#friday wip

[miradelletarot]

I'm inventing something (probably not lol) called FWIPs. Friday WIPs. 😆 Kicking off this auspicious occasion with a snippet from my current WIP, Last Train, inspired by the song of the same name by The Midnight.

[llamawrites]

next generation Wip

You know that big jump at the end of the dirt bike trail,” Joy said sheepishly, with her free hand she scratched the back of her head. “Well, I didn’t land that jump.”

“I see,” replied Fermat, head still in the first aid kit. He finally found what he was looking for: an alcohol pad. He grabbed it. Then he glanced at the bloody Kleenex that Joy had pressed against her leg, he grabbed a few more pads. Setting the alcohol pads down on the table, he picked one of the packs of alcohol pads off the table.

“May I see your left leg,” asked Fermat 

[sinsiriuslyemo]

Thanks to @myheadsgonenumb for the tag. I've really only worked on a request for a Dr Zachary Smith oneshot for the NSFW prompts I posted a few weeks ago and it's turning into a whole-ass episode of The Orville I feel 🤧. Here's a bit of what I have so far:

“Doctor, I’m not sure if you heard the announcement, but we need all hands prepping stations for first contact. You’ll be a member of the landing par —”

“Yes, yes, I heard you,” he replied, waving a dismissive hand without once looking up at you.

“And yet, your team hasn’t begun to prep the med bay.”

“You’re blaming me for their incompetence?” he asked, finally looking at you.

“As their commanding officer, it’s your job to —”

“I know what my job is, Captain.”

You arched a brow at him. “Do you? Because it seems for the last year that you’ve been on this crew your time has been consumed with sulking like a spoiled child who had his candy taken from him.” You took a step closer to his desk until the edge was barely pressed into the legs of your trousers. “May I remind you, Doctor, that the United World Governments would’ve been in their right to send you to Lastrites for what you did on Jupiter II. As far as I’m concerned, you’re only here due to their willingness to have mercy.” You put a little more bass in your voice. “Now get up and instruct your team to prepare for first contact. I expect you to be in the shuttle hangar in five minutes.”

The corner of his lips curled into an amused smirk as he looked you over. “Very well, Captain.”

No pressure tags: @celestialsister0918 @sluttery-withoutshame

[jccatstudios]

giving the gift of jesper fahey finger guns this holiday season

[syntaxaero]

oh yeah baby you know what time it is!!!!!!

[undeadgayboynes]

the autism spectrum

Individuals below!

[paintedcrows]

Happy Fiddleford Friday! Don't forget to take a moment in your day to succumb to eldritch maddness <3 (or well... do forget)

[kk1smet]

Since when had his name become a soft prayer on Draco’s lips?

[dreamdripdistance]

sneaky sif wip...

[this-too-shall-bleed]

for a warm welcome of protocol season 2, have some eyepocalypse dwelling boys

this is actually a redraw of something I drew like two years ago, I really hate how I drew martin though so I needed to redo for my sanity

[frozeeeeen]

I love his nose so much you cannot imagine, send help

(The full picture btw ; still a wip)

[setmeatopthepyre]

thunk it thursday tagged in fuck it friday by @bidisasterevankinard (thank you! I was brainstorming a good excuse to share this) but it's still thursday here so... behold, the new wip that I am calling phosphorescence fic [edit: renamed to pothos | pathos or pothos fic for shirt] as a working title. shout out to @sugarpenchant & @trombonechurchill for lending their thoughts & letting me yap

-

The first time Buck runs into Tommy at a call, his heart feels like a bird battering his rib cage from the inside. He'd finally gotten around to not actively searching for Tommy whenever the 118 were called to anything bigger than a two alarm fire, half convinced Tommy must've traded to a different shift despite the fact Buck knew that would've thrown Tommy's carefully planned social life into disarray. Buck never checked with Eddie to confirm or deny his suspicions. He wasn't sure what he'd do with either answer.

Which... leaves him completely unprepared for the sight of Tommy, tall, broad in his turnouts, face soot-streaked like when he showed up like some sort of action hero to Maddie and Chimney's hospital wedding. Buck feels himself stumble, relocates his feet, and finds Tommy staring straight at him with an expression that must mirror his own. Surprise. Heartache. Sadness. Tommy's eyes glimmer in the lights of the vehicles around them, and Buck hopes.

That's when Cap calls for him over the radio and Buck has to turn away and do his job. Still, that flutter of hope remains wedged between his ribs. If Tommy is even half as heartbroken as he looks, then Buck stands a chance and at this point, he'll take any chance he can get.

That night, after returning to the station and before crawling into a bunk for some shut-eye, Buck texts Tommy.

-

Tommy doesn't text him back.

Buck watches the single checkmark turn to two, but after that... nothing. No texts, no calls, no bubbles. Nothing.

The next day: still nothing.

“I think something's wrong with Tommy,” Buck says as he catches up to Eddie at the firehouse gym. “He hasn't texted me back.”

Eddie takes another step or two, then halts mid-stride and turns. “Hold on, you texted Tommy?”

“Yes, a-and he's read them, but that's it. What if something happened?”

Eddie mulls it over, taking a seat on the weight bench. “Like what?”

“I-I don't know. An-- an accident. What if he never made it home after the call yesterday?”

Eddie sighs, lays back on the bench. Grips the bar. “He made it home, Buck.”

Buck frowns and crosses his arms in front of his chest. Promptly uncrosses them again when Eddie unracks the barbell, ready to spot him. “Y-Yeah? How do you know that?”

Eddie doesn't look at him, keeps his eyes trained on the iron bar above as he moves the weight up and down in slow, precise movements. “Because,” he huffs between reps, “he texted me.”

“He... he texted you?” Buck says slowly.

“Yes, he texted me. He went out to some bar after his shift and then he drunk-texted me when he got home. He's fine. Probably hungover.” Eddie huffs his way through another rep or two, three, four.

“He drunk-texted you? What-- uh, what did-- what did he drunk-text you about?”

Eddie raises an eyebrow at him and Buck supposes his attempt at casual might have fallen just a little bit short of the mark. “Are you going to just repeat everything I'm saying, but like it's a question?” Eddie asks. He racks the weight again. “What I can tell you is, Tommy's fine. Well, he made it home okay. Okay? If he didn't text you back...” he shrugs. “Maybe he had a different reason. Or he needs more time.”

And Buck, well. Buck can give him time. He can do that. He knows what he saw in Tommy's eyes. He knows Tommy saw it in his, too. If Tommy needs time, that's what he'll get.

But, he decides, the next time he sees Tommy at a call, he's going to talk to him.

-

The next time Buck sees Tommy at a call, he's ready for it. He's had a few practice runs by now, three and four-alarms with the 217 on scene but no Tommy with the ground crew. Plenty of time to hype himself up, to imagine what might happen, what he could say. How Tommy would look at him.

The thing is. The problem is. Tommy doesn't look at him.

It's-- weird, really. The next time they're both at a scene, Buck spots him only a short distance away. He watches Tommy's gaze track along towards him and then... go right past. Like he doesn't even see him. Doesn't recognize him. Like Buck's just another set of turnouts in the crowd.

But he's made a promise to himself, and he won't back down now, so Buck marches right up to Tommy and says, “H-hey. Tommy. Uh, hi.”

Tommy looks at him then with something like vague curiosity. “Hey,” he says, plainly. Then recognition flashes, but it's still-- mild. Nothing like the heartache from before. “Hey, Evan.”

Buck will take what he can get, and Tommy calling him Evan again is more than he'd expected... even if unease curls in his gut, prickles at the back of his neck.

“So-- So were back to Evan, huh?” he tries for normal, for a grin, tilts his head.

Tommy smiles easily at him, as if they're right back at the start. As if nothing's happened. “Well, that is your name, isn't it?”

“I-- yeah, I-I guess so. I just thought--” Buck huffs. “Never mind. How, uh. How-- how are you, Tommy? I, uh, texted you.”

“You did? Sorry, Evan. I've been busy,” Tommy says, and glances over his shoulder. “Look, I have to run. See you around?”

Tommy's gone before Buck can even begin to think of a response.

-

“Something's wrong with Tommy.”

“Sure, just let yourself in. No problem at all,” Chimney says blandly from where he's stretched out on the couch with a bowl of popcorn. “Maddie's not here.”

Buck takes a seat on the coffee table, ignoring the way Chim has to lean to see the TV behind him. “I'm not here for Maddie, I'm here for you," he says in a breath. Then adds, "Because you're... you're open-minded.”

Chimney pauses mid-chew. “Open-minded,” he repeats. His eyes narrow. “What kind of weird proposition are you gonna hit me with, Buckley?”

He rolls his eyes. “Nothing-- not, not a-- It's... Tommy.”

“Tommy Kinard, the one and only?” Chim swings his legs over the edge of the couch, leveraging himself into something of a seated position. “What about him?”

Buck fumbles for the words. Decides, finally, to just get straight to the point.

“I-I don't think Tommy... is, well, Tommy.”

-

tagged a bunch of people yesterday so no tags for now unless you wanna be tagged in which case: tag, you're it.

[midnightmakers]

Laelia was completed!

[samsandwichs]

Regretevator folly & melanie animation

Last time I posted a finished shot for the animation it did really well, so here have another bite :3

[harriertail]

tortie boys (wip)

[wykart]

wippp