#m.wip

[bagofmice]

i keep adding more and more layers but the file size keeps shrinking??? solomon is this ur doing. are you shrinking my files on purpose.

[stephen-yoon]

i live btw if u even cared

[harp-chronicles]

sometimes practice goes well then I turn on the camera and, well... this happens

[seoafin]

okay since im posting wips here is my nagumo wip 😭

“I’m in love with you,” he declares with a bright, unbothered smile that makes you want to press the blade you’re holding against his throat into flesh. You could easily sever his carotid with a flick of your wrist, but underneath you, his gaze is unnervingly happy. “Go out with me. I’d treat you better than any man, that’s for sure!”

The room falls silent. Your classmates glance at each other. Your sensei scribbles away on a notepad.

Out of the corner of your eyes, Sakamoto closes his eyes and shakes his head. 

Is this…a survival tactic? A last-ditch attempt at manipulating you through seduction? You had heard Nagumo was an odd one. Disgruntled senpais whispered about his laissez-faire attitude, along with Sakamoto’s cool indifference that rubbed them the wrong way. A show of disrespect. And your own altercation with several seniors on your first day of school often grouped the three of you together in a way you didn’t care for. You weren’t here to make a statement. You weren’t here to make a name for yourself. You were at JCC to graduate without making waves.

All for the one person that truly mattered.

Nagumo was skilled. Everyone in your class already recognized Nagumo and Sakamoto as top candidates for the JAA, if not The Order. Too skilled at assassination to have been easily brought down by a couple of quick manuevers. In fact, he had barely been defending in the first place against your short jabs and strikes; more interested in asking you questions about your favorite color and food, the town you had grown up in, your family. All questions you had answered with a grim faced silence he had sighed at. Just another diversion tactic to get you to lower your guard.

You stare at him. This is the first time the two of you have ever even held a conversation. If it could be called a conversation.  

The smile falls from his face, lips forming a surface frown. “I’m serious about this! You should know, I hate liars.”

You’re highly perturbed. The other day you had overheard him exclaim to Sakamoto that he had barely made the cut to pass the entrance exam when everyone knew that he had passed with flying colors.

You think there might be something severely wrong with this person.

[cruhxx]

gojo sketch 'fore the snooze

EDIT: comic has dropped so now you can see him in color

[agmart]

I’M IN A ZINE! here’s a sneak preview of my piece from the @shores-fanzine ! this zine has been an awesome experience. pre-orders are now open, you can find more information on the tumblr !

[mqrginalia]

wips » steel strung

this is a story about grit. this is a story about dirty fingernails and ugly truths. this is a story about gritted teeth and hope. not all broken things are beyond repair, and sometimes you must look a room of people who tell you they know better in the eye, and make a stand.

taglist (ask to be added or removed):

@the-ichor-of-ruination

[bagofmice]

kind of crazy how this tiny little doodle began it all lmao

[seoafin]

roland my beloved

His emerald gaze fastens onto you with the quickness of a darting hummingbird, soft and full of a warmth that makes you feel like a sunflower following the afternoon sun. Pealing bells ring in your ears, your stomach; something blooms in your chest.

You don’t recognize the man next to him. A black haired man in a well fitted suit and a top hat. He’s handsome, with an aristocratic countenance to match the way he meets your gaze with an unfaltering stare of his own. He doesn’t bother to hide the weighted gleam in eyes as he measures you. He could be charming, this man, if he decided to be so. If you were any other random, swooning woman. However, you are guilty by association, and already, the beginnings of a suspicion enter the downturn of his lips.

His gaze briefly lifts as he glances at Roland, then back.

“Another friend of yours?”

The question is posed innocently, but already you don’t like the insinuation in the exhale of his lips.

“That’s right,” Roland replies without missing a beat. It’s his voice that draws you away from the man. He smiles, gazing at you, knuckles tucked under his chin, offering nothing else, and there’s only silence in place of what might have been an explanation to your relationship. The bells shake louder and harder. It’s almost illicit in an indescribable way. The man doesn’t like it. 

Exasperation and annoyance play out on his face. It melts into a begrudging resignation.

They’re friends. Good friends. You can tell this, from the ease in which they interact with each other. You think the other man might deny it at first, but there’s care there. A friendship built on a strong foundation of trust, if not loyalty. This man is a chasseur. A paladin from the way he holds himself; straight and alert. Someone from the church.

The grip you have on your briefcase tightens. Your throat sours.

“Olivier,” he introduces, with a nod and handsome, congenial smile, as if he’s decided to make nice. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Lady….”

You’re sure he heard your name earlier.

“Doctor.”

[seoafin]

It's been 4 years 😭😭😭😭😭

:))

“Just a nightmare." He finally says after a few minutes. Then he looks at you, eyebrows creased. "Thought you went home, doll."

The endearment slips out automatically, but if it affects you, you show no indication of it. He's never been able to read you anyway. You're a smooth slate of indifference on most days with a poker face that could rival the stoic mess that is Bruce Wayne. It was only after spending time with you—looking at your face— that he could now discern the slightest difference in your moods, the easiest being mild annoyance.

It's your eyes that give you away. You're less guarded around him now, and those eyes that used to be cold and unflinching are warm. 

"Sorry about that. I wanted to make sure you were alright."

 He tosses the gun on the floor. Patrol had been surprisingly tame, courtesy of Bruce and the brat no doubt. A broken rib and some bruising that was going to hurt like a bitch in the morning. It could be worse, but he still tenses as he looks away, almost abashedly. He hates the way you look at him, especially when you look at him like that. It's not the same look he gets from Bruce and occasionally used to get from Dick when he was, well, being a dick. That look was condescending and chafing, and he'd rather get kneecapped than listen to the accompanying speech reeking of self righteousness on being a little too trigger happy with scumbags that deserved it.

The way you look at him is earnest, like you care about him, and that's dangerous because then he starts thinking things he shouldn't about his dead brother's girl, like how you would look splayed out on his bed and other thoughts he's only entertained in his dreams. 

Shit.

"No need to apologize. Should've at least taken the bed," he grumbles dragging his gaze away to burn a hole into the floor.

"It's been a while since I've slept." You confess, sliding down until you're on opposite sides of the couch. He looks up, and you hesitate. "I have nightmares too."

The silence weighs heavy in the room. You look solemn, the darkness partially masking your face, but you soldier on. "Sometimes it's about my childhood or" —your voice hitches just slightly— "the people I've killed..." Your face shutters closed. "It helps. Talking about it. I used to talk about mine with..."

You eyes go empty before you close your eyes.

"It was the Joker." He forces out because he can't stand seeing you sad. The name wrests a physical reaction in him as he tries not to recoil as images of his nightmare rise to the surface. "It's that damn laughter," he says roughly, and now he's breathing heavily, hands clammy. "Right before he bashes my fucking face in with that crowbar—"

"Jason." You lay your hand over his and your touch jolts him out of the memory. "You don't have to force yourself to talk it about it. I just wanted to let you know that I'm here if you want to talk."

if I don’t post this fic by next week feel free to kill me! thanks! 

[seoafin]

excerpt of my commission where fred and the reader have a fwb relationship while the reader is secretly pining for george with no angst because fred thinks. it’s. absolutely. hilarious. 

!!!!nsfw below!!!!!

Fred trails messy kisses down your shoulder as you moan and wrap your legs around his waist. Your back hits the wall of the classroom with a thud, but the only thing that’s on your mind is the searing heat between your thighs and the way his mouth ghosts over the sensitive area right below your ear.

He hikes your skirt up and you shiver when the cool air hits your warm skin. You feel unbearably hot.

You groan into his mouth, rutting against him. “Hurry up.”

There’s a huff of amused laughter. “Someone’s impatient.”

But his own impatience bleeds through. He tugs aside your knickers and without much prompting, he’s in you, and a strangled whimper leaves your mouth because his fingers are thick and calloused and they fill you up so nicely. You briefly wonder how George’s fingers would feel in you.

The thought almost makes you stop cold. 

He grunts. “Fuck, you’re wet.” 

Your momentary crisis is put on hold because his thumb comes up to skim your clit and your legs buckle, walls tightening around him. A string of curses are hot on your tongue when he kisses you, and your moan reverberates in the secluded classroom along with the obscene noises of you fucking yourself on Fred’s fingers. 

His fingers thrust in and out of you, faster and faster. You’re trying not to think of the fact that you’re shagging Fred and thinking of George. Or the fact that if you squint, you can imagine a lopsided grin and a different pattern of freckles on the bridge of Fred’s nose, but before you can even feel remotely bad, the coil in the pit of your stomach tightens and then you’re spiraling.

“Fuck, George—!”

By the time you’ve come down from your high and realized what you’ve said, Fred is staring at you, and those brown eyes you’ve grown too fond of on another person are wide.

Your heart plummets into your stomach. He’s still looking at you, and your face is burning. Fred is one of your best mates, and you think you might die if this permanently ruins your relationship. 

“Oh my god—” you blurt out, heart racing so fast you can hear it in your ears. Your throat goes tight, and you feel awful. “Fred I’m so—”

He breaks into a wide grin, too wide for someone who just experienced having a girl call his twin brother’s name mid-shag.

“I bloody knew it!”

[seoafin]

I've been in a real PJO mood so once I finish my reread I can finally fulfill my life long dream of writing a Luke castellan character study/reader insert that delves into the psychological implications of being a literal demigod in a modern world where ur godly parent feels nothing over sending u on a potentially life ending quest with all the trauma™ and good stuff 🥰🥰

Aka u think Luke castellan is more than a pretty face and a charming personality aka a shady bitch so u decide to call him out on it but uh oh feelings come into the mix and there is not a happy ending.

[agmart]

i feel like posting wips motivates me to actually finish the piece so hey

[mqrginalia]

Hello may I get a 1, 47 and 58 for the character ask thingy plz?

hi hello thank you so much for asking!! i'm going to answer these for isobel, the main character from the magpie fellowship, which is my new dark academia/occult plot bunny that i am in love with

1. what kind of magic would they have? If they already have magic, would they prefer another kind?

isobel studies and practices dark magic and the occult. she's actually fascinated by it and loves it and wouldn't change it for anything.

47. are they keeping secrets? what are they?

...she may be trying to take down the elitist society/college that she was accepted into from the inside because she has a deep-seated hatred of the corruption and nepotism and sexism that goes on inside of it. nothing big, you know, just espionage and revolt.

58. is there a quote/song lyric/line of poetry that best describes them? what is it?

so far, this is the best one that i've found:

That was the word for this child: hungry. For what?— for drunkenness, for salvation or damnation, for the night itself. The shadows beneath his eyes might have been painted in watercolor.

— Poppy Z. Brite, Lost Souls

[mqrginalia]

well, i didn't work on a wip last night but i did work on a little thing i had an idea for last year, sooo:

She heard the quick, precise tap-tap-tap of footsteps, smelled the cloying scent of incense, noticed the entitlement and brisk disinterest of the approaching figure's carriage, and her hazy vision impeded nothing, because she knew who it was.

The High Scholar of the Occult Arts was like that. Perhaps it was an effect of the dark powers he studied, but he changed the air of a room simply by walking into it. A chill went up her spine, a faint scent of wrongness glancing across her, gone as quickly as it had come.

tagging @the-ichor-of-ruination because she is lovely and asked to be tagged in my original writing

[mqrginalia]

don't you just love declaring a book as one of your wips, adding a difficult 200 new words to it, and then ultimately realising that's it's not working and having to shelve it?