#wip not wednesday

[widebrimmedhatsblog]

He’s smiling, smiling at her. “Come to bed with me,” he murmurs. “And I’ll let you kiss me goodnight. Isn’t that a good deal?” 

[amentet-draws]

WIP Wednesday

(or whenever)

The reach is saddening these days, so let's shake some notes, support each other and have fun! Share your WIPs (art, writing or whatever).

Here are my st. Trina and Miquella (more adult version). Based on pre DLC and my AU designs, also female head by Gaetano Cellini that I used for studies earlier. Gonna make them in color (also struggling with Miquella. Braided a doll for reference. Want to make a young male face, sorta typical Tolkien's elf, and not to turn him into a girl... But I've not much experience with males. I love that unfinished sketch aesthetic tho, want to save a copy before I continue).

Tagging @catcas22 @bardcambion @bimbomcgee @sillovn @sheirukitriesfandom @cinderflower @evilwriter37 @ashildr-arts @miseryscrowned @katastronoot @solarchaotica-art and everyone else who wants to show something.

[alma-amentet]

WIP Wednesday

yes, finally I do it on wednesday 😊 tagged by @sheirukitriesfandom (ty for the tag)

My Elden Beast oil painting. Damn, will I ever finish it? Takes time to dry before I can go on, and I get distracted... I have two of them now (they reproduce, yes - other story, will tell later). We'll see which one will be better. Hope to finish soon (at last) and finally move forward.

tagging @catcas22 @cyberroses @dirty-bosmer @bardcambion @evilwriter37 @heraldofcrow @fantomette22 @cinderflower @fwwm @sillovn @bimbomcgee @katastronoot

Anyone else (I might've forgotten) are welcome! Not only art, texts or anything, too. Let's share our WIPs again.

[deadbaguette]

[wip] finally getting around to drawing him… my favourite annoying creature look

[the-river-rix]

Zack x Sweets wip #2!:

“Hey, Zack.” Sweets gently placed a Manila folder on the hard metal desk between them, sliding it towards Zack.

“Hello, Sweets.” Zack replied, ignoring him and eagerly grabbing the folder. Sweets smiled and shook his head. Zack flipped through the documents in the folder neatly laying out a collection of photos in front of him in two rows of five. (Add more later about the photos) Then he methodically read the remaining documents, a copy of the forensic report, and then Sweet’s report. He rolled his eyes at the latter, looking up to glare indignantly at the psychologist.

“What?”

“Your work is imprecise. Your conclusions are based on conjecture rather than empirical evidence and data, and therefore lack the sufficient value to warrant a professional report.”

“It’s funny-” Zack furrowed his brow.

“I don’t see the humor in it. Unless you’re saying that psychology is a joke, which you’d be correct.” Sweets rolled his eyes. Zack smirked.

“Ha. What I was going to say was that Dr. Brennan said the same thing. Almost exactly.” Zack stiffened slightly at the mention of Dr. Brennan, clenching his jaw.

“I don’t know what’s funny about that.”

���Not ha-ha funny, huh funny.”

“What??”

Sweets sighed.

“Nevermind. How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine.” Zack said flatly, lifting one of the photos and examining it closer.

“Which intern was assigned to this case?” He asked, returning to the forensic report and checking each injury in the report in the photo.

“Clark, I believe.”

“Edison?”

“Yes.”

Zack grimaced, setting down the documents.

“Why?” Sweets asked leaning forward.

“The report was extremely precise and accurate.”

“And you don’t like that?”

“No.”

“You made a face.”

Zack considered for a moment.

“I don’t care for Mr. Edison.”

Sweets raised his eyebrows.

“Why is that?”

Zack didn’t respond, organizing the documents and neatly returning them to the Manila folder. He took a cardboard box out from underneath the desk and placed the folder inside. Sweets resisted the urge to take out his notebook and frantically write down the way Zack tensed his shoulders, furrowed his brow, and clenched his jaw at the mention of Dr. Brennan. Or to write the sour expression that spread across his face at the mention of Clark, the strange unfamiliar glint in his eye, the way he slightly chewed on his bottom lip. The last time he tried to take notes during a visit Zack had barely spoken, just to spite him.

“Why don’t you like Clark?”

Zack sighed, dropping the box back on the floor. Sweets waited patiently, giving Zack the expectant look he’d come to know very well. Eyebrows raised and furrowed, eyes wide, and lips pursed ever so slightly. Zack returned the look with a frown, which slowly melted into a strange expression Sweets didn’t quite recognize. Eyes widened, brows furrowed, lips slightly parted.

“Are you wearing makeup?”

Sweets paused, bemused.

Am I?

He hadn’t worn makeup regularly since his teen years, and he hadn’t dared to touch it since he’d started working at the FBI. He impulsively rubbed his eyes, checking for any makeup residue. A tiny trace of crusty black makeup was left.

“Ohh. Yeah, I sort of went undercover at the concert. I guess I didn’t quite get all of it off.”

“I see. I wasn’t aware that you were familiar with makeup. It is relatively uncommon for males in western cultures to have knowledge of or wear makeup, unless they are part of a subculture or identity group that deviates from social norms.”

“I was into alternative culture as a teenager.”

“I see.”

Sweets nodded. They sat quietly for a moment. Zack was staring at Sweets with a strange expression on his face. Sweets was studying him, eager to decipher it. (Explain body language and indicators/meajing)

“It’s quite..aesthetically pleasing.” Zack said tentatively, his gaze darting away from Sweets then back.

Sweets smiled, bemused.

“Thank you, I think?”

They sat in silence for a moment longer. Zack fidgeted.

“How was the concert?”

[l393ndjean]

I finished the first scene of my Will and El role reversal fic!

Only ten billion more to go...

[hebuiltfive]

My head has been everywhere the last few days and I missed WIP Wednesday, but here's a little something that is definitely not a new WIP, whatever do you mean? *nervous laughter* 👀 (Seriously, I need to stop pouncing on new ideas before I've finished my other ones).

--------------------------------------

"Thunderbird Three, do you copy?"

The voice was faint and distant, hiding behind layers of ringing and distortion. Alan could barely focus. He felt as though he was falling... flying... surfing... His head span.

"Thunderbird Three, do you copy?"

The voice grew more agitated, more demanding, but Alan couldn't move fast enough to respond — he didn't want to. His body ached as though he'd been hit by a London double decker. His eyes were still closed but he knew that if he opened them, even for a second, that vertigo would become worse. His vision would swim and he'd probably lose consciousness again.

Oh, yeah. He'd been unconscious.

His arms floated up beside him from the lack of gravity; the only reason he remained seated was because of the harness keeping him in place.

"Alan, Scott? Respond."

That voice was different. Less familiar than the first, older and gravelier. A younger version of that voice existed in Alan's memories. He surged towards the voice to keep him concious.

"Here."

It wasn't Alan that responded to their Dad's request for a response. It was a groggy Scott, also battered and bruised, coming around from unconsciousness, and who was still belted into the seat beside him.

Alan groaned.

"What the hell happened up there?" Jeff was soft though the natural demand made Scott wince.

Their first space mission back with Dad at the helm and they'd already messed up badly.

To save Scott from having to answer, John interrupted. "GDF on-site teams are coming back online."

Jeff turned his focus back to John. "Did they all make it?"

Their brother's silence was enough of an answer, and Scott and Alan quickly exchanged a mournful look.

What happened hadn't exactly been their fault, but if they'd been just a few minutes sooner then maybe...

"I want you both back home." Jeff ordered. "John, make sure they have a safe flight."

"FAB, Dad."

When Jeff's hologram blinked away, John let loose a sigh. He rubbed a gloved hand over his face. Besides him, Alan sensed Scott's tension easing.

"Is he mad?" Alan asked, his voice croakier than he'd have liked.

They'd only just got Jeff home and Alan was still learning who their father actually was, seperate from the version of him he'd created during his youth. The last thing he wanted to face was a disappointed Dad.

"No. He isn't mad. We were both worried you'd been ... It doesn't matter. You're both fine. I'll get EOS to guide you home."

"We can fly, John." Scott insisted but backed-down at their space brother's flat look. It was an unusual response from the leader — former leader now, Alan supposed. That was still something they were all trying to get their heads around.

"Dad's orders." John shurgged before gently adding, "It's safer this way."

[nb-octopus-writes]

WIP not-Wednesday!

Hi, I am going to be taking a page from @suzukiblu's book and start doing wip snippet posts.

And you, my delightful readers, get to assist me in motivation to write by requesting continuations. For every ask I get today, I will write and post at least three sentences on the WIP of your choice!

the specific sentences I post may not be the same ones I just wrote. They'll probably be ones I wrote earlier, so I can post snippets in order from the beginning of the story so reading them is more fun. But I will definitely write at least three sentences and post at least three sentences. If you're familiar with suzukiblu's process this is very much copied from that.

Today, the WIPS you may select between are:

The Accidental Polycule Infiltration Fic

Haunted Dollhouse (New! ✨️)

Jay in Minecraft (New! ✨️)

And to kick things off, here is the opening to Jay in Minecraft!

~*~

Jay opens his eyes. He doesn’t recall closing them. He’s outside, standing on very flat ground. To his left, the sun is rising. It's square, which he can tell because he's able to look directly at it.

It's a very familiar square sun, and the landscape between him and it is a very familiar square landscape. Jay recognizes it immediately, but at the same time, their brain refuses to accept what it recognizes as being correct.

Jay is standing in a grassy plain made out of perfect cubes, under a steadily climbing square sun. In the distance, they can see a forest of blocky trees. They don't know how they got here, but they know where here is:

Jay is in minecraft.

The vantage point is odd, like he's standing on top of a building, but when Jay looks down at his feet, they are planted squarely on the grass below them.

At the same time, they're able to look down at the top of a tree. Multiple trees, actually, but Jay focuses on the closest one. It's an oak, one of the smaller variety that can be fully harvested from the ground, probably six or seven blocks in height. Three times the height of a player, at least. 

And it only comes up to his knee.

Jay is in minecraft, and minecraft is really small.

[fayannah]

yes wip no wednesday

heyyy guys i’m almost done with chapter 1 of the fic ive been writing/planning since august

this is…not a scene from that bit instead a 500 word scene that i pounded out in a inspired spree

um yeah theres like one line of dialogue and it’s probably the best thing i’ve ever written so have fun ig

It had been four years since Miles Edgeworth had moved to the Von Karma Manor. Four years of grief, curiostiy, and depression. Prosecutor von Karma had given him everything he wanted but it wasn't enough.

When Miles was eight, he was a ghost, haunting the halls. He never spoke and if you didn't look carefully, your eyes would slide over him in the grandeur of Manfred von Karma's pristinely decorated manor.

When Miles was nine, he was burdened with guilt and shame. He no longer replayed the events of December 28th in his mind while wishing desperately for his father back. It was a blanket of shame on his shoulders, weighing him down. He was still distant but he spoke the occasional word. The staff members thought he was healing. Miles disagreed.

When Miles was ten, anger overtook him, he broke vases and crushed flowers. He thought he was a bad person and tried to act like it. Punishment came but it was never enough. Miles felt he deserved more for hurting his own father.

When Miles was eleven, he yearned for a friend. Miles had always been a loner but those few months with the new boy with an odd name had showed him what having a friend could be like. Before when Franziska would pester him, Miles would shoo her away too consumed in his own grief to notice. It was to yearn to connect that brought him to Franziska. They fought of course but deep down they both knew that they could never hate each other, no matter who tried to pry them apart. 

When Miles was twelve, curiosity bloomed in his young mind. He would explore the halls until he found a new sanctuary. He would never stay long in one place. Until he found the library.

There were three libraries at the Von Karma Manor. The first was the guest library. Huge celings and grand fireplaces littered the large room as well as the softest rugs and handmade leather chairs. The books in that room had no substance to them, they were filled with boring words like loquacious which in any other context would make Miles excited but in the context made him hang his head in bordem. Miles soon learned that this was purposeful by the master of the house himself, Manfred von Karma. 

With an uncharacteristic glint in his eye, he said, 'We can't let our rivals gain the upper hand, can we, boy?"

The second of the libraries at the Von Karma Manor was a private library restricted to family members. Miles was delighted to gain access and spent day after day gleaning knowledge from any book he could find. It was his own personal haven, his home. Miles was no longer a ghost but a real boy made out of flesh and blood who had a talent for law and a passion for any words that he could read.

The third library in the Von Karma Manor was Manfred von Karma's personal library. Miles had only glimpsed the mahongany shelves and large windows. It was an area of secret and mystery in the fully explored manor. The secluded hallway it was located in smelled of old books, ink, and dreams destined to come true. 

[dogueteeth-fhr]

WIP Wednesday

Thanks @aurriearts for the tag!

I’ll boop forth to @euelios @westealtoys @disastersteps and anyone else who’d like to participate in WIP Wednesday from this post! :3 as always, no pressure to participate

I’m doin a spooky one for Cain since we’ve officially hit spooky season. Context is priest/exorcist & demon, still figuring out what I wanna do with the demon but for now it’s a baphomet

[wonda-fhr]

WIP Not-Wednesday

Thanks for the tag @dogueteeth 💕

Unfortunately, there is nothing new writing to report yet. But during my vacation I had two encounters that connected me very much with David's mindset.

So there's a photo post, because maybe new ideas will come out of these pictures.

This very old piano stood in a small restaurant. It was dirty, broken and used as a shelf for board games. It was beautiful, and I know the condition would have brought tears to David's eyes. Together with him I thought about the stories this piano has to tell. I will be thinking about it for a while.

The next detail pictures are from a museum. A part about steam engines and their development. I am not a big fan of technology. But I thought that my tech-savvy friend would find a lot of beauty in these things and get excited about their history. So I took some photos for him. Here is a small selection.

[missmitchieg]

I know it's not Wednesday anymore but here's a WIP snippet anyway lol

But of course, The Universe was determined to consistently fuck her over. Halfway there, it had started pouring rain. And she didn't have an umbrella with her. Or a mask. But she had her purple floral dress, her cardigan and white heels.

So nevertheless, Penelope Grace Garcia was intent on righting her wrong, mending Luke's heart along with her own.

Her breath stopped as she parked in front of Luke's house, knuckles going white as she held the steering wheel with an iron grip. She was frozen in the seat of her car, suddenly terrified to confront Luke. To apologize for shutting them down before she could even give them a proper try. To ask for a second chance at love with Luke.

Wait. Love?

Oh.

Oh.

She loved Luke. She was in love with Luke.

Once the fact sunk in, a sob tore through Penelope's throat and she slapped her hands over her mouth, shoulders shaking. She loved him. Well, fuck.

[deadbaguette]

Whipping up a [WIP] !!

Hoping to make this piece thematic/dramatic

[4doorssys]

MY BRAIN IS BRAINING

This is basically gonna be one big vent about how much I personally hate my seasonal allergies and I *am* Matt Murdock literally in real life so it only makes sense.

It is also 3 in the morning and I can't sleep due to congestion

[l393ndjean]

Wip... sunday??

So... I've been busy since I made this post... I do not have a collaborator, but i have a conspirator @dailydoseofdumb (aka i've been rambling at him about the worldbuilding for the past half hour) Atp I'm calling this fic You'll Be The Prince, but the universe as a whole will be called Today Was a Fairytale.

[hebuiltfive]

WIP WED... FRIDAY!

Gordon held up the towel. “Walks are for boring people. I’ve got me a date with Penny’s pool.”

“Not Penny herself then?”

Already bracing himself for the attack that he knew was inevitable from suggesting such a thing, Scott ducked. Gordon’s yellow towel flew over his head and landed in a heap behind him.

Without missing a beat, Scott span and picked the towel up in an easy swipe.

Gordon pouted. “Ha-ha, Scooter. Now give it back.”

“I thought you wanted me to have it.” Scott smirked mischievously, maintaining his distance from his brother as Gordon stepped towards him.

“I need to go and swim.”

“So, go swim.”

“I need my towel.”

“You threw it at me, Squid.”

“Because you told a bold face lie.”

“Really?” Scott furrowed his brows. “I don’t remember lying.”

“Scott!” His brother whined.