#noeavoiding

[midwrites]

ohhhh for the wip game what's the armitozer ice!au? 👀

Answering both you and @noeavoiding

Armitozer Ice!AU, also known as my Terror Permawinter!AU, which is a two-part post-apocalyptic AU set in an England that's been trapped in a perpetual winter for the past 3-5 years.

Tozer is a courier travelling through the country delivering goods from shelter to shelter in his van. Armitage a stowaway that popped up in his trunk one day, unannounced hoping to reunite with his mum. You can read the first part and a half of the series here!!

I do plan on continuing the series! The past year and a half has just been absolutely draining both personally and creatively, so as I slowly get back on track with older projects I do intend to, at some point, finish this one too!! (It's very dear to me+the following chapter is halfway done)

Here's a little unpublished snippet!

There’s frozen tarmac against his cheek when he opens his eyes again. He needs to get up. The cows will step on him. Whatever that whisper was will get him. Sol won’t be able to get away. Sol won’t be able to help more people. Sol. Strong arms are hauling him up before he can pull himself together, a gust of warmth burning against the scrape on his cheek, a deep inhale of the stale air inside of the van bringing him to his senses. He’s never been more thankful for old pine air freshener and lemon candy in his life. “Alright?” Sol is there. Sol, warm and comforting, practically kneeling on top of his seat to take a good look at him, his whole face scrunched up with worry. I could have died. I could have died and never seen the sun again, some rusty part of his brain, still high with adrenaline musters, bringing back old notions from a Spanish class he abandoned long before he finished school. The road is almost clear when Tommy’s sight comes into focus, the herd piled around the gate, their hooves trampling the tracks he had left on the snow, making them disappear. He cannot see the brambles from here. He cannot hear the whispers. But the fear is still there. Dread colder than the snow making him shiver. “Drive.” It’s barely a whisper. “What are you—?” “Drive!” he begs, shrill and desperate, scared for a second that it will be too much, that Sol won’t listen.

[johntonkin]

for the prompt sets of three: reg/johnny 36 👀

36 - desert air, zinnias and chocolates

The evening was nearly suffocatingly dry, the sand in the air lingering in Reg's nose and throat and making him cough. He'd been meant to meet the others at this club over an hour ago, but the poker game he'd been playing had turned a little threatening, and he hadn't quite felt inclined to leave before he had to. It wasn't that he hadn't believed himself capable of besting the other men at the table, if it came down to it; it was rather that on this particular kind of dusty-hot, golden desert night, Reg would have preferred nothing so much as expending as little exertion as possible.

Well, perhaps there was one form of exertion he might make an exception for, considering they only had five more days of leave and he intended to make the most of it, but by this time of night he knew his chances with the girls in the club were dwindling.

Sure enough, of the six men he'd been meant to meet here, only one remained.

His hair glowed like white gold in the dim light of the gas lamp in front of him, a vivid contrast to the royal blue fabric of his seat, and the bloody scarlet of the flowers in the little bottle on the table. His teeth were blindingly white when he saw Reg come in and grinned at him.

"You're late," he reprimanded, the moment Reg was within earshot.

"Got caught up," said Reg, sliding in to the seat beside him and gesturing to the waitress for a drink. "Where's everyone?"

"Dave met another Liverpool fellow at the last bar," said Johnny. "Got caught up chatting. Almonds and Riley found a girl and headed off to some hotel."

"A girl each?" asked Reg, trying to translate Johnny's strange phrasing, but Johnny's eyes only sparkled in amusement as he kept going.

"Bill and Eoin went to smoke, supposedly," he continued, "but that was twenty minutes ago, so I'm sure they've found some kind of mischief to get up to."

"And what about you?"

"What about me?" asked Johnny, picking something up from the dish beside him and placing it on his tongue. Reg hadn't noticed it at first, but it appeared to be a little plate of chocolates.

"Didn't want to find a girl?"

Johnny let out an amused little snort. "You don't need to bother with all that, Reginald."

"A boy then," said Reg.

"No, I haven't found a boy," said Johnny, picking up another chocolate between two long fingers and holding it up to Reg's lips, "but the night is still young."

When Reg took it on his tongue, it tasted like a promise.

[laststandx3]

@stolperzunge, something like this?

Medieval AU 🐎🛡️👑

[derry-rain]

ship tag game

tagged by @just-barrow, who has great taste in ships.

Rules: Without naming them, post a gif of ten of your favorite ships (any media), then tag the same number of people to do the same.

tagging: @roseszirnheld @davidstirlings @noeavoiding @feydrautha @duesternis @leftenantjopson @leftoversl1ce @almost-a-class-act @pastexistence @holographiccs

[the-blueberrypie-is-a-lie]

10 things for 10 people you’d like to know better!

Tagged by: @monstrousgourmandizingcats a while ago (before I deactivated my old blog) apologies for the delay + tysm 🥰

Last song: Too Sweet by Hozier

Last book: I am currently rereading Lord of the Rings (which I last read when I was 11 truly my favourite book of all time and I get to read my Mam’s beautiful The Folio Society book this time which is literally her PRECIOUS)

Last movie: Iníon an Fhiaclóra (good lord don’t watch if you’ve a dentist appointment) 😬

Last TV show: Doctor Who (the last episode)

Favourite colour: Pink my beloved

Sweet, savoury or spicy: Sweet → spicy → savoury in that order

Relationship status: A good question

Last thing Googled: Iarnród Éireann I swear I’m Irish rails number one fan

Current obsession: Oh… well Lord of the Rings still has quite the chokehold on me I fear 😅 I love Éowyn (and Rohan in general) more so this time around for some reason (is it because I am a horse girl at heart? who knows I don’t choose my obsessions my obsessions choose me 🤷🏼‍♀️)

Looking forward to: I’m mostly looking forward to afternoon tea with my cousins next weekend and I’ve many adventures and day trips to look forward to this summer!

This was fun!

Tagging: @vellichormybeloved @really-sheety-ghost @phoenixflames12 @alienmythologist @leftenantjopson @tigerballoons @notfye @noeavoiding @from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras @ghost-onthealtar

(No pressure my dears) 💖

[schestokryl]

6 nonselfies & 7 tags!!

was tagged by @funnyhatmen and @ecstandsforerraticcowboy <3333

and i’m tagging @bloomrebounds @blue-bismuth @dryherbalistess @moongerm @ithaca-awaits @noeavoiding @gardenstyx

(feel free to ignore)

[ascendent]

tagged by @hot2go here's an (incomplete) list of books i wanna read in 2025! (too embarrassed to put wolf hall on there since i'm pretty sure it was on my list of books to read in 2024...)

anyone can steal but tagging @marshmallowtuna @catchaspark @nedconte @noeavoiding @lieutgore if you feel like it!

[nomilkinmyteaplease]

I was tagged by @stolperzunge (thank you 😊😊😊!)

Rules: without naming them, post 10 gifs of your favorite TV shows, then tag 10 people.

Tagging (feel free to ignore! I do love reading/seeing what other people watch though) @eoinmcgonigal @barryhbo @orchiddingme

@ex-classicist @crobones @fakrichie @rhavewellyarnbag @vreenak @laststandx3 @noeavoiding @ferylcheryl

[reisutheowl]

@noeavoiding I know that you'll appreciate this~

old sketch i made after seeing some old dick-like earrings from iran. i think he wouldve liked them

[midwrites]

How about 28 for McDiarmid/Fraser 🫶

McDiarmid/Fraser 28 (exes, candy-wrappers, and a twin bed)

“Put it out.”

At first, Jock thinks he’s imagined the words. Part of a late post-coital bliss and all, their room still hazy with the pink light that precedes dawn. Children are running outside, down in the parking lot of the resort, surely about to leave for the day and not stuck here until a new truck is driven their way, or they get sent money for the bus fare, far lower South than any London fire brigade should venture. It’s stupid that none of them was carrying their wallets with them. Even stupider still that Stirling was able to get them a room, but no news of a drive back home were in the horizon just yet.

Not like Jock is complaining. He takes another drag of the cigarette, ponders for a moment staring at the yellowing ceiling if he’ll be able to go for a run before,they have to make their way back—and immediately gets slapped in the arm about it.

“Put it out!” Fraser snaps, blue eyes wilder than they should be this early in the morning. Not Fraser, Jock corrects himself; Bill. He had asked Jock to call him Bill when they were two kisses into the room and their mingling breaths still reeked of ale and the artificial tasting strawberries of their dinner ice-cream. “You’re a fireman for chrissake, you precisely should bloody know about the dangers of smoking in bed.”

Jock slowly blinks as Bill snatches the cigarette out of his fingers, watches the cigarette die a hissing death in the half full coffee cup that’s still lying in their nightstand along with the honey caramel wrappers Jock has seen leave Bill’s pockets many times before. Bill seems to relax a little after this small victory, his long wiry body curling underneath the comforter, preserving the infinitesimally minute gap that he had decided to establish in between their bodies the moment his pale lashes had fluttered awake.

“So…we’re not speaking about it,” Jock says, his decision of breaking the silence becoming an almost immediate regret.

“What’s it?” Bill dignifies the question with one of his looks, one that speaks more of sleep than annoyance.

“This,” Jock insists, waving a finger in between their faces. “Us”

“What’s there to speak about?” Annoyance creeps back in, so does the guarded look that Bill usually carries about himself. Jock needs it to go away, for now, needs to speak to the Bill that melted against him last night, the Bill that almost cried when they managed to get a kitten out of one of the burning bungalows unscathed before their truck broke down.

“Dunno,” Jock shrugs, thinks about his words for a second. This would be easier with a fag, and oh, does the thought make him laugh. “Jus’ wandering if you’d want to give it another go when we’re back home.”

“Ta, but no thanks. Already had enough Jock McDiarmid for a fortnight.”

Jock ponders his possibilities for a moment. Which words will get him kicked out of bed, which ones will give way to a possible future where he’s kissing Bill Fraser against his kitchen counter in a week or two.

“Does this have anything to do with that weird toff that tried talking to you before we left yesterday?”

Bill’s face contorts into something ugly, rage and utter misery flashing across his features before he gets out of bed with a sudden tug at the covers, leaving his pale body bare for Jock to gaze at while his voice breaks and composes in the same sentence. “That’s none of your fucking business.”

Bill slams himself shut inside the bathroom, a quiet pause that lasts for more than five minutes elongating until Jock finally hears Bill turn the shower on. For a moment Jock thinks about lighting himself another fag. For a moment he imagines how Bill must look under the water, wonders if he will be looking for the marks that Jock had left the night prior and regretting them. Or perhaps pressing his fingers to them, like Jock would.

Jock McDiarmid sighs in self-inflicted abject misery, still hearing the shower run. There’s no way he’s leaving the bed with how fucking stiff his prick just got.

[midwrites]

18 for armisolving (damn your wife universe if possible) 🥰🥰

Armisolving—(18) broken windows, waist high grasses, and lit matches.

A fat crimson droplet blooms over the pale skin of his thumb where the glass has sunk in. Sol drops it reflexively, hears it fall into the deep grass in a low murmur.

“Ah, fuck,” he tsks in between clenched teeth before he puts the finger into his mouth.

This year spring has caught up to them too. The grass is overgrown in the back of the house, the path that leads from the yard to the forest barely suggesting where one should tread, engulfed by the weeds and wildflowers that John had so carefully put him to trim in the front weeks ago. No wonder a fox can sneak into the henhouse unseen. No wonder they have already lost three of the girls to the red devil.

Sol pities the poor thing, knows that in a day or two the grass will be lower, the undergrowth visible, and that John will have him or Tommy out with a shotgun at dusk the moment they go out for a smoke or a piss. Sol has never been good at not pitying the underdog.

The match he lights sparks dangerously close to the dry grass, the fag he’s holding between his teeth suddenly a stupid sacrifice to make for a scorched backyard. Nothing happens, though. The cigarette ignites. The match dies. John Irving’s grounds remain unscathed.

“Gonna get into trouble if you keep that up.”

Sol treats the lad with a wolf whistle, followed by an appraising look to disguise that he had not heard Tommy coming. He is wearing that long blue dress John had rescued from a half-hidden cupboard in his London estate, a crooked little bow tying his black curls back while keeping some ringlets astray to frame his pale face. Tommy looks nice like this, very nice.

“Going to town? Can’t imagine a lass like you would do herself this pretty jus’ for me.”

The compliment makes Tommy blush, her hands fisting the hem of the skirt as he protests with a low. “Sol… stop that.”

“Just speaking things as they are, no harm in calling my favourite lass pretty, is there?”

“I’m gonna tell him you called me your favourite.”

The threat makes Sol laugh, his hands coming up to encircle Tommy’s waist as if he were cinching her stays, pressing just enough to make the lad gasp.

“Will you now?” Sol can’t imagine John would mind, might even make him pull out that pretty long dress of his instead. “Might need to do something more about it,” Sol exhales a little smoke from the corner of his lips, watches Tommy’s baby blue eyes lock on the cigarette, on his mouth. “Make our mistress truly have something she can complain about.”

[midwrites]

right, if no one is gonna ask about BJ post canon I'll do it 😤😤

OKAY, so BJ post canon is a fic for the 2009 mini-series Red Riding that I wrote last year when I thought I wouldn't be able to write again. It's a bit messy and wonky, but it was the fic that kept me writing for the second half of 2024 and I feel indebted to it in more ways than I can describe. The fic is finished, around 20k long, and I suppose that one of these days I will feel compelled to edit it and post it.

Until then!! Here's a snippet!!

“Did John Dawson send you after me?” BJ shake head, feel curls against neck. “No! Not you!” BJ say, bite tongue as soon as words out. Shouldn’t have added second part. Now man staring through thick glasses, even under dim wash of red light BJ can tell. “Sends you over to sweeten deals, does he?” BJ turn, look away, nod regardless because BJ have nothing to lose, money is already in his pocket. BJ doesn’t want to think about things he done for Dawson, things BJ done because other men took BJ’s will away. A car roars by, someone screams into the night. BJ can feel man breathing against his sweaty collarbone. “You can leave, if you want to,” man says under his breath, hands on BJ, but only over his clothes, as if BJ’s skin could burn, “Won’t tell Dawson I let you.” “He didn’t send me,” BJ insist because for once in a room like this what BJ say is truth. “BJ don’t work for him, BJ hasn’t seen John Dawson in weeks and he can stay that way as far as BJ know.” Man smiles, places a kiss on BJ’s breastbone, just where his breath had been. It makes BJ shudder, curl up a little. “Only blowjobs,” BJ say, making the man look up at BJ again. BJ can’t tell what his eyes try to say, all eyes look black in the dark and BJ can read them all, but not now. “I’m real good, I promise.”

[midwrites]

🥖 please please please 🫶

🥖JimPat modern!AU

It's a firm pressure against his back what brings him out of his reverie, a smaller body leant against his back, a forehead resting firmly against the nape of his neck. “Should get back to bed if you can’t stand on your own, love.” “G’mornin’ to you too,” Pat mumbles, words warming the sensitive skin behind his ear.

[laststandx3]

hey, thank you for the tag 😊❤️

tagging: @officious-sea-lawyer, @noeavoiding, @hitherecreature, @ladystarrdust, @nomilkinmyteaplease, @elmonstro

🎄🎅

Christmas aesthetician tag game

I was tagged by @croziers-compass , thank you so much

Go to Pinterest, type in your name + christmas aesthetic, post the first 4 pictures that come up

And I'm going to use 2 names: The name I use for this account and the name I use most often in public/with people I don't know very well.

URL specific name:

Public personal name:

Tagging: @the-golden-vanity, @jirving, @saintfitzjames, @caleblandrybones, @henrycollins, and anyone else interested

[midwrites]

⏳ bestie I'm BEGGING

⏳Time-traveller McFraser

When Bill had dropped Paddy home he had been able to offer very little comfort, soaked to the bone standing by the passenger door. “We’ll think of something in the morning,” he had said, in a tone that spoke more of a need of whiskey and a hot meal than of any genuine conviction. It is not like Bill can blame him for it, he had already given up hope on the farm and everything he loved a long time ago.

[midwrites]

Jim/Pat 50 ❤️❤️

JimPat 50 (undeveloped camera film, stomach kisses and cigarette smoke)

The passing thrum of cars has only gotten louder since the sun went down. Jim can see their headlights flashing down below, little pinpricks that turn into lightning fast blurs the moment the traffic light on the corner turns green, and they keep driving on. It’s late now, almost ten, he should be doing the same, leaving, going home. His body has different plans. 

Pat’s flat is almost completely enveloped in darkness, every trinket and piece of evidence they may have collected for the investigations lost to the shadows. There should be an ashtray hidden under the balled-up newspapers, somewhere in the vicinity of the coils of undeveloped film and empty Marlboro red packages Pat insists on buying for these meetings—probably the smallest sin they have ever committed between these four cigarette smoke-stained walls. They will be back here tomorrow, or maybe the day after, Jim always one frantic phone call away from showing up wherever Pat needs him. It hasn’t brought them any closer to finding out where they might be keeping Stirling holed up, but it has brought them closer together.

Something stirs in Jim’s vicinity, a loud yawn following the clattering of something plastic tumbling onto the ground. Pat is finally awake. Pat is finally awake, and Jim should switch on the lights and leave. He waits in his seat instead, feels himself sink deeper into the armchair as he closes his eyes. 

“Are you still there?” Pat asks, voice thick with sleep, accent even thicker. 

“Here, love, jus’ around the corner.” 

Pat winces as his leg connects with the coffee table, something made of glass falling next and making Jim wince in kind. He knows Pat won’t be picking that up anytime soon. Not until the lights are on, and the illusion shatters for them both. They’ve got time still. At least Jim does. 

The first kiss catches him by surprise, just a peck, wet and brief.

The second he reciprocates, hands searching for broad bare shoulders that shudder the moment skin meets skin. Pat pulls back after that with a little gasp, a smile surely pulling at his lips in that way that only makes Jim want to kiss him more, allow his fingers to undo his slicked back hair and brush his nose against that spot in Pat’s neck that makes him groan.

A hollow thud makes Jim realise that Pat has other plans. So does the kiss that follows the untucking of his shirt, wet lips leaving a trail that will soon vanish over the sparse hair of his belly, only the shocked smile they elicited out of Jim to remember them by.

“It’s late, Pat,” Jim murmurs with a softness that he knows won’t help. “I should go.”

Another kiss, a long lick that dips into his belly button and lower, Pat’s scratchy cheek resting against the soft skin just above the button of Jim’s pants.

“Or you could stay,” Pat says, words thrumming against bare dimpling flesh. “Bed’s big enough for two.”

Jim sighs at the admission, tries to conjure images of Penywern Road, of the call he should make to May and little Johnny and the empty bed he owns in his little London flat, which Jim wouldn’t ever dare call a home. Home is a little house near the train station, further up North, away from the London noise and smog. Home is not what it was before Jim met Pat, and he thinks it will never again be.

“Bed might be, but this armchair is definitely not.”

It’s a weak excuse, one that makes Pat smile against his skin before he rises.

“Oh, haven’t you heard, darling?” Jim can see his tongue peek in between white teeth before Pat smiles, his sharp profile haloed by the streetlights. “Cowboys make do.”