#this also counts as wip Wednesday

[lailuhhh]

Prompt Request: anything Jack whump, perhaps in the Army Days era. Thank you kindly 💖

Hi, uh, I took this idea and ran with it and now it’s gonna be a fic sometime in the future

Roe got, at most, a minute to prepare, as someone ran in, yelling something about how bad the situation was and they needed all hands for it. The uproar that was surging to the med tent was expected of being attacked on base; the pure chaos and number of people shouting and running toward him was somewhat overwhelming, though seeing the two bloody bodies they were carrying shook him into action.

He began shouting at the other medics and nurses while he ran outside to gage the situation. He couldn’t believe his eyes when the two people being carried were Jack and Mac.

“What’d we got?”

Jack was out cold; blood spattered across his ACU and what looked like shrapnel littering his side. Mac was still conscious and somewhat cognitive, equally as bloody but with no seeable wounds, saying something along the lines of a chain reaction and a building coming down.

“Dalton’s arm is fucked. We tried to keep it as straight and level as we could; definitely a break or fracture and there’s dozens of shrapnel fragments embedded. Haven’t been able to rouse him at all and we didn’t want to use the smelling salts because it’ll definitely aggravate the injuries. Macgyver’s been talking the whole time, nothing really concrete about what happened; concussion status most likely. He’s also cut to shit from shrapnel but not nearly as bad as Dalton.”

“How long have they been like this?”

“Dunno. Haven’t been able to get anything out of Macgyver that’ll prove helpful. Got a private running to see their schedule and last check in to try and gage what happened.”

“How was their ‘vee as they came in?”

“All in one piece.”

[stabbyfoxandrew]

For this wipw, could I request more arson!Neil? Looking forward to Neil's freak-out, but Andrew asking Kevin, of all people, about how to be normal is also stunning.

WIP Wednesday (1/29) | Arsonist Neil / Firefighter Andrew AU (Part 277)

NEIL

When he left Andrew at the coffee shop, Neil didn't go straight back to his room. No, no. He couldn't. He couldn't handle four walls and a bed after all that, he needed something else. Which is how he found himself in the middle of a recently mowed open field. There's a creek a few feet away and his car parked up on the side of the road. He'd stopped at a random dollar store to buy a few supplies. Well, to buy something to burn.

He ended up with a few holiday-themed coloring books and a bottle of Sunkist soda. It's far too sweet for his taste, but Neil hadn't been paying attention when he grabbed it. He just knew he'd need something to drink while he played caveman. And that's what he's been doing since he pulled over. He started a small campfire with a couple of twigs and keeps feeding it sheets from the coloring books, watching the way it reduces them to ash within seconds.

It's how he'd felt earlier. Consumed.

Andrew's presence, his voice, his hands, his lips. All rolled into one evening... Neil's been a wildfire since that first kiss they shared in the car and he needed to get the fire out of him. To put it somewhere else. But he didn't want to start something big. Not when he's been so good recently. Besides he hasn't scoped out any potential buildings that need demolished. This is the safest and easiest way to get his fix.

When the fire threatens suicide via the frigid wind, Neil tears out another coloring page. This one features ol' Saint Nick himself.

"Sorry, Santa." He mutters as he drops the page onto the fire below. It eats through the paper quickly, contorting Santa Claus’s face into the stuff of nightmares. It makes Neil grimace.

He sighs out a breath when he remembers the way Andrew's face screwed up when he saw himself on Neil's new phone. That was... a misstep. But to be fair Neil had never intended to Andrew to find out. He just wanted the stupid excuse of giving Andrew his new number to buy another few seconds with him. Andrew probably thinks he's insane now. Deranged and obsessed with him or something.

And maybe he is, but Andrew wasn't supposed to know. Fuck. Should he message him? They've only been apart for an hour, so probably not. Neil slips his phone from his pocket and thumbs the power button so the screen lights up Andrew and sighs wistfully.

He stays there until his fingers go numb with cold and he runs out of kindling. Then he runs back to the car to look for anything else flammable that he doesn't need. He spots the newspaper Andrew had wrapped his gift with and grabs for it, but before he can rush back down the hill to his makeshift fire pit he realizes he doesn't want it to burn. He wants to keep it.

"Oh goddamn it, now I'm a hoarder." Neil says, running a hand through his hair and cursing himself under his breath. No he's not. He's not a hoarder. He can burn this... Neil stares at the balled up paper in his hand and there's warmth in his chest. After another few seconds of deliberation he shoves the newspaper back into the car and slams the door before stalking back to his fire. He sits down cross-legged beside it and watches it burn, pulling up some grass to sprinkle on and keep it going until the smoke burns his eyes.

[alectoperdita]

WIP Wednesday

I did, in fact, decide to expand on The Snow Bunny Job. Now I gotta figure out if it's fine to end it there or more is need. 😂

---

Heart hammering, Seto launched himself and latched onto Jounouchi's recoiling arm, just missing giving himself a black eye. "Katsuya, wait!"

Remember the con, he silently willed. They could still salvage this as long as Murakami didn't leave the resort yet. It could even be argued it was in character for Jounouchi's character to fly into a jealous rage. But send Murakami to the hospital and it was game over.

Jounouchi's lethal and focused gaze whipped to Seto, who shivered once beneath it. His eyes almost softened before hardening again. Gently removing his arm from Seto's clasp, he glared daggers down at the man pinned beneath him and snatched one of Murakami's flailing arm. Seto's breath stuttered when Jounouchi wrenched the arm into a dangerous position, putting what appeared to be painful pressure on the fingers.

Jounouchi's tone promised pure violence, slipping into his old criminal accent, as he warned, "Ya ever eyeball him again, and I'll hunt ya down and break every finger and bone in your dominant arm. Ya lay another finger on him and I'll break both your legs."

A thrill, dangerous and electric, raced down Seto's spine. His heart threatened to pound out of his chest.

"Got it?" Jounouchi growled.

Murakami nodded.

Disgusted, he dropped Murakami and climbed to his feet. The mark had the good sense to stay on the ground. He refused to meet either of their gazes.

Seto barely grabbed his laptop in time before Jounouchi seized his wrist and dragged him toward the exit. Best to beat a hasty retreat before someone came to investigate the commotion. Murakami wasn't going to point fingers without also implicating himself. He'd bribe the resort and sweep everything under the rug if they were lucky.

Meanwhile, Mai was scolding them an earful for losing their cools. Jounouchi refused to admit any wrongdoing, though.

"Hey. I did my job! Murakami's lucky he gets to walk outta there in one piece."

"Oh I can't with you when you get like this!" Mai sniffed in annoyance.

Yuugi tried to keep the peace as he always did. "Jounouchi-kun, calm down."

"Don't tell me to calm down. He assaulted Seto," Jounouchi growled, low and dangerous.

Seto opened his mouth to protest, but the words got stuck in his throat. He was hardly "assaulted" as Jounouchi claimed. It barely counted as a "molestation." He was felt up. No big deal, really. He had been subjected to far worse in the past. Yet his heart was racing. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on their ends. Not from fear or even violation, but because of the tense set of Jounouchi's broad shoulders and his tone. Jounouchi had never, ever spoken to Yuugi like that before. He never once disobeyed or questioned Yuugi's directives.

[ronsenburg]

speaking of sylvain, it’s WIP Wednesday. have two very separate moments (neither of which are kissing) from my self-prompted valentines day kissing fic.

[rriavian]

Close Enough

“Are you the tooth fairy?” The little girl asks, her eyes wide.

AKA: The Corinthian finds himself embroiled in a case of mistaken identity and Dream of the Endless can’t stop smirking about it.

(Honestly don't know if this has been done before. I wrote this at 1am while incredibly tired so blame sleep deprivation on why this is probably the silliest thing I’ve ever written for these two.)

(Edit: Should probably add the ao3 link to this here.)

-

“Are you the tooth fairy?” The little girl asks, her eyes wide.

There is only one reason the Corinthian doesn’t kill her immediately.

And it’s currently stood smirking beside him.

Dream of the Endless, the Prince of Stories—lips currently twitching upwards in delight, solemn demeanour almost failing him—looks like he’s trying not to laugh.

The Corinthian wants to wipe that smug expression right off his face.

Except he can’t, won’t, because while the delightful treat of inspiring Dream’s disapproval usually spurs him on rather than holds him back, there’s something the Corinthian wants first. He’s currently trying to get his reticent king to end the incredibly insulting period of probation he’s inflicted upon him. To do so he needs to impress rather than irritate, needs to prove himself worthy of being allowed to return to human dreams. Dream is petty even while dutiful—especially while dutiful—is vicious enough to multitask while he teaches, always finding time to punish. The result has been a series of humiliatingly supervised visits to mortal dreams, as if the Corinthian requires instruction, and they seemed to have stumbled into the dream of a six year old girl who’s just lost a tooth.

Which leads to the latest indignity.

The Corinthian pretends he hasn’t heard the question, this insult he won’t respond to, turns to Dream and snaps. “This is the wrong dream.”

“Is it?” Dream doesn’t even attempt faux surprise, flatly unapologetic as above his quirked lips cruel eyes glitter. “My mistake.”

Oh he definitely did this on purpose.

“Mister?” The girl says insistently; she’s also turned to Dream, seems to have realised that's where the authority is, little hand reaching up to tug gently on his robe.

Dream smiles like a sunrise. “Yes Alice?”

“You know my name!”

“Indeed.” He says gently, eyes soft for one of his dreamers, the glitter in them a nightlight for one of his precious humans. “Now—you had a question?”

Small fingers curl even tighter in Dream's black robe, perhaps chasing softness, perhaps marveling at it. Alice's eyes shift to the Corinthian for what amounts to half a second—they meet his ocular gaze, able to do so only because the glasses are oh so conspicuously missing—a quick glance as if she needs to double check.

Alice frowns.

Then she nods sharply, turns away, seems to have found whatever she was looking for. Alice gestures in the Corinthian’s general direction, still clutching Dream’s robe, but despite her clear frustration when she speaks her tone is shy. “He didn’t say whether he’s the tooth fairy.”

This time Dream does laugh.

It’s quiet but not restrained, a warmth that doesn’t demand attention, subtly chases away a chill. The mirth in his tone not at all held back. “He didn’t, did he?”

Alice agrees with a solemn little nod, the sort used for matters of the utmost importance.

“Can you ask him?”

Dream looks up, smile turning to night, shifting to the threat of a creeping shadow as this time he meets the teeth of the Corinthian's eyes. The glow there turns eerie, ghost silver, a strangely hollow thing for all that’s contained inside. There’s unease in how empty and full Dream can be at the same time, the vastness of a glacier so desolate when you’re alone. The demand is clear, even before Dream speaks, and the Corinthian knows he'll pay him back for this—

“Well?” Dream says mildly, eyes echoing with humour.

“Are you?”

[lovethytendytenderly]

As per @ullybug it's wip wednesday and I sure have been working on my wips. chucking this one under a readmore cause its uhh, filth, pure filth. I dropped it into one of my gcs with the comment "Did anyone order a side of nipple play with this riding or just me?"

Ned sits there, not moving in Tristan’s lap, not letting him thrust, and plays with Tristan’s nipples. Every touch draws a moan from Tristan and every pinch a sob. Ned doesn’t neglect himself, reaching down to play with his own hard and drooling cock or fondle his balls whenever Tristan looks like he needs a moment’s rest. Ned gathers a handful of precum, thumbing at the head and feeling it spark up his spine, causing a feedback loop where he clenches down around Tristan which causes Tristan to thrust up into him which causes his hand to tighten. By the time he pulls his hand away to go back to playing with Tristan, the both of them are breathing heavily.

Tristan lets out a small gasp when Ned touches precum slicked fingers to his chest that has Ned feeling powerful. He loves the way Tristan looks under him; how trusting he is to let Ned do whatever he wants with his body. Ned pinches again, digging his nail forcefully into the small bud and pressing down. Tristan goes fully boneless underneath him, like a puppet whose strings have been cut. Tristan doesn’t make a sound, just a slow exhale of air like a deflating balloon. His hands, Ned is proud to note, have not moved from where Ned put them.

Ned is going to remember this moment forever; Tristan perfect inside of and underneath him; Tristan’s pink and perky nipples matched only by the redness of his mouth; the look on his slack face blank and halfway to subspace just from this. Ned hopes he can get Tristan there by the time they both come.

[tedious-malcontent]

Gimme a big huge scoop of hypothermic please! (@stabbyfoxandrew)

Hypothermic - Part 10

Andrew drove a manual like he was born to it, Neil realized as they flew through the darkened streets and toward the interstate. They stopped briefly at a seedy gas station close to the highway, and Neil ducked inside to pay with cash, keeping the hood of his sweatshirt low over his face, and then sparked the starter for Andrew after he got the tank filled. Andrew got them on the interstate, heading north, and Neil let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. Lola had been so close to getting him. She's never gotten that close before, not even when she had Romero with her. Not even his father had ever gotten that close. Either he'd gotten sloppy, or she'd gotten a tip, and since he's never been more careful, it had to be the latter of the two. After a couple minutes, Neil unbuckled his seatbelt and shifted to dig through his bag in the backseat, retrieving his gun and checking the safety, before sliding it into the glovebox. He ignored the glance Andrew sent him, and rebuckled his seat belt. "Just in case," he said. "You think she's following us?" Neil laughed until he felt sick. His father's smile felt like it was going to split his face open. "Do I need to worry about you having a psychotic break?" Andrew asked when he still hadn't stopped laughing a minute later, one eyebrow raised. "No," Neil said, smoothing the smile from his face with his fingers, "And yes, I think she's following us. That's how I survived five years on the run. I don't plan to stop now." "Yeah, I think I do need to worry," Andrew said, and then turned on the radio before Neil could argue. "Find something good," he said, flicking his fingers at the dial, "If you play country, gun or not, I will kill you." Neil didn't particularly care, so he picked a station playing rock and leaned back in his seat. Andrew didn't say anything, so Neil figured it counted as 'good'.

[spores-and-petals]

✨WIP Wednesday #7✨

Remember when this used to be a weekly thing? Yeah me neither.

It's more like monthly MAYBE, if we remember.

Good news tho!!! We're making steady progress on part 3, having all the thumbnails done (like forever ago). Part 3 has a total of 10 pages, and I can proudly say that I, despite powering through exam week AND driving lessons, I have 3 and a half pages fully sketched out! Be proud! Say "good job Ari". Say it. WHY ARENT YOU-

So in true WIP Wednesday fashion, here's some of my favorite so far (cleaned up for your viewing pleasure):

Speaking of thumbnails, I really have to add 2 of my favorite shots Rai did for them:

Could not have asked for a better thumbnail artist- ARI STOP BEING SAPPY ON THE COMIC BLOG.

AHEM AHEM besides all that, we made big changes in how we organize stuff after discovering that we can, in fact, share a Notion workspace thingy thing instead of having me bookmark a link to a page I can edit, but only on PC because pocket computer sucks. And-

-wow it's literally the same as before. We basically copy-pasted the format and pages we had from before, it's just less scuffed on my side, I can edit and add things easier AND I can access it on pocket computer if I'm on the go.

When I ultimately take a break from my artistic duties, I dabble in ✨dialogue✨ that's to be used for future parts. I genuinely can't NOT show this one from Part 5 (omg what about part 4? part 4 doesn't need shit. part 4 need ME to actually sit down and DRAW. everything else needed for it is ready to go)

On top of all that, a while ago I remembered that this lil timer app still exists, which I used to use religiously back in my Paint Tool SAI days (I feel old. I ain't even old.). What that means is that I can actually SHARE with YOU ALL how LONG it actually takes ME to FINISH these god forsaken pages /silly

All my slow artists rise up in solidarity please.

Nya.

˚₊‧꒰ა . ——— ˗ˏˋ ✮ ˎˊ˗ ——— ˖ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Psst, don’t forget to check out the masterpost for HCSPAU if u haven’t already 👁️

-🌘✨

[brynnmclean]

WIP Wednesday

Let's see if this works now! Hi! Unlike last week, I actually have something to share this week for the Hellblade fic!

I'm tagging @rain-sleet-snow, @anghraine, @stitchingatthecircuitboard, @zingsthings, and @eisoj5 if you feel like sharing something this week!

“Dillion was the first person to encourage me. Eventually, he gave me a way to leave my father. He gave me a safe place to run to.” Thórgestr shoves this unworthy thought away nearly as quick as it comes, but for a shameful second, envy is bitter in the back of his throat: there was never anywhere for me to go that was not under my father’s sway. “I told him once that he saved me, but he said that I saved myself. All he did was give me a little help, a little hope. But it meant everything.” Senua smiles then, still careworn with grief shining in her eyes, but wistful, too. “What I know of happiness, I learned from him.” “How long were you together?” Thórgestr asks, watching her face soften and open like flowers still touched by winter-frost, but blooming all the same. It hurts to see Senua smile like that, but only because happiness on her is so rare. It shouldn’t be so. If he can do anything to make it so she loses no one else she cares for—not Fargrímr or Ástríðr or Iseult or any one of the Vestmenn— “A handful of years,” Senua says, then laughs. “We were friends first and then Dillion kissed me after a hunt, catching himself by surprise as much as me. He was so steady and straightforward usually, but he stumbled all over himself then. We had to speak of it later to sort out the change.” She laughs again, bright and beautiful, and Thórgestr finds it easy to imagine her young and full of light. He—it is hard to remember when he was like that. Long ago. Golden summer following green spring before a long winter set in. “I’m sorry he was taken from you,” Thórgestr tells her, reaching across the divide between them. “It is a hard thing to lose someone like that.” Senua takes his offered hand and sighs. “Always loved, always dead.” Something about the way she murmurs that makes him wonder if he was meant to hear it, or if she is perhaps still in the grip of memory. He waits, saying nothing. Eventually, she squeezes his hand and resumes spinning. She looks at him side-long, curious. “Have you been in love before?”

[lyriumsings]

i was tagged ages ago by the lovely @sunshinemage thank you so much! this was so fun!! I decided to do this for my destiny oc eiva! :3 praying the formatting doesn’t break bc i am chronically on mobile

5 Character Associations

Emotions

loneliness

grief

rage

hubris

hope

Colors

white

yellow-gold

red

black

blue

Scents

outside

iron

gunpowder

leather

sunlight

Objects

bullet casings

worn leather boots

red cloak

weighted blade

dog tags

Body Language

steady hands

nose scrunching with laughter

narrowed unflinching gaze

stock-still posture

blowing stray hairs out of face

Aesthetics

Fading light

driven snow marred with soot

pinstraight pale hair

fields of edelweiss

a broken locket

Im gonna tag: @exotic-inquiry @777greywolf and @retconomics no pressure ofc! <33

[juniperberries-canisroot]

WIP WEDNESDAY

Tagged by @friend-of-giants thanks! Tagging @unsettlingcreature @argisthebulwark, @daedrabait and anyone else who sees this! I need more peeps to tag so if you see this and tag me I'll tag you next game I get. Or just hit me up in the notes that you want to be tagged another time even if you don't have a wip to share rn.

Gonna share some tender yet somehwat somber moments with Melka and by extension Vilkas. Apparently the theme is loneliness, which Melka has alot of in their life, before and while in Skyrim. I think I shared one of these before but I can't remember.

Ignore that I forgot to crop the other ones😅

[crossbackpoke-check]

nosy anon again making a return because i think what my brain did was read that i helped find some kind of writing and then did not fully process what the writing was?? but upon rereading i am very intrigued if you ever get the urge to share i will be all eyes/ears/senses required to enjoy things!!

I GET TO DO WIP WEDNESDAYYYYYY!!! the writing exists mostly in the form of a tag (fantastic! 'verse) and also a thirty-two page doc of snippets and planning, so the sense you will be using most is imagination:

don't think i have ever actually formally written out anything about fantastic! 'verse but! the tl;dr of it is that it's a semi-college au: joel is still a hockey player for the lv phantoms, but morgan is a college student-athlete. it's incredibly relevant to the plot that joel falls in love with morgan in the check-out line of a wegman's, lies a little bit, and ends up going back to get his degree.

most of it is just good fun about college kids growing up, but i think there's a lot of parallels between making your way through a development system where traditional "success" isn't always guaranteed (ahl -> nhl, completion of higher education -> pursuit of a career) because that development system isn't always designed for you to "succeed" or have opportunities. heavy quotation marks around success because part of that struggle is learning what you want in life and how you define success. are your dreams achievable? are they still the same dreams you always used to have? it's infinite branching universes of would you still love me if i was a worm (ahl player forever) (a college dropout) (a college graduate) (older) (realizing the fallibility of your body) (uncertain of the future) (human).

silly little snippet:

[ariadynamics]

Hi Aria! Are you planning on writing more of (want you) more than anyone else?

I've had this ask since April 27, so I'm not even sure you'll see this nonny.

I've been ignoring it for a bit (sorry, nonny) because honestly, I wasn't sure if I was going to be able to write more of the Galex WIP.

Uh, apparently, I've written some? This is EXTREMELY rough and also will likely be heavily edited by the time I'm done. But anon, if you ever see this tho, I hope you like it!

Chapter 5, Galex WIP

There’s something weird today about George. Obviously, weirdness and George aren’t entirely two disparate things. After all, George is weird most of the time. The kind of weirdness George is projecting tonight isn’t new or singular. This feels different, though, and Alex can’t pinpoint why. He can’t think of the exact words to describe why George feels off. Just that George does feel off.

Alex hates it.

Not that George being different is a problem. Whatever, he’s pretty sure there isn’t an iteration of George that he could ever dislike. No, the thing that grates at Alex, the thing that makes him feel itchy and restless, is the feeling of not knowing something about George. Alex can’t stop rewinding his interactions with George over the last couple of days, like a healing scab on his skin he can’t stop picking at. When did things suddenly change? 

Was there something Alex had done? Had said?

When did they become the kind of people who kept secrets from each other? 

Alex wants to know everything about George. He wants to learn every atom, every molecule, every little thought that crosses George’s huge, giant head. 

Fuck.

Maybe he’s the weird one here, not George.

After all, he’s the one who wants to be an inextricable, immovable part of George. That’s weird, right? Admittedly, he’s not the most well-versed when it comes to friends-with-benefits etiquette, but Alex is reasonably sure the thoughts he’s been having all morning about George aren’t exactly buddies. 

He can’t help it.

Alex just. Fuck. Alex just wants.

He wants a lot of things. Alex wants to tug at the curls at the base of George’s neck. He wants to beat him on the track and then kiss him stupid while they’re damp and sticky from champagne. Most of all, though, Alex wants George to turn around and look at him. He wants to handcuff George to himself and drag them both away to where they can be alone.

“We can probably spare half an hour or so, right, Alex?” George asks, taking Alex out of his head.

He blinks, hard, when he finally digests George’s words. “Uh, sure?” Alex grunts. “I missed that; what are we doing again?”

“Beach volleyball. We were hoping for a couple of extra people to join us,” the guy with dimples says, shooting them a toothy grin. Alex feels irrationally angry at how white this guy’s teeth are under the Grecian sun.

This guy’s not even that hot, Alex thinks, glum. He can’t place the guy’s accent at all. He sounds like an experimental mash-up between Sebastian and Stroll. Completely, utterly unsexy.

Even if the guy’s dimples can probably bring about world peace.

“I don’t know if it would be fair for us to join,” Alex says. If he sounds a little haughty, well, he’s just looking out for Smiley McSmiley over here. They’re athletes--it would be rather unsportsmanlike of them to play volleyball with a bunch of unsuspecting regular Joes.

The guy raises one of his thick, well-manicured brows. “Oh? Why’s that? You any good at volleyball?”

Alex shrugs. “We’re, you know. Athletic.”

George nudges their shoulders together, and the heat of George’s skin against his makes him shiver. “Way to sell our abilities, Alex,” George grins, shaking his head. “Don’t listen to him. We’re not superstars or anything, but we probably won’t be complete liabilities.”

The guy laughs, throwing his head back jovially, the long lines of his neck in full view. “Good enough for me. I’m Nico, by the way. Nice to meet you.”

“George. And this guy right here is Alex.”

Nico shakes both of their hands before pointing to a clearing close to the beach. “My friends are just over there. Shall we?”

[spellmage]

Sweet butcher? 👀👀

hello sorry i'm getting to this like three days late but hiii !! @caridinscross also asked about this one :]]

this is the kressa multi-chapter fic i've been working on for far too long. i think it wants to eat me. putting it under a cut because uhh blood !!

A great red darkness surrounds you.  You have stared at the same spot of blood for what must be a lifetime. There is little light here, and what meagre beams shine through the pane of glass are as red as everything else you can see. It reflects dimly off the blood, makes it look alive in a way that you know it is not. The wetness of it is what gives it false-life, and you must keep it fresh. You need it to be fresh, for if it is not, then you are already dead. Your head slams against the glass, again and again, slow as the hand on a clock but just as steady as the chiming of bells you cannot quite remember the sound of. Your red trickles out of you, a steady stream, and your river, your garden, grows until tiny little cracks peek from beneath it. It is a shame to waste it, though you know its purpose here is more important than anything else could possibly use it for. Your restraint is admirable, though your blood weeps as it leaves you. If you had thirst, if you had no control, you might strain to lick it up as it runs down your cheek. You might press your tongue flat against the flesh-warmed glass. You might let it trickle down your throat. You might smile at the sweet-bitter taste of it. But you do not have thirst, and for now you have control in abundance, so you do not.

[lavinialost]

"the Weedfic™", for WIP Wednesday?

Amanda punches him in the arm and it hurts. He makes an undignified noise. She managed to hit him right where the muscles have knotted and refuse to relax.  “Aw, did that hurt?” she asks, feigning sympathy. “You know what would make it better?”

✨wednesday is a state of mind as far as I'm concerned✨

[mor-and-more]

Using the fact I'm presently knitting at the work desk, behold: Firiel in progress!

I'm fully knitting from memory already, and it's got just enough changes to be engaged but still memorise the pattern easily!..

The needles are KnitPro Marblz with Lantern Moon cord because I got spoiled by swivel cords and don't want to use one that needs to be turned this way and that rn, haha (also I think it was either these 3.5 or the 4 mm Marblz needles that kept getting unscrewed when I'd use them with the regular cord, but that's probably on me)