, but he'd rather ingest a plate of rusty cufflinks than discuss Adriana or any of his other delicate concerns with her tonight. Cecelia Hathaway already knows more about his private affairs than he's wanted her to, he'll be damned if he gives her more canon-fodder for her cause.

What was she talking about? "You," Silly. She had an overwhelming urge to grab him by the shoulders and give him a good shake. He could be so utterly clueless at times. She was almost convinced that she could send him a cashmere sweater, and he still wouldn't grasp how much his potential had SOARED. "I mean look at you..." She certainly was. "But really, who managed to coax you out of your typical capsule wardrobe tonight?" Whoever it was she needed to send them a gift basket. One with lot's of little muffins and tomato relishes.

"The awards? Oh, that's right, you're practically a celebrity now… a bona fide socialite," she remarked with a playful grin. "I did notice you scooping up quite a few… How does it feel to be Mr. Rutherford, MD, and MY…" she paused, "Man of the Year? Nice mustache, by the way. Did you gather it bit by bit from all those chest hairs and transplant it onto your upper lip?" She chuckled. This was quite enjoyable.

Ah, yes... the men's room.

Cece seized the opportunity to peek into the clandestine realm. "So this is where you gentlemen sneak off to… Is it true it only takes you a few seconds?" Men were indeed mysterious creatures. "Oh, they provide you with soaps in here too." She turned away from the urinals, her gaze meeting his once more after she'd finished her little trip around Casa Le Mens.

She was getting distracted though. She had come here with the intention to compliment, but now she sensed something amiss. "Are you alright? You seem a bit delicate tonight."

[kursed-curtain]

Haven't done animation in a loong time, so I decided to do something short n sweet to mayb ease back into it! :))))

[kakusu-shipping]

Okay so we know Luigi makes Mario’s coffee for sure, but whats Luigi’s drink of choice? He strikes me more of a hot choccy guy, and if thats the case, when hes had a bad day does mario make some for him and kiss it out of his moustache? (cause you know the whip cream probably gets stuck in their staches)

Luigi is 100% a sweet drink kind guy. For comfort he loves a hot meal and a hot drink and stupid amounts of sugar. Strawberry milk and Hot Chocolate are for sure his defaults, drinks a lot of sweet tea as well.

Mario's not a Make something for someone when they're having a bad day kinda guy, he likes to tackle a problem as head on as possible and fix it. Not everything can be fixed though, and he understands that. Luigi's really good at comforting himself, and Mario tends to just be nearby for physical comfort when that kind of thing happens.

Mario absolutely takes full advantage when Luigi makes himself a cup of hot chocolate though, he's a kissing fiend. There will be no sads so long as he is in kissing distance

Luigi's convinced he's just trying to steal the whipped cream from his drink. And like. Maybe he is a little.

[mazeppafanart]

Bro is angry >:(

[mirage-coordinator]

HOOT, HOOT

HEY, WE GOT IT, HOOT HOOT

HOOT CHOCOLATE

[jessieren]

I'd add this beauty: I may be smiling but I'm secretly planning your downfall aka The Revenge-Stache

Morsetache + side-eye

Maybe?

Getting there…

What do you think you are doing?

Don’t even think about it…

[offbeat03]

The big and grand express

(Wow, I've finally completed him, plus I changed his hair and gave him a stache instead. James is coming soon!!)

[seattlesellie]

You x loser!ellie go to the beach and ellie is already freaking out because you’re in a bikini but then you get hit by a really strong wave and your bikini top flies off 🤭

that is soooooo ᰔ ᰔ ᰔ

🌊🌊🌊🌊

like you and ellie go to swimming together in the deep ocean water away from all of your friends. and she has this little … salt water stache sparkling under the sun right above her top lip !! she licks it as you move deeper and deeper into the water, the sand massaging your feet slightly and the sea algae scaring you to death !! every time you squeal she cant help but laugh at you … maybe thats a little mean, but shes so so nice when she holds your hand as she guides you through the rocks <3

and imagine how cute shed look squinting because the sun is too bright !! tiny little droplets of sweat all over her forehead … maybe shes also a little sunburnt on her cheeks ,,, because she definitely refuses to wear sunscreen… and so as the shore seems further and further away, the parasols looking like little colorful globs the more far you stray, you offer her to jump the waves with you … and she obviously happily obliges !!

you have a casual convo about sea turtles and sea animals (ellie either is obsessed with sharks or she has a really intense obsession over some weird unknown fish. imagine like,, leafy sea dragon… and she has about 90 interesting facts to tell you about it too) and so— you’re jumping up and down, she obviously tried to drown you two times but we will ignore that !! and suddenly you get hit by an intense, large wave that makes you go completely blind… and the salt obviously gets inside your eyes and you cant see shit, you’re both coughing trying to balance on each other and then — shes the one who realizes.

you’re completely topless. she realizes because now, the strings of your bikini aren’t visible to her anymore over the water… and she’s just floating there (still rubbing her eyes) her face is all red wearing this panicked expression… so she goes like “y— your top” and you’re still kind of dazed…. so you ask her very loudly “what??” (because maybe some water got in your ears) so she stutters “your bikini… flew off” and you start running your hands all over your chest because how the fuck are you supposed to find it ?? and ellie cant even MOVE let alone maintain her feet kicking to keep her afloat. she can’t see them very clearly but as soon as the sea goes tranquil and the waves stop hitting ,,, she sees your the top of your nipple just above the water … and she feels like she might stop breathing. maybe shell drown, maybe shell get a heat stroke!

she lets out a long shaky breath and tells you “i can help you… look for it” and when you tell her she’ll never find it shes like “no— no its fine i’ll look under water dont… fuck— dont worry about it” so she takes a dip inside… and her heart is beating so so fast. you drop your hands from your chest because the last thing thats on your mind is the possibility of her seeing, or trying to look at them underwater… but god, you barely know her do you? because when shes deep in there, and sees you drop your hands to meet your waist— it’s like she needs to ask joel to give her swimming lessons again.

she suddenly forgets why she’s even under there … what… bikini? what even happened? the only thing thats on her hazy mind, is the two beautiful mounds and the hard nipples poking through, her vision is a little blurry, yeah, but she’s still seeing them, and that’s enough for her to start choking under water again, and feel her pussy twitch inside her blue palm trees printed shorts … she almost wants to just … pretend to be a sea algae. maybe you won’t notice its her hands caressing your tits, maybe she could get away with it. thankfully, she’s not… that much of a perv, so she just stays there for a second, feet kicking inside the water, and it’s only when she cannot breathe anymore, that ellie breaks her own trance and goes up for some air.

“didn’t find it.”

“want me to look for it again?”

⋆˙⟡♡

[captain-amadeus]

I need yall to stop and think about how Potter's eyebrows are literally attached to his glasses

snatched

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Three for One 5

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, cheating, customer service abuse, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: As a customer service associate, you’re used to work with a wide variety of characters. Your efforts to go above and beyond draw the attention of a certain set of customers who want more than what’s on the shelf.

Character: Andy Barber, Lloyd Hansen, Ransom Drysdale

Note: How are these getting longer lol

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me 💞

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

If you thought the darkness was torturous, the light proves to be worse. You look at your surroundings. It’s eerie. A room curated for one. For you.

The white fluffy stool in front of a matching vanity. A picture of a woman in white sitting in a meadow, flowers all around and a stream flowing through the lush field. A vanity painted with flowers, the night tables matching; the bedspread under you similar woven with pansies. The trim at the top of the wall is pink petals on white and a soft rug under the foot of the bed.

It’s all very cute but deranged. You’d love to have all this and more but you’d rather your apartment. If the price is those three men then you’d rather a gutter. Most importantly, you want your dog.

You can’t even make your demands. The walls can’t give you what you want. You doubt your captors will either but you can try. You can wear them down. You can be nice sure, you prefer that, but it doesn’t mean you can’t be your own brand of evil.

Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep. The noise needles in your ears and you hear the mechanism click. You raise your head to watch the door open and the one with the beard enters. Alan, Arnold? Ugh, you don’t care.

He doesn’t break the threshold. He crosses his arms and stares at you. A ripple in his forehead underlines his thoughts.

“I’m going to bring you out but you have to be good,” he says.

You close your eyes and drop your head. You fill your chest and let out a blasting wail. He grunts and stomps to the bed. He grabs your shoulders, shaking you until you nearly swallow your tongue. You bite the tip as he sits you up and you’re forced to face him.

“No, no more of that. Or you don’t get your first present.”

“I don’t want any of your presents,” you sneer.

“This one, I think you do,” he intones, “I’m asking you to give me a chance. Let me show you that this isn’t just for us. This is about you, honey.”

“I didn’t ask for this,” you hiss, “why can’t you just let me go?”

He shakes his head, “it’s too late for that.”

“I won’t behave. I swear, I’m going to scream–” you inhale and he quickly covers your mouth, his other hand coming around the back of your skull. 

He hushes you as his blue eyes darken, “honey, I’m being nice right now, so you need to go along with this. If you don’t…” he pauses and looks over his shoulder, “I don’t know what they’ll do.”

You furrow your brow. Getting out of this room is one step closer to escape. You can be good. For now.

You let the tension leave your body and soften your expression. He senses it and slowly slides his hand away from your mouth. You flick your lashes, putting on your best pout.

“Okay, Alan, I’ll be good,” you avow.

His brow tweaks and his cheek ticks. His nostrils flare as his chest rise and falls, “it’s Andy.”

“Right, I’m sorry, I’m really freaked out,” you show your teeth sheepishly, “that other guy… he hurt me.”

“Which one?” He asks.

“Er… stache guy.”

“I’ll talk to him,” he huffs, “can I untie you?”

“Yeah.”

“No, honey, I’m asking,” he looks you straight in the face, “you’re not going to try anything, right?”

“I can be good,” you squirm, “my wrists hurt.”

“Alright.”

He lays you back and rolls you over. He pulls the tape away from your arms, then your ankles. You think of the trick from the van. You know his weak spot but it’s too soon for that. Timing, it all comes down to the right opportunity.

“Let’s go,” he takes your hand and helps you up.

You get to your feet and let him lead you out. His large hand clings to yours as he pulls you after him like a child. As you go into the hall, you examine every inch of the place. He takes you into the front room, a low din that in any other circumstance would be cozy.

It looks like any other living room. A sectional and an armchair, an artificial fireplace set into the wall, a mantel trimmed in tinsel, a rich carpet spread over the dark hardwood, and shelves of books along with a television mounted to the wall. The tree in the corner stands bare over a red velvet skirt.

“We can decorate the tree tonight and see if Santa leaves anything for tomorrow.”

You hold back a scoff, “um, I know Santa isn’t real.”

He chuckles, “it’s a joke.”

“Is this the surprise?” You deflate. Sounds like work to you. Of course, your apartment is too small for a proper tree but you’re less than excited for a pastime you always longed for.

“No, not the only one,” he lets you go as you tug on your hand. “Honey, we did this all for you.”

You turn on him, “I didn’t ask you too.”

“Hey, hey, why are you acting like this? You’re such a sweet girl.”

You swallow tightly and hear beeping again. Then a clamour that includes a scramble, some scraping and the thump of a door against something else. You try to see past Andy as you feel cold air rush in from outside. You want to race past him but he’d be on you in a moment.

You hear a familiar growl before another voice wafts in from the entryway.

“Ah, he bit me. Again!” One man says.

“You think I’m having fun at the ass end?” The other retorts.

“Woah, oh, shit–”

There’s a duller thump and you hear claws and paws on the floor. Your heart leaps and you look around Alan– Andy as you hear the heavy breaths bounding towards you. 

“Ernie!” You squeal as the Saint Bernard lumbers in, furtively searching before he spots you. “Ernie, my boy. Oh, baby boy.”

He nearly knocks over Andy as he barrels into your arms. You hug him around the neck and inhale the scent of his fur. His collar tinkles and let his warmth ease your fear. You were so worried about him, more than even yourself.

“You said it was a puppy,” the bare-faced man snarls as he shakes his hand.

“I didn’t know…” Andy says.

“He is a puppy,” you insist.

“Who let the pussycat out?” The mustachioed creep asks.

Your eyes shoot darts in his direction and his hand shields his pants, almost instinctively. Ernie drags his large rough tongue up your cheek. He was scared too but now you have each other.

“Surprise,” Andy says, “so now, honey, you’re going to be good, right?”

You look at him and chew your lip. His eyes fall to Ernie and you put your arm in front of the dog. He doesn’t need to put his threat into words.

“Shit, I’m bleeding. That thing got shots?” Scarf asks.

“What about the girl? She got me good,” Mustache snickers.

“No, but maybe I should get checked now,” you snip.

“Woa-ho!” Mr. Caterpillar exclaims, “she’s got a mouth.”

“Honey,” Andy warns, “we’re being good, right?”

You huff and nod.

“So, apologise.”

“What?” You burst out, “he–” You stop and look between all three men. You have Ernie but you’re more worried about him getting hurt than knowing he’d hurt them in an instant. Even then, he has his head low, a steady rumble brewing in him.

“That thing needs to calm down,” the naked faced one whines, still cradling his hand.

“He’s confused,” you defend your son, “okay? And I’m sorry, er, dude, I’m sure you don’t have any communicable diseases.”

“The fuck? Disease– Alright,” the man steps forward, “that’s it. First she bites me, then she kicks me in the dick and now–”

“Lloyd,” Andy puts his hand up, “no. We’re all just getting used to each other. You’re not exactly easy to be around yourself.”

“Fuck that, I’m funny,” the fuzzy lipped man, Lloyd, argues.

“Everyone just quit,” Andy demands, “alright? Did you get the food?”

“Food?” The bare-faced man shrugs out of his jacket, “what food?”

“For the dog? I told you–” Andy begins.

“Ah, shit, knew we forgot something,” Lloyd chuckles, “he’ll be fine. He can eat chicken, can’t he?”

“He has a sensitive tummy,” you say.

“Jesus,” the third man grumbles as he hangs his scarf over his coat. “I’m not going back. It’s late.”

“Can he have rice? Carrots?” Andy suggests.

“I guess, I don’t know if he’ll eat 'em,” you look at Ernie as his deep brown eyes meet yours. You pet his head to keep him calm. He doesn’t like these men any more than you do.

“Fine,” Andy huffs, “go get the decorations,” he orders the others.

“Why don’t you get the decorations?” Lloyd sneers.

“She needs to change,” Andy explains.

“Like we can’t help her,” the other man challenges.

“I don’t often agree with him, but he’s right. We’ll get her changed.”

You grimace as your eyes ping pong at the back and forth of their conversation. This isn’t good. You don’t enjoy being talked about like you’re not there.

“How about I get myself changed?” You offer.

The men turn to you. None of them seem impressed. A sudden peel of thunder fills the room and you look at Ernie. His bark echoes in your ears.

“Shut that thing up,” Lloyd snaps.

“He’s quiet,” you say, “he was just saying the same about you.”

“Really?” He goes to take another step forward and the other man stops him, “Ransom, let me go.”

“I’ll take her, you two go get the decorations,” he says.

Andy frames his hips and sighs, “fine. We all know the plan. Let’s stick to it.”

You want to raise your hand and clarify that you do not, in fact, know the plan but you suspect you’re not a part of the collective. You keep your hand on Ernie and gulp. He nuzzles your hip.

You bend and pet behind his ear, “it’s okay.” It’s not. You move to face him, “sit,” you raise your voice, “stay. I’ll be right back.”

As you stand, the dog obeys. He’s a gentle giant, at least with you. You pat his head and turn away. The men watch you.

“That thing listens?” The one they called Ransom asks.

“He can.”

“Come on,” he beckons you with two fingers, a smirk ghosting on his lips.

“This is bullshit,” Lloyd mutters as Andy approaches him.

“We can keep talking all night,” Andy pats his shoulder, “or get things moving.”

“Whatever,” the man smooths his mustache.

You reluctantly move towards the third man, the one with no personality grown out on his lip or jaw. A baby face if you ever saw one. The way he leers makes you uncomfortable. He smells like Armani.

“Not smiling now, are you?” He says under his breath as he ushers you down the hall.

He points you into that same bedroom. You stop just inside and he shoulders past you with a grumble. You watch him go to the wardrobe and open it. You look between him and the door. You could make it.

You wait a few seconds as he pushes hangers over the bar. You take a step. He doesn’t notice. Another and he’s bitching about colours. You didn’t think men were that picky. You get right in the frame of the door and back out. He looks around the open wardrobe.

“Bye,” you wave and pull the door shut.

You know he’s probably swearing at you but you can’t hear him. You hold onto the handle and hit the little lock icon in the corner of the keypad. The deadbolt rolls into place.

This is it. You edge out to the living room. You don’t see anybody. Ernie sits where you left him, sniffing the air. He sees you and perks up. You wave him over and he lifts his rump, taking careful steps across the room.

You grab his collar and take him with you to the front door. You twist the handle, it doesn’t budge. You flip the lock over it, still nothing. You don’t know what to do. What the hell?

You search around you. The windows are barred, you can’t get out that way. There’s a small box right beside the door. You flip it open to reveal another keypad. Fuck.

“And where are we going, pussy cat?” The question nips your ears as a plastic ornament pings off the wall beside you. You spin and face the mustachioed menace. 

“You know, I just need some fresh air.”

Ernie growls and puts himself between you and the man, keeping the distance with his body. He prowls around, snout low as he paces back and forth. Lloyd steps closer and the dog mirrors him.

“Call that thing off,” he demands.

“Why would I do that?” You challenge.

“Well I’m sure you wouldn’t like it if I made him stop,” he opens and closes his fist.

“You wouldn’t hurt a puppy–”

“I’ll do what needs to be done,” he tilts his head.

“Ernie,” you call the dog, “quiet. Sit.”

The dog lets out a wispy boof but listens. He flops his butt down and glares at the man. You put your hands up and step forward.

“You’re mean. How can you threaten an innocent dog?”

“He drooled on my Jimmy Choo’s,” he says, “come on,” he grabs you by the back of the neck, “let’s go get the dumbass out.”

Ernie barks as you whimper. You flutter your hand at him as Lloyd’s fingertips pinch into your tendons, “Ern, it’s okay, I’m okay. Stay.”

He must hear the panic. He remains, restlessly shifting his front paws. You march beside the man back to the hallway. You reach to touch his arm and he only squeezes harder.

“Shouldn’t blame you for trying,” he says, “but I will.”

[sir-walton-goggins]

Kiss of Purple, Blue and Green

Summary: After a drunken night together, Arthur sees a love bite on your neck and mistakens it for a bruise.

Warnings: bit of angst and a whole lot of fluff, suggestive themes

Word count: 2,361

Ask and you shall receive. Here's a one shot of the scenario I posted a few days ago ;)

Check this out on A03: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54854827

Last night was still a bit of a blur, pieces of it manifesting disorderly, like trying to fit puzzle pieces into the wrong spots. All you knew for certain was two things: the pounding headache that was making you wince at each sound, and… that you and Arthur Morgan had been up to no good.

You shivered in the cold morning air, pulling the blanket over your trembling shoulders as you sat down in front of the last embers of the campfire, a steaming cup of coffee in your hands to warm you up. You could tell the sweet nectar was doing its job, as you were feeling more awake already. You thanked the Lord for coffee.

But you cursed him out the very next second, because you felt someone sitting next to you and you froze, your entire body stiffening. It wasn’t nice company.

“Hello there, cowpoke!” The mustached man roared, sending a wave of pain directly to your already aching temples.

“Micah… not now” you begged, features scrunched up in pain. Turning away from him, you downed the rest of the coffee in silence.

But you knew Micah. He wasn’t resisting the opportunity to have his fun with you in one of your rare vulnerable moments. He spun you around rudely, and grinned under his blonde stache when you recoiled and slapped his filthy hands away.

“Geez, does the liquor at least make you gentler? I’d have to ask Mr. Morgan about that!” he sneered loudly, prompting you to look around, alarmed.

“What do you want?” you hissed, moving in closer to shush him. Micah’s expression relaxed.

“Me? Oh, nothing, nothing at all!” he got up and paced in front of you, grabbing his belt. “If you want the whole camp knowing what you got up to, that is.”

His stupid, cocky smile made you want to punch it off his face, but you tried to keep your composure. Micah was Dutch’s second in command now, you didn’t think it smart to attack him like that. Inside, anger was boiling in your chest, filling your gaze with venom. The mere thought of him knowing what you did (something that was nebulous even to you, and so very private) made your skin crawl. Was he in Valentine too yesterday? Did he spy on y’all?

The man approached you, lowering his voice condescendingly. This would stay between the two of you, if… you did something for him. You were sitting there, trying to interpret his ominous request, you heart beating steadily faster as you felt cornered by this damned fool.

“What is it?” you sighed, wondering if being blackmailed by Micah was worth it, if it meant your foolish actions remained concealed.

This time, he got so close you could feel his foul breath on your nose. You grimaced and tried to suppress a gag. Man, he was disgusting, both inside and out. He cupped your chin, squeezing it firmly. He had just parted his lips to speak when you heard loud, thundering footsteps get closer and closer to your position. Next thing you knew, Micah was tumbling backwards, narrowly avoiding the campfire.

“DON’TCHA DARE TOUCH ‘EM, YOU PIECE OF SHIT!”

You tilted your head upwards in shock. There he was, the man you spent the night with; Arthur Morgan, a man you knew for years and who you never saw lose his temper was there, fists clenched and a murderous rage obscuring his usually sweet blue eyes. A man you had witnessed murder, steal and intimidate, yet his violence always felt calculated, measured in a way, but not this time.

And it was gone in seconds. He turned to you, his fury fizzled away into a worried expression as he asked you if you were okay. You nodded, dazed, still processing what had happened.

You both glanced at Micah, who was still trying to regain his balance after the fall, wiping away the mud and grass from his pants. His expression was his usual, douchy one, but you saw the genuine panic and the fear in his eyes when he was on the ground: he was scared of Arthur. It was clear as day, from the way he kept a safe distance from the both of you, his wounded ego showing. Arthur put on his intimidating gaze and scowled at him until he disappeared into his tent.

“So, what did the bastar-“ he interrupted himself, noticing something on your neck. There it was again, the rage. You saw his face become completely red with anger as he gently hovered his fingers on your bruise, the contrast between the two baffling. You tried to think of some words to defuse him, but before you had a chance to say anything, he shot up and started yelling at the whole camp.

“Okay, which one of ya bastards did this?! Jus’ lemme find out…” Arthur snarled, quite literally growling the threat like a rabid animal. He frantically looked around for the culprit, only finding tired eyes and people still in their night clothes blinking at him, incredulous and concerned at his unusual display of anger.

“Arthur…” you tried to get his attention, but his mind was miles away from you. He wanted justice for whoever dared to put their filthy hands on your precious skin. He was pacing menacingly, glaring at the other men in the gang.

“Come out, ya goddamn coward!!” he shouted, spelling the word “goddamn” even more harshly and slowly than usual. Boy, was he angry… he was starting to scare you, too. You sat there, frozen, pondering what to do.

Javier, Sean and Bill exchanged confused looks, standing each in front of their tents. Sean was the only one who darted a look at you, and you widened your eyes at him, shaking your head in disbelief. But Arthur interpreted that differently and marched towards the Irishman threateningly.

“I’m watching you, boah” he threatened, but Sean was difficult to intimidate, and kept that dumb smirk on his face. The older man grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, but Sean assured him he didn’t know what he was talking about.

“Leave the boy alone, Arthur” Javier intervened in his usual pacifying tone. “Besides, wasn’t you out with them last night?”

Arthur kept his grip on Sean, but his expression softened a bit, his scrunched eyebrows trying to remember the events of last night. Little by little, it came back to him: you had been out on a mission, robbing a stagecoach, and then… he vaguely recalled stopping at the saloon in Valentine.

He let go of the kid and you sighed in relief. You approached him, grabbed his arm and walked him to the edge of camp, where you two could have a private conversation.

You thought you were hiding it well, but Arthur still noticed the fright in your eyes. He realized he had gone too far.

“I’m so sorry I scared ya, darlin’…” he apologized, his tone softer than you’ve ever heard it, his eyes firmly on his feet. “That was way outta line… it’s jus’…” he gestured aimlessly, struggling to find the words. 

You took one of his hands in yours, gently kissing his bruised knuckles. You got was he was trying to say. When it came to you, all rationality went out of the window. He was sweet on you for a while now, and he was incredibly protective… this was just the first time you’d seen his feelings in action.

“I know. If someone hurt you, I’d probably do the same” you said gently, and his face relaxed into a smile.

You pointed at your neck, smiling in amusement. “This, however? All you.” you laughed, and then cracked up some more at Arthur’s sheer panic.

“Did… did I hurtcha?!” he gasped. He couldn’t stand the idea, not even for a second. It would destroy him if it was true. He’d never forgive himself.

“No, you fool!” you elbowed him in his ribs and explained that that was no bruise. It was a love bite.

“A… what?” he repeated, blinking rapidly. He never heard of such thing. You tried to explain that when he kissed your neck, he did it so… fervently, that he left a small mark just under your jawbone.

“Oh.” His cheeks lit up in a bright, tomato red and his pupils dilated in realization. You two kissed last night? He was starting to remember now…

The stagecoach robbing went exactly as planned. Of course it did: you and Arthur were a great team, excellent criminal minds that foresee every possible outcome and handle everything expertly. You made off with quite a lot of money and jewelry, so you both decided to celebrate the successful heist with a few drinks in Valentine.

“Just a couple, we still have to go back to camp to deposit the loot” you reminded your partner, putting a coin on the counter and gesturing towards the bartender.

“Of course, no crazy business tonight” the cowboy promised, downing his first shot.

Of course, you were both full of shit. The drinks kept coming, and coming, and coming, until the next thing you remember was you waking up in Arthur’s tent, his arms wrapped around you.

And there was a room… it had a bed, so maybe it was at the saloon?

“Did… did we share a room at the saloon?!” you asked Arthur, alarmed. He was staring straight ahead, hand on his chin, as the scene revealed itself to him.

He saw your exposed neck, head tilted backwards into the pillow as he peppered kisses all over your collarbone and chest, stopping at the edge of your jawline to suck on the tender skin that bruised so quickly, so easily. He heard your moans and his name repeated over and over in delight, as you went deeper and deeper, the friction of skin against skin delicious and exasperating at the same time.

He felt breathless now, his face burning unbearably in what? Arousal? Shame? Maybe both. He didn’t dare to look you in the eye, but seeing him that flustered was enough to prove to you what had happened. You did drunkenly sleep together in that room in Smithfield’s saloon. Some recollections came back to you, making your stomach flutter and your abdomen warm with desire. You saw Arthur in his entirety, remembering his touch on your bare skin, his tongue on your neck and chest, the hair a tangled mess that covered his face. His figure revealed itself in all its vulnerability, the mask of tough outlaw crumbling to reveal a tender, passionate lover that, even in his inebriated state, made sure to put your pleasure first. You silently watched him now, trying to piece together the two sides of him: the side that you always knew, and the new one that opened up to you last night.

Arthur looked back at you, interpreting your surprise as hesitation.

“You regret that, don’tcha?” he asked, an almost imperceptible note of sadness in his tone. “I do too, in a way.”

You were not sure whether to take that as an insult. “What do you mean?”

Arthur walked towards you, taking your hands in his. He lowered his voice into a whisper that covered you in goosebumps. His expression was hard to interpret.

“I regret not making our first time special.” He rubbed his thumb on your hand lovingly, smiling at you. There they were, the eyes you always knew, those breathtaking blues you would lose yourself in every day.

You tucked a hair strand behind his ear and lingered there, caressing his scruffy cheek. Arthur leaned right into your hand, melting under your touch.

“Oh, Arthur” you smiled at him, radiant. “It was special, because it was you.” You grabbed his collar and gently pulled him closer, then put your lips on his for a brief, chaste kiss.

“Nah, I could’ve done it right for ya” he shook his head, as always rejecting the compliment. One of these days you had to make him accept one, you promised yourself.

“Now I’m curious. What would you have done differently?”

Arthur took a moment to think. “Well… for starters, I wouldn’t have been that drunk!”

You chuckled. “Then, I’d book a nice bath for the two of us, with some good wine…” as he talked, he fidgeted with the collar of your shirt, resting his hands on your chest. “Then we’d have some dinner, maybe a walk… and then we’d go back to our room, to sleep in a nice, comfortable bed.”

“That does sound nice…” you remarked, almost disappointed that it wasn’t how it actually went. “Although that’s where it did end. In that nice bed.” You joked, making the man grin.  “I guess you’re right” he laughed, pulling you closer.  

“Besides,” you continued, lowering your tone, “there’s always the next time, y’know…” you purred, putting a lot on emphasis on the word “next” and giving him a playful smile. Arthur’s eyes lit right up, and he licked his lips.

“S’that so? And when is that?” he asked, his voice so deep it boomed inside his chest, so filled with desire that the warmth in you lower belly returned unannounced. Before you could answer, he was kissing you again, taking his time with it. His stubble tickled your skin, so thick and rough compared to his soft lips. You put your hands around his neck, one cupping his nape as he pushed you against the tree, lost in his affection for you.

“Get a room, you two!” you both jolted at the voice, realizing you weren’t as well hidden from the group as you’d thought. You smiled, embarrassed, watching Hosea wink at you as he walked away.

“Well, there goes our little secret, Arthur” you exhaled, laughing nervously.

“A secret? Who do ya think is responsible for pairin’ us up on every damn mission?” the cowboy laughed, pointing his thumb at Hosea’s back.

“C’mon, let’s go get some breakfast, darlin’.” After placing a kiss on your forehead, Arthur took your hand as you both went back to the group, relieved to not have to hide your love anymore.

[enchantedchocolatebars]

💙 Hot & Flirty 💙 (Beardo Philip x Lovestruck Witch! Reader)

Summary: You (the reader) are being hardcore flirted with by Beardo Philip. But... are you really?

Ao3 version

Gift art here.

Moodboard here.

@bilumi / @bilumiart

Enjoy!

"So, how often do you come here?" the bearded brunette with a bushy ponytail had inquired to you, his right hand pressed against the side as his feet were crossed.

The two of you were inside the Bonesborough Library, you standing in front of the entrance while he stood in front of you.

From where he sat, he saw your divine beauty, it rivaling that of an angel, and decided to send you a flirtatious wink, winking out a small star before he approached you.

Even though you weren't familiar with this human, you had already fallen deeply in love with him.

Was it the stache?

His blue coat?

The soft glow of his eyes when they gazed at you?

Maybe a combination of the three?

You weren't entirely sure, but before you could answer his question, the man took the initiative to take hold of your chin with careful fingers.

"You're so cute," he purred, his voice low and just flirty enough to bring color to your cheeks.

"Thank you," you giggled out.

His touch and tender voice made you melt right away.

"Kiss me?" the human asked.

His eyes were closed, and his voice was so soft and needy.

He needed you.

You were quick to respond to his request with a smile.

As the two of you kissed and soaked in each other's affection, you could already see how bright your future would be with this man.

Sadly, this wasn't reality.

...

"Move," Philip had ordered with a no-nonsense grumble.

His expression was visibly sour as his annoyed frown was hidden beneath his scruffy beard.

The two of you were inside the Bonesborough Library, you standing in front of the entrance while he stood in front of you.

He had noticed you staring at him for quite some time from where he was sitting, and just when he was about to leave, you decide to block his way.

Really?

"Of course," you giggle with a dopey smile as you take a small sidestep, still stuck in your lovey-dovey daydream.

The hearts that were floating in your eyes made Philip grimace.

"Allow me." You quickly pushed the door open for Philip before he could do it himself.

Your kind gesture, while surprising him, only caused him to huff as he walked past you.

"You're not getting a thank you, by the way, witch," he told you harshly before leaving.

You only sighed a love-struck sigh as you watched the man walk off.

[advertingpizza]

HI!

i redid waves some after art fight!! also experimented with a newish style w/ black outlines and a simpler shading technique than what i was originally suffering through

i felt him being an alpha clone, while cool for the unaltered aging, didn't quite fit his personality. i also had a gripe with how overly complicated the kobe stripes on his armor turned out, so i opted for some more simple and artist-friendly designs on both his body armor and his helmet!

i upgraded his old armor from clone captain to full arc w/ double pauldrons and the added chest guard. the helmet is not the correct helmet, i was just lazy and didn't feel like drawing an entirely new one so i threw some new tamaskan-inspired (dog) markings on it. also put his hair in a lil bun because as someone with long curly hair, having it in a bun while i am working is a must. lastly, i got rid of the upper part of his 'stache because it made any facial expression he had look... cursed

he is still an arc trooper, CT-25-4775 (definitely not my old discord tag dsjufsejik). close ups and inspo below!

the comic-ish style im in love raaa

same helmet as before but with a uv visor inspired by a pair of sunglasses from gta LOL

NOT MY DOG, i just really fell in love with the face marks so i mixed them onto his helmet

pose! i realized i could use my rex rex collection to aid in my clone drawing endeavors. mini rex having a mid life crisis helped

this one is honestly self explanatory lol

thanks for reading! i'd like to get into the habit of sharing what inspires me to make my art just because! i love seeing other artists do it and nothing is stopping me from doing it too. hope you all have lovely days!

[swifty-fox]

⁶⁾ “i can’t believe it took a night like that for you to let me help you with something.” for Clegan please ? 🥹❤️ Only if it inspires you of course ❤️

uhhh guess this is a sequel to this other bathing scene

have another 1k of the buckies being cute

"Tell me something Buck," John's fingers swipes across Gale's bottom lip, presses a dimple into the plush center and replaces it with his lips for a brief chaste kiss, "how come you can't grow hair nowhere but your chin and I can everywhere but that."

Gale hums, closes his eyes as the razor scrapes along his adam apple in an audible rasp. He waits for John to pull the blade away, wiping it on a clean cloth to speak, "Guess I'm just lucky, John."

"Bestowed with looks that would make the Greeks and the Romans weep. Talented, smarter than any man in the room, perfect blue eyes, a full head of hair, the prettiest pink cock and hole I've ever seen-"

"Bucky"

"-and you're calling yourself lucky 'cos you can grow a beard in a week unlike the rest of us women."

He's laughing, the boney curve of his wrist pressed to his mouth to hide his grin and he hardly cares he's getting shaving cream there because Bucky's grinning at him with the full wattage of his mirth, face crinkling like expensive silk into a beautiful expression Gale knows by heart.

"Are you going to just flirt or are you going to help me shave this damn mustache?"

"Hmm," John squints his eyes playfully at him, leaning around his body to swish the straightrazor through the washbasin in the tiny London hotel room they'd gotten for the weekend.

Gale's chin is captured once again in a confident grip, sharp blade dragging across his skin with tender precision. His thighs are spread to make room for the broad spanse of John's body and it would be an easy movement to grind their hips together and turn this interaction altogether something different.

"You should keep the 'stache," John says, pulling away to clean the blade again, "It makes you look dashing."

"It makes me look like a child who can't grow hair anywhere else but his upper lip."

"You wound me, Buck."

The smile is an unwilling thing. His problem has always been that he can't resist John Egan's personality. The looks were a boon but he thinks the other man could have been plumb ugly and Gale would have still been his devoted man from the first moment.

He smiles at John and can't drop it even as John glides the knife across his throat.

He watches John's face and ponders the trust, the vulnerability. The sudden image of John tilting the blade too sharply, flesh zippering open under the tool turned weapon. He'd let him, Gale thinks. He'd let John do that to him, give him his blood and his life and everything else he might have. Unable to suppress his shudder when John presses the razor to his throat again, it makes John pause.

"I love you," He says, openly and blandly and for the first time aloud because it hadn't felt safe to do so while they were at war.

John, who had turned to rinse the razor, drops it with a clatter and Gale is subject to the glorious experience of a John Egan who is struck speechless.

"I-"

"Is that okay?" Gale interrupts, struck by a sudden nerve. Maybe this wasn't what they were supposed to be. Maybe it was too bold, too open for the secrecy that was asked of him.

"Is it - Jesus, Buck-" John kisses him, smearing shaving cream between their chins, "You're insane. I love you. Of course it's fucking okay. I love you." he repeats it a third time, as if he'd been holding them back and now could finally set every instance free.

Gale smiles, lazy and tired and warm under the hands fo his fella. John kisses him again and laughs.

"I can’t believe it took a night like this for you to let me help you with something"

[bellysoupset]

"Hey man, you busy?"

Daniel's head snapped up so quickly he felt his neck cracking. He winced, grabbing it to rub it and tried not blush out of embarrassment. Monacelli was hanging at his door, looking incredibly amused, his bag slung over his arm and falling near his hip, blocking most of the sunlight from entering the classroom.

Max recovered quickly, clearing his throat and looking back to the task at hand. He was putting away the dried dishes utilized during his chem experiment with the 14 year old kids, the bell having already rung signifying the end of school day, "No," he dried his hands on his bleach stained jeans and crouched down to put away the beakers, "just finishing up here, why?"

"You got any plans for tonight?"

Max thanked god his head was inside the cabinet and Vince couldn't see his surprised expression. Without looking at the man, he shrugged, "nope..." in truth, he had plans alright. Make himself dinner, get high and watch a movie in the tv, probably crash his own couch.

"Great, I'm taking you out!"

Now Max straightened up, hitting his head in the inside of the cabinet. He let out a whine, rubbing at the sore spot, "...What?" the words came out strangled and Vince let out a chuckle.

"So, turns out it's your birthday today?" Vince leaned against the door, "I'm guessing you're aware of that."

"No, first time hearing it," Max rolled his eyes, "I don't care about my birthday, man, you don't ha-"

"I'm not asking," Vince squinted at him and Max gulped down, cursing himself. He hadn't realized how much... How nice Vin was to look at, "get your shit, I'm waiting for you in the parking lot!"

Max felt ridiculous as he grabbed his bag in the teacher's lounge and went to meet with Monacelli in the parking lot. He hadn't had a crush in a lifetime, since his high school years and Max hated the clammy feeling in his hands or the fluttering in his stomach. Not only it felt childish, but it was completely out of place, Vince was very very taken. He needed to digest those butterflies.

"So what's the plan?" Max walked towards his own pick-up, noticing Vince had already put away his bag under his bike's seat.

"I wasn't sure what was your style, so I came up with a couple ideas," Vince scratched as his cheek in an embarrassed manner and Max raised his eyebrows. More than one option?

"Let's hear them," he leaned against his car, throwing his bag in the passenger seat.

"We hit the bar down your street, what's the name again? Stache's?"

"Uh-hu."

"So yeah, Stache's, then we go up La Dolce Vitta for cake," Vince raised his thumb in order to mark it as option 1, then uncurled his index finger to show it was a new option, "or we can go to the community soccer game and finish it up with beers at the Stache's," he uncurled his middle finger, "or we can go bowling and order the cake from La Dolce Vitta. I'm open for ideas, too."

Max's mouth was dry like a desert. He couldn't remember the last time anyone had remembered his birthday and here was Vince, just some dude he had met nearly six months ago and actively disliked for five of these, with three options of celebration.

"All of them suck?" Vince pouted, misunderstanding his silence, "I don't know, what do you do for fun? Go to a shooting club?"

"Sometimes I hike," Max answered unhelpfully, feeling completely thrown out, "soccer- Soccer's cool."

"Oh yeah?" Vince brightened up like a labrador puppy, opening a huge smile, "okay. Soccer it is -" he squinted then, "but don't expect me to go easy on you just because it's your birthday."

"Oh nooo, whatever will I do," Max rolled his eyes, sarcasm dripping from his words and Vince brushed him off, sitting on top of his bike, so they could drive separately.

Doveport had a big community sport's center, but Max didn't frequent it. In fact, he was very antisocial. The opposite of Monacelli, who jumped from his bike and immediately was greeted by five other men, whom Max had never seen in his life, of various ages. Young kids just fresh out of high school, older retired men...

"Do you know everyone?" Max frowned, as he followed Vince to the locker room's that led to the small outdoor soccer field. It wasn't big, but made do, much like the other fields. One for tennis, one for volleyball, one for basketball and a pool that clearly had seen better days and no one was using.

"I talk with people," Vince shrugged, turning around and walking backwards, "you should try it, it's a wonder what being nice to other's can do."

"Yeah, sure Mary Poppins," the blonde rolled his eyes, then paused as they entered the locker rooms. He definitely couldn't play in jeans-

Vince stripped down his shirt, balling it up and throwing it in the bench in the middle of the room and Max's thoughts vanished. The brunette turned around, undoing the fly of his own jeans and frowned, pausing, "you're not gonna change?"

"I don't-" Max looked away, grimacing at his own fumbling, "I've never been here, I don't know-"

"Ah, you can't go in the field wearing jeans," Vince gestured to a big locker open in the opposite side of the room, "see? They have gym shorts and vests for you to grab. They're smelly, but whatever, I don't mind. Do you?"

"Oh, no- We just grab them?"

"Yeah," Vin nodded, "but we need to return them when we're done, of course -" he pointed at a wall with smaller lockers, "here you put your clothes and take the key, there's a board near the field to hang them up and write your name under... I can't believe you've never been here, you lived in this town your whole life, dude."

Max shrugged, glaring at his feet, "team sports are not very my speed."

"Uhm," Vince let out a judgmental huff, "c'mon, hurry up, they're about to leave the field."

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

Max was going to throw up.

Not just because of the fucking-ridiculous-damned butterflies, but because he had forgotten Vince was a football star. How had he forgotten that?

Sure, this was soccer, not football, but that meant absolutely nothing in the grand scheme of things. He had erroneously assumed he'd be more fit than Vince, given the man was chubby, while Max fairly slim. Wrong.

"My nonna runs faster than you, Daniels," Vince teased him, not breathless in the least, slamming that huge hand of his against Max's back. The blonde groaned, bracing against his knees, sweat running down... Well, everywhere. He was drenched in sweat, couldn't catch his breath and his lunch was threatening to come back up.

Max let out a groan, raising his middle finger and causing Vin to let out a cackle, "c'mooooon, you can still win!"

No, he couldn't! The game was mano a mano, meaning there was no goalie or other player, and yet the points were 8 goals for Vin, versus Max's measly 2 points.

"Fuck. You," Max groaned, walking out of the field and collapsing down on a bench. The older men who had been watching them snickered, other people entering the field and patting Vince's arm as they passed him by.

Max spread out his legs, clutching his chest and struggling to breathe, "fuck. Why did I pick this?"

"I don't know," Vince's voice was full of glee, "should've gone bowling, I suck at that."

The blonde raised his head, it was already past sunset and there were crickets chirping and people shouting and laughing in the background, although mostly he only heard the blood drumming in his ears.

"You fooled me."

"Nope," Vince grinned, passing him a paper cup filled with water, "you just didn't think it through."

"You're such an asshole," Max groaned, greedily chugging the water and the letting out a small burp, "I feel like I'm gonna barf."

The other man only laughed, thumping his back once more and sitting down next to him, "we'll go bowling some other night so you can stop being a sore loser."

"Shut the fuck up," Max scoffed, straightening up once he managed to let out another small burp and his lunch seemed content staying put. Sorta, the queasy feeling was still there.

"Beers now?"

He should've said no. Come up with any excuse and bailed.

However Max was having fun, even if he was dead on his feet and his head pounding from running that much, and Vince's face was all blushed, his curls sticking to his forehead and... Well. Yeah.

Stache's was a seedy bar next to Max's place, the name wasn't even actually Stache's, but everyone called it that given the sheer amount of men wearing ugly mustaches that frequented it.

Max was still dizzy from overexertion when they sat down in a little table near the door, in order to enjoy the cold night air, and Vince went to the counter to get them beers, insisting he'd buy since it was Daniel's birthday.

"Here you go," Vince planted a cold bottle in front of his eyes, then messed his hair and Max ducked his face, trying to move away from the touch.

Vince sat down in front of him, clinking their beers together, "cheers man, happy birthday."

"Thanks," Max's cheeks hurt with a blush and he busied himself chugging his beer, "how'd you find out anyway?"

"Shelley, from the front desk," Vince raised his eyebrows, "she's suuuch a gossip and happens to adore my cookie recipe."

"She is such a gossip, uh?" Max snorted, "pot calling the kettle black here," he took another big gulp, "when is yours?"

"In a month," Vin rolled his eyes, "4th of July."

Max opened a smirk, "America's most patriotic immigrant," he teased lightly, causing Vin's brows to meet and him to hesitate, "you are an immigrant, right? I'm not remembering it wrong...?"

Vince's frown cleared up, "No, I am, just didn't think- Didn't think you remembered."

"Hard to forget, I have your kid sister swearing at me in Italian every exam season," he leaned back, starting to relax. This didn't have to be weird, he could small talk.

Eight beers, each, later and Max's cheek was resting on his hand as he heard Vince prattle on about his family.

"No-" Max shook his head, then grimaced as the movement made his stomach roll. A burp sneaked up and he curled his hand in front of his lips to let it out, "we still talk, just not-" another thick burp rolled up and he made a face, hating the sensation, "not much."

"Ah, that sucks, I'm sorry," Vince sounded so sympathetic and Max rolled his eyes, knowing the guy couldn't relate in the least to Max and his distant relationship with his parents.

"Eh, it's fine," he shrugged, finishing off his beer, "we're very different people anyway."

"Do you still keep contact with those guys you used to hang out with-" Vince's squinted, trying to remember, "the big ginger kid and the asian one-"

"Tyler and Lee," Max cleared up, shaking his head, "hell no, nobody from high school. Lee's kid is in your class, though. Little girl, super cute."

Vince looked like he was trying to figure out whom out of his students, before he shook his head, dropping the subject, "met with my high school sweetheart in the grocery store the other day, that was an experience."

Max chuckled at the sarcasm, then regretted it when his stomach churned uneasily and caused him to jump with a painful hiccup, "sorry- HIC! So-Hic!- how was..." he trailed off, moving a hand under the table in order to press on his belly and Vince leaned back on his seat, finishing off his own beer.

"She seemed happy, but tried to pretend she didn't see me, so-" he raised his eyebrows as Max jumped with yet another hiccup, this one ending with a frothy burp, "you alright there, bud?"

Max groaned at the condescending nickname, before lowering his head in shame, "drank too-HIC!-fuck-" the hiccup brought with it a splash of alcohol and it burned his throat to swallow it back down.

"Aww, shit, I forgot you got the world's most sensitive gut," Vince cringed and despite his teasing words, he looked genuinely concerned, as Max's alcohol flushed cheeks started to pale, "I'm gonna get the bill."

"Here-" Max reached for his wallet, agreeing wordlessly it was time to call it night, but Vince shooed him off.

"I invited you," he circled the table, "my treat."

"Nons-" before he could complain, Vince had already left and Max was feeling too queasy to insist on the matter. Instead he collected his keys and walked outside, to the familiar bush he had already thrown up more than once in. He was a regular at Stache's.

Max braced against the brick wall of the side of the seedy bar and took a deep breath, staring at his sneakers. He wasn't drunk, far from it, but quickly decided he was gonna leave his pickup there and walk to get it in the morning. His house was just around the corner anyway.

His stomach was burning and it felt tight to the touch, letting out an upset growl when Max pressed on it. He spat in the curb, cringing at the taste, then belched deeply.

"Oh, there you are, I thought you left!" Monacelli's voice was loud, in every setting. Like he had a microphone inside his chest. Max groaned, his throat bobbing dangerously.

"Gonna hurl."

"Really? Couldn't tell," Vince teased him lightly and Max flinched when he felt the other man's hand coming to rest between his shoulder blades, the pressure causing another belch to come up, this one with a mouthful of stale beer with it, "there you go."

"Uuuurgh-" Max squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his fist to his stomach, trying to hurry the process along. Faintly he heard Vince saying in a distant voice "hey, don't do that", but finally his belly threw in the towel and the next wert burp brought up a rush of liquid.

Max curled up, jumping back when the pressure caused the vomit to splatter and he whined as he felt his hair tickling his cheeks, falling from the knot he had loosely made a couple hours prior.

"I got you," Vince planted a hand on his shoulder, then the strands of hair vanished, just as Max coughed up another powerful stream and hiccupped once more.

"Fucking- Embarrassing," Max thumped his chest, until a burp came up and then stumbled back, until he was resting on the opposite wall of the alleyway, "sorry."

"Why are you apologizing, you're the one getting sick in your birthday," Vince frowned, then raised up a bottle of cold water, "got you this."

Max's eyes stung at the gesture and he cleared his throat, snatching the bottle and mumbling a little "thanks," as he started drinking it, "gross."

Monacelli shrugged, "your stomach's better?"

"Eh," Max sighed, wiping at his face and cringing when he felt his beard was humid. He wiped it with the hem of his shirt, "it's gonna be a bitch for the rest of the night, but it's not as bad as before."

"How do you live like this?" Vince wrinkled his nose and Max let out a chuckle, moving so he was standing next to the man and realizing Vin was walking him home.

"Don't ask me," Max huffed, continuing to sip the water, "make it a sport. Last month I only hurled seven times," he grinned as Vince gave him a horrified look.

"You're a champ," the guy said, shoving his hands in his pocket, "I mean, in everything but soccer."

"Oh fuck you," Max cried out, but he was smiling from ear to ear. This was the best birthday he had had probably ever. He was so fucked.

[mazzystar24]

Never give a sociology girlie an excuse to research queer subcultures and identity expressions

This is about the gay moustache

Because this has bought back memories of hegemonic masculinity vs hyper masculinity and how queer communities subvert stuff and one of those things that came up in class WAS the Freddy mercury stache so now I have to do a deep dive on the origin of the stache and whether he was the one who started it