Finally you can vote for your favorite Fitzsimmons t-shirt!
We have a lot of great designs, so it’s up to YOU to vote for your favorite. The winner of this vote will be the official TFSN t-shirt, and will be at the top of the all new merch page we’re creating as part of Fitzsimmons Merch Week.
Regardless of who wins, all designs will be listed on the page! As a fun bonus, one of the shirts will also be sent to Elizabeth Henstridge and Iain De Caestecker on behalf of the network.
To vote, first please see all the t-shirts designs HERE.
Then, go cast your vote HERE! Please only vote ONCE - we will be able to see if you’re not. (Voting is open to everyone, members or not!)
Voting ends on September 6th, 11:59 PM PST . The winner will be announced the following week!
This is entirely because it is raining and I have a thing for Elvis. Also this is the most random and least romantic thing ever but It’s Now or Never was what was on repeat in my head while I wrote this ahah. If you want a more romantic soundtrack try Can’t Help or Love Me Tender ;)
Also don’t think too hard about it, there is literally no context
He likes Elvis and is utterly ridiculous about it.
Seriously—the first time he invites Skye back to his apartment (or rather, she does—but it’s a different story for a different time and really, it isn’t her fault that they are in Cincinnati and it is pouring rain and his place has to be somewhere nearby)—she bustles shivering and dripping through the door he unlocks and kicks open, beneath his the leather jacket he’d draped round her shoulders that now has got to be triple her weight—the first thing to catch her eye and draw her in is the turntable.
It’s perched precariously on a couple of boxes, piled up into a table and shoved full of a very generous collection of records.
“Oh my god, Lincoln, you nerd.”
She doesn’t have to look at him to know his cheeks are burning red, but smiles over her shoulder as she shimmies out of the jacket and steps out of her shoes simultaneously. He catches the leather as it slips off her arms, blindly shoving it onto a wall hook behind him as a quiet sorta smile plays at his lips and makes her heart flutter.
She turns back away from him, letting herself further into the sparsely furnished room, taking in the machine more fully and ignoring the chilly hardwood beneath her bare feet. It is old, certainly, but take care of. Rust stains carefully treated, only the thinnest coat of dust due to absence. She smiles in spite of herself, ducking down to run a finger along the records boxed in beneath it, skimming the titles carefully.
She hears him coming up softly behind her.
“It’s all Elvis,” she notes, looking up at him and smirking in spite of herself. Her hair is wet, dripping unapologetically down her back—and when he reaches to gently thumb a stray soaked lock back behind her hair, it’s entirely due to the chill that’s set into her skin that she shivers.
But just imagine - it all starts even before they are together. It’s just one day she notices that he’s watching her as she sits in front of her laptop, brushing a curl behind her ear. And the next day, too, when she pushes her hair back and puts it into a ponytail before training. And then again that night as they sit in the lounge - his hand actually twitches like he wants to touch it.
So she blinks at him, amused.
“You can touch it, you know that, right?” she tells him, and when he’s too stunned to answer, she simply sits on the floor between his knees, offering her head - her hair - to him. (After all, hair is innocent; it’s cute. It’s totally something friends can do.)
At first, he just runs his hands through it, curling the locks around his finger (it feels nice). Then they do it again, a couple of nights later. And again. And again. And she realizes that it actually calms him, helps him relax.
That’s when she hands him a brush (it’s not that good at first, because he has no idea how to actually handle long hair, so he pulls at it), and it becomes almost like a ritual - whenever he’s stressed, he’ll brush her hair.
Then one day her hair is up in a kind of side braid, and he just looks at her, hesitating, before asking, “ How do you do that?”
She laughs, and then shows him how to do a simple braid, a french braid, a side braid… He’s a quick learner, and has deft fingers, and it feels so nice to have her hair played with.
From then on, sometimes it’s her who demands that he braids her hair.
And when they finally get together, he’ll always play with her locks, stroking her head, before going to sleep. And he also gets into the habit of washing it for her.
And yeah, she loves it when he plays with her hair :)
I grew up with two very abusive older sisters. Hell, I still have to live with Them. I know how he felt like. I know how that kind of thing screws you up in the Head. We all saw how dependent he became on John Garret. There is a reason for that. I don’t condone what he did. But I can’t forget how his childhood damaged him either.