#and might like...have a wip with this in mind

[anincompletelist]

2025 wips!

hi all! :D

very low pressure tag to everyone (open tag as well!) to share what you're working on in 2025! I've hit a bit of a wall and need to get organized, and even though most of my fics are impromptu 4am ramblings, I figured I'd hold myself accountable here and make it into a game of sorts for anyone who might be inclined to do the same.

I hope you've all had a lovely new year so far! x

*obligatory slightly nsfw warning*

ex-marine henry

after being dishonorably discharged from his position in the royal marines that he never truly wanted in the first place, henry finds himself adrift, hoping to start anew in the states. he meets alex, a younger, freshly divorced lawyer with whom it appears at first he has nothing in common with, but soon finds much more than he bargained for as they embark on an at times tumultuous but ultimately fulfilling fifteen-year relationship, navigating the threads of vulnerability, grief, friendship, and love.

rejected soulmates support group

the world has begun to move past the singular thinking that one is incomplete without their soulmate. henry knows that many people live long, fulfilling lives on their own or with a partner that might not have been fate's first choice for them. but at heart he's always been a hopeless romantic, and when fate decides to take his soulmate's life before they've even met one another yet on the tail end of the still-raw grief of losing his father, it feels as if the world is against him. lonely and lost, henry reluctantly seeks out support in the form of a small group that meets once a week, each member bringing their own perspective of loss to the circle. he'd thought he'd decided on staying alone for the rest of his life, but alex, a kind, curious empath with plenty of baggage of his own, might be the fresh perspective he needs to give love another try.

the simple life au

as part of their damage control tour, alex and henry are forced to take part in a reboot of the show 'The Simple Life' with a twist -- they'll spend five episodes between texas and washington and five in the uk, taking turns learning what each other's day-to-day looks like. between the press junkets and lazy rivers in the states and the ballrooms and etiquette training in london, both of them find themselves with more empathy for the other than they'd anticipated. the cameras capture not only their fast friendship but the beginning of a burgeoning, unexpected romance as well, defying their initial objective and sparking tentative optimism for a previously impossible future. they're still far from free, though, as both countries have their best interests in mind and full control over what narrative is aired to the world. it's going to take a leap of faith to make it work, but alex is more than ready to show henry how to jump.

speak easy

alex, a computer science major, has never met a number he didn't like. until he starts failing the poetry section of his mandatory english course. encouraged to seek out a tutor, his professor points him toward henry, a known writer and fellow student that always seems to evade alex's attempts to get to know him more deeply. henry leads him through his own self-proclaimed five step program to becoming a 'poet', strengthening his voice and ultimately helping him pass the course. but finding his voice means visiting parts of himself that alex had previously kept locked up tight or hadn't even known were there in the first place, and sharing his realizations with henry forms a bond between them that not even the journals-full of prose passed back and forth can scratch the surface of. that won't stop him from trying, though.

+

detroit become human inspired au

henry and pez run a safe haven for those who were once machines, deemed faulty for having developed genuine humanity and facing imminent decommission if found out. the next evaluation is in less than 24 hours, and alex's humanity is at 94%. luckily, he makes it to henry just in time.

midnight cowboy

alex, the lead singer of the widely known and highly acclaimed band midnight cowboy, is henry's biggest guilty pleasure—which is saying quite a lot. as a professional escort for the rich and elite, almost none of his pleasure is guilty these days. it feels like a fever dream when he gets the request from alex himself asking to spend a night together. he's long since being anyone's experiment, but with alex, unfortunately, henry finds he enjoys the idea of being some kind of first. (is 'only' too much to ask for?)

gynecologist henry

alex has done the college thing. the dream job thing. the casual, short term relationship thing. on paper, he has everything he ever said he wanted. it'd just be nice if he had someone to share it with sometimes. it'd be even nicer if his sister would stop trying to set him up with her gynecologist, who evidently finds himself in the same position.

+1 for the let's talk about sex! series

henry attends therapy in brooklyn once alex has moved in and things have slowed down a bit. it's predictably difficult but for the better, until they begin to cover the topic of his past relationships -- more specifically, sex. facing realizations that can no longer be shoved away, henry confides in alex and they reevaluate what intimacy might look like for them in the wake of healing from trauma.

+2 for the let's talk about sex! series

henry has to switch antidepressants and worries that his decreased libido will cause issues with his and alex's active sex life.

+3 for the let's talk about sex! series

henry arrives home early one night to find alex touching himself, which prompts a conversation about alex's past partners, misplaced shame, and self-pleasure within intimate relationships.

chauffeur alex

alex is the personal driver for henry, secret writer and infamous royal who'd abdicated and come to the states in his 20's to live freely and to marry his husband. now in his near-forties, the glamour and novelty of his story having long since worn off alongside his failing marriage, henry finds that alex is the only one he can confide in without fear -- and who is convinced that henry deserves so much more than he's getting. the last thing either of them need is to get feelings involved, but neither can say they tried as hard as they should've to have stopped them.

+

texan slang +1's

henry's been learning spanish already for the last few years in an effort to connect more with alex and his family. he did not, however, prepare for the myriad of texan-ism's that he encounters once they're back in austin, which is beginning to seem like a language all its own.

aftercare (+4 for the let's talk about sex! series)

neither alex nor henry have been in a serious relationship before and are unfamiliar with aftercare since it isn’t something they had with their previous partners. after a particularly intimate and intense round of lovemaking, they find themselves both feeling a little lost and restless, leading to a conversation about how they can best be there for each other after sex going forward. 

bottoming 101 (+5 for the let's talk about sex! series)

alex wants to bottom for the first time post-canon. henry walks him through the process—even the not-so-glamorous parts—and alex experiences a newfound appreciation for the previously unknown efforts that they go to to express their love.

dom bottom alex

self explanatory, really.

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plus probably a lot of random ideas and/or add-on's to current series!

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tags (no pressure!):

@kiwiana-writes @rmd-writes @everwitch-magiks @run-for-chamo-miles @firenati0n

@zwiazdziarka @miharaikko @littlemisskittentoes @judasofsuburbia @anchoredarchangel

@suseagull5914 @porcelainmortal @nocoastposts @clockwrkpendrxgon @sophie1973

@iboatedhere @getmehighonmagic @smc-27 @cha-melodius @tintagel-or-cockleshells

@caterpills @eusuntgratie @inexplicablymine @happiness-of-the-pursuit @sparklepocalypse

@hgejfmw-hgejhsf @wordsofhoneydew @cricketnationrise @whimsymanaged @myheartalivewrites

@junebugclaremontdiaz @hypnostheory @blueeyedgrlwrites @futureseaempress @ninzied

@tinyarmedtrex @dizzymisslizzie @clottedcreamfudge @kj-bee @largepeachicedtea

@miss-minnelli @bananzie @starrypiscesao3 @fairflowered @4rthurfox

+ OPEN TAG please feel free to join in, and also if you're an artist feel free to modify it to include what art you're excited to make in 2025!

see you all soon! x

[ofcrowsanddragons]

The First Kiss Scene That Didn't Include Any (Much?) Kissing / Rook's Demisexual Love Letter to Lucanis

Thank you for tagging me in WIP Wednesday, @basedonconjecture! Tagging @dustdeepsea, @i-had-bucky, @teyrnacousland, @thebaldursmouthgazette and @deputyrook if you have anything from fic to meta that you'd like to share.

This is a MUCH later snippet of my Rookanis fic, A Working Relationship, which jumps to the point where a young Crow Rook and an undercover "Luca" are in Minrathous and there are FEELINGS.

Thank you to @thedissonantverses for encouraging me as I worked on figuring out the dynamic between these two.

An earlier side fic, But I Won't Do That includes this bit of context:

Lucanis might have his own blindness, but he knew enough to realize that anything he could offer might not be seen as optional by the younger assassin, and the thought terrified him.

If such a thing happened, Viago could slit his throat and Lucanis would prearrange to hide the body.

Here's the first draft of the first kiss/almost kiss scene. The final version might be different, but I need to write another 20-30k words to get there. (Power dynamics, consent issues addressed, no sex).

I leaned in, placing one hand gently against the back of the chaise. I kept my weight on my feet, ready to step back if I was rebuffed. My whole body was tight with anticipation, my mind ready to pull back at the rejection I knew was coming.

Instead, Luca raised his eyes to mine.

I could drown in them, I thought. His eyes had gone dark with want, for all that he looked at me like something wounded.

He held himself rigid, like he was afraid to move. His jaw was slack, peppered with evening stubble across the warm tones of his skin, and his lips were parted just so.

Without thought, drawn to the heat of him, I reached across his other shoulder and braced my hand against the chaise. I boxed him in, tentative, and the fabric of my sleeve just barely brushed his arm.

I let my weight fall onto the chaise, and the inside of my knee brushed against his thigh. It felt like lightning, and I sucked in a breath, desperate to keep my eyes on Luca, to not be distracted by my own reactions.

He was trembling. He squeezed his eyes shut.

Luca raised a hand from where it rested on the side of the chaise. There was a barely visible shake in the fingers as his arm skirted over the velvet cushions and came to hover near my hip, like he was afraid to touch me. Taking it as a sign of his interest, I sighed out my relief even as I kept the toes of one foot on the floor, ready to pull away if he needed me to.

My back leg trembled, and I wanted nothing more than to fall into his lap. The heat from his muscular thigh on the inside of my leg was agony, and I felt weak with it.

I was afraid to touch him, too. I was afraid to push too far.

“Look at me,” I breathed, inches away from his face.

Warm, brown eyes met mine, and I marvelled at the softness of them. At the smooth planes of his face and the mole next to his hairline. At the crease between his brow and the spot next to his nose. At the creases in his bottom lip.

His tongue darted out on reflex, to wet the lips even as he prepared to push me away.

“You don't have to do this,” he said, even as his eyes fell to my lips and he tilted his face to match mine. The fear in his voice was real. “Please tell me you know that.”

The warm breath from his voice was close enough to feel against my lips, and I bit my lower lip without thinking, sweeping my tongue out to soothe the dryness I found there. My mind felt like it was full of the thick, sweet syrup used by a nearby street vendor.

“I don't know if I can stop,” I said, too honest. Not knowing what he wanted, too full of whatever I was feeling to make room for him, I tasted something like failure at the back of my mouth.

He met my eyes, and his fingers finally brushed against my hip. The lightness of it felt like a brand, striking like a viper through my nerves and into my chest. I had to slap down the instinctive rise of my magic to meet it.

I gasped, falling forward another inch as I struggled to keep my eyes on his.

Luca’s eyebrows were furrowed as he kept his touch light on my hip, his other hand clenched in the cushions. All of the tension in his body was held away from me, in his legs and core and his far arm. I didn't know what he was holding back, but I wanted to beg for it. I wanted him to pull me down and fist his hand in my hair like he was holding the cushion and I knew it was too much.

That light touch, urging me closer. I obeyed without a thought.

Luca tilted his head forward and I let my forehead meet his in a gentle touch. It felt like a cool breeze on a summer day, and I sighed into it with relief, closing my eyes.

“Any advantage you want,” he breathed in promise, “It's yours for the asking. I don't want…”

I should stop, I thought, but I was afraid of what would happen if I did. I was afraid that he would look at me afterward like a student who had tried to seduce him for safety, for power, for resources. For a chance to live.

“You've given me everything I've asked for,” I said, tilting back so that my lips almost brushed his. “Can I ask for something else?”

“Anything within my power,” he vowed, breath ghosting across my lips.

I pulled away enough to meet his eyes, feeling an overwhelming wave of my own emotion threatening to spill out of them.

His hand dropped, instantly. His expression was guarded, on the verge of the desperate triumph of being proven right.

“Believe me,” I begged, meeting his desperation with my own. “Believe me when I say that I want you.”

He searched my face, eyes flickering across my features. “Why?”

I finally stopped resisting the urge to touch, and I let my hands grasp at his shoulders. He startled, like it was a shock I would touch him this way.

The wants of my own flesh barely registered. The only thing I needed was this.

“Because you're beautiful,” I said, reaching for the meaning that meant more than his handsome face or his grace in battle. “Because the first day I met you, you started changing out our rations until everyone had something they enjoyed eating, not just me. Because you're kind when you don't have to be—because when the world tells you not to be, you'll be kinder out of spite.”

His lips twitched with a pull at the corner that was barely a smile. “Acting out of spite is hardly a virtue.”

“I don't care,” I said, leaning fully into his space, drawing both feet up so that I was kneeling on either side of his leg, a blasphemous approximation of an Andrastian chant. “Void damn it, Luca, I'm an assassin. You told me yourself that there's no virtue in what we do.”

His expression changed, slackened into something softer. “You make me wonder if it could be different,” he told me, with something like a smile rising up from his eyes.

My heart was pounding in my ears, as fast as a sparrow’s. I fought the urge to run, feeling the unfairness of doing so when I had trapped Luca so thoroughly. I forced myself to meet his eyes, even as the sensations of the man’s warm body beneath my legs and hands rose into the foreground.

I blew out a breath. “I want you. What do you want?”

Something seemed to rise in him at those words, settling over his face and pulling at his restraint, and it thrilled through me like a wave of electricity. He held fast, holding himself back, only bringing his hand back to my hip in a touch so feather light it risked driving me insane.

“I just…” Luca started, and trailed off like he didn't know what he was trying to say. The hand at my hip settled more firmly into the position he'd use to lead me in a dance. “I want—”

He cut himself off with a growl of frustration and brought his free hand to my shoulder. In one smooth movement, he threw me onto my back on the soft, velvet cushions of the chaise. I had to force myself to relax into it, and I let my arms fall, boneless, along the back and over the edge of the couch.

“Is it too much,” said Luca, kneeling between my legs, with one elbow against the back of the chaise gripping my arm, “To want you to feel like you don't have to be afraid?”

“We're dangerous people,” I said gently, tilting my chin to expose my throat. “Maybe I know what that means, and I trust you not to hurt me.”

He rolled off the chaise into a crouch on the floor. I felt the bitter disappointment at the loss of contact, but I stayed on the cushions, following his movement only with my eyes. I was exhausted, aroused, and beyond ready to retreat into my bedroom to cry into the pillows. The points of warmth on my body that Luca had touched tingled with the awareness of the loss of him. I had been expecting a rejection, but I didn't know what this was.

With too much gentleness, Luca reached from where he had settled on the floor, to hold my hand where I had allowed it to drape over the edge.

He met my eyes. “I don't want you to be afraid.”

I pulled his hand up onto the cushion, slow and telegraphed, forcing him to let go or move so that his knees were closer to the base of the chaise. He chose to move forward, and I turned onto my side. He watched carefully as I pressed a kiss to the palm of his hand, next to the meat of his thumb, and then rested my cheek against it like a pillow. I let my eyes fall shut.

His breathing was even and deliberate in the way that we’re trained to be.

I let my mind drift to the solid mountain of my dreams, where my feet were always on the ground and there was always a way forward, no matter what obstacle rose in front of me.

Frowning, still focusing on the way the imaginary light reflected from the harsh alpine trail, I told him, “I don’t know how to stop being afraid. What does it feel like, when you’re not afraid?”

The sound of wet laughter. “I’m not sure I can answer that right now.”

��Maybe,” I said, opening my eyes, “We can find out together?”

Too much hope was riding on the last word, but Luca didn’t pull away. Instead, the smile—maybe the first real, true smile I had ever seen from him—lit up his eyes in a way that took my breath away. I let what was probably a stunned smile play across my face, in turn.

“Maybe so,” he said, voice soft as he shuffled forward so that he could rest his head against mine.

I let my breathing match his, and let the time pass me by, luxuriating in the closeness of another being who I somehow, miraculously, trusted with more than my life.

[plague-of-insomnia]

WIP Wednesday: Sebardagni 1920s AU: Snippet - Bard meets Ruby

I'm back on my business hoping 2025 is finally the year I get to fill your lives with tons of kuro rarepair AU content!

Here's another scene from my 1920s sebardagni AU that has been floating around in my mind for months and that I was finally able to write the other day.

It's the first of two scenes in which Bard meets Sebastian, aka "Ruby," for the first time, and he's immediately smitten--even after he realizes "Ruby" is a man.

About this AU:

Sebardagni, multichapter, 1920s AU, Human Sebastian, Disabled Sebastian

Set in the US during the 1920s when Prohibition of alcohol was at its peak. Sebastian has a mysterious past that becomes central to the story as it unfolds, but when it begins works out of his apartment as a music tutor and at night performs at Undertaker's speakeasy. That's where he meets Bard, who was left aimless after the end of WWI, and now works as a bouncer for Undertaker in his club. Agni (who isn't in this snippet) is a doctor and who was living with Sebastian when Bard and he met.

*the image above is a preview of a comic by @luci-on-the-moon that will be revealed later

Enjoy, and if this is an AU you're interested in, let me know!

~#~

A hush fell over the entire club as all attention fixed on the piano, which played a simple, tinkling melody that seemed to float through the air like a mist. In the center of it all, spotlight illuminating, was Ruby, dress and jewels the color of her namesake glittering in the light. She was even more beautiful than Bard had imagined she’d be based on everything he’d heard. Her long, luxurious black hair draped over her shoulders, not chopped short like was the fashion, and Bard wondered if, despite the fact she was singing in an underground club run by a shady character like Undertaker, she might be a traditional, classy girl. Her lips were full and lashes long, with skin like fresh cream that Bard longed to touch. But then the piano swelled and she began to sing, and suddenly the entire world around Bard faded away into the soulful sound that cradled him like a warm embrace after years at war. “What’ll I do? When you are far away and I am blue.“ Bard’s mouth went dry as he listened, ash falling from his cigarette as he remained enraptured, as if Ruby were a siren mesmerizing him with her song. The melody was simple, letting the richness of her singing shine through. Bard could feel the emotion she was pouring into every word as she sang sadly of the lover she would never see again. The music crescendoed as Ruby leaned back on the piano, her long legs peaking from the slit in her unfashionably long dress. Though it fit her like God himself had made it for her, so Bard wasn’t about to complain. She wasn’t curvy, but she had a magnetism that made her beauty radiate. “What’ll I do with just a photograph—” She dropped her gaze, those captivating long lashes brushing her cheeks, and when she lifted it again, Bard could have sworn she was looking straight at him. “—to tell my troubles to?” Ruby smiled, amused, but only for a fleeting moment as she continued the song, heartbreak hovering in every note, “When I’m alone, with all the dreams of you that won’t come true. . .” Ruby paused, and so did the music, to let the audience hang on every single second, waiting for her to finish. She stared down at her legs, her voice shifting so that Bard would have sworn she were on the brink of tears. “What’ll I do?” The final chord played and the speakeasy erupted into whistling and clapping, most of the crowd jumping to their feet. But all Bard’s attention was still fixed on Ruby, her red dress glittering as she shifted, blowing kisses to the crowd and winking occasionally before the spotlight slid to the left and the MC began introducing the next performance. As much as he wanted to keep his gaze fixed on her until the last moment, when she disappeared backstage, a fight broke out to Bard’s right. which meant he had a job to do. But after his shift ended, he was gonna pay Ruby a visit.

[changelingsandothernonsense]

Wip Whenever

I think I might sequester wip posts to once a week on a Thursday (coz it's Thursday). I'll post art and maybe a writing snippet if I'm up for it. Just gotta keep wips low-key.

anyway I got tagged by @skyrim-forever @firefly-factory @pocket-vvardvark Tagging @nyarevar and @archangelsunited. No pressure 🫂 The rest of the post is under the cut.

I've been working on the render that I started in December, just have his hair and some extra lighting details left.

And an idea for the next render

And a snippet from You, where Josh gets harassed by Hircine again.

“Fine,” I finally replied, shoving the ring back in my pocket, “What do you want me to do.”

The spectre nodded again, pleased with my answer, “I see you’ve matured since we last met, Blodskaal. I expected to hear protests?”

I sighed, “An what would refusing the Lord of the Hunt do? I’m old Hircine, I’m too fucking tired to argue.”

“You are a strange one, Nerevarine but I will make use of your—” The spectre paused for a moment and blinked its large eyes at me again, “Compliance.”

I grit my teeth as Hircine continued to rattle on, my hand still clasping the ring that I had shoved into my pocket.

“The one who stole my ring has fled to what he believes is his sanctuary,” Hircine continued, “Just as a bear climbs a tree to escape the hunter but only ends up trapping himself. Seek out this rogue shifter who has lost my favour, flay the skin from his body as you once did centuries ago and make it an offering to me.”

I shook my head as I finally let go of the ring in my pocket and folded my arms, “You want me to do what I did to Heart-Fang? Why should I do that? That kid’s done nothing to me.”

“Did Tharsten Heart-Fang do anything to you in the Hunting Grounds, Blodskaal?” Hircine countered, “Or was he acting on his nature?”

I rolled my eyes, “Heart-Fang attacked me in that maze, I don’t much care for his reasoning. That kid back in the gaols did nothing but annoy me a little. It’s not an equivalent.”

“It hasn’t stopped you before, Blodskaal.”

‘He’s right, Sero—'

‘Shut it,’ I mumbled under my breath. The last thing I needed was Nerevar’s input. It’s his bloodthirstiness that got me into that mess out on Solstheim in the first place. I was content pissing my time away watching that mine.

“Not an equivalent,” I spat, replying to the two of them. I’d killed my fair share of people for ridiculous reasons, sure but I didn’t relish in having blood on my hands. Well, not the part of me that I associated with my old self anyway. There was a part of me that relished it but I’d always attributed that to Nerevar’s influence. A partial melding between the two of us that didn’t quite work in his favour.

It's a part of me that does not mix well with who I want to be. It churns about in my gut and merges with my paranoia like a demented slurry. I’d always tried to push that desire out of my mind, but there's always something that grabs me and throws me back into wanton violence. Then I spend all my fucking time justifying to myself why I did it in the first place. If they attacked me, then I have a reason to kill as I wish.

The thought just makes me feel sick.

“There is no retribution in the hunt, Nerevarine. I do not seek vengeance as you do, no. Merely the glory of the hunt,” Hircine’s voice boomed throughout the clearing, and I struggled not to cup my hands around my ears. That kind of vulnerability in the face of the likes of Hircine would be a grave mistake on my behalf. Though it seems that the spectre noticed my discomfort regardless, “Nerevarine, there are countless others that would gladly accept my favour. They will hunt him while you delay. It is your choice.”

“I’m not looking for your favour,” I replied flatly, “If I recall you orchestrated this whole thing to lure me out of hiding. Why the fuck would I seek you out of my own volition?”

“Be careful with your words, Blodskaal,” Hircine threatened, “Do not think you have the upper hand here just because you possess my artifact. You may have once been favoured by Azura but she has long abandoned you. You crave that favour again. That is why you will do as I command, because you are compelled to do so by your very nature—”

I spat on the ground in front of me, the taste of ash burning in my throat as my fury rose. I hated this sort of tactic, insult aspects of myself that I had no fucking control over and attribute everything I do as an inevitability because of that. As if I was never capable of change. That I needed to be treated like shit just to get me to comply. I was no stranger to it, whether it was my bastard of a grandfather, Orvas Dren, Caius Cosades, Nerevar, the Daedric Princes, the fucking Tribunal! Fuck even you at the end reduced me to nothing but the curse that corrupts my flesh!

Everyone who ever believed in me is either dead or too far away to help me right now. All I had at the end of the day was myself and I’d been fighting alone for two human lifetimes at this point. The only person who could stand up for me is myself and I knew there was one thing this fucker was wrong about.

Azura never truly abandoned me, I abandoned her.

“Fuck this,” I growled, turning away from the spectre. I was done parlaying with a fucking Daedra. It’s rid myself of the ring in some cave or a deep hole or something and hope that it doesn’t come back to bite me in the ass again. I heard my guardian move and crackle as Hircine’s voice boomed through the clearing once again.

“You never had a choice.”

And my own voice echoed his words as I hit the forest floor.

[echoingbirdsofprey]

Lightning On My Lips (Every Time You Kiss Me)

25 - Middle Of A Memory

Pairing: Tyler Owens x OFC Georgia Tennley-Owens

Rating: EXPLICIT (MDNI!)

Warnings: SMUT, truck smut hahaha, protected!piv, dirty talkin' Tyler, almost getting caught, then sad, sorry, mentions of injury (Tyler's)

A/N: Did you think I was gonna leave you hanging with the other two stories? Nah. These are still going to get updated! Delicate will be tomorrow or Thursday and a new chapter for the crossover this week too! These are flashbacks from their rodeo days! And why Georgia left him. I almost thought about writing a prequel for this story, but I'm not that's too many WIPs to have hahaha. As always reblogs, comments, and likes are very appreciated! I love all y'alls feedback! Please enjoy this one, I had fun with it even though it's a little sad at the end!

Tags: @mrsevans90 @djs8891 @gpsmississippihippie @barnesboo1967 @dizzybee03

“Hey, Arkansas.” Tyler heard the barrel racer’s pretty chime of a voice and he thought he might melt. God, he loved when she called him that. 

“Yeah, Peach?” He sauntered over to her, a slight limp in his step. She watched him with concern, but then as he neared, and his hands wrapped around her waist, all the worry left her and she melted into him. 

“I’d like to celebrate your win.” Georgia said, snaking her hands around the back of his neck. His lids lowered and he smirked.

“And how would you like to do that? I mean we’ve got beer in the trailer, unless you want a lil’ summin’ stronger?” Tyler asked, pushing her up against his truck. It was a huge, ancient square bodied Ford, blue with tan and silver pinstripes along the sides and bed. 

“Maybe a shot of somethin’ stronger and I’ve got a lil’ somethin’ in mind but we have to move the truck.” Georgia said, her voice tipped with a lusty undertone that Tyler definitely noticed. His brows raised and he didn’t know his smirk could get any more mischievous, but it did then. They proceeded to, very quickly, put their gear away, Tyler’s bull riding equipment thrown in the bed of his truck and Georgia’s spurs and her saddles chucked into the tack room of her trailer. They locked up her truck and trailer and then hopped in his truck. Tyler grabbed a bottle of Jack Daniels from the back seat and handed it to Georgia. As he started the engine, she told him where to go so that they were away from the rodeo grounds and in a quiet area where there shouldn’t have been much traffic. It was a turnoff that she’d seen earlier when they’d pulled in that morning and she’d been thinking about it all day and how it would be a perfect place for a couple to make out with each other. 

Tyler pulled the truck over and wedged it as far as he could get it hidden. His heart was absolutely pounding in his chest, knowing exactly what Georgia wanted to do. As he shut the engine off, Georgia opened the bottle of Jack and took a long swig, then handed it to Tyler. He smirked wildly and took a gulp of it, groaning at the burn as it cascaded down his throat. He screwed the cap back on and put it on the dashboard carefully. He hadn’t eaten anything all day so when the whiskey hit, it hit him hard even though it was only a small amount. He felt the world spin and he chuckled as Georgia climbed over the center console and put her legs on either side of his. He pushed the seat back and down as far as possible to give her plenty of room.

“Watch your head, Peach.” He said, reaching up to block her from hitting the back of her head on the roof of the truck. She laughed and leaned down to kiss him, a sloppy and whiskey tainted kiss that hadd Tyler absolutely reeling. His jeans were entirely too tight and he needed them off, now. Georgia could feel him through the denim and it only made her attack his mouth with even more desire. She threaded her fingers through his sandy brown hair and tugged just a little, making Tyler groan in anticipation. 

“Tyler...I want you so bad.” Georgia’s voice lowered an octave and Tyler shifted, thrusting his hips up at her. His hands traveled to the hem of her tank top, pulling it up over her head. His eyes got lost for a moment as he took in her gorgeous breasts, spilling out of the top of her bra. 

“Fuck, Peach, you’re so hot.” He tipped his head down, pressing careful kisses to the swell of her breasts and biting at her nipples through the fabric. Georgia’s fingers dug into the back of his skull, and his hands cupped one tit and her jaw, steadying her as they exchanged breaths. She reached down between them, undoing her belt first and Tyler did his absolute best to help her drag them down her muscular thighs. Those thighs could end him in a heartbeat. They were thick and strong from years of riding lots of horses and he adored them. Her jeans were deposited on the floor and on their way back up, Tyler’s hands took a hold of her ass cheeks and squeezed hard, earning a loud moan from her. 

She unbuckled his belt then, trying her best to keep her lips on his as she helped free his aching cock. He lifted his hips so that she could slide his jeans and boxers down just enough to expose him. He felt instant relief and sighed as he took her lips with his once again. She hovered over him then, his length just brushing against the wetness between her legs. She’d soaked through her panties. 

“Congrats on your big win, Arkansas. Are you ready to accept your prize?” She asked huskily as he popped open the center console. He let loose a nervous laugh as he fumbled for a condom. He knew he had one in there somewhere. She rubbed her cheek against his, awaiting his answer. Her cheeks were such a pretty pink, partially from arousal and partially from how fucking hot it suddenly was inside the cab of the truck. Tyler had begun to sweat and as he found a condom, ripped it open and rolled it onto his cock, he took in the scent of their sex and sweat mingling. It was a musky and heavy scent, tinged with the smell of old leather from their boots and belts that hung in the air and only served to excite them both more. Tyler reached down and pulled her panties to one side and thrust up into her hard. A strangled moan escaped her lips and Tyler grabbed the back of her neck, reeling her back in for a hungry kiss. 

“Ride me, Peach, use me to get’chur self off. That’s the only prize I want right now.” His voice was gravelly as one of his hands reached her jaw again, holding her into a hard kiss. His other hand met her lower back, gently guiding her as she began to move up and down his length. She grasped for purchase on his shoulder and let her fingers drop between their bodies, two digits meeting her clit and rubbing rapid circles. They both couldn’t help the noises that came from their mouths, a mix of heavy breaths and low moans, and Tyler couldn't help the words that fell from his lips. “God, Peach, you feel so fuckin’ good. You’re so good at ridin’ me, doin’ such a good job.”

“Ohhh, Tyler, I’m close...fuck I’m sooo close.” Georgia whimpered, her brows knitting. Her eyes fluttered shut as she felt her orgasm building quickly, the little bit of whiskey now fully fueling her and lighting her body on fire. 

“I know, Gee, I know, I can feel it, You feel so...fuckin’ good...Come for me, darlin’.” Tyler choked on his words as he too felt his release. Georgia’s pussy clamped down on him as she lost her rhythm completely and Tyler was done for right then and there. His cock throbbed and he filled the condom. He saw stars and his whole body tensed as he took over for her, guiding her hips through the waves of her finish. 

“Tyler, Tyler, yes, Tyler, yes, oh my god.” His name sounded like a prayer and he chuckled hearing the twang in her voice with the way she said his name. He fucking loved it. They both ceased all movements then, Tyler breathing a heavy, shuddering sigh. Georgia’s chest heaved and he enjoyed the view, one of her breasts now halfway out of her bra. Tyler couldn’t help himself as he let his lips drop and sucked her nipple into his mouth, causing her tit to fall completely out. Tyler pulled his lips away and then his laugh bellowed through the cab of the truck. His mouth dropped open, the corners of his lips turned up, his long dimples showing. Georgia giggled softly as her hands met his chest. She let a finger open his shirt just a bit more, playing with the light dusting of hair there. 

“Fuck, Gee, that felt...woo...fuckin’ amazin’.” Tyler said softly, his hands squeezing her hips. They’d been so consumed by each other, that they hadn’t seen headlights enter the pull-off. They hadn’t heard anyone get out of the truck and it startled them both when someone knocked on the bed.

“Hey, y’all okay?” They both jumped at the voice. They recognized it. 

“Fuck, Tyler!” Georgia squeaked, as he pulled out of her and  his jeans up awkwardly as they heard the gravel crunching getting closer. Georgia jumped into the passenger seat and Tyler chucked her jeans at her, which she put on as quickly as she could. She tucked her breasts back into her bra and yanked her tank top back on as the person knocked on Tyler’s window. It was Skylar Steele, a roper from the rodeo.

“Hey, Tyler, everythin’ okay? We saw y’all up’n’scoot and didn’t know if somethin’ was wrong.” He said and Tyler shook his head.

“Nah everythin’s fine. Just went out to grab a bottle of whiskey for my win.” Tyler lied and it made Georgia smirk. Skylar leaned against the truck and waved at her.

“Hey, Georgia. Tyler’s pretty impressive, huh?” He asked and Georgia just smiled and said ‘sure is’ and reached over to run her fingers over Tyler’s cheek. 

“Thanks for yur concern, Skylar. We’re all set.” Tyler’s voice got tight and Skylar nodded and wiggle his brows.

“Yup, I see that now. See ya back at the rodeo. Come have some drinks with us if y’all are up to it.” Skylar said as he patted the roof of the truck and then walked back to his truck. Tyler and Georgia waited until he backed out of the pull-off and they both sighed heavily and then laughed.

“Holy shit, Ty.” Georgia leaned back over the center console and kissed him hard, which he graciously accepted.

“That was fuckin’ crazy. We should go back and clean up. I shoved my dick in my pants with the condom still on.” He said and Georgia bit her lip and smirked.

“Did you like your prize?” She asked as she sat back in the seat and he started the truck, adjusting his seat back to where it was drivable. He nodded.

“Best prize ever, Peach.”

🌪️🛻🌪️

One month later.

Tyler was unconscious. He had been for two days. Boone had stayed most of the time, but Georgia had popped in and out as much as she could while taking care of her horses and the girls that she was coaching at that particular rodeo. Boone was quietly sleeping in the chair in the corner of the room when Georgia walked into the room. She frowned and stepped toward the bed, placing her hand over Tyler’s. He didn’t move at all. The whole thing scared the shit out of Georgia. His breathing was the only thing that let her know he was still alive. 

Boone stirred, opening his eyes and rubbing his hands over his face. He yawned and smiled at Georgia.

“Hey, Georgia. He’s still not awake. Hasn’t been. They said they had to put him in a medically induced coma so his brain can heal.” Boone explained and tears stung Georgia’s eyes as she glanced from Boone back to Tyler. The cut on his head had been stitched up. Another scar. Just like the ones on his ribs. On his back. Across his collarbone. His hips. His knees. He was a fucking mess. But she loved him all the same.

“Do they know how long?” She asked quietly and Boone shook his head.

“He’s in pretty bad shape. Pelvis is fractured too. And one of his knees is broke. They said he’s gonna need surgery for both and then it’s gonna be a long recovery.” Boone stood and he placed his hands gently on the bed next to Tyler. Georgia shook her head.

“Boone...I...what do I do? I can’t stay.” She said and Boone’s brow furrowed.

“Whatdoya mean? He’s your boyfriend.” Boone took a breath and it hitched as his stare grew hard. Georgia shook her head in disbelief.

“I can't give up everything for him right now. My whole career...I’ve been working so hard, I can’t just stop.” She said, tears now staining her cheeks as she backed away from the bed a step. She put her hand over her mouth and her jaw worked hard.

“No...you can’t. I get it. So go do what you need to do and then come back. But promise me you’ll come back...for him?” Boone’s brow knit as his gaze settled on the barrel racer. She stepped back over to Tyler and placed a kiss on his lips. 

“I’ll come back. I just don’t know when.” She said, wiping her tears. She wanted to stay longer but the next rodeo was hours away and she had to get on the road. She walked around the bed and Boone pulled her into a tight hug. 

“As long as he knows you’re gonna come back.” Boone said into her shoulder and then Georgia pulled away. 

“Can you just let me know how he is?” She asked and Boone nodded.

“Course. Good luck.” Boone said his tone solemn. 

As Georgia walked down the hall, a sense of dread filled her and she glanced back toward Tyler’s room. In that moment, knowing how much she loved him and how much he loved her, she knew she wanted to return, but somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew she might not.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, with everything that had just happened before she met Tyler...she knew she couldn’t. What if she lost him too? She couldn't bear the thought of losing someone else so soon after her father. She had just gotten to a good place, where she felt like she should go on. How could she risk that and come back to Tyler being crippled? What if he couldn;t rodeo anymore after this? What if this was the one that did him in? What if he had so much brain damage that he didn’t remember her? 

As she continued down the hallway, all of her thoughts terrified her. She couldn’t think of any of it. She left the hospital composed, but as soon as she was safe in her truck, she broke down. Sobbing uncontrollably, she sat there for what felt like hours before she could finally gather herself enough to head back to the rodeo grounds. She’d need to gather up all of her gear and horses from the stalls by herself. She was going to miss having Tyler around. She was going to miss waking up to him every morning. She was going to miss his kisses and touches and his voice. The feeling of his skin against hers and the sounds he made when he fell apart while he was inside her. She was going to miss everything about him. She was alone again, and that felt awful to her. 

It was better to leave now, then get even more attached and get her heart broken all over again. If she did the heart breaking, it wouldn’t be as bad. It wouldn’t sting as much.

A week or so passed, and Georgia hadn’t heard anything from Boone so she went on about her day, getting her horses warmed up for the race that started in about an hour. And that was when she got a text.

Unknown: hey can I call you? Got news about Tyler

She typed back ‘yeah of course’ and waited. Her phone rang almost immediately. 

“Hey, it’s Boone.” 

“Hey. So you have news?”

“Uh, yeah...so, they did the surgeries. He’s got some screws in his pelvis and a plate in his knee. He had some memory loss...they said it’ll either get better or it won’t.” Boone went quiet on the other end of the line and Georgia hung her head.

“Did he...is he awake now?” She asked and Boone made a small noise.

“He was. He’s back asleep. He’s...he’s in a lot of pain, Georgia...like a lot.”

“Did he ask for me?” She asked, as tears stung her eyes. Boone was silent for a few moments and then he spoke softly.

“Georgia...I’m sorry. He didn’t. He doesn’t even know where he is right now. They had to shackle him to the bed because he was tryin’ to leave. He’s...I don’t know...I think it’s gonna be a long road...the doc said his rodeo career is over...”

Georgia took a deep breath and let it out slowly. 

“I’m sorry, Boone. I love him. I do. But I can’t wait around and hope he remembers me. If he does, have him call me...but I won’t expect it. Just...tell him that I loved him so much and that I’m sorry. I can’t lose someone else. I’m sorry. I’ve lost too much already. It’s better if I walk away now.” Georgia’s voice crackled as she spoke and then she hung up. She stepped down out of the saddle and led Twist back to her trailer. She hugged the mare’s neck and sobbed softly into her mane. 

This was the hardest goodbye she’d ever have to say. This was a harder goodbye than her father because at least she knew he was gone forever. Tyler...Tyler would be out there somewhere, with other people at some point, and maybe thinking of her, but maybe not. He would either remember her or he wouldn’t, and she just wasn’t going to take the chance. There were too many parts of her life left up to chance. This was better as a sure thing. Better that she pushed him out of her mind and focused on her career. 

Take love out of the equation.

[small-carbon-lifeform]

By the stars! Thank you @celebrimborsapron for the tag, I'm so honoured!

It's super late on a Thursday but I wanna play so here is a section of my Adar one-shot WIP that is neeeeeeeeeeeeearly finished. Hopefully I'll post it in full later tonight or tomorrow depending.

It's from a prompt given to me by a friend - Adar is having reluctant throughts abaout Sauron while alone.

The full thing is smut but this bit isn't. The bits with dialogue are Adar remembering the events of earlier in the day so the third paragaph might feel like a wierd jump out of context.

“You can’t kill me.” A jolt of bile stung in Adar’s chest at the challenge. He had to fight the urge to crush his face into the dirt then and there, to plunge his knife into the man’s weak flesh again and again and again until his blood mixed with the ash in a vile, dark mud. He hadn’t felt the desire to sully something so beautiful in an age. In his mind’s eye he had seen a flash of red hair and it was all he could do to still his hand.  “In time, you will beg me to.” he had snarled.    Yes. He would enjoy breaking him. Adar groaned and rolled his head. The tightness was gone but the tension was still there. He couldn’t focus on the map in front of him. This King of the Southlands would be nothing more than a brief distraction, the bigger threat was the return of the Shadow. Would he even know him if he saw him again? Would he still hold himself tall and proud? Would he show any signs of the wounds Adar had inflicted on him? Would he be scarred too?

No pressure tags: @trickstersintime, @lazyneonrabbitt, @daughterofthesunlands, @earthlybeam and anyone else that wants to play <3

WIP Wednesday

🥰 Reviving the ancient and time-honored tradition of "WIP Wednesday" tonight!

✨Tagging @saintstars @gracefallingart @gauntletgirlie @melkor-did-nothing-wrong @sauron-kraut @althanair @privatebooth @just-an-elf-with-the-socks @trash-ainu @winds-of-zephyr416 @barbex @midnightprelude @aidanthecryptid @spaaacecarrots @teine-mallaichte @pinkfadespirit @spicywarl0ck @kaerwrites and @glowing-blue-feathermage ✨

...and everyone else who wants to play! ✨

💜As always, NO pressure and, since it's quite late already, NO need to play today, just play tomorrow or next Wednesday!

❤️ Tonight, I'm sharing a little Angbang WIP ❤️

It was not what I had intended for him when I called him to my side. I say I called him, and it amuses him greatly, you see. Like the master hunter calling the bird of prey to return to upon his outflung arm. In truth, I did call him for him. What came to me was not he but an answering cry, like birds in high-arching flight screeching and hunting for and finding one another.

[eusuntgratie]

2025 wips

thank you for the tag @anincompletelist <3

i am a perpetual too-many-wips disaster so i'm always grateful for an opportunity to lay out what i'm working on.

malex pretty woman au (roswell new mexico)

my next big project is the malex pretty woman au. alex is the rich, detached businessman, michael is captivating in tiny blue shorts and thigh high boots. do you see the vision? i need to make a banner and pick a title!

(i make ONE comment to @bigassbowlingballhead about craving a certain type of fic and suddenly i'm being enabled into my next longfic 🙃). i am genuinely so excited about this one. i've got about 5k written and the whole fic is plotted. i'm thinking this will be in the 25-30k range? maybe? honestly jon is better at estimating my word counts than i am so who knows. still not sure if i'll finish writing this one and then edit and post chapter by chapter or what i'll do, but i think i'll be able to get this one up this year.

firstprince exes (rwrb)

if i have another big project in me i would LOVE to finish my outsider pov firstprince exes fic. i love love love this weird little fic but it is a real challenge to write.

sequels & additional chapters

part 3 of conformation (rnm) will be just alex and michael after their fun with maria at the club. maybe alex will make good on his idea of tying michael up and seeing how much he can take. i could write millions of words of sub!michael please do not tempt me.

chapter 3 of after hours (first prince/rwrb) aka mechanic alex will be alex and henry's first date.

one shots

come back inside is a malexa morning after the airstream scene fic...what if michael convinced alex to stay? this is probably more than half written. malexa my beloved 😍

hunting guide au (tknp, men's hockey rpf). tk hires pat for a guided hunt with his young daughter.

these might not happen 😐

shadow is a buddie fic that was gonna be a big bang fic (which will never happen) but i *could* finish and post the first few chapters as a one shot. featuring baby eddie having his mind blown by a slightly older, extremely gay buck at a college party while visiting his sister.

i wanna be adored is an elliott/marco, marco gets dropped into crystal valley fic that i've written about 5k for but can't quite get to do what i want. when i started writing it there were no kissingchambers fics, but there are lots now! so if you like them you should probably just read those bc this bad boy probably won't see the light of day even though i've got about 5k written.

dumotanger omegaverse college au (men's hockey rpf) - y'know i really love this one and i am unhinged about dumotanger but i think there's just something missing here that i haven't been able to figure out. i'd love to finish it if i do though! i've got maybe 3k written.

okay those are the ones with something significant written. i have LOTS of other abandoned wips and ideas, plus i always like to do some kind of short prompt series. i haven't done femslash february in a while so maybe i could write a few ficlets for that? maybe do some shuffle prompts again? hmmm. we'll see, we'll see.

my askbox and dms are always open for questions about my fic, wips, ideas, etc. <3

open tag for anyone with wips they wanna share!!!

[fonteyn]

[cheaploafs]

no fights are ever won without sacrifice

[sluckythewizard]

[PUT INTO PLACE, TIED DOWN AND ARRANGED, AND IS NEVER THE SAME, AGAIN.]<-listen to my favorite songs. VAMPIRES ARE WONDERFUL ARENT THEY. THE FLESH IS SO MUCH MORE DURABLE. SO MUCH STRETCHIER THAN HUMANS. THE STRESS DOESNT KILL A VAMPIRE THE SAME WAY IT DOES A HUMAN. YOU CAN TAKE THEM APART THREAD BY THREAD AND LEAVE THEM WIDE AWAKE WITHOUT WORRY OF THE BRAINMATTER SPOILING UNDER VINEGARY AGONY.

[ofcrowsanddragons]

The ALT POV of the Wigmaker Job from the WIP folder 🙏

WIP Folder Game

Dialogue by Courtney Woods, based on “The Wigmaker Job” by Courtney Woods, in Tevinter Nights.

Illario’s cousin never changed. He took job after job after job, rarely stopping for a rest. Their grandmother’s orders rang constantly through Lucanis’s mind, and Illario could barely predict the few times that Lucanis would choose his little rebellions against the First Talon. The only guarantee was that it would be inconvenient for Illario.

Said cousin had planned this job: an attack on a prominent Venatori at an event that was the highlight of Vyrantium's social season. Of course, Lucanis had rented the top floor of a terrible inn, from which Illario could hear terrible music rising from the floorboards above the terrible tavern. Lucanis now sat on a hard wooden block with his weapons arranged on the bed in front of him, adding to the screeching strings of the music below with the sound of sharpening stone against steel.

On the bright side, it was clean enough that pests getting into Illario’s luggage were only moderately likely. His favourite piece was also likely to have blood on it by the end of the evening, but for now he admired the craftsmanship in the Minrathous-inspired collar and the surrounding details. The stamped navy velvet was accented with black silk, and the fine gold embroidery tumbled across his shoulders in an explosion and faded into delicate stars that fell across his midsection. The layer below the main tunic was a shimmering gold that peeked from between vents in the fabric as he walked.

Lucanis wore black.

“You’re not wearing that, are you?” asked Illario, resigned. The leather coat over a black suit may have been inconspicuous at any other event, but even then it would make him look like a servant.

Illario hated having options closed to him during a job.

“At least I don’t look like a tourist,” said the other assassin, with the faintest trace of humour in his voice.

“No, you look like you’re attending a funeral.”

“Very funny,” said Lucanis, all traces of humour gone, returning to the state of natural killing machine that Illario could tell had been killing him for years. “It’s a job. Not a party.”

“Actually,” Illario corrected, carefully checking his rogueish facial hair had the desired effect. “It’s a job at a party. Might as well look our best.”

“Any excuse to primp.”

Illario snapped his straight razor shut, hating how Lucanis sometimes sounded like their grandmother. He knew what he was good at, he completed his contracts, and they both looked down on him for that. “I’m only here because of you,” he pointed out. “We should be halfway home by now. Only ‘the Great Lucanis Dellamorte’ could delay a summons from the First Talon herself.”

Shuffling from the other side of the room, visible in the mirror. “Catarina can hardly complain,” said Lucanis, oblivious to how anyone else would suffer for saying so. “She’s the one who beat me into my commitment to my contracts.”

And here they stood, the next generation. From the cradle to the grave in Catarina’s shadow.

“All that effort and training grooming us,” he mused, “And the old woman still won’t step aside.”

“Your time will come.”

Lucanis said it like it was fact. Lucanis had been saying it for years. Lucanis had been convincing, for the longest time.

“Will it?” Illario asked, meeting Lucanis’s eyes in the mirror and willing him to understand. “People talk. You’ve always been her favourite.” You’re the only one who can tell her no.

“My talents lie elsewhere,” Lucanis said, holding up a hand and turning it over to indicate the sword and half dozen-odd daggers, now newly-sharpened. “You’re the one with the silver tongue.”

Illario didn’t want to know.

Illario needed to know.

“So, if she named you heir to House Dellamorte,” asked Illario, “You’d refuse?”

Lucanis went still, and Illario felt a flash of anger at the delay. All Lucanis knew how to do was delay, and this wasn’t a topic they could cover at home.

“Lucanis?” he pressed.

Before Lucanis moved, Illario had already realized that this was the wrong kind of stillness. His cousin had moved into the wire-taut sensory mode of a predator that meant that somebody was about to die.

His own blood rose in response, and as Lucanis reached for his sword, Illario pulled a knife from his sleeve. Illario heard a creak from the hallway and Lucanis motioned to him.

Illario said something about the quality of the hotel and the food, and Lucanis quipped back, “You ordered an Antivan dish in Tevinter. What did you expect?” He’d barely grumbled something back by the time Lucanis silently reached the wall of their room and plunged his entire sword through it—and through the Venatori eavesdropping on the other side.

Well, Illario considered, Now that sword might actually need sharpening.

[puppetmaster13u]

You may regret this @phoenixcatch7 lol, what if I start spamming you /j

Less cryptid Batman in this particular WIP since it's semi-outsider pov lol (one of two outside person not unnerved by them lol)

🦇👻🪆🦇👻🪆🦇👻🪆🦇👻🪆🦇👻🪆🦇👻🪆🦇👻🪆🦇

   Clark knew Batman wasn’t human, even before that disaster of a mission where he had let it slip to the others. 

   He’d known for a long time, from one of their early meetups, when Batman had first referred to him as Clark Kent instead of Kal-El, and he had panicked. He hadn’t ever lied to his teammates when he said that the cloak prevented him from seeing his body, but his ears still worked. 

   He’d tried to listen to a heartbeat, to see if his at the time temporary ally was lying when he stated he wasn’t going to tell anyone and… Nothing. There was no heartbeat, no breathing, nothing even remotely human, and if he didn’t know any better, nothing even remotely alive about the silence. 

   He couldn’t help but to pay attention more, to seek out the strange almost silence-feeling that accompanied the Gotham vigilante each time he felt it. It was… almost comforting, like the swaying of branches and the rustling of cloth over stone. Familiar, compared to the hustle and bustle surrounding him in the city. 

   The first thing he had noticed, physically that is, was Batman’s ears. Previously he’d thought the man unemotional, what with the rough voice, expressionless white eyes, cloak-covered body and the gas mask covering a good chunk of his face. 

   Yet the longer he watched, even idly, the more he noticed that while the man’s face or body didn’t show much, his ears did. 

   While Batman could stay silent and still for hours, the long ears twitched and swiveled, catching on the hood that he’d always wear around them. They’d pin back sometimes, a near silent sound he couldn’t quite place accompanying the movement, while other times they’d twist a near full three-sixty, as though searching for whatever sound it had caught. 

   Sometimes, when he’d startled the other vigilante, there’d be rattling noise, like wood and metal clacking together before it was cut off. It was a strange sound, one he’d not heard anywhere else, except with his… friend. 

   Were they friends? He’d like to think so. 

   The next time he was reminded that his friend wasn’t human was when he saw him get injured. It hadn’t been a bad injury, even if the Gothamite’s head had hit the wall with a very loud cracking noise, but he’d still smelled what he’d eventually come to recognize as blood. There was an almost pickle-like scent to it though that wasn’t quite it either. 

   Honestly the closest he could think of describing it was some sort of formaldehyde. And once he focused, he could pick out other things beneath it. Maybe not flesh and blood in the traditional sense, but still. 

   There was always that scent of cloth and wood, but he could smell the black liquid, paint, a metallic thing underneath like iron and steel. No heartbeat, no breath, but life all the same. It was honestly beautiful in a way, like a part of the city the other vigilante called home had come to life. 

   And it wasn’t like Batman minded whenever his own human mask slipped. Clark may have been raised by his Ma and Pa, whom he loved, but it didn’t make his body any more human in nature. There were just some things that he couldn’t change, and it took effort to move like one all day as a civilian when his body wasn’t designed to do so.

   So he stayed quiet for the most part when their group of three grew, and people started to speculate. He diverted the conversations whenever it turned to him, lightly admonishing over the various rumors. 

   It didn’t matter if Batman wasn’t human, he was still his friend, their ally and teammate. Was he curious? Oh of course, he’d gone into journalism for a reason after all, but it was still his friend. If he wanted to tell, he’d tell, and Clark wouldn’t break his trust. 

[nettleparade]

oh right i forgot to post this here

[baeshijima]

after much deliberation (it was procrastination), reca is officially on the hsr celeb au fic....

stares forlornly out into the sea...

[ratatatastic]

do you write fic on ao3?

unfortunately for everyone involved i do!

[memento-morri-writes]

So, it's been a million years since I've done any real writing, but I was toying around with potential descriptions for one of my dnd campaigns, and I'm really proud of how it turned out:

tw for graphic description of an injury

Every inch of [Rook's] back and shoulders is raw, covered in dozens, maybe hundreds, of small cuts. They overlap and merge so that his entire back is one giant wound. But you can't even get a good look at the cuts, because they are covered by a thick layer of dried blood, almost black in some places.

This will be part of the description the party gets upon seeing Rook for the first time after he was kidnapped by Captain Wolf, and dear god I can't wait to see their reactions both in and out of character. :)))