Calathea laid there, all wrapped up in his canvas jacket, her head pressed up against the glass. And Ludo was shocked at how vulnerable she looked, so unbelievably tiny in that big old coat. The wrinkle she always wore in her brow was nowhere to be found, smoothed away by whatever dreams that currently clung to her. It seemed like the world had finally granted her the peace she'd always sought. She looked like something out of a faerie tale, like a princess locked in magical slumber, waiting for a prince to come along and break the spell with a kiss. “But I ain't no prince,” he grumbled, “an’ I can't exactly kiss you when yer like this.” Ludo gripped the steering wheel tighter, the leather squeaking under his hands as he tried to hold back the river of emotions roiling through him. But that innocent expression on her sleeping face poked holes in his facade, and all his frustrations came tumbling out before he could stop himself. “You're a real piece o’ work, Callie. You know that? If you'da been sober, I woulda said yes to yer offer in a heartbeat. I been thinking about ya all evening, ya know. I always think about ya. About what it’d be like, kissin’ you. Holding you. Touching you. You make me feel like a man stranded in the desert, dyin’ fer a drink o’ water. An’ here you are, a glass o’ the world's finest, askin’ me ta touch you. But you're so drunk that I don't know if it's me you really want, or if you're just needing to scratch an itch. An’ I don't think I'd be able to settle fer just a quick scratch. So if you really do want this, I'm beggin’ ya: ask me again when yer sober.”

Writing a little modern CaLudo today, going for that YEARNING while Cal sleeps off being drunk AF.

#HeartlessWIPs

Something within him shatters, and he obeys her last command. I won't stop. Not this time. Ludo weeps freely as he finally, finally comes. Every emotion, every pleasure that he'd dammed up over the course of their play is released all at once: the fear, the joy, the pain, the gratitude and the comfort… They all spill out, splattering his stomach and his chest and even a droplet or two on his chin with his seed. He feels lighter than air, freer than he'd ever felt before, so free that he half wonders if the only tether to this place of existence is the scarf around his wrists. His mind is not secured by such feeble restraints, however, and it drifts back to that blessed night, the first night she'd ever healed the “illness” he'd kept buried deep within his heart. Back to the first night he'd ever given in to his lust. There are so many parallels between that night and this one, Ludo realizes. The way she looks down on him is the same, so gentle and kind and full of love (though they didn't know it was love at the time). The feeling is the same, too, of being reborn in her arms, of being remade by her hands. Her emotions crash over him like a wave: the worry and the pride, the elation and the sorrow, the love and the fear that she went too far. It's true that their dynamic has changed once more. Their relationship has changed once more. But they are still the same people, and they still share the same love.

Working on a little something sweet this morning for WoL CaLudo. Part of the big 3 spicy fics I'm chipping away at. Me realizing the parallels between this scene and the first time Cal ever gets Ludo off and being like, "...Oh hang on a second..."
#HeartlessWIPs

In case you're curious about Mafia CaLudo, something tame. Notes and snippets of an interaction at a party that Cal invited Ludo to. Something playful, though their definitions of playful can differ from time to time.
#CaLudo #HeartlessWIPs

Ludo dreams that night. He sees her ride up to his front porch on her horse. But it's hard to believe that it's her at first, because she's all dolled up in silk and satin and lace. She’s prettier than a picture, dressed like that, her clothes the color of what he's always dreamed the ocean would look like. Waves of azure rippling and cascading over her soft skin, the ribbons of her corset accentuating her curves and pulling him in like the tide. But he can smell her perfume, and he can smell her lust all the way from his rocking chair. She slips off her mare, a small cloud of dust kicking up by her bare feet as she slowly walks up the steps to his home. But they remain pristine, untouched by the sand. The desert would not dare besmirch her beauty. It loves her, worships her, appreciates her in all the ways she ought to be appreciated. But, though the desert is dutiful to its favorite rose, its worship is not what Callie craves. No, she wants Ludo. Her feet pad across the wooden planks of his porch, and that's when he smells the lust. Ohhhhhh, she's so horny, ain't she, Ludo thinks just before she leans over him and kisses him. Their tongues chase one another, eagerly tasting whatever the other can give. They are so hungry for affection, that when his most beautiful Calathea straddles him in the chair, his hands devour her thighs. He's desperate to savor the sweet, supple flesh of her thighs, desperate to let her devour his aching cock with her pussy. She grinds on him, and they begin to rock in the chair.

Back and forth, back and forth, harder and firmer and faster until Ludo's favorite chair, the one his pappy hand made, tips backwards and crashes to the ground. …Except they don't land on the ground, but in his bed. His soft, cozy bed, with the metal railing piled with plenty of pillows and blankets to make their lovemaking comfortable. Ludo claws at the ribboned lacing, frees her breasts for him to suck on and make her cry out in delight. She continues to rub against his dick with her slit, still hidden away by lovely lacy undergarments that leave very little to the imagination. But he can't take anymore of this teasing from his sweetheart, his darling Callie. He tugs the lace to the side, he frees himself, and he swiftly plunges into that tropical paradise. It's hot and wet and muggy, and the sweat rolls down his back. It's perfect, and the smell of their sex intermingling with her perfume and his aftershave drives him so close to the edge. And then Callie pulls out the gun. She holds it to his head, even as she fucks him faster and faster and faster till he's about to come. Right before his release. She squeezes the trigger. His blood runs cold, he hears the -click-, and he— He wakes up.

Ludo tries to bolt upright, but his panic grows as he falls back down to the bed . “Oh God, I'm dead, I can't move, I'm dead, I'm already fucking dead she really killed me I—” “Oh enough with the dramatics already, Sheriff. You ain't dead.” And there, standing over him, with the moonlight turning her fiery golden hair into softest silver, is Calathea DuMarr. Heartless Callie, his nemesis, his sole point of lust, still straddling him in a black silk corset and stockings and nothing else. She smirks at him as he starts to struggle, watching him rattle the handcuffs looped around one of the metal spokes of his bed frame (which he now realizes was the source of that mechanical clicking sound from his dream; she'd handcuffed him to the bed). A hand trails down his bare chest, drawing out lazy patterns and swirls on his skin while he tries to break free. She's in no rush; she has him right where she wants him. And Ludo is completely at her mercy. “The hell is this?” he spits out. “The hell d’you want with me, Callie?” “To talk.” A finger brushes his nipple, teasing. “You done me a real unkindness in that barn, accusin’ me o’ such treachery. I'd never stoop so low, an’you know that.” The smirk on her face washes away at that, and the sorrow left in its wake is so potent that he actually believes her.

His ears droop. I really done her wrong with that, he thinks. “Yeah, yer right,” he says. “I shoulda never said that to ya. You always been pretty straightforward with yer tricks. You ain't that connivin’. That ain't like you.” She stares at him, studying him for a moment. And then she moves up the bed, her hands resting on the rail as she positions herself over his face. Ludo's eyes widen as he's placed in full view of her intimacies, and he can see the sheen of lust coating her folds. He can smell her lust; it mingles with her perfume, just like in the dream, but there's no gun to accompany it. And that's when he realizes how hard he's been this whole time, and that she had been grinding on him, if the nature of his damp boxers are to be attributed to her. His mouth parts, half tasting the air, desperate to taste her. “Well,” she murmurs, “I'm glad ta see that you understand me, Sheriff. I think I'm owed an apology, don't you?” And she chuckles as he nods, in a daze, unable to look away from that blessed place of pleasure. “So why don't you go ahead an’ apologize fer me, hmm?” Callie spreads herself open, moaning softly as her fingers graze her clit. “D’you want it?” “Yeah,” he croaks. “Yeah, I do.” “Well then, go on. Apologize.” “S-sorry, Callie. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…” Ludo turns his head, kisses her thigh, nips the flesh because good God, can't she see how hungry he is?

Crawling out of my cave to say that yes, I've still been writing, but it's been absolute FILTH from top to bottom. Here, have a #HeartlessWIPs, some Shaaloani Outlaw CaLudo drabble.

This is the least spicy thing I've written, so if you think this is fucked up, just know that this is the TAME shit.

He remembered how to charge the water, just like the healers taught him for more advanced cases. Light slowly filled the bathroom, soft and golden, until it poured out from the cracks around the door like tiny sunbeams. He didn't bat an eye as he helped her remove her clothes, nor did he let his hands linger on the places he favors during foreplay and lovemaking. Instead, Ludo lowered her into the bath like he would a beloved patient, treating her with the utmost level of kindness and respect. He lights no lamps, nor candles; for this occasion, only the glow of the water was to be their light. And Calathea was struck by just how heavenly he looked, illuminated by a light that rippled and danced every time she turned to look at him. She tries to leave her arm out of the bath, as instructed, but Ludo pokes her, tells her to put it in. “The water will be good for it, I promise.” Cal gives him a skeptical look. “Alright, if you say so…” She pulls it into the tub, lets it submerge. There's a slight tickling sensation as motes of healing aether gather and swarm around the injury. “It's a little itchy,” she says, giggling as her arm starts to glow. “That means it's working,” Ludo says, smiling. “Now, why don't I start on your hair?”

Them joking and chatting sweetly while he bathes her. It's very intimate, very quiet. As she soaks, Calathea tells him that she understands why the memory of Rhalgr's Reach sticks out to him now. But it's probably easier on him than it was on her, because he's not worried that she's dying in her arms. “That's why I always wondered why you brought it up so often. But I understand now.” She reaches up and touches his cheek. “My heart's all aflutter, seeing you like this; it's quite romantic. I'm falling in love with you all over again, I think.” He smiles and says nothing, but he helps lift her up. A hand on the back, and one on the chest. One to lift, and one to keep steady. Every motion is precise; he cradles her close, to keep her from breaking. Gently polishing her, every motion is careful and kind. Loving. Adoring. Calathea feels almost like she's a holy relic with the care and reverence he shows her. She tells him this. “Am I a relic of the gods?” “Well, some say that Midgardsormr is a god himself. As his occasional vessel, no living mortal would be as holy as you are, Calathea.” “But Midgardsormr isn't a god, merely a being from a different star. …Would you worship me if I was holy, Ludo?” “...I already do.”

He looks down at her, sweetly, like she was his benevolent goddess, and she believes him for a second. He cups her cheek and kisses her, reverently, tongues brushing in this beautiful communion that he craves. But he craves it too desperately, as he sinks his teeth into her lower lip. Harder than he realized. She recoils, hissing slightly. And there’s the smallest flicker of magenta in his eyes, retreating back behind the blue. Ludo's face shifts from hunger to horror at what he's done. His hand darts away from her cheek, and he continues to bathe her in silence. A minute of silent scrubbing passes, and Calathea can't take the self loathing anymore from him. She sees the shame plain in his face and thinks, Is this what he felt from me in Garlemald? If so, no wonder he was so agitated with me… Ludo's ears flicker and droop, like he's trying to avoid a pesky fly. Oh! Hm. Maybe I shouldn't dwell on that too much, in case it brings his mood even lower. So, instead, Cal sighs and closes her eyes. She focuses on the gentle pressure of his hand behind the cloth he washes her with, a measured movement. Firm, but not bruising. Just enough to remove any dirt and grime and dead skin. "It's nice,” she says eventually, watching him carefully navigate the washcloth around her arm, “you bathing me. Not that I'd ever grow tired of pampering you, but I like this. More than I thought I would.”

Ludo looks up at her, right as she gives him her warmest smile, and every tension in her heart eases when he smiles back. “I like it, too. It’s a refreshing change of pace. You always take care of me so well,” he murmurs, “that I can't help but want to return the favor.” He leans over and kisses her cheek. “I love you, Cal.” “I love you too, Ludo,” she says, and she places a kiss on the tip of his nose, lifting herself up a bit to reach him. “Hey! Easy now! No heavy lifting, remember?” “I know, I know,” she chuckles as she sits back down. “But lifting myself up to give you just one little kiss couldn't hurt.” His lip juts out in a comically stern little moue, which makes her laugh even more. “Well I'm glad you think it's funny, but I've seen others rip stitches over far less!” Calathea glances down at her arm, and her grin widens. She holds it up and says, “What stitches?” Ludo blinks. “Wait… your… where are your stitches???” “I think you might've washed it away. Either that, or your healing dissolved them.” “That's not funny, Cal! Your chirurgeon is gonna murder me!”

Got a bit of a #HeartlessWIPs for a WoL #CaLudo story I'm working on. Y'all, I am so in love with this scene. I love showing how sweet they are with each other...

Paperwork Ludo goes into the office late one night to take care of some paperwork. He pulls his chair out to sit down at his desk, and he finds Callie sitting on the floor underneath it. She showed up to tip him off about something, but someone knocks at the door. He sits down, hides her under there, while one of his deputies gives him a report of a theft nearby. Ludo's taking notes when he suddenly feels the zipper on his pants unzip. (He doesn't hear it; she's too quiet for that.) Calathea begins to suck his cock while he's getting the report. He's left speechless and turning redder by the second. The sheriff manages to keep his calm the entire time… except when Callie playfully nips his thigh. “Shit!” The charcoal pencil streaks across the paper, a thick black line right through the middle. The Dustwatch deputy raises an eyebrow. “You okay, Sheriff?” “Y-yeah, I'm fine. Just a leg cramp, is all…” He stamps and nudges Callie hard with his foot, who's trying not to giggle and blow her cover. “Maybe you should get up and stretch your legs.” “NO! Uh, I mean, no, I'm fine. I'd rather finish this up first.”

More Shaaloani Outlaw Smut GO!
#HeartlessWIPs

A gpose showing two people sitting in a bathtub

"…What about you? How are you holding up?” “I'm fine.” Ludo looks over at his friend seated near him. She'd taken great care not to be too close, and most people would think that she's just ensuring his comfort. That she's letting him get his rest after being possessed by a madman. But most people don't know her like he knows her. This is the woman who is constantly reaching for him, who always greets him with a powerful hug or at least a pat on the back. This is the woman who would snuggle close to him at a moment's notice, even when his injuries were far more grave than this. No, Calathea is not “fine.” She's afraid of something. And that fear is so great that she can't even bring herself to touch him. It churns around her, an unforgiving sea of “what ifs” and “almosts” that tosses him about and makes him nauseous. It makes him angry.

Speaking of #Caludo, the next WoL CaLudo story is up! "Nothing I Could Do or Say," rated E, 7.8k. Hurt comfort, mutual pining, and so much yearning it'll make you sick.

This is one of my favorites. Enjoy.

archiveofourown.org/works/69316811

#HeartlessWIPs

STOP ✋ This is a WIP checkpoint
QRP with your current WIP

I write down little paragraphs as they come to me, and I'll either fix them up or write around them. A lil spicy but that's how I roll. (Also the source material is that sketch page from Nev 😏)

#HeartlessWIPs #CaLudo because of course it is

Cal freaking out and him telling her that he banged his neck on the tub when she slipped, her fretting while he was like, "I didn't want to stop, not when you were so close… Did I do alright? 🥺” as she heals him. She cups his cheeks and peppers his face with kisses. “You did an amazing job, Ludo,” she says, and his eyes sparkle under her praise. “But I think we both need a good cleaning at this point. Especially if we've both been either sitting in or up to our shins in cum water.” She gestures to the showers nearby. “Is it alright if I borrow your soap?”

Still in the rough draft phase but I'm cackling like an idiot over the phrase "cum water"

Like girl what the fuck is wrong with you 😂
#HeartlessWIPs

Sorry, I should do alt text but....

I'm so tired....

Sorry to anyone who misses my WoLGraha stories.

...Except not really because I absolutely love writing these two. I know CalRaha is more popular with folks, but man... CaLudo is so cute...

If the Scions didn't know they were fucking, they CERTAINLY do now.
#HeartlessWIPs

“It's a bit of a strange request, but… um, could I lie in bed with you for a bit?” “Wha- excuse me?!” he splutters. “Absolutely not! What kind of man do you take me for??” “It's not like that! I promise I won't try anything. I just…” She shifts awkwardly, rubbing her arm. “...I want to be near somebody, to remind myself that I'm not alone. Normally I'd ask Estinien, but… well…” The apprehension in Ludo's face softens into something closer to sympathy when she mentions her missing brother-in-arms, and when the fear clearly building in her chest spills out into his. Calathea’s feisty spirit had been dimming ever since Nidhogg’s eyes took hold of him, and now? Now it seemed like the weight of his situation was growing too heavy to bear alone. “...You see, when dragons, and by extension their Champions, are upset or stressed,” she continues, “or even scared, they seek out another. Someone they trust. They curl up, wrap themselves around each other, find comfort in a heartbeat that doesn't race like their own.” Calathea glances up, her arms having already coiled themselves around her subconsciously. “I know it's an odd request, and I won't begrudge you if you say no. I just… you're the only person that I can trust with this.” “You're the only person who knows what I am.” The unspoken words hover in his mind. That's what you want to say, isn't it? I'm the only one here who knows about your covenant with Midgardsormr, he thinks, and I'm the only person you have left to provide this service. Ludo sighs as he sets the book aside and lifts up the covers, inviting her inside. “As long as it stays platonic, I don't mind,” he says, and he gives her a small smile.

gpose of Ludo lifting up his hand to Calathea's face. They're partially submerged in water, and Cal is healing him.

Almost done with the Introductory WoL CaLudo story! Maintenance is going on, and if you need a bedtime story, I've got your back! No spice yet, though; I couldn't format it in time...
archiveofourown.org/works/686490...

#HeartlessWIPs #CaLudo

“Well, here they are. Aleksi and Rosamund DuMarr.” The pair stood solemnly in front of the two white markers that had been driven into the rocky soil. The breeze was lighter than usual, Calathea had said, but it still whipped their hair around them, carrying loose strands out to the bay below. She shivered next to her red-haired companion, and he instinctively wrapped an arm around her. “I must admit,” G'raha murmured as she rested her head on his shoulder, “I was surprised by this invitation to visit their graves. You hardly ever spoke of them before.” Calathea shrugged, her eyes not leaving the stones. “Well, they're hard to talk about. I know it's been over a decade since they died, but… the way they both died makes it hard. …That, and the lack of time, what with all o’ the world-savin’ I was expected to do,” she said with a smirk. One that doesn't reach her eyes, he thought. G'raha gave her shoulder a squeeze. “Well, I won't force you to speak on darker times. Certainly not when we have news to share with them.” He nuzzled her gently, burying a kiss within her hair, offering what strength and comfort he could. “Go on, love. Tell them.” An arm slowly snaked itself around his waist. “Alright. Will you come with me?” “Of course. As your new spouse, it would be my honor.”

A little something I whipped up for Day 1 of #WoLGrahaWeek2025. It's not the best (because I threw it together in under 30 minutes), but it's something!

In which Calathea introduces G'raha to her parents.

#CalRaha #HeartlessWIPs

Except from an unfinished piece. The text reads: Applied Study Part 1: Experimentation G'raha Tia is dying. He struggles to breathe, each one shallower and more difficult than the last. His airways are being obscured, muffled, cut off. Panic starts creeping in at the edges, his instincts scrambling for a path to survival as his oxygen reserves deplete within his body. He's being smothered alive. And yet… She has her fingers entangled in his hair. His ears flicker as they brush the smooth, powerful legs resting on his shoulders. And although the heel digging into his spine is painful, it is physical confirmation that he is right where she wants him to be. He is on his knees before her: an act of devotion, of service. And service her he does, as she pulls him deeper and deeper still. His lungs are screaming, begging him to break away, to breathe, to be sensible. But the sensible action is not always the right one, and he intends to do right by her. A poor guest he would make if he let this meal - so dutifully and beautifully prepared just for him - grow cold. If this is destined to be his end, he would welcome it with open arms and face buried between her legs.

Excerpt from an unfinished piece. The text reads: “Rule 1.) Be dutiful in your actions. Dedicate yourself wholly to the task at hand.” She relaxes her grip momentarily, allowing him to break free. Instinct pulls him away with a wet smack. He's gasping, reeling, gulping down lungfuls of the precious air he'd denied himself for the sake of her pleasure. Her fluids smear across his face as he leans against her thigh, trying to catch his breath. It is an intimate vantage point, a breathtaking one, he thinks, resting like this. The firm planes of her torso, the curvature of her incredible legs, the…more intimate spaces of her that had been the focus of his ministrations up to this point. He smiles when he sees a triangular red mark on her, on the thigh. Where she had pressed into his crystalline cheek while she locked him in place. Proof that she was enjoying herself. He wants to trace it, kiss it, feel it for himself so that it can be made all the more real. But a gentle motion draws his attention upward. Calathea had propped herself up on her elbows, jostling the mattress slightly. Her half-lidded eyes are fixed on him as she sits up, panting heavily. He takes a moment to appreciate the rise and fall of her chest, partially covered as it is by the blanket he'd draped over her (and barely holding on to her by a thread). She is a vision, radiant as the sun, and he would be content to lay his head in her lap and bask in her light forever. She pouts, nudging the side of his head with her knee, dragging him out of his reverie. “You stopped,” she whines, the blanket finally falling from her shoulders. “Why?” “Because I was unfortunately suffocating,” he chuckles, wiping his face clean of the mess she'd made.

Rough outline of an ongoing CaLudo piece. The text reads: She shudders against his mouth, the sounds of her delight crescendoing until she fears that her neighbor will complain tomorrow. Her legs go slack in the aftermath of her climax. Calathea feels him gasp and sigh in relief, and then she grabs his hair and pulls him in again. He muffles a complaint, but she doesn't stop. “Two taps, remember?” she pants. Cal begins to grind against his tongue again, crying out because she's still so sensitive from her first orgasm, but she only picks up the pace as his words are suppressed by his tongue pressed against her dripping wet And then she hears a quick thump thump! behind her as his heels hit the floor. She pulls away, chuckling as he gulps down lungfuls of precious air. “Wh-why did you keep going?!” “Because you didn't tell me to stop.” “…What?” (Face softens, pleadingly, and it's cute to see Fray go 🥺) “You never told me to stop, Ludo. So I kept going.” She smiles down at him so sweetly, strokes his hair and wipes off his face. She beams at him, because he's so cute whenever he makes these little discoveries. “You may be the one that's tied up, but I'm the one who's listening to you. My level of control depends on you, and how much you want me to be in charge. I’ll free you whenever you like.” She slides a hand underneath him, hooks a finger in the knot as she kisses his brow. “All you have to do is say the word. Would you like me to untie you, Ludo?”

She can't keep getting away with this. #HeartlessWIPs

(First two pics are from a CalRaha fic that I've set aside for now. The third is from a CaLudo piece I'm working on.)

Scribble from a thing I'm writing. Don't really feel like transcribing it right now... Sorry, friends... But it's coming soon!

Another group of notes and descriptions from something I'm writing

Listening to the Dead Cells OST and writing action scenes for a #CaLudo story I'm working on. This is how the sauce gets made: it's a scattering of outlines, with clumps of text and descriptions I like, that all get smashed together over time as I constantly refine the words.

#HeartlessWIPs

“Don't be afraid to touch me, Ludo. I want you to touch me. Please…” His eyes flutter open, and he finally sees the way she looks at him. And gods, she really does think he’s her salvation, doesn’t she? With those pleading eyes that sparkle like the ocean’s waves, she begs him for his aid. Drown with me, touch me, save me, heal me. Ludo’s hand slides up her thigh, up her torso, up the valley between her breasts as he places it on her cheek.

I actually teared up after writing this. Sweet heat, my beloved... #HeartlessWIPs

:3c #HeartlessWIPs #CaLudo

Still working on these, and still saying "fuck you" to the three line limit.
#HeartlessWIPs

Prompt: "Gil."
#HeartlessWIPs

Prompt: "Catalyze."
#HeartlessWIPs

Prompt was "flowers".

#HeartlessWIPs

Oh, also #HeartlessWIPs for my own sorting. A fun little writing exercise deserves a fun little tag for me to find!

“Cal? Are you awake?” Her bedfellow shifted beside her, his arm still draped around her waist. The both of them were still naked, though their cheeks were no longer flushed from the exertions of their coupling. She leaned back into the Exarch’s chest, where slivers of crystalline scars spiderwebbed across the skin, and she felt his lips pressed against her shoulder. A sensation that should have been more defined, but the patch of shimmering iridescent scales now dulled his soft mouth into little more than a shifting pressure. Calathea DuMarr, Warrior of Darkness, Weapon of Light, reached back and massaged the base of a fuzzy red ear. “Yes, G’raha?” she asked, smiling as he leaned into her hand. “Hmm… What did it feel like?” he asked. “What did what feel like?” “...The corruption.” Cal’s hand stopped. She felt the words rise up, unbidden, burning like bile in her throat: “Fire that never flickers. Levin that never crackles. An acid burn that never ceases, that melts through your skin and etches itself into your very soul.” The room began to swim, a thick, black fog creeping in around her vision. as two scaly, taloned hands grabbed her and dragged her into the abyss. Her vision went white, then black, then nothing at all as she lost consciousness. *** “WE WERE TORN APART LIKE COBWEBS UPON TALONS. FRAYED AND UNRAVELED IN AN INSTANT. AND YET, IN MY PANIC, IN MY ATTEMPT TO TIP THE SCALES, THE WEBS STUCK FAST. PULLED ME IN. IT REBUILT US, SHOVED OUR SOULS INTO A DOUBLE HELIX, SQUARED, ALL THE BETTER TO CONSUME OUR AETHER, SUCKING THE MARROW FROM OUR BONES.”

Wrote a small thing for #BlorbobringersAP. It's tiny, but I barely had any time. It might be something that I follow up with in the future.
#FFXIVFics #HeartlessWIPs

It's so stupid but I love it.

#HeartlessWIPs

Been writing up a storm working on modern idol AU #CaLudo, where Cal's an older punk-turned-idol manager, and Ludo owns the bar she frequents.

Working on an annual risk of Calathea's, and Ludo tags along for support.
#HeartlessWIPs

A screenshot of a few passages. It says: She applies the lipstick. “Well?” she asks. “What do you think?” “I think it looks really nice on you.” “Thank you. You picked out a lovely color.” There's a glint of mischief in her eyes as she says, “I can't help but wonder, though… do you think it would look good on you?” And she kisses him. No, wait. “Kiss” is not truly accurate, though that is the action she takes. She marks him with his gift to her, proof of her claim on his heart drawn in brilliant crimson. Crimson on his cheeks, crimson on his forehead. On his nose and his neck and his lips. Crimson on his chest, on his shoulders and his stomach. On his thighs. On his buttocks. On his- Ah. Yes. On his tip. On the base. All along the shaft in thick red streaks as she claims that, too. She claims even more of him as he climaxes inside of her beautifully painted mouth. Every last drop, she makes it hers, another gift he willingly gives to her. Another gift she adores.

Tweaked up a bit of spice I'd been working on in the past. We can let Cal get a little territorial, as a treat.
#HeartlessWIPs

A little WoL #CaLudo for #sixsentencesaturday, since the prompt spoke to me. A little journal entry, a teensy #HeartlessWIPs for fun.

Ludo, of course, belongs to @shaaloani.bsky.social. That poor sweet boy, who thought the physical manifestations of his attraction to Cal was a disease. 🥹 Love them.

Love, the fire burning everything else away but that one emotion. For his desire, his hunger, it's all borne out of love for her. He loves her so much that it bleeds into everything else, staining everything with the shimmering gold of her hair and the soft red of her lips and the brilliant cerulean blue of her eyes. Every color he sees, every sound he hears, every smell, every taste, every touch: it all comes back to her in this one beautiful, blissful moment as he reaches his climax.

Sometimes you get inspired by a phrase that your pal puts forth and you find the tie-in you've been looking for.
#HeartlessWIPs

Ludo feels himself get wrapped in a clean blanket before he's scooped up in her arms. He nuzzles into her neck and sighs, truly content for the first time in months. Tendrils of that blissful sleep he'd denied sneak in as he finally lets his walls down, his duty accomplished. And, just before he drifts off, he thinks about how easy it is for him to love her. The idea of love and romance had chafed him for years, till his heart was left bloody and raw from trying to shove it into a box that never quite fit. Part of it still does, to be honest; forcing himself to act accordingly, “as a lover should,” in ways that left him uncomfortable. But there was never any friction with Calathea. There was never any pressure to conform to unrealistic standards with her. They were both a little strange in their own right, and that was okay. They protected each other's strangeness with a passion, and fought against the ways the world tried to wear them down. They took care of each other, to soothe the ways the world burned them with its trials and cruelties. And it was always, always easy. Instead of reshaping their hearts, they reshaped the box. Together. One that could hold both of their hearts safely, with no scuffing or crushing the other. It's very likely that there may be friction from time to time between them. It's almost expected at this point, but at least it won't be anything they can't handle together. Besides, sometimes it's good to have a little friction.

Sometimes you write something so cute that you feel like you're gonna puke. I love @shaaloani.bsky.social's and my little demi blorbos so much.

#HeartlessWIPs

Shirt Calathea borrows his shirt, once. She wakes early, the sun hasn't risen yet, and neither has her lover. But she's hungry and more aware than usual of her nakedness. So she grabs the closest thing: an undershirt, one she'd removed for him the night before. I'll only borrow it for a little bit, not long enough for him to notice. She slips it over her head. It covers her torso nicely, the hem hitting the tops of her thighs. It's warm, it's comfortable, and it smells like him. Pine moss, cedar, petrichor… She closes her eyes, and, for a brief moment, he's the one draped around her instead of the cloth. She devours an apple in the kitchen. But she keeps leaning into the shirt, bringing it to her face. Lets it caress her cheek, pretends she's nuzzling into his chest. “Keep it.” She looks up. Ludo’s leaning against the door frame, watching her with the gentlest smile. Softer than any fabric. He moves closer, wraps his arms around her, and she's twice enveloped by love as he murmurs into her ear: “It looks good on you. If it makes you that happy, you should keep it.” Ludo kisses her temple gently. “Good morning, Calathea.”

G'raha has worked day in and day out, caring for her, supporting her, loving her, pulling out the weeds of self-doubt. Clearing out the rocks and chasing away the pests that would stunt her growth and chew through her leaves. He has toiled for many long hours, and, thanks to all his efforts, he has cultivated a garden of truths within her. Truths that she would have denied even half a year ago: that she is capable of love, that she's worthy of love. That she is in love with a man she had lost all hope of ever seeing again. The truth that she is his. His to cherish, his to take care of, his to share with the world, his to show how bright and beautiful she blossoms. It's only fair that he should have the chance to taste the fruits of his labor like this.

Oh also have a couple of snippets.

#HeartlessWIPs #CaLudo #CalRaha

“B-but you never need to ask me. I'm yours, dear Ludo. Permission granted, now and always.” He shudders with relief, and, with one quick thrust, he buries himself inside of her. And gods, she is truly exquisite. The way she feels gripping his cock, pulling him back in all the way to the hilt. The sounds of skin slapping on skin while the waves of their turbulence splash around them. The sensation of her hot breath against his ear as she cries out his name over and over. It is a perfect storm of ecstasy, and Ludo is at the epicenter, making his rightful claim on the woman he loves as he fucks her with reckless abandon. He feels the fires of his pleasure ripping through his chest, a brilliant blaze that builds and builds and builds and BUILDS until it tears out from his throat in a vicious snarl, and he can't hold himself back any longer. Ludo’s nails dig into the supple flesh of her immaculate thighs. He thrusts himself into her once, twice, and, on the third, he comes inside her.

The moon was full that night. He always liked nights like that, where Menphina shone brightest. He liked how it stripped the world of color for a time, blanketed by a special sort of monochromatic beauty. He liked the strange shadows it cast, turning the landscape into some new unknown land to discover. And the way she looked in the moonlight, he liked best of all. She straddled him on the bed that night, the goddess’ light transmuting her hair from its fiery gold to a brilliant silver. This sort of argyropoeia would make most alchemists scoff, but not him. This “lesser” metal was just as precious to him as the former. Maybe even more so, because the sight of her bare skin bathed in moonlight was far more rare. Only he possessed the ability to see her like this.

(Oh hello I keep neglecting this account oops)

I've not stopped writing, I just stopped posting WIPS because the CaLudo brainrot has taken over fully. Sorry, CalRaha.

#HeartlessWIPs