#what if i said i have more of this that's still a wip

[starmocha]

Neglecting my 373829927299 wips, my tasks, my errands, my fucked up sleep schedule, my life in general, because I am obsessed with this new wip I have:

More tribal warrior!Sylus, but make it childhood friends/arranged marriage/soulmates AU-flavored. This is my new ✨need✨, please enable me, I'd already written 4.6K words and that's only like 1/3 of the story I'd envisioned

(other things in the story to consider: light breeding kink, definite pregnancy kink, body worship.....just worshiping in general, because my other current obsession is Sylus being grossly in love with you and this fic is lowkey just him being "my wife ❤ I will worship the ground my wife walks on ❤ I will worship the air she breathes ❤ she can kick my ass idgaf because she does it so prettily ❤")

As you returned to the village, nightfall had already descended. You and Sylus had ridden back in silence, the awkward atmosphere only worsening with each passing minute. Sylus had kept an arm protectively around your waist the entire time while his other hand held the rein. You looked down, eyes following the horse’s hooves as he trotted back. “We’re almost back,” Sylus’ soft voice broke through the tensed atmosphere. You looked up, seeing the huts that lined the outskirt of the village and your mare quietly grazing in the distance. You wriggled a little, but that only made Sylus tightened his hold. You looked down at his arm around you and you said softly, “Let me down. I can walk back.” “No,” he answered. “Sylus—" He suddenly yanked the rein, forcing the horse to turn around in a different direction. “Sylus?!” you looked up panicked, not expecting this sudden change in pacing. Sylus’ sight remained ahead, and your heart sped up at the sight of seeing his handsome face from this angle, bathed only in moonlight. Sylus commanded his horse skillfully and you both rode atop the stallion at a brisk pace. The cool night breeze brushed against your cheeks, drying your earlier tears. You even found yourself starting to smile and laugh, the adrenaline taking over. Eventually, Sylus took you back to the village once he had seen that you had calmed down. The horses were returned to their stable. You turned just as Sylus handed you the saddlebag. You looked up surprised. “They mean nothing to me,” he said resolutely, “Burn them.” “I’m not going to…” He stroked your cheek with the back of his hand. “I’d never meant to make you upset or have you cried like that, nor did I mean to make you jealous…” “I wasn’t jea—” He leaned down and kissed your lips, silencing you. You dropped the saddlebag, the pouches spilling out on the ground. “Sy—” He lifted you into his arms and you looked up in surprise. “What are you—" He carried you out of the stable before letting you down again. You looked at him exasperatedly. “You always do what you want—this is not fair…” “What’s not fair?” “It’s not fair…how…I’m the only one…feeling insecure…” In the village square, you could hear the celebration dying down as people started making their way home. The bonfire in the center still blazed brightly. “You are right,” Sylus responded, “I don’t feel insecure.” Your shoulders slumped and you kept your eyes lowered. You suddenly felt Sylus’ finger under your chin, tilting it up so your eyes met his. “You were promised to me,” he said, hushed, “And I to you.” He kissed you. “We are meant to be, and were we not, I would rewrite the stars, to change the course of destiny and weave a new tapestry of fate to make you mine.” His forehead pressed to yours. “My love,” he held his gaze with yours, “There is only you…no one else.” He kissed you again, and the last remnants of your jealousy and hurt faded away. Just you.

[quadrantadvisor]

DPxDC Danny/Jason Soulmates AU WIP

-

Jason's timer read 044389:21:08, when the display suddenly went dark. 44,389 hours. Five years, 24 days, 13 hours, 21 minutes, and 8 seconds until he was fated to meet his soulmate.

Or not. Because the time stopped.

It wasn’t supposed to happen. He did his research, and with the resources at his disposal (namely, a batcomputer,) he knew for a fact that there should be no way to defy the fate of a timer. People had tried. Avoidance, isolation, putting a hit out on your own suspected soulmate. Nothing worked. Trying to delay the inevitable put you on the path to meet it. Sure, there were people who lamented the unfairness of their own situation, who were devastated they never got time with their soulmate, famous deaths on opposite sides of a battle, etc. But soulmates always, always met eachother, face to face.

Not him, though. His soulmate was dead. Five years early.

Bruce didn’t get it. Dick wouldn’t talk about it. Alfred only looked at him with pity in his eyes.

Jason wasn’t sad that he was the only person on the planet who’d never meet his soulmate. He was fucking angry, because it wasn’t fucking fair. It was another person in his life who was supposed to care about him that he’d never get to have.

So when he found out he had a mom, somewhere out there, who he’d never had the chance to meet… he had to go. How could he not?

-

It was Sam who noticed, when it happened. Danny had just finished a stupid fight with Boxy, and he, Sam, and Tucker were finally ready to call it a night. Danny de-transformed and grinned, shaking the thermos proudly. “Gonna get these guys back into the Ghost Zone,” he said, when suddenly-

“Danny!” Sam yelped, and snatched at his arm.

Danny stumbled, nearly dropping his precious cargo. “Whoa, Sam, what-?’ he stopped, looking as she turned over his arm, baring his wrist.

His timer was dark, like people who’s soulmates were dead. The numbers still showed, faintly, but they were stationary. The countdown had stopped.

Ice spread through Danny’s veins, like the cold that rushed through him when he went ghost, but worse, so much worse.

Danny’s ghost form didn’t have a timer, which honestly freaked him out, but as a human it had always behaved completely normally. When he turned back, it would be there, the time having elapsed just the way it was supposed to. It had been so reassuring. He was alive. He’d make it at least five more years, and be able to meet his soulmate, who would hopefully be able to accept him the way he was. He wanted that so badly. He wanted someone beyond his friends to talk to, to know him as a person and a ghost. He wanted to not be afraid anymore.

He’d just passed the five year mark, not that long ago. He’d been so excited to be that much closer to someone so important.

And now something was horribly wrong.

“Dude, that’s jacked up,” Tucker said, noticing the problem with wide eyes.

“Did anything happen today?” Sam asked, her expression hardened with determination. “Did you notice anything weird while you were transformed?”

Danny shook his head. “No, no it- it was running while we were at school, and we’ve been fighting ghosts since then. I don’t know when it would’ve…” Danny could barely make himself speak. “Is it my fault?” he said, almost to himself. “Did I spend too much time as a ghost and it just-”

Sam gripped at his hand. “No, Danny, it isn’t your fault. Whatever the problem is, we’re going to figure it out, okay?”

“Yeah man,” Tucker added, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, maybe your parents can actually help this time? Weird magic science is kinda their thing, right?”

Sam looked less sure, but nodded all the same. “You’re going to meet your soulmate. Okay?”

“Okay,” Danny said, quiet, looking down at the stopped numbers on his wrist.

-

Edit: Added a readmore

[rowanisawriter]

wip whenever

iliad corporate lawyer AU

.

“Okay, let us all work through this as a team.” Odysseus glances down at his hands and sees a spot or two of blood on the edge of his cuff. Goddamn it. “Can someone please share with the group just exactly what in the hell happened here?”

Achilles and Agamemnon start shouting at the same time.

“No!” Odysseus slams his fist down on the table again. “Not either of you. Patroclus.”

Patroclus pulls his gaze from the slowly growing pool of blood and spit on the floor at Agamemnon’s feet. His eyes refocus on Odysseus. “Yeah, okay. Um, Agamemnon decided to take the Trojans to court. Since negotiations have broken down and we aren’t getting anywhere trying to settle this. And Agamemnon said that he would be lead counsel. And Achilles said that he should be lead counsel since he’s done all the work setting up for the trial anyway, because he’s assumed from the beginning that this would go to trial—”

“You little bastards,” Agamemnon shouts. He lowers his destroyed suit jacket, his face and beard covered in blood. “Achilles has been wasting all our time preparing for a trial when we have been trying to settle this out of court the entire time. Maybe if he wasn’t so focused on outshining all of us in the courtroom, we would’ve made more headway trying to settle! Fuck!”

“You’re out of your mind, Agamemnon.” Achilles struggles against Diomedes’s grip again. The tails of his shirt have slipped out of his pants as he’s struggled. “The Trojans would never let us block this acquisition. Helen is as good as theirs. No amount of nice talk in a boardroom would ever work. You’ve been wasting all our time! The only shot we have is a trial, I’ve been saying this since day one.”

“Excuse me, is this firm called Atreus and Atreus, Esq. or is it called the Achilles-One-Man-Show? Can someone enlighten me?” Agamemnon glances around the room, his eyes stopping at each person, Nestor in his chair, Menelaus still standing outside the room looking through the glass door, Patroclus in the corner with his head in his hands, Antilochus with the wet wipe container clutched close to his chest. Finally, his eyes fall on Odysseus, sitting in his seat. “Maybe someone can check the name on the door? Or the names on the letterheads on all these goddamn papers? Well? Anyone?”

Odysseus looks at Achilles, who immediately resumes his struggle against Diomedes.

“Don’t fucking look at me! Go ahead and try to go to trial without me, you will regret it. The Trojans will acquire Helen and I’ll be laughing from the gallery the whole time. This trial means nothing to me. I don’t give a shit about any of this.”

[kcwriter-blog]

WIP Wednesday

Got tagged by @thebookworm0001to share my WIP. Thanks! I needed a kick in the rear to keep working on this...

“You can’t keep doing this Solas,” she mumbled. “You can’t keep stealing into my dreams.” She looked up at him, her features twisting in anguish.

He lost his composure, then. His mouth twisted downwards. His eyes sparkled with unshed tears. He raised a hand toward her, full of longing, then dropped it to his side, fisting his hand.

“Didn’t you know?” His voice was hoarse, breaking on the words. “I did not enter your dream. You have entered mine, just as you did at Skyhold so many years ago.”.

“I – what? That’s not… I don’t have the Anchor anymore and I’m no Dreamer.”

“No, but you are a mage. A mage once marked by my magic. Even with the Anchor gone, you have an affinity for the Fade. I surmise your skill has only increased in the interim since I left you.”

“So, the Anchor did change me,” she said, recalling their conversation on her balcony. After she had learned his true identity, she had been a little offended that he thought he was only attracted to her because she was marked by his magic.

“The Anchor did not change you in any way that mattered. You have always had a rare and marvelous spirit. You probably always had an affinity for the Fade. I don’t think anyone else could have survived exposure to the Anchor for as long as you did, even with my help.”

“There’s more isn’t there.

“I suspect your recent brush with death, coupled with the reason you fell unconscious have played a part. Your spirit was searching for safety. This place has always been a sanctuary. “

“You know that’s not true. If I was searching for safety, I would have dreamed I was in Skyhold. I was obviously searching for a person. Why you?”

“You may not like the answer.”

“I never like your answers, anymore.”

He turned away from her. She had to strain to hear his next words.

“Lovers have always called to each other across the Fade. Sometimes, if the attachment is strong enough, they can enter each other’s dreams.”

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, unable to face her.

She stared at him incredulously. “But that would mean… that you still…and I…” Her voice faltered.

“Did you truly not know?” he asked.

“That you still love me? No. That I still love you? Yes.” she said. Tears began leaking from her eyes, falling unheeded down her cheeks. “I just don’t want to.”

He let out a soft cry of anguish at her words, then knelt at her feet, taking her hands in his.”

“I know, vhenan. Of all the things I have done, this is by far the worst. I knew I was being selfish to grasp at happiness, knowing it could only end in pain. I was weak and you paid the price.”

“We both paid a price. We are still paying it.” She sighed. “And for all that, I cannot regret our time together,” she said. “I should. I still can’t believe the man who cared so deeply for the refugees in the Hinterlands would then condemn them to death simply to assuage his own guilt.”

tagging @arlathvhenan @broodwolf221 @kierarhawke

[distracteddream]

WIP Wednesday

Thank you for the tag, @loki-is-my-kink-awakening!

This is something new that’s wormed into my brain. I know everyone has already written post-Roxxcart divorce fics but oh well. (And I said I wanted Mobius to call Loki a feckless slut.)

Behind the cut for language and angst and nonsense.

“Oh, don’t act like that. You’ve seen my life, Mobius. You know I’m a cad.”

“Yeah, you’ve got the faithlessness of a common alley cat. You’ll go to anyone who feeds your ego. Guess I didn��t think you were so ego-starved as to fuck yourself.”

Loki sits back in his chair, mouth hanging open. His surprise at Mobius’ blunt assessment just sets Mobius further on edge. Loki can’t possibly have forgotten that Mobius knows him, knows his motivations, possibly better than Loki knows them himself. Nor that Mobius wouldn’t hesitate to call Loki out like this.

“Well? Did you fuck yourself?” Mobius doesn’t really want to know the answer. At the same time, he can’t not know.

“I beg your pardon.” Loki has the audacity to look offended. “She has a name.”

Mobius grits his teeth. He’s so irritated that Loki ought to be thankful Mobius isn’t calling the Variant something much less flattering. “Answer the question.”

“And what would it matter if I did?”

“You feckless slut.” Loki’s eyes widen at the insult. Good. Mobius is so angry with him that he’s not stopping to think about what he’s saying. “What was it? I wasn’t putting out enough to satisfy you? You had to chase the first piece of ass that waltzed by? I…” His face is burning but if it’s from embarrassment or rage, Mobius isn’t sure. “I let you fuck me. Damnit, Loki! I let you and that damned silver tongue of yours talk me out of my virginity and this is how you treat me?!” God. Mobius is too old to be talking like this but he’s not so upset that he misses the way Loki’s eyes shutter at his accusation.

Loki flinches in his seat when Mobius accuses him of conning him out of his first time. Right. This makes this so much more complicated. Messy. Because Mobius thinks he was a virgin the first time they were together because that’s how he thinks the Time Keepers made him. He’d indicated as much to Loki at the time so Loki couldn’t feign that he didn’t know. But if Mobius is a Variant like himself, odds are he wasn’t a virgin at all.

And, even through all the anger and hurt feelings they’re dealing with now, Loki still finds Mobius incredibly handsome. He’s never been one for games of chance, but Loki would definitely bet on not having been Mobius’ first sexual partner.

But Mobius thinks he is and that makes this worse.

“Mobius…” Loki starts cautiously. “Mobius, there’s something you should know…”

“Yeah,” Mobius says, clearly disinterested in what he must think is just another excuse. “The answer to my question. Did you fuck your Variant?!” he asks, each word emphasized.

Loki’s stretched-thin temper snaps. “Her name is Sylvie!” Very well. If Mobius doesn’t want to hear what Loki has to say, Loki will tell him what Mobius already thinks happened. Mobius seems to assume the worst of him - and that thought stings worse than all the rest. He leans forward, his voice a vicious hiss. “And yes. Sure. I had her in every way possible, over and over. We fucked our way through an apocalypse. If she were here right now, I’d fuck her on this table right in front of you. Is that what you want to hear?”

Mobius goes pale, his grip so tight on his pencil that it’s a surprise it doesn’t break. “You’re lying,” he says tightly.

“Am I?” Loki sneers. “I fucked you into every available surface. What makes you think I wouldn’t do that to her? I’m a feckless slut, remember?”

[a1cov3]

a thing i did for @pyrosomatic-metamorphosis’s qsmp fic, sweet dreams

this fic, specifically this scene, has haunted me for several months

[luck-of-the-drawings]

OH ARTHUR BENNETT.. such a gorgeous and intriguing character. terribly burdened by a GRUESOME set of crimes, his light suffocated by a HEAVY century of GUILT. so tragic, so dark and broody, and yet PAINFULLY awkward in any social setting ever

[pastelaeqy]

wip

dbh brainworms have been lasting too long

[averlym]

"bad decisions, that's alright; look, i'm still alive"

[just-bendy]

Bendy! What do you think bout your ink form?

I don't like him. I mean yeah, he's big and strong and after bein' able ta control him easier, he can be useful, but... he's dangerous, not only coz of 66. I've said this before, but the angrier I am, the greater the chance I have of turnin' into him. An angry ink demon is no joke. He has the power ta hurt people, maybe even kill. An out of control ink demon fueled by anger is easy ta get taken over by 66, and I'm not about ta ever let him get that chance again. The longer I stay as the ink demon, the more 66 tries ta take over, the greater the headache I get. 66 talks ta me when I'm the ink demon, tryin' ta get me ta give in to these violent urges. I don't think clearly when I'm angry, so I wouldn't be able ta stop myself from acting on them. I just don't think it's worth transforming into him so often. I used to, way back when I was first trying out my new powers. I was careless and stupid, and hurt someone I cared about. Ever since then, I worked hard to keep myself under control, keep the ink demon under control.

Only Henry, Alice, Boris, and Barry, so just this family. There's no way I'm lettin' the public see that form! I've had a few close calls before, but I'm lucky ta be able ta keep him a secret. I can't let the people of this city see that I'm a monster. That'd ruin my reputation.

(( might retcon this actually. i'll let everyone know if i ever do 😅 read tags for more info for what i want to go for ⬇ ))

[bigcats-birds-and-books]

Books of 2024: DESERT CREATURES by Kay Chronister.

Up next! I'm heading back into my Driscoll revision project next month, WHICH MEANS: I can start reading through my Driscoll-vibes TBR shelf again!! I have been promised weird desert body horror (with a side of cannibalism? yikes?), and I'm excited to see how this goes.

[renxmaiden]

"Ren only got together with Jeanne just so he can compete with Yoh because joco said so and therefore it's true"

Nah that ain't it mate

[musical-chick-13]

Cannot BELIEVE I had to have a conversation with someone where, after I complained about people Not Wanting To Write About Women, I then had to explain that yes, I DO write about men sometimes, actually; no I don't hate men; yes I write from the POV of the men in numerous cases and also analyze them.

[kindahoping4forever]

anything new coming soon? 👀

Hopefully! I'm not sure exactly what tbh - I've been trying to be a little generous with myself recently and write based on what I feel like writing as opposed to what I "need to" or "should" work on. Which is great for my creativity but also means a lot of bouncing from project to project and also honestly scrapping a couple WIPs recently that I decided weren't going to pan out.

I can tell you I'm determined to follow thru on my promise of Luke fic this year. (I still intend to finish the post-show one I teased last summer but I've been working on a new one that may or may not see the light of day depending on how it turns out lmao). I'd still like to write the idea I had for a 5SOS5 release week fic, as a nice companion to my CALM and Superbloom release centric stories. The PolyCashton chaptered series I've been writing for literal years needs to happen this year. There's a long lost Gardener Ash storyline I'd love to revive. No one's asked explicitly for more Stage!Ash adventures but I love that couple so it's a possibility. I plotted out my first true AU last year and I'd like to see if I could pull that concept. I've also had ambitions the past couple years of entering the slash arena so we'll see if 2023 is finally the year. (Although full disclosure, one of my recently scrapped WIPs was a slash fic 🥸) And obviously I'd love to take any and every opportunity I can to collab with @cal-puddies - for personal reasons, we had to back off of a lot of good ideas last year but I'm hopeful we'll be able to pick up where we left off.

So short answer: yes, I'm actively writing and as soon as I have something I feel confident in sharing, you guys will be the first to know! 💙

[causticsunshine]

.

[nereidprinc3ss]

no sweeter innocence (than our gentle sin)

in which spencer reid is gentle with overwhelmed fem!reader after sex

18+ (fluff, implied intimacy) warnings/tags: it's just aftercare, but like psychological aftercare, implied intimacy duh, vague descriptions of sex but nothing explicit, hurt/comfort without the hurt, allusions to postcoital dysphoria, reader cries but its not really sad, spencer reid is so kind i wish men were real, i think that is all a/n: guess who wrote an entirely different thing instead of touching her wips..... AGAIN...... this bitch cant do anything omggg!! but this was based on a request so go me also what a strange time to be posting but it's only 1k words and nobody can stop me

“Hey. Are you with me, angel?”

You blink your eyes open in the dark room—reorienting yourself to the tangle of your bodies. How many minutes has it been?

“Hm?”

He chuckles—a quick huff from his nose as he brings a hand up to push hair from your face. 

“I asked you if you’re with me.”

It takes you a moment to answer. You’re still trying to make sense of where you are in space, each sensation coming back to you one by one—the weight and pressure of him against you, the slip of cotton sheets and a cool breeze from the cracked window over your heated sticky skin. 

“Oh.”

It’s not much of an answer and your voice is small. For a moment he lets it sit, cupping your warm cheek. Your eyes flutter shut again. His voice comes gentler, dipped in concern. 

“You okay?”

This time you don’t try to speak. Your tongue is like a lead weight in your mouth and your brain is running on dial-up. The best you can do is to cling to him, hiding your face in the curve of his neck and hoping he’ll understand that your firm hold on him is a request for him to tighten his own arms around you, until you’re sure you won’t float away. He reciprocates and it makes you feel more secure immediately. 

“Can you answer me?” He murmurs, all sweet solicitation, lips brushing the top of your head in this new airtight position. And then, a moment later— “Baby. I wanna hear your voice.”

“Mhm,” you manage. 

Spencer rewards you by rubbing your back in slow circles. His hand feels nice on your bare skin. The way you love him is too big for words. It could make you cry. 

“Wasn’t too much? You’re not hurting anywhere?”

You shake your head and try to ignore the ache in your bones when you can’t seem to get him close enough. 

“Mm-mm.”

It’s not entirely true—your legs are sore, but it’s nothing that needs tending to, and your lower back is a bit crampy, but he’s already working on that. 

He hums. “You’re pretty out of it, sweet girl. What’s going on with you?”

Spencer is always careful with you. He’d never hurt you, or sacrifice your comfort for his pleasure. That said, he’s just as passionate as you are. The stretch of your arms above your head is still fresh in your mind—the ghost of his grip, pressing your wrists into the mattress, or pushing your leg up, or pulling you exactly where he wanted you by the hips. It’s all wonderful, and you never feel safer than you do when you’re with him, but it doesn’t make you feel any less vulnerable, any less raw, after all is said and done. Maybe it’s precisely because you trust him so much that you’re so sensitive afterward. But he never, ever makes you feel bad for having an intense reaction to an intense experience. He always meets you where you’re at. That in itself makes you emotional. Spencer is different than any of the partners you’d had before. 

Again, he’s patient as you try to process his question and work up a response. Maybe a minute later, you’re breathing out something that feels true. 

“Overwhelmed.”

The word is a tap against glass you didn’t know was there until it’s fracturing like a spiderweb. With no warning, and for no good reason, you find yourself choked up. 

“Oh,” he says, sympathetic and drawn out as understanding sets in. “Do you need me to back off for a minute?”

You squeeze him even fiercer and shake your head, unable to stop the tears from drawing their shiny paths down your cheeks and sinking into the weave of the pillow case. 

“Shh. You’re okay,” he murmurs, quiet and slow and almost sing-songy as he smooths your hair, though you know he doesn’t really expect you to stop crying. “You’re okay, pretty. Remember what I said about all the hormonal shifts in your body after you come?”

Once more you nod against him with a small, shuddering sniffle. 

“And how sometimes your body regulates by crying? Kind of like a… a reset button?”

“Mhm.”

“Mhm.” He shifts from rubbing your back to tracing light lines in shapeless patterns with the blunt edges of his nails, and your breath catches before you’re melting in his hold. “It’s okay to have big or confusing feelings after sex. It’s actually really common. I just want you to be honest with me about those feelings, right? So we can keep you safe?”

“Right.”

“Would you tell me if you were hurting, or if something I did or said was bothering you?”

“Yes.”

If you were looking at him you know he’d be smiling ever so slightly at your monosyllabic responses, charting an upward path with his hand and pushing it through your hair at the nape of your neck. “You can just nod, baby. You don’t have to talk. I know you’re tired.”

You make a small noise of gratitude and nuzzle closer, feeling better as the tears slow, quickly as they’d come. 

“Do you want a bath in a little while?”

Another nod. He scratches at your scalp. “Okay. We’ll do a bath, and then dinner, and then I’m finally going to make you watch that documentary about Helvetica. It’s a little outdated, and there are a few basic errors about the origin and development of the font as well as misinformation about the typeface subgroup in general, but I can amend those as we watch and afterward we can read the director’s tenth anniversary statement. I was waiting to read it until we watched it together.”

Spencer knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that you’ll fall asleep ten minutes in, curled up on the couch under a blanket in your biggest hoodie with your head on his lap and his hand in your hair, just like this. 

He’s actually really looking forward to it.