#snail's endless wips

[slumpsnail]

Happy pride month everyone 🌈 here’s some recent sketches and wips of my favorite yearners. These two mean sm to me especially when I see artists and writers portray them both with beautiful trans bodies. It’s helped me love myself a bit more. Thanks everyone ❤️!

[angerybabydino]

Share the first lines of ten of your latest fanfics (or up to if you have fewer) and tag ten people.

@detta-pica This is how I start properly using tumblr after saying I would start for the past four years XD Thank you for tagging me, all the kisses

While I definitely have more than ten WIPs, most of them I haven't touched in. A while. So have the ones I've been working on recently :3

Another World, Another Time - Chapter 10 (satosugu, reverse!AU)

Satoru’s almost surprised when he arrives at the elementary school and senses numerous curses condensed on the third floor. The report said no one would be sent out to handle anything until tomorrow. It was supposed to be a single grade-two curse that spawned from the students’ fears of being consumed by the giant hole in the ceiling that had yet to be fixed due to low budget. He doesn’t expect the large amount of grade-four and -three curses mingling about.

untitled wippie (satosugu; shotgunning)

Waves crash against the beach, a steady push and pull that almost lulls him to feel. The moon shines bright against the water, reflection rippling and warping in an endless stutter. The night air is cool against Suguru's skin, sea salt filling his nose as he leans over the balcony rail. It's cold against his bare arms, sending shivers down his spine. A cigarette sits between his fingers, end glowing red against the darkness the night has bathed him in.

Give Me a Chance (Come Kiss Me and Bite Me) (satosugu; Over The Threshold fanfic)

“Good enough, Satoru,” Utahime says, arms crossed as the music cuts off. He can see her face reflected at him through the wall-length mirrors of the practice room, eyes still critical and analyzing his every move. “We can work out the rest tomorrow when the backup dancers are here.” “Like you don’t want to hound me and fix everything right now,” Satoru snarks back, chest heaving with exertion as sweat trickles down the back of his neck. The last time he was on tour was a year ago, so his limbs ache from practicing multiple songs in a row after so long.

A Single Breath Before Release (wangxian, archery!au)

There's always something incredibly soothing about setting up his bow for a shoot. It's methodical, a process where every step has its place in order for him to be able to shoot properly. It's almost as meditative as shooting itself, but he has to pay attention to his equipment, make sure nothing needs any maintenance.

Peonies Pressed Between The Folds of Your Heart (wangxian, hanahaki)

Somehow, he manages to pick himself off the ground, kick the flowers into one of the bushes along the side of the road, cover his blood with dirt, and haul himself to the nearest town. It doesn't take him long to find an inn and ask for a room and a few jars of alcohol. He uncovers one of them, dumping it down his throat. It stings, not in a pleasant way but in the painful way that comes with a thousand internal cuts.

untitled wippie (wangxian, fox!xian!au)

His car rumbles to a quiet stop as Lan Zhan pulls it into his designated spot. Fatigue clings to his body, dragging his eyes down as he heaves a bone-deep sigh. He loves his job, but there are just some days that just seem to grind by at a snail’s pace despite the amount of projects he’s constantly working on throughout the day. Sighing, he tugs his keys out of the ignition, grabbing his bag from the back seat before climbing out, heels clicking against the asphalt.

untitled wippie (wangxian, ice skating!au)

The blast of cold that hits Wei Wuxian in the face every time he comes to the rink never fails to send shivers down his spine and elation to his heart. While he prefers his apartment on the warmer side, the drop in temperature never fails to also feel like home. Today in particular is busier for a public skate since its the weekend, kids stomping around in skates not tied correctly, couples sitting on the benches with one obviously more nervous than the other. Not too many people to make practicing an issue. He forks over his ten dollars for two hours of skating time, not needing to pay an extra seven for rentals as he dodges around children and marches up the bleachers. In reality he should probably rent a locker to store his bag and wallet and keys, but he always leaves his bag in plain sight and it hasn’t failed him yet.

I. Don't have any people to tag so feel free to bounce off this if you haven't been tagged in one yet :D

[kivaember]

A nice little WIP of APV's next chapter where Rusty becomes the next Raven purely by accident... also BASHO supremacy begins.

“He thought you were Raven.”

“Yes, Uncle.”

Flatwell frowned thoughtfully as the data log of the mission played over the briefing table - from Rusty’s point of view. It was standard that after a mission requiring an AC, the data logs of the sortie were uploaded for review - they didn’t have the benefit of endless resources or a fleet of R&D goons making new and better toys for them all. The only advantage they could improve was their skill and ruthless examination of their enemies’ tactics and bad habits, which meant a very thorough and exhaustive debrief. 

They were set up in his office, Ziyi snoring away on the sofa, having drowsed off at some point during Rusty’s recounting of his skirmish with V.I Freud. Rokumonsen was down in the infirmary, having limped in half an hour after Rusty had returned, battered but whole. He’d suffered a minor concussion, though, and Flatwell would rather be safe than sorry when it came to their AC pilots. 

It also meant that Flatwell could dedicate his full attention on Rusty and this intriguing… misunderstanding he’d inadvertently created. 

“...from his perspective, I suppose it’d make sense,” Flatwell said. “You didn’t speak, and your fighting style is eerily similar to Raven’s, in more ways than one.”

“We favour the same kind of AC, so it’s no surprise,” Rusty conceded, but there was an unhappy edge to his voice, even if his expression remained perfectly neutral. His arms were crossed over his chest, his hip resting against the edge of the briefing table as he frowned at the data log’s video feed. It was currently showing the little game of hide-and-seek he and Freud had played amongst the ruins. 

“It’d be characteristic of Walter to have backup ACs for Raven to use as well.” Flatwell rubbed his jaw, wondering if that was the case. He’d have to ask Raven, if he’d be willing to part with that information. “And safe houses… it’s likely that Arquebus assumes Raven had managed to slip away to one of them, and return with a vengeance in a new backup AC.”

“Instead of one of their own faking their death to defect to the Liberation Front?” Rusty grumbled. “They didn’t find my body, you know…”

“Well…” Flatwell couldn’t help but laugh a little. Was that the source of Rusty’s sulkiness? Sore pride? “No offence, Rusty, but when Raven sets out to kill someone, he tends to be thorough about it.”

“Which… confuses me.” Rusty lowered his gaze, his frown intensifying. “He knew I escaped, but he reported me as dead to Arquebus.” 

Flatwell was aware. They had intercepted the communique between Walter and Snail: they had said Rusty had been eliminated and would no longer be a ‘problem’. While the words had come from Walter, Raven hadn’t interjected or clarified. Flatwell had several theories on why they would lie about it, but ultimately it didn’t really matter. As far as the Vespers were concerned, Rusty was deader than dead, like all of those who Raven had a kill order on.

“If he said you escaped, he wouldn’t have been paid,” Flatwell said bluntly. “Since it seems the relationship between him and Arquebus broke down around then, it was a risk-free lie at the time.”

Rusty seemed conflicted over that, but Flatwell moved the conversation along. 

“Regardless, the misunderstanding is out there, now. They think STEEL HAZE ORTUS is Raven’s new AC, and that you’re Raven…”

“You’re scheming something, Uncle,” Rusty sighed. 

“Of course I am. This is an opportunity.” Flatwell couldn’t help but smile. So rarely did things align so well for the Liberation Front. “Out of everyone on Rubicon, only you have the skill to mimic Raven on the battlefield. While we cement Ortus as Raven, it’ll mean that their guard will be well and truly lowered when we deploy Raven onto the battlefield - alongside you.”

“Can we afford to do that?” Rusty didn’t seem convinced. “It’ll mean keeping a strong fighter in reserve when we need all the help we can get.”

“Oh, I’ll be putting Raven to work in the interim,” Flatwell said. “STALKER is still undergoing repairs, but we do have an Old Gen AC gathering dust in Hanger One. He can pilot that for a while, let them think STALKER is well and truly destroyed.”

“The Pre-Fires BASHO?” Rusty let out a half-startled laugh. “Uncle, that thing’s a relic, even by BASHO standards.”

“A dangerous relic in skilled enough hands.”

[quirkle2]

for the wip game - maybe ‘fire’?

Under the fizzle of sparks and their laughter, Ritsu speaks lowly. “Do you think he’s gonna be okay?” The question doesn’t still Teruki’s hand that draws things into the air, using a new sparkler stolen from Tome’s seemingly endless bundles she lifts into his aura. Ritsu chances a glance at him, watches the indigos in his eyes churn and the smoke make a lazy snail. Tome’s talking now, clapping and moving her hands like she loves to do as she rambles on about something to his brother. Ritsu can’t hear her words over the pops of the fire in the sky. He can’t hear her, over Teruki’s deafeningly careful expression.

[lifeonthemurdersim]

WIP Wednesday Saturday

OK so @snail-eggs tagged me on my main but I don't have anything going on there and a ton here, haha. One I'm nearly done with for GoreKinktober is a rewrite of one of my very first fics with my OCs in, A Rush Of Blood, that I originally wrote for Goretober 2023!

One of the parts I've really expanded on is describing some of Hope's deaths at the hands of Rahim prior to meeting Wasei. TW for torture, murder, and dubious consent/non-consensual gagging.

In terms of tagging, just anyone who sees this and wants to do it! I might start doing WIP Wednesdays in general because I have so many on the go 😅

“You... know him?” he asked curiously, shuffling himself towards them slightly. “He was acting like he’d only just met you, same as me.” Hope sighed shakily.

How did they even begin to explain that one? How they lived their life through constant loops of being kidnapped now? How every time they met someone new they didn’t know if they’d end up stuck in an endless cycle of pain until they gave up and moved onto someone else? How she’d encountered Rahim a handful of times now, and each time had ended in her death.

They remembered once snapping back at Rahim for thinking expecting her to let him willingly torture her in exchange for a nice room was little much, and the knife that had caressed their neck just minutes ago slicing right into it, leaving them falling to watch their blood leak out as they gasped dizzily through a slow, horrifying demise.

They remembered their foible of admitting the food wasn’t quite to their taste, the truth being that they just couldn't stomach the texture of things like caviar and shrimp and rare steak without gagging. Which led to the blinding pain of their head being slammed countless times on the dining table. The way the splintered shards of plate had lodged in their face, each sharp sting feeling like the death of a thousand cuts even as they tried to beg for mercy.

They remembered the heat of him laying on top of them, hands so much gentler than his weapons caressing every inch of their body as he held them down, and suddenly they gave in to the uninhibited hedonism of it, that hint of pleasure amongst so much pain he'd imparted leading them to suddenly become unabashedly loud, loud, the very thing he hated.

He'd had to improvise gagging them, his large hand suddenly firmer as it smothered their nose and mouth, keeping those noises down, calling them a good girl, until their head felt fuzzy as their air was running out. But no amount of biting his hand would get him off them, because he couldn't feel it, he couldn't feel pain, and eventually their eyes rolled back from something far more sinister than a climax.

He actually sounded regretful about that one as they slipped away.

But so were they, for being so misguided they thought they were finally getting somewhere with him.

[thegildedbee]

older Sherlock wips for the wip-shy: five fics friday

As a general rule, I've found I'm not constitutionally well-equipped to survive wips (especially johnlock, my jam), so I'm usually hesitant to jump on board (unless an author indicates the fic is realio trulio finished or it's an author I'm hopelessly addicted to). Nonetheless, some have claimed my heart ❤️ even if it's unlikely they'll ever be not-wips. My fanfic soul would be poorer for not having spent time with these 5 Sherlocks and 5 Johns, and the amazing authors who brought them to life.

So, below are five of the wips that I adore and re-read, and that I'm reccing here because even if you are wip-averse, there is so much incredible wonderfulness you might not want to miss out on!!! (Note: Fics aren't finished for many reasons, and I don't think any author needs to feel they owe an explanation to anyone -- the fact that they shared their creativity in whatever form is, I think, amazing. I don't like the term "abandoned," which is a common description -- not everything can, or should, be finished, and that's that.) (Descending word count; all had starts of at least 5 years ago). ........................................................ Till We Have Cases [386,447 words / E] by @fiorinda-chancellor

This fic is a joyous romp which inserts Sherlock and John into the age of Greek mythology, with Sherlock as "an enigmatic new God with a gift for deduction" who encounters a mortal warrior-prince with healing powers, Prince Iaon. Co-habitation transpires and Iaon joins the Consulting God in crime-solving and everything is a delight -- Sherlock's connections with the other gods, Sherlock and Iaon's developing relationship, the clever weaving in of the ancient crimes of myth and lore, the creation of additional characters who are fascinating, and all kinds of charming flourishes and sly references and general inventiveness. The story deepens in powerful ways as it proceeds, even while kicking up its heels and retaining its high-spirits. Anything that has almost 400,000 words of stunning storytelling is a mythic enterprise itself that deserves tribute from the muses nine, and the entire pantheon of the gods.

The fic began in 2012 and the last chapter (36/50) was added in July 2020.

There is also a very cute off-shoot chapter, which you might try to see how much fun the story is: The Kronia Song [6,777 words / T]

......................................................... Endless Wonder Series [135,928 words / T, T, M & E] by @shamelessmash This joyride of a fic is based on the scifi series Warehouse 13 (but you don't need to know it) -- which has been described as a mix of X-Files, Raiders of the Lost Ark, & Moonlighting -- and suffusing those 3 sensibilities with Sherlock is perfection. It involves an infinitely large secret holding space for historical artifacts with supernatural powers that are death-dealing dangers. This is one of the best renditions of the enemies-to-friends-to-lovers arcs in the fandom (Mycroft forces John and Sherlock to work together as field agents) -- their initial meeting is cleverly managed and over the course of the fic the bickering is EPIC EPIC EPIC. The slow burn is snail's pace, which allows for an absorbing amount of character development, and learning the hows and whys of what SH and JW find captivating in the other is totally endearing. And the artifacts play insanely interesting roles in the plot and in the character development and are just very very very fun.

There are four parts, each with multiple chapters: Part 1 Endless Wonder; Part 2 Lost & Found; Part 3 The Big Snag; Part 4 Burn.

The fic began in 2015 and the last chapter is from March 2020.

.......................................................... The Lazarus Machine [108,347 / M] by kelouisa

A fic that overflows with fascinating details and evocative descriptive passages of the scientific underbelly of an enlightenment era London -- reanimated corpses! -- that suits Sherlock to a t and that he grabs onto with gusto. This is a fic that does full justice to a version of Sherlock that is consumed by casework which emanates from his every cell in a number of entertaining ways. The relationship between Sherlock and John follows a Regency romance structure, with John as an invalided soldier whose older brother has ruined them financially and has arranged for John to wed a wealthy family's "embarrassment of a second son," Sherlock (who has an unsavory past that refuses to let him go). The telling of their stops and starts in moving from strangers to intimates is developed with a kind of quiet gracefulness that draws you into a feeling of being co-conspirators with Sherlock and John as they put the puzzle pieces of their deveoping relationship into an pattern that suits them. (And they are just sweet cinnamon rolls :-) It's such a richly realized atmosphere of a multi-layered world from the inside out.

This fic began in 2013 and the last chapter (76/?) was added in 2014. ............................................................... The Ghost and Doctor Watson [ 48,158 words / E ] by @ishipanarmada This is one of the most romantic Johnlock fics in existence, in which John, as a widower, moves away to a small town and takes up residence in a cottage which possesses a ghost, Sherlock, who has unfinished business from his last case and in clearing up the truth of his death (the non-crime parts of the fic are based on the 1947 film, The Ghost and Mrs. Muir). Afterlifer Sherlock is intrigued by John and so doesn't chase him away as he has the other attempted occupants, and that sets them off on their course of getting to know each other and falling in love. An enigmatic Sherlock enlists John for casework, and that story is in and of itself worth the price of admission. I am particularly fond of how Sherlock applies his deductive powers to solving the mysteries of his emotions and of John's, and their growing closeness is achingly sweet and poignant. Sherlock is one damn sexy ghost, words fail me, and the racier encounters between the two are incredibly incendiary. Their pairing here is nonpareil. (I always have Concrete Blonde's Ghost of a Texas Ladies' Man running in my head when reading it :-)

This fic began in 2016 and the last chapter (17/?) is from 2018. .................................................................. Ghosts and Shadows [ 29,554 words / E ] by @ettuinarcadia

This is An Abominable Bride-inspired Victorian AU that plunges you immediately into the dangers presented to Holmes and Watson of a London in the grips of Oscar Wilde's prosecution. The initial scene with Lestrade and Holmes is absolutely masterful in setting up the starting points for the plot to come but in equal measure in conveying the peril, not just through the specifics that are related going forward, but in the economy of the prose and the taut actions of the rapidly unfolding sequelae of events. Vicariously experiencing the interactions of the characters as intertwined witn the limning of the historical context has an authenticity to it that packs a wallop. The breathstopping vintage feel of the fic owes a great deal to the way in which a club SH belonged to as Cambridge student, The Hellbenders, is integrated into the story and underscores the current roiling cultural battles. And embedded within this, the unfolding revelation of the feelings Watson (currently married to Mary Morstan) has for Sherlock and vice versa, is electric. Brilliant fic. This fic began in 2015 and the last chaper (11/?) is from 2017.

There is a trailer for Ghosts and Shadow, and also in this universe is a puckish off-shoot, La Fee Verte Ancienne [ 1,531 / E ]

[thetransguard-archive]

last lines...

I was tagged by @nicolodigenovas tysm!!!

rules: post the last 7 lines of your current wip and tag 7 people to keep it going

this is from my quynhcentric wip that ive been working on since julyyyyyy save me pls idk its so sad so ive been working on it at a literal snail’s pace

The funny thing is, Quynh has always liked the sea. 

In her very first life, she’d gone with her family as they’d slowly worn their way through well-traveled roads, trading and buying and picking up odd jobs to keep them all fed. By now the faces of her mother and father and all her siblings and cousins have faded into the grey wash of time, more imagination than memory when she tried to conjure them. Yusuf had tried to sketch them for her, light charcoal-dusted fingers smudging shade and light into faces, but there were too many gaps in her memory. Andromache had consoled her, then. Their family was each other, and they’d sworn that they’d remember each other for as long as the stars burned in the night.

So, the sea. It had enchanted her, as a child- bulging and dark and rippling, endless and bigger than her mind could comprehend. How small the world was then, how easily it became hers- she and her siblings sanded down branches found by the shore and mock-fought each other with all the unbridled ferocity of youth. She had been the queen of everything. How quickly it had all fallen apart. How she missed it when life was singular and her skin left behind traces of childhood cuts and grazes.

i dont rlly know seven people who havent already been tagged so i wont <3