#this took me longer than it should have. is this anything

[daeniradraconis]

Right Where You Left Me

So, hello lovelies ✨ I’m currently in Germany watching the Leafs melt down in Game 7, and there is never a better time to post this than during the game. Well, there’s not much to say — hope you enjoy this! I wrote this from an outsider’s perspective, and it’s a little bit of a filler chapter, but we need this to connect a few things for the future.

Themes/Warnings: Hannah Elise Hughes x William Nylander, grief and loss, coma, emotional distress, complicated grief, hospital setting, family tension, fragile health

Chapters: 01, 02, 03

Chapter 3: The Quiet Between

The snow hadn’t stopped all day.

Toronto in late December was always a strange mix of silence and noise. Too many cars, too many people—but somehow, days like this felt still. The kind of cold that bit your skin, but numbed your thoughts just enough to be welcome.

Luke Hughes stood in front of William’s condo building, staring up at it like he needed permission to go in. The small velvet box in his pocket felt heavier than it should. Not that it was much more than metal and memory, but that was the problem—memories carried weight no one could see.

He’d debated even coming. He’d told himself it was stupid. That William didn’t need this. But still Luke had ended up here.

He pressed the buzzer. William answered, his voice slightly muffled. “Hey?”

“It’s me.”

A beat.

Then, “Come up.”

William answered the door in a hoodie and joggers, hair longer than Luke remembered and slightly messy, like he’d run his hands through it too many times today. He looked... better. Still tired around the eyes, still a kind of shadow beneath his skin, but lighter somehow. 

Luke stepped inside, shaking off the cold. “Sorry for just dropping by. I should’ve texted.”

“You’re good.” William shut the door behind him. “I’m not doing anything important. Just watching bad TV and pretending I know how to cook.”

Luke smiled, stepping into the warm space. “Still burning pasta?”

“Only on Tuesdays.”

They sat on the couch, easy and quiet. It wasn’t awkward. Not really. It had never been awkward between them, just heavy. Grief made everything quieter, more careful. Like walking through a room filled with glass, afraid to knock anything over.

William grabbed two beers from the fridge, tossed one gently to Luke. “You still not twenty-one?”

“Almost.”

William raised an eyebrow. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

They talked for a while—about hockey, about Jack, about how surreal it still felt to see Luke in a Devils jersey, skating on real NHL ice. William smiled when Luke told him about his first goal, even asked if he’d kept the puck. It made Luke feel good. He’d known William since he was just a kid. Over the years, William had always felt like an older brother to him. And somehow, even now, that hasn't changed.

Then the silence came. The one Luke had known was coming.

He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the box.

“I found this the other day,” he said, setting it gently on the coffee table. “I forgot I even had it.”

William stared at it, unmoving.

“They gave it to us after... everything,” Luke continued. “Doctors said they had to take it off her for the scans. So I took it. I don’t know why. I think I just... wanted to hold onto something.”

William didn’t respond right away. His eyes stayed on the box, like opening it might detonate something inside him.

Luke took a slow sip of his beer before setting it down, his fingers brushing along the rim.

“I don’t know why I took it,” Luke said softly, his voice tinged with sadness. “I think... back then, I just needed something. You had everything, you know? The house. The dogs. Her clothes still hanging in the closet. Her perfume on the pillows. You were surrounded by pieces of her life.”

He paused, eyes fixed on some far-off point on the coffee table.

“I didn’t have any of that. She was gone, and I didn’t have anything that felt like her. I guess I thought... maybe the ring would help me stay close. Like I could hold onto something real. Sorry…I…I know it wasn’t mine to keep.”

William didn’t speak right away. His fingers rubbed against his jeans, slow, thoughtful.

“Did it help?” he finally asked, his voice thick with emotion. “Having the ring?”

Luke nodded. “Yeah. It did.”

William gave a small smile, almost more breath than expression. “Then I’m glad you had it. You’re right. I had everything else…a little too much, sometimes. It made it harder to let go. But if the ring helped you feel close to her, I think that’s exactly where it belonged.”

Luke swallowed. “Well... it’s yours now. I don’t feel the need to hold onto it anymore. And you signed the papers. I think maybe you need it more now than I do.”

William shook his head gently. “You can keep it, if you want. I’m not sure I can even look at it right now. I’ve had enough of staring at things I can’t change for four years.”

Luke’s voice softened. “Still. Even if you don’t want to look at it right now... it’s yours, Will. You picked it. For her. Maybe one day you’ll want it near. So take it.”

William nodded once. He didn’t reach for the box. Not yet. But he didn’t push it away either.

After a moment, Luke spoke again, his voice more hesitant this time. “I also wanted to say... thank you. For staying. For hoping.”

William exhaled, a soft laugh escaping like he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. “You don’t have to thank me for that, Luke.”

“I do.”

“No.” William turned to him fully now. “Even if I was only her husband for six hours... I was the happiest man alive. And we were together since 2014, Luke. That’s my whole adult life. She was my life. I would’ve stayed longer if I could. God, I wanted to.”

He glanced down at his hands, voice softening. “But yeah, I still feel guilty sometimes. Like… every time I start feeling okay, it’s like I’m doing something wrong—like I’m betraying her just by trying to be happy again. And when I signed the divorce papers last week… Luke, that was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. In that moment, I felt lower than I’ve ever felt in my life.”

Luke’s eyes were heavy with something that looked like grief and compassion at once. “Don’t think of it like that. Please. She would want you to be happy. You held onto her with everything you had—but you can’t freeze your life forever, not for a chance that may never come.”

William looked up.

“We both know what the doctors said,” Luke said quietly. “There’s a point zero two percent chance. That’s not hope anymore, Will. That’s... punishment. And it’s not fair to you.”

William didn’t reply right away. Just stared at his hands again. Finally, he whispered, “It feels like giving up.”

“It’s not,” Luke said. “It’s choosing to live. And I know that’s what she would’ve wanted for you. To keep living. To maybe even—” he hesitated, “—have kids someday. If you want. To love someone again. That’s not betrayal. That’s surviving man.”

William blinked hard. He nodded once, slowly.

“Thanks, kid.”

Luke gave a crooked smile. “I’m not a kid anymore.”

William laughed—tired but real. “You’ll always be her baby brother. Doesn’t matter how tall you get.”

Luke’s smile softened, shifting into something gentler. “Every time I wondered how the hell you were getting through this... I’d see you still showing up. Still breathing. Still walking the dogs. Still being you. You never shut us out. I’m grateful for that, Will. For you. For how you stayed in our lives.”

“You don’t have to thank me for that either.”

“I do,” Luke repeated. “I just wish we had more time as a family. All of us. But no matter what happens—whether you get remarried or move away or anything else—I want you to know, you’re always going to be part of this family. Once you’re a Hughes, there’s no way out.”

William smiled, but it faltered with emotion. He rubbed a hand over his jaw, trying to stay composed.

“That means a lot,” he said quietly.

They sat in silence again, but this time it felt full, not empty.

Luke stood up first. “I should get going. Need to catch my flight early in the morning.”

William followed him to the door. As Luke opened it, the cold air rushed in, sharp and clean.

Luke paused at the threshold. “If you need anything, you know where to find me.”

William smiled. Luke looked and sounded like a man—it still felt surreal.

“Same goes for you, Luke.”

And when the door closed behind Luke, and the apartment fell quiet again, William turned toward the table.

The box sat there, still closed. Small. Simple. Heavy with meaning.

He walked toward it, stood for a moment, and gently reached out.

He didn’t open it. Not yet.

But he took it back.

And for tonight, that was enough.

—

The Michigan house was quiet except for the occasional sizzle from the kitchen, where Jim moved around with ease. The scent of onions softening in a pan wafted through the halls—something simple for dinner, maybe stew or pasta, but warm enough to fill the house with comfort.

Ellen poured herself a glass of wine. She brought it into the living room and set it on the table beside the couch, sighing as she lowered herself into the cushions. Her knees weren’t what they used to be.

She reached for the box that had been sitting on the bookshelf for years. Inside, a small chaos of memories: photos, drawings, crayon-smudged cards with crooked handwriting, and the kind of things you don’t mean to keep but never find the heart to throw away.

She flipped through them slowly, one by one.

There was a photo of Quinn, barely two days old, tucked into the arms of a toddler with wispy curls and a too-serious expression. Eli. Her daughter. Her first. Her light. The little girl who had looked up at her baby brother and kissed his forehead like she already knew she was responsible for something sacred.

“I’m gonna protect him,” Eli had whispered that day, proud, sleepy and sure.

Ellen’s throat tightened. She traced the edge of the photo with her finger.

Behind her, Jim began humming softly under his breath. She heard the gentle clink of the wooden spoon against the side of the pan—the comforting sounds of ordinary life.

She took another sip of wine and picked up a photo of their first Christmas with all four kids. Jack had just turned four and was wearing a Santa hat two sizes too big. Luke was a baby, mostly interested in trying to eat the garland. And Eli—Eli had flour on her cheeks, a candy cane apron, and the brightest smile on her face as she stood on a stool in the kitchen next to Ellen, holding a misshapen gingerbread man in one hand.

“This is my favorite holiday, Mommy,” she had said, looking up at Ellen with sparkles in her eyes. “I love it so much, every year.”

And she had. Every year, Eli had taken charge of decorations, baking, gift-wrapping, even organizing the family movie nights. She made Christmas feel like something out of a storybook.

Now, the holidays felt dimmer. Quieter. Like the lights were still strung up, but the glow didn’t reach as far.

Ellen’s hand paused on a photo that made her laugh under her breath. It was one of the few she’d saved from the skating rink.

Eli, bundled up in a pink jacket, scowling in the center of the ice, her arms pinwheeling as Jim tried to keep her upright. Her expression was unmistakable: betrayal and horror in equal parts.

“She hated it,” Ellen said aloud, a faint smile tugging at her lips. She turned around on the couch in the direction of the open kitchen and showed the picture to her husband. “Our daughter. The only Hughes who hated skating.”

“I remember,” Jim said with a nostalgic smile. “She said her feet weren’t meant for frozen water. And if we ever forced her to do this again, she’d move to her grandparents’ in Florida so she’d never have to experience that cold rink again.”

“She was five and already dramatic.”

“Well, she totally got that from you.”

Ellen shook her head, but her smile lingered. “And she’s still married to a hockey player, Jim. I would never have guessed that.”

Jim’s stirring slowed, and the silence that followed stretched between them, gentle but weighted.

Ellen’s hand found Elis’s wedding photo.

The sun poured through the trees that day—golden, gentle, and somehow full of kindness. William stood at the altar, barely holding himself together. Eli looked radiant, like she always did when she was near William—their love seemed to glow through her.

Quinn had wiped his face three times before the ceremony even started. Jack had given Will a playful shove and whispered something threatening into his ear, trying to cover up his own tears. And Luke—sweet Luke—had held Eli so tightly after the vows that Ellen had worried for a moment he might actually break her ribs.

Ellen pressed the photo to her chest for a moment.

The wedding had been a dream. A soft, perfect blur. And then just a few hours later, it became something else entirely.

She didn’t cry now. She rarely did anymore. The tears had dried up in the second year, and what remained was something quieter. A hollow ache. An ever-present weight.

Ellen turned toward the kitchen again, watching her husband move slowly around the stove. He’d always wanted a daughter. She remembered the day Eli was born—how he had cried when the doctor said, “It’s a girl.” He had kissed Ellen’s forehead and whispered, “I’m gonna be a good dad. I swear I will. She’s gonna be my little princess.”

And she had been.

The accident had taken something from Jim—something she knew she could never give back. He never said it aloud, but she saw it in how he spoke about her less these days, and in the way he’d sometimes sit alone in the garage, staring into nothing for long stretches. Grief had silenced a man who once filled the room.

Ellen looked back down at the photo in her hand.

Her baby. Her daughter.

Not gone. But not here.

Alive in the most technical way, and yet unreachable. For four years, they had visited the hospital, touched her hand, whispered to her like she might hear it. And every time, they left a little more broken.

Near the bottom of the box, Ellen’s fingers paused on another photo — one that made her chest tighten with a fresh, bittersweet ache.

It was a photo Jim had taken nearly fifteen years ago, on a late summer afternoon. The four kids sat at the edge of the old wooden dock behind their Michigan house, their legs swinging just above the shimmering lake. The sun bathed their skin in a honeyed glow, while the water whispered softly beneath them.

Eli was there — so alive, so bright — curled up with a worn copy of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone resting in her lap. Her braid was loose, strands sticking to her flushed cheeks, and she was reading aloud with that gentle intensity Ellen had always loved.

Quinn sat close, arms crossed, pretending to scold Jack — wild as ever — who was half-standing, half-jumping off the dock, his shirt twisted around his neck, wearing that wide grin full of mischief.

Luke, the littlest one with soft golden curls and chubby cheeks, sat right next to Eli, kicking his legs and babbling in that sweet toddler way only he could.

Then, in that photo—forever frozen in time—Luke’s face turned toward Eli. With a bright, clear voice that still made Ellen’s heart tighten, he spoke the word Eli had been waiting to hear for so long:

“HanHan.”

The very first time Luke said her name.

Everyone else called her Eli, short and simple — but Luke’s word was different. Full of wonder and love, spoken like a secret just between them. Eli’s face lit up with a smile that held all the joy in the world.

Ellen’s thumb brushed over the photo, her eyes stinging.

Four years had passed since the accident.

Four years since Eli’s laughter filled the house.

Four years since she slipped into silence.

Four years of holding onto memories like fragile glass — beautiful but easily shattered.

Looking at the picture now, Ellen could almost hear Luke’s voice echoing through the quiet house, calling “HanHan!” as he always did, full of hope and innocence.

She could almost see Eli turning toward him, happiness shining in her eyes, the way she’d drop everything to chase after her brothers, boss them around, love them fiercely.

Tears blurred Ellen’s vision as she whispered to the empty room, “My sweet HanHan…”

The name wasn’t just a memory. It was a thread connecting past and present. The hope that maybe, somehow, Eli was still there — still hearing, still loving, still HanHan to her brothers.

Ellen gently set the photo down and closed the box.

She stood up from the couch and walked toward the kitchen.

Jim stood at the stove, stirring quietly. Ellen leaned against the counter, her wine glass cradled in her hands, the sleeves of her sweater pushed up to her elbows. The silence between them wasn’t heavy—it rarely was. After twenty-plus years of marriage, silence could just mean safety.

Still, Ellen’s voice broke the silence gently. “I saw William last week.”

Jim didn’t look up from the stove. “Oh, yeah?”

“When I was at the PWHL conference in Toronto, I decided to grab a coffee with him.”

“That’s nice of you, honey. How is he doing?”

“He looks… better. He finished therapy and seems lighter, I guess. Smiling more. I’m glad his parents convinced him to do it—it seemed to help.” She paused, searching for the right words. “And… he met someone.”

Jim turned toward her, the wooden spoon still in his hand. Surprise flickered in his eyes, but there was no anger. “Oh? Well, I guess we told him last Christmas to get out there and move on. Who is she?”

“Her name’s Lena Gunnarsson. She’s Swedish too and lost her husband, her first love 6 years ago. Same kind of story.” Ellen’s smile was faint, almost fragile. “I guess, grief recognizes its own.”

Jim raised an eyebrow but waited, sensing Ellen wasn’t finished.

“I think that’s why he’s drawn to her,” Ellen said softly, almost to herself. “Not because he’s falling in love, but because he doesn’t have to explain anything. She just… understands him. No explanations, no judgment. It’s safe.”

Jim set the spoon down on a folded towel, folding his arms. “You think that’s a bad thing?”

Ellen exhaled slowly. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s exactly what he needs right now. But when I look at him—really look—I don’t see the same spark I used to. Not the way he used to light up when he talked about Eli or the future he dreamed for them.”

Jim nodded slowly, leaning back against the counter. “He’s been through hell, Ellen. No one would expect him to bounce back overnight.”

“I know,” she whispered. “And I’m proud of him. God, I am. He stayed. He waited. He never gave up on our baby, not really.” Her voice cracked. “But I worry… I worry he’s building his future on a foundation of shared pain rather than hope.”

Jim reached out, resting a steady hand on her shoulder. “You mean he’s settling? Because it’s comfortable?”

Ellen nodded. “Maybe. It’s safer to be with someone who knows the ache, who understands the silence, than to risk the messiness of love again. But that’s not really living, is it? That’s surviving.”

Jim exhaled softly, his gaze drifting away as he absently wiped his hands on a kitchen towel. After a moment, he spoke, his voice quiet but steady.

“You remember what I told William, don’t you? To let go. To find something new.”

Ellen nodded slowly. “You were right. He needed to hear it.”

Jim looked down at the counter, voice quieter. “But now that it’s happening... it feels strange. Different than I imagined.”

Ellen stepped closer, voice gentle. “How so?”

Jim swallowed. “I thought I’d feel relieved. Like a weight lifted. Instead, it’s like... I’m betraying my own daughter. Abandoning a space that should only be hers.”

He glanced up, eyes filled with a mix of sadness and confusion. “It’s not anger, or resentment. It’s... guilt.”

Ellen reached out, her hand covering his. “Jim...”

“I love William. I always have. But this—” He gestured vaguely, “—this feels like I’m letting go of Eli in a way I’m not ready for.”

Ellen’s voice was steady but tender. “Jim, you’re not betraying anyone. You wanted the best for William—because you love him. Because you love Eli. Wanting William to find happiness again doesn’t mean you’re letting Eli go. Eli wanted that for him, honey.”

Jim nodded slowly but his eyes didn’t quite meet hers. “I know.It’s just… emotions don’t always follow logic El.”

Ellen squeezed his hand. “Yeh, that’s true.”

She took a breath, steadying herself. “That’s why I’m scared for William. Because I think he’s trying to do what’s right, instead of what feels right. Because he’s afraid of loving again, not because he doesn’t want to, but because the fear of loss is still so big.”

They stood quietly, the kitchen filled only by the hum of the stove and the steady rhythm of their breaths.

Ellen finally whispered, “I’m just scared for him. That he’s so afraid of losing again, he won’t let himself love again.”

Jim bent down, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

“We just have to trust him. Trust that he’ll find his way. Maybe it won’t be perfect. Maybe it won’t look like what we imagined. But it can still be something beautiful.”

Ellen nodded slowly, still holding his hand.

“I want him to have a future that’s more than just making it through. More than just breathing.”

“Me too, El,” Jim said softly, his voice thick with quiet emotion. “More than anything, me too.”

—

The envelope was still sitting on the counter.

Stephanie hadn’t opened it right away—just stared at the creamy paper like it had personally offended her. Now it was splayed open, invitation on display, as if the words might rearrange themselves into something less surreal.

William & Lena

She read it again.

William & Lena.

It didn’t matter how elegant the font was or how understated the navy and gold design looked. To Steph, it was a soft betrayal dressed up in tasteful serif type.

She stood in the kitchen, one hand pressed to her belly like she was physically holding herself together, the other gripping a mug of now-cold tea. Her knuckles were white on the handle. The silence around her buzzed like static.

Mitch stepped in from the hallway, unwinding his scarf and shrugging off the last of the cold outside. He saw her posture first—stiff, braced—then saw the envelope.

He didn’t need to ask.

“Steph,” he said gently, his voice a thread. “You okay?”

She didn’t look at him. Her eyes were locked on the invitation, like if she blinked, it might morph into something else.

“They’re getting married. In Sweden. In August.” Her voice was clipped, deliberate, like if she said it too softly it might sound reasonable.

“It’s like Eli never happened.”

Mitch exhaled, slow. “You don’t mean that.”

“Yes, I do,” she snapped. One hand stayed anchored on her belly like a warning. “He’s marrying someone else, Mitch. Just like that. After everything. After her.”

“It’s been almost five years, Steph.”

“Four and a half,” she corrected. Too fast.

Her voice cracked slightly, then hardened. “They’ve been together since they were teenagers. They married each other. And now he’s acting like she’s just a part to be replaced—like some role that can be recast.”

Mitch crossed the kitchen slowly, pulled out a chair at the table, and sat. He rested his arms on the table, calm and quiet, the way you approach someone who’s standing too close to a ledge.

“He’s not replacing her. No one could.”

“Then what the hell is he doing?” she said, each word sharp. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks a lot like settling. Like he just got tired of being alone and picked the next safest option.”

Mitch hesitated, letting the words settle before he answered.

“Maybe that’s all he has left in him, Steph. Maybe Lena isn’t some grand, romantic love—but maybe she’s someone he can survive.”

Stephanie scoffed, moving again, pacing like she couldn’t stay in her skin. Her fingers twisted the sleeve of her sweater.

“She doesn’t even know him,” she said bitterly. “Not like Eli did. Not like we do. She didn’t see what Eli brought out in him. The way he used to laugh around her—really laugh. Like he believed in something. Now he just... floats. Like he’s underwater all the time. And this wedding?” She gestured toward the counter, voice rising. “This feels like a checkbox.”

Mitch watched her, letting her unravel, knowing she had to.

“A freaking wedding?!” she went on, shaking her head. “He couldn’t even call. Just had his assistant send out invitations like it’s some goddamn charity gala.”

“He probably didn’t know how to say it,” Mitch offered gently.

“Oh, but a monogrammed RSVP card says it better?”

“Steph…”

“No, Mitch. No.” Her voice was rising now, more broken than loud. “This is not okay. He doesn’t get to rewrite everything just because he’s tired of being sad. He doesn’t get to bury Eli under this new-life package just because he wants to feel normal again.”

Mitch stood slowly. He approached her like one might approach a wounded animal—deliberate, soft, steady—but didn’t touch her. He knew she needed space to bleed it all out.

“He’s not burying her.”

“He is,” she snapped. “He’s remarrying. That’s not some minor thing. That’s not therapy or smiling again or going back to the gym. That’s permanent. That’s him telling the world Eli is behind him.”

Mitch turned to the counter and leaned against it, arms crossed. His expression was tired but open.

“Steph, it’s been four and a half years. That’s a long time to stand still.”

“She’s still alive,” she hissed.

He looked at her.

“She’s not gone. Don’t talk about her like she’s gone. Don’t you dare.”

There it was—her line. The edge of her world. But Mitch didn’t flinch.

“I know she is,” he said softly. “But you know she’s not coming back.”

Stephanie shut her eyes. Her jaw clenched so tightly the tendons stood out along her neck. For a moment, she looked like she might scream just to clear the air.

“I hate that you say it like that,” she whispered. “Like it’s just a fact we’re supposed to accept. Like you’ve made peace with it.”

“I haven’t,” Mitch said. “I just... made space for it.”

“She was my best friend Mitch,” Steph said. Her voice was barely audible now. “We were supposed to raise our kids together. We had names picked out. We made stupid Pinterest boards. She would’ve been this baby’s godmother.”

Her fingers found the edge of the counter, gripping it like a lifeline.

“And now I’m supposed to send a gift and wear pastel and clap for this new chapter like none of that mattered?”

Mitch moved to her, slowly, resting his hands on her arm. She didn’t pull away.

“No one’s asking you to pretend.”

“Really?” she said, half-laughing, half-weeping. “Because this?” She pointed at the invitation. “This feels a hell of a lot like pretending. Like we’re supposed to accept Lena as the sequel and call it healing.”

He guided her to sit, crouched beside her, never letting go of her hand.

“Steph. You’re right. It’s unfair. It’s messy and yes, it feels wrong. But maybe for Will, it’s taken everything just to get to the point where he can even try again. Maybe this isn’t a betrayal. Maybe this is the bravest thing he’s capable of.”

Her eyes were glassy, red-rimmed. Her hands trembled.

“I don’t want to see him happy if she’s not there,” she whispered. “Is that insane?”

Mitch shook his head. “It’s not insane. It’s human.”

She looked away. “I just don’t want him to live a lie. He loved Eli in this big, messy, all-consuming way. And now he’s marrying someone who fits into the grief. Who doesn’t make waves. Who doesn’t make him feel too much.”

Mitch exhaled through his nose. “Maybe that’s all he can handle.”

“But is that love, Mitch?” Her voice cracked again. “Or is that just... not drowning?”

He didn’t answer. Just held her hand.

“Does it matter?” he said finally. “If it keeps him alive, if it gives him peace... maybe we don’t get to define it.”

“I want more for him,” she whispered. “Even if he doesn’t want it for himself.”

“I know,” Mitch said. “Me too.”

They sat like that for a long time. The kitchen ticked with the quiet hum of the fridge, the distant creak of winter settling into the house.

Then Steph stirred again.

“And you know what else?” Her tone shifted, sharper now. “She’s going to be one of us. A Toronto WAG.”

Mitch blinked. “Steph…”

“No, I know it sounds petty, but it’s not. You remember what it was like—Eli was part of our crew. She was real. We weren’t brunch-photo wives, we were actual friends. A unit.”

She rubbed at her face with her sleeve, half laughing in disbelief.

“And now Lena gets to wear the jacket? Sit in our row? Be invited to wives’ game night and act like she belongs?”

Mitch watched her with quiet sympathy.

“It’s just a label, baby.”

“You know it’s not,” she said. “You know what that space meant. Eli was the soul of that group. She loved it.”

Mitch wrapped his arms around her. This time she melted into him, boneless with exhaustion.

“You’re right,” he murmured. “But I also know this baby is coming soon. And your hormones are setting fires.”

Stephanie let out a choked laugh, half sob.

“So I’m irrational?”

“I’m saying you already lost Eli once, and now it feels like you’re losing her again. And that’s terrifying.”

She nodded against him, the tears finally free now. Her shoulders shook.

“I don’t want to be this bitter,” she said finally. “I don’t want to hate someone I don’t even know.”

“You don’t hate her,” Mitch said gently. “You just miss Eli so much you don’t know where to put it.”

Mitch whispered, “We’ll go. We don’t have to smile. We don’t even have to stay long. But I think we should go. For William. For Eli.”

“Alright,” she said, voice low. “But we’re sitting in the back. And I’m wearing black. No exceptions.”

Mitch raised an eyebrow. “Black? Like funeral black?”

She gave him a look that was part mischief, part steel. “Exactly.”

He laughed softly. “You’re going to be a real joy at the wedding.”

“Someone’s got to keep things interesting.”

Mitch shook his head, smiling as he pulled her into a gentle hug again. “Deal.”

—

Jack pushed open the hospital door with a soft creak, stepping into the quiet, sterile room where his sister lay still — fragile as a glass sculpture, untouched by time but entirely changed by it. The faint beep of monitors was the only sound, steady and constant.

He stepped inside, slow. Careful. Like if he moved too fast, the moment would shatter.

It smelled like antiseptic and flowers that died three days ago.

Jack swallowed hard, the weight of five years and ninety-seven days pressing on his chest like it wanted to break something inside him. He hadn’t been here in weeks — between the season, the travel, the rehab — but today... today he couldn’t stay away.

He eased into the chair next to her bed, eyes scanning the stillness of her face. Peaceful. Pale. So fucking familiar. And so far away.

“Hey, big sis,” he said softly. “It’s been a while, huh?”

He reached for her hand — warm, soft, weightless — and curled his fingers around it. Holding on to something that felt like her.

“You took a long nap,” he whispered, a smirk twitching at the corner of his mouth, weak and cracked. “Five years and ninety-seven days. But who’s counting, right? Just your favorite brother keeping tabs.”

His thumb ran over the back of her hand, slow and rhythmic.

“I told myself I’d come every other month. Sit here. Talk. Let you know what’s going on. But I didn’t. And I’m sorry.”

He swallowed.

“I just... I hate seeing you like this, Eli. You’re here, but not. Breathing, but silent. It’s like someone hit pause on your life, and we’re all just... waiting. And every time I walk in, it feels like you’re going to wake up. Like you’ll roll your eyes at me and say I’m late or my hair looks dumb.”

He laughed — quiet, rough.

“I don’t want this to be what I remember when I think of you. This frozen version of you.”

He sat back, dragging a hand down his face, then sighed.

“Anyway. Catching you up.”

He sniffed and cleared his throat.

“Mom and Dad are... well, they’re Mom and Dad. You know. Stubborn and weirdly optimistic in ways that make no sense. Dad’s golfing like he’s on the senior tour. He’s either on the course or on YouTube watching some guy named Sven talk about putters. Mom’s pissed because he’s ‘wasting his damn knees’ but she’s been crazy busy, too. She took this new position with the women’s Olympic team — she’s basically coaching the coaches. Yelling at them and bossing them around. She’s so in her element it’s scary. You’d love it.”

He smiled faintly.

“They miss you. I mean, they won’t say it—not directly. But it’s there. Like... Mom still folds your hoodie and leaves it draped over the back of the chair, like you might swing by. And Dad—he keeps your old voicemail saved on his phone. Listens to it sometimes when he thinks no one’s around. Just stands there in the garage like he’s fixing something, but he’s not. He just... misses you.”

His jaw flexed. “They stopped saying your name after the second year. Like if they say it, something will snap.”

A beat passed.

“Luke’s in the NHL now.”

He gave a small laugh.

“I know, right? Baby Luke. He’s fast, cocky, impossible to deal with — so, basically perfect. You missed his first game. You would’ve hated missing it. He had your name inside his glove. We both did. He’s doing great. I mean, I live with him, so I also know that he leaves wet towels on the floor and eats pasta at 2 a.m. straight from the pot like a gremlin, but still. He’s killing it. I’m trying not to murder him. Mostly succeeding.”

Jack exhaled, shoulders slumping.

“Quinn... Quinn’s dating someone. Kinda. It’s a mess. He’s doing that thing where he’s emotionally constipated but still somehow kind of in love? He keeps texting me for advice like I’m some sort of love guru. I’m like, ‘Bro, I’m still figuring out if I’m emotionally available enough to own a plant.’ You’d be yelling at us both right now.”

He grew quiet.

“And then... there’s William.”

Jack rubbed the back of his neck.

“He got married again.”

The words hung there, blunt and bare.

“It was a few months ago. In Sweden. Beautiful place. It was... nice. Really nice, actually. Candles everywhere. That soft, muted golden light you always loved—the kind that makes everything feel a little quieter. Everyone looked gentle, a little sad. Which, I guess, made sense.”

Jack shook his head, a pained smirk curling.

“I told him I was happy for him. And I am. Sort of. But it also felt like watching someone wear a jersey with the wrong number. You know?”

He hesitated.

“She’s not terrible, Eli. That’s what sucks. She’s... gentle. Respectful. She talks about you. Doesn’t pretend you never happened. She gets it, in this weird way. She lost someone, too. I think that’s the thing — they’re not really in love the way you two were. But they’re broken in the same shape. And I guess sometimes, broken finds broken.”

He went still again.

“But she’s not you. She’ll never be you.”

Jack drew in a shaky breath.

“Stephanie came to the wedding with Mitch. Nine months pregnant. Emotional as hell. She wore a black dress. Like, full black. Said it was ‘formal mourning attire.’ Mitch tried to stop her from wearing a damn veil. She was fighting him in the parking lot. You would’ve laughed your ass off.”

His face softened.

“She still talks about you like you’re gonna walk through the door any second.”

He looked at Eli again.

“I do, too.”

A long silence. The kind that settled deep.

“I had another surgery,” he said eventually. “Shoulder again. Missed a small part of the season and the full playoffs. Rehab sucks. But I’m doing better. Next year I’m back. I’ll score one for you. First game. Even if it’s ugly and I trip into the net, it’s yours.”

Jack leaned forward, his forehead almost touching her hand.

“I don’t know what’s left of you in there. I don’t know if you hear me. If you’ve heard anything.”

His voice broke.

“But I love you, Eli. I love you so fucking much. And I miss you. Every day. Every goddamn day.”

And then — something shifted.

A twitch.

Barely there.

A squeeze.

Jack sat up fast.

“Eli?” he whispered.

Her eyelashes flickered. Once. Twice.

And then her eyes opened.

Wide. Unfocused. Fragile as glass.

Jack’s heart slammed into his ribs.

“Eli,” he breathed.

She blinked. Her mouth parted. Confused. Silent.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Eli.”

And for the first time in five years and ninety-seven days, Jack Hughes finally felt like he could breathe again.

[zyxoxox]

in the name of ragnvindr//

older brother!diluc x platonic!reader x older brother!kaeya

a/n. i think i’ll be writing about these three a lot more. so this is the title i’ve given to the series! started with this.

if you have anything more to say about the ragbros and their new little sibling, please come scream to me about it. i will love you so much for it i swear.

diluc being an older brother again meant the same for kaeya, but their dynamics couldn’t be more different.

it mostly fell on diluc to raise the kid he took in. he’d still spoil the kid silly, but was also much stricter with them as well.

wake up at the break of dawn, you mustn’t say this and that, you must dress properly before leaving the estate, no unhealthy snacks more than once a day, bedtime by ten-

for a teen these were all quite necessary, of course, but that gave kaeya an opportunity- he was the fun one. diluc didn’t like this title kaeya had earned, but there was no helping it- while diluc had to show some restraint, kaeya could coddle the child to his heart’s content.

there was a particular incident, where kaeya had been returning from sumera with the traveller, and decided to visit the winery on the way.

“why, master diluc, i just came to drop by!”

the sound of that sentence was all it took. a crash could be heard upstairs, with the sound of clamouring footsteps getting louder and louder until-

“kaeya’s here?!”

with an excited squeal you’d run over and jump on top of him, letting him spin you in a circle.

“now, now! you’re getting quite big, my legs will give out if you do that any longer.”

“eh, it’s fine, you’ll manage!”

your eyes lit up as the two of them spoke to each other. moments like this were so rare, they couldn’t help but fill you with joy.

and so when kaeya brought out the gift he’d bought for diluc, you couldn’t help but get inquisitive.

“well, i’ll be off to get my wine then,” kaeya turned to leave, but you cleared your throat. he turned to face you, raising an eyebrow.

you looked at the gift, now on the table, and then at him.

“oh? i’m afraid that’s all i have with me, [name]. this gift was for the winery, and you are a part of it, are you not?”

you were skeptical. this was definitely a joke. crossing your arms, you gave him a look.

but kaeya seemed genuinely confused. “don’t tell me you wanted something else!” he exclaimed, looking upset.

so he truly hadn’t gotten you anything from sumeru! oh no, you couldn’t guilt him over that!

“uh, no! it looks very nice kaeya. it’s very… unique. i like the way it’s shaped,” quite frankly, you couldn’t tell what it was.

as you struggled to find the right words, a sudden laugh came from behind. “you should see the look on your face right now! it’s priceless!”

“kaeya!”

“what, you truly thought i wouldn’t bring you something from sumeru? even after i promised?”

that’s right, you’d made him promise to get you a souvenir before he left. you’d nearly forgotten, but he hadn’t.

kaeya knelt to the floor, calling you to sit beside him. “now, look here,”

he took some neatly folded clothes from a bag, all in your favourite colours. “i know you quite like your current wardrobe, but i thought you might like these as well.”

they were perfect! but the bag wasn’t empty yet. next he took out a sketch pad, with a bottle of ink and a quality quill. “the akademiya needs a lot of paper, i heard. it’s good drawing and writing, since you like to do it so much.”

diluc watched as kaeya continued to take things out of the bag, one by one. after that was a wooden doll, and then some snacks, and finally, a red stoned ring. “we took him shopping at the district,” paimon explained. “we thought he’d buy a souvenir he liked! we didn’t know he’d buy them an item at every shop we visited!”

you giggled in delight. how lucky you were!

“kaeya, you’re the best!” you grabbed his face and kissed his cheek. “diluc, you too!” you pulled him to your height and kissed his cheek as well. “i need to get ready for the meeting diluc and i are going to, kaeya, but i’ll come back! so don’t leave, okay?”

with that you ran back to your room upstairs, filling the halls with laughter, hands full of sumerian goods. kaeya and diluc watched you disappear out of sight.

“now, i’m slightly hurt! i’m the one who got the goods, and yet somehow, that qualifies you for a kiss on the cheek as well! this is what they call favouritism, master diluc.”

diluc scoffed. “tch. they’d do the same if it were me who got them gifts instead, to your pleasure.”

kaeya’s pout turned into a smile. “aha! we should put that to test, don’t you think?”

[firingstars]

neighborly advice | ch. 2

bucky barnes x reader

summary: you're dealing with the mental repercussions of blacking out and spending the night at your hot neighbor's house. your best friend asks you to two man with her, but it takes a turn for the worse.

warnings: timeline is somewhere around the middle/end of fatws, language, alcohol, eventual smut, past trauma, nightmares, no use of y/n, lightly edited, attempted assaulted, bucky basically breaks someones skull, mdni

word count: 4.2k

a/n: makeout scene next chapter

previous chapter | next chapter

The light that peeked through the curtains should be illegal. It was assaulting your eyelids and disturbing your sleep and making the pounding in your head ten times worse. You let out a soft groan, turning to your side to try and escape the day, moving your face deeper into the silk pillowcase. The scent of spicy sandalwood mixed with clean linen invades your nostrils, but also smelt faintly of a library. If you really focused, there was also smoke, gunpowder, and–

This wasn’t your apartment.

Sitting up quickly, your eyes widened as you looked down at the sheets beneath you. These satin, dark gray sheets did not belong to you. Nor did the matching mahogany nightstand and desk that were in this room. 

Your heart was thumping out of your chest as you shifted quickly off the bed and towards the desk, finding your jacket draped across the seat and your purse on the desk. Upon closer inspection, you saw there was more than just your purse. There was a folded piece of printer paper, a water bottle with perspiration dripping down its side, two pills on top of a tissue, and a key. 

Curiously, you picked up the letter first, scanning the contents of it quickly.

Mr. Nakajima and the bartender from Izzy’s trusted me to bring you home last night after you blacked out, but I felt weird about digging into your purse to get your key and going into your house. In case your head hurts, I left two Tylenol for you. 500mg. I left for work, so just slip the spare key under the mat when you leave. -Bucky

“Handwriting matches the way he smells,” you murmured, then froze. Were you going insane? You needed to get out of here, quickly. However, this throbbing pain in your skull needed to be taken care of and Bucky thankfully thought ahead and took care of that for you.

You had no idea what you would do to make it up to him, but you would have to figure it out somehow. You technically had all the time in the world seeing as there was an indefinite hiatus on your project until you found out how to get it started again, but that would have to hold on for now. Right now, you threw back those two pills and downed the entire bottle of water after realizing you felt more than dehydrated, and collected your things to march the hell out of there.

On the way out, you paused in the living room.

Just like his room, there was nothing in his living room. He had only been here, maybe a month and a half, but there was no sign that there was a person actually living here. There was a couch and a TV facing that couch, but other than that? There wasn’t anything memorable. No pictures, no awards, nothing of the sort. 

You stared, longer than you really should have. A strange tug pulled at your chest as you swallowed, and you forced the tug down. You tore yourself away from the sight in front of you, and went for the door.

“I need a shower,” you murmured.

Outside his door, you stared at the mat. You felt weird. It was weird to leave it there. What if, by some weird chance, someone saw her leave the key there? Or if there was some criminal that just happened to come by their apartment building that day while he was at work and decided to flip up everyone’s door mats? That was commonplace for people to hide spare keys. You saw it happen on the news all the time. Bucky didn’t have a lot in his house, but you didn’t necessarily go around and dig through his shit. Someone could ransack the place and it would be your fault. 

Paranoia ate at your stomach. You clenched the key tighter in your hand, then took one final tug at his door to make sure his door was securely locked before turning to go to your own apartment. You would return it to him later, when he came home. 

For now, you needed to soak in scalding water, call Leah, and figure out what the fuck happened last night.

You baked muffins. You hadn’t baked in who knows how long, and you baked muffins of all things. Horror, dread, and embarrassment mixed in your stomach the more Leah spoke, and even though Leah sounded just as distraught as you felt, it did nothing to ease the blow.

“I mean, if it helps, your neighbor is really hot,” Leah tried comforting you when you were on FaceTime with her.

“I know he is, but he doesn’t need to know that I think he is!” you shouted in retaliation, beating the ingredients into submission even harder in the bowl. 

Now, fresh out of the oven, the muffins felt like a death sentence. 

You’d woken up some time past twelve in the afternoon, learned the details from Leah at two, baked until four, paced around and stressed until six, deep cleaned the entire apartment until seven thirty, ordered food and had it delivered and polished off by nine, and your hot neighbor still was nowhere to be seen.

You shared a wall with him, and you heard him make noise that first night. There was no way that you wouldn’t hear him come in and out of his apartment. By the time that ten was rolling around, you were staring at the fine china that Mr. Lin gifted you with malice. Why’d he have to leave? Why did his children suddenly have to care about his well-being? Was it about inheritance? Fuck, these kids always worry about some kind of inheritance when the elderly are about to die–

THUD.

You perked up, blinking. 

Before you could even think about psyching yourself out, you moved. You grabbed the tupperware of four muffins– two blueberry and two chocolate just in case he didn’t like one flavor or the other– and his spare key before pushing yourself out the door. You knocked on his door before you could decide to turn around and leave.

For a second, you thought you’d heard wrong. There was no noise on the other side. Maybe he wasn’t home yet? The noise could have come from outside the window, or maybe you were just hoping to hear from him.

The door opened, and your mouth fell open. He was beat up, and badly at that. There was a deep bruise blossoming on the side of his face along with a cut on the opposite cheek, too. 

“Bucky?” you asked softly, voice laced with concern.

“You could’ve… uh…” Bucky cleared his throat, not meeting your eyes. “You could’ve left the key under the mat.”

You blinked at him, continuing to stare at the obvious wounds on his person. Were you supposed to act like his injuries didn’t exist? 

“I felt… I also felt a bit weird. A little paranoid about it. Never know who could just come in, you know?” you asked softly, holding the key out to him. He reached a hand out, and you realized his hands were almost always gloved, and dropped the key into his possession. 

“Oh. Thanks.” He nodded, then quickly added, “For looking out.”

“Right.” She nodded back, a little dumbly, but really, she could only stare at his face. Didn’t he just go to work? Did he get jumped or something? Did that thud— Was the thud the cause of this new injury that just seemed to blossom out of nowhere and paint itself on his pretty face?

“I’ll get going now,” he said, clearing his throat again, beginning to close the door. 

Your eyes widened in panic, and you sucked in a breath. You quickly slapped a hand on the door to stop him from shutting it completely. Bucky's eyebrows furrowed as he paused to stare at your hand for a moment before slowly dragging his gaze to look at you.

“I made too many muffins,” you lied. Why the fuck did you just lie? “Are you allergic to blueberries? Or chocolate?”

“No… I’m not.”

“Perfect. Did you want— Please, by all means,” you said, all but shoving the tupperware in his hands. “As a thank you for, um, sheltering me…? Yeah. Last night.”

Bucky stared at you with something that you could only discern with confusion or disgust. You didn’t want to stick around and find out which one it really was. The heat of embarrassment was beginning to creep up on your neck, to your cheek and ears, and you needed to leave. Now. Quickly. Before he could see it all over your face.

“Well. Sleep tight,” you choked out, turning on your heel, and you were never more grateful for the short distance between the apartments. You slammed the door shut behind you, your back hitting the door as you buried your face with your hands.

Self conscious. You were being too damn self conscious. 

It felt like he was not only staring at you, but through you. Like there was something that only he could see when he was looking at you, that didn’t make you uncomfortable, but made you feel heavy. It made you feel like shit, too, since he was obviously injured, and yet his voice was so tired and dreamy and God–

“Maybe I do need to get laid,” you whispered to the air as you slid down the door and onto the floor.

Which was exactly what led you into the club with Leah a few days later. Not something like Izzy's small bar and restaurant, but a full club. Flashy lights, loud music, bumping bodies with drunkards and people that wouldn’t remember a single thing tomorrow.

If you hadn’t blacked out earlier in the week, you might have been one of those people, too. Yet, even if that wasn’t the case, this would not be the time for it. After all, you had a mission. You were playing wingman for Leah. This was a two man; basically a blind date since you had no idea who Leah’s date’s friend was. 

He was okay, all things considered. You really didn’t know what his name was, though.

Derrick? Daniel? David? You should really pay more attention. All you could do was drown out his incessant chatter as you slowly sipped on the fruity drink that he had taken upon himself to order for you. You didn’t really mind it right now, it was a nice change of pace, especially since you didn’t want a redo of the other night and just wake up in another man’s apartment. You could only be grateful that you found yourself in a respectable man’s apartment.

You couldn’t really say the same thing about Devin who stood beside you at the bar, and wouldn’t stop talking.

“—and women these days just don’t put much effort into things, at least in my opinion. I mean, I’m all for being a gentleman, but there should be some kind of give and take, right?” Dylan sighed, looking at her, waiting for her reply.

“Is that so?” you hummed, and it was an automated answer. You briefly looked past him, finding Leah making puppy eyes at her date, watching him become pudding in her hands. A smile crept onto your lips as you brought your drink closer to your mouth. At least your best friend was having a good time. 

“Not you, though. You look great tonight. Don’t know if I’ve said that yet,” he said, flashing you a smile. He had meat stuck in his mouth from when they went to the diner earlier on in the night.

“Thanks.”

The conversation died down, albeit awkwardly, but you really couldn't care less. Saturday night, the club was buzzing with excitement around you. You were still having to deal with the fact that on Monday, you needed to clear your things from your desk at the research facility that you occupied, and then would have to start from zero. That, and things were still weird with Bucky. Maybe you could stage an intervention, run into him in the hall and ask him to coffee? That would be good.

“Looks like our friends are going to go dance.” Dean chuckled, leaning in close to you. He rested a hand on the small of your back, making you tense instantly. 

You cleared your throat, and twisted your body away from his touch to find Leah. Truth be told, she was weaving into the crowd with her date, smiling and having a great time. Like you should be having. Fuck her.

“Should we join them?” he asked, leaning in closer to your ear and making goosebumps rise on your skin. Goosebumps that told you to get the hell out of here. He raised an eyebrow at you, hands falling to your waist to lock you in place. He really didn’t get the hint the first time.

“Actually, let me use the restroom first. Drank too much,” you lied with a forced smile, and tore yourself out of his hands.

Except, you didn’t make it to the restroom. You went outside the building for some fresh air and some peace and quiet. You took your phone out of your pocket to shoot a quick text to Leah that you knew that she wouldn’t see until later. 

Me [12:52am]: sorry dude, cant stand him. i’m heading out. lmk when you get home

Leah wasn’t dumb, and you knew that Leah didn’t drink that much to begin with. She would be able to get herself home without any problems, and it was clear she wanted to get that man in her bed anyways. You closed the messaging app and went into Uber, seeing how long it would take to get a ride to the curb here. 

On a normal night, you could wait fifteen minutes. It was not a normal night. 

The anxiety filled your stomach, a make believe scenario of Declan coming to look for you in the restroom to find out that you weren’t there, then finding you out on the curb in the middle of the silent, late night New York street filled your mind. You could walk to the corner store a block away, grab a quick bite to eat, and have the ride be marked for pick up there.

You decided this would be the best plan and started walking.

The two-man started off at a little diner not too far from the club, but you and Leah sat in separate booths. While Leah looked comfortable and happy sharing a cheesy pizza with her guy, you were forced to listen to this man’s horrible week while he gave passive aggressive comments about how he couldn’t believe that women didn’t compose themselves on dates.

You didn’t necessarily care to make a good impression, but you were playing wingman. You really didn’t need this guy running over to interrupt Leah. He ordered a three meat, three cheese layered burrito with extra onions. You ordered a mini fucking garden salad which seemed to make him grin from ear to ear. This only made you extremely fucking hungry.

You shoved your hands into your pockets with a deep sigh. You didn’t drink enough alcohol to keep yourself warm against the late autumn air, and Leah also didn’t let you dress badly either. If anything, you were dressed by her. She came into your apartment and raided your closet for her outfit and yours. You were hating her a little more right now.

The sheer tights and knee high platform boots did little to keep you safe against the bite of the cold, especially with the cute mini black skirt you wore tonight. The tube top left just a sliver of midriff seen, and the leather jacket was cropped for aesthetics rather than the weather. Good for the club and for pictures. Not for the dropping temperatures.

“Fuck me,” you groaned to yourself, finding a rock on the pavement. You kicked it.

“That can be arranged.��

You gasped sharply as a hand found its way on your upper bicep as you were forcefully turned around. You were staring face to face with the man you abandoned at the club, and he looked ballistic. Shit.

“You just gonna ditch me without a single word? Seriously? I thought we were bonding so well,” he said, a slight snarl in his voice. 

“Get your hands off of me,” you snapped, tugging your arm back. His grip only tightened, making you wince in pain. He seemed to grin wickedly at your reaction. "Let go of me!"

“I bought you dinner. A drink. Complimented you on how you look— and you’re just gonna run away? That isn’t how this works, missy. Come on.”

“No!” you shouted, fighting against him. Your heart was thumping in your chest. You weren’t stronger than this man. You didn’t really do any type of athletics past high school. You walked everywhere since this was New York, and you had to walk up five flights of stairs every time you went home, but you vaguely remembered him saying that he did some form of martial arts.

He kept rambling on how nice he was to you all night, and how you would have to repay him by being just as nice to him right now. You couldn’t hear him though. You were frantically looking for a way out, trying to see who was on the street to help you before you got dragged into that dark alley that he was looking at and do whatever heinous acts that he was thinking of. You started shouting, and started praying for someone to hear you as your eyes begin to blur with tears.

The pressure on your arm disappeared as soon as you blinked. Suddenly, you were wrapped in the comforting scent of wood, cotton, and gunpower. A loud scream of pain filled the air, followed by a sickening crack.

“Bucky?” you whispered, chest heaving, eyes wide as you looked up at him. A protective arm was around you, holding you to his chest while his other hand twisted your former date’s arm in an unnatural position. He was on his knees immediately, crying out in pain. He couldn’t even fight back.

“Shit man!” another guy shouted, making you flinch at the sudden addition.

Bucky turned his attention to you, dropping the man on the ground unceremoniously. His warm hands were gently placed on your shoulders after he parted from you, and you immediately missed his touch. Missed being wrapped around him.

You looked back over your shoulder, finding the other man was bringing Dominic's hands behind his back. For a moment, you paused, eyebrows lacing together in confusion. Were you seeing this right?

“Is that fucking— Are you Captain America?” you breathed, mind reeling. 

“Hi there,” he smiled at you, giving you a nod. “This guy bothering you?”

“Oh.. Um.. Yeah, he— He’s been an ass to me all night," you stuttered, still shocked. What the hell was Captain America doing outside of a night club?

“Oh, not the one I’m cuffing. I’m talking about the bionic staring machine right there.”

“What?” you quickly asked, turning towards Bucky with even more confusion rushing through your mind. You couldn't be that drunk, right? No, the past few minutes were more than enough to sober you up immediately.

“Sam,” Bucky groaned, warning clear in his voice. Sam could only chuckle, shaking his head. 

“You heard him— name is Sam,” he introduced himself, standing up straight to hold a hand out to you. Bucky released his hold on you, and you shook Sam's hand, still blinking stupidly. “And I know this really fucking sucks, and I promise I don’t want to do this either, but I gotta bring this guy down to the station and get him properly apprehended and since you were the victim, I kinda need you to come with me.”

“Oh. Um, right,” you said softly. 

“But if it’s a little too traumatic right now…“ Sam trailed off slowly, empathy laced in his voice with compassion all over his face. 

“No. It’s okay.. I rather do it now, than have to relive it tomorrow,” you shook your head, looking down at the asshole beneath you. Your eyes caught his, who was already staring at you, eyes burning with anger and you froze. “Are you seriously staring up my skirt right now?”

“Wear some shorts when you wear a skirt then, slut—“

Bucky moved faster than the asshole could finish his sentence, slamming his gloved fist into the side of his skull and knocking him out. You and Sam stared at Bucky as he stood up, running one of his gloved hands through his hair before he looked at them with a frown.

“Well? Are we going or not?” he barked out. 

Thankfully, the presence of Captain America made the process with the cops easier than you thought it would be, and they didn’t grill you for a lot of information. They pretty much took everything as fact, which left a somewhat strange taste in your mouth. If it wasn’t for Sam, you were sure this may end up being a case that ends up benched for the indefinite future. You shoved the thought out of your brain. At the very least, Sam made the experience a lot more comfortable than it could have been.

As you were walking out of the station, Captain America called out your name. When you turned, you saw he was holding out a business card for you.

“This is my personal number. Add it to your phone, then put it on one of your speed dials. If anything happens, and I mean anything, just call me,” he said, earnesty written all over his face. You paused, still staring at the card. 

“You don’t have to do that, Sam. I’m sure you’re busy saving the world… or the universe, I guess,” you added with a small laugh, making him smile.

“Well, this is your universe, right? You’re one of the people I’m protecting.” Sam took one of your hands gently, and pressed the card into your palm, then closed your fingers over it. He gave you one more smile before he walked past you to open the door to lead you outside. “Do you need a ride home? I can take you.”

“Really? That would be really nice, actually,” you said with a soft sigh.

“No worries. My car is–”

“That's unnecessary,” Bucky’s voice cut him off, making the two of you stop and look forward. He was waiting at the curb, leaning against a shiny Harley Davidson, arms crossed over his chest. “I’ll take her home.”  

“Really, Buck?” Sam asked with a raised eyebrow. 

“She’s my neighbor,” Bucky said. Sam paused beside you, looking back and forth between you and him as something seemed to click in his head. Another smile began to creep its way onto his face. It was different from the charismatic, hero smile he had given her just a few moments ago, and Bucky scowled in response. “Don’t fucking start.”

“I’ll leave you two to it. Have a good night,” Sam told her.

“Good night, Cap,” you told him, and he paused. Sam’s smile turned into something warmer. He gave her a nod, patted her back, then turned to walk towards the parking garage behind the station.

“You’re just feeding his ego, you know. He only just picked up that shield,” Bucky said, raising an eyebrow at you. 

“I like him better as Cap than whoever took it last. Fuck was his name? Walter?”

Bucky snorted a laugh and corrected you. “Walker.”

“Yeah. Didn't like the dude. Especially with how he used the shield.”

He smiled at you just a little, and you could swear that this smile was also different. Soft. Maybe the dim lighting of the night was playing a trick on her. It was damn near two in the morning, after all. 

“Ever been on a bike before?” Bucky changed the topic, and looked behind him towards the bike.

“Uh… No,” you answered, suddenly feeling nervous. He blinked for a second. 

“Or I could call a cab,” he said quickly, glancing at you. Was it your outfit? Was he looking at your skirt? Fuck. “if it’s not comfortable—“

“I’m wearing shorts under this skirt!” you suddenly shouted, feeling your cheeks light up. “It’s just fucking black to be seamless so it wouldn’t stick out if it shows— do you want me to wear bright red shorts so everyone sees it?”

“I meant, if you were scared to ride."

“... Fucking kill me,” you whispered, closing your eyes tight. You wished the pavement would open up and swallow you whole. 

Bucky didn’t say a word, but you could hear him move and open the compartment of the motorcycle. Then, you felt the helmet slide over your head. When you opened your eyes, he was standing right in front of you, crouched down just a bit. The visor was already down, and you hoped to every God out there that it was tinted otherwise you were just blatantly staring deeply into his steel blue eyes.

“I only have one helmet. You’ll wear it,” he said, properly securing it on your head. He reached under your chin, fingers brushing against your skin. You couldn’t help but hold your breath as he made sure that the strap was on tight enough that it wouldn’t fall off, but not so tight that it would make me uncomfortable on the ride home. “I’m doing the driving, so don’t stress too much. If you’re stiff on the bike, it’ll make things hard for me. When my body moves, you move. Can you do that for me?” 

His voice was so soft, but his touch was even softer. Somehow, it felt like he was leaving a trail of fire against your skin wherever his fingertips brushed. Moreover, Bucky sounded like he was talking you through it. Especially that last bit. Could you do that for him? Lord, you would do anything he asked you to do. Did you drink more than you thought you did? Were you crazy? You could feel your legs going weak and shaky.

“Hey,” he said your name again, raising an eyebrow.

“Sorry,” you squeaked out, realizing you had forgotten to respond. “Yeah. I can do that for you.”

“Good,” he hummed, turning to mount the seat. You finally breathed, watching him scoot up on the seat to create some space for you. You hesitated for just a moment, then moved into the space behind him. Bucky waited for you to get comfortable, and you didn’t really know what to do with your hands. So you settled with what your instincts said– to slide them around his waist and hold him. “Do you mind if we stop somewhere to get some food? Haven’t eaten all day.”

“Please,” you whispered, and it sounded like the best idea you’d heard all day.

next chapter

[velvetinks]

Shelter

Joel Miller x f!Reader

Warnings: Mild injury, cold weather dangers, emotional vulnerability, gentle intimacy (no smut), swearing, Joel being emotionally repressed but tender

You knew the storm was coming. Everyone did.

What you didn’t know was that it would move faster than the two of you could ride — swallowing up the trail behind you in a wall of white, howling wind chewing at your ears through the thickest coat Jackson had to offer.

“We ain’t makin’ it back tonight,” Joel said, voice raised over the wind. “We need shelter.”

You didn’t argue. You were shivering so badly your teeth were chattering, and your horse was starting to lag. So you followed him, the only thing solid and grounded in the blur of white until he found an old ranger station half-buried in snow.

The roof was half-caved in on one side, but the other had walls, a woodstove, and even a cot with a musty but intact mattress.

“Good enough,” Joel muttered, already stripping off his gloves and moving to start a fire.

You let yourself collapse onto the cot with a groan, kicking off your boots and trying to stop the shaking in your hands. Cold had sunk deep into your bones.

Joel worked fast, lighting the fire with the kind of practiced ease only someone like him could manage. The moment the heat started to rise, your entire body ached with the sudden, stinging relief of warmth returning to frozen skin.

He glanced over. “You alright?”

You looked up at him, the concern in his eyes, the way his brows knit together just slightly, always trying not to show how much he cared.

“I’m freezing,” you admitted with a weak smile. “But I’ll live.”

“Good,” he said, and it sounded like more than just a word.

Later, once the fire had crackled to life and the wind was still screaming outside, Joel sat beside you on the edge of the cot. His hair was damp from melting snow, cheeks still pink from the cold. The firelight made his eyes look softer. Warmer.

You handed him the flask you’d pulled from your coat. He took it with a grunt and a nod, swallowing slow. His throat moved with the motion, and your gaze lingered longer than it should have.

He noticed.

“Somethin’ on your mind?” he asked, low and rough.

You hesitated. “Just… glad it’s you I’m stuck with.”

His lips twitched into something like a smile. “I ain’t exactly the ideal company.”

“You are to me.”

The air shifted.

His hand was still holding the flask, but he wasn’t drinking anymore. His eyes were on you, unreadable at first, then slowly cracking open into something unguarded.

“Why?” he asked, voice soft. “Why me?”

You laughed, quiet. “You’re strong. Careful. You always make sure I’m safe. And underneath all the grumbling and sighing and acting like you don’t care… I know you do.”

The fire popped.

Joel’s gaze dropped, then lifted back to yours.

He reached out, fingers brushing your sleeve. “Come here.”

You leaned in, slowly at first until his arm wrapped around you, drawing you against his chest, your legs curled under you on the cot. You could hear his heartbeat, feel the heat of him through every layer.

“I ain’t good at this,” he murmured against your hair. “But I think about you. All the time.”

Your breath caught.

“Joel…”

He pulled back just enough to see your face, his hand brushing your cheek. “I ain’t never had anything real after Sarah. Thought I couldn’t. But you…”

You kissed him. Softly. Tentatively.

He responded like he’d been holding his breath for years.

It didn’t turn hungry or desperate. It stayed warm. Careful. His hands didn’t wander; they just held you like you were something fragile and needed like maybe he did, too.

When you both pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.

“Storm’s not goin’ anywhere for a while,” he whispered.

You smiled. “Good. I’m not in a rush.”

And in the silence that followed, with wind battering the windows and the fire glowing bright, you let yourself fall asleep in his arms.

For the first time in a long time, Joel did too.

[skywalkoverme]

can i please please request a anakin x reader smut where they share their first times with each other, ( they’re padawans still like aotc age) and they’ve been best friends anakins whole time as a jedi and eventually end up catching feelings and becoming each others first kiss and then just cute little things like that for their established relationship yknow. but then anakin and her end up taking one night and end up sharing their first time…with anakin not being crazy dominant or anything like he is having his first time with the girls he’s like since like forever. please please 🙏

a/n: replying to the direct request because this has a longer summary

𝐏𝐮𝐫𝐞

\𐙚 Anakin Skywalker x Fem! Reader 𐙚 18+ MDNI

Summary: Two close friends; two virgins.

Warnings/contains: orignial au, best/close friends, p in v, nipple play, handjob, virgin sex, anakin is a virgin, first times etc, Anakin + Y/N is above 18!, proof read-- english is not my first language!

Word Count: 2k // More on my Master list! + follow & reblog pls

“It could be hurt, Ani.” You sighed, petting its feathers gently.

Anakin crouched down beside you on the blue tile and tilted his head, “I know a thing or two about these creatures; this one looks fine to me.” He turned his attention to your saddened expression… “We can take it to the medical bay…?” he suggested softly. It warmed his heart as well as his pink cheeks to see your smile.

“Do you think they’ll be able to help the little guy?” Anakin’s hands cupped yours as you held the bird, palms of his hands gently embraced your skin.

“There’s only one way to find out.” It felt so right. When his skin met yours, his eyes in yours. His gentle hands took the bird from your grasp and held it to his chest. You followed after him without much thought.

You sat beside each other in the medical bay as the bird was being tended to. Anakin tried his best to distract you from the worry in your heart, “You’re starting to fall in her image.” He smirked.

“My Master? No…she’s much more talented than me.”

Distractedly, you took his hand into yours, “You should give yourself more credit. She’d want you to.” You agreed. It was true, “Besides, I’m sure, you could take me in a duel.”

“Maybe but you’ve got more experience than me. After what happened on Xea, I won’t be going on many missions.” He shook his head with a chuckle, your interlaced hands rest on his thigh.

“She’ll take you on more missions!” He wagged his finger, “Y’know, sometimes, you’re more---”

“--Pessimistic than you look.” You both said at the same time. He smiled sheepishly. He’d been telling you that since you first met three years ago and each time, you’d only smile. A nurse walked back to you both with the blue bird in her hands; its leg was bandaged in white. “Thank the force.” You both sighed simultaneously.

You let go of Anakin’s hand and took the bird back, “Thank you!” Anakin bit the inside of his cheek as he watched your tender touch on the bird’s head. It chirped happily as you walked to the balcony. His eyes followed your hands as you encouraged the bird’s wings to spring open. In a sudden flutter, the blue bird left your hands and took flight in the air above before diving towards the shrubs below. “That’s quite beautiful.”

“…yeah.” He muttered as you stared out at the setting sun. “You…care so much.” He said softly as you rest your hands on the balcony ledge.

“What do you mean?”

“Even when a creature can’t repay you, you care for them just the same.”

“It’s the Jedi way.” Anakin nods once. When he’s with you, he forgets about that sort of thing. The codes, the mottos, any and all of it. You’re the only person that treats him like a human being instead of a prophet. It wasn’t that his destiny meant nothing to you; you were proud that one day, one day soon, he’d be a savior--- “My room?” You took his hand soon after he agreed. Attached at the hip was an understatement. Wherever Anakin was, you weren’t far behind. It’d been this way for years so Obi-wan paid no mind to the sight of Anakin closing your room door behind himself.

Anakin helped take off your boots and you hung his robe on the back of the door. “I learned something last night.” He said excitedly as he joined you on your bed. You curiously watched as he took a glass of water from your bedside. With a tense hand, he studied the liquid in the glass, slowly lifting it from its confinement. Anakin passed you the empty glass and continued to play with the water in its buoyant state. Droplets separated as he spreads the water between you both…

You leaned forward, staring at him through the refracted window. When you smiled, he could feel how proud you were. Your fascination with him wasn’t the kind he was used to: your tenderness and passion, both unwavering since the day he met you. Every word you spoke of him, you meant.

He adores you beyond belief.

Anakin’s heart raced as he thought of that night in the Old Palace grounds. The Old Palace has been long abandoned for many decades, and it was your idea to explore the grounds. You sat beside him near the far cliff as the cool night breeze grazed your skin, your hands on his waist as you kissed his lips. Anakin melted under your touch; his hand cuffed your cheek all the while.

By now, you’d changed into matching pajamas and socks. You lay on your back beside him in bed, your fingers interlaced with his. “…all I know is: you can’t sit beside me for tomorrow’s exam.” He was turned to you as you spoke, facing your ceiling.

“Why not?”

“You’ll make me nervous.” You sighed.

“You have nothing to prove to me.” He reassured while your shifting eyes met his gaze. In your eyes, he could clearly see the doubt you held for your talents. He wished he could tell you of how perfect you are, how you could do do no wrong. Failing is impossible for a person like you. “You know that, right?” He brought your hand to his lips and pressed his lips against your skin.

“I know.” You pushed away the barrier between you both and rest your forehead against his, “I guess we can sit together…”

“Unfortunately, I don’t think Shaak Ti will allow us to be this close in the exam room…” He said as your lips grazed his.

“Woe is me.” Anakin chuckled as your body pressed against his. “...we can’t get any closer.” You said softly. You were unsure if you were speaking to him or reminding yourself of the miserable truth.

“We can.” Your two sweating palms clung to each other tightly. You could feel his body tremble, his breath on your skin. “I want to be closer.”

You regrettably muttered: “We can’t.” He was silent, disappointed to hear you say such a thing. “The purity of the force depends on it.” He shut his eyes. This tension was killing him softly, so softly. Your kiss was sudden on his lips, as velvety as your voice. His eyebrows rose as your tongue slipped between his teeth and ran across his own. Through his long nights of celibacy and awkward sweats, he was practically begging to free himself from the constrains of the Jedi ways. “I…” You swallowed your words. Anakin’s hand planted on your side as he brought you closer. “I love you.”

Anakin’s chest burned in the heat of your body; his heartbeat so fast, he thought it had ceased to move. He could die right now and join the force happily. It’s too late to stop now. Your tongues continued its passionate embrace, saliva shared between you both without a second thought.

His arms wrap tightly around your waist and your embrace became as desperate as you felt. He moaned in your hands as they held the sides of his head. Anakin felt the need to bury himself inside of you until you were one. He lost himself in the forbidden touches as you undressed him.

Beyond that, his curiosity got the best of him; a nervous hand cupped your breast, and massaged the soft swell as small moans left your lips. “Does that feel good?” You guided his thumb and forefinger to the nub of your nipple, and he softly pinched. Your head fell back as he rolled the nipple under his finger. The sight of you melting under his touch was enough to make him perfectly aroused. He unbuttoned your pajama shirt and gently licked your nipple. Your breathing sped up as he flicked the hard nub.

“S- suck on it~” You held the back of his head, your fingers submerged in his sun-tanned hair. His lips engulf your aching nipple. The sensitive skin against his tongue sent a wave of arousal through his body. His cock twitched and leaked pre-cum on his skin in his pants. Her breast fits perfectly in my mouth…her skin tastes so nice. His hands roamed your body, kneading your curves hungrily. He brought you closer, grinding his cock against you as he suckled harder. Inside of his mouth, he flicked his tongue up and down the pointed nub. You moaned into his hair while he moved to the next tit, a shy and lust-stained expression on your face.

You could see his raging boner as it stood proudly in his pajama pants. Anakin followed your gaze and swallowed his mouthful of saliva. “May I?” He nodded eagerly. You moved the waistband of his pants down his hips. The sight of a penis is foreign to you--- aside from diagrams from your studies. Anakin guides your hand around his shaft.

“Squeeze it when you move your hand.”

“Like this?” You squeezed his cock and gently pumped his shaft in your hand. He nods breathlessly and sat back on his elbows. His whimpers filled the small room as his hips buck to the rhythm of the pleasure. I can’t take this for much longer. Anakin’s eyes squeeze shut as his chest heaved with ragged breaths. You watched his muscles as they flexed tightly, a hand rubbed your thigh while he grew harder in your grasp.

“Wait.” His hand covered his mouth, “I- I don’t want to finish yet.” Anakin brought your body under his, careful with his passion, he didn’t want to hurt you in any way. The young man found it hard to think as the nude body of his closest friend rests under him. You looked at his shaft nervously, biting the inside of your cheek. I need to be with her. He positioned himself at your soaking entrance and used your wetness to coat his cock. Anakin holds back as you shook your head. “I heard it…it’ll only hurt for a bit.”

He leaned down onto you and kissed your swollen lips, every curve of your body a new valley for his eyes to traverse. I must be careful with her…I hope this feels good to Y/n. He placed open mouthed kissed along your sensitive throat. “I’ll go slow.” He promised. You took a few deep breaths and hold your arms around his throat. His hips flex forward, his cockhead slowly spreads your pussy lips as he slipped into your virgin cunt. He listened to your whines as his cock stretched your cunt. “I- I’m sorry!”

“Keep going…” He heard your breath hitch and watched as your eyes pricked with tears. Anakin was almost ashamed to admit he was receiving such breathtaking pleasure from this. He slowly pumps in your cunt as you take a few deep breaths. “…it…it’s not bad.” You mutter as he planted a kiss on your forehead.

He grits his teeth as your warm, velvety walls envelop him. This was infinitely better than his fist, better than what he could ever do to himself. “Y~ so tight~” His words escaped him as your pussy cherished the inches he gave you.

He watched your eyes as they slowly shut to his rhythm. Anakin fought the urge to cum as you let him in deeper. “Look at me.” His twitching eyes turned down to you, “Breathe.” The way you spoke to him nearly made him cum. He breathed with you as he pushed his hips into you. He could feel every quiver and spasm of your cunt as he buried himself inside.

We fit so perfectly together…she’s so beautiful. I’m~ “I’m gonna cum, Y/n!” He cried; his arms that supported his body began to tremble harshly. “I- I~” You watched as he weakly pulled himself out of your cunt. Anakin came on your bedsheets and lay across your hot body. Your orgasm spilled onto the covers beneath you.

After changing the sheets, you lay against Anakin as he braided your hair back. “You’re very beautiful.” He said softly as you shyly hid under the covers. “…I love you.” He said as he joined you under the shadows of the covers.  

“I love you too.”

a/n: I enjoyed writing this a lot 😫 felt like a pervert though lol

More on my Master list! + follow & reblog pls

Interact with my Anakin master list to be tagged: (sorry if I missed you, it's a rotation)

@meowmeowjang @slingggshot @cdfvgbhnjm @peachpit31 @carterc15 @smithcaityy @sisterofreverance @hellomwah @blondiebatter @aqqjjk @radiantvader @anthrais @xhino3 @valyna27 @wuxianwrld @discobronzer @melaninswift @justthingzsblog @stanyuqisworld @ppoppy-seed @mcxdiaz @maneater97 @swiftiesimonriley @yeonjinnie @laddle @daughterofstairs @edenizzyx @eymie @xxhvzelxx @bored-as-fuck @skywalkershootme @viviennebloom @jujustarwars1 @kaaaatta-blog @javierpenaspentis @cherrylvrsworld @finnyboob @nouschkaa @blackkhir4 @ilovepurple31 @smiling-is-suffering @akariakanji-blog @daddysbitchybaby @sythethecarrot @thescxrpio

[realestradfem]

It's Important to Use Correctly-Sexed Pronouns ♂️♀️

This post is inspired by a post I recently read by another Tumblr rad fem in which she talks about using people's preferred pronouns and which other rad fems replied to saying they do, as well. I'll be honest: I was mildly shocked as I had figured all rad fems were of the same mind on this issue.

I write the following in love and solidarity with other rad fems.

And I understand. I really do. I used to use preferred pronouns, as well. I was the good little liberal trying to give people the freedom to express themselves, to reinvent themselves, to be the masters of their own destinies. And to respect and not impede that.

And it doesn't cost me or womankind anything, right?

Right? 🤔

Well, that's where it gets dicey.

First, you're conceding something here even if it doesn't feel like you are. By calling a male, she/her, or a woman, he/him, you are inherently saying that males can be women and vice versa. It is no different than saying "Transwomen are women!" What logically follows is, "Why can't a woman use women's _______, then?" Because everyone knows "she/her" pronouns apply to women, which is why males who want to be women very badly insist you use them.

Second, language is important. During the Spanish Inquisition, those who denied Christ were tortured and killed. Those who said what the Church leaders wanted to hear, were not. Notice I did not say that they had to prove they believed what they claimed to believe or had to truly feel the importance of Biblical or Church teachings. They just had to claim to do so. They would cut out the tongues of blasphemers and heretics (very symbolic). Many cults have creeds that must be memorized and regurgitated when demanded to do so. The cult I grew up in had them.

Third, let's pretend the trans brigade were not trying to endanger women and girls by putting males in female bathrooms, locker rooms, prisons, and sports teams. Using incorrectly-sexed pronouns still upholds the inherently misogynistic concept of gender. Calling a male "she/her" or a woman "he/him" or a "non-binary"-identified person "they/them" is participating in misogyny.

Fourth, there are no legit "trans people," no, not even that really nice person you happen to know personally. The good friend you know who has come out as trans is no more "in the wrong body" and no less dangerous than any other trans-identified person. There are only people with gender dysphoria. While these people should be shown empathy and encouraged to seek out mental health therapy, considering there are multiple mental health and developmental disorders that have confusion about gender as a symptom (PTSD, BPD, autism, for example), they should not have their delusions catered to anymore than the scary TIMs screaming about raping TERFs.

Please understand trans activists are wolves who led us down the primrose path to the edge of Hell and then unzipped their sheep costumes. They began by saying, "Please just let us live and respect us as humans and don't violate our civil rights" to being the entitled gang of thugs they are today. Social change typically takes a long time. It took abolitionists 400 years to see American chattel slavery ended. It took feminists over 200 years to see women's rights codified, if you start the time clock from Mary Wollstonecroft's seminal work of feminist ethics A Vindication of the Rights of Women (1792) up to the 1970s, a time of great expansion of women's rights in the US or the 1990's, when males weren't allowed to rape their wives anywhere in the US. It took even longer for gay marriage to be enshrined in federal law. Compare this with under a decade for trans-friendly/anti-woman laws to be enshrined after trans ideology reared its ugly head in about 2010.

Trans ideology isn't just ridiculous, unscientific, and stupid. It's misogynistic and dangerous. Metaphorically patting them on the head and humoring them like a kid who believes in Santa is not taking this ideology seriously enough. This is not a topic about which to give any ground. Hold the line, Ladies. Don't bend the knee.

*Full disclosure: I want to make a note here that as someone who is not independently wealthy and does not have any other form of income, I do make an exception when I have to at my woke job in order not to be unemployed. Homelessness is a very real worry under capitalism, and this is the only thing I think takes precedence over not giving into trans ideology.

Would love to hear your thoughts!

[squid-de]

DRACULA, THE COUNT — "I'm shivering different. This shit ain't nothing to me, man. I'm a black hound. I'm licking my wounds in the grass. We smoking opportunistic microorganisms. Smoking that Roustame Diodore south Advesperascit page-three girl deluxe cryptozoological protoplasmic kush. We smoking Col Do Ma Ma Daqua. I'm on twelve Pyrholidons, smoking on phasmatodean dick. We smoking that Boogie Street boogers? We snorting that good Franconigerian cavalry jibbies. They must have retrograde amnesia, they forgot that I'm *Raphaël Ambrosius Costeau*. That Pox pack hittin' that pussy smell, like a Coupris Kineema. We smoking shit in apricot faïence, blowing Her Innocence's bubbles. I'm sick in the head. I'm on them Coal City tic-tacs. I'm on them Yekokataa apple nibblers. I'm on them Tioumoutiri geronimos. I left my prybar in the lorry, I'll have to can-open them next time. I don't give a fuck if I go hobo. I don't need to see the hostel bill anyway. We s-- ...I'm high on twelve Dick Mullens looking to beat the viscous goo out of a fresh Puta peone. We smoking spirit bombs, you stupid piece of shit! I'll fucking eat your mind! Call that pussy the Coalition Government, 'cause I'm in this bitch, and I *can't get out*. Last guy who ran off on the precinct got choked out by some Fairweather T-500 gauntlets. The last thing he ever saw was the kinetic redistributors on them. Slowly faded into the pale, and I let the Angel of History take him. I need some Boogie Street boogers! Don't be shy girl, *I want to have fuck with you*. I'm shivering like Arno van Eyck. Bwee?! Welcome to the Apricot Suzerainty, bitch, open up! Guillaume le Million, I suck his cocaine out of another man's eyeballs. My hetero-sexual life partner a speedfreak, he look like Guillaume Bevy. You ain't seen ten centims in your life, bino! Reach for my wrist and you'll get turned into a Game Over. Y'all gotta stop playing with me, man. I threw the Filippian crown jewels at Le Petit Rat catacombs under Corpus Mundi. I have built 0.000% of Communism. This shit ain't *nothing* to me, man. Tied the SKULLS to the back of a motor carriage and dragged 'em around Rue de Saint Ghislaine for twenty-four hours. Motherfucker! Looked like a pinball goat after we was done with him. SKULLS wanted some initiative, blew up their entire tenement. I'm shivering like Franconegro. She drop that ass on me from an internally coherent angle, they thought I was Kras Mazov. Top-shelf pilsner, disrupted my infra-materialism. I have seen the March decree, I have seen *le Retour*. I was Jamrock shuffling for the Perikarnassian before you all even became an isola. This shit ain't nothing to me, you stupid piece of shit. Drive the Motorway South and you will *dither*. That pussy feel like Samaran butter. You think I care about this shit? Ask me if I care about this shit, 'cause I don't give a shit. If I had a reál for every time they said I gave a shit, I'd be broke, 'cause I don't give a shit. My ex-something look like Dolores Dei. I grooved so hard they thought I was Ostentatious Orchestrations. This shit ain't *nothing* to me, man, I'll pale-bomb you, you stupid piece of shit!"

[romidoes]

“...how many more days again?” And for once, that’s a really easy one. No need for brain cells here. “None.” Change of plans. “Comin’ home in the mornin’.” Mickey laughs, and it’s music to his ears.  “Yeah, you fuckin’ are…” inspired by kinktober 2022 by @whatthebodygraspsnot chapter 2

leave it to me to focus on the 'romantic' bit in a fic focused on sex. i've been reading and re-reading this one so much and kept thinking of their eventual dramatic reunion which led me to draw them hugging. the reference comes from the same paparazzi shot as this other drawingi made. thought it would be cool to mention

[skullfragments]

soooo i've been real busy this past month and change working on this monster of a painting! it was originally for the GO Ref library study club but clearly took much longer than i anticipated😅

for those of you who don't recognize it, this is based on one of my favorite historical paintings, Judith Beheading Holofernes (1620) by Artemisia Gentileschi. i love the Baroque period and this painting (as well as her other works) makes me insane. here it is Good Omens style so maybe all of you can be insane with me <3

"Aziraphale (and Crowley) Beheading the Metatron"

(non-bloody and non-glowy versions under the cut)

[weirdglassthing]

Probably all of the thirteen beers at the local cheese drawings I’ll do but these two are so funnnnn

[cerealforkart]

Guess who played up to the end of the forest temple and once again lost the battle of not making a new AU last night?

Lark’s existence complicates some things in a lot of fun interesting ways let me cook on this one

I still haven’t cast a Zelda, this AU is all about Sparrow with a wolf curse, anything else is secondary

[activatebutterflyshield]

Drew up a new ref for Prelude to Abbadon as I revisit my endless pile of abandoned characters

It gets real teef now, and will probably end up with more eyes somewhere

[a-finnish-janitor]

Really like how he actually changes his voice for those couple of lines in this narration.

[trickerys-domain]

I was tagged by @contrivedcoincidences6 to make my OCs this picrew!! Thank you for tagging me, I finally got it done lol!!!

Iseya Tabris: A headstrong and compassionate duelist/assassin rogue. Blunt, and sometimes vengeful, to those who show corruption, incompetence, or cross her; but endlessly kind to those in need. Absolutely did not want to get married, but always wore Nelaros's ring to honor his sacrifice and as a reminder (yes, I did full ass sacrifice a whole item spot for this in game the whole game). Iseya thought she would always sacrifice anything for her family and people, including her found family and her lover Alistair. She was prepared to die to stop the blight, and would have if not for Morrigan's offer.

*Hilariously I named my Warden years prior to the release of The Last Flight novel, but it really added a great element to her character.

Marian Hawke: A two-handy Reaver Purple Hawke who loves her family especially her sister. Even Gamlen grows on her after the death of her monther as she finally is worn down enough to see him better. Marian starts off as a confident sassy jokster who tries her best to make a new life, but as the years go on and she loses and lose and loses, her jokes become a coping mechanism. A mean streak also appears. By the end she's so tired and depressed that she doesn't even notice Anders pulling away from her. She spares and stands by him anyway because she needs this one thing to stay in her life.

*I just really like the default Hawke Names, I think they fit Hawke really well.

Shiren'ne Lavellen: A compassionate, kind, yet firm and decisive person, Shiren'ne prepared her whole life to become a worthy Keeper for her clan. Yet after she ends up with a new calling she takes it with stride, understanding her role in the world is now beyond just her people, but she always rebuffs being sent by Andraste and stands by her gods. Shiren'ne's favourite thing about the Inquisition was getting to know everyone and learn so much about other cultures and customs, and was always happy to share and demonstrate her Dalish culture (within reason). And although she had been so ready to be Keeper and she is Dalish to her core, after everything she knew she could never return and instead found a new quiet life with Cullen. Shiren'ne prefers slower ritual and practical magics and leans towards old nature and healing (I wish spirit healer had been a subclass), but is eager to learn about the fade, spirits, and the journey of ones soul after death, showing this by choosing vallaslin for Falon'Din.

*Took some research, but her name essentially means Voice of the Journey. She chose the name herself for her Valleslin ceremony as part of accepting and stepping into her role as First.

No pressure tag to @wolfwhisperertf, @the-nameless-nerd, and anyone else who wants to ❤️

[blackswallowtailbutterfly]

Still haven't messaged my mom back. And I don't think I'm going to.

[icewindandboringhorror]

Apparently I can meet my goal of roughly 400,000 words in 6 months if I just somehow write at least 2,200 words a day ghbjh... Almost 2,500 today... huzzah...