#philly and philly-related things

[july-19th-club]

it's been very interesting seeing what people in the tags of the pennsylvania post think about wrt pennsylvania. of the people who are in my notifs (which is as far as im going on that research front) ive seen not one mention of the allegheny mountains, any of our civil war battlefields, lancaster county, the amish, the word 'yinz', THE CITY OF PITTSBURGH, or indeed anything west of central at all

[thatundiagnosedbitch]

These 3 elders better have a pod by this Monday or I swear to god.

[bluebipples]

'i dont wanna go to the tourist places' 'i want to see the real city' ok well maybe i do??? maybe i like being a silly little guy at all the tourist spots???? maybe i like seeing how far people have come to see this one silly thing that you experience every day or perhaps only experienced once and promptly forgot about??????

[janeyseymour]

Hey so I was wondering if you could do a fic about a Melissa X daughter reader where we start working at the school and nobody catches on that we are Melissa’s daughter and the keep putting the pieces together until they finally get it. Maybe something like where Janine and Jacob go to Melissa’s house for cooking lessons and we are just like there and that’s how they find out. Or alternative idea where we are Melissa’s daughter and we start dating someone from Abbott like Ava or Janine and how that would play out. Sorry that’s a lot. Thanks

Relatively Related

written in the midst of the week before spring break and hoping that it isn't absolute trash :)

WC: ~2.5k

Growing up with Melissa Schemmenti for a mother, you saw what it was like being a teacher. You grew up hearing the horror stories that came with being a teacher in a center city school in Philadelphia, and you knew the horrors of growing up in a different part of Philly and going to that neighborhood school. While she didn’t much mind what you did with your life, she had always thought you would be a good teacher. And when you decided to go to college for education at West Chester University, she knew Abbott would take you in a heartbeat. It didn’t even matter that you were her daughter and she was quite the accredited teacher- West Chester’s name had enough to secure you a job anywhere in Philly that you wanted. You had vehemently denied working at her home away from home for quite some time, and yet here you were, with a bit of nudging from your mother, interviewing to become the new third grade teacher at Abbott Elementary. 

“C’mon, hun,” she had sighed over dinner a few weeks ago. “I think if you would give it a shot, you would like it… I know Abbott ain’t no suburban school, but it’s a hell of a lot better than some of the places you’ve applied.”

“I just don’t want people thinking I got the job because you’re my mom,” you tell her truthfully through a mouthful of ziti.

“Y/N, if you wanted the job, I could get it for you without an interview.”

“Isn’t that essentially what would happen if I applied and checked off that I have family within the district?”you challenge as you raise a brow.

She rolls her eyes. “You act like they actually look at resumes. Please, they’ll take pretty much anyone who has a pulse and a certification… how you think I got stuck with Darlene as a part of my team?”

“I guess.”

“And besides, you have your father’s last name… how are they gonna know you’re my daughter if you don’t have my last name?”

You have to admit, she’s right. So you send in your resume. And two days later, you receive an email saying that they’d like to see you for an interview. 

Your interview is practically a joke, and you’re offered a job on the spot. That night, Melissa and her work wife Barbara take you out for dinner.

“To Abbott’s newest member of the team,” Barbara makes a toast to you. “May it take you far in life.”

That was three years ago, and since then a lot has changed. A new principal has come in, there’s been a massive turnover in teachers, and you find yourself as a first grade teacher now. The only thing that hasn’t changed? The only one who knows you’re true identity at the school besides you and your mother is that Melissa Schemmenti is your mother. 

This year, a few new teachers start: Jacob Hill as the eighth grade social studies teacher, and Janine Teagues as the other second grade teacher.

And as much as your mother loves to rip on new coworkers of yours, you find yourself quite drawn to both of them. Sure, they’re a little nosey and love to hear all of the new gossip and find all of the deep secrets that are hidden in the walls of this old bomb shelter turned elementary school, but you like them. They haven’t found you out, not that you or Melissa really care, but it’s quite nice to have that little bubble around the two of you. 

They’ve come close though. Like the time that it came about that you share a name with Melissa’s daughter- who at this point they’re starting to believe doesn’t exist with the lack of pictures or stories.

“I’m telling you, I have a daughter,” Melissa rolls her eyes as she taps away at her phone. “I’m texting her right now.”

That is true- she is indeed texting you. Sure, she’s just texting you to tell you that you need to pick up lentils on the way home, but she isn’t lying to them.

“Show us.”

The redhead rolls her eyes, but she shows the two of them your conversation. “See? I’m just telling her she needs to pick up lentils if she wants me to make dinner tonight.”

Jacob’s brow raises as he catches the name at the top of the screen. “That’s odd… your daughter shares the same name with Y/N!”

“Well that would make sense,” your mother sighs, and you know she’s about to just out the two of you.

“It’s not like my name’s uncommon,” you jump in quietly. “I mean… really. Y/N. Not the most unique name in the world.”

Barbara raises a brow in your direction, and you give her a pleading look. “She’s right,” is all your mother’s work wife says. 

That seems to stop the conversation for now, but the adrenaline rushing through your bones doesn’t quit until you safely pull into your driveway that day- lentils in hand.

“I’m home, Ma,” you call as you open the front door. Her head pokes out from the kitchen. “And yes I got the lentils.”

“Good,” is all she says before heading back into the kitchen. You follow in her direction and set them next to her before picking up the glass of wine she’s already poured for you and sipping on it.

“Aye,” she clicks her tongue. “No hello? No ‘how was your day?’”

“I saw your forty minutes ago,” you snort.

“An’ a lot coulda happened in forty minutes,” she replies. When you raise your brow at her, she sighs. “Okay, so in that forty minutes I drove home, changed into my lounge clothes, and started dinner… but I was also thinkin’-”

“That’s dangerous,” you quip. At the look she gives you, you raise your hands in surrender. You might be a grown woman, but Melissa Schemmenti was still your mother. 

“I was thinkin’… you reacted kinda weird when I went to say that you were my daughter.”

You shrug. “I just don’t see why it’s anyone’s business but ours.”

“There’s gotta be more to it than that, hun,” she says as she stirs in the lentils.

“Jus’ don’t want anyone thinkin’ I’m some sorta nepo baby,” you sigh. “I got this job on my own, an’ I don’t need shit from the Abbott crew.”

“They ain’t gonna give you shit, ‘specially once they know you’re mine, and I know a guy,” she laughs,

“Little do they know, half the time, I’m your guy,” you tease her.

“Well, if that’s what it is, that’s fine. I won’t say nothin’.”

“Thanks Ma,” you smile as you kiss her cheek. “I got some grading to do, so if you have anything that needs graded, just put it next to my stack.”

As time goes on, the group starts to catch on a bit more… like:

The fact that you’re just as good a cook as your mother. You’re always bringing in new things in your Tupperware containers- that just so happen to match Melissa’s… because they came from the same house. You quickly cover that one up with a roll of your eyes and a, “So we both shop at Marshalls, the containers ain’t that special.”

Or when you manage to get pink eye from one of your kids, and Janine notices that you have the same emerald eyes as your mother. “Green eyes aren’t as rare as you think, Janine,” you huff as you grab your lunch from the fridge before leaving for the day.

There’s the instance where you’re getting fiercely protective of your students as one of the teachers from Addington makes their way over to flaunt the fact that they have more resources down the street, and you fold your arms over your chest and square up with the woman in true Schemmenti fashion. That time, Gregory takes notice, but he’s new at this point, and you just roll your eyes as you storm away down to your mother’s room to rant. 

But no one ever really finds out. Not until…

“Kid, I’m having some people over for dinner tonight,” your mother tells you. “You joining?”

“Nah, I have some grading and prepping to get done tonight if I can,” you say. “But can you save me a bowl?”

“For a price,” she smirks.

“Hand me your spelling tests I know you’ve been stalling on grading,” you chuckle. She just points to her bag, and you go and pull them out before heading up to your room. “Have fun with your friends tonight. Love you, Ma.”

“Love you too, you little shit,” she calls back lovingly.

You’ve spent hours grading papers, and now you’re pouring over your lesson plans for the next week. You realize that you should probably do a craft that has to do with the upcoming holidays, and you find a few cute ones online. You know that you and your mother have a plethora of crafting supplies in the basement- you just don’t know what of. So, you start to make your way down the steps when you hear two very familiar voices: Jacob’s and Janine’s.

Knowing though that if you don’t go and look in the basement now, you never will and will just end up buying all new supplies and adding to the ridiculous amount of pipe cleaners and glitter glue you have stashed away.

You make your way through the kitchen. The three of them seem to be deep in a cooking lesson while also snacking on a few of the things your mother had already whipped up and don’t have a clue you’re walking through.

“You need any crafting supplies while I head down and see what we have?” you casually ask your mother as you pass.

You stop to watch as your two coworkers’ heads whip around in a near comical unison, mouths dropped in shock.

“Y/N?”

“Hey,” you give a half-committed wave. 

“What are you doing here?” Janine asks.

You furrow a brow and fold your arms over your chest. “I live here?”

“You live with Melissa?” Jacob gasps.

“Yeah? She’s my mom?”

“She’s your-“ Janine points a finger at you before turning around and looking at Melissa. “You’re her-”

“I told you guys I had a daughter, that she wasn’t fake,” your mom smirks. “You believe me now?”

“How did we never know?!” Jacob admonishes.

“Well, for starters: I don’t have the Schemmenti last name. Secondly, who’s business is it to know who my mother is?” you quip. “You know how private the Schemmenti family can be.”

They both look beyond shocked. “Well, why don’t you join us?”

“I really do have to go check for pipe cleaners and paper plates, and I know how to cook,” you laugh. “But I’ll see y’all tomorrow.”

You head down the steps, and you hear your mother call, “The big jawns!”

“That’s what I figured, Ma!”

“What the hell?” Jacob whips around to your mother, and you laugh because you know she’s about to get grilled on the fact that you were indeed her ‘secret’ daughter.

You find what you need before heading back up the steps and for your room. “Have a good night y’all!”

The next morning, you’re sitting in the lounge sipping your coffee and sulking over the fact that you forgot your lunch on the counter this morning. Luckily for you, your mother brings it with her when she sees that you left it on the counter. She slips it into the staff fridge before sending you a text that it’s there. She preps her coffee and settles in next to you to grade a few more papers before everyone else stars trickling in to watch the news.

“Uh, hello?” Jacob questions when he walks in and everyone else is here now too. “Are we not going to talk about this?”

“Talk about what?” you and your mother ask at the same time.

“You two!” He gestures wildly between the two of you. “That you guys are related!”

“You two are related?” Gregory asks with a brow lifted.

“Uh, yeah!” Janine tells him.

“How do you know?”

“She told us last night when she called Melissa ‘Ma’!”

“Why didn’t any of us know this?” Jacob continues on.

“Know what?” Ava asks as she comes waltzing into the lounge to grab a coffee.

“That Melissa is Y/N’s mother!”

“I knew,” Barb states with a smirk on her face.

“Oh, damn! I was starting to think Melissa being a milf was just a rumor. I am happy to find out that it is entirely the truth,” the principal grins. “Greg, grab me a tea bag so I can sip on this tea!”

“There isn’t any tea, Ava,” you roll your eyes. “Yes, Melissa is my mom, but it really ain’t that big a deal.”

“Oh, it definitely is! Why were you so secretive about it?! Hmm?” Jacob asks as he sits next to you.

You shimmy away from him just slightly with a huff. “Because nobody needs to know a Schemmenti’s business except a Schemmenti. And, I didn’t want nobody thinking I got this job because of who I’m related to.”

“Y/N, please. You’re good at what you do, hun! You could get this job without the Schemmenti name, and you did!” Your mother cuts in and jostles you slightly.

“I also didn’t want to hear you-“ you look to Ava. “-calling my mother a milf more than I already do.”

“She is! And now that I see the two of you next to each other, I definitely see where your future is heading too!”

“Ava!” You, your mother, and the rest of the group scold.

The principal just shrugs. “Jus’ sayin’ the truth. Bye, y’all.”

Once she’s gone, you’re bombarded with questions. What’s it like having Melissa for a mother? Is your father really as bad as your mother makes him out to be? What was it like growing up? If you saw the horrors of Abbott, why did you work here? What were you like as a child?

“Enough,” you finally groan. “This is why I didn’t want people knowin’. I may be Melissa’s daughter, but-”

“Isn’t it weird calling your mom by her first name?” Jacob cuts you off.

“I’ve been yelling her first name since I was fourteen and realized she didn’t always respond to Mom or Ma, but always Melissa,” you reveal. “Now: she may be my mom, but I’m still a damn good teacher who got this position on my own volition. And y’all better stop asking these questions, or I know a guy.”

“And I’m the guy,” you mother states proudly, a proud grin on her face.

“No you ain’t. Uncle Vin is my guy.”

“While we’re at it,” Melissa sighs. “Stop asking me to get weed from my guy and just ask Y/N instead. She’s my guy for that.”

[h1schier13]

GOOD LOOKING BOY——LUKE HUGHES——

word count- 1.1k

Luke Hughes x fem reader

p in v protected/ oral sex/ hookup

You and Dawson had just arrived at the bar. The Devils had beaten Philly 4-1 and the whole team decided to celebrate.

“Ready to meet the boys?” Dawson said, his light accent coming out as he spoke.

“Yeah,” you smiled. Dawson opened the door and you walked in, him following closely behind. The lights of the bar were dimmed, and many jersey-related things scattered around. You looked over to see the devils enjoying drinks and chatting with each other. Dawson walked over first.

“Hey, Dawson” A man got up and hugged him. He was much taller than you, only a bit taller than Dawson. Dark hair and hazel eyes. You found yourself drawn to him.

“Hey Lukey” Dawson chuckled before turning to you.

“Nice to meet you, Y/N” he stuck his hand out and you shook it. Tingles spread throughout your palms. His hands larger and rougher than yours.

“Same to you” you replied and a faint blush coated Luke’s cheeks.

The night went on, you met the rest of Dawson's teammates, and you got yourself a drink.

“I’ll be right over there, is that ok” Dawson asked. You nodded and took a sip of your drink. He left and sat with Holtz and Lazar. You looked around and a grin formed on your face when you spotted Luke, his eyes occasionally running up your body. You set your drink down, hopped off the barstool, and headed towards him.

“Hi, Luke “ You smiled at him. He looked up meeting your eyes.

“Would you mind giving me a ride home?” The truth was you didn’t need a ride but you wanted to be alone with him.

“Oh, uh, yeah sure, I was planning on heading out now anyway” He replied pretty quickly. You walked over to Dawson and let him know you were heading home so he wouldn’t worry later. He gave you a knowing look and you giggled.

You ran back to Luke, before exiting the bar with him. You both got into his car.

“you’re cute” you confessed.

“What?” The light shade of pink you loved covered his cheeks.

“I said you’re cute, as in I find you attractive” Luke tilted his head like a confused puppy.

“Oh, thank you” He smiled.

“Here’s my address “You grabbed his phone and put your address into Google Maps.

The car was silent as Luke drove. You looked outside admiring the stars that filled the night sky.

Minutes quickly went by and Luke let you know that you had arrived.

“Would you like to come inside?” You asked him.

“yes.” His eyes met yours. His chest rose and fell from the deep breaths he took.

“Ok,” you got out, then headed inside.

“Nice place” You turned around to reply to him, but you caught his eyes on your ass. He quickly looked up, letting out a nervous cough.

“If you wanna kiss me all you have to do is ask?” Luke barely wasted a second, one hand pulling you by the waist the other holding your cheek. His lips pressed against yours.

You licked the seam of his lips asking for entrance, and that’s what he gave you. Your tongues fought over dominance. The kiss grew deeper and deeper till you broke it.

“Let’s go to my room,” you said. Luke nodded before kissing you again. He wrapped your legs around him and picked you up.

Somehow Luke managed to find your bedroom, the door being slammed open before you were laid against the bed. Luke kneeled on the floor and pulled you to the edge of the bed. Oh, good lord.

He unzipped your jeans and pulled them down. You took your top off then threw it on the floor. Luke looked up his eyes focused on your bra-covered chest before making eye contact with you. The contact didn’t break as he moved your underwear to the side and licked up your pussy.

“Shit” your hand grasped at his dark curls. His mouth now fully pressed against you. His tongue ran up and down your slit before thrusting inside you, causing you to release a moan.

Luke continued his movements making your orgasm get closer and closer. One more thrust of his tongue and stars filled your vision.

“Luke” you moaned, his mouth drinking you up, taking all your body had to offer.

You sat up and urged him to stand up before you unbuckled his belt and pulled his pants down. You pushed him down onto the bed beside you.

You got up and straddled him, then moved your hips back and forth against him.

“Condom?” You got off him then reached over to your nightstand and pulled one out.

“Can I?” Luke nodded. You pulled his boxers down and rolled the condom onto his erection.

You pulled your underwear off and unclasped your bra before straddling Luke again. His tip runs along the seam of your pussy.

You pressed your lips against his, moaning into his mouth, as you lowered onto him. His cock slowly filling you to the brim.

You waited a second before you lifted your hips and came back down. Luke’s hands gripping your hips. Supporting you with the thrusts. Again and again. Up and down.

“You’re so beautiful” Luke whimpered. His face lowered to your neck, he slowly kissed it.

“I’m so close” you moaned. Luke started to thrust upwards, your hips meeting each other. The thrusts gradually got faster and faster before sparks ran through your bodies and you both came. Luke stilled, filling the condom.

He pulled out, threw the condom in the garbage, and headed to the bathroom. After a few seconds, you heard the bath start. Luke came out and picked you up before bringing you to the bathroom. He set you in the bath, the warm water relieving your sore muscles.

Luke sat on the bathroom floor next to you and grabbed a washcloth and some soap. He gently cleaned your body then washed your hair with the shampoo and conditioner that sat beside your bathtub.

“Thank you,” you told him. He smiled.

“Don’t thank me it’s the bare minimum”

“Again, thank you” You kissed him on the cheek. They grew a light pink and you giggled before splashing some water on him.

“Hey!” Luke laughed. He was so pretty.

“Can you get me a towel” Luke did as you asked and wrapped it around you.

You got out of the bath, got dressed in your pajamas, and brushed your teeth.

“Do you wanna stay the night?” You asked Luke.

“I would really like that”

thank you for reading!

Edited 3/25/24

[ohmyeyesmyeyes]

you'd know - j. drysdale

summary: jamie moves to philly! and doesn't sleep on cam's couch!

warnings: swearing? unedited (i'll do it later maybe), fluff, insinuation of sexual relations, the tr*de

word count: 3.1k

“What about this one?” Jamie asked, not for the first time in the last hour, sliding his tablet across the duvet to sit on your lap, you once more placing your book next to you on the covers, barely holding in the mildly amused tilt of your lips when you felt his eyes fixate intently on the side of your face as you swiped through the photos of houses in Philly.

It wasn’t the best one he’d shown you, by all means, but it had a certain charm about it that had you clicking the ‘favourite’ icon in the corner and passing the device back over to him without a word. 

Even as you picked up your book again, eyes drifting to the clock in the corner of his screen, you couldn’t quite concentrate on the words printed on the page. Your mind hadn’t really been into reading these last couple of days; everything seemed to have happened pretty quickly with Jamie’s trade to Philly (of all places!), and then although he’d left his stuff in Cam’s apartment and taken up residence on the ginger’s couch, he’d mostly taken to staying over at yours – a vast change in dynamic since the start of your relationship in the summer. You’d gone from scheduled FaceTime calls and texts, and maybe only seeing each other in person once monthly since the season had started, to Jamie living within a five mile radius and sleeping over at yours almost every night.

Cam wasn’t complaining, by any means: an empty apartment was always going to be a positive thing for him, but it didn’t stop Jamie from sneaking back over each morning, unaware of the fact that Cam was very much alert to his sneaking out. He just didn’t want to be disrespectful or seem like he wasn’t appreciative of the offer of a couch, but…a bed with his girlfriend was always going to be the more appealing option, that much was certain.

You weren’t exactly complaining either, it was just a lot to adjust to. But the most shocking thing, not including Jamie’s trade to Philly, was probably the fact that you weren’t bothered by him being in your apartment or seeing him everyday.

It was just a little weird.

And now he was shopping for houses in your double bed (your room didn’t fit anything bigger), your roommate asleep in their room on the other side of the apartment, and asking for your opinion on each listing he showed, both of you fully aware of the fact that your lease was set to end in a matter of weeks.

“What about this one?” He asked once more, and instead of placing your book on the bed, you reached over to place it on top of the bedside table, surrendering to the fact that you weren’t about to get any reading done if he kept up this schtick.

You flicked through the photos, chewing the inside of your mouth as you scrolled down to read the information. 

Like all the others, this one also had three bathrooms and four bedrooms, and you weren’t entirely sure if you were overthinking too much, but those factors seemed a little much for a guy to have in a house by himself. You had no doubt that Jamie intended to have some friends over every now and again, but all these houses he was showing were, for lack of better descriptions, family houses. Or, at least, houses for more than one person.

“I…” you started, hesitating slightly at actually bringing the topic up; the most serious conversation you guys had ever had was the one pertaining to the actual state of your relationship, and even then, you’d stopped calling it ‘fun’ only five months ago – and if your theory was correct…

You weren’t even sure.

“What’s up?” Jamie asked, leaning in ever-so-closely. His arm and shoulder was leant comfortably against yours, his head just shy of resting against your cheek so he could still see the screen clearly.

“Nothing,” you started, backing out of it slightly, before inhaling sharply and purposefully avoiding looking at him when you spoke the next few words out loud. How the fuck could you say this without sounding– “It’s just, these houses all have big back yards and loads of bathrooms and bedrooms.”

Jamie blinked, lips pressing together as his eyes flickered back down to the screen, “Do they?” He asked, unsurely taking the tablet out of your hands, and you had to catch your bottom lip with your teeth to stop yourself from smiling a little at his anxious antics.

So, you’d been right, then.

That was nice to know.

He pretended to frown, a crease between his brows and a look of concentration printed so…fakely onto his face that you were forced to sneak your way under his arm, head settling rather comfortably on his shoulder as he brought his arm around to tuck you into his side, both hands still attached to the tablet. He pressed a delicate kiss to your hair before resting his cheek on top of your head, his hum vibrating your bones.

“So,” you started, “you planning on having loads of people over with these houses?” You asked innocently, watching him with interest as he scrolled further down the listings. He’d made no move to edit his filters, which did nothing but confirm your suspicions.

He nodded, exhaling through his nose and clicking back onto the favourites page to scroll down and then back up again, a lot of thought going into clicking his clear favourite. It was a rather adorable house, if empty, barely-furnished photos were anything to go by; it just felt easy to picture him decorating the entire place with his stuff – and a bed. For him to sleep in, not a couch, with his own sheets on.

“I was thinking for special occasions, like Christmas and stuff, and I can’t go home because of work, that people might be open to the idea of staying here and celebrating in Philly.” He mumbled, flicking through the photos.

“People?” You echoed, head turning to your door after a bang echoed through your apartment.

The across-the-hall neighbours were almost nocturnal, you were sure of that.

“Y’know,” Jamie continued, pretending the bang wasn’t at all a disturbance, “family, friends. ‘N you.”

You blinked, focusing all the willpower you had into not grinning like an absolute fool and giving yourself away to him – not only because you knew he was keeping an eye on you, but because you wanted to tease him a little bit, not in a mean way, but gently – enough to get him to blush and admit to something.

“Is that why you’re asking for my opinion?” You asked, your fingers lazily and absent-mindedly trailing up and down his forearm.

He hummed again, and his lack of words had you pulling away from him a little. It wasn’t enough to break out of his hold, but enough to get him to lift his head from yours so you could see his face properly. His eyes were on you, but as soon as he seemed to register you weren’t moving anywhere, he turned his attention back to the tablet, ignoring his complete lack of answer and instead choosing to press his lips together to prevent himself from smiling, and avoiding your eyes completely.

“Jamie?” 

“Yeah?” He mumbled, still not reacting.

You poked a finger to his cheek, his stubble providing a scratch that almost tickled, and he caught your hand, this time with a rather amused smile now freely on his face, and his eyes accusingly narrowed in your direction, “You didn’t answer my question.”

“Didn’t I?” He furrowed his brows, tilting his head. His hand squeezed around yours three times, before he laced your fingers together.

You rolled your eyes fondly, “You know you didn’t.”

He sighed, switching his tablet off and placing it on the floor with a dull thud, shooting you a ‘just a moment’ look as he got himself comfy against the pillows, taking an exceptionally long amount of time to adjust the height at which he preferred the duvet to be pulled up.

“Come on.” He patted your pillow, and you followed, lying face-to-face, “Okay. So, I’ve been thinking that we should start factoring each other in a bit more. It’s been, like, nine months—”

You frowned, “Five.”

“Nine.” He argued, blue eyes confused at your own answer.

“Five – we weren’t even dating–”

“We might as well have been. We were doing everything we do now–”

“Except tell each other the truth.”

He blinked after a brief pause, “Fine. Five months, then. I guess I’m asking your opinion on the houses because you’re my girlfriend, and I want us both to like the house I’m going to buy because I’m hoping you’ll stay over every now and then. I want you to like it so you stay over.”

“Even if I didn’t like it I’d want to stay over.” 

He breathed a laugh sorely lacking mirth, and you felt yourself frown at his shaking head and disbelieving eyes.

“That’s not the point.” He whispered.

You didn’t say anything or do anything to allude to what you were thinking; Jamie’s eyes were roving over your face searching for some kind of hint as to what was going through your head – trying to figure out if you’d caught on or if you were genuinely oblivious to what he was struggling to say.

“I’m not a mind-reader.” You replied, arching a brow and unable to hide the small tells of a smile on your face when he seemed to soften at your words.

He knew you were teasing him, but he also knew he wasn’t going to get what he wanted if he didn’t say it outright.

“I was hoping you’d help me decorate, like, help me pick out some furniture or what paint to get for the walls kind of thing. I know you’re not gonna be living with me, but I want you to stay over and feel comfortable enough to maybe, I don’t know, like…stay there when your roommate or neighbours are pissing you off, or to have a key, or to move in with me at some point in the future.” You could feel his hand tracing absentminded shapes into the sheets under the covers, and his eyes seemed intent on avoiding looking anywhere near your direction, instead choosing to dart from his pillow, to the vintage poster of Sidney Crosby on the back of your door, to your bedside light. Everywhere but you.

There was a brief moment when he was talking that you were almost a little worried he was going to ask you to move in then and there – and while that certainly wasn’t an unappealing option at all, you were still getting used to each other. Your relationship was pretty new, and Jamie was still adjusting, and the last thing either of you needed was to amp up the intensity at this moment in time when it could just as equally prove to be as disastrous as good.

But when he’d said ‘some point in the future’, all of that dissipated into thin air. 

“The first house.” You mumbled, trying to catch his attention. It seemed to do the trick pretty effectively, because even though his eyes were wide, he was hanging on to everything you said with a look so intense that it rivalled the one you’d only seen him use on the ice. He didn’t say anything, but you could tell he was holding his breath, “That’s my favourite.”

He swallowed, pushing his head a little off the pillow, cheeks a little red at the insinuation behind your words, “It’s my favourite too.”

“I know.” You grinned, “But–”

He tensed.

“But I do think you should make some decisions only on your own, because it’s gonna be your house. If you need help or advice, that’s fine, but I think you also need to do this for yourself – get comfy in Philly.”

He twisted his mouth in consideration, “You’d tell me if you hated something that I picked though, right? Or if I–”

“If you pick it, I’ll probably like it.”

He blinked, before rolling his eyes, “That’s very reassuring–”

“I just mean, I liked your house in Anaheim and you did that up–” you cringed, “Well, partly–”

“Thanks for that reminder, yeah.” He quipped, nodding sarcastically.

He’d partly redecorated his house back in LA, but he’d never gotten round to finishing it because, well, he got traded, and it was still a bit of a stinger.

“Sorry.” You said, genuinely feeling guilty for having brought it up in such a profoundly important conversation.

He shrugged, smiling rather defeatedly, “It’s fine. I mean, I really like it here. I actually…” he hesitated, looking at you unsurely and rather guiltily, and you grinned, knowing he was about to say something very honest, “I prefer playing for the Flyers.”

Your jaw dropped, before you dissolved into laughter, “I can tell.”

“You can? Is it obvious?” He looked so concerned that your chest physically warmed at the sight, and you shook your head in response, but it was clear he could see through your little white lie.

There was a lull in the conversation after that, and he laid his head back down opposite you, blinking sleepily. There was something in the back of your mind, something related to what he’d said, that you knew you wouldn’t be able to sleep properly without mentioning it to him at least, and just as you were about to open your mouth, he stopped you with a furrowed brow.

“What’s up?” He asked, and you halted.

You didn’t know why it was such a shock that he could read you so easily, but it was – in an entirely good way. 

“Just, for a second earlier, I was worried you were gonna ask me to move in with you.” You admitted, watching him closely.

He paused for a second, taking in your words, before comically gasping, “Is the thought of moving in with me that horrific?”

“You’re just a really loud sleeper.” You played along, rolling your eyes and enjoying the gentle nudge to your shin.

You both knew that statement was wholly untrue; sure, he snored occasionally, but it wasn’t at a disruptable, pillow over your ears, no sleep, forcefully rolling him over level. And it was only when he had a cold.

“I can imagine it’s a pain, yeah. I shuffle, too, and I, oh, how could I forget? I steal the duvet and refuse to cuddle. That must be awful.” He groaned, the sound melting into one of soft laughter as he failed to keep up the act.

Of course, none of those things were true.

“Seriously, though?” He asked next, his amusement replaced by seriousness.

“I just think it’d have been too soon.”

“Yeah.” He agreed, “But also, for future reference, if I was asking you to move in with me, you’d know.”

A WHILE LATER (A YEAR AND A BIT)

You pulled a face, toothbrush frozen midway to your mouth, the splodge of toothpaste wobbling at the sudden halt. You were staring at the reflection of the man standing next to you, washing his face as though what he’d just said wasn’t both confusing or an entirely big deal if it meant what you thought. 

He grabbed a towel from the radiator rack next to him, wiping his face, and it was when he looked back into the mirror, his eyes sliding from his reflection to your utterly stunned look of complete disbelief, that he faltered, a grave look appearing on his face.

You’d both just crawled out of bed, motivated by the knowledge that his parents were arriving in Philly later today and neither of you had completely finished tidying his house, because, lo and behold, the consequence of having multiple rooms and bathrooms meant that it’d take three times the amount of time to clean them all before guests arrived. Currently you were still in your PJs, and the only change Jamie had made to his appearance since getting out of bed was to pull a pair of joggers over his boxers.

It was an awfully domestic scene, and something that had been happening increasingly more often as of the last few months – again, you weren’t complaining – but that hypocrite—

“Say that again.” You said, lowering your toothbrush.

Jamie blinked, stuttering, “Say what again?”

“What you just said.”

“Why don’t I tidy out some of the cabinet so you can move your stuff in?” He said unsurely, his brows knitted in confusion, towel patting his face dry in a manner that meant he could still see you properly.

“Why would you need—Why?”

He froze like a deer caught in headlights – so, so, so adorably confused.

“So you can have space to put your stuff…” he trailed off, his mouth parting in realisation, “You’ve been here at least five out of seven days a week for the past four months, and even then you only went back to your apartment to bring back almost out of date food and some clean clothes.”

You turned to him for real this time, face-to-face, mildly unimpressed and mostly entertained because of his unawareness as to what it sounded like he was implying. Only, this time, you had a feeling you were right, and this time you weren’t the slightest bit worried about him asking.

Only, when you turned to face him, instead of the confusion written on his face – somewhere between the time it had taken you to blink and turn, he was on one knee on the tiles, a cheeky grin on his face that immediately let you know you’d been had and that had entirely been his intention all along.

It still didn’t stop your heart hammering madly in your chest at the sight of him in such a position, and even though you knew what he was and wasn’t about to ask, your mind was now skipping ahead to marriage.

“I know I promised you’d know when I asked you to move in with me, but I couldn’t resist messing with you a little bit–” he laughed and tried to dodge you when you lightly kicked his knee to throw him slightly off balance, but his neither his smile or his resilience faded, “and I figured this would be as obvious as it gets, so…” he inhaled, attempting to appear suddenly serious, “Will you please do me the honour of moving in with me?”

You were grinning, “No.”

There was a beat, and all in one moment his entire face seemed to drop as he looked even more befuddled towards the floor, mind presumably racing with just where he’d gone wrong this time, and if you didn’t know your own intentions, you’d say the silence was awkward, but you could never leave him looking that dejected for too long.

Your heart couldn't bear it.

“I’m kidding, ‘course I’ll move in with you.”

He sighed, pushing himself up to stand and taking your hand as an offer for help in the process, before rolling his eyes fondly and kissing your temple, “Yeah, I love you too.”

[sometimesanalice]

Oh Christmas Tree

Summary: Bradley’s never been one to look forward to the holidays, that is until he met you. He’s excited to do everything, including getting his very first real Christmas tree.

Warnings: Fluff, slight angst, allusions to smut. Minors DNI.

Length: 7.2K 

Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw X Female Reader

(What was supposed to be a quick fluffy Christmas fic, somehow turned into this, enjoy!)

The atmosphere at the Hard Deck was livelier than usual, the music seemed more upbeat and the voices a little louder. It was the first time in a while that the entire Dagger Squad was together in one place. News of the success of the Uranium Mission traveled fast and had been keeping them busy in the months that had followed.

Things seemed to settle down a bit as the holidays rolled around, some has dispersed home for Thanksgiving while a few others had been given last minute orders to ship out for a short mission. You’d been dying to take Bradley Bradshaw home to meet your parents in person, but he had been one of the few sent away only set to return the day after Thanksgiving.

You’re sitting across from Natasha at a high top near the pool tables in the back of the bar listening to Jake talk about his visit home, while your boyfriend next to you talks animatedly about something related to his latest mission with Bob.

“I shaved off an extra 5 minutes from the last Trot. Turns out I’m in even better shape than I was the last time I was home for Thanksgiving,” Jake brags smugly taking a swig of his beer from his nearly empty bottle.

“Wait, you come from a Turkey Trot family? That explains so much. Please tell me, you guys wear matching Seresin family shirts for it too,” you tease without remorse. “Oh! Or maybe those turkey leg bobble headbands?” 

You hear Bradley snort into his beer as he drops a well-defined arm across your shoulders. He’s wearing one of your favorite Hawaiian shirts from his collection, and you’ve been having a hard time keeping your eyes and hands to yourself.

“Bradshaw! Are you going to let your girl trash talk me like that?” You turn to Bradley to see him smirk with a shrug at Jake’s indignation.

“I mean, if the headband fits,” he replies lifting his bottle up in cheers.

“Darlin’, you wound me. And for the record they don’t match, since we all get to decorate our own with those paints in the little squeeze bottles,” he says pointing his empty bottle at you before turning to Bradley, “And see if I ever save your smug ass again.” He walks away making his way to the bar for another beer.

“Formal petition to change his callsign to Turkey now. Him and Rooster could be the Bird Bros,” Natasha jokes after he’s out of earshot. “What about you, how was your trip home?”

“It was pretty good,” you feel Bradley start playing with the ends of your hair, while he picks his conversation with Bob back up. “Since my sister had the baby, my parents have been leaning into the new grandparent thing pretty hard. So I set to establishing myself as the fun wine aunt, and basically drank cranberry mimosas all day.” You pause to take a sip of your drink, “Which I regretted immediately the next day when my parents decided it was imperative that we all go to their favorite Christmas tree farm as soon as it opened to cut one down together. Baby’s first Christmas all.” You unlock your phone to pull up the folder you made of pictures from the visit, handing over your phone to let her scroll.

“Since they’re flying out to spend Christmas with my sister and her in-laws in Philly, I tried to talk them into an artificial tree. Which is blasphemy where I’m from, I’m pretty sure the state tree is the Douglas Fir. My family takes the tree hunt very seriously, there’s a science to it and everything,” you lean over to swipe past some of the selfies you took to show her the completed tree in your parents sitting room. 

“However, as you can see, my attempt to talk them into the lower maintenance, yet slightly ostentatious, fluffy pink tree of my dreams was met with a hard pass,” you say laughing to yourself.

She swipes backwards a couple times on the pictures. “This one is cute, why didn’t you post this photo?” she asks holding your phone up showing a selfie of you at the tree farm.

“Which one? Let me see,” Bradley requests, his conversation with Bob now abandoned. He’s already leaning into you and reaching across the high top with his large hands to take the phone from Nat.

It was a photo of you that Bradley hadn’t seen before. You were pink nosed wrapped up in cozy looking scarf, surrounded by pine trees and grinning into the camera. And his heart swells at the sight of the image before him. It’s just so you.

“You really look pretty,” he states sincerely. He glances at you briefly to see a hint of a blush spread across your cheeks before turning his gaze back to the picture of you.

He’d known you had been just as eager as he was for to him come home with you to meet your parents in person. You had even concocted a plan that involved him to try and help you get your hands on your Aunt Christine’s corn soufflé recipe.

“My mom has tried to get it for years, and she refuses to share it with anyone!” you’d lamented to him one evening after a couple large glasses of wine. “She always says she’ll email it, but she never does!” You gesture wildly. He loved getting to know all sides of you, but two-drink you was a particular favorite of his.

“Mmm. Girlboss, gaslight, gatekeep,” he nodded along in solidarity.

“Exactly, Bradley! You get it!” You take another long, deep sip of your Merlot, your feet tucked under you on his couch. “Me with my wiles and you with your Rooster charisma, I think this might be the year! I’ll set the groundwork and you can lay the ruggedly-handsome-impossibly-sexy-American-hero-thing on thick,” he loved how animated you were getting and he was having a hard time keeping the indulgent smile off of his face. “And she’ll fall right into our trap and release the goods all while thinking she’s staring in her own Hallmark movie.” He knew he would do anything for you, what his girl wants she gets. If that involves some light to heavy flirting with your aunt, so be it. He was getting soufflé recipe for you one way or another.

However, those plans were quickly dashed when he got the mission orders at the last minute. His stomach was in knots when it came time to tell you, but you were quick to put him at ease by reminding him there was always next year. “Plus” you’d said, “it gives us a whole year to craft our Stealthy Soufflé Scheme. Although, maybe we can pop up in May or June? I want to show you all the sights, we can even go hiking! And I’m definitely planning on taking you on a beer tour.”

“That sounds like the perfect trip, Sweetheart. I’d love that. I’ll see about getting a request submitted first thing in the morning,” he was already setting a reminder in his phone so he wouldn’t get too distracted at work and forget. He wasn’t going to let you down again.

“Oh. That’s probably one I snapped really quick and forgot to send to Bradley. I was probably already spamming him too much as it was,” you answer in response to Natasha’s question. Even though you knew exactly why that one never made it his inbox.

Since you’d be spending the holiday apart, Bradley had requested that you send him pictures throughout your visit so that he didn’t feel like he was missing anything. You had sent him ones of you at the grocery store with your mom, of you holding your niece, a few silly ones fueled by too many champagne heavy mimosas, and some less family friendly shots of you in bed wearing the deep wine-colored lacy lingerie set you had planned to surprise him with. And then a few without the lingerie set too.

You had known he wouldn’t have the best reception, so you sent them as things happened knowing that he’d respond whenever he could. You just wanted them there waiting for him. However, a few days in was getting hard to know what was too much when all you could see were all your outgoing messages to him.

You had felt yourself getting a little self-conscious and started second guessing the things you sent, like the picture from the tree farm. You didn’t want to go overboard and scare him off or make it seem like you were rubbing his face in all the things he was missing while he was on assignment. You had just wanted him to know that you were thinking about him- which was pretty much all the time.

Turning your head to take him in next to you. He’s sitting there with a soft smile on his face while he is tapping away on your phone. When his phone lights up mere moments later, you realize he’d just sent the image to himself and was now paging through the folder looking for others.

“For being a Communications Specialist, you’re really bad about updating your own social media. That one was definitely worthy of making it to the grid,” Nat announces as she slides off the barstool taking Bob with her to go dominate on one of the pool tables.

Bradley hands you your phone back. “You know, I’ve never been to a Christmas tree farm. Or even had a real tree for that matter,” he murmurs a bit ruefully when it’s just the two of you, picking at the label of the bottle Natasha had left behind.

“When I was younger we only ever had a fake tree. And then after my mom passed, everything with Mav, and moving around so much I just kind of didn’t ever want to think about it. I never thought to get anything for myself.” He lets out a breath, shaking his head slightly. “I’m really happy you’re sticking around to show me the ropes this year,” he says earnestly, sounding much lighter than before.

The thought of him fending for himself for so long makes your heart hurt. You lean into him pressing a lingering kiss to his cheek. “I’m happy you want to spend the day with me,” you tell him brushing your nose against his as you pull away. 

“I did my good daughter duties, but flying home during the one of busiest days of the year was enough for me. And I wouldn’t want to subject you to the Richardson’s by going to Philly, my parents call them the Dickardson’s for a reason,” making a face that causes him to laugh.

“We’re going to have the best Christmas together, I wouldn’t want to spend the day with anyone else.” This time when you pull him in for another kiss your lips are eager to meet his. The slide of his mouth against yours never fails to make your heart beat wildly in your chest.

You could spend days kissing Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw and never want to break for air. It’s only at the sound of someone’s loud wolf whistle that you break apart as you’re brought back the moment.

“You know, I’m still not over the fact that my girlfriend withheld such ‘compelling content’ from me,” he teases, using air quotes the buzzwords he’s heard you say from listening to one too many of your late night zoom meetings.

“It was the last day! You were getting in before me, and I thought you’d want the real deal instead. And to tell the truth, I didn’t know if I was overdoing it. I didn’t want to make you feel left out,” you explain honestly. You’ve always been the type to keep those insecurities to yourself, but you’ve been trying to do better. He makes you feel safe enough to open up without holding back.

“Sweetheart.” He picks up your hand his mustache brushing the back of it as he places a kiss there. “You could never overdo it. Spam away, send me everything. I love getting those pictures, it makes me feel closer to you. But, I do know how you could make it up to me.” As he sends a mischievous wink your way.

You’re hit with a brief vision of you on your knees before him in that wine-colored set he still has yet to see in person. 

“Oh, do you?” You ease off your stool to stand in front of him, his legs automatically widening for you to step in between them.

“Wanna come help me pick out a tree this weekend?” he asks, slipping his hands into the back pockets of your jeans to tug you in even closer. “I hear you know a thing or two about picking out the best one,” his eyes crinkle around the edges as he smiles broadly at you.

You don’t bother fighting back the grin that takes over your face. “Stick with me, kid,” you say taking his sunglasses from where they rest against his chest and sliding them on, “I won’t lead you astray.” 

Bradley had the best afternoon learning the ins and outs of selecting the perfect tree at the tree lot with you. 

He had found a tree place with a festive name that was about 30 minutes away, it was probably a bit different than what you were used to, but he hoped you’d be happy with the options there. He had even called in advance to make sure they had the specific variety your parents usually got after texting with your dad to find out what he should be looking for.

He had wanted to pick you up from your apartment, but you had insisted on meeting him at his place since you had an early work meeting scheduled in the morning. And had greeted you with a coffee in hand from your favorite shop when you arrived.

He’d even worn the plaid flannel shirt you had bought for him when you were visiting home for the occasion. When he parked the Bronco in the lot, you had giddily exclaimed, “Bradley, look at all the trees! There’s way more than I thought there’d be. It smells like home!” 

Once you were both out of the car you had grabbed his hand threading your fingers between his, and set off like a woman on a mission. He’d felt rather pleased with himself. 

The outdoor speakers were playing the local Christmas radio station and there were rows and rows of trees under a few large white topped tents. He loved how seriously you were taking this, and if he wasn’t already totally enamored with you this would have sealed the deal.

You’d taught him how to determine its freshness, “You have to pull a needle off and see if it bends or snaps. If it snaps then it’s already way too dried out and you’re just purchasing a giant match stick.” 

From there the came the scent test, “Now sniff the tree, you have to get your face in there. The stronger the tree scent the longer it will last.” 

And finally, the aesthetics. 

“I like mine a little girthy and on the fuller side, but that’s all a matter of personal preference. You want some gaps, so that the heavier ornaments can hang better, but not too many. And the top has to be straight, no one wants a lopsided tree topper.”

“That’s not the only thing you like full and girthy,” he couldn’t help but let slip out.

“Bradley, there are children here!” you admonished while looking around wide eyed, but that didn’t stop you from grazing the front of his jeans every chance you got.

So, when he managed to find what you excitedly deemed to be the “absolute most perfect tree!”, he couldn’t help but preen his face feeling a bit warm from the attention and praise you showered him with.

He’d hauled the tree up to the check out where it was bundled while he paid, and then carried it over his shoulder out to the Bronco. You’d trailed behind him carrying the wreath you’d picked out humming along with the music.

“Is there such a thing as a competence kink? Because this,” you had mused gesturing to him tying the tree down in the back, his hands tingling, “is definitely doing it for me.” He had just grinned and shaken his head at you, his face heating up a bit. However, he couldn’t help but flex a bit more for your benefit as he finished up.

And when you made him pull off the road less than 10 minutes later, to indulge in that new self-discovery with your mouth around his cock, well that was very much for his benefit.

Now you’re with him at his place.  You guys had wrangled the perfect tree into the house and had gotten it set up in front of his windows in the living room near the upright piano he had tucked in the corner. He loved the smell that was filling the room and the way you’d lit up once it was in place. If he had his way, you’d be around all the time.

Bradley could hear you singing along to the Christmas album he had picked up that was playing on his Dad’s old record player as you worked on putting together some hot toddies in the kitchen. You had put him on light duty, and he was determined to make it the best-looking thing you’ve ever seen.

He worked going round and round the Christmas tree, the lights all shining merrily. He took his time making sure to wrap and tuck the lights around the branches, the cozy glow filling his chest with warmth.

But the longer he worked the more he was starting to get worried that he was coming down with a bug or something, his face starting to feel slightly feverish. His throat getting thick and uncomfortable.

He’d noticed it earlier at the tree lot, but didn’t want to give it too much thought. The Navy had ruined his Thanksgiving plans with you and he didn’t want to let you down again. He worked to string lights on a few more branches adamant to push through for you. 

“Sweetheart,” he reluctantly called out to you, “I think I might be coming down with something. I’m not feeling too hot, and my throat is kinda scratchy.” The guilt was starting to settle in the pit of his stomach, maybe if he rested now he could keep it from getting too bad.

He turns to see you coming out of the kitchen with two steaming mugs in your hand, your eyes going wide.

He turns back to the tree looking to see if he accidentally fucked something up. It was his first time with a real tree, maybe the lights needed to be strung differently.

“Bradley. Oh my god.”

You had just put the finishing touches on the hot toddies and were already walking out of the kitchen when Bradley had called out to you. Those beverages were quickly abandoned on his coffee table as you propelled yourself towards him.

His face was brightly flushed and his eyes were shade of red that made your own itch in sympathy. You reach up to tug at the collar of the flannel he was wearing to get a better look at the skin of his neck and chest. The scars on his neck were standing out in contrast to his reddened skin.

“Sweetheart, what are you doing?” Even his voice was sounding a bit scratchy. You ignore him in favor for undoing the buttons at the cuff and rolling up the sleeve of his shirt, trying to not let yourself get too anxious. “You tryin’ to get me to put these lights up topless like some kind of sexy Santa?”

You shush him as you finally get the sleeve rolled up when your suspicions are confirmed, his thick forearm is absolutely covered in angry looking raised red welts. 

“Oh no. Roos, baby. You’re breaking out.” Already pulling him away from the 7-foot issue occupying the living room and heading towards the kitchen, “I think you have pine tree allergy.” 

He finally looks away from your face and down to his arm, a deep furrow settling over his features, “Oh fuck.” You get him seated at his oval oak dining table grabbing your phone to figure out what to do next.

“Yeah, ‘Oh fuck’,” you repeat back to him eyes skimming the information on the page you clicked into.  You’ve always been the type to take charge in a crisis, this would be no different. You’d make sure he’s taken care of the way he needs to be. The way he deserves to be.

“How’s your breathing feel? Is your throat feeling tight or like it’s closing up?” you ask looking up at him.

His red-rimmed honey eyes seem to shift focus like he’s lost in thought for a brief moment.

“Rooster.”

He shakes his head. “Sorry, baby,” he says a bit bashfully. “I’m used to being the one levelheaded in stressful situations, but you should see the intensity on your face. I think you coulda been a pilot.”

“Bradley, I’m flattered. Truly,” you’ve learned that he isn’t the type to say things he doesn’t mean and you respect the hell out of what he does. “Although I’m sure there are a few more qualifications I’d have to pass than that,” you reply lightly, petting the back of his hand resting on the table. “But I need you stick with me here. I just need to figure out if we need to get you to the ER or not.”

He nods. “It’s a little thick, but not like it’s going to close up. And really scratchy, ‘s all.”

“Ok, that’s good. That’s good,” you repeat again more to yourself than him. 

You love this man so much, and he deserves the world. This is the last thing you would have wanted for him and his very first, and last, real tree.

You can still hear the record playing in the background as you try not to gnaw on the inside of your cheek working to put your game plan together.

After firing off a quick text to Jake, you quickly pop upstairs to Bradley’s medicine cupboard, hoping that he has some antihistamines tucked away in there. You breathe a sigh of relief when you see the pink box, grabbing it you tear off a couple squares from the silver lined sheet to bring back to him.

He’s still sitting where you left him at the dining table. He’s slumped down in the chair his mouth pulled down at the corners, and you think it’s probably because he’s not feeling the greatest right now. You hand him the meds and a fetch him a glass of water, watching as the tendons of his throat flex as they work to swallow the pills down. The red welts have finally made an appearance there too, and are an angry contrast to his usually golden skin.

“Let’s get you out of these clothes, hmm?” You bend down to catch his eyes with your and holding out our hands to him. He nods once taking your smaller hands in his as he lets you pull him up. 

You help him to unbutton and remove the flannel shirt trying to avoid further contact with the hives on his body, not wanting to cause him anymore discomfort. Once his wide chest and arms are uncovered, you work his jeans down his thick thighs leaving him in his tight black boxer briefs. There’s nothing more than you love than being up close with Rooster’s body, but right now you’re on a mission and can’t be distracted by all the skin before you.

While you’re still feeling concerned for him, you can feel your anxiety starting to settle a bit from where it was at earlier. You’ve got a plan, you’ve already checked off a few things, and you’ll be able to take a breath once Bradley is taken care of.

He’s ruining everything with you. First Thanksgiving and now Christmas. 

How the fuck did he not know he was allergic to pine trees? He’s 35, he should known those kinds of things by now. Shouldn’t he?

He is frustrated as fuck laying on top of the king-sized bed in his darkened bedroom, the stinging of the hives on his arms and upper body were driving him crazy. God, his eyes itched and burned. Although, he couldn’t tell if it as from the reaction to the tree or from fighting the sudden urge to cry for the first time in a very long time.

The afternoon was not going as he had envisioned it. He wanted to sing some carols loudly while getting tipsy off hot toddies with you. Dance with you in between hanging ornaments on the tree. Maybe fuck you under the tree if he played his cards right, he wanted to be the one to get your tinsel in a tangle. 

All he had wanted was to make you happy. You weren’t spending Christmas with your family, and he didn’t want you to miss out on anything being in California with him instead. He was really excited about the holiday for the first time in what felt like forever, and it had everything to do with you.

“Do you have any oatmeal here?” You had asked him not too long ago, and it was all he could do to point you in the right direction as the guilt was eating away at him. Once you had found it, you had sent him away to go upstairs to get him further away from the tree. His strong, capable, and pretty girlfriend was left to deal with the mess downstairs without him. 

He could hear the whir of the blender and wondered what you were up to. Sulking at the fact that all he could do is wait for the antihistamines to kick in, and hope that he’d be feeling better soon so that he could help you take care of things.

“Bradley? Baby, are you awake?” You entered the dimly lit room cautiously, approaching him gingerly on the bed and holding a large bowl with something fluffy and powdery looking in it. He hadn’t heard you come up the stairs.

He loved the sound of your voice. He loved it in the morning when it was thick with sleep, how excited you got when you were talking about something you were passionate about, and he especially loved the breathy whispers and words of encouragement from you in his ear late at night when he was moving so deep within you. What he didn’t love was being the reason you were so anxious, that he was at fault for why your tone was so laced with concerned. 

“Yeah,” although he was starting to feel sluggish, “’m still awake.” He felt your cool hands on his face and leaned into your soothing touch, pressing a kiss to your palm.

“I’m going to make you an oatmeal bath,” you informed him gesturing to the bowl in your hand. “From what I’ve been reading online that should help calm down the hives, hopefully stop them from spreading anymore.’

“Okay, Sweetheart,” he sighed. He can hear how pitiful he sounds, but right now his girl is the only thing that is making him feel good, and he will do anything you ask of him.

You set about turning the taps on for the large tub in the bathroom, twisting the handles to get the water to come out at the right temperature. Once you were satisfied, you swirled in the oat powder you had made watching as the water turned cloudy, then headed back into the bedroom to get Bradley.

“Let’s get you in the tub so you can soak for a bit, yeah?” He looks so miserable alone stretched out on the bed. “It’s not too hot, and it should help you feel better,” you help him to sit up placing a kiss to the lines of the scars on his cheek trying to comfort him.

Ever the soldier, he dutifully follows you into the bathroom. Once he is stripped of his briefs and comfortably situated in the milky mixture, his eyes flutter closed as he reclines back, leaning his head against the ledge of the tub. You move kneel on the floor next to him running your fingers through his sun-streaked waves.

Your little pocket of peace is disturbed a few minutes later by the ding of your phone.

“Jake just got here,” you announce filling him in on the next part of your plan, “He’s going to help me with the tree.” 

“’posed to be my job,” Bradley sulks making a petulant sound in his throat. You can’t help but let out a gentle tsk while fighting back a small smile at his response.  

“I just want you to relax here and let the oatmeal do its thing. I’m going to get things wrapped up downstairs it shouldn’t take too long, and then I’ll come back to check on you.”

“Mmhm, fine,” he sighs as you press a kiss to his forehead.

You let Jake in and he is quick to jump in taking over by unwinding the lights off from the partially lit tree. He’s even quicker to haul the massive thing out of the house and into the back of his truck, as the new owner of the 7-foot Noble Fir. After the tree is deposited, he heads back in and helps you coil the lights back up so they’re not in a tangled mess on the floor making some light small talk because he can tell your mind is elsewhere. 

On his way out the door he shoots you a cocky salute, a shit-eating grin already plastered on his face.  “You can thank my new Trot PR for how quickly I was able to run back to my place after I got your SOS text to get here as quickly as I did, Darlin’,” he drawls. 

You flip him off, but tell him to text you what meals he’d like you to make and bring over later in the week as thanks for his help. And with a quick kiss to his cheek, you shoo him out the door wanting to get back to your boyfriend.

After he leaves, you break out the vacuum and work on getting the needles off the ground before moving on to the laundry. You grab the pile of Bradley’s clothes from the floor in the kitchen where you had left them before stripping down to your underwear, throwing everything in the washer and turning it on to get rid of any potential lingering irritants.

You make you way back upstairs, stopping to slip on one of Bradley’s old UVA t-shirts and grabbing him a loose pair of navy sweatpants, before going in to check on him. He is still there soaking his head tilted back and eyes closed, just as you had left him. Thankfully the hives have seemed to stop their spread leaving his face untouched. His neck, chest, and arms still bearing the brunt of his allergic reaction.

You gently knock on the door to announce your presence, not wanting to startle him. “You ready to come out now, baby?” Before him you had never been a pet name person, but now all you wanted to be a source of comfort in his life. A soft place for him to land.

“Yeah,” he turns his head towards the sound of your voice, “I think I might be getting a bit prune-y, but that felt really good. Thank you, Sweetheart.” He has finally opened his eyes and looking right at you, with a smile small and soft, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. 

You’re trying not to read into it too much, not wanting to let your anxiety get the best of you. You help him up from bath and use the handheld to first shower him off, grabbing a fluffy towel to help gingerly pat him dry. As he bends to pull on the sweatpants you had brought in you turn to rinse out the remaining oatmeal residue from the tub. He presses a kiss to the back of your head as he passes by you to make his way back to the bedroom.

By the time you’re done he has already climbed into bed, the comforter on your side already pulled back as he reaches out for you to get in with him. The white percale sheets you had helped him pick out were cool and luxuriously soft to the touch, and you feel yourself release the breath it felt like you’d been holding since you entered the living room holding those long forgotten hot toddies.

Bradley is quick to lace your fingers together and tuck his face into the space between your neck and shoulder, his mustache ticking the soft skin of your throat there. For all of his golden retriever energy, he is soaking up your affection and attention like a lap cat as you slowly rub your free hand up and down his broad back.

However, he’s still entirely too quiet. Your lips press tightly together on their own accord as you begin to think that there’s something more on his mind that he’s not sharing with you than just the effects of the hives and double dose of Benadryl.

You’re about to speak up when he beats you to it, “I’m so sorry, Sweetheart. I just wanted you to feel at home and now I’ve ruined Christmas.” You’ve never heard his voice sound so small.

Oh. Oh no.

“Bradley, please look at me.” 

You lean back a bit as he removes his face from the spot it was tucked into and study his beautiful yet troubled looking eyes. “Is this why you’ve been so quiet? Please tell me you haven’t been spiraling thinking you’ve ruined anything.” He looks away, and you feel your brows scrunch together.

You cup his cheek in your hand, running your thumb down the cleft of his chin, “I love you so much and we’re going to have such a wonderful Christmas together, a tree is a nonissue here, baby. You matter more to me. I hope you know that.” His gaze finally meets yours and you continue on, “I need you to hear me. You’ve got absolutely nothing to apologize for. Nothing is ruined and nothing that happened today is your fault. Ok?” Nodding your head, needing for him to understand and let go of his misplaced guilt. 

You see the exact moment he absorbs and believes everything you’re saying to him, his shoulders releasing the tension that had gathered there. “Ok, I hear you.” You lean into him to place a tender kiss on his lips. “I love you so much,” he breaths against your mouth.

“I love you too,” you say pressing one more lingering kiss to his lips before encouraging him to settle his head back down again. He reaches for your hand, guiding it to his hair, prompting you to comb your fingers through his curls. 

“Now that we’ve settled that, how are you feeling? What else can I do to help?” 

“You’ve done so much for me,” he murmurs kissing your neck gently. “’M just tired now and want to hold you for a bit. The Benadryl is starting to kick my ass.” He pauses for a moment, “But maybe we can order some pizza, Sweetheart? And put on one of those Christmas movies you like? Y’know the ones where the people live in a town is named something like Tinselville and their dogs fall in love?” He asks his voice sounding a bit boyish and hopeful. 

You can’t help but let out a giggle because, really, his description is not too far off. You can feel his smile against the side of your neck as you turn the tv on.

“You can have whatever you like, handsome boy. Pizza and Oscar quality Christmas content, it is.” You grab your phone unlocking it and opening up to the delivery app, when Bradley plucks it from your hand tossing it to the side and placing his in yours instead.

“Order from mine instead, it’s my turn to take care of you,” he states slinging his arm low over your hip.

You click the button on the side to wake his phone up only to see your face smiling back at you on his lockscreen. Nose bright from the cold, surrounded by trees, and wrapped up in a scarf your mom had loaned to you since you hadn’t brought any practical winter-wear home with you.

It’s the picture that Bradley has sent himself the other night at the bar, and you’re flooded with a rush of affection for the man nestled against you. You notice his wallpaper is still the picture of you and him from this Halloween when you’d surprised everyone by dressing up as him, he’s kissing you squarely on the mouth while grabbing a handful of your ass. It was one of your favorites too.

You’d just finished submitting the order, when a text from Jake comes through, and you roll your eyes.

Those 5th Gens didn’t get you, but you’re taken out by a fucking a Christmas Tree. Would hate to see what one of those tree shaped car fresheners would do to you.

You’re not going to let him come for your boyfriend, even in playful roasting, when you just managed to picked his spirits up. Not tonight, Hangman. And you set to typing your response with your one free hand, the other still carding through Bradley’s curls. 

Listen up, Lieutenant Turkey Trot. I was planning on surprising you with a bottle of that Texas bourbon you like when I swing by with the food later this week, but now that’s up to you. Do with that what you will... xx

Not bothering to wait for a response you hand Bradley back his phone only to see it light up again. “Lieutenant Turkey Trot,” he snorts, “Damn. Hangman apologized. And he says he wants a lasagna and your chicken and dumpling casserole.”

Southern men are too easy. Nothing is as important to them as food and their mamas. You smile smugly to yourself, making a mental note to go to remember to stop by that speciality liquor store by your place.

The food is delivered not too much later, you and Bradley eat in bed the box sitting between you while making fun of the plot of the movie you had turned on. You can tell the Benadryl is staring to win when Bradley’s running commentary tapers and his breathing begins to even out.

“It’s ok to go to sleep, baby.”

“Just resting my eyes, wanna see if they figure out why the poinsettias aren’t blooming.”  

“You should get your rest,” you gently press, “I’ll set record it and you can find out tomorrow.”

“You’re gonna stay the night, right?” He asks sleepily as he concedes and begins to burrow down into his bed.

“Of course. If you want me here, I’ll stay.” Truth be told, you liked his bed better than yours. You’d even went back to the shop where you’d helped Bradley pick out his sheets from and bought the same percale set for your place in an attempt to help you sleep better.

You set an alarm for earlier than you’d like, remembering you have a meeting first thing in the morning. “I might have to leave a bit earlier than usual though,” you mention softly, “Since I’ll need to go to my place before I have to head in to the office.” You hadn’t originally planned on staying over due to your early morning and now you were kicking yourself for not grabbing a few things to keep in your car just in case.

“Yes. Stay,” he murmurs and reaches out to you, wrapping his arm around your midsection and pulling you to his chest. You let your fingers trace lightly down his forearm, feeling the hills and valleys caused by the welts that litter his arm. He lets out a hum of contentment in response, you’re pressed so close to him you can feel the vibrations of the sound from his chest against your back.

You think you’ve finally lost him to sleep when he mumbles already half gone, “Why don’t you keep more things here?” You can feel his warm breath against the back of your neck.

“How much were you thinking? You saying you want to share a drawer with me?” you lightly tease.

“Bring it all,” he sighs, “Want you here.”

The sound of his soft snores filling your ear only a couple minutes later.

You don’t bring up Bradley’s half-asleep musings, you won’t hold him to anything said under the influence of the antihistamines. While the thoughts of moving in and living with Bradley made your heart beat a bit faster, you kept those hopes tucked away just for yourself.

It was now a week after the pine tree debacle, Bradley’s hives were quick to clear up after a couple days and a few oatmeal baths later. Your skin was still reaping the benefits of the oatmeal too after he managed to coax you in with him one evening. 

He had texted you earlier in the day asking for you to swing by his place after work. You knew the door would be unlocked for you, and you let yourself in.

“That you, Sweetheart?” He called out from nearby, you can hear the sounds of some crooner singing in the background.

“Yeah, it’s me." You set your purse and work tote down before bending to undo your heels at the door. “Hey, I was thinking on my way over here, I bet lots of places still have artificial trees left in stock that we could get. I feel like we need a Christmas redo.” You get one off and begin working on the other, “I was planning on getting one to liven up my place too, maybe I can find one of those ostentatious pink ones I tried to talk my parents into getting and fulfill a lifelong dream.” You say that last part with a little laugh.

You finally win the battle against the top buckle of your cute shoe finally kicking it off and wiggling your toes out, “Ooh! Maybe we can go to that cute cocktail bar off 17th afterwards? One of my coworkers was talking about their new seasonal drinks today and it seems festive.”

You fish your phone out of your purse and make your way to the living room, “That is if you didn’t have anything planned.”

Your voice trails off at the end because when you round the corner you find Bradley in his living room looking very proud with a self-satisfied smile on his face already standing next to a Christmas tree.

A very large, very fluffy, pink Christmas tree.

You stand there entirely stunned. The juxtaposition of your tall, handsome naval aviator next to this truly over the top frosted tree has your brain working overtime. The entire room is cast in a dreamy glow from many strands of white lights he had already spun around it.

“I still feel bad that about what happened the other weekend, and I wanted to make it up to you. At the bar, I heard you telling Phoenix that you always wanted a pink tree, so I hope this is similar to what you hand in mind.” He seems to be getting a bit nervous now, since all it seems you can do is just blink at him. He reaches around into his back pocket pulling out a small tube, “I even got some of those scent stick things to tuck in if you-” 

He doesn’t get to finish since you’ve launch yourself at him.

“Bradley!” He catches you easily with one arm as you begin peppering his face with kisses.

His laugher fills the room and his grin lights up his face at your reaction, “Are you happy, Sweetheart?”  

“I’m the happiest! Oh my god! Are you for real?” you exclaim in between kisses. You stop the assault on his face to take it in your hands, “Seriously though, there is nothing to feel bad about. You’re what matters most to me. I mean, yes, I absolutely love this. But you should have what you like too.”

He takes a step back, with you still in his arms and propped up on his hip. He thoughtfully studies the tree in front of you both. “Yep. This is definitely the perfect tree,” he declares proudly, “It’s full and girthy. Has some good gaps, and look at that top. Straight as an arrow. Although we might need to get some more decorations for it, but I got it started.”

You look from him back to the tree puzzled, since you don’t see anything on it aside from the lights. He walks you both closer, and pulls off what looks to be a strand of curling ribbon with a shiny silver object dangling from it from a branch on the tree. 

A key.

He sets you down back on your own two feet, holding you close against his body bringing his forehead to yours. “I meant it, Sweetheart. Bring it all. There’s nothing I want more than for you to be here. All the time. With me. You’re the only thing on my list this year, you’re all I want. Will you let me give you more than a drawer?” His honey brown eyes gazing at you hopefully.

You already knew what your response would be even before he pulled that key from off the tree, and the answer must be all over your face because Bradley’s face breaks into a beam as he picks you up and spins you around.

The choice has always been easy with him, it’ll always be a yes.

Happy Holidays, everyone!

Causally hyper-fixating over all things TGM at bradshawburner

You can find the prequel to this story here!

Find out what happens during their second Christmas together here!

You can read more of my stories here!

[qqueenofhades]

-Quickly skitters into the inbox, with a boom box and an increasingly bass boosted version-

🎶I PUT MY HANDS UP THEY’RE PLAYING MY SONG THE BUTTERFLIES FLY AWAY-🎶

- Party In The USA anon, on the recent glorious news

Look. LOOK. I know we've had technically bigger fish, but the Georgia case is a Big Fucking Deal. Because:

It is a MAJOR indictment both in terms of scope and seriousness of charges. Not just Trump, but *eighteen* of his allies and cronies got charged with RICO (anti-racketeering, often used against mob bosses) felonies, including Rudy Giuliani (I repeat, HAHAHAHAHHAHAHA), Jeff Clark, Mark Meadows, and other high-profile Trumpworld enablers

No Lindsey Graham (at least yet) but I guess we can't have everything

It encompasses both in Georgia and other states where Trump illegally tried to alter election results (Michigan, Arizona, and Pennsylvania), as those activities related to a conspiracy centered on Georgia/Fulton County

This is the big whopper: TRUMP CANNOT CANCEL THIS INVESTIGATION EVEN IF HE GETS RE-ELECTED. He can shut down the federal Special Counsel investigations run through the DoJ, but this? Bupkis. And Georgia governor Brian Kemp, another of the Republicans who dutifully continues to defend Trump even as Trump slanders him up and down, CAN'T PARDON HIM.

That drives the Republicans NUTS. So nuts that they were, you guessed it, already on Faux News whining about how they should make Georgia change that law.

Boo-fucking-hoo, you absolute fucking wankers.

Also: we need to remember that Trump rose to political prominence by being wildly racist and xenophobic about America's first Black president. He has coddled and exalted white supremacists and white supremacist rhetoric at every turn, it has been the central defining feature of his campaign, and his election subversion efforts were chiefly aimed at canceling the votes of heavily Black cities (Atlanta, Philly, Detroit, etc.)

Trump also won in 2016 thanks to the Electoral College, itself designed as an element of structural racism, by defeating probably the most qualified and beyond any doubt most historic candidate there has ever been, after it was revealed that he was a serial sexual assaulter and after he screamed for months about LOCK HER UP (every Republican accusation is a confession, etc)

All that said, with Trump's vile, derogatory bile spewed at everyone, but especially a) Black people, b) women, and c) powerful Black women, it is a Big Fucking Deal that a powerful Black woman, aka his worst nightmare, pulled this trigger on him.

Don't get me wrong. I deeply appreciate me some Jack Smith. But he is also a white male special counsel appointed by the Department of Justice, and who used to work for the Hague prosecuting war crimes (true story). It's in his brief to do this.

Fani Willis is a county district attorney AND a Black woman, as Trump's nonstop shitgibbering on Truth Social just can't help himself from pointing out. This kind of sprawling, country-wide investigation against a wildly corrupt ex-president and his cohort of equally corrupt cronies is not something she is, in the normal course of things, ever expected to do, but she did it.

NINETEEN DEFENDANTS, Y'ALL. Including Trump. On 41 different charges. That's a hell of an indictment, and she knows it puts a target on her back, while (as noted) she doesn't have the resources and protections of the federal government/DOJ to do it.

Let's hear it for Fani Willis (and Judge Chutkan, who informed Trump the other day the more he runs his mouth, the faster she will proceed to trial) y'all.

Black Women Get Shit Done.

[simplydnp]

genuinely wondering why phil was considered the "ugly one" out of dan and phil. he's so hot? like there was a time where by some fans phil was literally seen as second best always... has that changed completely? i see more phillies than dannies these days which used to be absolutely the other way round if i remember correctly... like maybe it's just due to the fact that the fans grew up and delevoped some brain cells and/or phil having a glow up. what do you think abt this?

caveat: attraction is subjective and this is not a definitive guide as to what counts as hotness, nor is hotness the epitome of existence or something that people 'need' in order to exist, but instead this serves as an exploration into the culture surrounding perception of appearance as it relates to dan and phil, with care to note that 'conventional' beauty standards are highly correlated with white features and are problematic for many reasons but especially the racist aspect. i do not endorse the 'conventional' standard as the only acceptable one, but it would be remiss to ignore the fact that it plays a role in this conversation, especially in 2010s culture.

this is an interesting question for me because i don't Get all the layers of attraction just in general. so much of it makes very little sense, despite how hard i've tried to understand it. and what i've found out is that it's not supposed to make sense, it's something that just is and. well. my brain doesn't like that 😂 i've 'learned' what 'conventional' beauty standards are and thus can somewhat identify 'objectively' attractive people/qualities, but i'm absolutely just three possums in a trenchcoat on good days 🤣 so my best approximation is as follows:

- phil *pulled* back in the day online

- he stopped playing into it as much and because he wasn't exuding it as much, people stopped seeing it

- combine this with the less traditionally masculine energy he conveyed, alongside moving moreso away from the fully 'emo' look

- i think his fashion sense/choices played into this as well, came across very much like 'guy in tshirt' --which is fine, but unless your features really meet societal beauty standards at the time, it's not 'selling' you in the 'hot' department

- as well, contrasted with dan who had more of the 'societal beauty standard' look, people were less likely to see him in that role, especially because he seemed quite happy not being there (i'd argue some of it was a confidence thing too, especially on a day to day--the outfits video in gamingmas kind of confirmed that for me. he Knew he rocked that plaid suit, cause he did, but i don't think he felt that about his every day attire)

- people love to sort people into boxes and did as much with dnp, especially in making dnp 'opposites' (despite this not actually being true)

- truly think the fringe staying as long as it did didn't help, especially when, self-admittedly, it got a little blocky near the end.

- i think quiff really unlocked something in him. it really suited him, and he felt quite confident about it, as he had every right to. this, combined with a fashion upgrade in him paying a little more attention to it and developing his own personal style, people started to notice. (also dan hyping him up publicly about it made us talk about it more too)

- further style enhancements, more quiff experience led to him experimenting a little more, which let him find things he really liked

- i also think he's learned how to pose better/isnt 'being intentionally awkward' in pictures as much

- his ykw i want a change and idc what you all think attitude in going back to brown, and then into messy--he really Knows he's attractive now and how to dress himself to bring that out (even if he doesnt feel like it all the time)

there has definitely been a shift--i think the fandom has gotten smaller, and a lot of their 'mainstream' audience were dannies back in the heyday bc of the 'societal beauty standards'. so combine many of those people leaving, at a similar timeline to phil figuring his 'look' out, his audience getting older (and the lesbians being Very fond of him), and his consistency in uploading the last few years, i think it all swirls into this current existence where there's a lot of phillies out there and they're loud and proud about it (as they should be), especially cause a lot of them have Always Known but it wasn't the 'popular' take at the time.

i am but a hapless dannie and any phillies who would like to share their two cents/drag me for being wrong pls do so

[pastafossa]

Charlie Cox experience at Philly Fan Expo 2023

So LET”S TALK ABOUT ME MEETING CHARLIE. I’m actually going to make two posts - this one just about my experiences with Charlie, because they were incredibly meaningful and deserve their own post, and then another one about the rest of the con!

I’m going to talk about Charlie first, because of how amazing the experience was, one of the best I’ve had, especially at the autograph table. I’ve done photos, gotten autographs and such before from other celebs - from niche voice actors I loved to people like David Tennant - but this felt Really Really Big. Obviously, I was nervous as all hell because holy shit Charlie Cox, my favorite actor whose work altered the course of my life. I won’t lie - I’d been practicing what to say to him in case I freaked out, but I’m happy to say that everyone who reassured me it would go great, because he was so, so genuine and kind, were right.

The photo op happened first (and thank you to everyone on tumblr guiding me where to go, cause I was LOST about where that was happening), and that went fast. By that point in the con hall, I’d already ditched my Jessica Jones jacket and gloves cause holy shit it’s hot and I am a creature of snow and ice, and my hair was a mess, but honestly I didn’t care, cause there he is. You don’t get long, but he made the most of it and he was SO sweet. Ya’ll, he asked my name, said my name as he shook my hand, and called me ‘my dear’ in that beautiful voice.

I was literally on the moon, but it was time for the big question:

Will he hold the red thread from TRT?

So in a quiet, nervous, soft author voice, I asked, ‘would you be ok with holding this end of the thread?’

HE FUCKING DID.

HE HELD IT.

HE HELD. THE. RED. THREAD.

I’m fairly certain he doesn’t know about the fic at this point - he wasn’t sure where to hold it until I told him, but he loved that it lit up! AND THEN HE PUT HIS ARM AROUND ME AND I GOT TO PUT MY ARM AROUND HIM BACK.

I’m fairly certain I’m dead in the photo. My soul had left my body. I had ascended. I saw Jesus and he looked like Charlie. I had achieved fic author heights never imagined. My brain filled with enough serotonin and dopamine to sink a ship. I didn’t care that I was hot and sweaty or that my hair was messy or that my cosplay didn’t work out like I’d planned. I had been blessed.

also look at that forearm holy shit

I floated outta that gd room ya’ll. I’m pretty sure @wonderlandmind4​ did the same. WE FROLICKED OUT OF THAT HALL LIKE

But things got even better at the autograph table, and I had one of the most touching experiences ever.

not me tearing up thinking about it.

That line was long, but I kept getting glimpses of him and I could already tell he was enjoying interacting with people, and he was making sure everyone got their bit of time with him instead of letting anyone rush people through. He was so happy looking, laughing and grinning, high fives and fist bumps for kids, chatting with fans. Which made me feel a little more confident.

I know some people wondered if I’d tell him about TRT, and I’d already decided I wasn’t going to. Instead, I really, really wanted just a second to tell him what his work as Daredevil had meant for me, as someone who became disabled around the same time Matt did as a kid, and who related to... a lot of what Matt went through in the show. I’d practiced it over and over again, and there was only a fifty percent chance I wouldn’t start crying while telling him, and I wasn’t even sure I’d have time to tell him depending on how much time we had.

He made time.

I got up to him with my art print holy shit he’s even more beautiful in person and his eyes are STUNNING. He said hi, and asked my name so he could personalize the autograph if I wanted (DUH, YES PLEASE), and he apologized about the line after we shook hands. I jokingly told him it was fine since I’d driven hours to get here. A little time in line wasn’t a bother. He even loved one of the buttons on my lanyard - the button of Matt wearing a heart crown specifically! And as he was writing, I knew this was my chance to tell him. He was still signing, so I just decided to go for it in case I ran out of time.

“I just wanted to tell you,” I said quietly, “as someone who became disabled as a kid around the same age as Matt did—”

And then he did something I didn’t expect, something I’d rarely seen anyone do, famous or not, and something I’d never had an actor or artist do for me.

He immediately set down the pen, leaned in close over the table, and made direct eye contact, while giving me the most genuine, gentle, encouraging smile I’d ever seen.

In that moment, I knew everything in him was listening, that he cared about what I was about to say and recognized that this was important to me, and that he’d closed the distance to make this conversation just... us. It felt personal in a way I’ve never experienced at a con or signing.  

Just like that, I wasn’t afraid to tell him what I’d wanted to.

“And as someone who related to... a lot of what Matt went through, his struggles in the show, and especially the dark parts of season 3,” I said, more confidently now, “I wanted you to know that all the work you put in, the way you played it, the way you played Matt and treated it seriously, seeing that helped me process and heal from a lot of my own trauma and pain over what I’ve gone through with my illnesses. What you did was important and it really helped me. So I wanted you to know that, how much that meant to me, and to say thank you.”

The whole time I spoke to him, he kept direct eye contact, and didn’t look away once. He didn’t get antsy, or look like he wanted me to hurry up (which I’d have understood, cause damn, these are long days for him). He listened, fully engaged and leaning in, his eyes warm and soft and kind but incredibly serious. I’m not sure how often he’s been told something like this—a lot, I expect; his portrayal was just that good, and I know it was important to a lot of fans—but what I was trying to tell him clearly meant something to him. I felt heard, seen, and understood.

Charlie really does care about his fans. It isn’t an act. I’m sure of it now.

“Thank you, truly,” he said, just as quietly but with that honest smile, eye crinkles and all, and seeing it in person, that close up, I swear the room felt ten times brighter. “Thank you for coming to tell me that. It means a lot, the idea that something I did meant so much and that it could help you. I’m so grateful that you were able to come visit and tell me.”

We shook hands after that. He wished me a good day and I told him thank you again, and that was that. The interaction only lasted maybe a minute, but it meant the absolute world to me, as did what he’s done as Daredevil. And now he knows that.

[slasher-dasher]

Since Halloween is coming this idea popped into my mind

How would the slashers react to their S/O stealing their clothes and wearing them and the slasher catches them looking in the mirror impersonating them-

Slashers Reacting to S/O Impersonating Them

︶꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷♡꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦︶

Danny Johnson:

Danny could have sworn he left his hunting gear under the bed, and he could have sworn that you said you were going to take a shower. Surely these two things weren't related

"Hey babe, do you know where-" Oh. So that's where they went

He immediately sneaks off to grab Philly and starts taking pictures (flash off so he doesn't get caught ofc)

Danny tries his best to stifle his giggles when you start impersonating him, especially because his coat doesn't quite fit you so the sleeves and straps keep flailing around

He tiptoes behind you to snap a quick picture of the two of you in the mirror before he hugs you

"I should let you wear this more often~" "Only when it's clean~"

As much as he loves seeing you in his gear, he really enjoys taking it off of you

OG!Michael Myers:

It's very hard to get his clothes because he's always... wearing them... but you were able to get him some t-shirts to sleep in!

Lucky for you, this was one of the rare nights where he was actually sleeping, out of his overalls, AND had his mask off

You slip out of bed and get them on as quietly as you can, proudly checking yourself out in the mirror (making a mental note to clean his mask if he'll let you)

He doesn't really do much other than stand and stab, and his clothes are so baggy on you that they make more noise than you'd- uh oh.

Michael sits straight up in the bed, staring right at you in the mirror. His head tilts, eyebrows furrowed while he looks at you before signing.

"Beautiful."

You're thankful the mask hides the blush creeping onto your face before climbing back into the bed, mask back over Michael's face while his arms (and clothes) wrapped around you

RZ!Michael Myers:

He was stomping around your shared space, angry grunts present while he turned the place over looking for his orange mask

In a way, it was sentimental. It was one of the few things he considered a comfort object, and now it was gone

Michael made his way up to your shared bedroom to hide away and sulk before his eyes landed on you, a familiar color gracing your face along with a few spare clothes he had absentmindedly tossed onto the floor.

He paused. You took his mask. The mask he wears more often than not. And for some reason he wasn't upset anymore. You spin around once you feel his eyes on burning a hole into your back, freezing out of instinct

"What'd'ya think?" You're lifted up within seconds, strong arms holding you where he could really examine every detail of his clothes on you

They complimented you just as well as they fit him, even and while he wasn't good at expressing himself with words, he was amazing with actions~

Vincent Sinclair:

The perks of having a partner that preferred to cover his skin to avoid any wax accidents (waxidents as you called them) was that you got to wear his clothes while he was working.

Vincent's big sweater, Vincent's big jacket, it looked surprisingly good on you, and was the epitome of comfort.

So much so that you barely noticed when said partner placed his hand on your shoulder, jolting you from your position on the bed. He pointed to his clothes on you, tilting his head

"Sorry Vinny, they're just really comfy!" Well he couldn't really argue with that-

Vincent took your hand like you would break in his hold, pulling you down to his workshop while bringing out a spare canvas, painting over the sketch he had given up on. He has the perfect reference now

Expect to pose for a while, if he needs you in a different one he'll position you himself, making sure to pepper kisses on you to show his appreciation. He's going to make as much art as possible to preserve this moment.

[gingerjolover]

Wait would you like to share more thoughts on the boys and their commitment styles 👀

i would be happy to pretty anon! sorry if it is jumbled or messy, as always we can discuss!

i am 1000% going to contradict myself, like yes i FULLY believe these but i am not opposed to writing/i currently have marriage-related fics in the works. I also want to write an addition to this where it's their love languages 👀

phoebe - gives me married vibes all the way. maybe it's because she was previously engaged, i just feel like she loves with every fiber of her being and i can't imagine her with someone for a long ass time and not committing herself to them like mind, body, and soul without govt documentation lol

i think way before you're engaged, you would already be maxine's mama or second parent, there's no way you wouldn't be building a home together. she strikes me as a lover who just wants to share things with you. she's involving you in the care of maxine, in decisions in the home, she's involving you in her career whether it be on the album or on a tour, she's including you in her friend groups and it just gives like chosen family/little family vibes.

again, i think she values commitment, and not in such a traditional way where she like needs to be married to feel connected but like she just loves waking up and knowing that she's your wife. IDK i could be wrong about this i just have her in my brain really valuing your relationship, but enough that if you were against marriage, she would happily be engaged forever or even just be your life partner contentedly.

lucy - i have moments where im like yes, lucy is a WIFE but other times i feel like she is so vehemently against tradition in the way that you don't need to be married for her to be committed to you. i think if you were against marriage she would be fine, If you really wanted to be married I think she would do it without a shred of doubt. I imagine a scenario where you both aren't sure but maybe there's like some perks of being married legally. like i feel like if you DID get married, it would be for like tax purposes which i know sounds so fucked but it would be so funny she would definitely lovingly call you her beneficiary, but i don't think she would do a courthouse wedding, even for legal reasons she would love a small ceremony with your family and friends and it would just be a whole vibe.

rn i think she has roommates in Philly (go birds), but as i write her often i think she also values a home base and regardless of how long you've been together, she would be building a home with you and like taking into consideration your style and interests and making you comfortable. i think apartment hunting with her would be so cute! she is such a deep thinker and i think her opening up and letting you really know her and her quirks in a way that maybe only a few others know her would be her way of committing to you. Like waking up, rolling over, and realizing that you know everything about her and love her anyways would mean more to her than a wedding ring.

julien - same with lucy, sometimes im like yup she wants to be married in a small backyard ceremony in the fall and she's wearing a beautiful suit and your guys' dog is the ring bearer and lucy and phoebe sing for you both and it's not a religious ceremony, i think it would just be all vibes, like no pressure just truly a celebration of your love and commitment to one another.

other times i think she is not going to get married but she is buying yall a house and taking you to places in the world you've always wanted to go and getting your initials tattooed on her ring finger and tattooing your name over her heart or writing a song where the title is just your name and its about unfiltered love and gratefulness. she is obviously (like all of the boys) so loving, she loves the boys so much, she has a great outlook on life now (that speech she made where she said the boys gave her her voice back had me BAWLING) and like all of them, i don't think she NEEDS to be married to show her commitment. Julien, in my mind is a very small actions everyday type of lover, like yes, the tattoos are grand gestures, but she's playing your favorite songs in the morning or washing your hair when you're tired, she's making you your favorite meal when you're sad, and she prides herself on knowing you so well that she can just kiss you in the right places and know she doesn't have to put a ring on your finger for you to know she loves you.

[allsadnshit]

Those 35mm photos are beautiful! If you don’t mind, and sorry if you’ve answered this before, but would you mind sharing how you and your husband met? You two have a beautiful relationship

oh jeez everyone knows this is my favorite question lol

my husband and I met through being tumblr mutuals when we were probably around 17! we lived in the same state but still 6 hours apart so we never thought of each other as a tangible person to know and meet, it was truly just a silly little internet friendship liking each other's posts and occasionally messaging about little things like books we were reading or music we listened to but never anything lengthy or personal.

that went on for like 7-8 years, sometimes not talking for a long period of time because we really were just internet friends! then when I was 24, before my endometriosis diagnostic surgery, I was at my absolute sickest I'd ever been. pretty much totally house-ridden and also in a really transitional moment because I had just finally had a long term very not fulfilling relationship end + was processing a lot alone quarantined in my house because covid lockdowns just started. I had a conversation with a really close friend where I said I felt like I had always just been dating passively in relation to who was close by and never really on "dream person" levels and she asked who I'd hit up if I could date anyone and Myles was who came to mind to me! So the next time he dm'd me on ig about something silly like complimenting my new shoes I posted I flirted for the first time and he responded enthusiastically and we realized we had always quietly had little crushes on each other!

we talked every day for like a month while I moved to a new short term lease and went through lots of urgent care visits figuring out my next moves medically, and he decided we couldn't wait any longer to meet so he bought a car and drove 5 hours to pittsburgh in the night after work one weekend and we met outside my new apartment that had no furniture yet at 1 am and spent the whole night talking. we knew we were very very in love right away, and even though that first weekend ended with him having to take me to the ER from extreme pain that turned out to be from constipation because of how truly nervous I was LOL he came back a week or two later and stayed full week! at the end of that week we decided he'd move in with me for the rest of my 6 month lease while I got surgery then moved to philly to finish his lease together.

myles and I both hadn't ever really been in a relationship so serious or passionate so it was really really scary at times when we fought or felt like we would mess things up with each other but we both dug really deep to learn how to talk to each other in a way we had never communicated with anyone else and touched some really important parts of ourselves to really get to know one another's fears and desires and eloped a little over a year after meeting!

he's totally changed my understanding how much you can trust, depend on, or love someone. it's opened me up to healing in every other part of my life (going to therapy, having big talks my family, starting new careers, etc) <3

[regallibellbright]

Watching baseball, my brother: Why is there Elmo there?

Me: Because Muppet Monsters and whatever creatures Gritty and the Philadelphia Fanatic are share a last common ancestor?

This prompted a discussion of what Muppets are considered monsters and which are considered unique species. It was agreed that Gritty is actually a closer cousin to Grouches than Monsters but that all three share a genus. Maybe a family.

Bro: Is Gonzo a monster? Me: No, Gonzo's a weirdo.

Mom: *Laughs*

Me, Actual Muppet Scholar: No, that's canonical, that's also his gender. *Checks the Muppet wiki for a good example of Muppet Monster Clearly Related to Gritty and checks on Gonzo as well* Wait, actually, his species and gender are "Whatever", "Weirdo" is a newer thing.

Bro: Same principle.

Me, later: Wait, actually, I think the Philly Fanatic is related to like, Gonzo and the Snowths from Mahna Mahna. None of which are likely to descend from Earth.

Bro: Yes, but I think Muppet eyes are an example of carcinization.

Me: Yeah I'll buy that. For Gonzo and the Fanatic it's not the eyes, they just share like. Indescribable vibes.

Bro: *Agrees*

[bi-kisses]

I don't care for the philly pride flag but I'm glad so many people and businesses are flying a flag at all.

The lavender stripe that Baker added to represent diversity should have been included instead of race-related colours (there are a hell of a lot of skin tones out there, why two random colours to slap onto the flag, especially given the black stripes history?), and the whole point of a rainbow flag is that it encompasses LGB and T, so it just seems redundant and weird to have the trans stripes tossed on, too.

The more stuff you add to make something inclusive, the less all-encompassing the rainbow becomes, since you imply that it didn't actually represent all those things before (false).

[dduane]

Hi DD. I saw a while ago you posted your wedding announcement to Mr. Morwood (which I only realized when I double checked the spelling to send this ask is actually "Morwood" - he has been "Peter Wormwood" in my head forever) and the little magazine blurb said you were planning on a tri-coastal marriage. I wanted to know how that worked out and if you have any advice, bc I have a partner and all our friends and family on the west coast USA, and a girlfriend and all her friends and family in the UK, and it feels really hard, logistically and emotionally, to envision a future together with the tug of so much distance.

PS the Young Wizards have a very special place in my heart, thank you

You're very welcome!

Re the tricoastal lifestyle: We did it until we got bored with managing the logistics of it (which, frankly, was pretty quickly). The East Coast part of it, in any case, went obsolete with some speed when I realized that I was more or less immediately going to need to be mostly-on-the-West-Coast for work on Dinosaucers. This being the case, I gave up my apartment in Philly, and P. and I spent the next six months or so in LA. Then, when Dinosaucers was done, we headed back to Europe -- partly for P's sister's wedding, and partly for what turned into a fairly prolonged stay in England and Scotland—wandering around the landscape and hauling our (generally) very non-portable computers with us. (It was after all 1986/7, and there wasn't much in the way of "portable" hardware that wasn't an Osborne or Kaypro or something similar. ...Though I did write almost the entirety of Star Trek: The Kobayashi Alternative on a Radio Shack TRS-80 Model 100.)

We spent a fair amount of time residing in pubs (when we were between writing projects: like this one, and this one, and this one...) and in holiday cottages (when we weren't). I got very expert at wiring 1200-baud modems into half-timbered walls. I was nearly the first person to storyedit a US animated series from a different continent--via MCI Mail, ffs...!!)... but unfortunately the sponsor fell out of the deal for some reason; so there's a notch I never got to make in my belt. ...Anyway, we spent an autumn and winter in Scotland, in a cottage buried inside a castle wall (this castle, whose master was a charming guy—the family have since sold it on), and then in the spring decided it was time to find a place to sit still for a while. The only issue was to decide where.

Immigration to the US quickly fell off the table due to the irrationalities of the US Immigration Service. At this point in time it may sound bizarre, but UK Immigration was acting a lot more sanely (at least as far as allowing Americans to have "settled status"), so we got me as legal as it was possible for me to be without having been married to Peter for a lot longer, and spent the next six months wandering around and considering our options. Finally we decided that Ireland looked like the best fit for us, so we handled the necessary formalities and settled here. Five years after marrying Peter I became an EU national (as did he: due to the unique circumstances of his birth in Northern Ireland he was entitled to both UK and Irish nationality), and Ireland became our permanent home. I haven't resided in the US since I left in the late 80s.

...I don't know that I'm best positioned to offer advice on how to make such living arrangements work, especially in terms of friends and family, as everybody's personal circumstances are different. In our business we've fortunately often been in a position to visit the US long enough for conventions and so forth to see friends there, and catch up on how things are. I have no living close relations in the US, and so haven’t needed to be returning to visit settled family. Peter’s in a generally similar state.

But if I did have family groupings in the US who wanted to see me at something-like-regular intervals, I’d take a hard look at where they were located, and how near they were to the easiest and least expensive gateway to whatever other continent had my interest... and what it would cost to get back and forth on a regular basis. The other important metric to consider is how such travel is going to impact on your significant other(s).

...In any case, we’re fortunate in that we live in a time when face-to-face communication with your loved ones doesn’t have to be physical. There was at least one point where Peter said to me, absolutely seriously, “We’ve got to get married Real Soon Now, because the phone bills are going to kill me. ...Possibly even before my Mum does.”

Hope this has even vaguely helped! :)