#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.”

[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.

[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.

[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?”

[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 👁️

-🌘✨

[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

[total-serene560]

Here, have a small slice of Ch.6 for WIP Wednesday.

Currently posted story below the cut!

[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.

[heatwavering]

hmm

[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✨

[baejax-the-great]

hi for the wip game: mind?

From a chapter currently named "Sad ukelele noises featuring Aphrodite":

Achilles lies on his bed and strums the instrument absentmindedly.

[itwasntimethatdidit40]

You look like a fun place to sit.

Gif credits

Pairing: Neighbor!Frankie Morales x f!reader

Words count: 2667

Rating: + 18, MDNI

Summary: You decide to enjoy a night at the movies, your neighbor Frankie ruins it all. Or maybe not?

Tags: pov second person, no use of y/n, fluff, sort of romcom vibes (?), smut, enemies to lovers, age unspecified but they are both full grown adults, Frankie is annoying but also cute and lovely and fucking gorgeous, reader has hair, breasts and vagina, other than that no other description of her is given, fingering (f receiving), sexual acts in public places (again? Again. I'm not even particularly interested in doing that irl I don't know what to say to you, please forgive me), pet names (honey, baby, princess), arguing, kissing, no use of Spanish because I terribly suck at it and I don't want to butcher another language LOL. If by chance I realize I forgot something I'll add it right away.

It’s my first Frankie ff and I’m so incredibly nervous to post it you all! I really hope it doesn’t sucks because I had so much fun writing it today in one sitting ‘cause I’m just an impulsive impatient mess. (Leo sun and Aries moon, what do you expect from me if not chaos? I had nothing a few hours ago, I even skipped WIP Wednesday and btw thanks for the tag @almostempty 🩷)

Title comes from a gif of Karen Walker from Will and Grace that I saw last night, it made me laugh a lot and this thing was born LOL

As usual, English is not my first language so please be gentle, no beta and no proofreading, it’s tiny and it’s all my fault, I’m sorry 💀 Thanks to anyone who will read this!

Archive tags: @pedrostories ♥️

“Excuse me, you should stand up, that’s my seat” 

Frankie turns, looking at you with a surprised expression “I don’t think so, you’re wrong” he replies. 

Ugh, your neighbor.

Frankie lives two houses away from you. Last winter you had a fight at a neighborhood meeting because you pointed out that he keeps forgetting to put the recycling bins back in, and he told you to mind your own business and called you an hysterical witch.

A stupid fight that ended up with you not saying hello to each other and various other arguments about your flashy Christmas lights or his overgrown yard. You and Frankie fight constantly, about everything. And now he's here.

You glare at him “I’m not wrong at all, look” and you wave your ticket under his nose “P10, see? It’s my seat and you’re rude”. 

A grin spreads across his face “listen, honey, I don’t know where you got this ticket, you probably made it yourself, I bought it a moment ago and it’s the same seat” 

He takes a card out of his pocket and hands it to you, remaining comfortably seated with a large popcorn box. 

You look at the ticket, him again, the ticket again “how the hell is that possible?! I booked it on their website a week ago” 

He sneers “I told you! It must be a system error, I don’t know, I’m not getting up from here”

You are furious. The theater is filling up and you absolutely don’t want to leave, you have been waiting for this movie for months and you have inspected the theater map choosing a seat that would guarantee you the very best view.

“I bought it first, so I have more right to be here than you do,” you say firmly and Frankie laughs. 

“Where are we, elementary school? Listen, honey, go buy yourself another ticket and leave me alone.” He replies crunching on popcorn.

The way he calls you “honey” irritates you deeply, it sounds like an insult.

“I’m not going anywhere, YOU get the fuck out of here” you hiss. 

“No” he simply replies and then he turns back at the screen pretending you’re not there. 

“Truly a gentleman, as usual. I have no words.” you roll your eyes and search for an usher to ask for help. No one is there. 

The movie starts in 5 minutes and you don’t want to miss anything you paid for. If you went to the box office right now to complain it would take forever to get back in. 

“Fuck” you exclaim and sit down next to him huffing. You are sure that someone will make you get up very early and it pisses you off.

Frankie continues to nibble on his popcorn and looks at you with an extremely amused expression, it seems like the show has become you.

“Why do you care so much about this movie anyway?” he asks you. “Does any of your relatives happen to be in it?“ 

You’re fuming. 

His teasing tone, his vaguely Spanish accent, his smirk, the sound of him chewing, everything bothers you.

“No. Shut the fuck up” you tell him with a death stare. 

You won’t tell him that your favorite actor stars in it, that you have every photo from the set of this movie saved on your phone, that you’ve read every article about it, and that you couldn’t wait to enjoy it on the first day of screening.

You can already hear his raucous laughter. No, you would never tell Frankie anything like that.

“You're not one of that guy's crazy fans, are you?” 

“What guy?” you ask him, pretending not to know what he's talking about. “Gladiator is one of my favorite movies, that's all. I just wanted to watch the sequel in peace. Someone is stopping me, though” 

“That guy, I bet you like him, what’s his name? Paul Pascal?” he stares at you searching for every little involuntary movement on your face that might give you away. 

“Oh for God’s sake, what are you doing here anyway? Do you even know what you're about to see? They are Paul Mescal and Pedro Pascal, two different people, you uncultered swine.” You yell. This guy is impossible.

“Yeah, whatever, so which one do you fancy?”

“Fucking nobody” you lie “I just want to watch a movie after a horrible week at work, okay?” You try to play on his guilt. If he has one, you think.

“Well, I've had a rough week too, okay?” he shrugs without stopping to give you that annoying little smile. “And it's not my fault that this theater is having problems with its computer system.”

You glance at him, wondering if he's telling the truth, it's impossible to guess from his face.

People keep sitting in the front rows and you start hoping that luck will be on your side and that no one will make you get up.

“Okay, look, now we're going to watch this movie and then we'll go our separate ways, please don't bother me anymore"

“As you wish, princess” he replies ironically.

You don't even answer him, you're too busy checking that no other people come in.

Finally the opening credits start to roll and the doors close with a dull thud.

You made it, despite this unbearable guy, you feel victorious.

You begin to relax in your chair and you don't know why you turn to look at him, lingering on his face for the first time in months.

His eyes are fixed on the screen. In the dim light you observe his raven curly hair tucked under his baseball cap, his dark eyes, the line of his prominent nose, his scruffy beard, his mustache, just above a pair of lips that seem made for kissing.

Really, truly, gorgeous.

You're so busy arguing with him all the time that you never realized how handsome he is.

He's wearing a grey t-shirt and a pair of jeans, you can’t help but admire the way the fabrics hug his body so deliciously. 

He’s just your type, built up in all the right ways, you find yourself unable to take your eyes off him until the last second. Then the movie starts and you look away.

He’s still your number one enemy, what the hell were you thinking?

When Pedro first appears, you shift in your seat, crossing your legs.

“FUCK” you scream internally “here we go”

Unbelievably stunning in his armor, you’re basically drooling. 

You try to stay as composed as possible but Frankie is next to you and notices.

He comes closer to you and whispers in your ear “So it was all about this guy… the fuss before” You feel one of his large hand brushing your arm that is resting on the armchair and you try with all your strength to remain still even if he causes a storm inside you and especially in your panties. 

“Shut. Up.” You hiss, without moving your gaze. You feel his breath on your skin and it’s intoxicating. 

He chuckles “Yeah, that was I was thinking” and throws another popcorn into his mouth.

Your cheeks burn and you're thankful you're in the cinema, in the dark.

“What’s so special about this guy?” Frankie approaches again “is his penis platinum by any chance? All my female colleagues at work are crazy about him”

You turn to look at him with the desire to slap him “Shut. The. Fuck. Up.” 

“Okay, okay, I was just asking”

You hate people talking at the movies. You wonder if you could have a more annoying guy than Frankie next to you. Probably. 

Hotter? Probably not.

This dude hits on your last nerve but he makes you horny at the same time. 

Terrible combination. 

Frankie settles back into his seat and resumes watching the film.

You can't help but look at him from time to time and your desire grows. even if you're offended that he didn't even offer you his popcorn. Rude. 

His mouth pouted and his eyebrows furrowed as he seems all focused on the movie makes you want to cup his face and kiss him.

You can still feel the warmth of his hand on your arm and his breath on your neck.

Concentrate, you tell yourself, it's the neighbor you hate, the neighbor you hate, the neighbor you hate. Fuck. You want him so bad. This revelation drives you crazier than Pedro half naked on screen.

At a particularly bloody scene you involuntarily turn around and hide your face on his shoulder.

You feel his arm around you “hey, it’s okay. I’ll tell you when it’s over” and he holds you tight the whole time.

He smells clean and fresh, like citrus and sage with a light hint of cigarette that you assume he smoked right before entering. 

Your mind goes fuzzy and your pulse races at an impossibly high rate. 

“You can look now” and it takes you a few seconds too long to register his words. 

“Th-Thanks” you mutter, shifting back to your place. 

Halfway through the movie the lights come back on and Frankie bursts out laughing looking at you. “What?” you ask him with wide eyes “what is it that makes you laugh so much?”

“Your face” he grins “it's clearly painted on it how much you want that guy. He turns you on, huh?”

You roll your eyes “Oh my God! Can't you go sit somewhere else? Two rows down, look how many free seats there are”

“I like it better here” 

You cuss, there’s no way to get rid of him.

He has something magnetic that destabilizes you, your eyes fall involuntarily on his neck, slide along his broad chest and stop at the crotch of his pants. From the way he sits you can clearly see that he is quite big.

“What are you looking at?” he asks you amusedly. 

You immediately look up. “Nothing” 

“Nothing my ass. Did you like what you saw?” 

Fuck. He noticed. You're done for. You hate to make him understand that after all, yes, you like what you saw. He seems pleased, proud, you would so much like to wipe that little smile off his face. As much as you struggle to admit it to yourself, you like him.

“Well, maybe…after all, you look like a fun place to sit” 

You can't believe you actually said that.

Frankie's response is not long in coming, his eyes immediately darken and his smile twists in a mischievous way.

The lights go out again and you feel him tug gently on your arm “come here, pretty”

He sits you down on his lap and as the movie starts again he whispers “was that what you wanted the whole time? Were you offended that I didn’t invite you?” you can clearly feel his smile spread across your skin just before he places his lips on your neck.

You would like to say something back but his closeness makes you confused and excited.

He sucks your skin like he's hungry and you moan in the dark "shh baby you gotta stay quiet while I give you what you want”

You don't know how but you find the strength to reply, "God, you're so arrogant.”

He tightens his hands on your hips, pulling you towards him, now you are practically sitting on his cock. You feel it pressing against your ass, trapped in his pants.

A rush of pleasure wets your pussy and you bite your lips to hold back another moan, you hear his hoarse voice in your ear “Maybe. You like it though” You hate to admit that he is right. 

The heat of his body envelops you pleasantly, he raises a hand to one of your breasts and squeezes it over your shirt. You like his hands. They are big, expert and eager to touch you, they make your head spin. 

You completely forgot about the movie, which seemed impossible to you, if they had told you you would have laughed in their face. In no universe would you have expected this.

“God” you whine “oh my God” His hand slides under your shirt and reveals your breast pulling down your bra, it is still covered but now you can feel his skin against yours. His fingers gently grasp one of your nipples, pulling and twisting it.

“Open your eyes, baby. Watch the movie like a good girl” his voice sounds authoritative, it irritates you and another rush of pleasure floods you at the same time.

“It’s not that easy” you mutter between your teeth as you feel his other hand dangerously approaching the hem of your skirt. He slowly goes up, as you try to hold back and make sure no one notices what he’s doing to you. Luckily, everyone seems enthralled by the film.

At this moment you don't even know why you started arguing so fiercely, if you had known before you would have tried to smooth things over a long time ago.

His fingers reach your panties, you feel them barely touching you and you already feel yourself burning with anticipation.

They move under your skirt, pushing your panties aside, grazing at your outer lips and then dipping inside you “Fuck, you’re soaking” 

He moves them up and down between your folds, gathering your wetness towards your clit.

You feel his heavy breathing on your neck, his tongue running over your skin and his teeth nibbling on you.

“Fuck, Frankie” you cry 

“Eyes to the movie”

You want to turn around and straddle him but there isn't enough room and Frankie holds you firmly anyway.

He applies pressure on your clit just right, starting to move two of his thick fingers in circle over it, the motion of his hand is partially hidden by the fabric of your skirt and your moans die in your throat one after the other. Frankie is rubbing away your sanity, you feel possessed and delirious under his touch.

Your last shred of control is torn by his fingers entering inside you, claiming your cunt as his, curling and scratching at your spongy spot.

Your eyes are still fixed on the screen but your vision is totally blurred, you see nothing, you understand nothing, you only feel Frankie pumping incessantly inside you while continuing to rub your clit with his thumb.

You feel the soft reverberation of his voice behind you, close to your ear “good girl, you're taking me so well”

The subtle Spanish accent in his voice now seems to you the most erotic sound in the world, sweet, melodious, addictive.

He takes you to the edge, you throw your head on his shoulder, shutting your eyes so everything goes black and you only feel him, until even biting your lips doesn't help anymore. He covers your mouth with his hand as you explode in a devastating orgasm, you moan against his skin, between his thick fingers that have just left your breast and you already miss them, feeling full and satiated by him.

He uncovers your mouth and kisses your neck, pressing his hand to your hip to keep you from slipping off his lap as your body trembles against his.

“Shit” you mutter “Frankie…oh my god”

“Do you think we can stop arguing all the time now?” He playfully says as he nuzzles at your hair.

“I don’t like being told what to do unless I’m naked, you know, I’m just like that” you reply, grinning and turning around to finally fix your eyes on his. 

“I noticed it”

You take off his cap laughing and put it on backwards and before he starts to protest you kiss him deeply, licking into his mouth, tasting butter and salt on his tongue.

“Take me home”

“The movie isn't over yet,” Frankie observes, and you reply, “that means you'll have to take me to see it again and you’ll pay”

“Fine to me, princess” 

[fanauthorworkshop]

Applications now open!

The Fall 2024 Fanauthor Workshop is a 7-week writing course led by Betts (@bettsfic). The workshop lends a supportive space to writers who identify as fans to receive constructive feedback on fanfiction, original fiction, or creative nonfiction.

Art by @emimayooo 💖

Where & When

We meet weekly over Zoom. You can apply for one of two sessions:

Group A: Wednesdays from Oct. 9 - Nov. 20, 12-2pm EST

Group B: Mondays from Oct. 7 - Nov. 18, 6-8pm EST

What

FAW is a feedback-oriented workshop with the occasional generative session. This means that each week we read 2 pieces submitted by participants, offer written feedback, and discuss them over Zoom. You'll be able to sign up for the week you would like to workshop your own piece, which can be anything under 6k words.

There may be weeks where, in lieu of workshopping, I present external readings and writing exercises. These sessions will be dependent on the number of participants. For example, if we have 10 participants and 6 workshop weeks, that means one week will be devoted to a reading discussion and generative activity.

I developed a workshop model that focuses mostly on affirmations and positivity, as well as descriptive over prescriptive feedback, which is to say, describing one's experience of reading rather than prescribing solutions to perceived problems. We also present improvement-oriented feedback, but avoid negativity, judgment, and pedantry. Week 1 is spent going over the model and how to give feedback.

About FAW

The first FAW was held in 2017 as an independent study in my MFA. I restarted it in 2022 and since then have led 9 sessions with a total of over 50 participants, about half of whom have participated in the workshop more than once.

Participation in the workshop includes entrance into the FAW community, an active Discord server where we host:

Ongoing accountability meetings, where we chat over Zoom about our projects and set goals for ourselves every other week

A monthly longform writing workshop, where writers can workshop any story between 6k and 100k words

A short story club, where we read and chat about original short form works

Events and activities like movie nights and co-op gaming

Scheduled write-ins and impromptu writing sprints

We also chat about writing and craft, offer resources, and share many, many pet photos.

In addition, participants of the workshop receive:

A one-hour consultation with me to go over your workshop feedback, come up with a plan for revision and/or publication, or anything else you’d like to discuss regarding your writing

Open enrollment in future workshops

Priority sign-ups for WTFS (Write the Fucking Story), WIP Cleanout, and other one-off generative sessions

Eligibility

Anyone over the age of 18 who considers themselves a participant of fandom and who is familiar with fanfiction may apply. A stable internet connection is also required.

Cost

The cost of the workshop is "pay what you can" with the recommended amount of $300. To be as inclusive as possible, I don't want money to be a deterrent for anyone interested in participating.

Payment (or notification of nonpayment) will be requested prior to the start of workshop via PayPal, Venmo, or Wise. You can also pay in installments.

Application requirements

To apply, you will need:

An informal cover letter discussing your fan history and goals as a (fan)writer (more specific instructions on submittable)

A short sample of your writing, either original work or fanfiction. This may be previously published/posted

You can apply via submittable. Applications close September 15.

FAQ under the cut

FAQ

Are there any content restrictions to what I can workshop?

The only restriction is word count (max 6k), with the following caveats:

If you workshop a piece in a form other than prose (for example, a script), your peers may not be able to offer constructive feedback on that aspect of the work. Participants are asked only to have a familiarity with prose.

Content warnings are required for each piece (if applicable), and participants who are uncomfortable reading certain subject matter may abstain from your workshop.

What is the time commitment of the workshop?

As a participant of the workshop, you'll be asked to:

Workshop any piece of your own prose up to 6k words, which will need to be uploaded to the group folder one week before your workshop.

Read 2 pieces per week, write out your individual crit, and attend the workshop itself.

What is the timeline of the workshop?

In week 1, we go over the syllabus and do a writing exercise. Weeks 2 through 7 will be a workshop, a discussion of an external reading, or a writing activity. Prior to the start of workshop, you'll be able to sign up for the week you would like to workshop your piece.

Structure of the sessions:

Question of the day

First workshop

Short break

Second workshop

We'll go over my workshop model and the syllabus in week 1.

Do I have to participate in the Zoom meetings (camera and mic on)?

Attending the workshop itself is required, and everyone is asked to offer at least one note of positive feedback on each piece, so mics are necessary. Cameras are preferred but not required.

You can't asynchronously participate, i.e. read the pieces and offer written feedback without attending the sessions.

Can workshop participants submit to OFIC Magazine?

Yes! Part of the reason I run the workshop is to inspire and promote the original work of fanwriters. You can follow us on tumblr @oficmag.

Who is running the workshop?

@bettsfic! In short, I lived a dreary cubicle life as a banker until I found fanfiction at 24. I loved it so much that I quit my job to get an MFA in creative writing. I loved the MFA so much that I became a writing teacher. I have some publications, awards, an agent, and 2 million words of fic on ao3. I don't have a book out yet but I'm getting there.

Currently I'm a writing coach and freelance editor. I also have a lowkey writing-related newsletter. And I've been answering writing advice asks on my blog for 10 years.

If you want an idea of the kind of writing activities I create, last summer I worked with @books on a workshop series which includes craft essays and some fun prompts.

If you're interested in my original work, my short story "Not If, When" is a good representation of my writing. For something darker, check out "Shut Up and Kill Me."

What is the workshop like?

Check out G's experience of attending the workshop. And here's some feedback from previous participants.

One final note: I'm working on updating the copy about the workshop on my website and move it over to OFIC's website. This post and Submittable has the most updated information on the workshop. If you have questions about discrepancies (or anything at all), you can shoot me an ask, DM me, or add me on Discord (I'm bettsfic there too). Or you can email me at ekweeks@gmail.com.