#random wips

[clone-trooper-cheese]

I'm bored, so here is a ton of random finished stuff and wips:

I was trying out perspective after I just listened to Machine Girl lol

The only viable answer to things, according to Mickey

He got too silly :(

Cover for a fic I gave up on :/

Brick (top person) and Havek (bottom person) [They are both Commandos under Jaxsos command]

Splatoon! Hunter

Splatoon! Tech

[neosimi]

the wheel spinning fast as fuck cracks me up lmfao

[sincerelylancelot]

☔️

☔Is there a fic concept you have that you'd like to just explain and share because you're not sure you'll ever write it? If so, what is it?

There's this conceptual twist on omegaverse I was plotting up randomly months ago about the beta perspective and their identity in omegaverse situations. The way that, essentially, beta's exist as caregivers and support systems to make the lives easier for alpha/omega couples. basically, this is daniel/max/charles, with daniel being their beta, and fighting with his inner feelings of still conforming to this expected ideal for his designation. And how this conflicts with the establishment of beta rights and the expectations to live away from archaic ideals of existing purely to serve alpha/omega couples.

Send an emoji and I'll answer!

[thana-topsy]

First Lines!

Tagged by @mareenavee - thank you, my dear!

I tag @kookaburra1701 @dirty-bosmer and @greyborn2

Tag the first lines/first paragraph of three of your current works in progress!

I feel like I've shared most of my current wips to death over the past few weeks, so I'm going to pick three wips that probably won't see the light of day for a very long time, if ever.

"An Account of Artaeum"

(A journal-style fic detailing Nilandur's time as a Psijic)

Fifth of First Seed, 4E 169 – My Arrival  

The Isle of Artaeum was described to me many times in my youth, treated as something half myth, half history. A full account of the history of the Psijic Order was one of the Five Pillars of Altmeri education (before the events of the Void Nights), but it had been widely phased out by the time I entered university due to the Thalmor’s rigorous re-education guidelines. Despite this, the legends and lore of the Psijics lived on as part of our rich and varied history, even as the likelihood of their return to Nirn grew dimmer and dimmer with each passing decade. Never in my life could I have predicted their attentions might have been turned to me.

"Arvel the Hero"

(A thought experiment fic in which Arvel the Swift doesn't get hit by that swinging trap gate, but the LDB does. Uhhhh.... I'm gonna include more than just the first paragraph because it's my blog and I do what I want).

As soon as Arvel pulled free from the last of the frost spider’s webbing, he bolted. 

The man who’d cut him down let out a shout of surprise. “Hey! Get back here you slippy shit!”

Fool, Arvel thought with a grin. Why should I share the treasure with anyone? And by the look of his rescuer (and his sour-faced Dunmer companion), they didn’t seem like the type too keen on sharing either. Harknir, Bjorn, and Soling were as good as dead.  

His feet pounded against the stone floor as he ran as fast as his legs would carry him. He skidded around a corner and through another hall of burial chambers. The slope of the floor carried him faster, almost too fast. He skidded around a large pillar, hooking his fingers into the rock to swing himself around the bend, gaining more momentum. His pursuers were hot on his tail, the clank of their armor close. He sprinted ahead, moving too fast to notice the raised stone plate in the floor until he was on top of it. A trap! 

Time seemed to slow to a crawl as his foot landed on the very edge of the pressure plate, and for a split second Arvel thought he’d managed to step around it. Then it sank beneath his weight, immediately followed by a clunk and a groan as the trapped gate unlocked. His step faltered, his joints locking up with fear, and he teetered precariously between moving forward and falling down. The spiked gate was swinging towards him with a shriek like a wounded beast. It would kill him. He would die in this gods-forsaken crypt. 

Fueled solely by an animalistic will to survive, he leaned into his off-balance momentum and sprung sideways, diving headfirst into an open crypt. A skeleton clattered and crunched beneath his hip as the massive gate missed his outstretched foot by only a few inches. There was a scream, cut short by a wet thunk, and Arvel watched from the crypt as the spiked gate slowly swung back into place, its spikes stained red and glistening in the low torchlight. 

“Shit!” He let out a hysterical laugh that trailed off into a wheeze. “Oh shit…” The trap had taken his pursuer out. What luck!

"Send Your Child Unto Me"

(Working title, lol. My Dark Brotherhood fic that I'll probably be picking away at for years to come at this point lol).

Caius returned to consciousness slowly. 

His head felt like it had been split down the middle, pounding in time with his pulse and sending bursts of electricity deep into his eye sockets. He groaned, if only to prove to himself that he wasn’t dead–that he could still make noise. As he opened his eyes, the room materialized in a blur of nauseating angles. Dried drool plastered the side of his cheek and his right arm had gone numb beneath his own body weight. He made a gurgling, frustrated sound as he attempted to move, flattening his hand against the ground in an attempt to push himself upright.

Wooden floor. 

The air around him was stagnant and foul-smelling, like piss and sweat. There were noises, but everything sounded as if Caius’ head were under water. 

“Well, well, good morning.”

[io-lu-art]

me.

rn.

at 2 am.

[the-mang0tree]

wiresssssssssssssssss

[stealingpotatoes]

i only remembered to take one wip screenshot of some of my ms paint doods which makes for the funniest and most useless process pics

[moonwoodhollow]

first apartment done - 3 left. // back in my Nordhaven era.

[wttcsms]

unlike most of the loud-mouthed, irritating people sae itoshi finds himself constantly surrounded by, he’s long since learned that you are not the type to openly express what you’re thinking about unless explicitly asked. 

so, for you, he finds himself asking into the quiet, sleepy darkness of your bedroom, “what are you thinking about?” 

“that starting tomorrow, i’m going to forget all about you.” you hum, propping yourself up by pressing your palm against the muscular plane of his chest. one of the straps of your silky camisole slips off your shoulder; it shouldn’t be as tantalizing to him as it is, but he thinks everything about you, everything you do, is designed to specifically tempt him. 

he focuses on the tiny strip of fabric, on the smooth expanse of your skin, before his eyes flit back up to your face; he meets your gaze, cocks an eyebrow. “oh?”

truth be told, sae’s not a witty person. everyone lets him get the final word in because he’s got this cold aura and seemingly disinterested expression that screams “i don’t give a fuck,” but he does care. to a certain extent. he doesn’t care about the arguments he has with people; he just cares about winning. when he calls you, and you pick up, even if it’s on the second to last ring before he gets sent straight to voicemail, he considers that a win. when you open the door for him before he can even knock, he considers that a win. 

when you admit that you’re thinking about him, even if it’s to say it’s because you plan on erasing him from your memory, he considers that a win. 

“wanna know why?” you ask him, and he nods. if you were anyone else, he wouldn’t even care. 

“‘cause i can’t handle being the girl that keeps having her ex spend the night.” you sit up fully now, removing your hand from his body. he misses your warmth the moment your touch leaves him. 

“easy fix. we can get back together, then.” the two of you are practically together anyway. he cooks you breakfast the morning after, and you still wear his boxers as pajamas. his body’s pretty sensitive to most sensations, especially early in the morning, but his feet have gotten used to hitting the cold hardwood floor of your bedroom when he wakes up before dawn to brush his teeth and get his day started. 

“too late. i've already blocked your number from my phone.” 

he almost laughs at that. instead, he takes your right wrist, his thumb gently pressed against your pulse point; he likes to apply just enough pressure so that he can feel every beat of your heart. “yeah? i can buy a new phone, get a new number.” 

“you make breakups difficult for no reason.” you tell him, but not yanking back your wrist. it’s why he feels bold enough to bring your fingers to his mouth, lightly kissing the tips of your fingers. 

“we broke up?” he peers up at you, your fingers still so close to his mouth that you can feel the way he breathes life into his words. annoying. he’s so annoying. the worst part is, you’re pretty sure he’s somehow convinced himself that you ending things was just you throwing a tantrum. he’s still treating you the same as he always does. 

“i broke up with you.” not like he needs the reminder. 

“i don’t remember agreeing to that.” 

“you don’t have to agree. breakups don’t have to be mutual.” 

“i have a game next week. we’re going to be playing in france. i was thinking a day before the match, we could go visit the louvre, like you talked about.” he’s still going on casually, making plans like there was never a doubt in his mind that you’re going to show up to his game. you received the ticket he sent and somehow couldn’t bring yourself to toss it in the trash, right where it belongs, so it’s currently hiding in your nightstand drawer. 

“sae, i’m not going. i’m not your girlfriend.” 

well, you’re certainly his. he made sure to have you scream out a chorus of yours, yours, yours! to have it drilled into your pretty little head. 

“how do you know my name? i thought you forgot all about me.” he’s holding back a smile. 

“i’m forgetting all about you starting tomorrow.” you point out, and one corner of his mouth quirks up, a smug smirk on his face as he nods subtly to the alarm clock on your nightstand. 

“it is tomorrow.”

you blink, before staring at him curiously. “yeah.” you say slowly, having been bested by sae itoshi once again. “what do you think i should do now, then?” 

give him all your tomorrows for the rest of your life. 

he doesn’t say that, though. he just pulls you in for a long, deep kiss. when you say his name, breathlessly and full of longing, he takes the time to fix the strap of your camisole, knowing it’s futile since he'll be pulling it off your body soon, anyway. 

he wins.

[salamispots]

for size ref the head is about the size of my hand hahha

[lurking-loaf]

Some quick dca doodles because I’ve been feeling antsy lately.

[ky-landfill]

[paintedcrows]

Christmas Party of Two (Finished drawing here)

[galactic-rhea]

love wont save you

[vynnyal]

I've been having a delightful time stumbling over my emojis being used in random servers, so here's more

[cracklewink]

redraw 2022 > 2025