mumpingy:

sashayed:

pavszacha:

_{Soft™️ (march 27, 2017)}

i’m aware that i would still have problems in my life if i were a 19th century pioneer wife and braden holtby were my strong soldier husband whom I have presumed dead but who is in fact wounded and trekking home to me on foot – problems including but not limited to, like, cholera, and the failures of Reconstruction and Ouidad Heat & Humidity Gel not yet being invented – BUT, i’m just saying, there would be compensations, such as when i see the wild-haired, heavily bearded figure in disreputable clothes wandering into our kitchen garden and i rush onto the porch with the shotgun my strong Union soldier husband Braden Holtby taught me to use and I call fiercely DON’T COME ANY CLOSER!! but then the ravaged figure looks up, and our gazes meet, and my body seems to recognize him although my mind has not yet caught up and the shotgun slips (safely) from my suddenly weak grip and I rush – tears springing to my eyes, apron strings flying – into his still-powerful arms, that part, for example, would be nice.

#when someone*s description of their imagined 19th century fantastical romance with a hockey player is somehow more riveting than any actual romance ever