#at this point while i love and care for many of these players deeply this is just so unfixable get rid of everyone rebuild around the core

[unmanageably]

im off the thought that most of these warriors losses are due to coaching decisions (wrong lineups) and bad luck (injuries, dray out so no defense, random nba players turning into steph curry on the 3 line— grizzlies 3rd unit hitting TWENTY 3s on them today????) but today’s loss was just so indefensible and bad that its actually hilarious. the silly and stupid and pathetic 18 turnovers, icing out klay completely— just no one at all on the warriors trying to find him i mean 5 attempts until the 4th quarter are you serious— and then sitting steph and trying to run a “save us klay” lineup with 6 minutes left in the 4th when he’s ice cold due to your own offense choices its just very very hilarious. TJD butter fingers and Podz too many attempts not enough shots and a shit ton of fouling lol not their best game but i also think theyre just rookies and honestly have put a lot on their shoulders due to just. everything thats happened this year lol.

there’s things out of our control that we could be mad about (our lack of calls as usual and the 5v8 i mean the amount of FTA the grizzlies got esp considering we got to the paint more than they did so thats just ridiculous lol) but at the end of the day they didnt play hard enough and severely underestimated the grizzlies due to their injuries which was just. so so pathetic like whatever this loss the warriors truly did this to themselves

#when your own team gives u the ick 🕊️ #i think its funny how most people didnt even care to be mad anymore cuz theyre just so over this shit like omg #this team is so ass guys im crying #honestly not a big fan of podz at all and the way he’s playing has irritated me but i can still acknowledge that he’s just a rookie and #they ask way too much of him sometimes with these lineups i understand we’re plagued with injuries but draymond is back please stop giving #him ballhandling and playmaking duties when he cant find anyone for shit its ridic #klay thing really pissed me off but whatever we move #defense was… better but still sucked lol #at this point while i love and care for many of these players deeply this is just so unfixable get rid of everyone rebuild around the core #while theres still time and they still have a chance #i do think its funny how quick people are to point figures at the core being the problem when it is just so so far from the truth #rly just want them to rebuild around them and prove everyone wrong one more time #then i promise ill shut up forever lol. goddd i wont ask for anything else!!!!

[matthewtkachuk]

one day all my love will come back to me

Spending a mid-degree gap year in the guest bedroom of your best friend who you’ve been in love with for ages seems to be a recipe for disaster until a hook up with a player from a visiting team threatens to change your future forever 

pairing: nathan mackinnon x reader; brayden point x reader

warnings: creative liberties taken with the 2021-2022 regular season schedule and the availability/contributions of Brayden Point during the 2022 playoffs, typical angst associated with a love triangle with a hint of unrequited love, sexual themes (not quite smut but more than implied) and the usual (alcohol, swearing, etc.)

word count: 10.9k

a/n: surprise @senditcolton i'm your summer exchange fic writer! i'm so so so sooooo sorry this is late, @wyattjohnston and i were having a hot girl european summer and it's not an excuse but a bit of an explanation. when i saw you had written brayden point twice in your players list, i knew it was time to dust off this fic idea i had last year and do her proper justice. i hope you like it!!! shout out to demi for the many "replace c with C" suggestions on google docs and @thomasschabot for the other suggestions. ok i'll shut up now, enjoy!!

The Avs are up by one with thirty seconds to go and you’re pretty sure you’re going to puke. It’s a good thing everyone is far too focused on the action going on at ice level to question why your gaze keeps bouncing between the good guys and a certain forward on the other team. It’s such a strange feeling—you want with your entire being for your boys to hoist the Cup, but there’s a small part of you that never wants to see the boy on the other team you care for so deeply, so upset. He was right, you both crossed the line past hooking up a long time ago. 

-

“You look hot.” 

In any other circumstance, those words from Nate would have your heart going into overdrive. As it stands, your heart is already pumping at a rate you fear is not healthy while you lie on a trampoline with your niece’s sprinkler set up beneath it. For every bitter complaint you’ve ever had about a Canadian winter, the opposing heat waves might just be slightly worse.

“A/C’s broken,” you say like that explains everything. 

Nate hums in response like maybe it does before pulling himself up beside you. 

Somehow the air around you feels even hotter, precipitation building at your hairline. You fuss for a minute, wiping away the sweat before dramatically slapping your hands down on the trampoline in protest. 

Nate ignores you, choosing to instead cheerfully proclaim “This is nice!”

“What do you want?” you ask in response. There are layers to your grumpiness, but for now you can pretend it’s all related to the unbearable heat.

“Can’t a guy visit his best friend?” 

You can feel his eyes on you, but you keep yours closed. “Not when it's 34 degrees out and humid as hell and he has to leave his air conditioned mansion to do so.”

“I saw your story and I was coming to invite you to my air conditioned mansion.”

“Is Sidney home?” Your tone is so much more nonchalant than you feel. It doesn’t matter that the aforementioned man went from Nate’s childhood hero to mentor to near-brother; it will never not be weird to have but one degree of separation from the man who’s name is on your town’s welcome sign. 

Nate laughs like he can read your mind, but you still don’t glance over at him. You don’t need to, not really. The image of him beside you comes all too easily to your inner mind. His hair’s got a wave from the humidity, his nose tinged red from the hot sun, and his chest golden and chiseled and harlequin romance novel cover-esque— 

“You know one day you’re going to have to get used to being around guys who made it to the show. Hell, I'm a guy who made it to the show.”

Finally you turn to look at him and he’s somehow even more beautiful than you’d just imagined. “That’s different Nate. You’re….you.”

He smiles at you and it’s brighter than the damn sun causing you so many problems today. “And Sid’s just Sid. And the guys in Denver are just the guys in Denver.”

His words have your nose scrunching and you promptly go back to laying flat on your back. “Don’t remind me.” There’s silence for a beat or two and then you continue, “Speaking of, are you sure it’s still okay—“

Nate doesn’t let you finish this time. “Yes, I’m sure it’s okay for you to hang around my apartment in Denver while you take a year off from school to figure out what you want to do.”

“Thanks Nate,” you reply and he hums in response. Abruptly you sit up, sliding a little from the slick trampoline surface. “Your A/C offer still standing too?”

He grins this time and you’re damn near blinded. “For you? Always.”

Sidney—Sid waves at you both from his kitchen when you pull up to Nate’s but that’s as far as it goes. Nate makes a joke about banana bread that you don’t quite get, mood souring considerably when you wonder aloud if he thinks Sidney will bring some over. 

It’s all forgotten when the cold air hits you as you enter the lake house. 

-

The summer passes by quickly without too much incident—just the nagging of your mother about your future and your own tiptoeing around the feelings you have for your friend. 

On one of your and Nate’s last nights before leaving for Denver, your niece pulls him aside and sternly instructs him to bring home the Cup for her. 

He laughs, but there’s something in his eye that says he means it when he says he will. That intensity doesn’t waiver, even as his gaze slides toward you. It has you thinking about a future by his side, celebrating those moments with him in a way so much greater than you do now. 

The thought doesn’t leave you as you kiss your family goodbye, trying desperately to not let any tears shed at the thought of no longer being a small distance away. Nate’s constant near proximity and the promise of more of it takes away the sting a little, but you fall into your sister’s embrace that little bit more all the same. 

Even as you do a final check of your things—two large suitcases, a carry-on and a backpack to house everything you’ll need for the next year—you think about it, of what it would be like to do this every year. What it would be like to pack with the intention of unpacking your things beside Nate’s in his closet. It’s silly, but sometimes you still feel like you’re fifteen years old, realizing you’re in love with your best friend as he goes away to the same hockey school as his idol. 

Two flights full of self doubt and Nate sleeping on your shoulder later you’re convinced spending your impromptu gap year at his place is a bad idea. But then he’s smiling and ‘welcome home’-ing you and you step through the door.

-

Unemployment and a mid-twenties life crisis isn’t so bad from the guest bedroom of a lavish semi-detached in the suburbs of Denver. The bed’s softer than the one in your childhood bedroom. Bigger too. And the closet leading into the attached en-suite has no business being the size it is. 

There are downsides of course. You are still unemployed and in the middle of a life crisis. Nathan is woefully unaware of your feelings and likely to never reciprocate. His teammates look at you like they know, though. And there’s the whole banning of any food that brings any modicum of enjoyment that you’re not entirely sure is serious or not. 

The teammates that come around are kind to you when you’re around them enough to let them be. A small part of it is the intimidation of them being professional hockey players but they’re good guys and you’ve met many of them before. Really, it’s something more akin to the inherent uncomfortability of your predicament. It’s Nate’s house and you’re free-loading. 

Of course he would argue differently if you voiced your thoughts and hang ups but that’s precisely why you don’t. 

Nate may have never caught onto your feelings for him, but he’s not an oblivious person. That’s probably how you end up in the family box, being personally invited to brunch with the Better Halves by the best-half-in-charge herself, Mel Landeskog. 

You find yourself nodding despite the anxiety of the possibility of making new friends, certain it’s less of an invitation and more of a demand. 

She tells you as much, pressing a mimosa into your hand when you arrive at a cute restaurant and a table full of beautiful, predominantly blonde women. If Nate’s teammates were intimidating on a personal level, their wives and girlfriends are a whole other level. Never in your life have you been so surrounded by a group of women so put together—every outfit perfectly on point, every head of hair treated to an expensive blowout, every foundation shade perfectly matched or worse, no makeup needed. 

It has you self-conscious, despite having spent ages picking out something to wear and trying to tame your hair into something presentable. The mimosa helps, and so do the compliments from Ashley Kadri. Little by little you open up, and by the end of brunch you have a killer buzz and a dozen new instagram followers and numbers in your phone. 

When Nate picks you up, the bubbles have gone to your head. You spend the entire ride back to his place with the back of your head pressed to the passenger side window so that you can grin stupidly at his side profile. 

“The girls are great,” you tell him with a silly giggle. His returning smile reeks of satisfaction of a job well done, but you don’t focus on it. “We’re gonna get dinner this week too!”

-

Although Mel takes you under her wing, it’s Heidy, Cale’s girlfriend who you instantly click with. 

She’s every bit as beautiful and kind as the rest of them, but you connect with her on a different level. It’s almost like you’ve known her as long as you’ve known Nate. She shares your love of Taylor Swift and gets your jokes and is more than happy to let you bounce future career plans off her. 

You can tell the girls have questions about your relationship with Nate, and truthfully they can get in line behind you. Sometimes, when you’re not careful, it almost feels like you’re not alone in how you feel. Sometimes it feels like you’re high school sweethearts, playing house on the precipice of a greater future. 

Nate doesn’t help it himself though. It’s you he calls on long road trips, you he pulls into a giant hug outside the locker room before driving you both home after a game. You who is invited to WAG functions as a connection to him—both informally in a social context and more formally and broadly. Things like charity toy drives and the family box at games. A part of you fears the possibility of playoffs—especially with odds so clearly in the Avs favor—and what it would mean to be so publicly claimed as Nate’s while privately remaining the way you always have been. 

It’s Heidy who you confide in. She’s always there to offer her ear, her shoulder, her opinion. And, although she encourages you to share your feelings, she also knows when to back off and let you do it when and if you’re ready. 

You don’t think you’ll ever be ready. 

-

With Christmas comes the Better Halves Christmas Tree Auction. It’s Mel’s favorite charity event of the season, she tells you gleefully. 

“Every event is her favorite,” Suzanna says behind her back later. 

Designated Favorite Human of the Avalanche Children is usually your favorite title, but it means you have one kid hanging off of you when the girls drop the bomb on you. 

“So what are you thinking for your WAG tree?”

It’s an innocent enough question, especially when you think it’s aimed at one of the aforementioned WAGs in the family box. Only when there is no response do you look up and realize it’s meant for you instead. 

“Sorry, what?”

“Your…Tree,” someone says slowly and you shake your head. 

Your tone and words are almost as flustered as you are. “No I heard you. I’m just—What do you—Why are you asking me?”

“Well, Nate said…” 

It all comes clear. Yet again, you’re expected to play the part. At great personal cost, mind you. It’s a mindfuck and a half, having to do all the things that you do for a man you love when it doesn’t mean anything. 

Your thoughts are invaded with a tempestuous mixture of Nate and your relationship or lack thereof and yet another public acknowledgement. 

Truly, you wonder if the others in the box pity you or laugh behind your back. 

“C’mon,” Heidy says later, when the final buzzer sounds, cementing another win. “I’ll drive you home.”

“Nate’s,” you correct weakly. 

She nods and repeats his name, grabbing your arm and leading you away. 

-

You’re stewing in silence when Nate comes home. 

“You okay?” he questions upon finding you in the living room, lit up only by the light filtering in through the large bay window. 

The twitch of your eye is the only indication you’ve heard and recognized his words for a long moment. You can practically hear the gears whirring in his head, can feel the moment he’s about to speak again. 

Not wanting to give him the opportunity, you ask, “Why?” His brows furrow and his head tits and so you continue. “Why did you say I would do your Better Half tree?”

“It’s for charity…You love charity work.” Nate visibly relaxes and you understand why. He’s not wrong, engaging in charity work has been a big part of why you’re not wallowing in self pity, but this isn’t just simple ‘charity work’ and you tell him as much. 

“I love toy drives and helping at the soup kitchen and adoption events at the ASPCA. This is different, this is your WAG tree. It means something. It’s in your name, like I’m—I’m—“ you can’t bring yourself to say it. 

“Everything you mentioned you do in my name.” He doesn’t seem to get it, frustrating you further. 

“It’s not the same, Nate! All those other things I do as part of the larger group. It’s all facilitated by your team and your teammates ‘Better Halves.’ Their wives and girlfriends. They’ve all made me feel welcome, but I'm not one of them. This implies that I am one of them, but I’m not your girlfriend and certainly not your wife.”

“You basically are.” The phrase has your heart jumping into your throat. Of every daydream or fantasy you’ve ever allowed yourself to slip into, you never dreamed this would be how it all went down—“Without actually being my wife or girlfriend.”

“Right.” Your voice is short and clipped, masking the hurt quickly overtaking you. You won’t cry—you’re stronger than that. So strong in fact, that you lay down a firm boundary. “I won’t do it. Get Sidney to do it or something.”

“Okay,” he says slowly, pausing and then asking, “We’re good, right?”

“Yep.” You feign nonchalance and then wish him a good night. 

The pillow holds all your tears and secrets. 

-

The incident sticks with you, despite your many attempts to shake it off. Even Heidy can’t help. She tries anyway. 

You’re not his. 

But you are. You’re his and you have been for years now. Since he was leaving for school. Maybe even many years before that. Regardless of the true beginning, it doesn’t quite matter. What really matters is this: you’re not sure it will ever have an ending, but you’re almost certain if it does, it won’t be the one you want. 

You’re his but he’s not yours. 

Part of him is, sure, but you share that part with the other residents of Cole Harbour. The other part with the team and his teammates and their families, with the fans and the haters alike. The part you so desperately want to be yours has belonged to many a woman, but never to you. 

It was a lot easier to live in the space between his childhood best friend and everything more when you were separated the majority of the year. A summer chock full of other things to do and focus your attention on to keep the longing at bay and enough distance for the rest of the year to forget how it feels to have him near without really having him. 

One of Heidy’s distraction schemes involves hitting up downtown Denver a few nights later. 

“But it’s Thursday,” you say when she shows up at Nate’s dressed up like she’s ready to hit the bar. 

“I have tomorrow off and you don’t have a job, so,” she replies. 

You frown, “Ouch.” She throws a look your way as if to not take it so personally and continues perusing your closet. “I’m not really feeling up to going out tonight.”

“Too damn bad,” she replies. “You can’t just sit here and wallow for the rest of your life.”

“Watch me,” you retort but start to get up anyway. 

She smirks and tosses some clothes at you. “Get dressed and do something with your hair. I’ll do your makeup.”

“Where are you guys going all dressed up?” Nate questions when he spots the two of you in the foyer. 

“Out.” Heidy is curt, a consequence of her not only being a good friend to you, but also her own awareness of his behavior. 

His brows knit together but he soldiers on, “Do you want company?”

“Nope!” She’s much more cheerful now that she’s handed you your coat and bundled herself up. “Don’t wait up!”

Heidy drags you out to Cale’s car, where the man himself sits waiting. You instantly feel bad—between your protesting and actual time spent getting ready, he’d been sitting a while. 

“Have you been here the whole time?” you ask as you get in the backseat. He shrugs with a rosy smile as Heidy pushes you in further and takes a seat beside you. After pressing a quick kiss to her boyfriend’s cheek over the center console, of course. 

Cale doesn’t stick around after dropping you both off—a wave, a ‘be safe’, and ‘call me when you’re ready to go home’ and he’s gone. 

You’re terrible company admittedly, mouth set in a deep frown that doesn’t crack even as you sip your drink. Heidy does most of the talking at first, blabbing away about everything and nothing. Until she sighs, slaps her hand down on the bar top and says, “You need to deal with this. Either you need to resolve things with Nate or you need to get over it, distract yourself with something or someone else.”

You nearly choke on the last of your drink. “Gee, Heidy, could you be any more subtle?”

“I’m worried about you.” She’s so earnest it tugs at your heart. 

“I’m sorry. I’ll try. Really.” 

She smiles, relaxing into the seat at the bar top. 

Just then, the bartender sets another drink in front of you. 

“I didn’t order another,” you state politely, attempting to hand back the drink. 

The bartender shakes his head, motioning to the table in the corner as he speaks. “From someone at that table.”

It’s a group of athletic men, but only one is looking your way. He’s all intense eyes framed by intense eyebrows, but the look on his face doesn’t match the intensity. It’s…intriguing to say the least. Soft but confident, and definitely interested. 

It’s not until one of the other men at the table elbows him that you realize they’re the team playing the Avs tomorrow night. 

Quickly you spin back around and whisper to your friend, “Someone from the Tampa Bay Lightning just bought me a drink.”

Her eyes widen and she herself turns around quickly to get a glimpse of your admirer across the bar. You grab at her arm and bring her back to face the bar top. 

“Heidy!” you hiss. 

“Sorry!” she replies, “What are you going to do?”

You think about it for a second before throwing caution to the wind. Putting on your flirtiest smile, you turn around a lot more gracefully this time. Raising the gifted drink, you tilt it in a ‘Cheers’ motion before wrapping your lips around the straw for a sip. He responds with an identical gesture, although with an amber colored beer bottle instead. 

Satisfied, you resume your earlier position while Heidy speaks. 

“When I said you needed a distraction that is not what I meant!”

You roll your eyes. “It’s a drink, not a marriage proposal. Relax.”

She does, until you pull her out to the dance floor with eyes only for the man across the bar. Lucky for you—and less lucky for Heidy’s resting heart rate and blood pressure—he’s got eyes for you, too. 

It only takes half a song for him to approach and introduce himself. “I’m Brayden.”

You smile and reciprocate, waiting a beat for Heidy to speak too, but she just tilts her nose up. An elbow to her side doesn’t get her speaking and so you introduce her, too. 

One of Brayden’s eyebrows raise and you find yourself momentarily mesmerized by the action before quickly explaining, “Big Avalanche fans.”

He nods slowly once, then shrugs. “Maybe I can change that.”

“Doubtful,” she says under her breath, but if you heard it, you imagine Brayden did too. 

She doesn’t thaw any, even as the song changes. Nor does she get the hint to take herself elsewhere and so you rather pointedly ask if she can go get you both another round. 

Heidy isn’t even able to get out whatever she was ready to grumble before Brayden is offering, pausing to ask what Heidy is drinking. She begrudgingly tells him and he disappears. 

“Seriously? You could have any guy here and that’s who you go for?” she asks. 

You shrug, “He’s the one I want.”

She softens at your earnest tone. “Okay.”

“Call Cale,” you tell her. “Go curl up on the couch and watch TV together or whatever you would have done if you weren’t worrying about me.”

“I don’t know…”

“Go. I’ll be fine. And I’ll text you if I need you,” you confirm. 

She sighs. “I’m waiting for my drink first.”

You laugh and pull her into a side hug. “Love you.”

True to her word, she finishes the drink Brayden brings her—even managing a ‘thank you!’—before slipping off into the crowd and, you imagine, into her boyfriend’s car. 

Brayden looks a little concerned at her rapid exit. “Did I do something to make her leave?” 

“Besides playing for the wrong team? Nah.” 

He doesn’t look convinced, but the concern fades when you wrap your arms around his neck. 

It’s all but gone when you press your lips to his. 

You dance for another few songs and another drink before your inhibitions are just low enough to drag him in the direction of the bathrooms. 

The men’s is empty when you enter, and so you flip the lock on the door and press yourself against him. 

He reciprocates, crowding you against the door with his mouth hot on yours. 

Your whole body lights up at his touch, coming alive beneath his fingertips. There are no thoughts of Nate or the predicament you’ve found yourself in, just Brayden. 

His hands are curved around your jaw, and your leg is wrapped around his waist when he pulls away. “Wait...wait.”

“You don’t want…?” You’re not drunk, just a little bit more sensitive to rejection than you usually would be. 

“No that’s—That’s not it at all. I want you, like, really want you.” He kisses you, and as good as his touch feels, being wanted feels that extra bit more. “Not like this. Not here.”

Truthfully, you’ve never been the kind of girl who lets someone hit and quit in a bar bathroom before. Or anywhere really. A part of you that you thought was long buried stirs inside of you and you realize for the first time in a long time you’re feeling something for a man who isn’t your best friend. 

Your best friend. Shit. “I have a kind of odd living situation right now, my place isn’t an option.”

“Your parents?”

You bark out a laugh that he immediately covers with his mouth. “No, they’re back in Canada.”

“Your husband? Your boyfriend?” He’s joking, but you can’t help but get the sense there’s an ounce of worry that he’s right. It’s such an inconceivable notion that Nate could ever be either to you that you laugh again. 

“No, I just live with a friend who probably won’t be understanding about a strange man in their house.” 

Brayden visibly relaxes, pauses, and then says, “I have a hotel room…you’ll have to be quiet though.”

“I can be quiet,” you reply, barely hiding your smirk. 

You try your best, really give it your best effort, but no one has ever touched you like he does. 

Nate doesn’t cross your mind once. 

-

You sneak out early in the morning, determined to not have a semi-public walk of shame in front of an entire hockey team. It’s almost a success until you run into his captain in the lobby. Feeling your face grow hot, you give him a little nod and escape to the waiting Uber. You can only hope he doesn’t get too much shit, telling him as much using the newest number in your phone. 

You’re not nearly as lucky, facing the firing squad that is Nate as you slip into the entryway. It shouldn’t be a surprise to see your best friend awaiting your arrival, if the several messages that popped up when you’d finally opened your phone to send the aforementioned text to Brayden were any indication. 

“Where have you been?” he asks and you have to keep from rolling your eyes. 

“Out,” you say, calling back to Heidy’s response last night but he doesn’t accept it as easily coming from you. 

“All night?” he continues the interrogation. 

“I crashed at Heidy’s last night, what’s with the fifth degree, Dad?”

He looks like he was waiting for this moment as he replies, “No you didn’t, I talked to Cale.”

This time you do roll your eyes. “It’s none of your business, Nate.”

“It is my business if you’re under my roof,” he says, doing his best impression of your father for real this time. 

You know it’s not his intention, but your stomach drops all the same. The old feeling of guilt and shame and failure floods your veins, and you can tell he notices. 

“I’m sorry,” he offers, “I didn’t mean it like that. I was just worried and you didn’t answer my messages.”

“I know,” you say but the words taste bitter in your mouth. “I’m going to go get some more sleep. See you later.”

He repeats the words back at you, but you’re more focused on the buzzing phone in your pocket. 

Safe in Nate’s guest bedroom, you slip into something more comfortable, get beneath the covers and open your messages. 

Bar Guy 💙🤍: Got fined

Bar Guy 💙🤍: Probably going to get chirped for a month

Bar Guy 💙🤍: Worth it though 

You: I would tell you I’m sorry but I’m not 

Bar Guy 💙🤍: Me either

-

If you thought that was the beginning and the end of Brayden you would be sorely mistaken. 

Long distance flirting becomes a long distance hook up becomes him flying you out to see him. Any time you protested the latter, you’d find a non-refundable ticket in your email and a ‘please’ in your text messages. 

Fall fades into Winter and Bar Guy 💙🤍 turns to Brayden turns to B 💙. As your feelings for him grow, you find thoughts of Nate as anything other than someone-you-grew-up-with fade. 

You come clean about the ‘friend you live with’ being Nathan MacKinnon before the first time you fly down to see him, worried that your lie by omission might be a dealbreaker. Brayden only laughs, he figured Heidy’s hostility was more than just motivated by more than sports team loyalty. 

The thing about Brayden is he never makes you feel bad about Nate. He is understanding and gracious, never demanding, never unreasonable. A small part of you sometimes thinks about how if the roles were reversed, you don’t think Nate would be quite the same. 

Initially unsupportive and apprehensive, Heidy comes around, although her persistence turns from telling Nate how you feel to telling Nate about Brayden. You don’t do either, and she keeps your secrets. 

Nate being selected for the All Star Game in Vegas while Brayden isn’t brings a unique opportunity for a week straight in hot, sunny Florida. The chill of Denver isn’t quite as biting as back home, but you’re excited to escape it all the same. 

He doesn’t ask you to join him in Vegas, but you do wonder if he thought he didn’t need to. 

It doesn’t matter either way, when an errant high stick in overtime breaks his nose and dashes his All Star dreams. 

Your first thought upon seeing him bloody and disoriented on the ice is that there is no way you can go to Florida. 

It probably looks much worse than it is, the girls try to reassure you in the box, but you’re not convinced. 

Nate’s reassurances later don’t do much either. Not with his face puffy and bruised and some dried blood on his chin. 

It’s not until he assures you that his mom and sister will be coming down to Denver since they had the time off anyway that you decide for sure you will go. 

The day you leave for the airport, his pathetic form on the couch is almost enough to have you last minute cancelling on Brayden. 

Nate all but demands you don’t miss out on his account, asking that you ‘be safe’ and ‘have fun’. 

In return you hit him with a ‘thanks Dad’ and ‘take it easy’ despite knowing just by virtue of who he is as a person he will be doing the exact opposite.  

Thoughts of Nate, broken and bruised, haunt you the entire journey. They don’t fade until you’re in Brayden’s arms. Even then, it’s a dull ache that you do your best to ignore. 

Evidently you don’t do a very good job of hiding it, or maybe Brayden just knows you better than you think, because he catches on before you’ve even reached his place. 

“You okay?” he asks, gently squeezing your knee where his hand rests. 

Turning to look at his side profile, so earnest and sweet, you don’t even think of lying. 

“I’m worried about Nate.”

“I get that,” he says and you wonder if he truly does. “I’m glad you’re here with me though.”

Smiling at him, you are too, and so you try to push down the guilt and focus your attention on the man you’re with. 

You check on Nate periodically throughout the week, never getting much more than a thumbs up emoji, but at least you know he’s alive. 

Brayden wines and dines and, well, you know the rest of the rhyme. 

By the time the week is up, you don’t want to leave. It’s strange how meeting one person can change things so drastically. Before Brayden, you would never have dreamed of spending a week with another man when Nate was injured and possibly may have needed you. 

It also puts things into perspective for you. 

Really emphasizes how much additional emotional labor you put in—and were expected to—in your relationship with Nate. The lines and boundaries had long since blurred, and it took dedicating your time and energy to another man to see it. 

If Nate notices the way you pull back even further when you return, he doesn’t say anything about it. 

-

Falling for Brayden is easy. It’s a gentle float down to the ground, landing among a field of flowers to catch your fall. A stark contrast to the free fall of being pushed from an airplane at 10,000 feet by Nate. 

Where Nate’s sharp edges have cut you time and time and time again, Brayden’s curves wrap around you and hold you tight. 

When you’re not physically with him, you’re texting and calling, and when you’re not doing that you’re thinking about him. 

Neither of you make any move to define the relationship further, but it doesn’t sting like the years of being strung along by Nate did. It’s probably because while no words have been exchanged to that effect, Brayden lets you feel how much he cares for you. 

-

You’re nearly found out late in the regular season. 

Something about Tampa has started to feel familiar and safe—you try not to think about exactly why that is—and so, despite the knowledge that the boys are in town, too, you’re not as careful as you should be. 

There’s an ice cream spot near Brayden’s that you’ve taken to frequenting. As a consequence, it’s also near the arena. 

Because it’s so close, you decide to walk there, teasing him the whole way about how one ice cream cone won’t derail his nutrition plan. He’s arguing back, but you know it’s in vain because his sweet tooth and the lilt of your voice will win in the end. 

Your hands naturally brush as a result of your close proximity and you take the opportunity to link your pinkies. He smiles softly and you walk in silence for a minute until he breaks it. 

“You really won’t let me give you my jersey?” It’s a question that has come up before, but every time it does you wonder if it’s a little bit more serious of an ask than the last. 

“I’d rather die. Maybe if you were a better hockey player,” you tease, jumping back to avoid his grasp. 

He gasps playfully, thick eyebrows raising with his wide eyes. “Take that back right now.” He takes a step closer to you but you dodge his advances, sliding to the other side of the bench. 

“Sorry baby, you know I bleed blue and maroon. Wouldn’t be caught dead in traitor blue.” Not to mention you’d never ever hear the end of it from the boys if someone saw you in it. 

He fakes left and you fall for it, giggling madly as he wraps you up in his arms and scrapes his beard against your cheek. “What about just for me?” he asks, kissing your neck once and then nipping at it with his teeth before pulling back to look into your eyes. “In my bed with nothing else on?”

It’s like the already beautiful temperature rises even higher when he presses his mouth to yours. You give in quickly, pressing onto the tips of your toes to get even closer. It turns dirty quickly, his tongue in your mouth and his fingers buried deep in your hair. 

And then a familiar voice calls your name. 

You pull from Brayden like you’ve been burnt, a look of pure panic crossing your face as you realize you know the body attached to the voice. 

It’s JT and he looks like been standing there long enough to figure out what’s going on. 

“JT—“ you start to explain, but pause. There is no easy, simple explanation. There are months and months, hell years and years, of backstory and layers to even get to this point. 

“I thought—“ He appears to change his mind, stopping his thought mid sentence and switching to a question. “What’s going on here?”

“Brayden and I are, well, we’re.” It’s a struggle to explain what you are to one of Nate’s teammates when you haven’t had this conversation in full with the man beside you. Finally, you land on “We’re together.”

You don’t look over at Brayden to see his reaction. 

“How long?” is the natural follow up. 

It’s another tough question, but you decide to go with the first time you met and slept together. “Before Christmas.”

“Does Nate know?” he asks. The wild look in your eyes must give you away because he signs and says your name. “You have to tell him.”

You get that, really you do. But at the same time it’s your business what you do and who you do it with, not Nate’s. At the same time, you know it would be a really shit thing for him to find out through someone who isn’t you. 

Beyond that, you’re pretty sure right before playoffs isn’t the right time to have that conversation and you tell JT as much. “I know, I will. After the season I’ll tell everyone.”

JT looks less than convinced. 

“You know Nate, it wouldn’t do anyone any good while the season is still going on. Please, you can’t tell him.”

JT might be as aware as you are of who Nate is as a person, and he’s certainly more aware of who Nate is as a hockey player and so he agrees despite his clear hesitance. “Promise me, after the season.”

“I promise.”

When he’s gone, Brayden finally speaks up. “You want to go public with us?”

You worry you’ve said the wrong thing, starting to babble about how you’re sorry the conversation didn’t occur privately first, and how you don’t need to go public if it’s not something he wants to do when he silences you with a kiss. 

“I want to tell everyone,” he says earnestly and you kiss him again.  

JT thankfully keeps his word. 

-

Nate doesn’t watch any other team in the playoffs. 

It makes trying to catch Brayden’s games tough, sneaking out to sports bars, watching games on your phone in Nate’s guest room, even flying out to watch a couple home games during the run. 

The only supportive merch you sport is a necklace with his number, and on occasion a little blue and white lacy number under your clothes. You’re not offered a WAG jacket—whether that’s due to Brayden knowing well enough you don’t want to be that public or because your reaction to the style of jacket itself was less than positive. 

In the back of your mind you recognize there’s a chance it could come down to the teams of the boys you care for most; one Eastern Conference, one Western Conference. 

Selfishly, when the first round between the Bolts and the Leafs goes to seven, part of you hopes for it to end right there. Most of you is glad they push through. 

On Colorado’s side of the playoff bracket, they absolutely rip through everyone who stands in their way. 

You are offered a jacket with Nate’s name and number in glitter, but you turn it down in favor of a lucky baseball cap, though you do accept an unpersonalized crop from Madison. 

Some of the girls decide to travel for the away games. You have to turn them down because there are already tickets with your name on them to see Brayden. There’s no way you can—or would—miss any Avs home games, and so instead you end up being one of a handful of supporters in the likes of Toronto, Miami and New York. 

It’s a difficult balancing act as the playoffs progress in both teams’ favor. 

And then your worst nightmare comes true. The quest for the Cup comes down to your… whatever Brayden is to you and to Nate and the team you’ve supported since he was drafted and all the other people who have come to feel like family. 

Whispering to Brayden in the dark of night before the Finals begin, you tell him, “You know I support you, but…”

“It’s okay,” he whispers back, even though he has no reason to match your tone all alone in his home in Tampa. “I get it. As long as you still like me, you can like them a little bit more.”

You giggle, “It’s got nothing to do with liking you, you dolt.” 

“Bolt,” he corrects, and even though you can’t see him you know he’s smiling. 

“Oh my God, shut up.” You don’t mean it literally but he’s quiet for a second too long. “No matter what happens I’m proud of you.”

For two people who have never properly defined nor publicized their relationship, it might be too heavy of a moment, but his quiet thank you is laced with emotion. 

“Go to bed,” you say after another few beats of silence. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The first two games are in Colorado, and the boys take both at home. 

“Ain’t over til it’s over,” is both of your boys’ philosophy after the first two. 

Nate is positively buzzing, especially after so decisively winning the second, but still cautious—very aware of how quickly a 2-0 lead can turn into the end of the line and empty hands. 

Brayden is also cautious, and this isn’t his first or even second rodeo at the Cup final in as many years. You try to kiss it better in a random hallway in the bowels of Ball Arena. 

Finally accepting the Better Halves’ invitation to travel to road games, you have a good seat to Tampa taking back some momentum in game three before promptly handing it back to Colorado. 

You die and come back to life a dozen times in game four as Brayden and his team hold on. 

Game five is to be played back in Tampa, and you spend the night before the game in Brayden’s bed instead of the hotel Nate has paid for. “Good luck,” you whisper against his lips early in the morning before you leave to meet the girls for breakfast. 

“You don’t mean that,” he teases, stretching out in such a way that has you considering skipping breakfast—certain teasing and interrogation be damned. 

“Good luck to you,” you amend, kissing him once more. “Your team can rot.”

His laughter rings in your ears as you leave. 

Mel corners you after breakfast, a familiar offending piece of clothing in her hands. “This could be it,” she explains, offering you the jean jacket. 

If it were any year previous, you might have worn it. If you didn’t have Brayden, you might have worn it. If Nate had offered it to you himself alongside a confession, you might have worn it. 

None of these things are true, and so you decline. “I don’t like the way it makes me feel.”

Her smile has a twinge of sadness and understanding as she replies, “Okay.”

-

Sitting alongside the girls in the box with your cropped sweater hiding the 21 necklace around your neck, you’ve never felt more torn. 

Brayden’s captain nets one early in the first, and you’re not sure you breathe again until Nate’s powerplay evens the score early in the second. There’s an undercurrent of excitement in the box alongside the nervous energy. Midway through the second, Arturri tips it in and Amalie Arena is silent. 

It stays like that for the rest of the period until you excuse yourself to grab a drink at intermission. Standing in the long drink line, you spot a little girl in a Point jersey and your stomach twists as you think about how no matter which way this ends, someone you care for will be hurt. 

That feeling doesn’t leave as you sit through a scoreless third period. The arena gets loud with Bolts fans throughout, celebrating every blocked shot and turnover. That intensity picks up in the dying seconds of the game as Brayden picks off the puck in the defensive zone. 

He rushes up the ice flanked by his linemates, but is momentarily stopped by Cale. 

He gets his stick back on the puck and your nails dig into the leather arm of the box seat. Suzanna grabs your hand, assuming it’s worry for her boyfriend and his teammates and you let her think that and hold your hand. 

Three seconds. 

Two seconds. 

He shoots right as the buzzer sounds and Darcy gloves it down like there was never a question of him stopping it. 

The entire box explodes in a chorus of cheers—there’s shouting, swearing, crying, laughter and you’re right in the middle of them all. Your boys are Stanley Cup Champions. 

Someone grabs you, and then someone else joins in and suddenly you’re in the middle of a dog pile. “They fucking did it!”

You’re so fucking excited, incredibly proud and honestly a little weepy about your favorite people finally getting their hands on their childhood dream. But, a bigger part of the organ in your chest than you want to admit aches for the downturn of Brayden’s head as he skates back to the bench. 

An attendant appears and wrangles the rowdy bunch down to the ice. You’ve got Linnea Landeskog in your arms and a giant grin on your face as your feet touch the ice.

“Down please,” she politely states while trying to wriggle out of your grasp. The second she’s down she’s running at her daddy who sweeps her up in his arms. 

And then Nate’s on you in a way that you used to long for when you were younger. He’s red and sweaty and out of breath but none of these things stop him from hauling you up into his arms and spinning you until you smack at his chest, demanding to be let down much like Linnea only minutes ago. 

He stops spinning but he doesn’t let go, staring up at you with a look he’s never given you before. You’re so caught up in the excitement of it all you barely notice, grabbing his cheeks and shouting in his face, “You fucking did it!”

“We fucking did,” he says like he can’t believe this moment is happening—whether that’s due to you in his arms or the Cup that will now bear his name no one can really say. He kind of looks like he’s about to do something stupid, leaning in ever so slightly, and so you finally succeed at leaving his arms, slipping slightly as you reach the ice once again. Brayden is watching from across the ice, a sad look on his face that you just want to kiss off. You don’t though, just pat Nate on the back once and continue moving, throwing yourself at Cale, then Burky, then Mikko.

It’s a blur of celebrations and photos with the Cup—you even let Linnea convince you to take a photo with her and the Cup, her mom remarking that it looks good on you. When you pull from your photo pose, you give her a questioning look. “A baby and a cup,” she smirks, blatantly looking over at Nate who seems to agree. 

You laugh nervously—last year that was all you wanted, the boys to win and Nate to want you in that way. Now? Now you can picture it still, you just picture it with someone else. 

Finally, you’re able to sneak away and Brayden has the same idea, telling you to meet him in a closet by the locker room. No words are exchanged as he pulls you in by your hips and kisses you like he needs it to breathe. 

“I’m sorry,” you tell him and you mean it. 

A crinkle forms between his eyes. “No you’re not.”

You kiss him again once, “I’m not sorry the boys won tonight, but I am sorry it was against you.”

“There’s always next year.” It’s far more flippant than you had anticipated, really you thought you’d be dealing with an upset Brayden and that might have broken your heart. 

“I thought you’d be more upset.”

“Can’t win ‘em all,” he says and you give him a look to be serious. “So what, we didn’t win the Cup this season. I got you, didn’t I?”

“Fuck off, dont be stupid.” Your cheeks are hot and your eyes are wild. 

“I mean it. I’d take you over the Cup nine times out of ten.”

“What about the other one?” 

“Need to win another one for us to put our future babies in.”

“Awfully presumptuous for a hook up.” 

“This is so much more than a hook up.”

“Yeah,” you admit, sinking deeply into another kiss. 

“Besides,” he pauses, “Already got two rings.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Okay I gotta go. Will you come get me later?”

He looks at you like you’re stupid to ask, like he’d go into the pits of hell itself for you without hesitation. “Of course. Now go. Celebrate. I’ll see you later.”

You slip out first, making sure the coast is clear and go find the others. A Stanley Cup Champion hat is placed upon your head and a bottle of champagne in your hand. There’s a celebration in the visitor locker room and then the party moves to a local bar. 

Someone shells out the money for a few bottles of vintage Dom Perignon that you indulge in, but mostly you just relish in the happiness of everyone around you. If you’re honest, you spend a fair amount of time avoiding Nate who has a serious look every time you catch him staring. 

Shortly before midnight, you slip out of the bar and into Brayden’s waiting car. The bubbly must have gone to your head, because you forgo any verbal greeting in favor of launching yourself over the center console to press your lips to his. 

He pulls away and very somberly states, “I can’t take you seriously in that sweater.”

Looking down, you spot the Avalanche crop and laugh as you pull it off and toss it in the back. “Better?”

He hums, fingertip tracing the chain around your neck from your clavicle down between your breasts to reveal his number on the pendant. “Much.”

You sink back into another kiss before remembering where you are, who you’re with and what you’re doing meanwhile the bar you just left is crawling with people you’re not quite ready to come clean to just yet. 

“Take me home, Bray,” you say as you relax back into the passenger seat. 

You don’t have the power to bring your lover the Stanley Cup your friends were just drinking out of. All you have to offer is yourself, but he accepts it with as much gratitude as your best friend accepted the Cup earlier. 

Later, he looks like he wants to ask you to stay, and you think you look like you want him to. 

In the end, it doesn’t matter as you fall asleep next to him and somehow make it back to your hotel room in the morning with no one the wiser. 

-

Nate spends a few more weeks in Denver after the win, celebrating with the guys and riding the high of winning it all. You only spend a couple days and then move out of his house and back into your parents. 

You don’t tell him about Brayden, content to let Nate enjoy his successes. 

As a consequence, you don’t see much of him in July or August. Even when you’re both home, he’s busy with all his other friends and his family, and you’re busy with your niece and deciding on what to do in the fall. You’ve determined the best course of action is to finish your degree and then apply to a masters program in order to change your career path. 

The choice, then, is where to do so. You can stay at home, commute an hour each way into the city—supported by your hometown friends and your family. Or you can make the shift to Denver for real, with your found family and with Nate. Or…

The University of Tampa Bay has an excellent program. You know from your time visiting Brayden through the season that the university is right around the corner from Amalie Arena and Brayden’s. It’s awfully presumptuous, but you find yourself daydreaming about the possibility much like you used to daydream about a future in Denver. 

Of course, there’s an entire continent of possibilities, hell an entire world of possibilities, but these are the three most attractive options. 

There are many discussions to be had, and choices to be made. You don’t want to do either until you’ve had a chance to speak to Brayden in person, but just as Nate’s had a busy summer, so too has he. 

He messages you every morning before and after working out while you’re still asleep. Every conversation eventually devolves into some combination of ‘I miss you’ and ‘when can I see you?’ 

You do manage to spend a few days with him in the Rockies mid-July that fly by far too quickly. Every time you leave Brayden it gets harder and the implications of it all have your stomach in knots when the thought crosses your mind. 

-

It all comes to a head spectacularly the day before Nate’s day with the Cup. You’re at Nate’s, helping to prepare for the post-parade celebration when you’re called away by his sister. She wants your help deciding on which photos to display—it’s a mixture of past and present alongside an elementary school assignment two decades old wherein Nate declared his future profession would be ‘Stanley Cup Champion.’

You’re smiling, lost in the memories when Nate comes crashing into the room you’re in. There’s an indiscernible look on his face, but it reads somewhere between anger, frustration and hurt. The look on your face betrays your confusion, and it only deepens when you see your phone in his hands. 

“What are you doing with my phone?” you ask. 

His jaw ticks. “Thought it was mine.”

It doesn’t really do anything for your confusion. If anything, it deepens it. “What’s your problem Nate?”

“This! This is my problem.” He finally cracks, shoving your phone in your face to reveal messages from Brayden—under the contact name of the letter B and a heart—wondering when you plan on making the trip to Calgary to see him. Your stomach drops and your heart feels like it’s at risk of falling right out your chest. It was always going to come out, but especially as you crossed the line between sharing body heat with Brayden and sharing your secrets, hopes and dreams. 

That being said, it is a shit way for your relationship to come to light for sure, but you can’t help but feel your friend is overreacting. Sarah is looking between the two of you, panicked and frozen like she doesn’t know what to do. 

“I think your mom could use some help in the backyard, Sar,” you say gently, and she gladly takes the opportunity to flee. Once she’s gone, you turn on Nate. “I’m sorry that you found out this way, but you had no right to come in here like that. Poor Sarah looked terrified!”

He looks at you incredulously. Now that his sister is out of ear shot, he appears to have allowed himself to lean into his emotions a little more. “I have no right? What about you? Hooking up with some random guy in Calgary? Is that where you’ve been running off to these past few months?”

You know that this is probably the least important part of his rant, but you feel the need to clarify. “He’s not just some guy, Nate. His name is Brayden. And for the record, no. I wasn’t in Calgary, I was in Tampa.

He looks confused in addition to enraged, and so you put the pieces together for him. “I’ve been seeing Brayden Point.”

“You’ve been sleeping with the enemy?”

“Are you joking?” 

This is not your friend Nate. This is some angry being inhabiting the body of your friend Nate. 

He doesn’t back down. “It was between us and them in the final, pretty sure that qualifies as the enemy!” He pauses for a second and then continues, “How long have you been sleeping with him? During the final? Were you rooting for him instead?”

“Nate—“

“No, don’t Nate me. I bet you were, I bet you wanted them to win, him to win. I bet you were sitting there in the family box, using tickets I paid for, against me the whole time.”

“That’s not fair!” you try to interject, despite the tiny grain of truth to his words. It would be untrue to say some small part of you wanted Brayden to succeed, but your loyalties have always been with Nate and his team. 

“Don’t bother. I wouldn’t trust a thing you said right now. Not after this. Not when you know.” 

“Know what?” you question. 

“How I feel! About you. And me.” The blurred edges start to come into focus. He’s been acting like a man scorned, because in his eyes he is one. 

Unable to form any coherent thought, you repeat yourself from earlier. “Are you joking?”

He’s less angry now, slipping further into the hurt brewing under the surface. “It’s always been us. Since we were kids. And now you’re messing around with some guy on another team. I can't believe you!”

The tears start to pool at your waterline, but you’re too stubborn to let them fall. “You’re a real piece of work, you know that? You string me along for years and years and years, expecting me to play the part of your girlfriend without being your girlfriend and to wait around for you to figure it out. I am sorry you found out like this, but I’m not sorry about him. I’m not sorry about Brayden.”

He flinches at the sound of Brayden’s name, the anger clouding his eyes even further. “You want him so bad, why don’t you go to him right now?”

“Nate—“ You’re not sure he knows what he’s saying, what the implications of all he’s said really are. What it would mean if you left for Calgary this afternoon. What it would be like if you weren’t there tomorrow to join in his celebrations.

“Go.” When you don’t move he speaks again. “Get out of here.”

He hasn’t raised his fists or even his voice, but you do as he suggests. Calmly, begging the tears not to fall, you walk right out of his house and get in your car and you drive. 

Brayden picks up when you call while driving, and there’s a ticket in your inbox before you’ve even made it home. 

A short layover in Toronto—and with nothing but the clothes on your back and a small carry- on—later, you’re sinking into Brayden’s arms. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, but you shake your head where it’s buried in his chest. 

“Thank you,” you say, leaving hundreds of words unspoken in your gratitude. 

The kiss he pressed to your lips and the way he says ‘Anything for you’ tells you that he understands. 

He’s got his own place in an affluent suburb of the city, and you’re grateful for the fact that you won’t have to see anyone else with your puffy, bloodshot eyes. 

The last time you’d cried this hard, it had been over the loss of your childhood dog. Nate had been there then, flying in after a late game to hold you while you cried. Maybe you had misunderstood his feelings for you, missed the signs he thought he had laid out so clearly. Maybe that would have mattered a year ago. 

It doesn’t, now. 

Not when Brayden’s arms feel like home. His warm gaze feels like the sun. His kiss and his touch feel like heaven on earth. His love feels like everything you’ve ever wanted. 

Your world nearly stopped in Nate’s living room, but it resumed spinning here in Brayden’s bedroom. 

You’re curled up on his chest while he soothingly runs a hand along your spine when you tell him. “I love you.”

His hand stills on the middle of your back, but you don’t panic. Your mind and heart are clear and in unison. He doesn’t make you wait long, cupping the back of your head and tilting your head back ever so slightly so that your eyes meet. 

“Yeah?” he asks like maybe he needs the validation. 

“Yeah,” you reply, giving it to him. 

The grin on his face might be worth everything you’ve been through. 

You squeal as he flips the both of you, ending in a position where his arms bracket either side of your head in order to keep from crushing you with his full weight. 

“I love you,” he repeats, kissing every inch of your exposed skin. 

Tangling your fingertips in the hair at the nape of his neck, you say it again and again and again. It’s a chant and a ritual, told between sighs and moans and whimpers. He strips you of your clothes, taking you apart piece by piece and then putting them all back together. 

It is intimate and sweet as he takes you to the highest peak, hearts and limbs and minds all intertwined. There is no doubt, no insecurity, no hesitation. All of the love you have to give is reflected back at you. You and Brayden are two sides of the same coin, destiny and fate and all the good forces in the world have brought the two of you together. 

That’s why when, in the dark of his room later, you say yes when he asks you to move in. 

-

Despite the apparent suddenness, your family is more than supportive of you and Brayden. Though that may be because he charmed the pants off all of them the following week when returning to your childhood bedroom to pack your things. 

Your niece is delighted when she learns that Brayden’s “job is hockey!” as she so sweetly declares, requesting he win her a Cup too. 

It reminds you of Nate and how you haven’t heard from him. You don’t reach out either. 

Your time in Calgary is short, punctuated by the bittersweet news that although many of your credits will transfer over, you’re not able to start college classes at the University of Tampa until the second semester. 

“Now you can come with me on all my road games,” Brayden says when you tell him. 

“Fat chance.”

Training camp sneaks up on you both and before you know it, you’re making the permanent move into Brayden’s bedroom and his life, publicly this time. 

The Tampa WAGs are sweet and welcoming, but you find yourself missing the Colorado Better Halves. That’s probably why you agree to dinner with Heidy the first time in the season that the Avs are in town. 

You make plans to meet at a cute spot downtown near the arena. 

The minute you spot Nate waiting outside, you start to turn around. Not so much as an Instagram like since the day before his day with the Cup and now he’s at one of your favorite restaurants in Tampa like everything is okay?

“Wait,” he says and for some reason you do, pausing mid turn. “I’m sorry.”

That’s enough to have you turning back around to look him in the eye as you scold him. “Really? I haven’t heard a word from you in months and that’s what you have to say?”

“I know,” he says. 

“You were really shitty Nate! You knew how I felt and apparently felt the same way, but you just took advantage of me and my feelings for you for years! And then, you made me feel like trash for falling for someone else.”

“I know,” he says again. 

“Can you say literally anything other than I know?” you say exasperatedly. 

“I—“ he starts and stops with the look you give him. “I don’t have a good explanation for the first bit. You’re right, I’ve been taking you for granted for a long time. I don’t know, I guess I was just scared to lose you if we ever crossed that line.”

“I get that,” you reply. “Why do you think I never said anything either? I’m less mad about that and more mad about you being a giant asshole about me meeting someone.”

He nods. “I know. I was jealous and hurt and I lashed out and hurt you too. I never meant for it to get like this, but the longer it took for me to reach out and apologize the harder it seemed. I am really sorry, and I’m happy you found someone who treats you the way you deserve.”

It’s a sincere apology and one you’re certain he means. Beyond that, you just miss your best friend and so you throw yourself at him in a big hug. He’s startled, but very quickly wraps his arms around you too. 

“Things aren’t magically okay, you really hurt me, but you’re my best friend and I’ve missed you so much. There’s been a million times where something happened and I wanted to tell you about it, but couldn’t.”

“You’re my best friend,” he says. 

Nate scores a goal during the second period of the game but it’s not enough for the Avalanche. 

Brayden comes home the clear winner to find you curled up in his bed. First he undresses and then he slips into bed beside you. 

“Glad you made up with Nate,” he says, tucking his head into the crook of your neck and wrapping an arm around your waist. 

“Glad you won,” you reply, feeling the way his lips curve in a smile against your neck and knowing he’s about to say something stupid and cringe. 

“In more ways than one, baby,” he laughs, caging you in with his arm as you struggle to get away from him and his bad jokes. “In more ways than one.”

Despite the way you playfully try to escape his clutches, the truth is you feel like you’re the real winner. 

#nhl fic #nhl imagine #nhl imagines #nhl fanfic #nhl fanfiction #nhl x reader #nathan mackinnon fic #brayden point fic #shelb writes

[felassan]

BioWare Blog post: An Update on the State of BioWare

by BioWare - August 23, 2023

"Hello again, Today, rather than discuss one of our upcoming projects, I’d like to share an update about the studio itself and outline our vision for BioWare’s future. In order to meet the needs of our upcoming projects, continue to hold ourselves to the highest standard of quality, and ensure BioWare can continue to thrive in an industry that’s rapidly evolving, we must shift towards a more agile and more focused studio. It will allow our developers to iterate quickly, unlock more creativity, and form a clear vision of what we’re building before development ramps up. To achieve this, we find ourselves in a position where change is not only necessary, but unavoidable. As difficult as this is to say, rethinking our approach to development inevitably means reorganizing our team to match the studio’s changing needs.  As part of this transition, we are eliminating approximately 50 roles at BioWare. That is deeply painful and humbling to write. We are doing everything we can to ensure the process is handled with empathy, respect, and clear communication. With that last point in mind, I want to take a moment to explain how we got here, what we’re doing to support our colleagues, and what this means for BioWare’s current and future games. WHAT’S HAPPENING NOW After much consideration and careful planning, we have built a long-term vision that will preserve the health of the studio and better enable us to do what we do best: create exceptional story-driven single-player experiences filled with vast worlds and rich characters. This vision balances the current needs of the studio—namely, ensuring Dragon Age™: Dreadwolf is an outstanding game—with its future, including the success of the next Mass Effect™. We’ve chosen to act now in part to provide our impacted colleagues with as many internal opportunities as possible. These changes coincide with a significant number of roles that are currently open across EA’s other studios. Impacted employees will be provided with professional resources and assistance as they apply for these positions. While it’s unlikely that everyone will find a new role within the company, we are committed to supporting our staff as they navigate this change. Our sincere hope is that they can continue their exemplary work at studios who stand to benefit immensely from their talents. IMMEDIATE IMPACT If you’re wondering how all of this will impact development of Dragon Age: Dreadwolf, let me be clear that our dedication to the game has never wavered. Our commitment remains steadfast, and we all are working to make this game worthy of the Dragon Age name. We are confident that we’ll have the time needed to ensure Dreadwolf reaches its full potential. I can also tell you that every member of our team, even those departing BioWare, deserves credit for crafting a spectacular experience. These are our colleagues and friends, and we would not be here without them. I am so proud of all the work our team has done. WHAT COMES NEXT While this is an extremely difficult day for everyone at BioWare, we are making changes now to build a brighter future. We’re excited for all of you to see what we’ve been building with Dreadwolf. A core veteran team led by Mike Gamble continues their pre-production work on the next Mass Effect. Our commitment to quality continues to be our North Star. As cliche as this sounds, there truly is never a good time to enact changes like this, but we trust that we have the right leaders and team in place with vision, passion, and proven track records to deliver world-class Dragon Age and Mass Effect experiences that our fans will love. For now, I want to thank everyone at BioWare—past and present—for making the studio what it is. I also want to thank our community for your continued support. We’re eager to reveal more about Dreadwolf, and we look forward to discovering what else the future holds. Gary McKay General Manager, BioWare"

[source]

#dragon age: dreadwolf #dragon age 4 #the dread wolf rises #da4 #dragon age #bioware #mass effect #next mass effect #video games #long post #longpost

[bentannin]

I will say the one thing I did not expect when the vod released on Monday was for the Ashton takes to swing in the OPPOSITE direction.

And while I definitely agree that some of the initial reactions after ep 77 & 78 ranged from concerning to just plain bad (harsh but some of them were genuinely bonkers; sending hate to Tal, painting characters as straight up abusive and manipulative, referencing one of the player’s irl trauma), the new wave of “Ashton did nothing wrong” isn’t exactly much better.

By their own admission, they fucked up. BIG TIME. They disregarded all the warnings and made a big decision without the rest of the group’s knowledge. And not only that, but he actively hides it from them. They have every right to be upset. And when you’ve just experienced a minute of watching helplessly as your friend rapidly loses and regains consciousness, has his arm fall off, and literally bursts into a million pieces right in front of you, it makes sense that you’d react pretty negatively. And while many of the things the Hells told Ashton were harsh, they weren’t completely unfounded.

Has Ashton shown to care about FCG and their well-being multiple times over the course of the campaign? Yes, absolutely. So when you look at their conversation from Ashton’s perspective, of course FCG accusing him of caring about no one would hurt. Of course, because, when asked to name at least one person, there was no hesitation when he said “you [FCG]”.

But when you look at it from FCG’s perspective, it’s a different story:

He was there when they were all given the warnings about the shard. He was there when, over and over and over again, they were told putting two shards within the same body, especially Ashton’s body which already holds two beings (the empress and the half-beacon), would sunder that body. And he was also there when it was decided the shard would go to Fearne, not Ashton.

So, with only that information and having no way of knowing any conversations between Fearne and Ashton (where she says she doesn’t want it, where Ashton says he does, and they decide Ashton will receive it instead), when they walk up the steps of the ziggurat and see Ashton, their friend, glowing and falling apart in immense agony, of course the only things they would feel in the moment are horror and confusion.

And after a minute of desperately trying to keep them alive, of burning his hands on their sweltering skin just to pump in enough health points to keep them standing, because, if he doesn’t, if he fails, Ashton will die with no way of bringing them back, of course FCG would feel hurt.

And not just hurt, but betrayed, because who does that?!

Who puts everyone who cares about them through that? Who looks at every warning and completely disregards them, and then LAUGHS after they’ve just forced their friends to watch as they nearly killed themselves?

The answer, at least to FCG, is no one; no one who cares about their friends would do that to them, so the only conclusion he can come to in a moment wrought with such intense emotion and turmoil is that Ashton clearly doesn’t care.

-

Basically what I’m trying to say is, the Hells are allowed to be upset. They are allowed to express that they are upset. And Ashton, for as much as I love his character and understand the events that led to this major fuck up moment, is just gonna have to take it.

They shouldn’t be punished by any means because they are still a deeply hurt and sad person, but they shouldn’t be completely excused either. What they did was extremely stupid, and the ONLY thing that kept them alive and kept the Hells from losing him, was the love from their friends and probably the luckiest ring trade ever made (long live Aabria).

And yes, the Hells are being hypocrites, they’re all either on similar paths of self-destruction or enabling them, but almost losing Ashton has clearly started to open their eyes. Hopefully the retreat allows them all to process and decompress in order to address that hypocrisy with clearer heads! But for now, it’s just gonna be the initial anger.

#ashton greymoore #critical role #critical role spoilers #fcg #this was way longer than intended #but hopefully makes sense?? #maybe?? #i dont want to step on toes but MAN was i seeing some bad takes #love Ashton very dearly but hes a dummy #and thats okay! #love them regardless

[paris-geller-was-straightwashed]

M*A*S*H 4077 & DND

guess who started their m*a*s*h rewatch around the same time they've gotten into d&d and now cannot stop thinking about the utter chaos and hyjinks of The Gang trying to play a campaign. it starts with none of them really super into fantasy roleplay, but they're all So Fucking Bored they might as well play to have something to do.

it started off imaging just what role they'd each play, but now I couldn't stop myself from imaging each person's race, class, AND, just for fun, the dice they'd use!

hawkeye: isn't that bothered about races, probably either an elf or just a human. class is paladin, relating the paladin's 'call for good' something like the oath doctors take to always help and heal patients, no matter what (and, let's be honest, probably feeds into his egotistical nature at being a naturally skilled surgeon, as if he was 'called'). cannot be Asked to care about ability scores (only to deeply regret it when he's nearly off'd the first battle) except for pouring most of his points into charisma. mostly likely of the party to Fuck his way out of a confrontation (no matter the other's gender #bihawkrights). spends most of the campaign messing around and forgetting what his spells are, but when the party hits a serious battle, is the first to throw himself in and use any spells to help his friends before himself. originally wasn't that interested in the game, but overtime becomes one of the ones who gets really into it, screaming across the board at ppl's bad roles and cheering & trying to pick ppl up in glee when they win. dice of choice:

(just the most wack-ass coloured dice I could find, metaphor for the inside of his brain (also this way he can tell if anyone tries to conceal any as theirs)).

radar: while interested in the fantasy stuff (being a comic reader), was a little intimidated with all the math & rules involved until hawkeye and bj convince him. part of me thinks he could be a halfling or dwarf, but then I think he might enjoy being a humanoid creature like a minotaur (farm boy) or a satyr bc of his love of animals. class is bard, where he carries/plays the drum. enjoys and gets really into the story, but is always flummoxed when it comes to the battles, asking what everyone else thinks his character should do (only for everyone to yell back several different answers). always needs a couple of seconds of mental math to add his modifier to dice rolls (me too radar) but when the party comes across a riddle or puzzle, is usually the first to figure it out. keeps trying to pick up small creatures to put them in his sack. is not allowed to talk while people make their roles bc of too many times where he's predicted the number before they can read the dice (the moment of hawkeye's saving role during a Big Bad battle was kind of ruined when radar elatedly jumped up at the nat20 before the dice even left hawk's hand). dice of choice:

(cute little puppers!)

margaret: at first is staunchly against it, calling it childs' play, but eventually is worn down by hawk & bj and is also so bored, she gives in. thought she might be an elf, but in the end chooses genasi, picking fire power. chooses the fighter class, leaving hawkeye to make a remark that gets a dice thrown at his head. doesn't really get super into the meta of the game or the story (often tells the dm to get on with it and cut to the action) but does love to play, where it overtime becomes a good outlet for anger ('the demon tries to approach you, margaret what do you-' 'I SLICE OFF HIS KNEECAPS WITH MY BATTLEAXE!'). is a good player until the roles don't go her way ('you only rolled a 10, so your attack doesn't hit-' 'SCREW YOU! KLINGER GIVE ME YOUR 18 ROLE!'). is pretending like she isn't having fun but everyone can see through her. dice of choice:

(these seemed the most like margaret, elegant but not too girly).

henry: is also peer-pressured into joining. picks barbarian class so he doesn't have to think about spells. tries to pick human bc all the other races were 'too complicated' but got told due to his class, he has to pick a more built character like an orc, so an orc he ends up being. but he's bad at it, often either trying to escape a battle or by being a peacemaker, trying to persuade the monster out of battle but with such a low charisma score, it usually ends up with him getting clonked over the head and margaret jumping in before he's killed. keeps trying to give his gold to poor peasants they meet along the way. doesn't understand any of the mechanics. rolls so many nat1's that nobody will switch dice with him anymore, thinking his are cursed. the game is often more stressful for him then not, but he enjoys the time with his friends. dice of choice:

(I dunno, for some reason when I think of henry I think of a dark orange/amber).

potter: prolongs joining, thinking he's too old for it, but is also peer-pressured and eventually caves, thinking it'll be good for morale. chooses dwarf and for his class to be an old wizard. doesn't understand half the rules, spends most of the time muttering under his breath as he goes over the manual, radar (un)helpfully leaning in beside him to explain. but once he gets the hang of it is a good team member; is the only other person besides margaret to take the hints and puzzles seriously and without him (+her) the party would probably be making circles lost in some boundless woods somewhere. cheers his teammates on when they make a high roll or powerful move and only occasionally has outbursts ('well colonial sir, you need a 16 or higher to cast-' 'MULE FRITTERS! I said cast magic missile and that's an order!!!"). dice of choice:

(same thing - when I think of potter, I think a dark blue).

charles: the last of the group to get into it. completely refused and repeated that 'he was far too smart for that kids' stuff' and everyone was wasting their time. but when someone had to dip out of the campaign last minute to deal with a medical thing, charles was brought in as filler with the promise of a day's R&R. at first I thought high elf, but switched to dragonborne, of the noble variety of course. chooses sorcerer (blessed with some innate magic, as his ego prefers). constantly complains about the needless complexity of the rules and why bother having ability scores when it's the modifier that counts???? is always arguing with the dm on his rolls. uses up half of his turns to use mage hand to steal hawkeye's things or cast ray of sickness on him when he's being annoying - but, when it comes down to it, is one of the more strategic players and has gotten them out of many sticky situations. like margaret, is pretending he isn't having fun, but isn't immune to jumping up with the others over a saving nat20 role, at one time even excitedly picking up a confused radar. in the end, swallows his pride to shyly ask if he can join the party finally ('you know, it'll, uh..it will give me something to do during those boring intervals, and clearly this group needs all the brains it can get..' '..charles, you wanna come play with us?' 'well, if I must..'). dice of choice:

(the snootiest of dice, a pure gold colour).

mulcahy: also initially intimidated by the mechanics, but is happy to play a game with his friends. a possible half-elf or maybe a wise owlin. cleric, obviously. gets invested in the storyline, often applauding the dm's story or asking 'what happens next???" only to be told to wait till the next meet. one of the few who has actual healing spells and probably the only reason everyone didn't die in their first battle. a nerd who enjoys solving the puzzles. actually gets into the lore and one time had a deep, 2 hr conversation with radar & hawkeye about the disenfranchisement of some of the races and the hierarchy of the class/rule structure within the fantasy realm, and how it relates to theirs. the next day, radar came to his tent to show him a little sketch he did of his character in cleric robes, shrugging it off, but mulcahy loved it so much he pinned it up on his tent walls. dice of choice:

(inspired by one of my favourite mulcahy lines, when he's talking about missing holding services in real churches - 'I am rather fond of stained glass', which I always think of whenever I see stained windows. tried to pick the ones that emulated the colours best (also would've liked maybe a light, forest green colour; it just feels mulcahy-esque to me).

klinger: one of the first to join bc what else what he gunna do but sit in his tent, sewing up pantyhose? rogue class, of course, relating to the 'urchin' background. changeling race, so that way with his class he can hide at any moment, and also, as he says, 'can perfectly match his outfit no matter what he looks like!' tries to follow the storyline but doesn't have the attention span for it, half the time guessing the wrong answer to any clue or puzzle (will come and poke the dm awake in the middle of the night with his patrol gun, claiming to have figured it out). second after hawkeye to try and Fuck his way out of a situation. cannot do math to save his life, making margaret often rip his dice away from him to add it herself. will gang up with hawkeye to use his pickpocket skill on charles. resourceful enough to have tricked the villains multiple times and gotten away with it but will also roll to try and kick the villain in the nuts to see what happens. dice of choice:

(these just screamed klinger to me; I like the dark, 'masculine' colour contrasted with with the colourful flowers).

bj: thought I missed him? well, I saved the best for last bc bj...is the dm! ha ha! no one really in particular stood out, but after thinking on it, he seems like the best fit. first, I was thinking of the episode 'the kids' where he gets really into the story he's telling, full of voices and sound affects and all. and secondly, our kindly mustacheo'd doctor loves Mind Games and pranks - what better way then stringing his friends along into one big, zigzag puzzle? bj loves nothing more then having his friends on the edge of their seats, only to pull out a bad guy the group thought they got rid of months ago, glee in his eyes watching them combust into screaming and table flipping. getting a thrill during off hours, hearing hawkeye & charles hastily whisper across bunks to each other on the campaign thinking he can't hear them, or getting shaken awake by margaret in the middle of the night, demanding answers. he spends hours planning out the campaigns in the tent (and finding new places to hide his papers from hawkeye), sometimes writing peg about it and occasionally - if the timing of the mail is right - using her suggestions she writes back. but mostly, bj just loves watching his friends have a good time - cheering each other on and hollering with each battle won, feeling proud of them for everything accomplished (when he doesn't have to babysit hawkeye & charles from casting spells on each other, trying to answer radar's 49th question on how rolls work, or keep margaret from solo fighting the demon fifteen levels above her). dice of choice:

(idk, these just feel 'bj hunnicutt' to me).

other camp members: - frank: was only let in Once after margaret begged hawk & bj, saying it was only fair. initially picked human bc 'they're clearly the purest and most civilized race!!' (causing eyerolls), quit thirty minutes in after being told he couldn't be a fighter 'cause they already had margaret and that he couldn't just 'set all his abilities to 20', calling them all nerds and angrily throwing a d20, only for it to bounce back on the tent beam and hit him in the eye. - some of the nurses have occasionally filled in, but otherwise don't play outside of margaret (most of their time was filled up with hawkeye using his character to flirt with theirs). one time nurse kellye filled in; she played a cute little halfling druid, and her and radar teamed up to help rescue all the forest animals, much to the groups chagrin. - zale & igor: permanently banned. both tried to eat the dice on a dare.

campaigns are held twice a month in the swamp, with drinks and stale pretzels to go around. use to sometimes go all night but after one too many nights of clambering arguments over each other's rolls, the whole camp banded together to force a curfew. while the game only exists within the swamp's quarters, they'll once and a while jokingly call each other by their character's names (and if you're margaret, one time accidentally using it to call hawkeye to surgery, which he now never lets you live down). during the last campaign of the story, radar pulls out another drawing he did - this time of everyone's characters, standing valiantly over the dragon they slayed. it now has a place of honour hung in the swamp.

#m*a*s*h #mash 4077 #mash tv show #hawkeye pierce #bj hunnicutt #radar o'reilly #maxwell klinger #margaret houlihan #charles emerson winchester iii #sherman potter #henry blake #father mulcahy #does that cover everyone? #no reason adding frank don't think anyone is searching his tag #and yes I know I forgot trapper #sorry to all the trapper girlies out there but he was never my favourite and I didn't really know what to say about him #but if anyone has any you're welcome to add on! #even for characters I've already mentioned I'd love to hear about more Shenanigans (tm) #dnd headcanon #please know that I have a bare-surface understanding of dnd so if anything sounds wrong..that's why

[theresattrpgforthat]

my girlfriend really wants a game that is "crunchy" about how you build a whole character, ie. having "mechanics" for the fantasy of said characters. an example would be spheres for pathfinder or 5e. we're just looking for other ideas! we both love pbta and we both love 5e, but sometimes you want to chew on the system a little.

THEME: Mechanically Dense Characters

Alright, so let’s see what I can recommend that I haven’t recommended a lot yet. I’m going to try and approach this with a few different genres, as well as a few different systems. There will also be links to related rec posts at the end!

Into the Black, by Monkey’s Paw Games.

INTO THE BLACK is a sci-fi roleplaying game where one or more players take on the role of Management and presents a futuristic universe of corporate oppression and class warfare, while others take on the role of Freelancers and create characters to struggle and survive in that universe. Players must navigate and explore a strange and wondrous galaxy while deeply indebted to an interstellar corporation. Life among the stars, then, is about treading the razor's edge of struggling for survival and finding joy and love where one can.

Into the Black is built on the Into the Odd rules system, created by Chris McDowell. This places it into the OSR family of games. Now, OSR games are typically pretty lethal at low levels, and Into the Black is no different, but I know that 5E has the same kind of problem, to the point that many people will skip first level altogether.

In Into the Black, your character starts with an occupation, a background, randomly rolled abilities, and some gear. Once you advance to your first level, you take one of two classes, and customize from there. Technicians learn new occupations while Specialists take on new Kinesis Abilities, which are paranormal abilities that fit the space setting. You’ll chew through characters pretty quickly here, but I think that finding a character that does survive past the first few levels might be akin to a Nuzlocke run in a Pokemon game - you care a lot about the person who survives past a certain point, and your investment will help you generate this character’s thoughts, feelings and reactions in the game.

Gubat Banwa, by Makapatag.

GUBAT BANWA is a Martial Arts Tactics and War Drama Tabletop RPG where you play as martial artists poised to change the world: Kadungganan: the cavalry, the wandering swordsmen, the tide turners, the knights-errant, the ones to call in darkest night in a world inspired and centering Southeast Asian folklore.

Witness, grand warriors, honorable gallants that trudge and toil under kings and haloes. Witness, KADUNGGANAN, that refulgent name. That blasted name: WITNESS NOW. The end of days is upon us: and the new world MUST BE BORN. Bear your blades, incant your magicks. Cut open your tomorrow from the womb of violence. Inscribe your name upon the very akasha of this world. 

There are plenty of mechanics to immerse yourself in when it comes to the Kadungganan of Gubat Banwa. You have a homeland, a social class, defining life events, a profession, a religion, and a specialization. These choices give you pieces of your backstory, but they also give you skills. You’ll also choose a Discipline, a martial art that your character is currently practising, which defines your character’s philosophy and the way they carry themself into battle. Various cultures have collections of different disciplines, with each flavour receiving special abilities, as well as thematic advice on how they present themselves in battle. If you like games that give you extremely cool abilities and badass weaponry, and tie everything in your character to integral pieces of the setting, then Gubat Banwa is for you.

Neon Nights, by EfanGamez.

In Jeriko City, everybody wants to be somebody. Who do you wanna be?

Neon Nights is a cyberpunk/dystopian tabletop RPG set on Earth after a nuclear war devastated the entire planet. After hundreds of years of thousands of people roaming the desolate, irradiated Great Wastes, megacities emerged from the dust of deserts. Where there was once crumbling roads and dancing dust devils now stand skyscrapers towering over hundreds of thousands of roaming pedestrians walking the streets of Jeriko City, located on the East Coast of the once powerful United States of America.

Neon Nights uses a point-buy system to increase parts of your character sheet as you like, which gives you a lot of flexibility when cobbling together a concept. You use points to increase traits, which seem to affect your rolls, perks, which are special abilities used in specific situations, and World Stats, which determine how your character is seen by the rest of the world. How famous are you? How feared? How much respect are you granted? At character creation this may be a guide for the GM as to how your character is received by different elements of society. And these arenas will change depending on what you do in the game. You’ll also choose Occupations which give you pre-determined modifiers and skills that make your character unique. Finally, there’s your gear! Biotech, consumables, and weapons all give your character tools to use in whatever situations you find yourselves in.

Mutants in the Now, by Julian Kay.

In the ‘80s and ‘90s, they ruled the streets, kick-flipping off of villainous faces and slipping into the shadows. Then, they vanished from the world of tabletop gaming.

But they’re back. And ready to KICK BUTT.

Mutants in the Now is a retromodern retake on the mutant animal role-playing games long past and left behind by licensing. Mutants fight to survive, thrive, and make the world better for themselves and humanity.

If you want unlimited options, Mutants in the Now has options. Over 130 animal species and over 200 mutation traits are in the basic book, along with fourteen combat styles, psionic powers, and detailed rules about combat, allies, villains, and more. You can roll randomly for your animal, and spend points to improve them via mutations, combat styles etc.

There’s a lot of pieces that you can look at and then generate a backstory based off of the character you’ve created, and the setting is high action, Saturday-morning-cartoon in theme, but the details are up to your play group. If you like limitless possibilities for character creation, you should check out Mutants in the Now (and it’s expansion, Mutants in the Next!)

Other Posts To Check Out

All The Dice

Branching Out From D&D

Character Customization

Echoes of D&D

Tactical Combat

Rules-Lite Systems with Classes

#tabletop games #indie ttrpgs #dnd #game recommendations #asks #character creation

[thewintersoldierdisaster]

a/n: a fun (long) little something! @making-it-big requested wedding night/honeymoon and i’m giving you guys both! also writing smut is hard (lol) sometimes and i lost track of limbs at a certain point, so like, just go with it. i actually went to greece this past summer so some of the trip details are pulled from my own vacation! 🥰 let me know if you guys want a separate post of the pics that sort of correspond with this fic, including one of the hotels!

word count: 9.1k (!!!!!)

tw: smut smut smut with dirty talking drei and our standard google-translated russian disclaimer 😂

summary: a wedding in raleigh followed by a honeymoon in greece, island hopping with andrei

Everything after the priest declared you husband and wife and Andrei dipped you back in a dramatic kiss is a little bit of a blur.

You’re announced as Mr. and Mrs. Svechnikov at the reception and have your first dance to Madonna’s Crazy for You, which is mildly embarrassing but it’s the song that was playing when you kissed for the first time, so it’s kind of your song. Andrei dances with Elena and you dance with your dad, wiping your tears on the tissue you keep wadded up in your fist.

Dinner is served and the table of hockey players clink their knives against their water glasses every twenty minutes so Andrei will kiss you. He obliges happily every time, cradling your face and kissing you sweetly. You grin against his mouth, the cacophony of cheers from your wedding guests the best soundtracks.

After you cut the cake - vanilla with white chocolate raspberry filling and a spray of flowers that match your bouquet falling down the sides of the tiers - the DJ kicks into high gear and everyone is crowding the dance floor. Andrei’s hands are on your waist while you dance, holding you close, your ass against his groin. You laugh, barely caring that there’s so many of your relatives watching. You can barely feel your feet and your face hurts from smiling.

The first reception carries on until one and by then all the older guests and both sets of parents have gone to bed.

You and Andrei thought ahead and rented out the attached and enclosed patio space for another few hours and while the music is playing, you both rush up to the honeymoon suite, giggling and holding hands.

“Did I tell you you look beautiful?” Andrei asks, kissing a trail down the back of your neck while he unzips your dress.

“Yes, but you can say it again,” you laugh, letting the dress fall to the floor and stepping out of it.

Andrei turns you in his arms and kisses you deeply, his hands warm and broad on your skin. You clutch at the front of his shirt, holding on for dear life. “You look beautiful,” he murmurs, kissing you softer.

His hands slide down over your ass, squeezing, and you wriggle in his grip, pressing against his front. “As much as I can’t wait to have wedding night sex,” you grin, twisting your fingers in the untied fabric of his bow tie, “I want to change and get back to our friends!”

Andrei’s hands slip between your thighs and you squirm, his fingers thick and pressing against the seam between your legs. “They won’t miss us,” he murmurs, teasing you, stroking his fingers gently against the fabric of your underwear.

“Oh,” you gasp, knees turning to putty under his touch, “we only get one wedding reception after-party.”

He presses a kiss, chaste considering where his fingers are, to your temple and hums against your skin. “I guess. Just means you’ll be even more ready for me,” his voice is low, husky, and you’re honestly tempted to say fuck the after party and fuck him against the wall.

You shiver and dance away from him, the hot imprints of his fingers still burning your skin. “I’m always ready for you,” you admit shakily, taking your after-party dress off its hanger and slipping into it. The feathers on the miniskirt’s hem tickle at your bare thighs and you do a little twirl to get the skirt flaring out. You fell in love with the dress after seeing it in a little boutique after your bridal shower and thought about wearing it for the rehearsal dinner, but the feathers and thin straps felt more appropriate for the after-party.

Andrei looks over from where he’s hanging up your ceremony dress - you have him trained so well with all this wedding stuff - and his jaw drops. “Solnyshka,” he breathes, “you have to let me take that dress off of you and fuck you. Please.”

“Later, Mr. Svechnikov,” you croon, trailing your fingers over the edge of his jaw. It’s been so many hours since he last shaved, his jaw is lightly stubbled again. Andrei leans into your touch, growling when you giggle and skip to the door. He hurries after you, snagging your hand and lacing your fingers together.

You’re immediately handed a shot when you get back to the party and toss it back, grimacing a little. Andrei accepts a glass from Geno and you’re almost positive it’s full of vodka, but he doesn’t react at all when he takes a drink. The music is loud and you’re immediately dancing, shimmying and jumping to the old-school classics. Andrei, Geno, Brady, and Pyotr jump and shout lyrics at each other, but Andrei’s hands never leave your body. Even when he’s not looking at you, his hand is in yours or touching your back.

Eventually, he loses the bow tie and his shirt gets unbuttoned. Geno has his tie around his head and all the groomsmen are in various states of disheveled. You gravitate to Andrei, looping your arms around his neck and swaying against him, lazily grinding on him. He’s hard behind his tuxedo pants, kissing softly behind your ear. The music doesn’t match the tempo of your dance and all of your friends are jumping and dancing around you. But it’s dark outside the venue and right now, the only thing you’re aware of is Andrei’s fingers tangling in the bun that’s loosening at the nape of your neck and the feeling of his body against yours.

“Party’s winding down, zhena,” Andrei whispers in your ear, warm breath sending a shiver up your spine. And that's a new thing, how he's been calling you wife all night. In Russian or in English, he doesn't care. He's marking you as his.

The loud music and flowing alcohol is telling a different story, but you blink up at Andrei. His hair is mussed, flipped over his forehead, and his face is flushed from dancing and drinking. His lips curl up in a soft smile and you lean up on tiptoes to press your lips to his.

“I don’t think they’ll miss us, muzh,” you murmur against his lips, feeling his smirk when he realizes you called him ‘husband’ in Russian. You'd learned the pronunciation specifically for today. His hands tighten in your hair, angling your head back a little so he can kiss you again, deeper this time.

Your body melts against Andrei’s, warmth rushing through your veins. “Take me to bed, Mr. Svechnikov,” you whisper, giggling. He wraps an arm around your waist and lifts you off your feet. Holding you against his side, Andrei practically runs from the room. You cling to his neck, laughing the entire time.

In the elevator back up to the suite, Andrei pins you against the wall, resting one hand next to your head and sliding the other up and under your skirt. You lean into his touch, kissing him hungrily. His fingers play at the edges of your panties, disappearing beneath the fabric to stroke you gently. The doors slide open before he can really do anything and you’re back in his arms, being carried into the honeymoon suite.

Andrei lays you out on the bed and you kick one foot up. He grabs your ankle with fast reflexes and grins at you. “Yes?”

“I can’t do the buckles from up here,” you pout, batting your eyelashes at him. Andrei laughs, traced his index finger over the arch of your foot and over the top. He taps at the buckle.

“What’s the magic word, zhena?”

“Pozhaluysta, muzh,” you coo, butchering the pronunciation and slurring the words together a little. Even still, Andrei’s grip tightens around your ankle and the front of his pants grow tighter.

He makes quick work of the little buckle, letting your heel fall to the ground. The bow on the toe of the Jimmy Choos is likely to get crumpled, but Andrei kisses your ankle bone and your brain short circuits a bit. He sets your ankle on his shoulder and grabs for your other foot, undoing that buckle equally as quick. Before you know it, both your ankles are draped over Andrei’s shoulders and his hands are roaming up your thighs. You whine his name and he pinches the inside of your thigh gently.

“I want to enjoy this,” he murmurs, hand grasping at the lace of your panties and tugging. You frown at the sound of the fabric ripping, but immediately gasp and arch your back when Andrei buries two fingers in you without warning.

“Drei!” You moan, clenching around his fingers, wiggling at the sensation. Your legs try to snap together, trapping Andrei’s head between your knees.

“Zhena,” he whispers, “moya zhena, I’m going to make you come until the sun comes up.”

You think you make orgasm from his words alone, but then he crooks his fingers and you shout, kicking one heel against his shoulder and twisting the sheet in your fists. He grins, self-satisfied, and leans down to kiss you, the change of angle driving his fingers even deeper. You push at his shirt with your heels, getting it off one arm and leaving it to drape over the mattress, still on the other arm.

“Drei, please, I need,” you babble, sucking in a breath when the pad of his thumb finds your clit and strokes it roughly. “Shit, more, please.”

He adds a third finger and you cry out his name, grinding against his hand, heat coiling and building low in your stomach. His other hand grips at your thigh, massaging the muscle while he encourages you. “Come on, solnyshka, come for your husband, like a good little wife.”

“Andreiiii,” you chant his name, breathless, arching your back and clenching around his fingers. He crooks his fingers and presses down hard on your clit and you’re over the edge, starbursts dancing behind your eyes. He’s talking you through your orgasm, stroking your thigh with one hand, murmuring about what a good girl you are. You gasp and slump back against the mattress, a few feathers drifting around your head from where they’ve basically been fucked off your dress. “Christ,” you mumble, dazed.

Andrei slowly withdraws his fingers, the loss of them making you feel empty. He shakes his shirt off his arm and it flutters to the floor while Andrei sticks his fingers in his mouth and sucks them clean while holding eye contact with you.

You groan, “are you trying to make me come without even touching me?” You wiggle against the sheets, feeling hot and sweaty. Your dress bunches up at your upper thighs and Andrei’s gaze dips down.

“My love,” he grins, kneeling on the bed with one knee so the mattress dips with his weight, “you’ll know when I’m trying to make you come.”

He undoes the buckle of his belt, the clinking of metal on metal when his wedding band slips against the buckle making your gaze trail down. The fly of his tuxedo pants is open and you can see the bulge of his erection against his black boxer-briefs. You sit up a little, angling to lean forward and reach for him, but Andrei shakes his head.

“No, no,” he murmurs, wrapping a hand around your wrist. “What kind of husband would I be,” he brings your hand to his mouth and kisses your palm, “if I didn’t take care of my wife?”

His voice, deep and warm, fills you with desire and you sigh, pressing your thighs together, already a mess for him. “Andrei, don’t tease,” you whine, wiggling your fingers at him. “I just want to feel you. I want you in me.”

Leaning down and forcing you to lie back again, Andrei braces his hand next to your head and kisses you sweetly. “You will,” he promises, smoothing his other hand over your cheek. “I’m going to make love to my wife,” he murmurs, kissing you again. His hand moves around your back and he plays with the zipper of your dress. You get the hint and scoot into a sitting position so he can work the zipper with one hand and slip the dress off your body, leaving you bare except for your strapless bra. Andrei kisses the swell of each breast and flicks at the clasp, discarding the bra to the floor. You kick a little at the dress and it slips to the floor where it’s joined quickly by Andrei’s pants, leaving you staring at his erection straining behind the black cotton.

“Lie back,” he commands and you do, already slightly breathless. He kneels on the bed again, your legs falling open to make room for him to get in between your thighs. “So beautiful,” he mumbles, absently, almost to himself, while he pulls himself out of his boxer-briefs, stroking his already hard length into a steel rod. His cock juts put in front of him and your mouth waters at the sight. You can’t believe that this gorgeous man is yours, forever.

“Andrei,” you pout, hand sliding between your legs to alleviate some of the growing pressure. He doesn’t make a move to stop you and instead his gaze is laser focused on where your fingers are circling your clit. You gasp. “Please, I need more, I need you,” you whisper, hooking an ankle around his thigh and tugging. You can’t move him on your own, so when he shifts forward, you know he’s going to give you what you want.

He lowers his body over yours, nestled in between your legs, his weight braced on one hand. You grin up at him, tracing his bicep with your free hand and pushing at his boxer-briefs with the other. Your fingers brush his cock and he shivers, hips jolting. “Make love to me, Andrei,” you murmur, lifting your head to kiss him, sucking his bottom lip in between your teeth. He groans into your mouth and your guide him to your entrance, the head of his cock bumping against your clit and sending delicious shocks down to your toes.

Still kissing you, Andrei rolls his hips and enters you. You gasp into his mouth and meet his hips with yours. He sets a slow, leisurely pace, thrusting gently and keeping control. Your legs hook around his waist, deepening the angle. His hips roll and you meet him thrust for thrust.

“Drei,” you gasp his name, raking your nails down his back. “More, please.”

He picks up the pace, but just barely, the tension building low in your stomach. Your hands roam his body, slick with sweat, and tangle in his hair.

He kisses you again and it’s cheesy, because you’ve kissed Andrei hundreds, thousands, hundred thousands of times, but this is different. These kisses are so much more. They’re soft and hungry and lazy and so full of love.

Andrei thrusts again, dipping his hand between your bodies because he knows exactly how to get you to come and your thighs are trembling with the building tension. “Come on, little wife,” he murmurs hoarsely, biting gently at the swell of your breast, flicking his tongue over your nipple. “Show me how beautiful you are when you come.”

You cry his name, clenching around him and then you’re both coming, clutching each other’s bodies. Your nails dig into his arms and Andrei’s face is buried in your neck. He’s breathing heavily, filling you and pumping his hips and it’s overwhelming, just how much you love him. You melt into the mattress, boneless, and encourage Andrei through his orgasm, stroking his neck and murmuring softly to him. He exhaled roughly and drops down from shaky arms, half of his body covering yours.

“I think I like married sex,” you huff a laugh, twisting a piece of Andrei’s hair between your fingers. His thigh is wedged in between yours and you resist the urge to rub your still sensitive clit against the hard, corded muscle.

He kisses your shoulder. “Me too,” he chuckles. His fingers trace a lazy pattern over your side, dragging from your hip bone up to the side of your breast and back down. You yawn, the repetitive motion soothing you and dragging your eyelids shut. You have no idea what time it is, but it has to be late, or early. The blackout curtains are drawn, but you wouldn’t be surprised if the sun is starting to come up.

“Don’t go to sleep,” Andrei says, already rolling off of you. “Let me clean you up.”

He gets out of bed and pads naked to the bathroom. You take the opportunity to roll on your side and ogle his firm, round ass. His entire form is lean muscle and strong, solid thighs. You swipe a hand between your legs and press at your clit, unfairly aroused and overstimulated by his body. Andrei’s back with a damp washcloth before you can really do anything about it, but he catches you and smirks, eyes flashing. He holds the cloth up and crooks a finger at you. “Come here,” he says, even as he’s climbing back into bed and dragging your legs over his lap.

Slowly, torturously, he runs the cloth between your legs and you squirm. The rough fabric is too much for your sensitive nerves and Andrei knows it. He moves even slower and only smiles when you grind your hips over his hand. “Going for the hat trick?” He laughs, everything brought back to hockey with him.

You frown. “It’s not fair that you’re so damn attractive,” you’re breathless, working yourself over the cloth and his hand. He just laughs again, the bastard, and helps you along until you’re coming for the third time, sweaty and completely limp in his arms. Andrei gathers you against his chest and you press your hot, sweaty cheek against his heart.

“I have to get up and pee,” you mumble, “but I don’t think I can walk.”

He kisses the top of your head and carries you into the bathroom, letting you do your business and get cleaned up while he goes back to sit on the edge of the bed. He’s yawning when you come back, still naked, but face clean of the stray makeup smudges. Your hair is tangled and still half in its bun, so you’ve left it to be tomorrow’s problem. Andrei opens his arms and you step in between his legs, resting your forearms on his shoulders. He leans forward and rests his forehead in the valley between your breasts, breathing softly. Another yawn works it’s way through your body and you shift, pushing Andrei back on the bed and climbing up with him. “I really need to sleep,” you sigh, your eyelids getting heavy again.

Andrei nods, looking tired himself. You both climb under the covers on your usual sides of the bed - Andrei closer to the door and you closer to the window - and lie down facing each other. You trace Andrei’s features with your index finger, running over his jaw line, forehead, and the line of his nose. His eyes flutter shut at your touch and his hand reaches for you, landing on your hip and pulling you close. You tuck your head under his chin, trailing your fingers over the column of his neck and feeling the stubble that’s there. “I love you, solnyshka,” he says quietly, his chest vibrating under your body.

“I love you,” you sigh, curling up close to him and falling asleep within minutes.

You wake up late the next morning, sunlight streaming brightly around the cracks of the curtains. Stretching out your entire body, you realize Andrei’s still asleep too. He must be exhausted since usually he’s up well before you. He’s flat on his back, arm thrown over his face, and sheet tented over his lap. Andrei’s mouth is a little open and he’s snoring softly - looking adorable while he’s at it. You reach for your phone, planning on taking a picture - the first picture of your husband (!) that you’ll take on your own phone - but when the screen lights up, you catch sight of the time and wince. It’s nearly noon, which would be late in the day normally, but your parents planned a day-after-the-wedding lunch for the guests staying at the hotel, scheduled to start at one. You both need showers and to change, so you drop your phone in the covers and smooth a hand over Andrei’s stomach, gliding it up over his pecs and curling it around the back of his neck before cupping his cheek, scratching your nails into his stubble.

“Drei, baby, time to get up,” you murmur, leaning down and pressing kisses to his chest and shoulder. “We have lunch in an hour.”

He grumbles - the only time he’s not a bouncing ball of energy and positivity is the few minutes right before he’s fully awake - and turns his head so he can press his cheek fully into your palm. “No,” he mumbles into your skin. “Nyet, do obeda. Ostavat'sya v posteli.”

He does that too, revert to Russian in his sleep. You brush your nose against his cheek. “I don’t know what that means beyond ‘nyet’ so whatever you said isn’t going to stop me,” you laugh a little.

Andrei cracks one eye open and squints at you. His lips curl up in a lazy smile and his hand lands on your waist. “I said,” he sighs, “no to lunch. Let’s stay in bed.”

You let him pull you against his side even as you’re shaking your head, which is a mistake because that seems to trigger your hangover. You press your lips together and wait for a minute before continuing, “we have two and a half weeks in Greece to relax and stay in bed, let’s go see everyone and eat because I’m starving.”

“I’ll order room service,” Andrei jokes, waking up and sitting up to kiss you.

“I want to see how hungover everyone is,” you giggle. “And you know what they say, happy wife, happy life.”

He swats at your ass a little when you roll away from him, laughing, and climb out of bed. You wiggle your ass in his direction playfully, “your wife wants you to join her in the shower, aren’t you going to make me happy?”

“That I can do,” Andrei promises, getting out of bed and wrapping his arms around your waist to carry you into the shower.

Of course, the shower takes twice as long as it should and by the time you get dressed - casually because once you opened the blinds, the afternoon North Carolina sunlight had nearly blinded you and caused a headache to form right between your eyes and nausea to roll your stomach - you’re running late to your own celebratory lunch. Andrei’s fingers play with the tie straps on your sundress as you head downstairs and you lean against him heavily. “I don’t understand how you don’t get hungover,” you mumble. “It’s unconscionable.”

He chuckles, chest vibrating against your back. “I’m bigger and Russian,” he shrugs, all the explanation you’re going to get. Truthfully, you just think he didn’t have as much to drink as you did. Even during the off-season, Andrei isn’t that big of a partier.

Once you get down to the hotel’s dining space, it’s all you can do not to laugh. The room is split into two camps - the older relatives who checked out by the end of the main reception and the friends and younger relatives that had partied with you at the after-party. The adults look tired, but happy, and your friends look like death warmed up.

Brady’s cradling his head in his hands while Gracia nudges toast in front of him. Pyotr has his head pillowed on his arms on the table. Geno has his sunglasses on inside and you spot Elena pointing him out to your mom and laughing, shaking her head at him. Jordan’s nursing a mug of coffee and you spot your best friends taking a carafe of coffee directly from the waiter and setting it on the table in front of them.

“Rough night?” You giggle, pressing your fingers to your temple at the spike of pain. The girls look up at you with bloodshot eyes.

Tia groans, “who challenges Russian hockey players to a drinking contest?”

“A moron, that’s who,” Kate murmurs, her voice nearly gone from scream-singing.

“Who’d you challenge?” Andrei asks, munching on a piece of bacon. You look at his food with a jealous eye and he holds out the half-eaten strip for you. You take a bite gratefully and chew while you wait for Tia’s answer.

She wrinkles her nose. “Who didn’t I challenge is the question, but I finally tapped out against Pyotr and Geno.”

“It was impressive,” Geno mumbles, holding his hand up for Tia to slap in a high-five.

“Party of the year, Svechy,” Brady grins. “But fuck, I’m gonna feel this hangover for a week.”

Andrei smirks at his friend and says, “good thing it’s off-season.”

Your mom calls you both over and you wind your way amongst the tables, leaving your hungover friends to recover. Andrei’s hand is warm against your lower back as you head across the room, his fingers splayed out.

“Honey,” your mom pats your hip when you reach her side, “I think you could use a little make-up, right here.” She waves her hand in the general area of her neck and you flush, knowing she means the hickeys Andrei sucked into your skin the night before.

“I, um, I’ll take that into consideration,” you stammer, even as Andrei sniggers behind your back. You swing your leg back, kicking your heel into his shin, and he just wraps his arms around your waist and rests his chin on your shoulder.

Shooting the parents a wide and innocent, but sincere, smile, he says, “thank you, all of you, for helping us have the best wedding yesterday. We appreciate it very much.”

Your mother’s attention is now on her new son-in-law and not the marks on your neck. She smiles at him, “it was more than our pleasure. You two deserve it.”

“And especially the vacation,” Elena chimes in. “It’s well-earned.”

It definitely is. Andrei’s fresh off a Stanley Cup victory and you’re fresh off the stress of planning a wedding around the playoffs. You can’t wait to soak up the Mediterranean sun and have sex with your husband in between delicious meals. Your flight leaves the next afternoon and you’re more than ready to get going.

The parents release you back to your friends and lunch becomes a fun, lazy affair, a continuation of the after-party, where it’s revealed that Kate and Pyotr had hooked up in the hotel’s garden and half the team had lost money on that bet.

Eventually, you’re gently kicked out of the dining hall and your parents come up to the honeymoon suite to take both of your dresses to be cleaned and preserved for you while you’re in Greece. Elena and Igor take Andrei’s tux and put it in their car along with the three other tuxes belonging to your dad, Igor, and Geno. They’ve kindly volunteered to return them so it’s one less thing for Andrei to worry about when you get back.

Geno unloads Andrei’s honeymoon suitcase from his car, setting it next to yours in the back corner of the suite where it’s been since the morning of the wedding. You’re getting another night in the hotel before you leave for Greece, so all the luggage had to be brought with you. Not that it matters really, you’ve been packed for a week, beyond excited for the trip, and you’d packed most of Andrei’s stuff too. “What do you have in here?” Geno asks, teasing. “All of your hair products?”

Andrei raises an eyebrow at his brother and deadpans, “sex toys.”

You giggle while Geno processes for a few silent seconds before cracking into his trademark missing-toothed grin. He laughs loudly and cups Andrei’s face in his hands, squeezing his little brother’s cheek’s together. “You’re a little shit,” he shakes his head affectionately, “you know that?”

“Learned from the best,” Andrei mumbles, trying to smile while Geno is squishing his face.

The rest of the day and the next morning passes in a blur of last minute preparation, couples massages, and sex on every surface of the honeymoon suite. You put the shower bench to particularly good use.

Finally, after a quick lunch, you’re on the way to the airport, vibrating with excitement in the back seat. “I can’t believe we’re going to be completely and totally off the grid,” you sigh, closing your eyes and thinking about it. You’d decided against an international plan and are keeping your phones on airplane mode the entire trip, save for a few minutes at the end of the day when you’ll connect to hotel WiFi to check in with your parents. “It’s going to be so nice.”

“I’m just looking forward to spending time with you,” Andrei says sweetly, kissing your cheek.

Your flight ends up delayed for two hours, meaning more time to people-watch in the airport. Andrei gets bored sitting around and does laps, reporting back that he found no less than four Auntie Anne’s pretzel shops. “And you didn’t bring me cinnamon sugar pretzel nuggets?” You shake your head. “Bad start to the marriage.”

He does another lap and brings you the nuggets along with a lemonade, stealing a few pretzels from the cup before he hands them over.

Once you’re on the plane - first class(!) - Andrei takes both of your carry-ons and stows them away, letting you have the first shift in the window seat. You’ve learned over the past few years of dating that you both love the window seat, but Andrei would rather sit there during touchdown and you like it during takeoff, which makes it easy to switch off.

After takeoff, you get comfortable in your seat, kicking off your sneakers and folding your legs up on the seat. Andrei stretches out his legs and crosses them at the ankle, grinning when he sees you aiming your phone at him for a picture and throwing up a thumbs-up. Picture taking and documenting memories in scrapbooks is one of your love languages and Andrei learned early on how to be an Instagram husband, to pose for shots, and to always be aware that you’re taking candids.

“Make sure you save your boarding pass,” you say. “It’s going in the honeymoon scrapbook.”

He holds the slip of paper up in between his index and middle fingers, smirking, “whatever you say, wife.”

“Excellent,” you lean over the armrest and kiss him softly.

The flight attendant comes by with drinks and catches you kissing Andrei. “Aren’t you two adorable?” She comments, handing Andrei a water and you a ginger ale (it just tastes different on a plane).

You can’t help yourself and burst out, “we’re on our way to Greece for our honeymoon!”

“Well!” She beams, clapping her hands. “That’s so exciting! I wish you both a long and happy marriage.”

You thank her, Andrei chiming in at the same time.

The flight is uneventful. Andrei falls asleep almost immediately, since he’s so used to plane travel, and you know to wake him up for snacks and meal service. You’ve never been able to sleep on a plane, too excited and eager to enjoy the experience, so you find a movie to watch. Over the seven hours, you watch Top Gun and cry when Goose dies, Ghostbusters: Afterlife and cry when Harold Ramis’s character appears as a ghost or vision or whatever at the end, and The Parent Trap. You don’t cry during that one, but that’s mostly because you’ve seen it so many times and you’re desensitised.

Andrei stirs a little, waking up for dinner and to tease you about crying over old movies. You wrinkle your nose at him and he holds your hand when he falls back asleep.

You booked the trip through a Greek travel company, which means literally everything was taken care of including all transfers to and from the airport and the different hotels and islands, so all you have to do when you land, is gather your luggage and find the man holding up the SVECHNIKOV placard. Andrei drags the one large checked suitcase and his carry-on behind him, his backpack secure on his back. You’re left with your rolling carry-on and the old Jansport you’re using as a personal item for travel purposes.

“Mr and Mrs Svechnikov?” The man smiles at them. “I am James, I will drive you to the hotel.” He takes the suitcase from you and tries to take one from Andrei, but your husband is firm that he’ll pull his own suitcase. You traipse along behind both men, still taking in the sights and sounds of the Athens airport.

The heat hits you the second you step foot outside, a warm wall that has you sweating witching a few feet. The sun is bright and the air feels thick. You slide your sunglasses over your face and push up the sleeves of your travel sweatshirt, grinning like a fool at Andrei. He shares your smile, looking around at the mountainous surroundings.

It’s about a half-hour drive to the hotel and you find yourself dozing, leaning against Andrei’s arm, as you drive. The time difference and lack of sleep over the past few days are catching up to you. The warm of Andrei’s body next to yours isn’t helping. But after your little nap, you feel refreshed when you get to the hotel. So refreshed that you immediately drop the bags off and start exploring the neighborhood. Andrei holds your hand as you walk, taking in the vibrant surroundings and the smells of amazing food. You bounce on the balls of your feet every time you spot a stray cat and squeal when you stumble on the Acropolis.

“Oh my god, Drei!” You grin. “We’re actually here. Like we’re actually, really in Greece on our honeymoon.”

He laughs and kisses you. “I know, solnyshka. It feels like a dream.”

The entire trip is a dream. You get up early the next morning and hike up the slope of the Parthenon to see the Acropolis. It’s hot, but beautiful. You looks around in awe, overwhelmed by the history and architectural work. Andrei asks a couple if they’ll take a photo of the two of you and he pulls you into his arms, holding you against his side and smiling widely for the picture. You lean up to kiss his cheek for another photo.

By the time you start the walk back down, it’s even hotter and the crowds are getting out of control. Andrei is at your back, keeping a watch as you go down the marble steps. Once you get to the bottom, you get two frozen lemonades, plain for Andrei and strawberry for you, and lean against a nearby wall to suck them down and cool off.

“There’s so much history here,” you say, looking around. “It’s just so cool! I mean, to think that the Acropolis was built so many hundreds of years ago and it’s still standing.”

“Nerd,” he teases you affectionately.

After a few days in Athens, you’re shuffled off to the ferry via car service early in the morning. It’s still dark when you get in line to board and you’re wrapped in a sweatshirt while you lean on the big suitcase. Andrei’s hand is warm on your back and your legs tingle a little, still sore from the marathon sex you’ve been having. You sip at your coffee, enjoying just how strong the Greek coffee is. “We definitely need to bring some of this coffee back home,” you say, holding your cup up for Andrei to have a sip.

“A cup of this before a game and I’m flying,” he agrees.

“You could use that, old man,” you tease him, nudging his foot with yours and he smacks at your ass a little.

“Brat.”

You smirk at him. “Guess you’ll have to punish me, then.”

Andrei’s eyes darken in the dim light, but before he gets the chance to say anything, the line starts moving and there’s an announcement that boarding is happening. You shuffle along, Andrei’s hand reaching out to pinch your ass, making you yelp. When you look back at him, he just smiles innocently.

The ferry ride to Naxos from Athens isn’t very long, just about four hours, but it’s long enough for you both to get in quick naps once you find your seats. Andrei has his legs propped up on the suitcase, keeping it close, and your lips tilt up at the sight of him with his head back and his baseball cap over his face. You snap a picture.

Naxos is gorgeous, but your hotel is smack in the middle of nowhere and has an outdated 70s vibe that makes you think of murder motels. It’s an uncharitable thought because everyone is so nice and polite, especially when they find out you’re celebrating your honeymoon. The beach is a thirty minute walk in one direction and the town is more than an hour’s walk in the other. You manage to figure out the bus system and are on the beach, laying on side-by-side lounge chairs in under an hour. The water is too gorgeous to be real and it’s warm enough that you don’t have to tentatively step in and get used to it.

The days pass by in a blur of sun and sand, picnics packed for lunch, and in one memorable afternoon, a stumble on a nude beach.

“Oh my god!” You yelp, eyes going wide. “We have to turn around.”

Andrei’s laughing so hard he can’t speak, averting his eyes from looking directly at all the old people baring it all. You cover your eyes on the side like you’re wearing blinders and speed walk back in the direction of your chairs. “Solnyshka,” Andrei calls after you, still laughing, “it’s natural! What if I decided to strip down? Would you run away from me?”

“No!” You smother a horrified laugh. “But you’re my husband and your balls don’t hang down to your ankles. It’s not exactly a hardship to look at your naked body, Andrei!”

“Well that’s good to hear,” he deadpans. A smirk cracks his facade and he starts to giggle again. “You just looked so horrified.”

“They’re old! And wrinkled! And their skin is like leather - has no one heard of moisturiser?” You shake your head, planning on rubbing in another layer of sunscreen when you’re back at your chairs.

Dinner is usually a relaxed affair, sitting at some taverna by the water, plates of appetizers covering the table. You have a Greek salad with every meal, thoroughly enjoying the feta and fresh tomatoes. Naxos is known for their cheese, so you order a cheese platter one night and share approximately two pieces with Andrei, fighting each other with your forks. He distracts you, pointing over your shoulder and exclaiming that he sees dolphins, and when you look over to see nothing, he pulls the cheese plate to himself and protectively encircles his arms around it, laughing when you start tugging at his hands. There’s this amazingly bright beet dip - a perfect magenta pink and so addictive with the grilled pita bread.

“I could marry this dip,” you moan.

Andrei raises an eyebrow. “I could be okay with polygamy.”

After Naxos, you take the ferry to Paros - just an hour on the boat and you’re in a completely different location. It’s amazing how efficient the ferries are and how civilized the whole process is. You get to keep your luggage the whole time and since seats are assigned on your ticket, no one fights for a seat.

Paros is a gorgeous island. Similar in size to Naxos, but more built up. Your hotel is magical - a true five star - with palm trees by the pool and perfectly manicured grounds. There are hot pink flowers everywhere and you breathe in the fresh air, feeling like a different person.

“I love this place,” you sigh, stretching out on a lounger next to the pool. Andrei toasts you with his drink, something in a coconut that he’d never normally order at home.

“Top hotel so far,” he says, tucking one hand behind his head, making his bicep pop. He’s been running in the mornings, to counterbalance the food you’ve been eating. But he’s also been so relaxed, which is something you’re glad to see. The last few years have been a lot on him - his ACL injury that had led to a shortened season when he returned followed by the deep playoff run leading to the eventual Stanley Cup. He needed a minute to unwind.

He reaches out over the distance between your chairs and wiggles his fingers at you. You reach your own hand out and let him lace your fingers together. Unfairly, he’s tanner than you are, his skin turning a nice golden brown under the Greek sun. Andrei’s thumb traces over your knuckles.

Neither of you say anything, just enjoying the company and quiet.

The beach is a two minute walk from your hotel, so in the afternoons, you make your way over there with just your towels to swim in the sea. You’re actually addicted to the Mediterranean now and have no idea how you’re going to go back to swimming in the Atlantic. There’s some cliffs around the beach and Andrei eggs you on to climb them and jump off.

You’re a chicken when it comes to stuff like that, but with Andrei encouraging you, and screaming all the way down, you jump from a decently high cliff. The adrenaline rush is unparalleled and Andrei enthusiastically responds when you jump into his arms, kissing him hungrily. With the buoyancy from the salt water helping, Andrei carries you into a secluded cove, shadowed by the cliffs you had just jumped off of. He presses you against the rocks, scraping your back, and twists his fingers in the ties of your bikini bottoms.

His fingers edge under the fabric and you squirm, wanting him to touch you. “Come on, Drei,” you urge him. “Touch me, please.”

“Anyone could swim by, zhena,” he murmurs against your neck, licking at the drying salt.

“Not if,” you gasp, letting your head fall back as Andrei licks and bites your neck. “Not if you’re fast.”

He hums against your skin, still toying with the fabric of your bottoms. Your legs are wrapped around his waist and you can feel the hard heat of his cock pressing into you. You grind down against him and he bites your shoulder in a little warning. “You like this?” He asks, slipping his index finger under your bathing suit and letting the tip of it tease at your swollen folds. The cool water laps around you, keeping your temperature down. “You want people to see you, my love? You want them to see me give you my fingers, see how many of them you can take?”

“I…yes…Andrei, please,” you whine, heels kicking against his back while you clench around the tip of his finger. “I…more… pozhaluysta.”

It’s a dirty trick, using your limited Russian, because you know he finds nothing hotter. Andrei slips two fingers inside of you and crooks them, forcing a cry from your throat. You press one hand against your lips to muffle your noises as he fucks you with his fingers, adding a third after only a few seconds. “You wanted this, my love,” he rasps, “don’t be quiet.”

“Andrei,” you whine his name, toes curling. Your hand fists in his hair and he hisses a little when you tug. His fingers are thick and rough inside of you and it doesn’t take too much longer before you’re clenching around then and coming on his hand. “Fuck,” you mutter, going boneless in his arms.

“Good girl,” Andrei praises you, kisses your shoulder. “I think it’s time for a nap.”

Your eyelids flutter and he carries you through the water back to your towels. Your legs are jelly underneath you, but you wrap yourself in your towel, pressing against his body to feel his erection press into your lower stomach. “You know,” you murmur, “there’s a hammock on the patio of our room.”

Andrei raises an eyebrow at you. “We have a good time in hammocks,” he says slowly.

Agreeing, you continue, “and the bathtub in the room is very, very big. Probably big enough for, say a 6’2” Russian and his brand new wife.”

“We should test that out,” he says, seriously, nudging you through the sand and back to the road leading to your hotel.

Turns out the tub isn’t quite big enough for the both of you and more water splashes over the sides than stays in, but you giggle your way through a bath that’s more groping than anything. The olive oil soap is a nice amenity, getting you both extra slick and slippery - which does eventually result in you banging your knee against the side of the tub, but it’s worth it when Andrei kisses the spot, working his way up your inner thigh.

After the bath, you dry each other off and roll around on the bed, making out and touching each other, but not really doing much more. It’s been a long trip and you’d like to be able to walk at the end of it. You order loukoumades - Greek doughnuts soaked in honey syrup and dusted with cinnamon - from room service and curl up on Andrei’s lap out on the patio to enjoy the warm night and the sweet treat.

Andrei feeds you a doughnut and you purposefully suck his fingers into your mouth when you take a bite. He raises an eyebrow at you and you giggle. “You know,” you say quietly, enjoying the peaceful evening, “one day, I’d like to bring our kids back here. Be the annoying parents that talk about their honeymoon and show their kids all the amazing sights and restaurants.”

“That would be nice,” Andrei replies, resting his chin on your shoulder. “Rent a villa and let them run around in the sun. We should have them learn Greek too, that way someone can translate.”

“Can you imagine?” You grin, leaning back against his chest. “Little babies running around switching between English, Russian, and Greek? They’ll be the smartest kids is Raleigh.”

“And the cutest too, probably.” He nuzzles his nose against the side of your neck. “As long as they look like you.”

Warmth floods your stomach, thinking about a little gang of Svechnikov babies. In your imagination, they look like Andrei, his warm brown eyes and that dimple. You curl closer against him, daydreaming about that future.

Your last island is Santorini and you’re actually spending the least amount of time here, just four and a half days before you fly back to Athens for an overnight stay before leaving for home again. Santorini is gorgeous, but it’s definitely the most crowded of the islands and the most touristy. The blue domes against the white washed buildings are beautiful and the sunsets are as gorgeous as promised. But, after the slower paced Naxos and Paros, you find yourself getting a little cranky with the crowds of Santorini.

“I think you need an ice cream,” Andrei says, guiding you towards one of the many ice cream shops. “You’re getting that hangry look in your eyes.”

“These people just don’t move!” You grumble, following him. “It’s so crowded and if they all stop in the middle of the path…” You throw your hands up in exasperation.

“She’ll have the kataifi,” Andrei says to the woman behind the counter, ignoring you, “and I’ll have the chocolate hazelnut.”

Your ice cream order’s been fairly standard over the past few days in Santorini - the kataifi ice cream is cinnamon-y and sweet and has chunks of the crunchy kataifi phyllo and nuts mixed it. You take the cone and happily tear into it, already feeling a little better as you cool off. Andrei takes his cone and pays, joining you against the wall of the shop. You’re busy keeping your ice cream from melting all over your hands and so when Andrei leans over and licks from the edge of your jaw to your earlobe, you’re so startled you nearly drop the cone entirely.

“Andrei!” You yelp, turning on him with wide eyes. “What the —“

He smirks at you and points at the opposite wall where a blue neon sign proclaims ‘it’s not going to lick itself.’ You blink at the sign briefly and then start giggling. “Just doing what the sign tells me,” he says innocently.

“I don’t think that’s what it means,” you murmur, flicking your gaze down to the front of his shorts.

“You can lick that later,” Andrei promises, grinning. He licks his ice cream scoop very deliberately, flattening his tongue around the scoop and swirling it. Your cheeks flush and you bump his hip with yours. He captures your hand and squeezes, tugging you out of the shop and back into the packed streets.

You wander a little more, popping into a jewelry store where you immediately spot two puppies playing and squat down to play with them. Andrei disappears for a minute, but you’re too distracted to realize he even left until he’s back, hovering over you, asking, “ready to get going?”

“Where’d you go?” You ask, giving the dogs one more pet each before standing up and taking Andrei’s hand.

He waves his other hand, “just around. Looking at souvenirs.”

“Okay,” you squint at him a little suspiciously, but don’t question it. “I think we’ve covered everyone actually, unless you want to get anything else for your parents.” The entirety of one of your carry-on suitcases is dedicated to souvenirs, and there’s spill over into the big suitcase, so you’re kind of hoping Andrei’s done with gifts.

He shakes his head, “I think I’m good.” He smirks at you, “besides, we don’t have any more luggage room, right?”

“You do listen to me!” You laugh.

“Of course,” he kisses your knuckles. “Happy wife, happy life, right?”

Your last day on Satorini is spent on the volcanic black sand beach, relaxing and fooling around in the sea. “I’m going to miss this,” you say, toes skimming the sand while you float in the deep water.

“Let’s come back next year,” Andrei suggests, tipping his face back to the sun. “Another two weeks, there’s hundreds of islands we haven’t seen.”

You find yourself getting a little emotional. “Yeah,” you whisper, emotion clogging your throat, “that would be nice. But it would just be a vacation, it wouldn’t be another honeymoon.”

“No,” Andrei floats over to you and kisses you softly, “it won’t be. But it’ll be a good first anniversary trip.” He kisses your cheek. “Or maybe a trip to celebrate a pregnancy.”

“I love you,” you whisper, wiping at your face. “This has been the best trip, Drei. Honestly. I can’t wait to take a million more.” You loop your arms around his neck and his arms come around your waist, pulling you flush against him.

“You made it the best trip,” he says, dimple popping. “There’s no one else I’d rather spend two and a half weeks island hopping with or getting lost on the way to the beach with. I wouldn’t stop whenever someone else pointed out a stray cat or dog, just you, solnyshka.”

You snort a laugh, “you’re really angling for me to lick something, aren’t you?”

“Well,” Andrei smirks, the sun glinting off of his tanned skin and his brown eyes twinkling, “I wouldn’t say no to a little licking.”

There’s a lot of licking on your last night in Santorini and you both sleep in the next morning, enjoying a lazy start to the day and getting breakfast delivered to your room so you can pack and eat on your own time. The flight back to Athens is only an hour - you spent longer going through security and waiting to board than actually in the air.

You’re only in Athens overnight before you have to leave for the airport at 11, so you make the most of it, wandering around and getting a little bit lost before having a final dinner in a romantic little taverna. Andrei passes a little jewelry box across the table to you while you wait for dessert.

“What’s this?” You trace a finger over the box.

“A present,” he smiles.

“You already gave me a pretty good present,” you hold up your left hand, flashing your engagement ring and wedding band.

He laughs a little. “I know. But this one is to remember Greece.”

You look at him, shaking your head a bit, and pop open the box to find a cross that looks exactly like his, but smaller. “Andrei,” you look back up at him, “this is - it’s just like yours.”

You know Greek and Russian Orthodox are under the same umbrella and Andrei had poked his head into a few churches, doing the cross and dropping a few euros to light candles. You’d gotten married Russian Orthodox and even though it’s your own background, your family was far enough removed from being in Russia that religion wasn’t a major aspect of your life growing up.

“I saw it the other day,” he says. “And you don’t have to wear it, but I thought it might be nice. For us to have matching crosses.” He pauses. “For yours to be a memory of the honeymoon.”

You’re halfway to tears as you’re pulling the chain from the box and clasping it around your neck. “Why are you the most thoughtful, sentimental man in the world?” You lean over the table, the cross around your neck swaying and bumping your chest, and cup his face in your hands to kiss him deeply. “I love it and I love you.”

Andrei’s cheeks are a little pink when you sit back down. He shrugs one shoulder. “I wanted you to have a little piece of me too, when I’m traveling.”

“I’m not taking it off, Drei,” you murmur, tracing your fingers over the cool metal. His own chain is just barely visible under the collar of his shirt and you eye it. “We’re clearly going to have to come back and get more for the future Svechnikov babies.”

He laughs and catches your hand, kissing your palm. “Whatever you want, zhena. Whatever you want.”

A warm breeze carries through the street and it’s the perfect night to end your honeymoon.

#andrei svechnikov fic #andrei svechnikov x reader #andrei svechnikov x you #andrei svechnikov imagine #andrei svechnikov

[rythmicjea]

Archie's Dream 5x04

Should I be finishing up my chapter for Narwals? Yes. Am I? No. Instead, I can't get Archie's dream out of my head. Season 5 is considered to be "the worst" season. That's because the majority of people don't understand it. There are so many layers to this season. It's like a 14 hour long episode of the X-Files. If you take episodes 1-3 to really be the end of season 4 (and we all should) it's the shortest season out of all of them.

The show needed to get everyone back together in Riverdale. That's how shows like this work. The impetus is Archie's dream. On the surface it's a warning that Riverdale is in trouble. The soul of Riverdale is on the verge of collapse. And yes, that is true. Get closer though, and you start to see the shadows underneath.

The dream opens in the boys locker room of Riverdale High. Archie Andrews is giving his team a pep talk before the game. His voice is darker, deeper, it's that of a drill sergeant. He prepares them saying it's not going to be easy. That they have never faced anything like it but they cannot be afraid. He barks, "Do you know why?" And they answer "Because we're Bulldogs!"

The camera lingers on Reggie. Why Reggie? Here's the thing most people don't recognize about Mantle the Magnificent. He may not like you, but if you go to Riverdale, you're a Bulldog. And he will defend any Bulldog for any reason. That's why he's so offended and incensed that Jughead wears his Serpent's jacket. Because to him, Jughead is spitting in Riverdale's face. Jughead is one of Riverdale's sons and that should mean more.

We see the General tell them that their mission is to save their fallen brother. The next shot is of a football field as No Man's Land (the stretch of land between two trenches in war). There are football players in the background running plays. There are bombs going off and artillery fire whizzing by. I am an avid football fan. I grew up on Ohio State football. A football game is often referred to as a "battle". You'll hear phrases like "Battle on the Grid Iron". Each game is life or death for the players and the fans. But this is more than just a football game. This is actual life or death.

Reggie goes down. Shot in the chest from enemy fire. This is representative of how Reggie is on the "wrong" side in the season. He's aligned himself with Hiram. He doesn't care for the town and the school that he once loved so deeply.

Archie is then flown into the air by a bomb. He doesn't want to go further. He doesn't think he can. You would think that he would look at his target. Instead, he sees Cheryl. She's in her Vixens uniform. And while you can hear the squad cheering, Cheryl isn't speaking. She smiles at him, with tears in her eyes, nodding at him to go forward. Why is she here? They weren't particularly close. Why would she care about his mission? Because Cheryl has lost a brother. She knows that pain of not being able to help and the guilt that comes with surviving. She can't let Archie go through that.

Then we see the fallen soldier. We don't know his identity until Archie gets to him. It's Jughead. A chest wound pouring out blood. His heart was broken by his first love and his best friend. Jughead only says one line and it is "I just need a little help". We come to learn in the season that Jughead has become an alcoholic. His line is one that many addicts say. It's so simple to believe that with just a little help they can overcome their affliction. A lot of times it's said to get a fix. Just a tiny one to help get through the withdrawal.

On the sidelines is everyone who loves Jughead. The Serpents, Betty, Veronica, and Pop. They're all cheering for Archie to do what needs to be done. And at the last moment we see Hiram standing with a gun pointed at Archie. In the first four seasons it was always about Archie vs Hiram. But everyone forgets that the actual thorn in Hiram's side was Jughead. It's Jughead that exposes him. It's Jughead that picks up the pieces of his parental duties for Veronica. It's Jughead who is willing to risk everything to see Hiram exposed for all of his corruption and evil deeds. And Hiram knows it. But Hiram can't do anything to Jughead without exposing himself. That's why he willingly lets Jughead take himself to the slaughter against the ghoulies. Hiram was behind riot night. And that gunshot wound in Jughead's chest? Who's to say it wasn't Hiram who pulled the trigger?

Archie's dream tells the story of season 5. There's many reasons for him to come home. He declares that Riverdale is "dying" and they need to save it. But it's not Riverdale that he has to save, it's Jughead. He hasn't spoken to Jughead in seven years. When he calls his three friends, Betty and Veronica drop what they are doing immediately to answer. Jughead is the only one who hesitates. We never see him answer. Jughead is the most reluctant to stay.

NO ONE on the show knows how to handle an addiction. Not even Jughead. He knows how to take care of his father but it was never his responsibility to save his father. And FP? FP gets sober cold turkey. He falls off the wagon at his retirement party. He is magically able to handle alcohol responsibly. That's not how addiction works.

Archie offers Jughead a place to stay and a teaching position at the school. Archie lets him go when he needs to go back to New York without any questions asked. Archie is the subliminal support system that was taken from Jughead at the end of high school. He doesn't know what to do exactly (and he has his own issues - PTSD) but he can do the passive things to help his brother.

After seven years of silence, Archie has a dream that tells him his best friend and brother is in danger and he's the only one who can help. And if that's being an invitation back to a safe place and a warm bed then he does it without hesitation. To many Archie IS Riverdale. He is the heart of the town. But, Jughead put Riverdale on the map. Jughead is the town's conscience. To Archie, Jughead is Riverdale.

#riverdale #jughead jones #archie andrews #cheryl blossom #jarchie #Not a Jarchie post but celebrating this friendship #long post #very long post #long reads #character analysis #media analysis

[wifeyifey]

Hi, um, hope I ain't bothering you but... I had a bad morning to say the least. Can you possibly write Deathslinger, Wraith, Doctor, and Pyramid Head comforting/hugging reader s/o who's been remembering bad memories about their mentally/emotionally abusive mom? Just... You can ignore this if you don't wanna write it...

You're not bothering me at all. I totally get it and I hope you feel better! I too have many mornings like that so just know you aren't alone my friend. I may have self-projected some of my mommy issues in this tbh. I know that it's hard so just know you have more people who love and care for you <3

Dbd x gn!reader (fem!reader in Herman's, should be gn! the rest of it tho)

Description: dbd killers give comfort to their s/o.

This is angsty but it is also a comfort fic.

Deathslinger:

You sigh as you walk around the sunny realm of your boyfriend. It has been a bad day for you, you would say. You had very little sleep the night before due to, what you like to call, the hauntings. You got up, rubbed your eyes, and headed towards the one place that gives you the most comfort and now here you were.

You went around looking for Caleb, but you sadly couldn’t find him anywhere. At this point you were going to cry. You don’t like it here and you didn’t like your life too much beforehand, but at least you have Caleb. You never talked about your life before the Entity and neither did Caleb. Sometimes you would get something small from him where he would mention his gang. Nothing more than that though. You had a family, but it wasn’t really a family was it? You scoffed at the thought and sat down in the saloon. You leaned over the bar and grabbed a glass and put just a little whiskey in it. You don’t like drinking very much… too used to seeing it take a negative effect on those around you.

You’re getting angsty. Where is Caleb? You feel your eyes burn from the build up of unreleased tears and the feeling of being overwhelmed taking over you. You get up with the glass in your hand and you’re about to throw the drink at the wall before a hand grabs your wrist and turns you around. You look at Caleb and he was already looking at you with softened, but confused eyes. “What’s wrong darlin’?” Caleb asked while grabbing the glass from your hand and setting it down on the nearby table. He wrapped his arms around you as you threw your face into his chest sniffling. 

He has never seen you so upset before and he isn’t completely sure what to do. He just let you cry it out and held you close to him. Pressing a kiss here and there on top of your head and repeating “It’s ok. I’m here. I’m here.” You didn’t realize how comforting hearing him say that to you. You look into his eyes and whisper a small “Forever?” Even though you both know the unpredictability of where you are and how the situation may change one day, he couldn’t help how innocent it sounded coming from you and replied with a small “Always.” as he gives you a small kiss on the lips.

Wraith:

Philip knew there was something off when in the trial you were giving up easily on things. You always were a strong team player and always helped others by healing them once you got them off the hook. Philip hated how he had to hook you in his trials, but he really wanted to end this trial quickly so he can get to you. 

None of the generators were working and every survivor was gone. Except for you. His sweet love. He appeared behind you with his little jingle. He was expecting you to excitedly turn to him. However, that didn’t happen. 

You felt so numb. All the memories of your past coming up and how you just wish some part of your life was normal. Never would you have thought you’d ask for normalcy in your life. But here you are. You heard Philips jingle, but you just couldn’t shake off the feeling of dread in you. So deeply rooted inside of you. Philip could feel the sadness coming off of you in waves. Philip is so used to seeing such happiness from you. He doesn’t know how to change things. He does know, however, to comfort you. 

He sat down on the ground behind you, his legs open and his hands gently reaching out for you. When you felt his hands on your waist, you knew you would be ok as soon as you were wrapped in his arms. He pulled you in between his legs and wrapped himself tighter around you. He felt you melt into his body and made a happy grunt that you were seemingly at peace. You looked up at him and softly said, “You’re the only family I’ll ever need.” You then tucked your head under his chin and felt so much more at peace. Philip just felt all his blood rush to his face and nearly felt the sting of tears in his eyes at the sentiment of that statement.

Oh how he loves you.

Doctor:

“Herman, I don’t see the point in this. You’re not a therapist anymore. Just crazy.” You let out a laugh at the face he gave you as he turned to look at you in his wheely chair. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that. For your sake, my flower.” he said monotonously as he gave a tiny harmless zap to your thigh. He chuckled at your little yelp and then he soothed his hand where he shocked you. “I wasn’t asking to be your therapist… I’m telling you, you need to talk to me.”

You sighed as you crossed your arms. You see that he has already taken notes on his observations of you in the past few days. You tried reading them, but his handwriting can be a little difficult to read sometimes. “I just want to know what is making you wither. You haven’t been yourself and I don’t like seeing you so glum. You are more delicate than you want to appear. Buut, you are stronger than you think as well. I’m assuming you’ve been sad because you’ve been thinking of your past life.” You looked at him, a little embarrassed, but not surprised he came to that conclusion.

“Yeah. I just don’t exactly know how to talk about it. I-... I wanted to forget about it. I’ve just been having those dreams… where they’re almost like memories. Just… not… good ones.” You say as you look down at your feet. Twisting the front of your right foot to grind the broken glass on the floor. Herman scooted his chair over to where your legs were placed between his. He looked up at you and gently cupped his hand behind your knee, thumb brushing against your kneecap. He used his other hand to grab your hand and he brought your hand to cup his face. 

“Was it about your mom?” he asked. You looked at him with almost a blank stare. The only reason he was able to ask without you explaining more was because you were his s/o before the Entity brought you both here. You were happy to be back with him, just wish it were under better circumstances here. You guys were engaged back in the day. Your ring is still on your finger. Herman loves you and understands that your mom was always hard for you to talk about. It’s been more of a problem lately because you both found out you were pregnant. Becoming a mom was something you were scared of because you didn’t want to be like your mom. Not like you’d ever let that happen. Nor would Herman for that matter. 

“Herman, do you think I’ll be a good mom?” you ask with tears running down your face. Herman stood up and cupped your face gently and wiped away your tears. “My dear. With the heart and brain you have, you will be the best mom there ever was.” He brushed his nose against your cheek. 

I guess you can’t ignore the doctor. If he says it, it must be true. You smile at him and kiss his cheekbone and instantly remember that you’ll never be your mom. You have the support system you need in Herman.

Pyramid Head:

*pre dbd universe*

Living in Silent Hill was not the life you would’ve imagined for yourself, but with a protector and s/o like Pyramid Head, you’re at least not lonely. 

The way you met this monster of a man was due to his need to kill the worst people and monsters. He heard you. From miles away. He heard the beating of your innocent heart and the terrible one that was attacking you. He knew it was time to take you from this creature. The purity in your heart couldn't be destroyed by something so evil.  

When it happened, you were crying. You were scared you were going to be killed, but all this creature did was reach down and caress your cheek with the back of his hand. 

He picked you up with his empty arm, almost cradling you because of how massive he was. He took you to a safe place. Somewhere far away from the madness. He was your home now. He gave you safety and he was a perfect heater for the cold nights. He grabbed you things that you might need while he was out on his runs. He never let you leave. He knows the the connection your soul has to the one he took you from. Yet, he knew your soul was connecting with his in a very strong bond. 

He came home to you after an uneventful day. He leaned his giant knife against the wall and laid down on the giant nest of a bed you made when he brought you here. You came in with a glass of water and laid down next to him. You rest your head on his chest and cuddle into him. His arm wraps around you tightly and you feel like nothing else matters. You have Pyramid Head to care for you and to keep you safe. His comfort was all you needed when the days were gloomy. He obviously can’t give any verbal comfort, but the physical comfort was all you needed.

I hope you liked this my friend! Lmk what you think!

Requests are open!

#dbd x reader #dead by daylight x reader #deathslinger x reader #caleb quinn x reader #wraith x reader #Philip Ojomo x reader #the doctor x reader #Herman Carter x reader #pyramid head x reader

[rawliverandgoronspice]

being a sksw fan has been so hard for years and now totk just fucking it up because ive already seen people saying that the imprisioning was shown in game was the real one and skyward sword is just a retelling.. stiop.. dont take my 13 year old game lore from me...

Honestly I'm so deeply impressed by the resilience of any Zelda fan who cares even remotely about the lore at this point, especially given how... a lot of the fanbase and casual players scoff at the people who have attachment to these older concepts, for some reason?

Like *of course* the lore isn't why people like Zelda games at large, that would be a disservice done to the many other qualities of the series that have seen much more effort and love poured into by developers overall, but... It's still there! And it still has a certain ambition, even if it's a simple one! At best, it can play off itself and tell elaborate stories with simple building blocks that a lot of people find emotionally resonant in some way. I think some of its concepts can be pretty stunning when the games allow themselves to be genuine and vulnerable.

But yeah, once again, it's a little... uncool that a lot of things that used to hold meaning for people across the game generations is now kind of all flattened to little winks and empty references to appease these players while kind of ignoring these stories once had a context and thematic echoes.

And I really dislike the take of TotK being the "real historical version" of the previous legends, because why would the real world be less complex and nuanced than the mythologized stories told by the side who won?

#asks #totk #totk critical #when will my brain return from the imprisoning war... #thanks for the ask! #I still haven't played skyward sword.... It's one of the only zelda games I haven't played......

[perhaps-in-anotherdream]

Hello!!! I hope you're well. I want to ask you if I'm the only one who thinks that Víctor wasn't his mom's priority... I don't want to upset anyone, but I feel like his mom abandoned him a bit when she went to Paris, and she didn't care much about what will happen with little Vic, as at one point we are even told "Although I don't understand why Mommy had to go so far to work as a teacher, she had been visibly grumpy for a while (...) But luckily, ever since she went to France, I've seen smiles on her face again." I feel like the lady prioritizes herself, and she won't care how much Victor needed her. Sorry for such a long comment LOL. And again, I know many revere the lady, and I don't want to offend anyone, I just want to know if anyone else saw this.

hello! I’ve been doing much better lately, thank you! hope you’re doing well too~ ಡ⁠ ͜⁠ ಡ

there’s no need to walk on eggshells, haha. and to be very honest with you, no you’re not the only one. i’ve had similar conversations with other players both on global and CN before (even had one yesterday with @/thedummysdummy after seeing your ask), and have read the CN players’ different analyses on it before too.

if you want my personal take on the matter, it’s one of those moments as the omniscient audience, y'know? and precisely because we’re shown the entire picture, it becomes harder to decide whether you want to be rational about it or be driven by human emotions. but one thing I would say first, regardless of what went down, it’s a wonder that he was so mature beyond his years since childhood and grew up to be the wonderful man he is today, given that when you really think about it just how easily he could’ve grown up with traumas/ or some form of abandonment issues considering his childhood experiences and how deeply sentimental he is. to borrow MC’s words, the grand miracle indeed.

—

✦ regarding Victor’s mom and her moving to Paris permanently:

from Victor’s contents throughout the years, we know that Victor’s mom and dad would talk on the phone for hours on end (3rd birthday story), his dad would still call his mom’s number after she had passed away (4th birthday story, and just like how Victor used to as we found out in the Rooftop Date story), he would send her gifts and stuffs when little Victor went to visit his mom (Sea-circle event story) etc., indicating they had a good relationship. Victor’s mom had her ring on in his 3rd birthday card, which meant they were still together. And despite all this, you can feel that cord of dissonance between them— we never got any mentions of Victor’s dad visiting her, and Victor’s mom moving away from her beloved and child permanently like that really doesn’t sing harmony either. but then again, we can’t make any assumptions given that we don’t know what really went down between them.

another point to note, Victor had spent a good share of his early childhood in Èze, France at his maternal grandparents’ (S1 CH 37 R&S, Passing the Winter ASMR). Later on, his mom permanently moved to France when he was 7 years old (or rather moved back), and even her cemetery is in France. This makes you wonder if she never got over her homesickness/ adapted to this country? What exactly was her illness, especially since there’s no details on that end?

again, his mother loved him, like you expect a mother to love their kids, undoubtedly. But it’s the harsh reality when you have working parents, who also happen to have their own ambitions to chase after.

—

✦ and that brings us to how this affected little Victor:

y'know his maturity beyond his years is both a blessing and a curse. I can vouch for that from my personal experiences too, haha :> anyway,

« it’s a curse, because » when I was going through the sea-circle event you quoted from, all I could think about was just how deep his selflessness is rooted in. he was a 7 year old for god’s sake— but all he wanted was for his parents to be happy, no matter how much it pained him. and you know what happens as a result? people take you for granted. his parents loved him dearly, yes, but they were absent for most of his life.

he mastered the French cuisine when he was only 11-12 years old (S2 30-33 R&S), because his mom was already settled in Paris and his dad could never be home. he never told anyone about his Evol, never told anyone about the orphanage kidnapping incident and losing MC in that horrific situation. and he kept searching for her in however ways a little kid could without ever telling anyone, until he grew up and built his piller himself for more effective and thorough approach e.g., appointing a detective etc.

he learned stock market handlings when he was only 14 years old to earn for himself and bear his responsibilities (e.g., paying for Yan Yan and the kid), so that he could grow up fast. because he did not want to be a burden nor did he want to rely on anyone for what he wanted to do (4th birthday story).

human emotions are very fragile and delicate. once smashed, they are nearly impossible to piece together, just like broken shards. tbh, the gradual negligence and feeling of loneliness can leave scars even deeper than a traumatic event. wonder why he built that armor for himself and the writers emphasize how he’d have succumbed to that life of loneliness and solitude had it not been for MC stepping into his barren desert? and not to mention, his Evol itself is the biggest curse on him, paving the road to perpetual loneliness and solitude.

────

« it’s a blessing, because » again, what comes under the light here is just how mature he’s always been. you can see how despite his obvious disappointment, loneliness, pains — he never once let himself “feel”/ ponder the direction that he was being left behind. even when he felt too worn down to bear, he directed his thoughts to his parents’ happiness. and when you think about how throughout the years, we’ve seen him clinging onto every little shard of his mom he could find — you can see the budding of negative impacts were right there on the other side of the threshold, but he never allowed himself to cross that door. *points wildly at Winter World Victor and S2 CH 46 amnesia Victor*

as he grew up, he split his attention to different plates, kept himself busy and occupied to never allow that seed to be sprouted. he let himself be content and never expected anything more (flashbacks to his 5th birthday date).

and you see this coming into the surface in his relationship with MC— how despite his suffocating schedule with all the responsibilities he has— he still manages to rip out even a little bit of time for only MC, his most precious lover, out of his daily schedule and makes the effort to make every moment count, proves to her how he takes each of her words, however big and small, to heart and puts them into action.

ever wonder why “quality time” is one of his primary love languages? there’s your answer on a silver platter. (⁠｡⁠ﾉ⁠ω⁠＼⁠｡⁠)

—

#ask #this became huge but i hope i was able to give you some form of answer? haha 💕 #mlqc victor #mlqc li zeyan #李泽言 #mr love queen's choice #mlqc

[plounce]

i havent talked about my wol on here in a hot minute but ummm her lore has developed a lot :) she's co-wols with my friend hawke's wol and she has terminal tank disease and of course it goes without saying that she's hopelessly dependent on the catboy bestfriend. she's selectively mute (silent player character = autism legend) and mikh'a, because he has the echo, can understand the sign she uses (which is half cobbled out of sign languages from the shroud but also from around eorzea and half her own creation) without many wrinkles and also he's just very nice and shortly before she met him she got ejected from her family group so she was like YOU'RE MY PERSON NOW and imprinted. also in ARR she was deeply uncomfortable with any social stuff and so mikh'a handled a lot of it for her. it was a very vulnerable time in her life and she will always feel deeply grateful to him for that. but then we get to hvw and mikh'a (that's the other wol) was engaged to haurchefant before That Happened and it destroys him and he's basically out of the game for the rest of hvw msq from the debilitating grief. so that's the real genesis of her life attitude being "i have to take care of everything and shoulder all of the burdens and duties so that mikh'a has room for HIS burdens". also she has that autism feeling of like "i don't feel as much / as strongly as other people" (yknow) and it's something she really admires about mikh'a, how strongly he feels things (even as the trauma starts to make him an asshole), so. yes. he's the face and she's the shield. due to her terminal tank syndrome. anyway in shadowbringers she gets brought over to the first right before mikh'a does, like 6 months in first time, and the way that their deal works out is that mikh'a is the one who is able to channel the light into tomte so she contains it, leaving her with light poisoning and him with the light aether scraped out of him, so that she's gradually growing more and more blank and stoic and unfeeling while he gets more volatile and emotional (light = stasis, dark = change). anyway tomte decides to go off the empty alone because she's operating on her most basic MO of "other people cannot handle this burden, but i can, i must, i will" and just wakes up, has a very one-sided argument with mikh'a, and then teleports away without telling anyone her plans. and then has an even bigger fight with mikh'a in the tempest as all the scions watch in distress and discomfort and then ryne manages to get through to her and tomte like. cries. and that's a big deal. we've rp'd much of this and more.

hawke (my friend if you forgot) has been ensorcelled by bg3 so he has not played past 5.1 so my further building of tomte's co-WoL story lore canon is sort of on pause right now but i think the end of shadowbringers really freaked her out and she stops tanking because she couldn't handle it. she wasn't able to. it didn't work out and it wouldn't have worked out, and she realizes, when the light is no longer poisoning her brain, that she probably would have doomed everybody if she had gone through with her plan and walked into emet-selch's lair alone. she needed her loved ones to hold her back. and in endwalker i switched to samurai because i capped on warrior so im imagining that in endwalker she also puts down the axe and takes up a sword. still throwing herself into the middle of things, but uncertain about taking responsibility. i think this general level of uncertainty and anxiety is compounded by the fact that she's the WoL zenos is fixated on - she's the muscle, she's been the one really taking on most of the primals and lightwardens. so it's like arrrghhh everything is my fault and my arrogance and my hubris (which is so sad because she is so quiet and humble). anyway. idk how we're gonna do the azem of it all (i have numerous ideas and possibilities in my brain - maybe emet tried to resurrect azem at some point and botched it, leading to the rejoined souls splitting from the source soul, and tomte is the rejoined souls and mikh'a is the core source souls? maybe it's a 3 and 4 split? maybe tomte is a different person altogether? i just know that mikh'a should definitely be azem since his themes and story of destructive grief align really well with emet)

anyway. that's a glimpse of the evolving tomte lore. click and post

#chirps #ffxiv

[catfishofoldin99colours]

i am thinking about spiderverse again (spoilers here yadda yadda) and. just.

there is hope. and community. and trying. and love. and miles embodies that, i think.

i really enjoyed hobie as a character because he’s EXACTLY what britpunk embodies and has roots in while also being deeply tied to a specific feeling of ‘this world does not care for me so i’ll burn it all’ that is just pure anarchy

but he’s not a team player

miles IS

miles works SO well in a team, he is so friendly and kind and works with other people really well and enjoys their company and he is so LONELY for friends who understand and get him which must hurt more because he KNOWS they’re out there!

miles and hobie have a lot of similarities in their denial of miguel’s ideology and rejection of the spider task force and i adored hobie being the anarchist shit he is and being on the side of miles when it got heated

but i look at miles and his huge family, his connection to his parents and his community, his dedication to his friends and the way he jumped in to save Officer Singh in Pavi’s world - when gwen’s watch flashed ‘canon event disrupted’ i was filled with joy because!! yes!! the story changed!! its different now!! he didn’t have to die!!

and then we get to ‘that was Supposed to happen’ and just.

miguel defines himself by suffering and as such has dragged a large group of incredibly powerful people into defining their stories with him

not quite crabs in a bucket but. there is identity in suffering

but there is also identity in community and love that community is built upon

miles is built on community, HIS community - his dad, his uncle, his mum and every single member of his extended family, as well as his community of spider-friends

when miguel tells him he must forsake his community, his identity, for an identity he DIDN’T choose (miguel said ‘being spiderman is a sacrifice and one you made when you signed up for this’ motherfucker the DEFINING TRAIT of the spider-bite is that it was UNWANTED so no, no one ‘signed up’ for ANY of this actually), that speaks so much to me

i don’t have many intelligent thoughts about this, but just something about, centering miles’ identity around his family and community when he is a black-puerto rican boy living in colonised america, it just. man.

when he demands he can save both his dad and the spiderverse, because spiderman does save everyone. because why should spiderman be defined by suffering? why does ‘the canon’ have to rely on the hero losing someone? yes its lore and what not but. why. why does a black child need to be Defined by suffering. what does that prove. what does that do. tell me, genuinely, what is the fucking point of that.

again, no intelligent thoughts. i am just chewing on this but man. it will stay in my heart for a while i think.

spiderverse good.

#catfish speaks #spiderverse #across the spiderverse #across the spiderverse spoilers

[hookingminor]

“you’re lucky that you’re cute.” And “wait, you think I’m cute?” With Tyson please 🥰

“I can’t get enough of you.”

“You’re lucky that you’re cute.”

“Wait, you think I’m cute?”

combining this w another request :) guys I won't lie this one is really cute

-

Tyson was smitten with you from day one. How could he not be in love with the cute barista who laughed at his lame jokes and took his order every day?

You weren’t oblivious to who he was considering he wore Minnesota Wild merch like it was his job. (It was). At first you thought he was just a fan, but after two weeks of nothing but Wild clothing, you made a joke saying he should try out for the team mascot. It was a mild shock but nothing earth-shattering when he told you he actually played for the team. Other than Kaprizov you couldn’t name another Wild player, and you were more of a baseball fan yourself.

Still, he came in almost every day without fail, chatting you up and asking about your day each time even if there was a line out the door. He didn’t care. 

It was friendly the first few weeks. Conversations were kept short and sweet. Sometimes he’d ask you a random question like what your favorite ice cream flavor was or what music you listened to. Sometimes he’d answer the dumb daily trivia question posted at the register and you’d spiral into a side conversation about the many moons of Jupiter or world geography. 

After that first month though, things started turning flirty. Suddenly Tyson was complimenting the way you wore your hair or the color of your eyes, taking pride in every time he made you laugh. The way he looked at you when he made you laugh made you feel all fluttery. Like his sole mission in this world was to make you laugh.

Despite his flirtatious advances and sometimes dirty innuendos, you never took him seriously. Honestly, you thought he was probably bored and had nothing else to do but flirt with the barista who always drew fancy coffee art in his to-go cup. Tyson always kept things light and fun, so you thought nothing of it.

“When are you going to finally give me your number?” He asked one day, a cocky smile on his face while he watched you add milk to his drink. 

You thought he was kidding, so you laughed good-naturedly. “I’m sure you have enough numbers in your phone.”

“But it doesn’t have yours.”

The other thing that made you think he wasn’t serious was that he never pressed when you rejected. You’d change the conversation to another topic or make a dumb joke, and he never followed up on the number question. 

But despite not pressing you further, he still made a point to mention it every time he came in.

Is today the day you give me your number?

You don’t know a great date until you’ve been on one with me.

I’d be the best first date you ever have.

One of these days I’m going to take you out.

A few times a week he’d incorporate one of those lines, and you’d both chuckle and smile at his joke before moving on to other topics.

“Uh oh,” you laughed when the bell above the door alerted you of Tyson’s entrance. While he always greeted you with a cheery smile, there was something hidden under it all. “Whatever it is today, please don’t do this to me.” There was only one reason he’d have a look of guilt underneath on his face.

“I need twenty coffees,” he admitted sheepishly, and your eyes hardened into a glare.

“And ten lattes,” he added after a moment, as if the initial order wasn’t already bad enough.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Jost?” You lowered your voice to a hush so the few other patrons wouldn’t hear you, but it was so early in the day that rush hour hadn’t hit and the cafe was empty.

“If I had your number I would’ve called you with a heads up.” He holds his hands up in surrender.

“We have a store phone.”

“Well, I wanted to spend more time with you.”

If anything, he did look remorseful. And when he widened those puppy dog eyes, you knew he felt bad about it. You sighed. Deeply. “You’re lucky that you’re cute. I wouldn’t do this for just any customer.” It was a lie. You probably would considering it was your job, but you’d be in a way worse mood than you were now.

You shuffled to the other end of the station and began grabbing cups. Tyson followed you around the counter. “Wait, you think I’m cute?” It took a few seconds for his brain to catch up with your words as he scrambled around to meet you at the other end.

“I’m charging you extra for this. Just so you know,” you stated, working to fill his thirty coffee cups.

“Hold on,” he interrupted you. “You think I’m cute?”

You furrowed your brows but kept pouring. “That’s what you’re latching onto? Come on, Jost,” you scoffed. “You know you’re cute.”

“Go on a date with me,” he said abruptly, his tone so serious and sturdy that you put down the coffee pot to stare at him.

“Excuse me?”

“We’ve been dancing around this for months and you know it,” he said. “Please go on a date with me. You’re killing me out here. I’m seconds away from begging at this point. Just one date. Please.”

He sounded almost… distraught. The sudden shift in atmosphere had you straightening your spine.

“Why do you want to go on a date with me?” It didn’t make sense to you. He was a professional hockey player after all. Surely he had multiple girls on his roster. What guy in his early 20s wanted to date when he could just sleep around?

“Why?” He let out a sad laugh. “Other than the fact that I can’t get enough of you? I know I can afford it, but I don’t need a black coffee every day. Actually, sometimes I just give it to one of the assistants at the rink when I’m not in the mood. I just always want to see you.”

“Wow,” you said. “And here I thought I made an incredible pot of coffee.”

“Okay, smartass,” He rolled his eyes at your joke, a bit of the tension between you settling when you both laughed. “I’m serious though. I really do want to take you on a date.”

You picked up the pot and started filling again. “Where would you take me?” You asked playfully.

“First, we’d get dinner. Something romantic and simple. Then, I’d spontaneously ask you if you wanted to go for a walk through the wildflower garden and act like it was a spur of the moment decision, but really I will have researched random flower facts to tell you while we walk and simultaneously compliment you and say you’re prettier than all the flowers there. Then I’d pluck one and give it to you, and you’ll keep it in your apartment until it withers. After that I’d walk you home while holding your hand, and if you’ll allow it, I’ll kiss you goodnight when I drop you off.”

The thought of kissing Tyson had tingles spreading across your body, your face already flushing with heat as he detailed the imaginary date like he’d spent a long time thinking about it.

You hummed in acknowledgement as you finished making the rest of the coffees, packing them up in drink carriers and sealing the lids so they wouldn’t spill.

“Sounds like a tough date to follow up on if I were to go on a second one with you,” you said at the register where Tyson followed, ringing him up for the order. You didn’t charge him extra like you said he would, but he still slipped a fifty into the tip jar despite your protests.

“Trust me, you won’t have even been truly wooed by me until the third date,” he smirked.

“Something’s telling me you’re all bark and no bite,” you tossed back.

“Only one way to find out, right?”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re going to be late.” 

As usual, he didn’t press further when you didn’t answer. All he did was smile softly while you ruminated, starting the first trip in transferring the drinks to his car. It took him three trips to get them all, and when he bid you a good day, you finally called out his name to stop him. 

“Wait!” You shouted. You rushed around the corner of the counter, coffee in hand as you hustled across the cafe. “You forgot yours.”

He took the cup from you gingerly, raising an eyebrow in curiosity. “I get special orders now?”

“This is a one time occurrence,” you stated.

And because Tyson was running late, all he did was thank you for the coffee and promise to see you the next day before exiting the shop. 

It wasn’t until he pulled out of the parking lot, bringing the cup up to his lips for a drink that he noticed some black writing on the other side.

I expect at least twenty flower fun facts.

And right below it were the ten numbers he’d been waiting months to know.

#tyson jost #tyson jost imagine #nhl imagine #my writing #hockey imagine #requests #blurbs #avs17

[nikosasaki]

hi pls tell me everyhitn about andrew and david i need to know more!!

whooo boy okay, uh general warning for an age gap relationship and potential grooming vibes (nothing happens when Andrew is a minor but you get it);

so, the story takes place between 1992 and 2016. 1992, when Andrew and David first meet, and 2016, when David is recording his version of the story. by that point, so many rumors and half-truths have been spread about Andrew that David feels compelled to tell his side. David Byrne was eighteen when his extremely promising tennis career crumbled to pieces. that year should have been his big break, but then his father passed away from cancer and his mother became deeply depressed, and David had to set aside his career in favor of taking care of his mother. deep down, he never stopped blaming his parents for taking away what could have been an extremely successful career. he meets Andrew when he is 26 and Andrew is 17. he's spent the past seven years privately coaching rich kids looking to become successful tennis players, until he is called by the parents of Andrew Reed, legendary for being the youngest winner of the LA Open. David immediately takes the opportunity to coach him, only to find out that Andrew is far more challenging than the usual rich suburbanite. Andrew is almost mythical, and anyone whose been around him for any period of time would tell you as much. he's beautiful and intimidating in equal measures. more than anything, he is a control freak who seemingly always has the upper hand in every single social situation. David doesn't learn until much later that Andrew had been obsessed with David since before the two of them even met, but at that point he's already too far in. to say that David and Andrew have a tumultuous relationship would be an extreme understatement. there is tension between them from the start. David, at first, interprets this as the relatively normal friction between a player and his coach, and doesn't hesitate to fight Andrew at every point. it is only after Andrew's eighteenth birthday, when he's lost his shot at winning a grand slam, that their dynamic takes a turn. on reflection David is afraid that he's always been in love with Andrew, and that he always will be, but he also doesn't believe Andrew truly loves him back. he is only something to Andrew, while Andrew is everything to him. the story is almost entirely told from David's perspective, but he is also not the most reliable narrator. the novel is formatted as being partially an oral history and partially a fictionalized retelling of events.

#asks #ch: andrew #ch: david #baseline #thedreadpiratevaldez #thank you SO much for this ask!! sdfgf #see attached for ur convenience: faceclaims #hes everything. he is just ken-ass dynamic

[seahere]

Just watched Haunted Mansion (2023) and yeah, they did good. In my opinion, at least. (SPOILERS as I ramble my thoughts. Obviously.)

Enough park canon material included to make me very happy! And best of all! We still don't know the origin of the Mansion! Ahhh! Perfect!

They have the WDW Mansion belong to Hattie (movie verse's Alistair Crump), but our classic mansion, while owned by Gracey who made a big mess with the help of Leota, still has an undefined origin.

There was an emphasis on the Captain. I do like that. He's a major hitchhiking ghost and one of the friendlier ones right away (technically). He's still left ambiguous, though. His haunts make him the Mariner, but he's anyone from Captain Gore, to Culpepper Clyne, to unnamed and forgotten captain.

I am actually a big fan of Gracey and I love his inclusion. He's the owner, or was the most notable one, at least. Not the originator of the place, but he was handed the role of "fucked up stupendously" and I love that for him. I'm speaking lightly but genuinely, this movie does show us grief in a lot of its forms and I can honestly say that I laughed and cried my way through the movie. They did very well.

So yeah, I enjoyed seeing the way they played out the cycle of grief, his desperation inviting the madness of a dark player. Hattie's origins are good by me. I only cared that he was NOT tied to Constance. The two can be diabolical ghosts but I didn't want him to be one of her victims. Big bad murderer in his own right is good with me. Love that journey for him. I do wish the cgi had been a little more...greenish and glowy. And I wish he'd been a little more playfully devious. But I was good with it. No surprise villain or unexpected twist—just ghosts we know, weaved into a tale, and real humans that worked.

I also loved the art style during Bruce's expositional talk about Alistair Crump. Like, damn, I want more of that. Deeply love it.

From cheesy to heartfelt to genuinely nice, this was a great ride. I laughed, I cried, I loved the story. I love that it was about the people. It was about genuinely difficult emotions that none of us can outrun. I love that there's a Mansion full of Happy Haunts in the end.

It didn't feel like they were rewriting or forcing a new canon. Hell, they had Bruce reference the endless crazy theories about the place. The ghost appearances came straight from existing, physical characters (love the Mummy of course). Stories like the dueling brothers and Constance already existed, and played right into the Tragic Souls after Gracey and Leota had already poisoned the Mansion through his grief.

Hatbox Ghost was the only one given an expanded backstory because the story needed an antagonist. I was good with that. Honestly the Crump Manor bit surprised and delighted me. But I also don't care if people view this as only one of many possible theories. I, personally, quite like it. I could probably ramble on this point further but I'll end it here.

Good movie. Well suited to the material. Playful, spooky, intense. I will definitely be watching it again.

#haunted Mansion #haunted mansion 2023 #Spoilers #Movie Canon vs park canon #rambles #A review but I don't have a brain right now #Anyone got a spare? #Good characters #The story doesn't have to be groundbreaking if you can make us like the players #Complex in all their own ways. Yet simple enough to love them. #Kinda wonder if they relied on Danny DeVito and Owen Wilson and Rosario Dawson as already loveable actors but it WORKED #Like. Their characters could be underdeveloped and playful because of who they already are. And I was rarely distracted by it so that's good #Okay I need tea bye