#the full story is still a wip

[bizarrelittlemew]

calling it right now that season 3 starts like this

[ganondoodle]

(zelda comic wip)

the struggle with art continues but there is some sort of progress happening for chapter 2

[daisywords]

Holy Object

[landylachs]

Trahearne & Riannoc WIP

"Valiant as the shining sun."

This is a tiiiiny crop from a painting I would loooove to finish sometime. I can't remember what spurred the original impulse to draw this - probably too much random thinking about firstborn, as always!

With the support of ArenaNet.

[missrosegold]

Okay okay okay so I know I tentatively put out the idea of MMA fighter!Dabi/Touya, BUT -- what about Cyberpunk!Dabi??

Think about it: the LOV is still a terrorist organization, but with cybernetic enhancements - most of them are damn near on the verge of going Cyberpsycho as it is with how much chrome they're packing.

Their fire fights with the NCPD/Militech and Arasaka are legendary and brutal; no one leaves unscathed, and even the rest of the gangs that terrorize Night City give them a wide birth - least they get pulled into a turf war with them.

Poor little you is just trying to get home after a particularly long day at your job (your hours are shit and the pay is arguably worse), and you find yourself running for cover as a gang fight breaks out between the LOV and Maelstrom.

One thing leads to another, and suddenly you find yourself looking up at a white haired man - more chrome then flesh - learing down at you with a grin so terrifying, you almost think he's gone full psycho, had hd not made any move to snap your neck.

Giving him a quick scan, you can see that he has a cybernetic arm that spits out blue hell fire, and mechanically enhanced eyes so insanely blue it's a new shade to you completely, amoung a plethora of other enhancements that make you question how he isn't a fully fledged Cyberpsycho.

You know who he is, everybody in Night City knows of the white haired pyromaniac with specialty fire resistant implants, and of how dangerous he is.

It's Dabi from the LOV. You're in trouble now.

[forcedhesitation]

why should it just be steve who has all the torturous purgatory realm fun?

[spacedlexi]

violentine!!!

violentine!!! 💜🍊💜

[emeraldhazeart]

Listen.

That WIP isn't dead.

We've just put it out to pasture.

Yeah, we could tell it just wasn't feeling it's usual self this season, so we've decided to give it a rest to take the pressure off.

When will it be back? We don't know. Rest and recuperation takes time. It'll tell us when it's ready to return.

And hey, if it ends up having to retire, that's fine too. We've had a good run with this WIP. Would be a shame to work it into the ground if it's really not a doer. Not all WIPs are born to be winners, after all.

And there's always the possibility of producing a new WIP from it. Who knows, its offspring could just go on to be the next big thing.

[cream-and-tea]

pallas in book one is definitely at it-cannot-possibly-get-worse-than-this ABSOLUTE rock bottom but god. there is such a specific flavour to their despair in book two that only happens because of the realization they have at the end of lay me down. like. how do you move on after admitting that everything you believed in was a lie. how do you live with what you’ve done (with what has been done to you). is it possible to pull yourself up out of the pit you’ve dug. what do you do if it isn’t. what do you do if it IS. and once you look at the damage how do you stop looking. past the first layer of hurt there’s just more and more hurt and you were used by the one person who was supposed to keep you safe to cause even MORE pain and no matter how deep you go none of it means anything! it never meant anything at all!! motherfucker your worst sin is that you have destroyed and betrayed yourself for NOTHING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[letapollojusticesayfuck]

me writing things: wow does anyone even care about this. is this engaging in any way. is this not just the most predictable and overdone thing anybody has ever read

me reading anybody's reactions or comments to things i've written: OH i guess i CAN write well?? i guess people like my phrasing??? my characterization??? i'm actually okay at this????

[imageingrunge]

If you’re willing pls some details on your bg3 character? They’re so gorgina. I love her. I wanna give her a lil daisy or smth and put it behind her ear. If possible. If not we’ll work something out. Your taste in screenshots is so good and I love seeing other ppls games. Especially when we have more than one in common.

What’s her class? Her name? Any subclasses 🤔

Any reason for The Gale romance, or is it one of those unexplained there is no reason types? Either way they’re cute.

Where does her expertise lie, any backstory you’ve thought of and decided on and willing to share?

What’s her favourite pass time, what’s her usual response to difficult situations be it emotionally or in a fight? Does she believe in a high power?

Much luv, if you decide to answer or not I appreciate your posts no matter the game popping up on my time line <3 just an interested individual passing thru swat me like a fly if necessary and carry on 🤞🏼 I’m glad it seems like ur having a good time, hope ur doing well !

First of all thank you SOO much for asking ❤️❤️❤️ I didn’t think anyone would be that interested <<333 this ask made my day

n ive been thinking over it a lot since getting into act 3, ((im not a dnd expert  sooo consider the follow some silly musings I have on her backstory/abilities 🙈)) 

Tldr is-

Dark Eyes is a Mephistopheles tiefling, she used to be a cleric but I changed her class later to an Archfey Warlock, she is an outlander and worships Kelemvor!!

She was born at sea! her parents were human & lived as merchants. They loved her despite her unexpected infernal heritage, they called her 'dark eyes' for her unusual appearance. She had a relatively happy childhood, she always felt at home in far off places. While sailing to the Sword Coast thier ship was capsized by a storm, her parents and the crew died but she survived, washed ashore near a temple dedicated to Kelemvor. From this point on, her life was marked by a quiet melancholy and deep religious fervor. Her near death experience exposed the capricious nature of fate.

she fully embraced the path of a Cleric of Kelemvor and traveled extensively over all of Faerun giving the last rites to the dying and aiding the departed, until the day she met a dying dryad in a forest, taking pity on her she guided its spirit to the realm beyond gaining the favor of the Faerie Queen Titania, ultimately sealing her fate as an Archfey Warlock.

Among the Fey she was reborn as 'Nemeth' a name given to her by her first lover a Leanan sidhe being. Under the guidance of these fey beings, she embraced life with reckless abandoned, danced among dryads in deep elder forests, and sung the songs of the rusalkas. She inspired poets and was the bane of mortal men, she learned to act in accordance to her own whims rather than being a martyr  - to me she is always very fickle and easy to displease, I've had her hex people for saying rude things to her (looking at u lord whitburn) on the surface she is seems distant but she still has a soft heart, where others fight she likes to wait things out, let others expose themselves, charm and decieve (in a way her and Raphael would get a long very well if they weren't enemies in game hehe)

On the gale romance- well, that was a complete accident what can I say his dorkish nature is bewitching!!

they definitely play off each other well!! If it weren't for Gale she really wouldn't be trying so hard to save others. Being a warlock, she knows better than most that, to give into raw power is to become infinetly more vulnerable to the greater beings that wield it- She wants Gale to understand this!! Despite being a warlock, she still gives patronage to Kelemvor, it’s a big reason why she does not like Mystra's influence over Gale - to her Kelemvor is impartial, fair - he doesn't keep his devotees on a leash and does not interfere in mortal affairs, he is the washing away of these things, the cleansing of all desire. She wants Gale to see that his life is his own- only if he lets go! Anyways in my head she and Gale adopted the tiefling Arabella and sent her away to wizard school or whatever the equilvalent is

[delusionisaplace]

currently at 55k but nowhere NEAR done with lovers to strangers 😭

it’s getting longer than it originally was supposed to be

[mangoisms]

if anything else. i do enjoy how the batman (2022) portrays gotham. it could use a little more pizazz in my personal opinion but like its good. better than most portrayals in the dceu i think

[sinkat-arts]

Daisuga WIP Wednesday: Angsty Edition

Context: This is mostly an establishing bit of the first chapter to, uh, set the (not super happy) mood and current mindset of adult Daichi. Things... have happened.

--

December 2021

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First: Turn off the alarm. He will not do it for you. He is not there. 

Second: Let your body wake up. Resist the urge to reach for him. He is not there. 

Third: Open your eyes. Do not roll to your left side. He is not there. 

Fourth: Push the blanket away. You do not have to carefully make sure he remains covered and warm. He is not there. 

Fifth: Sit up and put your feet on the floor, first one and then the other. He will not pull you back. He is not there. 

-- >

Daichi made it to the fifth step before breaking his own rules. Turning, looking over his shoulder - that was forbidden in step six, but he hadn’t made it there yet. Muscle memory dashed forward ahead of thought, and he twisted in place, looking back. Looking for a messy cloud of ash gray hair, looking for the familiar shape of his heart, but finding only a crumpled blanket and nothing else. It wasn’t even his bed. This wasn’t even his home. 

<!--Failure Contingency 1: Don’t react. If you’re still in bed, start over from one. Else, repeat the step you failed and carry on.-- >

Getting out of bed was, by far, the hardest part of the checklist to implement, even now. He blamed it on his sleep-deprived morning brain being harder to wrestle into submission. Easier to say it was that than to go one level deeper and acknowledge all the other reasons it was hard. 

This was our time. Just us, starting the day pulling in closer to each other and bitching about the alarm. He’d complain and cling like a damn octopus to keep me there, and I’d pretend to be annoyed and fight a little before giving in and wrapping him up in my arms. I started setting the alarm just a little earlier so we could have more time like that before the day pulled us our separate ways, and he pretended not to notice. 

But he didn’t dwell on that old morning ritual. He didn’t dwell on the way their bodies relaxed into one another, warm and secure in their nest of blankets and pillows. He called his difficulty with mornings sleep deprivation or confusion and didn’t look any further, not any more. 

Looking at it square - going any deeper - hurt too much, and feeling that hurt made him aware of the other reason it was so hard to make it to step six every morning. A reason that was more frightening than painful because that one, taken to its final and logical end, wouldn’t hurt at all. That one made sense… and being able to see the sense in it came with a terrible, heavy sort of numbness that settled deep into his bones and slowed his breath. 

The first few months were a cyclical sort of hell - weeks and weeks passed, living one moment in a hurt that split him into pieces that burned and scattered like embers in the wind, and the next in a state of frozen indifference that had him stuck dangerously in place. Eventually, he’d asked himself what’s the point? and found that he just didn’t have an answer. The reason it was so hard to get out of bed - to keep going out into the world and pretending to be a human being - was that there was no reason. There was no reason to do anything at all, and the logical end to that line of thinking was just that... an end.

But he’d come back to himself and realized he was being stupid. Melodramatic. People relied on him, expected things from him. He had a job to do, and his siblings looked up to him… and his mother, what would she think… So the checklist was made to keep that terrifying logic out of his head. It was his way of fighting back, of forcing a point to exist. If there was a next step, another task to check off, then he would always, always have an answer to that awful question and neither the hurt nor the nothing could catch up to him. 

The point is to complete the checklist. Properly, no shortcuts.

Today was the first time he’d ever made it to five without having to start over. That was progress, and he was tempted to keep just going but… rules were rules, and he had to complete it properly to count. He was technically still in bed, so he started over from one. 

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Sixth: Stand up. Do not look back. He is not there. 

Seventh: Go to the bathroom. DO NOT LOOK BACK. He is not there. 

Eighth: Take your shower. Do not wait for an interruption. He is not there.

-- >

He made it through the next couple of steps, finishing his shower, brushing his teeth (There is only one toothbrush. He is not there.), getting dressed (You do not have to make sure he did not go back to sleep. He is not there.), and stepping out into the kitchen to get coffee and breakfast started.  

The kitchen was just like the rest of the small apartment - a spartan affair. Daichi didn’t have much in the way of knickknacks or personal affects. What he did have was just enough. Just enough plates and bowls. Just enough silverware. Just enough drinkware. Just enough pots and pans. Just enough everything for one person. Any more than that, and he’d have to think about… 

But it wasn’t important. He had enough. He was making it work. 

<!--Thirteenth: Get your mug. Do not think about the one you had with the volleyball shaped like a heart. He is not there.-- >

He set his plain white coffee mug in the single-serve machine, loaded it with a single-serve cup of coffee grounds (Do not think about the big pot that held enough for eight but somehow only held enough for two. He is not there.), and hit start. That done, he grabbed two eggs, sliced cheese, and pre-cut fruit from the fridge. It was the last of the fruit, so he made a mental note to replenish on his way home tonight… otherwise it’d just be egg toast for breakfast tomorrow, and that would throw his routine off. Two slices of bread toasted as he fried the eggs. (Do not worry about whether the yolks pop. He is not there.) As he finished assembling his breakfast - toast, cheese on top of toast, egg on top of cheese so it melts, repeat - his coffee finished brewing. A spoon of sugar, enough cream to turn it beige (Do not think to yourself ‘would you like some coffee with your cream?’ in his voice. He is not there.), and that was done, too.

<!--

Twenty-Seventh: Sit. Do not look at the other chair. He is not there. 

Twenty-Eighth: Eat. He is not there.

-- > 

Finished, he rose and took his dishes to the sink. A quick rinse had them nestled in the dishwasher, ready to be washed after dinner later that evening. He left the kitchen, went to the entryway, put on his shoes, picked up his bag from where he’d dropped it in exhaustion the night before, and opened the door. 

<!--Thirty-Fifth: Leave. Do not say goodbye. He is not there.-- >

[jasontoddiefor]

Yeah sure we’ve all binged a long fic, but have you ever read a WIP and followed someone’s life?

Tidbits of information - (“I graduated today!”) - and small joys (“It’s my birthday!”) and you get to be there to say “This chapter made me cry, happy birthday, thank you for gifting us this”.

I remember reading this fic of someone at the end of high school, older than me then. They seemed infinitely wise, spoke of their future career and getting into the college they wanted. I remember them posting on days they felt like nothing could bring them down - and on days the whole world did and it’s the aftermath of a hospital visit. Cancer, I think it was, their father. I got to the end of the story, I know their father was fine, but also they got to finish their WIP. I graduated three years later than them, still dutifully wrote thank you notes in every comment. I wonder if they remember me, or just the collective of people reading the story as it updates.

Four years ago I was into my first year of university, my first year of figuring out being out in public spaces. I made excuses as to why my name didn’t match my paperwork and read a fic on the train, the same five chapters over and over again for the next years as I thought the story abandoned. It updated this week after such a long hiatus, I left another thank you comment.

There’s an author I love, they update their stories like a clockwork. When they don’t, I check their blog, just to see if their doing alright, not because I feel like they owe me, just to ensure whether I better get out my laptop to write that really detailed university level essay chapter analysis to get them smiling when their day sucked.

And then, once, when I was 17, I read a fic that hadn’t updated in over a decade. I wasn’t even in primary school when it started posting. On the last chapter, I left a comment that, in retrospect, was horribly rambly and most likely full of grammar mistakes. The author replied and though I couldn’t see their face, I thought of them crying. They were married now, had children, and hadn’t thought about this fic in years. They went through their files again, found another half written chapter and an outline. I got two new chapters to read that year.

And then, recently, someone told me they got back into writing original fiction because of my comments. I get to read nearly weekly chapters.

I love binge reading a finished fic, but nothing is ever going to top the feeling of anticipation of waiting for a chapter, the pure joy when someone tells you I was done with this, but you made me think of it again, so this is for you.

Anyway, I think we should romanticize reading WIPs more, growing up alongside the authors writing the stories we love.

[falesten-iw]

We really have to hand it to kids' drawings. They're like little emotional time bombs, chaotic, pure, and ready to explode with meaning at any second. My son’s masterpiece? It’s got all the feels: hope, resilience, and a superhero vibe that makes you believe a pencil can save the world.

Then there’s my friend’s version, same idea but polished, powerful, and radiating strength and determination. One full of innocence and love, the other showing how far we’ve come in the fight for survival. Together, they remind me that even in the darkest times, there is light.

Maybe these drawings aren’t enough to stop you in your tracks. Maybe they’re not “good enough” to inspire donations or make you share this post. But behind each one, there’s a story of survival, resilience, and unshakable hope. This campaign isn’t just about me. It’s about 26 people, 26 lives hanging by a thread. That includes two orphaned children and a family member who’s suffering from hemiplegia after being hit by shrapnel during a bombing. She urgently needs surgery to replace infected plates in her body. The situation is dire, and every day is a battle. The video showing the injured family member is shared before in this post: Link.

Still waiting for a sign? Well, here it is. Resilience is great, but it doesn’t exactly cover surgeries, medicine, clothes, or food. Please help us ! Donate and reblog this post to spread our story.

Vetted and shared by @90-ghost: Link.

Verified and shared by @el-shab-hussein: Link

Listed as number 282 in "The Vetted Gaza Evacuation Fundraiser Spreadsheet" compiled by @el-shab-hussein and @nabulsi : Link

Listed on the Butterfly Effect Project, number 957: Link

Additionally, Al Jazeera News has documented apart of my family's case: Link

If, for some reason, you couldn't donate via GoFundMe, you can donate via PayPal instead.

Donate on GoFundMe: Link

Donate on Paypal: Link

Please keep the conversion rates in mind when donating through GoFundMe. Every 100 SEK is equivalent to 10 dollars, and 200 SEK equals 20 dollars and so on.

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