#i need to work on my xiv wip(s) + swtor prompt in my inbox but alas. i’ve been gripped by the wwi lads again

[lavampira]

wip whenever

ty @hythlodaes and @scionshtola beloveds for the tag!! passing it along to @coldshrugs @birues @this-is-ris @elvves @daggertongue @eluvixns @erielake @hylfystt @kirnet @creaking-skull @carlosoliveiraa @narrativefoiltrope @night-triumphantt @sysba @veeples @yloiseconeillants @oh-yeah-no if anyone has creative things to share <3 I’ve been working on some backstory stuff for my call of cthulhu ttrpg oc, lon, so this is a bit of that:

“So, Lonnie, tell me,” Ethan began, stretching languidly as he sprawled in the muddy grass like he was only on vacation in the countryside, not camped a mile from the nearest trench. “You have a sweetheart back home?”

“I— What?” Lon spluttered.

“Surely a handsome chap like yourself has someone.”

Lon dared to look at him more fully, keeping his face neutral as he turned his gaze on him. He was met with that damn crooked smirk once again, and he still couldn’t tell by it if he was the butt of some sort of joke with this man or if it was simply the natural state of his face. Ethan didn’t laugh, though, only watched him beneath the hand shielding his eyes from the sun, awaiting his response.

The smirk faltered, and Lon began to wonder—

No, he halted that before it could get anywhere dangerous. Other men talked about these things, he knew. Everyone needed to cling to those better memories of home, or someone to keep them going in the middle of this hell, and he was just making polite conversation.

And calling him handsome was likely just another one of those strange Ethan eccentricities.

“I don’t,” Lon finally said, ducking his face to hide the warmth spreading up his cheeks, and drew up his long legs to drape his arms around his knees. He was aiming for ease even as he felt anything but that, all too aware of his stiff movements and the gaze still burning a hole into his side. “Not for a while.”

“Shame.”

He shrugged. “How about you?”

“Likewise. It’s… difficult to find someone who matches my particular tastes.”

His head snapped back to Ethan before he could stop it, far too much of an admission than he wanted to make himself, especially without being sure that he understood him correctly. After all, what he’d said was innocuous enough. It didn’t have to mean anything more than he was too particular and eccentric, which he knew. But Lon stared at the man still gazing up at him from the grass, who jutted his chin in a show of defiance even as his dark brown eyes flashed with nerves, not backing down from his own half-confession despite the risk.

Something in his boldness caught like flame to wick within Lon because he muttered through a too-tight throat, “I know that feeling well.”