#WIP not Wednesday

[alma-amentet]

WIP Wednesday

yes, finally I do it on wednesday 😊 tagged by @sheirukitriesfandom (ty for the tag)

My Elden Beast oil painting. Damn, will I ever finish it? Takes time to dry before I can go on, and I get distracted... I have two of them now (they reproduce, yes - other story, will tell later). We'll see which one will be better. Hope to finish soon (at last) and finally move forward.

tagging @catcas22 @cyberroses @dirty-bosmer @bardcambion @evilwriter37 @heraldofcrow @fantomette22 @cinderflower @fwwm @sillovn @bimbomcgee @katastronoot

Anyone else (I might've forgotten) are welcome! Not only art, texts or anything, too. Let's share our WIPs again.

[deadbaguette]

[wip] finally getting around to drawing him… my favourite annoying creature look

[l393ndjean]

I finished the first scene of my Will and El role reversal fic!

Only ten billion more to go...

[hebuiltfive]

My head has been everywhere the last few days and I missed WIP Wednesday, but here's a little something that is definitely not a new WIP, whatever do you mean? *nervous laughter* 👀 (Seriously, I need to stop pouncing on new ideas before I've finished my other ones).

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"Thunderbird Three, do you copy?"

The voice was faint and distant, hiding behind layers of ringing and distortion. Alan could barely focus. He felt as though he was falling... flying... surfing... His head span.

"Thunderbird Three, do you copy?"

The voice grew more agitated, more demanding, but Alan couldn't move fast enough to respond — he didn't want to. His body ached as though he'd been hit by a London double decker. His eyes were still closed but he knew that if he opened them, even for a second, that vertigo would become worse. His vision would swim and he'd probably lose consciousness again.

Oh, yeah. He'd been unconscious.

His arms floated up beside him from the lack of gravity; the only reason he remained seated was because of the harness keeping him in place.

"Alan, Scott? Respond."

That voice was different. Less familiar than the first, older and gravelier. A younger version of that voice existed in Alan's memories. He surged towards the voice to keep him concious.

"Here."

It wasn't Alan that responded to their Dad's request for a response. It was a groggy Scott, also battered and bruised, coming around from unconsciousness, and who was still belted into the seat beside him.

Alan groaned.

"What the hell happened up there?" Jeff was soft though the natural demand made Scott wince.

Their first space mission back with Dad at the helm and they'd already messed up badly.

To save Scott from having to answer, John interrupted. "GDF on-site teams are coming back online."

Jeff turned his focus back to John. "Did they all make it?"

Their brother's silence was enough of an answer, and Scott and Alan quickly exchanged a mournful look.

What happened hadn't exactly been their fault, but if they'd been just a few minutes sooner then maybe...

"I want you both back home." Jeff ordered. "John, make sure they have a safe flight."

"FAB, Dad."

When Jeff's hologram blinked away, John let loose a sigh. He rubbed a gloved hand over his face. Besides him, Alan sensed Scott's tension easing.

"Is he mad?" Alan asked, his voice croakier than he'd have liked.

They'd only just got Jeff home and Alan was still learning who their father actually was, seperate from the version of him he'd created during his youth. The last thing he wanted to face was a disappointed Dad.

"No. He isn't mad. We were both worried you'd been ... It doesn't matter. You're both fine. I'll get EOS to guide you home."

"We can fly, John." Scott insisted but backed-down at their space brother's flat look. It was an unusual response from the leader — former leader now, Alan supposed. That was still something they were all trying to get their heads around.

"Dad's orders." John shurgged before gently adding, "It's safer this way."

[swordbisexual]

This was supposed to be a fic about a blowjob but because it's Gale's POV of course it starts out with 300 words of this kind of thing:

Vissenta is a creature of habit, Gale has noticed. No, more than mere habit: she is the sort built for ritual, both sacred and secular, whether she knows it or not. He has observed her at her daily rituals and ablutions of a morning and evening, even without the sun to mark time’s passing here in the shadowed lands around what was once Reithwin Town. He has seen even the smallest rituals that she’s built around a fight, from the way she always steps a small rhythm - one-two-three, one-two, one - before she charges forth with her blade held high, to the quiet prayer she whispers over the dead. It is comforting to watch her at these small rites, strange little things that have become as familiar to him as his own studies at spellcraft. They’ve just protected a ritual of another sort just outside of Last Light, keeping more shadows and cursed, shambling shades at bay than he thought possible. When Halsin emerged from the Shadowfell, just narrowly escaping the rapidly-closing portal that winked back out of existence on his heels, they all breathed a sigh of relief so profound it was nearly painful. Gale expects Vissenta to tend the dead around them - her custom, her ritual - and was prepared to wait, prepared to take a moment of his own to rest and come back to himself, centered on the meditative sight of Vissenta’s prayers. He looks forward to this newfound ritual of his own, this small wonder at watching the work of a woman who’s grown to become something greater than even a friend, which was already such a dear thing indeed. And so it is more than a little discomfiting when, rather than engage in ritual, she takes his hand mere moments after she’s sheathed her sword and proceeds to drag him away.

Anyway, they're in love. In case you didn't know.

[the-river-rix]

Zack x Sweets wip #2!:

“Hey, Zack.” Sweets gently placed a Manila folder on the hard metal desk between them, sliding it towards Zack.

“Hello, Sweets.” Zack replied, ignoring him and eagerly grabbing the folder. Sweets smiled and shook his head. Zack flipped through the documents in the folder neatly laying out a collection of photos in front of him in two rows of five. (Add more later about the photos) Then he methodically read the remaining documents, a copy of the forensic report, and then Sweet’s report. He rolled his eyes at the latter, looking up to glare indignantly at the psychologist.

“What?”

“Your work is imprecise. Your conclusions are based on conjecture rather than empirical evidence and data, and therefore lack the sufficient value to warrant a professional report.”

“It’s funny-” Zack furrowed his brow.

“I don’t see the humor in it. Unless you’re saying that psychology is a joke, which you’d be correct.” Sweets rolled his eyes. Zack smirked.

“Ha. What I was going to say was that Dr. Brennan said the same thing. Almost exactly.” Zack stiffened slightly at the mention of Dr. Brennan, clenching his jaw.

“I don’t know what’s funny about that.”

“Not ha-ha funny, huh funny.”

“What??”

Sweets sighed.

“Nevermind. How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine.” Zack said flatly, lifting one of the photos and examining it closer.

“Which intern was assigned to this case?” He asked, returning to the forensic report and checking each injury in the report in the photo.

“Clark, I believe.”

“Edison?”

“Yes.”

Zack grimaced, setting down the documents.

“Why?” Sweets asked leaning forward.

“The report was extremely precise and accurate.”

“And you don’t like that?”

“No.”

“You made a face.”

Zack considered for a moment.

“I don’t care for Mr. Edison.”

Sweets raised his eyebrows.

“Why is that?”

Zack didn’t respond, organizing the documents and neatly returning them to the Manila folder. He took a cardboard box out from underneath the desk and placed the folder inside. Sweets resisted the urge to take out his notebook and frantically write down the way Zack tensed his shoulders, furrowed his brow, and clenched his jaw at the mention of Dr. Brennan. Or to write the sour expression that spread across his face at the mention of Clark, the strange unfamiliar glint in his eye, the way he slightly chewed on his bottom lip. The last time he tried to take notes during a visit Zack had barely spoken, just to spite him.

“Why don’t you like Clark?”

Zack sighed, dropping the box back on the floor. Sweets waited patiently, giving Zack the expectant look he’d come to know very well. Eyebrows raised and furrowed, eyes wide, and lips pursed ever so slightly. Zack returned the look with a frown, which slowly melted into a strange expression Sweets didn’t quite recognize. Eyes widened, brows furrowed, lips slightly parted.

“Are you wearing makeup?”

Sweets paused, bemused.

Am I?

He hadn’t worn makeup regularly since his teen years, and he hadn’t dared to touch it since he’d started working at the FBI. He impulsively rubbed his eyes, checking for any makeup residue. A tiny trace of crusty black makeup was left.

“Ohh. Yeah, I sort of went undercover at the concert. I guess I didn’t quite get all of it off.”

“I see. I wasn’t aware that you were familiar with makeup. It is relatively uncommon for males in western cultures to have knowledge of or wear makeup, unless they are part of a subculture or identity group that deviates from social norms.”

“I was into alternative culture as a teenager.”

“I see.”

Sweets nodded. They sat quietly for a moment. Zack was staring at Sweets with a strange expression on his face. Sweets was studying him, eager to decipher it. (Explain body language and indicators/meajing)

“It’s quite..aesthetically pleasing.” Zack said tentatively, his gaze darting away from Sweets then back.

Sweets smiled, bemused.

“Thank you, I think?”

They sat in silence for a moment longer. Zack fidgeted.

“How was the concert?”

[coraleethroughthelookingglass]

WIP Not-Wednesday

Feeling a little brighter today (I’ve done a full day at work and cleaned one full room, yay!) so have been trying to write. As it’ll probably be a little while before the final chapter of Endings, Beginnings is ready I’d like to share some slice of life family fluff as an apology for the delay.

[dogueteeth-fhr]

WIP Wednesday

Thanks @aurriearts for the tag!

I’ll boop forth to @euelios @westealtoys @disastersteps and anyone else who’d like to participate in WIP Wednesday from this post! :3 as always, no pressure to participate

I’m doin a spooky one for Cain since we’ve officially hit spooky season. Context is priest/exorcist & demon, still figuring out what I wanna do with the demon but for now it’s a baphomet

[wonda-fhr]

WIP Not-Wednesday

Thanks for the tag @dogueteeth 💕

Unfortunately, there is nothing new writing to report yet. But during my vacation I had two encounters that connected me very much with David's mindset.

So there's a photo post, because maybe new ideas will come out of these pictures.

This very old piano stood in a small restaurant. It was dirty, broken and used as a shelf for board games. It was beautiful, and I know the condition would have brought tears to David's eyes. Together with him I thought about the stories this piano has to tell. I will be thinking about it for a while.

The next detail pictures are from a museum. A part about steam engines and their development. I am not a big fan of technology. But I thought that my tech-savvy friend would find a lot of beauty in these things and get excited about their history. So I took some photos for him. Here is a small selection.

[missmitchieg]

I know it's not Wednesday anymore but here's a WIP snippet anyway lol

But of course, The Universe was determined to consistently fuck her over. Halfway there, it had started pouring rain. And she didn't have an umbrella with her. Or a mask. But she had her purple floral dress, her cardigan and white heels.

So nevertheless, Penelope Grace Garcia was intent on righting her wrong, mending Luke's heart along with her own.

Her breath stopped as she parked in front of Luke's house, knuckles going white as she held the steering wheel with an iron grip. She was frozen in the seat of her car, suddenly terrified to confront Luke. To apologize for shutting them down before she could even give them a proper try. To ask for a second chance at love with Luke.

Wait. Love?

Oh.

Oh.

She loved Luke. She was in love with Luke.

Once the fact sunk in, a sob tore through Penelope's throat and she slapped her hands over her mouth, shoulders shaking. She loved him. Well, fuck.

[deadbaguette]

Whipping up a [WIP] !!

Hoping to make this piece thematic/dramatic

[l393ndjean]

Wip... sunday??

So... I've been busy since I made this post... I do not have a collaborator, but i have a conspirator @dailydoseofdumb (aka i've been rambling at him about the worldbuilding for the past half hour) Atp I'm calling this fic You'll Be The Prince, but the universe as a whole will be called Today Was a Fairytale.

[hebuiltfive]

WIP WED... FRIDAY!

Gordon held up the towel. “Walks are for boring people. I’ve got me a date with Penny’s pool.”

“Not Penny herself then?”

Already bracing himself for the attack that he knew was inevitable from suggesting such a thing, Scott ducked. Gordon’s yellow towel flew over his head and landed in a heap behind him.

Without missing a beat, Scott span and picked the towel up in an easy swipe.

Gordon pouted. “Ha-ha, Scooter. Now give it back.”

“I thought you wanted me to have it.” Scott smirked mischievously, maintaining his distance from his brother as Gordon stepped towards him.

“I need to go and swim.”

“So, go swim.”

“I need my towel.”

“You threw it at me, Squid.”

“Because you told a bold face lie.”

“Really?” Scott furrowed his brows. “I don’t remember lying.”

“Scott!” His brother whined.

[4doorssys]

MY BRAIN IS BRAINING

This is basically gonna be one big vent about how much I personally hate my seasonal allergies and I *am* Matt Murdock literally in real life so it only makes sense.

It is also 3 in the morning and I can't sleep due to congestion

[thewhiitelotus]

It’s not wednesday but here’s a little peek from something i’ve been working on this past week 👀 pic from my docs app bc it’s easier than typing 😅

[lissomelace]

WIP...Sunday?

Tagged by @disorganisedautodidact, thank you so much!!!

From Gilded Silks and Linens:

He came back to himself, at least a little, to find they were heading up a flight of stairs by the rhythm of Russandol’s steps. Findarato’s face had been pressed to Russandol’s shoulder, and the darkness was nice. Less dizzying than the lights he was now looking at. “Easy,” came a soft voice. Findarato would have shaken his head if he didn’t think that would make things worse. “We have to—they need—he’ll—.” “Shh,” Russandol said. “Tyelko and Finno will be fine. Amme’s headed down there if they need help, and Atto will be in from the studio momentarily. But they have it handled.”

Tagging anyone who sees this and wants to do it!