#Writing WIPs

[thedvilsinthedetails]

u guys I rlly tried to be the person that properly plans fics and shit but since I lowkey can’t do that shld I just start posting chapters on ao3 as I write them for my fics? Like would you all be interested in going on that little journey with me? They may be neglected for like months tho but i will eventually come back to them

(My fics are mainly Jegulus hence the tags but also I’m thinking about a rosekiller one atm)

[frostedpuffs]

mari come get ur man he's drunk

[moonandris]

In case anyone is unsure how to get their writeblr dash more active...

People get busy. Life happens, and we can’t always be super active on our blogs in the ways we want to be (this is where I am currently). These are some things I like to do after I feel like I’ve been away from my blog for a while that also help the community and other writeblrs out. ♡

♡ Look through the latest writeblr introduction/active writeblrs/looking for active writeblrs/creative writing/etc. tags and make it a priority to  r e b l o g  everyone's intros and latest wips and such. This helps introduce yourself to others as well as helping everyone else out in the community by giving active blogs more attention and interaction.

♡ Follow and interact with the people you see in the tags! We are the lifeblood that keeps this community alive and without us the writeblr community wouldn’t exist on Tumblr. Use that to your advantage!

♡ Write a writeblr reintroduction! Let people know you’re still alive and kicking and looking to be more involved in the community. Make posts that reintroduce your WIPs, characters, and more.

♡ Don’t be afraid to message writers and ask them about their WIPs and characters, as well as asking for others to look over your WIPs and see what they think of them. I can’t speak for others but my inbox is always open and I love chatting with other writers and hyping each other up! It’s the best.

♡  Participate in writeblr tag games and get to know the fellow writers in your community and what kind of genres they like to write in, what their writing styles are like, how often they like to write, what their favorite tropes are, etc.

♡ Reblog. Reblog. REBLOG. It’s great to receive a like on your writeblr posts but reblogging is what keeps our community thriving and helps others get more eyes on their work. It’s a great way for writers to support other writers, and really, that’s what the community is for. :)

Feel free to pm me or add more if you’ve got any tips. :)

[tightjeansjavi]

⋆.˚⭒⋆.˚ WIP WEDNESDAY ⋆.˚⭒⋆.˚

Hello! Hello! It’s my favorite time of the week where we all collectively share our WIPS that are chillin in our drafts <3

This week I have the trash panda himself cooking up some mischief in my Google docs!

Yeah, I’m talking about you, buddy boy 🙄

The Hills Have Eyes : chapter 3 : “extra dirty martinis; the cure all.”

np tags: @netherfeildren @chloeangelic @corazondebeskar-reads @5oh5 @pascalpvnk @planet-marz1 @morallyinept @strang3lov3 @thetriumphantpanda @cupofjoel @cavillscurls @joelsgreys @kiwisbell @javiscigarette @romanarose @elvinaa @justagalwhowrites @chronically-ghosted @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @walkintotheriveranddisappear @sp00kymulderr and anyone else who would like to participate <3

[junipernight]

I'm writing an Avatar Yangchen fanfic rn, and I am so incredibly tempted to just name this ship (as in sailboat) The Yangvik.

[mkstrigidae]

APWH preview snippet!

Since I'm actively trying to work on getting the next few chapters out, I thought I'd share a little future scene with some hints of Jonsa with all you lovely people! This bit is from like, a few chapters in the future bc it's the in-between that's giving me fits right now :) (Fair warning: this is unedited and subject to change! That being said, it's such a fun scene that I can't imagine ever nixing it :D)

“Does he even know that they have to avoid the press?”

“For the last time-“ Sam sighed, sounding completely exasperated, “Dickon knows what they can and can’t do- he’s got enough practice not being photographed from when our dad was the secretary. Not to mention spending time around you when that exposé on your crazy grandfather came out two years ago.”

“I just-“ Jon sighed, blowing a stray curl out of his face. “You didn’t see how freaked out she was when the press caught us at that performance in White Harbor. I thought she was going to have a full-blown panic attack.”

He was immediately derailed by Gilly plopping little Sam down in his lap and shoving a bottle into his hands.

“What’s this all about?” he raised a brow, adjusting the baby on his lap, allowing him to latch onto the cuff of his flannel shirt and start gnawing at the fabric. “You going somewhere?”

Gilly shot him a withering look, but he saw the amusement in her eyes.

“I-“ she gestured, imperiously, “Have not had time by myself to shower all week-“

“Sorry, love.” Sam winced, looking up from his pile of paperwork. “I can take a break from these-“

“Not your fault, Sam.” she waved him off. “You warned me about this conference at the beginning of the summer.” a grin played at the corners of her mouth. “Besides, it works out well- Jon needs a distraction right now from the fact that Sansa’s on a date with your extremely hot and conventionally attractive brother.”

“Hey!” Sam looked wounded, and Gilly rolled her eyes, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“You know you’re my favorite Tarly.” she wrinkled her nose. “How long have you been working on this presentation? You smell like the baby spit up on you.”

“Guess I’m next in line for showers.” Sam said, mournfully. “Unless-“

“Nope- I need my own time right now, Samwell. Did you even hear what I said about why Jon’s bent out of shape?”

Jon had known Gilly since Sam and she had met up north while the two of them were in college. Sometimes, it was hard to reconcile the timid, scared girl she had been with the woman who was currently devoting all of her remaining energy to busting his balls.

“Don’t tell me you’re worried about Sansa with my brother.” Sam snorted, shotgunning another cup of coffee next to him the way Jon was used to seeing undergrads do with jaeger shots. “I mean, this is Dickon we’re talking about. Used to bring wounded animals home to take care of them Dickon? The same guy who cried when we had movie night and Gilly and Rhae wanted to go see ‘Love, Simon’?” He shook his head. “Look, as far as guys she could be out on a date with right now go, Dickon’s kind of the best case scenario. She’ll have a nice time, and he’ll be a perfect gentleman.”

Jon blinked at him, silently turning to look up at Gilly, who rolled her eyes and sighed.

“You’re hopeless, sweetie.” she kissed him on the forehead again, wrinkling her nose. “He’s not worried that things will go wrong- he’s worried they’ll go a little too well.”

“You’ve been spending way too much time around my sister.” Jon muttered, narrowly avoiding little Sam’s grasping reach for his glasses, managing to get the baby to latch onto the bottle before he destroyed any more of Jon’s eyewear. “You even sounded like her just then.”

Sam blinked for a second, his head whipping between Jon and Gilly.“You’re jealous?” He asked, incredulously. “Of Dickon? Wait- you like Sansa?”

“Got there in the end.” Gilly sighed, affectionately patting him on the shoulder before going to shower, leaving Jon and Sam behind with four cups of coffee, one baby, and approximately five brain cells total between the two of them.

“You like her.” Sam repeated, like it was a giant revelation.

“What are we- in middle school?” Jon hissed, immediately turning his head down to smile and make faces at little Sam while he fed him, before glaring up at big Sam again. “I don’t- I mean-“

Sam was just shaking his head.“Of course you do.” he laughed. “Should have guessed- red hair and a damsel in distress? You were doomed from the outset.”

“Shut up.” Jon muttered, flushing. “It’s not like that.”

“Then why are you worrying about Dickon for fu-“ Sam glanced nervously at the baby, “-god’s sake? When Gill was meeting my family for the first time, I remember you told her not to worry- that my brother was ‘one of the best guys you know’ and ‘practically a golden retriever’.”

Jon could tell that Sam, who could not raise one eyebrow without the other, was desperately trying to do just that.

“I don’t know.” He muttered, moving little Sam to his shoulder to start burping him. “Look- I’m attracted to her, alright? It’s a fu- er, a giant disaster that I’m gonna ignore for the rest of my life.”

“Seriously?”

“Stop trying to do that with your eyebrows.” Jon complained. “It’s giving me motion sickness. And yes, seriously. I’m not even going to consider that- it’s just a stupid crush. Besides,” he sighed, rubbing little Sam’s back comfortingly, “Robb’s already dealing with enough right now with this whole Sansa situation- can’t imagine telling him I think his sister’s attractive while he’s being forced to suddenly confront all of his guilt and self loathing every time he looks at her.”

“That whole bro code thing of never dating your friend’s sisters never really made sense to me.” Sam shook his head, gulping down more coffee. “I mean, I’d be thrilled if you decided to date Talla, because I know you’d be good to her.”

“Yeah, don't think she'd quite go for that, mate.” Jon snorted, standing to bounce little Sam around gently. He was just grateful Sam hadn’t said anything else about Robb.

“Eh, wouldn’t count you out completely.” Sam shrugged, smirking. “With that hair, you’re pretty enough to be a girl- maybe that’d be enough for her.”

“You are so lucky i’m holding the baby.” Jon muttered, still bouncing little Sam, who picked that moment to spit up spectacularly down Jon’s back.

“Well, that’s three of us who’re gonna need showers now.” Sam grinned, looking thrilled as all get out that it hadn’t been him. “Wow- his aim is getting better.”

“I’m going to remind him of this when he’s a sulky teenager.” Jon grumbled, wiping spit-up off his shoulder as best he could. “Look- no gossiping with Rhae about this, please. She thinks she’s such a good clandestine agent that she doesn’t always realize that Robb is better at sniffing out her plots than she thinks.”

“Alright-“ Sam sighed, looking back down at the massive stack of paperwork in front of him. “I make no promises for Gill, though.”

“Gilly could give some of my Uncle’s colleagues at the WIA a run for their money when it comes to withstanding interrogation.” Jon snorted.

“Probably true.”

“Where did your brother take Sansa?” Still holding onto a now much happier baby with one hand, he reached down the other to take a gulp of his own coffee.

“He said something about going out towards the Tyrell Estate.” Sam shrugged. “They probably drove out there to see the gardens- he’s said it’s a good road to take his bike out on.”

Jon promptly spat out his entire sip of coffee, staining the front of his shirt as well as the back, and frightening little Sam enough that he started to cry.

“He took her on his motorcycle?”

Gilly picked that moment to reappear, completely clean and with wet hair, blinking at the scene in front of her.

Sam, who couldn’t seem to stop laughing, was desperately trying to calm down the baby, who had started wailing, while Jon’s entire front was covered in coffee and his entire back was covered in baby vomit. Not that he seemed to notice, as his face was white and he was making a series of angry looking hand gestures at her husband.

“I really can’t leave you three alone for five minutes, can I?” she sighed. “Do I even want to know?”

[mitchell-nihil]

Badly Summarised WIPs

I know this is a tag game going around and it SEEMS INTERESTING but I haven't gotten tagged so I'm doing it myself

Reblogs so more people will vote would be appreciated, but no pressure!!

Open tag to anyone who wants to because I have no idea who has done this yet :)

[rorywritesjunk]

Do you recycle unused WIPs for other stories because you think it will work better? For example, I have this smutty smut filled fic I wrote for myself for another fandom and never shared it so I'm considering reworking it for Buggy and posting it.

[bihansthot]

The porn bots are back 😤 so freaking annoying. I’m still an emotional mess today, I had a horrible nightmare about Bi-Han, thank you brain. You never let me dream about my baby and the one time I do it’s horrible. I’m trying not to be such a miserable, pessimistic wretch today. In between bouts of emotion I am trying to work on ship stuff, before anyone gets too excited though it’s just a rewrite. I don’t really have any great ideas lately, it’s hard. I really want to write more, especially for Syzoth but it’s really difficult when your brain doesn’t want to cooperate which is why I’m doing a rewrite to try and jump start some creativity. Hopefully sometime this week I will post a Syzoth x f!reader/Bi-Han x f!reader because I will not apologize for them being my OT3 and a Syzoth x Bi-Han fic because they’re canon. Boon told me.

[awwthenticc]

SO. UM. HERES SOME WRITING WIP I NEVER FINISHED BECAUSE MISS HOLLOWAY AND WILBUR CROSS ARE ON MY MIND AND I WROTE THIS LIKE. A MONTH AGO??

so it's... It's (tries to explain the idea behind this) post-killer track. Miss Holloway is now in her guidance councilor era. So. "Miss Holiday"

I think I was going to make Hollowduke be happy but never got to writing it.

And wilbur basically messes with her. He pokes her around in her own dreams or whatever. IT WAS HONESTLY AN EXCUSE TO DESCRIBE HIM. I WANTED TO WRITE HIM. THATS HONESTLY THE REASON.

(Italics didnt save but i honestly don't care :/)

“Miss Holiday? – Oh, Miss Holloway, you could do so much better than that~...” 

A voice in Miss Holloway’s mind chided her. Voice distant, echoing all around her, reaching the far corners of her mind, yet, it slowly became one, layers overlaying to become a singular voice. Eyes looking down – Miss Holloway would have stood in front of a pile of bones–a recognizable blade buried between the hollow rib cage that was decorated with cobwebs, spiders skittering around. 

–

A sight which seemed to appear out of nowhere while she was busy glancing around the mindscape she was in. It was dark, the floor almost wet, yet if anyone looked close enough, it would become clear that they were in Miss Retro’s diner. A more cryptid, abandoned version of it. Resemblant of one leaving a place behind for another profession. Which only made sense for owning a place with so many smiling faces. And with that, memorable faces that came with more.. Upsetting personalities.

The bones would have bugun to shift around, a force bringing them together, reconstructing with a musical tone– like playing a xylophone. Clitter, Clatter. Click. Clack. It built itself up. 

With joints popping into place. Cartilage. Followed with muscle, appearing from nothing, with a glow of bright green that appeared by his feet, Muscle, skin, twisting, wrapping up the foundation of a body, starting from the bottom of the skeleton, and going up. Same with the glow. As it all came together - layer after layer, the glow grew. Cracking, sculpting, stretching, contorting. It groaned, something from the back of its throat, broken vocal cords deconstructed coming together, fixing itself. Moaning out a weak tone as the thing, just a heap of bones just before, became something necromanced, brought to life.  Features appearing one after the other. The denim wardrobe. The straight stance that built itself up after leaning forward lazily. The silver dog tag. The slicked back, pitch black hair that ran down the figure's neck – A neck which supported a head that was leaned back, before reeling forward, bobbing. 

It was unstable, trying to hold itself up. Before it opened its eyes, lifeless, an endless space of white before it the color of the gaze rolled from the back of its skull. Bright green. Bony fingers popping as it cracked its knuckles before fixing its dog tag, slipping it under its shirt just after wiggling them once or twice. It smiled.. He smiled. Teeth decomposed, rotten, black. 

And with a quick graise of his tongue, his teeth whitened. And he almost looked human. It wasn't a surprise that his teeth were far from perfect. But his sly grin – with sharp canines, and teeth that didn’t look like they hadn’t been brushed every day – would look better than it would before.

Though his smile dropped just as those green eyes glanced down. Though it only dropped just a little. Remembrance flashing over his look as he would let out a shallow, almost dark chuckle. Amusement… Miss Holloway assumed. 

The necromanced man slid a hand up from the resting spot by his sides, trailing up to the black blade that had resided in his reformed appearance. Walking his fingers up towards the handle, and wrapping them around right after. Clutching it with a quiet focus. Trained on it. Taking a moment before..

A faint groan left the mouth of the man as his brows furrowed, the focused look faltering for a second with lids that flickered shut once or twice. The audible slick sound that came from the cavity in which the wound existed. Where the blade resided. Slowly pulling it out, as the skin around it seemed to hold it tight. Keep it in place like it belonged. Healing over with every tug to simply prevent the man from falling apart, resulting in the agonizing sound of wet flesh and muscle as he tore. Squishing, squelching. 

Going on. Just before the green eyed disciple decided to leave this waiting game, and he got it over with. Using both hands he clenched the blade before ripping it out of its place. Earning an exhale, eyes closing for just a moment before opening them once again. Examining the blade.. Skin healing, coming back together as if the hole in his chest never existed.

Black blood dripped from the tip, falling to the floor below.. Along with dripping down to the handle, dribbling onto his closed fist.. 

He dropped it, hitting the wet tile with a hollow clang. Echoing throughout the space they were both in before he kicked it away with one foot.

–

“..I would’ve chosen a different name personally.” He kept his eyes on where his foot kicked the blade before looking at himself to fix his shirt, fix his look, trailing off before knowing when to carry on. Just forgetting what he had just done, acting like it was everything normal. Because it was normal.. He’s pulled himself together more times than he could count by now…

 “Why… they’re both so close to being the same, it just might as well make both of your little “characters” carbon copies….. Or, out of all things.. sisters. ”

Wilbur Cross’s eyes landed on her. Movements of his glance not choppy and quick, flicking around like a frantic piece of prey - no, his eyes rolled, like a marble of sorts, held and set in some place in his skull, existing in his eye sockets, yet it wouldn’t define where his gaze would land. How physics worked.. Because he could still have his head tilted down, and his eyes would be able to still roll into the back of his skull- round about the other way, and come back up from the bottom..  

He grinned. “But we both know that's highly unlikely… don't we? Cause, tell me, when was the last time you’ve seen a pair of twins walk their way around here Miss Hollowa–” 

“What do you want?” The Red headed woman cut him off from finishing his question. Her words are less of a question, and more of a statement. Impatient to hear his mindless talk, and wanting him to get to the point.

And he would frown at her, almost pouting. “Not even letting me finish what I was gonna say?” Though his frowny face would be more playful than anything… Tragically though to his own amusement, Miss Holloway was not bouncing this energy back.

She just looked at him. Then let out the smallest huff. “Not when I don’t have time for you. Insulting what I do isn’t going too–” He cut her off. Drawling with a southern voice.

“Wellllll, I wouldn’t say insulting…. Critiquing would be a better word.” Commenting, stopping her from saying what she had to say… Fixing a loose hair that freed itself from behind his ear. But his green eyes would once again land on her before he blinked with an “OH! Sorry, did I cut you off?.....” 

He asked. Though it would be obvious that any ounce of care in his question would be disregarded for simple fun.. Shown by the smile that he did NOT try to hide. In other words, he was messing with her. 

She stared back. Unamused. “What do you want.” Miss Holloway repeated. “Are you just here to… comment on how I’m living my life? To just talk.. Again?”

Again. 

To Miss Holloway, it wouldn’t be a surprise that Wilbur would be speaking to her in her own mental mindscape. She blamed it on having things on her mind. Recently, she had been thinking about plenty of things that didn’t fully matter.

[the-stove-is-divorced]

Day 1483943 of being cursed with Batman brainrot so snippet of young ghoul!Bruce wip, that may or may become a oneshot one day.

Bruce wants to vomit.

His heart, a stupid sluggish thing, which beats far too slow to sink into the bounds of normal, truly begins to pound furiously now, desperately, ready to yank free from the cages of bone and fatty tissues, the too dark blood and pale skin. Bitter bile begs to be released as he trembles, helplessly trying to keep the blood from his mother’s side, where it's staining the ground in spite of his efforts, so terribly warm and worse yet—a horribly sweet.

It actually smells sweet.

Bruce wants to vomit.

His heart, a stupid sluggish thing, which beats far too slow to sink into the bounds of normal, truly begins to pound furiously now, desperately, ready to yank free from the cages of bone and fatty tissues, the too dark blood and pale skin. Bitter bile begs to be released as he trembles, helplessly trying to keep the blood from his mother’s side, where it's staining the ground in spite of his efforts, so terribly warm and worse yet—a horribly sweet.

It actually smells sweet.

Sweet like candies do, soft and delicate like cotton candy, like cakes fresh from the oven, caramels carefully salted, but its blood. His stomach, this stupid body, is panicked and horrible and hungry, because the blood is fresh and warm upon his hands, the scent thick and nearly choking upon his nose, and he’s never wanted to throw up more. His vision blurs, swimming, details cast aside as body deforms into dark, bloody shapes, stiff and still, frozen in horror. 

He knows their hearts cannot beat anymore, the familiar pitter patter like rain against a windowsill, the pleasant hum like the fridge in the kitchens, like the distant buzz of a hive at work, is cut. Finished. Struck and left rot, stagnant. 

And still, in spite of him, in some horrible, awful might of the wretched, this wretched body, the smell is sickeningly sweet, fresh and truthfully, insidiously, delicious. His parents, the bodies, are ripe like fruit, sickeningly fresh, coating the back of his throat with the slow trickle of hunger, the stench of buttery baked goods, a touch of saltiness, an overwhelming soft sweetness, just begging for just a single, tiny, bite. Their bodies fell like the too fat fruit hung from the property’s trees, blood splatter like bruises across their skin from the impact. 

If Bruce closes his eyes, stunning backward and hitting the wall, ignoring the rattling breath and horrible hiccups, he’s been shoved into a shop, goodies and treats to be devoured, the very touch of a perfectly soft, heavy cake desperate for his teeth to sink in and finally chew. 

 As the roar of the sirens grow closer, the red ooze coats his trembling hands like syrup, Bruce’s stomach growls, cruelly, and his mouth, betraying, is filled with drool. 

The wretched stain of hunger paints the memory still. 

———

“Master Bruce? Are you hungry?”

No, he thinks, he won’t be ever again. He scarcely even turned his head, rooted to his parent’s bed and wishing it would just swallow him whole, spare him the mercy of existing, the prickling pain of hunger, the choking memory of blood at the back of his throat, oh so sickeningly sweet. 

The funeral was a blur of tears, muddled blurring tones of weary speeches, cousins he didn’t care for, food he didn’t—couldn’t eat, and others he couldn’t make himself swallow. Again, his stomach squirms in the discomfort of hollowness, to be empty, but Bruce doesn’t move. He doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to do anything. He tries to sleep, but mockingly, it doesn’t come, exhaustion perched right beside him, filling his limbs with concrete, but blissful unconsciousness avoids him like the plague. 

Alfred lingers by the door. Warm, yellow light spills in from around his looming shadow, but it does nothing to curb his vision, darkness and light nothing but a blur, a matter of taste and not a dive into blindness, because his eyes are different, his body is monstrous, and yet he still survived. Untouched the rain of bullets, the spray by blood.

“Not even a snack?” Alfred tries. He can hear the trying smile.

A short sniff, and the speckle of animal blood lingers in Alfred’s fingers, finely chopped chunks of meat arranged in simple shapes, triangles, circles, barely cooked and raw. Savory, juicy, and bursting with flavor to make saliva pool in his mouth. Disgusting, foul, wretched, that makes him squirm. 

But Bruce just buried his head underneath a pillow that still carries his father’s cologne, and trembles. One day it will fade and Bruce will bath it in bottles of cologne to make it stay. He’ll buy the whole company just for a single, fluffed pillow. 

Alfred steps closer. A specific spot along the floorboards creak, announcing the distance, but Bruce can’t make himself care. He just aches.

He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to inhale cologne over blood. He tries to ignore how his stomach feels like a knife trying to carve him open, despairingly empty. It hurts. As he sinks into the sensation, clawing and desperate, a gloved hand finds itself in his hair, incredibly gentle, so horribly soothing, undeserved, and he begins to crumble. He is held, gently rocked and whispered meaningless promises, lies of getting better, and they loved you, and I’m sorry’s, but the ache inside him is blooming, swelling, overrides his senses and brings him to tears, clinging onto the touch, starving. 

When he wakes in his parents bed hours later, there is a meal, warm, sitting by the nightstand and a small cup of blood, cool, beside it. His body is a weak thing, shaky and oh so cold. The blankets upon him are thick, suffocatingly warm, windows shut and curtains drawn, but he’s chilled to the bone. His stomach wants.

And it’s right there. 

He brings it to his lips, hands shaking ever so lightly, grabbing bare with his own palms and sees the blood coat it, syrupy. He wants to lick it. He wants to throw up. The body wants to eat. He feels so weak, and his body, this body, it demands and screams and aches. He puts it in his mouth. He wants it to taste like ash and rot, he wants it to taste like chewing molding wood and inhaling dirt, he wants to taste like dirty sewer water, putrid and foul. 

It doesn’t. It’s incredible. 

It’s undeserved. 

[all-or-nothing-baby]

ANGÉLIQUE

Nabrielise, 1668 words, Polyamory, Implied/Referenced Childhood Sexual Abuse, Gabriel Boutin has PTSD, Flashbacks, Gabriel Boutin Needs A Hug, Gabriel is In Love, Kissing It Better, Post-Season/Series 01, Getting Together, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Pre-slash, References to Drugs, POV Gabriel.

.

Cyan fingers play ghostly along bright, beautifully brown collarbone mountains.

Un amour entaché.

Tainted Love, indeed.

Gabriel's face remains a book of blank pages, his default setting—a trillion miles away from the bloody battles that are raging constantly between his mind and his heart.

He's always been one to play defence. Especially with himself.

Only nineteen and already a ghost.

…well, almost.

Darkwave trance music pumps softly from somebody's bluetooth speaker—much softer than the current thump of Gabriel's industrial techno heartbeat. Nathan, the reason, now pushes upwards from where long forearms support his longer body, those big plush lips halting a mere millimetre away from Gabriel's. Gabriel stills his touch, forever-bleu fingertips buried in a perfect clavicle valley. He watches the boy's pulse ticking away under that smooth brown skin for a moment longer before allowing their eyes to meet—and do so much more than just shake hands.

Stay.

"What's this song called? Do you know it?" Nathan's mouth moves against Gabriel's as he speaks, then he's nodding his head in question towards the sounds of pulsating synth beats and low-sung neo-goth French words unknown to him.

Stay with me.

Gabriel swallows his urgency if not his want and licks his—and consequently Nathan's—lips, before taking a breath and answering, "Angélique," on the exhale.

Nathan peers out from underneath feathery raven lashes.

Stay, always.

Gabriel has become a walking/talking contradiction of himself.

Nathan's eyes flicker shut for a couple of his own now-also-racing heartbeats. Gabriel usually manages to tune out the sounds of others' life-force, or at least turn down the volume—never Nathan's though.

Or Annalise's, come to think of it.

.

(read under the cut OR READ IT HERE ON AO3)

That thought digs beneath Gabriel's skin and makes a nest there, staining him just like his bloodborne alchemy. Marking him up. Tattooing him.

~Nathan&Annalise~

Nathan gently brushes just the very tip of his nose alongside the length of Gabriel's. Up and down, up and down. "So, does that mean, like…" and he mirrors now, licking his and Gabriel's lips, "...Angelic, or some shit?"

Or some shit. 

Gabriel pants out three, barely there Yeses. One for each of them.

Gabriel, Nathan, Annalise. 

Nathan smiles. "Like you. You're my guardian angel," he insists. "Mine and Annalise's." 

Fallen angel, more like. 

Stupidly, Gabriel lets himself be just that entirely fucking perfect for a fraction of a fraction of a second. Blinks and believes.

My darling angel, Gabriel.

Gabriel grits his teeth at the sudden mental intrusion. She can just fuck right off and out of his head, merci beaucoup. 

He then swallows thickly again. "No, Nathan." And he's so desperate to Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!  

He won't be the one to instigate though. Can't ever do that. Can't ever be that.

"You mustn't—don't think of me that way, mon cher. I'm not so… good."

Nathan fusses his gaze over every single one of Gabriel's features, with no rush to the action. Searches for a lie. He doesn't find one. He doesn't relent either, though, and now gifts Gabriel with, "You won't convince me you're anything other than a decent bloke, you know."

"Decent?" Gabriel scoffs, deflecting by looking down at his state of undress, "Dans mes sous-vêtements." Nathan's face scrunches up adorably. Gabriel sighs affectionately and smiles wryly. "I am wearing only my knickers." A nod to Annalise. 

Nathan smiles some more, his face splitting with the size and force of it and Gabriel thinks he'd kill for this boy. Then Nathan tuts, just as affectionate. "You know what I mean, Gabs."

Gabriel inwardly preens at the moniker. Plenty have used the nickname before, but never has it ever sounded the way it does tripping off of Nathan Byrn's lips. Makes Gabriel think he's the one tripping, every time he hears it.

You're smitten. 

Gabriel tries to ignore the oh-so familiar shrill-pitched voice in his mind as Nathan tilts his gorgeous head. "I don't care what you say, anyway. You're an angel if I say you are. With your pretty eyes and your crazy white hair."

White hair. 

Gabriel blinks, too much.

You must tell me… 

His mask falters. It's only a split-second—too quick for most people to notice. Unfortunately in this instance though, Nathan is not most people.

"Hey, hey, what is it? What did I say?" Nathan's eyes are blown wide and his hands instantly attach themselves to Gabriel's biceps like they've found their way home; an anchor to Gabriel's wayward ship, mooring him from the coming high-tide.

"I don't—it's nothing.“

But Nathan never knows when to leave well alone. "Bollocks, it's nothing. Where did you just go off to?" 

…Is it love?

"I…"

No, no, no. 

Her. 

"Nathan, I—"

M E R C U R Y

And Gabriel is gone, fucked up, spiralling dangerously in a way he's managed to avoid for the longest time. 

Bony fingers—too big, too knowing—sliding up the warmth of his inside thighs, to get inside of him, to tug on his will, his shame, his goodness, latching onto his very sense of self.

She'd whisper, so loudly, "Let me in, my dove. Let me in and I will give you the whole world, my sweet, sweet boy. All you could ever want and need or know or be. All for you. All for me." 

He never knew why she bothered to ask.

And he fought, tooth and nail, that dove. Every time. He pushed and kicked and scratched and flapped his little wings. Didn't matter though. None of it did. She could take whatever she wanted. All of it. All of him. Always. And she did. She took everything from that frightened little bird, that little boy, until he had no fight left in him. Would just lay back and let it happen. The Witch Mercury: his teacher; his pseudo-mother; his lover. She took away his blonde curls and his deserved innocence and left him as bitter and cold as the driven snow.

Forever Winter. 

"Gabriel?"

You. Are. Mine.

…almost. 

Gabriel notes vaguely that Nathan's hands are no longer gripping the tops of his arms but have found their way to holding his face—no longer a mask or even a face, really, but something else. His features, ruptured now, Gabriel is a great big hole ripped right open. A gaping rift with all of his pain and guilt and humiliation spilling right out, gushing, brimming, overflowing and threatening to drown him.

He can't breathe.

"Gabriel, tell me what's happening!" 

Thumbs are swiping furiously at the thawing ice that's melting from the corners of Gabriel's sad eyes.

He's crying. Having a panic attack. 

Nathan is panic-stricken, too. 

Nathan. 

Nathan!

Not an anchor, but a lifeline. 

"Kiss me." Gabriel—even with no breath in his lungs—almost shouts it, fists now balling up and white-knuckled in Nathan's shirt. 

Nathan finches like he wasn't actually expecting a response. "What? No! Tell me what's wrong!" 

"Nathan, please. Please!" and now he is shouting. 

Maybe it's the begging itself or maybe it's just the way Gabriel's voice has a hundred hairline cracks in it, like more thawing ice, but Nathan, he seems to hear it. Somehow through the haze of Gabriel's hysteria and self-hatred Nathan hears exactly what this broken boy needs.

The role-reversal. The control.

Gabriel needs to be needed. To be something good. 

Angèlique. 

"Kiss me."

So The Bastard Son kisses the Ruined Alchemist in a way neither have ever kissed another, and it's its own magic spell. A counterspell; one to break Mercury's wrong-doing. A conjuring to set Gabriel free and he's there, he's so there, all in, in deep, deeply in love, and the Devil himself couldn't stop this now— 

But Annalise can.

They're all but devouring each other when she walks into the room and stops dead, mouth open in a quiet gasp. So, so, quiet. But Gabriel, he hears it. And it's deafening.

Gabriel is every single Evil he's been trying to run from his entire fucking life. If he's ruined this… If he… it's not even as if he and Nathan have been trying to hide this, the thing that has gripped them both, this thing that's binding them, it's just… 

It's just—

"Annalise, we—" Nathan begins, but Annalise ends it in one word. 

"Us." She corrects. 

And that word. That one, small word is unbelievably—incredibly, amazingly—all it takes. 

Then they are magnets, he and Nathan, their combined energies pulling Annalise into them. Or she is the magnet. Or they all are? It's not important, Gabriel realises, because there's only one thing that matters now. 

Us. 

Annalise O'Brien and Nathan Byrn—Gabriel's family—are here, bracing him and embracing him with all of themselves. With all of their selfless love.

Annalise, with her boldness and insecurities and raw beauty and stubbornness and fierce grace, climbs up onto the bed and takes residence, curling into Gabriel's other side. A mirror to Nathan. 

And they're healing him.  

Nathan takes one of Anna's hands and links their fingers, squeezing. So sure. Smiling. Alive. 

Annalise smiles back and leans forwards to kiss him, also sure. All warmth and sugar and spice. 

Jesus, they are everything.

Us. 

Then they're both laying Gabriel down with their hands and eyes, loving him better. Better than he is, better than he deserves.

Nathan can surely read minds. "Stop thinking you don't deserve this," he says and smiles, le soleil du matin—the morning sun.

Us.  

Annalise, la lune dans le ciel nocturne—the moon in the night sky, hums, "Silly goose," at Gabriel, then she and Nathan are kissing each other again.

Then they're kissing Gabriel, on his arms and his chest and his neck and his chin and his cheeks and his mouth and Gabriel can finally breathe. 

"Us," he agrees, his tears drying up. 

And laying in a bed in a hostel somewhere in Berlin with a boy and a girl who both love him, Gabriel Boutin—guardian angel, Angélique or not—is saved.

(a nabrielise WIP—pls let me know in the comments if you'd like adding to the finished work's taglist!)

[tightjeansjavi]

What I have been working on lately:

honey pot 🍯

hot neighbor! Joel Miller x f! reader

summary: you’ve been fucking your hot neighbor, Joel Miller, all summer without your boyfriend finding out until you end up faking an orgasm with him. You tell Joel that you can no longer see him, and he comes up with a solution that works for the both of you.

Texas

Joel Miller x Tess Servopoulos

summary: a brief story describing the events that took place the first time Joel and Tess meet.

his eyes still glisten

Joel Miller x f! reader

summary: a Joel whump one-shot where Joel is feeling neglected in his current relationship with the reader. He breaks finally when the reader is a no show to a planned dinner date. Joel and the reader talk through their feelings and set healthy boundaries in their relationship.

I’ll drive all night

Joel Miller x f! reader

summary: Joel receives a phone call late in the night from the reader. He finds out that the reader was S/A’d by a close friend, and he drives all night to be there for her. (As an SA survivor myself, this fic is deeply pertaining to my personal experience, and therefore may be triggering.)

***THIS FIC BRIEFLY DESCRIBES THE READER BEING S/A’d (not by Joel) WARNINGS WILL BE TAGGED APPROPRIATELY***

Trick or Treat

a horse dad! Joel Halloween special

horse dad! Joel x f! reader

summary: it’s your first Halloween spent with the Millers

slow hands chapter 8

summary: Beanie and Joel share a bonding moment. Joel grows weary of Lucas’s motives.

[hoardingpuffin]

My writing WiP list:

- Three Wishes for Caspian

- Band AU stuff

- Over the Garden Wall Novelization

- Kolosseum [aka. Queer Space Gladiator Novel]

- MY LITERAL BACHELOR THESIS PAPER

Me:

"Hey, what if I start writing a multichapter Equestrian AU?"

... anyways I started a new WiP.

[thedvilsinthedetails]

Hello, hello. WIP game. Please, please, please tell me about Leave my heart down by the water.

ahhh yay the one i just started ok so it’s a fantasy/royalty au where Reggie is a prince and James, Marlene and Peter kidnap him sort of - it’s complicated but they’re not bad basically

ima post some snippets but bear in mind it’s pretty new so most of the chapters are just rough sketches rn:

[bluejadedragon]

Release of the WIPs that I may or may not continue. (:

1. Angel From Manhattan

Sterling jolted awake in the middle of the night, something startling him awake. He looked around frantically, then to his window as a loud thunk echoed through his room. Across the room, Alexis stirred, muttering into her blankets.

Hurriedly, Sterling opened the window and looked out. Through the dark of night, he could just make out a figure standing on a patch of grass below his window. He climbed out, hurrying down the old brick wall, grateful for their apartment being only on the second floor. As soon as his feet hit the ground, a warm hand wrapped around his and pulled him around. 

“Angel?”

The woman in front of him was staring into his eyes, her once blue eyes glowing a soft orange. Frowning, Sterling pulled his hand from hers.

“Hey!”

“Sorry.” Angel shook her head, then stepped back, walking toward the street. Confused by her lack of conversation, Sterling followed her, eyes darting. 

Something was off.

“What’s wrong?” 

Angel halted by a motorbike. It was beautiful, dark and sleek. Definitely not something she could afford.

“I’m getting out of the city.”

2. Big Hive, Small World

The sun was falling toward the horizon, shadows being cast below the hive. Workers flew around the city’s exterior, coming and going with frantic movements. Sterling just sat on top of the city’s domed roof, his wings flat behind him. A soft pattering of footsteps drew his attention to Alexis, who was climbing up to meet him.

She lifted her body over the final crest, pushing herself to sit next to Sterling. His gaze fell back to the horizon as she quietly sat beside him. Her wings buzzed softly, a release of pent up energy she probably didn’t even realise she was doing. 

“Do you wanna talk about it?” She opened cautiously. Sterling sighed, pulling his legs up to his chest.

“What’s there to talk about?” Alexis gave him that look.

“You and I both know.” He sighed again.

“Fine. Tomorrow, we're placed somewhere in the hive to complete our apprenticeships. Hopefully, I’ll end up somewhere in the smithing industry. You’ll become a guard.” “That’s not confirmed. And you know damn well that’s not what we need to talk about.” Sterling scrunched up his nose, then sighed in defeat as Alexis continued to watch him.

“I’m terrified, Lexi. Is that what you want to hear? Tomorrow is the last day of safety. Tomorrow is the last day I’m a part of a cohort, and from then on I won’t have you, or Matron Murdock, or any of our cohort to protect me. If anyone else finds out I’m a drone, at best I’ll be exiled, at worst executed. My very existence as a defective drone is classified as treason, because Queen forbid I ever pass my ‘faulty’ genes on.” He sighed into his hands.

“I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life trapped pretending to be someone I’m not. And I know you feel the same, because if anyone finds out you’re secretly a princess, we’re both dead. I mean, two criminals in one cohort? Our entire family would be executed for hiding us. So yeah, I’m terrified.”

Alexis listened quietly, letting him get his frustrations out.

“I love this colony, I love my family, but it doesn’t matter.” “It does though, Sterling!” Alexis finally spoke. 

“Change starts small. If we’re here, there have to have been others- have to be others!” “Yeah…” 

“I mean it. We’ll be okay.” Sterling smiled.

“You should be inspirational more often.” Alexis laughed.

“Shut up. Feeling better?” “Yeah, a little.” Sterling replied honestly, his gaze returning to the warm sunset that filled the sky with a burning glow.

“Good.” Alexis dropped her head onto his shoulder. “I love you, you idiot.”

“I love you too.”

3. Hide-and-Trauma

(CW for referenced alcoholism and child abuse)

It was just a stupid game. 

A stupid game of hide-and-seek. Something they’d all played.

The thrill of scurrying through the halls of the House of Freedom, seeking out an adequate hiding space was something they’d done on so many free days. Laughing as they play, letting themselves be kids for a little while, their studies forgotten. It was simple and silly and all it took was one miscalculation.

Ana knew she was running low on time, but they were playing without abilities and so she was trying to find somewhere she wouldn’t immediately be found. But she was too slow and her heart pounded as she heard feet fast approaching. 

Somewhere, beyond the rush of blood in her ears, she knew it was one of her friends- who was seeking this time? But her heartbeat was loud and strong and painful and suddenly she wasn’t just playing a game. Not just running from a friend who would just grin and help her out of her hiding space when they found her, who would wink and offer her one of their favourite snacks if she told them where the others were. Not just a friend who she’d laugh with and shrug off, not just a friend.

Instead the adrenaline shoved her back into her past, before she had any powers and only had her mind and small frame to avoid danger, and her mother had just gotten home and she was coming up the stairs and no, no no no tonight was a bad night she needed to run she needed to hide maybe if it was hard to find her she’d just give up-

Instincts took over and she was climbing up the stone pillars, forcing herself into the small gap between one of the turrets and the roof, shoving her hands over her mouth and nose to muffle all sounds she made and she tucked herself fully into the shadows, ducking her face into her chest to hide the pale sphere of her face and stars above please don’t look up don’t look up don’t look up!

:D