#I'm not getting into this in WIP Wednesday

[socially-awkward-skeleton]

WIP well I'm late for everything...

discovered today that it had been nearly two months since I took part in a wip wednesday and its been a little while since a wip music post and I have been tagged most recently by :

@ellswips @neonshrike @imogenkol @inafieldofdaisies @direwombat

@simplegenius042 and @g0dspeeed for either one or the other thank you so much you wonderful people <3

WIP Song:

this is just very much a Rory vibe when it comes to the ship

and for the fic wip, here's a little domestic fluff/banter with Rory and Price. It's not something I generally get to write for them and I've had the hankering to write some of the civilian moments for them. This will be a little aside at the start of chapter 11 before the angst hits:

On a particularly wet Sunday, mid-morning in late September, they stood in the paint aisle of the local hardware store surrounded by an array of sample chips in every shade and tone imaginable, and somehow Rory had managed to bypass them all, gravitating to one bleak little corner. 

“Fucking hell, love,” John gruffs, arms crossed over his chest in his favorite sheepskin lined denim jacket, beanie tucked over his ears, looking down his nose at the paint chips she holds in her hands like a fan. “That’s three different versions of white.” 

“Shut up,” she laughs and shakes her head, the damp ends dripping down the back of her neck. “They’re lace, linen, and cream.”

He meets her giggle with a straight face and a lifted brow. “They’re bloody white. Need your ‘ead checked if you think there’s some sort o’ difference between these and the color of the ‘landlord white’ walls back at the flat, my girl.” Arm curling around her back, his wide, warm hand drifts down to rest on the back pocket of her jeans furthest from him. Giving her hip a squeeze, he presses her tight against his side and his thumb starts to rub circles into her as he shifts his weight on his feet. 

The umbrella she carries drips a steady stream of rainwater onto the linoleum floor, a small puddle forming at the blunt plastic tip. One to join the many others dotted throughout the shop, blockaded by yellow ‘Caution: floor slippery when wet’ signs as the sound of a mop being dragged in the same constrained fashion as Pac-man joined in with the quiet chorus of The Verve’s Bitter Sweet Symphony.

“Oh, I am sorry I wasn’t looking for something garish in the room where guests do their business. Pardon me.” Her words are lathered in sarcasm as she animatedly waves the cards in her hand. 

“Didn’t say garish, did I?” Giving her a dangerous glance from under his brow, he reaches out and grabs the first card from the wall that takes his fancy. “What about this one?”

Her brow cocks at the sight and her lips curl into a little sneer, one that makes her nose scrunch up with distaste. “Forest green? In a toilet?” she asks skeptically. “Love, it’s a small space. You don’t put dark colors in there, it’ll only make it feel smaller.”

“It’s a bloody cloakroom, Ror,” he grumbled, his mouth scrunching up under the bristles of his mustache. “It’s not supposed to feel like the Ritz-Carlton, it’s where someone takes a piss and moves on.”

Rolling her eyes, she takes the card from his hand decidedly and tucks it back into the sleeve on the wall. “It’s too dark. I told you to just leave this with me.”

Truth be told, she was used to making the decisions to the design of the townhouse. It had been her home before John had arrived on the scene, her first purchase after she turned twenty-one and her trust fund that included the money from the sale of her mother’s house in Canada was finally available to her. She had paid for all of the renovations herself, picked out the furniture and lighting. That home was her baby and it was hard not to be the one to have final approval on all the changes, it was like letting a little piece of herself go, handing over more control to her dear Captain.

“And I told you I wanted to make some decisions around the place,” he says, tugging her into him a little tighter. “Still feel like a guest in our ‘ome sometimes.”

“Oh piss off, now you’re just taking the mickey.”

“Am not.” Shoving his hand into the pocket of his coat, he jutted out his square jaw, and stretched out his lower back.

Placing her hand on his chest, she uses the other to sweep across the wall of samples like she’s Vanna White. “Fine, if choosing the toilet color is of such great import to you, go ahead. You have my blessing to freely choose.”

His eyes narrow as he looks down at her, leaning back slightly to keep her in his full view. “This is a test.”

The quiet chuckle that bubbled out of her was one she could hardly contain, looking taken aback by his sudden wariness of the task. “Classic coming from you of all people.”

“What’s that s’posed to mean?”

“I am not dignifying that question with an answer.” She juts an accusing finger up at him, and pokes the underside of his chin. “You know damn well.”

Grumbling in response, he reaches out and grabs another sample card to try and change the subject. “And this one?”

“You want lavender?”

“’S grey.”

“It’s not,” Rory says with a chipper giggle. “It’s bloody purple.”

“Now you’re taking the piss.”

Laughing, she reaches into her purse on her shoulder and digs out her mobile. Doing a quick search on her phone, fingers tapping away on the screen, she pulls up a picture of a dress and gives him a cocky grin. “Is it white and gold, or black and blue?”

“What are you on about?” Peering at her phone screen, he gives it a quick glance before answering, “Tha’s white and gold,” stating it without a second look, absolutely sure of his decision.

“It’s not.” She locks her phone and slips it back in her bag. “It’s blue and black.”

“Proves nothin’,” he says with a sharp nod of his head, directed by his tightly clenched jaw.

Giggling at his reaction, her dimples emerge and her eyes shine. Even in a moment where he’s clearly proven wrong, Captain John Price has to believe he’s right. 

His face immediately softens, hard eyes turning crystalline as he regards her warmly, his scrunched lips curving into a gentle half grin. “Christ, I'll never get enough of that laugh, y’ know tha’?” 

She hums and she meets his gaze, curling into him and wrapping her arms around his, her hand finding the rough palm she has come to know so well, intertwining her fingers with his. “I'm aware.”

Her hand wrapped in his, dwarfed in comparison, he lifts the conjoined skin and bones and brings her slender wrist to his lips, pressing a kiss to the tender flesh. His mustache tickles against the raised veins, smiling as the smell of her perfume fills his nostrils. Fills him. Refusing to let her go quite yet, he presses another to the center of her palm, lingering for a moment against the softness of her.

“What was that for?” she murmurs. 

“Don’t need a reason. Not with you, love.”

tagging (no pressure to interact): @aceghosts @taciturntraveller @voltac @voidika @chadillacboseman

@strangefable @josephseedismyfather @statichvm @clicheantagonist @tommyarashikage

@raresvtm @cloudofbutterflies92 @cassietrn @carlosoliveiraa @la-grosse-patate

@roofgeese @silkcrows @devil-kindred

[emmg]

wip yeah yeah whatever it's never wednesday

I've been tagged by a few folks and I'm having trouble remembering because I've had a shitty ass day but I love you. And I miss you. And I need you.

So I'm tagging all my usual boos back. K thanksss. @aldisobey @heylittleriotact @thepalehorsevictoria @caffeinatedmunchkin @xxnashiraxx @jainydoe

I honestly don't really have anything in particular cooking, so this is just something from the next chapter of Aftertaste, the stupid sugar daddy AU I can't stop having fun with. It's one of the most cursed things I've written lmao

****

She tousles her hair. Bites her lips raw, like some tragic heroine wasting away in a garret. Paces the apartment for the most flattering light—nature’s filter, since she has standards—and extends one arm to the heavens, the other tugging at the neckline of her shirt. Nothing too obscene; wouldn’t want to inconvenience some tragically repressed colleague of his with a crisis of conscience. Then again—why not? 

Let them suffer. Let them swallow around the dryness in their throat, let them grip their pens a little tighter. A whisper of lace, just enough to suggest that yes, she owns lingerie, and no, it is not because she enjoys spending $80 on machine-washable disappointments. 

Let him imagine her breasts—imagine that they exist, that they could, theoretically, be his to touch, that perhaps, if he’s really exceptionally well-behaved, he might even get to slide his cock between them. Not that there’s much to work with—more symbolism than substance, more spiritual journey than actual grip—but hey, she suspects he’s the kind of man who would whimper at the mere suggestion of friction. The type to shudder through it, clutch at her shoulders afterward like she’s just guided him through some kind of sacred, transcendent experience—one that leaves him dazed, vulnerable, and in dire need of a therapist with very strong professional boundaries.

Maybe, just maybe, if fate is kind and the gods of dignity finally decide to smile upon him, next time he spills onto her face or neck, it will be on purpose. A deliberate choice rather than an unfortunate trajectory issue. Perhaps even with a plan this time, some semblance of aim, a fraction of control. And afterward, he’ll do the gentlemanly thing: wipe the tear tracks from his face, mumble something about how he’s never felt this way before (bless his heart), and take out his wallet to buy her a pearl necklace—the kind that actually comes in a box, not the kind she has to scrub off in the shower.

It wouldn’t be a hardship. She finds, to her mild surprise, that she actually likes the man. At least as a human being, which is more than she can say for most. 

Click. Send. 

She knows he sees it because he is the kind of technologically inept buffoon who never figured out how to disable his read receipts. A man living in blissful ignorance of his own transparency. How cute. 

A pause. 

Dot. Dot. Dot. 

Nothing. 

Dot. Dot. Dot. 

A great, yawning chasm of nothing. 

She sighs and plops her ass on the bed. 

Dot. Dot. Dot. 

Perhaps he has died.

Perhaps the mere implication of cleavage has sent him into full cardiac arrest, right there at his desk. Emmrich Volkarin, well into his fifth-or-whatever decade, struck down—not by time, not by fate, but by the revolutionary concept of boobs. Maybe he hit his head on a stack of his own pretentious books—some dusty, 800-page discourse on moral decay—and perished instantly, a martyr to propriety. Mr. Professor, defeated by décolletage. Tragic. 

Ah. Something. 

A ha-ha reaction, skittish and accidental, yanked back almost immediately, and replaced with the trembling penitence of a heart.

And still. No. Words. 

She rolls her eyes, sends him a photo of the most aesthetically offensive thing in her apartment. 

That’s my monstera

This time, a response. Still criminally slow, but at least they've moved past Morse code levels of hesitation. 

Emmrich, miracle of miracles, finally sends a photo back. 

It’s a dog. Poorly cropped. Enthusiastically blurry. A dog in spirit, certainly, but in form? A vague collection of fur and misplaced limbs. The man takes photos like a cryptid spotter. But hey, at least the pup looks happy. 

This is my Manfred.

Manfred. 

What an absolute catastrophe of a name for a dog. 

[lathbora-virann]

WIP Wednesday (on Saturday because I'm late and I also live in the future aka Australia and what even is time anyway)

I was tagged by @jkateel and thank you so much for thinking of me!

Tagging @ryrycouch @prettycozyghosty @scribeofmorpheus @haedia @pinacoladamatata @elf-trash @rosieofcorona if any of you are down for a writing or art wip :)

Here's a little bit from my Solavellan long fic that I will one day eventually publish. This is when they're finally reunited in Trespasser. She was too injured and close to death to get there on her own, so Cole helped her through the eluvian :)

“Solas,” she managed, but her voice was too weak to reach him. She staggered against Cole as a surge of deep magic rushed through her, rattling her very bones. Nymera could barely even see where they were going anymore. One moment her sight was blurring, the next she had tunnel vision, and soon the pain and green was too much to even keep her eyes open for longer than a few seconds at a time. All she could do was keep forcing one foot in front of the other and trust Cole to guide her ragged, desperate steps to where she needed to go.

Seconds, minutes, an eternity… she wasn’t sure. But through the haze and pain and near deafening vibration she heard Cole speak.

“She would have crawled all this way to you, dying with every breath, ribs cracked, blood boiling; the blinding, searing pain of being torn apart less painful than the thought of losing you for good.”

And then she felt Cole lowering her to what she thought was the ground, until she felt another pair of arms gently take her from him and managed to open her eyes long enough to look up to see an achingly familiar face.

“Vhenan,” Solas whispered, eyes full of love and sorrow, and there was no amount of pain on this earth that would have stopped the smile from meeting her mouth.

Weakly she raised her good hand to his cheek, needing to feel that he was real and not the last exquisite figment of her dying mind.

“My love.” Her voice was a choked whisper of grief and relief, exhaustion and acceptance. “At least I got to see you... one last time...”

The grief was reflected on his face but not the acceptance, as the Anchor began to light up her arm once more with searing pain and crackling energy. His eyes remained on hers as they filled with an icy flash, just as Flemeth’s had all those years ago when she revealed the spark of Mythal in her. And despite the sharpness of that flash, she felt it wash over her body cool and gentle.

Nymera gasped like she had been drowning and finally found air, as the pain of the Anchor flowed out of her like the tide before a tsunami. Her vision and mind cleared, she could hear the world around her, and for the first time in a long time, her body felt like her own. The pain of her broken ribs was still there, but that was nothing compared to what had just left her. As her breathing slowed, she looked back up at Solas in awe.

“That should give us more time,” he said with a gentle, almost rueful smile. “I suspect you have questions.”

[prairiedawn]

I got tagged for WIP wednesday on a Thursday! Thanks Hemi-Demi also I think its at least partly your fault that I'm working on a *flipping* omegaverse fic now.

So, in that spirit, let me see... CW: Only that the omegaverse exists, this is a dystopia, though it doesn't show up much yet, and someone mentions truck balls.eisen

I'm tagging--hmmmmm, @blueberry-sleight and @flootzavut

Beau dodged his fifth kangaroo on the winding road leading to Hillview and again regretted asking to use the drive up from Perth to practice for his license test. It was silly to put the time in now since he and (he hoped, even though sometimes he didn't quite believe) Duncan would be at this admittedly very pretty rehabilitation center for the next several weeks, and it was likely he wouldn't be allowed to practice driving for the duration. He'd forget everything he'd learned and have to start over. If he ever got to drive again. Still, it was a distraction from everything else he had to worry about.

Mom patted his hand on the steering wheel. "Much better, Beau. We'll get you up to speed with city driving yet. Just remember what I told you."

"Drive like a beta."

"Exactly. No one can tell who anyone is in a car, so the goal is not to be aggressive or deferential; it's to follow the rules and be predictable."

"Alphas have bumper stickers, sometimes," Beau noted.

Duncan piped up from the seat behind her, "And truck balls!"

"A real alpha would not need to advertise the fact by inaccurately attaching testicles to their rear bumper," Birdie noted archly from the seat directly behind Beau.

Mom agreed, "Yeah, and any asshole can put those on their car. Give those assholes a wide berth. No need to get into an accident tangling with them."

WIP Wednesday

I was tagged by @hauntedcoyote thank you!

Have a snippet from Chapter 14 of my Vampire AU The Kiss or the Sword!

Chapter will be up Sunday!

also tagging @buried-in-the-archives @hemi-demi @sieveyourtea @sparky-is-spiders @daemongal @tea-moth11 @pirate-captain-of-the-tundra

And anyone else who'd like to participate! Feel free to tag me!

Martin doesn’t want to think about the call he had with the facility on his way in. Now that he had more time and wasn’t worried about being attacked by worms he could make an effort to come see her. He could stop by that weekend, maybe, play a game of cards. 

And then the nurse called him back saying that wasn’t the best idea for her recovery. 

Martin looks around for Jon’s coat, also absent. He doesn’t think he’s upstairs with Elias. And he doesn’t think that vampires get sick. 

Martin tries not to worry, he sets down his things and starts tea as usual, trying his best to remain calm and not imagine Jon frying up from the sun. Melanie arrives a bit later, going straight into her own research, and finally Tim shows up his usual now closer to forty five minutes late. 

Still no Jon. 

[an-established-butt-dent]

I'm a bald Solas lover I swear!!!!

—> Process video under the cut because of flash warning.

[omgahgase]

going off the headcanon list i posted before, i wrote a lil something about arthur kissing charles' scar instead during their first kiss

“Charles,” Arthur says, eyes raking across Charles like he’s scared he’ll disappear if Arthur gets too close. Loves a little too hard because Arthur is a lot of things, but deserving of someone as good as Charles ain’t one of them. He’s terrified, and rightfully so.

But it still ain’t feel wrong.

None of it does. Not the way Arthur fits himself so perfectly into Charles’ space, noses brushing against each other, eyelids sliding close so they can get a feel for this newfound intimacy, lips a phantom of a feeling atop their heated skin, foreheads pressed and hands clutched in clothing. It doesn’t feel wrong for Arthur to catch a glimpse of Charles’ scar as he rubs their cheeks together, scratches his scruff againsts Charles’ as if he’s trying to strike a match, intense and burning the more he does it.

It doesn’t feel wrong as Arthur traces his lips over the streaking pattern of flesh, long time healed but never treated with such desire. Arthur skates his mouth down to the underside of Charles’ jaw, right where it begins, and places a searing kiss to the start of it, makes Charles tilt his head up in a gasp.

The hand screwed tight on Arthur’s back nearly rips a hole in his shirt. “Arthur—please.”

Arthur hums, takes his time in mapping out Charles scar. He uses his lips and kisses up the line until he reaches the end, licks at the uneven ridges of haphazardly mended flesh, tasting the sweat of the day and the chill of the nightair that lays over Charles like a sheet, makes him shiver in Arthur’s arms.

to be finished later this week, please stay tuned!

[dragonnarrative-writes]

WIP Wednesday

Tagged by the amazing @syoddeye!

Snippet from the next part of Autumn Embers, which will most likely have to be at least two chapters.

A flash of heat twists through your belly and up your spine. You can’t help but bark a little laugh. “You’re just as bad as Johnny!” “No one’s as bad as Soap,” John grumbles, taking some bread and passing the basket away from you. He tears off a piece and dips it into the plate of oil and spices before offering it to you. Gods above, they really don’t do anything by halves. You consider directing him to place it on the bread plate. The whiskey tells you to lean in and eat straight from his hand. You split the difference by plucking the morsel from his fingers and popping it in your mouth.

the softest of no pressure, "look, i'm a day late and that's early for me" tags: @sentientcave, @mi-i-zori, @godihatethiswebsite, @gemmahale, and anyone who has accidentally written 2024 on something this past week.

[hippolotamus]

WIP Wednesday 🧜‍♂️

Happy Wednesday, loves. Tagged by the fabulously talented @bidisasterevankinard @rewritetheending @eddiebabygirldiaz (thank you, lovelies). Some more mer!buck because... what else? 💞

He told Evan he would visit when he could, even if he didn’t know exactly when that would be. It’s possible that his friend might not even be expecting him anymore.  The thought brings him up short. What if Evan’s forgotten, or worse, what if he hasn’t and doesn’t want to see Eddie? God, what if Evan’s not even here? Do merpeople migrate or change locations like humans?  Somehow, the thought never occurred to him before. He never expected Evan to ever be anywhere else. To not be right here, waiting to say ‘hello’ when Eddie came around.  The worries loop through his mind as he makes a place for himself among the weathered boards and battered posts covered in slimy seaweed.  “Beat it,” Eddie scolds a seagull that’s already clocked the cooler beside him. “Not for you.” “I sure hope there’s something for me, though.” Eddie whips his head towards the voice, unable to hold back a fond, amused chuckle. Every muscle and nerve relaxes, immediately soothed by the sight of his friend. “Evan.” A midday summer sun has nothing on the megawatt smile Eddie gets in return. Apollo would have cowered in its presence. “Hey, Eddie.”

np tagging @actuallyitsellie @epicbuddieficrecs @loveyouanyway @a-noble-dragon

@tizniz @diazheartsbuckley @saybiwithme @spotsandsocks @dangerpronebuddie (Happy Birthday!)

@theotherbuckley @stereopticons @kitteneddiediaz @daffi-990 @diazsdimples

@your-catfish-friend @thekristen999 @filet-o-feelings @wikiangela loml @lizzie-bennetdarcy

@rainbow-nerdss @steadfastsaturnsrings @inell @jesuisici33 @dr-shortsighted-owl

@dorkydiaz @bi-buckrights @elvensorceress @bucksbiawakening @giddyupbuck

@beyourownanchor6 @indestructibleheart @ladydorian05 @lemonzestywrites @monsterrae1

@statueinthestone @slightlyobsessedwitheverything @thelikesofus @wildlife4life @eowon

@bekkachaos @spaceprincessem @bucksbignaturals @swiftiefirefighters and anyone else who wants to 😘

[snarkspawn]

I was tagged by @lydiaalin for the WIP Wednesday Whenever thing, thank you!! <3

Soo here's a small assortment of some of the things I am currently (more or less) working on 😔

tagging @hoiist @sotc @plushchimera @kruk-art @astrallar @punkeduppirate @kinnbig @brambeag @gellyh @bramblebea if you want

[skimmingmilk]

help this is so dumb

Blue eyes narrowed dangerously and he whirled to face the hedgehog standing a few feet behind him. “Did you seriously have to blow up my plane?” he snarled. “You're the one that wanted to be chased down,” Shadow replied evenly. “Play dangerous games, suffer the consequences.” “It's ‘play stupid games, win stupid prizes,’” Tails grunted, pushing himself up to stand. Shadow arched a brow. “From where I'm standing, I can't see how you came remotely close to winning anything.” Tails shrugged one shoulder, biting back a wince in favor of a sideways smirk. “Well, I can.” When Shadow's stare simply turned quizzical, Tails gestured broadly ahead of him, directly at Shadow. “And trust me, it sure is stupid.”

[iamamythologicalcreature]

Let's Pretend for a Second it's Still Wednesday

I know it's not technically Wednesday, but my Wednesday ended up going in all kinds of directions I had not anticipated, so we're pretending for a second. Mental time travel.

I'm working on four different projects right now. I know, I know, but they're collaborations, and collaborations are my very favorite way to create things. Seriously, I've been looking forward to this stuff all year!

Three of those projects are for @carryon-reverse-bang. I get to work with three extremely cool and talented writers, and it's so much fun getting into the projects with them.

These snips are from the sketches I initially posted for the fest. We'll see what happens going forward XD

I'm also working on something for @carryonthroughtheages. (Which, btw, if you haven't noticed, is in ONE MONTH!) I'm not going to share a clip from that because there isn't much I could share that wouldn't give it all away. I'm very excited, though. Also nervous. Mostly excited.

Personal update: In between art endeavors, I've been very busy. Just made a huuuuge life change uh... exactly two weeks ago. I'm still adjusting to that and it's taking a lot of time, energy, and spoons. But I think/hope it will all be worth it. Also hoping to find my presence on Tumblr again after being a bit absent of late. Missed you all!

Since Wednesday is past, I'm going to tag all the awesome people who have tagged me even though I've been super absent the past couple of months! (Under the cut)

Thank you for not forgetting my existence even when I wasn't around to remind you of it <3 <3 <3 @monbons, @mooncello, @thewholelemon, @fiend-for-culture, @youarenevertooold,

@whatevertheweather, @blackberrysummerblog, @you-remind-me-of-the-babe, @that-disabled-princess, @imagineacoolusername,

@orange-peony, @rimeswithpurple, @cutestkilla, @bazzybelle, @drowninginships,

@hushed-chorus, @bookish-bogwitch, @shrekgogurt, @roomwithanopenfire, @alexalexinii,

@noblecorgi, @best--dress, @artsyunderstudy, @prettygoododds, @ic3-que3n,

@emeryhall, @tender-ministrations, @supercutedinosaurs, @leithillustration

[stabbyfoxandrew]

I'm torn, I can't decide! I'm desperate to know what happens next in Mafia Restaurant, but arson!Neil is being deeply adorable right now. Can I request your chose between those two, whichever is coming more easily?

WIP Wednesday (11/6) | Arsonist Neil / Firefighter Andrew AU (Part 257)

Somewhere between being forced to create an email account and being asked for personal information he doesn't give to humans, Neil decides he'll never buy a new phone again. He glares at the thing where it's plugged in on the nightstand. He'd had to connect to the hotel's Wi-Fi to install some sort of software update and it's taking much longer than he thinks it should. It's brand new, for fuck's sake. What update could it possibly need?

He puts on the TV, but glances over at the phone so often he can't follow along with the program. Finally, it's through with it's bullshit and he rips the plug out of the wall.

And, as soon as he's able to pull up Andrew's photo, he forgets how much of a pain the phone had been.

Because there he is, spread across the five-inch screen like a model for... Neil blanks on fashion brands, but Andrew looks amazing. He had the other night, of course, but now Neil can truly see him. He accidentally discovers the ability to zoom in and abuses it, staring at Andrew's seemingly neutral expression. He looks bored in it, but there's something to his eyes that takes Neil's breath.

It takes him several minutes. Okay, perhaps half an hour, to send all of Andrew's pictures to the new phone. And then he flips through each one and tries to come to grips with these feelings he's been having.

It feels wrong. In an absolutely terrible way.

It feels like betraying his mother, it feels like he's been lying to himself, it feels...

He feels—

[fuckingyrs]

The sound of a body throwing itself onto one of the infirmary cots echoed through the mostly empty room, followed closely behind with a dramatic, but melodic sigh. “Can I say something mean?” 

“Probably not in front of the baby.”

Will groaned, looking up from his pile of patient reports he had been sorting for the past… year. “I hardly think eleven still counts as being a baby.”

Lee, who had been refilling first aid kits for the past two hours, contemplated this for a moment. “Maybe, but that’s besides the point. I’m six years older than you. You’ll always be a baby.”

“I’m going to say something mean. Will, cover your ears.”

“I’m not covering my ears, Taylor. Unlike you, I’m working right now and I need my hands.”

“Oh,” Taylor dragged, a taunt evident in her voice, "someone's grumpy.”

“He’s mad I put him on infirmary duty during arts and crafts.”

“Will, you aren’t good at arts and crafts.” Lee slapped her arm. “And you like working in the infirmary, you are constantly taking my shifts. It’s why I love you.”

Lee slapped her arm again. “Taylor, what the heck.”

Taylor groaned, “Fuck. Just say fuck. I’m begging you.”

“That’s besides the point. I had it with Cecil. We were going to finish our board game.” Will turned to Lee, pointing an accusing finger at him, “You knew this.”

Lee let out a long-suffering sigh and Will almost felt bad for causing a fuss, but really, Lee brought this upon himself. “Taylor, stop pawning off your shifts to Will. Will, stop letting Taylor’s pawn off her shifts to you. Also: I’m sorry about arts and crafts. The last few days have been hectic and I needed your help. I’ll make sure to not schedule you over arts and crafts next week.”

“I’m going to be home next week! Mama is picking me up, remember?”

Lee had the decency to look ashamed when he said, “Heck. I forgot. I’m sorry, Will.”

Taylor got up from her self-designated cot and walked over to Will, ruffling his hair once she was close enough. “I’ll take over the rest of your shift, buddy. You go have fun.”

Will shook his head, “No, it’s okay. I’m already here. Arts and crafts is half-way done anyway. We wouldn’t be able to finish.”

“If you’re sure,” Taylor sighed as she pressed a kiss to his forehead and Will let out a cry of protest because he could feel the lipstick stain there. He tried rubbing it away with his fingers but by the look on Lee’s face and the snickers Taylor was making behind him, he only made it worse.

Lee graciously handed Will a wipe before glaring at their sister. “Taylor, what are you even doing here?”

“I think I made that pretty obvious when I threw myself onto a bed and stated I was gonna say something mean. I came to gossip.”

“You should be at archery right now.”

“Mike was being a piss-baby. He wouldn’t let Josh and I try to hit one another. What’s the point of being in advanced archery if you can’t shoot at your brother? Moving targets!”

“So you left?”

“Yep. I found Silena and she offered to do my nails before I came by.”

Lee pinched the bridge of his nose in a way that resembled an old man at the end of his rope. Will suppressed a giggle at his brother’s anguish as Lee said, “You can’t do that.”

“Do what? My nails?”

“Leave Michael like that.”

“Why? He’s not in charge of me.”

“But I am. And he’s my second in command, so yes he is.”

Taylor groaned, flopping back onto her cot. “One, he’s like three weeks older than me, unfair. And two, none of that is important right now. What is important is that our father was here and didn’t say hi to any of us. Who does that?”

“Our father, apparently.”

Taylor flipped Lee off, showing off her new manicure. It was baby pink, like her lipstick, with a little sun in the center. “He gives those kids a ride, none of them his, and has the audacity to leave before saying hi? Hell, Will over here has never met him. He has time to bring a group of kids to camp, but can’t spare a lousy minute to check in on us? And I can’t say this to Michael or he’ll claim I’m “on the other side”.” Taylor sighed, a faraway look in her eyes. Will had only seen this look on her face a few times before: every time Luke was mentioned. “I’m just tired of feeling abandoned and I’m sick of feeling like it’s bad to think that.”

Lee stepped towards her, a soft, “Tay–” passing through his lips, before she sat up and shook herself out of her stupor.

“Instead of saying hi, he just causes chaos and disappears! He brings Percy back, which is never a good sign. Thalia is driving the sun chariot, and crashes it! Oh, and he brought that new weird kid that keeps bombarding everyone with questions.”

Will saw through the change of topic, and Lee clearly had to as well, but he allowed it to happen. He slapped her on the arm for the third time, “He’s not weird. He’s, like, eight. The kid is just excited. You were excited about camp once upon a time.”

Taylor turned to Will, jerking her head at Lee, “I think he’s finally lost it. When have I ever been excited by anything ever?”

Will grinned, “Yesterday, you beat Madi at Josh’s song quiz and you danced around the cabin for ten minutes.”

Taylor gasped loud and dramatic, clutching at her chest as she fell back onto her cot, chestnut hair falling all over her face in her fall. “William! How dare you accuse me of such things!”

[bbcphile]

WIP Wednesday

Happy Wednesday! This week, LLH and DFS finally fight--with words, not swords, of course, but it's no less vicious. Here's the opening of that argument.

(You can find earlier excerpts here.)

Di Feisheng flung more qi at the acupoint to reinforce the barrier, forced himself not to wince at the spike of pain it triggered, and took a slow, deliberate breath, forcing his lungs steady. “I’ve told you: It’s not a problem Yangzhouman can fix,” he gritted out. “You have your answer. Now drop it.” 

Li Lianhua stared at him a minute more, his eyes narrowed, then he nodded to himself, the corner of his lips curling up in a faint, pained smile. He looked down at his thumb, stroking the fur on his cloak. “No,” he said at last. “I won’t. I refuse to cause you any more pain.”

Di Feisheng froze, the words a slap in the face. A whooshing noise filled his ears and his vision went gray around the edges. “You don’t want to hurt me? Then don’t die.” 

Li Lianhua closed his eyes and bowed his head. “A-Fei–”

“–Is that too unclear? Then hear this: your death would hurt me more than any headache, sword, or torture ever could.”

Li Lianhua buried his fingers in the fur collar. 

“The question, Li Xiangyi,” Di Feisheng growled, his qi howling through his meridians, his entire body vibrating with it, “is why do you keep insisting otherwise? Do you think I’m lying? Are you lying to yourself? Or do you just want me to beg you on my knees?” 

For several long seconds, Xiangyi was motionless, apart from the slight rise and fall of his chest with his breath. 

He slowly lifted his head, every cùn dripping with command, and pierced Di Feisheng with a glare every bit as sharp as Shaoshi had been. A look he’d hardly seen in the last decade. “That’s not my name,” he said, his voice colder than it had been since their battle on the sea. “Li Xiangyi is dead.”

[elephantshoetoo]

So, I wrote this little miwi flashback scene today. I plan to use it in The Byler Files somewhere, but I don't know where yet. Probably Vol.4.

(*warning: contains a homophobic slur.)

May 7th, 1979,

The schoolyard at Hawkins Elementary…

(It's morning recess. After staying back to talk to his teacher about a late homework assignment, 8-year-old Mike Wheeler exits the building with Miss Drew to find his best friend Will huddled in a corner, his legs pulled up to his chest, quietly crying into his knees. Mike rushes over to him, alarmed.)

MIKE: Will! What happened?! Are you okay? Why… why are you crying?

(The teacher catches up and bends down to check on him.)

MISS DREW: Will…? Honey? Can you tell me what happened?

(Will shakes his head and pulls himself in tighter.)

MIKE: Are you sick? Are you hurt?

(Still not looking up, he shakes his head again. Mike rubs his back, concerned.)

MISS DREW: Sweetie, I can't help you if you don't tell me what's wrong…

(Will doesn't respond. He squeezes his legs like he's trying to fold in on himself and disappear.)

MIKE (to the teacher): I… I can probably get him to talk… (Nodding, she mouths, “Okay,” and continues watching them.) Um… alone.

MISS DREW: Oh. Alright. (She hesitates, but decides it's probably the best course of action.) Well, let me know if he needs anything, okay?

MIKE: Yes, ma’am.

(Once she's gone, Mike puts his arms around Will and holds him tight, rocking slightly to comfort him. He softly hums the tune of “I Want You to Want Me” by Cheap Trick. When he feels Will start to loosen up, Mike pulls back to see if he'll talk yet.)

MIKE (softly): Will? Are you okay? What happened?

WILL (sniffling, into his knees): It's… it's nothing. It's stupid.

MIKE: Hey, it's not nothing if it upsets you… You can tell me.

(Will sighs and leans into Mike, whose arm is still cradled around his back.)

MIKE: Please…?

WILL: Okay… (Mike soothingly strokes Will's hair, waiting patiently for him to feel safe enough to open up. Will tilts his head slightly and peeks up at Mike. He's greeted with an encouraging smile and relaxes a bit more. Gathering his thoughts, Will starts to talk, slowly at first, his words tinged with shame.) James and Troy were… were calling me names again. And… and everybody laughed.

MIKE: Oh.

(Mike looks out at the schoolyard. A few groups of kids are still hovering nearby, glancing at them and whispering. Mike sends them a piercing scowl and they quickly disperse.)

MIKE: What did they call you?

WILL: Troy said his dad told him I'm a… a…

(Will tears up a bit and hides his face again.)

MIKE (gently coaxing): A what?

WILL (cringing): A… a disguting… f*ggot…?

MIKE: Oh. (He looks down, wincing, then purses his lips and resolves to make Will feel better.) Well… it doesn't matter what they think. They're a bunch of stinky dunderheads anyway. (Will chuckles sadly for a brief moment.) I mean, they even waited until Lucas was home sick and I… (regretfully) wasn't here. They're total cowards.

WILL: I know, but… it's not just them – everybody thinks it. Even my dad.

MIKE: R-really…?

WILL (looking down): Yeah.

MIKE: Well… I don't.

(Will gazes over at Mike, overwhelmingly relieved to hear this.)

WILL: Y-you don't?

MIKE: No! I could never think anything bad about you. You're… you're perfect, Will.

WILL (quietly): No, I'm not.

MIKE: I think you are…

WILL: Really…?

MIKE: Yeah. Really.

WILL: But… what if it turns out they're right?

MIKE: They're NOT!

WILL: But, what if… what if they are? Would… would you still like me?

MIKE: Will. (Mike holds Will's face between his hands and peers resolutely into his eyes. He speaks gently but insistently.) I would still love you.

(A flash of joy lights up Will's whole face.)

WILL: Y-you would?

MIKE: Yeah! Of course. You're my best friend. (He squeezes Will's hand reassuringly.) Nothing could ever change that, okay?

(Fresh tears slip down Will's cheeks. He gives Mike a small, grateful smile, rubbing his thumb over Mike's knuckles for comfort.)

WILL: Okay.

(Mike tenderly caresses Will's face, wiping away his tears, then pulls him against his chest, kissing the top of his head. Holding Will securely in his arms, Mike's heart glows with a sparkly kind of warmth.)

WILL: Mike…?

MIKE: Yeah?

WILL: D’you know a f*ggot is…?

MIKE: No… D-do you?

WILL (shrugging): I dunno. Something horrible and gross, I think. It… it sounds like… some kind of… monstrous garden slug, maybe...?

MIKE (laughing): Well, you're definitely not that!

WILL (also laughing): No, I guess not.

(Mike gives Will one last comforting hug before they stand up and, hand in hand, head over to swings. Watching them from the school steps, Miss Drew smiles to herself.)

(END SCENE)

*The Byler Files, vol 1 and 2, and the first half of vol. 3 are all on AO3, under the name ElephantShoe.

Okay, now I seriously need to get back to the story I'm supposed to be working on.

(Procrastination -- the best way to get something *else* done. Am I right?)

[whatevertheweather]

I have a lot to say about this but I'm not going to say most of it because I'm actually so so sleepy, but it's very important that I post anyway because guess who finally has a full draft of Musical Chairs.

It's all there. All the pieces. Have been connected. Edits need to be made but none of them are 'oh god why won't this work I need to rewrite this whole thing oh god,' they're just normal goddamn edits. I've thrown it at the betas, and now to conclude the cherished tradition of me endlessly posting about this fic almost being done, y'all get one last such WIP snippet, and then I'm going to bed and no one's seeing another word until the fic is posted.

“You’re a peach,” Shepard said as Baz agreed to split the last shot on the tray with him, and Baz rolled his eyes up to the ceiling. ”Why have you chosen comparing me to food as the hill you want to die on?” “Sorry,” Shepard answered with a furrowed brow. “I think I’m hungry.” Baz took the full shot himself. Shepard wailed. Their relationship was a fascinating study all on its own, though admittedly Penny was only looking at it so hard in search of cracks through which Shepard might be reachable.

Tags under the cut <3

@you-remind-me-of-the-babe @fatalfangirl @moodandmist @cutestkilla @artsyunderstudy

@aristocratic-otter @martsonmars @facewithoutheart @ivelovedhimthroughworse @bookish-bogwitch

@mooncello @monbons @iamamythologicalcreature @ionlydrinkhotwater @alexalexinii

@run-for-chamo-miles @forabeatofadrum @thewholelemon @rimeswithpurple @noblecorgi

@youarenevertooold @ileadacharmedlife @nightimedreamersworld

Some of those are thank you tags for those who've kept tagging me in things, I hope to look at stuff when I'm not about to fall asleep, and also I'm sorry to the people I've not tagged because of the aforementioned falling asleep, I love you all bye <3