#fic by me
Note
Do you think they're gonna fight?
hmmmmm
it might go something like this
"What is your problem?"
The words ring through the weird echo in Buck's kitchen. Eddie's furious, the lines of his body tense, holding himself apart from Buck.
Which shouldn't be as life-changing as it feels.
"Eddie," Buck says, fingers tight around the counter. "I thought you were out with Tommy."
"I was," Eddie says slowly, and there's confusion in the way he stares at Buck, a little betrayed, a little hurt. "You said you were busy tonight, but then Maddie sent a text. You told her we were going out?"
Fuck.
Buck shrugs, sliding his beer bottle off the counter. "Does it matter?"
"You're lying to your sister, to me, and you're asking if it matters?"
It's not lying. It's preservation. Buck can't—can't do this. "You were having fun, I was having fun," as if, "everything is fine."
Eddie watches him as he crosses the kitchen, cradling the beer bottle in his hands. Buck wants him to leave, to let him have this, whatever it is, in private. "You don't lie to me."
"Yeah well, people change," Buck mutters, because the hurt lances through him. Eddie and Tommy, getting on better, their relationship so effortless when Buck was jealous and angry and, and, and. "Tommy's—"
"I don't care about Tommy right now," Eddie says, coming to stand on the other side of the counter. "I care about you and whatever you have going on! it's not like you, Buck, and you can talk to me, you know you can."
Buck opens his mouth, closes it. "Not this. Not this."
There's definitely hurt in Eddie's expression, but he turns before Buck gets a good look. "Aren't we," Eddie starts, cuts off. His shoulders fall, sag a little. "Alright, Buck. Just—there's nothing you can tell me that I wouldn't—"
"Eddie," Buck whispers. He always thought it would be some furious thing, angry and heavy with emotion. Instead, he feels desperate, knows that if Eddie leaves like this, tension and hurt between them, it won't matter anymore.
"I think I might be bisexual!"
The words fall faster than he can stop them. It settles like lead in his stomach and he takes an involuntary step backwards.
Eddie turns, his eyes widening a fraction, his mouth closing. He stares.
The stretch is long enough that Buck starts to panic, feels something claw at his chest and it's tight, so tight, he definitely need to be somewhere else, anywhere else.
"Why would that," Eddie starts, cutting himself off.
Eddie's not stupid, of course he's not, but Buck hopes, begs, that he thinks it's Tommy, that Buck's like this because—
"Buck," Eddie says.
Shit. "Eddie, I don't—"
"Look at me." Eddie's words are soft, so soft. Buck wants to look up but he can't, he can't. Not if he wants to keep breathing or standing or doing anything that isn't collapsing because this is Eddie and he's, he's, everything.
Feet move into his periphery, fingers curling around his bicep.
"Buck," Eddie says again, this time firmer. "Buddy, look at me."
Like he's moving through mud, chest still tight, body warm, Buck is helpless to do anything but look up. Eddie looks the same way he always does. Buck isn't sure what that means; aren't things supposed to change? To shift beyond comprehension?
"Me?"
The word shouldn't be so life-changing. It's two letters, but it feels like so much more as Buck stares at his best friend. He wants to say yes, wants to run, but whatever Eddie sees in his face must say everything he can't.
"Shit." Eddie's fingers rest against Buck's collar, and he tips his head forward. Their foreheads touch and Buck doesn't know what to say, what to do. "Your timing, man."
Buck swallows. "I didn't know, not really. Not until—"
"Tommy," Eddie says. "Did you think—?"
"It seemed so easy, you and him," Buck starts.
"It is," Eddie agrees, shaking Buck a little. "But that doesn't mean anything against you. How could it? How could anyone come close to you?"
It's—Buck's fingers curl slowly around Eddie's waist, hooking in his jacket. "I'm sorry," he says, "about the lying, about not telling you. I couldn't, I didn't want to ruin anything."
"I know." Eddie sighs, pulling back, but his hand stays on Buck's collarbone, thumb rubbing against the exposed skin. "I'm so proud of you for saying it."
Something loosens in Buck's shoulders. "Thanks."
"But," Eddie says, and the lead is back, molten and hot in Buck's stomach. "I can't—Marisol and Chris," Eddie starts. "I need to speak to them and I can't, I need—"
The words trail off into silence.
Buck stares at Eddie, at the stricken expression, the concern. "I'm not going anywhere."
A smile curves Eddie's face and god, how could Buck have thought he'd be okay with this losing this? With letting Eddie go and being alone?
"It doesn't have to be now," Buck says, finding himself back on familiar ground. "You're the forever kind of guy, Eddie."
Eddie looks gut-punched, and his fingers flex against Buck's collarbone, tugs him forward by his shirt. A kiss brushes against Buck's temple, and Eddie drags him into a hug. "You're something else, Evan."
The hug is warm, tight, and Buck clings to the back of Eddie's jacket. He feels wrung out, worn and used, and he buries his face in Eddie's neck. "I'm sorry."
"Shut up," Eddie says gently. "It's not an easy thing to say."
Buck doesn't ask what about you or why did you come here or you make me so fucking happy.
Eddie doesn't say I don't know or I'll always come for you or you're the forever kind of guy, too.
Eventually, they will.
For now, it's enough.
or something :)
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A new kind of touch...
@kibagib has done it again, this time for a scene from chapter 2 of Couch Surfing. Kiba perfectly captured the tenderness in Simon's hand positioning and the love-sick look in Johnny's eyes. Amazing work!
___
The warmth of the room, the pressure of Johnny's head on his hip, and the pain that hummed in the back of his mind all combined to overrule common sense. He brushed his thumb into the buzzed hair just behind Johnny's ear and felt the shudder that ran through his body. Heat began to build behind Simon's sternum.
Slowly, Johnny turned his head, his eyes now wide open and blazing with something Simon couldn't… wouldn't name. Their gazes locked, and a boulder dropped on Simon's chest. He inhaled a shuddering breath, struggling for air as he drowned in stormy blue. The oxygen deprivation was his only excuse for the way his hand moved again, fingers trailing further up Johnny's neck to span over the stubbled jaw now within his reach.
Their gazes held, and Simon's sense of time disappeared in the undertow. The heat overwhelmed him, a flush working up his chest and onto his neck. His thumb stroked over a scruffy chin, then over the corner of parted lips.
He wondered vaguely if something really was wrong with him as the weight on his chest increased, breaths coming in quiet gasps.
A puff of air blew over the pad of his thumb when he finally broke through that last barrier and stroked over Johnny's lips.
___
Read the whole fic by checking out the first comment here or clicking through to my pinned post!
#soapghost#ghostsoap#simon ghost riley#john soap mactavish#Call of Duty#COD#ghoap#post canon au#not cod mwiii canon compliant#I am SCREAMING!!!!#IT'S SO BEAUTIFUL#For real#I get chills from how perfect this is#the intensity of the moment and the beauty of these two being dumb and in love but not willing to push each other#This is so incredibly perfect I can't take my eyes off it#I get chills just looking at it#art by kibagib#fic by me#OG Starlight
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Yennaia ficlet (set during 3.06)
So, I watched the early release of ep 3.06, half asleep in the middle of the night. And then this came out during my lunchbreak today. I don’t know how close the description of the scene is to what actually happened (as mentioned I was half asleep) but I thought I might as well shove it out into the world and adjust it later if I’m so inclined after seeing the other two eps.
ETA: Now on AO3 if you prefer
***Spoilers for episode 3.06 - this takes place in between two scenes in the episode***
Her lungs are burning as she runs along interminable corridors, throwing soldiers aside with barely a second glance. She sprints for the stairs, unsure of what she’ll find when she gets there. Alzur’s Thunder is not a spell to be cast lightly and she’s terrified that Tissaia will have paid too high a price for using it.
When she reaches the upper level, she can see through to the balcony. Tissaia is still there. Still standing. But weak. Even from a distance, Yennefer can see the stoop of her shoulders, the tremors in her hands as the last surges of chaos make their way out of her body.
Her hair is pure white and, for the first time, she looks like an old, frail woman.
Her legs give way just as Yennefer reaches her, and she grabs her around the waist to stop her from falling. She hoists her upright, taking all of her weight, even as Tissaia twists, trying to move back to her previous position.
“It’s over,” Yennefer tells her. “We have to go.”
Tissaia makes a noise that cuts through Yennefer’s heart. A low keening, a noise from a distressed animal.
Yennefer grits her teeth, wrapping Tissaia’s arm over her shoulder and half dragging, half carrying her away from the balcony, grateful when she feels the body in her arms stop fighting and acquiesce.
They shuffle onward, through smoke and past rubble. Tissaia is whimpering and Yennefer can’t help the tears that fall from her own eyes, more for Tissaia than for Aretuza or herself. They’re nearing what’s left of the staircase when Tissaia stops moving, causing Yennefer to stumble into the wall to keep them both upright.
“Leave me here,” Tissaia whispers.
“What? No!” Yennefer urges her to start moving again. “The place is on fire. We need to get-”
“You need to get out,” Tissaia says, her voice a little firmer. She looks up at Yennefer, lifting a trembling hand to brush over her cheek. “Leave me here.”
“What are you talking about?” Yennefer says, growing frantic. “Stop being obstinate and just work with me.” Again she tries to get them moving, but Tissaia stays where she is, still as a rock.
“Aretuza is destroyed,” Tissaia says, her eyes flicking around the ruin their home is being reduced to around them. “Everything I have worked to build, to preserve, to protect…is gone.” She shakes her head. “I have been a fool. It’s only right that I should die here.”
“No it fucking isn’t!” Yennefer almost screams. “I didn’t keep you alive at Sodden only to walk away now. I didn’t leave Ciri to let you die here.”
“I’m done, Yennefer,” Tissaia says, fresh tears making tracks through the dirt and blood on her face. “Aretuza is gone. I have no place in the world. I allowed this-” She flings a hand out towards the destruction. “-to happen.” Her eyes close. “I have nothing left. Leave me here.”
“Aretuza is a building,” Yennefer spits. “You have flesh and blood people who fought and died for you today. For you, not the building. You have them.” Her throat tightens. “And you have me.” She jerks Tissaia’s chin up, forcing her to meet her eyes. “Am I nothing to you?”
“Oh, Yennefer,” Tissaia slumps further against her, using the little strength she has left to grasp Yennefer’s arms. “Don’t you know? You’re everything to me. You are my legacy. And you will set the world back on its axis. You are the future.” She wets cracked lips with her tongue, more tears spilling down her dirty face. “I have no part to play in it.”
“Yes, you do.” Yennefer is desperate now. She’s seen Tissaia prepared to die before. She looked down upon her from that hill at Sodden, standing straight and proud, looking death in the eye as she expected to perish. BUt she’s never seen her like this. Despondent, dejected, ruined. “We need you. I need you.”
Tissaia laughs, and it’s a tiny sign of the life left in her. “I’m not sure that’s ever been true.”
“It has always been true and remains so,” Yennefer says, jerking as a piece of ceiling falls and smashes into the courtyard below. “You have saved me more times than I can count. You’ve kept wolves from my door for most of my life, even when I didn’t know it, you were always there, protecting me.” She leans in, pressing her forehead to Tissaia’s. “I can’t lose you. I don’t know how to live in a world without you.”
“Yes, you do” Tissaia says, her nose brushing Yennefer’s as she speaks. “You are a powerful sorceress. You are a mother.” Her ragged voice warms with affection. “You’ve even managed to develop a skill for politics and diplomacy of late.” She inhales, the breath rattling into her chest. “But above all of that, you have retained your kind heart. You care about people, you care about the world. And you will do what must be done to set it right.”
“And I will do all of that with you by my side,” Yennefer says, her own tears flowing freely by now. “I will do it better with you by my side. The Tissaia I know would want to be there. She would fight.”
“I have fought,” Tissaia counters, her forehead dropping to Yennefer’s shoulder. “And I have lost.”
A piece of masonry lands a few feet away and Yennefer turns them both away from the dust it throws up.
“If we stay here much longer we’re both going to die,” she says, coughing into Tissaia’s unsettlingly white hair.
“Go,” Tissaia says, attempting to push her away, but lacking the strength. “Ciri needs you. The world needs you. I will not allow you to perish here.”
“Then come fucking with me!” Yennefer screams, she has one card left to play. “I’m as stubborn as you are, you wretched old witch. And I’m not leaving here without you. So if you don’t want Ciri to be left motherless, again, you will get moving and walk out of this building with me.”
Tissaia looks at her for a long moment. Then she sighs. “You are stubborn enough to die here to prove a point.”
“Yes, but you’re not going to allow that, are you?” Yennefer holds her breath, but to her immense gratitude, she feels Tissaia move, even if her legs give way almost immediately and she clings to Yennefer to keep herself upright. Yennefer wraps her arms around her, bearing her weight as they navigate the stairs, moving as quickly as Tissaia can manage.
“You know I have to die sometime, Yennefer,” Tissaia says, when they finally make it outside.
“I know,” Yennefer says, almost blind from tears that refuse to stop. “But not today.” She draws them to a stop and waits for Tissaia to look at her. “Stay with me today.”
It takes longer than it should, but Tissaia nods, lifting a hand to Yennefer’s cheek and pulling her close, pressing a brief kiss to her lips. Whispered words follow, breath warm against Yennefer’s skin. “I’ll try.”
That’s all she can ask for right now, as Aretuza burns in the distance, and Tor Lara crumbles into the sea. She has Tissaia in her arms, solid and whole, and she has to appreciate that for as long as she can.
Together they turn and make their way to the group of mages watching their home fall apart. Yennefer never loosens her grip. If she can keep hold of Tissaia, if doesn’t let her go, she’ll stay.
She has to stay.
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find the art to go with this here!
it's cold outside, and crowley did not want to go out, but aziraphale wanted to go shopping, so here he is wrapping the scarf aziraphale had just finished knitting for him more tightly around his neck.
(it's one of many - he has them all tucked away in a box under the bed in his flat, and he adds to the collection every time he receives a new one. aziraphale likes to knit and thinks he's quite good at it. he is now, anyways.)
"is the fidgeting really necessary, my dear?"
"'s bloody freezing out here, angel," crowley snaps, perhaps a bit harder than he meant to. "we haven't all got the benefit of the heaven's angelic light, you know."
aziraphale's grasp on his arm tightens just a tad, not enough to hurt but just enough to pull him in closer. it would have been a fine gesture if it hadn't flustered crowley enough to miss a step, and if there hadn't been a patch of ice in exactly the wrong spot.
(for a demon of hell, ending up on one's ass in the middle of a busy sidewalk is the greatest humiliation one can face. which one could argue is rather the point. it didn't help that crowley had been on the bumping end of many a slippage himself.)
aziraphale immediately hauls him back up, murmuring "oh dear, crowley, i'm ever so sorry, are you quite alright darling," while clearly holding back a grin, which only added insult to injury.
"yeah, yeah, fine," crowley mutters, brushing snow off the back of his coat and glaring down any passersby who dare portray an ounce of sympathy. "can we get on with it? this next place better be enclosed against the elements."
(why anyone would choose to have an open-air market in the dead of winter was beyond him. he'd send every vendor right downstairs if they didn't already provide, in aziraphale's words, "simply the most scrumptious little bit and bobs", and who was crowley to deny his angel of the bits and bobs?)
"oh yes, and it should be delightfully warm as well, it's this new café i've been meaning to pop in on. i hear they have the most delicious eclairs..."
aziraphale continues to chatter about the various confections and competencies of the new café while crowley desperately tries to regain feeling in his fingers. somewhere along the way he realizes aziraphale has stopped talking and is instead gazing at him in a way that could, to any casual observer, appear fond, but crowley sees the glint of mischief in it and narrows his eyes behind his sunglasses.
"yesss, angel?"
aziraphale smiles, and stops, and the pedestrian traffic flows around them as he takes crowley's hands in one of his own (he's not even wearing gloves, the bastard) and leans forward to plant a kiss first on crowley's forehead, then to the curve of his nose, and finally on his mouth as warmth blossoms from every point of gentle contact.
"better, my dear?"
crowley's glasses have somehow gone slightly askew, despite not being touched, and he can feel the tips of his ears flush red.
"mmnk," he says coherently, and aziraphale's arm is around his again as he gently steers them both through the door of a bright little place full of warm smells and soft music and time, and time, and time.
#good omens#book omens#a/c#crowley#aziraphale#good omens fanfiction#fic by me#good gd can you believe this is the second piece of fic i've written. unfucking believable the shit that you churn out at 2am#oh yeah i absolutely wrote this with book gays in mind but it can be for whoever you want i suppose
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Stray Kids Relationship Titles
Or: How you finish the sentence, "This is my....."
Group: Stray Kids
Genre: Fluff
WC: 250
Warnings: Almost entirely non-gendered, but lee know’s potentially assumes gendered reader.
Disclaimer: All works are non-idol! AUs unless otherwise specified. Barely proofread, written in like five minutes, and is solely based on my gut instinct when thinking of each of them.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Bang Chan: Boyfriend. He’s a simple man, and there was never even really a question of what you’d call him.
Lee Know: Partner, but he asks to use gendered terms for you. He likes to see who gets thrown by the difference and who just rolls with it, and you like to watch the mischievous look in his eyes when it happens.
Changbin: Boyfriend or girlfriend depending on how he’s behaving. Big buff workout boy? That’s my boyfriend! Cute girly-pop dance master? That’s my girlfriend, 100%. He loves it and cheeses every time.
Hyunjin: Boyfriend. You had kind of wanted partner, and he calls you that most of the time, but he fully lit up the first time you tried out boyfriend. How could you deny him with that look on his face?
Han: All of them. It started as a bit between the two of you, but now you call him something different every time. His reactions are always priceless, and he likes that it keeps things playful.
Felix: Girlfriend, in private. It’s one of both of your favorite pet names for him, but in public you and he both use partner for each other.
Seungmin: Boyyyyyfriendddddddd. Boyfriend no question. He puffs up with pride a little bit every time you say it
Jeongin: Partner, usually, but boyfriend when he’s being goofy or playful. He especially loves when you roll your eyes and have to try to contain your laughter while saying it
#stray kids scenarios#skz scenarios#skz imagines#skz fic#stray kids fic#fic by me#stray kids drabbles#skz drabbles#skz headcanons#stray kids headcanons#bang chan#christopher bang#lee know#lee minho#han jisung#changbin#seo changbin#hyunjin#hwang hyunjin#felix#lee felix#seungmin#kim seungmin#i.n.#jeongin#yang jeongin
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my new year's fics
If you know me you may have noticed that I'm an absolute lunatic about the passage of time. I'm not even 100% sure this represents every time I have written about New Year's Eve and New Year's Day, but I suddenly felt the urge to attempt to compile my fics on the theme in one spot.
.
Silver Lining (Ted Lasso, Ted/Rebecca/Keeley/Roy, explicit, 9840 words): 2022 ends with a whimper; 2023 starts with a bang. :) [side note: this is my favorite NYE/NYD thing I've ever written]
january (Ted Lasso, Ted/Rebecca, mature, 3482 words): The first hours of the new year—the first hours they’re together—are freezing cold.
More Than Life Itself (9 to 5 [film], Judy/Violet, mature, 8411 words): Her friends had so many memories to share that Judy thought she could successfully pull off the fade she sometimes fell back on—the quiet, pleasant fade into the edge of the scene, an appreciative witness to her friends’ bright glow. Judy wasn’t shy, exactly, but she often preferred to listen. It didn’t work this time.
the rose room (Grace and Frankie, Grace/Frankie, explicit, 7294 words): Frankie winces almost imperceptibly at the word friend. (A story for the new year.)
Lightyear (The Devil Wears Prada, Miranda/Andy, explicit, 6741 words, third story in "Land Fathoms" trilogy): Even after six years away from New York, Andy hasn’t forgotten the hush that falls over Miranda’s street when the weather is cold. [Note: This one is only briefly about New Year's, and I have the feeling I'm missing at least a couple other times I'd have written these two at New Year's since I've been in the fandom--or willing to be pulled back in--since 2008 and I was obviously obsessed with the passage of time all this time. But I couldn't find anything else in my quick peer through ao3!]
.
Whether you read any of these or not, I hope this post finds you—whenever you're reading it—feeling some of the hope for the future (and commitment to working for peace) that a new year can bring. ❤️
#fic by me#new year's eve#ted lasso#hot dork club#grace and frankie#9 to 5#9 to 5 (film)#devil wears prada
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fond
"Was any of it real? Tell me the truth."
"I grew fond of you."
pre-canon moment between Ingilmundr and Aethelstan
rated m
for @wildwren, @aadmelioraa, and @aelflaeds
read it on ao3 if you wish
He watches the candle burn down to the red line, the Roman numerals melting away. His father would find such an invention ridiculous, another useless Saxon absurdity, but Ingilmundr is charmed by it. There are many aspects of Saxon life he finds charming.
He glances at the bed, where Aethelstan is gently snoring. They normally pray after, to wash away their sin, but he wore Aethelstan out tonight, and the other man fell asleep before the sweat had cooled from his skin.
Aethelstan shifts in his sleep now, a dark brown curl falling over his forehead. Impulsively, Ingilmundr walks towards the bed, leaning down to push back the stray lock of hair; and then he catches himself. Aethelstan is asleep; there is no need to keep up the pretense now. He straightens up, his hand falling to his side. Slowly, he turns, walking away from the bed and out of the chamber.
His feet carry him to the chapel, empty at this late hour and dark but for a lone candle wavering on the altar. Ingilmundr takes a seat at one of the benches, watching the darkness pulse around the small flame. Suddenly, a shadow breaks free from the darkness, slithering up the aisle and dropping onto the bench beside him.
“I hear the king has taken to his bed.”
His spine stiffens. “He overexerted himself on the hunt, that is all.”
His sister laughs. “If riding his horse can send the man to his bed, then his end is truly near.”
“Perhaps. Or he may only be tired. We thought he was dying before and he rallied then,” he reminds her. “Besides, Aethelstan did not seem unduly concerned.”
She smirks at him. “Oh really? He did not seem unduly concerned?”
He shoves her shoulder. “All I mean to say is, if the king’s own son does not believe he is dying, I do not think we have cause to act yet.”
“Perhaps the king’s son has his mind on other things,” Astrid suggests, the smirk still wide on her face.
“Stop giving me that look,” he says irritably. “I am only doing my duty.”
Her finger reaches out to trace a spot on his neck. “Yes, such a difficult duty it is.”
He slaps her hand away, pulling up his collar to hide the love bite. “I have his trust. His confidence. He tells me things.”
“While you have his cock in your mouth?”
“He listens to me,” he says, his face hot. “Because he trusts me. I have influence over him.”
“And you enjoy the taste of his cock,” she adds helpfully.
His face is still hot, but he makes his voice sound cool and detached, like their father when he talks to someone he doesn’t care for. “I have tasted worse things and for far less reward.”
“True. But I think it is more than that,” she says, looking at him closely. “I think you like Aethelstan.”
“I–” he starts to deny, but Astrid raises her eyebrows. Like it or not, she knows him better than most. “I have…grown fond of him,” he allows.
She nods, satisfied. “Well, do not grow too fond of him. You know what must be done.”
He nods, too, turning his gaze back to the altar. “I do.”
She gets to her feet, making a rude gesture at the cross before letting the darkness swallow her up again.
Ingilmundr sits there for a long moment, staring at the flame on the altar.
He has learned in his time amongst the Saxons that a candle is always supposed to burn in the chapel, to signify God’s presence. A deacon is supposed to come in from time to time and ensure that at least one candle is always burning, and in the palace of Winchester, Ingilmundr knows there are dozens of deacons assigned to this task.
But he watches as this lone candle burns down, down, down, until the flame gutters out and the room is shrouded in darkness.
Does this mean, he wonders, that God is not here?
He stands up, slipping out of the chapel and back to Aethelstan’s room. The other man is right where Ingilmundr left him, the stray curl still lying across his forehead. Ingilmundr pauses, and then he leans down, brushing back the curl.
Aethelstan’s eyes flutter open, a smile slowly curving his lips. “Where have you been?”
“In the chapel, praying.”
Aethelstan’s smile fades. “For our sin?”
Ingilmundr sits on the edge of the bed, taking Aethelstan’s hand in his. “Yes. Does that upset you?”
“No. Yes,” Aethelstan admits. “It upsets me that what brings me joy is a sin, and it upsets me that to live without sin brings me no joy.”
“If it did not bring us joy, it would not be a sin,” Ingilmundr reminds him, stroking Aethelstan’s hand. He moves his hand higher, cupping Aethelstan’s jaw. “But if my faith is to be tested, I rejoice that I have such a companion with whom I can share the burden.”
Aethelstan’s eyes fall to his lips, and without a second thought, Ingilmundr kisses him.
Aethelstan moans, his hand gripping the hairs at the back of Ingilmundr’s neck. Ingilmundr can feel Aethelstan starting to draw back, his eyes roving towards the crucifix on his wall.
“Should we…?”
“Yes,” Ingilmundr says without hesitation, pressing Aethelstan back against the pillows and kissing him again. Aethelstan groans as Ingilmundr takes him in hand, his own hands fumbling to relieve Ingilmundr of his clothes.
“Ingilmundr.” Aethelstan pulls back, his pupils blown wide and his cheeks flushed. “You are more than…just a companion to me.”
Ingilmundr’s heart starts to pound.
“I love–”
Ingilmundr kisses him, an ungainly clash of lips and teeth and tongues as his pulse thunders in his ears. “I know,” he whispers. “I know, I know, I know.”
#aethelstan x ingilmundr#seven kings must die#seven kings must die spoilers#the last kingdom#fic by me
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Since we're sharing Peggy-themed creations today, I wanted to share an older Peggy fanfic of mine! I always thought it got a little lost in the shuffle because it doesn't have Steve in it (it takes place during the Agent Carter era, while he's missing and presumed dead).
But what it does have is a lot of Peggy Carter being awesome, and an actual case, and some hijinks with Howard and the Jarvises (not to mention a throwaway line about a muddy pair of handprints during the war, which ended up inspiring a Steggy prequel!)
(And of course, this fic was written in 2018, but post-Endgame we know that there’s an implied Steggy sequel as well! 👀)
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The first time she had done it it had been like something out of a dream, some out of body experience where she could see herself going through the motions but it wasn’t her controlling them. It had been done out of a quiet rage and pain that could not be expressed in any other way.
No one suspected a thing. Alfred was a sickly man, therefore any bouts of sickness were not seen as unusual and not something to be looked deeply into.
aka
Aelswith and Alfred being unhinged about each other
For @volvaaslaug, @aethelreds, @kingslionheart
Read it here
#the last kingdom#sevenkingsmustdie#fic by me#phantom thread au#but aelswith x alfred style#my first ever aelswith x alfred fic#it is unhinged#and self indulgent#I hope you guys like it#hehehehehe#tlk aelswith#tlk alfred#aelswith x alfred#alfred x aelswith
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Fandom: Ted Lasso (TV)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Relationships: Trent Crimm/Ted Lasso
Characters: Trent Crimm, Ted Lasso, Rebecca Welton, Keeley Jones
Additional Tags: Phone Calls & Telephones, Love Confessions, Canon Compliant, Ted Lasso Finale Spoilers
"Good evening, Ted," Trent says.
"How long?" Ted asks. Trent sighs.
"Right to it, then?"
"Bingo, Ringo," Ted says.
*
After Ted goes back to Kansas, Trent sends a finished copy of the book to his house. Ted has some questions. Trent's not sure he's ready to answer them.
Happy my birthday to you! Please enjoy this little one-shot that I wrote this afternoon, hours after resigning myself to not having birthday fic to post this year! Warning: Lots of finale spoilers within!
Enjoy!
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apparently i started a safe haven baby fic and never finished it? i guess this might be part one of something longer? who knows.
safe haven
buck/eddie, safe haven baby, adoption, girl dad buck
Buck doesn't mean to become an emergency foster parent.
It happens, of all times, during the lawsuit. He’s used to spending most of his days off with Eddie and Chris; playing video games with Chris, helping with homework, or just hanging out with Eddie. Maddie tells him to just get over himself and call Eddie already, but Buck’s not even sure Eddie still wants to be friends with him, or will ever want him around again after their supermarket fight. To stop himself from leaving a pathetic voicemail on Eddie’s phone, Buck goes on a research binge and ends up filing to become an emergency foster carer.
Thankfully, Eddie does still want him around and they rebuild their friendship on the existing foundations. It becomes something much more solid, integral to who Buck wants to be as a person, and he almost forgets about his application and the aftermath until Eddie comes around and sees the renovations Buck’s made to the apartment.
“What’s the extra room for?”
Buck almost says DCFS told me I needed an extra bedroom to become a foster parent but instead he blurts out, “For when you and Chris stay over, obviously.”
The expression on Eddie's face makes Buck's throat dry and the subject drops.
Then someone decides to take advantage of the Safe Haven law and leave a baby girl at the station.
Reaching into the box, the alarm finally shutting off thanks to Eddie’s hand on the button, Buck is gentle with the baby as he pulls them free from the basket. He cradles the tiny body in his hands and feels his heart in his throat. “They’re so tiny.”
Eddie nods, brushes his fingers against the top of her head, then unwraps the blankets slightly. “A girl. We should get her checked out, let Cap know. There’s protocols.”
“I know,” Buck says, readjusting the baby and holding her against his body. There's a small birthmark on her cheek and he feels his heart stutter. It's not as vivid as his.
Bobby takes one look at the baby and sighs. “I’ll call social services. They’re going to want to take her—”
The baby grizzles and starts to wake, batting her small first against Buck. She starts to cry, filling her lungs and letting everyone in the vicinity know she’s unhappy. “Hey,” Buck says, rocking her a little, heart breaking at the scrunched up face she’s making. “It’s alright, darling girl. We’ll get some food, yeah? Find you something to eat. Something warm to wrap you in, how about that?”
With a small gurgle, the baby huffs, cries cutting off into hiccups and he rocks her, wanting nothing more than to make her happy. When he looks up, Bobby’s got a contemplative look on his face and Eddie—Eddie looks soft, smile warm, eyes meeting Buck’s without question.
“Cap,” Buck says, just so that he doesn’t have to stare at Eddie anymore, “when you call social services, let them know there’s an emergency foster carer working at the station.”
Bobby raises his eyebrows. “Who?”
“Me.”
There’s paperwork, a lot of phone calls, and someone comes into the station to do the preliminary checks and to have Buck fill out his side of the paperwork, but eventually he’s in place as the foster carer for the tiny baby and it’s only then, with the baby tucked into the crook of his arm, fast asleep after some warm milk, that it hits Buck.
“Fuck,” he whispers softly, then winces. “Oops. Don’t remember that, baby.”
“Not sure she’ll remember this,” Eddie says, sliding into the seat across from Buck’s. “What name did they settle on?”
Buck chews on the inside of his cheek, thumb brushing against the baby’s cheek. “There was no note with the baby, or the form they leave for the mom to fill out. I was thinking maybe Lily.”
The expression on Eddie’s face is unreadable, but the soft smile on his face hasn’t shifted. He leans against the table. “Because of the birthmark?”
Startled, Buck nods. “Kinda looks like one, doesn’t it?”
“A little,” Eddie agrees. They lapse into a comfortable silence, broken only by Lily’s breathing. Buck is fascinated by her face, the tufts of her hair, the small fist curled on top of the blanket. When Eddie starts talking, it takes effort to look away from her. “The extra room,” Eddie starts, “you did that to become a foster carer?”
Buck doesn’t want to have this conversation, but he can’t run away. Not if it means jostling Lily. “It was during the—”
“—Yeah—”
“—I missed Chris,” Buck says, feeling the lump in his throat. “I wanted to call but I—researched instead, I guess, and there’s so many kids, Eddie.”
“I know,” Eddie says, quietly. He looks sad. “Lily’s not one of them.”
Buck feels his heart skip a beat and shakes his head. “She will be, eventually. I can’t keep her forever.”
Eddie hums. “No, maybe not, but right now, you can make all the difference to her.”
“She won’t remember it,” Buck protests. “She’s so young.”
“You underestimate what a little kindness can do,” Eddie says, pushing out of his chair and rounding the table. He rests a hand on Buck’s shoulder, slides it around his neck and into his hair. Buck hardly dares breathe, wondering when their tactile friendship became this. “Think of what she’ll remember with the amount of kindness you can give her.”
The sound of Eddie’s footsteps gradually fade, and Buck’s left alone with Lily. He doesn’t know how to process Eddie’s words, or his mood, so he focuses back on the little girl in his arms. She really is beautiful, and her birthmark blotches out into the shape of a lily. At least, a misshapen one. He runs a thumb over it, wondering if his looked like anything when he was a baby. He doesn’t have the pictures, never will, and he tries not to think of his childhood. Though he can’t help but think of his parents; they're a great example of what not to do with children and he won't be like them.
"She's not yours," Athena's voice warns gently in the back of his head. He knows, he does, but that doesn't stop a feeling settling low in his stomach when he holds Lily, brushes his lips over the crown of her head.
Mine, it says. Mine.
spoiler alert: she does become his!!
another little snippet for you:
"What?"
"It makes sense. If you move in, we can rent out your place and we'll have money spare for Lily and Chris both." Eddie feels cold; it's the nerves, right? God, he's such an idiot, what is his mouth saying?
Buck's mouth parts. "Do you mean it?"
"Yeah," Eddie says, not even hesitating. Apparently his mouth is as fed up with his pining as Hen is with hearing it. "It also means we can split shifts if necessary, and Lily's never alone. Carla's here at other times and she's already offered."
Eddie's sure it's not his imagination when Buck looks relieved, his grin wide. "Okay. Yeah, that sounds--wait, is there room?"
"Are you kidding?" Eddie laughs. "You'll share with me and Lily'll stay with us. Where else are you gonna go?"
There's a look on Buck's face Eddie doesn't understand, but before he can figure it out, Buck shrugs, looking pleased. "Then yes. I'll speak to Albert and I'm sure he'll say yes to renting my place."
Eddie lets out a slow breath, watches while Buck moves around the kitchen, getting Lily's bottle ready and the butterflies in his stomach start up a goddamn party.
GOD. what is this
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Chapters: 18/?
Fandom: Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Enjolras & Cosette Fauchelevent
Characters: Cosette Fauchelevent, Enjolras (Les Misérables), Jean Valjean, Les Amis de l'ABC
Additional Tags: Fake Dating, Cosette gets friends, Valjean gets more than he bargained for, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Eventual Happy Ending, Enjolras's metaphorical mistress is literally France, his literal fake fianceé is metaphorically France, Canon Era, Digress like a 19th Century Novelist Fest, Slow burn friendship, Asexual Enjolras (Les Misérables)
Summary:
It was true, Cosette allowed, that he was nothing at all like the beautiful young man from the Luxembourg, but she must not judge him unkindly for that. The world was full of young men, and it would be quite tedious if all the handsome ones were handsome in the same way.
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Well I’ve finished another simple little PWP that evolved into 15k of character study and relationship development I swear I don’t know what’s wrong me either, trust me I’ve tried not being this way….
Anyway, FRENCHIE AND IZZY FALLING IN LOVE AND BEING SWEET AND SOFT, here it is if you want that in your life
And I swear to god the next thing I write will be actual smut. Actual.
#idk who made this gif but if it’s you#well done and thank you#our flag means death#fic by me#ofmd fic#izzy hands#frenchie#ofmd#ouizzy
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Rock, Scissors, Tears
For THAUC 2023 @fellowshipofthefics
In collaboration with The Legendary Blue Acorn Artist , I have written a fairy tale story featuring Ori, my best boy.
Rating: Teen and up
Pairing(s): Ori x OC, Thorin/Bilbo
Words: 14 800
Warnings: Sadness, arranged marriage, a curse, a rebellious dress
-> On Ao3
Across endless cycles of death and rebirth, the stories of brave heroes and undaunted maidens have thus been repeated unceasingly, so that they might eventually find the fortunate ending they deserve.
To counteract the curses and adamant adversaries my own beloved children would invariably have to face, my brethren and I have endeavoured to supply them with hardy friends, intrepid protectors, and the occasional magical artefact to fortify them in their brave struggle.
This is the story of Thorin, a dutiful prince, and Ori, the wielder of enchanted scissors; it’s a tale that shall be ineludibly changed during and through its very telling by the power of true courage and steadfast love.
Hearken, dear reader, and—with the precious support of your goodwill—we might well achieve a satisfying end to this tale of woe.
Prologue - Aulë
Lots of love! I hope you'll enjoy!
#og post#THAUC 2023#thauc23#THAUC#FOTFICS event#Fanfiction#writing#IDNMT writes#jrrt#Tolkien fanfiction#art by annartthing#fic by me#Ori#Thorin#Bilbo#Bagginshield#Ori x OC#Elrond#Thranduil#Aulë#Mahal#fairy tale#curses and promises#enchanted scissors#arranged marriage
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The Trees Know
Pairing: non-idol!Vernon x gn!Reader
Genre: Fluff (calm fluff, if that’s a thing)
WC: 714
Warnings: Reader is able-bodied enough to go for a walk. Otherwise, none! Y'all are just on a lil contemplative walk.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
You and Vernon drove to an older neighborhood nearby – one where the houses were all different styles, and the trees were thick, sturdy, and tall. Parking the car, you got out and grabbed your headphones. “Ready?” Vernon asked you, adjusting his own headphones for the best fit. You nodded, choosing what felt like the perfect playlist for this early evening walk.
Neither of you could remember who had the idea for these walks first. Vernon claimed it was you, urging him to pull over next to a park one day during golden hour, but you maintained it was him, getting lost in his own thoughts on a regular walk and discovering how nice it was. Either way, it’s become a ritual you both enjoy. A few times a week you take walks together with no pressure to talk, just enjoying the fresh air, the scenery, and your own thoughts. The only goal you both agreed on was to notice something new, even in neighborhoods you knew like the back of your hand.
Today, you found yourself looking up at the treetops.
Some days you focused on your feet, noticing the ways nature tried to overtake the sidewalk or the way it was kept in line. Other times, your attention was on the buildings you passed by – every home, apartment building, and business telling a story with its architecture and wear and tear. Here, though, the trees were bigger and older than most places in the city. The blue of the sky was a stark contrast to the limbs and leaves, which were fresh and green with spring life. Some rose straight and tall, their trunks bare until halfway up or higher, while others were broad and leafy. A few, you could see, had fought with power lines, and their branches were gnarled and twisting to avoid the lines as best they could.
You were walking with your head almost entirely tipped back, taking in the entire canopy as best you could. The light was changing, dancing across leaves and branches in the breeze and dappling the trunks and ground. It felt special, and ephemeral, and you were struck with the thought that these trees had seen people like you and Vernon before. They had seen people in quiet love walk these streets before, and they’d see them long after you both were gone. Did the couples before you think about you the way you were thinking about them? Did your love feel the same as theirs did?
Vernon’s knuckles brushed against yours, and you turned to look at him. He was already staring at you, a soft grin on his lips. He intertwined his hand with your own, lifting them to press a kiss to your fingers. “Just checking in,” he said. “How’s your walk going?”
You weren’t sure how to put it into words, so instead of answering, you asked a question of your own. “Does it ever make you sad that you can never really know what someone’s thinking? Like, not fully, because there’s always going to be something that gets lost in the translation of thought to word, you know?”
Vernon paused, considering. “Yes, and no? I guess it makes me a little sad that I’ll never get to experience your thoughts the way you do, especially when I see how deep in thought you can be. Just now, for example. I wondered what you could have been thinking, looking up at the trees like that.” He grinned, and you returned the smile, ignoring the heat rushing to your cheeks. “But also no. I love that I get to discover you bit by bit. It makes me feel like I could never be bored, because there’s words you haven't put together yet to help me know you.”
He let go of your hand, wrapping his arm around you as you did the same. You hummed at his words, nodding thoughtfully. “I think the trees know, though,” you mused. He looked over at you, grinning wide. “You think?”
You nodded again, decisively. “Definitely. They’ve seen it all before, so they know.”
He chuckled and leaned over, kissing your cheek. “If you say so.”
You smiled and looked up at the treetops again. They waved in the breeze, and it felt like confirmation.
#seventeen imagine#seventeen x reader#vernon fic#vernon fluff#vernon x reader#svt x reader#svt fic#svt fluff#chwe vernon fic#chwe vernon x reader#chwe hansol fic#chwe hansol x reader#chwe hansol fluff#fic by me#first fic! I finally did it
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I finished a multichap! All six chapters are ready for you to read and possibly enjoy. 💜
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Ted Lasso | Ted/Rebecca (with background Keeley/Roy, Beard/Nate, and Beard&Ted) | Explicit | 13,340 words
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Five times Ted visited London and one time he didn't
#ted lasso#fic by me#ted x rebecca#tedrebecca#(i know i kept my little chapter by chapter blog entry updated but i'm making a new one for the finished thing so that it shows in the tags#hot dork club
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