#arokel

[seasidesandstarscapes]

WIP Wednesday!

tagged by @arokel thank youuuuu<3

Here’s a snippet from my next trans don fic:

“Oh, god!” Johnny stumbles back, hands over his face.

The door slams shut on its own and Don pulls up his jeans as Bobby tucks himself back into his own.

“What?” Gordy’s voice hits Don’s ears and he winces.

Gordy’s head pops in around the door, a frown already prepared for his friends.

“On the oars, guys?”

“They’re spares,” Bobby bites back. “And we’re on the lifejackets.”

Tagging!!! @sparrow-in-the-field @teaforarteza @dogwooddiaries

(Following arokel’s lead and letting others have a chance to tag fjjdjdjs)

[seasidesandstarscapes]

went a bit feral and made these;;;;

heidiiii tell me about photo!!!!!💖

photo is a very blank document that was inspired by a conversation with @arokel like 3 months ago about bobby sneakily (or so he thinks) taking photos of don with the camera he bought in berlin!!!!!

then bobby goes on the europe trip and when he gets back don asks to see the photos and. well i don’t know but surely something will happen

here is quite literally the only non-bullet point writing in the doc

It was a joke. It was too absurd and blaring to be anything but a joke. It probably should have brought him comfort, the way it was said like it was so far-fetched it couldn’t be anything but a cheap, throwaway laugh.

Bobby knows he’s not reacting incriminatingly. Not reacting incriminatingly is something he’s perfected, so he at least has that small comfort. This might have shaken him at sixteen, or eighteen, but he’s not that kid anymore. He shoots back playfully, something about Chuck’s lack of artistic vision.

He could go lower. He really, really could. But that would probably give too much away.

WOAAAHGGG yeah idk that’s all subject to change. and what does he mean by that?????? who knows. certainly not i.

[arokel]

don’t try to talk for the ask game

my goofiest tbitb fic!! (is that true??? idk)

what people may not know is that I have an Extensive and complicated relationship with dentistry, which means that APPARENTLY when people see tiktoks about dentists they think "man I know exactly who would appreciate this fact" (and I do)

this fic is the ultimate testament of my dentist's-kid-Chuck headcanon, which is really just me projecting my college experience of people saying "hey your parent is a doctor, does this cut on my hand need stitches?" onto Chuck. also, no one cares, but Bobby and Joe are playing the original N64 smash because *my* college roommates had an ancient N64 and we played so much smash and donkey konga even though we only had two sets of bongos.

the blowjobs were SO HARD TO WRITE and also had some very. convoluted staging?? and when I begged my friend to tell me if it was okay they very kindly told me "hey. i don't know what the fuck these guys are doing with their limbs." so I had to simplify it.

I also almost titled it Don't Try to Talk (With My Dick in Your Mouth) but thankfully my better judgment won out lmao

[aziraphales-library]

Hi! I love this blog so much, it's a lifesaver! I was wondering if you could recommend any fics along the lines of Angels hearing prayers (Specifically Aziraphale hearing Crowley's prayers) or even the alternative where demons can sense lust and Crowley is very aware of Aziraphale's less than innocent feelings toward him?

Hello! The first thing I thought of was this little ficlet on tumblr, so check that out. And here are three fics in which Aziraphale hears prayers (the first of which is post-series two!) and three fics in which Crowley can sense lust...

Just Called To Say Fuck You I Love You by Sodium_Azide (E)

Aziraphale discovers that being the Supreme Archangel of Heaven, in Heaven, means that one hears direct prayers. He makes this discovery when a lonely and heartbroken Crowley thinks about his angel during a sad wank session. Evocative imagery, yearning, and visceral appreciation and longing for him do a great deal to bring perspective to an angel who felt cornered into painful choices. Fuck this, he's going home.

So Much to be Consoled as to Console by Arokel (T)

“What are you,” Crowley drawled, “the patron saint of queer kids?” A series of lost souls over the centuries who prayed, whether they knew it or not, to the Angel Aziraphale.

The Still of Your Hand by AshCommaMan & EmAndFandems (E)

Six thousand years is a long time to pine for someone. Two thousand years is a long time to have sex with someone. Seven hundred years is a long time to be friends with someone. Eternity is a long time to love someone. It's worth the wait. Crowley and Aziraphale through the ages, as we've seen them - and some years we haven't - having lots and lots of emotionally fraught sex. Following from Rome to post-canon in 177K words.

Delectable by fuchsiaring (E)

Just as Crowley is nodding to himself, resolute in his plan, there’s a shiver in the air, like the way summer heat rolling off the pavement ripples with the swelter of it. Crowley can feel it in his chest, in his veins, thrumming in his bones. He knows this feeling, has felt it a fair few times in his centuries. Lust. -- Crowley senses lust from Aziraphale's flat above the bookshop. What's there to do besides follow the feeling?

In The Garden by kraken_creature (E)

"It started in the garden. No, not that garden. This garden came much later. Having swapped back into their own bodies, Crowley invited Aziraphale to lunch and he, with frustrating good humour about it, smiled and said that Crowley had succeeded in tempting him. And that was it. Crowley felt the familiar itch start in his hands, wanting to touch Aziraphale, wanting to hold him." Crowley spends an awkward time at the Ritz pining and lusting over Aziraphale, completely unable to articulate his feelings until he's compelled to make the first move.

I Was Never Forbidden Fruit by Sevynlira (E)

Sometimes a little miracle can get a lot out of hand. For sure if you have been holding onto it for a few thousand years. Silly angel.

- Mod D

[arcanemoody]

WIP Weekend

Rules: Send me an emoji in an ask, and I'll write 3-5 sentences and/or paragraphs from that WIP. No limits to the amount of emojis you can request, please feel free to send multiple! So last week was fun! Let's see how this goes.

📰🚘 Woodstein | Richmond (ATPM, Historical RPF): July 1972, two articles into the Watergate story, Bob’s POV, trapped at his family vacation on Lake Michigan when Carl calls him to yell at him and Bob drives back to get him. This is the one that demanded I finish it first – possibly because there’s smut. I’m on my third draft, fixing some gaps and loose ends. 📰☕ Woodstein | 5 times/Caregiving (ATPM, Historical RPF): Carl’s POV, opens with a dark internal rant about unmedicated executive dysfunction, complex trauma from othering, and gets fluffier from there. Includes an OFC and discussion of queer issues in the period. Long time gestating with this one. 🧹❔ Spellbound (Gotham, I Married a Witch AU, Alternate Season 3) 11/24 chapters are finished and posted. The next chapter is from Oswald’s POV the night of the mayoral election. More Witchy Ed flirting while Oswald is confused (and intrigued). ☂️🛼 Untitled College AU chapter (Gotham, College AU), Year 1 living in the dorms, Oswald is referred to Harley by University Counseling Services after an accident on "queer prom" night. 📰🤐 Woodstein | Secrets (ATPM, Historical RPF), Carl POV, post-Haldenman fallout, discussions about secrets and the people who have them.

Tagging anyone who wants to and (because I'm curious), no-pressure tagging @esperata @augustjustice @arokel @inkfowl

[strangethings-everywhere]

20 Fanfic Author Questions

thank you to @sassyandclassy94 for the tag! i love doing these

1. How many works on AO3?

Ten!

2. Total word count on AO3?

245,149 (holy shit)

3. Top five fics by kudos?

proof that harley keener has a heart (405), the injury of finally knowing you (246), star-crossed in the worst way (168), all i’ve ever known (80), and hantez-moi, je vous en supplie (haunt me, i beg of you) coming in at 40

4. What fandoms do you primarily write for?

boys in the boat, band of brothers, lockwood and co, marvel (parkner/spiderman specifically), and 1917

5. Do you respond to comments?

oh my god i’m soooooo bad at it. i’m just bad at commenting in general lol

6. Angstiest ending?

uhhhhhh as of right now it’s my WWII tbitb fic or the scream au, even though it’s happy in the end. it’ll probably end up being my hunger games au because unfortunately not everyone can survive 😁

7. Fic with the happiest ending?

uhhhhhh probably star-crossed

8. Do you get hate?

the only hateful-ish comment i’ve ever gotten was actually pretty legit criticism but COME ON GUYS bring it on, i’m ready lol

9. Do you write smut?

nope but i’ll get close. i’m not sure if i’ll ever go to full sex just because i feel like im so bad at it but it’s whatever 🤷🏼‍♀️ id rather write a ton of soul-crushing angst lol

10. Do you write crossovers?

no i do not and im not sure i ever will? i dont read them and i usually write what i want to read soooooo who knows

11. Ever had a fic stolen?

not that i know of but if so i WILL find you (this is a threat)

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

no but i am so down for it!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic?

YES! check out like a prayer, the don church boy au @seasidesandstarscapes and i wrote together!

14. All time favorite ship?

i will preface this with the fact that I KNOW i haven’t updated this fic in forever but it has to be parkner, my first AO3 published fic, my sweet boys, the most criminally underused dynamic in the world. harley keener we WILL get you back into the MCU even if i have to fist fight kevin fiege myself

15. WiPs you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

right now, it’s looking like it’s my locklyle fic. for some reason my brain refuses to work on new ideas for it and it is devastating because i love them sooooooooooooo much 😭

16. Writing strengths?

angst angst angst. i like to make my readers cry and scream at me in the comments 😁 i also like to think im good at a characters inner monologue or narrative

17. Writing weaknesses?

um i think it’s literally everything because i have a ridiculously low opinion of my writing but realistically it’s starting a story and also physically intimate scenes. i don’t just want to give a play-by-play BUT i struggle with just getting it to flow

18. Thoughts on mixed language dialogue?

ahaha it’s me and google translate against the world (baberoe i’m looking at you)

19. First fandom you wrote for?

once upon a time on wattpad when i was like 13 because i had a gigantic crush on their peter pan (the hottest thing they ever did was making him a villain)

20. Favorite fic you've ever written?

this is like picking my favorite child AGH. honestly it has to be proof that harley keener has a heart because it’s just been a part of me for so long and i’ve poured so much into it. i also enjoy the amount of wiggle room i have with harley since we don’t know that much about him after iron man 3, so i’ve gotten to make him my own and that’s been so fun

NO PRESSURE TAG LIST: @seasidesandstarscapes @dogwooddiaries @effervescentyellow @sparrow-in-the-field @kcsplace @arokel if i missed anyone, i am so sorry, but i am eternally bad at tagging people lol

[ineffableclassics]

“What are you,” Crowley drawled, “the patron saint of queer kids?”

A series of lost souls over the centuries who prayed, whether they knew it or not, to the Angel Aziraphale.

Words: 13,263

Status: Complete

Rating: Teen And Up

By @arokel

A safe and blissful pride month to all🏳️‍🌈

[dogwooddiaries]

WIP Wednesday

taking @arokel up on the fandom wide tag even though I haven't written in almost two weeks. I needed an impetus to get back to it this weekend and what fulfills that void better than a tag game two days late?

Have some indulgent descriptive writing of nothing much happening besides Bobby looking at Don.

Bobby doesn't avoid touch - he'll sling an arm over his friends' shoulders, crowd against their bodies for shared warmth when the weather's unkind, and exchange a hug from time to time. But - unless he counts wrestling matches with Chuck - he can't remember when someone last gave him prolonged, intentional touch. Until now, of course. He turns his body onto his less tender side, slowly enough that Don's arm stays in place around him. He studies his face, relaxed and pressed against the pillow as he is stretched out on his stomach. It is dotted with freckles, dispersed across his forehead, spilling down to his cheekbones and nose and finally more lightly scattered over his chin. These details aren't new to Bobby, but he notices for the first time how a solitary one dots the edge of his pouting bottom lip.

[borealopelta]

wip whatever

i'm gonna go ahead and consider myself tagged in @arokel's tagless tag game because i want to talk about My Wips :-) if anyone feels like joining in, please do!!

after posting my latest fic i was kinda like. hmm. i don't have anything to show. which is not true!! i have not one but two geologist!don fics in the wip folder. (now you could ask. hey finch why do you keep writing geologyfic. well a) i have this mental illness called degree in geology and b) it's basically just me trying to conceptualise what being a geologist (or studying geology) must have been like for someone who was doing it before the theory of plate tectonics was even proposed (not to mention accepted). the amount of stuff that was fully unknown to geology in the times these fics are set is limiting as fuck and that's what makes them endlessly fun to tinker with. i've done sooooo much niche research. this is what constitutes fun for me. apologies)

i've already talked about the first one in an ask game, don's horrible geology exam, which i've been slowly piecing together from semi coherent notes app scribblings from the height of my mystery illness, BUT the other is newww so. also i don't have titles picked out because i'm bad at that so the titles are. the file names. yay! snippets under readmore:

geologydonfic is the aforementioned don's exam misery fic

Bobby takes in Don – the line of his bracelet a red imprint on his cheek, bruise-black circles under his red-rimmed eyes, paler than ever, frown lines like deep etchings on his handsome face. It’s clear that he’s not dealing on his own. “Fine,” he says after barely any deliberation, “I can help you study.” He picks up Don’s textbook and flips to a random page. Most of it is taken up by a big, colourful chart, sort of like a repeating rainbow getting more and more washed out, with ray-like lines coming out of one corner. It’s utterly incomprehensible. Bobby puts the book back down on the table. “I can’t help you study.” The corner of Don’s mouth twists into an almost-smile.

argentina is the newer one, set in argentina in 1967. don is there for work, bobby is there for don, it's hot, it's dirty (so far only in the "the drill site is a filthy place in general" way but who knows)

The Jeep that had picked him up at the airport slowly rolled away to join the fleet of identical vehicles, all decorated with the letters YPF – the name of the company in charge of the work, Bob assumed. He barely had time to feel (or look) lost when he noticed Don coming his way. Or at least he guessed it was Don, from the familiar walk and the fact that the man was a good four inches taller than everyone around him. Dressed in grubby work clothes and wearing a hard-hat that cast enough shadow to hide his entire face however, he could have been anyone. Then the smile gave him away. Bob had not been twenty-two and a fool in love in a good while, but that toothpaste-commercial-runaway, all-teeth, bright-as-the-sun smile Don could smile when he really put his mind to it still made him go weak in the knees.

[seasidesandstarscapes]

one night only

Summary: Bobby has fallen in love and finds a new kind of courage along the way

Rating: Explicit

Genre: Canon Era, Confessions, First Kiss, Frottage, One Shot

Words: 2367

A/N: dedicated to @arokel based off recent conversation lmaooooo

-

AO3

or

Bobby is a mess.

Papers are scattered across the small dorm room, books thrown on the floor, and Bobby is face down on his bed.

Practice was supposed to be business as usual and it was, but Bobby had let his mind wander. Never before had he so intently watched Don’s movements, feeling every exhale, the strain of his muscles. It was beautiful and for a minute too long, Bobby was lost.

“Where are you taking the boys, Bobby?” Ulbrickson had called from the boat next to them, snapping Bobby from his thoughts.

Now, Bobby has to deal with the aftershocks. With the realization that he’s fallen in love with Don Hume. 

None of this would be so bad if it just wasn’t Don. Bobby can’t risk ruining a friendship, someone who knows him better than he knows himself. He can’t break up the team, can’t mess up one of the few good things in his life.

The opening of a door makes Bobby lift his head and he says nothing as Shorty stares at the upended room.

“This how you get ready for parties?” Shorty’s eyes dart around and he gingerly steps around Bobby’s mess.

“Just had to get something out,” Bobby mutters, dropping his head back down on the mattress.

“What, don’t you yell enough at practice?”

Bobby only grunts in return, wondering if he can turn into a slug if he stays here long enough.

“I can just tell the guys you’re not feeling well. You don’t have to go tonight.”

“No,” Bobby jumps up. “I want to go.”

He needs distraction. Even if Don is there, at least he can talk to the other guys, focus on anything but his own lovesick thoughts. 

“Alright,” Shorty shrugs. “But if you get drunk I’m not cleaning up your shit.”

Bobby waves him away, kicks and shoves what he can into a pile before getting ready for the night.

By the time he reaches the dance hall, Bobby is in better spirits, and he falls easily into casual conversation. To his relief, Don is caught up with a couple of students he doesn’t recognize, leaving Bobby to his own devices.

Which is how he ends up at a table with Joe and Joyce, feeling a little like a third wheel. He glances away whenever the two lean in close and tries not to imagine what it’d be like if that was him and Don.

“I’m going to grab something to drink. Keep my girl company, Bobby,” Joe claps him on the shoulder before leaving the table.

Bobby nods with a grin and he and Joyce get to talking about all sorts of things. She really is a charming girl. Maybe if she were single, Bobby would ask her on a date. Maybe he’ll ask the next girl that catches his eye to dance.

And maybe Bobby is just fooling himself.

As the conversation continues, Bobby’s eyes drift around the room. Roger and Chuck are in some heated debate with Jim, while Gordy, John, and Shorty mingle at another table. 

Then, there’s Don. Alone, watching the room, and a picture of perfection. Bobby thinks back to their last win, the jubilation of winning overcoming all else as they held onto each other. Bobby traces his palm, remembering the roughness of Don’s hands, how easily they had fit together.

“You really love him, don’t you?” Joyce breaks Bobby’s thoughts. 

“Hm?” He’s slow to turn to Joyce, and her words haven’t quite caught up yet.

“Don,” she points. “You love him.”

The color drains from Bobby’s face and he tries to shrug off her words. “Sure. He’s a pal.”

Joyce rolls her eyes, laughs a little at this. “You’ve got it bad.”

Nausea rises in Bobby and he grips the tablecloth, trying to steady himself. If Joyce can figure him out in just one night, then he’s walking a dangerous road.

“I promise I won’t tell anyone,” Joyce offers a sympathetic smile. “Not even Joe.”

Bobby relaxes at this, but still his nerves get the best of him. He’s been doing all he can to deny his feelings, to hide himself, and it hurts. He’s jealous of Joe and Joyce’s love, the freedom they have just to be themselves. If it were a different world, he would march up to Don right now and confess everything. 

“I think Don could use a little company.” Joe is back at the table, drinks in hand for Joyce and himself. 

Bobby quirks a brow, spares a glance at Joyce who has taken to nursing her drink. “That so?”

Joe shrugs. “I mean, now or never, right?” 

Bobby and Joyce’s expressions match as they stare at Joe with suspicious eyes. He only gives them a grin, toasting Bobby before he takes a sip from his glass.

“You aren’t subtle, Bobby,” Joe finally explains. “The guys, me, we’re okay with it.”

Bobby watches Joyce’s mouth drop open as his own heart thrums in his chest. This all has to be some cruel joke.

“You mean…?” Joyce starts.

“Anyone gives you trouble, we’ll give ‘em hell,” Joe nods and he’s serious, the same stare Bobby has seen right before a race.

Tears sting at the corner of Bobby’s eyes and he takes a shaky breath. He’s never talked about this out loud. It could be the end of all things, but Bobby is close to bursting. He wants to trust Joe. Wants to believe there’s some good in the world.

“What if he hates me?” Bobby all but whispers, unable to look at Joe and Joyce. 

“He won’t. You’re his best friend,” Joe leans in. “Cross my heart, Bobby.”

Joyce’s hand rubs Bobby’s forearm, her eyes shining with a kindness Bobby thinks only exists once every century. He drums his fingers on the table and looks over at Don, still sitting alone. He’s folding a cloth napkin, twisting it as if he’s figuring out a new design. It makes Bobby smile, his heart thuds in his chest.

Inhaling deeply, Bobby glances at the couple and his spirit is renewed. Maybe they’re right. With a nod, Bobby gets to his feet and approaches Don before his mind convinces him otherwise.

“Hey, Donny,” he sits next down to the other man who jumps at his greeting.

“Bobby,” Don smiles with realization and Bobby tries to ignore the fireworks igniting in the back of his mind.

He wonders if this smile is reserved only for him as he leans in close to Don, almost too close. “Having fun?” He points to the crumpled napkin Don’s been fiddling with.

“Oh….yeah. Loads.”

Bobby chuckles at this, taking the napkin and letting his fingers brush against Don’s hands. He imagines the shiver that leaves Don, surely, and sets the piece of cloth on the table.

“Want to get out of here?” He motions with his head to the door.

Don nods and Bobby grabs his coat before they leave the dining hall. All the way to the dorms they’re silent. Bobby thinks to break it, opens his mouth a few times but his fear gets the best of him.

Finally, they reach the door of Bobby’s room and his hands shake as he tries to unlock it. He swears to himself, shoving the key in with such force he nearly snaps it in two and he wiggles it around as if that will make any difference. With a grunt, Bobby kicks the door in, which swings open, hitting the wall with a loud bang. He winces but no one comes running and Bobby lets Don in first. Once he’s inside, Bobby shuts the door with a white knuckled grip on the knob, attempting to collect himself.

“Shorty should be out for a while,” Bobby speaks at last. 

Moonlight spills into the room and Bobby can just see Don's profile in the dark. He could just stay like this, admiring from afar, never speaking the truth in his soul. Then, there’d be no heartbreak, no chance of utter devastation.

“You look good tonight,” Don suddenly says and Bobby tenses. Don swears, shakes his head. “That came out wrong.”

Yet he doesn’t continue. Bobby takes a hesitant step forward, trying to meet his eyes. Even in the low light, Bobby can see the racing thoughts behind them. With a small breath, Bobby reaches out, lets his fingertips brush against Don’s.

Don snaps his gaze to Bobby, questions washing over his face. Bobby’s own fear rises in his chest and he just wants to run. Instead, he takes in a deep breath, overriding all sensibility.

“I like you, Don. Not as friends. Like Joe and Joyce. I want us to be like that.” Bobby can’t listen to his own voice as he spills everything. “You’re the first person I want to see in the morning and the last at night. I don’t want to know what it’s like to spend a day without you. God damn it, I just need you.”

Bobby expects a shove or an excuse to leave, but when his face gets buried in Don’s chest, strong arms encasing him, Bobby can only grip onto Don for dear life.

“I love you, Bobby,” Don whispers in his ear.

Every worry, every doubt washes away. In Don’s arms, Bobby is safe, seen. He’ll be damned if anyone tries to take this away from him. Don pulls back just a little to place a hand on Bobby’s cheek, his eyes shining with a love Bobby didn’t even think was possible. He’s breathless, at a loss for words, and he can only hope his own stare matches Don’s.

He doesn’t miss how Don’s hand traces from his hair down his face, careful as if Bobby is made of porcelain. When Don tips up his head with gentle fingers under his chin, Bobby’s eyes flutter shut and Don closes the distance between them.

Don kisses like he rows. Focused, sure, strong. Bobby’s knees almost buckle as a firm hand presses on his lower back, the two of them coming ever closer. Bobby’s hands are trapped on Don's chest and he can feel their heartbeats sync, their breaths becoming one. 

Bobby nearly whines when the kiss ends but when Don kisses his cheek, moves his lips down to Bobby’s jaw, Bobby loses himself. Throwing his arms around Don’s neck, Bobby keeps him there, bites back his moans as Don leaves a mark close to his collarbone. 

In his wildest dreams he couldn’t have thought of this. Don is attentive and careful, but there is a darker side underneath, one Bobby wants to bring to the surface.

“Can we…” he breathes, unsure of how to ask.

Don reads his mind easily and before Bobby can react, Don picks him up, hands firm as Bobby quickly wraps his legs around him. He won’t be able to watch Don’s rowing the same way ever again.

“Shit, Don,” Bobby bites his lip. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

Don grins at this and just kisses Bobby as he brings them over to the bed. He lays down with Bobby sitting on top of him and Bobby lets his hands trail along Don’s chest.

“Have you ever done this before?” Bobby asks, suddenly nervous.

“Not…all the way,” Don admits. “Just a few tumbles here and there.”

Bobby pauses, thoughts colliding in his head. He wants this to go right, wants it to be perfect.

“Can I try something?” Don says just above a whisper. “If you don’t like it, we can stop.”

Bobby’s shoulders drop with relief and he nods, a nervous smile on his face as Don sits up. Now chest to chest, Don starts to undo Bobby’s trousers, tracing his fingers among the outline of Bobby’s hardening cock.

Bobby can only watch, stifle his moan as Don pushes down his trousers and underwear. The hand on his cock is warm, gentle, not what Bobby was expecting. 

As Don strokes him, Bobby rests his forehead on Don’s shoulder and watches intently. Don works the buttons on his own trousers with his free hand, releases his cock and Bobby gasps as Don wraps their members together in one strong hand. 

He holds onto Don’s back, melts as Don presses a kiss to his temple. Don’s hand speeds up and Bobby thrusts, relishing how Don’s cock feels against his own. 

“Don, Don,” Bobby begins to repeat, a prayer for what’s to come.

“I’ve got you,” Don holds Bobby close.

Teeth graze along his neck and Bobby shivers as Don bites his shoulder. He loves that it doesn’t hurt, that the sensation only drives him further into his pleasure. With heavy moans, Bobby’s nails dig into Don’s back, needing, craving his release.

A familiar heat coils in Bobby’s stomach and he whimpers as Don’s hand continues its ministrations. How every stroke is perfect is beyond Bobby. 

“I’m—I’m close,” Bobby gasps.

Don doesn’t slow down, not until Bobby is shaking and crying out Don’s name as he succumbs to his orgasm. With a few shallow breaths, Don follows, his hand coated in his and Bobby’s seed.

The room is silent as blood pounds in Bobby’s ears. He’s about to cry and he buries his face in Don’s neck, trying to stop the waterfall. 

He’s elated, there’s a spark of joy he thought was long gone. As the first tear slips out, Don cleans the two of them up, grabs another tissue to wipe at Bobby’s face. Bobby smiles through his tears, not wanting to worry Don, but with Don’s adoring gaze, Bobby is at peace. He lets himself cry, lets himself be held until at last, the world starts to make sense.

Bobby and Don readjust their clothing, lay down on the bed facing each other while the night sky offers a layer of protection. 

Their hands hook between them and Bobby, for the first time in his life, doesn’t want to say a thing. It’s strange, he thinks, how different he is with Don. 

His worth doesn’t need to be proven. All he is, Don knows, sees, and would never ask him to hide. 

In this quiet room, Bobby is free and it’s all because of one Don Hume.

[telephonicsonnyboy]

@arokel saw your tags requesting a drawing of John Dean and his attorney on my last post, so here ya go!

[arokel]

fuck me what does this mean

[aziraphales-library]

Any fics featuring religious sects that worship Crowley or Aziraphale (or both)? And if not that then something like myths being made around them?

These are the fics that came to mind, but I think you'll enjoy the fics on our #queer guardian angel aziraphale and #cryptids tags as well...

Ever Dreamed this Angel? by YoureMySunshine (G)

A thread of people discussing a reoccurring dream about a guardian angel who encourages them to ask out their best friends.

Reclamation by hapax, miraworos (T)

Years after the failed apocalypse, Aziraphale struggles to come to grips with his unintentional role in inspiring a centuries-old religious sect. It hardly helps that he only sees Crowley once a year on the anniversary of their Arrangement. The more time goes by, the deeper he slips into a mental fog he can't seem to climb out of. Can he find peace with himself after so long? Or will his inability to accept who he truly is cause him to lose Crowley forever?

So Much to be Consoled as to Console by Arokel (T)

“What are you,” Crowley drawled, “the patron saint of queer kids?” A series of lost souls over the centuries who prayed, whether they knew it or not, to the Angel Aziraphale.

- Mod D

[icegreyrose]

WIP Wednesday

from my very self-indulgent 'secret magic AU'

Don hops onto the stage. The piano is right there and it’s been a while since he’s had the chance to play.  He starts softly. Nervous, yes, but also because, if he doesn’t ease into it, things can go… wrong, very quickly. He has more control over it now, but when he was younger he had a hard time separating playing the piano from playing the piano. Playing is dangerous. Playing can get people hurt, if he isn’t careful. Luckily, when the others realize he’s playing, instead of falling into a trance-state, they simply clap and urge him to keep going. So he continues to play (not play) and the others start singing along. It occurs to Don, right then, that he actually feels like he’s starting to belong somewhere.  Things get shaken up, a little, when Ulbrickson introduces their new coxswain.

Thank you @arokel for the tag!! Not sure if I have anyone specific to tag but whoever sees this, feel free to share as well if you want to!!

[strangethings-everywhere]

Fav Phrase Friday

@arokel is SO right, all tag games should alliterate lol thank you for putting this out in the world!

pick your (five?) favorite phrases/sentences/paragraphs/metaphors from any of your wips and share 'em! you don't have to have a reason why they're your favorites unless you want to :)))

from the next chapter of star-crossed:

Joe’s face was set in stone, an expression of resolve that Bobby only ever saw before a race. “Give me a few hours, I’ll figure it out.” “Joe, wait, don’t-” “I’ll tell Ulbrickson that you’re sick. Get some rest Bobby.” He gave him a small smile. “And I won’t tell Joyce yet. If I did, she might string Don up by his thumbs.”

from the next chapter of view at your own risk (LAWYER MODE):

“I’m not actually hunting him down and fighting him. I’m going to use my investigative skills to find a suspect. He seems to be focused on me and knows me well enough to figure out who to kill.” Bobby started unraveling some string. “The last time he called, he insinuated that he was someone I knew. All I have to do is narrow down the list of suspects and then I can let Loomis in on what I know. Easy peasy.” His determined expression faltered for a moment. “It’s good to have a mission to distract me from the nightmares and stuff. Go into lawyer-mode.”

from a new lil idea i had for my next coxstroke short fic:

Dear Bobby, I hope it’s alright that I write you. I realized that I’d forgotten to get your new address when you moved out east, so I got it from the other boys. Hope you don’t mind. I thought it would be nice to talk to you when I’m overseas. It's a little lonely to be so far away from everyone I know, especially my best friend in the world.

this was fun! everyone that i usually tag already knows about this so this is just here now lol

[savvylittlecoxswain]

WIP WEDNESDAY

I was tagged by @arokel to post something from my WIP so here’s a chunk from my wing au fic that I’ve been working on forever and will continue to be worked on for even longer :)

"You're wet." Don stood just inside the door to the locker room, brows drawn together with a confused frown. Bobby tossed him lazy grin and then returned his focus to wringing the water out of his sweater.

"Took a shower, Don," he responded cheerfully.

"In your clothes?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah, Don," he nodded as he dug through his locker. "You oughta try it some time." Don let out a huff, leaning his shoulder against the lockers beside Bobby's. His face scrunched a bit, brow dropping and wrinkles on his forehead deepening as he watched the coxswain.

"Just Varsity being Varsity," Bobby sighed as he turned away from Don back towards his locker. Don looked like he wanted to say something, but Bobby spoke before he could formulate his words. "C'mon. We keep them waiting any longer they'll start getting ideas," Bobby teased, shutting his locker and grabbing his duffle bag off of the floor. Don frowned, ignoring stray thoughts fantasizing such ideas in favor of focusing on the concern at the forefront of his mind.