#misunderstanding and miscommunication

[angst-fairygodmother]

I petition for a jealous samwise gamgee x reader fic. I've requested this before but I don't know what happened to it. I love you and your work sincerely hope a fun time writing for you. Goodluck godbless

A/N: Hello lovely, you are absolutely right that you requested this quite some time ago. I lost it in the shuffle of things (rip my accidentally deleted wip list) and it completely slipped my mind! I hope you will forgive me, and enjoy :) Word Count: 2255 Rating: G - flirting, jealousy, alcohol

Samwise Gamgee was the sort to drive girls mad. He was sweet, in a bumbling sort of way, always ready with a shy smile or a stumbled verse, and gentle, and steady. He knew the value of an honest day's work, and he was always there to support his friends, figuratively or, after a long night at the Green Dragon, literally, making sure they made it safely to bed and had water and a soothing herbal tea ready when they woke with a horrible hangover. 

Though you weren't as close with him as Master Frodo Baggins (no one in all the Shire was) you were lucky enough to count yourself among Sam's dearest friends, and had been all your life on account of your father's sister being thick as thieves with the Gaffer's late wife, Sam's dear mother. And you would be lying if you said your heart didn't flutter like a dove when his soft blue eyes turned on you, not staring exactly but making it clear that he was listening with undivided attention. But you knew his own lay with pretty, sweet, golden-curled Rosie Cotton, another one of your dear friends, and never desired to interfere, placing both their happiness above your own.

~

You giggled, bringing a hand to your mouth to hide your smile as a younger Bracegirdles — of Hardbottle, as opposed to some lesser Bracegirdle cousin that might be out there in theory somewhere — whispered a joke into your ear, ostensibly in order to be heard over the noise of the crowd’s singing and the band in the corner, but you were pretty sure it was in part to try to make you blush. They had been rather attentive to you in the past few weeks, and though you had no real interest in courting them, you welcomed the attention, it was nice to feel wanted after all.

Even if, you thought bitterly, it wasn’t by the person you would have hoped. Your eyes fell to him in the crowd, sitting in a corner and nursing a drink while Frodo and his cousin Pippin Took and their friend Merry all swayed and sang along to the music, cajoling Sam to join in. He looked miserable, frowning at his drink as if he thought to find the Gaffer’s fertilizer floating in it, and your heart ached to go to him and try to put a smile on his face. But you were not Rosie, who wasn’t working tonight (which you were sure was the cause of his obvious foul mood), so you stood no more chance than the lads did.

When your proffered paramour suggested they go to get you a second ale, you heartily agreed, despite having not finished the first, if only to get a moment’s peace from their attentions. You couldn’t help a sigh of relief as they swaggered off, which quickly turned to a gasp of surprise when a new hobbit appeared at your elbow.

“Oh! Sam!” you said, reflexively pressing a hand to your chest as if to hold in your racing heart, “I didn’t see you there.” 

“You and Leopold are looking awfully chummy,” he said glumly in place of a greeting.

You frowned, eyebrows dipping low. You hadn’t even remembered his first name until that moment. But he was right that you had been taking the affection where you could, even if it really meant nothing to you and you wouldn’t think on it again once you were home safely in your family’s hobbit hole for the night, and you worried for a moment that you might be giving the wrong idea.

“He’s quite nice, for a Bracegirdle,” you shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. “There’s nothing wrong with getting to know him better, is there?”

“Getting to know him better?” Sam scoffed, sounding almost angry with the prospect, and making your puzzled feeling sink further in. “The way he was hanging on you, have you set a wedding date yet?”

“Excuse me?” Now you were getting upset, and set your drink down heavily on the table so that you could turn to Sam more fully, hands planted on your hips. 

“I’m just saying, as it were, that you were a lot more chummy with him than most people.” Even in the smoky taproom you could tell that his cheeks were reddening and he stumbled over his words. “It was practically flirting. Ain’t nothing wrong with it, but that it’s fast. I’ve never seen you talking to him before, and…and…” he trailed off.

“And what, Sam?” you demanded, feeling your own anger and embarrassment heating at the back of your neck. “You’re not my father, and it’s hardly any of your business who I might be talking to, especially when your attention is so focused elsewhere. How do you know it’s my first time talking to Leonard, when you’re always distracted moon-eying after Rosie?”

“Leopold,” the hobbit in question said suddenly, stepping between you and Sam to place the drinks on the table, and then withdrawing, a dejected expression marring his features that had been so lively earlier. You knew you should feel guiltier, but you were distracted by your own indignation, and the strange way that Sam was looking at you. 

“I…” Sam stared open-mouthed at you for a moment longer before turning and fleeing, back to the safety of his friends in the corner and leaving you alone and humiliated. 

With a groan and a roll of your eyes, you drained your first tankard and left the second on the table, walking out of the Green Dragon in the hopes that the cool evening would soothe your temper.

~

You didn’t see Sam for several days after that, though you did occasionally catch glimpses of Merry and Pippin, usually looking over at you and then ducking their heads together conspiratorially and giggling. It felt odd, being in this unspoken fight with your best friend, but your pride stopped you from being the first to apologize. After all, you hadn’t done anything wrong but try to move on from the unrequited love you felt for him. 

As the sun began to set and the spring evening air grew chilly, you set down your sewing and sighed, placing your face in your hands to scrub away the tiredness. Soon you would have to move inside and light a candle if you were going to continue working, and the prospect felt miserable, another night spent alone. 

Suddenly, you felt your basket snatched away from where it sat by your feet, and looked up just in time to see someone — you didn’t want to accuse or assume, but at least one of them was finely dressed for being a hobbit, and his dark hair was wild in a way that only Frodo’s could be described as — disappear around the corner of the lane with your things. With a cry of outrage and surprise, you stood quickly, gathering your skirts at your hip, not caring that your bloomers showed since there was no one around, and chased after them. 

The lanes were empty and it shocked you how refreshing it felt to simply race along them, the cool evening air kissing your cheeks and toying with your hair. Your eyes didn’t ache from squinting at stitches, your hands didn’t ache from where the needle slipped, and most importantly, your heart didn’t ache for all the love you thought you lost. 

And then the ache you felt was much more real as you crashed headlong into someone else. 

“Woah, careful,” he said, placing his hands on your shoulders to steady you, and unintentionally drawing your faces close. “Are you alright?”

Your cheeks heated rapidly as you stared into those concerned blue eyes, and words failed you for a moment.

“Oh, hi Sam. Sorry. I was just–” you realized that you were still holding your skirts, bloomers exposed for all the world, and more importantly him, to see. Your face felt like it was on fire as you dropped the gathered cloth and stumbled back to smooth it down, the motion catching his attention and causing his ears and cheeks to turn pink. 

“What’s got you in such a hurry?” he smiled shyly at you, though the rest of his face remained puzzled and you had to fight back a laugh at his endearing expression. 

“Someone thought tonight was a good night for pranks, so I’m trying to get my sewing back. I didn’t mean to bump into you…”

“Oh, how odd. My gardening gloves also grew legs. But I figured they’d get bored eventually. Yours went a bit farther though, I don’t blame you for running.”

As you spoke, you heard giggling from around the corner that confirmed your earlier suspicions of the three culprits. But instead of being angry, you couldn’t help being grateful. This conversation, stilted though it was, felt so much better than the days of silence, enough that you were ready to swallow your pride to make sure it continued.

“Listen, Sam,” you found yourself unable to look at him, instead studying the rocks on the path between you while you spoke. “About the other day…”

“You don’t have to say anything,” he assured you, looking sheepish. “I shouldn’t have gotten so mad…”

“Why…why did you?” your voice was soft, hesitant. 

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“No.” Your heart raced like a bird beating against your chest, trying to escape your ribcage. You knew what you wanted the answer to be, but it almost felt like too much to hope. 

“I…well I was jealous…of Leopold.” His cheeks were as red as the Gaffer’s prize tomatoes and you felt your eyes widen. 

“Wait, what? Why would you ever be…?”

“The way he was making you laugh, and how light and happy and beautiful you were. I wanted to be the one doing that.”

“You did?”

“Of course I did. You’ve been my best friend for our whole lives.”

“Oh.” Of course that was what it was. You felt your heart sink. Sam had always felt strongly for all of the people in his life, it was one of his best features, and so seeing you having fun with someone else, especially while he was miserably longing for Rosie instead would hurt him. Of course. 

“And then when you said something about Rosie, I got so angry.” He bit his lip and then rushed to add. “At myself of course, not at you. I couldn’t believe I had been so stupid. And then, I guess I was embarrassed.” 

“I don’t understand.” 

“Well it’s just…there I was getting jealous and upset when I had never said anything, and given you all the wrong ideas, and I had no right to that, and I felt foolish, and didn’t know how to fix it.” 

“Wrong ideas? Said anything? Sam, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were trying to confess that you’re in love with me. But surely that’s not the case, so I must be missing something, and need you to be clearer.” Your laugh as you spoke was high and forced, but it was all you could do.

Sam sighed and shook his head, stepping close and raising a hand to try and cradle the back of your head. You startled, stumbling back from him, eyes wide and heart racing even faster if that was possible.

“What are you doing Sam?”

“Will you just trust me for a second?”

“I always trust you,” you said earnestly, relaxing as he reached again to touch you. 

A breath later, his lips were brushing yours, and one of his hands was cradling the back of your neck, fingertips in your hair, and his other hand was holding yours. Your skin lit up, feeling like a thousand of Gandalf’s fireworks were sparking where Sam touched you.

“Oh.” You breathed when he pulled away, all too soon. 

“Now do you understand? I love you, I’ve always loved you.” 

“But what about Rosie…?” you wanted to kick yourself, but your mind hadn’t quite caught up to the rest of reality, so it tumbled out. 

Thankfully, he laughed, the sound bright and beautiful and making your poor heart do a flip. “Rosie’s just a friend. Didn’t it ever occur to you that every time I was looking in her direction ‘moon-eyed’ it was because you were right beside her?”

It hadn’t.

“Oh Sam, I’m sorry. I never thought…I mean I wished but…” you felt tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as you smiled at him. When he smiled back just as bright, the world felt clearer and sharper than it had in a long time. “I love you too. And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

“Don’t be. We were both fools, and it’s past now. We can make up for the time, if you’ll let me court you?”

“I would like nothing more.” You threaded your fingers with his, stepping close in the hopes of kissing him again.

But alas, it didn’t come, the moment interrupted by whoops of delight as Pippin, Merry, and Frodo, and to your shock Rosie herself, all burst from the bushes where they’d been hiding with your purloined things. You couldn’t help but laugh as they threw their arms around you and Sam in a messy group hug before tugging you both down the road toward the Green Dragon for a celebratory drink.  Kissing and courting would have to wait, but at least, with your hand in his, you knew that it wouldn’t be only in your dreams.

[captainmaxatx]

Logan and Wade almost always do the nasty with the lights out and Wade is a little disappointed but he gets it and he resigned himself to a lifetime of dark sex long before Logan came along, sucks to know that your partner doesn’t want to look at you while getting down to business but its something Wade can live with.

Meanwhile, after a long day of stupid big bright lights Logan loves to have the lights out when making love with Wade because there isn’t any extra light bugging him and his natural night vision means he can see Wade perfectly, just the way he likes it

[ghost-bxrd]

Prompt:

Tim is the first to find out the Red Hood’s identity and from then on sticks to Jason during patrol like glue (much to Jason’s chagrin, dammit, it would feel wrong to beat up Robin when he’s that starry eyed…)

Cue: PANIC from the rest of the Batfamily, who still think Hood is a forty-something year old crime lord and now assume they’re dating.

[mossycobblestonewrites]

DC X DP PROMPT #15

Despite what most people would think, Danny was an excellent driver. It took a lot of hard work and extra classes, but he is by far the safest driver of the family. So safe in fact that others often make fun of him for it.

'You'll get there eventually with Grandma driving!' 'It's like going even a fraction over the speed limit is gonna give you a heart attack or something'

It was fine. Danny was proud about being a safe driver. It's what he worked for! His family already contributed to enough property damage.

Driving in Gotham was a very different experience from driving in Amity. His new friends made fun of him even more now.

It was one of these playful ribs that he shot out his favorite reply (one he hadn't gotten the chance to use since moving).

"Well, you know what they say; you should only do one illegal thing at a time!" Danny thought he was hilarious (as his species was still technically illegal), the Batkid (you decide) overanalyzed (as usual).

[kateksmallcuteowl]

June 26: Soulmates/Soulmate Marks AU

Your mark shows how old will your soulmate be when you fall in love with them. (Meaning both romantically and sexually)

For an event by @bagginshieldweek24

More headcanons after the cut. Seriously, there’s a lot, as I developed a whole idea but had no time to write a fic because of exams.

— Dwarfs come of age in around 80 y.o., having a soulmate from another race is a very rare occurrence; throughout the history of Middle-earth, there have been at most a dozen such cases, so most dwarves are unaware of this possibility. Having a mark with a number younger than the age of majority is a lifelong shame, essentially an admission of pedophilia. Unfortunately, this happens more often than having a soulmate from another race.

— Thorin spent his entire adult life, from the moment the mark appeared, wearing an extra layer of bandages under his bracers to prevent anyone from seeing the number. Fortunately, among dwarves, it is not considered inappropriate to hide the marks, as many value their privacy.

— The mark and thoughts about it were the reason why Thorin often appeared especially gloomy when the topic of romance came up.

— He truly tried to compensate for his "defectiveness" with his virtues.

— Of course, Thorin is a virgin.

— Bilbo, on the other hand, didn't think much about this; hobbits don't see anything wrong with living without their soulmate or seeing their soulmate as a friend. They are generally a loving people and don't worry about the concept of "the one and only."

— Although the topic of soulmates is considered highly romantic in hobbit literature, Bilbo was somewhat disappointed when he realized he would likely never meet his soulmate. (Hobbits are also unaware of inter-racial soulmates.)

— I tried to make young Bilbo look more like Frodo, so here he has smaller curls and a different style of shirt.

— Thorin and Bilbo both hid their marks, so when they felt an attraction to each other, especially after the Carrock, both were initially upset, thinking they weren't soulmates. Thorin, of course, was much more upset.

— During the two weeks they stayed with Beorn (yes, I'm mixing the movie and the book, what are you going to do about it? Slow burn needs time to be slow), they managed to reach the point of kissing near the river or something like that. But when Bilbo tried to unlace Thorin's tunic, Thorin stopped him and said that, unlike hobbits, for dwarves, sexual interaction is a very serious step in emotional attachment. It wouldn't be fair not to tell Bilbo what kind of monster he was getting involved with, because after seeing what Thorin had to show him, Bilbo might not even want to look him in the eye. Bilbo was honestly frustrated. (It is implied that Thorin used some term characteristic of a pedo... ahem)

— With a terrifyingly serious face, Thorin unwrapped the bandages on his wrist, and Bilbo, with a sinking heart, prepared to see a number like 5 or 12. Instead, there was a very respectable and completely normal age. Thorin turned away, not wanting to see the disappointment in the hobbit's eyes. Bilbo spent a few seconds calculating how long dwarves live and how old Thorin actually was.

— Thorin thought Bilbo wanted to shame him for having the audacity to enter into a relationship at such an age, knowing his soulmate's extremely young age. With closed eyes, he forced out that he was 195 and knew how disgusting he was because of it.

— Instead of a slap or something worse, which Thorin wouldn't have opposed, thinking any normal person had the right to treat him like that after seeing it, Bilbo reached for his own wrist and, with suspicious enthusiasm, pulled off the leather bracelet he had worn since the Shire. On the pale skin was clearly marked Thorin's age, written in dark ink with characteristic dwarvish notches.

— Some time passed in silence as they both realized that such a coincidence simply couldn't be.

— They were in for a very pleasant evening away from the company🌚🌝

— Later, when the entire company gathered by the fire, Bilbo and Thorin would come to them, holding hands, the hobbit nearly glowing with happiness in front, and a red-to-the-tips-of-his-ears Thorin slightly behind. This would be the first time anyone in the company saw Thorin without bandages, and if not for the matching age on Bilbo's wrist, now also not hidden by a bracelet, they wouldn't have believed Thorin could be normal with such a number on his skin.

— And the dwarves would realize how young Bilbo was by their standards.

— Truly, the ways of the Valar are mysterious.

— At the very end of the night, Fili would nudge Kili with his elbow and hint that since their uncle had an inter-racial mark, he might not be so angry and yell when he finds out that his brother has a four-digit number on his wrist.

[carrot-felisidad]

I love how MXTX writes miscommunication/misunderstanding because it's not your typical miscom trope in where they only heard the bad parts of a convo, or where one of them is just really an extremely and irritatingly an overthinker. For example,

-Wei Wuxian misunderstands Wangji's intention to bring him back to Gusu because all his life he is loved by being useful, and if he is not being useful he is punished. He will never think that Lan Wangji loves him because he's never done anything useful for him. Lan Wangji misunderstood Wuxian's demonic cultivation because he never knew about the golden core transfer, and even then, he just wanted to protect him but he could never tell Wuxian that because he saw how his mother perished with the same promise of "love and protection"

-Luo Binghe just accepts that his Shizun hates him because he's a demon, yet what's confusing is that this Shizun told him that everyone is equal, be it demons or humans, so why is he especially despicable? Shen Qingqiu was just following the original novel in where Luo Bingge hates him, so that's how he interpreted all his actions. He is not aware that Luo Binghe's temperament was due to jealousy and heartbreak.

-Xie lian and Hua Cheng communicate very well. Even when they were pretending, even when the world is against their 'friendship', they knew each other's real intentions.

[i-think-i-thunk]

*someone graffitis Eddie's van or something*

Steve: Get some coke, it'll come right off. That stuff can strip rust.

Eddie: *confused* Okay...

~later~

Eddie: *holding a baggie* Okay, I brought the coke. Still not sure how this is going to help though.

Steve:

Eddie: What?

Steve: I MEANT THE SODA

Eddie: Oh. Oops??

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Heartbreaking Goodbye.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[hitlikehammers]

oh golden boy (don't act like you were kind)

part i : you were mine but—

for @kultiras at the ❄️ Winter @steddieexchange 🖤🩵

Arguably the sharpest knife in his chest about this whole fucking shitshow?

Eddie thought they were doing good.

Like: so fucking good.

Eddie thought they were on the cusp of…that they were building something.

He’s such an idiot. Such a…

A heartsick fucking idiot.

But if he’s gracious—which he’s not, least of all to himself—when he puts all the pieces together, lines the evidence up and analyzes it, thinks of it in terms of a narrative that he can understand and recognize the flaws in, where he’d rewrite the ending or tweak the rising action so everything slides into place realistically, cause and effect in balance just right: Eddie can see that the way this has all shaken out is fucked up. So, so fucked up.

Because there honestly hadn’t been any signs that they weren’t laying the foundations of something long-term, something lasting; that they weren’t in this deep and rooted, strong and committed and serious in a real, tangible way, and, just…

Forever. Eddie was…he was playing for keeps, here. He thought, he just, he thought—

Fuck.

He just…really believed he wasn’t alone in it all.

Again: idiot.

It’d started so fucking predictably, really, because if there’s one thing that Eddie clocked about Steve Harrington from the get-go of actually getting to know him versus operating on the popular-gorgeous-jock framework he’d distilled the guy down to in his head before 1986: the one consistent thing he’d figured from what he’d heard and what he’d seen put together was that: Steve Harrington?

Bastard’s protective to a fucking fault.

So when he blinked back to the land of the living with Steve goddamn Harrington at his bedside? Standing guard, looking a little haggard—like he cared, at least enough to worry—but still fucking devastatingly pretty, good god-

When he woke up to that, Eddie was surprised and also: not at all surprised.

The way he lit up when he saw Eddie was conscious, like world was less before that moment and something right slid back into place? Eddie…Eddie felt like his body was pretty wholly broken but that fucking cracked something down his middle, decimated parts of him in new ways that hadn’t been already devastated on another plane, were sitting ripe for wholesale ruin.

He’d let Steve blame the breathiness that’d overcome him on coming back from the brink of death, because Steve didn’t need to know the sensations, the emotions, that were running riot through Eddie’s veins.

But then it hadn’t stopped.

Steve standing guard at his side became a constant, like Eddie couldn’t quite comprehend save that it felt like his body was knitting itself around the fact of this more-than-good dude and Eddie wasn’t entirely sure what to do with that, save kind of just…poke curiously at the new shape of everything he was for it, and once he worked through the fear of the unfamiliar in it?

To kinda…savor it. Roll around in it and relish.

Probably it was gonna be short lived anyway. Probably it was gonna go away when Eddie finally got out of here. Only made sense to soak it up while it lasted.

And it was one of those early days, where Eddie was soaking it up and before anything possible beyond the bubble of middle-space they were existing in inside Eddie’s hospital room was even hinted at. Steve had gone to check on Max while Eddie grappled a bit to look down at himself a little better under the handkerchief that the hospital deemed sufficient as clothing, and he braced for the worst because it felt like the worst and what he did remember at all from the scene of the inter-dimensional mauling definitely aligned with being ‘the worst’: but it was honestly mostly bandages and pain.

Eddie didn’t…on second thought he didn’t know if he was ready to see what was underneath just yet, so he was actually kinda grateful that his hubris about it all didn’t immediately have a chance to floor him, especially when he was alone because he’d thought it’d be easier to stomach if it was just him—but the prospect, the bullet dodged, lodged in his throat and proved him kinda instantly wrong for the sharp cut of bile rising in him, and the violent jump of his pulse right behind it.

His hand had gravitated to his chest, though, like he could keep his heart from cracking his ribs that way, and he noticed that…even the light pressure ached, so he looked down a little more carefully, didn’t think the little fuckers had concentrated their attacks on the center of his chest so he tucked his chin and tried to see what was causing the sting—maybe just like, general area tenderness after playing buffet table to fucking…flying hellspace rodents but—

No. No: even from this weird-ass uncomfortable angle, Eddie could see the outline, coukd make out the dark stain of a bruise.

In the shape of a hand.

And listen, Eddie wasn’t foolish. He knew that everyone busted ass to get him topside and to a hospital. And that probably involved…stuff he didn’t want to really dwell on too long in terms of the nitty-gritty of his own mortality. He was also very much aware that Steve had played a crucial role, even if the man himself didn’t stand up and declare it. The kids didn’t have any sense of a fucking filter, so.

Eddie knew.

But Eddie then started tracing the splay of fingers on his sternum, his heartbeat so fucking heavy under even just the brush of his nails as he followed the outline of the purpling over, and over, and over, imagined what it would take to make that kind of an impression on his skin because Eddie was fucking pale, yeah, he marked quick—but not that dark.

Not that deep.

“Shit.”

Eddie’d startled, snapped his attention to the doorway where Steve had reappeared, looking a little breathless as he took Eddie in, came quick to his side and leaned to look closer at the monitor next to him and oh: Eddie hadn’t realized that the beeping was so loud, so fast. Hadn’t realized his heartbeat had ratcheted up quite so high.

Not that he was surprised.

“Shit, are you okay,” Steve barely breathed, eyes so goddamn big about it as his hands had kinda hovered, as he’d tried to figure out what to do, how to help, because that was what he was always doing; that’s who he was to his core, and Eddie…

“Oh god, let me call the nu—”

“Don’t.”

Eddie’d half-moaned it, god: scratchy but desperate as he reached for Steve’s hand and he…

He suspected he knew exactly how big that hand was; what shape it’d make to a fucking T. But he needed to see

For sure.

“What are you,” Steve’s brow had furrowed in that way Eddie was becoming increasingly aware he wanted to kiss smooth, and he started to ask it as Eddie grabbed to uncurl his grip from the bar at the side of the bed but Steve gave up fighting quick, focused on stopping Eddie from moving at all instead, from stretching the way he was against the precarious threads holding him together as he reached for the neck of his gown again, still loose enough from where he’d pulled the back up, left his ass out against the sheets to bare his breastbone, the mess of the tattoos on his chest more grisly after everything than any horrors he’d gotten inked before but—

This was a different kind of horrifying thing. Not least—maybe most—because it was entirely possible that it was also the most beautiful, sacred thing to ever touch Eddie’s skin. To ever beat through Eddie’s fucking veins.

“You,” Eddie let go of the last breath he could wrestle out before his lungs seized up too tight, because then he was watching it happen, watching Steve’s broad palm as it hovered over the imprint, shivering when Steve’s warmth made contact: eclipsing the bruise near-perfect, just like Eddie knew deep down it fucking would.

His heart took the hint and started shivering under Steve’s hand immediately, like it had something to prove.

“Ed,” Steve’s voice was wispy, choked a little; eyes too bright and Eddie feels like there must be so many kinds of dying, because he’d felt one keenly under that angry red lightning; this was a wholly other thing.

But felt just as keenly life-or-death.

“You,” Eddie whispered, the words, the truth, the feeling of it all too fragile, too precious to disturb, and he wondered if his heart knew Steve had pushed the bruises down around it to save it, if that’s why it was so unbridled and unabashed in hammering against that touch, that touch—

“I think I heard you.”

And Steve? Big eyes framed with those feather lashes, stretched wide and all made of shine and earnest fucking feeling?

“You didn’t…want to lose me?” Eddie’s voice had been so small, so so small because he did think he’d heard that, and the wisps of recollection, of a frantic but resolute voice demanding of him: what he was able to collect and try to tie into a whole matched up when he paired it all with Steve in his head, but what if he was wrong?

What if it was all just fever dreams and wishful thinking on his deathbed, what if Steve had no investment in him beyond keeping the Party safe in its entirety, no exceptions; what if Eddie was fucking wrong and showed too much of his hand with this, with Steve’s palm pressed to his thrashing heart and—

Then Steve was brining his free hand to Eddie’s cheek, fucking…cradling it like it fucking meant something, like he could matter and—

“I couldn’t lose you.”

Oh.

“You,” and so many possible ways to end that thought had swam through Eddie’s head—you barely know me, you can’t possibly care if I live or die, I cannot matter one fucking bit in your universe, so why would it matter but Steve’s hand was warm under his, and Steve didn’t pull away, only leaned in, only stayed close enough that Eddie could feel his breath on his skin and Steve could chart the way Eddie’s heart took to pummelling his already-taxed ribs but it didn’t matter, it couldn’t matter because Steve held there, so careful of the pain but nothing short of steady, devoted, a soul-sworn guard of that heart under his hand like it did matter, like Eddie did…

Like Steve ever could—

“Stevie,” Eddie would probably have flushed if the situation had been anything but what it was. If his heart wasn’t racing into Steve’s touch at the chest and just under the jaw where Steve’s thumb pressed almost proprietary, almost like a shield but also like a welcome, like the idea of Eddie’s heart beating into him wasn’t a dealbreaker, and fuck, fuck—

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Steve breathed out against him, prickling dangerous across his skin and Eddie’s heart leapt a little, fuck; more than a little and Steve felt it, front-row-center, couldn’t not feel it but he just leaned closer still, and Eddie was front-row himself to the catch in Steve’s inhale, undeniable and unapologetic as he murmured low, turning into Eddie’s cheek a little and Eddie maybe resented how it forced him to pull away,until his lips brushed the tip of Eddie’s jawbone and drew a whole ass shudder down his goddamn spine.

“Just know,” Steve gasped there, fucking…panted and hell if it didn’t catch in Eddie’s blood like pure bliss; “just know why.”

And fuck, but Eddie could only press in to the warmth of Steve’s lips where they moved for the words alone, let alone what words; what Eddie thought maybe they meant—

“Me too,” Eddie rasped a little, because fuck him, man; this was something…something else, swelling up in his chest so strong and Steve had to be able to feel it where he still held against him, palm to his galloping pulse at the source, feeling the life he coaxed back into the world.

“Does it have to make sense just yet?” Eddie asked, knew he sounded too hopeful, too desperate, more than he’d earned, than was safe but his heart kept knocking against that hand, so fucking insistent and who was he to deny it, to try and wrestle in into being less when he couldn’t even hide it, when it was evident to the man it was leaping at; for.

“I don’t think so,” Steve mouthed more than spoke where his lips dragged wet across the stubble on Eddie’s cheek.

“Then,” Eddie tipped his head, tried to catch Steve’s eyes, aimed to reason, to convince but the moment he moved, Steve dipped his chin just so to take Eddie’s lips, to kiss so hard, so complete with what felt like it couldn’t even be reasoned as less than all of him, because how could less than all feel like this—

Fucking impossible.

And Eddie couldn’t shy away—as Steve kissed him breathless, left him gasping; Eddie couldn’t shy away from the sense that he was being killed and revived all over again, endless and unbreaking, and it was perfection.

Jesus fuck.

And the kicker was that…weeks passed. A whole month, close to another. And if anything changed it was all for the better, for the more and Eddie wasn’t entirely sure what to do with it, if he was entirely honest. He…the bruise healed, y’know? That brand above his heart but—

He didn’t need it anymore. That was the thing. He didn’t need to see.

He was very fucking aware. Every minute of every day. He was…so aware. It could kill him better than those bats, it was so big and so much, and so quick, but with all that, probably because of all that: Eddie’d never felt anything even remotely like what it meant to shake off sleep and have Steve Harrington kiss you to wakefulness, to hold you for the nightmares as much as the news of small victories on the road to recovery: never wavering.

Never leaving.

When Eddie got the go-ahead to continue his rehab outpatient-style, his original conviction that all of this ended at the latest upon discharge was immediately challenged, because Steve had become so much more than he’d started as, but Eddie still worried. Made himself sick over it.

Felt like an indefensible monster as Steve rubbed his back, brought him soup, tended him like Eddie didn’t cause his own suffering, and all for the terror of losing the very man who was there, without question.

Then he signed himself out, and Steve drove him home.

Save that Eddie recognized where they were headed and…he only knew one person in Loch Nora.

“Your uncle’s still in the motel by the plant,” Steve had explained what Eddie already knew but hadn’t put together when Eddie raised an eyebrow in askance, wholly unsure how to process any of this, any of this; unsure how to hope in the face of what he was seeing, held against what he was wishing.

“Government’s being fucking assholes about setting you up with someplace appropriate,” and something in Steve’s tone had made plain that he was not just very clear on what constituted ‘appropriate’, he was probably actively involved somehow in holding the people in question rightly accountable for appropriate, and nothing less.

And Eddie…he did say he didn’t need a mark you could see on his heart, didn’t he.

“You need the room while you get better,” Steve murmured as he killed the engine, and lifted Eddie’s hand to his lips, pressed his mouth on the knuckles, nuzzling a little, eyes closed and Eddie…Eddie didn’t know what to do.

The only saving grace was that he didn’t have a monitor to rat his ass out when his heart started trying to escape orbit—fuck just his ribs, how pedestrian—this time.

They sat in a living room that looked like it was once absolutely pristine and still was, mostly, but up close Eddie could see little snags on the sofa, could feel the texture of the fabric different under his fingers for scrubbing out a stain. He suspected four infamously unmannered teenagers were the culprits. The remaining stiffness of the cushions was good for the way his body was still working through being gnawed apart, but he was gone far enough to kind of immediately hope he’d see how they wore with love and use and maybe something more once they got there, once Eddie’s body cooperated again, because he…Steve brought him home.

And maybe they didn’t have to stop when Eddie left the hospital. Maybe he didn’t have to lose.

He’d only made it shortly past the best fucking grilled cheese he’d maybe ever tasted, and he didn’t think it was only because it was his first meal without an aftertaste of sterile in too fucking long—but he only lasted a little more than an hour before Steve’d helped him to a guest room on the first floor that’d obviously been reworked for him, from the way he could reach the bed from just inside the door, to the fucking posters that he knew for a fact Steve wouldn’t have had on hand, and Eddie’d giggled a little wetly at the Ozzy one, because he figured the man steadying him at his side would never be anything but intertwined with the Prince of Darkness in his mind, now—but Steve, who’d more than proven he was so far beyond any kind of king, won hands down. By a landslide.

And who could have seen that coming?

“Careful,” Steve chided him gently as he guided Eddie slowly down to the mattress and made to tuck him in, and the word was so warm, so warm but Eddie had to…

He had to reach. Again. He needed Steve, he…needed.

The handprint on top of his heart didn’t need to be a thing he could see, but he needed Steve to…know some level of what he was feeling, of how much was inside him already, and growing, the momentum building and he didn’t want to feed it, didn’t want to let it run if he wasn’t going to have someone to catch it, to run with him but he also didn’t think there was any chance to stop it, now, he didn’t think he could trim it back or tame it from consuming him and he wasn’t sure he’d even want to if he actually had the power because it was the best feeling he’d ever known, even if it was terrifying, even if it could hurt him more than anything he’d ever known and—

“I don’t want to be alone,” was what spilled from his lips with Steve’s hand above his heartbeat as it pumped so goddamn hard it couldn’t be denied, it couldn’t be misconstrued, and he didn’t want to sleep alone, didn’t want to lose what he’d rebuilt himself around all these weeks, he—

“Good,” and Steve leaned down, cradled Eddie’s face and tipped him up to kiss him full, hard, one hand still on his chest because that was the mark, the promise, the fight for all that this was and all it could be like a fucking vow and Eddie melted for it on sight, on contact.

“Because I’m not leaving,” and Steve brushed the tip of his nose back and forth against Eddie’s, his smile like honey in his tone as he pecked Eddie on the lips one more time before stretching his hand to follow him across the bed, to crawl to the other side and slide in next to Eddie, to carefully arrange him against Steve’s body, to wrap around him with so much care, to touch nothing too tender and everything safe to hold as Steve tucked his face against Eddie’s neck and kissed behind his ear as he breathed:

“Never gonna leave you all alone again.”

And Eddie believed him.

Eddie believed him.

And when, weeks later when Eddie was hurting less and moving more, perched in the corner of the couch that was starting to give a little under persistent weight, starting to feel like it was meant to be used and lend comfort; as Eddie was poking at campaign notes for the gremlins, pen caught between his teeth, he only paused when he felt the gravity of a familiar gaze settle on him—not immediately, because he liked just existing in it, feeling its heft, but after enough moments to satisfy him he looked up, met those eyes and felt them in his goddamn soul as he asked:

“What?”

And Steve had just kept on staring, the bare hint of a quirk at the corners of his lips spreading to the full sunrise of his smile.

“You fit, here,” and he’d said it so simply, so…much like a truth, a fact of the universe—Eddie Munson fits, belongs in this place, this space, this home, this life—and then the smile dimmed ever so slightly, cloud cover across the shine as Steve shifted a little, crossed his arms loose but still as a barrier over his chest: “if you want to, I mean—”

And Eddie sat up straighter, and he reached both his hands out to Steve because:

“I want to,” it was all he wanted, really; it wasso far beyond his wildest dreams but it was real, Eddie could see and touch it, taste it, feel it through his blood when it pumped, tracking through his whole body, filling up his heart overfull and magnificent and he as just…

“Sweetheart,” he took Steve’s hands and tugged him down to sit next to Eddie, settled him so close; “I’ve never wanted anything as much as I want that.”

He leaned back, wholly prone and never once letting go of Steve’s hands, never once doing anything but keeping them laced together and anchored, locked tight and Steve matched him, followed him as Eddie drew him to his healed-enough chest to settle right at the center, to hear Eddie’s heartbeat for the declaration it was, it already was in its entirety:

“You fit here.”

And he did. They both did. Their worlds had shifted, grew around the shapes they made together and after not-long-at-all, they fit so fucking well that it was bespoke to their cells, they’d never fit anyone else. It was quick and it was heady and it was fucking right.

For months

And then it all went to shit.

Because Steve decided what should have been expected, honestly—that Eddie wasn’t worth the hassle, that he wasn’t right for Steve, that Steve’s staggeringly-expansive capacity for love was wasted to hell on this low-life dipshit who couldn’t even graduate on his third try at high school, who maybe didn’t have a murder charge anymore in the legal system but would never wash it clean from the court of public opinion, who was…trouble. Always trouble.

Not fucking worth it.

It’s just…Eddie never thought Steve would stop wanting him. He maybe went in reticent at first, but Steve had loved so hard out the gate that as soon as he knew he was allowed, and welcome? Eddie didn’t hesitate to meet that love beat for beat.

He just never imagined his love would ever be unwelcome; that that's how his heart would break.

What breaks in the moment, though—the heartbreak is constant, and unfortunately proving to be kinda fucking unending, really—but what breaks now is…possibly the handle on the front door for the way someone’s banging and jiggling it back and forth like the first time it didn’t give against the lock was just a fluke.

He frowns, considers waiting out whoever’s enough of a dick to knock like that but apparently not so witch-hunty to throw a brick through the window—which: Eddie will take progress, he guesses—but when a concerning creak sounds from near the hinges, Eddie thinks of Wayne, and how his uncle doesn’t deserve a broken front door, so.

Heartbroken or not, Eddie has to drag himself to deal with…this.

Then he’s throwing the door open and…this is—

“We need to talk.”

This should have been expected. There’s really only one little asshole who’d assault his door with that much…determination.

“Henderson—” Eddie huffs, because he knows he needs to set a date for them all to get together, he left the campaign they were in kinda dangling on a thread when he didn’t hold the gatherings at St—

Well, when their regularly scheduled venue became too much for Eddie’s heart to handle.

Which: okay, fine, he gets it but like, he can’t care as much as he maybe should when he feels like this, and the kids need to fucking take a chill pill and if they can’t understand, then at least they can just shut the fuck up for at a couple more weeks while Eddie licks his wounds and sees if they decide to finally scab over enough that he doesn’t keep with busting them back open every time he breathes—

“About Steve.”

Eddie’s heart shudders just to hear the name. He’s avoided hearing it for weeks, now; it hurts too much.

He hears it enough in his own head, in his dreams, in his nightmares when he see the worst, in the cadence of his fucking pulse because his heart doesn’t know how not to be Steve’s, kinda feels like it’s not interested in learning, will never be anything other than what it is now, forever, and—

“We need to talk about what you did to Steve.”

Wait.

Wait, what he did to—

What?

❄️

>>> part ii

for @kultiras🖤

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divider credit here

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Prompt 141

Many would assume the flirtatious and caring bard to be the most touchstarved of the duo, but they would be wrong. Very very wrong. It was Geralt that sought out Jaskier's personal space like it was an all-curing ambrosia. Day and night, In town or in the woods, warm weather or the late autumn, Geralt would touch him. Always, always touching him. Don't get him wrong! Jaskier loves being groped all day by his rather attractive witcher friend, but it wasn't always the most convenient trait for his witcher to have.

*Growls* "Geralt, please, it's the waitress! She's taking our order."

Geralt clings to Jaskier's arms, plays with his hair, sniffs at his neck. He guides Jaskier with a hand on the shoulder, or an arm around his waist, or one time, - flustering Jaskier greatly - a hand on his hip. When Geralt is worried for him, he grips his arm, shields him with his body, or roams his hands over Jaskier's body, searching for injuries. Geralt is ever-present in Jaskier's personal space. It's just become a thing with them. Even in times of stress, danger, adrenaline. Geralt is fighting a manticore one day, and Jaskier is - admittedly, quite foolishly - in plain view. It wasn't on purpose! He's not an idiot! STOP JUDGING HIM! The beast goes to charge straight for him, and Geralt grabs his arm and whips him to the side, just in time to save him from the beast who then careens off a cliff. Jaskier pants, and feels the familiar weight of Geralt's hands. Geralt is snarling at him, shouting at him, and Jaskier tries very hard to understand, truly, he does, but it's hard. "Damn it, Jaskier, answer me!" Oh! REALLY should be listening now! "Hm?" "Are you hurt? Are you in pain?" "No, no, you- You saved me." Like always. Jaskier stares at his hero. His witcher. His Geralt. His love. For Jaskier does love Geralt. More than anything. And Jaskier seems to realize this fact more and more every day. With every move Geralt makes, with every word he says, with every little touch and caress. He thinks more on this fact later that night around the campfire. Geralt asks him to pass him a waterskin, but when Jaskier reaches to grab it, he hisses in pain. He rolls up his sleeve and sees a bruise in the shape of Geralt's hand on his arm. Right. From when he was saved. "I'm going to find some dinner." Geralt suddenly announces, standing abruptly and already shuffling away. "Wh- But Geralt, what about the watersk-" "I don't need it." He disappears into the bushes and trees, and Jaskier furrows his brow. He was sure they still had some food in their packs, why was Geralt so insistent on leaving? Curious... Even more curious, is in the following days, Geralt is avoiding him. From an outsiders perspective, nothing would appear wrong. But Geralt hasn't touched him once. No embraces, or odd sudden bouts of smelling Jaskier's hair, or holding his hand... He hasn't even stood closer than a meter to him. Jaskier worries to no end. What must he have done? What's changed? Why won't Geralt touch him? It's not until he's bathing one evening and he glances to the still-healing bruise that it clicks. Geralt feels guilty. The damned bleeding-heart is so convinced he's a monster that even a mark that shows protection shows only it's ugliest form to him. When Jaskier sees the bruise on his arm, he remembers Geralt saving him, he remembers the relief, he remembers feeling alive. Geralt only sees a bruise. Something of hurt. Caused by Geralt. Jaskier is so simultaneously horrified and infuriated that he slams open the door of the joined bathroom and marches into main area of the room they'd rented for the night. Still nude. Still dripping. Geralt, sat on the bed, midway through taking off his boots, was certainly shocked.

[antleredweirdo]

Ok so you know how there are a bunch of ‘summoning Ghost King’ AUs? And how in both the DC universe and the DP universe (from what I’m aware of) the wall separating the spirit realm and the living realm is weakened during Halloween?

What if a group (cultists, justice league, teen titans, anyone) summon the Ghost King (otherwise known as the Balancer Of Two Worlds) and Danny shows up in his Halloween costume. More specifically, he gets summoned while dressed up as the Grim Reaper.

And thus, because Danny is awkward as all hell sometimes and just says shit, the summoners end up thinking Danny is the actual Grim Reaper.

Chaos ensues

[robin-evry]

𝐃𝐑. 𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐔𝐒 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐄𝐓𝐘!𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 👩‍🔬🔭

Ever since you accepted towards the genius society, you and veritas relationship has been strained for the past few days. Thinking it would all go back by giving him space. Until he breaks up with you...

( English is not my first language )

Playing - Goddess by laufey

You and veritas were both professors in the same university and that's how you both meet. Originally he was unbearable wearing that plaster on his face. Saying that he can't stand seeing the face of idiots. And he was referring to you.

But slowly sparks started to bloom. You are the only one that can match his intellectual aspect, and soon you both started to fall in love slowly.

One day he finally takes his plaster off and reveals his face.

Reader : I thought you said, you can't stand looking at idiots

Dr ratio : I don't, but as long as it's you. I wouldn't mind looking at you.

Soon you guys started to go for coffee together, bathing together, admiring the galaxy, enjoying and basking the presents of each other not minding the world because there's only one in each other's worlds.

During your first anniversary of dating, you gave him a two set custom made identical rubber duck of him as well as you, so when takes a bath. Rubber duck him and you will always be seen swimming together

You've always noticed his disappointment of not being accepted towards the genius society and you were there to comfort him and reassure him that he will always be enough.

It's only you and him in the sky, nothing could separate you guys. Even tho he or you are unbearable towards the other but deep inside you feel that there's love for the other one.

Many people said you guys are a perfect match. Everything was perfect until....

One day, you receive an invitation to join the genius society as its number 85# member. Everyone claps and congratulates you and when you look at him, he has this look of betrayal. When you guys are back at home, he stays in his office for the entire night leaving in the once warm bed.

During your congratulation party hosted by the university, many famous people as well as genius society members come to welcome the newest 85# member herta, ruan mei, screwllum, Stephen Lloyd, etc. during your official meeting with herta, veritas was with you, she didn't even acknowledge his existence only looking at you not gazing at him once. She asks for your cooperation towards building a project called simulation universe.

Even some IPC higher-ups arrive to celebrate. You see aventurine chatting with veritas in the corner, until one particular stone heart member introduces himself, his name was sugilite and he kisses your palm as well sending a wink. Suddenly someone sends a cough and it catches both of you guys attention. It was veritas. He said he has some business with you.

Before you can pull your arm away, veritas gently drags you away from the stone heart, and leads you to the balcony after asking are you okay he said he has some work to do and leave the party early.

By far your relationship has become strained, he always faces the other way of the bed without looking at you, he rarely talks to you only asking how are you or how's your day, he hesitated to touch you even when you wrap your arms around his waist he was hesitating whenever or not to touch you.

Recently since you are planning on working with herta on the simulation universe. Your office was told to be removed from the intelligence guild to the herta space station, for maximum work with herta on the simulation universe. Thinking you will only be gone for a few months and will be back to be with veritas.

Until he meets you in an isolated garden in the intelligence guild, he said you guys should break up. The world seems to stop, every thought of doubt comes to your mind and the only thing that comes out of your mouth is oh okay. You were just shocked and he leaves. After a few minutes after he left you sat at a bench and cried your hearts out.

Soon news about you guys breaking up quickly, but instead of crying your hearts out, you bury yourself into your work. Making sure everything is perfect unlike your love. But sometimes memories or reminders of him come towards your mind and make you stop mid-way. But soon you will continue to work. Also recently some gifts started to appear as well large amounts of credit donation towards your project with only one indication from who it was from, the secret admirer gave you jewelry made by the stone "sugilite".

When you try to ask for herta or ruan mei advice, they unfortunately said they are not experts in the fields of romance, but screwllum has been a big help, he will try to find ways to comfort you. You joke to him saying that he has more heart than a human being.

During your audience with nous the aeon themselves, you were allowed to ask any question but there were hundreds of questions but you settled towards one "why do people change" unfortunately you were unable to get a clear answer from the aeon.

You guys haven't been in contact for over one year. Until you meet him again when he visits the space station to inspect the simulation universe for the IPC.

[farshootergotme]

Batman 'firing' Robin will never sit well with me because having the authority to fire someone implies they applied for a job, and a job includes payment.

So, Batman firing Robin is like saying he's paying Robin for doing his job. Except, is he paying? The simple answer would be no, but then the next logical option is assuming that the payment comes with everything he does for a Robin.

Since Batman provides the equipment he has the right to take it back and that's not the part that bothers me. What bothers me is that there's another crucial thing that Batman does for Robin: provide a home.

And while, yes, Batman's intention isn't to take away the safe space of Robin or to make him believe he's making him leave his house, intentions don't matter in miscommunication.

Firing Robin means not 'paying' him anymore. It means taking away what he's giving him because he isn't doing his job correctly.

For Robin, it means losing his home.

[ghost-bxrd]

Prompt:

Damian isn’t happy about father’s rule not to hurt the gaggle of false kids he has acquired. How is he supposed to prove to him that he is the only one worthy of the title of heir now?

But fine. Most of them are stupid enough they’ll end up dead sooner or later. Damian just has to play the long game. Establish himself as the only constant.

But then father’s wayward son, Todd, comes home… and it’s so much worse than Damian expected.

He remembers this man. Remembers him from hushed whispers in the League, from mother’s creased eyebrow, and training halls drenched with blood.

And he’ll take one look at Damian and know. Know that he’s a threat to his position.

And the worst thing: Damian isn’t allowed to defend himself.

[rapplesart]

Dc x Dp prompt

Danny tries to stop Bruce's evil schemes.

Danny went to Gotham and sees Bruce Wayne and he sees the hints of him being batman but he doesn't get to the right conclusion.

Because he is used to crazy Ghosts and Vlad masters being an absolute fruit loop that is obsessed with money. His parents are crazy scientists that are on the verge of villainous. Danny doesn't see "Billionaire with secrets, kids and a basement" and comes to the conclusion that he's a hero.

No, he full in thinks Bruce Wayne is a villain and then, to top it all off, he sees Bruce out as Matches Malone in the bar he's working at to keep money going. So obviously Bruce Wayne does crimes and has dirt in his basement.

He is now fully convinced that he is up against another fruitloop and works to put said fruitloop down.

And then he meets Bruce's dead Child Jason Todd who apparently died a horrible death and got resurrected? And that child is also a crime lord? Yeah Danny needs to stop this man as soon as possible!

[wangxianficrecs]

💙 Building it back, stone by stone and seal by seal by KizuKatana

💙 Building it back, stone by stone and seal by seal

by KizuKatana (@kizukatana)

M, WIP, 49k, Wangxian

Summary: It had been over 200 years since the war between cultivators left more than half the land ravaged and uninhabitable and the practice of cultivation punishable by death. Despite the risks of being caught as a practicing cultivator, Wei Wuxian took on the hunt of a dangerous yao that had destroyed a small village and killed all of the civilians. While searching for the demon, he encountered a mysterious cultivator dressed all in white. Wei Wuxian was excited to finally meet another cultivator, but instead of greeting him or making pretty much any conversation at all, the man attacked Wei Wuxian on sight. - - - - - - There is NO WAR in this fic. This takes place two centuries after the war happened, and it has a sort of post apocalyptic vibe. This is a story of rebuilding and finding safety. It's about found family and forming a new society away from the old one that persecuted them. Kay's comments: Kizu is back with another banger! I'm so hooked on this story and this one is for everyone who's here for regular updates, because they are coming and they are amazing. As always with Kizu's stories, the world-building is amazing and I really loved what we saw of Wei Changze's and Cangse Sanren's origins so far (though they are already long dead by the time the plot happens). I'm also really curious to learn more about Lan Wangji and for him and Wei Wuxian to clear out their unfortunate miscommunications~ I'm also living for Wei Wuxian's very literal found family. Excerpt: “I never thought I’d see another cultivator,” Wei Wuxian said, half in shock. He had been searching for years to find any sign that he was not the only cultivator remaining, and abruptly being confronted with living proof that he was not alone was something he hadn’t been braced for. The man narrowed his eyes, his face a cold mask that gave little away. “Leave,” the cultivator said warningly. Wei Wuxian blinked at the unfriendly, cold tone. He had been so excited to finally have met someone who was like him that the rejection cut a lot deeper than he was used to. The man was dressed in traditional cultivator robes, something that even Wei Wuxian’s mother had stopped doing within days of coming down from the Mountain given the danger being caught even owning them would bring. How could the man be so fearless in his appearance? Maybe it was because, unlike Wei Wuxian, this cultivator was not alone. Perhaps he had a community to return to: People to look out for him. People to train him. People to help him if he were injured. All the things Wei Wuxian did not have. “Are you alone? Are there others? Where have you been staying?“ Wei Wuxian asked, one question tumbling excitedly after the other. Instead of replying, the man drew his sword and attacked.

pov wei wuxian, post-war, alternate universe, canon era, rogue cultivator wei wuxian, rogue cultivator lan wangji, burial mounds ensemble as family, families of choice, literal found family, orphan wei wuxian, hurt/comfort, injury recovery, strangers to lovers, misunderstandings, miscommunication

~*~

(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for this hard-working author if you like – or think others might like – this story.)