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#Pre-Relationship
hitlikehammers · 1 month
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feels like home
rating: t ♥️ cw: coming out, softness, recovering from the upside down ♥️ tags: pre-relationship, post-s4, fluff, hurt/comfort, Eddie is having many feelings, the main one being that Steve feels like home, platonic stobbin, supportive platonic soulmates coming out so Eddie feels safe to do the same, injury recovery, still-so-soft
for @steddielovemonth day seventeen: Love is about a hand reaching out to you so you don't get lost (@yournowheregirl)
this definitely takes place chronologically after this one so: have some of these codependent lovebirds as they start to figure their big feelings out ♥️
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It’s weird, and probably unhealthy, that his hospital room—like this—feels kinda like home.
But he thinks it’s okay, to be fair, because it’s not like he thinks this place is home; the smell of antiseptic is still pretty sharp in the air even as he’s gotten disconnected from one machine, drip, or monitor every day until he’s largely free to toddle to the bathroom on his own as long as there’s someone to watch and make sure he doesn’t fall. Wayne’s there for that when he can be, which explains the home associations, but: the rest of the time, in fact—kinda more often than it isn’t?
It’s Steve.
And Eddie struck a deal with himself—no digging in to the fluttery-gooey-warm-chest-squeezy feelings while he’s laid up in a bed—but when he walks around even under supervision, it’s…feeling like he’s cheating.
Plus the feelings are getting kinda…kinda loud.
Because Steve is always there, sometimes he ever stays when Wayne comes, at least for a while. He leaves to keep an eye on the Party, leaves to check up on Max, hits the community hub: but it’s…it’s such a blip of time, honestly, in comparison to being here, with Eddie.
And when he’s gone, it doesn’t…it doesn’t feel at all like home, it feels kinda fucking horrible, so.
Eddie doesn’t even actually have to dig in to that train of thought. It’s pretty fucking clear as-is.
He’s surfacing from kind of, like, a light doze, not even a full on nap, and he’s gentle with the coming-to of it because he can kinda, like, feel Steve’s presence at his side and he’s talking really low anyway, even if he couldn’t, so Eddie definitely knows it’s him, and he could have guessed the other visitor pretty easy even if it wasn’t her voice that was the first to bleed through with actual words:
“She’s,” Robin makes a little stifled whine; “you’ve seen her.”
“Not my type but,” Steve’s saying from next to Eddie; “ I see your point, yeah.”
“She’s like a,” Robin’s voice goes kinda hazy, a little dreamy; “like a fairy creature, or! Or like a prairie woman with those, those hats—“
“A prairie woman who likes boobi—“
“Stop!” Robin hisses low, and Eddie can feel her knock his mattress a little, she must lean over like she wants to enforce her will somehow: “stop stop stop—“
“If you can’t say it you probably shouldn’t be touchin—“ Steve’s saying and god, his voice is so bitching, and Eddie think he kinda fucking lov—
Oh. Oh, well. Shit.
“I’m not touching!” Robin moans, but kinda frantic with it; “the problem is I am not touching!”
And Eddie, too, is not touching the thought he just had about those four fucking letters that are, that, that are—
“Also it’s a gross, immature word,” Robin’s going on and…oh.
Oh.
Okay, so like: even if he’s just kinda in that liminal space of awareness, they have to know he’s more awake than not; his two remaining monitors are different even when he’s calm and just resting, but as the words themselves sink in, now? His heartbeat’s betraying the hell out of him for the staccato it’s pinging on the screen as he processes it: Robin’s showing her cards, though Eddie’d always figured she might be a bird of his feather, but, like—
“Is it though?” Steve’s murmuring low and so, so judgmental; “seems more immature to not say it at all,” and he, he fucking tsks at her, then, and, and—
And then—
Then Steve’s saying words that make no sense at all, like: sure they’re words. In English. Eddie’s very sure of it. So that means he should definitely comprehend them. But…
“You should listen to me, Robs, seriously. I do still like boobies, too. I have insights.”
And Eddie—Eddie’s eyes fly open, he thinks out of shock? That makes the most sense, like he’s startled into full-wakefulness, that tracks as he blinks up at the water-stainer ceiling with his heart in his throat as he tries to find sense in those words, fails, tries again, fucking fails, all as the Corsican Twins cackle over word choice, good god, and then—
“Hey.”
Steve’s grabbing his hand at the wrist and covering it so gently, fucking…cradles it and stories his thumb over the insistent tap of his pulse and meets his eyes, so wide and honest and earnest and if Eddie’s heart wasn’t already primed toward racing it sure as shit would have started just with those eyes on him, and that touch on him, and:
“You okay, man?” and it’s so simple, and Eddie doesn’t fucking know what’s happening on his face, what kind of of shock or terror or something deeper still is seeping from his expression but Steve’s studying him, watching for long seconds that stretch for-fucking-everbefore his jaw squares and his head tiles, something resolute shining through in him and he moves so slowly, lifts Eddie’s hand in his so slowly and Eddie doesn’t even wholly clock what’s happening, let alone that it’s real, as Steve fucking pauses their hands by his lips, so Eddie can feel his breath so warm and he watches, then, waits, and Eddie doesn’t think through what it means when he nods, like it’s not actually a legitimate thought, exactly, he just knows that, that—
Whatever’s happening, and however terrified he thinks he is: he can trust Steve.
Because somehow: Steve’s home.
It’s still fucking earth-shattering when Steve does lean, when his lips brush against the heel of Eddie’s palm, still scrape-covered, and then he reaches just as slow again for Eddie’s cheek to cup, to fucking cradle that, too, and Jesus H. Goddamn Christ—
“You’re safe, Eddie,” is all he says and maybe, maybe Eddie’s reading into it way beyond what he should, but like, it doesn’t feel like Steve’s telling him he’s safe maybe from the lingering threads of a nightmare, or that he’s safe from the government, from the cops, or from the Upside Down coming for them because they all know it’s still fucking coming but Eddie has felt scared of it once, yet, not like this, not here, with—
But Steve’s tone doesn’t just hold that: it’s bigger. He means…
They had to know he wasn’t really asleep, and so, Eddie, Eddie thinks Steve means…
Yeah.
Fuck.
“You’re outta water,” Steve’s saying and Eddie didn’t even notice he’d been reading to pour Eddie a glass from the ever-present pitcher at his bedside then he’s standing, his hand leaving and fuck all if Eddie doesn’t lean into it before he can think twice but Steve just smiles, soft, as he walks out the door.
“We talked about it.”
He turns to Robin almost violently, head kinda snapping her direction with the speed and force he moves with.
“We weren’t gonna hide it from you, but like,” she mashes her lips together, Eddie can see she’s trying to find a way forward with the least possible rambling, but the clearest possible throughway so she can get what she needs to say out, before Steve comes back.
“You shouldn’t feel like you have to,” she hums a little; “be that, you know, open? With us, if you don’t want to,” her eyes are so big and sincere, and Eddie’s pulse is steadying if only slowing by a fraction, but she does help put him at ease, even as she trips a little over the rest: “if you had any thing that was, y’know, kinda private or, something,” she nods to herself and plays with the hem of her shirt: “yeah.”
Eddie nods to himself, and…he can’t, he can’t not ask her, not in this window, because she said they’d talked and if this wasn’t part of it she loves Steve fierce and he could be still a little fresh off death’s door, she’ll still tell him to fuck off if she needs to, so at least there’s that, at least he knows, like, he won’t be allowed to step where he’s not welcome, and—
“I’m,” and fuck, his voice is a mess, he does need a fucking drink but in the absence of one at hand, he clears his throat hard and accepts that consequences of it burning like hell; “he, umm,” Eddie bits his lip and gestures toward the empty door, eyes Robin kinda pitifully: “he said—“
Robin, thank fuck: Robin is merciful, has to see where he’s going, here, and she points to the doorway indicative of who isn’t in it, yet:
“Very both,” she says simply, then point to herself: “very…”
“Boobies?” Eddie suggests and Robin, she just groans.
“Not you too,” and…okay, shit, umm, well—
Eddie… maybe Eddie can be brave. Like, in small doses.
“Actually, ah, I,” he stumbled but then he makes himself take a breath, makes himself try:
“No, not me too,” he says in a rush and looks up at her through his lashes, so fucking vulnerable: “like, very specifically not, me too.”
And she smiles at him so warm and…like, almost welcoming, which is weird but feels, nice? And she pats his arm kinda affectionately and, just—
“Did you decide to take me up on my wisdom so we can actually accept she’s almost definitely into you, and move on to planning your wedding?” Steve slides back in and shuts the door behind him, getting to pouring Eddie some water before he even sits the fuck down.
His fingers brush Eddie’s as he passes it off and, it probably shouldn’t make Eddie all tingly, Steve did kinda kiss his hand? Like, a little?
But that don’t mean shit: Eddie’s all pins and needles and, like, sparkles.
“He’s the only help you’ve got here, Buckley,” Eddie screws his courage up one more time because…because Steve needs to know, too; Eddie wouldn’t put Robin in the position of not knowing whether she can tell her platonic soulmate something, make her keep a secret even by implication but so much bigger that that is, are—
All the things he doesn’t want to poke at, or dig up and examine, that he’s dodging on the excuse of convalescence: all those things taken into account: he trusts Steve. He feels…so much for Steve already, and he feels weirdly sure that whatever happens next, those feelings are only gonna find ways to grow, so—
Steve has to know, not just because Eddie thinks he suspects it, but because Eddie tells him—because it’s….’cause it’s Steve.
“Feels like it’d be foolish not to take the man up on the offer when he’s definitely the expert in the room,” Eddie pushes on, awkward but determined; “seeing as I don’t, umm, know about,” and his eyes flicker to Robin for a second, before they land on Steve to finish:
“About boobies.”
And Steve does say anything, doesn’t look any way save how he’d looked before: calm, and mostly-relaxed, and right next to Eddie, and Eddie’s eyes drop from Steve’s face and find the collar of his shirt, the peak of hair from in between and, shit, shit, he’s talking about tits and then there’s Steve’s chest hair and holy fucking wow he is staring:
“Umm, I mean,” and fucking fuck, now he’s talking—
“Like, not that kind, at least,” and then he forces his eyes down to the sheets over his lap and considers if it’s possible to dissolve into cotton if it’s startchy and uncomfortable as shit, and you happen to be mortified enough to sink into the fucking threads.
But then; then there’s Steve.
Because of fucking course there’s Steve.
And Steve?
Steve takes his cup from him when he could easily have leaned to put it down himself, but then Steve replaces the cup in Eddie’s grip with his own warm hand, like a tether, like a lifeline, like a…
Like a promise.
And when the conversation turns toward strategizing Robin’s approach for Vickie, Eddie’s, he, he just…
He’s home, y’know?
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tag list (comment to be added): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson
♥️
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a-dauntless-daffodil · 2 months
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ughhhhh vaggie in charlie's jacket feels....
now im imagining Freshly Kicked To The Curb Vaggie and painfully already-in-love Charlie
imagining Charlie wrapping this bleeding dumpster lady in her JACKET (for comfort) (and protection) (Vaggie doesn't figure out the second part until the Oh Shit You're Literally The Princess Of Hell reveal) and Vaggie's just lost a set of limbs / suddenly can't FLY which is a little terrifying so she keeps her back to the nearest wall and is always crossing her arms to hide how she's hugging herself
and Charlie's like Hmmm (wraps Vaggie in jacket) (Vaggie gives it back at the end of the day) (wraps Vaggie in jacket again) (Vaggie gives it back while saying goodnight) (Charlie finds Vaggie curled up in a corner somewhere fitully asleep-> Vaggie wakes up snuggled in The Jacket)
until Vaggie FINALLY accepts the offer to stay with Charlie for a bit while she's healing (Charlie squees) and this is represented with Vaggie NOT giving the jacket back before heading off to bed (Charlie literally whoops and combusts the moment Vaggie's (mostly) out of earshot-)
it's the start of a very sweet friendship BUT
Vaggie secretly planning to try contacting the angels during the next extermination and prove she deserves to come back
holding Charlie at arm's length during this bc
which is scarier???
A.) pretty demon lady is after her SOUL
or!
B.) Charlie having an actual crush on her????? with feelings?
feelings that Vaggie now has to worry about not hurting while trying not to be too flattered by the whole excruciating thing
(the irony of a demon saving her and tending to her and falling for her)
as she's trying not to think about all this Vaggi's getting a little panicked over how her wings still aren't growing back (sign she really isn’t worthy of heaven???)
and Charlie's trying so hard to help her with this! (even not knowing what all of THIS really is)
she knows Vaggie
1.) had wings
(moth instead of angel as per cover story)
2.) is freaking out at them being gone, even more than over her lost eye, feeling like she’s not good enough without them
(pause and imagine Vaggie constantly being found by Charlie on high up places, silently staring up at the shiny star of heaven, and Charlie’s like oh yes this is VERY moth-like behavior i can totally see why you became a moth demon! and Vaggie’s like hahaha yeah sure right definitely…)
(her being shit at lying isn't such a problem when Charlie is so so so ready to assume the best of people) (GUILT)
oooghghghhghgh
Charlie spending the year healing Vaggie's physical injuries
slowly discovering the other ones she can't see
trying to let Vaggie know she's perfect even without wings
or her missing eye
trying NOT to come on too hard or fast even through she's on the outs with her dad and her mom hasn't answered a call or been seen in years and
and Vaggie can make her LAUGH with just a dry word or roll of the eye
she just seems to like hanging out with Charlie?
not trying to get anything from her or get her kicks out of making fun of her
sure she's skeptical about the whole "redeeming sinners" thing but
she Listens
and she's skeptical because she's Taking The Idea SERIOUSLY
seriously enough to talk like it's a thing worth trying and if Charlie's gonna try it then she needs to think about this and this and this other problem first-
it's encouragement
it's friendship
it's almost like having someone to rely on
Now it’s extermination eve
And Vaggie is cleaning up the spare room she's been staying in. like she won't be coming back tonight
Vaggie's as healed (physically) as she can be, she's twirling an angelic spear around like it's part of her, crediting her dancing talent for this natural skill, clearly fine keeping herself safe on hell's streets-
Vaggie claims she found the spear behind a dumpster
(doesn't mention she's the one who stashed it there)
Charlie trying weakly to lightening the mood by joking how you can find the best things next to dumpsters sometimes
(she's not joking)
(she's looking at Vaggie when she says it)
(Vaggie just barely pretends not to notice)
Vaggie despairing she isn’t worthy (of heaven or of-?)
she might as well just wander out and let an exorcist judge her wingless back and finish the job in some ironic justice because that would be better than telling Charlie the truth,
(she's done terrible things... and has spent all this time wanting to go back to that)
(there are KIDS in hell!)
(Charlie's in hell)
(it's not all terrible or evil
and Charlie thinks sinners can be redeemed-)
(would she say the same thing about Vaggie if she knew?)
GUILT
(is all of this doubt just Vaggie being a terrible angel like Lute said...)
she has to go, but she, can’t outright lie to Charlie either (If Charlie asks if they'll see each other around-)
So Vaggie, takes off Charlie's jacket and, hands it back
And Charlie finally accepts Vaggie might not want to stick around.
Thinking Vaggie wants to go do her own thing in hell
(people leaving in one way or another is something Charlie knows about)
but maybe Vaggie also feels indebted to her, to Charlie, for the help
and might be being held back by that
It's not much- being given the chance to tell someone she's loves it's okay to go- it hurts like hell, but it's something. It's something that Vaggie didn't just vanish, and Charlie will hold onto that small thing for dear life
Smiling through her tears Charlie tries hyping her new friend up
(via song of course)
telling her ANYONE should be glad to share even a few seconds of forever with her, they
(hypothetical they totally not Charlie speaking here)
should be grateful to spend all of eternity even with just a memory of her
(CHARLIE FELL FAST AND OBVIOUS AND CANNOT EFFFING HIDE IT)
so she
says Vaggie should go spread her metaphorical wings
because she doesn't need real ones to be amazing
And that’s when Vaggie realizes-her wings- she doesn't want to leave Charlie
(is that why her wings won't grow back..?)
She doesn’t go out during the extermination. Or try talking to the angels.
She turns right around and is there to give Charlie a hug
holds her through the worst of it
goes with her afterwards to help how they can
watches Charlie reaching out to the surviving sinners even as she gets nothing but fear and insults for her trouble
sees how much Charlie CARES about the people of hell   
she finally understands, finally starts to catch a glimpse, of how just much she cares for Charlie herself
And that when she falls harder
Ka-thwump
when Charlie sees Vaggie totally not hugging herself again she offers the jacket
(offers, instead of just putting it on her)
and Vaggie smiles a little but says nah, she likes how it looks on Charlie better
(charlie VERY glad she has a natural permanent blush)
(not that her little hair twirl doesn't give her away)
Charlie leads her to a roof top later because even with everything else going on she’s noticed Vaggie’s been quieter than usual, and it is the anniversary of her losing her eye and wings, and Charlie knows staring up at heaven is something Vaggie likes doing, so-
But when she glances shyly over, Vaggie isn’t looking up at the sky.
Vaggie’s looking back at HER.
Vaggie smiling and saying something along the lines of
"lending a hand to the souls of the damned is pretty fulfilling work. A girl could get used to this"
Charlie (usually a living firework of emotion) very softly and hesitantly asking,
"yeah..?"
Vaggie promising her-
"next year, we'll prep better ahead of time"
Charlie smiling with tears again (happy ones) as they look out across pentagram city together, leaning into each other
"Yeah.
we will"
Uguugugugugughhh
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thetarttfuldickhead · 10 months
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He hasn’t heard much from his dad in the past year, but two goals for England and the texts start coming again.
---
He blocks his dad’s number, once, twice, another fucking time, but his father keeps getting new numbers or borrowing his mates’ phones or something and the messages keep coming.
He gives up on blocking them. What’s the fucking point?
He tries not to read the texts. He doesn’t always succeed, and he knows what they say anyway.
---
As the second game against City gets nearer the texts get longer and more frequent and nastier. Insistent. Calls too now, at all hours.
For a while, he can ignore it. Things are good. Called up for England, did well, Richmond is playing better than ever, he’s playing better than ever, there’s Roy and Keeley and the team, and Jamie’s feeling good.
But that’s the thing, isn’t it? Life can’t get too good, because when it does his dad will always come sniffing around, mean old stray looking for juiciest pieces of meat to sink his teeth into, always snapping, snapping, growling, biting, and this ain’t the sort of dog you can jut put down, is it?
Only way to keep it at bay is to never have anything it wants.
But fuck that, because Jamie’s worked fucking hard for this, his life, he’s fought for everything he has and he’s not going to let some nasty old sod ruin it for him or take it away.
So he ignores it, texts and calls and everything, and for a while he can.
---
In the end, it’s not even something in particular that gets to him. No escalation, no sudden appearance of James Tartt in the flesh, no broken beer bottles conspiciously dropped outside his door. In the end, it’s just coming back from his early morning session with Roy to another four missed calls and three drunken voice messages, and just like that, he’s done.  
He comes to practice wrapped in barbed wire, donning the old attitude like armour, and if asked he couldn’t even tell you why. Just seems easier, somehow.
---
They all see right through him, and he doesn’t know how to feel about that. Terrified. Stupid. Grateful. Known.
Cared for.
Roy still makes him run an extra ten laps after practice for being an arsehole to everyone instead of telling someone what was going on like you fucking should have, but then he squeezes his shoulder and brings him home to Keeley and makes them dinner while she helps him change his number and make sure everyone who needs to has the new one.
---
“We’ve spoken to City,” Ms. Welton – Rebecca – tells him. “They’ve agreed to ban Mr. Tartt from the premises for our upcoming game.”
The relief is a surprise; the intensity of it. He hadn’t realized until now how much the notion of his father being there had messed with him; his father, watching him, screaming, the sound of his name in that hateful mouth. Only now, when the threat is gone, does he recognize the severity of it.
---
When they news break they’re already on the way to Manchester. Colin is the first to notice and he curses softly and calls for Jamie and tells Isaac and then the whole coach knows.
The Sun: “Star Striker’s Dad Banned from City Game.”
And that’s his dad feigning a look of gentle devastation and it’s all about how Jamie’s money and fame has gone to his head, how he can’t even let his dad watch the game because he’s embarrassed of his humble beginnings, right shame, isn’t it, when people forget where they came from as soon as they make it big? Walked out on City after everything they put into him, didn’t he, and now he’s cutting ties with his family too just ‘cause they’re poor and not educated like, what sort of dickhead does that? “Kid’s turned his back on his roots, thinks he’s too good for us now.”
Manchester City declines to comment, other than to confirm that yes, at the request of AFC Richmond Mr. James Tartt will be prevented from attending the match. Nothing else they can say, really, not without revealing things that aren’t theirs to reveal.
The coach goes quiet, the way the dressing room had done at Wembley last year. Then they rally, anger and encouragements and just ignore it, man and it feels good and it makes him want to hide. He has no fucking idea what to say to them, except yeah, no, it’s some bullshit, yeah.
Ted and Beard huddle together, whispering furiously. Roy’s typing away at his phone, looking especially like he wants to murder someone. 
Sam, next to him, doesn’t say anything at all at first, just gives him a small nod. A few minutes later he offers, “My dad says to tell you good luck with the game, you’ll do great.”
And he should feel pathetic for finding comfort in that, maybe, but he doesn’t, much.
The game starts in a few hours. Long enough for everyone to have seen it by then, not long enough to put together a coherent response.
---
The boos and angry noise of the crowd is a furious buzzing in his ears and he squares his shoulders and eyes on the ball and the match is what fucking matters, everything else is just poopy, stupid fucking shit, doesn’t matter—
He plays like he means to outplay the devil himself. Plays like it would have been easy, had old Nick cared to show up.
The booing never stops, not even when Pep makes a point of coming over to him for a quick cuddle and few encouraging words after the final whistle.            
---
And they’re back in the dressing room after and the press is clamouring for a conference just a few doors down and Keeley’s driven all the way up from London and they’re all talking strategies and damage control and spinning the narrative and it’s doing his head in. All of them blabbering on and on and on and—
“Can we just tell them the fucking truth?”
That shuts them up. They all stare at him. Higgins is the first to speak. “Do you – do you want to do that?”
No, he doesn’t say. Of course I don’t wanna fucking do that. 
But the thing is, everyone that matters already knows, don’t they? So what’s the difference, really, with telling the whole fucking world?
It’s a huge fucking difference, something in him whispers.
He closes his eyes for a moment. Opens them again. All right. “Just think it’s the best thing to do, yeah?”
And there’s murmurs of agreement and Keeley’s looking at him like maybe she wants to cry and he can’t look at her looking like that so he looks away.
Roy catches his eyes. “You want me there with you?”
And yeah, he does want that and he’s too exhausted to pretend otherwise. “Yeah,” he says. “Thanks.”
---
“Are you ashamed of your father, Jamie?”
A moment, then, when it’s still not too late. He can still change his mind. He can still lie. No one has to know: he can still be the untouchable Jamie Tartt, confident and arrogant and never ever a victim.  
Fuck that.
“Yeah. I am.”
---
There’s no avoiding the snippets afterwards because they are fucking everywhere but he never watches the whole thing and so he’s not entirely clear on what he really says. Bits and pieces stay with him, though:  
“If I’d told ‘em here at City, my coaches and stuff, they’d have helped. I know they would have. But I was too fucking ashamed, yeah, so I never told anyone and I went off to do this stupid reality show instead and I did a whole bunch of stupid shit just ‘cause I was scared about people finding out about me and my dad. Never wanted anyone to know any of that shit.”
And:
“And I know, right, that there are people who’ll say I shouldn’t be in football if I can’t take a hit, like what the fuck am I gonna do when I’m tackled on the pitch and stuff. But that’s different, yeah? I fucking signed up for that. Didn’t sign up for my dad being a huge fucking dickhead, did I?”
And:
“I’m done being ashamed.”
---
There’s Roy too, near the end, and something about making it seem like aggression and violence is a normal thing and how that is part of the problem and how he’s going to do better from now on, and Jamie wants to tell him that, no, Roy has never been the problem, Jamie ain’t ever been scared of him, that’s really not it at all, but Roy does have a point too, doesn’t he, so Jamie keeps quiet.
---
“Was it all right?” he asks, afterwards, when the door’s closed to the press room and it’s just him and Roy and Keeley in the corridor.
“It was great,” Keeley tells him, stepping close to wrap her arms around him. “It was perfect.” Leaning back a little, she runs a hand over his cheek, “I’m really proud of you, Jamie.”
“Yeah, me too,” Roy says and his hug is just half a thing, one arm wrapped around Jamie’s shoulders and pulling him close, but it’s enough to relax into, to rest in.
Keeley’s looking at both of them like they hung the fucking stars.
“How about dinner?” she asks. “Don’t wanna drive all the way back tonight, think I’ll just get a hotel.”
“Yeah, I’m fucking starving,” Roy says.
And okay. He can’t be disappointed about that. Of course they’d want some time together. “Yeah, okay, yeah. Should be heading for the coach anyway. You have fun, yeah?”
The look they exchange is dismayed.
“No,” Roy says, sounding like he’s trying very hard not to sound angry. “You’re coming to dinner with us. Keeley will drive us back in the morning.”
“Unless you’d rather go back now with the rest of the team,” Keeley quickly adds, shooting Roy a pointed glare.
And oh. Okay. “No, yeah, dinner sounds good.”
---
They make him go say goodbye to the lads first, let them know you’re all right, and it’s still with him when they head out into the Manchester night, Colin’s arms around him and Sam’s quiet smile and Dani’s hands on his shoulders and Isaac’s muttered you’re gonna be okay, bruv.
He carries all of it with him, and it makes him feel light.
---
Coda:
“So, Roy,” Ted asks, leaning back into his office chair. ”Got any big plans for the break?”
“Keeley and I are trying for Marbella again. Only two weeks, she can’t be away from the firm any longer. Jamie’s joining us after he’s done with that football camp thing for disadvantaged kids.”
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wangxianficrecs · 27 days
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Wangji by AbysmalJezebel
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Wangji
by AbysmalJezebel
G, 2k, Wangxian
Summary: In the end, he picks the guqin. It is the exact opposite of who Lan Wangji is; it is loud, and it is passionate. The thrum of the strings demand attention and evoke raw feeling. It is everything he has ever wanted to be. And so he named it Wangji. Kay's comments: I love stories that explore how Lan Wangji came to name his story Wangji and this one was perfect, I loved the ideas behind it and Lan Wangji's characterization. There's just a hint of canon divergence in this, could be read a canon compliant as well though! Excerpt: For the next eight years, Wangji becomes his everything. His entire being and essence, his emotions and his face. All of it translates through Wangji. Without his guqin, he becomes cursed again. That faceless, soulless boy that people were unsettled by. And he absolutely hates that. He never wants to be without Wangji again. Unsurprisingly, It is not long before he’s the most talented musician in all of Cloud Recess and, by default, in all of Gusu. Every hour not spent in class or other duties is spent on Wangji. He composes music, he creates renditions of his favorite songs, and he cultivates in a way nobody has ever cultivated with an instrument before. He is happy. He is free. It matters not if he’s drowned in thousands of rules that mean to repress. With Wangji, he needs nothing else. He will follow every rule as perfectly as possible if it means he gets to keep his beloved guqin. And then, a disruption to his tranquil life, Wei Wuxian happens. He is fifteen years old and for the second time Lan Wangji falls in love.
pov lan wangji, canon compliant, canon divergence, pre-relationship, character study, light angst, soft, musician lan wangji, music
~*~
(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for this hard-working author if you like – or think others might like – this story.)
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alby-rei · 29 days
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Growing Pains: Hand-Washing Clothes (IkeVamp; Sebastian & MC)
Prompt: Write a story all in dialogue, must include characters washing clothes. Characters: MC/You, Sebastian Word count: ~350 words Tags: Pre-relationship, Humor, MC is new to the housekeeper life a/n: Wrote this a while back as a warm up. When I saw this prompt, Sebastian came to mind instantly. I imagine they would've had this convo early on in MC's "recruitment". Figured I might as well show I'm still alive and writing! Consider this another entry in Memories of the Mansion. Back to Masterlist
~*~
“Why must Arthur always come back with blood stains on his collar?”
“If the blood makes you uncomfortable, I can do it instead.”
“It’s not so much the blood as it is the implication of what he’s doing.”
“Ah…yes. I can see how that would be unsettling.”
“When did you get used to washing blood of everyone’s clothes?”
“Hmm. Hold on, let me hang this to dry while I think…it didn’t long, maybe two weeks? I started working at the mansion after Sir Isaac joined, specifically because of his…side-effects to his vampirism. Blood wasn’t something that particularly bothered me, but it did take time to get used to the smell of Rouge in the kitchen.”
“I see… Aha! Finally got the spot to come out. Comte doesn’t pay me enough for this.”
“He pays you?”
“Good point. We should both demand a raise.”
“Speak for yourself, I’m perfectly content as I am.”
“That’s because you have access to all of his money as his butler.”
“As do you. You know he’ll never say no to any request you make. You may as well make good use of that.”
“If there’s anything I would ask for, it’s a proper washing machine…were those not invented yet?”
“If they were, we would have our own.”
“Ughhh. No dishwasher, no washing machine. Next thing you’ll tell me, the vacuum cleaner wasn’t invented yet!”
“…”
“…Sebastian, when was the vacuum cleaner invented?”
“For the last time, just because I’m from the 21st century, doesn’t make me a walking, talking Google search engine.”
“…Worth a shot.”
[Bonus scene]
“Now then, back to work. We’ll never get to washing the bed sheets if you’re this slow with the clothes.”
“There’s more?!”
“And then the linens, and then the—”
“And you’re telling me you did all of this by yourself before I came along?”
“Yes, as to be expected. I wouldn’t want our esteemed guests to be burdened by manual labor when they should be focusing on their work.”
“Most of them aren’t even employed! They just sit around and…actually what do they do all day?”
~*~
Back to Masterlist
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vodika-vibes · 2 months
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Gryffin Industries AU
Enter the King
Summary: You've been the Personal Assistant/Head receptionist of Gryffin Industries since the start of the war. And it's a good job, the best job you've ever had. So when Captain Rex shows up in the lobby on a day when your playing receptionist looking like his world just crumbled to dust, you know that you have to do something.
Pairing: Pre-Captain Rex x F!Reader
Word Count: 1658
Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni
A/N: So this isn't the first time I've written something with my Gryffin Industries AU, but the other ones are all Fives x reader requests. Also, why do I have such a hard time with Rex?
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You rest your chin on the palm of your hand as you watch the blue clad clone hesitate near the door. You recognize him on sight, most long term employees of Gryffin Industries would, and you can’t help the sigh that slips from your lips as you see him.
It’s half admiring and half frustrated.
Admiring because Captain Rex, like all of his brothers, is incredibly attractive. Frustrated because the only time Captain Rex comes here is to yell at someone. And then it becomes a thing.
But he doesn’t seem like he’s in a bad mood today.
Actually, unless you’re mistaken, he seems anxious and nervous about something.
You tap out a silent rhythm on your desk, and then you push your chair back and you walk around your desk to approach him. “Captain?” You greet him with a warm and welcoming smile, “Is everything alright? You seem…out of sorts.”
He focuses his attention on you, and then he nods slowly, “I know I haven’t made myself very…welcome here.”
“Nonsense, Captain.” You counter with a warm smile, “You are always welcome here, just like every other one of your brothers. Here at Gryffin Industries we pride ourselves on supporting our troops.”
He smiles weakly, “It’s kind of you to say so.”
“It might be the company byline, Captain, but it’s also true.” You step closer to him, and you note that his hands are shaking, and concern crosses your face, “Are you alright?”
“No.” He rasps out, “No, I don’t think I’m ever going to be alright again.” His gaze locks with yours, “Please. I think I need help.”
Immediately your comm is in your hands and you shoot a series of messages to the head of the medical department, as well as the head of prosthetics, the head of development, and the head of security, and then you smile at him and offer him your hand, “Why don’t you come with me, Captain?”
“Yeah…okay.” He laughs weakly as you take his hand and tug him away from the door and towards one of the conference rooms.
You make sure that he takes a seat, and then you step away, “Would you like something to drink? Caf, tea, water?”
“No thank you,” Rex smiles weakly, though his hands are still shaking, “I think it’s best that I don’t drink anything.”
Hesitantly you set your hand on his shoulder, “Whatever the problem is, Captain, we can fix it. It’s what we do.”
He buries his face in his hands, “I don’t know if you can fix this. But, thank you for saying so.”
You glance up as one of the hidden doors slides open, and a pair of identical men walk in. You glare at Fives and he stumbles back into the hidden hallway, while Echo muffles a laugh. “The others will be along shortly,” He says as he shuts the door, though he leaves it open a crack, “Hey there, Captain.”
Rex looks up, and something like relief crosses his face, “Echo…you look good.”
You have to agree. You saw Echo when he first arrived, half dead and skeletal and so pale that you worried that he wasn’t going to survive the surgeries that he needed to get well. But here he is, almost a year later, happy and healthy looking, with his hair finally starting to grow back and his skin tone finally recovering back to the familiar rich tones of his brothers.
“Thanks,” Echo smiles at his older brother and crosses the room to sit next to him, “They’ve taken amazing care of me here. I don’t think I’ve ever been so healthy. You know they pay us here?”
Rex laughs weakly, “I heard.”
The door slides open again, and the four people you messaged walk in, followed by their respective bodyguards, including Fives, though at least he’s wearing his helmet now.
“So, ah, does everyone who works here get a bodyguard?” Rex asks.
“I don’t.” You say with an easy grin as you gently pull your hand away from Rex’s shoulder, “I’m not important enough.”
“She’s lying,” Doctor Midi Gryffin says dryly, “She’s the most important person in the building. Everyone in the building is her bodyguard.”
“You flatter me, Doctor.”
“Enough to make me some caf?” He asks.
You beam at him, “Nope.”
“Damn.”
“But I’ll leave you all to talk-”
“Actually, it might be best that you stay.” One of the guards offers thoughtfully, “You seem to have a soothing presence on Captain Rex. Plus, it saves us from having to tell you what happens after the fact.”
You slide into a seat next to Rex and pull out your writing tablet, twirling the pen between your fingers.
All eyes in the room turn to Rex, and the oldest person in the room offers him a patient smile, “Go ahead, Captain. Speak your mind.”
Rex rubs his hands over his face, and then over the top of his head. He takes a deep breath, and he starts talking.
He weaves a tale of betrayal, of brothers thrown to the side because Anakin thinks he’s genuinely that important. He talks about how Anakin threatened the vod’e in the guard when Ahsoka was on trial. And then he talks about Fives and the last thing that Fives ever said to him, and how his little brother is dead and he’s starting to think that it might be Anakin’s fault-
His hands are shaking badly enough at that point that you set your tablet down to take his hands in your own, while Echo brings him some water.
“There’s something not right,” Rex finishes, “Something’s not right and I need to disappear so I can figure out what it is. Fives and Tup deserve that much.”
Doctor Gryffin, the medical doctor, leans back in his chair with a sigh, “It’ll be easy enough to help you disappear, Captain. But, honestly, I think we can answer some of those questions.”
“You can?” Rex asks, looking from you to the other people around the room.
Helmets start coming off, Rex starts when he sees Fives, with a guilty smile on his face, and then Dogma, who looks very sheepish. “Unfortunately, Tup can’t be with us. He’s got physical therapy right now.”
“You’re all…alive?” Rex asks, stunned.
You squeeze his hands, “Unless one of your brothers dies on another planet, everyone is sent to Gryffin Industries for processing.”
“Of course, what the Senate thinks happens and what actually happens are totally different things.” Doctor Gryffin, the head of development, says wryly. “In the case of Fives, he told us what was going on and we made arrangements before he allowed himself to get captured by the Guard.”
“No, I saw you die.” Rex says faintly, “You died in my arms-”
Fives winces, “You weren’t supposed to be there, vod.”
“His death,” You say gently, because you had been the one to give the plan to Commander Fox in the first place, “had to look real. Commander Fox was supplied with a blaster that looked identical to his normal blaster.”
“Commander Fox knew?” Rex asks.
“The Coruscant Guard belongs to Gryffin Industries,” The head of security says, “we…ah…acquired them near the beginning of the war and then loaned them to the Senate, out of the goodness of our hearts.”
Echo scoffs, “Because it’s super important that we have a small army of men loyal to us being our eyes and ears in the senate.”
“That too!” Security agrees gleefully, “And it’s worked in our favor so far. Though, honestly, we were kind of hoping that they would have been able to get Padawan Tano to us.”
“Not that it matters since we offered her a job as soon as we realized that she was leaving the Jedi-” The third Doctor Gryffin, the head of prosthetics, points out.
You clear your throat, loudly, “None of you are helping.” You say pointedly. All eyes turn back to Rex, who’s gone almost gray, and the room falls silent.
“You know, I think we’ve dropped a bit too much information on the good Captain here.” Doctor Midi says decisively, “Will you make sure that Rex is employed within Gryffin Industries, and he needs new armor and a room-”
“Captain Rex has been employed with Gryffin Industries for the last three months,” You say pleasantly, “He even has a bank account already with all of his previous pay deposited there. His room is just down the hall from Fives’ and Echo’s and he already has a full set of armor waiting for him.”
“...how did you-?”
Fives snickers, “It’s because she’s hot for the Captain, boss.”
You glare at Fives, “I’ll be sure to make a note for Housekeeping that you want your clothes washed in bleach-”
“No! Wait! I’m sorry!”
You ignore Fives, and instead focus your attention on Rex, “I’ll be more than happy to show you to your room, and explain how things work here. Also, I scheduled your surgery for the end of the week. Fives and Echo can explain what that’s about.”
“We can show him around and tell him how things work here,” Echo says kindly, “You have a lot of other work you need to do.”
You huff and fold your arms, “You’re not wrong. Some of the Corries have been missing their mandatory therapy sessions. But showing new employees around is partly my responsibility too.”
“You can flirt with a Captain later,” Echo counters with a roll of his eyes.
“Why do people assume you’re the good twin?” You demand.
“Because it’s what I want them to think. Go yell at some Corries, it’ll make you feel better.” Echo says as he pushes you out of the room.
Just before the door shuts, you see Rex collapsing against Fives, and you smile. Giving them some time to reconnect won’t hurt, so you suppose you won’t punish Echo or Fives too badly for being annoying little brothers.
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f1-disaster-bi · 11 months
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Roy/Jaime fic idea: Jaime is super late to training one morning and everyone is annoyed because a huge game is coming up. Everyone is already out on the pitch when Jaime finally appears, but all anger goes out the window when he emerges from the tunnel still dressed in his street clothes, with a tiny little bundle cradled in his arms. Tartt Sr. had shown up just as Jaime was about to head in, unceremoniously presenting Jaime with his new baby sibling, paperwork signing over custody, and a hospital bag of baby essentials before he fucked off back to Manchester without a glance back. Needless to say training is cancelled that day, as everyone basically falls over themselves to help Jaime and the new little Tartt, especially Roy who falls into the role of protector and partner in the span of a breath.
Anon, I love you for this. I'm absolutely I'm love with this idea.
I have so many thoughts and emotions about it but for now....please have this little drabble I wrote about it (and that @f1-birb is trying to make me write a fic for)
"Is that Jamie?" "Fuckin finally man" "Wait...whys he dressed normal like?" Roy growls, turning away from where he was leading the second team through a drill to look towards the tunnel and sure enough, Jamie is there at the opening. He's dressed in street clothes, but that's not what catches Roy's attention. No. Jamie is holding what looks like something small and swaddled and Roy is moving in an instant. As he gets closer, out pacing Ted and Beard despite his knee, he can hear Ted calling for him to stop but Roy doesn't. He doesn't stop until he's standing in front of a very tense, very distraught and confused looking Jamie who can't tear his eyes off the baby in his arms that can't be more than a week old. "Tartt, oi, Jamie", Roy calls softly, not wanting to wake the sleeping baby, "where'd'ya get the kid? Is it...." "Is not mine...well he is, but he isn't", Jamie stutters, eyebrows pinched together, "Me dad, yeah? Showed up at me 'ouse and he...he had this babeh and he just left 'im to me. Says he's my brother and just leaves. Left me some papers, legally he's mine, but Coach...Roy....I can't" Jamie is on the verge of a panic attack, his distressed making the baby in his arms start to wake and Roy can hear the team murmuring behind him. "Jamie", Roy drops his voice low, knowing it'll catch Jamie's attention as he gently grabs the back of Jamie's neck, "breath" The touch has Jamie melting. He's stepping closer to Roy until his head hits his shoulder, and both him and the baby are shielded by Roy as Jamie's shakes. Roy keeps his grip gentle, thumb soothing the tense muscles in his neck as Jamie sniffles. "What's his name?" "Charlie"
"How old?" Roy asks, peering down at little Charlie as Jamie lifts his head from Roy's shoulder, and Roy pretends he doesn't miss the weight of it. "Ten days, his mum don't want 'im and me dad....well he'd rather drink than spend moneh on his kids," Jamie replied, adjusting his hold of Charlie and rocking him softly. "Ten days old and he's already better looking than you, that's a good start to life", Roy hums, watching as the joke gets a smile off of Jamie and little laugh. And that laugh is all the team need to come closer. Dani reaches them first, his grin so wide Roy is genuinely worried the kid is gonna split his face in half as he almost vibrates with joy. "Oh, oh, it's a baby. How beautiful, our Jamie is a dad!"
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dodounchained · 6 months
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hi do you have any recommendations for fic lulaw/lawlu that don't directly have a tag protective luffy, but it is very obvious that Luffy is protective of Law.
Hi anon! sorry I can't offer much because many were already posted in Hurt&Comfort for example but here is one.
Bent But Not Broken by Purplehairedwonder
In the aftermath of his torture at Hawkins's hands, Law prefers to lick his wounds in private. Luffy, newly returned from Udon, has other ideas.
Also if you haven't seen the post yet you could also check again Luffy comforting Law!
If anyone has a favorite fic that fits or just one you really like, feel free to comment with a link <3
-Mod Raiya
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aniron48 · 8 months
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you don't step into love
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It’s the rest of it that Q can do without—Bond's disappearing acts for months on end, his apparent inability to distinguish between being a honeypot and being honeypotted whenever he’s in the field, the casual way he bets his life at every turn as if it were one of the lower-value chips in a high-stakes game. Those sort of antics don’t get Q’s libido going, not by a long shot. They’re rather more likely to give him an ulcer. In other words, unlike Bonnie Tyler, Q does not need a hero. He’d be perfectly happy with a research librarian with a kind smile and a soft middle and a collection of cozy jumpers Q could raid when he wanted to, if such a man were on offer. When it comes to love, Q wants a harbor, and James Bond is a hurricane. And so his heart, at least, has never been in any sort of danger from 007. Until, unaccountably, the day that it is.
Another fic in the books for 007 fest 2023, and up on ao3! This one is based on the prompt, “Q being utterly impervious to Bond's charms until the day he sees James in glasses and falls hard and fast.”
I almost called this fic “oh. oh.” if that tells you where the vibe is at. I hope you enjoy, friends! 💜 🤓
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conkers-thecosy · 6 months
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Bagginshield-tober / Day 10 / Gemstones
Hey folks! Here's my offering for day eight of the "Bagginshield-tober" prompt list, by the lovely @smolestboop 💛
You can also find these little snippets compiled into one fic on AO3 - all the chapters link into each other, in chronological order as one big fic, so it's worth reading from the beginning, if you're interested!
Just a short one today, guys! Hope you enjoy!
*~*~*
Bilbo’s party was in full swing. Everyone had turned up (even the ones Thorin knew he would rather have not bothered), the cake had been a great success, brought out to much cheering, and when Bilbo had given his speech, it had been met with high spirits and laughter in all the right places. 
Thorin had meant to step away at some point, to give Bilbo time with his family and other friends, but every time he tried, his now-retired burglar would almost absently take his hand and continue with whatever conversation or joke was being shared. Thorin didn’t have it in him to pull away, especially not when there was nowhere else he found he wanted to be. 
When the dancing began, Bilbo looked immediately up at Thorin with wide eyes and a wider smile. The dwarf hesitated, not knowing a single thing about how hobbits danced. But Bilbo’s satin-soft hand was in his, his golden curls catching in the lights of the party tree, and his green eyes sparkled like most precious gemstones. 
How could he refuse such a treasure? 
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flyfreeskylark · 3 months
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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars: Rebellion Era - All Media Types Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Cassian Andor/Jyn Erso Characters: Cassian Andor, Jyn Erso, Bodhi Rook, Baze Malbus, Chirrut Îmwe Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - College/University, Pre-Relationship, Rebelcaptain - Freeform, The RebelCaptain Network's Secret Santa Exchange, Roommates, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Sharing a Bed, Jyn's favorite word is Fuck, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, oh my god they were roommates, Minor Leia Organa/Han Solo, Minor Chirrut Îmwe/Baze Malbus, Mentioned Leia Organa, Mentioned Han Solo, Past Jyn Erso/Han Solo Summary:
Jyn is angry at her ex because he's hooking up with somebody new. Cassian is waiting on the sidelines.
--
Happy New Year, @mosylufanfic! It’s been a privilege and a pleasure to be your Rebelcaptain Secret Santa!  I hope you enjoy your story!  Thank you to the @therebelcaptainnetwork for hosting and moderating this fun event!
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pollyna · 1 year
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Ice knows there is something important because Slider's head is against his shoulder, but the man is watching the flowers on the table and not the match he had spent all day talking about.
"Sometimes Mitchell knows what the fuck he's doing, doesn't he?" His best friend asks, but Ice isn't sure if he wants an answer back or if he's just mumbling about like he does sometimes when he's anxious.
"Yeah, sometimes he does." Ice decides to answer. "There's something bothering you, Sli?" He adds, lowering the TV's volume.
"Uhm. I- Carole and Goose invited me over for dinner tomorrow night, and I don't know what an appropriate gift would be to say, can I sleep with both of you, together, and come and play house for the next forty years or so?" 
Ice finds himself laughing softly.
"That bad, huh?"
"Yeah, fuck Tom, it's that bad." Slider answers, hinding his face away between Ice's neck and the couch. 
"You should start with a bottle of wine. Maybe you could ask Goose what Carole is thinking of cooking and pick a good bottle. I could tag along to choose it, because knowing you, you are going to choose the first one you see and run out of the shop as fast as you can." 
(In the days to come, Ice is going to share that same story with Carole, Goose and Maverick, about a fresh-faced Slider, twenty-one and finally able to buy alcohol, on the mission of finding a good bottle of wine before meeting Ice's grandma for lunch. Just to pick not only the wrong colour of wine but the type too.)
"Yeah, yeah, you can come with me, asshole!" Slider answers, laughing and looking, for the first time that evening, a little less concerned and a little more excited.
"Why, thank you, sir! And now you can go back to your stupid team of lovers." Turning on the TV definitely closed the conversation, but Ice squeezes Slider's shoulder just to remind him that they can talk about it, whenever he wants. Slider smiles back, shouting against the television a second later, and almost knocks his beer down.
Ice knows Slider is going to be okay, even if he is going to take with him the wrong bottle of wine.
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wangxianficrecs · 7 months
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Warming up (to him) by barisan
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Warming up (to him)
by barisan (@barisan-no)
T, 9k, Wangxian
Summary: Wei Wuxian finds out that the Cold Springs are not a good place for a nap. Lan Qiren finds him and uncovers a Jiang secret; will he be able to manage the feelings??? No clickbait. Kay's comments: I absolutely adore this story, it's so great! Just some perfect, heart-wrenching angst! In which during the Cloud Recesses Study Arc, Wei Wuxian stays longer in the Cold Springs than he should - and yes, inspired by Quiet_Crash's story - and gets hypothermia. Only here, it's much more severe and kickstarts a beautiful canon-divergence where Wei Wuxian finds a new family and a new home for himself. Excerpt:“Wei Wuxian!” He scolds as he finally gets to the bottom. “How dare you to trespass-“ But all words die in his throat. “Wei Wuxian!” He yells as he rushes to the boy’s side — of course, a boy, he was only ever a boy. “Wei Wuxian! Can you hear me?” Uncaring for decorum, he falls on his knees and drags Wei Wuxian’s limp body out of the water. His skin is cold. Impossibly cold. “No, Wei Wuxian! Don’t you dare!” He places an ear on his barely moving chest. It feels like hours before he makes out the faintest beat. His own heart hammers in his throat. “If this is another one of your pranks-!” Wei Wuxian’s usually tan face is deathly pale, lips almost purple.
pov alternating, canon divergence, cloud recesses study arc, cloud recesses rabbits, pre-relationship, good uncle lan qiren, hypothermia, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, not jiang sect friendly, neglectful jiang fengmian, families of choice, rogue cultivator wei wuxian, temporary character death
~*~
(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for this hard-working author if you like – or think others might like – this story.)
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dnffics-archive · 2 months
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late spring
by towerofthegods
Rated M, 3.5k words
Tags: Sexuality Exploration, Pre-Relationship, Jealous GeorgeNotFound
Summary
It's not that Dream is jealous -- it's just that he's been thinking about it. George, and men, and kissing. It's just that he's been wondering what it might be like: to kiss a guy, to kiss a friend, to kiss George. He's been wondering and hoping, privately, that it might be something he's allowed to do, too. or; it's the hours between night and morning, and Dream wants to know more.
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autumnslance · 5 months
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Year of the OTP - August 2023 - Snowstorm
(Whoops, fell off with this thanks to Other Writing Projects, but let's get back into the swing with 2500 words of Heavensward pre-relationship and a draft I have sat on for years and am finally reworking and yeeting out here...Original prompt list here! Something of a sequel, or at least a similar situation, to Sandstorm.)
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“This seems familiar,” Aeryn said as they shoved the old door closed against the howling winds.
“In some ways,” Thancred agreed, unable to stop his teeth from chattering. “Should we worry about heretics or creatures?”
“Durendaire cleared this hamlet recently,” Aeryn said. “I remember talking to Redwald about it, so figured it was safe enough for shelter.”
Thancred nodded and stamped his feet, following her from the foyer to the cramped sitting room of the abandoned house, one of many dotted across the icy countryside after the Calamity. The farmhouse wasn’t large, nor had it seen recent upkeep from weather such as the blizzard winding up outside.
It didn’t help that Thancred was soaked up to his thighs, having slid off an embankment and onto ice thinner than it had looked while they had fought their quarry for Clan Centurio, a rogue aevis of unusual size. It was a part of Nidhogg’s emboldened brood and had been terrorizing the supply lines from Falcon’s Nest to the Convictory and Tailfeather.
The dragon was dead—but they would be too, if they didn’t get a fire going soon. The temperature was noticeably dropping.
“Been awhile since we outpaced a storm like that,” Thancred said while they did their best to shut themselves into a single room. “Not sure if I wish to be in a sandstorm instead, though.”
“This is much too cold for my Thavnairian blood,” Aeryn sniffed. A quick check showed some remnant firewood made of broken furnishings. She got the fire going, using magic to speed the process.
“You’re half-Coerthan,” Thancred replied. “Surely that affords you some acclimation.”
“I left when this place still had proper seasons,” she countered. “You have to get those boots off.” She dug into her pack for blankets or anything else to help. Despite the spellwork making it capable of carrying quite a lot without burdening the wearer, Thancred knew what a crowded mess her bag was, and shuddered.
Or maybe that was just the cold.
“Working on it,” he replied, shrugging off the winter coat he had donned for this venture. He hung it over a nearby chair that yet survived, turning it to the fireplace to help dry the fabric, his gloves left on the seat. Then he sat heavily on the large, fuzzy rug—it was ragged, but at least in this cold there probably weren’t fleas or other vilekin—and began fumbling at the buckles and laces of his boots, fingers not as nimble as usual.
“Let me help,” Aeryn said, dropping a blanket next to him as she knelt on the rug.
“I’ve got—” He growled in frustration as his fingers slipped past a buckle again. Her hands caught his, pressing his fingers between her warm palms. “Fine, I don’t have it,” he admitted, breath caught at the feeling. At least there was a feeling.
“You’re colder than I thought,” Aeryn said, frowning. She let go of his hand, and it was an effort for him to not whimper at the loss. She quickly got his boots off, and the socks beneath them, pulling the wet fabric carefully. The feel of her fingers on his legs sent more shocks through him. “Um. Your pants are soaked, too,” she said.
“Then they’ll have to go,” he replied. “I can manage that, as entertaining the idea of you further undressing me is,” Thancred joked. He couldn’t help but grin at her expected blush.
“Well, you’re not so far gone as I’d feared,” she replied dryly. But she smiled in return, relieved he had the energy for his usual teasing demeanor.
“You’re not rid of me that easily,” he said. “And you should remove your own damp layers, Aeryn.”
She nodded in response, turning away from him as she removed her coat and boots. While she did, he managed to unlace and unbutton his pants and wriggle them off, dropping them aside while keeping the blanket over his lap for her sense of modesty more than his own. At least he had smalls on; while staying with the Vath, that hadn’t been an option. He pulled his sweat-damp top off while at it.
He distantly watched her hang up their gear to dry, over random old furnishings or even carefully off the mantle. She dug through his pack, too, for anything to help with the cold. He ought to help, but mostly wanted to sit and doze by the fire. She knelt by him again, and he thought the way the firelight framed her was rather pretty. “How are you feeling, Thancred?”
“Cold and tired, and my feet still feel number than I like.”
“May I?” At his nod, she pushed up the blanket and began examining and massaging his feet and calves to stimulate circulation, her skin warm and soft against his and gods. He swallowed hard and watched as her shoulders relaxed. “I don’t think you’re in danger of frostbite, just cold—”
“Could you keep massaging just a bit longer?” he blurted. “It’s helping.” He didn’t want to try to explain how much he didn’t want to lose the sensation of another’s skin on his, the simple touch of another person. He kept his eyes down as she studied him briefly, but then she nodded and continued for a few more minutes.
It was heavenly.
“It’s still getting colder,” she noted, finally moving away to look for more fuel for the fire; there wasn’t much left in the room. “We’ll have to strip down and sleep next to each other for warmth.”
He raised a brow, surprised she had been the one to suggest such. Then again, she had been living in Coerthas for moons now and had learned from her hosts. That was what he meant to say. What slipped out was an attempted jape: “Is that how things started with Lord Haurchefant?”
Aeryn’s face reddened as she fumbled with an old, broken set of shelves. “No!” she snapped, focusing on the fallen bits of wood to carry to the fire.
“I’m sorry, I’m not thinking clearly,” Thancred said, rubbing his arms. “I know his loss is still recent and naught to joke about. I do admit to a bit of confusion, as I recall you not caring for romantic matters and yet—”
“Stop.” Her tone was sharp, her back to him as she tried to busy herself by the fire. “Please,” she added after a moment.
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He frowned at her back, more irate than he perhaps should have been. Probably just the cold.
“It wasn’t like that,” she finally said so quietly that he almost missed it. “I know about the gossip, and the godsdamned songs and poems the local bards have spun up since that day in the Vault, and since my return upon Midgardsormr.”
Which was how Thancred had first heard; he wouldn’t have given such the tavern bawds credence, however, if he hadn’t also spoken to the Fortemps servants about how besotted the young lord had been with their guest, and how she was so carefully interested in return, and wasn’t it all just so terribly tragic, she had been so aggrieved…
“If I could stop all those rumors, I would,” she practically growled. “Haurchefant was…a friend. That’s…that’s all.”
Thancred peered at her. She was still turned away, staring into the fire. “You’re still a bad liar,” he pointed out.
Aeryn did turn now, to scowl at him. She looked about to say something, then blinked, her irritation turning to concern. “Hells, Thancred, you’re freezing.”
“There is a blizzard out there.”
She shook her head, finishing removing her own clothes until she was just in her band and smalls, then dove under the blanket with him. He expected back to back, but she wrapped her limbs around him and was not only warm, but the close contact with another person again left him heady.
Thancred thought for a moment. How long had it been since he had touched, and been touched, by another person so intimately? Moons, certainly, even counting his brief tryst with Hilda on his first arriving in Ishgard. That had been...different, than this; more desperation than anything, sating an immediate need for carnal contact with willing company (and that wasn’t insectoid).
All right then; how long since he had experienced an innocently friendly, intimate touch with no other expectations? He really couldn’t say, as he wrapped his arms around Aeryn in return.
“I’d…tried to reciprocate his affections,” Aeryn said after a moment. Thancred frowned. Her head rested on his shoulder, dark strands of hair tickling his cheek while her breath was warm on his collarbone when she spoke. “He was my friend, and I cared for him as such—and realized, too late, that was how it was. He wanted something else. Then everything happened and I never got—never took—the chance to clear the air with him before…everything happened.”
“I’m sorry,” Thancred said, wincing. “For how that turned out, for that loss of a friend, and for my thoughtlessness and heeding of base rumors.”
He could imagine the little thinking crease between her brows as she took a long moment to respond. “Thank you,” she said eventually, not elaborating. Then she sighed. “Not the first time I’ve made such an error. I thought I’d grown past such, knew myself better. I hate feeling like I led the man on, or used him.”
“Knowing you, I doubt that’s what happened,” Thancred said. “Still, nice to know our Warrior of Light’s yet fallible,” he teased gently, jostling her.
She whined a little. “Keep that up and I’ll kick you all night.”
“Ah, is that the danger I face?”
“Only if you listen to my sisters. Or Yda. Or Y’shtola. Or—just go to sleep.”
He chuckled, watching the fire and listening to the wind howl outside. It was as cold as the Hell of Ice outside of their little nest of blankets. So stay put and don’t examine any other reason besides staying warm as to why that seemed like a nice idea.
Thancred shut the mental door firmly there. Aeryn was a friend and colleague, and they’d both been through too much hell in recent moons. His time of isolation had affected his mind and physical reactions when he was literally freezing and she only did what was necessary to keep him in good health, despite his acting like an ass. Had their positions been reversed, he’d have done the same with no thought of anything but her safety.
Well, he may still have made a few jokes, just to make her scoff and smile and snark back the way she usually did when he teased. He had truly missed that, and was truly sorry for causing distress by bringing up those rumors.
He merely wanted to look out for her interests and her own bruised heart. That was all.
He was alone. The plain was unending, empty but for the buzzing of insects and the distant roar of dragons. The wind howled, sounding like the shouts and screams of men in blue uniforms. Their ghosts sliced at his bare flesh as he ran, calling out the names of the Scions until he was hoarse while cold shadows blotted out his vision and Ultima burned through his veins as Lahabrea laughed…
“Thancred!” Aeryn’s voice jolted him awake. It was soon followed by the warmth of her hand on his face, checking his temperature. “Are you all right?”
“Bad dream,” he rasped, clearing his throat. “Apologies if my thrashing woke you.”
“More your clinging,” she said. She was one to talk, given how she had latched on like a barnacle. Aeryn started to remove her hand, but he caught it, holding it against his cheek, needing to keep that gentle touch, noting her scars and calluses, letting that reality ground him in time and place. “Thancred?”
“Apologies,” he said. “I simply…” Am acting a fool.
“You were alone for a while,” she said gently.
He smiled wanly, finally lifting his gaze to her. She was propped on her elbow, watching him. His eye covering had slipped off in his restless slumber; his left eye was beginning to throb from the aetherial underlay it showed, a result of the damage he had taken from the Flow before being spat into the Dravanian wilderness. He temporarily forgot the discomfort it caused as he finally looked at Aeryn with his eye uncovered. She glowed with bright aether, sparking across every ilm in shimmering blue, tracing her limbs, outlining each muscle, every scar, the well of brilliant strength within her possibly fathomless...
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“The Vath are not the best company for a fleshling, unfortunately,” he admitted after too long spent staring. “I didn’t realize how lonely I had been until...well, until you all found me again.”
She pulled him close, letting him lean on her this time in a simple embrace. “You’re here,” she said quietly. “You’re all right.”
He let out a heavy sigh and listened to the steadiness of her heartbeat, breathed in the hint of her violas mixed with the tang of earlier activity sweat. “Do you ever tire of taking care of people?” he asked, only half joking.
“Sometimes,” she admitted, like it was a recent realization she was still parsing through. “But not right now.” Another pause, and a slight squeeze. “I’ve spent too long worried for all of you. Wanting to find everyone, and we still haven’t—“ She stopped.
“I’m glad you found me,” he said. “And with your good luck, it won’t be long until we find the others.” Until we find Minfilia.
He thought to wait until Aeryn was asleep again before adjusting to a more appropriate position— he was aware of exactly where her thigh was despite the innocence of their situation—but then her fingertips brushed his bare left cheek, startling him. “I just realized your bandana fell off.”
“It’s fine, didn’t mean to sleep with it on at all,” he muttered, reveling in the sensation of her fingers tracing along his cheekbone. Ever-caring, their Aeryn; she was simply helping him (again, a part of him hissed, a part he told to shut up) after so long on his own.
“No scarring; I thought you were injured?” she sounded like she wasn’t certain if she should be annoyed or not.
“Not physically, as such,” he answered. Her fingers ghosted over his eye, and there was an ever-so-slight bit of warmth and light; the only indication of magic used. He could no longer feel the shift in the aether, but he kept that annoying fact to himself.
“Aetheric damage,” she said, resting that hand on his shoulder.
“One does not traverse the Lifestream unscathed,” Thancred answered. “Even as a passenger.”
“Any pain?”
How to explain it? In the end, he simply said: “Not especially; eye strain headaches, hence keeping it covered most of the time. Nothing I can’t manage.”
“You try to manage much by yourself.”
He chuckled wryly at that. “But honestly, it’s mostly an inconvenience, I promise you.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” she replied.
“I don’t doubt that you shall.”
They faded off into sleep again, and this time there were no nightmares. Tomorrow they would dig themselves out and return to Ishgard, job done, and not speak of the details. Tonight, however, was friendly warmth and comfort while the storm raged outside.
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