#i just thought it sounded more like an 'american' nickname

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

María Félix (Doña Barbara, La Mujer sin Alma, Rio Escondido, La Cucaracha)—Maria Felix is still possibly the most well-known Mexican film actress. She turned down multiple-roles in Hollywood and a contract with Metro-Goldwyn-Meyer in order to take roles in Mexico, France, and Argentine throughout the 1940s, 50s, 60s. She was so famous and so respected as a dramatic actress that she inspired painters, novelists and poets in their own art--she was painted by Diego Rivera, Jose Orozco, Bridget Tichenor. The novelist Carlos Fuentes used her as inspiration for his protagonist in Zona Sagrada. She inspired an entire collection by Hermes. In the late 1960s Cartier made her a custom collection of reptile themed jewels. She considered herself to be powerful challenger of morality and femininity in Mexico & worldwide--she routinely played powerful women in roles with challenging moral choices and free sexuality. But even still, years after he death, she is celebrated with Google Doodles, and appearances in the movie Coco, and holidays for the anniversary of her death.

Julie Andrews (The Sound of Music, Mary Poppins)—Oh where to start .... I'm not sure I even know how. She's just perfection. And it's not fair I can't bring post 70s work into this, because she just gets better and better, and her drag performance in to die for. But in the era I CAN talk about, she shows she has THE RANGE. Beautiful, feisty, funny, holding her own against Christopher Plummer, Paul Newman, Rock Hudson. Oh she's luminous.

This is round 4 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

María Félix:

She's Thee Hot Vintage Movie Woman of México. She's absolutely gorgeous and always looks like she's about to step on you. you WILL be thankful if she does.

"María Félix is a woman -- such a woman -- with the audacity to defy the ideas machos have constructed of what a woman should be. She's free like the wind, she disperses the clouds, or illuminates them with the lightning flash of her gaze." - Octavio Paz

María Félix is one of the most iconic actresses of the Golden Era of Mexican Cinema. La Doña, as she was lovingly nicknamed, only had one son, and when her first marriage ended in divorce her ex-husband stole her only child, so she vowed that one day she’d be more influential than her ex and she’d get her son back. AND SHE DID! María Félix rejected a Hollywood acting role to start her acting career in Mexico on her own terms with El Peñón de las Ánimas (The Rock of Souls) starring alongside actor, and future third husband, Jorge Negrete. She quickly rose to incredible heights both in Mexico and abroad, later on rejecting a Hollywood starring role (Duel in the Sun) as she was already committed to the movie Enamorada at the planned filming time. Of this snubbing she said, quote: “I will never regret saying no to Hollywood, because my career in Europe was focused in [high] quality cinema. [My] india* roles are made in my country, and [my] queen roles are abroad.” (Translator notes: here the “india” role means interpreting a lower-class Mexican woman, usually thought of indigenous/native/mixed descent —which she had interpreted and reinvented throughout her acting career in Mexico— and what abroad was typically considered the Mexican woman stereotype, with the braids, long simple skirts, and sandals. This also references the expectation of her possibly helping Hollywood in perpetuating this stereotype for American audiences that lack the cultural and historical contexts of this type of role which would undermine her own efforts against this type of Mexican stereotypes while working in Europe) She was considered one of the most beautiful women in the world of her time by international magazines like Life, París Match, and Esquire, and was a muse to a vast number of songwriters (including her second husband Agustin Lara,), artists, designers, and writers. Muralist Diego Rivera described her as “a monstrously perfect being. She’s an exemplary being that drives all other human beings to put as much effort as possible to be like her”. Playwriter Jean Cocteau, who worked with her in the Spanish film La Corona Negra (The Black Crown) said the following about her, “María, that woman is so beautiful it hurts”. Haute Couture houses like Dior, Givenchy, Yves Saint Laurent, Balenciaga, Hérmes, among others, designed and dressed her throughout her life. She died on her birthday, April 8, 2002, at 88 years old, in Mexico City. She was celebrated by a parade from her home to the Fine Arts Palace in the the city’s Historic Downtown, where a multitude of people paid tribute to her. Her filmography includes 47 movies from 1942 until 1970, and only two television acting roles in 1970. She has 2 music albums, one recorded with her second husband, Agustín Lara, in 1964 titled La Voz de María y la inspiración de Agustín «The voice of María and the inspiration of Augustín», and her solo album Enamorada «In Love» in 1998. Her bespoke Cartier jewelry is exhibited alongside Elizabeth Taylor’s, Grace Kelly’s and Gloria Swanson’s. In 2018, Film Director Martin Scorsese presented a restored and remastered version of her film Enamorada in the Cannes Classics section of the Cannes Festival and Google dedicated a doodle for her 104th birthday. On august 2023 Barbie added her doll to the Tribute Collection.

Julie Andrews propaganda:

"She has such a simple but amazing beauty to her. Not to mention her amazing and melodic singing voice!"

"Roles like nannies and governesses can make us forget how attractive she was! A perfect combination of elegant and adorable, with the most incredible vocal range to boot!"

"Besides having one of the most amazing singing voices ever to grace the silver screen, Julie always had an understated beauty to her that wasn't always shown off on screen. But it's there nonetheless because her characters managed to pull some of the hottest men ever to grace the screen."

"The juxtaposition between carefree Maria and stern but fun Mary Poppins shows the power of the acting of this HOT VINTAGE MOVIE WOMAN"

"Charming, genteel, incredibly charismatic, beautiful, and has an angelic singing voice to boot. Her screen roles as Maria in The Sound of Music and Mary Poppins are absolutely iconic for a reason and she originated several well-known Broadway roles before those."

"the most beautiful woman 12 year old me had ever seen possibly"

"OMG OMG OMG she’s definitely been submitted before how could she NOT but!!!! I loveeee her so muchhhh rahhhh prebby!!!! cool!!!! mary poppins the beloved <33333 some people dislike it but I love jolly holiday so much because it IS a jolly holiday with Mary!!! no wonder that it’s Mary that we love!!!!!"

"I know many people who were taught in singing lessons "when in doubt, pronounce words how julie andrews would pronounce them." THATS CALLED INFLUENCE. THATS CALLED MOTHERING THOUSANDS."

[mrsmiseryxo]

he holds me in his arms, it’s no good

rick grimes x fem!reader

🎧 American Tradition- Nicole Dollanganger

Rick Grimes takes you in after the fall of Woodbury. Having lost everyone, you form a special relationship with the man. After the virus shakes the group, The governor comes back with a vengeance. You flee with Rick. As you get closer with him, you want him to see your relationship very differently.

4.7k (sorry)

Disclaimer and A/N- Some canon divergence. carl is fine but let’s just say he is with michonne until they reconnect. Judith is fine too. A bit of angst. This idea came to me in a dream!!! Not proofread

CW and Tags- Angst, age gap ( reader is in her early 20s) unprotected p in v, fingering, Loss of virginity, a lot of intimacy,, protective soft rick who is a bit reluctant,loss of loved ones ( mentioned) trauma bonding, cute nicknames,can’t think of any more lol

It’s a cool Georgia morning. The stomp of Rick’s boots makes the leaves sound extra crunchy. Cicadas hidden in the trees chirp as the two of you scavenge for shelter. It’s been 3 days since the destruction of the prison. As you and Rick walk along a highway, your hands interlock your hand in his hand.

As far as being in the apocalypse goes, you’ve had it pretty easy. You’ve always had somewhere to go, and people to rely on. You were in college when everything started, states away from your family. You’ll realize early on that you’d never see them again, and disturbingly, you tried to forget them altogether. This path of thinking was clearly unhealthy, you knew, but this entire situation was dysfunctional and not ideal, to say the very least.

You were at Woodbury for a while. You were eternally glad and gracious, because you knew if you went out into the outside world, you would die immediately. You couldn’t shoot a gun, the thought of running made you ill. After the fall of Woodbury, Rick Grimes and his group in the prison took you in. As you always fit a domestic role, Hershel taught you to plant and raise pigs. You would spend your early mornings and afternoons tending to the pigs, and hanging out with Rick.

The two of you would talk about mundane things, the movies you used to like, the weather, and how fast the pigs were growing. You saw the glimpses of his troubled nature here and there, but he was really trying. That's all he could do, was try. He put in effort to be a good father to Carl and Judith.

On one particularly hot night, the two of you bare your soul to one another. You were feeling particularly sad because it was a hot and humid afternoon, you were sticky all over and covered in bug bites. It was late summer, the time of year when the outbreak had started. While digging a hole to plot a new plant, heavy glops of tears ran down your face, and small sniffles were let out. You had your face in your hands, as tears fell into the planter. Rick has been watering the plants, whistling. Rustling around, he didn’t notice your soft cries, at first. And when he did, he immediately dropped the watering tin and jogged to you.

Hey, hey what’s going on? what happened, you alright sweetheart?” He showed great concern in the tone of his voice, looking tentatively into your eyes, as you tried to wipe your tears away with your sleeve. Pulling you in for a hug, you’re hit with his dusty musk, his scent grounding you, calming your nerves. You shiver under him as he holds your head in his forearms and hands.

“ I don know if it's any consolation, but m always he’re for you.” He says ever so softly. He places his lips, softly, on the top of your head.

You manage to let out a hushed “ thank you” into his shoulder.

He whispers an “ anytime” while still holding you. It's more intimate than anything you've ever done. His forearms, muscular and defined, entangle you lightly. An unspoken bond was formed, and your understanding of each other was taken to a new level. You continue to sniffle into his linen-lined shoulder.

You two were like that for a while. Touch had begun to be a rare commodity in the end times so you cherished it with every moment you had. A simple high five had left your hand with a stinging aftershock.

The air around you two shifted, and you began to see him differently. He obviously caught your eye even before you said one word to him, but the feeling was starting to be mutual.

Rick was at war with himself. His wife had just passed, he had a baby daughter to look out for and this wasn’t necessarily the time for a crush on a girl decades younger than him. But he couldn’t deny how you made him laugh at the silliest things, and how you scared the devil out of him when you clumsily fell or scraped your knee. You simultaneously make him anxious, and tranquil. The very sight of you gives him relief, makes him forget his situation.

The two of you sit down on the grass. He grasps your hand as you spill out what's wrong.

“ Uhh. I dunno. Guess I've just been feeling weird lately. The weather makes me feel sad. Reminds me when it first happened. Last time I spoke with any of my family members it was months before the outbreak. I never kept in contact. I really regret that, should have.” Your voice steady now that you feel a breeze coming in. You pull out patches of grass in pinches.

“ ts alright. I got in a fight with Lori, that was the last time I saw her until I woke up from my coma” He explains and smiles, looking ahead at the prison, the rays of red sunlight illuminating his face. You swear he’s the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen, comparative to a painting.

You never wanted to ask him about her, you’ve only heard whispers of the man’s wife. You didn’t want to think about that, and you didn’t want to think about Rick thinking about her.

He gets up and offers his hand. “C'mon, lets go wash up” As he walks you to the prison, you rest your head on his shoulder.

That was a few weeks before the virus. It was hard to be in the dark if any of the people you began to bond with were alive, close to dying, or not.

Then the governor came back. Gunshots rang around the prison. Your shoulders hung up with fear as Rick approaches the governor's army. Hershel is killed. You grab a gun and shoot whoever is charging at you. Rick catches you and yells for you to run. A blur you could hardly remember. Flashes of quick movements feel like forever, until Rick grabs your hand.

The two of you escape through a fence, as Rick watches Carl run with Michonne.

Rick couldn’t think of anything right now, except for protecting you. He knew Michonne and Carl would be safe with one another, all he needed to pay attention to was you. He wouldn’t let you out of his sight.

Traveling for days on end without a sign of a safe shelter began to take a toll on both of you, especially Rick. He didn’t know when he would see his son or his newborn daughter. He still had to bring you to safety, figure out the next course of action.

The only thing he had to calm the storm was you. He was glad that it was you that he ran with. Your protection and safety were the thing driving him, he needed you just as much as you needed him. To pass the time, the two of you would whistle and hum and sing your favorite songs. You’d began to sing “Take Me Home, Country Roads” while practically skipping.

“Hey slow down, kid, can’t keep up with ya” He chuckles while jokingly warning you.

“I'll stop if you sing with me” you giggle, as you find solace in constant moments of distress.

His eyebrows furrow and he scoffs. He starts singing, horribly so, to get you to stop skipping.

A peace of mind was needed. You come across the library hidden in the trees near a country club. Rick looks at you spotting it, as you try not to mention it. You know it’s probably run with walkers, and it’s not a good idea to go.

“Let’s check this out. We won’t be long but maybe they have a couple things” He sternly points out. “That okay with you?” his drawl comes out a bit at the end of the question. You give him a slight smile and a nod.

“Good” He takes your hand and as a force of habit, you look both ways while crossing the street.

“You don’t have to do that, you know that doll?” He giggles. The two of you giggle too much in the apocalypse.

“ I know but I kinda want to,” you explain to him.

He looks down at you and softly whispers, “You’re like sunshine,” You can barely hear what he says, but based on the stoic expression on his face, you probably shouldn’t ask him to repeat.

The two of you stroll to the library while Rick checks for walkers. You’ve only ever killed a handful, but you know you needed to be useful so you had your hand on your knife holster.

He holds the door open for you and gives you the all-clear. With a gun in his hand, he scans the place for walkers, listening for any low groans. He puts his gun back when he doesn’t see any. A hand caresses your back as he motions for you to go ahead.

You wander the adult fiction section of the library. The books on the shelf are collecting dust, which makes you quite sad. You browse the A section and come across Sense and Sensibility, one of your favorites. Rick comes up behind you.

“ Hey, can I take this?” You look up at him.

“ Yeah, of course, take whatever you want sweetheart” He whispers. You swoon at the use of his pet name and get embarrassed at yourself for it. It’s horrible that you smile at every interaction you have with him, but you know he doesn’t think of you like that. It would be silly to think otherwise. You shove your feelings down and feel something turn in your gut.

He walks over to the T section and grabs a copy of The Hobbit.

You scan the employee break room find gauze in a first aid kit and decide to put it in your backpack.

��Alright, let’s get outta here. I think I see a neighborhood some way” He says again in a low tone.

You tiptop in front of him as he moves his gun around looking for walkers while exiting. You walk in each other's silence while on your journey to a simple house without any walkers nearby. He offers you some peanuts out of a pack he found in the library. You take them.

You and Rick settle in. It’s homey and has no residents, so it’s absolutely perfect. You take your boots off to make minimal noise, as you roam and try not to make creaks on the wooden floor.

“Be careful, yeah?” Rick settles on the couch, body spread out, stifling a groan. The image of him laid out like that is almost pornographic. He licks his lips, his shirt is lifted up a bit and you can see his defined biceps, hands on top of his head, his stomach peaking out. You close your eyes for a second and imagine yourself sitting at his feet, hands on his thigh while he pets your head. You shake the image immediately and roam upstairs.

All of the bedrooms are intact. You walk into what seems like the primary bedroom. You descend down the stairs to alert Rick and give him the all-clear. He is peacefully asleep and silent. You walk over to him and grab his jacket. A hand plays with his hair softly, as you admire his sheer beauty. The shape of his nose, his pale piercing eyes, and his dark coiled hair.

You settle down on a rickety old chair, watching over him as he rests, draping his jacket over you like a warm blanket. All you can think about is how grateful you are to have Rick here. It truly was the best-case scenario, him with you. You watch him sleep peacefully as you beam at the image of Rick finally resting.

While fast asleep, Rick could feel your eyes on him and moves his mouth in a slight twitch. The only reason that he’s able to close his eyes is because you’re there. His little angel. You read your book as the light peaking through the window begins to dwindle, and the air gets cooler. He wakes up after a couple of pages. He sluggishly gets up and gives you a sleepy smile with half-shut eyes. You offer him water you filtered while camping out in the forest. He thanks you for the water while guzzling it down, water dripping down his chin, he wipes it all over. You tell him that you saw some board game upstairs in the main bedroom. He follows you up.

The both of you settle on the bed, sitting up. He can’t stop staring at you, like he’s about to devour you. You walk over to a small bookshelf holding Connect Four, monopoly, and a deck of playing cards.

“What do you want to play?” You ask considerately.

“Uh… your pick” He runs his hands over his hair.

You take out the deck of cards, looking at it tentatively.

“Ya know I've never played any card games”

He clears his throat and responds. “Really, well we’ll start real simple. Uh, let’s play War. It’s easy, you’re a smart girl so you’ll catch on quick,” he chuckles.

You’re on the edge of the bed near the bed frame, you take the deck out of its case. He leans in closer to you as you inhale his musk. You hand him the cards as your eyes linger on his hands.

“ Alright so here’s what we do. So basically,” You do not pay attention to what he’s saying. A nod is given, you say that you get it and you’re ready to play. To be quite honest, you don’t care about the game. All you really want is to pounce on him.

Surprisingly, Rick catches on. He sighs, “We don’t have to play if you don’t want to. Looks like you clocked out” He gives you a slight smile.

“Nah, I want to but I got something on my mind, it’s really nothing,” Your gaze shifts to the wooden floor.

“Well spill, this a good time as any,” Southern definitely drawn.

“ Well, when we were in the prison, before the virus, before the governor, that stretch of time where everything was fine and felt like normal?” He nods along. “ I used to crush on this guy. It was pretty bad, I knew he didn’t like me like that. But god, he was enigmatic. He was so dignified yet so sweet and caring.” You’re overwhelmed. And a liar.

“Anyway, I shouldn’t be thinking about him in that way. Wrong guy, wrong time to feel that way about anyone.” You sniffle.

Rick is absolutely clueless. You could tell he was trying to list off all the boys that were around your age.

“ I’m sorry to hear that. He was so stupid to not return those feelings. You’re such a sweet girl. A girl like you deserves the goddamn world. I know it might just be the two of us for a while, but I want to give you that world. It’s you and me ok?” At first, he’s angry at you, it’s irrational he knows. The only man he wants you to think about is him. Then a wave of protectiveness crashes over him. Your eyes begin to sting as his words hit harder. Tears stream out and roll down your cheek, as you let out soft hiccups. His arms grip you so tightly, it seems he might never let go. His warmth spreads all through your body like white hot fire.

“ I never ever want to see you cry like this. It hurts me to see you like this. My heart shatters to pieces when I see you sad, sweetheart.” He pulls away and looks into your eyes while he lectures you. He gently strokes your cheek and wipes your tears away. Your heart rate slows down and you’re grounded. He holds you again, his touch seeming to be familiar now. He’s held you like this before but it’s home now. A deep, disgusting feeling of guilt hits, you despise yourself for lying to him.

“ I have to say something else Rick,” A low whisper.

“Say it then, doll” He whispers back, as you brace yourself.

“Rick. I like you. Not like a friend, not like a daughter. I don’t want you to see me that way. I want to be close to you all of the time, I get weird when I'm not near you. I need you, Rick. But not like that.” your fingers tussle with his belt loops as your eyes wander around the room, down at boots, unable to meet his eyes.

Rick took a second to respond. Inching back, He sighs and runs his hand through his dark curls, conflicted. He pats his thigh, not knowing where to go next. Finally, he replies.

“oh yeah, and how do you like me?” He gazes into your eyes, maintains eye contact while you want to make yourself smaller.

Words can’t seem to come out of your mouth, as all

you can manage to spit out is a “ I.. I..”Rick inches closer to you and begins gently grabbing your arm and placing pecks along your collarbone.

In between kisses, he asks, “is this how you like me sweet girl? Ya need me like this?” he holds your jaw, while he gnaws softly on your lips. you coo out “Oh oh ohs” Hands move up and down your stomach as he grabs your waist.

Your kisses are sloppy and glossy, as he practically inhales you.

“You like me like this huh?” He sets you on your back as he towers on top of you. His knees entangled with your legs, you moan as he keeps kissing your neck. The scruff of his stubble nuzzle into the softness of your neck.

“Baby, I need to ask if you want this, tell me to stop and I'll stop.” He gazed at you for an immediate answer. Of course you want to, you’re hesitant to respond.

“ I-I want to, but i should probably let you know i ain’t never done this before,” You say softly. It’s all new to you. Of course things have happened in college but you’ve never gone that far before.

Rick stops in his tracks. His dick is hard and pressing against your clothed sex. He can’t say no to that shine in your eyes, and the way you clutch onto his arms.

“uhh, alright. I’m gonna take it real nice and slow sweetheart, ok? that alright with you?” He asks with his accent accelerating with the question.

“Okay Rick,” You nod, with a slight expression of worry on your face.

“I’ll make it good for you, don’t worry baby,” He reassures you and seals it by running his calasse-ridden hands down your body then clutches your hand, fingers entangling.

“I trust you.” A shimmer in your eyes.

He descends down the bed, eye level with your pussy, pulling down your shorts, leaving you half naked in your underwear, a wet patch forming. His eyes wide in utter awe, mouth agape at the dark spot at the middle of your panties. He massages your clothed cunt, rubbing in circles to see how you’d react. Quiet, mousy gasps escape your lips.

“Can I take these off sweetpea?” He purrs in a low voice, like honey.

“Of course.” You respond in an eager whisper. He pulls down your underwear and flings them across the room. The two of you smile at this action, your cheeks turning warm from embarrassment, as you hide your face from your hands.

“ Is that all for me?” He strokes your thigh and you nod your head, all doe eyed.He parts your legs open, his hands move up toward the entrance of your sex. A vulnerable feeling creeps up as the hair on your limbs stand up.

“Imma make it even better,yeah sweet girl?” He nibbles at the inside of your thighs.

Arousal settles in the low part of your stomach as he fiddles with the entrance of your pussy. He is excruciatingly slow, building tension.

He palms your exposed sex with his big hand. The cold metal of his wedding ring around his finger is cold against your wet warmth. You don’t think about that, as all you can focus on is the sound of his guttural grunts and shock at your perfect pussy. His pointer and middle finger move in circles around your clit, not entering you just yet. You moan as he slips his ring finger into your plush entrance. You let out a cry as his finger plunges in and out. The sensation of his silver ring against your hot sex adds to the stars you see. He looks to you, wide-eyed, asking for confirmation to add another finger. You nod.

He adds another finger, stretching you out slowly. Sounds of your wet squelch fill the room, along with small squeals and low whispers of ���good god” coming from Rick. He didn’t think he could ever make a girl this wet until now.

“You take my fingers so well, baby.” Arousal coils in your core. Your heart pounds as your head feels hazy. He curls his fingers toward your sweet spot, as a scorching sensation of hot waves come over you. His fingers feel your pussy pulse, as the intensity of stimulation increases. Your legs jerk, slightly as you give into pleasure. “Rick, ’m coming.” You breathlessly sob out. A wave of electricity crashes over you, you’ve never came that hard before.

“That’s it, sweet girl, you can come.” He growls. Simultaneously, as he fucks you with his fingers, he brushes his lips up and down your stomach. He finally takes his fingers out of you. The tent in his pants is firm against your pussy. Sweat sticks to your neck and collarbone, as he grabs your chin and kisses you like an old vintage movie. Your eyes closed, arms desperately holding onto his shoulders for dear life. Deep, wet, kisses, lips barely touching, slight brisks of your soft lips against his. Your face is hot as his erection presses deeper against you. A damp patch soaks through his jeans. You slightly grind yourself against his knee, without shame.

“ We can stop here, we don’t have to go all the way,” Rick reassures, with a slight breathless rasp.

“No, no, we can keep going. I want to keep going.” You desperately plead for him not to stop there, in a soft sweet voice.

“Ok. we’re doing this. remember, tell me to stop and I will.” He sternly asserted. He fumbles at his belt, a bit desperate to take it off. The clink and thud of his buckle hardens your nipples and pools arousal in you. You don’t realize that you bit your lip until you taste metallic on your tongue.

He pulls his boots off, along with the rest of his clothing. He gestures to help you pull your shirt up, and you let him.

His cock springs out of his boxers, all pretty and pink, hitting against the low part of his stomach. His length leaks out precum at the tip. He’s pretty well-kept, considering the situation at hand. You bask in the sight of him, his curly pubic hair wild at the base near his heavy balls.

You stare in awe at how gorgeous he is. His beautiful entrancing eyes so pale and blue, his luscious curly hair, his defined arms. You smile up at him and he laughs. You would do anything for him. You would kiss the tip of his boots if he asked, and that’s the problem. Rick lingers on your lips, brushing his fingers against them. He spits on his hand and rubs his length, he does with what he has.

“Gonna be a big stretch, ok baby?” He lines his tip at your entrance. “Alright, here we go.” He slowly stretches you with his thick length, your pussy swallowing him whole. He hisses a groan.

“ Oh God!” You mewled.

“ Ahh fuck baby, you’re so goddamn tight. Gotta pace ourselves.” He mostly says that to remind himself to take it slow, the last thing he does is want to hurt you. It’s a bit uncomfortable at first, you’ve been told, and of course maybe it’s a little unpleasant, but Rick's touch and the earthy scent of him is intoxicating. You feel full, like you were each other’s missing piece to the puzzle.

He isn’t even halfway in, and you’re doubting your own ability to take all of it. He cradles your head, his fingers sprawled over the side of your face.

“Mmm, so feels full” You sob out.

“ I know honey, I know.” He coos at you. He starts thrusting in and out at a slow pace as you acclimate to this full feeling. You're so wet, your pussy resists and almost pushes him out, but he’s so huge and you're so tight, his cock is almost stuck. Lewd sounds of him pounding sweet juices leaking out of you.

Your fingers clutch the bedding, your hot all over.

“ Feels so good baby, God this pussy is gonna drive me crazy.” His voice sweet and heavy like honey.

“mmhmm” You’re already quite fucked out, and you can’t seem to think about anything but him. Him, him, him. You buck, signaling for him to go deeper.

His strokes get sloppier as he moans into your ear. He mumbles low “I love you I love yous” continuously as he kisses you all over your cheek. His calm, daddy demeanor unravels as your walls continue to spasm and flutter against his cock.

In the heat of the moment, you aren’t totally sure if he really means it. The two of you have shown affection, the evidence supports what he says.

“You really mean it? You love me?” You whimper, gazing straight into his eyes. His tip kisses your cervix, but you feel nothing but utter bliss.

“ More than fucking anything.” He enunciates each world with a thrust. He’s close, you could feel it in his rapid strokes and in the way his arms hold onto you for sweet release.

“Rick I’m so close please” You plead for him to go deeper, faster.

“I know honey, I feel it.” He says through gritted teeth, pumping in and out of you. He gently rubs the sides of your lower belly, as he drills into you, the both of you feel crashs of euphoria.

“Cum on my cock, that’s it baby ,” Rick groans out, as your pussy convulses against him. His cock stays in as you feel him twitch around you, he leaves a lingering kiss on your forehead.

He pulls out, asking you if you want it on your stomach. You nod as you look through your eyelashes. He’s on his knees now, jerking his cock, cum spurting out on your stomach, He closes his eyes and groans out. He moves off the bed and grabs a shirt folded onto a chair, wiping his release off of your stomach.

He jumps back on to bed next to you, as you bask in each others presence, bed creaking in response. He looks to you, almost studying the structure of your face. You turn to him, running your hands through his hair.

“ Thank you. for, well, doing that. I liked it a lot.” You giggle. He giggles in response, rubbing his temples.

“Any time. Well maybe not, but we should do this again.” He gazes at you and smirks . Still half naked, he opens his mouth to say something, he hesitates.

“ Ya know what I said, I mean it. I meant it when you came crying to me. I love you and I need you. I know you think you can’t live without me, but I can’t live without you. can’t imagine it sweetheart.” The scruff of his beard scratches your chin as he pulls you in for a soft kiss. You curl up against his chest, breathing in his musk. You drift off into his the tight hold of his arms, feeling as if he’ll never let go, and you’re ok with that.

ty for reading!! not stoked about how this turned about but wtv

dont ask me how long this was in the drafts for….

[sweetteainthesummerx]

THE LOVE LASTS SO LONG (10)

In which Aubrey directs a video and Ollie crashes

series masterlist

★・・・・★・・・・ ★・・・・★

aubreyyang posted on their story

olliebearman replied to your story

text me after my race?

aubreyyang

ofc good luck bearman xx

oliviarodrigo posted on their story

caption: so american my current fixation

formula1 posted

formula1 Ollie Bearman crashes and flips today at the Belgian Grand Prix. Waiting for more news ❤️‍🩹

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MESSAGES

aubrey

MISSED CALL

MISSED CALL

ollie

ollie pls pick up

CALL RECIEVED

O: hello?

A: Oh, thank god. Are you okay? I saw the car flip-

O: Hey, hey. I'm all good, Yang. Just a little bruised up. No worries about the trip.

A: I'm not worried about that, Bearman. I'm worried that you're not dead. Are you sure-

O: I'm okay, love. The medics need to check-

C: Aubrey?

A: Charles?

C: He's okay, but he needs to go test if he has a concussion. Wait for my call, okay?

CALL ENDED 02:05

olliebearman posted on their story

caption: All good, thanks for all of the love and concern. See you after summer break!

aubreyyang replied to your story

pls never do that again i almost shat myself

olliebearman

aww you were worried? :)

aubreyyang

OLIVER U FLIPPED IN A RACECAR

I hate seeing you hurt

please be more careful I had a heart attack almost smashed a camera

olliebearman

promise to not do that again

and tomorrow

are you still coming over to meet the fam?

aubreyyang

ofc!

aubberieyaang posted

aubberieyaang about to meet his parents PRAY FOR ME

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celine_diorr "we're just really good friends)

-- aubberieyaang that doesn't sound like praying to me

leeahh_j more slowburn than percabeth u deserve an awards

-- aubberieyaang LEAH WTH WHOS SIDE ARE YOU ON

-- leeahh_j the side of love and happiness

liv_laugh_love you are so girl boss u directed a whole music video, the loul got into a car crash and now ur meeting his parents

-- aubberieyaang too scared to argue

A knock sounded on her door, and she smoothed out her sundress and little cardigan. Aubrey didn’t know why she was so nervous. Ollie was very much not her boyfriend, but when he’d asked her to meet his family over one of their very long FaceTime calls, she’d agreed. 

Because they were important to Ollie, which indirectly meant they were important to her. 

When she opened the door, she was met a wide-grin on Ollie’s handsome face. 

“Aubrey, hi. You look, wow.” Staring at her, he fiddled with his watch. Then, he snapped out of it, sweeping her up into a hug, lifting her off of her feet. 

“Oh-“ she laughed, wrapping her arms around his neck as he swung her into the hotel room. 

“Missed you.” He muttered into her shoulder. She flushed pleasantly; this was really nice. 

“I called you yesterday, sweetie.” The nickname slipped out so naturally, and she would’ve thought that he hadn’t even heard her if not for his smile against her skin and the sudden warmth of his ears on her neck. 

“It’s not the same…” he reluctantly let go, watching her grab her gifts for his parents.

“Mm, it is nice being to actually see you. I forgot how tall you were." 

He snorted, offering to carry the dutch oven she’d bought and the hydrangeas he told her were his mom’s favourites. 

“You didn’t have to. They like you already.” He opened the door for her, and she shrugged. 

“I was raised by Asian parents to never show up empty handed to someone’s house.” 

The car ride there was quiet, both of them reeling in each other’s presence. 

The only time they talked was about his crash and Aubrey made him promise to be more careful.

She liked watching him drive, all lounged in his seat, one big hand loose on the wheel, the other reaching over to hers. 

It was odd how they were; best friends now, and bordering a little more. She liked it. 

When they arrived, she steeled herself with a deep breath. 

“Hey, don’t worry.” He reassured her. With one last squeeze of her hand, he jogged over to open her car door, ever the gentleman. 

His house was charming; small and very English. Cozy, like the one she grew up in. 

“Okay, let’s go.”

bearyfast_04 posted

bearyfast_04 Top Five reasons why Aubrey is the best

she brought my mom and dad flowers and a dutch oven

she charmed my little siblings now they love her more than me

shes so hardworking and talented but still so humble

shes so beautiful it hurts

she smells really good

liked by kimi_possible, landoakabob and 12 others

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kimi_possible wow we lost another one

-- bearyfast_04 WHAT im just being honest

arthuranddw ur so down bad but did ur parents like her

-- bearyfast_04 yes obviously the bearman family loves Station 13 and they don't understand why we aren't together

-- leosdad tbh I don't either

-- bearyfast_04 shes like my best friend I don't want to lose her

chililos55 congrats to you and ur gf!

-- leosdad that's not!

-- chililos55 they're not together?? WHY AM I THE LAST TO KNOW ABOUT EVERYTHING

landoakabob im not the most humble

-- bearyfast_04 read that sentence Lando

★・・・・★・・・・ ★・・・・★

Taglist: @callsignwidow @iloveyou3000morgan @honethatty12 @taygrls

© sweetteainthesummerx.tumblr. all rights reserved. unauthorized copying, translation, or claiming of my writing or any works as your own is strictly prohibited.

[i-am-church-the-cat]

I have a flower shop/tattoo parlor maxiel + loscar AU building from a tropical storm into a hurricane in my head so here are some thoughts

+ When Max hires him, this is what he says to Logan’s arrangement: “It is not the worst thing I’ve ever seen. I can make it better.” What he really meant was that Max could make Logan better, but he wouldn’t come to understand that until later.

+ There’s a phone that sits on the back wall of Max’s shop. The first time it rang while Logan was working, he’d mistakenly answered it. He’d watched Max’s face go bleach white from across the shop as Logan answered “Hello, this is Verstappen’s Floral, how can I help you?” The barrage of angry Dutch he’d gotten back in return had shocked Logan into silence, making it easier for Max to steal the receiver from his hand. Now, Logan knows to just let it ring.

+ Oscar is pretty sure Daniel only gave him an interview because their moms are in a book club together. The owner of Honey Badger Tattoos was always friendly and outgoing but he was notoriously possessive about his art. In the ten years the shop has been open, it’s had four employees. Daniel Ricciardo, the founder, Daniel Kvyat, Daniel’s partner who he bought out after the first year, Lando Norris who worked part-time at the front desk, and now Oscar.

“I’ve never had an apprentice before, I probably wouldn’t be very good at it,” Daniel says during his interview. He’d said he liked Oscar’s work and already showed an interest in teaching Oscar more of his signature American style. But the guy was still hesitant, fidgeting with excess nerves. “Just ask Lando.

Lando nods from his seat at the front desk which Oscar can see from the open door of Daniel’s office. “He doesn’t know what he’s doing half the time, I wouldn’t trust him to teach other people.”

Daniel does not look like that’s the support he was going for, wincing at the dry criticism but not arguing.

“That’s fine,” Oscar confirms with a shrug. He’s already done the majority of his apprenticeship under Mark Webber. But when the man decided he’d had enough of the South of France and was selling the shop and moving back to Australia, Oscar had to look for somewhere else to work. “I only have six months left before I can get my certification.”

Daniel doesn’t look very reassured. Oscar can take a hint so he decides to get out before he’s kicked out.

“Hey, it’s cool, mate, thanks for meeting with me anyway-”

“Can you start next week?” Daniel asks, leg bouncing up and down and rocking the desk he’s sitting behind. He sees Oscar’s confused expression and sighs. “I really need more help here.”

“Yeah,” Oscar decides, not looking a gift horse in the mouth. “I’ll text you my schedule.”

And that’s how he starts working for the Honey Badger.

+ “This is a tulip,” Max is saying in French, word draw out and pointing at the multi-colored bulbs. Logan has tried telling him that he’s lived in Europe for the majority of his life at this point and can do his job in English, French, and Spanish but Max doesn’t believe him. At least Logan’s starting to pick up more Dutch.

Logan is rescued from his impromptu language lesson by the bell on the door ringing. He turns towards the sound, customer service smile already in place.

“Hi, welcome to Verstappen Floral, how can I-”

“Oh, it is you again.”

Logan stops and looks at Max who is frowning at the guy who just came in. The man is curly-haired and tanned, with tattoos scrawled over the majority of visible skin. His grin is big and toothy when he shoots it at Max.

“Hey, Maxy, aren’t you happy to see me?”

Logan blinks in shock at the nickname. Even their regular customers don’t get to act that familiar with Max. Logan doesn’t get to act that familiar with Max.

Max crosses his arms, lips pursing. “For the last time, I do not know what these flowers mean. I speak four languages and plant is not one of them.”

“Always a ray of sunshine, aren’t you, Max?” The man asks, unphased by Max’s grouchy demeanor. He leans forward onto the glass counter, certainly leaving smudges behind, but Max surprisingly doesn’t yell at him about it. “Lando sent me to pick up his order.”

Lando is someone Logan knows. He comes in about every other week and talks to Max about streaming and video games that partly goes over Logan’s head. He always leaves with a red and white bouquet, though the flowers change each time.

“Why could he not come get them himself?” Max grumbles, heading in the direction of the cooler where they kept to-go orders. Daniel shrugs and wraps his knuckles against the glass.

"He was late for a meeting or something, you know I don’t ask about his other job,” Daniel supplies. He changes his focus to Logan and the blond is met with the full force of the man’s mega-watt smile. Logan blames his mom’s genes for how easily he blushes. “Hey, you’re the new guy, right?”

Logan opens his mouth to answer but Max is suddenly im between them, Lando’s bouquet in his hands.

“Yes, this is Logan, no, he does not want any of your garish tattoos.”

Daniel pouts at Logan’s boss. He wonders how it doesn’t look strange for a guy who’s at least 30 to be pouting.

“Don’t be mean, Maxy. I wasn’t even going to mention the tattoos.”

Logan racks his brain for tattoo shops nearby. They obviously have a close relationship outside of just Lando. And Lando did say he worked for an artist…

“Oh hey, are you the Honey Badger?” Logan asks, moving his head to be seen around Max’s wider frame. Daniel jerks his eyes away from Max’s, as if he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t. “I pass by there all the time. Not a lot of shops do American style out here.”

Daniel’s face lights up, looking between Logan and Max. “Max, you hired an American?”

Max sighs, more long-suffering than Logan thinks is necessary. “This is why I did not want you to speak with him. I knew you were going to be weird about it.”

“I’m not being weird!” Daniel argues. “I’m just surprised!”

Max and Daniel have another weird silent staring contest. Logan clears his throat reluctantly and they both snap to him.

“Um, where’d you learn to do that style?”

Daniel looks ready to excitedly burst into the story of his tattooing style and his interest in America, but Max cuts him off by pushing the bouquet into his chest.

“We do not have time for that, these are going to wilt. Take these to Lando.”

“Bossy, bossy,” Daniel murmurs, picking up the bouquet gently. He doesn’t sound annoyed by Max’s demands. Rather amused, actually. He shoots Logan another grin over Max’s shoulder. “I don’t envy you, mate. But hey if you want to talk tattoos, come by the shop sometime.”

“Definitely!” Logan agrees before Max can say anything else on his behalf. Daniel shoots him a one-handed finger gun before turning back to Max. His smile becomes a lot less joking and more sincere.

“See you later, Maximus”

Max loses some of his prickliness, voice soft when he says, “Goodbye, Daniel.”

+ There’s a man talking to Lando at the front desk when Oscar comes in that day. It’s neither of the two Oscar is used to seeing who come talk to Lando pretty regularly. Oscar’s pretty sure one of them’s his boyfriend and the other is his business partner but he can never tell which is which.

“Did you leave Logan alone at the shop?” Lando is asking while Oscar sets his station up.

“Well, I had to do it at some point,” the guy says, his accent reminiscent of German or Dutch. “What is the point of hiring another employee if I cannot leave for a few minutes?"

“Daniel never leaves me alone here,” Lando points out, a tad resentful. Oscar snorts.

“That’s because he has control issues,” Oscar claims. Both of the men look at him, one in amusement and one in confusion.

“Who are you?” The mystery guy asks. Weird, Oscar was going to ask him the same thing. He looks to Lando who makes the introductions.

"Max, this is Oscar, Daniel's new apprentice. Oscar, this is Max, one of our neighbors."

Oscar frowns. "I thought Max was your..." he trails off, leaving space for Lando to fill in the blank. He waves his hand.

"Different Max. This is Max Verstappen, he run's Verstappen Floral."

The new Max is still looking at him strangely. "Daniel does not take apprentices. He says he is a bad teacher."

Oscar shrugs, not sure what to tell him. He doesn't know how he got the job either. Luckily, he's saved from having to respond by Daniel coming out of the back office.

"Oscar, good, you're here, I wanted to talk about-" Daniel stops abruptly when he sees Max standing in the lobby. His entire demeanor shifts when he says, "Max, hey! What are you doing here?"

Daniel is normally a friendly guy, sometimes too much in Oscar's opinion, but he's practically glowing as he bounds over to Max. While Max's expression doesn't shift, his body language opens up to Daniel like one of his blooming flowers.

"I am talking to Lando about our stream tonight," Max answers. "He has not been very forthcoming with the details."

Lando tries to protest but even Oscar can see that it's a lost cause. This new guy showed up and suddenly it's like nothing else exists to Daniel. His boss giggles at nothing and that's when Oscar decides to get back to work.

[ange1sang]

remembered how ian told lip that he would gift kash CDs in s1 and got to thinking...

at the beginning of ian and mickey's relationship ian starts collecting CDs with the intention of giving them to mickey but he never does - he never knows how mickey will react to certain kinds of affection so he does his best to toe the line with things like gift-giving. still, he stacks the CDs beneath his bed where they gather dust. it makes him sad to think of them sitting there, unplayed, but he tells himself someday he'll be able to tell mickey "look, i kept these for you for years. i thought of you all the time." and he'll have proof of it.

when mickey starts sleeping over at the gallagher house he stumbles across the CDs by mistake (see: he swings his legs over the side of the bed and kicks a stack of them). he kneels beside the bed and picks up the plastic cases, turning them over in his hands. he glances up at a still sleeping ian, wondering how secret these are supposed to be. some of the CDs are in brand new packaging, others are clearly secondhand. what intrigues mickey the most is the ones he realises ian burned himself.

ian's handwriting spells out mickey's name and various nicknames across the shiny surfaces in bright blue sharpie, surrounded by doodles of stars and spirals that remind mickey of what mandy used to draw in the margins of her textbooks. he thumbs over the titles of different songs that span all kinds of genres, songs mickey's heard on the radio and songs by artists mickey's never even heard of.

good old-fashioned lover boy by queen. where did you sleep last night? by nirvana. i want you by mitski. i bet you look good on the dancefloor by arctic monkeys. yellow by coldplay. dirty little secret by the all-american rejects. be quiet and drive (far away) by deftones.

some of the songs seem so cheesy that mickey expects himself to roll his eyes or laugh, but instead he finds a smile playing on his lips, looking at all of the songs ian picked out with him in mind. just a year ago he would've rushed to make a joke about it all, but now he feels his heart skip a beat instead. he tries not to think about what it means that he occupies so much space in the other's mind and heads downstairs to slide one of the older CDs into the player the gallaghers keep by the TV, volume up high so he can hear the songs over the general racket of the rest of the family.

halfway through the tracks, mickey hears a small, surprised sound come from the staircase. he turns around and sees ian standing there, wide-eyed and blushing a little. mickey huffs a soft laugh, though he's less amused and more infatuated than anything else (though he would never admit as much out loud).

"morning gallagher," he chimes, grinning when ian jumps over the back of the sofa to sit beside him. ian shakes his head, stifling a smile.

"i burned this years ago," ian mumbles sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. "where'd you find it?"

"under your bed," mickey replies. when ian turns to face him he takes the opportunity to lean in and press a quick, shy kiss to the corner of his lips. "you're a sappy motherfucker... it's pretty good though."

ian snickers and leans into him, a dopey smile on his lips.

"glad to hear it," he murmurs, and settles back against the sofa so they can finish listening to the disc together.

[skylarsblue]

this isn’t really a request or anythin’, just a thought. 141 havin to deal with a southern team member who only gets progressively more accented the more they get mad.

100% projecting here

pretty unaccented, American, whatever —> ✨ anger ✨ —> Memphis called they want their “oo-ol” back (translation: oil).

i have no idea if they’d be annoyed, charmed, or just confused.

✦141 + Los Vaqueros With A Southern!Teammate✦

(My first C.o.D request and it's for pEOPLE LIKE MEEEE, southern traassh! This my shit. Fair warning, I've never played one of these games cause I don't have a console, so if they're ooc, please tell me how I can improve writing them!)

✦Random headcanons, Southern slang, GN!Reader, Race neutral as well but American, implied to be Oklahoma/Texas style southern, aggressive cursing because I have the mouth of a sailor, a bit of Google Translated Spanish(forgive me), Rudy doesn't have a color cause I ran out I'm so sorry precious boy✦

✧Simon Riley✧

He's not real fond of Americans, admittedly. He's got a little voice in the back of his head that automatically associates Americans with betrayal, but he'll keep quiet.

He cringes at your accent at first. He's not fond of Americans, even less so of most American accents. It's a very thick drawl and after being in the team for a while, he'll tease you about it, telling you to "Speak English" like he does with Soap.

He shuts up when you bring up his Manchester accent being illegible sometimes. It's all in good fun though!

After proving you're trustworthy, he'll basically call you his "special American", to show you're an exception. He will never stop poking fun at you though, just as you do to him. Particularly when you say something intensely American.

"Look at her ass, out here pitchin' a bitch fit with a tail on it." "...What in the hell is that even supposed to mean?"

He'll give you one thing, you treat beef well, which he appreciates. Given he used to be a butcher's apprentice. Americans from the southern states know how to make a hamburger and we know how to cook a steak, that's like...the one thing we can brag about.

If you're like me and you dunk on your own country, he thinks those moments are really funny. Especially when you sound so American.

He probably enjoys you being angry the most. He loves it so much, he thinks it's extremely entertaining. Especially if you're a more small, non-intimidating person on the surface.

"Fuck off! Out here makin' a damn mess of the place, runnin' around like a chicken with its head cut off, wrecking my shit! I outta whoop yer ass!" "Should we step in?" "No no, let it go on a little longer..."

Probably tries to make your call sign something heavily American stereotypical, in a funny way. (ie. Bald Eagle, Stars(JILL!), Shotgun, etc.)

A bit hypocritical but if you have a farm with cows on it, he doesn't really wanna see them. His first thought his how to butcher them from years of training, and if they're not butcher cows, he feels kinda bad for thinking it.

Congrats! You're the only American Simon likes, aside from maybe Alex but I don't know for sure.

✧Johnny MacTavish✧

Laughs when you first speak. He apologizes but like, he laughs at you, I'm sorry.

Definitely asks if you have a cowboy hat, and he will lose his fucking mind if you do. The more cowboy shit you own the more he's entertained, especially if you wear them around base/on field.

He understands you super well but no one understands how or why. Johnny explains that it's just because he's good with accents. He'll hear weird euphemisms and, though it may take a second, 9 times out of 10 he'll get it.

"Fucker's so cheap I bet he pinches quarters til they scream." "What?! What does that mean!?" "Means he's a penny pincher! He's cheap. C'mon, that one was obvious, keep up, yeah?"

If you're a woman/female leaning, he'll call you cowgirl. If you're male/male leaning, you get the nickname cowboy. Non-binary/Genderfluid/Etc.? He calls you partner, and he'll always say it with a shitty imitation of your accent.

Asks you a buncha questions about American-Southern stereotypes to see if they're true. If they are, he gets really giggly about it.

If they ever have a mission in America, he'll insist you lead them everywhere. He likes seeing how you interact with people, especially if you're in a big city where some nutsos are. This man would have a blast watching you in a Waffle House. It's the only time he likes seeing you yell in public, thinks it's hilarious.

If you have any farm experience he's gotta see it. He needs to. I don't care if the farm is your great grandpa's and you haven't been there in a decade, you better take him to see the cows and tractors right now, immediately. Especially if there are chickens. He loves chickens.

He makes fun of your accent but he thinks it's really hot sometimes and he's very annoyed at himself for it. Particularly when you speak softly, trying to console/comfort him, slipping in a typical southern pet name.

"You alright there, sugar? Took quite a hit there. You need anythin', sweetheart?" "...I uh, uhm, ahem. N-no, no I'm alright." "Are ya sure, sweetpea? Your face is goin' redder than a tomato."" NO, I'M GOOD."

Manages to get the entire team to call you a southern callsign, whether you like it or not. He'll force it to stick. Most are animal-based too. (Cowboy/Cowgirl, Chick/Rooster, Bull/Heffer, Big Tex, etc.)

Your accent grows on him significantly. While he thinks you're very sexy when you're angry, he's really affected when you're soft and sweet. (bonus note; if you're faux sweet when you're mad? The whole "Oh...bless your heart" type thing? He's prolly gonna pop a boner, not gonna lie.)

✧John Price✧

He's not American but there are a lot of American things he likes, admittedly. Specifically, old western stuff, horses, ranches, etc. That whole aesthetic is something he's always enjoyed. He won't say it, but he has a particular fondness for your accent when he first hears it.

Doesn't understand you when your accent gets super thick but he thinks it's entertaining nevertheless. Unlike Ghost or Soap, he doesn't comment on it, because he doesn't think he has room to talk. Maybe he'd do it once and then you'd throw it back at him and he'd realize that...yeah he has no room to talk.

He's a calm individual but he will yell when necessary. But, what he finds admirable is when you jump in and yell for him. Like you can read his mind and he can save his throat, watching the people who were pissing him off jump back at thick southern curses being yelled at them.

"I outta jerk a damn knot in your fuckin' tail, ya fuckin' dumbass! Didn't ya momma ever teach you respect?! You ain't ever gonna talk to my damn captain like that again or I'll skin yer fuckin' hide!" "Ahem, thank you, sergeant, that's enough."

Buys you a cowboy hat if you don't already have one, for sure. Whether you take it as a genuine gift or you take it as a light jab at your roots, he'll get a lil' dopey smile if you decide to wear it. Gaz definitely makes fun of you two. Soap points out that Gaz also wears a hat religiously and he & Ghost start callin' you the hat trio.

Man melts at southern-drawl-spoken pet names. He truly does. Much like Soap, there's something about it that makes the tension leaves his body, though he's not really sure why.

"You alright there, Cap? You're lookin' bout ready to drop..." "I'm alright soldier, just need to finish this." "Captain, it'll be there in the mornin'. How bout a nap instead, huh? You can't go workin' yourself to the bone, hun. It ain't healthy."" ...oh alright, just for a bit though." "Sure, sugarcube, just long enough to have some tea."

He'll probably pick up on a few pet names and call you them. Whether you wanna take it as platonic or not, it's really just a sweet gesture that he wants to return. Pet names are kinda just...a staple of southern slang. It's part of the accent that he really enjoys, therefore he wants to return it.

If he ends up helping you with a call sign, it's going to be a really sweet & nice one. Or perhaps something that's from an old western he's seen. Probably based on something you've said before. (Sugarcube, Lasso, Hun/Hunny.) Bonus points if you get a super sweet name that doesn't match your stature, he thinks it's funny if it throws people off.

Piggybacking off the last one, I think it'd be real funny if your call name was "Sugarcube" and you're like...a 6'0"+ buff dude with a deep voice. That shit would be funny. Anyway!

If you own/live on a ranch or farm in your off time, he'll feel honored if you invite him to see it. Don't worry, he won't laze around and just appreciate the cute animals. (Looking at you Soap) He's got a little bit of experience with cows & horses, so he'll do his best to help you move the hay and such. Don't let him drive a tractor though, it's one of the few things he just can't do.

John doesn't play favorites, he's fair and precise to his entire team. But...off the field? ...you might get a little favoritism, he's got a weakness for bein' sweettalked through southern drawl. Don't let that go to your head though!

✧Kyle Garrick✧

Kyle doesn't care too much, he thinks every country has shitty stuff and cool stuff. He's a pretty big believer in silver linings. While America is far from his favorite country, and he knows the common trope of uh...less than tolerant people from the south, that doesn't affect how he sees you at all.

He does snicker at your accent sometimes, but only when you say something really aggressively southern. Especially making up random southern phrases that he doesn't understand at all. He finds it endearing.

"We just gotta haul ass and go tear shit up, run through like a buncha Tasmanian devils, right?" "...I understood...some of those words. Uh, sure, right." "We need to move our asses and fuck shit up." "Ah, okay. Could've just said that, but alright."

Thinks you're kinda scary when you're mad. He'll be the type to try and calm you down, but he understands if it's someone who deserves it. Not that he doesn't find your drawl fun to listen too, especially if someone was being an ass, but he doesn't like seeing you upset.

If the person you're yelling at was being a real big ass, he'll let you yell for a little, but step in. However, if you're doing condescending rage? Oh, go for it, do it all you want. He thinks it's hilarious.

Finds it particularly sweet if you're angry on the teams/his behalf. He can fight his own battles but he thinks it's a big sign of trust, friendship, etc. that you feel the need to defend him.

"Bless your heart, your brain ain't firing off on all cylinders is it, hun? Tsk, that's a shame..." "Excuse me?!" "You're excused, sweetpea. You're not gonna talk to my team that way, but you can turn your happy ass around and walk away. I ain't gonna have you disrespectin' the people who've been fightin' the good fight. Have a lovely day!" "How can you sound so sweet and yet so angry at the same time?" "Southern livin', sugar. Southern livin'."

Gaz is a bit of a foodie type, he likes trying cooking from any area he can go to. Southern cooking would...it'd be a new weakness for sure. A lot of it is unhealthy, yes, but he doesn't give a shit. It tastes good. Sometimes he thinks American food is an absolute sin and a disgrace, and he'll state it as such. Usually, it's stuff you agree on. Like bacon-covered donuts or fried butter. That shit's egregious. But things like southern-style chicken or rib-eye on a grill? You're gonna make him swoon with them roasted vegetables. Cooking for him is a surefire way to make you an unapologetic favorite in his book.

He won't say anything at the little jokes that people jab at you for your accent, but he will tell someone off if they say something that's clearly not funny and upsets you. Like trying to imply you're stupid because you come from Texas. (Speaking from personal experience) He thinks it's such a dumb thing to give someone shit over and he won't hesitate to say they're an idiot for trying to use it against you.

Hates sweet tea, I'm sorry. It's just tea but he can't stand it. He'll drink the unsweetened tea you make, but he'll make a dramatic face if he mixes them up. Something that you always laugh at.

He's great at driving basically any vehicle. Helicopters to mini coopers. He's never controlled a tractor before, but if you sit him in one and tell him the levers, it'll take him like...three minutes to get it down perfectly. Definitely gets a smug ass grin if you show you're amazed.

If he helps get you your call sign, he won't necessarily make it based on where you're from, it'll probably be based on a nickname, skill, or crucial event in your career. (Crash; you were thrown through a window, Hotshot; skill for sniping, etc.) But if he were to have one based on your southern ways? Sweet Tea, both for the fact you make it and the pet name you sometimes call him. (sweet pea)

✧Alejandro Vargas✧

Like Ghost, he's not super fond of Americans. His experience with most Americans are annoying tourists and Graves, leaves a pretty bad impression. He comes across unintentionally snappy when he first meets you, but Rudy will point it out, and he'll correct himself.

You aren't the annoying people he's dealt with and he knows it's not fair to say you are. Definitely talks shit on America though, and he'll honestly give you respect if you do the same. Since he's used to the kind of Americans that think being American give them a right to treat others like shit. He hates entitlement.

If you speak Spanish, he's gonna try really hard to not laugh at how your accent affects some words, but it's really hard. He means it in kind and if you're still learning when you meet him, he's proud when he hears you doing well in comprehension and sentences. Still, sounds just a lil silly.

He loves when your accent gets thick from rage, but he his favorite thing is if you speak Spanish in a rage, with your accent on top of it. It's a combination that fills his brain with serotonin.

"Eres un maldito idiota. ¡Tan útil como las tetas de un toro!" "Wha- Haha! What does that mean?!" "Did they say some super weird analogy?" "Si! They did!" "Yeaaah, they do that a lot."

He's notorious for having a naturally flirty personality, it's just how he's always been. Hence why not much phases him, but he does get a quite wide & genuine grin if you flirt back, making your accent extra intense. Especially with the pet names, another man who likes sweet words.

Thinks you having a southern call sign is really cute, especially if it's something your team calls you exclusively. He thinks it shows your endearment to your team. However, if your call sign is something you insist is only for friends, he'll get super giddy about being allowed to call you it.

If he were to pick? (Belle; Like southern belle whether you're fem! or not, Rodeo, and he might call you Americano- but like, in the coffee way. Like it's a sweet nickname, not just him saying your nationality)

Southern hospitality is something he is not used to. Again, bad experience with Americans. So if you explain all the various manners and nice gestures that are considered expected in your home state? He's completely confused, wondering why the Americans he's met don't keep that attitude up when they leave home.

Again, really likes it if you use southern pet names. Especially if you're trying to console him after a really tough day/mission. For some reason it really helps, like a cup of warm coffee on a cold morning.

"Aye, don't stress yourself over it, darlin'. Bad things happen that we can't control, you did everything you could and you were great at it. Don't let it eat at'cha, honey-bun." "Gracias, Bella. Lo necesitaba…" "Anytime, big guy. Now, you wanna see me try and fail again to open a de la Rosa without breaking it?" "Aha! How about I show you a trick to do it instead?"

Again, like Ghost, you're his special American. Gaz calls you his emotional-support American once and he thinks it's really funny, he'll call you as such every now and then.

✧Rodolfo Parra✧

Sweet darling man. He has nothing against you being American, nothing. But...he cannot understand anything you're saying. He's doing his best but he really doesn't know. He can feel his brain frying every time you bring up something super southern, trying to understand.

He'll have to lean over to your team to ask for a translation, anyone but Soap & Price will tack on an "I think, I'm not sure" at the end of their explanation. If he hears you use a phrase more than once, he'll add it to a little list of notes with the translation underneath it. Treats it like a whole different language. It's adorable.

Like Alejandro, he thinks it's funny if you speak Spanish with your accent. He'll keep a straight face because he knows you can't help it, but man is it fun to hear.

He's not very fond of a lot of yelling if he can avoid it, Rudy prefers disputes to be handled with calm words if possible. But he understands that sometimes it's necessary. Still, he'd want to try and calm you down if you're yelling. But, if you're just acting sickeningly-sweet, kind words that are clearly dripping with venom? He'll just watch. He thinks that shows you handle yourself very well and it's pretty attractive to him, not gonna lie.

"Awww I'm so sorry you're upset, poor thing. God bless you, sir, you have a lovely day. I hope that stick up your ass doesn't hurt too bad." "¡Soldado! No digas eso…" "Shh, sugar, it's fine. He wants to be rude, I can be rude back. An eye for an eye. Don't worry your pretty lil' head bout it, sweetheart." "Dios, a veces me asombras y me aterrorizas."

He's really hesitant about American food. It smells great sometimes but all he hears about American food is that it's greasy, or too salty, etc. Still, he won't deny any meal you make. He thinks it's rude to deny food unless it's something you're allergic to.

He ends up liking a few things, but he is biased to his home cooking. But if you start making his favorite foods, or somehow combine the styles in an honoring way? Oh, those are his favorites. He's particularly fond of American sweets though!

Please bake for this man, bake for him, I beg. Apple pie is an American staple for a reason and he'll jokingly claim he'll move to America if it means he can have apple pie every day.

"Rudy, that's your fourth piece! Ahaha, if I knew you liked it so much I woulda made ya more." "Ay, please do! ¡Fue enviado desde el cielo!" "Alright then, hun, I'll be sure to make you all the apple pie ya want."

Rudy really likes if you wear stuff like a cowboy hat. He's not really sure why, he just thinks it's really cute. If it's a staple of your whole look(like John's hat), seeing you protective over it, he thinks that's really cute. If you're protective of your cowboy hat but let him hold it/put it on his head to hold it, it's gonna fluster him. Even if your guy's relationship is completely platonic.

If you live near the border of Texas & Mexico, it makes visiting you pretty easy, so he'll have no qualms about going back and forth when off duty. He'll be more comfortable in his home but he won't turn down the offer to see your home, especially if it's a ranch. He's got a soft spot for farm animals. (Particularly goats)

If he has any control of how you choose your call sign, he'll likely pick something the same way Gaz does. But, if you have a thing about what certain people call you - like how only Ghost can call Soap "Johnny" - He feels really warm and fuzzy if he gets a special privilege.

(Translations; "Eres un maldito idiota. ¡Tan útil como las tetas de un toro!" - "You're a fucking idiot - as useful as a bull's tits/about as useful as tits on a bull!" "Gracias, Bella. Lo necesitaba…" - "Thank you, bella/beauty. I needed it." "¡Soldado! No digas eso…" - "Soldier! You can't say that..." "Dios, a veces me asombras y me aterrorizas." - "God, sometimes you amaze and terrify me." "¡Fue enviado desde el cielo!" - "It was sent from heaven!")

[ghcstpyre]

tom ludlow x f!reader x jack traven

cw: jealous!tom, rookie!reader, cis female reader, implied age gap, alcohol consumption, one sided pining (or is it? oooo), nicknames for reader (rookie, kid), slight horniness, SFW.

word count: 3.6k

anon: Do you take requests? If yes, may I request a jealous Tom Ludlow drabble?

a/n: thank you so much for the request! I hope you don't mind that I made this a crossover, I couldn't resist including the other LAPD dreamboat 🤤 I know next to nothing about the way american police systems work so sorry for any mistakes or inaccuracies!

Tom's eyes were glued to you as you chatted away with a young man at the bar, perched daintily atop one of the rickety looking barstools. He was vaguely aware that Captain Briggs to his right was talking to him, something about a lethal cocktail he tried in a seedy bar during his holiday to Europe, but only half of his attention was paid to his colleague.

The bar was fairly crowded with groups of friends engulfing the tables, playing pool and sitting at the bar. The dim lights washed the room in a warm glow, the sound of blues music and laughter filled the space between the bodies and the faint smell of cigarettes could be smelled lightly wafting in from the entrance whenever anyone left or entered.

A few of the officers were out to celebrate the birthday of one of the guys from the bomb squad - Jake or Jace or something like that. Tom never really went out of his way to get friendly with the adrenaline junkies. Since his already weary heart was torn in two by Wander, he hadn't gone out of his way to get friendly with anyone.

Briggs being one of the exceptions of course. The scrawny, smug asshole was the only thing that stood between him and a lifetime of hell behind bars after his blood-soaked hunt for the monster behind Washington’s murder. Turns out that glueing your life back together after it crumbled around you in rapid succession really puts a spin on how you feel about a guy.

The only other exception was you. You, with your sparkling eyes, perfect smile, sunny disposition and pure, uncorrupted sense of justice. 

When the Captain introduced you as Tom's new partner, he wasn't so sure. You were young, fresh from the academy with the same childlike wonder shining in your eyes that he had when he was a rookie himself. He was old and tired and quite frankly he didn't have the patience for training the newbie. But you'd very quickly exceeded his insultingly low expectations, and if Tom was completely honest with himself, the two of you actually made a good team.

You were competent in the field, able to hold your own but also smart enough to know when to seek assistance. You listened to him, but also questioned him when you thought it necessary. Easily the biggest bonus was the fact you didn't mind the piles of paperwork that came after a bust; more than once Tom had been more than happy to slip away to get some real work done while you buried your pretty face into those dreaded stacks of dead tree. You threw yourself into it, much like you did with everything else that came with the job. 

And yet, even after witnessing some of the horrors that came with being a detective, still you shone brightly like a beacon of innocence and hope amongst the jaded and corrupt.

That is why Tom Ludlow began to fall for you. And god he hoped that light didn't burn out like his had done all those years ago.

“...om? Tom? Oi, Ludlow!”

One of Briggs’ boney hands waved in front of Tom's face, drawing the detective's attention away from you. Tom took a sip of his drink - whiskey, neat since he didn't have to try and cover up the stench of booze for once - and turned his head to look at Briggs who looked less than impressed.

“You didn't hear a word I just said, did you?” Briggs deadpanned.

Tom scoffed. “Sure I did. Something about cocktails and your titillating discovery of European prostitutes?”

The captain rolled his beady eyes. “Ha ha. Y'know, I think I prefer Vodka-Tom. He might be a sad sack, but at least he doesn't think himself a comedian.”

Tom barked out a short laugh. “Unfortunately for me there ain't a single version of you I like, James.”

Briggs grinned and the two men clinked their glasses together, enjoying their little bubble of solitude tucked away on a table in the corner while the younger officers joined in with the joyous din of the bar. A small reprieve from his longing for your attention, albeit brief. The Captain eventually excused himself to use the restroom and although Tom had tried to force his gaze to wander over the groups of people scattered around the bar, it always eventually ended up landing on you again. 

The little black dress you wore flattered you in all the right places and the black heels on your feet sent a thrill through his body. Your hair fell over your shoulders, washed and blow-dried to perfection and when he caught the rouge on your lips he swore his heart skipped a beat. He'd only ever seen you during work hours with your hair nearly pulled back, bare faced and donning your uniform. Always professional, always put together.

Tonight he was seeing you in a whole new light. While he was only watching you from afar, Tom could tell that you were a little tipsy and all smiles for the man sat on the barstool next to you. He watched, his jaw clenched as you laughed at something the man said, twirling your straw around in your glass before bringing the thin tube of plastic to your plush red lips to take a sip of your drink.

Tom couldn't get a good look at the man, but he could see that he was tall, broad and sporting a buzzcut and a badge hooked to his belt. Part of the bomb squad, Tom deduced, if his stature was anything to go by. A puff of air left Tom in a quiet huff and he shifted in his seat, sipping from his drink again while he tried to get a better look at you and the man he’d already decided he didn't like.

The detective had only decided to show his face tonight because you'd mentioned you were going. He didn't know how you knew the birthday boy, but he'd be damned if he missed an opportunity to see you and spend time with you outside the precinct. Obviously he'd dragged Briggs along as his plus one; there was no way in hell he was suffering through any sort of bomb squad party without a friend there to kill time with.

Besides, it was an open invitation party which was as good an excuse as any to bump into you.

Mr Buzzcut eventually left to meander his way through the crowd over to the retro jukebox off to the side of the bar, leaving you sitting pretty on that shit barstool by yourself. Tom threw back the rest of his drink, wiped his mouth and decided to talk to you while Buzzcut wasn't hanging around.

As Tom weaved his way through the groups of drunken partygoers, he kept reminding himself that there was nothing wrong with an officer making conversation with his subordinate off duty. He might've been older than you - by quite the margin - but there was nothing out of the ordinary about two coworkers having a casual chat and a drink.

“Rookie.” Tom greeted you gruffly as he stepped up to the bar next to where you were perched.

You turned your head and looked up at him, still having to tilt your head up to meet his gaze despite being sat on a tall barstool. Your eyebrows shot up in surprise and you immediately sat up straighter upon realising who it was.

“Detective Ludlow! I didn't know you were here.” You half yelled, doing your best to be heard over the din of the bar and not slur your words at the same time. “If I had I would've found you sooner to say hello, Sir.”

Tom huffed in amusement and waved one of his large hands dismissively, his other arm resting atop the bar from his elbow. “Don't worry about it. And we're off duty, no need to be so formal, kid.”

You smiled and he noticed the way the tension in your shoulders began to unwind, no longer sitting straight as an arrow. “Alright then, Tom, what are you doing here?” You asked, angling your body to fully face him and cross one long leg over the other. It took all of Tom's strength to not follow the movement of your leg with his eyes. Hearing you call him by his name did things to him that certainly weren't appropriate for the relationship he had with you. “Didn't think you were that fond of the bomb squad.”

“Oh yeah? What gave it away?” He grinned, a curious eyebrow raised.

You tapped your index finger against your chin in mock thought and cocked your head to the side. “Hmm I don't know, maybe the constant grumbling whenever any of them enter our office? The sarcastic comments? The general hostility?” Your pretty face scrunched into a comical scowl and you puffed out your chest in an attempt to impersonate him. If it was anyone else Tom would tell them to fuck off, but coming from you it was just downright adorable.

The corners of Tom's brown eyes crinkled into crow’s feet  as he smiled and laughed, a deep baritone sound rumbling from his chest. He shifted his stance, inching a little closer to you and leaning his weight onto one hip. You could smell the notes of his cologne drifting towards you and maybe it was because you were a little drunk, but you couldn't help but notice how good he smelled – and how good he looked.

He wasn't wearing anything fancy, just a black t-shirt, dark blue jeans and a pair of brown ankle boots. But his t-shirt was tight enough that it stretched across his broad chest and strained around his thick biceps. The heavy silver buckle on his belt did things to your insides (you'd already seen the way Tom could handle a belt once before and the fire it lit beneath your skin had you wanting to see him do it again) and his denim jeans hugged his long legs in all the right places. The Cuban-esque heels on his boots were the cherry on the cake; he looked absolutely delicious.

You were definitely drunk, you told yourself, because you found yourself wanting to get closer to Tom so you could get a whiff of that cologne at least once more. After sucking up the last of your drink through the straw in your glass you hopped down off the rickety barstool to stand next to Tom.

As your heels touched the wooden floorboards you wobbled drunkenly and stumbled forward, right into Tom. He seemed to anticipate it however, and reacted quick enough to catch you before you face planted right into his chest – not that he would've minded it if you had done. The arm that wasn't resting on the bar wrapped around your waist to hold you firmly against his body while you regained your footing.

“Easy there, rookie.” Tom murmured, his voice a deep, pleasant rumble.

It was the first time you'd been this physically close to eachother in a situation that didn't involve any sort of danger. You felt secure in his strong hold and as you looked up to meet his gaze from beneath your lashes, you couldn't quite place the look on his face. 

You could feel heat rising to your cheeks. Before you could say anything, Tom exhaled and let his arm loosen around you. His hand, however, stayed resting protectively - almost possessively - on your lower back as you took a small step back, still staying close enough to smell his cologne and feel the heat of his body.

“S-sorry,” Though you were apologising your lips still curved up into a smile. “I turn into a clutz when I've had a few.”

Tom returned your smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling once more. “It would seem so. Better be careful or you'll end up clinging to your superior officer all night.”

You could've sworn there was a suggestive tinge to his voice, but you chalked it up to the booze swimming throughout your system. Tom's smile only widened when you didn't blanche or recoil away and instead inched closer to him, close enough that you were practically tucked against his side.

“Oh no,” You faked a swoon, dramatically pressing the back of your hand against your forehead and leaning your full weight against him. “I’d get a big strong man looking after me and you'd get a hot young woman on your arm all night – what a predicament!”

Tom barked out another laugh, the rare sound flooding your chest with warmth.

Big strong man, huh? He thought.

“Jesus kid, you are drunk. Think you've got room for another?” The hand that rested on your lower back slid upwards to curl around your bare shoulder and give it an affectionate squeeze.

It was difficult for him to ignore just how soft your skin felt beneath his rough, calloused hand, and how perfectly you slotted against his side. Tom was already committing the curves of your body to memory.

“Hell yeah I do.” You grinned up at him and he signalled to the bartender with his free hand to order drinks for the two of you.

Once Tom had paid for your drinks you perched yourself on the barstool again with him relinquishing his hold on you and following suit. You scooted your seat closer to him under the guise of wanting to hear him better over the noisy patrons as you chatted and sipped on your booze. If he saw through the lie he said nothing, though you didn't miss the way his pupils dilated, swallowing the warm brown hue of his irises when your ankle rubbed against his leg as you crossed one over the other.

The rest of the bar seemed to fade away, all of your attention on the man in front of you. It was as if all of the voices, laughter and music around you had been turned down to volume 0 and the visuals shifted out of focus until they blurred. You didn't even realise the music change from a bluesy number to ABBA. How had you never noticed how handsome, how charming Tom was before? 

You weren't even sure you could blame it on the beer goggles anymore.

It was someone else's hand on the small of your back that pulled you back to reality. You watched as Tom's eyes narrowed at whoever had interrupted the two of you and for a moment you thought it was some creep trying to cop a feel. But when you turned your head to look at the owner of said hand, you immediately relaxed.

“Jack!” The upbeat notes of ABBA’s ‘Dancing Queen’ finally reached your ears. “Welcome back birthday boy. Did you put this one on?”

Jack flashed you a dazzling grin of pride, seemingly completely unaware of Tom's existence on the stool next to you despite the glare being shot his way. “Hell yeah I did. Do I get the star detective’s seal of approval?”

The sleeves of his loose-fitting faded flannel shirt were rolled up to the elbow, showing off his toned, bronzed forearms and he'd neglected to button up the first two buttons at the top, exposing just enough of his chest to make you want to rip open the rest. His light blue jeans and white sneakers had him sticking out like a sore thumb amongst the blacks and browns of the other patrons.

Your ankle retracted from Tom's leg and you laughed. That sweet sound would've been music to Tom's ears had it been directed at anyone other than that cocky prick. The grip he had on his drink tightened, enough that his knuckles began to turn white.

“Absolutely you do, I love this song!” 

You were all smiles and rosy cheeks for this guy and it was taking all of Tom's willpower not to butt in and put this boy in his place. He'd had a few run-ins with Jack Traven in the past when their cases crossed over and needless to say, the two of them did not get along. Tom respected Jack for his heroics on that bus with the bomb; it was rare to find someone else with the balls and grit to say fuck it to the endless red tape and just get shit done, but that was where his like for Traven began and ended.

“Really?” Tom piped up, casually sipping on his drink, reclaiming your attention and gaining Traven’s. “You like this kinda stuff?”

Tom's gaze dropped to your lips as you playfully rolled your eyes and stuck your tongue out at him. He knew for a fact he'd be thinking about the cute shade of pink of your tongue while he laid in bed later in the night, trying not to think of you at all.

“Tom, this is Jack from the SWAT team. Jack, this is Tom, my partner in crime. Or law? I guess?” You said, not clocking the obvious tension between the two men either side of you.

The attractive, charming SWAT member who flirted with you whenever he needed to stop by your office, and your hot, older superior officer who smelled amazing and made you think extremely inappropriate thoughts. You just knew you were going to have some very interesting dreams about this later.

“Yeah, we've met.” Jack's voice didn't hold as much charm now that it was directed at Tom and his smile didn't quite reach his eyes. The detective simply nodded in acknowledgement. “How's Briggs doing? You still keeping his desk piled high with paperwork thanks to your…heroics?”

You raised a freshly plucked brow at Jack, then turned to Tom. The older man’s poker face didn't crack, completely unphased by Jack's obvious passive aggression. “How's Annie?”

You could feel Jack's hand on your lower back stiffen.

“You guys were pretty loved up after that train popped up from the ground. Must be an intense kinda girl.” Tom continued, bringing his glass to his lips once again, nonchalant to the core.

Jack removed his hand from you and stood up to his full height. He couldn't have been much shorter than Tom, maybe by a couple of inches. He crossed his arms over his broad chest and while the two men were busy doing their best to be subtle about their peacocking in front of you, you were slurping your drink through your straw and trying to process the possibility of Jack already having a girlfriend.

“We broke up. Thanks for opening up that wound, old man.” 

Old man. Tom grinned and huffed in amusement, knowing he'd hit a nerve. “Ah c'mon champ, the wound can't be that bad. I could've sworn I saw you in here with a different girl not too long ago. Y'know, curly hair? Hoop earrings?”

Jack's thick eyebrows pulled down in a frown and he puffed out his chest beneath his folded arms. “Are you jealous? What's your problem?”

“I just don't want a womaniser like you sniffing around my rookie. So why don't you be a good SWAT hound and sniff somewhere else?” 

Tom spoke in a possessive growl. If you weren't several drinks deep you'd be embarrassed by the heat pooling between your thighs at the detective calling you his. You were about to pipe up and attempt some drunken damage control, but Jack was stepping around you and up to Tom before you could say anything.

The detective slid off his chair to stand to his full height the moment Jack was close enough for the toes of their shoes to touch. He leered over the younger man, eyes narrowed in fury, daring him to try it.

“You wanna say that again old man?” Jack spat, his words dripping from his tongue like venom. “Why’re you acting like some jealous boyfriend over a girl half your age anyway?”

Tom's fists were balled up so tight his knuckles had turned white. The last thing he wanted to do was cause a scene right in front of you – he was older and knew better – but goddamn if he wasn't tempted to clock this insufferable prick right in his jaw to teach him a lesson and shut him the hell up.

“She's your subordinate too, right? Maybe I should pay Briggs a visit, I'm sure he'd love to hear about this little abuse of power.”

“Okay!” You put your now-empty glass down on the bar with a forceful clunk and hopped down from your perch to grab the sleeve of Jack's flannel shirt and pull him back so you could stand between the two peacocking men. Luckily for you, Jack allowed you to move him, the tension building up within his muscles immediately easing off at your touch.

The fact that you'd gone for Jack and not him only riled Tom up further. But, for your sake, he inhaled deeply and let out a long, slow exhale through his nose, forcing himself to simmer down as he watched you turn to the younger man and place those dainty little hands of yours on his chest.

“You, birthday boy, are missing out on Dancing Queen and still owe me a dance, and you–” You removed a hand from Jack to jab a finger into Tom's chest. “--Sir, need to rescue Captain Briggs from that very drunk woman over there.”

Tom's intense gaze flicked down to where your finger lingered on him a little too long, then to your pretty eyes before finally turning around to see that, yup, his friend had been cornered by an extremely inebriated woman on his way out of the bathroom. She was practically hanging off him with her arms around his neck whilst the much skinnier man desperately tried to point out the wedding ring on his boney finger.

Both you and Jack had to do your best not to laugh, stifling your giggles behind your hands as Tom deflated like a balloon in front of your eyes. 

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” He groaned, his altercation with Traven immediately forgotten as he stomped over to rescue Briggs. Your gaze lingered on the older man as his long legs ate up the space between him and the Captain, leaving you with Jack who was already taking your hand in his and tugging you towards the dancefloor.

With a roll of your eyes you allowed yourself to be dragged away by the handsome young man, despite the urge to follow after Tom like a little lost lamb. Jack held both of your hands as the two of you began to move and sway enthusiastically along to the upbeat tune of ABBA.

When Tom had finally managed to untangle the drunken woman from Briggs without flashing his badge, he couldn't help the way his heart sank in his chest at the sight of you cosied up to Traven on the dancefloor. If he thought about it hard enough he could still feel the curves of your body pressed against his side, all soft and supple and goddamn delicious to the point where he almost ached with the desire to map out those dips and swells with his hands, lips and tongue.

“Let's get outta here.” He grunted, forcing himself to look away from you before the urge to start drinking vodka crept up on him.

“Already? You still owe me a drink.” Briggs complained.

Tom didn't bother replying, already making a beeline for the exit, his eyes focused straight ahead on the squeaky double doors to avoid seeing the way Jack's hands moved to your hips to pull you against him.

What he didn't see was your pretty head turning to watch him leave.

[poppitron360]

Hii! Can I ask for some of your more lighthearted (as in not too angsty) Leo Valdez headcanons?

1. CANNOT SIT ON A CHAIR PROPERLY

FOR THE LIFE OF HIM. YOU COULD POINT A GUN TO HIS HEAD AND HE STILL COULDN’T DO IT.

I NEED MORE FANART OF THIS PLEASE

2. Can in theory breathe fire but doesn’t bc it gives him a really bad sore throat.

3. Still reading TOA- I just found out that Leo’s full name is “Leonidas” (either that or it’s a nickname Calypso gave him, but the fandom seem to agree that it’s his real name) but he HATES it when Calypso calls him that, so my hc is ANNABETH is the ONLY one with “Leonidas” privileges. And that’s bc he’s so fucking terrified of her he doesn’t DARE appose her on it. I feel like she does use it respectfully though.

Hazel is also allowed to use it sparingly.

4. Oh yeah fuck canon Leo and Annabeth are besties and they bond over both being runaways and also engineering/architecture stuff. Leo’s DEFINITELY had a peek around Daedalus’ laptop- his design for an automaton that can house a human soul got him thinking about his mom. He always planned on maybe taking a closer look at those files but then the laptop got lost in Tartar Sauce. I know you said no angst. Whoops.

5. Leo and Hazel start a support group for demigods who have come back from the dead. Every Wednesday in New Rome. Biscuits and Orange Juice will be provided. They call themselves the “YOLTers” (You Only Live Twice- because YOLO is for the weak). Thalia is also a frequent attendee.

6. I hc him as hard of hearing after the explosion in Blood of Olympus. Specifically deaf in his right ear and chronic tinnitus in his left. He uses hearing aids sometimes and also uses ASL and Morse Code to communicate. I choose to view that as wholesome bc we need more disability representation.

7. He is a “Leonidas” ONLY at Starbucks. He then follows it up with a bunch of equally hard-to-pronounce middle names (which he completely made up) said in a rapid-fire Spanish accent and watches the Barista panic as her white ass tries to spell it all. It’s even funnier when she tries to say it back to him when giving him his order. He takes the cup (leaves a generous tip) and says “but usually I just go by Leo” and walks away.

That is pretty much my entire understanding of American culture right there-

8. Trains autistic. He loves them. In the one I’m currently reading- The Dark Prophecy- Calypso and Apollo go on a train without Leo and I’m just imagining them getting back and him being “But what kind of train was it? Standard gauge or narrow gauge? Man, I love narrow gauge trains. Did you know that there’s this place in Wales called the Ffestiniog railway, where they have this special type of locomotive where the engine- the sicky-outy bit- is like, either side of the locomotive, so that there’s no need for a turntable-“

Okay I might also love narrow gauge trains (I’ve been on the Ffestiniog railway, it is amazing) (Also that is not a typo, in Welsh I believe the double f makes a soft sound (like in “off”) and a single f makes a hard sound, more like a v (like in “of”) you learn a new thing every day!)

9. Ambidextrous but Left-hand dominant (Often has to specify to his tool belt that he needs left-handed tools)

10. When speaking will put weird pauses in the middle of a sentence and not stop between sentences like talkingreallyfastwhenhe’sreally exited and talking slowly when he’s tiredit’skindaweird and choppy like hisbrainisgoing a million times faster than hismouth.

11. His favourite Disney film is Frozen.

12. When he’s comfortable around you, you start to hear more of his hispanic accent.

13. Said it before, will say it again. Headcannon no. 13 is ALWAYS WITHOUT FAIL “They’re a Swiftie.”

He has to listen to music as a way of not being alone with his thoughts. I discovered Taylor at a young age, and she has remained one of the few consistencies in my life since then. She got me through some tough times (Not as bad as Leo, but she helped me survive 2020). I feel like Leo would be the same- not always knowing where he’ll be sleeping that night or if food will be on the table, he’d want comfort, stability. Taylor would be there.

14. He wakes Frank up at 3am with “Hey I can’t read that what does that say?” “…Leo you wrote this. You’re telling me you can’t read your own writing?” Little does Leo know that Percy came in with exactly the same request half an hour before. Frank is finding being the only non-dyslexic on the ship incredibly frustrating.

15. Has the philosophy “anything is a fidget toy if you fidget with it” and STICKS to it

16. If Piper sees an item of clothing with an ungodsly amount of pockets, she is contractually obligated to buy it for him.

17. Eats cheese straight off the block. Like doesn’t even bother cutting it, he just *noms* straight into the block of cheese like it’s a chocolate bar. Similarly also eats Nutella straight outta the jar, sometimes without even using a spoon (and y’all know he doesn’t wash his hands).

18. Slightly more immune to electric shocks than normal bc of his way with machines (Valgrace nation do with that what you will)- similar to how Percy, as seen in botl, is a little bit fireproof.

19. You can’t tell me that during his first quest with Jason and Piper, they didn’t at least once triple-spoon with Leo in the middle bc he’s warmest.

20. In fact, “Cuddle Leo” is a common pastime for Jasiper. Particularly when it’s cold.

21. HE. CAN. SEW.

I saw a lot of people hc that Leo makes Percabeth’s wedding rings but that is factually incorrect. TYSON makes the ring. LEO makes Annabeth’s dress. I just started this fic where Annabeth, Piper, Leo, Reyna, and Rachel all go wedding dress shopping for Leo to get ideas, but he makes absolutely the most BEAUTIFUL gown for her- much better than any store. It puts all other wedding dresses to shame.

22. He can also knit, crochet (This hc was supplied by my mum who I’ve forced to read Heroes of Olympus), weave, and do macramé. He’s gone down rabbit holes about old-fashioned lacemaking. Him and Annabeth have sewing/crafting competitions at camp and on the Argo.

23. Autistic hand-flappy stim

24. He watches Stand-Up Comedy specials with Jason. I feel like if he wasn’t a mechanic he’d be a comedian (or run a taco truck, like Jason suggested in TLH). He takes his friends to as many comedy shows as he can. He loves them.

25. A Valgrace hc but it relates- while I was thinking up ways for Leo/Jason to propose (just a regular day in my brain), I had an idea for Leo to take Jason to one of those comedy shows that does crowd-work, and sits in the front row to get their attention. When the comedian asks who they are, Leo introduces Jason as his fiancé. When Jason goes, “Wait, no I’m not!” Leo yells “WELL WOULD YOU LIKE TO BE?” And gets down on one knee.

Also, sorry it’s taken me so long to respond. I’ve had this saved to my drafts and I’ve been slowly adding to it every time I get a new headcanon.

[agaypanic]

Headcanons meeting Oliver Quick and Felix's little second sister catton!reader

Oliver Quick Meeting Felix Catton's Little Sister Headcanons

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A/N: i have no idea if felix or venetia is the oldest sibling, so i made the birth order venetia, felix, reader. reader is a freshman at oxford. im american and although ive been to europe a few times, i dont know much about english terminology and such. kinda short compared to my other headcanons since it’s just meeting headcanons

***

He didn’t really think much of you at first

Mainly because he didn’t know who you were

Or, more specifically, who you were related to

You shared a freshman class at Oxford

“Hi, is this seat taken?” Oliver’s focus was pulled from meticulously setting out his supplies for class when he heard your voice. He looked up at you, a bit guarded, but relaxed slightly when he realized you couldn’t cause any harm. 

“No…” He murmured, looking around the classroom. He realized that the seats were completely filled, except for the one that was right next to him. “No, you can have it.”

You let out a small noise of appreciation, setting your bag on the desk and settling into the seat. Oliver figured that would be the end of it, and went back to preparing for the lecture that was about to start.

But then your hand came into view, waiting for him to grasp.

“I’m Y/n.” You said cheerfully. Definitely too cheerfully for an eight am class. 

“Oliver.” The boy responded, shaking your hand. He noted it was soft and delicate. 

“Nice to meet you, Oliver.”

Then Oliver’s sights latched onto Felix

He set the foundation by letting the rich boy borrow his bike, completely unaware of the fact that Olver was the one to pop his tire

Then he went to a pub with Michael Gavey, where he knew that Felix would be

When Felix called him over, Oliver was surprised to see you sitting next to Felix, his arm draped over the back of your chair

“Ollie!” Felix grinned, a bit buzzed as he looked up at his timid friend. He couldn’t help but notice that his gaze kept flitting over to you every few seconds. “Sit, sit, sit!”

“Ollie?” You repeated the nickname, turning away from your conversation with Annabelle so you could see who Felix had been making friends with. These days, it was like all you heard was ‘Ollie this’ and ‘Ollie that,’ yet you had never seen him.

It turns out you’d been sitting next to Felix’s new best friend for the past couple of weeks without even knowing it.

“Hi, Y/n.” Oliver waved a bit shyly at you and sat down in the free seat on the other side of Felix.

“You know each other?” Felix asked, head going back and forth between the two of you. 

“Yeah, he’s in one of my classes.” You answered, tilting your head as you looked at Oliver fondly. “I never would’ve guessed that your Ollie was my Oliver.”

“Small world,” Felix added with a laugh.

Oliver couldn’t help but squirm at the unintentional possessiveness. Felix’s Ollie. Your Oliver. He liked the sound of it, although he was much more fond of being possessive himself than possessed.

“So, how do you two know each other?” Oliver asked, feeling the judging stares at everyone around the large table except for you and Felix. From across, there was a scoff.

“They’re brother and sister, genius.” Farleigh chided, taking a drag from his cigarette.

Siblings? Oliver thought, his eyebrows raising. Everyone thought it must have been in embarrassment, not knowing you your best friend’s sister was. Especially when they were so popular.

But no. In reality, Oliver was altering his scheme a bit. Maybe he was able to kill two birds with one stone. Have the handsome Felix Catton and his little sister.

[r-f-m-writes]

Pretty, Dead Animals Chapter One

The shimmering shift of tattoos over refined tendons of muscle made Linette feel like she was being hypnotized as she swept the man's card through the slot on the side of the machine, not even glancing at the amount due.

“Your boss ’s sick, so he leaves a little girl alone to deal with grown men all day? More of a shmuck than I thought.”

The genuine ebb of concern in his tone made Linette’s knees feel wobbly as she handed the card back.

The tip of his index finger brushed against the soft underside of her wrist as he took it from her.

“I can take care of myself.”

When he scoffed at her it wasn’t unkind so much as disbelieving.

"Yeah, kid. I’m sure you think you can.”

Linette’s stomach was swooping itself into hot, excited knots as she stood fixing her hair in the spotty restroom mirror, yanking brown waves out of the claw clip and fluffing out her roots before arranging the tangled mess over her shoulders in a way the looked half presentable.

It had been scorching hot the night before, she’d barely slept. Her under eyes were sunken and blue tinged, she felt groggy and deflated - the clothes she wore had been grabbed thoughtlessly off the top of the clean washing hamper.

Linette didn’t look good, at all, and he had just pulled his black Semi into the truck stop.

He, who had an American accent, a full sleeve of brooding black ink tattoos, and a defined five o'clock shadow that made something primal inside her purr.

He, who had blue eyes, brown hair, and a permanent scowl that etched itself into the center of all her silly, girlish fantasies for the last four months.

He, whose name Linette didn’t know, was mysterious and new and scary in a way that thrilled her from the inside out.

Who could blame a girl for craving something fresh in the monotonous nothingness that came with life in a desert town hours away from anything important?

The shrill ting ting ting of the little ringer at the counter being hit impatiently three times snapped Linette out of her fussing, the girl giving her hair one last pass over in the mirror as she called out.

“Coming!”

The door to the bathroom bumped heavily as Linette hurried out, pretending to dry her hands on the front of her singlet. Blush stung inside her cheeks as she walked toward the counter.

A grunt and the sound of heavy boots shifting on the floor came before his voice.

“Sorry, kid. Thought it was the old fella on today.”

The nickname heated her up. She almost fell over her own feet when the rubber soles of her sneakers caught on the slippery tiles. When she cleared her throat to speak, her voice came out in mumbles.

“ ‘s all good. Ben’s off sick, I’ve been holding down the Servo for him. Pump five?”

Linette lifted her head to look him right in the eye, acting braver than she felt.

He was wearing a cap, gray, with the name of some sports team she didn’t recognize embroidered on the front. His buzz cut had grown out since last time he was at the stop, five o'clock shadow turning into a real beard, all filled out, thick and dark with no irregular patches.

That was how Linette knew he must be older, much older, than her. Boys her age who were trying to grow out their first beards always looked scraggly and gross, like they’d cut off their pubes and glued them to their face in uneven clumps. His beard was nothing like that. He was nothing like that.

Everything about him was mature and distinguished, polished in a finish of radiant masculinity that made Linette want to sink into a dependent puddle at his feet.

Even his mesh of black tattoos looked classic, and tattoos were something that, right up until seeing him for the first time, Linette had absolutely hated; taking them as a red flag of insecurity and a person’s incomplete sense of self.

On him, they looked downright lickable.

Him being the most beautiful man she’d ever seen outside of a TV screen certainly helped compel her intense attraction - but, for Linette, his voice was the nail in the coffin. Low, slow, smooth and rumbling, tinged with an accent she didn’t know how to place. She wanted to listen to him talk for hours.

The spot between his eyebrows pinched as he stooped to lean his elbow on the counter. The cut off black teeshirt he wore looked like it was fighting to stay together around the bulge of his bicep as it flexed while he held out his card for her to take.

The shimmering shift of his tattoos over refined tendons of muscle made Linette feel like she was being hypnotized as she swept his card through the slot on the side of the machine without so much as glancing at the amount due.

The payment was approved immediately.

“He’s sick, so he leaves a little girl alone to deal with grown men all day? More of a shmuck than I thought.”

The genuine ebb of disapproval and concern in his tone made Linette’s knees feel soft as she handed him back his card over the counter.

The tip of his index finger caught off the underside of her wrist as he took it from her.

Linette had to lock her shoulders back to keep herself from shuddering.

Her voice was embarrassed and quiet in her throat when she replied. “I’m twenty one. I can take care of myself.”

When he scoffed at her it wasn’t unkind so much as disbelieving.

“Yeah, I’m sure you think you can. You got anything behind the counter? Pepper spray? A gun?”

He slotted his card back into a neat, folding leather wallet as he questioned her. Linette watched the deft flick of his thick fingers and suddenly her mouth felt dry.

“Nope. Have a panic button, though.”

Pushing the wallet back into the front pocket of his dark wash jeans, he let out a short, humorless huff.

“Panic button. Shit. What‘re you supposed to do between pressing that an’ waitin’ for the cops to pull up? Just gonna stand there, smile all pretty, hope some guy my size doesn't try to rob the place or do what he likes with you?”

Linette was struck silent by the question. She had wondered the same herself countless times, but never came to any sound, practical solution other than doing exactly what he had said; standing still and hoping nothing bad happened to her in specific.

She shrugged hopelessly.

He looked at her. It was a long, strange stare that Linette didn’t know how to understand.

Eventually, he shook his head and sighed.

“What am I gonna do with you, kid?”

[ssweeterthanfiction]

Wait for your love.

Content Warnings: mentions of drinking, drug use,

↳ currently playing ;

“Slut!” - 1977

0:56 ——•———————— 3:24

↺       <<          ll          >>     ⋮≡

Y/N: “Let me explain something about the whole….‘America’s Sweetest Girl’ bullshit”

“The only reason people called me that was because how I dressed and how my voice sounded.”

“It’s stupid but…it stuck.”

“Teddy said it was a good way to brand myself, that it would make me more…appealing to people.”

“Guess he didn’t want me having the same reputation that the band did. Unfortunately for him, that image of ‘America’s Sweetest Girl’ was out of the window.”

Daisy: “The pictures of y/n from that night were in every tabloid the next day.”

“Everyone saw how ‘America’s Sweetheart’ was drunk and high out of her mind.”

“Honestly….I was proud of her.”

“I was so sick of her pretending to be someone she wasn’t.”

“But not many people liked that”

Y/N: “It felt so…so freeing. I always had to keep this image up of being a ‘good girl’ and that just— wasn’t me.”

“I mean, I thought it wasn’t me. I didn’t want it to be me.”

“I wanted to be like everyone else. I wanted to party and not worry about being photographed.”

“And it’s not like I didn’t party, I did. But when I did, Teddy would lecture me as if I was a child.”

She sighs. “I mean…he wasn’t completely wrong for treating me like one.”

‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - - ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵

It had been two days since the New Year’s Eve scandal.

You and Billy are both sitting at a table across from Teddy In front of them is a magazine with the picture of you hanging out of a window with Billy standing above you with a guitar. Both of you look high and drunk out of your minds.

“Well, one of you better speak up now and explain this.” Teddy says, leaning back in his chair, glaring at both of you.

You cross your arms and huff. “Should I explain or you?”

Billy sighs, running a hand over his face. “I will, you were the one hanging out a window looking like a fool.” he mumbles, glancing at you.

You scoffs and roll your eyes. “You’re the one who was smoking a blunt and had a guitar slung around his shoulders asshat…” you mumble.

Billy glances at you, rolling his eyes. He puts a cigarette between his lips, lighting it. “Watch your damn mouth, doll..”

Teddy sighed, clearly becoming frustrated with both of you arguing. “For gods sake, you two. Just explain to me how you both end up in front of a damn window practically making out for everyone to see?”

You huff again, leaning back in your chair. “We got in a fight, got high, got drunk, and then…” you motion to the magazine. “That happened”

Billy laughs, taking the cigarette out of his mouth before he leans back in his chair as he looks at you. “You got pretty damn high that’s for sure. I don’t think I’ve seen you that high in my life, doll..” He says, putting special emphasis on the nickname.

Teddy groans, rubbing his forehead as if you two were giving him a headache, but you were 100% sure you were. “And you two just decided to forget cameras exist?”

You shrug in response, not entirely sure with what to say.

Billy sighs, taking another drag of his cigarette. “Oh, come on, Teddy. What’s the big deal? So what if we got on the cover page of a tabloid, who cares?”

Teddy scoffs.”Who cares? Who- who cares?” he says, going into his drawer and grabbing 4 more

magazines.

“Y/N is who should care.” he says slamming all the magazines on the desk.

You grab two of the magazines and read the headlines.

‘America’s Sweetheart or an All-American Bitch?’

‘America’s Golden Girl Gone Wild!”

“Are people really saying this stuff about me?”

Billy sighs and grabs one of the magazines, staring at the headline that’s on the cover with the photo.

He groans, running a hand over his face.“God damnit..” He mumbles under his breath before looking at you. “It’s just a couple magazines, doll. I’m sure it’s not that bad..”

“That’s easy for you to say, you’re not the one they’re antagonizing!”

Billy laughs, shaking his head at your yelling. “Calm down, princess. I’m sure it’s not that bad. Besides, you knew what you were doing when you got high and practically threw yourself on me.” He retorted, rolling his eyes at you.

“I didn’t know what I was doing asshole, you got me high out of my fucking mind!”

“And how is that my fault, princess? I didn’t force the joint in your mouth and make you take a hit.” Billy retorted, leaning back in his chair as he put the cigarette back in his mouth.

Teddy groaned, rubbing his forehead as you two continued arguing. “Oh, Jesus Christ, you two..”

“No…maybe you didn’t…but you are the one that pulled out a bag of coke, asshole”

Billy laughs dryly, shaking his head again. “Again, Princess. I didn’t force that damn cocaine up your nose. You did that yourself, not that I cared. You looked damn gorgeous doing it, might I add.” He mumbled that last part under his breath.

You groan in frustration, putting your hands over your head.

“Teddy, how bad is the damage”

Teddy sighs, rubbing his forehead once more. “There’s been quite a bit of backlash from these articles. People are calling you a slut and saying how you used to be so much better.” He mumbles.

‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - - ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵

Y/N: “Everyone was calling me a slut. They were calling me names but they didn’t say shit about Billy.”

“I wish I had done things different, but during that time, I couldn’t. My whole brand was being this sweetheart that everyone loved. And the minute I fucked up, everyone started calling me a slut.”

“If I wanted to keep my career, I had to rebrand. I had literally no choice.”

‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - - ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵

“What do we— what do I do? I need…like damage control right?”

“We’re gonna have to do some kind of damage control. I’m getting calls left and right. The band’s PR team are currently working on everything. It’s just a matter of time ‘til it blows over.”

You shake your head. “No…no but that’s for the band. I’m not apart of the band. I’m categorized as my own artist. What do I do?”

Teddy sighs, running a hand over his forehead again. “We’re working on damage control for you too. The PR team for you is working on the same plan. It’s gonna be alright. Again, it might just take a bit of time, but hopefully it’ll blow over in a matter of weeks..”

“And what if it doesn’t? What happens then? I just…lose everything I’ve worked for?”

Teddy sighed, he hated having to be the bearer of bad news sometimes.

“Well, if it doesn’t blow over, there’s a possibility that your career will be badly affected. The backlash might also become worse at that point. Hopefully it won’t, but we need to be prepared if that outcome comes to light.”

You put your head in your hands, you kept thinking of how stupid you had to be to mess up this bad.

Then you had an idea.

“Rebrand…What about a rebrand?” you say, picking your head up.

Teddy seemed somewhat confused at your idea, but interested to see where you were going with this.

“What do you mean by a ‘rebrand’? Like an image change?”

You nod your head. “We play into what they’re saying, just like how we played into the ‘America’s Sweetheart’ bullshit. I’ll write a new album, a rock one, for real this time.”

“You know what this means right? You have to write and produce one as fast as you can.”

“I can do it. Please Teddy, trust me on this.”

Teddy ponders for a moment.

“You think this will work?”

“It has to. Please Teddy.”

Teddy sighs, he could never say no to you. “Alright fine, but you’ll have to be working around the clock. Can you handle that?”

You nod your head. “I won’t let you down.”

Teddy huffs before nodding. “Alright, I’m putting my faith into you. But be aware, there’s no room for error with this. One screw up and it’s all down the drain.”

“I understand.”

‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - - ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵

Y/N: “I definitely struggled writing a few songs on the album. I mean…I was trying to write, compose, and produce a single album in under 3 weeks.”

“But it was fun to write some of the songs.”

“There was this one in particular…”

‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - - ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵

You were in your apartment, for once. Billy was with you too.

Sitting at your piano, you were attempting to write one of the songs for the new album. But you just couldn’t. You groaned and slammed your hands and head on the piano.

Billy looked up from where he had been sitting on the couch, he’d been there for hours already as he watched you try and work on your songs. He sighs, standing up and walking over to you.

“What’re you stuck on now, doll?”

You groan. “This song…it’s stupid.”

Billy laughs, coming from behind and resting his head on your shoulder.

“Maybe it’s not the song that’s stupid, maybe it’s the songwriter who’s trying to finish in like 3 damn weeks.” He teased.

“Why can‘t songs write themselves…”

Billy rolled his eyes playfully as he rested his hands on your shoulders and started massaging them, hoping to help you relax a bit.

“It would make life a hell of a lot easier, I’ll give you that.” He mumbled.

You rest your head on his hand and look up at him. “Aren’t you a gentleman”

Billy laughs and leans down, kissing your forehead. “Only for you, doll.” He mumbled in your ear, continuing to massage your shoulders.

“Mm…I know…” you say, gazing down at the piano keys.

And almost like magic, your hands begin to play, and you start to hum a tune.

‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - - ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵

Y/N: “Billy and I definitely had our moments…but when we weren’t fighting, everything seemed right. He was just…perfect.”

She chuckles.

“I mean…I wrote “Slut!” is less than an hour. I don’t think I could’ve done it without him…”

the long awaited new chapter is done!! honestly i can’t believe it’s done, but hey, the minute i put on the right song the chapter basically writes itself! thank you so so so much for being patient with this part, i haven’t been in the best mental state, but writing is definitely helping me :) hope u guys enjoyed this chapter as much as i enjoyed writing it <3 (especially the little bit of billy fluff at the end :))

[intrepid-fictioneer-7]

I've come to the conclusion that, in my humble opinion, Higashide is the writer in TYPE-MOON who makes the best ships involving Heroic Spirits.

Which might sound really weird. After all, the central couple in Fate/Apocrypha is Sieg/Jeanne d'Arc, and it's a pretty divisive one. No offense to those who like it, but it's always a dynamic I thought made no real sense narratively and didn't have much chemistry. Sieg on his journey of self-affirmation and personhood didn't need a romance (except maybe with Astolfo, with whom the dynamic is much more fun). Jeanne, the historical figure who rejected a marriage proposal, wore male clothing, and whose famous nickname refers to her celibacy, getting into a romance just never vibed with me (especially when it felt like the parallels/relationship between her and Shirou Kotomine were far more relevant). Add to that the ending copying Last Episode without what made LE have a strong impact, and it makes the whole even less appealing.

But despite that, Apo is also the work where there is the surprising ship of Shirou Amakusa and Queen Semiramis of all people: the semi-legendary Assyrian queen credited with making one of the Seven Wonders of the ancient world falling in love with the young charismatic Japanese Christian who rebelled against the shogunate and failed. It's a very strange crossover ship between two people who never could have met if not for being brought back and it somehow works in being endearing.

(Achilles and Atalanta kinda count I guess, but it's a one-sided ship with little reasoning, that I care so little about, and is eclipsed by the more compelling foils each get, Chiron for Achilles, Jeanne for a Jackie the Ripper-driven mad Atalante.)

Higaside having grown and improved as a writer by the time of FGO, what followed this growth was him not doing a repeat of Sieg/Jeanne, but writing better ships mostly involving Servants. Asterios the Minotaur and Euryale the Gorgon; last Byzantine emperor Constantine IX and fictional Popess Johanna; heck, you can even see the relationship between Mordred and Dr. Jekyll this way (it also works as simple close friendship). Being characters from usually completely different mythologies and historical cultures, there is care done to make it clear why they fall for each other and as a result these couples are very different from one another instead of being the same formula everytime. In a game where a lot of (female) Servants are made to fall for the last Master of Chaldea for sometimes very little reason, these are a breath of fresh air.

For all my problems with her, Sakurai does something similar, though her ships are usually people who canonically were together in their legends: Sigurd/Brynhild, Aslaug/Ragnar Lodbrok, Julius Caesar/Cleopatra, Ozymandias/Nefertari, Tomoe Gozen/Kiso Yoshinaka, etc. They can be one note and there is a repeated thematic tendency of hers of writing "inhuman woman discovering humanity by falling in love", but they tend to be very cute and I easily understand that these people are in love even beyond death, so I root for them to reunite. Higashide also has "canonical" pairings, but the results are more muddled here: Siegfried and Kriemhild are adorable as a divorced couple where there are clearly still feelings, no matter what the tsundere wife says. But Rama and Sita are just...there. I understand the point of their separation, but it's not very engaging and Rama essentially disappeared after the American Singularity, while Sita was yeeted to Arcade. A mark against Higashide, but not as bad as Sieg/Jeanne and overshadowed by the numbers of better ships he wrote in FGO.

And there's Orion and Artemis, where I'm split. Super Orion and LB Artemis was really good and poignant. Orion the teddy bear and ditzy Artemis are a realy bad joke that overstayed its welcome.

FGO prioritizes Master/Servant relationships, both because the last Master of Chaldea is a blank slate for players to self insert into, and also because human×Servant is the type of ship Nasu specializes in (Shirou/Saber, Rin/Saber, Kuzuki/Caster, Caren/Angra Mainyu, and to a lesser extent Bazett/Cu, Yukika/False Assassin, and Ayako/Medusa in FSN; Fate/Extra as a whole; Ritsuka/Castoria in FGO). But even there Higashide made better choices than when he penned Sieg/Jeanne. Charlotte Corday is a surprisingly well-done choice for her archetype, it seems like it's going to be another Kiyohime but no, he actually makes her a good character you get attached to.

And then there is Kadoc and Anastasia. Words cannot describe how much I love them, how their personalities clash and complement each other in the best way, how aesthetically good they look put next to each other, etc. And it's not even just that we got a MasterxServant relationship outside Ritsuka, though that helped.

Basically, Higashide has become my go-to source for good ships, especially intra-Servants ones where Ritsuka is not involved and characters are allowed to not orbit around their Master. Sakurai also provides in that last aspect, but Higashide is doing that and also giving that crossover flavor you see in things like that one Cartoon Network ad with Johnny Bravo and Velma, and that works really well for me.

[fcthots]

ok so this is clearly self-indulgent but what Reader x canon stuff isn’t?? 😤 anyway I’m finally submitting a thing because your portrayal of him & all these ficlets have done wonders for the world—

Italian!Jason (and/or just Jason Who Speaks Italian) & you have used Italian as sort of a “comfort language” since you were growing up together as teens. Yeah, you speak English, but your nicknames for each other, the curses you tend to use, just a lot of specific words because English isn’t always properly descriptive…& there was always a sweet Italian old lady who made the best bolognese & arancini!

anyway, he dies & you’re obviously heartbroken. Skip to Jason finding you (he might be in costume or not) & revealing that he’s alive. He’s too tall, his eyes are too green, he’s too tired and sad-looking. Not that he’s not attractive, but—what if it’s not true? There’s clones, alternate dimensions, dreams…

Then he’s speaking your language. Just partly because you were never fluent. He’s slowly coaxing you into a hug. (Or maybe this is much less angsty & you went from suspicious to in love & ready for a sexy reunion in seconds, lol.)

anyway, have a great weekend!! ♥️ 👌🏽🇮🇹

I'M SORRY THIS IS LOW KEY FUNNY AS HELL BC I'M ITALIAN BUT I'VE SLOWLY LOST ALL MY HERITAGE LMAOOOO

Also I google translated everything bc despite my last name looking like an Italian masterpiece even I say it the English way.

He rotated through every nickname in the book. You were his "principessa", "Tesoro", "cara", "bella", "mia amata", "mostriciattola", etc (princess, sweetheart, dear, beautiful, my loves, and little monster). He called you every sweet name under the sun, all in the language he said "was more fit for your beauty. It sounds much better in Italian."

And one day he stopped calling you anything. One day you just stopped hearing his voice for what you thought would be forever. One day he's calling you "puttana" for stealing his food and then the next day he's dead, laying in a coffin six feet under. You put a red, green, and white rose by his grave because you think he would have found it funny. You don't go back.

You're not the same after, haven't even jokingly attempted to speak a lick of something other than English. You keep quiet, keep to yourself, and think about Jason's spiel about americanized food when you pass by a Dominos pizza.

This all changes, though, when you're walking home by yourself late at night. You have to pass through the bad part of town and maybe you should have been more careful, but it was too late for that now. There were two men and one had a gun; you stood nom chance of making it if you ran. You attempted to back up, just to put some space, but you backed into a trash can and it loudly knocked over. You assailants don’t seem to have appreciated that: one grabs your arm and the other levels the gun at your head. You're shaking and slightly crying, scared out of your mind.

That is until a tank of a man with a bright red helmet drops in. He takes out the man with the gun first and the other pulls a knife to put to your neck. The Red Hood freezes when he looks into your eyes. After the knife starts digging into your skin, he springs back into action. It all happens so fast, you're not even sure what really happened.

But the next thing you know, there's two unconscious bodies on the floor, and the Red Hood is kneeling before you, taking off his mask.

"Principessa?" (princess?)

"PUTTANA?" (BITCH????)

[welcome-to-the-end-of-eras]

Ranking the pulleyverse characters based on how much I like their names

Obviously this list is subjective but like. We all know that some of these are objectively true.

1.) Keita Mori: I personally think this is a top tier name. It flows well together, it fits his personality, there’s a lot of cool symbolism behind/because of it, it’s really a fantastic name for a character. No notes, 10/10.

2.) Raphael: it’s a really cool name, and I think it’s fun that he doesn’t have a set last name; it’s adds a bit of mystery to things. That and calling him Raphael TheBedlamStacks is funny as shit to me. Is it a little dramatic??? Yes, but so is he so it works. 9.5/10.

3.) Valery Kolkhanov: again, I think this name is super fun, and super creative, and it really does fit his personality well. I’m only putting it lower than Raphael because I thought his name was Valerie (English pronunciation) and I got my hopes up for the first proper female pulleyverse mc, but if that weren’t the case his name and Raphael’s would be equal. 9/10.

4.) Joe Tournier: Comparatively a pretty average name, but I have to admit the French last name sounds kinda pretty. If his name had stayed Jem Castlereigh or whatever the fuck, it would be significantly lower on this list. 8/10

5.) Konstantin Shenkov: I like this slightly less than Valery’s name because it’s a little bit clunky comparatively, but it’s definitely not a bad name. Don’t like that Konstantin is spelled like that tho, it looks a bit odd. 7/10.

6.) Aubrey/River Gale: there’s something off about these names that I really can’t put my finger on, but it’s just. Slightly off-putting to me. They’re such an ethereal person that I feel like their name should be a little. More, yknow??? If they were River Sterling that would be a different story, I like that name a lot, but River Gale sounds anticlimactic almost. 5/10.

7.) Thaniel Steepleton: this kills me. This kills me so bad. It’s no secret that he’s my favourite, my babiest of girls, but god almighty pick a different fucking nickname. It sounds so stupid. Nathaniel isn’t a bad name, it’s a bit proper but it’s definitely not a bad name, so why on god’s green earth would you remove the easiest two letters to pronounce and call that a nickname, it’s fucking stupid. And it sounds so British, it’s atrocious. 3/10. And that is ONLY because of how much I love him.

8.) January Sterling: objectively speaking, the reason behind his name is funny as fuck, but literally any other normal person would just. Go and change his name. Or let him go by his middle name. Why he decided to stick with January is beyond me. 1/10.

9.) Merrick Tremayne: it’s so British. Like. Annoyingly British. Love him to death but his name sucks so bad, and it just puts me in mind of the evil stepmother from Cinderella. RIP to the real Merrick Tremayne, you never had to get made fun of in school for how bad your name is. 0/10

10.) Missouri Kite: I cannot STAND this name istg. “Oh it’s translated-” HOW DOES A SPANISH NAME TRANSLATE INTO A WORD IN TWO SEPARATE LANGUAGES??? MISSOURI COMES FROM A NATIVE AMERICAN DIALECT IN THE MIDWEST REGION OF AMERICA, AND KITE IS A RANDOM ASS BRITISH WORD FOR A PIECE OF FLYING CLOTH, HOW THE FUCK DO THOSE COMBINE TO MAKE A NAME??? IT’S SO STUPID. -5/10.

Edit: I didn’t include Flint Kang and that was an oversight on my part, but tbh I don’t have much of an opinion. I’m going to say he’s a step below Shenkov, his name is also a little clunky but also a little nasally so it’s not as nice. 5.5/10.

[sorchasolas]

Stormlight Archive Characters and the Modern name I think they’d have

(Btw, im focusing on American/Western/ykwim names)

Adolin: Aaron (reason: the meaning is close to Adolin’s own, it’s meaning in Strong's Hebrew Lexicon being"Light-bringer", and the fact they have generally similar structure.)

Kaladin: Kayson/Callum (Reason: Kayson has a similar nickname format to Kal, being Kay. It also means “healer”, and i thought that was nice. Callum being a secondary option, more for the fact the nickname is identical, is also just generally a name i see Kal having.(Also it’s loosely based off of Saint. Columba, and the direct meaning is “dove”, which is a symbol of the Holy Spirit, and i think it fits Kal’s character to be named after a saint and a big religious thing, with his name being “born unto eternity”)

Shallan: Primrose/Lilias (reason: while Shallan’s name doesnt currently have a canon meaning besides being derivative of Shalash, it’s actual meaning as a name means “Poppy Flower” and because i didn’t feel like Poppy fit Shallan, i found names that matched Shallan’s energy and general meaning, taking ‘flower’ instead of ‘poppy.’ Lilias is a Scottish name— my own personal HC of where she would be from, or at least her ancestry— and fits Shallan’s name of having two consonants on either side of her name and the middle being symmetrical. Primrose was just a general vibe pick)

Dalinar: Dallas (Reason: Dalinar also has no confirmed names, its similar to Brandon’s son’s name, Dallin. That name means “from the valley”, so I looked at names with the same/similar meanings. Also vibes, and the fact Dallas is a city, and Dalinar sounds similar/has the same last letters as Kholinar)

Renarin: Raziel (reason: because there are NO good R names. No but this one was tough. Renarin’s name doesnt really mean anything i could translate into like an irl name, so i just went through all R names. This name kinda has the same feel as Renarin’s must in Roshar, being generally adherent to naming standards while sounding out of place. Also, in the Jewish Kabbalah, Raziel is an angel known as “The Keeper of Secrets.” So, (Spoilers?) pass at Sja-Anat and stuff)

[luna-andra]

The Shadows Return | Simon 'Ghost' Riley x OC Retired AU | Chapter 1: Smoke Signals

Summary:

Lieutenant Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley retired from the forces; Task Force 141 was decommissioned once they completed their last mission. Take down Shepherd. Everyone on the team stayed in touch, as well as the other comrades they met along the way. Los Vaqueros. KorTac. And many others. Shadow Company - what remained of it - slipped under the shadows and scattered themselves into the wind. Riley made the decision not to return back to Manchester. He was only less than 30 minutes away on the outskirts in Disley. Soap had put in a good word for Ghost with a local mechanic shop, and having nothing else but military experience and some basic mechanic skills he accepted it.

It was a quiet life, at least that’s what he thought. He started recognizing signs that he was being followed, watched. Maybe it was just the PTSD making him believe it. Until it got so much worse when he became acquainted with his neighbor miles down the old dirt path road, he realized that he would never be free from his past life.

CONTENT WARNING: Violence, eventual smut, MDNI (18+), slow burn, fluff, mentions of mental health

***Chapter 2 is already published on AO3, link in bio!***

He could see the smoke rising from down the street as he was piling into his work truck. “The hell..?” No one should be coming down this road, no one else but him and the farmer neighbor. The chance of some lone driver coming this way was slim to none; they were a mile down from the next main road, and this road ended in a dead end at that. Curiosity got the best of him. Ghost climbed into the cabin of the truck and turned the key into the ignition. His truck rolled down his driveway and he took a right in the direction of the smoke.

Immediately he spotted the farmer’s truck, stalled out in the direction of going down to their house. He reached for his skull balaclava and slipped it over his face, concealing himself naturally. He pulled up right behind the truck and cut the engine, leaving the cabin to approach the truck. Gravel crunched beneath his heavy feet as he took in a grounding inhale, his fist flexed beside him.

The hood was popped open. Ghost could hear the hissing of the engine, followed with aggravated curses coming from what sounded like a woman. He could see her little frame aggravated at her vehicle failing her. “Ma’am, do you need help?”

Her head peered over from the side of the hood. She squinted at first and her brows furrowed in confusion, followed by her honey brown eyes widening in caution.

Ghost put up his hands, realizing how menacing he must fucking look. She couldn’t have been taller than five foot three while he towered at six foot two. His stature could easily overpower hers. Can’t be more than 58 kilos. “I’m your neighbor, I saw your accidental smoke signal from up the road.” He pointed behind him in the direction of his house.

Her shoulders relaxed, but her eyes remained cold and hard as he neared closer to her. Or at least tried to look that way. “Yeah, my truck stalled out on me and started smoking up. Just my fucking luck,” she snarled as she kicked the passenger side tire with her small foot.

“Easy there, gonna fracture that foot.” Ghost immediately noticed that she had an American accent. What’s an American doing out in rural UK? “Let me take a look at it. I got my tools in my truck.”

She blew out a frustrated exhale as she ran a hand through her short brown hair. “Thank you, neighbor..”

“It’s Ghost-” he couldn’t stop himself from finishing his introduction. Still calling himself by his call sign after all of this time. “Simon, I mean.” His true name coming from his own mouth felt unfamiliar, like he hadn’t been Simon in a long time.

She raised an eyebrow at him, amusement kindling in her eyes. “Is Ghost a nickname you go by?”

“Something like that,” He muttered. “Be right back.” Ghost trudged back to his own truck to grab his gloves and tool bag. Fuckin’ hell… sound like a stupid sod. He slammed the door of his cabin and made his way back, watching her lean up against the truck as her chestnut hair blew in the gentle breeze. He took in every detail of her; from the way her red and black plaid shirt was coming untucked at her faded jeans, to how her fingers tapped against her thigh like she was suppressing her irritation at this inconvenience. There was a definition in her arms if you looked hard enough, you could catch her flex the muscle she had. Realizing it was probably creepy, he shook his head and returned his attention to her truck.

“I’m Andra, by the way,” she uttered insecurely.

Ghost peered up to her and nodded. “Pleasure to meet ya.” He got to work trying to diagnose what the issue at hand was, gloving up his calloused hands. She stepped around where she was propped up against the truck to watch Ghost work, eyes peeking up to his masked face every now and then. A silence loomed over them for a moment. He’s used to people talking his ear off, but she was as quiet as a mouse. She's likely still apprehensive with meeting Ghost this way, and he didn’t blame her. “What brought an American to the countryside of the UK, Andra?”

Andra crossed her arms over her chest as she shifted on the balls of her feet. “A couple of different things, honestly.” There was a miniscule southern drawl in the inflection of her voice. Ghost would have easily missed it if he wasn’t paying attention.

“Name one,” he asked gruffly, still concentrating on finding the problem.

Her hair wisped around as she looked away, down the dead end street. “I wanted a new start. Threw a dart at a map and this is where I landed.”

He chuckled to himself, not believing her for one second. No one wanted to come live in Disley, there was nothing out here. “Must have poor aim.” He paused before considering his next question, but he went for it anyway. “Just you?”

“Just me.”

The tone in her voice didn’t reflect any kind of sadness, or anger for that matter. She just stated it with conviction.

 After a thorough look, he stood up straight and rested a hand on the lid of the hood. “It’s a transmission issue.”

Andra groaned and threw her head back. “Just what I needed.”

Ghost pushed the hood shut and pulled his gloves off. “I can tow it to my shop and we can see what we can do about it. We can do some kind of payment plan-”

“No, it’s okay I can pay outright,” Andra protested. “I’m not worried about the cost, I just worry about how long it’s gonna be in the shop for.”

He tapped his fingers on the hood. “I can give you a more accurate time frame and quote when I take it there.”

Andra nodded, clapping her hands together. “Alright, let’s get her in the shop.” Ghost reached down to grab his tool bag and she smiled at him. “Thank you for coming to my aid. You didn’t have to stop to help me.”

Ghost didn’t say anything else, just gave her a terse nod and returned to his truck.

----

Andra felt confined in the large cabin of Ghost’s - Simon’s? -  truck. The drive there was filled with silence. He allowed her to ride with him on the way, and she couldn’t help but think that this is how her murder mystery, unsolved case would begin. A hunking, bulky masked man pretending to assist a tiny American woman, whilst towing her own vehicle. He could easily get rid of her truck, take it to a chop shop and make her disappear. No one would care about an immigrant being found.

Andra tried to shake those thoughts away. He truly appeared to be genuine about his intentions. It was probably good business for his mechanic shop, too. Ghost insisted on driving her back, or at least paying for the taxi or Uber for the way back, but she wouldn’t let him. He had helped plenty enough, moreso helped when they had only just met.

“Where in the states are you from?” Ghost’s brassy British voice broke the uncomfortable silence, keeping his eyes on the road with one hand on the wheel, the other arm resting on the windowsill of the door. His biceps bulged out from the short-sleeved black shirt he wore. The arm closest to her, gripping the wheel, was littered with tattoos. She was too nervous to take a closer look at what they were, to her it was monochrome art littering his tanned skin.

“South, from Texas,” Andra responded truthfully.

He took a quick glance at her inquisitively before returning his focus on the road and let out a heavy exhale. "Texas is nice..." he muttered a response.

Andra was surprised, turning to look at him. "You've been to the states?" Her eyes roamed to the tattoos on his arm once again, noticing what looked like could be military insignia patches. "Wait, you're prior military, aren't you?"

Ghost stiffened, realizing that he gave himself away. "I was in special forces, SAS. Crossed the border into Texas on a mission."

Andra had to keep her jaw from dropping in disbelief. It was making sense now, though, and she laughed softly before looking back to the road ahead of them, now seeing civilization greeting them. "So Ghost was your call sign?"

He side eyed her with furrowed brows. "Are you a veteran?"

She relaxed further into her seat, feeling comfortable enough to open up more to him. "Half of my family is prior military; father, granddad, several uncles, a brother. I'm a little more versed than the average civilian, involuntarily."

He hummed in acknowledgement. Silence fell over them once again. Andra was inclined to find out more about her mysterious neighbor. “Did you grow up here in Disley?”

He took a second to answer her back. “Manchester,” Ghost responded. “Couldn’t stand being in the city, I enjoy the quiet.”

Andra smiled, “I agree.” her hands flittered with the edge of her shirt. “Was there anything you enjoyed while you were in Texas?” She felt like an idiot trying to draw out the conversation from him.

“Not particularly. It’s hot as hell there.”

She cracked up at his response. “You’re not wrong. That’s the one thing I do not miss from there. So much cooler here in the Summer. I do miss having a/c, though.”

He laughed, the rich sound vibrated through her. “That is one thing you Americans do have that we don’t.”

“Yeah,” she agreed. “I bet you’ve been to so many places.”

An agreeing rumble came from his throat. “Lost count.”

Ghost was short when it came to small talk, but Andra didn’t mind. Her concern of going missing was put on the back burner in the recesses of her mind. It never ceased to amaze her that the saying “small world” rings true no matter how many times it has occurred in her life. She couldn’t refrain from her growing curiosity.

But her curiosity would have to lead her to revealing more than she may be comfortable with.

----

Andra sat in the waiting area while Ghost unloaded her truck and pulled it into the shop. He had to explain to everyone else what the hold-up was about, but they shrugged indifferently.

“That’s fine,” Rus said as he turned his head to peer at him. “Just don’t take anything other than financial compensation for her work, you hear?” 

Ghost glared at him with disgust when Rus chuckled. He was well aware of how vile some of the mechanics could be in his shop, but it never crossed his mind to entertain similar behavior.

Soap approached Ghost as he wiped his hands with an oily rag. “Who’s the pretty thing that came in with you?”

Ghost was growing irrationally irritated with everyone making comments about Andra, and Soap was no exception to his wrath. His eyes darkened as he silently assaulted him with a venomous glare. “No one.”

“C’mon, Ghost.” Soap followed him to the back of the shop, “You’re not the kind of guy to be picking up random lasses, and I can count on one hand how many have gone wit’ ye anywhere voluntarily. ‘Course they were sloshed at the tim-”

“Johnny.” He growled his last warning.

“Alright,” he dropped the subject and returned to work mode, assisting Ghost with the lift. “Is this her truck?”

“Yeah.”

Ghost kept a watchful eye on her, taking note on how she brushed the hem of her shirt with her small hands. Her eyes scanned inside the shop, examining everyone’s face. When she found him, he looked back down at the diagnostics terminal, and he avoided her gaze for the rest of the time until he absolutely had to approach her.

There was a persistent thought in the back of his mind he kept revolving back around to. Why is an American woman from Texas here? It had to be the wildest coincidence known to man, right? There were times where Ghost would get the sense that he was being followed. Watched. When he went out to the pub with Johnny, while he worked sometime. Even when the two of them would go on hunting trips, where no one else should know of their location. He couldn’t shake the notion that there were watchful eyes beyond the high ground.

It bothered her how easily she trusted him. Accepting help from a neighbor you know is one thing, but from a complete stranger? And why was said stranger so eager to help her in the first place? Ghost’s neck tensed up, he rolled his head as he could feel a headache blooming in his temples.

Soap always told him that he was being paranoid, and he was probably right. If there was something afoot, he could count on him to detect if something was off.

----

Andra had already hailed for a cab, it would be a little while before they could arrive to take her home. She didn’t mind the delay; she was still waiting for Ghost to give her the ETA and the quote on the repair. She sat in the lobby patiently, inspecting her nails as her leg bobbed, crossed over the other. I should’ve grabbed my book from the truck, she regretted. 

Andra had scrolled through her social media and grew bored of that easily. All she was seeing was updates from old friends back home. She didn’t want to be reminded how far away she was from old connections and family. It made her homesick, a notion she refused to acknowledge.

The door to the main workshop swung open, and Ghost walked through. She stood up from her chair as he walked up to her. “I’m sorry for making you wait, I am looking for a supplier to send us the parts sooner than what I have been getting.”

“How long are we talking?” Andra asked nervously.

“Two months.” He answered.

She exhaled in defeat, running a hand through her hair and it fell back in place. “That’s gonna put me in a super tight spot, I won’t be able to sell at the farmer’s market.”

Ghost shifted from one foot to another, looking down at her. “I’m not finished going through our list of suppliers, so I will let you know if anyone can send parts in sooner. In the meantime,” he handed out a plain business card to her. “I put my personal cell number on the back so you can call later or tomorrow for an update.”

Andra took the card and looked down at it before glancing back up to his implicit eyes. “Thanks, Ghost. You really saved me today.”

He nodded. “Do you have any belongings you need to get from your truck?”

“Oh yes,” she remembered. “I just wanted to get my book from inside. It’s sitting on the passenger seat up front.” 

Ghost insisted on retrieving it for her. He opened the passenger door and found the well loved book laying there, looking back up to him. He made note of the title and the author; it sounded like a mystery-horror type of read. Ghost wiped his hand off on his work pants to avoid staining the cover and pulled it out before closing the door. He went back to the lobby and handed the book to her. “Get home safe,” he cleared off as he turned away from her and returned to the shop.

Andra turned over the business card, studying his scratchy handwriting. It was legible enough for her to make out the numbers, and she smirked as he scribbled ‘Ghost’ below.