#wippets

[jamiesfootball]

Blue rose pastries! (Not tentacle monsters.)

These are so mesmerizing. Have a snippet!

“Sam looks like he can handle things on the fly because he trains so much, but he doesn’t do well with surprises. If something unexpected happens, he freezes up. If I’ve gotta move the ball on the fly, it’s going to Dani. He likes a little spontaneity.” Roy made another note- “Put Sam in more situations.”

[shibaraki]

accidentally quirked into a cat and taken in by the guy ur in love with but he has no idea that it’s you yeah I’ll write that

[weaselmcdiesel]

just a couple of my fav fantrolls to draw in their pyjamas

[heart-0f-a-rebel16]

I’m gonna throw up these dorks are so cheesy

[yaoiboss]

only just recently caught up on one piece and they’re all i can think about

[novemberhush]

I’m posting this in the hopes that it’ll make me actually finish something (slightly) longer than a drabble. (Nobody hold their breath, though.)

Anyway, this is from a fic that was originally supposed to be a drabble (which I started back in August of last year and then abandoned) for a set of prompt words from the @sterekdrabbles blog, but there was no way I could make it work in just 100 words, at least not in the way I wanted, so, if I do manage to finish it, I’ll be submitting it to the @sterekdrabblesgonelong blog instead. Check both blogs out for all your Sterek needs!

“Derek! Come on! Dance with me! Pleeeeeeeeeease!” Stiles wheedled, his speech grown more slurred since he’d disappeared into the heaving throng on the dancefloor with Erica hours before and not looked back. Clearly they’d found the bar at some point.

Derek sighed the long-suffering sigh of ‘too sober for this shit’ people everywhere.

“How much alcohol has he had exactly?”

An unrepentant Erica shrugged, smirking, before an unsteady Stiles, swaying like the pendulum in the old grandfather clock that used to stand in the hall of Derek’s childhood home, interrupted with a question of his own.

“Are you scared?”

I tag @all-or-nothing-baby @stellarmeadow @chaoticfandomgirly and anyone else who feels like sharing something they might be working on (doesn’t matter if we’re mutuals or not). No pressure on anyone who doesn’t feel like sharing/have anything to share.❤️

[giggly-squiggily]

I’m not allowed (self imposed rule to not change my blog theme up until May 1st), I know I’m not allowed…

I’ve done it now, too bleeding late. (It’s Arthur time.

Fics resume May 1st!)

[anatomyfordisaster]

"Sebastain listens to x y and z band"

"No no he listens to x y and z!!!"

That motherfucker listens to whatever I put on I bet his music taste is ass

[phoenixiancrystallist]

"Dunno. Guess we'll just have to ask."

"You keep saying 'we.' Need I remind you that you're the only one who can hear me?"

"Okay, fine. I guess I'll just have to ask. And you can just sit there and look pretty."

"Aww, you think I'm pretty."

"Shut the fuck up."

[tenderhooked]

🌻🌹🌸🌹🌺🌹🌷🌹🌺🌹🌸🌹🌻

thank you my beloved em!!! another wippet from the second chapter of the ending where you finally find your way home:

“You passed out,” Sam said before Dani had a chance to offer another wildly implausible lie. “We’re taking you home so you can rest.” “Uh, correction,” said Jamie. “You were taking me home. Now I’m awake and I ain’t going nowhere with you.” He had moved past the fact of his passing out with remarkable speed. Sam filed that away for later and crossed his arms, attempting to project an image of authority. It was easier than he’d expected, considering Jamie was currently about ten years younger than him and donning a fairly ridiculous haircut, but it didn’t feel right. It fit wrong across the shoulders, like a coat he hadn’t grown into. “We were taking you home and we still are,” he said. “You live with us. You—it’s your home.” Jamie blinked. “I what.” “You live with us,” Dani repeated. He rocked onto the balls of his feet. “Or, your—your older self, he lives with us. Which means you do, too. By logic.” “By logic,” echoed Jamie, unimpressed. “We won’t force you to do anything,” Sam interjected. “I promise, Jamie, we won’t. But we would very much like it if you did come home with us.” There must have been an undercurrent of honesty to his tone, a tender genuinity, because Jamie went still and his expression—fractured, almost, a fragile breaking that split the shell over his face and revealed to Sam its soft interior. His stomach cramped. Here was his friend. Here was the ghost. And the ghost opened its mouth and said, “I s’pose I can do that.”

[jamiesfootball]

🌹🌹🌹🌹

Here's a snippet from a project I started before season three aired. Not sure if I'll get back to it but I might:

First time Colin met Jamie was as a starter in the U18s during a Wales v England match. Colin played first string the whole season. Football was something that came easy to him. While he wasn't likely to be the next Gareth Bale or Chris Gunter, and he was shorter than most of his teammates by a head, he was scrappier, hungrier, angrier than anyone else he knew - on the field or off. The coaches were always on him to take it easy or he'd tear something, but it was lip service at best. They kept him on because he was a force of nature: block, cross, shoot, it didn't matter. He couldn't be pigeonholed. He was inconspicuous and could slide pass the bigger players before they realized where the ball had gone; he was a threat. So Colin had walked into that match with England full of teenage vigor, thinking he was hot shit. Then at the 57' mark England took an injury, and Jamie Tartt took the stage. In the next thirty-three minutes, he'd also take Colin's self-esteem and a fucking hat trick. Nothing in his young life had prepared him for the look of intensity on the other boy's eyes as he stampeded down the field like the fucking Tasmanian Devil. He blew past Ellis and Bowen like a tap dancer, and when Colin came to tango, he was helplessly tangled in a series of checks maneuvered like a game of chess. He tripped on his feet. Got up quick with rage in his blood only to get nutmegged, the ball slipping cleanly between his unsteady legs, before Tartt took his first breakaway of the evening. The remainder of the match seared into his brain like a bloodbath. A chip shot in injury time sealed the fucking deal, the ball breezing overt the goalie's fingertips to bury into the net. Colin couldn't even blame his short legs for not keeping up. Him and Tartt were the same height. It was a lesson Colin had put other players through but never learned for himself: that you were only as good as your world was wide. The next time they met Jamie was fresh on loan from Man City. Colin called it: the guy didn't remember him at all.

[jamietarttsnorthernattitude]

roses be upon ye 🌹🌺🌹🌼🌹

Thank you thank you :)

Here is a rough bit I’ve just written from the 5+1 of Higgins giving good advice and the one time he didn’t, tentatively titled Dear Leslie:

The match was a disaster. The team was no doubt devastated. And things seem to be going from bad to worse as Leslie approached the changing room to see Beard forcibly remove a swearing, unkempt man from the facility. Leslie watched the retreating figure with more than a little apprehension. The glimpse of sky blue told him the man was a City supporter, but how the man slipped past security, Leslie’s unsure.

“Fuck off you prick, let me finish things with my son. Boy needs to be reminded where the fuck he came from you Yankee fuck,” the man yelled as Beard dragged him out of sight.

Before Higgins had a chance to ponder what the stranger’s words meant, Ted rushed by him, looking like he had another bad fish pie. But Leslie knew better now, he knew it wasn’t food poisoning causing his friend to scurry away.

“Ted–”

“I’m good, go check on the team,” Ted called over to his shoulder and Leslie’s torn between his duty to the club and his duty to a friend.

The changing room was quiet. Too quiet. And if there was anything a father of five knew it was that silence was suspicious. The only thing worse than the eerie quiet was the choked sob that ripped through the space like a grenade. His shoes filled with lead as he took the final few steps into the room.

In the middle of the room, Jamie Tartt stood openly sobbing in Roy Kent’s arms. More than crying, he’s cracked open and the only thing holding him together is Roy Kent duct tape. Arms Leslie’s witnessed push the younger man plenty of times, now held him like a lifeline. Higgins could hardly believe this is the same Jamie Tartt who approached him for tickets two days earlier.

He’s just a dick. Every situation, he does exactly what a dick would do. Not much you can do with that.

Regret slammed into Higgins like a bus.

[weasohsees]

Hii!!

Is there any trivia you can share about the fantrolls? Any of them in Quadrants, or perhaps even just friends? (Any dynamic really, I'm curious :O!!)

HIII YESSSS omg ok so i was already drawing this so i may as well add it-

ok so im incredibly biased bc hyrcan and asimia were my favorites before i even finished designing the group but theyre the BEST moirails and im thinking theyve been friends for a lonng time, havent decided exactly how they met though. asimia is a witch of rage so she's especially good at dealing with other's complicated emotions and it just so happens hyrcan is a very very messed up prince of life who needs some issues dealt with askfhd

also nessis has a crazy vacillating flush/pitch crush on hyrcan thats sorta driving him insane and hyrcan is completely unaware and would be completely unwilling to reciprocate and i believe asimia's the only one who can. deal with nessis adksjfh at least. healthily LMAO

i have random facts like uh three people have flush crushes on kattuz but she has that quadrant filled, celare and grisel used to be moirails until something crazy happened, havent decided what, so now grisel and rudere are moirails instead, and boveme and phioma are really good friends

thats all the stuff i have thats closer to concrete :)

[weaselmcdiesel]

really quick and sketchy comic about alternia's most platonic kismesissitude

based off this post

[antitheticallyargumentative]

🌹

from any wip of your choosing they are all lovely <3

you are getting more of this infernal scene from the jamie study that took me three literal weeks to get through.

“I’d say fuck you.” Jamie spits it out without really thinking, cos he’d never say it to his dads face. The closest he ever got was don’t speak to me like that. Don’t speak to me like that. Don’t speak to me like that. It didn’t even feel that good, like he thought it were s’posed to. Felt fucking terrifying, really.

Ted doesn’t like swearing that much, Jamie doesn’t think, but he nods thoughtfully again and goes, “Makes sense. Anything else?”

A jolt of panic goes through him. Ted’s lookin’ down like he expects something, eyebrows raised all friendly and open-like, but Jamie can’t help but feel like he’s fucked it, somehow. Maybe by going with fuck you. Ted’s not one for vitriol, no, he'd rather say something sweet and then turn a blind eye. It might work for some people. It’s never worked for Jamie. “Yeah,” he fumbles, his breath hitching funny. His dad made him good at football, right? That’s something worth being grateful for. “I’d say… thank you.”

tyyyyy :)

[smitukey]

The Whippet is a British sighthound breed known to be kept for companionship, competitive showing, and for amateur racing as well as lure coursing. It has the highest running-speed of any breed in its weight and size range, and may have the fastest idle-to-running acceleration of any dog.

prints here