#i think about that all the time. i think that was a terrible case of karmic retribution.

[sometimesanalice]

Morgannn!! 💖 oh I’m so, so happy you liked this! Fluffy, fun, and flirty vibes for days!

I’m so happy that it was something that made you smile! 🥰🥰

More for you!!

Oh, this was absolutely delightful and fun and exactly what I needed after this week! I broke into giggles and a smile more times than I could count! I love everything you write, but sometimes you pop off with the best little details and phrasings and it's such a joy to read your writing!—🥹🥹🥹

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. 

Quite literally the vibe for modern dating, and especially with how many men always forget Feb 14th is a holiday!!!!!— I just imagined her being like “are you sure??” like five times and this guy being like “it’s a Wednesday like yeah”. But truly, the amount of me not utilizing the notifications on their built in calendar is a CRIME. But especially on international hearts day!

And well, if your date didn’t appreciate it, then that was a him problem.

Men don't appreciate good fashion. That's why we dress for the group chat and ourselves!— the girlies(gn) just want to look and feel cute! But also, you know that group chat was popping off with the🔥 emoji, lol

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.

This visual this gave me! A beacon of pink! Get her a drink!— goodness knows miss ma’am needs one! She was just trying to go with the flow and have fun! But I loved trying to find ways to highlight just how out of place she was there, not only like with how she felt but also the setting!

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

STOP, THIS GOT ME!— I MEAN CAN YOU IMAGINEEEEE

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.”

Snaps for Selleck mention.— the OG mustache man!

Oh.

AN ITALICIZED OH, SO YOU KNOW IT'S GOOD!!!— ITALICIZED OH SUPREMACY!! (Also I’m so endlessly tickled by the amount of support the italicized oh has gotten 😂 I know I posted about it specifically, but I love how much love we all have for those two little letters!)

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.

This was entirely too relatable. Those jeans are too slutty and the group chat must know! (nothing wrong with taking a lil pic either 🤫) — I was so obsessed with the idea of her being like “you guys won’t believe what happened” and her phone just blowing up the other night of her best babes wanting allll the tea! You know the brunch talk is going to be popping! (But the slutty beans and that cock walks are a lethal combo!!)

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.

This whole pool scene was so fun! You captured Jake and Bradley's game with so much descriptive detail, it made me want to watch the movie again! Jake would absolutely get hustled, that man has too much ego to not get played.— ahhhh!! This is the best thing you could have said because Morgan I know nothing about pool lmaooooo 😂 I was reading as much as I could and snooping on r/billiards to figure out what was going on hahaha! All the while cursing myself for deciding her ace needed to be her sneaky pool shark skills. He would SO get played, he wouldn’t be able to help himself!

In that moment you are Midas touched, the blood thrumming through your veins feels like liquid gold. 

This is quite literally one of my favourite ways a kiss has been described. So visual, yet you can feel it. It's going to be rolling through my brain for a bit, I love it!— stopppp!!!!!! 🥰🥰🥰🥰 there’s always so much pressure to try and get a first kiss right, so that makes me so happy that it landed well with you!! 🫶🏻

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 𝐨𝐧�� 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

[demon-at-peace]

DP + DC ficlet

Hi just a short bit of an idea I had, totally non cannon, I basically had an idea and rolled with it,

----

Danny Fenton had died and no one even noticed, no one even cared. At 14 he had stepped into the portal and he died, and he lived. He died a thousand times, and he lived. He was a halfa, a curious being one from myths. No one noticed, and he continued, to live, to fight, except he was dead. He killed pariah dark at 16. He fought with everything he had. He became a king, the ruler of the dead. But he was too alive for the dead and too dead for the living.

At sixteen he died screaming, he died a second time, and he did not come back. Danny Fenton died that day and Phantom remained, and no one mourned either of them. He escaped, he ran, and he gave up in the living. No he served the dead. He gave them peace. He mourned them.

Perhaps he looked strange, but no one asked why he wore black, no one questioned his affinity for solving cases, they never did notice he was merely talking to the victim. He wasn't some genius. He was asked for help eventually, a cold case in Gotham he was asked to take a look at, and he complied, he took the case, and smiled at the shades. 

And the shades smiled back and they watched him with curious eyes. They were quieter than other shades Danny talked too, they didn't care about their murders they cared about their avengers, the Gotham shades didn't want revenge, they had already been revenged, by Batman.

Really it was funny the way they talked about him, they were so terribly fond of him. Red Hood would be even more popular if not for the fact that he killed some of the shades. Robin had a good reputation, but the newest robin, he was fear, he snapped and hissed, he was angry. Red Robin, who laughed and talked, who was ever so calm, he had the best reputation among the dead.

Even though they talked about the bats and birds, they still talked about their deaths, they gave him names and faces. It was a week after he'd come to Gotham that he finally reached the shade he needed to talk too. He didn't smile, he never smiled when dealing with death. "Pleasure to meet you, Tim Drake Wayne isn't it?"

The shades head snapped up, and Danny stared into icy blue eyes, "My name isn't Wayne!" he spits. Danny however is barely listening, the only thing he can think about is the domino mask on the shades face. Scratched and marred, covered in blood.  

"I  suppose not," Danny agrees still staring at the ruined suit, "I suppose this case is a dead end, assuming you died as robin?"

"Please, as if I'm still robin," he scoffs, "But who are you? Or perhaps what are you? After all you can see me and I'm dead," He asks curiously. 

----

Yeah not cannon at all, idk if I'll continue it but it was fun to write,

Bye :)

[newttxt]

hi quip! i really like your one piece comics and i am curious how you do them! i'm not good at comics and want to be better at drawing them! how do you learn how to make comics?

thank you!

uh oh... im afraid u have caught me at the perfect crossroad of "bored at work" and "unrelated task ive been meaning to do but keep putting off."

this is long. i hope you like reading (and grayscale progress pics). and of course!!! disclaimer before we begin that this is just how I, personally draw comics. there is no "right way."

quip's comic-making process!

Switching my typing to make this more legible...

My process can kinda be broken down into 6 steps:

Brainstorming

Thumbnailing

Sketching

Panels & Text

Lines

Tones/Colors

1. Brainstorming

My brain is a leaky sieve on a good day, so I sloppily jot down ideas in my phone notes the moment I have them. This helps me when it's time to draw too, because if I feel art blocked, I can look through old concepts and see what catches my interest.

Otherwise, I love drawing for other people's writing. :) And if worst comes to worst, doing manga/comic page redraws in my style teaches me new things every time.

Once I have my idea, I'll usually make a bulletpoint list of "plot points" or "story beats" I want. Then I plan the comic with this format that I've adapted from a tutorial I read once. I'm going to use my most recent comic (original comic post) as an example.

I start in the third column, writing notes of what I'd want to see in each panel. I also include the dialogue (in this case, I didn't have to write the dialogue! it's from the fanfic linked in the original comic post!). I usually write the whole name like [Luffy:], but at this point I've drawn so much of these guys, just the first letter works.

I like to handwrite these notes to get an idea for how much text I'm putting in a single panel.

After I describe all the panels, I go back and separate them into pages. I can't tell you how to know how many panels to a page. It's whatever works for you. I just kinda know about how big each panel will be, and so I can feel when I'm probably running out of space. (Also. You can change things later. I don't in this example, but I add/drop pages/panels all the time.)

2. Thumbnailing

Thumbnailing—as the name suggests—should be done tiny. Too tiny to accidentally get sucked into details.

This is about marking down blobs where items/characters go, and figuring out the paneling. I'll draw and redraw these a bunch of times too.

This is also the most time-consuming/brain-working part for me. If I were in a zine that did progress percentage, I'd try to finish thumbnailing around the 50% mark (but I'm also a moderately fast artist, so your mileage may vary).

I think the terrible quality makes them charming, actually. I really like how silly they look. :')))

I will add, when you draw your "page" rectangle, make sure it's the same proportions as your actual canvas for the final image. You want an accurate idea of how much space each panel will take up, especially if you have a lot of text.

3. Sketching

This is my most recent change to my usual workflow, and it's saving me a lot of time. I make my thumbnails a bit bigger (each one about half the size of the final canvas), and I sketch these basic body forms right over them.

It just helps give me placement for my actual lines!

I usually draw these in a paleish color so I can lower the opacity and not get distracted by them while lining. The random darker parts are to either help keep two forms separate (like when two characters have their limbs all over) or to better define sections that were too sloppy/poorly proportioned.

I also think this helps my poses stay looser, because I have more dramatic/wriggly shapes that aren't too bogged down by proportions yet.

Sidenote: I CANNOT show this here, but sometimes this is when I take videos. Of myself. I prop my phone camera up and shoot a video of me acting each panel. :/// It looks really dumb, but it also shows me fun body language ideas like hand gestures, expressions, weight distribution, etc. Just pretend you're an overdramatic cartoon character, and try not to worry about your roommates or mother walking in on you doing odd things. (You can also use the video for anatomy reference later, but I usually just capture the vibe and don't try to copy the actual video frame.)

4. Panels & Text

Oh, boy. So, the panels are usually just straight lines (though it's fun to make creative exceptions, like a round panel to mimic looking through a spyglass), but there are some fancy rules that I don't strictly adhere to.

I believe (I have no technical training in this. Take everything I say with a grain of salt) the vertical gaps (between two side-by-side panels) should all be a consistent width and the horizontal gaps (between two panels on top of each other) should be another. The vertical ones? Should be thinner? Because you want the eye to easily glide between them, whereas the horizontal gaps should be a visual barrier to keep you from jumping ahead. Just something I've vaguely noticed.

There are lots of fun "default layouts" you can look up. Or keep it a consistent grid. I think it's fun to sometimes have characters/objects sticking out of panels and overlapping others. This is just a matter of taste, creativity, and inspiration. (Read Witch Hat Atelier... It has some of my favorite paneling...)

You may also notice I have already done the speech bubbles. This is, to me, a crucial step. This helps me catch early if I don't have enough room for all the words. It also lets me plan the art in each panel with the speech bubbles in mind. There's nothing worse than working really hard on a panel, and then you realize there's no room for the bubbles.

I also try to lay them out in a way that guides the eye! Even without art, can people tell where to go next? Better yet, if I want people to look at panels out of order (aka not left to right, in my case), can I use the speech bubble path to make them? Here's just a vague example of what I mean.

As an added bonus, doing speech bubbles early also allows me to be lazy! :) Ignore the comic; I'm not supposed to post it yet oops,, There's a whole lot of drawing to do on each comic page, and I am not wasting my time on stuff that will be covered up. So yes, if I hide my bubbles, there are a lot of unfinished lines trailing off into nothing. (As a bonus, if there's a part of a character you're struggling with—and it won't look weird to do so—you can move speech bubbles to just hide the problem area yayyy)

Making the actual bubbles could be their own whole tutorial, tbh, but there are some general guidelines I use.

Zoom out when you choose your font size. You want to know how it will look to the average reader, so it isn't super teeny tiny or way too big. You generally want to keep the same text size for all your pages/bubbles.

When I draw bubbles, I try to size them about one vertical letter height (and some change) around the words [left side]. This isn't always the case though, because humorously large or funny shaped text bubbles can convey different feelings [right side].

On Procreate, I set my bubble lines to Reference and just drag-and-drop the white fill on a separate layer below the lines. (Remember to turn Reference back off again when you're done, or your fill bucket won't work right when you're drawing.)

To get the white outlines I use to keep the bubbles from cluttering up the art, I literally just Gaussian blur an all-white copy of the lines + fills... and then I copy and merge it 5 times until it's opaque enough. This is a terrible way to do it, but it works for me. :')

5. Lines

This is the part that I can't tell you how to do. I literally just. Draw right over my wacky sketched body forms. Boom. Comic drawn.

I'll make three suggestions:

Don't focus on making every panel perfect. Give a little extra love to big ones or ones you want people to linger on. Otherwise, know that people are typically speeding through the art. It's way more important to focus on storytelling than art technique. In my opinion, a good story that's told well will always be better than a beautiful one told poorly. (Some comics are beautiful AND well-written... Alas, I am just a hobbyist who needs to get the ideas out of my head at top speed.)

Put your background lines on a different layer. Put your foreground lines on a different layer too, if you have those. Basically, I try to keep the main part of each panel (usually a character or object) on my lines layer so I can erase background/foreground/etc lines to ensure clarity/focus.

You can make background lines lighter colors too. I have too many numbers sorry. (1) Background. The stuff that's farthest away. Lightest lines. Few details; more focused on shapes and the suggestion of a background (I'm not good at backgrounds). (2) Midground. Same distance away as the characters are. Lines can be black. (3) Also midground, and also the same distance away. But they're very detailed, so I lighten them so they aren't so distracting. (4) The characters. Black lines for focus. For people who haven't seen the comic, I swear they are just hugging. This is SFW. D:

6. Tones/Colors

Do not. Do NOT ask me. I don't understand colors. I hate working with them, but I try because I want to improve. I hate doing anything beyond the simplest grayscale shading. Please go elsewhere for your coloring/tone advice. This is how my color picker looks 95% of the time. I have pre-set "percentages" of black that I got by lowering the opacity of a black layer and just color picking it. I don't even know the exact percentages I used. Good luck out there. Be better than me.

7. Sharing

This is a bonus step that I didn't mention earlier, but it's actually the most important of all of them.

You need a friend. Or maybe a groupchat or discord. A family member or coworker if you're really close like that. I don't know.

Find SOMEWHERE you can spam wips and be cheered on. Drawing comics takes a while, especially if you're trying to tell longer stories than I'd dare to attempt. If I don't force someone to praise me for every line I draw, I shrivel up and die.

Also if and when you post online, add alt text. I'll admit I'm the first person to complain and drag my feet on this, and I literally use a screenreader myself when my eyes hurt (strong prescription glasses wearer). Comics should be accessible, because stories are fun and everyone should be able to enjoy them.

***

Learning???

And I guess lastly, how do you learn to make comics? Two steps: 1) read them and 2) make them. This is the tragedy of creating things.

1) Reading them: I grew up reading comic strips, western serialized comics, and webcomics. I've always loved graphic novels too. Then in late middle school, I started reading manga (Death Note and Haikyuu were my first two), and now I'm trying to read more webtoons (sorry im so slow bree)!

I also... mass-consume doujinshi, thanks to proxy mailing services and bilingual friends/Google Translate/knowing some Korean. (I have an entire bookshelf of doujin, actually,,)

The thing is, it's not usually enough to just read comics. You also need to be thinking. :/ I notice paneling, comic devices, clever comedic timing, etc. as I go. It's just a lot of studying/learning while also enjoying the story.

2) Making them: You just have to start. :( Even if you think they're "bad." My first comics were actually just drawings placed randomly all over the page, connected by speech bubbles (yay... I was already practicing how to place bubbles to lead the eye around the page...). I was going to post a pic here, but I'm a coward. Backscroll my account and you can find some older ones though.

I also know my art in general improved dramatically when I did ten comics in ten weeks for my friend's fic. Don't do this. It hurt my hands/wrists. But do practice in moderation.

***

If you actually read all that... I hope it made even a modicum of sense. And maybe it was even helpful? Just know at the end of the day, there is literally no right way to draw a comic.

And if you aren't ready to go for it yet, you can start by just adding a couple speech bubbles to your illustrations or doodles! It's a way to add storytelling and dialogue writing to things you may already be making.

Yay. I love comics. :))))

[ohbo-ohno]

wip wednesday? gaz x reader, cw for mourning a spouse

Here are all the things you know about Kyle’s disappearance:

1: It happened early in his deployment. He’d hardly been gone for three weeks when you got the message. It came in the middle of the workday, and you’d called out sick for the next week, hadn’t bothered showing up for another two after that. John Price’s voice haunts your nightmares these days, his low rumble and we offer our deepest condolences, Mrs. Garrick playing on repeat as you hug Kyle’s pillow close and sob.

2: He’s not the only one missing. His entire ship disappeared, and all its sailors went with it. Kyle was the highest ranking man on board, apparently, and only one of the other sailors was married. His wife tried to reach out to you a few times, but you hadn’t had the energy to even attempt holding a conversation at the time.

3: He’s not dead. Or at least, there’s no body for them to bury. The distinction between KIA and MIA isn’t lost on you. (You think this is what you mean when they say it’s the hope that kills you as you’re stuck firmly and permanently in the denial phase in the months following his disappearance.)

4: There’s no attempt being made to find a body. And oh, how you had railed against John Price for that. You’d screamed yourself hoarse into your phone, then become nearly incoherent with sobs as you begged him to find your Kyle, to bring him home. He had denied you, said he couldn’t get approval from his own superiors, said I’m truly sorry, Mrs. Garrick, I swear to you I tried my best, we all miss him, too. You’d hung up on him and thrown your phone to the floor, inconsolable. You’re not sure if he ever called back, since you blocked his number.

5: It has been thirteen months since you first got the call. Had Kyle not gone missing, you’d have already picked him up at the airport and made him his favorite meal, called out of work to spend days in bed with him, maybe even booked reservations at that fancy restaurant he always talks about wanting to try someday. Instead you’re telling yourself that it’s pointless to learn how to make meals for one, just in case someday you wake up to find that this has all been a terrible nightmare.

It’s not enough. Endless questions haunt your every thought, keep you awake at night. You think that this hellish unknowing is the worst thing you could ever experience, that it’s keeping you in a sort of limbo that you can never escape. 

The idea that he suffered, that he was in pain before his death – or somehow almost worse, that he’s not dead at all. That he’s crashlanded on some sandbank, starving and sunburned, a real-life Chuck Noland with no one even bothering to look for him anymore. 

Every moment spent not thinking about him, not remembering him, feels like a betrayal, like a dismissal of the trauma you’ve imagined him experiencing.

[endiness]

@sugarrushsock Wow I’m so happy someone actually has all the receipts cuz every other post just seems like vague call out post with no substance. Also wildly the Henry cavill just seems to say whatever makes him look best at that moment. You’d think he’d have a better pr team

@cilianda1 His interviews are scripted all the time

@sugarrushsock They’re terrible at their job if that’s the case. The lack of consistency is alarming to say the least. Like stick to a story cuz they made this guy look stupid

Okay, just to address this, but Henry Cavill's PR was actually a lot more insidious than this post might make things seem. Because he really only fucked up and showed his hand a few times.

Like, out of +50 interviews for S2, it's only in (iirc) 3 interviews that he ever acknowledges anything about how he was the one cutting Geralt's lines — and even then, all of those interviews either happened at con panels, in interviews over ~10 mins long, and/or in foreign/non-english press — all of which are significantly less likely to be seen and reported on by the fandom and larger news outlets. But in all the rest of those +50 interviews? He was talking about how much he pushed for a more verbose Geralt whilst never acknowledging how HE'S the one responsible for that mess in the first place.

Same thing with him going on about how much he cares about adhering to the source material as if Lauren's vision of the show is somehow in opposition to that. He went on and on and on about that all throughout the press for S2, but it's only in a few interviews where he fucks up and actually gives the context for what he meant by "Lauren's vision" ie Yennefer and Ciri being just as important as Geralt is and the show heavily centering around women.

Or, like, in S1 interviews, he was perfectly fine with bringing up how he had no idea about the books until Lauren told him about them and he had no problem talking about how much he was inspired by the video games for his performance as Geralt. Then come S2 (after he'd gotten dunked on by reddit for his book inaccurate performance in S1) and he suddenly changed his tune, hardly mentioned the games as inspiring his performance again (or, really, at all), and started going on and on about the books.

Or even with him admitting to, basically, having only played the third game despite saying he's played all the games and everything — he only ever admitted that in maybe, like, 2 interviews all of which were in foreign/non-english press. Same thing with him admitting he only ever read through the series once — he only ever said that in one interview and it was at a +40 minute long con panel.

Or even this quote from S1 press where he admits to how he didn't actually prepare for the role or do any research:

"I asked my agent to put me on the spot and wanted to meet Lauren as soon as possible. I didn’t even need to prepare specially for the role. Because I breathe, I experience this universe every day. I’ve already had many opportunities to think about this character when I was playing the game. My preparation was already done before the casting even began!"

Like, where is that quote from? It's from an interview he did with a french magazine. So obviously not a lot of people saw it. Plus, the quote might sound… fine without context. But what is the context? He hadn't read any of the books and he had only ever really played the third game.

Like, adding it all up, it does look bad. Because it is lol. But the thing is, the vast, vast, vast majority of the fanbase never did this. It read or watched maybe one or two interviews he did here and there and only ever saw Henry Cavill talking about how much of a fan he is, how much he knows, how hard he pushed for a more book accurate Geralt, how important adhering to the source material is to him. But when you actually look into everything he's said, that's when his whole story really falls apart because none of it adds up or makes any sense.

Debunking misinformation about Netflix's The Witcher (Part 1)

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6] [Part 7]

"Henry Cavill is a massive fan of the books and the games and he quit the show because the writers wouldn't stick to the books and he just cares about the source material so much."

Henry Cavill not only did not know that the books existed when he started pursuing the role of Geralt, but he actually thought that the books were based off of the video games (and he still didn't bother to read them) and he didn't learn that the games were actually based off the books until Lauren told him (even though the first thing in the game credits is that they're based off the books); as of 2021, he as only read the full series once — right before he was cast in 2018; while he has played TW3, he has only played a little of TW2 (and I've never found any evidence that he's played the first game); and he also has not played the DLC for TW3.

Henry Cavill also started heavily pushing the narrative that he's just such a massive fan of the books and how important adhering to the source material is to him during the press for S2 to deflect from how it was due to his acting choices of cutting Geralt's lines and either saying nothing or just grunting instead that Geralt's characterization — who is much more verbose in the books — was book inaccurate in S1:

He also lied about the situation and tried to act like Geralt was never originally written as being verbose and blamed the lack of dialogue on Yennefer and Ciri's prominence, which cannot be true as confirmed by Lauren:

And tried to act like the lines he was cutting weren't that important anyway so it wasn't really a big deal, which also cannot be true as confirmed by Joey:

He also started pushing the narrative that adhering to the source material is so important to him and it's 'tricky' to do that with Lauren's vision, but his definition of "Lauren's vision" is the show being an ensemble piece with Yennefer and Ciri at the forefront (like the books) and the show in general heavily centering around women (like the books):

So the idea of him caring so much about "book accuracy" is, in fact, not accurate to the books at all as his problems were the prominence of women in the show when Ciri is the main character of the main book series, which the show started adapting from S2 onwards (which is when Henry Cavill started to complain about wanting "book accuracy" in the first place), and when women are very prominent, central, key figures in the books and they often drive the plot forwards.

Lastly, S3 was the closest adaption of the books out of all the seasons so far, so the idea that he quit after S3 because the writers just weren't respecting the source material and the show wasn't following the books doesn't make any sense anyway.

"Henry Cavill is the only reason why the show was even close to the source material at all."

I've not only never seen any evidence of this, but if anything, I've seen the exact opposite: Henry Cavill was either directly responsible for or at least contributed in some way to a lot of things that went against the books or didn't happen in them.

As I already pointed out, he cut Geralt's lines in S1 and either said nothing or just grunted instead which is inaccurate to Geralt's characterization in the books. Here's another quote from Joey affirming that:

(Just to note: During the press for S1, he frequently talked about how the games inspired his performance as Geralt — sometimes talking about them even more than the books despite how the show is based off of the books, not the games — and it wasn't until S2 press that he suddenly changed his tune and started talking about how important adhering to the source material ie the books is to him. He also only started advocating for a more book accurate Geralt because he got dunked on by reddit for his book inaccurate performance in S1.)

He didn't want to play Geralt and Jaskier's friendship as directly as in the books and buddy-buddy with each other:

He didn't want to have any kind of conflict in Geralt and Ciri's relationship in S2 — at least on Geralt's side of things:

Nor play Geralt struggling with fatherhood at all — all of which led to the domino effect of Yennefer's betrayal:

Eskel's death (which in itself also led to things like Vesemir trying to create new witchers and Lambert's attitude toward Ciri):

And Voleth Meir being the big bad of the season:

He didn't want Geralt and Triss to even just platonically find comfort in each other in S2 — which is what happens in the books:

He nixed a sex scene between Geralt and Yennefer in S2 because he didn't think it'd be in character of them to have sex after reuniting which, uh, is absolutely in character of them:

While this is an incredibly inconsequential change, given the prevalence of this idea that Henry Cavill is such an ardent defender of the source material ie the books and how much he wanted the show to adhere to them, I do think it's important to note that he pushed for — and got — more signs into the show even though by his own admission that is more of a game thing than a book thing and he got it into the show for the explicit purpose of catering to game stans:

This is also another incredibly inconsequential change, but again, given how prevalent the idea of Henry Cavill pushing for perfect source accuracy is, I do just want to point out that he would wear his armor 24/7 to make it look worn down:

Even though it is canon in the books that Geralt will buy himself brand new clothes, so the idea that Geralt's clothing has to look worn down and can't be brand new is not actually book accurate.

"Lauren wanted to make Roach's death a joke."

Just to address this point specifically, Lauren wanted to make a meta reference about how all of Geralt's horses are named Roach. That in no way, shape, or form means that she wanted to make Roach's death into a joke or even that the scene had to be played comedically. This is what Lauren had to say about the subject and the 'joke' in question (which, js, actually fits the tone of the books more):

And as far as the "Henry Cavill is the only one who cared about the source material and he's the only reason why the show even stuck to the books at all" front goes... Henry Cavill did change the dialogue in this scene to a book quote/reference; however, the quote in question ("Enjoy your last walk across the meadow and through the mist. Be not afraid of her for she is your friend.") is not something that Geralt himself says and the line/scene from the books foreshadows Geralt's ending in them.

So, at least imo — especially taking into account the incredibly high standard the fandom has set for Henry Cavill as the #1 defender of the books — I don't think this change was actually book accurate especially given the narrative significance of that exchange in the books.

[maxdibert]

Have you got in mind some pros and cons for dating Lily, Severus and any of the Marauders since they all seem so interested in the dating topic?

This is interesting lol . Let's dive into it. I promise not to be too harsh and try to be objective:

Severus Snape:

Pros:

He will never cheat on you in your life. In fact, he probably won't look at anyone else for the rest of his life. If he loves you, it's just you, no one else.

He would probably kill for you, or make the world burn for you, or betray everyone for you, or generally do anything morally questionable for you.

He’s total "malewife" material and has zero fragile masculinity.

You’d have a potions master at home, so a huge part of your life would be sorted. Got a headache? He has a potion for that. Feeling sick? Also. Looking like shit and need something to make you look radiant? Count on it.

Cons:

He has a terrible temper and probably many depressive episodes, if you don’t know how to deal with that, you’ll probably dump him quickly.

Don’t expect him to talk about his problems or open up emotionally, because he’s basically incapable of managing his emotions maturely, so be prepared to hit a wall every time there’s a conflict.

Socially awkward, don’t expect him to attend any parties or social events willingly or interact with the neighbors—he finds that utterly disgusting, it’s just not his thing.

He’s slightly experienced, so if you try to lie to him, he’ll know, and that sucks because everyone deserves mental privacy, but considering he’s terribly insecure, we can’t rule out that he might do it just to avoid losing his mind over any doubt.

His way of confronting emotional problems is by not confronting them. He’s a master at avoidance with a terribly disorganized attachment style, so be prepared because he’s a textbook neurodivergent.

Lily Evans:

Pros:

She will get along great with your friends because she knows how to charm and socialize, so she’ll shine at any social event you take her to.

If you have kids, she won’t mind staying at home while you go out for beers with your buddies, so if you're a shitty parent or partner who doesn't understand the concept of task division, you're in luck because she’ll handle everything.

She’s a very skilled witch, so that’s great in case there's a dangerous situation and you're a bit useless.

She’ll forgive almost anything you do, unless you use dark magic, so you could, I don’t know, rob a bank, and as long as you didn’t use an unforgivable curse, she might let it slide.

Cons:

She’ll probably dump you if she thinks you’re no longer... let’s say... useful or beneficial in some way.

If you tell her about some serious issue, but it doesn’t affect any of her friends or people she likes, she might gaslight you massively about it, even if it’s about an attempted murder.

She tends to get along with shady people as long as those shady people benefit her, so be careful with her friendships.

She hates being contradicted on anything and will probably shut you up or make a huge scene if you dare to contradict her or tell her she's wrong or that something she thinks isn’t true.

James Potter:

Pros:

He’s rich.

You’ll never have to work again in your life because he’s rich.

Cons:

He thinks it's funny to strip people in public and suffocate them against their will.

He thinks it’s funny to hex people and cast forbidden spells just because it amuses him.

He thinks it’s a good idea to leave his pregnant or recently postpartum wife at home in the middle of a war while he goes and acts like a fool with his best friend.

You’ll have to put up with his best friend 24/7 in your house whether you want to or not, because they’re practically one person.

He probably won’t help at all with household chores, but hey, he brings the money and the house, right? That’s enough.

He’s the typical guy whose greatest achievements happened in his school years, and he’ll probably spend the next 50 years of his life talking about them because he’ll never do anything else worth mentioning.

His greatest interests are hanging out with his friends and sports, and hanging out with his friends and sports again. As you can see, he’s intellectually super interesting.

Any person with an average intellect would get bored of him after two months, but hey, if you give him a kid, you’ll have guaranteed alimony, so if that’s your goal, go ahead (this could also be a pro).

Sirius Black:

Pros:

You’re going to have some awesome parties. Seriously, he’s the best for going out, getting drunk, doing some lines, and having an amazing time.

Always up for adventures, so trips and getaways are guaranteed. If you’re into that, he’s perfect.

He’s rich, so there will never be a shortage of money for a luxury getaway or spending tons at a casino in Monte Carlo or Las Vegas.

He’d fight anyone who dared to bother you. Which isn’t very healthy, but there’s a positive side to it.

He might be an absolute jerk, but with the people he cares about, he’s a great guy, and if he loves you, he’ll be faithful and be there for everything.

Cons:

Mommy issues. Seriously, huge ones. He’ll constantly talk about how much he hated or hates his mother, literally 40 minutes of conversation about that every single day. “My mom this, my mom that.” It can get exhausting.

He feels so smug about leaving his extreme-right family, and he’ll remind you of it eighty times a day while at the same time laughing at people who can’t dress a certain way because they don’t have money or mistreating the staff because they served him something wrong.

He has an unresolved, codependent relationship with his best friend. He’s literally obsessed with him, and he’ll spend the day talking about him, and you’ll never know if he’s really with you or just with you because he can’t be with James.

Yeah, you’ll have a great time partying with him, but there will be plenty of times when he goes overboard, leaves you hanging, and you won’t hear from him for days because he’s a fucking irresponsible jerk.

He has the emotional maturity of a 15-year-old, so whenever you try to confront him maturely or have an adult conversation, he’ll get super defensive, and when he feels you’ve really gotten under his skin, he’ll hop on his bike and leave.

100% chance you’ll have to go get him out of jail more than once for some crazy thing he did.

You don’t have a boyfriend; you have a son

Remus Lupin:

Pros:

He’s quite nice and pleasant.

He’ll probably do anything you want as long as you don’t leave him, because he’s terrified of rejection.

He has more common sense than the rest of his friends.

You can have an interesting conversation with him, unlike his friends who only talk about sports and pretty annoying heteronormative stuff.

Cons:

The minute there’s a problem, he’ll run away.

He might leave you two hundred times and come back begging you two hundred times, emotionally blackmailing you into getting back with him.

He might get you pregnant and when you tell him, he’ll leave you.

He might just leave you in general, so you’ll never have a stable and healthy relationship for your mental health because you’ll always live with the fear that he’ll leave you.

He spends his days lamenting about how miserable he is and how badly life’s treating him, but he never tries to solve his problems and always blames his illness, not the fact that he’s a conformist who doesn’t look for solutions.

His friends can do the worst shit in the world, and he’ll never confront them.

You’re literally dating a coward.

Peter Pettigrew:

Pros:

He’s very nice, like Remus.

Always said hello.

Always kind to the neighbors.

Always bought you flowers and had little gestures for you.

He celebrated all your successes as if they were his own, your biggest fan and support in everything.

Cons:

He’s probably spent your entire relationship hiding bodies in the basement of your house.

[just-a-sleepy-idiot]

Multifandom Preference: Being petite and very short compared to them // PT. 2

This is dedicated to the people who commented on part one: @robin-the-enby @maria-moll @agentfandom @whoneedtheyantonchigussyate @humanfleshismeat and @kennedyisityou

Content/Warnings: Once again kinda size kink coming through, might read a bit like objectification in some instances, Definitely some Sadism in the Hannibal section, Gender neutral Reader

Anton Chigurh

He likes the practicality of it a lot, honestly Anton considers you travel sized at this point because he can hide you easily if there's trouble and then come back later to where he deposited you after he's done dealing with whoever was after you. He's not the Gentleman type at all but seeing how pathetic you carried your bags when he started to bodyguard you around was enough to decide that he would take those for the rest of time. Will look at you with a mixture of amusement and condenscation when you try anyway before taking the luggage away from you. If you protest he will carry you like luggage as well, I dare you. But sometimes he will just observe you, look at you while you get on your tiptoes, climb into bed ect that makes you very aware that he is fond of your height in some way.

Brahms Heelshire

Since he can't have anyone see him, he makes sure to put one of his sweaters or cardigans on you whenever he knows some delivery person or similar is coming by. It really is a mixture of possessiveness and loving to see your frame swallowed in clothing his size, while you just think he's worried if you get cold. Brahms is spoiled as hell but he also really enjoys doing things for you, and when he decides to make dinner for you both he likes lifting you up to sit on the counter and watch him. It's just so terribly easy, it excites him whenever he finds a reason to do it. Especially when it means getting to wrap his arms around you for a moment and taking in your scent- even while you go on capture a bug on the ceiling with a glass or something while he holds you up.

Dennis

It's hard to keep his distance at all times, even though he certainly tries his best to adhere to that self set rule. Dennis is strong, the strongest after the Beast itself out of the horde, so he is well aware of what his body is capable of doing if he were to let that cautiousness slip. But nonetheless, accidents happen. Like when you nearly fell unconscious and he had to catch you, or when you nearly did something dangerous and he had to reach out and grab your arm. In both occasions you halted insteadly, flinching when his hand firmly pressed onto your hip or caught onto your wrist. It made a pleasant shiver run through him, this ambiguity of wanting and not wanting to be close to you because of the implied vulnerability of your height drives him mad. But you will not hear a word from him about it, only see him press his lips together and huff or sigh in contained frustration.

Hannibal Lecter

He is outwardly very considerate and Gentlemanly toward you, pacing his steps when you walk together or taking over the umbrella in one case because you can't really hold it up his head as well without extending your arm like an athlete with an Olympic torch. But when you happen to get your leg hurt, just a little, it is exhilarating to him. Seeing your composure shift from a functional person to something alike an injured bunny is so damn amusing and befitting of that height difference. He will gently guide you to sit on his couch and touch your ankle to put it up while he goes to fetch his first aid kit in the other room. Hannibal will be so forthcoming, because seeing you whine and squirm a little while he puts on a bandage is satisfactory enough to return the favor and make sure you are well cared for and get comfortable. He makes you your favorite drink and will make sure permit you lean on him or grab onto him as to not put pressure on the injured leg while you put on your shoes or something while he patiently gazes down on you.

If you liked it please comment!

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[ficsinhistory]

Yes, I saw that scene! I don't blame Maddie, it's a very sweet gesture, I would fall for it. Not only that, judging by the way Tom reacted, he has his share of times he did this to calm Maddie down. Not many, but hey, like father like son. I really want to see more of these two and Maddie in particular.

And yes, Amy would definitely be delighted with grand romantic gestures, she's a hopeless romantic lol

And your thoughts on Amy? Immaculate op. Your mind is incredible!

I also believe Amy's history with the Metal Army is probably old and very personal. I theorize that Ivo stole one of her quills too in an invasion of her home - Little Planet - which would lead her to always approach problems thinking of the worst-case scenario. What would explain why the energy of the metal blow would be both blue and pink.

And yes, I see Amy even with all her empathy, altruism and kindness...being terrible at working in a team. Although I ser her not knowing how to work in a group is more like Amy being incredibly controlling and restrictive, a symptom of her desperately trying to keep the circumstances under control and not getting worse. Something that someone as chaotic and freedom-loving as Sonic wouldn't like.

And I begging this will be the situation.

Amy and Sonic have disagreed several times, from the oldest games to Frontiers. Amy is temperamental and has a strong personality and Sonic hates being ordered around. There will be a lot of friction and both jeopardizing each other's plans before a balance is established.

Perfect opportunity for Sonic to finally feel first-hand what it's like when a loved one throws themselves into danger without thinking twice. And on the other hand, Amy would learn that she hurts the one she wants to protect by being so reckless and daredevil.

Now, about coming from the future is an interesting theory and top tier angst. It's still too early to say anything, so every shot is valid.

My personal opinion is that Amy is actually from the present. The explosion took Ivo to the past, where he made his Metal Army, dominated Litlle Planet, and Amy was sent to live on Earth, a little after Sonic - of course, both would have no idea about each other because I love dramatic irony. She would fight with the metals from then on to prevent further interference.

And what would make her attachment issues come would be - and hear me out now - Amy knowing she won't get out of the mission alive.

My theory is that her chaos powers manifest as visions of possible futures, like a computer that calculates probabilities. However, the trauma messed up this ability of hers, always showing worst-case scenarios and basically what happens when someone functions solely on anxiety. Amy would take it at face value because of trauma and belief in fate (possibly coming from her upbringing on Little Planet).

After all, Chaos energy comes from emotions and hers would be in tatters.

This would culminate in her seeing a possible future where everything is saved but she would die. And Amy... accept it. She would live her life to the fullest based on her belief in unconditional love for all living creatures without ever forming attachments because she doesn't want the future to be harder for her or the people she would get close to.

That's where Sonic and the Wachowskis would come in. They would be a family to her and now she's devastated because she doesn't know how to tell them that there won't be a happy ending for her. That she hasn't had one for a long time. Because, as you mentioned, saving thousands of lives is more important than her and any desires she might have.

But it would be too hard to deny her own feelings. The fact that she doesn't want to die because she finally has love and family and has managed for the first time in years to not think about the imminent death that looms over her.

Tldr -> Amy's conflict is basically this part of Andor.

With Amy coming along, I can't stop thinking about the Amy-Sonic/Tom-Maddie parallels.

You know, the pink and blue scheme, Tom having a similar personality to Sonic and Amy possibly having some similarities to Maddie, Amy and Maddie possibly being two big city girls with Amy being from New York and Maddie from San Francisco while Tom and Sonic are both from Green Hills, the setup of Amy plus 3 Wachowski siblings as well as Maddie and Tom, who canonically have siblings too.

They've been foreshadowing this couple since the second movie, fight me!!

(and Tom x Maddie are the parents and couple ever, I love them!)

(Also, please give Maddie more prominence. She's awesome!)

[milkistar]

𝐕𝐀𝐌𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐇𝐔𝐑𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔. ⊹ ˚ 𝐏𝐓. 𝟐

can you take this spike? will it wash away this jet black, now? [ . . . ] please save my soul. [ . . . ]

i'll never let them hurt you, not tonight.

⤹ you can find pt. 1 › here.

you were sent on a mission to hunt a dangerous vampire, but when you finally find him, he’s nothing like the monster you expected - he doesn’t fit the stories you were told.

★:: sunghoon (enhypen) x reader. tags:: gn reader, vampire au, reader should kill the vampire but guess what, blood, mentions of violence, mentions of murder.

you stayed in the church for an hour after sunrise. you knew that vampires couldn’t tolerate sunlight, so they had already disappeared from the forest for a while, but you wanted to be sure you wouldn’t run into any of them; after all, you were unarmed.

in the end, that vampire—sunghoon—hadn’t lied to you. it was truly consecrated ground, and he had really saved your life. you couldn’t deny it—you were curious to know why.

you stepped out of the church cautiously, looking around for any potential threats—you were still in a forest, after all. it was all clear.

you pulled your phone out of your uniform pocket and checked the battery: there was still a little left, hopefully enough.

last night, after taking refuge in the church, you had tried to call the academy for help, but there was no signal. and, in fact, there wasn’t any that morning either.

with a sigh, you started walking through the forest, searching for a place where your phone would get reception.

your leg muscles ached from last night’s sprint, and the time spent awake in the church (there was no way you were going to sleep in a situation like that), so the act of standing up and walking once again was harder than it seemed.

meanwhile, you couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened the night before. was it terrifying? absolutely. did you feel guilty for surviving while your teammates likely hadn’t? you could bet on it. and yet, those weren’t the thoughts tormenting your mind.

the studies you had done on vampires, the textbooks you had read, the certainties on which your life had been built for the past few years… they were all wrong.

sure, vampires had proven to be bloodthirsty monsters, just like everyone had always said (you could still feel that red liquid on your hand), but they weren’t as different from humans as they were described.

and that was a crucial detail.

sunghoon had repaid the favor you had done him by not killing him, and then he had also kept his word. it was almost ridiculous because many humans weren’t even capable of that. and then—

and then, distracted by the signal icon finally appearing on your phone, you tripped and fell to the ground over a branch. or rather, a person.

a dead person.

instinctively, you brought a hand to your mouth to stifle a scream as your eyes gradually recognized the remains of the person in front of you: it was kieran, a foreign student a couple of years older than you.

the visible parts of his body were covered in bites and bruises, his uniform stained with blood and torn in several places. his body, so drained of blood, would be enough to give you nightmares for years to come.

“oh my god,” you whispered, though such an exclamation felt terribly out of place in a situation like this.

with trembling hands, you managed to dial the academy’s number and pressed the phone to your ear.

you waited for an answer on the other end, then spoke. “this is y/n y/s from the mission regarding the vampire. i need assistance—there is at least one confirmed dead.”

—---

the days following that event passed as slowly as a movie you hate but are forced to watch. sunghoon and kieran’s ravaged body were a constant weight in your mind.

during those days, the academy’s research team made progress on the case, and as the sole survivor, you were reassigned to the mission.

your suspicions had been confirmed: all three of your teammates had died, all in the same way—killed by vampires.

you were questioned about that night, but you didn’t mention sunghoon. you said you had found the church on your own, by accident, while trying to escape, and decided to take shelter inside. there was no need for them to know the truth, right? you knew it wasn’t right, but you liked convincing yourself otherwise.

regardless of your help, the researchers managed to track down the culprits. apparently, the murders of your teammates—and those of the civilians—weren’t the work of a single individual, but an entire clan of seven members.

the clan, at least three centuries old, was known as one of the most dangerous and bloodthirsty in the supernatural world. since their formation, they had killed hundreds, if not thousands, of people.

but here came the interesting part: you were the only survivor in their entire history.

it made no sense. why you?

that evening, after classes, you grabbed every file you could find about the clan from the archives, determined to learn more about the situation.

you went to the library, which was strangely almost always empty, and compared the files with books about vampires you had taken from the shelves.

that wing of the academy was a place you often visited when you wanted to study, reflect, or simply relax. the white walls and towering mahogany shelves filled with books were like a paradise to you—they made you feel at ease.

you started comparing everything written about the clan with what expert supernatural historians and doctors said about vampires, sorting plausible facts from obvious fabrications.

you were so absorbed in your research that you didn’t notice a man sitting across from you in the library—a man with pale skin and raven-black hair.

“if you wanted to know something about me, sweetheart, you could’ve just asked.” his voice pulled you back to reality.

you didn’t need to look up to know it was him—that voice was something you hadn’t been able to forget.

when you did look at him, his eyes were no longer red like they had been that night but black, like his hair.

'like his bloodstained clothes,' a voice inside you reminded you, but you silenced it.

“what are you doing here?” you asked, glancing around. no one was noticing the vampire speaking to you at that moment, right?

“oh, come on, are you suffering from memory loss now?” he asked, raising an eyebrow, his expression disappointed. “i told you i’d come visit.”

in fact, he had. and he had also proven to be a man of his word. yet, his visit was the last thing you had expected.

he rested his chin on the palm of his hand, elbow propped on the table, and looked bored at the files in front of you.

you took deep breaths, trying to steady your heartbeat, which was rapidly accelerating. despite everything, that vampire made you more than a little uneasy.

“these reports are inaccurate,” he said, picking up a sheet from your files and bringing it closer to his face to read it better—it was the approximate victim count. “we’ve killed far more.”

he slid the paper back toward you across the wooden table. “but they deserved it.”

“how could anyone ever deserve death?” you asked, trying your best not to raise your voice. what he was saying made no sense.

nonsense you should have expected from a vampire. but in those days, your image of him had become too romanticized, almost making you forget his true nature. luckily, he had come to remind you.

“were you there?” he asked, locking eyes with yours. the boredom on his face was replaced by seriousness.

you didn’t answer—it was obvious. their murders had happened in different places around the world, spanning centuries of history. you were just a human—it was impossible for you to have been there.

“exactly,” he said after studying your expression. “don’t judge what you don’t understand.”

a moment of silence passed, where he continued to look at you while you wondered why no one had started screaming ‘vampire!’ at his presence yet.

then, you decided to break the quiet with the question that had been circling in your mind. “why did you decide to save me?”

he said nothing for a moment, then smiled—exactly like he had that night, in an almost unsettling way.

“why didn’t you tell your superiors about me?” he asked in return, his sharp canines visible behind his grin.

it was a fair question, but one even you didn’t know the answer to.

you watched as he stood from his chair, unnoticed once again.

“expect another visit from me. i want to hear what other fantasy stories you’ve found about me.” he chuckled slightly, then turned around, giving you his back. “this time, don’t forget, sweetheart.”

without looking back, he gave you a small wave and walked away, undisturbed.

you sat there for a couple of minutes, staring at the pages in front of you. then, with a frustrated groan, you slammed the books shut with a thud.

this time, everyone turned to look at your table.

a/n : not gonna lie that wasn't supposed to be out this early 😭😭 but i needed to distract myself with something, so -

‹𝟹 taglist :: @whateveridontcaresheesh ﹑ @gudkc ﹑ @tasnemluvs .

[oysternymph]

Vil x reader

‘How to amuse a queen’

Notes: Yuu is gender neutral and as such they/them pronouns are used, not beta read, fluff, slightly ooc. He/him pronouns are used for Vil. This is an older fic that I’m reposting for my twst x reader series, I hope it’s enjoyed!

Wc: 1,420

Vil seemed to take an interest in a lot of things. Makeup and fashion were always the first to come to mind. Aside from him being the spokesperson for multiple famous brands, he was always giving people advice on how to look like their best self, regardless if they asked for it or not. He also was very passionate about music and dance, being trained in ballroom dancing from the moment he could walk and always sharing whatever new artist he was into with his friends.

Another thing Vil adored was film, regardless if it was making his own, starring in a film, or simply watching them. According to Rook, his dearest house-warden was simply appalled when he arrived at Night Raven College and saw that there wasn’t a film club. The first thing he did on campus was establish one. Oftentimes, Yuu was dragged along or asked to help out with the club. Though, they didn’t seem to mind; even if Vil was a perfectionist, any time spent with him was well spent.

Once a week, the club would vote on a movie to watch and then they’d watch it on the weekend while working on props. While not a club member, Yuu joined the club every weekend unless they were studying. And due to being around the house-warden, Yuu noticed something: they had never seen Vil laugh. Not even once. Occasionally, his lips would curve up into a gentle smile, but nothing more. He didn’t even laugh during comedy movies, perhaps they weren’t his style of humor but they had even seen Leona and Malleus laugh before. And yet, they couldn’t ever recall Vil laughing.

While Yuu tried their best not to dwell on it, they couldn’t help but think about how Vil’s laugh would sound. Perhaps he didn’t laugh because his laugh was ugly? Everything about Vil was perfect, if he had one flaw, aside from his jealousy, it might be his laugh! After all, for example, Sebek tried not to laugh often due to him having a snorting laugh. Maybe Vil’s was similar?

Despite that thought, it seemed unlikely. Vil wouldn’t hide his laugh even if it wasn’t a pleasant sound. Maybe he just didn’t find a lot of things funny. But even if that was the case, Yuu couldn’t understand how he didn’t even laugh during the most crazy scenarios.

Today, Yuu was on their way to Pomefiore as they had asked Vil for help with potionology. But the real reason for their visit was to make Vil laugh. For starters, they had asked Lilia to help them get a goofy outfit. They were wearing bunny slippers, nerd glasses, sweatpants and a top that had a terrible cat pun. This would easily make anyone laugh, or at least hold back a chuckle. It had to pull some sort of reaction out of Vil! As they finally entered the dorm and entered their lounge room, they saw Vil sitting on his throne as usual, reading one of his many fashion magazines.

“Hi, Vil.”

“Ah good, you’re here just on time-WHAT ARE YOU WEARING?!”

Vil dropped his magazine, rushing over to the shorter student as he took the glasses off of their face and looked them up and down with a displeased expression.

“Oh uh…I just thought I should dress comfortably if we’re studying.”

“This isn’t comfortable. This is a fashion disaster. Do you even need glasses?”

“Nope, but they make me look smarter.”

“Who even told you such a lie?”

Before Yuu could answer, Vil took hold of their wrist and dragged them to his room.

“I don’t care if you want to be comfortable, you could still put effort into your appearance!” the taller man shouted as he dug through his closet, pulling out a cropped purple shirt and a pair of flared leggings, and holding them out to the fellow junior.

“Here. Get dressed in this then we can start your studies.”

Yuu sighed as the house-warden left. Plan number one was a complete bust, but that was okay. Yuu was in this for the long haul. They had plenty of tricks up their sleeve. Once they were dressed in Vil’s clothes, the student decided to look around his room for a moment, after all it wasn’t every day Vil allowed someone into his bedroom. As expected, his room was stylish and grand, fit for a queen one could say.

Yuu walked over to his vanity, gently picking up one of the many skincare bottles on the table. A rice water toner…made by Vil Schoenheit. Was this the product Yuu wanted to ask for another bottle of? At the moment, they just couldn’t remember. Their train of thought was quickly cut off as Vil opened the door, sighing as he saw the student was distracted.

“Yuu, what in sevens name are you doing?”

“Just looking through your stuff.”

“And why would you be doing that? We need to study.”

“...Vil, can you do my makeup?”

The queen raised his eyebrow, walking over to the student and placing a hand on their shoulder.

“Why? You never seemed all that interested in this kind of thing before.”

“Mmm…I was just thinking. Makeup is usually used to change features, but it can be used to enhance existing features as well, right? I wanna try that style of makeup.”

Yuu was slightly taken aback when Vil walked away and into his bathroom, only to return with multiple different makeup products and all sorts of odd tools. Without saying another word, Vil began to apply some sort of sticky serum onto Yuu’s face, causing them to wince slightly.

“It’s just primer, calm down. It helps to make foundation and concealer smoother to apply.”

“Okay…”

For the most part, the sensation of having a handsome man grabbing at your face while he applied makeup was pleasant. Even when Vil would click his tongue in slight annoyance when Yuu’s eyes would flutter at the touch of a brush, he simply continued onward.

That was, until it was time to apply blush. Vil gently swiped some powdered blush onto a large brush, and then began to blend it onto Yuu’s skin. only to stop when he heard soft giggling come from the shorter student.

“What’s wrong?”

“It tickles! Is it supposed to feel like that?”

“No, but it isn’t uncommon. Rook said the same thing the first time I did his makeup. You’ll get used to it. Now hold still.”

Despite their best efforts, Yuu just couldn’t seem to do as Vil commanded. Giggling and moving slightly every time the house warden ghosted the brush over their face.

“Just stay still! How hard of a request is that? I’m going to get blush all over your face if you keep this up!”

“It’s not easy! I’m trying! I mean, how would you feel if someone was doing this to you?”

“I’ve never been ticklish, especially not my face.”

“...So you’re not ticklish?”

Vil slowly put down the makeup brush, taking a step away from Yuu as they stared at him with a mischievous grin. The magicless student stood up, quickly rushing at Vil who in turn tried to run away. But it was too late, Yuu managed to grab Vil’s arm and pulled him close, ticking his neck and stomach.

Vil gritted his teeth, trying his hardest to pull away from the shorter student. Vil was one of the strongest people at Night Raven College, if he wasn’t being so viciously attacked he could have easily pulled away, but instead he was trapped. Not being able to hold it in any longer, Vil let out a loud sound.

“Gwahahahahaha! Stop it! I’m telling you to stop!!!”

With a satisfied grin, Yuu let go of the housewarden, who instantly began to catch his breath.

“W-Why did you do that?!”

“I mean you kinda set yourself up for that. And I wanted to hear your laugh. Even your laugh is queenly.”

With a flushed face, Vil placed both of his hands on Yuu’s shoulders, staring down at the student before suddenly ticking them back.

“HAHAHAHAHAHA!”

“See?! It’s not so fun when you’re on the receiving end!”

As soon as Vil stopped tickling Yuu, the student leaned onto him, still laughing as they came down from their high. Vil didn’t push them off, letting them rest on him instead. Once Yuu had calmed down, Vil gently entwined their hands, looking away from the student as he spoke.

“We…should start your studies. Come along now.”

“Hehe…Okay.”

[nixon-stars]

ooooooh you wanna yap about Clara so badddddd (please yap about her please please please please please)

HI YES I REALLY DO

I dunno how much I'll talk but I'm putting in the lil read more antway

HIIIIIII SO

For those not in the know, Clara is my sweet evil baby girl also the main antagonist for my oc world and story, rn going under the name 'Pakshapuram' (definitely going to change it tho, also 'paksha' coming from Sanskrit for wing and puram being a common suffix for towns in south india, like Kanchipuram)

She was born and raised in Pakshapuram, a city town thing that is one of a few cities around the area (this area is pretty isolated the only people that come through were born and raised or shifty guys working through black market sort of trades).

She was born the only child to Amara, who with no partner and no other kids and a big expectations on her, put everything into raising Clara. She's a pretty typical Indian mum though, rarely giving affection or praise, but it works, and Clara knows she's well loved.

She is also a bharatanatyam dancer!! Which doesn't help with the pressure but whatever, Clara's life is good, she has her mum, lots of friends, people all around her that want to help, and most importantly she has Xavier.

Xavier, I could talk about him forever, but what you need to know is that he and Clara are CLOSE. Always together, never separated, all the aunties look on and call them "heart and soul" (ഹൃദയവും ആത്മാവും) they don't leave each other's side right

But there's no good character without a touch 🤏 of trauma so, yayyyy

While dancers learn bharatanatyam, after they learn everything and stuff they get this big ceremony debut into their official career, it's called an Arangetram, and it's a bigggg deal okay?

Also like a year before this, Amara find out she's expecting!!!! Gives birth to a baby boy!!!! Very healthy!!!! Nothing will happen to him promise!!!!!!

Anyway on the day of Clara's Arangetram, she goes to her aunty's house to get dressed quickly in her saree (if you've ever tried to put on a saree you KNOW this isn't quick in the slightest)

She comes back and 😱😱😱 her mum is a statue wthhh?????

And her baby brother is gone?????? (It has nothing to do with amara's old wlw situationship that ended terribly and sourly and left a lot of unanswered questions and lingering feelings whattt)

She's confused af obviously and angry and WHO TF TURNED MY MUM INTO A STATUE y'know very justified, and she overhears some people talking about how Dragons???? might be responsible????

You need to know that dragons are heavily venerated in Pakshapuram, the religion of the city revolves around how important dragons are too the world right and how they shouldn't be touched or anything yeah

An old guy came up and said that he had known about a prophecy that something like this could happen and blah blah blah Clara's in charge now

But like she's sixteen so that's alottttt of pressure to put on a literal child you would think? NOPE they said make her queen now

So now Clara's in charge and also A GRIEVING TEENAGER and she is stressed

And woahhhjj perfect timing famine through the land!!!!!!!

Every one is really hungry and Xavier, who is now general, asked her what she wanted to do about it and maybe just maybe let's use the food we had stored just in case something like this happened????

Clara goes "no girl im using that"

And Xavier's like "what why we don't need to use those???"

And Clara like "yeah we do thats what I'm referring the troops I sent to go find a dragon for me to kill to get revenge for killing my mum"

And Xavier's like "you crazy bitch people are starving can you be insane later"

Clara throws a temper tantrum and exiles him woooooop #girlboss

Years pass and Xavier's making a under ground resistance against Clara because she has moved on from killing people with her ignorance to just killing them if they disagree with her which isn't cool

Clara goes very insane with the grief and stress and everything she's soooo unhappy and very evil about it she's talking to the statue of her mum and she's not doing well

And here's about where the main story starts, and I haven't even talked about the protagonists

Anyway I wonder what happened to that baby brother????? 🤔🤔🤔 I guess we'll never knowwwwww

[cillianmurphysdimples]

A Female Y/N / Cillian fanfic (Part Fifty Two)

Absolutely not based on anything real at all, all totally fictional, fanciful and is all total bollocks.

Warnings for sexual references and language. Adult themes. Not suitable for under 18s.

We Got Issues

Part Fifty Two: Cillian returns from his Oscars trip, and Y/N is so happy he's home. But after a nap on the sofa to recharge his batteries, Cillian wakes up with what seems to be a dose of flu or a heavy cold. Y/N leaves him to sleep alone and finds herself recalling the day she met Cillian's sons for the first time as their Dad's girlfriend. By the time Friday morning arrives, nerves are ignited for the scan. [Fluff/Whump/Mild Anxiety]

@cherrycilly @whatcjdidnext @aesthetic0cherryblossom @meister95 @vivianleighwishesshewasme @watermeezer @borntodiemp3 @strangeions @meadowshelby @lavender-haze-01

Cillian's homecoming, whilst unceremonious, is a relief. He ambles through the door with his case and an exhausted but a little bit sun-kissed face. His kiss is sweet, his arms are warm, and then he immediately demands a sofa nap and for you to fuck off. You oblige, and leave him to kip for a while. Even with his trip being short, he needs the adjustment time. He is wired and tired at the same time, complaining of ‘just feeling drained’ and socially he has had his fill for a month, you know. You continued working whilst he dozed and, when you reappeared later that evening, you found him balled up on the sofa and absolutely loaded with a cold. He is miserable - eyes red, face pale, and throat sore to the point he sounds husky and as sick as he looks. 

“Can I get you anything?” You ask, running your hand through his hair where he lay with his head against the seat of the sofa, close to the outside wall that leads into the kitchen. 

“Nah,” he croaks, then coughs loudly. It barks through his chest. 

“Oh, love, you sound terrible.” You stick out your bottom lip sympathetically. “What about some honey and hot water? It'll soothe your throat a bit.” 

He shakes his head against the cushion. “I want a fag but it can't even be fucked getting up.” He sounds very sorry for himself, but you can feel the heat of his temperature from the top of his head. 

“Well that won't help you anyway!” You tut. “Have some paracetamol at least, get your temperature down a bit.” He isn't helping himself at all, curled up there with a sweater on and the throw from the back of the sofa over his legs. “I'll get the paracetamol, and some water.” You say and tap your fingers against his head gently before you walk away. When you return, he has pushed himself to sit up with his back into the sofa, but he looks even worse. His cheeks are rosy and at the same time he looks deathly pale. You hold out your offerings - two pre-popped pills and a tall glass of water. He takes them gratefully but holds them without any action. “What's up?” You ask. 

“I think I'm gonna be sick.” He says, and huffs a breath out through pursed lips. 

You cringe in solidarity. “It's your temperature, love.” you sigh. “Go and stand outside, get that jumper off. If you throw up out there, you're alright and if you don't at least you'll be cooling down.” 

“I feel too dizzy.” He moans, then sort of laughs at himself. 

You give him another sad face. “It's all down to your temperature, Cill. Get your jumper off.” 

“I don't want to move, I'll get sick.” He sighs, closing his eyes. 

You disappear back to the kitchen for a moment, and return with the washing up bowl from the sink. “Well, if you're going to puke, aim for there. But please, love, take the jumper off.” You place the bowl into his lap and take the glass and tablets from his hands. You watch as he pulls pained and uncomfortable faces but does as you've told him, ripping the thick sweatshirt off over his head. He tosses the jumper off to the side and then grips the bowl on his lap as he sits back, bringing it up beneath his chin. You grimace, bracing for him to vomit. He wretches once, groaning painfully, then sighs as the feeling evidently fades away. 

“Ugh, this is disgusting.” He moans, and his voice scratches from his throat roughly. 

“Aeroplanes are notorious for spreading bugs, love, and you've been surrounded by people for a few days.” You say. 

“But the scan is Friday. I can't be gross, I wanna see her.. I don't want to miss it, Y/N.” He sounds so husky and sad, and rests his head back against the sofa, then coughs harshly. 

“Well, drink this and swallow these if you don't think you'll throw them back. Then go up to bed. I'll sleep in one of the boys’ rooms tonight.” You say, holding out the glass and pills to him. He takes them silently, pulling a face as he sits up again. He swallows the tablets slowly, not wanting to sicken himself, and holds the glass as he rests back again. 

“I don't want to get you sick too, but I want you beside me.” He sighs, and gives a comical, halfhearted smile. 

You smile back, ��If you're this poorly, Cill, then as much as I love you, I do not want it.” 

He sighs, “Ah I know. I'll go up to bed,” he says, “I'm bringing this.” He taps the washing up bowl then slowly gets to his feet. He is wobbly as he stands and you feel badly for him. He isn't one to get wiped out with over dramatic responses to minor illnesses, and you know if he's responding this way then he genuinely does feel this unwell. You keep your eyes on him as he heads up the stairs, water and bowl at hand, and you wait until you hear the bedroom door shutting tightly before you decide you can relax a little. 

When you head to bed yourself later on, a little after nine, you bring the box of paracetamol with you. You head straight for your bedroom and open the door quietly. The TV is on, but Cillian is panned out across the bed on his belly, facing away from you, but snoring lightly in his snotty existence. The washing up bowl and glass of water are on your nightstand, and while the water is halfway gone, the bowl has also been decorated with at least a mouthful of vomit. You grimace as you pick it up, placing the paracetamol beside the water, and take the bowl with you into the bathroom. You wash it out in the bath, rinse it thoroughly, and give it a quick spray with disinfectant sitting on the windowsil before rinsing again. You're just as quiet returning to the room, and place the bowl back onto the nightstand. He's still sleeping, still snoring, and you consider it's the best thing for him if he's so poorly. 

You take a pair of pyjamas from the dresser and your phone charger from beside the bed, and take yourself into Malachy's room. Though you wonder if it'll remain Malachy's room for much longer - one of the rooms will have to be taken over for Clíodhna, and it might as well be that one. You shut the door behind yourself and look around the sizable space. Malachy rarely stays these days, of course, but it does have his stamp on it - a few photographs, an iPod dock that was rarely touched nowadays, and a stack of DVDs beside the TV. You throw your pyjamas on to the bed and sit down on the edge. You did miss the earlier period of time when Malachy and Aran would stay more, if you admitted it to yourself. Cillian was always in a great mood when the boys were around, and he was so proud of them for slipping into a new way of life the way they had with you and him. The nights the four of you would spend eating pizza and watching awful films were some of your favourites in that adjustment period, and you hoped that you'd get nights like that with your little girl as she grew. But your mind falls back further as you spot the photo of Cillian and a very young Malachy and Aran on the dresser near the TV. You remember when you first met the boys, and it feels like a lifetime ago….

It's been over thirty minutes since Cillian was supposed to meet you, and the coffee shop above Eason's is filling up. You check your phone for a message you know you haven't received. He'd only gone to get the boys, promised to meet you, and still he wasn't here - he knew you were nervous, fearful even, of what they were going to think. It's only been, in the grand scheme of things, a few short months since Cillian and Yvonne had separated, and you suspect this is the last thing the kids want to be doing, but you know it's important to him. You do consider texting, asking if everything's alright and giving him the option to arrange it for another time, but as you pick up your phone for a second time, you look up at the movement of bodies through the entrance into the cafe and see him there - and his boys trail behind him with grumpy faces. They're not little kids, but they're smaller than you'd expected, somehow. Younger. And you feel horrible. In some strange move, you stand up as Cillian raises his eyebrows and juts his chin by way of a hello, and he and the boys walk towards you. 

Cillian looks tired, flustered, but beautiful in his green quilted jacket, blue hoodie, and black jeans. His hair is blown around and teased by the wind. He shoves the aviator glasses in his hands into his jacket pocket. Aran and Malachy come to a halt behind their Dad as Cillian stops just in front of the four seater table you're at. “Sorry,” he tuts, “We got on the Luas and it was a fucking nightmare.” 

“Where's the car?” You ask, frowning, still standing and not sure what to do with your hands. 

“Back at Yvonne's…” he shrugs. After a moment of looking at you nervously, he turns to face his sons. “So, eh…,” he claps his hand down onto the shoulder of the lad closest. “This is Aran. And this is Malachy.” He looks back at you and smiles awkwardly. “And this is Y/N.” He gestures towards you with his free hand. 

“Hi,” you offer a weak wave, and try to smile without feeling so sick. “Good to meet you both.” Aran offers a small, closed-lipped smile in return and Malachy nods his head; his smile is a little more sincere but it isn't wide. 

“Right, here, sit down,” Cillian nods to the table. “You want a drink?” He turns back to his boys. Both nod their heads but say nothing. “Y/N, green tea, yeah?” He smiles at you.

“Yeah, thanks love.” You smile, and out of the corner of your eye you see Aran's eyes narrow drastically. Your stomach flips over and you feel your face flushing - shit, will Cillian talk to you about that later? He smiles at you, though, before he disappears towards the counter near the entrance way. You stand awkwardly, looking between the boys and towards Cillian's back, and then slowly lower yourself back into your chair. It occurs to you that at the square table, either Cillian will be beside you - which may weird the boys out - or one of them will have to sit there, and you're not sure they'll like that. 

After a moment, Malachy sits down in the chair directly opposite you. You remember that Cillian had told you he was fifteen - you think - and looking at him you can see he has his Dad's features in some ways. Aran does too, but in an entirely different way. Malachy smiles at you, but you can see he feels awkward. But, with his older brother seated, Aran seems more comfortable sitting down, too, and he drops into the seat beside Malachy with a flop. You can't help looking between them, sporting all the ‘Cillian things’ you can. Aran has his facial structure a little more, you consider, and the spacing between his eyes, while Malachy has his eye shape, and holds his face in the same tensed way that Cillian doesn't times, sharpening his jaw. You wonder what they'll tell their mother, what they think of you, and what they think that they think of you from the coverage of you and Cillian you know exists online. 

“So…” you shrug. “It wasn't fun on the Luas?” Stupid fucking question, you curse yourself, they're kids, what to they care?! 

“Just busy,” Malachy says. “And it stresses Dad out when there's loads of people, he gets all…overstimulated.” He smirks and Aran laughs lightly beside him. You suspect Cillian may have been a bit of a stress head in the journey into the city centre and you're almost sorry you've missed it! Malachy then proceeds to do what you immediately glean to be an impression of Cillian, swearing and pulling faces that makes Aran laugh again. You smile at the scene, even though you're entirely out of the loop. 

You look up as Cillian approaches with two cans of Fanta in his hands and a small wooden sign with the number eight on. He sets the cans down before his sons, leaning into the table from behind them, and places the number in the middle before he walks around and sits in the seat beside you. “They'll bring ‘em over.” He says as he shifts his chair slightly. Under the table, he rests his hand against your thigh. It's instantly grounding, but you're consumed by worry that you'll do anything to make the boys uncomfortable. 

“They…um, we're just saying that you didn't like the Luas.” You babble awkwardly. Why does this feel so hard? 

Cillian tuts and rolls his eyes, “Ah, sure…” he shakes his head and smirks. “I dunno why I decided it'd be the best idea. It's a kip at the best of times, but on a weekend it's worse than the Tube.” he sighs. “And didn't we nearly end up in Dundrum.” He widens his eyes, “Got off and switched, but…” 

“And you called that guy a wanker.” Malachy scoffs, laughing loudly into his can. 

“You didn't?” You turn to look at Cillian, eyebrows high. “Cill!” 

“Under me breath, like,” Cillian laughs at himself. “He didn't fecking hear me. And can you stop grassing me up?!” he looks back at Malachy, shaking his head. “Anyway, did you two have anything to ask, or is there anything you've heard recently that you want Y/N and me to clear up about…the two of us, and eh, and who she is?” He's suddenly serious, suddenly sober, and there's an authoritative but respectful manner to his voice that you're surprised by. He addresses his sons as little men, not as unthinking babies, and while he commands a level of  respect in his tone, he is also offering it, too. 

The boys look at one another, and you and their Dad, at their hands, their drinks, into the near distance… they do anything other than speak up.

“You can ask anything you like,” you say, “I don't mind.” You're not sure if your opinion matters to them, but you offer your words anyway. 

After a moment, Aran looks at you squarely. “Your Dad's girlfriend?” He says, and while you're sure it's a question it sounds more like a statement. 

You nod your head. “Yes,” you say quietly. Cillian's hand moves lightly over your thigh. It's soothing, but your anxiety is not in the least bit calmed. 

“I read something,” Malachy sniffs. Cillian nods his head slowly. “It called you a homewrecker.” Malachy continues, and Cillian winces. 

“Yeah,” you say, “I've read that too. I understand it - your Mum and Dad had a long marriage, and your Dad has a lot of people who admire him, evidently. I didn't expect that the reception would be cheerful, and I'm sorry for the things you're probably seeing about your Dad online right now.” 

“Nah,” Malachy continues, “I just mean, Dad had already split up with Mum, so it ain't like you did anything wrong other than go out with him. Though I don't know why you'd want to do that, anyway.” He smirks, and there again is that face like his father. 

You laugh a little, amused at the young man's sense of humour. He has Cillian's comical timing - a thing you'd found with many an Irishman you'd come into contact with - and he grins like him, too. “Well, he has his good points.” You tease. 

“Yeah, don't tell me about them.” Malachy widens his eyes and lifts his can to his lips. 

You all fall quiet when a young waitress arrives carrying two mugs. “Green tea?” She says in a thick north Dublin accent. You smile and she sets the mug before you, “And camomile.” She says, and leans across the table to place it before Cillian. “Enjoy.” She mutters as she walks away. 

“Anything else to ask, Aran? Anything bothering you?” Cillian asks. He wraps his fingers around the handle of his mug. Aran shakes his head slowly. “Sure?” Cillian presses. Again, Aran shakes his head. “Now's the time, bud.” Cillian insists, but again he's both respectful and authoritative. “I mean you can talk to me whenever, you know that, but we're all here now if you've anything to get out.” 

Aran sighs and purses his lips. “You're gonna get married now?” 

“No,” Cillian shakes his head immediately, “Your Mum and I are still married for a start, I mean eventually we won't be but we are now. And Y/N and I are…only getting to know each other.” He says and you're surprised by his ease. 

“Why? Did you want to be the best man?” Malachy quips, and Cillian chuckles into his cup, mid-sip. 

“Shut up.” Aran huffs, digging his elbow into Malachy's arm. 

“Eh!” Malachy raises his eyebrows, gestures both hands at his little brother, and stares at his Dad. “Did y’see that? This is what I'm living with, Dad!” 

“Ah stop it now. Don't be winding him up,” Cillian shakes his head, speaking calmly. “Aran, don't be hitting at him.” 

You smile as the boys proceed to beat one another with open palms, laughing as they get one up on each other each time. You turn your head to Cillian, who's staring at them with an amused frown and shaking his head. You can see the love, and the pride, and it endears you to him even more. 

.........You sigh yourself back to reality, looking around the bedroom again. You're not sure how Malachy will feel, but you're sure you want this room for Clíodhna when the time comes. It feels nice in here, and that's got to be a good sign. You get yourself undressed and pull on your pyjamas, leaving your clothes in the floor by the dresser. You hope that by the morning Cillian is at least broken from his temperature and feeling a little better, and you hope harder he's feeling well enough to come with you to the scan on Friday. It'll be special, seeing the baby that way, but it'll also be terrifying if it identifies anything with your little girl. You know you don't want to be alone for that, for all of that. 

When Friday arrives, though still heavily blocked up and huskier than ever, Cillian seems to be feeling much better. He hasn't smoked a cigarette in two days and, with the best of intentions, has promised he won't restart. You're hopeful, but you're not holding him to it. Mostly though, upon Friday's arrival, Cillian is just glad he's not feeling so horrendous that he can't come with you for the scan. He's excited about it, but he's nervous too, and you're almost glad that he is - it feels validating to you that he shares your exact emotions on something for once rather than just trying to understand them. Sitting together on the sofa, still in your pyjamas and with a coffee each in hand, you can tell Cillian is feeling better by the fact that he's finding himself hilarious as he talks to your belly. As you sit in the corner of the sofa, he's sitting cross legged to your left with an arched back and his face up close to your exposed bump. He'd pushed your pyjama top up so that the baby could hear him, apparently, as he explained the rules of camogie. But it was when he got a little sentimental, and a little serious, that you found yourself desperately more in love with him. Coffee in his right hand and his left on your tummy, he began to repeat a children's rhyme in Irish. 

“Cupán domsa, cupán duitse, crúsca mór lán le huise, spúnóg domsa, spúnóg duitse, uachtar reoite agus briosca…” he looks up at you by lifting his face slightly and smiles cheekily. Sitting up, straightening his back and drawing his hand back from your belly, he smiles a little wider. “What?”  he laughs, then covers his mouth as he coughs.

“That's adorable,” you smile, feeling a little tearful. It's made more special, though, by the fact that you could feel the baby shifting about a little more as he had been talking. 

He laughs a little, then coughs slightly again, *Ah here, if you heard it in English you'd change your mind. It's only cute because you don't understand it!” He brings his mug to his lips and sips quietly, wincing as he swallows and it grazes his sore throat. “Don't ask for a translation,” he says, swallowing again with a pained face. “It'll ruin it.” He smiles. 

“She liked it,” you smile at him brightly.  

He nods his head with a loving smile, “I could feel her.” He sounds so in love with her, and you're swept away by every bit of interaction he has with your stomach, anything that puts him closer to your little girl.

“I can't believe we'll be able to see her face in 3D today. It's crazy. I looked at 3D scans online.” You shake your head, “Cill, they're so detailed. We'll be able to see her features, her little hands and toes!” 

“We'll get plenty of prints, and bring some around to the boys.” He says with wide eyes. “Prove to Mal there's no fucking mickey in there.” He laughs lightly.

“If it turns out we've been saying girl these last few weeks, and it's actually a boy, it'd be so funny.” You chuckle. 

“Your one was certain,” Cillian smirks, and sips at his coffee again. “And I remember with the boys, like it was fairly fucking clear there were wee langers there.” He laughs at himself. “I think Aran was even having a tug at one point.” 

“Oh, Cill, stop!” You close your eyes to his comment, but you can't help laughing. You sober up quickly though, as you remember what this scan is actually about. “What if they find something with her?” You ask him. “Something wrong with her organs, or her body, or that she's sick in some way?” 

He looks back at you quietly, and his cheerful expression slowly drops to a more somber one. “Nothing changes.” He says and shrugs a little. “I mean, if it's serious and there's…things they want to do, I don't know. I don't know what happens then, Y/N. But, like, her arm looking a wee bit different, or a thing they can fix when she arrives… we'll love her the fucking same. Nothing changes.” He insists. “And what do I keep telling ya?” He raises his eyebrows. “Whatever happens… yeah?” You flatten your lips into a thin line as he stares at you, waiting for your response. Nodding silently, you sigh. “Don't be worrying yourself sick,” he says, his huskier voice in a whisper. “I'm here with ya.” 

.

[lefthandarm-man]

Bucky Barnes // The Winter Soldier Captain America: Civil War (2016)

the way he looks at steve (part 1, part 2, part 3)

(steve vers.)

[lethality-of-dual-strike]

I love you peri-weri one of these days I’ll learn how to draw you consistently

I think what we need for season 2 is some good ol perirep slapstick I need to see them scrapping it out like looney tunes

[maxdibert]

While you’re at it, with the pros and cons of dating; can you also give out few opinions on examples of what said characters’ type is? Like, what kind of woman/man meets their standards? What characteristics should one have?

I truly believe that in the case of Lily and James, it’s quite clear why they were a genuinely compatible couple. I mean, Lily is a means for James to publicly reaffirm his political stance by marrying someone socially inferior, thus proving that he "isn’t like the other rich people," not to mention he didn’t just choose any socially inferior woman, but a beautiful, successful, and socially popular one. In other words, someone he could present in society. Similarly, James reaffirms Lily’s need to feel part of a society that excludes her because of her origins, in a way validating her by a member of the elite of that society who rejects her, and by association, gaining a place in it. They both care about their social image, both like to be the life of the party, and both give off the vibes of enjoying the fact that others have a great image of them because, in a way, their self-esteem relies on how others perceive them. So I totally bet they complement each other as a couple.

As for Sirius, I’ve always said that if he can’t be with James, who is basically the great obsession (ahem, love ahem) of his life, then he’d probably end up with some pure-blood witch from a very good, rich family. Because let’s be honest, Sirius didn’t obsess over just any guy, he obsessed over a guy from the same social class as him, rich like him, popular like him, an equal. Sirius is the type of person who would sleep with Muggle-borns or even Muggles just to piss off his mother, and he’d even bring them home to annoy Walburga. But when it comes down to it, if he really had to settle down, and if he can’t settle down with his beloved James because the world made him straight, then he’d seek out a pure-blood girl from a good family whose environment isn’t necessarily against blood purity but also isn’t supportive of it—maybe neutral—and who probably has the same shitty personality as his mother because Sirius has serious mommy issues and probably needs a push-and-pull dynamic similar to what he had with Walburga. I know a lot of people won’t agree with this, but I don’t care because my therapist would tell me I’m totally right lol.

Remus... Well, I don’t know. A person who wouldn’t get pregnant by him? Honestly, I want Remus about 10,000 km away from anyone, because everyone deserves someone in a relationship who isn’t a coward and won’t run away at the first sign of trouble. But, above all, they deserve someone who doesn’t need a teenager to lecture them into doing what any person with common sense would do without even thinking about it. I really wouldn’t wish a Remus as a partner on anyone. Well, maybe on my worst enemy, but that’s it.

And Peter... I think Peter would be happy with someone who could help him climb socially, gain status, and be feared. Probably someone who would take control of the relationship and whom he could admire and feel very proud to have been chosen by. Peter sought recognition through association because he was incapable of getting it on his own, so he’d probably go for someone who could guarantee him that social recognition.

Then there’s Severus, who as I’ve said many times, would probably be with someone who could deal with the multiple traumas he has but, above all, with his awful personality. Because Severus has a terrible temperament and zero anger management. Being with Severus means you have a partner who will certainly be loyal and won’t betray your trust, someone who will be there for you when you need them, but also someone with a lot of unresolved issues that can make him explode at any moment when he feels threatened or triggered, and that’s very difficult to handle. And like I said in another post about this specific topic a few weeks ago, he doesn’t need someone who acts like his mother or nurse and takes care of him like he’s a sick, invalid person, but someone with the guts to stand up to him and tell him to fuck off when it’s necessary, because the reality is that Severus responds best and realizes his mistakes when they’re shoved in his face. I’ve always thought he’d do well with someone who also had their own issues because that way it’d be easier for there to be mutual understanding. But this is very brief; I talked at length about this in another post a couple of weeks ago. This is the very short version, but I hope it’s enough.

[borgialucrezia]

lowkey disagree with anyone who labels juan as stupid because of his oversensitivity, impulsiveness and rash personality (the three traits that heavily contributed to his own doom) and while he may not be as cunning as his siblings, he's certainly observant and has been predicting the game before it happens. he's also very aware of cesare's superiority over him which is why he keeps provoking him about being stuck as a cardinal. he recognizes cesare's insidious potential and how he's maneuvering him and their father. he realizes that cesare is planning to kill him and has clocked that there's something twisted going on between his brother and his "angelic sister." as david oakes says, "it proves that [juan] is sort of self-aware and probably hasn't had the best life." which is why i believe he doesn't bother to speak up knowing he'd be dismissed and gaslit despite being right. unlike cesare who's already their father's consigliere and whom their father believes even when he's lying (mostly to seize juan from the position he desires)... this shows that juan is not as naive as his family (and the audience) believes him to be and that he has a strength they don't give him credit for.