#oldest wip

[foolbehavior]

Dominoes

[rusquared]

Orv Poetry Series: One Source of Bad Information by Robert Bly [IDs in alt]

[youremyonlyhope]

I love when I see posts like "Share how many crochet WIPs you currently have! I have 5, it's so many!"

Like, girl, I have unfinished projects from over a decade ago that I refuse to frog on the off chance I decide to finish them. I've found years-old projects I forgot I even started and will impulsively just finish it on the spot. I've started three different projects in the last 2 months, including one I started yesterday, that I already know I may or may not finish within the year depending on motivation.

The number of WIPs I have is infinite.

[triglycercule]

in a just kidding kinda mood. canon nightmare is so serious and then i made her. she's a total dweeb she thinks that she's allat just because she ate a black (rotten) apple once and it was so bad she thinks she she's a goopy monster. that's not actually how she got to this (she got bullied in elementary school and wants to express her true self now in high school) but the black apple was involved (she ate a rotten apple and it was so bad she remembered her embarrassing elementary school fantasy and realized she liked it).

she's totally goth but she doesn't realize it (and i CANNOT be bothered to draw a goth esque outfit combined with the jk uniform). the book club is her headquarters and whoever joins the club becomes part of her gang (friends! because she's terrible at socializing and this is a way of being more outgoing) and then they have to do usual stuff goons do like helping nightmare study for tests (so she can further her insatiable quest for knowledge) and going to the mall with her (carrying her bags obviously. a queen cant be seen with shopping bags.) her goons MUST call her lady night or else she'll get upset. god jk!nightmare you're such a goddamn loser how many more dumb ideas can i come with for you

comments from..... oeople??? here's dream. they're on good terms because i hate dreamtale angst and i want them to be happy and healthy siblings. nightmare also uses her gang to moniter dream and make sure she's not getting in trouble. but then she also gets to play villian with dream where dream is the damsel in distress. or the hero. depends!

"well, one day nighty just came downstairs for breakfast dressed like... that. she spoke in a different way and acted different and especially looked different. needless to say, the family and i were confused."

"but, after she explained it, it actually made a surprising amount of sense despite the... change. nighty used to get bullied back in our old elementary school, and she claims that now that we're in high school, she wants to "embrace the true self that's been whispering pleas of freedom". er... whatever that means."

"of course i support it, she's my sister and all! i'd even say this persona of nightmare's is much funnier to interact with, and she's even made some friends thanks to her new self of the sort. honestly, as her sister? i couldn't be more happy to see nightmare thriving compared to before."

"but my only concern... is her makeup safe for long-term use?"

all of the mtt (most of the school actually) did NOT fall for the little act nightmare's putting up. even killer. no matter how brainrotted she is from the internet even she wouldn't fall for that. nightmare invited them to the gang (club) and both killer and dust were on board to join. because killer found her funny and dust likes books. and then horror was dragged along because of course she was. live laugh love jk!mtt

"nightmare?? oh, you mean lady night! yeah, i know her. pretty well, in fact~ she's appointed me as her right hand woman, which means i get to do all sorts of cool things, like coming up with literature recommendations and organizing when the gang meets up! she's pretty cool, y'know? i just gotta make sure to stop laughing whenever she calls me a "goon", hehe..."

"nightmare's nice. she likes reading, i like reading, so obviously i had to join the gang. she likes more fantasy style stuff, but i prefer sci-fi. not that big of a deal though, considering we read a variety of books in the clu- i mean, her "gang". sorry. don't tell her i said that, or else i'll be sent on a "mission" to "battle her homework" or whatever."

"oh, "lady night", "queen of negativity"... she's hilarious. it's so funny seeing her act like she has magical powers and all the yada yada about "the black apple" and "multiversal conquering". i mean, not many people in the school really believe her little schtick she's got going on, but most humor her. 'sides, she's a genuinely good person under all that makeup and acting anyways, so i like her. all i wanna know is, why does she keep her shoelaces untied?"

this idea is SO DUMB IM DYING. feared multiversal terror turned into a high school girl with the worlds most EMBARRASSING delusion. what universe are we in (the jk!universe dummy!). anyways dream design in the works (i already have the design done just need to color it!) and then quite possibly more aus will be jk-fied. ink may possibly be the first sans to NOT wear a skirt. who know,,,,s,,,,,,

[cuz-reasons]

Summary: It is a normal night to end a normal day for Emmet. Then there's a knock at the door.

Thinking about reunions again, so here's something short and sweet today!

[arthrobug]

tis eepy time for me *throws various doodles at you*

you can smell my improvement in this

[ceryulean]

Stuff I designed for business class lol

(Praying to the gods above my business teacher doesn't have a tumblr and won't ever find this)

[demiboydemon]

Baby I have fic WIPs so ancient you can’t even comprehend 😎

[hopefullyakotelife]

Last line challenge

Rules: in a new post, show the last line you wrote (or drew) and tag as many people as there are words (or as many as you feel like). 

His eyes stared ahead. He didn’t need to look around the hall. He didn’t need to see the alphas getting their assignments from the trainers. He didn’t need to see the Kaminii across from them, talking in their quiet and slow way about the next line of production and their costs to senators. Bacara’s finger tapped once against the side of his datapad, his own assignment ready to brief him of his future. His arms tensed as he held the datapad behind his back, still aching from the training of the previous day. He flicked his eyes to the side, allowing himself just this one weakness before staring back ahead. His brothers all stood next to him, their own assignments in their hands as they stood at attention, listening eagerly to their trainer talking about hardships, honor and a glorious death. Bacara’s heart ached. He was glad it had been him who’d gotten this assignment, had been working day and night for this outcome and yet… And yet it was difficult to accept now that it would be happening. He breathed calmly, knowing that his brothers were hoping their trainer finished his speech soon so they could relax. Hope, that they could talk one last time but they all knew it wouldn’t happen. The second the natborn was done- they would leave for their ships. Bacara swallowed his sadness, glancing at his kih’vod next to him for just another second. He could feel the anxiety coming off of him in waves that seemed to crash everyone’s soul- and yet the Jedi on the other side of the hall didn’t pay any attention to them, too deep in discussions with other trainers. His kih’vod was so scared, so anxious and it broke Bacara’s heart. “I love you, Ten’ika.” Bacara whispered, keeping his gaze forward. The natborn looked over at the two of them, now talking about duties and memories of their training. “Never doubt that.” Bacara added and for a moment he feared Fox didn’t hear him with how quiet he had to talk. But his Ten’ika seemed to stand straighter, his mind gradually calming down. The moment the natborn was done, the line of CCs separated as they each walked towards their own ships and battalions. Bacara wanted to reach out, hold Ten’ika’s hand, hug him and tell his kih’vod one more time that he loved him. But the Jedi with the long head called Bacara’s number- Fox’s hand twitched as they walked separate ways and Bacara felt a wave of love being sent in his direction. Bacara wanted to curse the galaxy that would keep them apart.

@ninjababypowpow and right back at you XD

[raionmimi]

Sketched out two pages of a rough idea of Satya meeting Niran's parents when they were kids, knowing that I will probs never make it a final piece ehehehe...

My HC is that they'd be a bit biased against her "humble beginnings" because they're from old money, but they'd start liking her for incredibly materialistic reasons that Niran would hesitate to ever express his feelings for Satya because he wants to love her the way he wants to, not based on his parents' whims and calculations.

Eventually, they'd be more genuine about caring for her that even when he hadn't seen her in 11 years, they've been keeping in contact with her. It'd get on his nerves the second he finds out they know the two of them have reunited recently

[lionacuty]

doodles from magma Crystal and her dad Bowser :3

[sp0o0kylights]

Ooh, no. 17 (Gareth climbing in Will's window) for the WIP meme?

This is a lil Greatwise oneshot I started the end of last year! I figure I'll finish it out and put it up when Mariah Carey thaws out a bit more.

Snippet:

"Oh my god you're going to wake everyone up!" Will hissed, one hand yanking on Gareth’s arms while the other grabbed the back of his shirt. 

"It’s fine." Gareth said,as he clumsily rolled to the floor. "Though dude I have some complaints about you picking the upstairs bedroom in this fancy new house of yours. I know damn well there's two rooms in the basement." 

“One is Jonathan’s and the other is a guest room.” Will muttered, quickly closing his window as frigid air rolled in. “Which you also know.” 

Gareth popped up, shaking his head like a dog. Little flurries of snow rained about off his hair, and exasperated, Will just stared at him with his arms crossed

[revenantlore]

. queer gothic fantasy . ghoulish vampires . a grumpy man with a pet rat and a death wish never to be granted . the literal embodiment of sunshine . polyamory . snarky lesbian badass . necromancy and undead horses . a ghost dog . supernatural drugs .

Plagued by a virus spread from an experiment gone awry, never does a night go by where Ashmourne’s cobblestones and soil are not drenched in human blood.

Bloodthirsty monsters wearing the faces of the virus’s victims run rampant the moment the sun is drawn below the horizon and only death can stop them.

Much too quick and strong for any ordinary adversary to survive against, a small group of both willing and unwilling participants have been scientifically engineered to protect Ashmourne from the very horrors the scientists created.

Without these special few, the townspeople of Ashmourne would have far more to mourn than daylight itself.

. bram valdis .

With no regards to his health or safety, Bram delves straight into harm’s way with the hope of a miracle: an end to his suffering. His past is marred with as many scars as his body, haunting reminders of what he is, who he used to be, and what he can never be again. No more than a laboratory rat, an experiment, a mistake … something far from human.

His compulsions lead to a gruesome collection of blood drawn from the Fangs he has slaughtered, a memento of sorts, stored in vials lining the shelves of his bookcases. Less a symbol of triumph and more a way to calm the obsessive thoughts rattling through his skull. Not a night goes by where he doesn’t count each and every one, often to the familiar tune of insomnia.

A fear of intimacy and loss has left him bitter and alone for much of his life, but he dreams of one day finding a love alike that of the fairy tales that accompany him on these sleepless nights.

. halifax bertram .

After out-aging the dirty halls of Galloway’s Home for Unfortunate Children, Halifax and his younger brother, Pennant, were left to fend for themselves in search of a better, safer life outside the borders of Ashmourne.

Poor, helpless, and more than a little hopeless, their journey was wrought with danger and a quick end.

When Pennant is taken in by Ether as a potential experimental subject, Halifax bargains for his freedom in exchange for Fax’s, unaware of the consequences that await him.

Fax hasn’t spoken to Pennant since.

Not without want, but it is forbidden, if he wants his brother to remain safe.

. pennant bertram .

Painting helps Pennant hold on to hope, distracts him from the grim truth of his existence in the weary village of Ashmourne. When painting fails, there’s the withering garden in the forests beyond Dead End to keep him occupied. He’s determined to bring some life to it—a budding flower or a shock of green amongst the wilting leaves.

Ashmourne is a dark and dismal place, desperate for a spot of brightness, a spark of hope, and so is Pennant.

Not even death will stop him from making it happen.

. zay larosa .

Following in her mother’s and aunt’s footsteps, Zay offers psychic readings at The Dirty Rat for a negotiable price—often she will settle for payment in the form of a drink, and many of her clients would claim the drunken prophet’s readings are always more accurate when of a liquor-addled brain. Others would denounce her credibility as a prophet, usually when things go wrong—or, more accurately, out of spite, when they go just as Zay said they would when seldom is it ever in the client’s favor.

It’s all but a distraction—the booze, the nameless women she beds, the hours and coins wasted away in games of cards and dice, all teetering on a risky bet her prophecies fail to correctly foretell—while a thirst for vengeance gnaws ever-present at her heart.

Her father was slain by a man Zay only knows by appearance alone, an unmistakable scar clawed across his face by her hands alone, and she is determined to find and kill him—all the more reason to snatch a glimpse into the futures of strangers.

. athios forsyth .

Haunted by the memories of a murder he didn’t mean to commit, Athios recedes into a life of isolation to avoid facing the truth behind the event. There are no consequences for the crime, no evidence that it ever happened—not when his victim rose from his grave at the touch of Athios’ own hand—except for the ceaseless guilt.

In the accompaniment of Ambrose, a dog whom is neither here nor there, Athios tends to the graveyards of Ashmourne, both with the intent to maintain a pristine appearance and to experiment with his ability to raise the dead.

His curiosity comes with more consequence than he bargained for when he messes with the restricted graves of Fangs and unleashes a new horror upon Ashmourne.

. zacarias bane .

All hopes of affection were surrendered the day Zacarias discovered himself incapable of touching another person without being thrust into their deepest, darkest memories without mercy.

Yet … Bram and Athios seem to somehow be exceptions to this rule.

The two men become a mystery Zacarias is determined to solve, temptation and desperation fueling his quest for an explanation while he suffers through nights of listening to the ceaseless passion of strangers below his rooming above the local brothel.

[elise-51-blog]

"Run to Daylight" WIP snippet

“Why do you love sports so much?”

“‘Cos I’m a dumb jock,” Guy laughs, bunting the question away. “Plus there’s beer. And it’s easier than readin’ books and shit.”

“Shut up,” Kyle laughs, shakes his head.

It’s about dinnertime, and he wonders what he has in the fridge or if Kyle might want to get something in a bit except he’s probably not hungry after all the beer and hotdogs. 

“I dunno. I guess it’s just. When everything else in my life was shit, sports seemed like the real thing. Like the only real thing in a world of bullshit.”

Kyle hums. “It’s weird, I mean. I always thought the opposite, to be honest. Everyone cared so much about the football team, or how the basketball team was doing, and just seemed like a distraction from…from actual life. From more important things.”

Guy’s heard this spiel a million times. Mostly from chicks.

Kyle clears his throat. “I mean I--I’m not saying I’m right. It just seemed like everyone always acted like winning on Friday night was like, it’d be the end of the world if the guys lost. But I mean…I didn’t get it. It’s just--it’s literally just a game.”

“And paintin’ pictures, what’s that?” Guy almost tries not to sound too dickish.

Kyle sighs, rolls his eyes, looks away. Oh, but there’s an edge there. Something old. “I don’t think you’d understand what…what that gave me. Art. What it still gives me. It’s making something…something meaningful out of,” Kyle gestures in the air. “Out of what was meaningless.”

Guy knows if this was a movie, he’d be the asshole. Well this ain’t a fuckin’ movie.

“And the football team, just a bunch of morons tossin’ a ball back and forth?”

“That’s not what I said!”

“It’s what you meant.”

“No it’s not--”

“Listen, you say it’s only a game. And you’re right but you’re wrong too.”

There’s a long pause. They’ve never really dug into this truth between them. The gulf of difference. The dumb jock and the sensitive artist thing. Kyle tilts his head at Guy, giving him his full attention. “So tell me.”

“You can’t just put it down on a--on like a postcard. It’s…you gotta see it, right?”

“Sure. Like coming to this game? Green grass and red dirt and, and all that.” 

Guy shakes his head, it’s not what he means, he hates trying to say what he means. 

“It’s more like…it’s Michael Jordan’s jump shot.”

Kyle stares back blankly.

“David Beckham’s corner kick. Joe Montana and Jerry Rice on a Sunday. And it’s--it’s Bob Gibson 1.12 ERA and refusing to shake Joe Torre’s hand ‘cos it’s war and not a picnic. It’s Zizu’s head and Materazzi’s big mouth. It’s Curt Schilling’s bloody sock. It’s Derek Redmond limping to the finish line and Bronko Nagurski crawling to the end zone. It’s a routine ground ball rolling under Bill Buckner’s glove and Steven Gerrard slippin’ on the grass. It’s Barry Bonds’s hat size and Pete Rose’s bookie.” 

Guy doesn’t know how else to say it. It’s just all of it. It’s life but boiled down to the stuff you need. Forget tax returns and the DMV. Just good guys and bad guys. Pure love, pure hatred. Grief, agony, pain you wouldn’t believe. Outrageous joy. Selfishness, sacrifice. Blood, sweat, tears. War. Love to last a lifetime. 

“It’s everything. All of it. It’s all there. On a pitch, or a diamond, or a gridiron. Just…everything. Waitin’ on a whistle.”

“Wow.”

“Fuck off.”

“No, really!” Kyle laughs, clasping Guy’s forearm. “I mean I don’t know who any of those people are--”

“You fucking know David Beckham--”

Kyle laughs, looking away with his eyebrows raised, his dimples deep, his cheeks a little pinker. He looks so good in the ballpark lights, they should wash him out, but they can’t. “Yeah, I know David Beckham.”

[azaisya]

Sometimes you get fatally stabbed and resurrected and then you don’t even have the scar to show for it and it doesn’t hit you til you’re getting changed days later and see the unmarked skin and then you need a little existential bathroom floor time

[sunnibits]

anyways since we’re talking about my boy here’s some dimitri WIPs that I may or may not ever finish (bc I’m weirdly incapable of finishing dimitri WIPs apparently)