#having thoughts and ideas and considerations

[sometimesanalice]

For the Plot

Summary: Things aren't looking too good for you, sitting alone at the Hard Deck waiting for a man who might not show. Until Bradley Bradshaw sits down across from you and turns your entire night upside down.

Pairing: Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x Reader

Length: 7.7k

Warnings: fluff, so much flirting, and an italicized oh

Going on a first date on Valentine’s Day is unarguably the worst possible idea that anyone has ever had.And while the sure to be terrible, no good, horribly bad idea hadn’t been yours, you weren’t entirely sure what you were thinking when you’d even agreed to it in the first place.

The guy you were planning to meet tonight was cute enough, even if you were still undecided about the mustache. And while the chats between the two of you had been pretty good as far as it goes getting to know a literal stranger, you were hopeful that it could be even better in person. The fact he was in the Navy was still a bit of a consideration for you, but not a deal breaker.

In retrospect, the name of the bar should have been your first clue and the location paired with the causal beachy exterior covered in planes should have been the second.

You had been expecting to see more than one girl all done up in pinks and reds tonight, but you couldn’t have been more wrong. And you swear to god, somewhere you hear a record scratch as you step into the Hard Deck, because you are surrounded by nothing but a sea of olive green and khaki and denim.

And you have never been so clearly out of place in your entire life.

There was nothing about your ensemble that was even remotely fitting for the literal Navy bar you’d found yourself in.

The ice pink mini slip dress you’d dug out of your closet was admittedly a little much for a first date, but since it was Valentine’s Day you figured why not lean into it a bit. And well, if your date didn’t appreciate it, then that was a him problem.

Or so you’d thought at the time, because now it was a decidedly you problem.

The silhouette was simple enough, with the gentle drape of the cowl neck and the barely-there spaghetti straps, but the shiny sheen of the fabric made a statement of its own. It wasn’t something you got to wear very often for as much as you loved it.

But then you’d gone ahead and paired it with the tallest, most ostentation heels you had. The effort had been worth it though because the pearl encrusted block heels made your legs look like they went on for days. Even if it had been a feat trying to get the dainty buckle done with the way you’d been rushing out of the house with your beaded bag in tow.

The whole look was something you’d sure would come with Cher Horowitz’s seal of approval. However, the patrons of the Hard Deck you were less sure about. And even though there were civilians- like yourself- scattered about the bar, none were anywhere near as dressed up as you.

There are more than a few pairs of eyes on you as you stand there with your feet glued to the uneven wooden floors, as the door with its porthole-shaped window slowly closes behind you with a squeaky creak. The twinkle lights above your head felt more like a spotlight, illuminating how out of place you are in this moment.

Your hand is still clutched on the handle unsure whether you’re going to make a run for it or not. You are more than a little tempted to hightail it back to the parking lot and text your date to claim a bout of food poisoning from the safety of the driver’s seat in your car.

But chances are if your date is here then he has already seen you. A bright beacon of pink amongst varying shades of brown and woodgrain.

“Oh my god,” you mutter under your breath, trying not to panic. Officially a victim of your own bad decision making.

You take a quick scan of the room, trying to decide what your next move should be. There’s a woman behind the bar with kind but clearly inquisitive eyes. A blonde with a wolfish smile eyes you from where he stands next to a man with broad shoulders bent over what must be the pool table, hidden behind the paneled half wall. By a dart board, there are a couple men with their heads turned towards you, the game seemingly forgotten as they discuss the spectacle that is you.

There are hundreds of planes dangling over the bar, patches and plaques littering the walls and rafters, rounders suspended from the ceiling laden with too many ceramic mugs to count. It was all done with a heavy-handed, maximalistic approach that you’d take a moment to appreciate under any other given circumstances.

When you spot an open table tucked away in the corner of the room it feels like life raft to the iceberg of a situation you’ve put yourself in. Mindful of the scuffed, uneven floors- because the last thing you need is to eat shit or twist an ankle in front of room full of curious onlookers- you hustle over to the spot in hopes of having a moment to regroup.  

Once you’re situated- shrugging off the ivory cardigan you’d topped your outfit, trying to keep the nervous sweat that wanted to break out over your body at bay- you pull out your phone and check the time only to realize you’re devastatingly on time. Five minutes early, to be specific.

So you wait.

And check your phone again and the notifications in the dating app, just in case you missed something.

And wait.

You try to play it cool, skimming posts on Instagram and replying to some overdue texts. Finding anything you can to keep yourself occupied to ignore the sinking feeling in your stomach the longer you sit there. Alone.

Now you’re not just simply embarrassed, you’re mortified.

You can still feel the eyes, the energy steadily shifting from curiosity to sympathy over the last thirty minutes you’ve been waiting all alone in the corner of a Navy bar you had no business being in for a man who clearly wasn’t going to show.

So much for doing it for the plot, you think to yourself with a shake of your head.

Another minute ticks by with no message and you decide you’re more than ready to hightail it out of there. Fully aware that you’re about to become a topic of conversation that won’t have to be restricted to only covert glances and muffled whispers. But hopefully, they’ll at least wait until the door closes behind you before the chatter starts up for real.

With a sigh, you reach for your beaded bag, just as a large body slips into the chair across from you, with an ease that is in contrast to the bulk of muscles you catch in your peripheral vision.

“You look like you’re in need of a date,” a warm, raspy voice offers.

It’s the smile that you catch first. Not quite a grin, but something familiar and friendly and charming in the way it crookedly pulled to the left. Followed closely by the rich chocolate brown eyes that were squarely trained on you with a look that was just as earnest as it was playful. But what surprised you the most was the way he was sitting in the stool across from you just as comfortably as if he was supposed to be there all along.

There was no way you could have prepared yourself for the sheer level of attractiveness of this man.

He was in a league of his own with those curls and wide shoulders. The white and olive green stripped crochet shirt he was wearing didn’t hurt either, especially the way the top buttons were undone giving you glimpse of a chain around his neck and the chest underneath it. He didn’t need to be in uniform- or even in a Navy bar- for you to tell he was a military man. Not with the confident way he held himself.

Even if the mustache he was sporting made it feel like the universe was playing tricks on you, but he more than wore it well.

You huff out a self-deprecating laugh. “What gave it away?” you ask. “The way I’ve been watching the door? Or just the general look of regret and embarrassment?”

“Embarrassed? What do you have to be embarrassed about?” His eyebrows pull together, perplexed. He shakes his head like he disagrees with even the suggestion of it. “I think the only person who should be embarrassed is the guy who is missing out on sitting across from you right now.”

You give him a soft smile of your own in return for the cinnamon sweet words. There’s a genuineness in his tone that makes some of the tightness that had settled in your shoulders from the moment you’d walked in release.

“That’s kind of you, but I think I’m going to head out,” you say, nodding to the door you never should have stepped through in the first place.

He gives you a teasing tsk. “And let a dress like that go to waste? Now that would be a shame.”

The appreciative look in his gaze that sets off a swarm of butterflies in your stomach. And then his eyebrow ticks up, just a little. Part invitation, part dare. And you can’t say you’re not intrigued.

There’s a decision to make.

You could leave now and cut your losses. There was a reason you had a back-up pizza in the fridge and had left you well-loved copy of You’ve Got Mail sitting out on your coffee table.

Or you could stick around and see what happens next.

You tilt your head at him, just as teasing. “Would it now?”

“It would,” he states, sincerely.

Before you can reply, your phone lights up with a new notification, pulling you out of the whisky haze you’d found yourself in. 

His eyes dip down to your illuminated screen. “Is that him?”

“It is,” you confirm, almost regretfully. You open the app and skim the message. And then read it again.

There’s no sorry, no apology for cancelling a half an hour after the time for the date that had been his idea in the first place. And then he’d even had the audacity to tack on a cavalier maybe another time at the end.

Unbelievable.

He lets out a low whistle. “That bad, huh?”

“Apparently, I should have been the one to remind him that the fourteenth of February is a calendar holiday and a fan favorite day of the greeting card companies.” It’s so ridiculous you’d laugh if you weren’t so annoyed by the lack of consideration and the not-so-subtle blame he’d tried to shift on you. “Even though I did double check if he was sure about meeting up today, I guess I didn’t realize I actually needed to spell out ‘Valentine’s Day’ for him.”

The man across from you doesn’t bother holding back the less than impressed look on his face. And you decide you like that about him, that he wears his thoughts so openly. It’s refreshing.

“Do you mind if I take a look at his profile?”

You shrug and pass your phone over. You were planning on blocking West the second you had a moment anyways. You see him roll his eyes and guess it has something to do with the amount of shirtless gym selfies.

He snorts as he scrolls, “Please, his mustache has nothing on mine.”

An amused laugh escapes you. “Are we ranking mustaches now? Because if that’s the case, I’m sorry to say that I’d have to give it to Selleck.”

“Fair enough,” he concedes good-naturedly, as he hands you back your phone. “But am I at least a close second?” There’s no mistaking the flirtatious tone in his voice.

You hum and take full advantage of the opportunity to look at him unabashedly, mapping the contours of his face because you can.

To simply call him handsome would be an understatement.

The way the golden light of the sunset is hitting him you catch some sunkissed strands in those soft looking waves of his hair. There’s the beginning of some crinkles around the edges of his eyes. You notice the scars on his face, some that look long healed and others that are still a light pink- like the one on the side of his neck and beneath is ear. And that mustache on him worked for you, one hundred percent.

There’s a playful glint in his eyes as he lets you assess him that leaves no question as to whether or not he’s been flirting with you. You like the way he’s looking at you and the way he’s easily made you forget about being overdressed and how uncomfortable you were even just five minutes ago. You’re having fun. And while you still haven’t answered his question from earlier, you have no doubt that he’d show you a good time if you let him.

“Maybe not a close second, but yours is certainly up there,” you tease.

He grins. “I can work with that.” There’s something about the way he adds on for now that has a spark dancing up along your spine. And then he sticks out his hand, “I’m Bradley.”

It’s a good name. It suits him. It’s one you think you’ll enjoy the way your tongue will curl around the letters of it in your mouth.

When you give him yours in return, he sits up straighter in his seat, like he’s won a small victory.

You don’t doubt that he’s the chivalrous type, the fact that he’s gone out of his way to come over to try and turn this evening around for you says more about him than any dating profile with nonsense questions and overthought answers ever could. But with a man like him, one who’d swoop in to save the night of a stranger because she looks like a damsel in distress, there’s an answer to a question you need to hear first.

“Bradley, this isn’t a pity thing, is it?” You were right, you like the way saying his name feels. You drop your hands into your lap, as you search his eyes. “Because if it is, that’ll make me feel worse than being stood up did.”

The way the words were sitting out and open on the table between the two of you made you feel vulnerable in a way you didn’t like. But you’d rather know now before anything goes further. Doing it for the plot or not, your ego could only take so much bruising in one evening.

He pins you with a look so serious that you feel it down to your toes. “Trust me, this is furthest thing from a ‘pity thing’, as you put it,” Bradley says, his tone slipping down a few gravelly notes. “Because if I’m being honest, if that asshole had actually shown up, I don’t know if I would have played fair.”

Oh.

A thrilling rush of warmth courses through you as your cheeks heat up.

You nod, trying to not look as affected as you feel. “Ok, I believe you.”

“Good,” he smirks, his gaze dropping down and lingering on your lips. You didn’t realize you’d trapped your lower lip between your teeth, you release it immediately. “Because you should know, I would have come over sooner- the second I saw you, actually- if I’d known. That’s some dress, sweetheart,” Bradley continues, “Plus, you’d be doing me a favor.”

You couldn’t help but be curious, so you lean in closer. “Oh, how so?”

Bradley mirrors you, crossing his thick forearms over each other and leans in that much closer. “I haven’t had a Valentine in years,” he says it like he’s letting you in on a secret.

For the first time all night, you don’t regret wearing the dress. You don’t regret the ostentatious shoes or the glimmering beaded bag. You don’t regret walking through that creaky door. You don’t regret showing up tonight.

How could you when you’ve just been served the best plot twist you’ve possibly ever experienced? A meetcute you never could have seen coming.

You realize just how close your faces have gotten and lean back in your seat, from fear of thinking you might do something stupid, like kiss him. “Will you stop with the big cow eyes, if I agree?”

Those crinkles around his eyes deepen, “Good to know they still work, I wasn’t sure if I still had it.”

You press your lips together trying to hide your smile, all too thoroughly charmed, but the corners of your mouth curl up all the same.

“Trust me, you have plenty.”

And Bradley’s own smile gets even wider.

Anyone in the bar can see how pleased with himself he is at your words. It rolls off of him in steady waves and swirls around your shins and ankles.

He makes a show of settling further into his seat, now that it is officially his seat. “What’re we thinking? One milkshake, two straws?”

You play along and pretend to ponder the offer for a moment. “That seems more like a second date type of activity, does it not?”

“You’re right, something to look forward to for next time,” he responds, not missing a beat. “So, can I buy you a drink?”

“I’ll allow it.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

There wasn’t a menu or anything on the table when you sat down, so you aren’t sure what all is offered here. You thought you might have caught a glimpse of a laminated stack near register when you’d first walked in, but you hadn’t wanted to draw any more attention to yourself at the time by getting up again and wandering around and reminding people just how out of place you’d been.

You look around and see a mix of ceramic steins, pint glasses, beer bottles, and a few stems of wine on tabletops and in the hands of the other patrons.

The noise of the bar had become a faint white noise in your ears as the two of you talked, but it comes back in full force now.

“If they have rosé, I’d take a glass of that.” It isn’t hard to miss the hesitation in your voice, feeling a little silly defaulting to your usual go-to. You don’t imagine they go through a ton of pink wine here. “But, uhm, anything on tap would be fine too, if they don’t.”

Bradley’s lips twitch up. Not in a smirk, but something caught between amused and something else you can’t quite describe.

You try not to fidget under his warm gaze, “What?”

He slides out of his stool and rounds the table, setting a big hand on the armrest near your elbow, “There’s something you should know about me, sweetheart.”

“And what’s that?” you ask, more than a little breathlessly. Feeling a little high off of the smell of his leather and vanilla cologne, and something underneath that that reminds you of kerosene in a way that makes you want to breathe him in even more.

Bradley dips down close, his lips just a whisper from your ear, and murmurs, “Pink is my favorite color.”

Your head tips back on its own as you laugh. Its unabashedly loud and bright and delighted thing that fills the nooks and crannies of the corner you’d tucked yourself away into. And if a few heads turn your way because of it, that’s alright with you.

You don’t believe him, not one little bit. But that’s part of the fun. The back and forth, the flirting, the banter, the teasing. He’s so quickly turned this night around for you, you already know your cheeks are going to hurt by the end of it.

The sound of Bradley’s own laughter chases after yours. It’s warm and raspy and boyish, and you like the sound of it. You like him.

“One rosé, coming up,” he says, giving your shoulder a light squeeze before he steps out of your space. “There’s nothing I like more than a girl who commits to a theme.”

You catch his wrist, his skin warm under your palm. “Wait, what’s it really?”

“Red,” Bradley says, then gives you a slow once over, making your pulse spark in your veins. “But you’ve got me second guessing myself now.” He gives you a wink and then heads towards the bar.

You watch stunned as he saunters away, admiring the way the light wash jeans he’s wearing form to his long legs, before taking a moment to send a string of words punctuated with more than a few exclamation points to the group chat.

When he comes back, only a few minutes later, he has glass of familiar pink wine in one hand and a bottle of beer in the other. And oddly enough, a straw tucked into the pocket on his shirt.

“It’s almost a perfect match,” he notes, when he sets it in front of you.

“At least I won’t have to worry about staining if I end up spilling on myself.”

Bradley chuckles and moves his stool in closer to yours, sitting back down with more smooth grace than a man with his build has any right to move. He tips the neck of his beer towards you, and you lightly tap your wine glass against it.

You take a sweet sip. “So.”

“So,” he repeats, with a teasing lift of his eyebrow.

“What’s your move?” you ask, running a glossy tipped finger around the rim of your wineglass.

“My move?” And there’s that grin again, one he doesn’t try to hide as he takes a sip of his own.  “‘m pretty sure I’ve been showing you my moves since I sat down. I’ve never been good at being subtle.”

Bradley pulls the straw from his pocket and taps it a few times against the shellacked woodgrain table top. He takes the flimsy wrapper carefully starts twisting it, a little furrow of concentration forms between his brows, spiraling it until it’s pulled taut against itself.  

You set an elbow on the edge, resting your chin on your hand as you study him. “But what’s the big move? I know you have one,” you press further.

His hands are big, calloused and rough, but capable. You want to know the story behind the scar that’s near the base of his thumb. You note that he wears his watch on the right instead of the left, and you pocket that new discovery for yourself the way a kid enthusiastically collects rocks in a park.

Bradley takes that piece of paper and folds it in half before twisting it again.

You watch in fascination as that pleased grin transforms into a confident smirk, like he’s enjoying even just the thought of showing you his big move. He looks like good trouble.

Bradley’s eyes slowly lift to yours, his hands pausing whatever he’s doing with that wrapper. He shoots a thumb to the left towards the end of the oval shaped bar. “You see that piano over there?”

“Mhm.” It’s an almost purr.

“That’s my big move.”

You feel your eyebrows lift in surprise. Bradley gave off such hometown golden boy vibes, you’d never have expected that he’d be the musical type too. The idea of seeing those hands fly over a set of black and white piano keys made your stomach tighten deliciously in anticipation.

“Am I going to get to see it?”

His gaze is steady on you when he replies, “Yeah, sweetheart, I’ll show you my move.”

A grin stretches across your face and you feel downright giddy, as you wiggle your shoulders in triumph.

Bradley shakes his head amused, and then refocuses his efforts on the task he’d started with the straw wrapper. He struggles only for a moment- those large fingers getting in the way- as he tries to open the end just enough to slip the tail though. He gives it one more final twist, securing the loop, before inspecting his handiwork.

“Now, since we’re valentines and all, it seemed only fitting that I get you- well, make you- a little something.” Bradley gives you a soft, boyish smile as he holds out his palm towards you, and in the center of it is a perfectly crafted paper ring. “Sorry, I couldn’t find you a Ring Pop on short notice.”

The words escape you for a moment at the sheer sweetness of the gesture.

Gently, you take it from his outstretched hand, and slip it onto the pointer finger of your right hand, adjusting it with care until you have it situated just right.

“I usually wouldn’t be able to accept something so grand on a first date. But for you, I’ll make an exception,” you say, liltingly. “Thank you, Bradley.”

You look down to appreciate it again, more than a little tempted to take it off and tuck it securely into your purse for safekeeping. For as much as you liked your dress and bag and your shoes, that little paper ring was now your favorite piece of the outfit you were wearing.

When you glance back up at him, his cheeks have the faintest pink hue to them. The little nonchalant shrug he tries to give you does nothing to hide how pleased he looks. “I make a mean daisy chain too. We might have to wait a couple months for Spring, but I’m good for it.”

Your mind flashes with an image of you and him in a park with a picnic basket sat between the two of you, and those large hands of his threading celery green stems together. It’s a pretty picture.

“Well, aren’t you just a regular modern day Renaissance man.”

“I’m a man of many talents,” he rasps, silky smooth. It makes goosebumps raise along your arms. “Now, I’ve told you mine. Can’t say I’m not dying to know what your big move is. Am I going to get to see it, sweetheart?”

“Maybe,” you muse, lifting your glass to take another sip, “If you’re good.”

Bradley hooks a foot under you stool and tugs you just a few inches closer. “Just out of curiosity, what’s your position on kissing on a first date?”

You bend forward towards him and think you hear his breath hitch, you smile. “I’ll keep you posted.”

You’re still looking at his lips when a shout from across the bar startles you both.

“Bradshaw!”

Bradley mutters a string of curses and then blows out a breath, giving you a smoldering look that tells you that the conversation is far from over. You’re more than willing to let him try and change your mind about where he lands in the mustache rankings.

You look over your shoulder to see the with the sharp smile from earlier waving your date over to the pool table. “I take it you know, Malibu Ken?”

“Unfortunately.” A mischievous look coasts over his face. “But I’ll get you all the Ring Pops you could ever want if you say that to his face.”

You laugh. “I’m holding out for that daisy chain.”

Another holler rings out from across the room, the same Southern drawl as before.

“Seems like he wants your attention. Is he a Leo?”

He snorts. “You know what, he just might be. But more like he’s been waiting for the right moment to annoy me since I ditched him to come talk to a pretty girl instead.”

You try not to preen at the compliment.

“The relentless type, huh?”

“You don’t know the half of it. I think I’m about thirty seconds from him queuing up “You Make Me Feel So Young” on repeat just to fuck with me,” Bradley explains. There’s a story there and you want to know more. “I know I still owe you the big move, but is it alright if I try to show off a little for you now? Just to get off my back for the rest of the night, then I’m all yours.”

You feel like you’ve just pulled an ace from your pocket.

“What are the stakes?” you ask, intrigued.

“Two hundred dollars and a whiskey,” Bradley replies.

You let out a low whistle, trying to school the catlike grin that wants to overtake your face. “That’s a lot of Ring Pops.”

The corners of his mouth curl up. “I was thinking dinner for our third date,” he says. “I’m buying for our second, of course. But it’s only right that we split the spoils of war.”

The sound of a brass band rings out over the staticky speakers and Bradley hangs his head down and lets out a long-suffering groan. You playfully pat his shoulder in faux commiseration.

You pretend to consider it for a moment, but you already know your answer. “Okay,” you agree, “Just as long as you’re okay with a little respectful ogling. You like my dress, and I like those jeans you’re wearing.”

He laughs, it’s a throaty rich sound. “I’d be offended if you didn’t.”

You gather for you purse and sweater as Bradley stands. His hands come to your waist, helping you off the chair, your bodies closer than close. It’s a forward move- he knows it, you know it- but with him, you don’t mind at all.

Bradley offers you his hand and you take it in yours; his fingers slip between yours easily like the two of you have already done this before.  

The two of you only make it a few steps before you tug on his hand, waiting until he looks at you from over his shoulder before asking, with a lifted brow, “Bradley Bradshaw?”

He huffs out a not-so-exasperated sigh, “I blame it on the 80’s.”

“Whatever you say, Brad-Brad.” It’s the one and only time you’re ever going to say it, you decide. You like saying his name too much to shorten it. And his back may be turned to you now, but that now familiar chuckle still makes its way to your ears.

Bradley leads you to the bar first, where he buys another glass of rosé and a beer for himself. When you try to pass your credit card to the woman behind the counter, he takes it, and rasps into your ear, “Let me.”

He tucks it right back into your purse as the sound of brass instruments starts up yet again.

“Like a dog with a goddamn bone,” you hear him mumble. And you press your lips together to keep from laughing. Sure, you’d rather be seeing his big move, but you can’t claim not to be amused by all of this.

He nods to a group of people in the corner near the popcorn machine when the two of you enter the alcove with pool table. Some of his other friends of his you assume.

You send them a little wave, one that they return in greeting. You can tell they’re curious, but you’re grateful when they resume their conversation instead of making you feel like your date with Bradley had become a spectator sport for their viewing entertainment.

The first thing Bradley does is introduce you to his friend. It’s a little thing, but he does it without prompt or awkwardly leaving you to take the initiative yourself. You appreciate the way he is still prioritizing your comfort the way he’s been doing it since he first sat down across from you.

The second thing he does is pull out a chair for you. Not with a fanfare, not with a flourish. But like it’s something that’s innately ingrained in him. You get the sense that the gentleman thing isn’t an act with him, it’s who he is.

Jake rests a hip against the table. “Sorry to interrupt your date, but Bradshaw and I had some unfinished business.”

You wave him off, it’s not a big deal. Not when you’ll have the rest of the night with Bradley. Plus, you’re eager to watch this play out between them, curious about their gameplay.

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s get this over with,” Bradley rumbles, as he arranges the balls in the rack. And you wonder if he lost the lag before he’d made his way over to your table for one.

He comes back over to you, and leans on the ledge next to you as he chalks his cue. You’d thought about slipping your sweater back on, with the outside chill pressing against the line of glass windows at your back, but Bradley had more than enough warmth radiating off of him that you didn’t need to.

“You that eager to be out a couple hundred, Bradshaw?” Jake grins, as he leans over the side of the table. He turns his gaze to you and sends you a wink right before he breaks, sending the cue ball barreling into the others with a resounding clack, scattering them across the table.

And then they’re off.

It’s a rapid fire of back-and-forth banter between the men as they take their shots. Mostly good natured, but undeniably competitive. Smirking when they land their shots, and snarking over fouls. Clear that neither of them wants to lose.

Jake is all confident posturing, playing low over the cue with a lightly too tight grip. It’s the only thing that gives him away that he’s not the easygoing player as he wants people to think he is. Choosing higher risk shots that would highlight his ability versus some of the more straightforward options laid out for him, and skilled enough that it pays off most of the time. But after a couple rounds you note he’s too quick to stand up after taking his shot, not enough follow through because he’s too eager to see if his gamble pays off.

Bradley is all loose-limbed ease, clearly comfortable in both his skin and at the table. You can tell he’s probably playing quicker than he normally does, clearly trying to hurry up the game for your sake, even though he doesn’t need to. Although he does take his time as he positions himself around the table, only adjusting his bridge every now and then. Always with a 1-2 shot, a warm-up stroke followed by a steady hit. Watching him you catch his tendency to throw out his elbow of the follow through.

The two are pretty well matched in skill, you observe with keen eyes, as the balls skate across the Top Gun insignia, against the rails, and into pockets.

When Bradley’s not up to play, he’s by your side, right at your elbow. And when he is, it’s your eyes he’s looking into the moment he stands back up, seeking out your reaction. But more than once you feel his eyes on you as you watch them play.

True to your word, you to admire him in those snug fitting jeans. And when he catches your appreciative gaze, he sends you a wink before lining up his next shot.

Jake sinks another solid into the pocket he’d called only moments ago, and turns his dimpled smile at you, “You still sure about your date with the old man, chickadee? I bet I could show him up in that department too.”

The way he says it, you know he’s just teasing, probably just to rile you date up and get a reaction from him.

“Unfortunately for you, I think I have a thing for mustaches now,” you toss back, unbothered. And Bradley smiles into his drink.

You watch as Jake lines up his next shot and hits the white with a compact stroke.

“Double hit,” you declare.

“Dammit,” Jake curses.

You look over to see Bradley looking at you with a focused look on his face. Like there’s a theory clicking into place, one he needs the answer to. Wordlessly, he hands you the cue.

“You sure?” you ask.

“Two hundred dollars sure,” he states.

You take it from him with a sly grin.

Bradley’s thighs brush against the front of your knees, you know if you parted them even a couple inches, that he’d fit just right between them. His hands landing on your waist again as he assists you off the stool you’ve been perched on. And you’re starting to think he just likes an excuse to touch you, not that he needs one because you already more than like the feel of his hands on your body.

You walk the pool table, running a finger around the rails as you do. Evaluating the balls on the table like they’re chess pieces. The slow clip of your heels on the floor like the tick of a clock as you take your time deciding your approach.

“You’re the stripes,” Jake offers helpfully. “Don’t worry, I’ll even let you have a free shot.”

And you can’t help but laugh because this is going to be fun.

“Bradley?” you ask, leisurely chalking your cue.

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“Do you mind?” You gesture to the spot behind you, and he catches on quick with a not-so-subtle glance at the short hem of your skirt.

He sets his beer down and comes to stand behind you, there’s just enough space between the two of you that you don’t have to worry about hitting him with the cue, his broad from proving you the coverage you needed to bend over the table. While you don’t think you’d mind Bradley seeing the silk thong you had on underneath your dress, you weren’t exactly up for flashing the whole bar.

You haven’t played in a while, but it’s a muscle memory at this point, as you map out your moves. Seeing the lines and angles and arcs in your mind’s eye before anchoring your bridge.

You look at Bradley from over your shoulder, only to see his eyes are trained on the ceiling with his tongue pressed against his cheek. A gentleman, albeit not an unaffected one. A tendril of smokey gratification curls its way along your spine. You turn your head back to the pool table looking between the cue, target, cue ball, target.

It’s a smooth stroke with a satisfying crack. A clean three-rail shot that lands the striped five into the pock you’d intended for it.

“Damn” is all Jake says. His eyes you up, clearly impressed.

“You sure about that free shot, Jake?” You stand up and smooth out your dress, just for the show of it. “Or do you want to make it double or nothing instead, Malibu Ken?” You hear Bradley snort from behind you.

And just like you thought, he wasn’t one to back down from a challenge, “Deal.” Jake turns to Bradley. “I just let your girl hustle me, didn’t I?”

“You sure did,” Bradley says with a grin, but his eyes are on you.

Neither are surprised when you sink your next shot too. The six sailing into the left corner pocket.

On your next shot, you may or may not deliberately foul. A tactical choice that sets Jake up with a less than ideal position on the table, knowing it’ll be a difficult shot for him to make.

“Now you’re just toying with me, aren’t you?” Jake grouses.

You just smile and take a sip of the rosé that Bradley hands you, neither confirming or denying.

Surprisingly, he banks it.  But his good luck only lasting through that one play. Because on his next, the ball glances off the side rail at too acute an angle to reach the intended pocket and he groans.

Not quite ready to be done, you ease off a little. Enough that they both know you’re going easy on him to extend the game longer, just so that he can catch up to you.

But soon enough, soon there’s only your eight ball left on the table.

“Looks like you’re about to be out four hundred dollars, Jake,” you say with a self-satisfied smirk.

“Just put me out of my misery already.”

You turn to Bradley, who has been carefully positioning himself behind you the whole time. You hold out the cue to him and ask, “Do you want the honors?”

He shakes his head. “Go on, finish him off, sweetheart. I’m enjoying the show.”

And when your final ball tips into the side pocket, Jakes resounding groan is drown out by the whistle Bradley lets loose between his thumb and pointer finger, as you turn towards him beaming.

“The atm’s by the restroom.” Bradley sounds only too happy to remind Jake as he closes the gap between the two of you.

You look over his wide shoulder, “As for the whiskey, something expensive please, Malibu Ken.”

Jake huffs a grumble but nods all the same as he goes to round up your winnings.

“Scored four hundred dollars and a valentine, that’s not too shabby, if I do say so myself,” you preen to Bradley.

“Think that might have been the best thing I’ve seen all year,” Bradley announces. “The hottest too, if I’m being honest.” You feel your cheeks heat under his gaze. His finger slips under the thin strap of your dress that had fallen off your shoulder somewhere along the way. He slides it back up and into place, treating it like some delicate thing the same way he did that paper wrapper. “Where’d you learn to play like that?”

Normally, this is when you’d rerack, but you’ve never had a Bradley Bradshaw looking at you before.

“I took a class in college over the summer as an elective credit, and it turns out I had a knack for it,” you explain with a playful little shrug.

“I’ll say.” He takes another step closer. “Did you just show me your move, sweetheart?”

“One of them,” you grin.

You don’t have to press up to his height, not with your pearly heels.

You wrap your arms around his neck and bring his lips to yours for a kiss. A sound of surprise escapes from his throat. You feel the curve of a smile before his hands slide around your waist to pull you closer.

The scrape of his mustache against your upper lip sends electricity racing along every nerve ending in your body. In that moment you are Midas touched, the blood thrumming through your veins feels like liquid gold. It’s unhurried, like he’s been waiting to savor the feel of your mouth against his. Exciting and new as you learn the taste and touch of him. You knew it was going to be good, but even so, it’s better than you could have expected.

“Think you just snagged that number one spot of my list of favorite mustached men,” you say against his lips.

“Suck it, Selleck,” he rasps.

You inhale the amusement of his light chuckle, letting it go to your head like champagne bubbles, before he slips a hand around the base of your neck and pulling you in close once again.

A couple hours later, you find yourself at home on the couch. Your cheeks a little sore from how much smiling you’d done tonight, as Tom and Meg trade words over a plate of caviar on screen.

It was only much later that night you’d gotten to see Bradley’s big move.

He’d surprised you with his voice and the talented way his fingers glided over the white and black keys. An expensive glass of amber colored liquor sitting atop the old piano as he played, and four hundred dollars tucked safely away in your purse.

You’d given him your number when he’d walked you to your car, only distracting you for a few extra minutes with his mouth, before you’d left for the night, hoping that you’d hear from him soon.

A notification lights up your phone, and a ribbon of thrill unspools through you.

You sigh when you see that it’s a notification from your dating app. You’re wary to open it, not wanting anything to color your night, but you figure now is as good of time as any to block the guy who had nothing on the one you’d spent your evening with.

When you see the name of the person who’d sent you a message, you click into his profile with lightning-fast fingers, skimming all the details to things you hadn’t had a chance to learn yet.

𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐲 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐰

𝐀𝐠𝐞: 𝟑𝟓

𝐉𝐨𝐛 𝐓𝐢𝐭𝐥𝐞: 𝐏𝐢𝐥𝐨𝐭

𝐒𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐥: 𝐔𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐕𝐢𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐚

𝐏𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐬: 𝐋𝐢𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥

𝐙𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐜 𝐒𝐢𝐠𝐧: 𝐂𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫

There is a picture of him in uniform, grinning to someone out of the frame. And another one of him shirtless on the beach, surrounded by some of the faces you’d seen tonight at the Hard Deck.

But it’s the answers to the prompts that he’d picked, that set your heart fluttering.

𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐟 𝐈 𝐭𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭: 𝐈 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐩𝐩 𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲. (𝐈 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐟𝐞𝐰 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐡𝐞𝐫.)

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐢𝐬: 𝐈 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐬, 𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬.

𝐈 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭: 𝐈 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐩𝐨𝐨𝐥 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐬.

That one makes you laugh.

You open the message from him, one that had been sent with a rose.

𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐲 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐰: 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐈 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐨𝐧 𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞? 𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐨, 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐬𝐨𝐨𝐧? 𝐈 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐈 𝐨𝐰𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚 𝐑𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐏𝐨𝐩.

You don’t even have to think.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐤𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝?

And you can’t help but grin to yourself as look at that paper ring still on your finger. Because you know, this app won’t be on your phone for much longer.

Not now that you’ve met him.

Happy Hearts Day, friends! Thank you for reading!

And a big thank you to Jordan ( @gretagerwigsmuse) for all the support and encouragement and general woogirling over Bradley Bradshaw!

You can read my other stories here!

Taglist:

@gretagerwigsmuse @sehnsuchts-trunken  @callsignspark @notroosterbradshaw @tongue-like-a-razor @laracrofted @ofstoriesandstardust @bradshawsbitch @starryeyedstories @top-hhun-main @startrekfangirl2233 @callsign-viper @teacupsandtopgun @angelbabyange @oneelleandaneye @mizzzpink @cornishkat @alana4610 @20th-centu-fairy-girl @pono-pura-vida @donttouchmycarrots @eg-dr3amer3 @whaledots-blog @a-beaverhausen @hangmanscoming @mandolin22 @theweekndhistorybook @lilpeekabooze @high-bi-imgonnacry @ahintofkiwistrawberry @ruewrote @spiderman-stilinski @jayniebop @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @imaginecrushes @keyrani @chicomonks @artemissunn @mayempress @eddiemunsonreader

[66stitches]

vampire ellie drabble

⛤ Ellie drinks your blood and it’s hot. That’s it

⛤ CW: biting, blood drinking (duh), making out, reader drinks her own blood

daily click - palestine masterpost - tlou and israel

⛤ divider

You might have been somewhat oblivious to a few of Ellie’s desires regarding.. her condition, but you weren’t completely ignorant.

You noticed her eyes that constantly lingered on the flesh of your neck, the hunger which naught but the crimson in your veins could satiate.

It was sick; depraved. She had many options, a hundred necks and a hundred veins which held her drug, but all she wanted was you. What she felt for you was not only desire, it was yearning; a sick and desperate hunger.

You knew she would never ask of you your blood despite the incessant urge. The thought of inflicting even a droplet of harm upon her love would be enough to send her to madness.

And yet, the thoughts never left her, constantly lingering in her mind, so you took it upon yourself to propose the depraved notion.

She was immediately opposed to the idea, as you had predicted. She told you to just forget about it, that harming you was out of the question, but you didn’t fail to catch the look of consideration and hunger that flashed in her emerald eyes. Needless to say, it didn’t take a lot of convincing.

That’s how you found yourself sitting upright on your bed with a very apprehensive (and simultaneously excited) Ellie straddling you, both thighs on either side of your waist, holding the side of your neck with cold fingertips.

“You sure you wanna do this?” She asked for what seemed like the millionth time.

Your hands reached for her waist, lightly rubbing it, the warmth of your hands against the freezing surface of her skin a stark contrast.

“I want to give you what you desire,” you said. You weren’t fearful, at least not as much as her. You trusted her to stop before it got too much.

She leaned her head down and brought her lips to your neck, her warm breath against your skin raising goosebumps.

“Tell me when it’s too much, alright?” She asked and you nodded quickly, leaning your neck further towards her as if to tell her to just do it already. She retracted.

“I’m serious. I don’t want you passing out on me,” she said again, more sternly this time. You nodded again impatiently.

“Don’t worry about me, Els. I won’t let you take too much,” you reassured her.

“Good,” she said breathily and took your hair into her hands, pulling your head back in a firm grip to grant her better access to your neck.

She brought her lips to the skin of your neck again. She left small kisses at first, soft and delicate. Your eyes shut tightly, waiting for the moment when she would painfully sink her teeth into you.

You were hit with a searing pain once her teeth finally tore through your skin. Your nails dug into the flesh of her hips in a way that left crescent-shaped marks upon her skin.

She moaned softly as she licked and sucked at the wound, lost in her bliss as she drank in the coppery taste of crimson and painfully tightened her grip on your hair, inebriated in the blood.

Some blood began to trail down, making a mess on your collarbones and near your chest. Ellie dipped her head down and pressed her tongue at the bottom of the trail, dragging the wet muscle back up in the most achingly slow way possible as she collected all the blood that had escaped the wound.

“Fuck,” she whispered as she licked another stripe along the wound. “Can’t believe you’ve deprived me of this for so long.”

She drew her head back and met your eyes. She had blood — your blood running down her chin and covering her lips in the most delicious way. It was a beautiful sight.

You couldn’t help the way seeing her like this made you feel. You squeezed your thighs together to relieve an ache you didn’t quite notice was there.

She didn’t fail to notice the action. “You’re really enjoying this, huh?” Her hand left your hair, the pain on your scalp finally subsiding.

She held your cheek with a bloodied hand, smearing your own blood against your skin as she caressed it with her thumb.

“Taste yourself,” she said as she brought a finger to your lips. “C’mon.”

When you parted your lips to lick off a droplet from her finger, she took the chance to shove her finger into your mouth, filling your buds with the taste of your own blood.

She then replaced her finger with her lips, pulling you into a deliberately slow kiss to properly allow you to taste yourself. She slipped her tongue into your mouth, both of you tasting your blood together.

She pulled her lips away slightly to lightly bite on your bottom lip. You flinched when she sank her teeth deeper, drawing blood from your lip.

“Ellie…” you whispered, running your hands up and down her waist.

She shushed you softly and dragged her tongue against your lips, cleaning the blood off it. “You taste so good,” she mumbled almost drunkenly.

She then brought her lips back to your neck and continued sucking the blood out of it. You felt yourself getting dizzy at that point, your grip on her waist getting weaker with the more blood she drew out, your eyes growing heavy.

You could have told her to stop then, you should have, but you didn’t want to deprive her before she’d decided she’s had enough. You remained reticent.

As your eyes slowly shut and as you began to lose balance of your head, she finally drew her head back.

She took your head in her hands and softly brushed your strands of hair in disarray. “Fuck, why didn’t you tell me to stop? I told you to tell me.”

You smiled through your vertigo, finding her concern humorous in contrast to her sinking her teeth into you only a few seconds ago. “I’m fine, Els. Just a little worn out.”

Ellie sighed and brought her lips to yours, pressing a sweet and swift kiss as she laid you down to rest.

[blakeswritingimagines]

Relationship List With Nico Hischier

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Nico is a very affectionate and caring individual. He enjoys showing affection to his loved ones through gestures like hugs, kisses, and words of affirmation. He values physical touch and enjoys holding hands, cuddling, and snuggling up with those he cares about. He is also known for being a good listener and offering emotional support to those he cares about. He may also show his affection by giving small gifts or making thoughtful gestures.

B = Beginning (How would the relationship start?)

He would likely be hesitant to make the first move and would prefer to let the relationship develop naturally and organically. He may begin by getting to know you better through conversations and gradually opening up about himself. He may also start by suggesting casual outings or activities to spend time together. Overall, Nico's approach to starting a relationship would be thoughtful and considerate, carefully considering your feelings and pace.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Nico would definitely enjoy cuddling with you. He is a physical touch kind of person and would gravitate towards feeling close and connected to someone physically. He would likely enjoy snuggling up together, perhaps on a cozy couch or in bed, and wrapping his arms around his partner to hold you close. He may also like to stroke your hair, hold your hand, or rest his head on your chest, just enjoying the closeness and intimacy of the moment.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

Nico is definitely the type who would want to settle down at some point. He values stability and building a strong foundation for his life, so he would be open to the idea of finding a life partner and establishing a home together. When it comes to domestic tasks like cooking and cleaning, Nico is quite helpful and responsible. He may not be an expert cook, but he is willing to pitch in and help with household chores. He is also quite organized and tidy, so he would be a reliable partner when it comes to maintaining a clean and pleasant living space.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

If Nico had to break up with his partner, he would likely do so in a thoughtful and respectful manner. He would approach the conversation with sensitivity and empathy, acknowledging the impact that the breakup would have on both parties. He would likely express his feelings and reasons for wanting to end the relationship in a clear and honest way, while also being mindful of his partner's emotions and reactions. He would prioritize open communication and would make an effort to have a respectful and civil conversation, even if the situation was difficult or emotionally charged.

F = Fiancé(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

Nico has a strong sense of commitment and values building strong, lasting relationships. He is not the type to rush into marriage prematurely, but he would definitely view it as an important milestone in a long-term relationship. He would want to take the time to ensure that the relationship was solid and built on a strong foundation before committing to marriage.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Nico is generally a very gentle and soft-spoken person, both physically and emotionally. He is known for his calm demeanor and respectful approach to others, and he always makes an effort to be kind and considerate in his interactions. He is not a person who enjoys raising his voice or getting confrontational. Instead, he prefers to approach situations with patience and understanding, taking time to listen and empathize with others before making a decision or taking action. In terms of physicality, Nico is already also known for his gentle touch and respectful interactions with others.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

His hugs are warm, gentle, and tight, often making the person being hugged feel enveloped in his arms. He tends to hold on for a good amount of time, as he appreciates the physical closeness and connection that a hug can provide. He may also use hugs as a form of reassurance or to offer comfort and support to those in need.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

He believes that saying "I love you" should be a meaningful and genuine expression of his feelings, and would not want to say it lightly or just for the sake of saying it. Therefore, he would likely take his time before expressing his love to you. He may wait until he feels a deep connection and a strong sense of commitment and trust before saying it. However, when he does say it, he would mean it wholeheartedly and would say it with sincerity and love.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

He values communication and open dialogue with partners, so if he were to feel jealous, he would likely express his feelings and concerns in a mature and respectful way. He may ask questions to gain clarity and reassurance, but he would avoid jumping to conclusions or reacting impulsively. He may also take time to reflect on his own feelings and why he is feeling jealous, and work on addressing any insecurity or lack of trust that may be causing the jealousy.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Nico is a tender and affectionate kisser. He tends to kiss with purpose and passion. He may start with a soft, sensual touch on the lips, gradually building up to more intense and passionate kisses. He likes to kiss not just on the lips, but also on the neck and cheeks, as he enjoys the closeness and intimacy of being near his partner. He also enjoys being kissed and touched on his neck and collarbone, as these areas are very sensitive to him.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

Nico is a kind and patient person who enjoys being around children. He would likely be playful and warm with kids, treating them with respect and kindness. He may be willing to play games or engage in activities that are enjoyable for children, and would likely take time to listen to them and offer support and guidance. Overall, he would be a good role model for children and would likely be a kind and nurturing presence in their lives.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

Nico enjoys starting his mornings off on a quiet and peaceful note. He would also likely be considerate and attentive towards you in the mornings, perhaps making you breakfast or offering to help with any tasks that need to be done. He also enjoys cuddling and spending time together before starting the day, enjoying the intimacy and closeness of the moment. Overall, he would likely be calm and grounded in the mornings, valuing a sense of routine and predictability.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Nico tends to be a homebody and enjoys spending his nights in a cozy and comfortable atmosphere. He may like to unwind and relax in the evenings, perhaps by reading a book, watching a movie, or enjoying a quiet conversation with his partner. He may also like to do some self-care activities like taking a warm bath or engaging in hobbies that help him unwind. He may also enjoy sharing a cozy, intimate moment and cuddling with his partner before going to sleep. Overall, he would likely prefer to spend his nights in a peaceful and nurturing environment.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

He gradually shares pieces of himself over time, rather than revealing everything all at once. He may start by sharing small details about himself and his life, and then gradually delve deeper as the relationship progresses. He is not one to keep secrets, and would be honest and straightforward in communicating his intentions and feelings.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

Nico is generally patient and composed, even in stressful or challenging situations. He doesn't easily get angered or lose his temper, and tends to approach problems with a level-headed and logical mindset. He may get frustrated or upset at times, but he is usually able to maintain his composure and keep a cool head. It would take a lot to truly anger him, and he would likely try to remain calm and find a rational solution to any conflicts or problems that arise.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

Nico is known for his excellent memory and attention to detail. He is likely to remember small details about you, such as your favorite food, hobbies, and preferences. He may also remember things you mention in passing, and is likely to bring them up in conversation or surprise you with a thoughtful gesture related to something you mentioned. He values the little things that make you unique and enjoys showing that he pays attention to the details of your life.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

Nico has many fond memories of your relationship, but one that stands out in his mind is your first date. He remembers feeling nervous, but also excited and hopeful to spend time with you. He remembers the chemistry he felt between you, and the way you both seemed to connect so effortlessly. He also remembers the sense of possibility and excitement that came from that first date, and the hope for a future filled with more moments just like that one.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Nico is a protective person and takes the safety and well-being of those he cares about seriously. He would be willing to go to great lengths to protect and defend his partner, whether it be through physical means or by using his intellect and strategic thinking. He would likely make sure to keep an eye on you in public spaces and would be mindful of any potential dangers or threats. He would also likely offer emotional support and comfort in times of stress or insecurity, providing you with a sense of security and stability.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Nico is a thoughtful and romantic person, and he would put a lot of effort into dates, anniversaries, and gifts. He would likely plan dates that are thoughtful and personal, taking into account your interests and preferences. He would also put a lot of thought and consideration into gifts, making sure that they are meaningful and special. He would also be willing to put effort into everyday tasks, whether it be helping with chores or just being there to offer support and encouragement. Overall, he would strive to make every moment feel special and valued.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

One of his bad habits is that he can be a bit stubborn and opinionated at times, and he may have a hard time seeing things from a different point of view. He may also have a tendency to be too hard on himself at times, expecting perfection from himself and feeling disappointed when he doesn't meet his own high standards. He may also have a tendency to bottle up his emotions and keep his feelings to himself, which can sometimes lead to misunderstandings or communication breakdowns in his relationships.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks? Do your looks bother them?)

Nico may be a little bit vain, but not to an excessive or unhealthy extent. He takes pride in his appearance and enjoys looking and feeling his best. However, he is not obsessed with his looks and he does not put too much stock in physical appearance alone. He would not be bothered by the way you look and would appreciate you for who you are as a person, rather than for your looks alone. He is likely to be more concerned with your character and personality, and values inner beauty and kindness over superficial appearances.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

Nico would likely feel incomplete without you in his life. He would miss your companionship, support, and love and feel a sense of emptiness or void in your absence. He may also feel a sense of purpose and meaning in being with you, and may find it difficult to imagine life without you by his side. He values your presence and contributions to his life and relies on your affection and support to feel whole and complete.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

Nico has a secret soft spot for cheesy romantic comedies. He may deny it, but he secretly enjoys watching them and finds the cliches endearing, even if he rolls his eyes at them. He also has a weakness for puppies, and will shamelessly coo over them whenever he sees them in public. He may even be tempted to bring one home someday.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

He may not be a fan of overly dramatic or attention-seeking behavior, as he values authenticity and sincerity in relationships. He may also be turned off by excessive selfishness and self-centeredness, as he values kindness and consideration towards others. In terms of physical appearance, he may not be attracted to excessively done-up or flashy hairstyles, preferring a more natural and understated look.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habit of theirs? Does it change around a partner?)

Nico tends to be a light sleeper and is easily woken up by noise or movement. He may also be prone to waking up in the middle of the night and struggling to fall back asleep. When he sleeps with a partner, he may be more comfortable and relaxed, and may even have a tendency to cuddle up and hold on to his partner. He may also sleep more soundly and peacefully when sharing a bed with a partner, as he feels comforted and secure in their presence.

[exitwound]

favorite word?

i can’t pick favourites it’s not fair to everyone else. but lately i have been by captivated by the vocabulary invented for the (biblical in my opinion) task of objectively describing and categorizing rocks … there's slate, phyllite, schist, blueschist, gneiss….Mudrock protolith…Carbonaceous sediment...Slaty cleavage; crenulations.. phenocrysts… Luster, lustrousness, something hard, something secreted, something leaving behind a streak of surprising color. Garnets squeezed out of grey matrices, micas sweated out with the exertion of transformation… im soooo here . Im in here im looking at a rock and Im wanting so badly to know it that I take it to the geology textbook and select an abstraction for it like as suit tailored to it as well as I can and I realize how much more time I want to spend looking at rocks now that I am beginning to learn their names, even as I realize that it is only the names giving the objects their objectivity, and that it might be easier to experience the strangeness of the world if I could forget its names, but I won't forget its names, because then I wouldn't be able to talk about it and it gets boring not being able to talk about it, and if it gets boring, then you might stop paying attention..its a paradox. There is a rock called reticulite that looks like iridescent foam. Exactly like a lump of glittering rainbow foam scooped out of a bubble bath post-bath bomb, but it comes out of volcanoes, specifically, it is only formed from lava fountains whose basaltic spew pierces the clouds like high castles -- at least 1000 feet high is the number often given, the height necessary to reach the speeds necessary to suddenly exsolve gases in the basalt, as if the air in its lungs exploded outwards and rendered a solid thing nothing but a lattice of itself. It is the lightest rock in the world, much lighter than pumice but it doesn't float. It defies the idea of solidity, you can hold it in your hand (although it crumbles into a smaller version of itself whenever it is touched) but water pours right through it and it sinks like a fishing net would sink. Then it dissolves like cotton candy. Its a beautiful gold color, a gold latticework, a thought bubble ejected from the inside of the earth..But you can't let yourself believe any of this. Anything I say might not be true because this is about the words, although most of this is true, but I think its better to react with disbelief. That's my recommendation

Also I love, lately, words related to castles and bacterial colonies of luxury and the associated equally extravagant acts of self-protection or self-comfort: Crenellations and machicolations and spirals and balustrades and pediments and cruciforms and chandeliers and lacework and swagging and frosting

early paleozoic eras: cambrian, ordovician, silurian, devonian. But not the american state or dinoasaur themed ones except under special consideration

Sweeteners: sugar, gel, gels, jelly, creams, paste, solvents

And this is the set of all the other words that I love that I didn't name here represented by the heart symbol: <3

[psychotic-nonsense]

Amateurs

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Credit for the idea - and some of the fic entirely - goes out to @thesolarangel !!!!! They allowed me to use their lovely idea, so many thanks, my friend!! Added my own flair but I hope I did your thoughts justice :D

Fudging the timeline a lil for this too. Continuity errors? Plotholes? The hell you going on about, bud, it's Valentines Day, we're just having fun here ;]

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dear Steve Harrington, You are the most handsome, athletic, and considerate man I've ever known, and I want you to be my valentine. Meet me in the band hall at 4pm Love, your secret admirer

Steve eyes the note warily, confusion morphing his face. He can feel how comical it must look, but he doesn't really care. He just can't comprehend what he's looking at.

Senior year, fallen off his throne, the apocalypse factory sealed away (for forever, hopefully). He forgets how mundane life is outside of the hell he's lived the past three- almost four years.

Proven by the fact that, apparently, someone's left a Valentines card in his locker. And a little over a week until the day itself, no less.

It's the end of the school day, already 3:45. The note wasn't there this morning, so it must've been dropped somewhere throughout the day. He puts away his notebooks, closes the locker door, all while staring at the note.

Robin - the unlikely new friendship from this last summer from hell - is neck-deep in the locker across the hall from him, rambling about her day (and Vickie) and completely ignoring any outside force. It takes a little shove to get her out of her stupor.

"Hey, I was talking about something important here-"

"Oh sure, your endless pining is so interesting," he retorts, the hallway already blissfully empty so he can make such a joke. He shoves the note into Robin's face, holding it as she mouths the message to herself. "Any info about this?"

Robin scoffs, shoving Steve's hand away. "You know I'm bad at romance stuff, why ask me?" She turns back around to finish whatever she was doing in her locker.

Steve rolls his eyes. "I mean, do you have any idea who this could be? I don't know anyone from band."

"Who said it's from someone in band?"

"The note?"

"School's out, who's going to be in there? Pretty good place to sneak away for a Valentines meetup. Besides, I don't know everyone from band, what do you take me for, social?" She fake gags.

"Right, you just know the one-" He gets a shove on the arm for that.

"Sorry, Cupid, think you're on your own this time. Besides, you have been looking for a girl, right? Here's one falling right in your lap," Robin says, finally closing her locker. She pats his cheek, starting to walk away. "Hop to it, you're cutting it close!"

Steve stands frozen, watching her leave him behind. "Wha- I drove you here!" he calls out. "Where are you going-"

"It's Wednesday!" Robin calls over her shoulder. Right, the 'maintenance day' for Robin and her bike ("You can't forget how to ride a bike, Robs-" "Well I'm not testing it!"). No alibi for Steve, it seems.

He sighs heavily, quickly checking his watch. 3:55. He turns back to the note, seriously eyeing it and considering what might come out of this.

Oh well. Steve's not one to let someone down with punctuality, plus Robin was kinda right. Whether or not he'll have to let down this poor girl, he'll have to see.

He walks through the halls to the band room. Senses a little on edge from that uncanny feeling, but he does his best to ignore it. Hell's closed up, and everything's okay.

He makes it to the band hall just in time, yet upon walking in, the place is barren. Nothing but chairs and stands and the half-lit lights. Strange, how much more disappointed Steve feels about being stood up than he thought he would - meaning any at all. Still stings to know he's not always wanted.

Always needed, always the babysitter.

He's just about to turn around when a loud CRASH sounds from the far wall, and a storage closet door rattles as someone swears behind it.

Instincts now fully blaring in his ears, Steve immediately drops his backpack by the door and picks up a music stand, running to the back in a burst of energy. Upon throwing the door open, however, all that happens is a body falling into him, and the box said person was holding once again crashing to the floor.

Steve, in primary protective mode, drops the stand and grabs the person before they both hit the ground. A mop of dark hair is shoved into his mouth with an earthy cloud of smell around it, with a masculine grunt as they're caught and the feel of denim under Steve's hands.

Steve barely gets the person in a standing position without falling over himself, and this person takes a minute to get their legs working again. But they finally pick themselves up and massage their hands and something about that hair and smell seems so familiar...

"Whew! Thanks, man, I thought I was toast under that thing- Harrington?"

The person- guy finally turns around with a grateful smile that falls the moment he makes eye contact.

Eddie Munson. Local town Freak and D&D master, and the name Steve has heard way too much about since last semester. Thank the kids for joining that damn club.

Of course, Steve knew the guy already, word travels fast and appearances stay familiar in small towns. A three-peat senior, not too unlike Steve's super senior status (brain got too rattled after '84, and '85 didn't make it much better). A showman, either in the cafeteria or Steve's English class, he's always got something to make the people laugh. The kids praise him like a god, the halls whisper that he's the copycat of a deadbeat, and the town preaches that he's the harbinger of their fake hell.

But Munson doesn't seem dangerous to Steve right now. Nothing bad at all, actually, standing here under the light of a single sputtering light bulb that reflects in his big doe-like eyes just right, haloing his wispy hair into something angelic, and if Steve saw him in any other context he'd almost think him cute-

Oh.

Well shit.

It's well past 4pm. Munson's in the band hall by himself, in the dark.

Robin and Dustin have been telling Steve to 'broaden his horizons,' and didn't Steve himself say he 'liked more' in that food court booth?

And writing love letters sounds like something only a nerd would do...

Could it be him...?

"Munson, h-hey," Steve stutters out, realizing it's been a bit too long since anything was said. He throws the confused-curious-scared-relieved crisis to the back of his mind, focusing all his energy on just acting normal. 'Casual' went out the damn window when one of his hands ran through his hair. "What, uh.. what're you doing here?"

Thank god for that simple little response. Eddie latches on to it with a smile that makes little dimples show on his cheek, though they're gone too soon when he turns to kick the half cardboard, half duct tape box still in the storage closet.

"Just repaying some old debts," he says, that same jesting lightness he'd throw in quips against Mrs. Schneider. Eddie snaps his fingers, brings those so bright eyes back around to Steve. "Say, think you could give me a hand? Could use some old jock strength here."

Steve lets the jab roll past him, he's heard worse from the kids. He just agrees - because who is Steve Harrington if not ever helpful? - and steps into the cramped storage closet. It takes some maneuvering to make sure the poor thing doesn't fall apart in his arms, but he gets the box up off the ground. Nothing too strenuous, but Eddie is quick to direct Steve on which shelf to place the box. One more strain against the old cardboard gets them both in a panicked frenzy, but their combined push gets the box settled.

Now they're cramped in a tight storage closet shoulder to shoulder, and Steve is hyperaware of the presence. Eddie doesn't seem like that bad of a guy, he's willing to give it a shot, but he's afraid his charm might not work the same-

Eddie lightly slaps Steve's arm, drawing his attention and dear lord his eyes look so much brighter now- "Not that I'm not grateful for the aid, Mister Strongman, but only satisfaction brings a curious cat back." He leans against the opposite shelving of the closet easily, not very eager to leave the tiny space, it seems. "What brings you into the den of us freaks?"

Eddie looks so confident, speaks every word with an air of comfort and ease, that it makes the last of Steve's anxiety leave him in a huff of light laughter. He just draws in a breath, suddenly very curious to see where this goes, and starts up the charm.

"You tell me, Munson," he responds lightly. Tilts his head so he's looking up at Eddie through his eyelashes, pulls the face Nancy used to call stupid and begs that it isn't anymore. The smile is easy, though. It's so easy to smile around a presence like this.

Yet Eddie's comfort immediately wavers, and he looks surprised. "Uh..." he chuckles out nervously, "what's that supposed to mean, Harrington?"

Oh, so Munson plays hard to get? He can work with that. So much more familiar in this game, Steve just saunters the last few inches to face Eddie with only a breath's space between them. Keeps just enough distance, though, to make them both crave the closeness, leaning against the shelf beside Eddie to look down on him. "C'mon, Eddie... you know why I'm here."

And may the corpses of Upside Down monsters be his witness, Eddie "The Freak" Munson damn near blushes at the tone and proximity. Bingo.

"I- uh-" Eddie clears his throat. "'Fraid I don't recall," he mutters. There's a little bit of tension in his shoulders, hidden in the motion as Eddie leans further into the little space between them, staring Steve right in the eyes as he says, "Care to enlighten me?"

Steve is more than happy to remind him, especially if it gets the last of that tension out of him. It doesn't look right on Eddie. The line's been cast, the lovely fish caught, and now it's time to reel it in. "Well, got word lately of a new... development in Hawkins High." Steve meets Eddie's eyes and loses himself in them a little. "Figured I'd come by to talk to the source."

To Steve, it's the smoothest pickup line this side of the midwest.

But Eddie's entire demeanor sours in an instant. His shoulders tense, his eyebrow furrows so much that glorious light is gone, and he leans forward not by want, but by attack. "Alright, listen here Harrington, I wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt for those kids, but I swear if you don't pick your next words carefully-"

"Woah woah woah, hey wait!" Steve immediately backs up to give Eddie space - not much considering they're still in the damn closet, Steve walks right into the opposite shelving rack with a loud clatter - the tension in the air taking an instant 180. "I didn't- What did they- What're you talking about, I didn't mean any harm!!"

Eddie's still eyeing him warily, but he's not leaving despite the open door. That's a start. "What did you mean then, your highness?" he spits, and it sends a crack straight through Steve's heart.

One that shines light on the ignorant hope resting all on that damn...

"Did... did you not want to talk to me?" Steve asks quietly.

The volume seems to wear Eddie down a little too, as the light comes back to his eyes and the tension loosens. "Where'd you get that idea?" he asks, stern but lacking in power.

Suddenly this whole attempt - finding the note, following it, saving Eddie from the box, helping him, daring to take the leap - feels so fucking stupid that Steve can't believe he went through with it.

But Eddie's looking at him like he genuinely wants to know. Not just to get Steve away, but to know what's got him so out of sorts. Like he's bothering to care.

So Steve fumbles for the words with Eddie waiting patiently, his defenses falling with each failed sentence as Steve's too open heart shows him everything. In the end, Steve gives up, reaches into his back pocket, and pulls out the note. Looks away from Eddie as he holds it out for him to take. Feels his treacherous heart stutter at the brush of their hands as Eddie takes it. Can't bear to turn around, his face too flushed and his heart too worn as he hears the note crinkle, at Eddie's tiny gasp as everything clicks.

"Steve..." Eddie whispers, pleads, and Steve is oh so weak to such a sound. He looks up and comes face to face with an expression just as hopeful, as daring, as Steve has felt this entire interaction.

Eddie's a smart guy, it seems. He knows. But still he dares to ask. "You... thought I wrote this?"

Steve clears his throat, can't look away as he waves at the note held almost reverently in Eddie's hand. "It was 4pm when I showed up, wasn't it?" Jokes, feels the sincerity choke him a little. Eddie laughs like he gets it, looks back down at the note.

"I'm almost insulted then, Steve." Something happens to his face then that crushes all of the leftover tension in the closet. Brings back the right one with a teasing glance back at him, Steve's heart stuttering again. "This little thing-" he waves the note, "-was written by a complete amateur."

It's the same game, same rules, but he's playing with a teammate now and it feels so much sweeter. "Oh yeah?" Steve tempts. Doesn't try looking a certain way, not The King or The Hair. Just Steve. "Think you could do better?"

"Mhm, certainly," Eddie drawls. He looks back down at the note, steps off the shelf but doesn't dare step closer. "Shouldn't expect much, it's just an invitation... but to encourage an appearance, one should entice the recipient with the truth." He takes a slow, single step forward. To Steve it feels like crossing the world just to get them closer. "I'll give the girl this, she got all this right. But it just scratches the surface, doesn't it?"

Finally, Eddie looks up, and his eyes are black holes that Steve never wants to fight and his smile one that Steve would blind himself on if it meant it was the last thing he ever saw.

It's a universal truth that Steve Harrington falls hard. But the way Eddie's looking at him makes him hope like a fool that Eddie fell first.

"Because based on what I've seen..." Eddie takes another step closer, enough for their feet to rest beside each other, their knees almost touching, "Steve Harrington isn't just considerate, or athletic.

"He's brave. Smart. Loyal. Selfless. Seems like he'll throw himself into danger if it meant he's saving a life." Eddie takes that last step forward, leans fully into Steve's space with an open expression that is at once confident-scared-hopeful-real. Steve wouldn't look away if his life depended on it, because dying under Eddie's touch, Eddie's words, Eddie's gaze, would be the kindest death he could ever have.

"He's kind, cares so much it's a wonder his heart has room for the blood that keeps such a perfect guy alive." Eddie's almost whispering now. The shelving biting into their every limb is second to the tension pushing them together. "And while handsome is true, I'd have rather used something like... gorgeous."

That's when Eddie's eyes drift down to watch the shiver those words send through Steve catch right on his lip. "Sounds much more fitting, don't you think, Stevie?" Eddie looks back up to meet Steve's, and it's the most exposed Eddie's ever seemed, the most seen Steve's ever felt.

Steve can't breathe, can barely move his head in fear of being scalded by the heat of his face. "Yeah..." he gasps out. Swallows, his voice shaking as he forces it to move. "S-something like that..."

Steve Harrington is stuttering. He couldn't be ashamed if he tried, because what else could a weak man do to survive this?

The last of Eddie's confidence slips then, like he's just as weak. "Tell me I'm wrong," he whispers, pleads. "Tell me all the wishing I've done all this time was for nothing."

Steve doesn't have to. All he has to do is take that final leap, grabbing Eddie's waist. It's the answer to the begging left unsaid.

Waits to catch Eddie as he finally, finally closes that last tiny space.

Eddie kisses Steve with the emotion of a hundred years of waiting, the ferocity of fearing it going away, but the care of never daring to let it go now. Steve kisses Eddie back with the desperation of a lonely man given a hand, the strength behind a promise of protection, and the love hidden away in his poor heart finally allowed to burst.

He's lost in the feeling - Eddie's hands in his hair, Eddie's body pushing them closer, Eddie's lips and tongue on his own, Eddie's sweet gasps of air between their mutual desperation. It's a beautiful push and pull that Steve never wants to win.

A hand goes to Eddie's jaw, holds it reverently, tracing the bone and skin and motion. Another goes down to the side of Steve's neck, a light pressure, feeling the pulse and air and swallow.

They don't dare leave each other's lips, can't move away from the tight hold trying to connect every inch of them together, barely leaves room to breathe. Eddie wants to bite, Steve wants to see, but the thought of leaving is impossible to them, so they don't.

Until there's a sudden knock at the door of the band hall that breaks the haze. Steve pulls away to huff in anger, glaring at the wall they're hidden behind to whomever is behind it. Eddie shakes his head at the motion, laughs quietly, pulling Steve's attention back like a moth to flame.

"Steve?" calls out a tentative female voice. If Steve wasn't so drunk on Eddie's everything, he'd feel guilt over the poor girl finally showing up.

Eddie, however, just grins like this is another stage. Pulls away - with much agony from them both - from Steve just enough to look out the door. Steve can hear the girl gasp in shock when he's visible.

"Sorry, sweetheart," Eddie calls out. They're still close enough for the sound to vibrate under Steve's hands through Eddie's entire being. "Haven't seen him!"

The girl mumbles out a profuse apology and promptly exits herself. Such a shame, that people don't want to be around Eddie. What a blessing, that that leaves him all for Steve.

Eddie barely has time to close the closet door enough to keep them hidden more before Steve breaks and surges forward again. Catches Eddie's mouth while he's mid laugh, Steve mid smile. Nearly splits his lip with the force, but Eddie soothes it with his tongue before it can sting.

"Still breaking hearts, huh Steve?" Eddie whispers against his lips. Steve backs away, for the sound of Eddie's words is far sweeter than the taste of them, and the sight of Eddie's eyes far warmer than them both.

"'S long as it's not this one," Steve whispers back. Kisses Eddie again right, if a bit chaste. "Wanna know it instead, if his owner will let me?" Can't help but beg even under Eddie's full attention.

But Eddie just takes it in stride. Grabs the hand on his face and pulls it down to rest over his heart. "It is a little broken already, I'm afraid." His expression falls, just a smidge, but Steve sees it like clouds over the sun. "Sorry for assuming the worst earlier. I'm still scared I'm gonna wake up..."

Steve just does his best to hold Eddie's hand back. "You dream of me?" he can't help but ask.

Eddie looks at him with a look of pure longing. "Can't dream of anything else."

Steve holds him tighter, everywhere. Hands, body, sight. Mind and soul and heart. "Would you let me heal you?"

The clouds pass and Eddie holds him back, bonking their foreheads together - "If you dare, rearrange me so you may fit between the pieces..." - before going back to his lips.

'I wouldn't want to be anywhere else...'

Steve barely knows Eddie, but he wants to try. Eddie barely knows Steve, and he wants to show him everything. Robin and the kids are going to go crazy with this, but Steve's willing to brace for the aftermath.

So long as it means this secret admirer will stay by him for their lives to come.

[dayurno]

kevjean

[the-phoenix-heart]

I wanna get in on this since it looks like so much fun.

Harry/Ginny - All the names given for Harry and Ginny's kids are well thought out. Lily Ginevra in particular I like. Personally I've always been of the opinion that if they had another girl they should have named her something like Ruby Minerva Potter (after Hagrid and Mcgonagall). No notes, no thoughts.

Hermione/Ron - Love the defense of Hugo. I actually think Hermione would insist upon using her father's middle name for him. Jean Harriet Granger-Weasley is a great option for a female name. I do think the idea was for each to have the first initial of their opposite gender parent (almost certainly Hermione's idea), so I think if I were going down that path and take into consideration both the Arthurian theming of Weasley names and Hermione's love of literature, you get Ragnelle Harriet Granger-Weasley.

Draco/Astoria - Corvus and Regulus as names are both top tier. Something I don't think anyone has pointed out is Scorpius breaks tradition by not having his father or grandfather's name as his middle name. His middle name is Hyperion, which is certainly a choice. Corvus Regulus wouldn't be a bad choice in that case. Sylvie, Berenice, Forsythia, and Alya are all amazing names for daughters. My personal go-tos have been Amalthea (as a reference to the constellation Aries) and Amaryllis (for a flower themed name).

George/Angelina - I don't begrudge them Fred, but it is weird considering Angelina and Fred were together. Roxanne sticks out because of how...modern it feels? Even just compared to Fred. If we're going with that than maybe something like Tiffany instead, modern but connected to the middle ages as is familiar with Weasley names. Fabian and Tiffany Weasley wouldn't be a bad choice for siblings I feel.

Percy/Audrey - I don't know why JK decided not to bring back Penelope if she was going to give Percy a wife. I guess it's more realistic, but still. I agree that Percy would go for something traditionally Weasley. Margaret (nickname Molly) for their eldest daughter then, and I think Igerna for their second daughter (since we know Percy likes a bit of Latin/Greek influence).

Bill/Fleur - Yeah their names were perfect. I like to think Bill is intentionally distancing himself from the Weasley and Prewett ways.

What do you think about Albus Severus in The Cursed Child? And I know they were pretty much ignored by the narrative, but what about James Sirius and Lily Luna? (gosh these names are ridiculous. Is there there anything weirder than naming two of your children after both of your parents who were married and in love?)

Also how come none of Ginny's family is in there??

Okay. If I'm assuming that Harry and Ginny got married young and had their first kid at 23-24... I don't think either of them are going to be especially creative namers. They're just going to go with the most expected thing.

(Harry/Luna is how you get Hawthorn Dobby Xenophilius Potter. Harry/Draco... I think goes with Sirius, because the astronomy name would make Draco happy, and Harry isn't signing off on Scorpius.)

In the wizarding world, the most common thing seems to be to use your name/your grandparents' names as your kids' middle names. Bill is 'William Arthur,' presumably Charlie is named after his paternal grandfather, Percy is 'Percy Ignatius' and I'd be very surprised if Molly's father wasn't called Ignatius Prewett. By the time they get to Ron they're pulling in Arthur's brother (or potentially uncle) Billius.

So Harry and Ginny would just do that. They also seem to have this desire to name the kids after people who have died, and so keep their memory alive that way. Okay.

If no one else is using Fred's name, I think that's the name of their first son. I think Ginny insists on it. In which case (following the pattern established by the world) he would be Fred(rick) Harry Potter.

If someone else is using the name Fred (or George has communicated that he feels uncomfortable with this) I think Harry names his son Sirius, not James. First - I think he'd be saving 'James' for a middle name, because That Is What You Do. Also, there'd be political utility to going with Sirius. Sirius' name was never officially cleared, and I think that no matter what else happens, Harry would be on that post-war. So Sirius Harry Potter.

I think it's in character - I don't think it's healthy, but I do think it's in character - for Harry to attempt to work through his complicated feelings about Albus Dumbledore by naming a son after him, and I think Ginny has positive enough associations with Dumbledore that this wouldn't raise any red flags. But there is NO way she is signing off on 'Severus.' It be very 'I understand that you have complicated feelings about him Harry, but you cannot deny that he was a miserable bastard who bullied me and all my friends, and it's not fair to put that on a kid. Also, you're sort of implying that Snape is your father or something if you do that.'

Which leaves number two named Albus James Potter.

I do think they go with Lily for their daughter, there's no talking Harry out of that. But her middle name is going to be Ginevra, after her mother.

tl;dr - Taking what we know about common wizarding naming conventions, and what we know about Harry and Ginny as people, I think their kids would more realistically be called:

Sirius Harry Potter (or Fredrick Harry Potter)

Albus James Potter (or Sirius James Potter)

Lily Ginevra Potter

[xxplastic-cubexx]

🧙‍♀️🐈‍⬛

[luna-loveboop]

I want. Four to get appreciation. Because

Four gave a ton of unnoticed help when Twilight was injured

The fight with Wild was difficult, and I know we're all concerned about his negative view of the shadow crystal

But Four did something that no one else really thought of to help- He took care of Twi's stuff

From the beginning he told Twilight to not worry about them

So Four took care of pretty much everything but the others (that Sky and Wars handled)

He took care of Epona

Which is so very important- he took care of Twilight's horse. After her arrival at the stable Four followed up on her

And for Epona, a horse so attached to her human, having some company can help so much for reassurance

He took care of Twilight's stuff

He got Twi's shield- his bags and equipment, and organized it into one place

And he was worried. He obviously found the shadow crystal while handling Twi's stuff, but his negative reactions to it were out of concern.

Also- because of his placement in this scene

I'm fairly convinced Four was ready to start cooking before Wild showed up (since he's beside the counter with food supplies). At the very least he had the basket of fruit out for everyone -but he was literally standing with food behind him- he thought of everything

And he did housekeeping!

Wars payed for the inn, so Four took care of the inn

Realistically these boys were probably not too concerned with tidyness. Four got all of Twi's things on one table, and took care of the room they stayed in

Organizing tables and Twi's things, having food supplies ready, and opening the curtains- overall he was the one tidying up the inn

Four helped in a huge way! He took care of Twi's horse (Epona is so important), his equipment and shield and bag, as well as the other rooms in the inn

Four filled in all the little tasks that others didn't think of. He helped in ways that were needed, but not obvious

There's a lot of problems with the shadow crystal and with Wild, and I don't know what's gonna happen in the future

But don't forget this- don't forget that Four was one who stepped up in an almost unnoticeable way

Don't forget that when everyone was barely holding it together, Four visited Twilight's horse and took care of his things

No matter what develops in the future- this amount of care shown is important ya know?

.

Art and comic from Jojo @linkeduniverse au :)))

[caesarclowningaround]

i wanna write a pwp holiday/christmas oneshot fic but i can't decide which Sanji ship i wanna write for. i've been having a lot of fun with these two crackships this year and i wanna write another. so...

[icecoldbeauty]

Ah... makes me remember waaay back before I even finished the gym challenge. Used to think I'd never amount to anything- how could I have? I lived on the smallest of all the Sevii islands- never been more than 20 residents there!, I was frail, lonely standoffish, never really achieved anything before, and had nothing special about me. But I could battle, and I liked to battle. Still remember the day I sat up and said to myself, you know what? I'm done sitting and waiting for purpose to come to me, I'm going to go to it! - and set off for mainland Kanto... I'm still so glad I did. I myself never had any rivals myself- or well, I don't think I did! I'd certainly improved by then but I was... still rather socially inept to put it lightly when I set off... I'd not be surprised if I accidentally made some of my peers think I wanted that with them and I never even noticed! I imagine having a proper rival'd be quite fun, though! I really would have done so many things to be able to comfortably been out in my youth like that. But you know what? I'm proud and damn happy that so many more people today can be, even if I couldn't. Less people will have to feel the way I did about it, which was awful and not something I'd wish on anyone. I'm happy for Sonia and Nessa- and I don't oft use this kind of language, but the tabloids can fuck right off with this erasure shit- and I'm happy for you too, and I hope that everyone that wants people like you and me silenced and stifled in any way lives the rest of their life even more miserable than they want us to feel. Assholes need a taste of their own medicine more often. (Also, people seriously read their own wikipedia articles? I've never looked at mine once!) I'd say that's still considerable progress from how it was in my heyday, but there really is still so incredibly much left to make. Really, I'd be happy if I can see even just a little more substantial amounts get made before my times up- I want to be able to leave the world knowing it was better than when I started. I don't get to have long and thoughtful conversations too much anymore, really I'm honored you're finding some joy in talking this much with me of all people! Still a little strange to hear people like talking to me really, but makes me happy nonetheless. But I really don't know if I could do that anymore... Arc, I still feel so awful that I didn't tell her when I first had the chance- and every time I receive a letter back from her, I read it thinking about how much I wish I had... Sometimes I wonder if I still could, but then I ask myself, 'is it really worth it after all this time, especially in your age and condition?', and I just... can't do it. I mean, like I said, my time is even more limited than the average person- frail and easily prone to sickness I am, and once I get a few more years up there, well, I don't know how well I'll be able to fight off illnesses by then. She's healthier than me, she'll almost definitely have longer to live. I don't wanna drag her down in that way. I don't want to leave her alone in that way, she doesn't deserve to have that happen to her really. I don't know anymore though... I've been thinking about her more than usual lately. If there's any chance it could still be worth it... Oh my Arc- apologies, this is hitting me a tad harder than I'd expected... agh, being emotional and sentimental sucks sometimes...! Ah... Well, the idea of having endorsements for the league is pretty interesting. I presume it's difficult to get one? Wonder how I'd have faired with something like that in place back when I set off, like I've said I wasn't precisely the most pleasant at that age! Don't know if anyone'd have wanted to give me one, haha! And I'll admit, some of the crazy league stories I've both experienced in my own and heard from others are incredibly amusing. I still remember when I heard about one of the champions battle in Unova being stopped by... I think they said it was a an entire castle busting the place down of all the things, nothing will beat that in sheer hilarity.

Oh yeah wait you're too old to know what inkay games is my bad

Oh, please, I’m only twenty-three.

[ he’s not old. don’t make that mistake again. ]

—💎

[krispiecake]

tell me why i can hear another tenants fucking music from my flat. HE DOESNT EVEN LIVE IN MY BUILDING. HE LIVES IN A COMPLETELY SEPARATE BUILDING ON THE SECOND FLOOR AND I CAN HEAR HIS MUSIC FROM MY FLAT. MY FLAT WHICH IS IN A DIFFERENT SEPARATE BUILDING.

[proselles]

thing one and dumbass two

[moltengoldveins]

having. Thoughts.

[ghostsandmirrors]

The already faltering grip that he'd had on his reactions slipped just a little more at the careful agreement. A small, silent, jerky sob escaped him before he forced it all back down, because weapons don't weep, and just stayed still, stayed with his face pressed against Steve as if he were trying to find safety and comfort in the crook of his neck and the collar of his shirt, as if nothing but this feeling could repair the hairline fractures in the dam.

In truth, the consideration and the fact that Steve's agreement was so careful made it worse, made it harder to plug the holes. He'd thought about it and come to the same conclusion, and it wasn't enough to find another bottom to tear out of that pit but it was enough to hurt. It was enough to start at the beginning of the spiral again, or maybe it was the middle, or maybe it was a new spiral altogether that could go lower and lower and lower until the way out was a distant memory, until escape was a fantastical dream, a held out hope with no evidence of reality.

That spiral suddenly seemed very cold and very quiet, with the buzzing of decades old electricity and the thuds of heavy, booted footsteps being so clear.

Later, it would probably be freeing, the idea that he wasn't truly tied to those memories, to that legacy. It'd be no big deal when he didn't feel like a walking deception, an act put on to lower Steve's defenses like he was still trying to complete his mission and had just found a more effective way to manage it. It'd be a memory he'd like to forget, because showing Steve any of this almost felt like he was hinting at horrors that Steve didn't need to have plaguing him, inviting him to lose sleep over things that Steve had never been able to stop, that he would never be able to blame Steve for.

Later, he would pretend it hadn't happened, because he'd had practice; because pretending everything was fine was far easier than acknowledging that it wasn't; because he'd never wanted Steve to worry about him.

Because weapons didn't weep and assets didn't need kindness or comfort. Weapons didn't weep, and assets didn't want, and he was fighting so hard not to do either that he couldn't also fight the hissed thoughts that he could never be brave enough, could never be good enough, could never be enough, and here was the proof; even Steve agreed.

Later, he'd be able to argue against those thoughts, and everything else that Steve had said would feel neutral. It may even all make sense, when he next remembered it while laying awake, staring up at the ceiling with stinging eyes and cotton wool replacing his brain, too tired to even consider trying to silence the whispers in his head for long enough to sleep. It wouldn't feel like it did now; like Steve had given up on getting his Bucky back and was settling for the monster who'd killed him and taken his place, the imposter in his arms.

"Y'deserve him."

His voice was quiet, broken, shattered into a million cracked pieces, and muffled against him, as if saying these words into Steve's shirt or skin or his own tears would make them easier to hear. "How-…" He cut himself off, suddenly uncertain. He hadn't been able to say what he'd wanted to before, that he wanted to be his Bucky--because assets didn't want things--and this question could sound too much like a desperate, last-ditch attempt at being good enough for redemption, because his Bucky had been good enough, at least for Steve. Maybe it was. Maybe he thought it was, in that moment, in that spiral, unable to find the way out.

"How do I be him? "

Some part of him realized, far too late, that it wasn't fair to ask. It wasn't fair to ask how he could pretend to be the bait Steve had been lured in with, how he could drag his Bucky back from where he'd been dumped and left to die slowly, painfully, by agents who were 'just doing their jobs' so that he could copy him. That part of him snapped, and he was sure he heard it break in the moment before whatever parts of him were still in tact crumbled so completely that all he could do was cling, holding on like he was afraid of what could happen if he didn't.

"M'sorry." It was all he could say between the silent sobs that tore at his throat like they were trying to escape, trying to open him up, trying to rip a big enough hole in him to reveal that emptiness, the hollowness of that cavernous ribcage, shine light on the ravenous depths, make Steve aware of what he was holding.

"M'sorry." His right hand hurt from the grip on Steve's shirt, clenched too tightly while he tried to stop his entire being from collapsing in on itself, trying to stop his physical being from buckling and becoming a pile of… whoever he was, because at this point he wasn't sure he could recognize any of the pieces, wasn't sure he could fit them back in the right places.

"M'sorry." The pain in his throat from trying to stay silent had turned his apologies into a whimpered whisper, a too-quiet plead to not be abandoned in these ruins. "M'sorry." A beg from a ghost to not be left at the bottom of those depths, to at least have his body returned for Steve to properly mourn. "M'sorry."

I'm not him.

That whole sentence shattered Steve to his core. It left him feeling vulnerable and weak in his heart. He wasn't him. He wasn't the boy he grew up with. He wasn't the man that saved him numerous times. He didn't see the same person when he looked in the mirror as Steve did. He didn't see Bucky Barnes, Bucky didn't see the amazing person that he was. He saw the weapon, didn't he? He saw all the chaos and everything that he was forced to reckon.

Steve paused considering the situation. It wouldn't be right to agree and tell him it was Steve's fault that he was changed. That everything would have been the same if Steve would have looked. He could have had the best care given to Bucky and he could have been a disabled veteran home safe. He could have been resting and recovering while Steve fought the frontlines. But Bucky wouldn't have wanted that. Would he? He would have wanted to be by Steve's side just like Steve wanted to fight in the 107th the minute Bucky was drafted.

"You're not him." He agreed, understanding to some degree and bringing his hand to rest on Bucky's cheek that he could see exposed. That wasn't hiding in his shirt threatening to burrow deep inside.

"You're you. You've been changed by the events but they don't define you. You have the chance to remake yourself and be what you think you are now. Not what they made you. Not what I knew before. You can be a whole new person but the first step? Is coming out of the shade and telling me you're not afraid."

He wasn't even sure what he was doing now. He felt like he was grabbing at straws. "I deserve you. Because I deserve to be with someone that thinks I deserve more and would fight for me to have the best that I could possibly have even if they think it isn't them. Especially if they think it isn't them."

[total-drama-brainrot]

What if Geoff wasn't the nice, chill surfer party dude who had no problems with anyone and was friends with everyone?

No, nobody can be that nice. No teenager can be that okay with every person in the camp. No, Geoff hid it. It was a common tactic he used to get people not constantly pissed at him before (it was just annoying). Pretending to be this dumb party dude fooled everyone into believing he was that because why would you ever question HIS motives? He's just a dumb party dude!

But pretending was so, so hard. You see, he had to pretend he liked these people.

Too hard.

And one day, he slipped up.

Interesting. So Geoff's friendly demeanour and sufer boy energy is all, what, a ruse he uses to portray himself as less of a threat in the competition?

It would be an effective game plan; Geoff makes it pretty far into the game in Island, and a lot of his survivability stems from his social strengths and the fact that he's not really seen as a threat in the competition - he's a lot like Owen in that regard, just less intense with his friendliness. You could have Geoff intentionally imitate a lot of Owen's mannerisms after he notices how generally liked (or at least tolerated) he is, and it'd explain their similarities quite nicely.

It does make me wonder what Geoff would be like underneath his act. Your ask implies that he's, if not entirely misanthropic, then a lot less easygoing and amicable as he's shown to be in canon. Someone easily annoyed by others, who perhaps doesn't really have the patience to deal with a lot of the shenannagins that happen on the show, even if he pretends he does... and even if his whole game plan revolves around maintaining that misconception.

That's not to say that he isn't the Geoff we all know and love from canon. He's still the same person, he's just... not as benign. At least not internally.

You could take inspiration for this Geoff from his portrayal in Action, or maybe even his vindicitiveness from World Tour (against Blaineley, just make that energy universal) to base a lot of his real character on; a Geoff who isn't exactly antagonistic, but has a mean streak and a tendancy to hold grudges. And, of course, he'd keep the same natural charisma canon Geoff has, even if his "himbo charm" is fake.

Then it's just a case of replacing his usual good-natured aloofness with cool apathy, or even a spiteful disrgard of others, and you've got yourself the perfect canvas for a wolf in sheep's clothing.

And he's also got his friendships with the Bass boys - Harold excluded, of course - which, considering Duncan's influence, would be a nice outlet for his less sociable tendencies. A way to let loose without having to expose himself as less good-natured than he lets on.

Bringing it back to Owen, and their shared similarities: Geoff could esaily attach himself to Owen post merge, similarly to how Heather attaches herself to Lindsay, as not only a social buffer (though Geoff doesn't really need one, unlike Heather) but as a sort of pawn in the competition. The "boy's alliance" would be the perfect time to have Geoff try to integrate Owen into his social circle, which is pretty much what happens in canon anyway.

Keeping Owen as close as possible is the most strategically sound move on Geoff's part. The closer he is to Owen, the easier it is to cherry pick what aspects of Owen's personality he's going to imitate. He's also got himself at least one secured vote (in theory, since Owen's known to be easily swayed).

The issue with this?

Geoff finds Owen almost unbearable to be around.

Which is ironic, given that he's conciously and intentionally trying to be as Owen-like as possible, but it's true. He can't understand how anyone can be as unconditionally and authentically cordial as Owen is, and it pisses him off. He has a hard enough time acting friendly and warm around people he doesn't like, but when it comes to doing the same with someone he actively despises?

It's enough to wear his already thin patience down until it snaps.