#whiskeytango

[denois]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Check Please! (Webcomic) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Tony "Tango" Tangredi/Connor "Whiskey" Whisk Characters: Connor "Whiskey" Whisk, Tony "Tango" Tangredi Additional Tags: Pre-Relationship, Love Confessions, love confessions under the influence of medication, public breakdowns and trying to avoid them, Descriptions of Blood, anesthesia induced amnesia, just go with it for the plot Series: Part 61 of Tumblr Fics and Prompt Fills Summary:

He woke up in what he thought must be a recovery room with his cheeks full of gauze and the vague impression that his name must be Connor. Because that's what the nurses kept calling him every time they told him to stay awake and asked how he was feeling.

"Hey Connor. How are you feeling? Ready to get out of here?"

It was better to keep his eyes forward. To avoid looking at her. To avoid seeing the pity -or worse- on her face as she helped him to a door.

Which meant he was looking at the door -through the door- as it opened. Which meant he got to see the way the world brightened, a new dawn, the sun sparkling, as a smile spread across the face of the most beautiful man to ever live.

"Hey." It was muffled by the gauze and he had a bad feeling that he might be drooling, but he tried to stand up taller so that he'd look better. Like he was completely in control and the world wasn't changing position every time he looked away.

[mcgruff708]

May just be my phone but couldn’t download here when transferred to app from KiddChris.net. I did get it there however. Was at that show super early and traded a beer for a shirt a dude caught next to me. KiddChristian for life.

[ronearoundblindly]

Hello 😇 I'm not sure why but heart would MELT upon seeing Steve giving Precious some of ⛑ oooooor Ari and his girl getting/giving some 🥰 Hope you're doing well - and no pressure (those scenarios already live rent-free in my head)

(Steve and Precious will be posted separately and linked back here when it's done, but I got too excited because I pretty much just eased myself to sleep by writing this...Enjoy!)

Ari Levinson x best friend!reader

Post-Nightmare Cuddles, a Bedrock and Blueprints drabble

Warnings for mild suggestive language. WC 620

It’s been a long, long time since Ari had a nightmare.

He’s not sure how he managed it. Perhaps work and personal things just took over his mind for so long that thoughts back to life in the military were kept at bay. Perhaps he ate something too spicy tonight. Who the hell knows.

You certainly don’t. You don’t know because you’re not in bed when Ari jolts awake covered in sweat and shivering.

He fixed the A/C a week ago and you both have been basking in the frigid glory, piling blankets on, using it as an excuse to snuggle up close skin-to-skin, but not now.

It takes him a long minute to catch his breath. He can’t tell if he shouted, if he made any noise at all, or honestly, if he’s even in the place he thinks he’s in because it’s dark and he’s disoriented and alone. He sleeps over, but none of Ari’s stuff is in your house. His one set of clothes on a chair to his right is the dead giveaway.

He tries to call for you. Nothing comes out of his vice-gripped lungs, so he tosses the bed layers aside and fumbles around the not-quite-familiar layout until he approaches the living room light, squinting.

He didn’t hold back his heavy footsteps, and you’re huffing before looking up from your laptop.

“I’m almost done, I swear. There’s just one thing I—“

The instant your eyes land on Ari it’s as if a completely different type of bomb goes off, something silent but no less devastating.

You don’t close the laptop. It’s haphazardously tossed to the opposite corner of the couch and the throw across your lap drops to the floor.

You’re in his arms lightning fast, and Ari’s just…grateful.

He drapes the full weight of his arms over your shoulders and back, resting his chin on your head, taking in how you’re there and real and warm compared to the empty, cold air everywhere else. He heaves out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and feels lighter, more human, almost magically.

He’s grateful still when you don’t ask him anything else. You just squeeze him gently and run your hands across his bare back, letting him breathe, making him live.

Finally, when his heart rate slows a little and he shifts to kiss your forehead instead, his beard soft and scratchy all at once, you give a sweet little tap to his butt.

“Let me just turn this stuff off. I’m right behind you, okay?”

Ari hangs on for a few more seconds before releasing you and shuffling back down the hall. He hears the snap of the laptop and click of the light switch prior to his foot even crossing the bedroom threshold, and you hustle in so fast that you both pull back covers at the same time.

You follow his lead on getting situated, Ari choosing you to hold him now, on your sides, your arm beneath his head, his face nuzzled to your chest, and your leg thrown over his hip. His top hand roams your waist and back for a minute as you feel everything around slow. His chest rises less and falls farther, his arm gets heavy and stops. Your own heart beats like uneven clockwork, lulling him into a softer pace of reality.

It can be reality, he thinks, and not be a nightmare. Those aren’t his only memories.

He can see the good ones more clearly when you’re here though. You are the good memories, and you’ll be in his good dreams, too.

Ari falls back to sleep with your fingers gliding through his hair, happily smothered in your sleepy comfort.

from this game of "Comfort My Characters."

Thank you for asking!

Taglist: @supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish

[Main Masterlist; Light Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

[pecanplease]

Tango wears this after Connor becomes captain

[backwardscapsmh]

tango: do you ever think alternate realities are real?

whiskey (trying to be romantic): then i’d love you just as much in those alternate realities as i do in this one 🥰

tango: but if those realities are alternate wouldn’t that mean that you wouldn’t love me? and what if in those realities llama’s could talk? and what-

whiskey: *disappointed but not surprised*

[dexnursey]

my hot take to add to the check please renaissance is that i think tango should be taller than whiskey

[doodleddaisies]

Yo omgcp fandom, when the fuck did everyone start shipping Kent and whiskey?? Like I'm still prepared to die over whiskey and tango. What happened?

[whiskeylovingtrash]

I've just finished a rampage though all 16 NHL!Bitty fics on AO3. Why am I cursed with a love for rare tags and rare pairs?

Apparently I need to write the content I want to see :( imagine that!

Ask box is open if you want to make me write 😎 send me your deepest desires for rare tags or rare pairs.

[gayhockeyhellhole]

praying that someone will write a whiskeytango fic bc there are maybe like 3 over 1k on ao3. if not i'm gonna have to intervene and trust me no one wants that

[jam-heathen]

34 for whiskeytango? thank u for doing this btw my dash has been blessed many times

I’m happy to do them! I’m just glad yall are liking them. It’s a good excuse for me to step away from school over my spring break and lighten up my mood in general. Also, I need yall to know this was so aggressively close to being real sad hours instead of this. I really thought about it. I might write that for later, but for now, here’s this for prompt 34. “How do I look?”

_X_X_X_X_X_

Four years out from graduation and one shiny NHL contract later,Connor Whisk is feeling pretty good about himself. Or, rather, he was up untila minute or so ago.  Because AnthonyTangredi wearing a nice charcoal grey suit is apparently all it takes for hiscollege crush to return with a vengeance.

“Whiskey! Hey! How are you?” Tony wastes no time folding himinto a hug. Still somehow hung up on you despite not seeing you for four years,feels like the incorrect answer even if it’s what he actually wants to say.

Connor’s a beat late replying, “I’m good, Tones. How’ve youbeen? Besides shopping for a new suit, I guess.” They break apart and taketheir seats in the booth of the restaurant.

“Haha, yeah, it’s surprising I couldn’t figure out suitswith all the game days during college but finally got the hang of it workingfor a start-up. Honest thoughts, how do I look?”

“You look great, really” Connor responds. It’s too honest,but Tony’s beaming across the table. Somehow this entire dinner has been morethan Connor bargained for and they haven’t even ordered yet.

“So,” Tony says, restarting the conversation, “how have wenever been in Seattle at the same time when I work here most of the year andyou play in the NHL?”

From there it feels like conversation comes easier. It’s notthat they haven’t talked since graduation, they just really have never been inthe same place at the same time to meet up. As the evening wears on, it feelsless like catching up and more like coming home. There’s a warmth andfamiliarity to the whole thing that’s comforting in a way Connor didn’t know heneeded.

They decide to skip dessert for a tour of Tony’s favoritedowntown spots, exchanging promises to come back sometime when they’re open.

“I’ve missed this, yah know. Hanging out with you.” Tony’snot typically one to sound small, but he does just now.

“I’ve missed it, too.”

“Yeah, but you’re playing in the NHL. You’re living yourdream, Whisk!”

“I love it, don’t getme wrong, and I think it was the right choice. I just miss…” There’s a lot ofways to finish that sentence. Connor misses SMH, which he honestly would nothave predicted when he started as a Freshman but is true regardless. He missesthe seasonal brownies from Annie’s. The general dining hall he could take orleave, but the Halloween Spider Cider was nice. More importantly he missessharing the attic with Tony, studying together in Founders, generally justbeing in each other’s space. “You, really. Or us together, I guess. It feelslike I missed taking a chance there, if I’m being honest.”

Tony’s quiet for a while, and Connor starts to think he’sreally fucked this up until he feels Tony’s hand grasp his. “What if we take achance now instead?”

[denois]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Check Please! (Webcomic) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Tony "Tango" Tangredi/Connor "Whiskey" Whisk Characters: Tony "Tango" Tangredi, Connor "Whiskey" Whisk Additional Tags: Prompt Fill, Established Relationship, Misunderstanding, it gets resolved Series: Part 27 of Tumblr Fics and Prompt Fills Summary:

Tony stared at his hands. They weren’t super interesting. Nothing about them had changed. He hadn’t written any notes on them. His nails were short and neat. There was no dirt or grease. Absolutely nothing of interest at all. He kept staring at them anyway.

Questioning his hands was easier than questioning the one person he didn’t think he’d ever have to question. So he stared at his hands. Maybe he should try painting his nails.

He could try asking. They had an agreement. No sarcasm, only true questions, and the other would answer truthfully without judgement. Not that he wanted to be sarcastic with his boyfriend. It just happened that his instinctive humor came out as sarcastic questions. Which tended to blend in with his natural inquisitiveness. Which, in turn, made people think he wasn’t very smart. But he was smart. And he knew what it meant when he overheard “No, we broke up, Abuela. ¿Recuerdan?”

[cowlovely]

hello it has been. ten years

[cerealmonster15]

I’d love to see tango in C1 and whiskey in B1!! (miss our boys!)

when i first saw the faces i almost Screamed bc at first my brain was like “whiskey said something mean to tango and made him cry” but i wont stand for that so i found a solution

i miss the lads

[x]

[gayspectre]

let me just jot down whiskeytango to my list of fave cp ships

[backwardscapsmh]

as always, i was in my whiskeytango feels and decided to write something! they live in my mind rent free so enjoy! as always, comments and constructive criticism are appreciated! 🥰

oh, just to be near you // don't you know how good that feels? // these are all the things i should've said // did i miss my chance? is it too late to say?

- million words by the vamps

It’s quiet when Whiskey walks into the Haus after his last class of the day. And anyone who is familiar with the Samwell men’s hockey team knows that this is cause for concern. It may be quieter now that Ransom and Holster are gone, but it’s almost never this quiet. It’s eerie, and Whiskey doesn’t like it.

Last year, Bitty would be stress-baking in the kitchen, either muttering French flash cards or singing Beyoncé songs. Ollie and Wicks would be playing Super Smash Bros on the couch in the den, chirping and jostling each other. (Whiskey still thinks they’re together but no one besides Ford believed him when he brought it up). Dex usually stomped around, occasionally tinkering with machines around the Haus and affectionately arguing with Nursey. Chowder will aggressively watch Sharks games, sometimes angrily yelling at Devyn Dubnyk for his seeming inability to guard a goal.

But Bitty’s not here anymore, and neither are Ollie and Wicks. As far as Whiskey can tell, Dex and Nursey aren’t here at the moment (probably on a date that they don’t want the team to know that they’re on). Chowder’s absent as well, most likely in his senior programming class he despises.

The one voice he should hear but doesn’t is Tango’s. Tango’s almost always talking. He’ll ask about Dex’s tinkering and his occasional pie baking. He’ll talk to Chowder about the Sharks and how they’re doing during the season, occasionally asking about players. He’ll play video games with Hops. He’ll ask Bully about his motorcycle and his drawings. He’ll talk to anyone about anything, asking questions, pushing for explanations, and smiling when they get excited about the topic.

It’s strange to not hear him talk, not hear the cadence of Tango’s New Jersey tenor. The Haus doesn’t seem like the Haus without it. He should be here, he doesn’t have class and after Ollie and Wicks gave him their dibs (he’s one of the only ones able to tell them apart), he should be here. Worried, he shoots a quick text to Ford.

Me: Hey, where’s Tango? He’s not here.

Ford: he should be there resting

Ford: lost his voice, so he can’t talk

Ford: dex said that he’s making some soup when he gets home but maybe check in :)

Me: Okay, thanks.

Ford: no problem! see u soon

Well, that answers his question.

Not wanting to disturb Tango’s nap, he settles on the green couch that Bitty got cleaned as a graduation present from his parents. It’s not so disgusting now and Whiskey appreciates that he can type out his essay without worrying if that sticky stain on the cushion is just soda or some other concerning substance. It finally looks like you won’t get an STD after sitting on it for more than five minutes.

But for the newly clean environment, Whiskey can’t seem to get comfortable. He keeps feeling like something’s not right. There’s this feeling that won’t leave him alone: something, or someone, is missing.

And that’s when he realizes, he misses Tango. There’s no warm presence next to him. There’s no 6 feet of New Jersey native pressed up against the back of the couch, the arm of the chair, or the front of the couch, leaning against Whiskey’s knees. It’s quiet, and cold. It’s awful. He didn’t realize Tango took up this much space in his life.

Fuck.

In an attempt to distract himself, he wanders into the kitchen. He’s trying to ignore the newly realized feelings about his best friend, but in his mindless state, he ends up making a warm mug of lemon ginger tea. Even when he’s trying to not focus on Tango, he subconsciously focuses on him. There’s a metaphor in there, but Nursey is the English major, not him.

Carefully picking up the mug that someone ended up making once upon a time in a ceramics class for a required art credit, he starts the trek up the creaking stairs to the attic. With everyone out, or otherwise busy, it’s quiet. All Whiskey can hear is the creak of the stairs, his own breath, and an occasional mechanical whirring sound.

When he reaches the top of the stairs, the door is closed, which usually means “disturb with caution” so Whiskey tentatively knocks. He ends up quietly calling “Tango?” before remembering that Tango’s lost his voice and should be resting. So he slowly cracks the door, walking into Tango’s room.

“I brought you some tea,” he says, bringing it over to where Tango’s sitting on his bed.

To be completely honest, he looks terrible. He’s still wearing pajamas and is wrapped in about three different blankets, surrounded by a mountain of tissues. He looks paler than usual, his hair sticking up in different directions, no doubt from fitful sleep. His eyes are sad and glassy and his nose is red. He doesn’t look like Tango. He looks like a shell of himself.

“I thought it might help,” he continues, handing the mug over. Tango just nods his thanks.

It’s weird, not having Tango smile brightly at him and prattle on about whatever’s around them. He just looks sad, and Whiskey curses every time freshman year he wished Tango would just shut up. His freshman year self got his wish and it’s awful. He hates it.

And because Tango can’t talk, there’s just silence between them now. Whiskey’s not good with words. He doesn’t know how to make them come out right some of the time. So he just lets them swirl around inside him until they become too much to bear and they force their way out of his mouth.

But Tango isn’t like that. He’s loud, he’s bubbly, and he lets every word in his head come out when it wants. He talks about what he wants to talk about. He’s generous with his words, freely talking to anyone about anything. It’s breathtaking to be around him. He fills the world with ideas and thoughts, and Whiskey loves it.

Being around Tango feels like warmth and love. It feels like sitting on the bus together: Tango with his friendship bracelets and Whiskey with his homework that he gives up on doing when Tango ropes him into watching a movie with him. It feels like his Abuela’s cooking. It feels like sitting in the sun in the Quad, surrounded by friends. It feels like...Tango.

But it doesn’t feel like that right now. Tango’s quiet. So Whiskey takes a deep breath and starts talking.

He talks about his day. He talks about his confusion when he walked into the Haus and it was quiet and how he was scared someone died (Tango tries to laugh a little at that but ends up in a coughing fit). He talks about Arizona. He talks about the latest Capitals and Rangers game. He talks about classes. He talks about whatever he can think of because if he can make Tango feel as warm as he makes Whiskey feel, he’d say about a million more words.

But a million words still wouldn’t be enough to explain how much he loves him.

[jack-manpain-zimmermann]

(please excuse my shaky Florida Spanish)

Tango: I d-don't really practice my Spanish much anymore, so I don't know how 'Spanish' my dancing is going to be??

Whiskey: (tucking himself behind Tango and moving them gently) sin palabras... sentir mis caderas... así...

Tango: your thighs um, don't have words? there are no words for your thighs? because yeah, I uh (breathing more heavily as they dance) I agree with that.. oh (finding the rhythm on his own) yeah there it is, I’m with ya now...

Whiskey: (murmuring) es muy fácil

Tango: (glancing to Whiskey's face next to his own, whispering) ¿quien?

(vid src)

A post shared by GWEPA (@gwepa) on Jun 24, 2017 at 11:39am PDT