#should i tag this as wip wednesday??? it's not wednesday.

[pocket-vvardvark]

WIP Wednesday

Ty for the tag @skyrim-forever @thequeenofthewinter <33

I'd like to tag: @aviel-the-trans-bucket @hircines-hunter @fangsandsoftgrass @kiir-do-faal-rahhe @scholarlyhermit @sanza-17 @sulphuricgrin @changelingsandothernonsense @progmetol @varlaisvea @yansurnummu @yewphoric @lucius-the-sinful no pressure as always!! ♥️♥️♥️🥰 Love ya'll with my whole heart

I've got a new chapter in the works for sweet decay 🤪 so, here's the WIP under the cut bc it's sorta long

Rivenspire is cloaked in the warmth of the sunrise. Blooming across dry earth, it softens the land’s foreboding appearance into something habitable. Having been awake for far too long, Verandis palms his sunken eyes as the soft glow filters in through open windows behind him. At the very least, the weather was somewhat pleasant in favor of the most recent heatwave. His body is no longer among the living, but the heat still drove him onto the edge of exhaustion just as easily as it would to a human. Voyage to Lillandril would be a pleasant escape to the lingering heat, and a part of him missed Summerset. Among the cities in Summerset, he supposed Lillandril was the fairest. Cradled upon the sea, the wind which swept only the most beautiful flowers was tinted with a satisfying chill against the heat. His thoughts shift to Angelica; briefly imagining her time on the island. Yesterday, she mentioned her distaste for Altmer culture, which was fair in its own right. No matter how hard a half-breed attempted to live up to their purpose, no full-blooded Altmer would label them anything but an Ephem. As saddening as it was, this was the way of his people. Thumbing over a groove on the hardwood of his desk, Verandis mulls over his relationship with the pesky minx. It was growing, that's unfortunately true, but to what extent? It had been an incredibly long time since he called another his lover, and oddly enough, Angelica didn't seem the type. She seemed content to toy with him, refusing to acknowledge him as anything other than good fun. Although, her gentleness from the other day did start to confuse him. The whole situation vexed him; feeling like a bumbling idiot left in the dark of some grand plan. Years of building House Ravenwatch softened him, and maybe that was why he was far too slow on the uptake. Regardless, the job needed to be completed, and he supposed he should use her…talents she so dramatically bragged about. The sun rises above the trees, signaling it was time to move. Verandis does so, gathering the bare essentials and finally roaming the halls until he reaches Angelica’s room. Raising a hand to knock, his knuckles fail to reach the door as it's opened before he can. 

She smiles. It's surprisingly bright for how strangely she acted the other day. Another facade? He'll see in time, Verandis assumes. 

“So…it's time?” Casting red hair aside, she tugs it into a messy bun of locks, then pats her leathers down. Ah, another surprise; that she's actually wearing proper clothes this time.

Prepared to suffer by her hand from whatever acts of mischief she'll no doubt drum up, Verandis answers with the utmost exasperation, “Yes. Bring along what you need.” Squinting, he watches as she disappears back into her room to procure a satchel.

“I do hope that's necessary.” 

Laughing as she peeks into the standing mirror, she makes one final adjustment to push her breasts up. “Oh, hush. We're taking a trip to the market, right? I'll need gold for that…among other things.”

‘Among other things’, that little remark did not inspire much of anything in him but annoyance. She hoists her arm into his, linking together as she bats her lashes. “I’ve been waiting for a chance like this; to come along on some grand adventure with the Count of House Ravenwatch. My sister told me all about you, you know.” 

He's pulled along with her, walking a stride slower due to their height differences. It would seem her younger sister had a bit of a loose tongue. Thinking about Alethia softens his expression, though, he knows there was no ill intent behind her excited story-telling. She couldn't keep a secret, that much he knew.

“Did she, now? I can only pray she had good things to tell.” They pass the doors, already walking down the rough, cracked path to shornhelm. 

Making a sound rivaling that of a disgruntled guar, he’s bewildered enough to glance down at her. She sticks her tongue out once he does, “That's what I think about your stupid attempts at being posh. Or…maybe you're shy. Are you shy, count?”

She snorts, tugging at their linked arms with an impish grin. 

“You-” Verandis scoffs, but he makes no move to wriggle away, only yielding to her kisses placed on his cheek. “I'm not shy. You're just…too overzealous for me. Not even Gwendis is this tiring, I should have you know.” 

Gasping dramatically, she feigns a sniffle, “Breaking my heart so soon? How could you��I thought we shared something special.” 

“Special? Hm, I had the distinct feeling I was but only a tryst to you, Angelica.” Their footsteps halt on the barren path of dirt as Verandis stops. He grazes a knuckle over her cheek, relishing in her sudden speechlessness. There's a hint of intrigue in her eyes, but something much less distinct; embarrassment. 

“Tsk, tsk…” the pad of his thumb strokes the tip of her cheek bone, “Projecting, are we?” 

Life spreads back into her features, moving her lips as her expression excites, “Projecting? No way, now you've got to buy me something like you promised.” 

Nothing gets past her, he's sure of that as she reminds him of what foolish words he uttered last night. It almost worked, if she hadn't been so perceptive. No matter, it would prove useful in the next days they’d spend together 

“A shame you hadn't kept your promise, then.” She blinks, fascinated by the ethereal hue his carmine eyes take against the bright sunshine. It steals her breath away, causing the briefest stirring deep in her belly. Truthfully, she was beginning to fluster at the sight of him like this; gazing down at her with such a romantic expression, like he could dip her back any second for a kiss. There was no love lost between any number of her trysts and herself, as the fickle emotion only served to complicate things. It stood in the back of her mind, though, as if it tempted her into taking that step. Oddly numb, she couldn't make sense whether she even wanted love. Sure, she'd never stayed quite this long with any of her romps, but it felt strange to just up and leave like they never met. Perhaps it was as her mother said, that one day she would want to settle down, to be with the one man who stole her heart. A flush does make its way to her cheeks, so light a dusting that Verandis nearly mistakes it for the sun on her skin. She takes her own embarrassing reaction in stride, smiling to him so lovingly that they both falter in each other’s grasp. Unlike the night they shared, it is him who concedes first, his grasp brushing away so softly she misses it. Clearing his throat, they continue down the path until Shornhelm can be peered at in the distance. The blob grows until she can see the roofs, the people, and of course, the market. Angelica observes the sights, its fairly different from both of her homelands from what she can recall from both Summerset and Western Skyrim. Hard times have clearly claimed most of Rivenspire’s goods and, frankly, the morale, too. Most shopowners looked more like they were proud owners of shacks rather than appealing homes; it went double for their wares, unfortunately. The only exciting things left were the rare pieces of jewelry she spotted along the way, and the occasional sneak she took of the count’s face while he was deep in thought. A local apothecary catches her attention, drawing her closer until several ingredients greet her eyes. The woman looks only to be a few years younger than herself, smiling but ragged after whatever turned shornhelm into turmoil. Hopefully, after her sister’s little adventure here, things would get better. Nevertheless, Angelica wasn’t entirely heartless, so she took what little ingredients were left and paid a little extra. She winks, and tugs the count along before the young woman can argue against the generous amount of coins splayed across the worn market stall.

“Well…I believe that’s all I’ll be in need of. Never hurts to pack a few poisons.”

If he noticed what happened, which she realizes he must, it doesn’t earn her a conversation. Either perturbed by her shocking display of kindness, or their recently shared embarrassment, Angelica cannot tell beneath his seemingly aloof gaze. 

“We should get a move on, then. Rivenspire lacks ferries, so we’ll have to carriage our way to Glenumbra.” She wants to kick herself for feeling disappointed he doesn’t thrust his arm out for her to hold, but makes due with this new development. It’s not like they were close, but she was finding herself longing for some type of…praise from doing good. Divines, did whatever happened last night really affect her that badly? She hadn’t thought so, until her thoughts soured from every woman which passed their way to ogle Verandis’ human disguise. A part of herself swelled in pride when they sunk back down upon her appearance by his side. That feeling was only doubled when she realized they would never know his secret, and such an intimate secret it was. Jealousy wasn’t her style, but she wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to swathe the Count in her perfume before exiting the castle next time. He certainly smelled better in it than whatever ancient perfume he wore beside her. Curious, she peeks over to marvel at his disguise. Honestly, she preferred how he always looked; with eyes as red as rubies and alabaster skin. It simultaneously enthralled and got her feeling rather heated. Such raw and dangerous intent was no longer evident in his now honey-colored eyes, and that left her feeling quite bored. Although…she could make due with those amber eyes if they watched her with the utmost adoration; that would be her goal for the day.

Grinning, she’s back to her confident self, looking as mischievous as a nixad. He realizes she snickers like one, too.

“Do I dare ask what you’re conjuring up behind me? I fear you, at times.”

Prancing back to his side, her fingers curl into his own, forcing him to slow his stride once more.

“Nothing much, just admiring the view.”

He snorts, “Of my backside? How quaint.”

Nudging him, he gains an eyeful of the sweet little twist of her lips, “It's a very disarming backside.” 

Sighing, he can't help but chuckle at that, “Whatever shall I do with you?”

His eyes jump between her own, searching for the reply her lips twitch with. Angelica settles for a gentle peck on his nose, laughing when he wrinkles it from the tickle. 

“I'm sure you'll dream up some elaborate plan to keep me quiet, darling.” 

[slimybeth69]

WIP WEDNESDAY

thanks for the tag @joelmillerisapunk

I got two lil snippets comin' in hot.

1.) GIRL DINNER

-

Joel is drunk again. Fuck, this is never good.

You're in his lap, knees on either side of his thighs with one arm around his neck, your head resting on his shoulder. There is something about the way your fingers twirl around in his hair at the nape of his neck that feels good. Too good.

"C'mon, get off'a me," Joel groans, but there's no passion in his voice. It's been almost three weeks of just this, and he doesn't hate it. Not when he's drunk.

Barely dislikes it when he's sober, but he's better at acting like he doesn't want you on his lap when he hasn't had a drink that night. You're soft, and warm, and fit so perfectly on his lap it's like you were made to be there.

"Couple more minutes, Mister-man. Please?" You fucking whimper.

The sound floating through Joel's ear canal sends a shiver down his spine, and directly into his cock. It twitches in his jeans. He's got to start thinking about baseball, and carpentry work, and how he's probably going to die soon.

Nothing works. Joel can feel the heat from your cunt through your jeans, and his hands have been tied down to this chair every time you're not around. The only time you let him up is to use the bathroom-- and you have a gun while you wait for him the entire time, so he's never horny then!

And, as thankful as Joel is for this- you've never even looked at him like that. You look at him like you're in love with him all the time, but you've never once looked at him like you wanna touch him.

Joel tries to push his hips further into the chair, away from the perfect, searing heat of your middle.

"Where'ya goin?" Your voice purrs in his ear, your fingernails ghost across the skin on his neck and he shivers again, his cock feels it tenfold.

You feel it now, too.

"What're ya'--" you pause to look between your bodies, and then your eyes flash up to his. "That f'me?" You're whispering, and your glassy eyes are wide, and look so flattered.

"Ain't for nobody, stop lookin' at 'em," Joel grumbles, again, not really meaning any of it even though he should mean every single word.

"'Em?" you question him with your big, wet eyes and his cock twitches again.

Joel swallows hard, his eyes falling to your bottom lip clutched between your teeth, and nods. "Him, yeah, whatever you wanna call it-- ain't for you." He sighs softly.

"Why not?" you sink down further into his lap. The thin shorts you have on to wear to bed do nothing to keep your warmth contained. It's almost like Joel can feel what it would be like if you just whipped him out and sat-

He's never drinking with you again. Never again.

"Get off'a me," Joel leans forward gently as you lean into him, the tips of your noses touch softly.

"Gunna bite me if I kiss ya'?"

Joel is a goner, your breath smells sweet like raspberries and whiskey and every single thing about you is warm and soft-- Joel knows that if he wasn't fucking drunk he'd be fighting you tooth and nail, but he cannot right now.

He can't think about anything but what you'd feel like wrapped around him, milking him.

"Take'em out," Joel is the one to lean into the kiss, his lips aren't hesitant, or tentative at all when they meet yours. He is going to try and bite you- and he does, he nips at your bottom lip, but gently. He pulls back with it still bitten, and listens to you moan softly.

The quickness of your fingers isn't your friend, you struggle with his belt for what feels like an eternity as you push back against his mouth, eagerly slipping your tongue into Joel's waiting mouth.

Joel groans into your mouth when you wrap your hands around his girth, and then chuckles at your shocked gasp when you pull away to get a good look at him.

"He ain't gon' bite'chya," Joel teases, leaning forward, searching for your lips again.

"Might split me in half," you moan, presumably at the thought of Joel stretching you open.

Joel can't contain his own moan as you put the image in his head. "Fuuck, sit on him-- lemme feel ya'."

--

2.) A Lot Of Things

This is for my @jolapeno Dear-uary epistolary challenge (I can spell epistolary now on the first try, thanks Jo!)

--

Lucien might not be good, but he isn’t stupid. 

What woman would stick around if it wasn’t for the stuff and things? The money, the nice house the two of you shared- granted you were there alone a lot of the time. 

If Lucien was a good man, he would have left you by now.

But you stay, and you take his money, and you let him ‘make it up to you’, so– in his mind, you’re not good either. 

That’s why you’re perfect for him, and he’s perfect for you. 

This is all just a charade put on. The storming off, the sitting in the bathroom for hours. 

It’s gotta be. 

Lucien leaves the bathroom door for the first time since you walked in there, and walks to the table next to the bed, still messy from your early morning ‘wake up call’ to him– only to now have to be searching for that stupid– yep. There it is. 

Lucien grabs the hotel notepad and the pen sitting beside it and scribbles down words that probably mean nothing to either of you anymore- he says them so often.

I'm sorry.

Then he slides it under the bathroom door.

 “Babe?” 

There was a time when his voice saying that name didn’t make your stomach churn. There had been a time in your relationship when you knew he called you that alone.

That’s not the case anymore, so any name that isn’t your name feels like a firm slap across your cheek. 

A part of you wants him to worry that you took too many pills again, or maybe fell asleep in the tub, but the way he’s speaking tells you he knows you didn’t. You wouldn’t. 

Not after last time- you didn’t even want to do it then. You just wanted him to notice you- to see you, to think about you when you weren’t standing directly in front of him. 

Lucien forgot you when you weren’t around, and you had done everything to try and make him remember.

Changed his lock screen background to a picture of the two of you so when he looked at his phone or went to unlock it to take the number of some beautiful woman, he’d have to see you first. 

It was never the same picture when he’d come home from filming or his press tours– and you know what that means.

The hotel notepad comes through the space between the bathroom door and the floor.

I'm sorry.

Guilt. 

There is guilt inside of you, too. 

There is a part of you that thinks if you really loved him, you wouldn’t let him keep doing this to you- you would have put your foot down years ago and told him to man up or get out.

You wipe your tears before they can fall onto the paper, and stain it with the evidence of your sadness.

I know.

Then you pass it back to him under the door silently.

--

npt: @pedrospookie @almostempty @gothcsz @sp00kymulderr

@joelalorian @magpiepills @lotusbxtch

a hopeless, but FULL PRESSURE tag to @creepycorbeaux - I wanna see what you GOT BITCH, JESUS.

[emmg]

wip wednesday

tagged by my enabler @heylittleriotact hehe who has already also tagged some of my faves so I'll just add @lavenderprose @mindtrove @seduceme-lovestruck-thearcana and fave Raphael provider @adinfernumadinfinitum

This is, uh, from that Emmlich x Rook creepy one-shot I'm sort of playing around with whenever I feel like it lol. Still trying to work out the intricacies of lich sex (what a weird thing to write lmfao) because while it may not be 100% my thing, I think it's important to address the change in intimacy. But while I think that through, here's whatever this is.

Under the cut for waking up next to a fucking skeleton

Not all moments are beautiful.

Once, she wakes in the ink-black hours of night, disoriented, floating somewhere between dream and memory. Her hand reaches out instinctively, searching for him, because surely, he must be there. Shouldn't he always be there? That’s what lovers do when they share a bed. They remain.

And yes, he is there. He is always there. Emmrich does not sleep; he merely keeps her company through the hours when she drifts and he does not. But her mind is thick with the fog of waking, her thoughts unwritten, and in that brief, horrible moment, she forgets. Everything. The color of her hair. The sound of her name. And him—him most of all. She turns her head, and her eyes catch on his face, his real face, in its eternal, grotesque stillness. And she screams.

She flings herself away, blind with panic, and chaos follows her. Her temple cracks against the nightstand; the edge of the floor kisses her forehead; her nose blooms with pain as it meets the ground. A wetness spreads across her face, metallic and hot, and she tastes it—the blood—before she understands anything else. It coats her lips, slides over her teeth, drips slow and thick down her chin.

Somewhere above her, his voice unfurls, trembling at the edges, full of apologies that she feels she does not deserve. “Oh, dearest... Hush now, it’s all right, all right, I am so sorry, so terribly sorry...” His hands are upon her, impossibly light, as if afraid that any pressure might shatter her further. One rests between her shoulder blades while the other lifts to hover above her broken nose. A faint, flickering heat flows from his fingers, a quiet, mending magic that knits her back together as though nothing had happened.

“I forgot,” she whispers through the haze of shame and iron on her tongue. “I forgot—I didn’t—oh, Emmrich, fuck, fuck, I wasn’t awake, I didn’t know—I just saw—I love you, I love you—it was just so dark, and—and—and— ”

“Enough,” he says, gently cutting her off. “It is nothing, my love, nothing. You are safe. Hush now.” His hands work steadily, mopping the sticky, congealing blood beneath her nose with a handkerchief. It is a small and useless luxury from a life he no longer has need for but keeps anyway, because perhaps some objects are anchors in a sea of unbeing. “My poor darling... Perhaps I should keep a candle lit. Yes, that would be wise, don’t you think?”

She nods, quickly, furiously, her hair falling into her face. Yes, a candle. That would be good. Very good. She almost asks for something more. Almost begs him to keep his glamour, the sweet illusion of his past face, always in place, but she swallows the words, tasting their bitterness as they go down. It wouldn't be kind to him.

[stellewriites]

wip wednesday

tagged by the talented & lovely @ohlawdthebirds last wip wednesday but alas i had nothing written, this week you can all have a snippet from ‘an occasion of sin’ my butch soap fic

context: johnny has a healing tongue piercing and can’t kiss or eat out reader for another week - she’s as impatient about it as you’d expect

cw: religion, sacrilegious metaphors (more in the main piece but just in case), hint of smut

she scratched at your scalp softly while holding you close. “don’t remember this in bible study.”

“i’ll happily catch you up to speed if you’re behind, i’m very studious,” you teased. you blew cold air against her wet nipple and giggled when she groaned. “but it has been a while…”

johnny pulled you up and kissed you firmly, managing to keep her tongue to herself only just.

“i can remind ye how it’s done,” she offered already moving to get you underneath her.

“mmm, you’ve still got a week to go with that,” you gestured at her tongue. “but it doesn’t mean i can’t put my mouth to work.”

“yer too good t’me,” she crooned. you settled back between her thick thighs and rested your hands in the creases of her groin. reaching down with your thumbs, you gently spread her pussy and took a deep breath. she’d been on a low dose of testosterone for a year now and it had a few side effects that you hadn’t realised would turn you on so much. a deeper tone to her voice, her scent becoming thicker, and her taste…

cutting off here so i don’t give you any spoilers for the main event 🤭 should be out soon-ish but im back at work now which will slow me down considerably ://

npt to share what ur working on: @pricegouge @soapcloth @3amfanfiction @pricetagged @syoddeye @jackrabbitem

[itwasntimethatdidit40]

Wip Wednesday

Thanks for tagging me, Odi ♥️ @joelmillerisapunk and Mina @evolnoomym 🥰

Sooo I’m still writing the Frankie fic, hopefully I’m going to finish it tonight so it will coming soon.

Here’s a little snippet in the meantime, Frankie and reader have to go to Frankie's mother's house for dinner 👀 Contrary to what it might seem, there will be a lot of smut heheheh

“Are you ready, honey?” Frankie's voice is muffled by the bathroom door, you're finishing putting on your lipstick. “Almost, you just need to help me with something.” Frankie opens the door and peeps into the bathroom “with what?” He stops behind you, admiring you in the mirror as you stand there with your lips parted, leaning slightly over the sink, your legs slender from your heels, you wear the dress he bought you, unzipped at the back. “Jesus, you’re a vision” he breathes “Maybe we should skip dinner at my mom’s” he says, approaching you and settling his big hands firmly on your hips. “Come on, Frankie, be serious,” you giggle. “I'm dead serious” he replies in a rough, deep voice ”look in the mirror. Look at how sexy you are.” leaning over you to leave a trail of kisses down the exposed skin on your back. His soft lips send shivers down your spine and you are almost on the verge of giving in. You set your lipstick down on the sink countertop and turn to look at him pouting, "You can't do this to me now, you know we can't dodge it.” “Well, it might help you relax though,” he continues to flirt, his lips curved into a little smile. “Stop it, babe” you say reluctantly. You’d fell for it any other day but not now that you’re trying to figure out how to impress someone you don’t even know. Frankie told you something about his mom, how protective she is and overall pretty conservative, you’re the exact opposite. You don’t know why he seems so positive about you meeting her, you’re pretty sure she will hate you. You sigh urging him “come on, help me with the zipper” Frankie leaves a light kiss on your lips "okay, I'll behave” he sighs “turn around" You turn and he pulls up his zipper looking at you in the mirror “anyway, I wasn’t lying, you look really beautiful” “Thank you, baby” you smile softly

NPT (and sorry if you've been tagged already): @milla-frenchy , @probablyreadinsmut , @arcanefox207 , @almostempty , @syd-djarin , @cas-readsandwrites , @baronessvonglitter @thundermartini and whoever wants to do this.🙌🏻

[baambastic]

Since @im-not-buying-it-ether tagged me for WIP Wednesday:

The rules: Post an excerpt from your most recent WIP and then tag a bunch of people. Enjoy this snippet of “Stray Little Tiger”.

She wouldn’t have noticed him behind her until he spoke, if not for his less-experienced tagalong’s not-quite-silent landing.

“Selina.”

This was the last thing she needed right now. She needed to get back home, and James would kill her if she got him caught out. Plastering on a smile, she lazily turned to greet the new arrivals. “Batman,” she drawled, “you know it’s ‘Catwoman’ when we’re on the clock.”

Bruce stood a dozen or so feet away, as stone-faced as ever. Robin stood just behind and to the side of him, chest puffed out in what he probably thought was an intimidating pose. It mostly just came off as adorable.

“What are you doing here, Catwoman?” Bruce Bat-growled.

Best to get through this as quickly as she could, then. She sauntered closer to the duo. “I’m frolicking, Batman. You really should try it sometime.” She slid a hand down Bruce’s armored chest. His stoic lack of response was a good sign.

Selina pointedly glanced at Robin, who looked mildly nauseous. “You know, Bat,” she stage-whispered, “if you ditched the half-pint, I’m sure you and I could have some fun frolicking.”

“Hey!” Robin cried indignantly. Good.

Selina very obviously let her hand trail farther down. On cue, Bruce grabbed her wrist and held it away from him. “What are you up to.” Spoken like a demand rather than a question. Also a good sign.

Time for the misdirect. Selina sighed dramatically. “Nothing, I suppose, now that you’re here and being oh-so-very cold. No sense in chasing my prey while being chased myself.”

“Aw, you won’t get to steal anything valuable tonight?” Robin cut in mockingly. “That’s so sad.”

“Robin,” Batman intoned warningly.

“That’s rich, coming from someone with no appreciation for fine art,” Selina bit back, pretending to rise to the kid’s bait. “You couldn’t tell a Vermeer from a kindergartner’s macaroni art.”

Robin eloquently rebutted her with an inarticulate noise of rage. He moved as though to leap at Selina, but Bruce held him back with his free hand before he could. “Keep yourself under control, Robin.”

With a huff, Robin seemed to settle down. He very pointedly turned and marched away, leaving Selina and Bruce alone.

Selina smirked. “Well, Bat, he’s not as far away as I’d like, but if you’re game…”

As expected, Bruce pulled away. “Not the time, Cat.”

Selina let out a world-weary sigh. “Fine, I suppose I can wait a day or so. Even for a non-gentleman like you.” Misdirect achieved.

The eyes of Bruce’s cowl narrowed, and he released her wrist. “Hrn. We’ll be watching you.” Turning, he called to his protégé. “Robin! We’re leaving.”

Robin came stomping back over, clearly unhappy. “C’mon, boss, we’re not even taking her in? She’s totally up to no good!”

Selina raised her hand to her chest in mock-offense. “But I haven’t even done anything yet!” She grinned. “Good luck getting me convicted when I haven’t committed a crime, brat.”

@stupid-boy-here @coolbeesbro @lena-thinks-too-much @suspiciousbluejay

[beardedjoel]

wip wednesday thursday

tagged by a few cool people @guiltyasdave @evolnoomym

this week i do feel like i have something to share so yay! currently i'm writing both of the final chapters for smother as one big whole so that when it's presented to you, i feel like everything from it is one whole cohesive thingy and you won't have to wait for the finale. so anyways, without giving toooo much away, here's a snippet! (i swear i haven't shared this part yet but if i have forgive me)

“But -” he quickly interrupts you, putting a finger up. “Sometimes our toughest challenges must be met with some hurt, don’t you think? You seem like you’ve got a lot of it right now.” You let out a long breath, nodding. “Y-yes, I do, Father Callum.” He smiles gently. “Just Callum is okay right now, dear. Talk to me, then. What’s troubling you? Is it the man they told me about?” Your face falls, unable to hide the look of surprise as you glance over at him. His expression remains unchanged as always, and you suppose you should have known that he’d already have found out about Joel. You can practically hear Josephine telling Callum all of the details with all of the usual disgust in her voice. “It s-seems like you already know, so…” “Every side of the story is different, so let me hear yours.” You look at him a little incredulously. “He’s… Whatever they told you, it’s not true, okay? You have to believe me. I’m only upset because… b-because…” You swallow hard, trying to force the words out. “He hurt me, he kept a secret from me that hurts me. But it hurts me because the secret hurts him, too.”

[604to647]

WIP Wednesday

Thank you for the tags @sawymredfox and @ace-turned-confused 😘

Spent a lot of this first week of 2025 catching up and getting back to reading, so not a whole lotta writing but I did manage to get quite inspired for @jolapeno's Dear-uary challenge and will try to do two! One is actually almost done 🤭:

Also, have been thinking A LOT about a Marcus Acacius hockey AU 🤔 There will be angst, a sort-of love triangle (or two!), maybe some personalized jerseys... I'm still workshopping it! But here is a scene that will definitely make its way in, in some form or another:

“Do you regret it?” your voice small.

Marcus closes his eyes and chokes out, “Yes.”

Yes, I regret that the only time I’ll ever know the heaven of your lips is when you were thinking of another.

Yes, I regret that I couldn’t help but try and carve out a moment for us when I should have been thinking only of you and your well being.

Yes, I regret that after wanting you for so long, I know I will never have you – that I’ll only ever remind you of this moment of sadness.

But all you hear is that he regrets you.

NPT: @aurorawritestoescape @milla-frenchy @grogusmum @baronessvonglitter @joelmillerisapunk and anyone who wishes to share!

[stinklebug]

look it's not wednesday anymore but i am so EXCITED so uh uh uh. take my wip on this wip wthursday

Red. There’s so much of it. It’s everywhere.

His vision floods with it. His mouth is full of it. His ears ring with it. His hands are caked in it. His nose is filled with its metallic scent.

“Come on, Peppermint, we need to get out of here!”

What? Wait—wait—! Stop! Don’t go! Don’t leave me—

Static floods his senses, washing everything away, until all that’s left is its incessant buzzing.

— — —

Wake up.

Chai opens his eyes. He realizes a couple of things very quickly.

The first is that he has no clue where the hell he is. It sort of looks like one of the test chambers from R&D, but…smaller. There’s also way more stuff. Computers and screens and other machines are scattered about. It’s much darker, too. The only light in the room is directly above him. The only things he can hear is the gentle whirring of the machinery to the beat and the clicking of a keyboard.

The second is that he’s lying down practically naked. He’s only in his boxers. No wonder I’m so cold.

The table he’s on looks like some type of modified hospital bed. It’s incredibly uncomfortable.

The third is that Kale is also in the room. He’s standing at a nearby terminal. He’s…not wearing anything for some reason, his robotic body fully on display.

“Good, it worked,” he says as he turns to look at Chai. There’s a smirk on his face.

Son of a bitch—

Chai is on his feet, scrap guitar in hand and raised, ready to strike in the span of a single beat. He swings down hard in the next.

The sound of metal scraping against metal echoes out as Kale grabs it. His arm is shaking, clearly straining against Chai’s strength. But he sighs as if it’s merely a chore. Then, he reaches behind him with his free hand, pressing a button on the keyboard.

Chai goes limp, slumping forward. His scrap guitar falls to the ground, the pieces coming apart with a clatter. Kale catches him, picking him up and laying him back down on the table.

The edges of Chai’s vision are red and blurry. The beat is gone. Everything feels so empty without it.

Kale says something, but he can’t hear the words. He watches as Kale shakes his head. He turns to the terminal and starts typing something in.

Go to sleep. No—

The world fades away.

[lizhly-writes]

@tamsinswriting @aparticularbandit @twyrewolf thank you, thank you! and now, from the wip doc (direct continuation of this!):

Liu Qingge stared at him. "You're not going to help." Despite not actually knowing Shang Qinghua as a person, he managed to sound betrayed by this.

Shang Qinghua shrugged. "I mean, this is really more of a you problem," he said reasonably. "It's you who has major problems with your engagement. I'm engaged to the most eligible bachelor on Cang Qiong."

Sure, okay, yes, Yue Qingyuan had serious baggage problems. But none of that meant that Yue Qingyuan wouldn't be perfectly pleasant and respectful anyway. Shang Qinghua and Yue Qingyuan historically got along fine! So what if Yue Qingyuan wasn't going to make out with him? It wasn't like Liu Qingge was going to do that, either!

Liu Qingge or Yue Qingyuan, it made no fundamental difference to him. Shang Qinghua might have some reason to reconsider if it had been Wei Qingwei asking him, but, as it wasn't Wei Qingwei asking this, he had zero reason to urge Shizun to revise his marriage prospects.

Maybe if Liu Qingge had heartfeltly begged, because he was simply that in love with Shang Qinghua --

This concept was so ridiculous that Shang Qinghua couldn't even finish his thought. He really wanted to laugh! It was too bad that Liu Qingge would probably kill him for it! Look at that face, you could tell that man already wanted to! In that case, Shang Qinghua definitely wouldn't help him!

Eventually, Liu Qingge gritted out, "What do you want?"

"What do I want?" Shang Qinghua echoed, mildly delighted that Liu Qingge had proceeded to consider the question that Shang Qinghua himself had been considering: what's in it for me?

Liu Qingge glared. He should really know that wasn't the expression he should wear when asking someone for help. It was probably his first time, though, so Shang Qinghua would let it slide, like the wise and generous shixiong he was.

"I don't know," Shang Qinghua said. "I really don't know."

"You don't know?"

Well, Shang Qinghua was being honest: he really didn't know what Liu Qingge could offer him that would be worth it.

[a-memory-a-distant-echo]

wip wednesday

yeah, one more time: still wednesday somewhere!

i've actually written…like a genuinely shocking amount this week, somehow? like 'i have six documents open and have added at least 500 words to each of them in the last 72 hours' amount?

anyhow, in honour of that, have a preview of something that will almost certainly please no one: some fic inspired by this post and the tags that my terrible wife has added to it.

He's looking at her, finally looking at her, and then Shan Gudao starts talking and ruins things. His words, nearly mocking, are too rude to ignore, but their relationship is too precarious for her to push back. Besides: she wants him to leave them. He can distract himself with his pointless plans. She has things to do. So she simpers, instead. It works on him the same way it works on every other man foolish enough to look at her and see only beauty. 'My lord fought the three of them alone,' she says, glancing at Di Feisheng. He's not looking at her anymore. He's going to look at her. He's going to look only at her. She explains about the poison on his lackey—an easily tricked fool, a king in nothing but name—and he closes his eyes and looks down. With his powers suppressed, he looks weaker and less proud, almost fragile. He hasn't looked at her again. It makes her restless and reckless both; she flexes her hand against her thigh, thinking about stroking his face. Slapping his face. 'My lord,' she says, and there, he looks up, finally, beautiful and bloody and half dazed. He doesn't look sorry, though, not the way he should, not even as she reminds him about what he did to her. What she is willing to graciously overlook out of love for him. His face is still wrong though; this is an expression she's seen before. It's disgust. Disdain. How dare he. Were he anyone other than who he is, she would execute him for this. He's just a man, and she is by rights the emperor. He has no room to look down on her, now or ever, not after she ran his alliance, not after she did everything to make him the name that he is now. He'll bow to her one way or the other.

[jods-tablet]

realized this fic is over halfway finished (‘:

[direwombat]

remember when i said that my last wip wednesday was probably going to be the last snippet of ch7 that i'll share? yeah that was a lie. have some more.

He drags her out the door and down a series of hallways. They wind their way through the dark and hauntingly vacant corridors, twisting and turning through the labyrinthine hospital. Every step the soldier takes echoes heavily down the hall, heavy thuds bouncing off the chipped plaster walls.

The whole place is eerily empty.

Her shadow stretches grotesquely in front of her, its shape flickering in time with the unsteady buzz of the fluorescent lights overhead. The sharp, lemony smell of antiseptic stings at her nose, but it's quickly overwhelmed by the heavy, metallic taste of rust and fresh blood that comes to rest on the back of her tongue and throat. Bloody claw marks mar the wall they're following, only to divert down a hall where, somewhere further down, a helpless victim begs for death.

Her stomach lurches. The hair at the back of her neck stands on end as she's hauled past the pained wails and pleas for death; away from yet another victim of the cult she couldn't save.

The man drags her through the Veterans Center until finally cutting through an empty industrial kitchen and shoving through a side door that leads to the building's dumpsters. Gingerly, he unhooks her arm from around his shoulders and leans her against one of the bins. "Wait here," he mutters. "I'll be right back.

She slumps against the dumpster as her Friend scouts ahead. In her sudden sense of stasis, the weight of her body comes crashing down on her and the haze over her mind returns. Her knees buckle and she slides down the metal siding. Her stitches prickle, the skin itchy and tight. That aching throb begins to resurface without the painkillers to dull it. She leans her head back, knocking against the hollow dumpster and producing a resonant clang.

She goes stock still. Eyes wide, breath held; her muscles coiled to push herself upright and bolt at the slightest sign of trouble. Shit that was loud.

Her teeth are bared, fingers curled, prepared to claw and bite anyone who dares come to investigate.

She waits.

But no one comes.

The fine hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. Her heart hammers against her rib cage. Her teeth fucking itch.

This is a trap.

It has to be.

Why else would her Friend carry her so close to freedom only to abandon her? Why else would he discard her behind a dumpster like some stray animal?

It has to be some sort of sick, twisted game.

Catch and release.

Jacob and his men have to be out there, watching. Waiting. Lurking in the shadows, patiently waiting for her to run, all so they can chase her down and haul her ass back, like demons dragging a sinner's soul down to Hell.

She'll be damned if she doesn't take at least one of them down with her, first.

All she sees is the flash of red rounding the corner and she's on her feet. She lunges, one hand grappling the stranger's arm while the other wraps around their throat. With her bare feet planted firmly in the dirt, she swings the other person's weight around until she's holding them against the grimy brick exterior of the building. The webbing between her thumb and index finger notches just under their Adam's apple and she presses against their windpipe, teeth bared and snarling.

"Easy—" She chokes them harder. "—Easy! It's me."

It takes longer than it should for her to recognize the voice. The choked, frantic whispers are so different from the hurried and hushed ones she'd heard from her Friend as he was dragging her through the halls. But in those pleading, dark brown eyes, she finds a sense of familiarity. She's seen these eyes before.

Her Friend sucks in a quiet, shuddering breath. "You're in control here, Deputy" he whispers evenly. "Kill me if you want, but if you do, you'll be on your own in a den of hungry wolves."

The threat doesn't escape her, but his logic is enough to get her to release her grip around his neck.

But only barely.

"What's your game?" she growls, and she pulls him towards her only to slam him back against the wall. "The fuck're you gettin' outta helpin' me? Who are you?"

taglist (opt in/out)

@buggknife, @cloudofbutterflies92, @josephseedismyfather, @la-grosse-patate, @tommyarishikages

@florbelles, @statichvm, @fourlittleseedlings, @wrathfulrook, @harmonyowl

@ivymarquis, @carlosoliveiraa, @cassietrn, @confidentandgood, @strafethesesinners,

@trench-rot, @miyabilicious, @simplegenius042, @g0dspeeed, @inafieldofdaisies

@josephslittledeputy, @aceghosts, @adelaidedrubman, @finding-comfort-in-rain,

@socially-awkward-skeleton, @voidika, @strangefable

[stellewriites]

wip wednesday (it’s saturday where i am but let’s not think about that)

so i posted one on wednesday here but that was before i was tagged by my lovely lovely moots @kyletogaz and @femalefemur 🫂💓

so here’s a sneak peak of a teeny tiny toxic ex-bf!price thing i’ve been thinking about the last few days

but then one day john’s calls just stopped, and the weight of his eyes on your back when you walked home was gone.

cautiously, after two months of silence and no more surprise gifts, you figured he’d finally moved on and you started hesitantly dating again under your friends’ encouragement. nothing serious, just getting you back into the swing of things starting with a friend of a friend. someone half familiar, safe; no pressure, just dinner.

you should’ve known john had been away, back on the job instead of accepting your decision to split. that his silence was born from forced separation and not respect.

he’s never taken you serious before, why would he have started then?

thank you for the tags guys!!

no pressure tags (or wait til it’s wednesday again? lmao) : @sentientcave @gemmahale @glossysoap @pricegouge @mikichko @syoddeye

[archiveofliterature]

wip wednesday / me, the author: omg they're flirting....

[rachello344]

WIP Wednesday

Tagged by @tianrenart. This is from the radiostatic project I’ll hopefully have finished in the next day or two. ;D Enjoy!

*** “All right, everyone, I have a brand new activity for us,” Charlie said brightly as she and Vaggie came downstairs.  Vox set his book aside, eyebrows raised.

“Oh, boy, here we go,” Angel muttered under his breath.  “What is it this time?  Trust falls again?”

“Brand new, Angel,” Vaggie said flatly.  “Kinda suggests we’ve never done it before.”

“That’s right!”  Charlie placed her hands on her hips.  “We’re going to play baseball!”

Angel sat up.  Even Husk looked interested from his place at the bar.  “Baseball?  Why?”

“Group sports are great for improving communication and group camaraderie,” Charlie said.  “That, and it sounded fun!  We’ve all been cooped up inside too long anyway.”

“Baseball means at least two teams,” Angel pointed out.  “We’re competing against each other?”

“Yes,” Charlie said.  “I’m not sure how we should split up, though.”

“I can handle that, Charlie.”  Alastor appeared beside her.  The others jumped, but Vox had seen the shadows beneath her feet darkening.  “My poppets can fill out any empty spaces, hm?”

“Oh, that would be perfect!”  Charlie beamed.

“That still leaves choosing teams,” Vaggie pointed out.

Alastor’s smile turned enigmatic.  He glanced across the room and met Vox’s eyes.  “I’ll take Vox and my poppets.  The rest of you can try your best to defeat us.”

A spark shot off Vox’s antennae.  Alastor wanted—Alastor was choosing—He and Alastor could be a team of two?  “I’m fine with that,” Vox said quickly.

Angel scowled at Alastor.  “You think you’re that tough?  Come on.”

Alastor smirked.  “I know we are.”

Husk crossed his arms.  “That doesn’t seem fair.  If you get Vox, we should be allowed to pull in Cherri Bomb.”

Angel shot Husk a startled look.  “Not you, too?”

Charlie looked like she might start vibrating, she was so excited.  “Angel, would you call her?  It would be lovely to have her join us!”

“Well, she did play softball when she was alive, so I guess I’ll see if she wants to play.”  Angel pouted.  “I can’t believe you think we need the extra help, Whiskers.  They can’t be that bad.”

Vox smiled. They were worse.