#forgive my wips

[vampiyahs]

i find it INCREDIBLY funny that my ref for this is just,, him being lame and fucked the hell up

[korrasamibottles]

If I said I was hard at work in the Fic Mine chiseling out one word at a time and placing it in my cart ever so gently. Would you believe me

[hedwig221b]

happy birthday to wonderful @goddessofsteel 🎉💕 hope this makes you smile today!

read full version

Stiles woke up with a jolt. Opening his bleary eyes, he licked his lips and looked around, thoroughly confused as to where he was.

Then his gaze fell onto Derek.

The man was fully dressed. He was currently putting on his watch but kept his eyes on Stiles. A small amused smile lightened his face, and Stiles immediately wanted to hide from it.

“Good morning, beautiful,” said Derek.

Stiles blinked at him.

Derek chuckled, walked up to the bed and sat down beside him. He cupped Stiles’ face and gave him a light kiss on the lips, before letting him go with a small flick on his chin.

“Sleep well?”

“Mhm,” Stiles raked a hand through his hair and sat up. The covers fell to his lap, and Derek’s eyes immediately slipped down his body.

Stiles didn’t try to cover himself, though his gaze did make him want to squirm.

“I’ve booked this room till three,” said Derek, watching him. “It’s all yours. The mini-bar is paid for, and there’s a nice jacuzzi.”

Stiles’ gaze slid down Derek’s clothes. “And you?”

“As much as I would like to spend time in your company, I have to go.”

Oh.

That’s how it ends, then.

“Okay,” said Stiles, because what else could he say. They were nobody to each other. He could’ve demanded his attention and put on more charm to keep him close, but Stiles was too worn out from yesterday to do anything.

Some of the disappointment must’ve slipped through, though, because Derek smiled again. He caressed Stiles’ cheek with a finger, watching his own movements.

“I had a lot of fun last night,” he said.

Stiles stared at him.

What does that mean? Was there supposed to be a “but”?

“Me, too,” Stiles croaked, unsure of what was happening.

Derek seemed pleased. His hand traveled down Stiles’ neck with his thumb tracing the prominent veins and eventually fell down on Stiles’ covered thigh. The man seemed to have trouble keeping his hands off him.

“Want more?” he asked eventually and arched an eyebrow.

Hell, yeah.

Stiles squeezed his lips together to keep a smile in but wasn’t sure he was successful. A fiercely warm jolt of excitement sent shivers down his body.

“Yeah,” he said, keeping what he really wanted to say (fuck yes, please, please, please I have to get my mouth on your dick and feel a beard burn on my thighs) to himself.

Derek’s pleased and somewhat relieved grin was beautiful. He caught Stiles’ hand and kissed the back of it.

“I’m taking you out to dinner tonight, then.” The man was literally glowing. Stiles fought a laugh at how easy all of it was.

“Awesome,” came out of Stiles’ mouth and he quickly shut it, but Derek, thankfully, laughed.

“I gotta go.” He kissed Stiles in the corner of his lips and stood up. “I’ll text you. Take your time and relax, okay, baby?”

And all these fucking nicknames… Stiles had never been called that before, but he found himself liking it.

“I will.”

Derek left, after tearing his gaze away from Stiles’ body and saying goodbye one more time. Stiles fell back on the bed with the silliest grin and stretched, sighing in pleasure.

He was going to have so much fucking fun.

[druidshollow]

m, wasnt gonna post this wip but ive changed my mind

[osamudaisies]

fyodor maybe having an undercut was the real reveal of that chapter

ft. a sketch i may or may not ever turn into a finished piece

[writerfae]

Thinking about him again (teacher Callan from the modern au)

[chameleocoonj]

semaphore fans: is this acceptable to read as "frog" or would it be better with the "letters mode" flag in front? 🐸🐸🐸

[pfhwrittes]

the aftermath.

rating: mature audiences.

pairing: john "soap" mactavish x simon "ghost" riley.

word count: 1.8k

notable tags / warnings: transgender john "soap" mactavish, fluff, humour, very light angst, references to offscreen sex, egregious use of scots, banter, swearing.

A/N: i wrote this instead of sleeping, it was meant to be the set up for another part of my trans!soap drabbles but it took a wild left turn into feelsville and so no actual smut occurs in this fic. however, it is funny and fluffy (in my opinion). as always this can be considered to be very lightly edited so typos and weird grammatical goofs are likely to remain so for that i apologise.

–––

unsurprisingly, it’s kyle that catches on and confronts him the following afternoon as johnny pushes some truly god awful looking peas around his tray in the mess. 

“so, who’d you fuck last night then mate?” 

kyle plunks himself into the seat opposite johnny, dropping his tray with a clatter. the shepherd’s pie on his tray sags slightly and johnny feels a disarming bolt of empathy for the oozing mince and potato blob. sue him, he’s still feeling a little tender in places, alright? not that he’ll be admitting that to garrick of all people. 

“dunno what you’re oan about pal.” johnny sniffs and pokes a particularly dehydrated pea with his fork. there we go, nice and breezy. no need to give the game away son. 

kyle scoffs and aims a kick at johnny’s shin under the table. 

“oi! ya fuckin’ roaster, the fuck wis that for!” 

“i know you fucked someone last night. price was complaining about the stink in his office this morning.” kyle points his fork at johnny’s chest accusingly.

well, shit. johnny knew he should’ve got simon to crack the window before he got fucked seven ways from sunday. again, not that garrick needed to know that particular practical tid-bit of organising a secret rendez-vouz with your superior officer. 

johnny clears his throat nonchalantly and picks the spot over kyle’s left ear to address. 

“who’s to say it wasnae the captain gettin’ some last night?” 

the look kyle directs at johnny could probably be used to store clean cut finnish ice directly from fucking lapland with how freezing it is. 

“because he was with me, you tosspot.” 

johnny can’t help the way his face slips from carefully blank neutrality into something a wee bit more salacious. 

“oh aye, is that right?” johnny abandons looking at kyle’s ear to shoot him the dirtiest smirk he can muster. 

“fuck off mactavish.” kyle scowls, “you know what i meant. he was watching the bloody footie with me.”

“is that what you kids are callin’ it these days, eh?” johnny waggles his eyebrows knowingly just to watch kyle glare even harder as he leans forwards to stab johnny in the chest with his fork. 

“hey! mind the nipples, they’re fuckin’ custom! i spent money on these things!” johnny pouts and rubs gingerly at his top, pulling a face as he smears mashed potato into the fabric. gross garrick. 

“shut up, you got ‘em on the NHS like everyone else, you dickhead.” kyle shoots back.

what was sure to be a brilliantly witty retort gets silenced as price appears from nowhere, glowering down at his two sergeants like he’s just found two of his wayward puppies rolling in something long dead and incredibly pungent. 

“mactavish. a word.” 

johnny gulps and shoots kyle a betrayed look as soon as price’s back is turned. 

“oh sorry mate. must’ve slipped my mind. captain’s looking for you.” kyle grins, looking for all the world like butter wouldn’t melt in that clever wee mouth of his. 

bastard. 

––

johnny does not fidget. not even once. he’s cool, he’s calm, he’s co-

“it was reported that you were seen leaving this office - my office - at 0300 hours this morning, sergeant.” price rumbles from behind the - his - desk. 

-mpletely and utterly fucked. 

and not in the way he was only twelve hours previous. in this very room. over that very same desk. steamin’ jesus. 

johnny pointedly does not meet price’s gaze, instead he continues staring at the cinderblock behind his captain’s shoulder like it contains the secrets of the universe. or perhaps a false brick that when nudged just right would open a portal to hell under his feet. 

the chair under price’s bulk creaks as he settles back, watching for any sign of guilt or admission. the cigar propped on the edge of the cut glass ashtray sends a smoky tendril into the air as it drifts lazily to the window that johnny can see is cracked open a fraction in his peripheral vision. 

“nothing to say, sergeant?” price’s voice is deceptively soft and a shudder runs up johnny’s spine unbidden. fuuuuuuck. the way he sees it, he’s either fucked once if he admits to being somewhere he very much shouldn’t have been with company he definitely shouldn’t have been fraternising with, or fucked twice if he tries to deny it without knowing all the facts. he is, as the big bastard himself would say, in a spot tighter than a nun’s cunt. 

johnny swallows drily, preparing to take possibly the stupidest risk of his career and possibly his life so far, when a solid knock on the closed door saves him. thank christ. his heart soars - 

“enter.” price commands. 

almost immediately the hulking figure and current cause of johnny’s predicament steps through the door near silently to stand shoulder to shoulder with johnny. just a hair too close to be considered professional.

“lieutenant riley, good of you to join us.” 

- and promptly falls out his arse. 

good to know that there was a third and far worse option available to him. 

––

centuries or possibly even aeons later, a knock rouses johnny from the light doze he’d slipped into immediately after clambering into the tiny twin bed provided in his room. sent away from price’s office in disgrace, the sounds of his shouting still ringing in his ears. but even worse, the way that simon - ghost - simon had refused to even look at johnny before he turned on his heel and stalked down the corridor. away from him.

“nngh.” johnny grunts intelligently and swipes a slightly tacky palm over his face before letting it drop to brush against the worn carpet tiles. fuck getting up to let price in here to yell at him some more, or to deal with gaz’s kicked puppy look. he’ll stay exactly where he is ta very much, despite the way a spring in the lumpy mattress is poking into his right kidney something fierce. and the fact that now he’s awake he could do with a drink to rinse away the gummy feeling in his mouth. eurgh. 

the knock sounds again. 

“fer fucks sake, come in then ya -” johnny calls out grumpily, lifting his head from the pillow and his eyes flying open so he can glare at the door from his supine position.

and once again, simon “here to make shit worse for him specifically” riley steps through the door.

“- prick.” johnny finishes weakly. oh. well this is awkward. 

simon hums quietly in agreement and quietly shuts the door with his foot. johnny blinks, not entirely sure if he’s agreeing with being called a prick or if the situation is awkward. 

“bit o’ both really.” simon rumbles. ah, right yeah. johnny’s always had a habit of saying the first few thoughts that pop into his head immediately after being woken up. always makes one night stands a bit awkward in the mornings. 

“hm. is that the reason you’ve never let me stay the night then?” simon asks as he drops heavily into the tactically acquired chair in the corner of the room paying no mind to the fact he’s sitting on johnny’s freshly laundered skivvies. 

“somethin’ like that, aye.” johnny swallows awkwardly, christ he needs a drink of water, “that an’ i thought we’d get -” 

“caught.” simon finishes tiredly. 

johnny huffs out a sound that if he was being charitable could be considered a laugh under the right circumstances. this isn’t the right circumstances. obviously.  

“aye. yeah. that an’ all.” 

a silence stretches between the two of them then. it’s uncomfortable to say the least, aching in a similar way to johnny’s neck as he continues to peer at simon, who is sagging like a half-empty rucksack. johnny lets his head drop back onto the flat pillow underneath him so he can gaze sightlessly up at the water stained ceiling tile. what a fuckin’ mess. 

“‘m sorry.” 

it’s said so quietly johnny could half believe he imagined it. 

“‘s not yer fault, don’t worry about it.” johnny says flatly to the water mark on the ceiling. he closes one eye and squints, hm. looks a bit like a pair of knickers like that. johnny hears simon take a steadying breath from across the space. oh. johnny opens both eyes and lifts his head, his expression carefully blank. 

simon is hunched over now, his elbows resting on his thick thighs and he’s staring fixedly at the carpet just in front of his boots, purposefully avoiding johnny’s eyes. 

“simon?” it’s a gentle nudge but johnny watches as simon’s broad shoulders tense up, his biceps flexing as he fidgets with his clasped hands. oh. that’s more of an admission of guilt or responsibility than anything simon could say. johnny knows this man, inside and out at this point. he’s economical with movement in a way that can only ever be learned through being completely aware of your size and surroundings. never a fidgeter. always still. always controlled. 

“‘m sorry.” simon repeats quietly, allowing his head to hang down and exposing the soft nape of his neck where his balaclava gapes away from his shirt. in better circumstances johnny would get up and chance a kiss on his exposed skin just to hear him make a soft pleased noise that always reminds johnny of a cat purring out a raspy mrrr of contentment.

“did ye go to price an’ tell him then?” johnny asks levelly despite the way his heart has suddenly decided to reside in his large intestine again for the second time today.

simon’s head jerks up and he frowns. 

“no - i - no.” simon states firmly and johnny takes a shuddering breath. good. 

“good.” he says out loud. “i didnae think ye would.” johnny tacks on just to watch some of the tension in simon’s shoulders leak away. the urge to comfort simon wells up behind johnny’s ribs, it’s a tender thing and it makes johnny’s breath hitch a little unsteadily. he sighs dramatically to cover it and flops his head back onto the pillow again. 

“c’mon then, get over here ya big bastard.” johnny orders faux-peevishly. 

“what.” 

johnny groans and rolls his eyes. simon can be unbelievably dense when it comes to intimacy that doesn’t involve being bent over the nearest suitable surface sometimes. 

“‘mon then, i want a cuddle before price decides to split us up for the rest of our careers.” johnny raises his arms and makes a grabbing motion much like a wee toddler would to demand being picked up. johnny tries not to be insulted when that seems to be the reason that simon hefts himself to his feet to stand awkwardly at the side of the bed. 

“‘m not gonna fit.” he states and johnny rolls his eyes again. 

“sure ye will, just don’t squash my tits, alright?”

there’s a pause before simon states in his usual blunt manner - 

“how th’ fuck am i meant to do that, you ‘ad ‘em chopped off at eighteen.” 

and for some reason that makes johnny burst into relieved laughter. 

aye, they’ll be alright.

[blighted-lights]

i could recognize him from tits alone

[yabakuboi]

a little season 4 vol 2 "missing scene" but angst warning, it's canon compliant!

Eddie opens his eyes.

It shouldn't be a surprise, really, everyone opens their eyes thousand-million-billions of times, probably—Eddie's not very good a math. But still, he opens them, looks out into the world in front of him, and a stray thought flitters through his conscious that goes Wait, what? He can't really remember why, though, suddenly. Because—

Eddie opens his eyes. And Steve smiles at him.

"Hey," Steve says, easy as a breeze, no urgency, no brave-face. None of that fear hidden in his eyes when Eddie had asked him to make Vecna pay for him, to do something Eddie couldn't.

"Hey," Eddie says back, breathless.

Behind them, there's a noise, and Eddie almost turns around to look.

"Eddie," Steve says before Eddie moves. He holds out his hand, long fingers and trimmed nails and soft palms. He almost glows in the grey dark of the forest. "Come with me."

"Okay," Eddie says. And takes his hand.

Steve's smile grows, a flash of white teeth, and he laces their fingers together tightly as he begins to lead Eddie through the trees. There's another sound behind them, Eddie doesn't quite know what it is, but Steve pulls him away gently before Eddie can turn his head to look.

It sounded almost like someone crying.

They walk leisurely, like they don't have anywhere to be, and Eddie stares down at their hands linked together. Something squirms inside of him, almost a feeling of wrongness. He feels off balanced, but he doesn't feel scared. He feels like he should feel scared.

Steve squeezes his hand comfortingly. They can't hear the crying anymore.

"It's okay," Steve says, like he's reading Eddie's mind. "I don't ever want you to be scared. Not anymore."

It clicks then.

"You're not Steve," Eddie says. He comes to a stop.

Steve stops with him, doesn't try to pull him along, to force him to go. He turns back to Eddie, that sweet smile on his face. His thumb brushes against Eddie's, his touch warm and gentle.

"No," Steve admits.

"Are you Vecna?" Eddie feels like he should be shaking with fear, but he's not. Steve's hand in his makes him brave.

"No, no," Steve rushes to say. "I'm not here to hurt you Eddie, I promise. I'm only here to take care of you."

"Oh," Eddie swallows. He thinks about the person crying in the woods and he remembers Dustin leaning over him— "What, are you like, God or something?"

Steve shrugs. "Sometimes I am," he says, thoughtfully. He leans in close as he does, his other hand coming up to their joined hands. "Sometimes I'm Jesus Christ, sometimes I'm an angel. Sometimes I'm deities of other faiths. Most of the time I'm mothers."

"I—" Eddie starts and stops, suddenly overwhelmed. "I don't understand."

"That's okay," Steve says. He presses the back of Eddie's hand to his chest, and he can feel his heartbeat under his shirt. It's comforting, the steady rhythm, the warmth against his skin. "Take your time. We don't have to rush."

Eddie drags his other hand over his face, twitching when something tickles his cheek. There, on his left hand, tied to his ring finger, is a red string tied in a bow, with one long end hanging to the ground near his knees, the end of it frayed.

He tries to remember why he tied it there, what the reason was. But when he looks at Steve again, sees the sadness in his eyes, the sympathy, Eddie knows its something else. He doesn't want to ask.

"Why—" He croaks and clears his throat. Steve watches him patiently. "Why Steve then? If not my mom— If not an angel, or whatever."

"You know why," Steve says, indulgent. "At least part of that, you know exactly why."

Eddie clutches Steve's hand, fingers going tight in that gentle hold, knuckles white, his nails digging into flesh. Steve doesn't wince or shake him off, just gently tugs Eddie closer until they're standing toe to toe, heads bowing into each other. The short ends of Steve's hair brushes Eddie's cheek.

Eddie does know. Knows if it were his mom or his dad, angels or demons or gods, if they'd asked Eddie come with them, he wouldn't have. But he doesn't know why this, why Steve.

"He makes you brave," Steve says. He whispers it like a secret, says it into their joined hands, into Eddie's knuckles, into the breath between them. "He makes you feel safe." He reaches down and plucks the frayed end of the red string between two fingers, runs his thumb along the length of it, holds it like something precious in his palm. "He makes you hope."

A sob erupts out of Eddie then, and Steve releases Eddie's clinging hand to wrap him up in a hug, holds him as he cries. They stand there in the middle of this weird, other dimension as Eddie weeps harder than he ever has in his life, as Steve runs his fingers through his hair, humming a song that Eddie doesn't know the words to, doesn't recognize. Eddie lets himself hold him back, crushing Steve to him, just to feel a little more of that warmth, that steady heartbeat and gentle kindness. He gets it now, and he cries all the harder for it.

It was supposed to be his year.

"I know, honey," Steve murmurs, voice thick like he's crying, too, for the life Eddie doesn't get to live anymore. "I know, I'm so sorry."

Steve holds him until the tears stop, until Eddie's breathing evens out and he pulls himself away to scrub his hands over his wet face. He swallows a few times, trying to find his voice before he looks at him again.

He's still there when Eddie looks at him, that same gentle smile, the kindness of his eyes.

"What now?" Eddie asks, voice ragged.

Taking his hand again, his touch warm and soft, Steve says, "Come with me."

And Eddie goes.

[wiz-writes]

A short progress update on chapter two of Out of the Yinshan!

The main sections are done and half of it is already revised, so it should be readable.

So what's left now are the choices, which are about half-way done as well. What I'm dreading is writing these two particular choices, one of them (spoiler) a fight scene and the other a [redacted] with [redacted]. I think I'm going to lose all my hair writing those two scenes, haha.

Anyway. I've been writing like crazy these days, because I set myself a deadline, 30 April. Don't think I'm gonna make it lol.

Still, you can expect the update sometime soon!

See you then ❤️

[morningstargirl666]

WIP WEDNESDAY

This is your daily reminder that there should be more Bonnie & Caroline friendship in fics, thank you for coming to my ted talk.

“God, I’m so excited for Tyler to finally be able to come home.”

“He won’t have to take orders from Klaus when he’s dead, that’s for sure,” Bonnie muttered. She glanced up when Caroline remained quiet, frowning slightly. “Elena mentioned he invited you to the ball? Why would Klaus do that?”

Caroline scowled up at the ceiling, annoyed by the direction the conversation had taken. “I have no idea.”

Bonnie stopped looking through the grimoire. “Well, what did he want last night?”

“I don’t know.” Caroline shrugged, a little lost, throwing a hand up. “He asked me to dance, we talked, he showed me his artwork-”

“Artwork?” Bonnie echoed.

Caroline frowned slightly, worrying her lip.

“Yeah, he’s an artist, I guess,” she tried to shrug off, like it wasn’t a big deal. Even serial killers had hobbies, right? She didn’t mention the drawing he’d done of her - nope, not happening. She scoffed, shaking her head. “I’m pretty sure interpol has half his art collection listed as stolen or missing - like the feds would have a field day if they raided that place.”

“So he asked you to dance, spent time with you, showed you his personal art collection…” Her best friend paused, slowly closing the grimoire, eyeing Caroline critically. “...like a date?”

Caroline shot up into a sitting position, glaring at Bonnie. 

“It was NOT a date,” she hissed, slicing her hands through the air, as if to ward the accusation off. “There was no ‘dating’ of any kind.”

Bonnie’s eyes widened a fraction and she deliberately turned her gaze back to the grimoire. 

“Sounds like a date to me,” she muttered under her breath, opening the book back up.

Caroline tried to push the memory of Klaus admitting he fancied her out of her head, something fluttering in her stomach. 

“He was just cozying up to me to get to Elena,” she tried to excuse. Her eyes shot to Bonnie, pleading with her to agree. “Right?”

Bonnie sighed, regarding her sadly. “Is it really that impossible to consider that a guy may actually like you?”

“Bonnie,” Caroline carefully enunciated, “It’s Klaus.”

Her friend rolled her eyes, closing the grimoire again and throwing it to the side. “Yeah, obviously I’m not saying you should date him, Caroline. I’m just saying you’re,” she shrugged, gesturing to all of her, “you know, a catch. Any guy would be lucky to have you.” 

Bonnie leaned forward, grasping Caroline’s hands in hers as she smiled softly. Touched, Caroline couldn’t help but smile back.

“Hell,” Bonnie continued, “Tyler doesn’t even deserve you after he left you for dead in the woods and then ghosted you.”

“He’s trying to break the sire bond for me, Bonnie,” Caroline pointed out, her glare half-hearted. Secretly, her friend’s fierce protectiveness warmed her heart.

“Even so,” Bonnie conceded, letting go of Caroline’s hands, “it was a dick move, one he made on your birthday of all days. You don’t have to excuse him all the time.”

Caroline sighed - Bonnie was right. She let her head fall into her hands, running her fingers anxiously through her hair. Biting her lip, she looked back up at Bonnie.

“And if Klaus does actually…like me?” she asked quietly.

Sheepishly, Bonnie smiled, the expression halfway to a wince. “Start growing wolfsbane in the garden?”

“Would that even work on a hybrid?”

“He’s part werewolf, right?” Bonnie shrugged, picking up her grimoire again. A wicked smile curled around the corners of her face. “You’d assume so.”

Caroline shook her head, grinning too as she pulled out her phone. “Guess I need to google where I can get wolfsbane from, then,” she said, like it was a great chore.

“Check Petco, maybe you’ll find the dog version of catnip.”

Unable to keep straight faces, they giggled, both of them doubling over laughing.

[fiona-fififi]

"Seven" Sentence Sunday

Tagged by @spotsandsocks. Thank you for the tag!

A little more of the jealous!Tommy fic because why not.

Because Christopher goes straight to Buck's other side, smile suddenly beaming for his dad and his Buck.

And it's so different how he settles in with Buck. All day, he'd been sticking close to Tommy, asking questions and showing off about his bond with his dad's cool new pilot friend. Asking for stories and telling the ones he already knew for anyone who would listen. 

But now, with everyone gone and all the excitement of the day wearing off, he gravitates toward Buck. And it's something wholly different. Quiet and familiar, as Christopher tucks himself up against Buck's side. He doesn't snuggle in, really, but it's a close thing. And Buck's mentioned this before, bemoaning the way Christopher has started distancing himself a bit as a teenager, not quite as affectionate as he'd been in the years before. But Tommy can see all the quiet affection in the way Christopher settles beside him and gradually lets himself lean more into Buck's space in a way that's so familiar, it makes Tommy’s chest ache.

Not tagging because I think Sunday is over for most everyone, but consider yourself tagged if you want to participate.

[goldensunset]

everyone told me she was terrifying but they didn’t tell me she was so cool and nice

[sovhina]

gay gay homosexual gay

anyway here’s a wip of Clear from @blood-choke in my style if you haven’t played you should totally go be gay and do murder!✨