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fastcardotmp3 · 1 year

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a steddie "they reconnect after years apart" journey except they never got all that close post-Vecna to begin with. Like they spend a week in hell together, develop the sort of respect you have for someone when you have to work together to save the world, but it doesn't ever get much bigger than that.

They're just two guys who stumbled into each other's lives on circumstance alone and then spend the next decade seeing each other precisely once a year at the single shared holiday they both spend with the party.

New Years.

Eddie always spends Thanksgiving with Wayne and Steve is with Robin every 4th of July (running off and doing their own thing in a tradition everyone knows not to ask about) so the only time both of them end up at the Hopper-Byers residence every year is in that final countdown towards something new.

and they're not enemies and they're not-not friends either, but it's like that friend of your cousin who shows up to the party and you'll chat and make polite conversation and roll your eyes when they say something a bit out of bounds for two people who don't know each other all that well except.

Well, except, when you do that every year it becomes routine. When you do it every year it becomes, I know I'm not gonna have to continue this conversation in the morning so fuck it I'll be honest with you. When you do it every year, on the tipsiest night of the year, surrounded by people you trust in an environment that feels intrinsically safe it becomes--

"Did you quit your shitty job yet or are you still being a pussy about it?"

and it becomes--

"you're not still dating that same jerk as last year, right?"

and it becomes--

"wait, you hate playing Christmas music, why would you let someone talk you into that? Next time call me and I'll knock some sense into your dense skull"

and it becomes--

"I mean obviously a friends with benefits thing wouldn't work out, Steve, you're a serial monogamist"

and it becomes--

"Hey, it's good to see you again, man"

and it becomes--

"I missed your stupid hair."

and it becomes--

"I missed your drunk fucking rants."

and it becomes--

"I missed you."

Years pass, turning one into the next and it becomes I missed you I missed you I miss you.

Because they've been doing this long enough that they know each other, one night a year holding up the kitchen-counter-turned-bar and having their own little isolated conversation in the yellow glow of the only well-lit room in the house, and somewhere along the line they started knowing each other. Seeing each other. Understanding.

At some point it starts to ache, leaving that behind in the early hours of the morning and starting a new year all over again, counting down towards that final countdown when it all feels like it clicks into place. And later, at another point, they start to notice the ache.

They start to notice that they really are leaving something behind in the magic of that moment and it becomes a question of can this survive in the light of day?

It's 1995, about to tip over into 1996 when Eddie looks at Steve and doesn't see the guy pressed up against the wall of a boat shed, or the guy diving headfirst into a frigid lake so the rest of them wouldn't have to, or the guy walking away towards battle with something like uncertainty and something like hope both scrambling for purchase in his eyes.

It's 1995, about to be 1996 when Eddie looks at this guy from his past and realizes that just because he never knew him then doesn't mean he doesn't now, doesn't mean he's not allowed to get to know him now.

Eddie's not the guy who held that bottle to his throat anymore after all, not the guy who dove into that lake after him, who broke a promise and tried to be a hero. Ten years does a lot to a person and so when the Eddie of today looks at the Steve of today and says--

"I'm gonna kiss you at midnight this time, for the record."

--it doesn't feel like the ground is quaking, like anything has to shift to make space for the change that is Steve's slow smile around the lip of his glass in response.

They've been making space for ten years. They've been moving closer to each other a centimeter at a time in this well-lit kitchen, up against the counter-turned-bar.

"Well, if we're going on the record," Steve shrugs as a noise maker cuts through the warmth of their family's chattering throughout the house, "I know that already."

"Yeah?" Eddie's eyebrows shoot up, delight filling up his chest like the mystical hope of starting over. "How?"

"You get this look in your eye," Steve shrugs, "every time you plan on escalating."

Eddie chews on the inside of his cheek to keep from beaming too broadly, sets his glass on the sideboard and gives Steve a curious once-over.

"Yeah, that's the one," Steve laughs, this bright and full sound that it took probably three of those first New Years Eves for Eddie to earn, and it spurs him on.

It has always been becoming, the space between them, and it has always been becoming this, Eddie holding Steve's cheek assuredly with one confident hand and pressing their lips together in a simple, all-consuming, closed-mouth shout of a kiss.

"You didn't wait until midnight," Steve breathes when they pull away, and fuck Eddie has missed him, has found so much to miss in knowing him.

"Don't worry Cinderella," Eddie lets their foreheads touch, lets all that space officially close shut, "I ain't going anywhere when the clock chimes."

#dot fic #dot post #is this anything I just think that new years and slow burns ya know #steddie #steddie fic #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things fic

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kriffingstars · 5 months

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Johnny MacTavish; found out

pairing: Johnny MacTavish x Price!Reader summary: you and Johnny get rumbled. Uncle John is not a happy camper warnings: verrrrrry slight age gap (I imagine reader to be around 20, Johnny is 26), canon typical violence, swearing a/n: i wrote this running off of 4 hours sleep on an 8 hour flight, i can only apologise for any typos/sentences that don’t make sense. i did try and check before posting

It's careless really, the way your Uncle finds out about the two of you.

After two months away, he calls you to let you know he'll be home at the end of the week. You get a similar call from Johnny after, letting you know that he'll be all yours for the next few weeks.

At your beck and call, is how he phrases it.

You hadn't forgotten about the letter stuck to the front of the fridge with one of the magnets your Uncle had bought you whilst he was away a few months ago.

On the contrary, you adore it. It's on the fridge because you see it every time you walk into the kitchen. Reading the tentative words in the first love letter you have ever received.

Sweets,

Being away from you is killing me, I'm being safe like I promised, keeping my head in the game, but I can't get you out of my head.

All I'm thinking about is coming home to you, you're going to have to pry me off you when I'm back.

I haven't said it yet but I love you. No one will ever come close to the way I feel about you. You bring me peace, make all the stuff in my head quiet and it's just you.

I can't believe you've been hidden away from me all this time.

When I'm home I'm going to take you out, I'll whisk you away somewhere nice and it'll be just us. No work, no worries and we'll figure it all out.

I hope you're not working too hard like I know you do. You're too smart for any of us, me especially. I could listen to you talk for days. Missing your voice, I'm sorry we can't call, but figured you'd enjoy a letter all the same.

Love your Johnny x

You cried like a baby when it arrived. Even when you're thousands of miles apart he's still thinking about ways to make you happy, and you're more than sure that he is it for you.

No one else could ever compete with the way that he has completely and utterly captured your heart.

Price feels his blood boil as he holds the letter in his hands, eyes flitting over a few of the stand-out phrases in it, written in Johnny's unmistakable handwriting. He's seen it enough on reports he's had to sign off to know it's his without having to even check the last line.

Seething is an understatement as he climbs back into his car, racing back to base to confront the man who has blatantly ignored all the warnings he's given.

It's not even the disrespect that angers him the most, it's the trust that Soap has completely broken. All the assurances, joking that you're a nicer version of him. How it's all just friendly, how he'd never make a move on you.

His thoughts flit back to you, you've got no clue what you've done to yourself. What you've opened yourself up to because if you realised, he's certain you would never have done this to him.

You're out at the moment, god knows where. He was expecting you to be at home considering it's the summer holiday for you. He'll deal with you later, probably more softly and with a bit more tact than the way he knows he's going to deal with Soap when he gets his bloody hands on him.

He's never driven so quickly back to base, even when he's been called in for emergencies.

He doesn't care for the speeding fine he's most likely going to cop, all that's on his mind is tearing Soap limb to fucking limb.

"MacTavish," is all he bellows as he spots the Scotsman, laughing with Ghost about who knows what.

"What the fuck is this?!" he bellows, slapping the letter down on the table in front of the cursed man.

Everything about the action causing the Scotsman in front of him to jump out of his skin.

"You're a dead man, MacTavish. Going to fucking bury you," he shouts as he leaps towards Soap, who's backed away from the table and the letter that's tossed on top of it.

Ghost has never seen the Captain so red, the veins in his neck stand up with rage as a vein down his forehead pulses with anger.

He doesn't waste any time putting himself between the two men, holding Soap back, his t-shirt screwed in his fist, and a flat palm again Price's chest.

It doesn't matter that he's the aggressor in this instance, he's not manhandling his Captain, no matter the issue.

"I told you to stay away, let you be her friend and you ignore everything."

Right. This needs to go somewhere private because this is definitely a personal issue, and there are a lot of eyes on the three of them currently, listening in to everything.

"Not here," is all Ghost needs to say before Price is storming off to his office, not even checking to see if Soap is following. He doesn't need to, Soap knows he'll only make things even worse if he runs now.

"What did you do, mate?" is all he says as he releases the man, pushing him in front, not before grabbing the letter left on the table, as they both march to Price's office.

When they get there papers are strewn, furniture is out of place and Price is pacing and mumbling incoherent threats.

Neither man has ever seen him so riled up, even on the battlefield. It's jarring. Usually, their Captain is so precise with his anger, it's carefully controlled and this is nothing like that.

He doesn't acknowledge them when they come in, he lets them stew in the tension. Waiting to pounce.

"Sit down."

Soap's in the chair in seconds, and for the second time today Ghost sees something new, this time it's Soap moving the fastest he ever has.

"I'm going to ask you questions and you're going to answer them."

Ghost feels like he really shouldn't be here, but if he leaves now he's not certain both men are coming out of this room alive.

Soap's looking absolutely terrified, he's pale and shaking harder than ever. His heart is beating at a rate that's completely unsustainable, he's either going to pass out or go over with a clutcher.

"How long."

Soap is stumbling over his words as he eventually spurts out "Six months,"

"Sir. Six months, sir," Price corrects, as he squares his shoulder, the tension not easing.

"Yes sir, sorry sir," Soap apologises as he bows his head not risking making eye contact.

"You've been lying to me and directly disobeying order for six fucking months!" he spits, as he advances on the man in the chair, before slamming his hand down on the desk next to Soap.

The sound rips through the office and once again Soap is jumping out of his skin at the blistering noise.

"Do you realise what you've done?" is the next thing that comes from Price's mouth. It's barely audible as he gets up in the younger man's face.

Ghost's seen Price interrogate the worst of the worst, and still, nothing could compare to this. The venom in his voice, or the malice in his eyes.

It's personal this time.

"Tell me why I shouldn't gut you from head to toe?" he spits, as he leans back again, waiting for Soap's answer.

"Because I love her, sir."

It's the first time he lifts his gaze the entire interaction.

"You love her?" Price scoffs, as he mocks the man shrinking under his gaze.

"That makes it okay then, why didn't you say so?" he mocks.

Ghost isn't sure what's going to happen next, it certainly isn't what Soap says next.

"I want to marry her, sir. She's the best thing that's ever happened to me, sir."

That was definitely not the right response, and it sends Price reeling.

"Oh, that makes it okay then, should have just said so!" he's seething now. Ghost really didn't think he could get more riled up than he already is, but once again he's surprised which doesn't happen very easily.

"Not only have you disrespected my orders. You've dragged her into your life and now you plan on marrying her now," his voice is steady and now filled with a deeply unsettling calmness.

"Get out of my sight," is the next thing to come out of his mouth before turning his back to the men in the room.

"And don't you ever think of contacting her again."

#john mactavish x reader #john mactavish headcannon #johnny mctavish x reader #johnny mactavish headcannon #john mctavish x reader #soap mactavish #soap x reader #soap mactavish x price!reader #cod mw soap

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katsu28 · 1 year

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the harringtons

pairing: dad!Steve Harrington x fem!reader

summary: The Harrington family enjoys a nice autumn day in Hawkins, Indiana.

warnings: so much fluff, two ocs—Maisie, 6 years old, and Nora, 2 years old, steve being the best dad ever

a/n: steve harrington is a total girl dad and i will die on this hill

very sorry for the lack of writing this past month, i've been swamped with school and work and overall just been in a writing slump! pls bear with me for a few more weeks until the end of the semester, i promise i'll get back into posting more regularly after that. love u all! <33

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“Babe, have you seen my glasses?” Steve yelled, rifling through the mess of things in the drawer beside the bed. TV remote, bottle of painkillers, a bunch of hair clips, but no glasses.

Your voice came muffled from somewhere else in the house. “Should be next to the bed!”

“Yeah, I’m looking now, but I can’t find them!” He knew he was wearing them last night before bed, and he definitely remembered putting them on the table when he went to sleep, so where the hell were they?

Before he could look any further, a rattle from the closet made him freeze. Steve’s breath caught in his chest, mind jumping to every worst possible case scenario at what could possibly be lurking behind those doors. His hand curled around the familiar smooth wood of his trusty baseball bat from under the bed, knuckles flexing white on the handle as he inched across the room towards the closet.

He was fully ready to start swinging, ready to protect his home and his family, when he heard…a giggle?

Steve’s shoulders slumped in relief when he realized it wasn’t an otherworldly monster lying in wait, but a smaller, much cuter one, with chestnut locks just like his and a cute nose just like yours. One who liked polka dots and pepperoni pizza and stealing her dad’s slippers in the morning—who probably had his glasses as well.

He flung open the doors on the last word, eyes immediately landing on the pigtailed, gap-toothed little girl sitting cross-legged in the dirty clothes bin, Steve’s too big glasses slipping down the bridge of her adorable nose with every barely contained peal of laughter that shook her tiny shoulders.

“Boo!” Maisie exclaimed, throwing her arms in the air whilst she jumped out at him. Steve feigned surprise, clutching at his chest and falling back against the carpeted floor with a dramatic shout. She scrambled to his side with a gleeful cackle, planting her tiny hands on his shoulders to lean over him. “Did I get you good, Daddy?”

“So good, my sweet. Almost gave your old dad a heart attack.” He nodded, flicking one of Maisie’s pigtails playfully.

“You’re not old!”

“Thanks, Mais, I—”

“You’re super old!” She blurted. Steve gawped at his grinning six year old incredulously.

“I’m super old? Could super old do this?!” He hollered, springing up at Maisie and rolling over so he was the one bent over her now, wiggling his fingers mischievously before digging them into her side lightly. “Could super old be a tickle monster???”

Maisie’s shrieking giggles bounced off the bedroom walls as she attempted to squirm out of Steve’s grasp with no avail, and he'd be lying if he said it wasn’t one of his favorite sounds in the whole universe.

“What in the world is going on here?”

Steve looked up to see you standing in the doorway, Nora propped on your hip as you arched an amused eyebrow at the scene before you. He raised his hands in surrender, giving Maisie the chance to escape from his vicious assault, scrambling over to wrap herself around your leg.

“I scared Daddy!” She said proudly, beaming up at you.

A surprised chuckle fell from your lips. “Did you now?”

“Uh huh! Got him really good too, Mommy.”

“Little gremlin hid in the closet and everything. Even had my glasses too, ‘s why I couldn’t find them.” added Steve, leaning back on his haunches and wiggling his fingers at Nora with a smile. She wriggled around in your arms almost immediately, making grabby hands at her dad until you set her down gently, easing your husband’s glasses off Maisie’s face and placing them atop Nora’s brown curls. You both watched as she toddled unsteadily towards Steve, babbling nonsensically to herself until she was gathered into his outstretched arms.

“Hi, dada,” She mumbled, face-planting into the soft wool of his sweater. Steve smoothed a hand down her back, plucking the silver frames off her head and putting them on before pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.

“Well, you, my little troublemaker, are supposed to be getting dressed,” You hummed, stooping down to boop Maisie’s nose. “The faster you do, the faster we can get to the park!”

That definitely enticed her, because her chocolate brown eyes widened and she nodded furiously, peeling herself away from you and bolting down the hallway without another word.

“I’ll take care of this one while you go get ready too?” Steve offered, heaving himself to his feet with Nora’s sticky fingers tangled in his hair. “Ow, shi—shoot, darlin’, what is that?”

“‘S yogo, dada!” She squealed, splaying one hand out on his cheek excitedly. “Strawberry yogo!”

“Strawberry yogurt, huh? I bet it was real good since you got it all over your hands.”

“Oh, she had a blast with it. Painted the kitchen table pink and all.” You chuckled, crossing the room to kiss his cheek, then Nora’s, before hurrying to the bathroom to get ready. “You’re the best, honey!”

By the time you’d finished getting dressed, Steve had corralled the girls to the front entryway, where he was trying to wrangle Nora into her coat whilst Maisie clung to his back not unlike a monkey.

Your heart grew four sizes at the sight of them all. Your family.

Honestly, if you somehow went back in time and told fifteen year old you that one day you’d be happily married to Steve “The Hair” Harrington with two beautiful little girls, you would’ve laughed in your own face. But facing the potential end of the world and almost dying, not once, not twice, but three times really had a way of bringing people together. And even though you’d both been through some pretty terrifying shit (and still had nightmares too), life was good now. Perfect, even. You wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.

Maisie’s squeals of laughter pulled you out of your thoughts, refocusing to see that she was now dangling upside down in Steve’s arms as he cackled maniacally. Something bumped into your leg, and you glanced down to see that it was actually someone. A certain, previously yogurt covered someone.

Nora raised her arms at you and you obliged, hoisting her into your arms with a grunt before turning eye to the other two. “Are you two goofballs ready to go to the park now, or do you need a minute?”

“Park.” Maisie nodded solemnly, maneuvering herself upright in Steve’s arms and turning her wide-smiled gaze on him. “Piggyback ride, Daddy?”

“Your legs work just fine, little miss.” Steve narrowed his eyes at her, to which she just smiled even bigger, missing tooth and all. You liked to call it her ‘anything smile’, because when she brought it into play, she could get her poor old dad to do anything she wanted. Case in point. “Oh alright, fine. Gimme a smooch first.”

Maisie gave Steve a sloppy kiss on the cheek that he pretended to wipe off in faux disgust, but he shifted her until she was situated comfortably against his back. “Ready to go now, Mommy!”

You tugged Nora’s knit hat (a handmade gift from Robin for her second birthday that she absolutely adored) down around her ears a little tighter before you all ventured outside.

The brisk autumn air nipped at your cheeks as the four of you made your way to the small park just down the road, leaves crunching underfoot in a swirl of yellows and reds and burnt oranges.

About halfway there, Nora started to wriggle around in your arms, kicking her tiny legs to be put down and start walking alongside you.

“Nora, baby, you gotta hold someone’s hand when you’re walking, okay?” You said, to which she furrowed her eyebrows at you, but eventually nodded. Whether or not she actually understood what you were saying, you had no idea, but you set her down on the sidewalk anyway.

“Mazzie!” She squealed, sticking her hand in the air towards her sister, who was still settled contently against Steve’s back. “Mazzie, hold!”

“See that, monkey? Nora bug wants to hold your hand,” Steve chuckled, squeezing Maisie’s leg until she giggled. “You wanna climb on off of me?” She nodded enthusiastically, to which Steve dangled her until both her feet were firmly planted on the ground. “Careful, you two. Watch the cracks in the sidewalk.”

“I got it, Daddy.” Maisie said firmly, aiming a curt nod at him before taking Nora’s hand gently, which sent the toddler into a fit of excited giggles. “Come on, Nora bug!”

Your insides melted to mush at Maisie using Steve’s nickname for Nora, even more so when she pulled her younger sister’s hat back down from where it was riding up again, just like you were about to do. Your girls were a perfect mixture of both you and Steve.

Steve looped his arm through yours, pulling you close enough to press a kiss to the side of your head, grinning fondly as you watched the two girls amble along in front of you. “We sure do make cute kids, don’tcha think?”

“Pretty sure they got their looks from you, Mister Indianapolis 1972.” You teased, nudging him in the ribs playfully.

“God, I knew I shouldn’t’ve told you about that. I’m never living it down, am I?”

“Not in this lifetime.”

“I was five and my mother forced me into it, babe. I didn’t have a choice!”

“I’m so looking forward to the day I can show those pictures to the girls.”

“You kept them?!?!”

“‘Course I did.” You chirped, grinning cheekily. Steve pouted (very dramatically, might you add). “You had to have known I’d keep those treasures forever, honey. You know me.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” He huffed, dragging a hand through his hair. “But payback will come for you. Mark my words. Might go swing by your parents’ house and see what I can dig up. I think your mom would be delighted to help me.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Try me, sweetheart.”

“That’s fine,” You shrugged. “I’ll just bring the girls over to Robin and Nancy’s for a little bit sometime. I’m sure they both have plenty of stories from your glory days.”

Steve’s cheeks went beet red, eyes widening in what you could only assume was horror. “Okay, okay, you win. I give up, just don’t—don’t let them traumatize our babies.”

“You’re so cute, Stevie.” You smiled at him sweetly, squeezing his bicep affectionately before pulling away to join the girls as you all entered the park.

Maisie was sure to leave Nora with you and Steve before beelining straight for the play structure off in the distance, instantly scurrying up to the top and waving frantically at the two of you. She’d always been an avid climber of things—just ask Steve and her uncles, who’d all had Maisie the monkey crawling all over them at least once in their lives. And Maisie would never let her dad know, but her Uncle Eddie was her favorite jungle gym. He always let her launch herself at him and hang around wherever, while Steve tended to go more protective dad mode about it all.

Nora, on the other hand, wasn’t too keen on the jungle gym yet, instead opting to toddle alongside you and Steve, picking up random things off the ground every so often and passing them off to her dad. A few pebbles here, a couple pieces of bark there, a fistful of crumbly leaves, Steve’s pockets were full of nature soon enough. Once his were filled to the brim, she started to shove things into her own tinier ones, half of the stuff falling right back out.

“Babe, take some rocks.” Steve whispered, holding out a handful towards you. “Take them, I can’t fit any more in my pockets!”

“You know you can just drop them, right?” You replied quietly, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah I know, but she wants me to hold them!”

“She’s two! She won’t even know they’re gone.”

“Are you sure?”

“Has she ever noticed how her pockets are always empty when we come back to the park?”

Steve’s eyebrows furrowed in thought. “No…”

“There’s your answer then.”

He took a quick gander at his surroundings, glancing down at Nora to ensure that she was paying no attention to him before flinging the rocks quickly into a nearby pile of leaves.

Eventually, Nora gravitated towards Maisie at the play structure, even going so far as taking a few rides down the swirly slide. Meanwhile, you and Steve took a seat on a bench a little ways away, not too close, but near enough that you could keep an eye on them both. His arm quickly found its way around your shoulders to pull you against him yet again, free hand drawing lazy circles on your knee as the two of you fawned over your cute kids like proud parents.

Around noon, you decided it was time to call it a day, as the girls had been playing for almost two hours, and it was almost time for lunch.

“C’mon, kiddos, it’s time to go home!” You called, waving for the girls to come to you and Steve. Maisie obliged willingly, but one look at Nora and you knew she was about to throw a fit. A deep frown curved her lips, brows pinched, nose scrunched, in a way that almost reminded you of Steve’s upset face when you thought of it. “Honey, I think—”

Steve saw it too, instantly setting at a brisk pace towards the girls. “Yep, I’m on it.”

Neither of you got there fast enough to quell the wail that escaped Nora’s mouth, surprisingly loud for such a tiny person.

Maisie clung to your leg, wrapping her arms around your knee with a wide eyed gaze aimed up at you. “Is she okay?”

“I think she’s just a little upset we have to go home now, baby.” You explained gently, brushing her hair behind her ear. “Remember how you used to get really sad before we left the park?” Maisie nodded knowingly. “Dad’s got her now, so everything should be okay.”

“Nora bug, what’s wrong?” Steve cooed, kneeling down so he was eye level with his teary eyed toddler. “Wanna tell dada what’s got you so upset?”

“Don’t wanna go!” She sniffled, lower lip trembling.

“You don’t wanna go home? That’s okay, baby, I know you’re having fun.” He hummed, gently wiping the tears from her rosy cheeks with the pads of his thumbs. Nora burrowed into Steve’s chest with a whimper, clinging to her dad with as much force as she could muster. “Tell you what, if we leave now, we can come back tomorrow and play some more.”

“All day?”

“All day, bug.” He confirmed, stretching out the first word to entice her even more.

She peered up at him thoughtfully as she pondered his proposition, tracing the buttons on his jacket with her fingers. “Pomise?”

“I promise.” That seemed to meet her standards, because she nodded, attempting to shove her way into his arms to get him to pick her up. As soon as he scooped her up, he pressed a smacking kiss to her forehead and she beamed, previous grievances long since forgotten. “All good? Yeah, you’re happy as a clam now, aren’t ya?” She shimmied around in his arms joyously, snuggling right up against him with a giggle. “Crisis averted!”

“Dad saves the day, yet again,” You chuckled, reaching out to tickle Nora’s hand as Steve made his way over to you and Maisie.

He aimed a wink at you, ruffling Maisie’s hair playfully. “Don’t I always?”

“Daddy’s a hero!” She exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear.

“Yes, he is,” You hummed, accepting the hand that she offered up to you. Steve was a hero, in more ways than one. He was your hero, Maisie’s hero—Hawkins’ hero (even if they didn’t know it). Maisie’s other hand held Steve’s all the way home, skipping between the two of you happily.

-------

You and Steve had the after-park routine down pat, jumping right into it as soon as you got home. Nora’s pockets got emptied out on the porch, you threw all the girls’ dirty park clothes in the washer while Steve took them to the bathroom to get them all showered and clean, and then you usually helped finish up with one while he took care of the other.

Only this time, he’d assured you that he had it handled, dropping a kiss to the top of your head before disappearing down the hall with both girls in his arms.

After a while of not hearing the usual splishing, splashing, and squealing, you made your way to the bedroom to see if Steve needed help, only to catch sight of him sprawled out on top of the covers, Maisie tucked against one side of him and Nora tucked on the other, both of their heads resting on his chest. All three of them were fast asleep, looking like your perfect picture of heaven.

Hurrying over to the dresser, you grabbed the camera that Jonathan had gifted the two of you when Maisie was first born, snapping a quick picture of your husband and his squeaky clean girls for the scrapbook you were planning on giving him for Christmas. You snuck out of the room after that, careful to shut the door gently on the way out so you wouldn’t wake any of them.

You were alone for quite a bit, enough time for you to tidy up around the house before starting on lunch for when the girls inevitably woke up hungry. Soft music played from the radio on the windowsill as you rifled through the fridge for sandwich fixings, gathering everything and setting up camp at the counter to assemble.

The house was strangely quiet without them running around with Steve chasing after them pretending to be King Kong—one of their favorite games to play with their dad. You'd always watch them from afar, smiling to yourself when he eventually nabbed them both in his arms and tossed them onto the couch for tickles, reveling in the good memories they were making, memories that you both hoped they would look back on fondly when they eventually grew older.

Stuck in your own thoughts, you didn’t notice Steve creep into the kitchen until he was right behind you, arms snaking around your waist tightly.

“Whatcha makin’?” He asked softly, chin nuzzling into the crook of your neck like it was second nature—which, at this point, it was.

“Turkey and cheese,” You hummed, stifling a giggle at the feeling of his breath puffing against your neck. “No crusts for the girls.”

“And where are their crusts going?”

“Into your sandwich.”

“I assumed so,” He sighed good-naturedly, defeatedly accepting the scrap of bread you held up to his lips. “A father’s duties are never finished.”

“Poor you.” You snickered. “Girls still asleep?”

“Nora’s still out like a light. Maisie’s drawing in her room. Did you know Nora’s got a mean kick? She kicked the shit outta me in her sleep, we should really put her on a peewee soccer team when she's old enough. Could have a star on our hands.”

“Have I ever told you how much I love you?” You blurted, turning around in his arms. You knew it was an out-of-the-blue question, and that he knew you loved him, but you just wanted to tell him again, on the off chance that he’d forgotten. Steve looked momentarily confused, but pleasantly surprised, smiling so warmly that you’d be fine never seeing sunshine again so long as you had him and that smile.

“Yeah, you do. All the time. I don’t mind hearing it over again though.” He murmured, cheeks flushing a bashful pink under your fingertips.

“You’re an amazing husband and an even better dad,” You continued, hooking your arms around his neck. “And I love you. Like, a lot.”

Steve’s hands splayed across your back, gliding along your skin underneath your sweater delicately as he maneuvered the two of you towards the center of the kitchen, where he had enough room to hug you fully. “Where’s all this high praise coming from?”

“I dunno…I just feel like I don’t tell you enough.”

“Believe me, darling, you tell me plenty enough. In more ways than one, in more places than one.”

“Oh, gross, Steve—”

“Sorry, sorry,” He chuckled, head hanging down to press his nose against the dip of your shoulder. His actions knocked his glasses askew, but he was quick to right them on his face. “I’m the luckiest guy on Earth, I swear.”

You tilted your chin up at him, eyes alight with mirth. “How so?”

“Well, since you’re fishing for compliments, I’ll let you in on it,” He rolled his eyes playfully, squeezing at your hip gently. “I’m lucky that I met you. I’m lucky you decided to give my sorry ass a chance. I’m lucky that neither of us died trying to save the world all those times. And I’m super, doubly—no, quadruply lucky that I get to have this perfect life with you and our perfect girls.”

Boy, did Steve Harrington have a way with his words.

You beamed at him, grinning so wide your cheeks hurt with the effort. “You’re such a sap, Stevie.”

“Can you just humor me for one second? I’m trying to be heartfelt and shit, and here you are laughing at me goddamnit!”

That only brought another laugh out of you, one that you did your best to quell by tightening your arms around his neck. “I’m sorry!” You exclaimed, kissing his nose, his cheeks, his chin, anywhere you could reach, pressing giggled ‘i love you’s to his pretty face. Steve spluttered out halfhearted protests as you littered kisses all over his face, ones that quickly turned into gasps of laughter at your now roaming hands.

“Okay, stop, stop,” He managed to gasp, honey eyes shining bright with tears. “I’m gonna pee myself, babe, stop!”

You stopped, but not before pressing a firm peck to his lips. “I love you.” You repeated, just one more time for good measure.

His response was near immediate, spoken pressed against your cheek like he wanted his words to seep into your skin, into your bloodstream, all through your veins so you’d always have them within you. “I love you too.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that fell from your lips, not aimed at him or ill intended in any way, just a culmination of all the things you were feeling in this very moment, here, with Steve. Why it came out as a laugh of all things, you had no idea, but it triggered a soft chuckle from him, which bubbled into a louder one, until you had to shush him through your own giggles so as to try to not wake Nora.

“You’re perfect, d’you know that? Absolutely freaking perfect.” Steve mumbled once he’d composed himself, eyes shining with the fondest light as he gazed down at you. The kind of light that made you feel golden, like you were his light. “And y’know what they say—perfect wife, perfect life.”

“Isn’t it ‘happy wife, happy life’?”

“That too.”

“Well, consider me the happiest wife.”

“Oh, good! I’m glad.” He kissed you before you could think of something to say, only to pull away seconds later, looking perplexed. “Is there a husband version of that saying?”

“What?”

“Y’know, happy husband, happy…something?”

“Nothing rhymes with husband, Stevie.”

“I’ll come up with one. Maybe even trademark it, then we’ll become filthy rich.” His lips twisted in thought, nose scrunching. “M’kay, husband. Something that rhymes with—” Now it was your turn to shut him up with a kiss, pressing your lips against his in such a way that the words died in his throat.

You didn’t need money or anything of the sort to be happy as long as you had Steve, your girls, and the perfect little life you’d made for yourselves in this not-so-perfect little town.

taglist!

@wittiestrain184 @pastel-abyss-x @liltimmyst @lilygreennn @nia-um @louweasleymalfoy @pinkdaiisies @idli-dosa @glmourtv @sunkissedsteve @alexawhatstheweathertoday @mrstealuregirl @maciiiofficial @scoopsahoykeery @oliviah-25 @eddiesquinnsworld @bubsonnobx @cityofidek

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x fem!reader #dad!steve harrington #dad!steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #dad!steve #steve harrington x y/n #dad!steve harrington x fem!reader #stranger things #stranger things netflix #steve harrington fluff #dad!steve harrington x mom!reader #steve harrington fic #steve harrington imagine #joe keery

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bird-slayer-brainrot · 2 months

Text

Soldier On, Come Down - Chpt. 3. - - Ineffable Husbands WW2 au human!Crowley angel!Aziraphale angst multi-chapter

1941

Angel,

I would like to apologise for not writing sooner. If things went according to plan, which, they rarely do, I shall like to compose a note to you each day. Nothing grim, of course. I would fill pages of sonnets for you on the most mundane things.

For instance, today I was completing a task and I stopped for a moment two miles north of the camp to watch the sun set. My first thought was of how beautiful it was. My second thought was of you. I confess, I think of the night you told me you loved me often, and how the next morning you stirred beside me. I thought how there was no sky to match the beauty of the blue in your eyes in the early morning sun.

I wish you had seen it, angel. It brings me comfort to know you may now be looking at the same sky as me, and in the miles and miles between us, we are still connected underneath the sky.

I hope that you think of me too

Yours,

A.J. Crowley

Angel,

It has been too long since I last heard from you. Longer since I saw you or held you in my arms. Do not believe for a second that the time has made me forget your touch. Or your face. Or your scent. You are as clear in my mind as they day we met. I do not believe I could forget you if I tried.

I will not go into detail about the front, as I have limited time and space to tell you everything I wish to say. And, I do not think you would like it. So instead I should tell you now that I am well, angel.

Please write me. I love you. I ache for you.

A.J. Crowley

Aziraphale,

I am sure by now that you have heard news of what is happening on the front. I made quick to write you this, trading duties with the Staff Sergeant for pen and paper. I hope this letter finds you even if you do not reply. I do not expect anything of you, angel, and I suspect there is a good reason you cannot return my letters. Nonetheless, I write to you because I want to. Because I love you. I love you.

I hope you are well. We hear news of England in pieces. I will not begin to lecture you on your safety because I do not believe you would find it funny, but I do hope you are staying safe. Are safe.

I have hesitated writing this because I did not want to fill you with empty promises. But we have been apart for too long and the weight of not giving you a promise to hold on to weighs to heavy on me. This war will end, sooner or later, and I will come back to you, angel. I will come back to you.

Your Crowley

1939

Angels were. as a rule, quite adept at sensing positive intentions. Crowley had sent Aziraphale a note asking him to meet for dinner at the pub they regularly patronized that evening. When he entered in, slightly out of breath from the walk, he could tell almost immediately that something was off.

Anathema and Crowley were engaged in what seemed to be a heated debate. Aziraphale decided to wait near the bar, hoping he hadn't been spotted yet. But as he sat down, Anathema appeared beside him.

"Hello Aziraphale." she said politely. Aziraphale noticed that her cheeks were flushed.

"Anathema, hello." Aziraphale tried to say cheerfully. Anathema just nodded in response, which was unlike her. Then, she spun on her wall and walked out of the bar.

Crowley was still seated at the table. Aziraphale took a seat hesitantly, not quite sure if he was welcome to. Crowley looked up at him then, tiredly. He didn't say anything, but smiled slightly at Aziraphale. Aziraphale knew Crowley would talk about what happened in his own time, so he didn't say anything.

Short update this week but i've been swamped with uni and getting over a bad cold so i haven't been writing as much. i will likely write another half chapter to post sometimes this week but i'll see. thank you for reading <3 i promise this is going somewhere

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sin-djarin · 6 months

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Becca's Brunch

Happy Sunday and the seasonal treats are in. Cranberry stuff, cinnamon things, pumpkin spiced donuts - I have it all (not really but we're pretending for a hot second, okay?). But there's probably still some Halloween bits leftover if you look hard enough. And coffee or whatever way you consume your caffeine, grab it, sit for a minute and let us enjoy.

Or, what I've gotten round to reading this week to make more room on the TBR shelf.

First, a quick reminder that what I may like, you may not and that's okay! Please heed individual warnings on fics. Leave an author a comment and reblog if you enjoy their work!

Joel Miller:

first light by @5oh5

oct 29 x stormy days by @trulybetty

Javier Pena:

Paranoid Heart by @goodwithcheese (new chapter)

Unworthy by @morallyinept

anytime by @undercoverpena

Dieter Bravo:

Bite Me by @chronically-ghosted

Working Title by @rhoorl (new chapter)

Ezra:

embers by @sp00kymulderr

Max Phillips:

La Mordida by @imalrightllama

Marcus Pike:

Headshots by @secretelephanttattoo

Or, other bits and pieces that made me smile this week.

Analysis of Tim Rockford's eyesight by @gemmahale

little cute things to remember by @undercoverpena

This moodboard but also all the other beautiful ones @wildemaven has been creating.

Or, what I managed to dish up this week.

Fic:

steep is the mountain Tim Rockford x f!reader

"art" (in quotation marks because these were a hurried job)

Bravo Bumper Stickers

Or, what if, by some miracle, we got two characters in the same room?

See below for Joel being totally fucking unimpressed at Marcus's forwardness.

Sleeves? No, not on this menu. You're safe.

Was this some sort of excuse to post a Rockford-esque image? No, and you can't prove anything.

Well. Good news and bad news.

Bad news. I am very tired. Know how I know? I work with a very sweet woman who asked me if I was tired and that was enough. Also, I've been asleep before 11pm many nights this week and still woke up exhausted. (Sorry @for-a-longlongtime for falling asleep mid conversation!) Corporate chaos ensued and my ADHD brain is teetering on burnout and I like to catch it before that actually happens.

Good news! I have a few days off and I'm going on a little surprise staycation. This is technically our first holiday since pre covid times. I'm excited but as a result, the kitchen will be closed for brunch next week. There is stuff in the queue, but I am hoping to stay off my phone/laptop for a while. Now having said that, I do hope to clear up a little space on my tbr shelf because damn, you're all so talented and your words and imaginations bring me so much joy. Please drop a tag if you think there's something I should read, and I'll be around for the rest of the day anyways in case ya need me.

Now, a very apt OST:

Friends, if you've made it this far, je t'adore. I wish you a week of creativity, rest, as much caffeine or caffeine free tea as your heart desires. Drink water, be safe and be careful. Be kind to yourselves and to one another. Be mindful of your energy and what you put it into, especially as the nights get longer this time of year.

I'll see ya on the other side and if I'm not back avenge my death. I'm kidding, don't do this. It's a Simpsons quote. From Homer vs The Eighteenth Amendment. You know the one? You're out there somewhere, beer baron...

Hopefully I return with Frankie's level of competency and Javi G levels of enthusiasm.

Clearly, I need coffee and so...

Thanks for your patience and the smiles that you bring me week after week.

Love, your emo neighbour,

Becca 🤍

Disclaimer: Joel's expression is not an accurate presentation of mine today, I promise I'm quite happy!

#joel miller #javier pena #marcus pike #frankie morales #max phillips #ezra prospect #dieter bravo #joel miller x reader #javier pena x reader #marcus pike x reader #max philips x reader #ezra prospect x you #dieter bravo x reader #fic rec #becca's brunch #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #joel miller fanfiction #Spotify

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j-nipper-95 · 2 months

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WIP Wednesday (because it's still Wednesday somewhere!)

Thank you so much for the tags recently. Even if I've not been responding to them I've been reading what everyone has been working on and it continues to astound me just how wonderfully talented this fandom is. Keep being fabulous, each and every one of you!

Would it really be a WIPsday of mine if I ever posted on time in my timezone?

That's right folks, Trails is back! Edits are happening with the next chapter, which I'm hoping I'll be able to share soon. My team and I are working through edits for chapters about one a week at the moment. I may have to go to bi weekly posting though, as writing has slowed down on the newer chapters. But we shall see. The muses are fickle, and may return to me, one day.

A huge thank you has to go out to my beta team, my friend Zoë (who isn't on tumblr), @artsyunderstudy, @cutestkilla and @iamamythologicalcreature! I couldn't have got this fic back on track without you all!!

But for now, a snippet from the next chapter. Baz POV.

The knife is kicked from my grip and sent flying into the river by a heavy work boot and another crewman drops into the lifeboat. I lurch away, almost back to back with Simon, the crowbar digging into my shoulder. I grope behind me, drawing it from his braces. “Told you it’d come in handy,” Snow smirks. “We’ll have time for ‘told you so’s later.” “Promises,” he purrs. You have no idea, Snow. Crowbar raised over my head, I swing at the newest attacker over the central bench but he deftly steps back out of reach, ducking under my return swing. I cross the bench to keep him on the retreat. He whips his handgun up to shoot but I get a hand around the muzzle and shift his aim. The bullet clangs against the side of the ship and I copy Bunce’s earlier move with the crowbar. I slam it into the man’s wrist and he releases his grip on the gun. My own hand flies open at the impact but I don’t try to fumble for the gun. The splash it makes into the Thames is too faint to make out. Both hands back on the crowbar I swing for the man’s jaw. The crewman ducks and lunges for my waist grabbing me and knocking me off my feet between the benches. I’m forced to drop the crowbar and shove his face back, thumbs searching for his eye sockets, anything to get him off of me. One of his meaty hands pins my wrist to the bottom of the boat, the other finding my throat. “Baz!” Shadows shift as Simon spins, now doubt raising the mattock to attack, but there’s a spray of something warm over me from the other direction. The crewman goes limp in my grip as warm blood trickles down my wrists and beneath my shirt sleeves. Something metal clatters to the floor of the boat as I throw the man’s limp body off of me, and see the wound to the side of his head. Penny’s face is ashen and flecked with the man’s blood. “Penelope Bunce,” I breathe. “Penny, the rope!” Simon’s hand is on my chest gripping my shirt a split second before Penny’s end of the boat drops as the rope snaps. Penny screams and grabs hold of the central bench as Simon helps me sit up. The crewman’s body flops forward and tumbles out of the boat. “Simon,” Penny calls, pointing over our shoulders. I follow her stare and see the rope Simon had been cutting is almost sawn through as well. More crewmen are shouting above us, seemingly deciding not to bother climbing down the ropes anymore and instead just shoot us from the deck. Hammers cock. A call to take aim. Please, not like this. He doesn’t know how much I love him.

(No pressure) tags for Sunday: @artsyunderstudy @aristocratic-otter @bazzybelle @blackberrysummerblog @bookish-bogwitch @cattocavo @chen-chen-chen-again-chen @cosmicalart @cutestkilla @dragoneggos @erzbethluna @ebbpettier @fatalfangirl @frjsti @henreyettah @hushed-chorus @ic3-que3n @ileadacharmedlife @ivelovedhimthroughworse @krisrix @larkral @letraspal @martsonmars @nightimedreamersworld @orange-peony @prettylightsbigcity @palimpsessed @phoxphyre @raenestee @shrekgogurt @skeedelvee @stardustasincocaine @subparselkie @that-disabled-princess @theearlgreymage @wellbelesbian @you-remind-me-of-the-babe

#wip wednesday #snowbaz #the trails we blaze #el dorado au #1920s london

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batmanisagatewaydrug · 9 months

Note

Hail sex witch! I recently went in for my first pap smear/pelvic exam (prior to which I read your blog posts about them which helped more than I can express, thank you!) It was overall comfortable and I would even say a good experience because they answered a lot of questions I had and explained some basic stuff that I really needed spelled out for me. The only thing was that for a few weeks after the appointment I didn't want to touch/look at/think about my vagina whatsoever. It was just this weird feeling of vague but powerful embarrassment, which I would have expected during the appt itself but not after the fact. I didn't even want to catch glimpse of myself when undressed, and was showering with the lights off lol. Even though this didn't last long I also do not want to go back to those doctors and want to start over with a strange doctor, even though the doctor I saw was very good and likeable and helpful and absolutely nothing unpleasant happened during the appt. (I don't plan on changing doctors; I liked these ones! But there's still this unreasonable urge to book my next appointment somewhere else).

I know a big part of your philosophy seems to be that "is this normal" is often not a very useful question, but I guess that's what I'm asking anyway - is this a thing other people experience? Is it just part of the experience of being in a somewhat vulnerable position with strangers, no matter how much you trust said strangers? Or is it some weird quirk of my brain that I'll have to adjust for in the future? It didn't interfere with my life overmuch, but it's still a very strange thing to be so uneasy with your own body and have no idea why.

hi anon,

so, okay, I'm going to tell a short story, and it's not going to seem related initially, but I promise it is.

I really like getting tattoos. I have several of them now, and I like getting them! not just the final result of having meaningful art on my body; I like the actual process of feeling the needle vibrating into my skin and permanently changing me in a manner of my choosing. it feels good exciting; it gives me a little rush of dopamine even as the pain starts to kick in and in spite of any blood that oozes through. that's fine with me, because those are side effects of new tattoos that I know about and consent to by showing up in the shop, but here's the thing:

my body doesn't know the difference between "somebody cut our skin open and we're bleeding (consensual)" and "somebody cut us open and we're bleeding (holy shit go into crisis)." after my last tattoo, I was walking home (I live like ten minutes from the shop, it's fine) and although I was delighted, I realized I was also lightheaded and cold, and upon getting home was fucking exhausted because my body was, you know, panicking in the way that bodies do when they've been injured. on one level I understand that this is something I explicitly sought out, asked for, and paid for the privilege; on another level, my body thinks a trauma happened.

so, let's talk about what's happening with you.

on one level, your exam was an appointment that you made, presumably, voluntarily, knowing full well that it might be uncomfortable and awkward but undergoing it willingly because you know that preventative care is important. even know telling me about it, you recognize that this was an objectively good and even comfortable experience and that you received good care from doctors that you like who answered your questions and gave you helpful information!

but on another level, what your body knows and is responding to is that you were in a new situation in which your body was subjected to examination and penetration that you're not accustomed to, in a way that may have caused aches and pains you've never experienced before. pretty understandably, your body is under the impression that something traumatic has occurred.

the reactions you're describing - feeling alienated from your vagina, not wanting to see your own body - are often described by people who have survived sexual assault; it's a coping mechanism to distance yourself from the site of your pain. likewise, wanting to avoid going back to the physical place where the discomfort occurred is understandable - it's not rational, but who cares? feelings rarely are; you still have to deal with them anyway. it's completely understandable why you would subconsciously want to avoid going back.

it is very important to me to say this: it's absolutely fine that you are reacting this way. you're not being unreasonable or immature or overreacting or anything else; this is not your fault and you have nothing to blame yourself for or to apologize for. we're going to feel these feelings and be observant and respectful, and feel them without shame rather than try to bottle them up and ignore them. give yourself the space to feel discomfort and be kind to yourself while you work through it.

you've said that this has largely passed, save for the urge to book your next appointment elsewhere. I'm glad this isn't an ongoing source of daily unpleasantness, but it is very much something to be aware of for the future. some people, for various reasons, need to plan for some extra-strength gentleness and self-care around their pelvic exams and pap smears, and if you're one of those people then that's fine! and very good to know!

it's useful information to have for the future, and I hope that next time you're due for such an appointment you can a.) arrange to do whatever makes you feel most cared for afterwards (for some people it's netflix and a bubble bath, for others it's rock climbing, chase your bliss) and b.) stay in touch with the healthcare providers who gave you such excellent service this time. as intimidating as it can be to bring up concerns, it sounds like you were lucky enough to have a lovely bunch, and it sounds like asking them for any extra accommodations you may need to help put you at ease and keep the procedure as quick and painless as possible will be received well.

those accommodations can also look like a lot of different things. the first time I got a pap smear I prefaced the exam by letting my gyno know that it was my first time, penetration isn't pleasant for me, and that I'd likely swear a lot throughout; she was an angel about it. at my most recent exam I was having a rough time and asked for a break, which my (very cute, very gay, god what a weird way to meet a woman) gyno was happy to provide; she removed the speculum and I did some centering breathing until I felt good to finish up.

so, to answer your questions a little more neatly: yes, this is a thing other people experience for a variety of reasons, especially when their body thinks it's been hurt - which, in a way, you were, because your body is very good at being a body but not always great at nuance.

I think it's a little of column a, little of column b, in regards to your second question. maybe there is a part of your brain that will never feel fully at ease with this kind of vulnerability, but you can certainly help it feel safe and cared for as much as possible. I hope that having a little insight into why can help you do that.

#sex edventures 2023

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writing-good-vibes · 2 months

Note

Hiii, so, for the Valentine's Day drabbles! Could you pretty please write the number 8 (Teddy Bear) from the fluffy prompts with Corey x Reader? That would be amazing! And it can be whatever you come up with, I'll be happy either way. Thank you so much for doing this and take all the time you need; even if it's past V-Day! You always come first, please remember that. Take care! <3 <3 <3

ahhh thank you for requesting !! 🥰 and for being sooo sweet, i really appreciate it !! happy valentine's day 💗 i hope you enjoy reading, because i really, really enjoyed writing this one !! no WARNINGS, only post accident!corey x gn!reader and fluff 💗

🧸 very cute divider by @/plutism 🧸

taglist: @slutforstabbings @ethanhoewke @voxmortuus (just let me know if you want to be added or removed !!)

Three whole years. That's how long you and Corey had been together. Three years but every time he held your hand in his you felt those sparks , every hug made you melt into the soft, safe, serene embrace of his big arms, and every kiss, tender and tentative, felt just like the first.

You remembered the first Valentine's day you and Corey had spent together. In the weeks leading up to it, you'd catch Corey looking at the Valentine's display; candy in heart-shaped boxes, bouquets of somehow permanently wilting roses, teddy bears with plush hearts clutched in their paws proclaiming I love you!

He'd blush if he caught you watching him, and would hurry up to the counter to let you ring up his pre-dinner snacks. He was cute. Opening the M&M's, he offers the bag to you, pouring you a handful to eat while you waited for your shift to end.

When the day finally arrived, you exchanged cards, half excited and half embarrassed. You went on break and sat outside on the curb with Corey, fingers intertwined and sharing one of the novelty heart-shaped lollipops you'd pilfered from the display. Smiling, you licked over the same spot Corey just had.

The next year, Corey had to work in the morning but clocked out at lunch, and you caught the Valentine's matinee at the movies.

He still smelt vaguely of car grease, you can see the spots of it that will never fully wash out of his henley, but when he holds your hand his fingers are scrubbed spotlessly pink.

It was quiet in the theatre, exactly what you expected for a weekday afternoon and perfect for Corey who hating being perceived in public, and the two of you sat at the back of the theatre sharing a bucket of popcorn and a bag of Hershey's Kisses as the dust motes, caught in the light of the projector, float around you.

Watching Corey is just as good as watching any movie. You can see the way his eyes track the movement of screen, that way you can tell exactly when he'll reach for more popcorn, and how he bites his lip in concentration.

Joy paints your cheeks as your lips meet Corey's in the dim darkness.

This year though, even though you were expecting another beautifully laidback date, Corey told you that he'd begged his step-dad to let him have the whole day off work this year, without telling his Momma, and that he had made plans for you guys.

Plans?

"We don't have to do anything big," you assured him, ringing up today's selection of treats; chocolate milk, a slim jim and some skittles. "I just like spending time with you."

"I know," he promised. "All I ever want is to spend time with you, but I want to treat you too." He rips open the skittles and pours some out into your hand.

On Valentine's morning, you open your door and find yourself face to face with the fluffiest brown fur. Corey stands with a teddy bear in his hands, and in the teddy's hands a velvety red heart proclaims, "I love you!"

You didn't recognise it as one you sold at the gas station, although it was similar. Had he gone somewhere else to buy it for you? The thought gets to you more than you might expect, thinking about Corey wandering the aisles of the Walmart, or the Dollar General, or even venturing to the mall in the next town over. Corey hated going anywhere.

"Happy Valentine's Day!" Corey says, handing you the teddy.

"Oh, Corey! He's so cute! Happy Valentine's Day," you pull him into a hug before you can even take the bear from him.

Corey throws one strong arm around you, you can feel his broad hand half-cover the expanse of your back through your shirt. Warm and safe.

When you part, you look down at the teddy again. Holding it beneath its armpits, you bring it to your face, nuzzling the chestnut-brown fur of its face. "Does he have a name?" you ask.

"He's for you, I think you're supposed to pick his name." Corey hasn't stopped blushing, even when you take his big hand in yours and lead him into your apartment. He settles on your couch, ready to wait while you finish getting ready.

"Hmm," you consider your options. The bear looks straight out of a story book with wide glass eyes and a felt snout, his fur really is chestnut-brown and swirls into little rosebud curls. "His name is Corey."

Boy-Corey's eyes are as wide and bright as Bear-Corey's when you look at him. "Are you sure? You don't have to --."

Corey's arms circle your waist when you sit in his lap, his legs spreading just slightly to cradle your weight, "You're the only person I want to cuddle, now I have something almost as cuddly as the real thing for when you're not here." Bear-Corey is nestled between the two of you, as if to prove your point.

One corner of Corey's lips quirk upwards, then the other, as a grin splits his face. Pleased, proud, he squeezes you tight, hiding his smile against your chest. You indulge him, petting at his hair and over his broad shoulders while he breaths you in, humming happily.

God, how badly you want to hold Corey like this forever, where you know he's safe, and loved, and you don't have to think about anything but the pinkness of his cheeks and the softness of his lips.

"So," you finally say, softly, reluctant to disturb this most perfect moment, but mindful of Corey having mentioned plans. "What romance awaits us for the rest of the day?"

on the topic of fluffy romance, you should also read:

first of many by blake (@/slutforstabbings). a little bit angsty, but watch corey and reader be obliviously in love.

amusement park date by toxic (@/toxicanonymity). toxic is a woman of many talents; she can write fluff just as well as she writes smut.

#corey cunningham x reader #💗💌 corey's love letters 💌💗#did i use this as an excuse to write the fluffiest sweetest lovecore relationship possible ?? yes i did.#holding hands supremacy. giggly romance. sharing candy and afternoon movies #but also cuteness aggression 😳#i hope you enjoyed reading !! 💗💗💗💗

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ratherembarrassing · 7 months

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a weird thing, this evening. a nice thing, but weird. it sounds kinda made up.

everyone probably has a random collection of retail and food service folks who they saw more than they saw their own family during lockdowns. coffee people, bakery people, and if you're me your local chicken shop people. i love these folks, they were often the only people i spoke to some days.

my chicken dude moved here with his family from china. he knows i'm a lawyer because he asked what the hell i do when i came in one night dressed in a suit, after i'd only ever been in there in jeans and a hoodie for a solid two years.

so i was in the chicken shop tonight, and he asked me about the voice to parliament. which honestly sounds like a made up story to make a post like this. i keep hearing that people are making up their mind from the conversations they're having, but that genuinely sounds like it's made up to hang an anecdote from. i was flabbergasted to find myself in this conversation at all.

he had a really specific line of questions, some of which i didn't have a concrete answer for, but we did chat about it for a bit until another customer came in. i don't think i swayed him one way or another, but i promised to come back with answers next week. i'm oddly touched i was in his mind as a person he could take his questions to.

i never had any intention of making a post like this, but maybe these anecdotes really are actually conversations that are happening and maybe some of you are looking for somewhere to take a question. so if anyone has any questions about the voice, and are looking for somewhere to take them, i can't say i'll have an answer off the top of my head, but i can go and find them and turn them into something people can understand.

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star-spacer · 8 months

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A Promise Made, a Person Met

I meant to make this as part of natsumeweek but life just gets in the way so I have a backlog of one of two natsuyuu and mushishi fics I'll post them slowly lol

Natsume x reader (can be read as platonic or romantic)

Coming back with plans to fulfill your promises, you end up meeting someone new.

[Image ID: A long horizontal screenshot of green countryside. In the distance there are green mountains and trees.]

You had never seen a person shine as brightly as he did before.

Backlight against the backdrop of the school window the sun only served to enhance the glowing power he held within his core. It took you off-guard and you stared embarrassingly long at the willowy boy before giggling and his uncomfortable shifting snapped you out of it. You quickly introduced yourself and sought your assigned seat, somewhere in front of the boy and plopping down on it and hunching down. The awkward conundrum of being a teenager hit like a truck and you wanted to cover your face in embarrassment. Trust you to make a fool out of yourself on your first day at the new school.

“All right, everyone, settle down,” the teacher called. “You have more important things to worry about. Like this week’s upcoming test.”

There was a resounding groan but every student dutifully got out their work. Amidst the rustling of papers and folders, you overheard one of the boys behind you speak up.

“Wow,” he declared. “I never thought I’d see the day when our very own Natsume Takashi would get an admirer!”

You sunk down deeper into your seat, but one thing out of all that caught your attention.

Natsume Takashi.

You wouldn’t forget that name. After all, he shone like the sun itself.

The first time you two met outside of school, it was when you were running errands for your parents. A bright, cheerful day, sunlight falling down onto your skin to warm it as you stepped out of the house. Your parents wanted you to run to the store, to grab ingredients for treats to repay the kind couple next door. They had brought loads of food for your family the first week you settled there, and now, your parents wanted to repay the favor.

Just as you were shoving on your shoes to avoid your brother’s requests to pick up extra snacks, the sounds of chattering approached. Looking up made you squint your eyes at the golden-warm glow, realizing it was Natsume and a black-haired boy walking past the half-wall of your house. The two of you locked eyes and simultaneously froze like deer in the headlights. For a moment, the world, gleamed vibrantly, as if this boy’s arrival had made the world become better.

Natsume’s friend didn’t realize anything until he was a good few steps away, stopping and glancing back at Natsume and then following his line of sight to you.

“Natsume?” He asked, hesitantly. “Are you okay?”

His words broke the spell that held the both of you and heat spread across your face.

“Hi, Natsume!” You said almost too loudly. “I didn’t expect you here.”

“Me either,” the boy returned. He jerked an awkward thumb at the one next to him. “This is Tanuma Kaname, Tanuma, this is my new classmate.”

Tanuma had an aura around him, not the glowing power like Natsume, but enough to be noticeable. This time, you didn’t get caught up in staring as you introduced yourself, still standing stiff-legged in front of your door.

“Ah,” There was something that shifted in Tanuma’s eyes, but his expression didn’t betray anything. “Nice to meet you.”

The door opened behind you as your brother stuck his head out. “Oi, I know you’re trying to dodge me brat–”

He shut his mouth with a clack as he saw the other boys out on the street, all the more awkward as his scrutiny fell on them. Before he could say anything, you threw out a hand. “You know what I’ll grab your snacks! Just gimme the money and the list.”

“Nice.” Everything was shoved into your fist in the blink of an eye, but your brother didn’t hesitate in getting in the last word by scrubbing the top of your head with a palm, messing up the hair there. He didn’t let you spit back an insult as he slammed the door shut.

You then remembered that there were also two others standing there, turning to them with wooden limbs and an awkward smile as you started to shuffle down the path of your house to them. Once you were finally past the wall of your house, you pointed behind you. “I’m gonna go to the market.”

With those words, you turned around and sped walked away. When you glanced back, you saw them entering the house right next to yours.

The market–it turned out–was actually the other way, but you couldn’t bear facing them any longer. Though you did quite regret it later when you nearly tumbled over the bridge after being startled by a Yokai resembling a rolling mass of weeds.

***

Exhausting.

Human interaction was exhausting.

But climbing these steps in the middle of nearly summer sun? Also exhausting.

After the debacle outside of your house, your parents almost forced you to deliver the treats to the neighbors (which, by some very unfunny irony, ended up being Natsume’s guardians! Ha! What are the chances!) but your brother took mercy on you and bailed you out of the situation. That was why you were out here, climbing the seemingly unending steps to get to the shrine you remembered being there.

Long ago, when you were younger and your abilities were just flourishing, you made a promise to a spirit. The naive child that you were, with a heart too big for the world, promised to come back and free him from his shrine where he had been imprisoned. You didn’t get the chance to work on it, as you had to move away due to one issue or another. It allowed you to come in contact with so many other spirits and Yokais, a slew of experiences and promises exchanged that matured you into the person you were today.

Still, you never forgot the first promise you ever made.

His name was Madara.

He talked to you when you were a young, crying child, often seeking shelter in the clearing around his little shrine. His presence, although imprisoned, had warded off the spirits who followed you. He was arrogant and rude but still let you stay until the worst of the spirits were gone. Through many conversations and many visits, your young mind had latched onto his tales of glory, and when you had to leave this place, you had made a promise with him.

You told him that you would come back to free him, break the wards that had been too strong at that time. It had taken life much longer to return you here, but now there you were, various Yokai-given items in your bags in the hopes that they might break the seals. But as you reached the location where you remembered his imprisonment to be, you were met with a surprise. You froze as you laid your eyes on the sight in front of you, jaw dropping in dismay.

What once was a rope barrier strung up with zig-zagging shide papers was severed into two. More importantly, the small wooden shrine that was once there was nothing more than splinters of rotting wood on the ground and bits of porcelain.

“Ohhhhh my god,” you muttered, dropping the bag and sitting down on the grass. “It broke?? He got out??”

You muttered incoherently, flopping back on your back against the springy grass. All this workout for nothing, hauling a heavy bag up steep stairs. Though a big part of you wondered just who broke the seal. It was powerful enough to keep someone like Madara within the small area, so it must have been someone truly powerful to break it.

Your mind flashed back to Natsume, warm and glowing, but quickly brushed it away as you fully laid back to simply accept your fate.

Almost like a figment of your vivid imagination coming to life, you heard the pounding of feet on stone and the sound of Natsume’s voice.

“S-Sensei, wait up!”

You screamed as a doughy mass popped into your face, assaulting your vision with blurs of orange, white, and black fur. Reflexes brought your hands up to pull the thing away from your face.

“Finally! After years! You finally showed up!” A nasally voice came from the creature as you pulled it off. In your hands was what seemed to be an immensely round feline–wait.

You glanced at the cat.

You glanced at the remnants of the shrine, fragments of porcelain there. If you looked closely, you could see faded paint on it. An eye here, a whisker there.

You glanced at Natsume, connecting the dots and startling to your feet in a move that made the boy flinch and the cat in your arms meow in displeasure.

“You freed him?!?!”

“He did not!” Madara squawked angrily in your hold, wiggling back and forth. “The foolish boy tripped and ripped through my barriers. I took care of freeing myself thank you very much!”

Natsume rapidly switched his attention between you and Madara. “D-Do you know each other??? Nyanko-sensei is this why you were so insistent on coming here???”

Nyanko-sensei? Was that the name that he was called now?

You fought to reign in your hysterical laughter as the spirit bucked himself indignantly out of your grip. Kicking you in the chest with surprising force for such a blobby form.

“I can’t believe it! Wow! You actually freed him!”

Seeing the boy slowly backing away like he was about to bolt, the cat meowed, “Natsume, this is the brat I was waiting on! The one I said made a promise to free me.”

Seeing the boy’s confused expression, you reigned in your emotions and filled in the blanks. “When I was younger, I sought out this place as shelter. His aura and the seals were strong enough to ward off the Yokais that followed me. As thanks, I told him that I would free him when I got stronger. But I didn’t think you’d come to free him before me!”

The flighty look on his face was replaced by a tentative hoe, so achingly raw on his open face. “So it’s you… You can see them too, then…”

You nodded, taking a seat on the grass and indicating for him to do the same. Nyanko-sensei didn’t hesitate in jumping into your lap. Your stomach rumbled, and you dragged your backpack closer to rummage through it for the food you packed. “Among other things. My sight has always been abe to detect… more. I can see spirits and any distinct auras in humans that indicate their powers.”

He seemed fascinated by your words, barely noticing the sandwich that you decided to discreetly shove into his hands. “What do you mean?”

“You have an incredible amount of power, Natsume,” Nyanko replied for you. “This one was probably drooling over you the first time you two met.”

His crass words made you flail, dislodging the cat. “N-No it’s not like that! I’ve just–It’s just that you shine so brightly that I couldn’t help noticing you!”

Recognition flashed in his eyes as he let out a breathless, disbelieving laugh, leaning back to prop up on his arms. He was still holding the sandwich. “Was that why you froze in front of the class?”

Being reminded of the incident made you groan, unwrapping your food to take a big bite out of it. “Don’t remind me about it… That was so embarrassing.”

He smiled at you, a soft, gentle thing. “No. It makes sense now…” His pondering turned into confusion when he finally registered the item in his hand. “Huh..?”

You looked away, pointedly taking another bite of yours. “I brought it along just in case. I always pack extra food for anybody who might want it. It’s… about time for lunch anyways.”

“Yeah! Yeah!” Madara yapped, beginning to root for the paper-wrapped food. “Natsume if you don’t want it, I’ll take it!”

The boy leaned away, sticking his sandwich up into the air out of the Yokai’s reach. “No way, Sensei! You ate almost half of my breakfast this morning I’m not giving you this.”

“Madara can have half you mine,” you said, splitting your sandwich into two. You paused, upon their silence, glancing between them. “Yokais aren’t allergic to anything right?”

“Uh-Uh, no… I didn’t expect you to call him Madara. I call him Nyanko-Sensei”

“Hmph, it’s because this one has marginally more respect for truly power beings,” Madara harrumphed as he waddled closer to you. He settled down on the grass in front of you, expectantly waiting for the food so you put it down in front of him, on top of a piece of paper.

The feline wasted no time tearing into it, so for the next few minutes, the warm air was filled with the sounds of you three eating and the noise of distant wildlife.

“I’m… glad. To see another person who can see them,” Natsume murmured quietly, tossing a bit of his sandwich to Madara despite his rejection earlier.

“Yeah…I’ve never met another person who had abilities like mine. I’m glad you’re the first.”

So in that little clearing, you allowed yourself to bask in the warmth of both the sun above you and its incarnate in the boy next to you. From the way you saw him interact with Madara, he has nothing but kind intentions. He talked and dealt with the spirit with an ease that you had. It allowed you to relax, eyes drooping in a haze of sleepiness. Though this was the first promise you didn’t fulfill for a Yokai, you didn’t mind. Based on Madara’s content purring, ti didn’t seem like he did either.

Natsume Takashi was so incredibly warm. Radiant and glowing and suffusing the air environment with an air that was so distinctly him. Even with the short time you’ve known him, you couldn’t ask for a better person to have freed Madara. You hoped he wouldn’t mind you becoming a part of his life.

You let out a content sigh.

It was a beautiful sunny day.

#masterlist #natsuyuu posting #natsume week #natsume yuujinchou x reader #x reader #reader insert #fanfic #gender neutral reader #fanfiction #natsume yuujinchou oneshot #natsume's book of friends oneshot #natsume's book of friends x reader #reader is an awkward gangly teen LMAO

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pumpkinspice-prouvaire · 1 year

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i only just got into les mis but the fandom is so intimidating skjdgj qwq any tips

hi!!!! welcome to the fandom!!! Don't be intimidated I promise we're all really nice!!!

I think my top tip would be if you're consuming content by creators in the fandom, interact with it, whether that's through comments on ao3 or reblogging art on tumblr and leaving lots of screaming in the tags or anything else. As a fic writer I remember the names of my regular commenters, and when I see them on my dash my immediate reaction is :D friend! :D And if you're a content creator yourself, post your stuff and tag it! I can't speak for artists and other content creators, but in terms of fics kudos and comments can sometimes be slow to come (especially if you're not writing ExR) but the right people will find it and love it!

Also from personal experience I've found those reblog ask games really effective for making friends, if you reblog and send the person you reblogged from an ask, a lot of the time they'll send one back. Yay, communication!!!

The fandom is sort of split into canon content and modern au/fanon content. Everyone has a preference, and you'll find that group of blogs you enjoy the most soon, but if you are chill, you can enjoy both. This goes without saying, and I hope I'm not being condescending, but if you disagree with an opinion/post/ship/person, you are under no obligation to interact with it. Block the tag and or blog and move on, PLEASE be chill.

You've also joined at a good time, because we're part way through Les Mis Letters! We're a good bit through Volume II by now, but if you've read the book previously orrrr can just Sparknotes Volume I (or be completely unhinged and do a mega catchup over the next few days- let me know if you achieve this and I'll make you a cake), you can totally join and post commentary/meta/jokes anything else! The blog is @lesmisletters , I believe there's also a Discord server

One that note, there's plenty of Discord servers if that's your thing! I can name a couple off the top of my head (Hoes for Enjolras, Lame Mis, Discorinthe) but don't have links, I know there's a post out there somewhere I will try to find it when I have time!

You've also joined at a good time because there's plenty of fandom events coming up soon! It's too late to sign up, but the ExR Big Bang is in a few weeks, Barricade Day aka the biggest Les Mis event of the year is 5th-6th June, Drink with Me aka the platonic Les Mis exchange normally happens in August time (Although I'm not positive if it's happening this year yet), and I believe Logic and Philosophy week aka Enjolras and Combeferre week is in September time? There's probably more that I'm missing out but those are the one I know are happening soon!

I think all that's left now are some blog recs 😌😌😌

@/pilferingapples @/alicedrawslesmis @/thecandlesticksfromles mis @/shitpostingfromthebarricade @/hfullofblagden @permit-it @/unicorngunter @/weisbrot @/thelawsofdaylight @/butts-of-the-barricade @/fuckyeahlesmiserables @/guide-ferre @/secretmellowblog @/barricade-blondes @/aromantic-enjolras @/p-trichor @/wild-oats-and-cornflowers @/everyonewasabird @/juliensorelisoverparty @/see-you-on-the-barricade @/probably-enjolras @/jesuisserieux @/cx-shhh @/ueinra @/kjack89 @/shamedumpster @/dolphin1812

I'm definitely missing some great blogs there but at least you have a starting point lmao I hope you enjoy!!!

#answered #long post

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noodyl-blasstal · 11 months

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Aftermath - Blupjeans Week day 7

“I think I’ll maybe do it after the bone church?”

“How romantic.” Said Taako, wryly. “Here’s a load of dead people whose bones they dug up and made a chandelier of, also, I’ve been in love with you for a bajillion years, wanna grab coffee?”

“I wasn’t going to say the last bit.” Barry huffed. It was already mortifying that he had to talk about this with Lup’s brother. Maybe he should have told Magnus instead, but Barry wasn’t convinced he could be counted on not to wave them off by shouting ‘good luck telling Lup how you feel about her’ or something equally mortifying. Taako, at least, was air tight.

“You aren’t going to tell her you love her?” Taako narrowed his eyes. “Barry, Barold, you are my best friend in the world and I will murder you to death if you do not do this. You have been promising for months. Months! I cannot live like this. It’s homophobic.”

“I’m your best friend?” Barry laid his hand to his chest. “Taako, I..”

“Shut up.” Taako hissed. “If you don’t tell her then I will.”

Barry tried not to laugh at the deflection. Torturing Taako when he accidentally confessed that he had feelings was one of Barry’s favourite sports. It was a toothless threat too, if Taako was going to tell Lup then he would have done it already. He clocked how Barry felt almost as quickly as Barry did. “I’m going to tell her. I’m not going to ask her out for coffee after. Probably.”

“Fine. Fine! But you’d better tell her. Or else!” Taako mimed a series of tiny punches.

“No, please, Taako! Mercy! Mercy!!!”

– The conference was in a castle. It was hard to pretend that wasn’t at least 60% of the reason they were there, but their research was good too. The post-doc hunt had, thankfully, provided them both jobs. In the same University, of course, because it was unfathomable that they wouldn’t be together. The fact they would apply for jobs together and continue to live together wasn’t even discussed, it was just how it was going to be. The photo strings moved again, Barry’s book shelves stood in a slightly different configuration, and their coffee machine only fitted under one of the cupboards in the kitchen. They took their home apart at the seams and lovingly sewed it back together somewhere new.

It was inevitable that they’d end up researching together. They knew each others’ work inside out anyway, and one late night conversation about being able to sap energy from a storm cloud to heal someone led to a frantic few weekends in an empty evocation lab, which produced the paper that had taken them here. The applause faded and the moderator stood to ask for questions.

“It’s more of a comment than a question.” Said the dapper elf who had lazily raised his hand and immediately commanded attention. Of course that would be their first response. No one would want to drag things on after this. It was Barry’s least favourite phrase, but he tried not to roll his eyes and nodded politely instead. He felt Lup bristle beside him. “In my own research…” Barry fought not to tune him out. Maybe it would be relevant? Maybe the comment would even be helpful? “...instead of hiring an evocation specialist, which, even though I’m sure yours wasn’t too costly…” he gave Lup a once over which made Barry want to bite him. “...is still an unnecessary cost. You can just use volunteers. They have plenty of power for the taki…using. Voluntarily offered, of course.” He smiled a violently calm smile. There were murmurs around the room.

“What my colleague means to say…” Said the female elf next to him, Barry assumed his twin because they certainly looked the same, but people with these ethics might be experimenting with cloning for all Barry knew. “... is that our subjects are all there voluntarily and know exactly what they are taking part in.” Barry would like to see the ethics board they’d run that one by.

“...They volunteer to heal others?” Lup asked.

The pair shared an uneasy look. “We didn’t say our experiments were exactly the same, anyway, I’m sure lots more people have questions about your little project.” The female elf made a dismissive hand gesture.

“Which University are you from?” Lup continued before the moderator could take another question. “It would be wonderful to keep in touch as we obviously have similar research interests.”

The female elf’s mouth closed into a tight line and she glared, but her colleague… brother? Both? Answered before she could shush him “Felicity Wilde. It’s private.” He said smugly.

“Uh huh.” Answered Lup. Scribbling a note. “Great, and you are?”

“Edward and Lydia Vo-Gue. Remember it, you’ll see our publications soon enough.” Lydia elbowed him hard in the side.

“Cool, thanks.” Lup finished scribbling. “Anyone else actually have a question about this sweet sweet research?”

They did.

– “Are you actually going to contact them about their research?” Barry asked once they’d escaped from the conference dinner. The food was all strangely combined in the trying to be fancy but not actually fancy way and their table had been full of people who only wanted to talk about nothing but themselves. They fled as soon as the dancing started.

“Fuck no. I already emailed the Neverwinter ethics board. I imagine they’ll be shut down by the time they get home.”

– The bone church was their reward for surviving the schmoozing. The university had to pay for them to get to Goldcliff and back anyway, and the conference just so happened to finish on a Friday and it wasn’t any more expensive to travel back on a Sunday. They had meticulously planned the weekend and the ossuary was their first stop. They had a full morning to explore and they were going to use it. It was also where Barry was going to tell Lup how he felt. Definitely. It wasn’t going to be weird. It was going to be fine. Even if she didn’t feel the same it wouldn’t ruin everything, she already knew and she wasn’t angry. She wanted him to have as much time as he needed, but Barry was growing more sick of waiting and less worried about change with every passing day.

They stood together in front of the church, it looked completely ordinary from the outside, all weather-worn stone and too-modern-roof. “Ready?” He asked Lup?

She casually took his hand. “Cha’girl was born ready for this. Let’s go get our spook on!”

It was beautiful, macabre, but no one could deny the artistry, the dedication to shape and place as the old graves had to be emptied to make way for new corpses. There was an undeniable tenderness in the refusal to throw away the bones, the time spent cleaning and creating instead of destroying and forgetting. Their guide was taken aback by their endless questions, but was able to answer them. Lup and Barry absorbed as much as they could from them, and were eventually let loose while their guide tended to another tour.

“Is it okay if we check out the chandelier again before we go?” Lup asked. “I want to look at how they were connected again.”

“Sure.” Barry replied, his mouth dry. This was the place, and he was nearly out of time. Not that it mattered, but Lup would like it if it was here.

“Babe, you know your cool bird skulls?”

“Uh huh.”

“Think we could make them into cool miniature candle holders like those ones?” Lup pointed to the chandelier.

“I think we probably could.” Barry nodded. A skull and a candle should be easy enough to cobble together into something her spooky heart desired.

“I’m not sure we should try and create the full chandelier.”

“No, I think Taako would probably refuse to come over ever again if we had bones hanging from the ceiling. Kravitz too, for that matter. You know how he is about the sanctity of death.”

Lup rolled her eyes. “Fine. We won’t make a cool spooky chandelier that we’d both love. We’ll just decide not to do a fun group project because of Taako getting all the squeamish genes and picking the least cool kind of Death-y boyfriend. That seems right and fair.”

“I’m in love with you.” Said Barry softly. It wasn’t what he meant to say, there was a speech, he’d written it down. Maybe he could show her later, then she’d know he’d tried. “Just so you know.” He added. “Although, I think you did already.”

Lup smiled and placed her head on his shoulder. “I’m in love with you too, Bear. Just so you know…”

Barry didn’t know what to say. Sure, he’d realised this was a likely possibility. It wasn��t like Lup had pulled back since she’d overheard the conversation, if anything, they were closer than ever. But to hear it. To know, wholly and fully? That was magic.

“Anyway, wanna grab some coffee?” Lup always knew the right thing to say.

#blupjeansweek2023 #Blupjeans #Noodyl Writes #Barry Bluejeans #Lup #Lup Tacco #TAZ Spoilers #TAZ Fic

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faofinn · 7 months

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No.6 "Do or die, you'll never make me, because the world will never take my heart."

@whumptober-archive

Recording | Made To Watch | "It should have been me."

A follow up to something we've not posted, around the anniversary of Fao's accident (as well as Hars' and the death of Marcus) Hars falls back into drinking and using his painkillers a little too much...

Harrison hadn't long been discharged after his relapse and poor oramorph dosing. Tai had begged him to stay at his place, promised him rides to and from his place whenever, but he needed him to stay. He'd had a small withdrawal in the scheme of things, and he was slightly grateful it had been so mild. Of course, it still took it all out of him, and with the next lot of anniversaries coming up, he didn’t have anything left.

In the end, he'd given in to Tai. It was the best option he'd been given; Steve would be at work most of the day, as would Fao, and he'd spent too many breakdowns at the Daniels to spend another. Tai hadn't run during his breakdown in hospital, and, as stupid as he knew it was, he almost felt like they'd become stronger together. Besides, he liked Tai's company, his boyfriend managing to make him laugh even when he was at the bottom.

Tai had had holidays to take regardless, so happily took those to stay off with Harrison. They'd chatted more when they were in hospital about everything, though he could tell that Harrison had censored most of it. So, of course, Tai had planned the week out - duvet days and favourite films, takeouts instead of cooking, just lazy days together. Harrison hadn't been allowed to see the full plan, but the fact Tai had even just taken the time off work meant the world to him. Emergency meds had been prescribed, just in case, and Tai kept them safe. They'd picked up everything they needed from Harrison’s, but Tai had also bought soft pjs and snugly socks for him too.

All of Tai’s little touches almost overwhelmed him; nobody had gone so far, done so much like this for him. They settled on the sofa together, Tai wrapped around Harrison and a daft film playing in the background. Food was ordered and eaten, and Harrison was, surprisingly to him, feeling a bit better when he finally drifted off.

Tai was so, so glad to have Harrison at his. It had been a whirlwind of emotions, hard to fully understand, but he knew that his boyfriend was safe and on the road to recovery, and that was what mattered. There were still things left unsaid, but there would be time for that. When they fell asleep in bed that night, Tai held him close, running a hand through his hair and promising him under his breath that he was always going to be there for him. He waited until he was sure Harrison was asleep before he finally let himself drift, warm and comfortable.

Harrison had expected a night of no sleep, just tossing and turning, but with tai by his side, somehow he didn't. It was the sun that woke him, the room starting to get bright. While his first thought was Marcus, that it should have been him with him, it was Tai as he curled up again, Tai he wanted.

Tai woke when Harrison did, humming softly. “Hey, good morning.” He greeted softly.

He pressed closer, skin against skin, just breathing in his scent. His attempt at a greeting was half-hearted, somewhere between a hum and grunt.

“Sleep okay?” He asked. “I figured we could stay in bed for a while.”

Harrison nodded against his chest, reaching his hand out to trail his fingers across Tai's bare skin. "I don't want to move."

“Let’s not, then.”

"I need to go out."

“Oh?”

"I'll just go myself, though. It's fine."

“No, it’s okay. I’ll drive you. When do you need to go?”

"You don't know the way."

“I’m sure you can direct me.”

He closed his eyes with a sigh, defeated. "Okay."

“Are you wanting to go now? Or stay in bed for a bit first?”

He wasn't sure he could manage it right that moment. "Later."

“Later.” Tai agreed. “Don’t know about you, but I’m pretty comfy.”

He absently traced his fingertips over pale skin. "I'm home."

“I hope I’m always home to you.”

He tipped his face up to kiss him softly. "Me too."

Tai smiled against his lips. “You’re pretty special, you know that? I’m lucky to have you.”

There was a sadness to his eyes. "I'm not, you know that."

“You are.”

He shook his head, kissing him gently again. "Don't be daft."

“Always daft. But I’m telling the truth.”

"Thank you."

“You want bacon for breakfast?”

"Prefer you." He muttered before his brain caught up, guilt flaring. "Yeah, bacon."

Tai laughed. “Oh, it’s like that is it?”

He hummed with a shrug. "Maybe."

“Tease.”

"I'm not the tease."

“Oh, that’s fighting talk.”

"Not looking like you." He trailed his fingers further down. "Especially topless."

He laughed again. “Well, it’s warm having you on top of me.”

"Oh, so my fault? I can leave if you're complaining."

“Never said it was a complaint.”

Harrison still pulled back from Tai, mischief in his eyes.

“Hey, come on.”

"What?" He feigned innocence.

“Come back.” He said with a pout.

"Make me."

Tai sat up, leaning forward to cup Harrison’s face and kiss him.

Harrison grinned into it, his hand moving to rest on Tai's hip. It was lazy and relaxed, just what Harrison needed to take his mind off things.

Tai melted into Harrison’s touch. He knew full well that Harrison probably wasn’t in the right headspace for this, but it was nice to show him he cared, that he still wanted him, after everything.

He pulled back with a sigh, brushing a strand of hair from Tai's face. "I do love you, you know?"

“Of course I know.” Tai said softly.

"I didn't do it because I didn't love you." Harrison couldn't meet his eyes. "I know I've said it before. I know it doesn’t make it better. But, it's true."

Tai sighed, his thumb stroking Harrison's cheek. "I know."

He leaned into his touch, letting his eyes close for a moment. With a shaky sigh, he kissed Tai's hand. "I wouldn't hate it if you drove me. But…but it's for Marcus, it's the anniversary of his…his death. I always go."

Tai could tell Harrison was close to tears, his heart breaking at the shake of his boyfriend’s voice. He swallowed thickly, though felt out of his depth. "I'd be honoured to take you. Do you take flowers?"

Harrison sat up, drawing his knee to his chest. "Sometimes. Sometimes I take some jammy dodgers, he loved them. And then the letters I've written him."

“We’ll go via the shops, then. Grab some stuff.” Tai decided.

He managed a smile, falling a little more in love with him. "Thank you."

“And we can get some stuff for us, too.”

"Yeah."

“Whatever you fancy.” Tai said, kissing his forehead.

They didn't stay in bed too much longer, swinging by the shops before heading to the cemetery. It was a little bit of a drive, Harrison was quiet on the way, and Tai didn't push it. He couldn't imagine what he was going through, and he didn't begin to pretend. He rested his hand on his thigh as he drove, hoping it would be of some comfort to his boyfriend. In response, Harrison rested his hand on Tai's, saying nothing but appreciating it all the same.

When they arrived, Tai found a parking space, and then looked over at his boyfriend. “Do you want me to wait here? Or come with? I don’t mind.”

"I, uh, I don't know." He'd never had anyone like Tai with him; Steve had brought him when he was still recovering, but then he'd always been alone.

“Why don’t I come, and then if you want to be alone you can just say and I’ll go back to the car.”

"Thank you."

He shrugged. “No need to thank me.”

"There is."

“Just doing the right thing.” Tai said, getting out of the car. He offered Harrison a hand once he was out, making sure they had the bag of stuff, and then he let his boyfriend lead the way.

Harrison didn't say anything as they walked, gripping Tai's hand. He appreciated the support, more than he'd expected, and it choked him up more than he'd thought it would.

Tai didn’t say anything either, not sure exactly what to say. He let Harrison lead the way, and as they arrived at the grave, and he hesitated. Did Harrison want him to come closer? Would he rather have a little bit of space?

"Can I have the bag?"

“Yeah, of course.” Tai said, offering it to him.

"Thanks." He took it awkwardly, taking a moment. "Could, uh, could I have a minute?"

“‘Course.” Tai said, quickly pressing a kiss to his cheek.

"Thanks." He repeated, padding over to the grave.

He struggled to his knees and then sat, brushing a small piece of moss from the headstone. He pulled the flowers out, settling them in the small cup, making sure they were neat and tidy.

"Hey, Marcus." His voice cracked. "Tai drove me here today, you’d like him. Fao likes him, and Steve too. He bought the flowers for you, had the shop assistant go and find some biscuits too, you should have seen him. He was adamant we weren't leaving until I had them for you.

"I fucked up the other week, you'd have been so mad at me for it, told me to not be so daft. I didn't mean to start drinking again, but it was just too much and it was the easier way out." He took a shaky breath, tears falling. "I really fucking wish you were here. I really miss you. I don't know how I'm supposed to just keep living without you. You'd have done so much more than I have, I just fuck everything up. You should still be here. If I'd been a bit slower, you'd still have been here. It should have been me."

He could barely catch his breath between the sobs, and the guilt about their accident was only made worse by his want to be held by Tai, not Marcus. He turned to his boyfriend, stretching an arm out for him.

Tai had walked a little way away, giving Hars the space he needed. He stayed close enough just to hear his voice, but not what he’d said, and he’d been looking at his feet in the grass when he heard Harrison’s sobs. Looking up, he frowned, noticing how he reached out for him. He was immediately on his knees by his side, wrapping his arms around him.

“Hey, it’s okay. I’ve got you.”

He fell into Tai's arms, gripping tightly onto his hoodie. He didn't say anything, didn't bother to try, just let himself be held, breathing in Tai's scent.

“You’re okay, it’s okay. Just breathe, I’ve got you.” Tai rubbed over his back soothingly, his heart breaking for him.

"It should have been me."

“Hey, no.”

His shoulders shook with each sob. "It should have."

“No, no. He wouldn’t think that.”

"But I do."

Tai moved to kiss his forehead. “I’m glad you’re here. I’m glad I get to love you.”

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riaaanna · 4 months

Text

It's been a while woooo hello and happy holidays to all 🥰✨ some personal diary ramblings below so feel free to scroll past...

So I recently graduated (master's degree! with distinction! and a stupidly wonderful dissertation grade! 😭) I flew back home to my tropical habitat literally the next day and I shall never miss the UK's cold and gloomy weather. 🙏 But aside from my eternal weather complaints, I'm already missing the place.

Then not two days trying to settle back home, I was gifted with a collapsing kitchen ceiling. 🙃 On top of severe jetlag I couldn't sleep without "omg that could've collapsed on me" and "I hope the rest of the house doesn't collapse while I sleep". My kitchen is between the washing room and garage so while that's getting reconstructed I'm pretty much deprived of my basic home functions. All of this in less than a week and I am just so exhausted.

On another note I have been feeling distant from my usual fandom interests, mostly Queen/QAL and Eurovision. I feel it's more than just because I was busy, as I'm usually able to make a bit of time here and there. I think it's partly because I've ticked a lot off my checklist while I was in UK/Europe. I also think it's because of how they've been during current political situations that I'm not at ease enjoying them anymore. Weird combo but I'm just not feeling it. But we'll see how it goes.

I have, instead, watched the Doctor Who 60th Anniversary specials on a random evening when it aired and who knew? It was Fourteen who finally hooked me in after I tried and failed many times trying to get into the fandom around the same time with Sherlock in 2010s lol

Anyway, the best part of the last 15 months abroad was getting to meet most of my online friends who are very dear to me! Some of them I've known on Twitter since the 2010s when I was in high school, some of them from this recent era on Tumblr and Discord, and all have been so kind and lovely to me and I'll never forget that experience. ❤

My next plans for this blog will mostly be recaps of the major Queen things I was lucky enough to experience, like Montreux and the Convention. There's also that Auction archive which I promised I was working on, that's still going. I will shove a big Eurovision post too somewhere because damn that was my entire life made that week, so this is your warning lol.

I was also planning to see QAL in Japan (Nagoya and Osaka) this February. I have my concert tix but not flight and hotel and visa yet. And after The Collapse in my house idk yet if it will be wise to spend money on this, especially since I'm still job hunting. Plus, again, there is that waning interest. It's 50/50 now still. (But if you're interested in Gold tickets for either/both of those shows hmu!)

If you've read this far you're the real one! As always thank you for putting up with me. Happy holidays again and sending you all love ❤.

#ri's personal

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phyllisthefirst · 2 months

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[Masterlist] [on ao3]

George and Phyllis and Bastogne, let's go! A warning: I upped the rating on ao3 for this chapter because it deals heavily (although not too graphically) with death. But I promise, it won't be all depressing!

I did, however, listen to this song for most of the writing so... you know. (The lyrics are in German but there's a beautiful instrumental part.)

Tagging: @next-autopsy

As always, this fic is entirely about the fictionalized representations of the men of Easy Company that we see on the show. I mean no disrespect to the real men by writing this.

No tired sigh, no rolling eye, no irony - Part 8

Holland is full of ups and downs - the celebration in Eindhoven, the disastrous Market Garden retreat, their victory at the crossroads, Phyllis getting injured in a basement at battalion HQ, successfully rescuing a bunch of British soldiers, losing Moose Heyliger to a nervous replacement’s shots… It's dizzying, one thing after another until George doesn't know up from down anymore.

That is, until they get trucked from safe, warm Mourmelon to some godforsaken forest in Belgium, and it doesn't take long for him to understand: This time, things are going down. All the way down to hell, if hell tortured its souls with ice instead of fire.

***

Phyllis’ letter is the first and only bright spot in an absolutely miserable week, smuggled in just before they got cut off. It's not a long letter, but it's from her, and full of the exact hope that's been rapidly leeched out of the men of Easy Company in between the cold and the German shelling.

"George," she writes, and already he has to smile - always straight to the point, his Phyllis, no time to lose on niceties.

"I've found out what they sent you off to Bastogne with - basically nothing, and just in time for winter to really dig its heels in! I've been trying to rustle up at least some winter clothes, but even if we had any, I fear there's no time to get them to you before the supply lines are cut off. But don't give up hope: I'll keep trying, and so does everyone else. There's not a single person here, from the brass to the supply officers, orderlies and secretaries, who isn't fighting every moment of every day to get you what you need. I guarantee, not a moment goes by that we don't think of you, dug into the snow out there on the line. I know that's not the same as ammunition and clothes and food, but right now, it's all I have. I pray that it will be enough for just a little longer, just long enough. So: Don't give up hope, you're not alone and you're not forgotten. Stay safe, try to stay warm, and for the love of God, stay alive.

Phyllis"

George reads the letter five more times before he carefully folds it up and puts it in his breast pocket, right over his heart - as if somehow, through the sheer strength of her words, that little piece of paper could protect him from anything, be it a bullet or a shell or the cold itself.

Three weeks later, after he's watched Muck and Penkala being blown to pieces in a foxhole he was just making his way towards, after a dud has landed right next to him and Bill and Joe Toye lost their legs and Buck lost his fighting spirit, George wonders if somehow, his superstitious belief in the note has come true.

***

Captain Winters starts sending men away when he thinks they need a break from the line, probably aided by Nixon who has a knack for knowing exactly who might be needed for a specific job somewhere in town.

When Winters calls him to his makeshift command post to inform him that a shipment of radio parts has arrived and he should go and see if anything needs replacing in the radio he's been lugging around since Market Garden, George wonders if he should be worried. He thought he had been keeping it together fairly well, all things considered, but sending a man away to fix a radio that isn't even broken does not seem like it should be high among the Captain’s priorities.

His feeble protest is overruled by Captain Nixon, who adds:

“I hear Colonel Sink had all of battalion HQ moved to Bastogne after Patton’s Third Army broke through. Someone needs to check in if they've got any new intel for me anyway. Face it, Luz, you're a runner today.”

George wonders, briefly, if Nixon remembers the afternoon they spent digging out a caved-in cellar in Holland, remembers what exactly “battalion HQ” means to him. He finds it unlikely, until he catches the glint in the officer's eyes.

“Sink’s entire staff is set up near the old town hall, you can't miss it.”

Yup, Nixon knows exactly what he's doing.

“Now, head into town on the next jeep out, get yourself a hot meal and don't come back until that radio is back in top shape”, Winters adds, and George wonders uneasily just how much information Nixon shares with his fellow officer. Apparently, there’s a certain amount of gossip involved.

He shakes his paranoia off by reminding himself that whatever Nixon is doing, right now it’s working in his favor: If Nixon's right, Phyllis is in town, and he’s been basically ordered to stay as long as he can.

“Thank you, Sir. I'll bring you back a brand-new radio, if I can.”

“That's what I want to hear.” Winters sends him off with a salute, and before long, he's rumbling through the streets of Bastogne, haphazardly cleared of the rubble from the Germans’ deadly Christmas presents.

It’s hard to orient himself, the bombing having re-shaped the town until it’s initial layout is hidden from the naked eye. Fortunately, the jeep driver knows his way around and points George to a larger building that must have been some kind of inn or restaurant.

“You’ll find the supply officers in there. They’ll know where to get spare parts for your radio. I’ll be going back and forth all day. Last trip will probably be around 1600 from the church square. Make sure to be there.”

George nods and climbs out of the jeep, radio cradled in his arms. When he enters the building, a memory flashes across his mind, of running through a building in Aldbourne, radio clutched to his chest, and smack dab into Phyllis. The thought of running into her again - maybe not quite as literally - fills him with a hope so sudden it feels like a sting in his chest.

But first, he has a job to do. He talks to a supply officer, then gets sent on to a mechanic, who promises to take his radio apart, replace anything that looks like it might need it, and have it back in shape by 1600. He also helpfully points him to the mess hall, where the cooks cast one look at him and start to scrounge up some semi-warm food even though it’s not lunchtime yet.

The mess hall isn’t exactly warm, wind gusting in through the damaged wall in one corner of the house, but it’s still leagues better than out in the forest. George should just stay here, where he at least isn’t constantly shivering, and wait out the afternoon within easy reach of warm food. But after so much time crouched in foxholes, the thought of sitting around makes his skin crawl, and so he gets up and makes his way outside again, gasping as the frigid air hits his skin. No matter, he tells himself - he’s gotten used to worse, during those long cold nights out in the forest.

He ambles aimlessly through the streets, a mockery of the sightseeing trips he took on weekend passes out of Mourmelon, when he and a bunch of the other men would take a bus to Reims to marvel at the cathedral before catching a USO show and drinking and dancing the night away. Now, there’s nothing to look at, nothing except for rubble and harried-looking men hurrying through the streets with supplies or paperworks or injured men on stretchers.

He doesn’t pay attention to where he’s going, and suddenly he’s turned a corner of a street busy with jeeps only to realize it must be the street where the aid station is located. He’s heard a little of how bad it was there during the siege, mostly from Spina, who comes by his foxhole every once in a while for a cigarette and a chat. Doc Roe never talks about Bastogne, barely talks at all anymore.

Spina mentioned things, vaguely, but George still isn’t prepared when he sees it: The bombed-out church, the top of a dented bell peering out of a mountain of brick and timber. The hustle and bustle outside of the new aid station, just a few houses further down the street. And outside, lining the street on what must have been the sidewalk once, the carefully piled-up frozen corpses of the dead, so many dead.

He thinks of Hoobler, Muck and Penkala, and wonders if they’re in the pile as well, or if they were buried in the woods somewhere, in shallow graves etched laboriously into the frozen earth.

He feels dizzy suddenly, nauseous, and he doesn’t even know why. It’s certainly not his first sight of death, and probably won’t be the last, but there’s something about seeing it here, in the middle of what must have been a quaint, pretty town once, that makes the sight that much worse. He turns and stumbles blindly back out of the street, nearly getting hit by a jeep as it speeds by with an injured man strapped to it.

“George?” A voice exclaims, familiar but too dulled by the roaring in his ears. He ignores it and stumbles on, followed by the faint thud of footsteps until the voice calls out his name again, and suddenly there’s a tug on his arm.

“George!”

He tears himself away and whirls around, hand nearly going to his weapon on instinct before his sight clears and he realizes who’s standing before him.

“Phyllis?”

She’s nearly unrecognizable, bundled up in a hat, scarf, jacket and an almost comically oversized pair of pants - men’s clothes, he’d guess.

“What are you doing here?” Her gloved hands are hovering in the air between them, as if she started to reach out and then got scared mid-reach. Probably the moment she saw you reach for your weapon, he tells himself.

“Got sent by Captain Winters, to get my radio fixed.” His voice is hoarse, his throat dry. He wonders how long it’s been since he talked to someone. How long has he been wandering around like this?

“Is it broken?” The question is somewhat superfluous, but he doesn’t point it out.

“No,” he replies, biting down on the addition that threatens to bubble up inside him: But I might be. He forces himself to say literally anything else. “But the Captain asked me to have it looked at, see if any of the parts might need replacing. Mechanic’s looking it over right now.”

There, that was a normal thing to say, right? They’re back on track to a normal conversation. If he works just a little harder to keep it together, he’ll manage to convince her that he’s just fine.

“So I guess I’m stuck for a little while. Know any good places to get a drink around here?” He cringes at how strained the joke comes out.

Phyllis smiles, but the look in her eyes doesn’t go away, the one that looks suspiciously like pity.

“I could rustle up some coffee in my office, if you like. It’s just around here.”

He shrugs.

“Sure. I’ve got some time to kill.”

Bad choice of words, Phyllis’ look suggests. She looks pale, and considering her face is covered almost up to her nose, George thinks it can’t be all because of the cold. He wonders how often she has to walk along the street he just fled from, how ordinary the sight of piled-up bodies has become to her. Some old instinct flickers to life inside him, the urge to protect her, whisk her far away from all of this and make sure she never has to see such things again in her life. But he’s in no position to do any such thing and too worn down to dwell on it. The most he can do in terms of chivalry is offer her his arm as they walk. She takes it, but he gets the feeling her footing is much steadier than his. She’s wearing boots, too large like the rest of her clothes, and he can’t help but feel that familiar warm fondness inside of him: Here she is, not at all suited to anything about their current situation but still holding her ground.

Phyllis leads him to a house not far from the supply officers’ building, if his memory serves, in through a half-splintered door and to a room on the ground floor. She closes the door behind them, a surprising move given how careful she usually is about anything that might cause rumors. Perhaps she’s too tired to care, and perhaps everyone else is, too.

She directs him to sit on the room’s only chair and walks over to a sideboard with a small field stove and a metal mug on it. While she busies herself with making the promised coffee, George looks around the small room.

There’s a desk next to his chair, covered in neat piles of paper, one of its legs broken off near the bottom and propped up on some bricks. It faces the window to let in as much daylight as possible, but right now, the wooden shutters are closed from the outside, probably to keep the cold out. Dim light falls in through the slats. A second window is boarded up entirely, and George understands only at a second glance that it is because the entire windowpane is missing. In the corner farthest from the desk, there’s a narrow cot with a blanket draped over it. He raises his eyebrows.

“You sleep here? Is that safe?”

“Technically, I’m billeted with the nurses. But my working hours have become so irregular that sometimes I don’t want to have to walk over there in the middle of the night. This is more convenient. And I’m not alone in the house, several of the officers have set up in the other rooms.”

It’s not much of a reassurance, but knowing Phyllis, any additional pushing will not be welcome. And in any case, there probably aren’t many safer places in the town. At least the room has four walls, a roof and most of its windows. It’s certainly warmer than his foxhole or the drafty mess hall.

Even the coffee, when she hands it to him a short while later, doesn't turn frigid within minutes. George, who has learned to drink his coffee fast before the icy cold drains it of what little warmth it can provide, immediately takes a large gulp and burns his tongue and the roof of his mouth. It stings, badly, and it's such a stupid thing to hurt him after all the things that could have, lately, that he promptly bursts into tears.

Through the sheen of tears he sees Phyllis’ familiar shape step closer.

“George?” She sounds tentative, unsure what to do in a way he’s never heard her sound before. She’s so competent, normally, so sure of the next necessary steps. He had hoped at least she wouldn’t be changed by this frozen hell-place, but apparently, that was futile. “What’s wrong?”

He can’t tell her, can’t speak, his mouth still burning even though the coffee is long gone. Instead, he reaches out blindly, grasping her waist, and pulls her close. The way she’s standing before him, his head is about the same height as the middle of her stomach, and he leans forward to press his cheek against it. It’s unspeakably improper, intimate even though there are several thick layers of clothing still between them, and he half expects her to push him away and kick him out. Instead, she closes her arms around his shoulders and pulls him close, rubbing down his back and running soothing fingers through his hair while he sobs silently into her stomach. That alone should worry him, should tell him what a pathetic sight he must make. He doesn’t care. She’s warm and soft and alive, and that’s all he can process right now.

“Shh, it’s alright. You’re alright.” Neither of these things are true and they both know it, but he lets himself believe it, if only so he can stay here for another moment longer before he has to return to the cold and the deaths.

When the worst of it is over, he has no idea how he'll even find the strength to lift his head, let alone get up and drive back out to that frozen forest.

“You should rest for a bit, before you return,” Phyllis says as if he had said his last thought out loud. Maybe he has. Maybe she can read his mind. Maybe he just looks so goddamn tired and pitiful that she could guess. He wants to resist, but she’s already pulling him to his feet and guiding him over to the narrow bed set up in the corner. “Your radio will still be here later, and I’ll make sure no one finds you, alright?”

He should protest, he knows. He’s already imposed upon her too much, and considering Colonel Sink’s warning about improper behavior, the last thing he should do is risk getting found in what is essentially her bedroom.

But he’s just so tired, hasn’t slept properly in weeks. So he lets her gently push him down onto the cot, lets her lift his feet onto the bed and cover him with the blanket. He wants to tell her she shouldn’t, that he’s dragging all kinds of filth into her bed, but when he starts, she puts a finger to his lips and shushes him.

“Rest. When do you have to get back?”

“Jeep leaves at 1600,” he mumbles against her skin.

“Alright. I’ll wake you up with enough time to go get your radio.”

He should say thank you, for the bed and the coffee and letting him cry, but exhaustion is claiming him, fast, and all he can do is nod. The last thing he’s aware of is her hand softly running through his hair, across his forehead, down his cheek and up again. Then he’s out like a light.

***

Phyllis has been scared plenty of times since she had the brilliant idea of getting involved in this whole war business, but nothing has scared her as much as the sight of George Luz stumbling through the streets of Bastogne like a ghost. He looked too much like the corpses piled along the street, face gray and eyes empty, and too little like himself.

Then again, it’s a wonder any of himself is still there, after what the boys have been going through out in that forest. And it is still there, that spark of warmth and humor that she’s been steadily falling for ever since she first met him, it’s just buried deep under a layer of cold and fear and grief. She knows the name of every single friend he’s lost, because she gets the lists of dead every few days and she always checks the sheet for Easy Company first, heart pounding until she’s sure his name is not on it.

And now he’s here, sleeping peacefully on her cot, the gray of his skin gradually turning a more natural, almost rosy shade. She left her coffee burner on to make the room a little warmer than she usually has it. He deserves all the warmth he can get, before he has to make his way back out to the line.

She watches him for another few moments, the sight of his chest rising and falling steadily comforting proof that he’s still alive. Then she gets up from the edge of the cot and sits at her desk to get some work done.

She sets her little travel alarm clock to 3.30 to make sure he has enough time to collect his radio before he has to get to the jeep, then she turns her attention to her neverending lists. A strange peace settles over the room, the quiet only broken by the muted clicking of her typewriter, George’s soft breaths and the occasional distant boom of artillery.

By the time her alarm goes off, she’s so focused it startles her into a gasp, and George shoots upright on the cot, looking around disorientedly.

She adopts the same calming voice she has used before, one normally reserved for scared children and confused elderly.

“It’s 3.30. I set my alarm.”

George nods, running a hand across his face to hide his broad yawn.

“Thank you,” he tries to say, but gets cut off by another yawn. Phyllis has to smile.

“Would you like another coffee before you go?”

George ponders it for a moment, then shakes his head.

“I’m good for now. But maybe some water?”

She hands him her canteen. He takes it and drinks without hesitation, and she’s suddenly reminded of evenings at the pub in Aldbourne, of the silly little thrill it used to send through her when he stole a sip from her drink. There’s an intimacy to sharing a drink, she always thought, and now she knows there’s a similar intimacy to watching over someone’s sleep. She wonders if he feels it too. Probably not, considering there’s always one of his buddies watching over him when he sleeps in a foxhole. This isn’t much different.

He sets the canteen down and gets to his feet, walking over to the door and the rifle he set against the wall there. And just like that, she suddenly realizes, their time together is over. Despite the grief, despite the harrowing sight of him breaking down in tears, it was precious time. She doesn’t allow herself to wonder how long it will be until they get a moment like this again, just for themselves.

“I better head out, get that radio. I don’t want to miss the jeep.” George begins, standing awkwardly near the door. She wonders if he’s as reluctant to go as she is to let him. She can only hope it’s a little bit because of her too and not just because of the comfort of a bed and blanket in a warm room.

Her train of thought is cut off when he steps closer to take her hand.

“Thank you, for… all of this. Stay safe, alright?”

She should say the same thing to him, but it would feel too much like tempting fate.

“I will. And I’ll keep pestering everyone I can for better winter clothes and rations for you boys.”

The smile she gets in return finally resembles his former smile, even if it’s smaller and less bright. The sight is such a relief that, before she’s thought about it, she’s thrown her arms around his neck to hug him.

When she draws back, he looks for a moment as if there’s something else he wants to say. Instead, he picks up his rifle, grins once more, and opens the door.

“I’ll see you around,” he announces, a promise he shouldn’t make that she still eagerly soaks up.

Then he ducks out and the door closes behind him. Phyllis stands frozen in place for a moment, stunned by the quickness of his departure.

With a sigh, she sits back down at her desk. There’s work to do, and the best way to help George is if she does it well and makes sure he has everything he needs out there.

#band of brothers #band of brothers fanfic #george luz #george luz x oc #george luz/oc

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