#jo's wips

[goodnightoilcountry]

you must like me for me - quinn hughes (a sneak peek !)

a/n: another fic idea i've had in my head for ages ! i started writing it the other day when i was sick and it's currently at 3k words. i'm CONFIDENT that i'll smash this one out quicker than my aho fic so it's the only reason i feel like i can post a sneak peak. but also let me know if you have any requests or ideas you'd like me to write about - i'd love to hear from you 🤍

summary: twelve months since the incident and you're ready to let yourself re-emerge into the public eye in the form of a hockey game. the plan was simple: appear, smile, leave unscathed. easy, right?

The theory of fight or flight has always fascinated you. In the face of adversity, no matter how complex the situation, millions of years of evolution still dictate that humanity will always revert to its oldest survival mechanism: to either assert and neutralize, or: evade and withdraw. 

What you’ve come to learn is that there’s a third strategy nestled between fight or flight, often overlooked because of its passiveness in comparison to its overt counterparts: to freeze. 

And that’s the instinct you’ve found yourself falling back on time and time again. As if you’re hoping to blend into the very fabric of the environment where you can pause amid the chaos, weigh the risks, and soundly determine the best course of action. 

The downturn? 

You’re left vulnerable and exposed the longer you wait. 

But it’s a tactic that you’ve grown familiar with, and it’s the one that’s currently in motion. 

“You can’t do this to her, she isn’t ready.”

“It’s been over a year, we can’t let her hide forever.” 

The commotion of voices being thrown around surrounds you but you’re too swept up with the memories and emotions battling out in your head. They’re leaving you dizzy and disorientated. 

One year. Had it really been that long? God. It feels like one month since you first signed your contract in front of a roomful of lawyers and high-powered executives. Back then, you were too naively charmed by the golden promises of stardom and fame that they were selling you. Promising that your talent for lyricism, bordering on poetry, would resonate with the hearts of girls who all seemed to unanimously share the parallel experiences of all things love and girlhood. That you needed a team that could provide you with the right connections and the right opportunities to get you there. 

And to their credit, they didn’t fail you. As soon as you signed your contract, the label had you in the studio effective immediately with the release of “your” song debuting four weeks later. 

“But I didn’t write this and it doesn’t really sound like me…” 

“Don’t worry about it, honey. We just need to get you on the charts and then you can write about anything you want. Trust us - this is how it all works.” 

And trust them you did.

Your song topped the charts for twelve consecutive weeks. The events that took place after your overnight success were a whirlwind. You released a music video. You did media interviews. You collabed with DJs to release remixes. You performed as a guest on endless TV shows. And when you were done, you thought that you would finally be able to sit down with your producers to start developing the library of ideas and single-line lyrics you had swimming around in your head. 

But they had other plans for you in the form of a studio album, and then rinse and repeat. You felt like you were a human cannonball: shot out, forced to perform carefully curated tricks, and to always stick the landing. 

Your team had done everything they could to meticulously craft your image; selectively allowing journalists to access certain stories whether it be about your work or your life. You were America’s Darling. Until you weren’t. 

A sharp trill of your name grounds you back into reality. You blink and recompose yourself, finding the same four people you entered the boardroom with, staring expectantly back at you. Your mom, your manager, Megan, your publicist, Bec, and sat opposite you across the insanely large table is the VP of your label, Joe. Their expressions are ones you’ve grown used to: sympathetic and slightly defeated.  

“Sorry, what was the question?” 

Megan sighs and shifts slightly in her chair to meet your front. “Darling, I know how hard this year has been for you,” 

Do you? 

“But it’s time for us to come back out. We need to face this.” 

In all the years you’ve worked with Megan, she has never offered you such softness in her voice as she has now. As a manager, a female manager in this industry nonetheless, she had been nothing short of headstrong, sharp, and commanding. Her confidence and demeanour never wavered and, if you were being honest, you were thankful that she held you to the same standard as the rest of your team. It equipped you with a thick skin, something that you wouldn’t have survived your young career without. And it leaves you to wonder where you would be now without her to guide you through this situation. 

“Megan is right,” Joe says. “The world hasn’t forgotten, you know.” 

It comes out so matter-of-factly that it feels almost accusatory. 

“You’re not the first celebrity to be wrapped up in a scandal and you certainly won’t be the last.” 

That line is enough to make your mom snap into a fury again. 

“A scandal? She did nothing wrong,” she chastises. “What that boy did is not her fault.” 

Joe’s impatience is growing evident with every turn of the conversation. As warranted as your mother’s protectiveness is for this particular circumstance, her resistance was stopping one of his biggest artists from bringing in the label money. You can tell he's trying his best to level his demeanour but you also know that the higher-ups are breathing down his neck. He's balancing it as well as anyone could.

“This wasn’t just any boy. And your daughter is not just any girl. The reality of the situation is that just because she wasn’t responsible for what happened, doesn’t mean we can simply erase her from it,” Joe breaks, voice raising ever so slightly.

“She cannot keep silent on this anymore and the longer we stretch this out, the more intense the backlash will be upon her,” he presses on. “With all due respect, we have been extremely patient and have afforded your daughter twelve months. But this is a business first and there is a contract to be upheld. We are giving you the opportunity to write the narrative or have it forced to be written for you.” 

“He’s right,” Bec interjects. She’s always had a good gauge of when to step in when tensions start rising. It’s what makes her such a great publicist - always mediating at the right time. 

“But we don’t have to rush either. We can take it slowly. Start off with a public appearance in a controlled environment. 

The juxtaposition of that sentence could have made you laugh. Controlled environment? If the last few years had taught you anything, it was that no public appearance was ever fully in your control. Your phone number had been leaked more times than you could remember; the media showed up at your house at all hours of the night; private family events were invaded by obsessed “fans”. 

Your mom was quick to make the same connection, “where could we possibly let her go that guarantees her safety?” 

“The suite at MSG has their security system locked down to a tee. We could place her in there with a few friends and guise it as a quiet night out to show their support. Maybe work with the organisation to show her on the scoreboard during a break, totally candid of course, and maybe meet with their guest of the night for some fan engagement. We don’t want the public to misconstrue the appearance as a total cover-up.” Bec rattles off like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. 

Megan and Joe start nodding in agreeance, chiming in with additional tweaks to the plan that’s now been laid out, and it becomes apparent to you that they’ve had this meeting before without you. Your requested input and presence on the matter was just an act of courtesy. But as vexed as you are with this realisation, you know it makes sense. You were tired of the pitied looks your family and friends gave you, afraid to broach the subject as if it would send you into a spiral. You felt like the public owned you; shunning you into silence with all your actions picked apart and psychoanalyzed everywhere you turned. 

You missed your fans who called for you every day, writing sweet notes of encouragement and rebuffing shallow attempts of hate accounts concocting false stories. You wouldn’t be half the artist you are today without them and they deserved more than just radio silence. And it’s this last thought that makes you believe it’s the only reason you say:

“Just tell me when.” 

[fanfic-gremlin-ft-trauma]

a little wip for u guys cuz i’m gonna be busy this week <3 (also @bisexuallsokka , you know what this is for)

ft. bonus sketchy panic

[honniisun]

TogaSaku Vol. Cover Mix (wip)

✧₊⁎honnii☀︎

Twitter & Bluesky: honniisun

[sapphire-writes]

Our Last Summer Masterlist

pairing: modern!Aemond Targaryen x Reader

summary: You're invited by your best friend Baela to spend the summer before your senior year of university at her grandparents' home on Driftmark. A summer full of beach trips, summer carnivals, and sailing, it seems perfect, despite Baela's family drama; especially her uncle who you cannot stand.

status: completed 10/10

tropes: summer romance, enemies with benefits, enemies to lovers

🎵 series inspired playlist 🎵

moodboard by the lovely and talented @sapphirehearteyes

rating: Explicit (will vary chapter by chapter, please see individual warnings

dividers by the lovely @firefly-graphics

Part 1 ~ Welcome to Driftmark

Part 2 ~ Rich Kid Special

Part 3 ~ Seasmoke

Part 4 ~ Lightening Strikes

Part 5 ~ Rules

Part 6 ~ History

Part 7 ~ Sparks

Part 8 ~ The Gala

Part 9 ~ Stay

Part 10 ~ Summer's End

moodboard

[grandkhan221b]

Redrawing my old companions piece from 5 years ago. This is taking foreveeeerrr

[meguwumibear]

togame x reader writing warm up

It's nearly midnight when the first of many rocks ricochets off of your first story window with a sharp plink. You don't even need to draw back the curtain to know who's waiting for you on the other side, likely still wearing his yellow shades despite the late hour.

You don't know if the man is stupid or suicidal.

Not one to reward poor behavior, you decide to wait him out. Togame will grow bored of tossing rocks at glass eventually.

Or not.

The next rock thrown splinters the pane with a quiet crack. The asshole never could take a hint.

You're not prepared for the sorry looking face that meets yours as you yank back the curtains. Togame's nose is practically smushed up against the ruined glass as he surveys the damage he's done, warm breath fogging up the window. The colorful specs he dons do little to hide the raised purple bruise forming under his left eye.

"Shit," you swear, as you fumble with the lock, "you gonna give me a matching shiner if I say I told you so?"

Togame has the nerve to look offended.

"When have I ever put my hands on you, huh?"

Never. Togame is known for his violence but has ever only been gentle with you.

"Tch, first time for everything."

You turn your back on him as he shimmies gracelessly into your room. If you keep looking at his ruined face, you might forgive him too soon.

"This mean you won't kiss it better?" he asks.

Damn him and his ability to make light of even serious situations.

"Does Choji know how you cool off after a fight?"

"Does Umemiya know who keeps your bed warm?"

A fair hit. You did throw the first punch.

"Baby, I don't wanna fight," he sighs, moody little pout making him look like something the cat dragged in. "If I'm not getting any kisses, I'll settle for some ice."

He closes the distance between the two of you, draping himself across your back. His long arms wind their way around your waist, leeching any lingering bitterness from you with their heat.

You wish it was easier to stay mad at him.

The expression you're met with as you twist around is soft, hopeful even. Apparently, it isn't easy for him to stay mad at you either.

You remove his glasses gingerly, placing them down on your crowded vanity. Green, green eyes watch you set them carefully aside.

"One kiss," you relent.

"Two"

"This isn't a negotiation, Romeo. And you owe me for the window."

"What if I say please?" he asks, following the question with the plead before you can even respond.

Fuck. Fine. Whatever.

The black eye is punishment enough. Now need to rub additional salt into the wound.

You slot your lips against his slowly, and he smiles into the kiss, victorious. You have to stand on your tiptoes to reach his mouth, despite the fact he's made himself small for you.

"More," he moans as you playfully nip at his bottom lip. "Please, baby."

He's already semi hard against your hip. It's always so easy to work him up. You wonder if yours is the only kind touch he knows.

You pull back reluctantly. His lips chase after yours, but you still them with a finger.

"Ice first."

"But-"

"Ice first," you repeat.

He frowns as he flops face first onto your bed, burrowing into your pillows and blankets. When he lifts his head it's to say, "fine, but I expect much more than kisses once you're done playing nurse."

And that, at least, you two can agree on.

[arkhammaid]

a story told in two pictures (a female charles leclerc x max verstappen fic draft)

or: jos verstappen is trying to play matchmaker (he's lestappen fan #1), removing all obstacles that could get in the way of his plans. because the only woman he'll ever accept as daughter in law is none other than ferrari driver charles leclerc

inspired by the fact that jos verstappen follows charles leclerc on instagram

[starstriix]

out of context au doodles

[mitamicah]

WIP - I am not immune :'D

[goodnightoilcountry]

let her cook 👀

[i-wanna-show-you-off]

they were kinda yuriful ngl

[honniisun]

👔 (wip)

✧₊⁎honnii☀︎

Final Version: Here

Twitter & Bluesky: honniisun

[sapphire-writes]

Do No Harm (masterlist)

pairing: doctor!Aemond Targaryen x doctor!Reader

parts: 3/3 completed

summary: This is your starting line. This is your tourney ground. How well you do, is up to you. Your surgical internship begins at Citedal General Hospital.

rating: mature/explicit/18+

author's note: the first part is planned to be posted soon as a celebration of my follower milestone! thank you for all your love and support, excited to share more with you!

tropes: workplace romance

dividers by @firefly-graphics ❤️

Part 1: Girl In The Bar

Part 2: Bandaids & Butterflies

Part 3: Running on Sunshine

[opulentlightt]

Current WIPS

( Phone guy image is a placeholder bc I’m struggling with bricks face.. )

Quick note, you can ask for any TD ship you’d like. As long as it’s not something problematic like at all. For example, I’m not drawing Cody x Sierra.

Anything that’s okay is fine tho <3

[rainbowd00dles]

😏

[jolapeno]

wip wednesday thursday 👀

thank you for the tag @sawymredfox @almostfoxglove @thriftedtchotchkes @moonlitbirdie @javierpena-inatacvest

@pedgito @kedsandtubesocks

things are a little slow over in the pepper village but this is a sneaky looksie at my fave horny pair:

Click, flash—

It illuminates you. The bright light makes your eyes widen, forcing them to, filling them with surprise. It’s barely a second, but he steals what the glare provides. You with your mouth full of him, cheeks hollowed around his spit-soaked cock as it dribbles down your chin and wets his palm.

There are stains on your cheeks—tears. One's from taking him so deep earlier, when he’d felt the need to remind you to be slow. He caught a glimpse of your glare then, but there’s no sign of it now. Your eyes are all glassy, completely fucked out. Knelt before him in nothing but the thinnest pair of panties, likely soaked, ruined. All for him.

All. For. Him.

Then the room dims again, the photo ejecting out of the camera as it begins to bloom and paint the scene, forever immortalised, and he has to stop himself from clicking the button again just to see you in that light.

tagging: @luxurychristmaspudding @tonysopranosrobe @covetyou @murder-wife @schnarfer (if you’ve done and I’ve missed I’m so sorry )