#a little WIP crumb for your Friday

[grogusmum]

For ‘finish a fic’, your choice- IRL part 3 or A Galaxy Far Far Away part 10? I love both and will take even the smallest of crumbs on either! -J

Aw, m'dear! Thank you for the ask 💚 I was excited and anxious to be tagged for this because I have had some really bad writer's block, and I hoped the little push to write just a few sentences would help.

Okay, so I picked IRL because it's been a minute since I've worked on it. The good news is I wrote 12 sentences instead of 5. The bad news is it they aren't the juiciest 12 sentences going 😬

While the rest of the day flies and is more fun than you've had in a long time, geeking out with a fellow geek. This new layer is exciting, if a little scary. Javi has at least one hand on you at all times. Holding your hand or on your thigh with his thumb chasing little circles during the films and Q&As, his arm wrapped around your waist during intermission. All you can think about is getting back to the hotel, but as Javi checks you both in, your anxiety starts to mount. You know Javi is a good guy. He would never just presume, and if you put on the brakes, he would respect that…but now it's here. It's not that you don't want to, you want to, by the gods do you, but what if he doesn't like what he sees when you are, quite literally, laid bare- Javi turns with the key cards while your stomach knots in new and exciting ways.  “It's a two bedroom penthouse suite,” Javi murmurs, mostly to his feet you can see the tips of his ears flushing red “I got them before- but um, if you don't- I mean if we, um-” Your fears thaw, at least for the moment, and you tip his head up to look at you, your finger gently under his chin. “Javi? Please take me upstairs.”  It was Javi’s turn to have his worries melt and the look he gave you in the alcove returns. 

Thank you so much for your support of my writing. You're the best!! 💚

Updated to include link to IRL Part 1

I know it's Sunday, and this is Finish a Fic Friday, but I don't see any cops here, so feel free to send in an ask, Click here for the list of WIPs

[prismaticpichu]

Happy Friday y’all!! You made it! Hope it was an amazing week full of progress and good food!

Here’s a random fic crumb fresh from the WIP not-folder! The plot that’s baking is prolly pretty obvious xD (I also learned that writing the pupper’s perspective tends to split my writing style right down the middle- and I’m having fun with that bisection!)

“Sephiroth?”

The SOLDIER's head jolted up, emerald eyes blinking just as rapidly.

Well. He was definitely getting better at responding to his name.

"Yea—“ Shoot. Zack swallowed the syllables mid-throat, masking the blunder by clearing it. "Yes?"

It was Heidegger who had barked at him, two sharp brows furrowed in... annoyance? Offense? An idle drift of his gaze revealed that everyone in the briefing roof was staring at him, an awkward spectrum of different emotions pinning him down: some eyes were dark, some bore impatience, a majority crackling with shock—as shocked as these masked people could be.

He was about to open his mouth and ask what gives... before suddenly becoming very aware of the heavy, glistening weight pressing down on his hand. Lips stitched shut, he willed his eyes to float right.

...Oh for Ifrit's sake, what was wrong with him? The General of SOLDIER was not supposed to have an entire pound of hair all caught up in his fingers! Especially not twined around each digit like a spool.

Many, many more things in his body twisting, Zack unsnarled his hair and straightened. He could not blush. He could NOT.

"Please, continue," he said Seph-smoothly, like a velvet bass, and prayed that it would be enough to drive their attention away.

It did not.

President ShinRa's air of probing radiated with policelike intensity. “What are your opinions on the matter, Sephiroth?" The man laced his fingers together, a frown causing the edges of his leaden face to wilt. Searching.

Blessedly, Seph's body didn't sweat easily.

It took what had to be an applaudable amount of willpower not to swallow. He thought not letting his gaze flicker to the clock would be enough—more than enough. Sure, looking like a bored Zack Fair in the 4th grade wasn't part of the plan, but neither was actively contributing. He hadn't been listening! Everything was just a dazed, torturous blur of statistics and... something corporal; there was nothing for him to even remotely paw at for an answer.

"Sephiroth, what is the matter with you?" Hojo's voice was much more scolding, condescending, something of an urgent warning prowling underneath. The man was eyeing ShinRa without looking in his direction, and the fraction of ShinRa's focus that wasn't latched onto him was reciprocated onto Hojo in return.

What would you say... what would you say... c'mon, what would you say, bud, help me... Oh who was he kidding. Seph would have listened to every word even if it was tearing him asunder from the inside.

“I'm indifferent," he finally answered, time too fragile to hold anymore. It seemed ike an adjective that encompassed Seph regardless, so... score? He just had better agreed to something Seph really couldn't care less about. And if he didn’t—

Almost immediately a flare of horror and regret shot through him, storming with heart-clapping paranoia. Gaia, oh Gaia what if he agreed to destroy the slums? The church? What if they asked him if they could change Seph's hair? Seph cherished his hair! He would never forgive himself. What if… what if he approved removing any and all second-in-commands for SOLDIER? He would never see Seph again…

The eyes lingered on him for just a moment longer, just a torrid, humid moment before ShinRa leaned back and regained some degree of satisfaction; Heidegger scoffed; Palmer took a tired sip of his drink; Tseng's quirked eyebrow descended. Hojo's glare was the last to fade, only turning his head away in a purposefully slow manner. Leaving his little watery handprint.

"It's settled then," Heidegger continued, leaving no room for amendments. "We will reduce the water pressure in the facilities by 20%."

And all again, all eyes were on him when Zack let out a long, heavy sigh of relief.

[silverflqmes]

SQUARE ENIX STOP GIVING US CRUMBS WE NEED SEFIKURA!!!!!!!!! signing a petition to square rn as we speak

you’re such a good student i need to learn to be like you 😭. ive heard about planners i might try them out. yayyyy!! im so happy you completed them. thank you 🫶🏻🫶🏻

ME TOO ME TOO. i freaked out when that happened from now on i just download fics onto my kindle! for convenience. YOURE SO TRUE FOR THAT, THEYRE LIKE MY LITTLE BEDTIME STORY BEFORE I GO TO SLEEP SNDNDND me reading ur sephiroth works before i go to sleep be like:

HAVE A LOT OF FUN THERE OMG AND OF COURSE!! THE BEST TASTES ARE ALWAYS ALL OVER THE PLACE TO ME. IT SO ISSSSSSS <333

YES WAY LIKE A THOUSAND TIMES YES WAY!! i wrote like one seph fic in the past and have this one staring at me in my docs… BUT THEY CAN NEVER BEAT THE BEST SEPHIROTH WRITER OUT THEREE!! OMG I HEARD ABOUT IT 😭😭 i will be trying to keep myself in check as well too

-🎐

REAL REAL REAL I BEG OF YOU SQUARE PLS GIVE THEM A HAPPY ENDING🛐🛐🛐 SEND THE PETITION OVER ANON!!

HELP IM RLLY NOT, NORMALLY I PROCRASTINATE SM ( im actually doing that as we speak im like spongebob when he wrote “the” all fancy for his essay ) but im so afraid of falling behind so i am attempting to be a good student🥹 the planner is very nice tho ngl its just so organized and pretty to look at?? you get this like inclination to work bc of the satisfaction of checking things off too😩

i do have some saved for emergencies! but i was like, in the middle of reading a sfkr fic and i.. i lost it😭😭 that’s so smart w the kindle tho. BUT YEAH ITS LIKE A BEDTIME STORY FR, friday night i was waiting for a fav fic of mine atm to update but bc of the change in time difference since i moved, it updates either very late at night or the next morning🥲 AHEKWJEKE IM HONORED???

it was very fun!! we kinda just went out to eat then hung out at one of our places and chilled till like, 3am ngl.. but i was cookin a little for my og wip🫡 the sfkr fic still.. needs work however..

did- did you say seph fic. anon i must read it if you are willing to share🛐 AND I SHALL PROVE YOU WRONG WHEN YOUR SEPH FIC ENDS MY CAREER‼️ but yes, keep yourself in check!! very very important<3

[sarking]

WIP Amnesty #4

Last one! This one is Broadchurch, with the intent of becoming Hardy/Miller, but it didn't get there. I have a thing when it comes to het and that thing is partners sitting in a car and talking; what can I say?

It's not all rapes and murders in Broadchurch. In fact, it's rarely either. It's petty theft and parking disputes and kids ran away from home, and for the last three weeks, it's been car break-ins. The good people of Broadchurch are a trusting lot, so much that there's been very little breaking involved, despite Hardy's near daily televised reminders. ("Lock your car doors. Keep your valuables out of sight, or better still, don't leave them in the car at all. Park, if at all possible, beneath a street lamp." At this point, he thinks he repeats it in his sleep.)

Not even his own daughter listens, and, oh, how the press loves that, the DI's own daughter getting her phone nicked. (He yells, of course -- Daisy's phone's been nothing but trouble since they got to Broadchurch -- but he replaces it the next day. Miller thinks he's soft for letting her avoid the consequences of her carelessness. Hardy would rather be soft than the father of a dead girl.) The chief super can just about keep a straight face as she bollocks him about the optics and then assigns him to car park security for the big bonfire on Saturday.

"Don't understand why I'm here," Miller says, digging violently through her bag. It's not her usual. It's black and double, maybe triple the size. More tote than handbag. "Tom didn't get his phone nicked. Tom still doesn't have a phone, not after--"

"Not the porn again," Hardy says, a groaned out prayer to no one in particular as he leans his head back against the headrest.

Miller doesn't hear or -- more likely -- ignores him. "There it is," she says, pulling something wrapped in white tissue out of her bag. She unwraps it, and Hardy recognizes it immediately: the picked-at blueberry muffin that's been sitting on her desk since tea on Friday. His lip curls.

"Gonna get ants in there."

"Might have already," she says cheerfully, depositing the bag sideways onto his lap. Heavy bugger it is.

"What d'you got in this thing?" It doesn't zip and it's full well past the point where its snap would close. With one tentative finger, he lifts the top edge so he can peer inside.

"You have a wife and a daughter," Miller complains, "and presumably a mother. How's it you think you can just go looking through a lady's handbag?" She doesn't try to stop him, though. Just sucks crumbs and blueberry from her thumb and index finger.

"Detective, remember?" He prods at the contents gently, trying not to disturb the crime scene. About half of what's in there is food. "Just how long do you think we're going to be here?" He pulls out one of the three magazines stuffed inside. "Reading material? We're supposed to be keeping watch." He scans the cover. "Sixty-nine ways to make your man's toes curl," he reads. "Sixty-nine. Bit of an odd number, isn't it? Why not seventy?"

Beside him, Miller chokes.

He glances sideways at her and thumbs open the magazine. "You all right over there, Miller?"

"Fine, sir," she manages between coughs. She's fumbling with the cap on her water bottle.

"Good. Hate to lose you this early in the evening." He squints at the glossy pages of the magazine, trying to bring the article into focus. As soon as the words register, he slaps it shut. If a woman did that to him, it'd do more than curl his toes. Probably send him to A&E. "You thinking about dating?" He tries to seem casual as he puts the magazine back in her bag. Less scandalised than bored. He takes another magazine out with a feeling of dread. 

Miller puts the cap back on the bottle and crams it into the space between their seats. "Christ, no. What gives you that idea?"  

Hardy lifts the magazine. "They're all... sex and dating." He shifts uncomfortably.

"Yeah, you know, not a lot of women's magazines focus on police work." Miller taps her fingers against the bottom of the steering wheel. "Did have one want to interview me, though. Said they were doing an article on women whose husbands turn out to be murderers or rapists. Cautionary thing, you know? Things to look out for."

Hardy winces. "I'm--"

"Don't."

She's never wanted his pity, his compassion, not once since he cracked the case. He'll keep offering it anyway. And when that fails, there's distraction. "This one's got thirty-six questions guaranteed to make you fall in love." He gets his readers out of his shirt pocket. "Sounds like horse shit to me."

"Should be statements," Miller agrees. "Things like, 'I scrubbed the toilet and the tub,' or, 'Go have a lie down, love, I'll take care of dinner.'" She turns toward him. "Joe said things like that. Except for being a murderous paedophile, he was an all right husband."

"You miss him?"

"That one of the questions?" He must frown because she clarifies, "In the magazine. Is answering that going to make a man fall in love with me?"

"Might." He glances down at the magazine before the word can hang there too long. "If not, you can tell him how you rehearse all your phone conversations."

"What? I do not."

"Even ordering from the Thai. No--especially ordering from the Thai."

"They are extremely rude and impatient." Miller rips the magazine out of his hands, and the edge slices the skin of his hand.

"Ow," he says, bringing the cut to his mouth, sucking at the sting.

"Don't be such a baby." She flips the pages of the magazine faster than she could possibly be reading. "These questions are bollocks. I'm not going to fall in love with you just because I know you'd rather shut your hand in a car door than have a dinner guest, regardless of who it is.”

[alienheartattack]

Ugh I’m having so much fun writing this assassin/sex bet story! I’m aiming to finish it by June 1 for my first entry in the Rivamika Smut Challenge, but we’ll see. I hope it’s not too OOC since I’m really playing up the Levi-is-an-awkward-weirdo angle (after all, he literally commits murder for a living in this AU) and I don’t usually write Levi in that way. 

"You don't have to do this if you don't want to." He looks down, swallows. "I know I'm a pretty fucked-up, awkward kind of guy, but I'm not a monster. Aside from the part of me that loves killing people, but that's not a sexual thing. For the most part." He smiles a little at her, hopeful that she’ll pick up on his joke.

Mikasa meets his sheepish gaze with a steady one. "I don't want to back down from a promise."

"I wouldn't make fun of you if you did. Not in front of other people, anyway. When it's just us I'm going to roast you mercilessly for welching."

"Go take a shower," she says after a moment. "I'll be here."

"Yessss," Levi hisses, pumping his fist in celebration before remembering that Mikasa is watching, though he's comforted somewhat by her amused smile.

"Take a fucking shower before I change my mind."

"Yes. Definitely." He freezes, torn between taking his leave and giving her some reassurance. "It'll be good, you know. I'll— I'll make it good for you. I'm not just gonna, like, stick it in or whatever."

"GO TAKE A SHOWER, LEVI," Mikasa booms.

He scuttles out of the room then, leaving only his bloody handprints behind.

[heich0e]

hello liv😔 dumblr probably didnt send the ask i sent earlier so im here again,, andd i just read your kita and kuroo wips and holy shit dbshshsh losing my mind here im soo fking excited for those and also umm if youre still posting wips then may i beg for some crumbs of that one atsumu fic where the reader works as a bartender? :0 i read the wips soo long back and it still hasn't left my mind 😭 no pressure!! ILY MWAHHH <3

HELLO SWEET FIR A BIG OL TSUMU SNIPPET JUST FOR U

sorry if i have already posted this i can't track down the original snippets :(

It becomes a routine after that.

Miya comes in on Friday nights, some exorbitantly beautiful woman on his arm, and is always quickly seated at a table the front of house staff had kept waiting for him. A standing reservation.

Moments after that, he rises to approach you at the bar.

He’ll offer you some minute detail about his date (though occasionally it is mercifully pertinent to their drink preferences--like a spirit they enjoy, or a flavour they're partial to) and you're left to come up with a cocktail that will appeal to them.

“So, what’s the story with this one?” he asks one evening, a few months into the little ritual that has settled between you, leaning over the counter as you prepare a drink for his lady of the week (his hints tonight being: daughter of a mogul, refined tastes, wants to get fucked up.)

“Comes from Monaco. They say the queen devised the recipe herself--all the bubble of champagne but twice the punch. Ladies weren’t allowed to drink hard liquor without it being seen as unbecoming, so this was a way they could get away with it and still have a good time.” You strain the slightly green tinted drink into the waiting champagne flutes below the shaker, watching as the frothy liquid pools in the basin of the polished glass.

“Nice.” the man nods approvingly as you top both drinks off with a healthy pour of champagne. The colour of the drink softens even further with the addition of the effervescent wine, and in the dim light of the bar, you can hardly even tell it isn't pure champagne.

You slide the drinks over to his waiting hands. “Two imperials for your prim and proper date.”

“She won’t be proper for long." Atsumu winks at you over the counter and you wrinkle your nose in distaste.

Your interactions with your newest regular customer have also shifted in the weeks since he’d started bothering you with his patronage--far less professional than the tone you’d tried (poorly) to maintain on his first few visits to the bar.

“Revolting,” you mutter.

“Thanks again! I’ll let you know how this one goes.”

“Just leave me a nice tip,” you say dismissively, wiping down the bartop with a clean cloth to prepare for the next drink orders waiting to be filled.

“I always do,” the man chirps, flashing you the same grin he always does--charming, self-assured, and utterly carefree--as he steps away towards his waiting date once more.

But he's right: for all of Atsumu’s shenanigans, he always leaves you a very generous tip at the end of the night. He always makes sure to stop by on his way out--one arm wrapped around the waist of whatever absurdly good looking woman he’s conned into going out with him that week--to tell you that they loved their drinks and to slide a neatly folded stack of bills towards you across the counter.

He's annoying, but he's single-handedly financing your habit of buying the really good ice cream on your weekly grocery trip, so you don't complain much.

You watch as Atsumu crosses the length of the room to return to his table--this week he's seated at one not far from the bar, affording you the perfect view of him sliding into his seat, handing one of the two drinks you’d just carefully prepared to the woman waiting for him.

She takes a sip and smiles, and you watched as Atsumu reaches out to brush a piece of hair behind her ear, his touch lingering just a moment longer than is strictly necessary.

You look away with a roll of your eyes, setting to work on the numerous orders that had come in since you’ve been busy preparing his drinks.

He really is completely shameless.