#wipwednesday?

[bymwrites]

I don’t have anything for WIP Weds so have this Sashannarcy eSports AU write-up I’ve been thinking about instead

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Marcy is an Epic Competitive Gamer best known for being the world's best Vagabondia Versus player, an older but still technically live service 1 on 1 pvp game. She's sponsored by Calamity eSports and streams, but rarely and without voice, but she's still pretty popular just for her gameplay that's several cuts above anyone else you could be watching.

When Vagabondia United, the next entry into the online versus Vagabondia games is announced, Marcy's fan base is excited to see her dominate ANOTHER game; and Marcy's happy to oblige them... Until she learns it's a 3v3 game. 

Marcy isn't known for making friends in the community. She doesn't make tutorials, she hasn't done a collab for a decade, her organization has no other competitive VBV players signed because *why would they when they already signed the best*?

So the announcement passes and Marcy remains stoic about what her plans for VBU are because she doesn't have any... Until she gets an email from the eccentric owner of Calamity saying they've found some teammates for her to play with. She immediately writes back that she's not interested, and the owner responds that they aren't interested in using Marcy's contract to force her to play BUT they will be using it to at least force her to meet her potential teammates. Grumbling about lawyers, Marcy gets ready to meet the two idiots that Cal wants her to play with.

-

Frannie is a household name in the VTuber scene and has been for a couple years now. Of course, Anne Boonchuy isn't nearly as famous a name, even though they're one and the same. Rising to stardom in the VRenaissance, the duality of Frannie's positive attitude while playing rage inducing online games paired with her vicious temper when she did rarely get mad or, as happened more often, when someone fired the first shot at another member of her team, put her in a difficult to find and extremely popular niche.

But Anne wanted to keep her anonymity, which got harder and harder to do as she got more and more popular. She'd deleted all her oldest collabs, before she had adopted the Frannie avatar, to keep her friends (some of whom were her IRL friends rather than online ones) protected from the horde of her fanbase, the size of which frankly terrifies her, as thankful as she might be for them too.

Eventually though she thought she'd have to stop, that the struggle to keep herself hidden would become too much and she'd have to give up her fame, her face, her fun.

Until a curious benefactor made an offer she couldn't refuse; retain her anonymity, they'd take care of all that, and in return she'd work with their collection of creators. They didn't even want the money she was making beyond some extremely sensible maintenance costs; just for her to play with a pretty all-star list of creators, some of whom she hadn't even thought herself in the same realm as yet.

So began a perfect symbiosis, as far as Anne was concerned, and so it was that when her benefactor, who in five years hadn't once failed to hold up their end of the deal, asked to meet with her in person to discuss a potential opportunity, she agreed readily.

-

Two years. That's what the doctors said when Sasha asked them when she could play again. She'd asked them to repeat that, she must've heard them wrong. Two years. There must be something they can do?! Two years. Fractures can't be rushed if you want a return to peak performance; cheat the recovery and the bone will never be like it was again.

No Olympics, no WBA, no nothing. The sport of basketball had taken her temporary retirement from the court bleakly, but not nearly as hard as her team; or Sasha herself.

She sat in her hospital bed watching them lose matches they could've won if she'd just been there and when it came time to leave the hospital, four months into two years, she'd already decided she wouldn't blame them if nobody came to see her off. She wasn't even sure where she was going, really.

What she did not expect was a car waiting for her with the owner of the Toads in it, but that was what was there outside the hospital that day. She'd expected a polite but firm "renegotiation" of her contract; but again, what she expected wasn't what she got. 

The news her contract had been sold to someone else and for a real, albeit discounted, price apparently too, wasn't expected either. But that’s what the team owner told her, and when she asked WHY someone wanted her contract, he said they have a game for her to play. Without legs? She’s skeptical, but, well, what else is she gonna do for a year and a half, right?

[radioapple-heathen]

A little snippet for #wipwednesday

From an untitled oneshot feat. trans Alastor, mpreg, and a very smitten, protective Lucifer. I know it's not everyone's cup of tea, but I just really wanted to write about mister knocked up deer sinner throwing a hissy fit at the slightest inconveniences. I'm unwell, amen.

[follows-the-bees]

Working on a small gentlebeard fic involving Stede giving Ed flowers. (And a nod to the twine from the morning after.)

Here's a small bit for WipWednesday.

Ed presses his hand against Stede's chest, right over his heart. 

Everything goes quiet, Stede's world narrowing down to that one contact. He can feel Ed's fingers flex, the teeniest movement as he readjusts and loops a pinkie around Stede's shirt while keeping his hand flat.

It's warm, soft, gentle. 

Stede can't help but see the irony in it. Those books and wanted posters showed Blackbeard as a ghoul, a villain, and he knows Ed has the capability to perform that role when pushed, like a rattlesnake shaking its tail as warning but then forced to strike out when the other won't quit advancing. At the heart of it all, Ed's gentle.

Stede places one hand over Ed's, interlocking their fingers. The corner of his lip ticks up in a smile as he starts to tap out the rhythm of Stede's heartbeat. He bows his head, knocking their foreheads together. 

[freshstitches]

I'm incapable of following the pattern without making modifications.

[cookiecomics]

More sneak peeks from Chapter 55! aka they were fist fighting before this

[bellasmumblingsandmusings]

New Art Release! Finally got to post this chapter and this awesome art by @emperor-ofthe-sun Chapter 12 : Tumblr AO3

In the aftermath of their victory over the Nether Brain, Astarion, now newly Ascended, and Sima’s love is tested by dark obsessions and a quest for independence. As they navigate perilous power struggles and inner demons, their bond teeters on the edge. Will it endure the encroaching darkness, or be consumed by it?

[apoptoses]

it's #WipWednesday plus a lot of people tagged me to do some last line thing? But that's buried in my activity so whatever, I'm gonna kill two birds with one stone here and post some feeding fic.

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The egg custard is too thick to pick up between his fingers so he drags them through it as if it’s whipped cream. Rich, pale yellow dollops that cling to his index finger and that Daniel has to hurry to suck clean before the food falls to the tatami. It sits like a stone in Daniel’s stomach. Makes him war with the desire to ask for a break, fight against the way arousal propels him to lean up when Armand holds his finger just a bit too high. He has to push himself onto his hand and the change in angle makes him groan around Armand’s fingertip. He’s going to have to lie here after this, he thinks. He’s going to wind up beached like a sea creature, too gorged to make his way to the bed. “Would you rather I put you over my shoulder and carry you there?” Armand asks. He swipes a bit of egg custard onto Daniel’s lower lip just to watch his tongue dart out and lick it away. It stirs up a memory in the back of his mind. Spilling on a young man’s face as a youth, the shock and delight at seeing him lick up his release rather than reach for a cloth. The way he’d darted in and licked it from his cock as well. Armand can’t come on his face, but- Daniel’s got a smart remark on the tip of his tongue. The spark of it smothers and dies when Armand plucks a piece of tofu from the miso soup, holds it high and lets the broth run down his forearm. “Well? Are you going to take care of that or let it drip onto the tatami?” Armand asks. Daniel hesitates. He’s so fucking full. Going from egg custard back to salty dashi broth, and then sugary desserts- the idea of it makes his stomach turn, just as much as the idea of licking up the length of Armand’s arm makes blood rush to his prick. If you let it fall to the floor it won’t matter. I’ll make you lick it from there instead. For a moment Daniel is frozen in place. The words rattle around in his head, fill him with desire he doesn't understand. He pushes it down, surges up. Still resting on his right hip he manages to prop himself into an awkward sort of half-push up to get down to Armand’s elbow where the broth threatens to drip to the floor. He licks a wet stripe from his elbow to his wrist, leaves Armand’s skin glistening in his wake. Sucks the dashi from jut of his wrist and leaves them both breathless. Daniel has never been so quick to obey and Armand teeters on the edge of drunk with it. Armand wants him always and forever like this; stomach gurgling, chest flushed. Alive. Daniel’s eyes search his face for approval as he takes the cube of tofu from his fingers, ignores his body’s protestations and swallows it down. His throat goes tight with nerves when Armand withholds his praise. Dessert takes many forms on the table. Little rice cakes, sherberts, more egg custards but with sweet toppings instead of savory. Armand lingers over the decision. He lets Daniel hover there in suspense, blood pounding in his ears as he waits. The bowl of fruit covered in sugar syrup. That will do. “I wonder if I told you that the only way I’d allow you to orgasm is if you eat all of this,” Armand says, casting a sidelong glance at Daniel’s lap where the fabric of the robe is tented awkwardly. “Would you choose comfort or release?”

[lan-tana]

I’ll try to draw again ! Have to take care of my wrist but hey, I’m (sort of) back !

@bachisagizine

[thychesters]

#wipwednesday! it's been a minute and i've been staring at this doc for too long. i'm at the stages where i'm trying to string some scenes together, so would you believe i went back to check and i think i started this scene last august? good for these two. back to the zolu grind, champs. / text below the cut:

“Zoro,” Luffy murmurs, voice rough against his dry throat, and Zoro almost shivers even though there’s no breeze. “Yeah, Luffy?” He wastes little time in climbing on top of him, shoving into his personal space as if he hasn’t belonged there since day one, hasn’t carved a home for himself at his side, once under the guise of keeping warm on the open sea and then because he wanted to. Zoro spreads his legs to accommodate his weight, one hand falling to curl under his thigh and the other snaking its way through the opening in his shirt to skim along his side before falling to his hip. Luffy pulls himself closer, knees digging into the smooth wood beneath them and pushes at him like there’s still too much space between them, as if they aren’t already sharing the same breath. He cradles the sides of his throat, could probably crush his windpipe with a flex of his fingers, and bends to trace the tip of his nose along his jawline and then follows the contour of his cheek into his temple. He tilts his head, making to follow, and cracks an eye open when Luffy makes him chase after him. “What’s Zoro thinking about?” he asks as he pulls away again, and his fingers worm their way under his blouse and spread against the warm expanse of skin there. “Nothing,” he says, pressing his mouth to the corner of his jaw and then, as Luffy tilts his head, to the fleshy underbelly of it, grazing his teeth along the soft, delicate skin and nips a “shut it” into it. Luffy doesn’t bruise easily, a fact that both pleases and pisses him off, and he leans and presses his neck into his chin. He makes a soft sound—a sigh, a hum—that rumbles down into his bones, and he shuts his eye. “Zoro.”

[likeadeuce]

WIP Wednesday: you're on your own kid

(Challengers, Tashi + Art)

Art  got permission to take his exams early, packed up his stuff, and hung around long enough for a raucous and teary farewell party attended by most of the campus’s many athletes, who knew Art Donaldson as a friendly, reliable guy.  Tomorrow, he was going to fly to Spain, meet his parents and his training team, and catch the tail end of European grass court season. 

Tashi was going to finish her exams at the normal time in the normal way, ride back to New York with her parents, and then call her coach to confirm that she was quitting.  Not that it would come as a shock.  The school had given her a medical redshirt year to try everything with surgery and rehab, but that chance had passed, and there was no point in them holding the scholarship from someone who could use it.  If she wanted to stay in school here, her family could make the money work -- there had been insurance and savings, her business-minded parents never ones to put all their fragile dreams in one basket.  But Stanford without tennis was worse than nothing.  Her mom had gone to Wellesley and her dad to Howard; they took turns dropping hints about what awaited her down those paths: law school or consulting or maybe the Hill.  

(Tashi, who had hoarded her few, fragile dreams after all, tried not to feel betrayed when her loving parents could pivot so gracefully).

Maybe she wouldn’t call the coach.  Maybe texting was okay.  Email even better.  She never had to log back in to that account if she didn't want to.

But tonight, she and Art picked up some organic sodas and a Big Sur special from Pizza My Heart, threw everything in his stupid ragtop Jeep, and drove up into the foothills to watch the sun set over the valley.  

They spread the pizza box over the tailgate.  Tashi took out a big slice and folded it, savoring the grease and crunch for once.  Art followed her lead, which made her glad; he’d have nutritionists to measure his carbs for him soon enough.  He made (probably) innocent lustful noises over the food, then raised his soda in a toast.

“So what do you think you’ll do this summer?”

She was glad Art hadn’t asked what her plans were, a subtle difference that  would have felt judgmental since she didn’t have any.  This, she could answer honestly.   “Sulk,” she admitted.  “Find something to do for exercise that doesn’t kill my knee.  Swimming?  Tai chi? Maybe I’ll get a bike.  And, I don’t know, after that, maybe Dad has a point about the Howard thing.  D.C. is about as different as it gets from here.”

“A change might be good.”  He stretched and looked up into the cloudless sky,  almost nine o’clock and still brilliant blue overhead as bright colors touched the horizon.  The solstice was coming soon.  Tashi had always loved long days that meant more time to practice.  “Is it okay to say I’ll miss it here?” Art asked.

Art was afraid to say it because Tashi had gotten hurt so much here   Because it had been a wrong turn in her path.  Because she had tried to love this place and it hadn’t loved her back.  “You can say you’ll miss it,” Tashi granted him.  “I don’t know if I’m gonna believe it next week when you’re playing Roger Federer in fucking Mallorca, but you can say it.”

[greyeisacreativecolor]

I don't think that Bette or Luke get enough attention amongst the batfamily

[amelias-zelda-calamity-quintet]

WIP Wednesday

Time for another preview for the chapter out this Friday. Y'all, I'm so excited about the Zelink shenanigans you're finally catching up on with me.

          As Zelda turned to adjust the ribbon holding her hair back, Link heard a cough and turned to see Marela very smugly tapping her chin with the flat of her hand. Link clenched his jaw so quickly he bit his tongue, curling in his lips as he tried to hide the outcry that fought to get out.           “Is everything alright?” Zelda asked as she finished her braid and stepped fully out of the room. A few steps behind her came her perfect clone dressed Zelda had been, though it was hard to misplace Impa’s glare.           Link rubbed a hand over his mouth, nodding. “Mhm, yup, great.”           Zelda seemed less than convinced at this as she stepped out into the central chamber of the suite. “I apologize for the inconvenience then. I didn’t realize the wait was so unbearable.”           No, that’s not it, Link pleaded in his head as Zelda walked away to check on Marela. Even the dagger stare from Impa didn’t overpower the defeat he felt now.           As Marela rose to leave the room, Zelda turned back to face Link, who quickly attempted to compose himself again. Zelda motioned to the space in front of her. “When you’re ready, Mr. Sayre.”

Did someone say forced proximity arc? No, not me. One horse? No.

[cxcassii]

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

yam cooking * 👏 *

[follows-the-bees]

Guess it's WIP Wednesday!

This should be out soon!! I'm excited for these two to work at the inn.

Stede had been so happy during Calypso’s Birthday, the ship adorned in dozens of flowers. He remembered the big pink hyacinth between the two of them and how Frenchie’s hair and a few others were adorned in flowers, the light colors of the florets reflected in everyone’s joy and the general atmosphere, only briefly interrupted by a sour note of a man.

As a child he felt safe when surrounded by them, collecting the beauty, holding it in his hands lightly. He used to put a vase on his nightstand, waking up nose first, smiling at the fresh smell before blinking the sleep out of his eyes to have them immediately focus on the bright blooms.

But then he was made fun of for collecting them. His father banned them from his room, calling them a women’s weak affliction. And he resigned himself to only looking, not touching, and especially never having. embracing that attitude for most of his adult life. Only enjoying them from afar, at parties, like Calypso's Birthday.

But this…this is different. This is private, just for him. And they have been given to him. No one has ever given him flowers before. No one has tucked one behind his ear, looked at him like he hung the moon.

[whimsywillowwrites]

Thank you for the tag @winekita!

I'm a little worried about spoiling the upcoming chapter, so I'll share something new! 💖

This is an OC who sells her soul to Nora Jean. I'm not too sure if she will show up in the actual fic or not since she doesn't really serve any purpose for the story. DSaONPT already has a lot going on, and I'm worried including her would make the story too cluttered? I love the idea of her annoying Alastor to death though lmao. She may end up getting her own oneshot in the future, who knows. ┐(°ヮ°)┌ Anyway, here you go!

“What do you want to call yourself?” “Chaos.” The receptionist snorts. “What?” Rebecca demands, defensive. “What’s so funny?” “Nothing. It’s just a popular name.” "You’re lying,” Rebecca says. "Kid, we got over a thousand Sinners down here who decided to call themselves Chaos.” Well that won’t do. How will Rebecca stand out amongst this cesspool of sinners if she has a name just like everyone else? “Okay, what else is popular?” “For goth kids like you? Ebony, Sabrina, Bella, Shade, Shadow, Bloody Rose 666 ..." “Damn, okay. How about Nightshade?” "Pretty common too.” "Belladonna? Malice? Dark Angel of Woe?” "All taken.” Rebecca should have known better. She is now in a world full of like-minded folk who have all staked their claims on unique and menacing titles. She will have to think harder. Her eyes drift to an assortment of confiscated weapons behind the receptionist. A bloody bone saw sticks straight up from the pile. “Okay,” Rebecca says. “How about … Raven Bloodysaw.” The receptionist squints at her. “Raven is also pretty popular but … Bloodsaw is different.” "Oooh, I like that. Dropping the y! Bloodsaw.” Rebecca makes a wide sweeping gesture as though envisioning the name spread out before her big bold letters. “Strikes fear into your heart, right?” "Sure.” “Sweet. Maybe I should spell Raven with a y.” “No,” the receptionist says. “Okay, fine. How about we add a cool sounding middle name then?" Rebecca's middle name is Bernice which she hates more than anything. Seriously, what demon wants to bang a Bernice? "I've always liked the name Amethyst. Let's go with that."  The receptionist grunts and goes to write it down, but Rebecca immediately stops her. "WAIT!" she screeches. "It has to be spelled differently. We’ll spell A-Y-M-E-T-H-I-S-T!” A wide grin spreads across her face. “Unique, right?” “That’s one word for it.” “The other word you’re thinking of is sexy, isn’t it?”  A demon in the back pipes up. "Hurry up, you Edgar Allan Poe-wannabe. I got places to be!" A lightbulb goes off. "That's it!" Rebecca says.  "What's it?" the receptionist says. "Edgar Allan Poe. My new name is Raven, so I must honor him by adding him into my new title." A collective groan is heard from the line. "Fine," the receptionist says. "Your name shall be Raven Edgar Allan—" "No," Rebecca Who Is Now Called Raven says. "My name shall be... Raven Aymethist Evermore Bloodsaw." "Uh-huh," the receptionist says. "And you're sure that's what you want to be called for the rest of eternity?" "Hell yeah."

Tagging any other Helluva-verse writers who wanna join! ( ˊᵕˋ )ﾉ~♡

[xxvalkyriesxx]

Happy #WipWednesday 💛 this was from chapter five that I started drafting last night.

Chapter four should be releasing sometime this week 💛

Looking over to the right, Nesta saw Penelope near the edge of the fence. Her legs were frozen, unable to move closer to the horse. I can’t. I can’t do this.

Cassian called out to her, as if reading her mind. “You can do this, Nesta. Feyre told me how talented you were with horses. You can get to her, I know you can. She’s not entirely untrained, but we need to get her attention off the snake.”

His words warmed Nesta slightly, but it was enough as she called out to the mare.

“Penn.” Nesta shushed her. The bay mare’s ears perked up at the name.

WIP Wednesday banner made by me.

Dividers made by @cafekitsune