#i. need to go home on time for the rest of this week. i hope. I'm. thinking out loud

[zepskies]

And I'm SO happy you're back, my lovely Wayne!! Of course, you decide to spoil me with this review the minute you dip back into this hellsite. 😘

(yesss, and don't think I didn't see that chapter you dropped of Polaris! When I get back from my vacay I will be diving into that. I need to know what happens next with our favorite cowboy sheriff 🤠)

I'm very glad and grateful you made the time to start ESC! I had so much fun figuring out Russell Shaw and the Tracker cast -- especially with all them Deanisms. 😏

Diving into the rest of your awesome comments below!! 💕

First of, Professor Goldstein is a piece of work... 😒 I wouldn't blame her for spitting into his coffee every time he calls her sweetheart. But Russell, I see you. She's gonna be so annoyed with him 😂

Oh he's a piece of something, all right. 🙄 She could def pull a Rachel on his ass. And Russell...lmao, you already saw where he's heading with this. 😂

Ooooh, another professor character paired with some rugged Mountain Man 😏 I'm addicted to those couples. She's all business up front, and he's all party in the back (seat of his Chevelle) 🤪

LOLL the way it didn't even occur to me when I was writing this (at first) that I was writing another professor paired with a law enforcement (sort of, in Russell's case), man of action type, like in Take Me Home with Beau Arlen. 😝 I came at it with the thought of, "what if she was Dory's best friend, and they worked together at the university?" I must have a thing for writing nerds who get the rugged, sexy Mountain Man. Not at all fulfilling a personal fantasy.

UGH. The nerve!!!!! Massage therapist????? How about I step on your back with my high heels, bro... And then to go on about his trip and parasailing... Guess it's true. Ignorant people are happier 😂

Fuck YES, I'd be high-stepping up and down his spine fr. 🤣 Ignorance is bliss, I guess? 🤷🏽‍♀️

Or why are campuses so big in general? My university actually had several faculties strewn throughout the city. Sometimes it took an hour and several subway rides to get to your next lecture 😅

Oooh my God, now THAT's crazy! A whole subway ride(s)?? I've worked/gone to school on some big campuses, but that takes the cake. I guess you get your daily workout one way or another lol!

Please tell me Russell's in the room when she said that 😄🤞

Big YEP lmfaoo, and he likes her already because of it. 😂

Ooooh, right! I wonder how much she knows about the Shaws. Not something that comes casually up in the cafetaria I imagine 😅

No it would not, lmfao! But that is something that will be explored (how much she knows) in the chapters to come, for sure!

Love this whole exchange. You're making my dreams come true, babe 😘

Ahaha I had to do the little callback to sriracha fries (and figure out how tf to spell sriracha, first of all. 😂)

I keep thinking he probably has that look now because he was in the army for so long. Young Russell was pretty much young Dean Winchester in a uniform (hello there, soldier 😏)

Ooh that's SUCH a good point (and yumm). It's making me hope that we get a flashback of Russell in his military days someday in Tracker.

Well... It's a toss-up, I'd say 😆

Oh, very much a toss up/personal preference there lmao. I've loved Justin Hartley since his Smallville days as Green Arrow. 😆 But in this case, I felt like Russell would try to claim top billing there loll.

In. His. Car 🚩🚩🚩😂 If any strange man said that to you... 🚩🤣

Honestly, it's amazing how many red flags you ignore when someone's charming and handsome. 🤣🤣🤣

Well, at least, Colter has an Airstream 😅🤷‍♀️

Ha!! True, it's beating out Russell's crusty motel of the week by far, I'd say.

He is a professional flirt. Kind eyes...

Oh don't worry, we're getting to that callback. 😏

Dear God, he does not stop, does he? 😆 (On the show, I loved his persistence with Reenie too, even though it was mainly just to annoy Colter. But you captured him beautifully here with this sort of charm 🥰) PS: schmutz, schlep... I love the sprinkles of Yiddish in this 🤓

In fact, he does not! lmfao That was what I loved about it too -- like maybe half of him is serious, and the other half just wants to needle Colter. 🤣

Aw I'm glad you caught that! lol I'm not Jewish, but for some reason it just felt right for these characters. 💜

STOP IT! And he upgraded too!!! 🤣

He absolutely did!! And this time, it actually worked! 🤣🤣

I AM SO EXCITED FOR THIS! Gah, this was fabulous! I'm hooked! 😍👏 Are they gonna stay casual? Something about her brooding and reluctance tells me it's not usually her style? Which means, will he eventually settle? Get out of the dangerous hitman-nomad life?

Ooh my goodness, I'm so glad to hear that, friend! You're right. I don't think I full on state it, but "casual" is typically not her style. Also, Russell is Dory's brother, so she doesn't want there to be any weirdness or awkwardness between them if something happened or fell out between the reader and Russell.

She already knows his relationship with Dory is kind of fragile, in that they're still in that "reconnecting" phase. You'll see more of that dynamic and her thoughts in Part 2, but the rest of your questions will most definitely be explored throughout this little series. 😏

And then there's the stories about their respective families. We already know some about Russell's. How is she gonna react if she learns everything? And there's something odd about her private life as well. Can't wait to dive into that bombshell 😂

There's a lot to unpack there, right? There's a great deal that she already knows through Dory, and some things that are going to be revealed along the way...

Zep, my sweet genius Alex, you've outdone yourself once again. Bravo!!! 👏👏👏

You make me blush!! Thank you so much. 😭🥰 If you like this chapter, then I think you're going to enjoy the rest of the series. I hope it's as fun for you to read as it was for me to write!! 💕💕

A Line and a Half

Pairing: Russell Shaw x F. Reader

Summary: When Dory’s eldest brother comes to visit her at Wyoming University, you don’t know quite what to make of Russell Shaw. But he knows exactly what he wants to make of you.

AN: Okay, here’s my first toe-dip into the world of Tracker with Russell Shaw! 1x12 gave me too many ideas not to explore this intriguing character. This is set before episode 12, but I have a little series I want to sketch out that will continue after this one-shot, so think of this as a “Part 1,” if you will. 😉

Word Count: 3.2K

Tags/Warnings: A kind of “meet cute,” attempts at flirting, and hints of setup for more to come…

You watched, silently simmering, as Dr. Goldstein added yet another packet of internship applications from his graduate students onto your desk.

Applicants that he, as the History Department Chairman, was supposed to review himself. Instead, he’d been adding these hours quite literally onto your desk. 

“If you could review these for me as well, sweetheart. Thank you,” he said. “Get ‘em back to me by Thursday, okay?”

As a Professor of History with two doctorates in your name, you once again grated internally at sweetheart, but you tried to keep that cringe off your face as well.

Goldstein barely even met your eyes when he dropped off his burden, and then aimed to leave your office.

“Uh, Paul,” you called out, raising a finger. You stood from your desk as quickly as you could in your pencil skirt, but the man was already out the door. You followed him out, your heels clacking on the tile floor. 

Damn it. Knew I should’ve gone with pants, you said, continuing to hasten after your boss.

“Paul! Just a second,” you said. That finally managed to turn the man’s head off of his phone. He glanced at you while checking his watch.

“About the internship applications…and your midterm exam essays for that matter. Don’t you think—” you started to say, but the man spoke over you.

“I’m sorry, I’ve got to run. Meeting my massage therapist at noon,” he said, and rolled a seemingly stiff shoulder under his tailored blazer. “Something’s just not right here after my trip to Cali last weekend. I don’t know what I did, pulled muscle or something. But hey, they do say parasailing is a sport.”

You quirked a brow. “Do they?”

You weren’t sure that being strapped into a parachute for a nice air glide over the Pacific counted as a sport.

Goldstein shrugged at your question and he kept walking down the hall. Though he turned back to toss you a pointed finger.

“Need those by Thursday. Thanks, you’re the best,” he said.

You watched him go, as proverbial steam began to escape through your ears. Slowly you pivoted on your heels, and you went back to your office. You grimaced at the large stack of applications. You were pretty sure he padded them with an extra section of midterm exams.

Tapping your nails on your desk, you grabbed your phone next to your desktop and checked the time. 11:30 a.m.

Screw it. I’m going to lunch, you thought.

Dory had to be out of her Intro Physics class by now, which meant she’d be in her office, ready for you to drop in on her a little early. You took up your purse and almost made it out the door…but at the last moment, your anal brain made you turn back to grab a shoulder bag and the pile of applications. Maybe you could knock out a few during lunch.

Friggin’ doormat, as your brother would say. Laughing at you, probably.

You rolled your eyes and headed back out the door with your haul of papers, purse, work bag, and keys, locking your office behind you.

Why, oh why did the Sciences building have to be on the other side of campus?

It was damn near a mile walk from your Humanities building over to Dory’s office on the second floor. Your hands were laden with packets that couldn’t be contained by your heavy work bag, your purse was slipping off your shoulder, and these heels were killing your feet.

It was a miracle you and Dory had ever met on this campus. On your first day of teaching, you’d of course been hopelessly lost. Somehow you ended up at the tail-end of one of her classes in one of the science auditoriums.

She’d been gracious enough to help you, and even walked you all the way to the Humanities building so you could find your World History class before the students decided to just get up and leave. (And after fifteen minutes, they very well would.)

That day, she became your first real friend at Wyoming University. In the three years since, she’d become your best friend.

And now, her door was mercifully open halfway. You pushed it open and stumbled just a little from the transition of tile to carpet inside her office. Your papers nearly flew from your hands, so you struggled to right yourself and contain them all back into the semblance of neatness.

“Hey, girl. You better be ready for lunch because Jesus fucking Christ. Goldstein’s up my ass again and all I’ve had today is a crusty donut from the teacher’s lounge, which I’m pretty sure was stale,” you said, with your brows furrowed in frustration.

When you finally looked up from your struggles, you realized that Dory wasn’t alone. She smiled at you in amusement, sitting at her desk beside a man who made you pause. Your eyes widened.

He was leaning casually with an elbow propped up on her desk, dressed in jeans and a worn, pale green jacket—a good match for his eyes. He looked a little rugged for Dory’s tastes, but you couldn’t fault her, with the cut of that bearded jaw, and the smile raising the corners of his lips.

“Hey,” Dory laughed. “I see you’re having a good day.”

You bit your lip in embarrassment, probably smudging your lipstick.

“I’m so sorry. I should’ve knocked first,” you said, though you could see she seemed to be having an actual good day. Office picnic? Or maybe the handsome stranger was getting ready to take her out.

Dory just waved you in. She stood and set a hand on her companion’s shoulder, and he got up along with her.

“It’s okay. This is my brother, Russell,” she said, and she introduced you in kind.

“Well, hi there,” he said. He subtly took you in with his eyes as he held out his hand. Already you felt your face heating up with more than just embarrassment.

You were a bit shocked as well, to say the least. Dory had told you some…interesting things about her family, including the fact that she had two older brothers. You wondered which one this was, the middle child, or the eldest.

“Hi! Sorry. Again. Nice to meet you,” you said. You tried to hold your hand out to reach his, but a few papers began to spill out. You clutched at them on reflex, but Russell drew in quickly to help you.

“Got yourself a load there,” he said. You agreed with an awkward laugh and a shrug of your shoulders.

“My boss’s idea of extra credit,” you said wryly.

“You can set it down on that chair over there,” Dory said, pointing to one against the back wall, next to a tall filing cabinet.

You and Russell meandered over and managed to set down the stack without casualty. You were able to pull up the straps of your bag and your purse from falling off your shoulder and give him a grateful look.

“Thanks,” you said.

“No problem,” he said, giving you an easy smile back. “I actually crashed in unannounced, so if you two wanna to head to lunch, you go right ahead.”

“Uh, no. I haven’t seen you in months! You should come with us,” Dory said. She grabbed her purse to join you and Russell by the door.

You raised your hands in placation. “Oh, I wouldn’t want to intrude, especially if it’s been a while since you’ve seen each other. You guys should catch up.”

Dory shook her head and grabbed your hand.

“Uh, uh. I want to hear the latest on Paul’s bullshit, and why you’re carrying half your office across campus. Let’s go,” she said, and gestured at your work bag. “Leave that here. You’re gonna eat and talk to me. No working involved.”

You laughed, but you agreed to her cajoling. With another glance at her brother, and those green eyes that seemed to be dancing, you joined them for lunch.

The three of you ended up at a diner that you and Dory frequented at least once a week. The food was good, the service was quick, and it was close to campus. Wins all around. Russell seemed to be enjoying himself, as he hummed in delight after the very first bite of his Philly cheesesteak.

“Sriracha on fries, huh?” you remarked, gesturing at the man’s plate. Your brow was quirked, but he shot you a smile.

“I said avert your eyes,” he teased. “Don’t knock it ‘til you try it, sweetheart.”

Ugh. Another sweethearting man. You narrowed your own eyes at him a bit. He caught the look and raised a hand in defense (the one that wasn’t holding his cheesesteak).

“Uh oh. What’d I do?” he asked.

“You gave her some PTSD,” Dory said with a laugh. “Dr. Goldstein likes to sugar coat his demands with sexism.”

Russell noted your souring look with apology. You’d just finished recounting your morning for your friend, and recapping years of “sugar-coated demands” for Russell.

“Why don’t you just tell him to cram it up his…uh…” he paused. Seeing his little sister’s look of amusement, he amended. “Or you know, stuff it.”

A smile twitched at your lips. “Oh, believe me, I’d love to tell him to stuff it. But he’s technically my boss, and the department chair. Even though I’ve basically been doing his job for two years now.”

“Well, that sucks,” Russell said. “And I feel for ya. I’ve had my share of shitty bosses in my time.”

You sighed and accepted his commiseration with a nod.

It wasn’t fair, but Goldstein planned to retire early in a few years. Must be nice.

When he did, it would make you the most likely candidate to replace him as department chair. The way you saw it, this was giving you plenty of practice before you (hopefully) inherited the position.

Anyway, you shook your head. You didn’t want to talk about it anymore. You were more curious about one Russell Shaw. You now knew he was an army vet, and he carried himself like one. Calm, controlled, even though his smiles came easy. His tousled hair and beard, while well-trimmed and neat, still gave him a roguish quality.

“So let me guess. You’re…the eldest?” you asked. You blotted at your mouth with a napkin, having finished your chicken panini.

Russell treated you to another one of those smiles, though this one held a hint of more.

“Guilty. Though I’m the handsome one,” he said with a wink.

You found yourself smiling behind your napkin.

“I’m sure,” you replied.

Dory rolled her eyes. “Don’t mind him. Apparently my brother’s an incorrigible flirt.”

He chuckled and sipped at his beer, but then he grimaced.

“Ech. Friggin’ weak,” he said. “I brew better than this outta the trunk of my car.”

 You raised a brow at that. “You make your own beer?”

“Damn straight,” he said. His gaze turned a hint more playful. “Next time I’ll bring you some. You can tell me what you think.”

You shared a telling look with Dory.

“Next time, huh?” you asked.

“Sure,” he inclined his head. “I pop into town from time to time. Gotta check in and pester my little sister, the physics professor.” 

He laid a hand on Dory’s shoulder, squeezing warmly. You could see the pride in his eyes, and it warmed you as well.

She turned to him with a smile, reaching up to cover his hand with hers.

“You don’t pester me. I’d love it if I got to see you more often,” she said.

“Ah, I know, I’m sorry,” he said, releasing her. “My job’s got me all over the place. But I’ll be here for a week or so on this gig.”

That intrigued you. “What do you do for work?”

“Ah, well, you could say I'm a contractor. Private security mainly,” said Russell. His shoulders shifted as he became a little more guarded, you noticed. “My company connects me with the client for as long as the job lasts. Could be a few months, sometimes a few days, depending.”

“Oh, wow. Do you live here in Wyoming?” you asked. He paused, but tilted his head a little, back and forth as he considered your question.

“I kinda bounce around,” he said. “Just go from one job to the next. Sounds a bit unorthodox, I know, but it’s a living.”

“Interesting,” you nodded, but inside, you thought that sounded like a hard way to live.

Unstable…and lonely. 

“You know, it’s amazing how much you and Colter have in common,” Dory said. She folded her hands on the table and met her brother with a pointed look.

He huffed in response, though he glanced at you, then back at his sister. As if he was saying, You really want to do this now?

Dory had told you before that Colter was a “rewardist,” or some kind of bounty hunter. The nature of his work kept him busy, and seemingly too busy for his sister. But you also sensed there was an edgier history here.

For the first time, you felt like you were intruding in a moment between brother and sister that went beyond words.

After a moment, Russell shook his head.

“Look, I tried with him, all right? He won’t talk to me,” he said. He went back to eating, polishing off his fries. He offered you one that was half-smothered in sriracha.

“Come on. Live on the edge with me,” he teased.

You eyed the sauce-covered fry in distaste, but after glancing up at his more playful smile, you accepted his offer. You chewed in contemplation, and found that the tangy hint of kick wasn’t so bad. 

“Eh? Eeeh? Delicious, am I right?” he said, his hands going wide.

You rolled your eyes, but you nodded in agreement.

“It’s all right,” you replied.

“Yes!” Russell’s hands swept up higher, like he was celebrating a touchdown. "See, I told ya."

You couldn’t help but laugh. Dory shook her head fondly and gave him a clean napkin for the bit of schmutz she spotted at the corner of his mouth.

“Here, wipe your sriracha face.”

“You really don’t have to,” you said, as Russell helped you gather your stack of papers and slung your work bag over his shoulder.

“No, no. I’m a bonafide gentleman. Ain’t that right, D?” he asked his sister. She barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes again, but she did give you a knowing smile.

“Oh, his intentions are pure,” she said.

 And by that, you both understood her meaning. His intentions couldn’t be any clearer than a mallet over the head, but you kind of found it endearing.

This man really carried your stuff from the Sciences building across the entire campus to your office. All the while, he asked you about how you and Dory met, the kinds of things you two did together, and if you thought she was happy working here.

You had a feeling he was trying to learn more about his sister’s life. On one hand, it was rather sweet. On the other, it made you realize that there was distance in this family, both literal and figurative. You were glad to hear that Russell, at least, was trying to bridge that gap with his sister. Dory deserved to have more of that in her life.

As you explained to Russell while you led him down the hall to your office, your friendship with her had just…clicked. From the very beginning.

“Dory, you know. She’s more than kind,” you said. “She’s a real one. I can rely on her, even when I can’t rely on my own family.”

Russell hummed at that. “That sounds like a story.”

“Yeah,” you said, glancing away for a moment. You smiled and met his gaze once more. “Maybe one for another time.”

“So you’re on board with a ‘next time.’ Good to know,” Russell remarked. Your smile deepened.

It was good timing when you two finally reached your office. You unlocked it and let him inside, so he could set down your bag, and the god-forsaken stack of internship applications back onto your desk. You’d probably be stuck here working late on those.

“Well, thank you so much. You really didn’t have to schlep for me,” you said.

When you turned, Russell was a bit close. Not uncomfortably so, but enough to make a trill of something zip up your spine. You smelled more intensely his cologne, woodsy and warm. Looking up at him, you once again found his smile.

“It’s no problem,” he said, but his eyes met yours for a moment, as if he lost his train of thought.

“What?” you asked, a bit nervous.

“Anybody ever tell you, you got soulful eyes?” he asked.

It took your brain a second or two to compute, but when his words registered, you had to laugh. You held it behind your hand, while the other went to steady yourself on your desk.

 “Well, that’s a line if I’ve ever heard one,” you said, shading your “soulful” eyes with a hand.

You didn’t know it, but Russell’s face warmed in slight embarrassment. He recovered though, taking in your pretty laugh, and the shade of your hair, let loose around your shoulders, and yes, your eyes, when you let him see them again.

If he hadn’t known before, now he was convinced.

He wanted to see more of you before he left town.

“Hey, now that was 100% genuine,” Russell said, but his grin spoke volumes. When your mirth died down, he scratched the back of his head.

“Okay, cards on the table. Would you be interested in grabbing a drink with me sometime?” he asked.

You took in a breath at that. You actually did consider his offer, because homebrew and sriracha fries be damned, there was something more to him. It was lying in wait, behind those eyes that were drawing you in.

However, this was also a man whose job basically made him a nomad. It didn’t exactly scream relationship material.

Which only left the alternative: something…casual.

You just didn’t know if that alternative was such a good idea. Not with your best friend’s brother.

“Just a drink. No frills, no more grilling you about my sister,” Russell said, breaking you from your deliberation. He gestured a hand between the two of you. “Just this. You and me.”

Eventually, you sighed. Your lips raised into a more genuine smile.

“Sometime, huh?” you asked.

He smiled back. “Tonight?”

You hesitated, but despite your better judgment, you nodded before you could change your mind. You still weren’t sure what to make of this guy, but you were willing to find out.

“Sure,” you said. “Howley’s at eight?”

“Well, all right,” Russell said.

He surprised you by sweeping up your hand into his. You looked up at him, curious, but not wary. Anticipation tingled down your spine.

He pressed his lips to the back of your hand. Soft shock made your eyes widen as you blushed, feeling the subtle graze of his beard against your skin.

Who is this guy, Cary Grant? you thought.

But when he pulled away, you had to remind yourself to breathe. Again, you caught sight of his cheeky grin.   

“See you tonight,” he said.

AN: He is beauty he is grace, he is Mr. Sriracha Face. 😆

Let me know if you guys liked this! 💜 It's my first time writing a character based solely on one episode, but next up is a series that will continue this one-shot. It's called Every Second Counts.

Next Time in Part 1:

“Are you absolutely sure?” you asked, with your hands on your hips. 

You wanted no miscommunication here, no read-between-the-lines mishaps, no subtext or nuance to bite you in the ass later. So here you stood in the middle of your best friend’s office, still on the Wyoming University campus after your last class.

Dory had to laugh at you. She pushed away from her desk and threw her hands up.

“Yes, for the love of God, you can grab a drink with my brother,” she said.

▶️ Keep Reading: Part 1

Ko-Fi Me ☕

Russell Shaw Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Russell S. Tag List:

@kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007

@wincastifer @ades106 @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb @roseblue373

@brianochka @branj19 @hazel-eye-coffee-shop-girl-blog @globetrotter28 @charmed-asylum

@waywardxwords @deanwinchestersgirl87 @this-is-me19 @rachiem4-blog @sweettimelady

@leigh70 @clinicallydepresso @xiphoidbones @skoveu @nyotamalfoy

@kmc1989 @jackles010378 @emily-winchester @waynes-multiverse @jessjad

@my-stories-vault @deans-spinster-witch @syrma-sensei @stellasfictionalworld @ultimatecin73

@jesllianaquilesrolonsworld @pieandmonsters @lhymer1995 @taehyungxjungkookistaekook @lovelystoriesaj

@nicksalchemy1 @spnwoman @onlyangel-444 @sexyvixen7 @illicithallways

@wolkenprinzessin007 @alwaystiredandconfused @carpenterswife @cheynovak @grilledcheeseandtomato

[the-palelady]

hi sirinn 💕

it’s been a rough week. was wondering’ if i could request some soft simon? maybe helping his so through a tough time?

love you bunches, hope you’re taking care of yourself!

i feel like this week has been rough for a lot of people. i hope you're resting, staying hydrated, and just taking care of yourself dear. i believe in you and so does simon of course ♡

you seemed to always hold a level head. it was rare for simon to see you falter, if at all. there was always a smile spread wide across your face, the apples of your cheeks pink, a sparkle in your eyes. your laughs would echo throughout your shared home whether it be from something simon had said, or something that you saw on the telly.

but today was not one of those days.

there was no sparkle in those eyes of yours, replaced with a tiredness that left dark bags under your eyes. you were slow moving when waking that morning, not putting much effort into your hair, and grabbing the first thing you found in your closet. your outfit was mismatched with khaki pants and a weird yellow blouse that simon had never seen you wear outside of the house.

your lips sat in a thin line, unmoving as you silently floated about your home like a phantom. there was no noise even as you packed your lunch for the day; not a peep as you slipped your shoes on and stepped out of the house.

and the second you left, simon got to work.

he knew you too well to know that you were just "fine", a word he had expected you to say if he had even dared approach you about the topic. he saw it in the way you slid along the house, slower than a snail as you got ready for work. he saw it in the dull look in your eyes, far too tired to even look up at him and whisper a simple "good morning".

it was late when you returned home. a later night than normal.

stepping inside of your home, you slipped off your shoes, placing them by the front door with a sigh, peeling away your armor piece by piece as you walked towards the living room.

you were met with the sight of a vase of flowers sitting front and center on the coffee table. white lilies to be exact. the smell of detergent hit your nostrils, and you noticed how clean the couch cushions looked from where you stood. the pillows were fluffed and placed in their respected corners.

the wood floors shined from being swept and mopped, reflecting the soft glow of the overhead light. the tv played one of your favorite shows that you always turned on when you wanted some background noise or needed comfort. the bookshelves beside the entertainment center had clearly been dusted, yours and simon's books organized in alphabetical order. just how you liked them.

the subtle scent of garlic hit your senses after a moment, the smell and a voice breaking you from your thoughts.

"welcome home, love."

your widened eyes darted up to meet simon's pools of amber. the corner of his lips were upturned in a slight smile, one meant only for you.

"hungry?"

your mouth opened and closed as you tried to speak, but nothing came out.

truthfully, you were shocked. simon did do chores around the house. he was fairly organized, clean, a simple man who didn't own too much. he always kept his space tidy. but sometimes things got out of hand, and lately it had been hard for you to keep up with the mess. your workload had been tripled. you had personal issues going on in your life that were difficult to discuss, even to simon.

over the course of a few weeks, you felt like you had been backed into a corner. alone and afraid. it seemed like the world had caved in around you, dragging you into a dark abyss that you felt stuck in.

yet despite that darkness there was a light that shined through, and he stood right in front of you, flour dusting his pale cheeks and an apron much too small for him wrapped around his waist.

your lips quivered. your eyes watered so quickly you couldn't hold back the tears that broke through the dam you had built over time.

but before the tears could break through, simon was at your side, wrapping you in the warmth of his body.

you were stubborn. you were independent, believing you could handle anything that came at you alone. however, right now you had to admit to yourself that you did need a shoulder to lean on. even for just a moment. so you leaned into simon's sturdy chest, letting your tears fall freely after all the time you had kept them bottled up.

"shh, love. don't worry. i'm 'ere."

he wiped at your tears. his warm hands glided along the crown of your head, flattening out the strands of hair that had grown messy throughout the day. you were sure you looked a fright, but simon seemed to care less.

"'m sorry," you hiccupped, tears staining his t-shirt.

"the hell ya sorry for, angel?"

"i-i-i shouldn't be crying o-o-over something so st—"

"'nough of that, yeah?" his gruff voice cut you off, but there was no maliciousness behind it. he loosened his grip on you, looking down into your teary eyes with an expression you had never seen from him.

"sometimes we 'ave bad days. everyone. myself included. we can't act strong all the time. s'alright ta need a shoulder ta lean on. ya don't need ta handle this alone. ya always there for everyone. always takin' the punches for everyone else. now let someone else take those punches, hm?

you felt your bottom lip wobble again, and when you didn't say anything simon hummed, his head tilting closer towards you.

"s'alright to cry. doesn't make ya weak. only proves that ya human. so let out those tears, dove. i'll hold ya until there's not a single drop left."

[pedroscurls]

Hi! Idk if your requests are closed or not so feel free to ignore this but I’ve been going through a really tough time and I don’t have time to even breathe anymore so I was wondering if you could write something where Hugh just comforts the reader thanks!

safe with me (one-shot)

summary: hugh knows you've been having a difficult time and he hopes that he knows just what you need to help you feel better. pairing: hugh jackman x fem!reader content warnings: n/a, comfort / fluff, no use of y/n. word count: 701 a/n: to this anon, i'm so sorry that it took this long for me to fulfill your request. i hope things have gotten better since you requested this and if not, my inbox / messages are always open. thank you for requesting this (as i've been having a hard time myself with just life) - this was very cathartic and therapeutic for me. hope you enjoy. and as always, this is purely fictional! i mean no disrespect to hugh jackman.

Hugh knows you’ve been having a tough time lately, can see a change in your behavior even though you tell him that you’re fine. You smile at him, tell him that everything is okay, but Hugh knows that everything isn’t. Whenever you come home, he can see the distress and the exhaustion written all over your features and when he pulls you into his arms when in bed, he can feel the tension in your shoulders. 

It’s been like this for the last few weeks and Hugh doesn’t know if there’s anything that he could do that would help, that would alleviate the stress you’re feeling. If he could, he’d take it all away – whatever it is, Hugh would do anything to make you feel better. 

So, when you text him that you’re working late tonight, it gives him enough time to put his plan in place. He grabs two glasses of wine and your favorite white wine and ascends the stairs to go to the master bathroom. Hugh runs a warm bath for you, lighting candles around the bathroom. He looks around and bites his lower lip, slowly opening the blinds to reveal the skyline of the city. 

Hugh then jogs back downstairs to grab the bag of rose petals that he purchased earlier that evening and walks back into the bedroom. He scatters the rose petals on the white tiled floor and pours a good handful into the water. He hears his phone chime, but doesn’t have enough time to look at it when he hears you step inside the apartment. 

“Hugh?” you call out, a quiet sigh leaving your lips as you ascend the stairs. “You in the room?”

“Yeah, baby!” he answers. Hugh looks up when he sees you enter the bedroom and when your eyes meet his, he’s sure that he has done something wrong with the look on your face. Quickly, he steps out of the bathroom and walks over to you, his large hands coming up to rest on your hips. “What’s the matter? Is this too much? I just–”

Tears trickle down your cheeks and you wrap your arms around his shoulders, burying your face against the crook of his neck. Slowly, Hugh’s strong arms wrap around your waist, holding you tightly against him. “I’m not okay,” you whisper, voice trembling. 

“I know, baby,” he says quietly, moving a hand along your back. “But that’s okay,” Hugh reassures. “I’m right here.”

You cry against him, feeling like the last few weeks are finally catching up to you. You had tried to push it aside, tried to make yourself feel better, but it only pushed it further down. Being in Hugh’s arms, you finally feel like you can breathe, can finally get a glimpse that things will be okay. 

“I ran you a bath,” he whispers, turning his head to place a soft kiss on your temple. “You up for it?” 

You pull back and look up at him, wiping the tears away from your face. “You didn’t have to…”

“I know,” Hugh leans in and pecks your lips lightly. “I wanted to.” He releases his hold on you and instead reaches for your hand, leading you into the bathroom. 

You look around and bite your lower lip, tears again pooling at the corner of your eyes. “Hugh…”

“Too much?” 

“It’s perfect. You’re perfect.” 

Hugh smiles and turns to face you, gently reaching up to remove the blazer you’re wearing. “Far from it, baby. Now, let me take care of you. Will you let me do that?”

You nod slowly and look down to see your blazer pool at your feet. “Okay,” you whisper. 

Hugh hooks a finger under your chin, slowly lifting your gaze to meet with his. “Whatever you’re going through, I’m right here with you, baby. Now, let’s get you in the bath. You’ve been tense and I think you need a massage.” He smiles and pecks your lips lightly, pulling away only to help you disrobe the rest of your clothing.

You let out a relieved breath. For the first time in weeks, you feel the weight slowly begin to lift off your shoulders and that’s all thanks to Hugh.

[buckevantommy]

Buck could fill a small bakery with the amount he's baked in the past few weeks. He cleaned out the flour shelf at his local corner market, used a coop's worth of eggs, pushed his mixer to the limit, and had his oven working near constantly. Every neighbor on his floor and everyone he's passed in the lobby has had a loaf of some kind left on their doorstep or politely shoved into their hands. Everyone at the station is begging him not to overload them on anymore sugar - they'll take the carb-loaded meals he makes at work but avoid Buck the moment he enters the bay doors with a basket of saran-wrapped sweet bakes.

The worst part is that it's not even working anymore. It never really distracted him enough to not want to call Tommy, just put his hands and head to use for an hour or two at a time so that he couldn't text or call.

But now there's nothing left to bake with. And Eddie is looking at houses in El Paso. And everyone has family to go home to, except for Buck. And every reason he has for not being the one to reach out first goes out the window.

After a few rings, Tommy answers with a questioning: "-Buck?" and it's a gutpunch he doesn't need today but he's already feeling like shit so the pain just gets absorbed into the rest of it.

"H-hey, Tommy." It feels good to say his name under- well, not better circumstances than addressing his broken heart, but something with a bit of tentative hope at least.

And it's good to hear his voice. The voicemails and audio notes and videos from their time together have soothed him and tormented him at different times, but hearing Tommy respond sends a pang of longing through him.

"Um. I-I, uh."

"Are you okay?"

A bitter sound trips its way out of Buck's mouth. "No. No, I-I'm not okay."

"Are you hurt?"

The urgency in Tommy's voice thrills him; he still cares. But Buck doesn't want to misrepresent himself, doesn't want to trick Tommy into caring about what he's going through.

"Guess that depends."

"On what?"

"What kinda hurt you mean."

There's an inhale across the line. "What can I do?"

Tears prick at the corners of Buck's eyes. "I just- need someone to talk to." He doesn't say: even though we're not together anymore, can we still be friends? because even though he's missed Tommy being in his life, he doesn't know if he could be just friends.

"Okay." Buck hears some rustling in the background, footsteps, background noise receding. "I'm here. Talk to me."

Tommy wants to hear what Buck has to say, he always did. So Buck talks. He tells Tommy about Eddie moving away, and Tommy listens. And when it gets too much he tells Tommy about a new niece or nephew of his on the way, and Tommy offers his sincere congratulations. And then he tells Tommy about his baking coping mechanism and Tommy quiets.

So much so that Buck checks to see if the call dropped.

"I'm on my fifth engine," Tommy admit. "I keep taking them apart and putting them back together until they work better than before. But everytime I was done I had to start again, fix another broken thing, because I couldn't fix.."

Buck takes an unsteady breath. Us. "Me."

"No," Tommy says emphatically. "I couldn't fix me. Too broken to be good enough for you."

It's a heartwrenching confession, but Buck feels a smile beneath the tears sneaking down his face. "You don't think I'm broken? Nobody stays for me, Tommy. At some point I gotta realize I'm just not someone people wanna stick around for in the long run."

"Evan.."

Buck breezes over the sound of his name in Tommy's mouth, can't dwell on how good it feels because it won't last. "Guess neither of us are forever guys, huh." His heart, bruised and battered, bleeds a little more. The tears stream freely now. He sniffles, but manages to steady his voice as he says: "I loved you. That was real."

Tommy's breath hitches. "I was a coward."

Buck nods. Cries some more. They're both fucked up.

Tommy hesitates, but then: "I'm off-shift soon. We could.."

He leaves it hanging. There's so many ways Buck could finish that sentence, most of them unbearably hopeful. He doesn't want to stay in his empty apartment anymore. "Yours?" His voice is a little wet. "Maybe I could help you with that engine."

Tommy's breath of amusement is a balm to Buck's aching heart. "You know something about vintage cars I don't?" It's teasing, and gentle, and Buck has missed this.

"Maybe. Maybe trying to do it alone is the problem."

Another breath of laughter, followed by resignation in Tommy's voice. "Yeah. Maybe you're right."

Buck listens to him breathe for a moment: in, out, in..

"I'll meet you at mine."

Buck's poor heart beats a little stronger.

*

It was more than an hour later, of battling crosstown traffic and then letting himself into Tommy's house because Tommy had explicitly told him to use the spare key. They never gotten to the point of swapping keys. That probably should've been a step they didn't skip over. Buck's too-long legs had skipped too many for Tommy's comfort.

He pushes all thoughts of that aside. He's not perfect, he's too much, but Tommy agreed to see him. Tommy wants.. he's not sure.

Buck stands in the little living room, surveying Tommy's space while his mind spirals, heart yoyo-ing between hope and hopelessness. He doesn't know how much time passes when the front door opens and Tommy appears in the entryway.

He looks good. Tired, if the dark circles under his eyes are anything to go by, but good. His hair is a little longer all over, and it suits him. Buck wants to tell him as much but he can't seem to say anything.

Then Tommy says, "Hey," soft and concerned and fond, a sad smile at the corners of his eyes.

And Buck's tears threaten back into his own. "Hey." His voice is watery and brittle.

Tommy's there in three strides, gathering Buck into his arms, and Buck lets himself be wrapped in an embrace. Winds his arms around Tommy and presses into his solid warmth. Breathes him in as the tears come.

He feels safe. Seen. His heart cradled in care the way his body is cradled in Tommy's arms.

Buck takes a deep, steadying inhale of Tommy's scent and pulls back enough to look him in the face. His hands loose their grip at Tommy's shirt, smoothing to palm him through the cotton.

"About that engine.."

Tommy's smile is wide enough to crinkle his eyes in that way Buck loves, with joy etched in the creases.

"I wanna help you, if you'll let me. We could make it work. Together."

Tommy's eyes glisten. His smile breaks into a grin. "I'd like to try that."

buck probably called tommy every chance he got when they were together. driving home from work and stuck in traffic, it’s time to call tommy and tell him about his shift. late night in bed and he’s struggling to fall asleep without him, tommy’s soft voice will lull him to sleep from the other side of the phone. both on shift and the calls had been particularly slow, he will go and sit on the roof with tommy on loud speaker and they will just talk about anything and everything.

and when buck finds out that eddie is thinking about moving back to texas, tommy is the only person who he wants to talk to about it. so he finally gives in and calls. and of course, tommy will answer.

[theywantedplayer]

Master list

PromptList

AN-this is longer than what I usually do I hope yall fuck with it since I haven't been writing lots bc I got exams in 2 weeks fm

You started noticing Nico acting differently—not just on the ice but also when it was just the two of you at home. He always had a nurturing attitude, which his teammates liked to tease him about by calling him "Mother Nico." He was always a caring and intuitive guy, picking up around the apartment even though you knew he had a stressful schedule during the NHL season.

He handled it all well, balancing everything quite skillfully. You’d often hear stories from your friends who were dating other players on the team about how their boyfriends always prioritized hockey, but Nico wasn’t like that.

Then, around the winter months, things started to change. He seemed slower, quieter, and less talkative like a dark cloud constantly hung over him. The Devils weren’t performing as well in the standings as usual, and Nico took it personally as the captain. He acted like the team’s struggles were entirely his fault, carrying the weight of it on his shoulders.

Nico had always been your rock. He let you talk to him about anything that was bothering you, offering a listening ear and unwavering support. But as the winter months set in, you started to realize that the dynamic only seemed to go one way. You could sense something was troubling him, but he never opened up about it.

Little things began to slip. He forgot whose turn it was to make dinner, skipped doing the laundry, or left the dishes undone—things he’d always been on top of. At first, you didn’t mind picking up the extra load, understanding how stressful the season must have been for him. But as October came, you decided it was time to bring it up. You never expected his reaction.

"I’ve noticed you’ve been off, and I’m worried about you," you finally said, folding laundry on the dining room table. Your voice was calm but firm, wanting to make your concern seen.

"What makes you say that?" he replied, his gaze fixed on the TV.

Your eyes flickered between him and the screen. He was watching SportsCenter, listening to reporters make critical and unsupportive remarks about the Devils' performance. It was clear their words had struck a nerve

“Well, you haven’t been picking up around the house lately, and you’ve just been quieter. I just wanted to make sure everything was okay,” you said as you folded his t-shirts.

Truthfully, you didn’t mind picking up more around the house. You’d always told Nico he didn’t need to do as much as he did, but he always insisted. Still, as you tried to talk to him, it felt like walking on landmines. He was so quiet, and you were afraid he might explode at any moment.

“Seriously?” he said coldly, finally turning his head toward you.

“You know I don’t have a problem with you not doing housework. You just haven’t been yourself lately,” you said, trying to keep your tone gentle. “You know you can talk to me, right?”

“If you don’t have a fucking problem with it, then why are you bringing it up?” he snapped, his tone ice-cold.

A heavy sigh escaped your lips. You could feel where this conversation was headed. Setting down the hoodie you’d been folding, you rested your hands on the table and turned to look at him. His expression was unreadable, and that familiar resting bitch face of his—the one that intimidated people who didn’t know him—made you hesitate for just a moment. You knew it wasn’t truly who Nico was, but even now, it unsettled you just a little. Seeing someone who was always the sweetest and more caring one in the room suddenly has the face of one who at first glance didn't seem like it was a shock, but you always knew your boyfriend and knew that wasn't true.

“Nico, I’m not trying to start anything,” you said softly. “I just know something’s wrong, and you won’t even fucking talk to me about it.” you regretted the swear as soon as it left your mouth knowing it seemed like a push to him.

“Because I don’t need to,” he stated flatly.

You sighed again, frustration and worry bubbling inside you. Nico was the guy who always told everyone else they could talk to him, but he never talked to anyone about his stuff even rarely at times with you.

“Well, I think you do,” you said, your voice firmer this time as you locked eyes with him. You weren’t trying to start a fight, but you couldn’t let this slide. “I think talking about it would really help. You’ve been so quick to anger lately, so quiet, and I’m worried about you. You can talk to me. Why do you feel like you can’t?”

You noticed the slight clench of his jaw before he responded. “I have a lot of shit going on. I’m sorry if I’m not picking up around the house anymore. Just leave it alone,” he said, his tone laced with annoyance. “Just leave me alone.”

With that, he turned his body and full attention back to the TV. You opened your mouth to speak again, but he turned up the volume at the same time. Whether it was intentional or not, it sent a clear message: he wasn’t continuing this conversation. And as much as you knew it needed to happen, you didn’t have the energy to force it either.

About a month later, near the end of November, you could tell things had only gotten worse. The Devils were in the middle of a six-game losing streak, and it was eating at Nico. The frustration came to a head after a particularly brutal loss—shut out by Vegas, 5–0.

The walk back to the car was painfully silent. The only words Nico said as he handed you the keys were, “You drive.”

You nodded wordlessly, slipping into the driver’s seat and starting the car. The drive home, which should’ve been 20 minutes, stretched to nearly 45 because of post-game traffic. Normally, after a tough game like this, Nico would vent to you—sharing ideas for new plays or strategies to motivate the team. But tonight, he sat in the passenger seat, staring blankly at the sea of brake lights in front of you.

At every red light, you glanced over at him, silently checking in. He didn’t say a word, but you could see the storm brewing in his mind. This wasn’t just a bad game or a bad week; it was months of mounting pressure. He wasn’t himself anymore, and you knew he was close to breaking.

When you finally pulled into the parking garage of your apartment building, you turned off the car and opened your door. “Come on, Nic, let’s just go to bed,” you said gently, stepping out.

You expected to hear the passenger door open, but instead, there was silence. Turning back, you saw him still sitting there, unmoving. His hand hadn’t even reached for the door handle. It was like he hadn’t even heard you.

You walked around to the passenger side and opened the door, crouching down slightly to meet his eye line. “Nico,” you said softly, your voice laced with concern. “Let’s go inside.”

You could see it—the weight of everything he’d been bottling up for months. The pressure, the expectations, the emotions he refused to show. He was on the verge of breaking, and you just wanted to help him before he shattered completely.

He was too prideful.

But still, you were met with silence. You reached out and softly grabbed one of his hands resting in his lap, giving it a gentle squeeze. You tried to pull him out of the car, but he pulled his hand back, holding yours tightly in both of his. He stared down at your hands, his thumbs brushing softly over your skin. You sat there, unsure of what to say, just trying to comfort him in the smallest way possible. In two years of dating, you’d only ever seen Nico shut down like this once before—after the Devils' playoff run in 2023.

Finally, he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. “What the fuck is going on?”

You couldn’t tell if he was talking to you, to himself, or to no one at all. His voice wavered, trying to hide the emotion threatening to break through. It pained you—he’d seen you cry countless times, about everything from stress to happiness, but he still couldn’t bring himself to let you see him like this.

“I know it’s tough,” you said softly, squeezing his hand again.

“It’s more than just fucking tough,” he said, his voice rising with frustration. “We’ve been playing like shit, and there’s nothing I can do. The reporters are tearing us apart, and I have no idea how to fix it. I don’t know how to fix them. I don’t know what the fuck to do!”

His voice cracked, but he kept going, the dam finally breaking.

“In the locker room, on the ice—everyone looks at me like I have all the answers. Like I’m supposed to solve all our fucking problems. But I don’t. What kind of captain can’t even fix his team?”

“It’s not your job to fix your team,” you said plainly, your voice steady.

For the first time since the game, he looked up at you, and your heart broke at the sight. His big brown eyes glistened, tears pooling just at the edge, threatening to spill over.

“I’m the captain, Y/N,” he said, his voice shaking. “It is my job. It’s my responsibility to keep the team together, to make sure we don’t fall into shit like this.” His eyebrows knitted together in frustration, and he shook his head, as if rejecting your words outright.

“You’re putting too much pressure on yourself,” you said gently. “You’ve been doing that for years.”

“Pressure?” he scoffed bitterly. “If it’s not me putting it on, it’s everyone else.”

Your expression softened, and you brought your other hand up to run your fingers through his damp hair. “If you’re the one putting it on yourself, then you can also take it off,” you said quietly. “I’m right here, Nico. I’ve been telling you that since the day we met. If you’re feeling anything—everything—you can talk to me.”

He shook his head again, looking up at you with so much guilt it made your chest ache. “I can’t do that to you. You’ve got enough going on with school and exams. I can’t be one more thing.”

“That’s bullshit,” you said, sighing. “I love you. Nothing is more important to me than you. Keeping all this bottled up is only making it worse, Nico. You need to let it out. Talk to me.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment, but his eyes softened as you wiped away a single tear that slipped down his cheek.

“But I’m the captain. People are supposed to look up to me and lean on me. It’s my job to take care of everyone else,” he said weakly.

“Yeah, and it’s my job to take care of you,” you said firmly. “I knew what I was signing up for when we got together. Dating a pro athlete comes with challenges that most people don’t face, and I knew it’d be hard sometimes. But Nico, you make it so easy to love you. The only thing that makes this hard is that you don’t talk to me when you’re struggling. I want to be your rock, too. I want you to come to me, vent for hours if you need to, cry if you need to. I just want to help you.”

A shaky sigh escaped his lips, and his voice cracked as he said, “I feel like I have to hold it together all the time. Half the time, I’m not. If we’re losing, I feel like it’s my fault. If I can’t lead us to a win, what kind of captain does that make me?”

“You’re playing fucking hockey, Nico,” you said bluntly. “You’ve been doing this your whole life. You know what you’re doing, and you know what your team needs. But it’s not your job to fix everything. They’re grown men with their own shit going on. The best thing you can do is be there for them, support them. But you can’t carry the whole team on your back.”

A bitter laugh left his lips. “Everyone thinks we’re a shit team right now. We’re getting blown out almost every game.”

You smiled softly, glad to see the tension beginning to leave his shoulders as he let everything out. “Don’t you think Quinn felt like that, too?” you asked.

His brows furrowed in surprise at the mention of his friend's brother.

“He’s captain of the Canucks. They were a mess for years but look at them now. They’ve turned it around. People respect them because they fought through it. You will, too. You’re not the only one who’s ever felt like this. Why don't you try and talk to him about this, Quinn's a really helpful guy he's helping me so much, growing up he was the first person I'd go to"

Nico knew your history with the Hughes you guys grew up together and spent nights at the lake house together, even though Nico didn't know Quinn as well as he knew his energetic little brother, Jack,  he could tell from the few times that they've met that he was a great guy to go to for advice.  He honestly really liked Quinn,  one time during the summer during the off-season the Hughes family invited you and Nico to spend a couple weeks at the lake house with the original group. Being Cole, Trevor the Hughes brothers, and some other buddies from Michigan, Nico was a little nervous about going since he only really knew Jack, Luke and You but Quinn and Nico honestly gravitated towards each other and got along quite well, he introduced Nico to the rest of the group and everyone hit it off from there on.

and during one of those nights at the lake house he and the eldest brother were sitting out by the fire when everyone was inside they ended up having generally deep talk and confided in each other about being captains of a team at a very young age. At the time Nico barely knew Quinn this was really the first time he was actually able to sit down and fully get to know the young defenseman but still he talked to him knowing they shared the same worries and since then they've always kept in contact.

Everyone always loved it when New Jersey played Vancouver because they called it the "Hughe's Bowl" since the three brothers were playing on the same ice against each other for the first time in a long time. Nico always looked forward to that since usually after those games if Vancouver wasn't heading back that night Nico and the three brothers would go out and always get a beer together. 

 Nico could slightly feel his face heat up with embarrassment. not about opening up but about not doing it sooner.  he loved you and he knew you always wanted the best for him so he just felt stupid for not realizing that sooner and trusting someone with his problems but it wasn't just somebody it was you 

He was quiet for a moment, processing your words. Then, unexpectedly, he let out a deep laugh. You blinked in surprise at the sudden shift, squeezing his shoulder gently.

“What’s so funny?”

“I’m an idiot,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “I’ve been sitting on this for months, and after less than ten minutes of talking to you, I already feel better. No wonder you were pushing me to open up.”

You laughed with him, relief washing over you as he climbed out of the car and pulled you into a tight hug. He buried his face in your neck, his arms wrapping securely around you.

“Thank you,” he murmured into your skin, holding you close.

You hugged him just as tightly, feeling the warmth radiating from his body after the game. “I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you too, Nico. And I need you to know you can always talk to me about anything.”

He pulled back slightly to look into your eyes, his own still glistening but now softer. He just saw you prove that too. him but he really needed to hear you say it. He kissed you gently, then rested his chin on your head, pressing a kiss to your hairline.

“Let’s go to bed,” he said with a soft laugh. “I’m fucking tired.”

[jiminy-crickets]

saw the tags on your rb, and as a fellow "connor bedard has autism" headcanoner, i would love to know more of your thoughts 😈

it's less of a headcanon and more of a divinely correct vibe check. but like am i wrong...???? although I do see it more as they're the same flavour of ND with different presentations, like Connor is hyperfocus ADHD, and Macklin is inattentive (this comes from someone with mixed presentation ADHD¹, they also tried to diagnose me with austim but my legs were too long i make eye contact BUT!!! 93rd% "indicating that Cassie has many behavioural characteristics similar to youth diagnosed with ASD." raaaaa 💪💪💪 93% is an A!! i ace even the tests i fail!!!) Plus his rigidity with his diet, is bonkers for someone that young (and it's been going on since he was like 14-15)

Like especially with the way that Connor's constant practicing, after practice until the zamboni kicks him off, and then on off days and optional skates hiding his gear to make him take days off?? that is pretty classic hyperfocus ADHD. And especially with the way he blames the teams loses on himself, like please sir seeing you in the mirror is not good for my health!!

And with Macklin, people often mischaracterize inattentive ADHD with not being motivated or good at routine and while yes those two things are a normal part of human life, and more-so with ADHD, he has shown many times how deeply he cares about hockey........ but I think (and also remember i am projecting) his father being THAT hands on with him and his brothers training (even now which yuck, you have your own job get your grubby paws off of your kid's job) has made him unable to self propel, and get himself into that routine? (AND AGAIN I AM PROJECTING) like something Macklin has said a few times is how the shift to a pro-hockey schedule has been hard, and yes it is an adjustment, but he has been essentially living away from his parents for YEARS, two years boarding at Shattuckk, one year (presumably) billeting in Chicago while playing in the USHL, and one year in college at BU, and I think the real shift is that... daddy is planning his workouts again, full time not just summers (also, the travaling doesn't help) AND THAT (i am projecting) is HELL to someone who built a routine, and any hope of getting back into one was dashed when he went of IR for his hip after one game. the boy needs CONSISTENCY!!!!! And until they get him 1) away from his freak father who has his hands al over his development plan, and 2) on simple routine with max five types of days (home game, home practice, home rest, away game, away rest) he will not get situated.

BACK TO BEDARD <33333

the man loves rules and procedures. him at his first training camp all doe eyed and "wanting to make the team!" so much that Kyle Davidson... maybe it was Luke Richardson who said it...??? either way his coach or his GM pulled aside his MOTHER to tell them that they needed to start looking at apartments. Before getting drafted it was never "when" it was "if i get drafted".... like dude.... it's gonna happen! Whenever he get's sen't to the box its always a "they hate me, don't they know I am unable to break rules!! not because they don't apply to me but because I can NOT break rules!" vibe (I am only kinda projecting on this one)

and I do think the type of media around them during their developmental years up has affected them, Macklin's media was always focused on his father, which reinforced his reliance/dependence on him, whereas Connor's was focused on him which encouraged him to focus on himself and what HE can do to improve.

also Connor has that DOG IN HIM

^ connor bedard real not fake (also my childhood psychologist had this PROMENENTLY displayed in her office and i think seeing it every two weeks had an adverse affect on me)

¹ and a bunch of other learning disorders, dyslexia, dysgraphia, dyscalculia, audio processing disorder, also anxiety, depression, and cutie patootie disease (fatal 😔)

[thereoncewasagirlnamedjane]

small worlds.

✩ read on ao3 ✩ steven g. rogers masterlist ✩ forget-me-not creative campaign ✩ library blog

‣ pairing — 1940s!steve rogers x f!reader

‣ contents — one-shot, hurt/comfort, somewhere between fluff and angst, implied smut, established relationship

‣ summary — all he ever wanted to do was the right thing. it never occurred to him that doing the right thing could possibly hurt someone he loves.

‣ word count — 1.5k

‣ notes — this is my submission for my own creative campaign lmao 😅 i just got inspired looking at those prompts again, okay? and these are my missing pre-serum!steve hours 😭 and after the week i’ve had, i need some comfort~

prompts used: ✩ geranium = returning joy ✩ plumeria = “well, this is new.” ✩ zinnia = mourning your absence

Bucky had been wrong. 

His best friend predicted that you would be thrilled to see the new him. After all, the girls at the SSR couldn’t seem to stay away, nor could the flight nurses out on the frontlines, no matter how many times he told them he had a girl back home and just wasn’t interested. 

Howard was the only one who knew well enough to warn him; given how Steve had left things with you before he took off on his tour across the country, he shouldn’t expect everything to be sunshine and rainbows when he got back. 

The two of you had fought, the biggest one in the history of your relationship, and hadn’t spoken to each other in days before he had to leave. His efforts to lie his way into the army was always a source of friction between you, and this, being selected as the subject for Project Rebirth, was just another straw on the camel’s back. 

Steve knew you were just afraid for him, as anyone who mattered to him would be, but it was something he knew he had to do. Unfortunately he couldn’t be convinced, but it didn’t mean he wasn’t also terrified of facing the consequences. 

“Be prepared to grovel, Rogers, like you’ve never done before,” Howard warned, giving him a grave look before waving him off. “Hell hath no fury.” 

So, he showed up at your door only days before he had to leave for Italy, holding a bouquet of flowers and shuffling nervously on his feet as he waited. Steve didn’t know what to say when you opened the door, feeling a little awkward himself at nearly two feet taller and about a hundred fifty pounds heavier. 

You stared at him for a moment, almost as if you didn’t recognize him. 

“Hi,” he said sheepishly, giving you a hesitant but hopeful smile. You looked like you might reel back and punch him, no doubt still angry about the way things went down and how he’d returned to you looking like an entirely different man, but then your face crumpled. 

There were downsides to the serum, he realized, as he could smell the salt of your tears before they even reached your lashes. He leaned down, bending at the waist, something he never had to do before, letting you wrap your arms around his widened shoulders. He could taste the relief in your tears as he kissed them away. 

In the hours that followed, however, you remained distant. He caught you staring thoughtfully at him from across the kitchen, only to quickly avert your eyes when he looked up from the hearty dinner you made him. 

You pulled away subtly when he reached for your hand or the soft dip of your waist, flinch when he moved to kiss your cheek, and returned all his dumb jokes with tight smiles. 

“Well, this is new,” he grinned softly as he stepped behind you, his chest firm against your back, grabbing a jar on a high shelf that you were struggling to reach. 

It took you a few moments too long to turn towards him, your lips curving upwards ever so slightly but it never quite touching the rest of your features. 

Even when he lay next to you that night, it felt like you were miles away. He was leaving soon, all the way to Italy and then to god knows where else, and he didn’t want to leave things this way. He didn’t want to go yet, not while he was uncertain about whether you’d welcome him back next time. 

But as always, it’s like you hear the thoughts in his head without him ever needing to speak them. It’s why this works; he broods and you see through him, as though you have a map directly to his heart. 

“It feels strange,” you confess in hushed tones, the two of you lying in the darkness of your bedroom. When the two of you touch, it feels foreign. You feel guilty, as though you were somehow being unfaithful to a version of him that would never come back. 

“I know,” he says, reaching for you. His heart sinks when you pull away. He lays there in silence, his enhanced vision capturing you so clearly in the dark, staring up at the ceiling as your bottom lip quivers. 

“You took him from me,” you whisper, eyes shining so brightly with anguish in the moonlight. It takes a moment for him to realize what you mean. He can hear the tears sliding down your temples and dripping onto the pillow. 

All he ever wanted to do was the right thing. It never occurred to him that doing the right thing could possibly hurt someone he loves. 

“I’m still me,” he murmurs, his fingers desperate to wipe them away, his arms itching to find their place around you once again. 

“To everyone else, even to you, he was always just that scrappy little nobody from Brooklyn. But to me?” You are weeping now, your voice thick with grief even though he’s right next to you. “To me, he was everything. I don’t want Captain America. I want Steve. My Steve.” 

Steve swallows hard. You always were the only one who did. 

“He’s still here,” he pulls you close and this time, you don’t fight him. You fold yourself against him, crying harder when you are met with the hard sharp planes of his new body, instead of his usual soft edges that always seemed to embrace you right back. “I’m right here.” 

He lets you cry into his chest until, after what seems like hours, you finally drift off into an uneasy sleep, the front of his shirt still damp with your despair. 

But it doesn’t take much longer to find a new normal. 

He still smiles at you the same way as the day you met, a little sheepish and a little shy even after all this time. 

He still does that thing where he intertwines his fingers with yours, his touch a little evasive, teasing you a bit before finally pressing your palms together. 

He still holds you for as long as you need, always letting you be the first one to pull away. 

He still quietly fills the pages of sketchbooks that he hides on your bookshelf. 

He still eats so slowly, taking his time at your dining table because even a slightly bigger portion than normal used to make him sick. 

He still looks at the most terrible parts of humanity and decides that the world is worth saving. 

You slowly get used to the fact that he can reach the higher cabinets in your kitchen now, that he no longer falls ill at each turn of the season, and that while you will never get to see your Steve again—even though you think of him often—this Steve is right: he never really left. 

And when you’ve forgiven him, because there really was no question about it, when you’re ready to give yourself to him again, you’re both a bit nervous and awkward. 

It takes a little bit of dancing to get used to each other’s bodies again; you’re much smaller compared to him now, and he’s afraid he’ll forget his newfound strength and inadvertently hurt you somehow. 

But, much like you did before when he was small and inexperienced, he guides you and you eagerly follow. He lets you come to him, allows you to set the pace and boundaries of how far you’re willing to go, and he always looks at you the same. He even says it again—

“I can’t believe you’re here with me,” he croaks, so close you can smell his aftershave. 

It’s moments like these when you fully realize that while the serum changed him on the outside, it never touched what was inside. As always, he handles you with the utmost care, pulling you cautiously onto his lap, his hands gently cradling either side of your face as he drinks you in, eyes darting back and forth across your face before he finally leans in to kiss you. 

His eyes never once leave yours, even as you abandon your dress and undergarments on the bedroom floor. His fingertips slide down your sternum in a featherlight touch, down the valley between your breasts, before turning his hand over to brush his knuckles lightly over your rib cage, raising goosebumps in his wake. 

You stare into his familiar eyes, the ones that fill your vision with the clearest blue—as if you’re looking into a cloudless summer sky, just like the day you met the boy with a heart ten sizes too big for his chest—and you sigh in relief. 

“There you are,” you purr against his lips. 

His lips stretch into a smile, coaxing yours into doing the same. He remembers a promise he’d made to someone else not that long ago, and he promises it again—to you this time. 

That you will stay who you are. 

That he will never lose your Steve. 

fin.

[veilkeeper]

Act 3 Emmrichmance: Lich Edition

alt title: if you're really determined, "'til death do us part" is only a suggestion

okay so, after the point of no return some pretty major stuff happens in the romances. @/crossdressingdeath and i talked in DMs about how, as far as we can tell, all the romances have some sort of unfinished business going into the endgame. in the lucanismance, it's him cutting rook off from saying they love him, in the davrinmance it's a discussion about davrin's fear that one of them is going to die just as he's starting to imagine a future with them, and with emmrich it's The Argument™—which as i've discussed before, is emmrich and rook having an argument about his insecurities. in the lich path, which is what i'm specifically talking about here, the argument is about his concern that rook is going to die at some point, and his fear that he's going to mourn them forever. the argument is left unresolved after some pretty intense back and forth, where rook calls him out on pushing his insecurities and fears onto them, and they have to shelve it to head to tearstone island.

to their credit, they do try to apologize to each other. in banter on tearstone island, emmrich very clearly regrets starting an argument, but he and rook both agree that now isn't really a good time and that they'll talk when they get home.

and then rook almost dies in front of him and gets thrown into fade jail by solas.

uh oh!!!!

if this isn't the manifestation of all his fears, i don't know what is. for all intents and purposes, he has lost rook. he's sure they're alive—trapped in a prison meant to hold gods, but alive—and since he's a lich i have every confidence that there was not a moment of rest in the weeks it took to rescue rook. he's their fade expert, he's the best equipped to find them, and he has to, because otherwise the last real conversation they had was an argument he never got to apologize for, and he will have to live with that guilt for an eternity.

i really have to wonder if he ever would have been able to bring himself to stop looking for them.

and while i suspect their LI is always the first person to grab a hold of rook to pull them out of the fade, there's a special flavour to it when you're romancing emmrich. knowing that he's probably been obsessively trying to find them. the sheer relief he must have felt when he reached through the veil and was able to get his hands on them, to pull them through and back into the safety of his arms.

he fusses after them, too. urgently takes them to the necropolis so he can be extra certain that solas' hold on them is gone. he was afraid he'd lost them forever, he wasn't going to waste any time making sure they'd be as safe as they can be. and then he says,

"I will let nothing part us again, my love. Not in this nor any other world."

he says it in that level, sort of indulgent tone that he says all his romance lines in, so it's easy to mistake this as him being poetically hyperbolic. but let us never forget that this is the man with such a profound fear of death that he became a lich just to avoid it. he's not half as well-adjusted as he likes to appear.

when he says he would not let anything separate him and rook again, he is dead fucking serious.

he wakes them up at dawn despite knowing they need rest—i think, perhaps, because it isn't enough to have them breathing in front of him. that he needs to hear their voice and have the reassurance that they're here and real and alive and safe, at least right now. "I would move the world before I lost you again," he says later. before the final fight against elgar'nan, he says he has plans he wants to make with rook, that he wants to be safe and at home with them. if i had to guess, i'd say rook i going to have a hard time shaking him for anything after this. i don't think he's ever going to feel like they're safe if he can't see them. hope you like a clingy boyfriend.

it's kind of the inevitable conclusion to what i was talking about in my sacrifice of souls meta—none of his actual fears around death and dying and grieving have been addressed, and he's hitched his wagon to immortality. and now that he's almost lost rook, he's realized that there is no universe where he's ever going to survive losing them for real.

and we all know the lengths he's willing to go to stay alive.

[colibrie]

Trilo Fang AU: Ephemeral

Hey there! So as some may remember, the one and only @trilobitepunch (aka the trilo bug) bit during whumptober, and I wrote some snips for her fang au where a virus created by the GDF mutates Donnie and Leo into feral instinct driven hunters. If you haven't seen it, stop what you are doing and click the link below. I promise you, you will not want to miss out on it. Anyway, I ended up expanding the snip I wrote for wisp, and Trilo was kind enough to make a new illustration to go with it! So please join me in screaming about it!

"Okay Nardo," Mikey whispered, glancing furtively over his shoulder to ensure the others had not noticed his absence before dipping down to kneel before his brother and leader.

"I know you're still in there. The others are scared and getting tied up in facts and details and possibilities, cause that's what they do. But I know you, and I know Donnie. You're in there, and you're fighting to come home. So, I'm gonna help you, but you have to trust me. Okay?"

He ignored the low growl that rumbled from the sliders throat as he leaned in, and he forced down the urge to flinch back into his shell when those hazy predator eyes slowly opened and settled on his. He hummed his own soothing reply, careful to keep his movements slow and measured as he reached forward to place the tips of his fingers on the pressure points on Leo's jaw and temple.

"Just me Lee. Just Mikey. Nothing to be afraid of here. We're safe. We can relax..."

Like a motor winding down his big brothers growl slowly tapered away, head nodding forwarded into Mikey's hands as the corded muscles in his neck released some of their tension.

"That’s right. Okay, here we go," Mikey mumbled, closing his eyes and bowing his head as he turned inward to grasp the bright orange flames of his ninpo.

It sprang readily to him, swirling and singing with the protective warmth of a bonfire and the potential wrath of an inferno, ready and eager to receive direction. He took half a second to greet it, to hold it close and appreciate it for all it represented, before pushing it inward to seek that place where orange fire met and melded with protective red, electric purple, and brilliant blue. The place that tied him to his brothers.

Normally that connection was easy to find. Once they'd unlocked their mystic powers to face the Shredder, it had sat like a second heart in his chest, beating out a message of love and together and family that had quickly become as essential to his life as blinking or breathing. It had remained against the strife of Leo and Raphs endless fights and surged back stronger than ever after reawakening in the battle with the Krang. It had held him together after the portal to the prison dimension nearly took their hope, and it had soothed him in the wearisome months of recovery. It was there still, yet so far away. Disparate and disjointed, baren threads struggling to hold together colors that should have been an interlocked tapestry.

Red curled away, stubbornly holding silver-grey, green, and aquamarine back from the howling vortex blue and purple had become. The twins’ energies were erratic, feral beasts throwing themselves blindly at the boundaries of connection as they screamed. Pain and confusion beat against the rest of them like storm tossed waves, pushing them back, enforcing the veil of isolation that was choking off those remaining connecting threads.

That had to go.

Pulling his flames in close Mikey lunged forward, diving like a burning arrow towards the heart of the maelstrom.

Sensation slammed him from all angles. Sight, scent, taste, touch, it had all been dialed to a hundred, stabbing and shredding like knives across tender and exposed nerves. Relentless instincts shrieked discordant harmonies, drowning all else out in a mesh of contradicting demands.

Danger. Flee! Hunt. Fight. Claw. Kill. Bite! Bitebitebitebite!

"Leo!" Mikey shouted, shouldering through the deluge in search of a hint of the red eared slider he knew and loved.

For a frighteningly long time, there was nothing. No slip of sparkling laughter, no flash of quick and glib wit, no quiet glow of cunning insight. All that existed was the moan of the abyss that sucked them in, pulling greedily at Mikey's ninpo as though to unmoor him from the bonds that tied him to home. But Mikey would not bow. He had torn a hole through time and space to keep his family whole. He was the greatest mystical warrior the world would ever know. And even greater, he was their little brother. He knew how to make himself heard.

"LEONARDO!" He bellowed, channeling every ounce of Dr. Delicate Touch as he bared his teeth at the indigo storm, "GET YOUR MIND RIGHT AND ANSWER ME!"

His heart skipped as something flickered beyond the tempest walls, a wisp of brighter blue trying to alight. His ninpo blazed in response, marigold tendrils lashing out to cut Mikey a path through the chaos. He lunged forward to cradle the fragment in his cracked hands, pulling it close as the tendrils of his power swiftly wove together to form a shield that shut out the storm.

"Leo?!"

The wisp trembled in his grasp before slowly blossoming outward into the hazy outline of his older brother.

"Mi-key?"

"It's me Lee," Mikey assured, “I’m here."

"H-hurt..."

"I know, I felt it. I'm sorry, we're doing everything we can to fix things.”

"No…You?"

"Me? No, I’m not hurt. I'm fine. So are Raphie, Dad, April and CJ. We’re all okay."

Leo's ethereal eyes drifted close in stark relief, his form wavering dangerously.

"Hey! No no no, stay with me Leo," Mikey demanded, hands shooting out to try and stabilize him. "Listen, you and Donnie are sick. Donnie got infected with a virus when we were in that creepy government lab, and you got infected when he bit you. It’s messed with some genetic stuff that I don’t really get, but that’s what is hurting you. Draxum is here and he’s coming up with some kind of fancy serum to fight the virus and try to fix the genes it mutated, but you and Donnie have to come back to us."

“I can’t…”

“Yes, you can! I’ll help you!”

"Ho-w?"

"I.... I'll get Raph and Dad! Maybe the three of us can pull you out!"

"Don-nie…."

"Of course we’ll help him too, duh."

"No. He's... he's deeper," Leo heaved, visibly fighting to pull his form together. "It's hard to... explain…I can’t think past it..."

"Yeah, well. Thinking has always been Donnie’s strong suit, not yours," Mikey replied, grinning in triumph as the hint of a smirk slipped across Leo's face.

"He’s...nerd."

"If it gets you both out of this, he can be king of the nerds. We just have to reach him."

He frowned when Leo failed to respond, reaching out to hesitantly touch his big brother’s face.

"Hey, come on man. Don't-"

"I can find him," Leo interrupted, ghostly hand rising to press against his plastron. "He's here...always here... if I follow him and... and you pull us back."

"That's risky Leon."

"Wh-hats new?"

"Heh, yeah. We be we?"

"Always Angellllll..."

A sudden wave of dizziness slammed into Mikey with the strength of Aprils baseball bat, vertigo nearly taking him out at the knees. Leo flinched as Mikey's barrier faltered, teeth gritted and grinding as the weight of maelstrom pressed in.

"Hang on!" Mikey demanded, huffing as he forced iron into his legs and more of his power into the barriers.

"You need to go."

"What?! No! I barely found you this time Leo. What if I come back and you’re gone for good?! What if you go too deep and I can't pull you out again?!"

"Tag."

"Huh?"

"Like...like your art. If y-you tag m-meee...with your ninpo..."

"Then I can follow it to you and Donnie! Like a beacon! Nardo, that's a brilliant plan!"

"Heh, s'not jus m'face that's pretty."

"Yeah," Mikey forced a chuckle around the knot swelling in his throat as the older twin’s voice grew tired and faint. Both his shield and Leo's form flickered again, accompanied by another wave of faintness that warned that what little time he had was almost up. His hands shook as he reached out and pressed his palm to Leo's plastron, gathering his ninpo to coat his fingers like paint. Three quick swipes later, a overlapping H and M was emblazoned in brilliant orange on his brothers scutes.

"Find D," he ordered, fighting back tears as he lunged forward to hug his brother. "Find him and hang on tight, because I am coming back with reinforcements. Hear me?"

"Yeah, big guy," Leo mumbled, his head falling forward to rest against Mikey's before the shield broke and his form dissolved once more. "See you later."

[wren-galathinyus]

a little late to this game and I can't even give my full notes like the previous two times (I'm at work and can't do the second watch through I do to take note of my thoughts) but I would like to scream regardless, sp here are a few disjointed thoughts and feelings I'm screaming into the void!

as always, spoilers for arcane, the final act, under the cut

-LESBIAN SEX LETS GO WE FUCKINGGGG WOONNNNNNNNNNNNNN 🎉🎉🎉🎉🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈

-but on a serious note for that thought, I'm so fucking happy that we got to have this. these two complex, beautiful, awful amazing women who are unapologetically queer and finally get their shit together to realise, the world isn't gonna wait for us, let's have sex, let's enjoy it. the fumble that vi makes with caits fancy belt, the delicate and healing way that cait holds and undresses vi, the full shot of vi's back tattoo, the fact that they can't keep their hands off each other and can't stop smiling! fuck! this was everything to me if you couldn't tell. also so much appreciation to the fact that this scene is an exact parallel to their first meeting!

-yes Mel get it with your sexy golden magic. I can't wait for the spin off series that will come from thus show cus I think it'll explore the black Rose and noxus war and I can't wait to see more of them!

-cait fighting desperate and dirty while still being so smart you have my heart (also cait with an eyepatch, fuccckkkkkkkkkk

-Maddie's betrayal lol, and the thanks for the warmth, bitch what warmth, cait was so mean to you even when you were sleeping together 😂

-the alternate reality???? oughh, oug oww, I need to lie down and cry for a whole week about that. everyone being alive except vi??? that shit hurted. also, domestic and therapised powder was everything I didn't know I needed and I'm so glad that when ekko figured out the anomaly that that timelines ekko came back to her. timebomb so cannon (also adore ekko for this entire act, every single second of it)

-jayvik mutual destruction is so them actually, and I'm glad they were together in the end. also sorcerer older vik had to be my favourite of his character designs. he looks so soft and at peace

-ambessas death is really not something I though we would see, or at least not in the way that it happened. but it's almost bitter-sweet that her death was nesacary for Mel to graduate to wolf in her eyes

-look, heimerdingers sacrifice was cute and heartfelt, but I really didn't have any attachment to the guy and was just glad that ekko made it home. very cute little song though

-Jinx is fucking dead and I hate it. yes it was in character, she did her one last good thing and just wanted to rest, but damn why did it have to be like that , but on the other hand, it leaves open the spot for powder to take hold of the narrative, because don't think I didn't see those hextech gems girl. she is everything to me and I really hope she's apart of whatever story comes next (I'm praying that powder gets to see vi all grown up, and that her older sister is okay, and that vi gets to see powder, the girl she might have been, and also that vi can see her brothers all grown up) (but that's all just wishful thinking)

-btw!! I always had faith in the writers. I love how this season came out on the full. it's absolutely amazing to me how they have managed to create on of if not the highest quality animated TV show ever. it was admittedly rushed, and I would have loved to see all these plot threads tugged at thoroughly before being tied up, but I still think what we got was a masterpiece

-jayce I did not like you in season one but I loved you in season two, and I held out hope that we would see why you did what you did, and it was so fucking perfect I would like to kick all of the jayce haters, just a little in the shins

-back to Jinx, it was genuinely so heartbreaking to see her catatonic over the loss of Isha and I hope they're together again now

-final form (herald) vik was pretty cool I like how it looked compared to his LoL design

-cait and Mel team up was something I didn't know I needed but damn it was good. the gays and girl kissers were eating well this weekend

-the animation of powder and ekko dancing? think I'll just go cry for another week for that alone, and their kiss!!??!? screaming crying

okay that's all I can think of for now. I may post more, I may not. I will absolutely be reposting like crazy though. agree or disagree with me, I want to hear your thoughts!

[lumitoiile]

neuvillette : [waltz.]

☆ — fluff; dancing in the rain with a stressed dragon. gn! reader (no pronouns.)

the rain has been relentless. 

while such weather is not particularly unusual in fontaine, the excessive downpour has persisted for almost a week now. day after day, clouds hang low, casting a somber haze over everything. you can't recall ever seeing the city this gloomy in all the time you've kept residency here. 

a cascade of water drums against your umbrella as you stroll through the streets and markets of the city, head turning at the sound of nearby laughter. you spot a group of children splashing through puddles, running around a water fountain with their voices ringing out loudly above the patter of rain. in unison, they chant together, "hydro dragon, hydro dragon, don't cry!"

you pause, watching them curiously. that's right—it is said that whenever it rains in fontaine, the hydro dragon weeps. an interesting thought. you wonder what dread could possibly be troubling that poor dragon so intensely, causing such heavy rain to carry on for so long.

the dreary weather can't help but remind you of your beloved, your neuvillette. the solemn look he's held lately, the tired sighs he lets slip when he thinks you're not watching. you're aware he's always been a busy man, but this feels different. you can sense a heaviness in him, a silent struggle he won't share.

the iudex of fontaine, chief justice, always composed and reliable...and yet so distant, so dismal.

tonight, he lays at your side, resting in your embrace as you press soft kisses to his temple. even as the heavy rain raps against the windows of your home, it's steady rhythm seems to ease—it's morphed into a soothing lullaby, lulling you into a peaceful sleep.

though when you wake hours later, you find his side of the bed cold and empty.

"neuvillette...?" you call weakly, voice raspy with sleep. but no answer comes. a spike of worry prickles your heart and you don't think twice before slipping out of bed, bare feet padding through the quiet halls as you search for him.

it's not long before you find him outside, standing alone with his figure framed against the downpour. he's gazing out into the night, face unreadable and silver hair dampened by the rain.

"neuvillette," you say softly as you approach.

he looks over at the sound of your voice, eyes wide in surprise. "you should be asleep," he says, frowning. "it's late...and far too cold for you to be out here in your sleepwear."

"yet here you are, out in the rain by yourself." you step closer, touching his arm. there's a crease in his eyebrows, and conflict in his eyes. "what's going on, love? don't think i haven't noticed this change in you. whatever it is...i hope you know you don't have to carry it alone."

he looks down to the ground, gaze flickering with unspoken truth before he slowly shakes his head. "it’s nothing you need to worry about," he says quietly. but his hand trembles ever so slightly as he reaches to brush his thumb over your cheek, wiping away a stray drop of water.

"then, if you won't tell me..." you take his hand, offering him a tender smile. "will you dance with me instead?"

"...in the rain?" he asks hesitantly, clearly taken aback as he raises an eyebrow. "you'll catch a cold."

"let me worry about that." you don't give him a chance to refuse, tugging him close into an easy, swaying dance. and with a reluctant smile, he finally relents, letting you lead him into an elegant waltz.

the world around you seems to fade into the background, focusing on him with only the rain as music to guide you. the storm overhead starts to gradually ease, now reduced to a light drizzle.

you murmur softly to yourself as you move together, voice a whisper against the gentle rain. "hydro dragon, hydro dragon... don't cry."

neuvillette stiffens, his steps faltering as he stares down at you. "where did you hear that...?"

another smile finds its way to your lips and you rest your head against his chest, his heartbeat thudding rhythmically against your ear. "some children were chanting it in the market today," you explain. "they say it's been raining so hard because the hydro dragon has been unhappy. i don't know what might be troubling that poor sovereign, but i do hope he finds peace soon..."

his expression softens as he stares down at you. words go unsaid as his voice gets caught in his throat. instead, he tightens his hold on you, pulling you closer as you sway together in silence.

the rain slows, almost as if it’s listening, each drop gentler than the last. he rests his cheek against your head, eyes closing as he melts into your embrace. "thank you," he murmurs, so quiet you almost miss it.

you draw a little closer, pressing a soft kiss to his lips before returning to your shared dance. when you pull apart, he looks up at the sky with a newfound calm in his eyes. the clouds begin to shift, parting slightly as the rain comes to an end.

"perhaps he heard you."

[deus-ex-mona]

pretty minor thing to think about, but i find it interesting how chapter 7 is the first chapter illustration to show chizuutan as chizuru (instead of chuutan)

like, i get it’s a flashback chapter, but we hardly got to see her as chizuru in the previous few chapters thus far… maybe we’ll get to see more of her as her true self after the hiyori fight/make up? only future chapters may tell, i guess…

[moss-sauce]

life really fucking sucks right now

[countdown-til-sanders-take-over]

this is a formal apology for every time i've read ur fnaf theories, gone "ah... of course! yes!" and then forgotten to respond

This is a formal apology for every time I've read one of your asks, not immediately had a TQ&/E, and forgotten to respond

[collecting--stardust]

Posted to female oncology ward for these two weeks and all I can say is cancer is cruel but amidst that pain and sorrow, you can really see true love in that ward

[a-very-fond-farewell]

eh. how are we doing fellow h/elluva peeps? D: me is personally not doing well, I’ll tell you that Dx