#my fics ❤️

[secretlovezz]

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Newest work:

Eddie in your heels

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All of my work:

Masterlist <3

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Request Rules

Comments, reblogs, and feedback are ALWAYS appreciated guys

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↓ LINKS FOR PALESTINE 🇵🇸 ↓

https://gazafunds.com/ 

https://www.gofundme.com/f/please-help-ahmed-in-rafah-with-basic-needs

https://helpgazachildren.notion.site/8517fdaec81a4568a0c1d1ddd0496732?v=59c939b12256426398ab7056b201e952

[thatskindarough]

“‘I just…I thought you might like to come back, one day,’ Crowley said very quietly. Aziraphale’s foot pressed against his again, and Crowley drew in a sudden breath, as if he hadn’t been breathing properly since Aziraphale had stopped touching him.”

This piece was a commission from the lovely @fellshish for their lovely friend, @alphacentaurinebula ‘s fic What Are You Doing Here? This fic is cute, funny, heartwarming, and incredibly spicy, and I’m very much looking forward to finishing it! Thank you Fells for being wonderful to work with, and happy (belated) birthday to you Alphacentauri, I’m very happy I could do this for you!

[wordsinhaled]

thinking about how edwin wore the confession outfit and niko told him he looked nice and charles gave him a onceover. thinking about how charles thought edwin dressed up nice for monty. how charles thought he dressed up nice.

for someone else - or maybe even simply for the sake of telling charles he had feelings for someone else - to make a good impression - to give himself more confidence while sharing a truth about himself with his best mate…

and edwin never had time to correct him, to say: “i dressed up nice for you. this is for you. i am for you.”

and only in hell does it all make sense - edwin is in love with him. but did it click for charles - maybe not right away in the moment on the staircase, but maybe later - that edwin had changed outfits for him? that edwin had been trying to impress him. to look good for him and catch his eye and make it special.

thinking about charles - after he realizes his feelings, realizes he reciprocates and finally tells edwin as much - looking back on that moment and thinking that was for me. charles being unable to let it go once he understands. asking edwin if he still has the jumper; asking if he’ll wear it again so he can appreciate it properly.

i just think charles would love that edwin did that. that edwin, who has worn the same thing for decades, put that sort of thought into the occasion of admitting his feelings to charles, even without any expectation that charles would feel the same.

thinking about charles who has perhaps in the past been used to not being the forever choice, loving that edwin takes loving him seriously, wanting to let edwin know the effort wasn’t in vain. charles unable to take his eyes off edwin the second time that edwin wears the outfit, looking so besotted that anyone could see how much he adores edwin from miles off.

and edwin, feeling wanted, feeling loved in return under charles’ attention, not realizing how much he’d appreciate having charles see him in this outfit as intended and how much it would settle something in him. perhaps edwin getting to say the words he’d planned to say, in the comfort of knowing they will be received and returned in kind.

simply - charles having a whole Experience about the confession outfit and getting to revisit it while they are in an established relationship, and it bringing them both this sort of closure and thrill and happiness, at getting to be in love, at getting to communicate their love to each other…

[gia-d]

"You have to remember the love, Link 

Here. 

Let me show you."

This is an Adjuration by @not-freyja

Chapter 84: Link

[nonbinoclard]

a conversation on the coast (original fanfic + inspiration)

[davidtennan-t]

“I don’t look half bad - if I do say so myself, old man.”

-

Ten meeting Fourteen 🤎

[pjs-everyday]

today, pinky requests that our heroes put on their best disguises!! tooootally unrecognizable, right? 🤭❤️

[loveinhawkins]

Bit by bit, Eddie finds out that Steve Harrington has many in-jokes going on. He falls in love a little more every time he discovers a new one.

Some are self-explanatory: Robin and Steve quipping obscure ice-cream orders back and forth to refer to annoying customers of yore at Scoops Ahoy. There’s other times where Steve will whisper, “Muppet,” and Robin will crack up, and Eddie will just look on with bemused affection. But he doesn’t need to know the context to get it: to see the way their eyes sparkle with mirth, how they shake with almost silent laughter, falling against each other in a diner booth—like siblings wholly unable to keep a straight face during a family dinner.

In school, Eddie came to know in-jokes as a source of exclusion, all too aware of eye rolls in the cafeteria, snide whispers. Oh, you weren’t there, you wouldn’t get it.

This is something far different. Something precious.

He understands without needing to be told; there are stories he does not know yet, but he can read them in Steve’s voice when he laughs and calls Dustin, “Roast Beef,” when he puts on funny voices, singing along to the radio to make Max laugh, when he echoes random phrases in a conversation and Lucas snorts, and it’s so clear that everything’s come from years of knowledge, years of friendship, this rich tapestry of knowing smiles.

Eddie loves it all. Feels so goddamn lucky that he’s here to witness it, to even be the slightest part of it—wants to reach back in the past, find the Steve who’s just starting the story of a lifetime and say you will love these kids, and I will love you for it, your past, your present, your future. Steve Harrington, it’s a fucking privilege to know you.

The first time Eddie is given an in-joke of his very own, is such a tiny thing: bored out of his mind, making pleasantries with the Wheelers, and Ted makes a passing comment from his armchair about how so-and-so from down the street has bought an RV, but they don’t know a damn thing about how to drive it, let alone park it on their driveway.

Steve smirks behind his hand, catches Eddie’s eye with a fleeting wink.

Oh, Eddie thinks.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t know where to start with that, Mr Wheeler,” Steve says, voice level, but Eddie can hear the secret giggle, just for him.

“Well,” Eddie says, “maybe if someone got it started for you.”

“Yeah,” Steve says, grinning. “Maybe.”

He briefly nudges Eddie in the side, a soft brush. Warm skin. Leaning into each other, sharing a secret.

Here’s something no-one else knows. It’s our little joke. Our story. Ours.

And oh, Eddie wants. He wants.

[itsphantasmagoria]

A gift for @mallstars ❤️ You are such a good, kind person, and I'm so happy to call you my friend 🥰

My unofficial epilogue headcanon to Follies of an Ornamental Hermit, where Harry takes Draco for a well-deserved romantic vacation 🥹

[f1-stuff]

Miami GP '24 // Thurs Interview

"Happy to be racing in these historical colors for Ferrari, and happy, you know, to have a bit of a different vibe this weekend. Always good fun."

[ghostbeam]

Mech pilot yuuta and his mech that’s incredibly possessive over him. He takes to you as a handler almost immediately, excited for the help after his last few handlers were scared off. You’re not allowed inside, your constantly dodging malfunctioning limbs and faulty wires, but you’re not one to back down, and gaining her trust is just as important as gaining his.

Rika only realizes how important you are to Yuuta the day after you spend the night with him, and he’s left alone in the morning with an empty bed and a broken heart. You’re his handler. You’re not supposed to leave him. Not ever.

She lures you into her chest one night, faking some sort of lighting malfunction and allowing you inside for the first time. She keeps you inside all night, enduring all your yelling and banging on her insides to be let out, a nice gift for Yuuta.

[kikker-oma]

Art for Chapter 1 of "Travel Through the Darkness" by @mariasparrow ! (Also happy late birthday🎉)

Hope you like it❤️

[nefastidies]

Inspired by "Implicit Demand for Proof" by imperialhuxness

-1-

“I need you on the ground,” Ren says instead, measured, but tight-strung as a grappling cable. Apparently sensing the retort on the tip of Hux’s tongue, he continues, “But I’m not taking you into the thick of combat.”

Hux thins his lips, keeps up the patient tone. “That’s where this team and I will be most effective.”

“At too high a risk.”

Since when do you care about risks? Hux barely bites back, instead manages, level, “Nothing we do is without risk.”

Ren’s gaze flashes with an insistence that isn’t anger. His eyes are like coals, waiting for a spark. “I’m not taking you into that firefight.”

Really.

Fucking really.

“So you won’t take me into a firefight,” Hux lowers his voice to a hiss, but it still reverbs under the high ceiling, “yet you dragged me ten klicks below the surface of Coruscant.”

“Well, maybe I--” Ren hesitates, gnawing his lips. His gaze drops to the mosaic tile between their boots, then flickers back to Hux’s face. “I shouldn’t have.”

Hux is too pissed off to bask in the near-admission of wrong. “Well, you can compensate by bringing me this time, when it makes actual, tactical sense.”

“You’re not going into a combat zone.”

“I was born and raised in a--”

Ren’s voice drops to a whisper. “That’s an order,” he says, invoking it almost gently, below earshot of the men.

Hux purses his lips, aware of his surroundings again. Of the absolute indecorum of this argument.

Around himself and Ren, three officers stare at their feet, four tap too aggressively at their datapads. The two trooper commanders confer in whispers about a new blaster model. Mitaka seems interested in the mosaic on the floor.

“Yes, sir,” Hux forces out, Academy pert, and the gathered staff returns more or less to professional attention.

--- -2-

Hux whirls toward the sound as a massive shape bursts through the treeline, scattering leaves. Some sort of megafauna. Some sort of monster.

The creature’s smooth skin glistens livid green, its underbelly sickly pale. Its mouth opens wide, baring short, sharp teeth like a Rodian fly-trap’s. It has six legs, each ending in a crustacean pincer, which stab the ground with each step. It reeks of rot and salt, as if it just crawled out of brackish water.

Hux’s pulse skyrockets, and he jumps back on adrenaline. Why do you ever leave the ship, every time you leave the ship it’s some shit like this, every goddamn time—

He yells to Ren that they should run, even as the creature screeches again, lunges toward them.

But Ren stays put. “You should run.”

And Hux would. He would, but he’s already several meters back, and the soles of his boots weigh a kiloton. He’s rooted to the ground. The blood pounds in his ears, and he can’t move, can’t think.

The thing screeches. It’s high-pitched. It rends the air. Its movements ruffle the foliage around it. Its pincers break the damp earth.

Ren steps in front of Hux. Into its path.

--- -3-

But Yago’s lips still twist into something unbearably self-satisfied. “General Armitage Hux,” he says, “was executed six months ago on a charge of high treason. So even if Hux were alive, it would be my sworn duty to have him shot in the back of the head.”

It hits like a blow. Phantom pain lances through his leg, between his ribs. Yago’s right. There’s no defense when he’s--

Before Hux can formulate one, Ren’s gaze kindles. “I’m Supreme Leader,” he returns, typical thoughtless clapback. “I hereby pardon him.”

(Typical thoughtless clapback.)

Everyone knows traitors receive no mercy.

--- -4-

A humanoid figure emerges from the shadows like he’s been waiting there. In two strides, he closes the distance to Hux and Ren. It’s clear he’s part alien, skin teal-tinged and marked with pale striations. His voice is somewhat rough with drink, but his movements are smooth, purposeful, eyes trained on Hux.

“Thought you could just slip out with your date?” he spits.

There are far bigger concerns than correcting the assumption.

“What?” Hux returns, elegantly.

“The bartender told me you were coming this way,” the man says, ill-concealed rage contorting his mouth. “Got a lot more nerve than I’d give you credit for, showing your face like this.”

Shit. Hux’s pulse picks up, and for a second the alley takes on the sharp edges of panic. You knew this would happen eventually, you knew -- Stop.

“I’m sorry,” he says, tamping down the worst case scenario, “what are you--” 

But it’s like he doesn’t even hear it. 

“Kind of man that’ll pull a trigger from a thousand lightyears away. Not even the guts to look at what you’d done.” The man’s eyes flash with the sort of hatred Hux actually recognizes. “My wife was on Courtsilius, General Hux .”

The man takes a step closer, and Hux is about to spread his hands and explain with a baffled simper that he’s got the wrong person. That the Hosnian ‘Cataclysm’ was an unspeakable tragedy and a monstrous war crime.

But before he can speak, sulfurous green ignites in his periphery. The air hums, cracks with the sudden whiff of ozone. The blade of the antique saber impales the man’s chest.

--- -5-

Ren shakes his head. “But I still need you,” he says, eyes glittering, desperate, searching. “What about weapons dev? And you can actually conduct diplomacy--”

Hux cracks a smile. “That’s going a bit far.”

Ren huffs a laugh, but doesn’t indulge him. “You balance me,” he continues. “I don’t know what I’ll do. I love you.”

Hux’s pulse drops into his stomach. His spine stiffens, more from surprise than actual discomfort. It isn’t a concept with which he’s familiar. But it’s right, somehow. As Ren’s eyes search his face, curious but unshrinking, he can’t deny it.

[demaparbat-hp]

Zuko looked up and locked eyes with his cousin, who was struck speechless. Then, ever so slowly, Lu Ten's lips twitched upwards. And then he smiled. And then he beamed. And then he nodded proudly once, just once, and vanished.

Lu Ten comes back in For the Spirits Chapter VII: Take Me South, only to leave Zuko with more questions than answers. Just how much is he truly aware of? When will he return? What is Zuko going to do now?

(What will the South bring?)

[theriverbeyond]

Waiting for Alecto the Ninth (2023)

[beefcakekinard]

Bucktommy + 1 (palm kisses)

🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷

1. palm kisses

Tommy knocks on the bedroom door. "Evan? You awake, sweetheart?"

There's rustling in the sheets as Evan turns over. He's just come off a rough 48, and Tommy kind of hates to wake him, but Evan insisted on getting up by noon - and Tommy knows all too well how important it is to keep a consistent sleep schedule. He steps into their bedroom and up to their bed, and smiles at Evan's sleepy pout.

"C'mere," Evan mumbles. He flaps the hand resting on the sheets by Tommy's hip. Tommy takes it in his own, brings it up to kiss Evan's knuckles. The smile that gets him is syrupy-sweet and dawns across Evan's face like sunrise. There's not a lot Tommy wouldn't do for that smile.

He pulls the sheets back and climbs onto the bed, crawling forward on his knees until he can swing a leg over Evan's body. Evan settles his hands on Tommy's thighs, drags them up and down, slowly; he slips his fingertips under the hem of Tommy's denim shorts.

"Hey there, handsome, you come here often?" Tommy asks, looking down at Evan from where he's straddling his hips. He settles more of his weight into the cradle of Evan's pelvis, rests his hands on the soft give of Evan's stomach.

"Mm, not often enough," Evan says with a pointed waggle of his eyebrows that makes Tommy laugh.

He leans down, his hands balanced on either side of Evan's face, and stops when they're nose to nose. He nuzzles the side of his nose against Evan's, briefly, pulls back when Evan tries to turn it into a kiss. Evan whines in protest and Tommy has a passing thought that there's no reason why that should make his heart melt. Drop the 'should's, he hears his therapist say, and dismisses the thought altogether.

He presses his lips to Evan's chin. "Can I help you?" he teases. Evan wriggles under him.

"Kiss me," Evan says and God - Tommy's heart leaps in his chest. He's so in love with this man it's ridiculous.

"Patience," he says, instead of any of the thousand half-thoughts racing through his head on the theme of Loving Evan Buckley. He kisses underneath the jut of Evan's chin, next, down his throat to his Adam's apple. He lingers there for a breath before he moves, on, down, to the base of Evan's throat and over, to the curve where his neck meets his shoulder.

He meets the neckline of Evan's t-shirt and Evan sighs, like he's as disappointed as Tommy is by the way it keeps him from Evan's skin. Tommy nuzzles across the fabric until he reaches the hem of the sleeve on Evan's upper arm. His access to Evan's skin restored, Tommy presses a lingering kiss to his biceps - huffing a laugh against the skin there when Evan flexes. He tucks his grin into the soft skin above the inside of Evan's elbow and nips at it, soothes it with a kiss when Evan gasps.

Tommy continues down Evan's arm, kissing a gentle trail until he reaches the base of Evan's hand. He curls his own hand underneath, cradling it like it's fragile, precious. He starts with the swell under Evan's thumb, kisses up each segment until he reaches the pad, then he moves over to Evan's pointer finger. He repeats the same steps each time, smiling when Evan's fingers twitch against his lips. Finally, after pressing his lips to the pad of Evan's pinky finger, he kisses the centre of his palm. He pauses there, holds the moment like he holds Evan's hand, then turns to make eye contact, holding Evan's hand pressed up against his cheek.

Evan's eyes are wide, his pupils blown, cheeks flushed a pretty pink that matches the berry-red of his birthmark. He exhales, the breath shuddering from his throat, and blinks. Tommy is taken by the sweep of his eyelashes against his pink, pink cheeks.

Wordlessly, soundlessly, Tommy repositions, settling back to hover over Evan's face. He thumbs the corner of Evan's lips and they open, just for him. Slipping his thumb to the hinge of Evan's jaw, he finally leans forward and settles their lips together. Evan's hand slides back, holding Tommy in place by the back of his head and he'd tell him there's no point - but that would mean losing the feeling of Evan's lips pressing into his own.

For now, he lets Evan know he isn't going anywhere the best way he can think to - with the pressure of his lips, the gentle sweep of his tongue, and the weight of his body, pressing Evan down into the mattress.