#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.

[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

[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🏳️‍🌈

[arokel]

hello again 👋

[dogwooddiaries]

snippet Saturday wip tag game

would love to see some of what is cooking out there in the fandom! it's always inspiring and fun :)

Share an excerpt, short or long, of something you're working on!

A framed photo of his family is beside the watch, one Don has noticed before but never observed closely. Stepping over, he picks it up carefully. He tilts it towards the light to inspect it, runs his finger over a younger Bobby, no less slight and sharp looking than today's version. The wide, bright grin on the boy's face makes a faint reflection tug across Don's own, even while his chest clenches with a strange melancholy. He searches the faces of Bobby's parents, finding like features and a familiarity in the strangers. Returning the frame to its place, Don runs his hand along the edge of the dresser. He traces his fingers along the handles of the top drawer. He doesn't know why.

No pressure tagging @seasidesandstarscapes, @effervescentyellow, and @arokel to kick things off but really - if you want to jump in, please do!

[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.

[telephonicsonnyboy]

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

[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

[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.

[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!!

[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

[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.

[sparrow-in-the-field]

WIP WEDNESDAY

Tagged by @arokel 🥰

Post as much or as little of your WIP as you like!

Is mine on the shorter side because I've only written one scene of my newest fic so far? Don't worry about it lol.

“But you know, a couch here, my record player over there, maybe a rug on the floor. A table here, nothing too big,” Bobby said, walking deeper into the apartment. He grinned at Don as he pointed to a spot against the wall. “I figure a piano could go there.”

“Oh, right, yeah,” Don said with a laugh, the sarcasm evident in his tone.

Bobby crossed his arms, giving a fond smirk. “I’m serious.”

Don met his gaze with a pointed look, but there was a hint of a smile in the corner of his lips. “Pianos are expensive, Bob.”

“I can save up for one.”

Don let the smile cross his lips, but he decided not to say anymore on the matter. He walked past Bobby, stepping into the kitchen.

I think all the usual people were tagged ( @kcsplace do you write fics? I feel like you've mentioned wips but maybe I'm mistaken 🤔 if so, consider yourself tagged!)

[arokel]

hello esteemed arokel it is i, your mysterious and anonymous secret admirer. could you pweaaaaase write canon era chugger? something silly & cute mayhaps pre olympics island vacation era? just some fun chill summer vibes while it's still 30+ degrees outside 🌅 thank youuuu :)

if you really wanted to hide your identity you should've converted the temperature to fahrenheit 😎 but here you go! it is very likely I'll follow this up with something smutty (you'll see why) but for now it is just silly :3

Title: Strawberry Sunscreen Pairing: Chuck Day/Roger Morris, Chuck Day & Roger Morris Rating: G Tags: Ice Cream, Pre-Slash, Fluff, just silly times with the boys Read on ao3

It’s something thrilling to be just a young man for a little while, Roger thinks. Life has been trial after time trial since he joined the UW crew team close to three years ago now, a constant pressure in the back of his mind to be good, be just a little better than he was the day before, and to live a life deserving of the faith that he’ll succeed.

For the most part, he’s done pretty well with that last one. He doesn’t drink, he doesn’t smoke, he mostly keeps on top of his coursework, and he only cusses where his coaches can’t hear. Letting loose like this, even for a week, is unfamiliar.

It’s a little easier with Chuck Day at his side - Chuck, who smokes Lucky Strikes and tells off-color jokes in the shell and out of it without a care who he might scandalize. Chuck, who makes Roger want to let his hair down, just a little bit.

So when Bobby suggests a detour to the ice cream stand across the boardwalk at Coney Island, it’s Chuck’s infections enthusiasm for the idea that persuades Roger to abandon his diet plan for just one day and follow.

They must make an odd picture, the two of them towering over the crowds of children and mothers as they cut across the stream of parkgoers towards the stand, Bobby leading them like an eager child himself. Chuck grabs hold of Bobby’s hand so as not to lose sight of him despite Bobby’s protests and, with a crooked grin over his shoulder, grabs Roger’s hand as well.

Roger likes to think he can maintain a tad more dignity in public than Bobby can, so he simply rolls his eyes and lets himself be tugged along. Chuck’s hand in his is nice - it feels illicit in a childish way, like two boys sneaking off to steal sweets from the drug store. Roger would never have done that as a child and he probably wouldn’t do anything like it now, but the idea of pulling harmless mischief with Chuck is an enticing one.

The ice cream feels illicit enough, anyway. It’s criminally sweet and perfectly cold on his tongue after an afternoon among the crowds in the stifling air of an east coast heat wave. Roger wants to savor it, let it melt in his mouth and fill his senses with sugar and the giddy rush of rule-breaking, but it is already beginning to drip down the coe and over his knuckles even as the salesgirl hands it over. Indulgence it is, then.

In the spirit of indulgence he forgoes his handkerchief in favor of licking the stray trails of sugar and cream off his fingers, ignoring Chuck’s raised eyebrow and Bobby’s “there are ladies present, you know.” He almost feels like he can do anything, say anything, like the rules have been suspended for just this one afternoon.

It’s probably the heat.

Bobby wipes his fingers on his own handkerchief with a pious air, though his twitching lips betray him. He turns to Chuck.

“Well? Will you behave like a civilized person or are you joining Roger among the ranks of heathens?”

Chuck considers for a minute, hand held up in front of him to protect his sleeve even as a drip of strawberry-flavored cream makes its way down his thumb towards his wrist. Then, with a movement too quick for Roger to block, he wipes his sticky palm on the side of Roger’s neck.

Roger yelps, both at the sudden cold and at the shock of it overall. “What was that for?”

“I lost my handkerchief,” Chuck says, with an unapologetic grin. “You’re the next best thing.”

Bobby is in fits of laughter, and even Roger can’t be angry. It’s silly, and it’s childish, but right now they’re just a gaggle of boys on an adventure. It’s alright to be silly.

He affects a pout. “Well, what am I supposed to do now?”

It’s the heat getting to him, and the sugar, and the mischievous light in Chuck’s eyes as Bobby’s laughter quiets into giggles. Because, as Chuck offers up the suggestion of, “dare you to dip your handkerchief in the water off the pier,” Roger says, “dare you to lick it off me.”

Chuck stares. So does Bobby. Roger’s sunburned cheeks burn hotter. Finally, thankfully, Chuck bursts into guffaws.

“Morris, you scoundrel, you’ve been holding out on us. And here I thought you had the driest wit of any man I’ve ever met. You should have told me you’re a prankster too.”

Roger grins, not a little relieved. There’s such a thing as too uninhibited, he knows. But with Chuck, it always seems worth the risk. “It’s only for today, so enjoy it while it lasts.”

“Well, you know me. I love a challenge,” Chuck says. There’s not a single hint of inhibition in his sticky-lipped smile. “The day’s young yet.”

Surely Roger can break the rules a little while longer.

[dogwooddiaries]

WIP Wednesday

thanks for the tag @sparrow-in-the-field! <333

share a snippet of whatever you'd like from your wips!

First, something from my newsies au. Not even sure if this snippet is in the next chapter yet but can't resist sharing something softish.

"You've had worse than broken bones in your chest?" Don's face is near enough that he feels his breath on his shoulder. He shakes his head once, "Well, my face was beat in pretty bad. Couldn't see out of one eye. Black and green and blue like you wouldn't believe - you wouldn't have recognized me. There's a reason this nose isn't perfectly straight." "At least this is a pretty shade of purple," Don murmurs, lifting a finger to his face, and Bobby feels the lightest brush under his bruised cheekbone.

And when I had writers block on the above fic recently, I was adding more to...this other thing that doesn't really have a title yet

Bobby feels a burst of warmth in his chest. He flushes, glad for the dark as he remembers how alcohol always makes his feelings a little softer and nearer the surface. He retraces their conversation for steadier ground. "I think Joe has girl, you know. You'll know that if you've spent five minutes with him. I'm guessing that's why he was was quick to leave." Chuck raises his eyebrows. "Yeah, he seems very serious about her too. You got a girl, Moch?" Bobby maneuvers his stride out and around, moving to walk on the street side of Chuck, his hand held to his elbow now. "Nope." His answer is short and hopefully terminating, even in his loosened state.

np tagging @savvylittlecoxswain and @arokel <3