#haven't written a word in months

[valiantlyweepingdreamer]

Ugh! Someone please poke my muse and/or finish one of my WIPs?!?! I'm going insane over here!

[soupbtch]

ummm. my fic is done.

[kazhan-draws]

there's a hunger

FANDOM: All For the Game, book 4: The Sunshine Court RELATIONSHIP: Jeremy Knox/Jean Moreau RATING: T TAGS: Canon Compliant, Missing Scene, Unresolved Sexual Tension

SUMMARY: The stupid dog is staring at him again. Jean stares back and wonders what would happen if he set it on fire.

READ ON AO3.

[vroombeams]

surface tension!!

this is the sometimes-mentioned sequel to sweet talk!!!

so like sweet talk is part of a larger series of just like, loscar kink exploration? it's not abandoned exactly but you can imagine the struggle of working on that Given The Climate lmAO 😭 but there are no less than a dozen pieces sitting in a folder in my docs just collecting dust, the longest of which is surface tension

it's just, like, oscar getting dp'd. that's pretty much it.

after the events of sweet talk, logan's got his little flutters about alex and oscar of course wants to enable him but also oscar's developed a bit of a fixation on like, pushing his body to extremes, you know how sports guys are. and in this case that means getting as much Whatever in his asshole as possible?

this could've been fisting. it could've just been fisting but noooo alex had to get involved again

anyway featuring such classics as: logan's goofy ass internal monologue! oscar having a Moment of despair thinking he's not going to be able to fit it all in! alex being... alex!

there really isn't all THAT much more to say about it so. clip after the cut

Alex kisses Oscar’s shoulder and up his neck. It’s—this is nice, too. Oscar clenching around him when Alex finds that place he likes to be licked, right at that thick muscle across the back of his shoulder. 

“You should—” Logan swallows, fingers flexing against Oscar’s hips. “You should—kiss?”

The way Alex’s eyes focus on him is… vaguely predatory. Extremely hot, though. Like, makes Logan’s dick twitch inside of Oscar hot. Oscar looks vague in a different way, pink cheeks and half open mouth. Alex licks sort of pensively at the side of Oscar’s neck. Oscar turns to meet him.

Alex’s big hand crawls its way up Oscar’s body to cup his head, fingers winding through his hair as he leans in to kiss him.

Neither of them let it be chaste. It’s that slow, open-mouthed making out that makes Logan’s gut clench, that makes his dick throb. He likes kissing. He’s a big enjoyer of… that. But he didn’t know he would like this so much. Watching someone else kissing in front of him. He's learning something new about himself every day.

They’re making soft, wet noises. Logan can see Oscar’s tongue, pushing into Alex’s mouth. His hand has disappeared somewhere behind him—Logan imagines it splayed across Alex’s thick, tanned thigh. Gripping for purchase and support. Logan imagines him touching Alex’s dick. Jerking him slow and easy. 

Alex’s face pinches. Bingo.

Oscar smiles into it and Logan moans a bit when he sees Oscar’s teeth catch on Alex’s bottom lip. He tugs and it’s sharp, harsh, maybe. But Alex seems to like it. Alex seems to like it a lot, getting closer and holding Oscar’s hair tighter to keep him there. 

The whole affair is like, very noisy. Wet. Logan’s dying, maybe.

[whips open trenchcoat] hey buddy wanna buy a wip

[ikeepwatchinghelicopters]

I was cooking soup and the TV was turned on and there was a tennis match. So my brain went: tennis -> Wimbledon -> British -> Waverly -> casefic?

UNCLE gets intel that something nefarious is going to happen at Wimbledon. Waverly decides to sand in his best agents for an undercover mission (and to everyone's surprise, he says (with barely contained excitement) he'll join them in the field playing the role of a spectator in the audience).

I would really love to have them go as players, but it would probably be totally unrealistic for a new player no one has ever heard about before to appear out of the blue. It would be very funny though, if one of the players was uncannily similar to Illya. Like, Illya would have to cover up the scar somehow and maybe grow out his hair, but otherwise he could pass as the player's twin. I don't think Illya has any experience playing tennis (or just very little), so he is super awkward at it first (he gets a few weeks of intense practice before the tournament, though).

I have no idea if women could be umpires in the 60s/70s, but I would love to see Gaby just sitting there on the high chair and chilling. Meanwhile Napoleon would get some kind of not-at-all flashy, physically demanding, annoying job. I don't know what other staff do during Wimbledon other than the youngsters collecting balls (and Napoleon looks too old to pass as one of these), so I don't have anything concrete in mind. I just have this image of him constantly complaining why he can't be the chair umpire and Illya popping up from somewhere and being like: no one would trust you to make fair calls.

[sysig]

Nice healthy obsession you got there (Patreon)

[stopthatfool]

rip Carole Bradshaw you would've loved Big Thief and Adrianne Lenker

[dancedance-resolution]

i started a supercorp portrait of a lady on fire au like three years ago. i'm never going to finish it, but the writing style is pretty cool, so i want to share it. so um enjoy the prologue and a bit of chapter one?

---

Prologue. Bonnelles, France. 1786.

“First, my contours,” Kara said, her voice soft and level. She looked out upon the dozen or so young women, their eyes darting back and forth from their papers to Kara herself. “The outline,” she continued. The increasingly swift sound of scratching charcoal prompted Kara to further instruct, “Not too fast. Take time to look at me.” She paused. “See how my arms are placed.”

At that moment, Kara saw the painting.

She swallowed and took in a breath; she schooled her expression before letting out the air with a pathetically soft “My hands.” Her students’ gaze followed her verbal direction, now observing as Kara’s fingers curled with remembrance. Their own hands now began to sketch the slope of hers—the slope that had once coaxed breathy moans from a lover, the slope that had once created that very painting in all of its hollow longing.

Kara felt her heart rate accelerating, and her attempts at calming deep breaths only made her shoulders shake unsteadily. “Who brought that painting out?” Her eyes darted around, landing on each possible offender, as she tensed her core and adopted a stern countenance.

Every student dutifully turned to look at the work.

It was an especially young girl who finally lifted her hand. “I brought it. From the stock room. Should I have not?”

Kara’s “no” felt like a brick, its weight threatening to pry tears from her reddening eyes. So Kara took another swallow, a handful of blinks, a few more steadying breaths.

“Did you paint it?” the girl asked innocently. Nia, her name was? She stared at Kara, oblivious to the flood of sound overwhelming Kara’s mind and echoing in the cavern of her heart.

“Yes,” Kara uttered softly, the word barely audible as they fell from her lips. “A long time ago.”

Nia’s head snapped back to examine the painting once more. It stood on an old but sturdy easel, tattooed and scarred but still standing. The artwork itself was brooding, with a white sun bleeding into a dark vignette. Heavy clumps of clouds occupied the sky and caged some of the sun’s rays, so the fire burning behind the woman was bright enough in comparison to create a dragging shadow of her figure. The flames crawled up the back of her windswept dress, bringing sharp tension to an otherwise lulling, melancholy landscape.

“What’s the title?”

The sound of the sea began to swell in Kara’s head. Her lips trembled. Her body unwittingly swayed slightly. “Portrait of a Lady on Fire.”

---

Chapter I. The island of Brittany, France, and the surrounding sea. 1779.

Kara squinted into the distance, her face scrunching up a bit as she desperately tried to shield her eyes from the harsh glare of the sun on the water. For all its gorgeous teals and sparkling peaks, it certainly did make her wish for one of those brimmed hats the rowers were all wearing. With every one of their paced paddles, the cork-like little canoe bobbed haphazardly. Kara rather felt as if she were in the wine glass of a thoroughly drunken Marie Antoinette.

At least she wasn’t prone to seasickness.

She still felt quite unsteady, though, being thrown about and forced to pathetically grab onto the boat’s low walls. She leaned forward, trying to regain her balance and ground herself despite the absence of ground.

The wooden pallet holding her canvas was, apparently, as unstable as she was, and the next thing Kara knew, it had been lurched off of the boat like vomit from a drunkard. Kara watched helplessly as it thrashed among the choppy waves, the sea carrying it a few feet from the boat.

The chief rower met her desperate look with exhausted resignation; he ceased his paddling as Kara shed her overcoat and placed a precarious foot on the edge of the canoe.

With a strained creak from the boat’s wood, she jumped into the water, dress billowing behind her. Her first gasp for air upon emerging from the water was audible; she could feel the effort in her throat. Her arms moved in laborious little arcs as she slowly made her way towards the floating pallet and finally made a desperate reach for it. Kara’s fingers grasped onto a wooden board, and she pulled herself up onto it with a grunt.

---

The incessant wind upon the sea was certainly not helping Kara. Dripping wet, she wrapped herself up in her overcoat in a pitiful plea for warmth. She held the edges of the garment up to her lips, the sensation of the dry fabric bringing her some comfort as she closed her eyes and left herself to the mercy of the mighty sea.

But the interminable rocking of the feeble boat wouldn’t allow her any rest.

Kara wasn’t very religious, not anymore. Yet, the sight of the cliffs and coast of Brittany moved her to relieved prayer.

---

The sun had already begun to set as Kara trekked up the sandy coast. Her legs ached with every stumbling, unsure step—maybe she was a bit seasick after all—and her hands were tired of having to grip her full skirt to keep it out of her way.

She paused on the rocks, taking a moment to manually wring some of the water out of her skirt. She filled her lungs with an arduous breath before slinging the rope holding the pallet over her shoulder. Next came the fabric sling, which housed her trunk of personal items—she positioned it on her back with careful poise.

The journey up the cliffs and towards the trees was exhausting. Kara’s skirt required repositioning every few seconds, the rope was digging into her shoulder, and the pallet and trunk slammed into her back with each wobbling step. By the time she reached the straight path up to the residence, her breaths were heavy and pained, and the sun was nearly fully hidden beneath the horizon.

A soft light emanated from the windows above the mansion’s door, helping Kara feel a bit more secure as she knocked. A short blonde woman answered her summon and introduced herself with a flat “I’m Eve.” She opened the door a bit wider and gestured with her body for Kara to come in.

Eve held a small candle as she guided Kara up the stairs, the sounds of their shoes echoing through the grand yet starkly undecorated hallway. The walls of the stairwell were cement bricks, and the wrought iron bannister was rather plain and geometric.

They came to a stop in front of a similarly void room, bare save a few heavy curtains and a daybed. The raised panels along these walls matched the white-painted wood of the window frames, and they gave the chamber some elegant character.

While Eve entered the comparatively less intimidating room, Kara stayed back a moment, taking in the shafts of muted blue light from the windows and the contrasting warm glow of leaping flames from the central fireplace.

Eve crouched down to poke at the fire as Kara set down her belongings. “It was a reception room,” Eve explained. “Though I’ve never seen it used.”

The fire crackled pleasantly. “Have you been here long?” Kara inquired.

“Three years,” Eve answered, directing her attention back to the fire.

Kara peeled off her overcoat and draped it along the wainscoting. “Do you like it here?”

“Yes,” Eve said simply as she stood up. She turned to Kara, meeting her eyes now as her hands smoothed over her skirt. “I’ll let you get dry.” And with a nod, she was on her way.

Kara watched her every step.

Once the door closed, she hastily began removing her overskirt. It fell to the dark herringbone floor with an unglamorous thud.

---

There was no method or grace to the way Kara wrapped her hand around the rusting crowbar, but with a few jerks, she’d managed to successfully pry the top off of the pallet.

After setting down the wood cover, Kara extended her hand, letting it fall clumsily onto the slick canvas in front of her. It was still wet, and her hand’s small circular movement caused moisture to pool at her fingertips, as if her touch had beckoned the water. So her hand withdrew, and Kara slid the canvas out from its container. Her eyes danced over the surface as she considered how to dry it, holding it in front of herself like the Communion host of an evening Mass.

---

Kara decided to accompany her drying canvas, which was now positioned next to the fireplace. Stripped naked, she sat in front of the fire and pulled her legs towards herself—she was vulnerable, sitting there bare and in a new environment, and the action made her feel a bit more small, compact, and safe.

Kara set down her candle so she could light her tobacco pipe with the flames. Her large, smoky exhales grounded her, in a way, with the familiar sight and smell acting as a sort of sedative. And she stared forward, expression blank but unmistakably worn.

---

Kara walked barefoot along the cement floor, making her way through the hall and to the pantry room wrapped in nothing but her robe-like smock.

[kinnbig]

My current WIPs, in the order I last looked at them and for which I have actually written something

thank you for tagging me @kimchaybrainrot I love u (also I am 👀 at all of those but especially the KenBig HI I'M LISTENING INTENTLY.)

Chart Topper chapter 7 (Arm) - I've been working on this today! I love the concept for this chapter and it's finally getting there 🥰

Burnout aka "phoenix fic" - ah yes. the KenBig wip that was supposed to be a lil 2-3k fic that only took a week or so to write... that is now sitting at 20k four months later and still isn't done. rip. I love it so much though, I'm so excited to be able to share this one

assorted kiss prompt ask game ficlets - whoops. TWO MONTHS AGO I did an ask game for fic prompts to try and get me out of my writer's block.. and it worked! I posted 6 kiss prompt ficlets! but uh. there are 11 more in various states of completion 💀 personal faves include some ArmTankhun, some fucked up KenBig, and some RamKing ft Ram wearing a skirt 👀

ArmKhun fake dating fic - one of my favourite fic concepts EVER that has sadly taken a backseat in my brain because of Chart Topper and Burnout. but SOON I will return to my beloved

f/f KimChay - uhhhh. this is just shameless femslash pwp because. I think they should have been lesbians.

Let Me Live in Your Mind chapters 3 & 4- this fic is not abandoned I promise I'm still working on it! I'm just. slow 🫣

Footnotes aka "the Big and Ken centric pain and sadness compilation" lmao - this was suuuuch a huge project for me that I started basically immediately after KinnPorsche ended that just. idk. it's so long. it's not abandoned but it's very much on the back-burner rn

there are also many many half-written oneshots in there that I didn't put in the list because they'll probably never get finished (RamKing fake dating au, ArmKhun fic where Khun kills Korn, a KimChay exes with benefits thing, etc etc...) I just hoard WIPs like a dragon in a cave I can't help it!

I think lots of people have already been tagged so sorry if this is a double tag! but I'm tagging @sidras-tak @giraffeter @tumsa @prismatic-witch @days-of-storm @cytharat @snickerdoodlles - but no pressure of course! 💖

[bloodsbane]

just recognized my strange yearning to draw (which ive been doing all day) was actually a yearning to write

[alisoncooper]

managed to write over 500 words

[the-inkwell-variable]

I have found another way to procrastinate writing!

I'm gonna change my blog theme for the first time in YEARS.

I'm gonna do it and you can't stop me

[nc-vb]

hello my loves, how's everyone beeeeeen!!? it's been a while!!

[revenantghost]

I was not expecting the biggest Dread in writing the E poetry fic to be trying to come with a name, and yet

[singsweetmelodies]

WIP title tag

thank you very much to lovely @duquesademiel and @your-littlesecret for tagging me 🥰❤️ it's been a hot minute since i've done any WIP challenge thing (it's also been a hot minute since i did any proper writing, unfortunately) but let's give this a go! <3

RULES: post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! and then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

so....

airplane chess date fic (abandoned, probably. oops)

boyband au outtakes

🐶

love's a game, wanna play

soft warm wintry best friends to lovers

uh-oh a/b/o

your lips, my lips (apocalypse)

untitled document // i will never admit to writing this

not included on this list are "phoebe belated bday fic" and "PWFE 2.0 fic" - i can't answer asks about either of these, sorry! keep it secret keep it safe, etc etc 🫶

so that makes 10 WIPs officially, 8 to be asked about... i think i'll go for a nice average and tag 9 people. very sorry if i'm double-tagging anyone - i'm as always a bit behind with tag challenges and have NO idea who has or hasn't done this yet. anyways: @boxboxbrioche @welightitup @hourcat @ilspredestinato @river-ocean @pinkierre @yukierres @moonlight0starlighte and @chaesonghwas, if any of you guys feel like giving this a go!! ❤️

[kabira]

i was rereading sic semper tyrannis (an abject failure in my eyes) to see how i could redo it and had the most delicious scrumptious eye-popping idea ever but i think i might end up reserving it for a future childe longfic