Tumgik
#wip wednesdays
kedreeva · 1 year
Text
WIP Wednesday Game
It's WIP Wednesday, time for a little accountability, sharing your work, and getting a kick in the pants.
Here's how it woks:
Post up to five (5) filenames of your WIPs; not titles, file names.
Post a snippet from one of them. Snippet must be words you wrote in the last 7 days. We're posting progress here. If you haven't made any, go make some and come back to post.
After you've posted, people can send you an ask with one of your file names. You must then write 3 sentences in that file.
That's it! You can invite others to join in or just post.
If you're reading this, you're invited!
If you see someone posting a WIP Wednesday Game snippet, send them an ask! Make them write.
128 notes · View notes
materassassino · 4 months
Text
WIP WEDNESDAY
Joining in because I was tagged by @emmalostinwonderland!
Sharing the Old Guard fic I'm currently working on.
The door, as always, is open, to allow for visitors to come and go. His father, he knows, will be in the qa’a or his study, poring over accounts, and his mother will be in her chambers or ordering someone around, as is her wont. He reaches the courtyard, Nicoló quietly in tow, and there is a figure crossing. She carries a tray, on it sitting two cups and a plate of faludhaj. She turns, noticing her new guests, and Yusuf’s eyes meet his mother Rahima’s after two years apart. The tray falls from her hands, the metal making a deafening clatter against the tiles, the glasses and plate shattering, the faludhaj spilling everywhere. Her lip trembles as her eyes grow round as coins. Yusuf can only stare back, his hands trembling by his sides. He cannot move, transfixed by her kohl-rimmed eyes. Footsteps rush, and his father Ibrahim appears. “My soul?” he asks, ever tender with his wife, but she ignores him. She crosses the courtyard, and finally Yusuf can move, his first step slow, his second faster, until he is in his mother’s arms again. “My son, my boy, my beautiful boy!” she cries, cradling him like he is a babe again, despite his height. She wrenches him down and peppers him with kisses. “My Yusuf!” Ibrahim cries out in joy and springs to their side, doing the same as his wife. Yusuf feels young again, not like a man past thirty, and he couldn’t care less. He has missed them so, beyond anything he ever could have imagined, and he is weeping, he knows it, but so are his parents. “Praise be to God, my son has returned!” Ibrahim exclaims, and for a blissful moment all Yusuf can feel is the burning sunlight of the joy of homecoming. There was no Jerusalem, there were no deaths and awakenings, there is no— He extricates himself from his parents’ embrace, swallowing. “Mama, Baba… This is my companion, Nicoló ibn Umberto.” Nicoló, the poor man, has been standing awkwardly to the side, watching Yusuf’s welcome nervously, but his ears prick up like a dog’s when he hears Yusuf say his name. He steps forward, clearly on edge but trying his best, and gives them one of his small, but heart-achingly sincere smiles. “Peace be upon you,” he murmurs, and it’s very clear he’s been practicing, because his pronunciation is better. His parents stare at him like Yusuf has placed a ghost before them. Perhaps in a way he has, having brought this obviously Frankish man in their house, accompanying their son from a war where he was supposed to fight them. “Who is this?” Rahima asks, wary. Yusuf swallows again. He still hasn’t found a decent way to explain Nicoló without laying bare everything that they are, but he will try at least some of the truth. “He is my fellow traveller. We found ourselves upon the same road, and so we took it together.” Ibrahim takes it in better stride than his wife, clasping one of Nicoló’s hands in his own firmly. “Welcome to my home, Nicoló ibn Umberto,” he says, though the name clearly makes him slightly nervous. “Any friend of my son is family to us.” “Thank you,” Nicoló says. ““Forgive my small Arabic, please.”
Tagging @daegred-winsterhand, @dangerouscommiesubversive and @veradragonjedi!
41 notes · View notes
littlelasagne · 3 months
Text
WIP Wednesday
I had a free week before Christmas and I wanted to write something festive for Levi's bday BUT I got super sick and couldn't finish in time 🥲 I am sick of getting sick 😭 IDK when I'll have time to finish this now. 😭😭 When someonestolemyshoes came to visit me, we found a plant shop right next to a tea shop. Levihan right?! I even bought a plant and named it Hange 😊 So this AU was inspired by those shops - Levi and tea, Hange and plants, but with my own spin on it. I spent way too long mapping out the street and not enough time writing lol. It's also enemies to lovers because I've never written it and thought it would be fun. Scuse typos!
Petra fiddled with the lock to her shop. Granny’s Fudge Pantry. Its pale pink and white exterior was kooky enough to convince the tourists to pay for extortionately priced fudge. At least it was good fudge.
“I’m rolling out the Christmas menu this week,” she said, gritting her teeth as she struggled with the lock. “I’ll bring you round some candy cane bites if I ever get this door open.”
The lock clicked and Petra bustled inside her shop. Hange stayed outside to relish the peace before she had to go inside and deal with the three hundred mini fir trees and potentially hundreds of christmas shoppers.
He came up the street in his long black coat, a white scarf round his neck and a briefcase in his hands. Huh, since when did Levi carry a briefcase?
Hange knew better than to try and talk to him, but pissing him off first thing on a Monday would make the start of his week slimy and ultimately, bring a lot of joy to hers.
“Good morning, Levi!” Hange called in her jolliest voice. He didn’t bother sparing her a glance. He stood metres away from her and just like Petra, he struggled to open the lock to his Tea Emporium. “Get up to much this weekend?” No answer. “Feeling festive yet?” No answer. “The boiler still on the brink in there?” No answer. “So what’s in the briefcase, you smuggling illicit tea or something?” No answer. “Talk to me, peahead.”
“Morning, Levi!” Despite the cold, Petra had come back outside. She’d taken off her coat and had a festive apron around her waist.
“Morning, Petra.” He always replied to her. Hange rolled her eyes. Petra beamed.
“I’ve got some nice Christmas fudge out this week, I’ll bring you some!”
“I’d like that,�� Levi said. With a thump, he’d opened his lock and quickly hurried inside his dusty shop.
Petra smiled at Hange, her eyes darting to the ground and her cheeks flushing. She hurried back into the warmth. Sure it was pathetic, but Hange couldn’t blame Petra for having a crush on Levi. She had once harboured a crush – a brief one at that – on Levi too.
21 notes · View notes
moodymelanist · 4 months
Text
happy WIP Wednesday! I'm slowly but surely working through this chapter and putting all the pieces together <3
“Don’t linger,” Elain warned, her eyes already glowing. “There are a lot of possibilities if you stay too long, but none of them good.” “How long is too long?” Cassian asked. Elain tilted her head, considering. “I wouldn’t stay longer than a few hours. There are too many things that could go wrong otherwise.” “Alright,” Nesta agreed. She held out her hand for Cassian to take and tried to give Elain a reassuring smile. “We’ll be back before nightfall.” Nesta savored the feeling of Cassian’s hand in hers for a few moments before she drew up an image of Windhaven in her mind, taking a deep breath before she winnowed them to the edges of Windhaven.  The Illyrian air was just as cold and sharp as Nesta remembered it, and she was very, very thankful Cassian had insisted on her wearing all the fleece-lined clothing she owned. It was almost strange being here with a clear mind – the last time she’d been here, just putting one foot in front of the other had taken nearly all of her concentration – and even more strange to be here with Cassian at her side instead of Morrigan’s. “This way,” Cassian murmured. He didn’t let go of her hand as they started walking, one of his wings automatically snapping out to protect her from the worst of the winds, and Nesta had to work to suppress her smile. “Where are we going?” Nesta asked, more than content to follow his lead but still curious all the same. He wasn’t leading her toward the training ring like he had all those other times; instead, they were bypassing the heart of Windhaven altogether. “You’ll see,” he answered cryptically.
32 notes · View notes
mareenavee · 4 months
Text
WIP Wednes--whenever. (:
Hello again, friends! Still writing, just not tumblr-ing!
I am ACTUALLY in the prewriting phase with my very, very dear friend and cowriter Jinumon for an Original Novel! I won't share that on here, but progress is phenomenal. We've got thousands of words of notes and POV character fragments down, some side characters planned, tons of worldbuilding and a whole project itinerary planned out. I am very very optimistic here.
I will continue to write fanfic because it brings me a TON of joy! So that said, without further ado -- some of World Chapter 33! 505 words! Mostly below the cut.
The World on Our Shoulders
Fragment of Chapter 33
22nd of Sun’s Dawn 4E 202
Nyenna clutched at an ache in her chest. It’d been painful since Windhelm, sharp and stabbing, like her heart was trying to escape from behind her ribs. It felt like a rope was pulled taut, fraying and barely holding on by the last fibers before it might snap. When she closed her eyes, all she could see were the ashen landscapes of Solstheim, viewed from behind the faint warp of chitin lenses like some kind of static impression. The image never moved, except for the slow drifting of ash and the soft lap of waves on the beaches.
She’d visited the temple of Talos before departing the frozen city and saw the healer that had once attended her wounds while Athis was recovering from his injuries. The healer could not sense the echo itself, but noted something was afoot, though not in a way that would threaten her life. She’d been called hale and sent on her way, purse lighter for her trouble.
Something still felt wrong, like once again she’d made a horrible mistake and the further she walked on her own, the more unshakable the misgivings felt. The tug of the echo was sometimes so strong, it would prevent her from sleeping. If she did sleep, it was not restful. She did not find peace in her dreams. Instead, a deep guilt washed over her so heavily, it felt as if she would drown. Part of her mind tried to believe this was not hers — that it was another thing stolen through the echo. The other part knew what she had done, and how far she had drifted. While Teldryn’s behavior was not acceptable, nor were his words, she knew she had not made clear her stance. It did not give him leave to be as egregious as he had been, but it also did not absolve her of blame. She tried to quiet her thoughts on the subject and eased her back against the wooden railing of the cart she sat in, hoping to relieve some of the ache.
In the silence of her travels, all she had was time to think, and that did not help ease the pain. Not that she thought it would. The whole situation was a curse, and more than ever she wished she’d never set foot on that Godsforsaken island. It had been the biggest mistake she’d ever made. As the city walls of Whiterun loomed ahead, all remembering it did was cause her stomach to tie itself in knots.
She didn’t want to know what Athis would think of her. He’d been sweet in his letters, but to talk over exactly had happened in person would be another story — and what a story it was. All things considered, it was for the best to have left Teldryn behind. It didn’t matter what drunken, misguided nonsense fell from his mouth. How he’d acted did not match his words. In the end, they mattered little.
She did not love him back.
12 notes · View notes
heavencasteel420 · 4 months
Text
WIP Wednesday
From Tomorrow’s a Long Way Off:
They turned onto Robin’s street, and her house came into view. Jonathan took in the yellow clapboard house, the overgrown vegetable garden in the front, the tents where the mushrooms grew in the back.
“Your parents grow all of this?” he asked.
“Yeah, they have a mushroom farm.” Robin watched his awed expression, bemused. She hadn’t expected him to make fun of her weird hippie parents or anything, but she definitely hadn’t expected him to be impressed. “Sorry about the smell. It’s…earthy.”
“No, no,” Jonathan said. He eyed the vegetable garden. “I would kill for these tomatoes. God, there’s so many of them.”
“You really don’t have to,” she protested with a grin. “My parents will probably just give you some.”
As they approached the front porch, she heard the strains of Motown coming from inside. This told her two things: that her parents were home, and that they were having a good time.
“I can go home,” Jonathan offered, as though he’d finally realized their destination. “It’s not that far.”
“No,” Robin said decisively. “You’re gonna tell them how much you want to murder them for their veggies. They’ll love you.”
When she opened the front door, she was greeted with a mortifying, but totally expected sight: her dad grooving around the kitchen and singing along with the music while chopping vegetables.
“Maybe you’ll go away and never call,” he crooned, “and a taste of honey’s worse than none at all. Oh, in that case I don’t want no part, I do believe—”
He stopped when he saw them. A grin spread over his face.
“Rob!” he said. “And Jonathan Byers! Come on in. We made bran muffins.”
From Tonight, Tonight:
Anya cracked a smile, too, and reached out her arms to Miri. Soon the two of them were slow-dancing to the old-timey-strip-club arrangement and overwrought vocals.
“When you’re young and so in love as we, and bewildered by the world we see,” Anya sang, in a low, pleasant voice, while Miri giggled into her shoulder. “Why do people hurt us so? Only those in love will know, what a town without pity can do.”
Jonathan smiled, too, even as he kept one eye on the clock. He had options. He could suggest, in a nice, casual way, that they pick up the pace so they could all go home for Thanksgiving. (He knew himself. It wouldn’t come out nice or casual.) He could tell them that he had a long drive, maybe even that his mom was in a hospital with limited visiting hours. (This shouldn’t seem so unthinkable, not when Anya freely discussed her sick dad and Miri talked about how her own mom had kicked her out, but he couldn’t open that door.) He could tell them to go on home, lock up, and come back to finish cleaning up after dinner with Lonnie. (His bones ached just thinking about it. He’d probably do it.)
Or he could get off the stepladder, jump into the Pinto parked outside, and drive as far east or west as the car would take him. Forget the diner politics. Forget Lonnie’s offer of KFC and easy money. Forget well-meaning ex-hippie Ms. Lafitte, who’d sighed over his half-finished English assignment on Wednesday. Forget Gloria, who was eating turkey with her family in South Bend tonight while he drove all over the state for people who didn’t care about him.
No, he thought, blinking at the mustard dispenser. That wasn’t fair to Gloria, not when he knew how complicated her situation was. It definitely wasn’t fair to Mom. She didn’t always know him, but that wasn’t her fault.
9 notes · View notes
jackwolfes · 5 months
Text
Tumblr media
happy wip wednesday from the dawn of my merthur era 😌
Arthur is already pulling his bloodsoaked sword back, letting it tumble to the floor with a clang, then stepping into Merlin’s space and grabbing him by the elbow. That single point of touch flares like a sparkler, the only thing keeping him upright. His legs are shaking, and they're shaking badly. He's almost surprised that Arthur keeps a hold of him, but leans into the steadying weight.
The hand Arthur stretches out to lift Merlin's chin makes him flinch, and this time he nearly does fall over. Arthur's other hand let's go and grabs him around the waist lightning quick, catching him before he falls. "You have a cut on your throat," he says, voice quiet enough that no one else is likely to hear. There's a dark look in his eyes. "I wanted to check that it isn't serious."
Merlin swallows, only now starting to feel the dull pain. He lifts his chin up, practically feeling Arthur's eyes on his skin. "Is it going to kill me?"
A tiny flicker of amusement dances across Arthur's face. "You'll probably live. If you nick yourself shaving as much as you nick me I have to assume you've had worse."
9 notes · View notes
liquidluckandstuff · 10 months
Text
WIP Wednesday
Tagged by: @cringe-queasy @racfoam 1. for the Daddymort fest. I need like 20 more of these moments. #montage
The spirit was irritated, and Harry couldn’t figure out why. He had encouraged Harry to sneak out of his cupboard for something to eat even though Harry knew he would get in trouble.
“If you don’t eat, we both suffer. No one will catch you, just remember what I taught you and you will be fine,” the voice of the spirit was like a whisper in his ear. It was weaker before but over the past year or two it has gotten stronger and stronger. 
“Ok,” Harry said in his childlike voice. He places his tiny hands on the locked cupboard door and closed his eyes. With all of his might, he concentrated on the lock. 
“We’ve practiced this, Harry. You can do it,” the spirit encouraged. 
Harry started to feel the magic inside of him reach out to his call and when he heard a soft click of the lock. It took every ounce of self-control he had to not shout out with excitement so it came out of his hands which shook for a moment with the overflowing feeling and a wide smile appeared on his soft face. 
“I did it,” Harry whispered happily. 
“I’m so proud of you.” The usually irritated voice sounded genuine which made Harry’s heart overflow with a feeling he couldn’t name yet. After all, he couldn’t remember his own parents. How was he supposed to know what love felt like?
2. Darlings and Dragons: next Chapter
Voldemort saw a few more people who looked like the woman who led them and grew curious. “What are they,” he hissed in parseltounge. 
“Tielfings. Demon children. They were born from some deal made with a devil a thousand years ago… or something like that I don’t know. They have horns and a tail and most people are naturally distrustful of them. They get kind of bitter about it sometimes,” Harry explained. “Don’t try burning them because it won’t end well.” 
The smell of something roasting over the fire made Harry’s stomach growl and he turned his head to see a pig being slowly turned over the flame and a group of stronge elder women laughing and drinking as they watched it cook. “Hey, do you think we can-”
“No.” Voldemort said quickly. 
“Oh come on. Just one drink.”  Harry pleaded. 
“No. That’s not what we are here to do.”
“It could be,” Harry said under his breath. “You just don’t like to have any fun.”
Voldemort snapped. “You want to drink with the people who would probably try to kill us without hesitation?” 
“Haven’t I been doing that with you,” Harry said cheekly. “It gets the heart racing doesn’t it? All that danger. It could be good for you old man.”
“I think you have a problem, Harry,” Aster commented worridly. “People don’t do those kinds of thinks and call it fun.”
Harry shrugged. “Yeah, well he started it. Must of given me some brain damage when he gave me the scar on my head. Or tortured me. Or killed my friends. Or-”
“That was him,” Dorryn hissed at the same time as Aster said “He did what?” 
______
Motha fuckin tieflings babyyyyy
I'm tagging @i-dream-of-libraries @chronosisakitty @leafiloaf @bluesundaycake And if you made it this far its like THE GAME. First of all you lost, second of all now you have to do it.
19 notes · View notes
what-yadoking-likes · 6 months
Text
You've heard of WIP Wednesdays, now get ready for Spooky Season Sideas Sundays.
Tumblr media Tumblr media
I wanna do more Pokémon paintings or drawings (haven't decided yet) of various Pokémon enjoying 'spooky season' activities. Pumpkaboo is at a pumpkin patch in a wheelbarrow - maaaaaybe. Two Gengars are enjoying some toasted marshmallows by a campfire.
Maybe I will have to have another 'mon enjoying a PSL? Or wearing uggs, beret and comically oversized scarf combo. Hmm.
9 notes · View notes
morganski-19 · 5 months
Text
WIP Wednesday
The next five chapter titles for The Monster Slayers
Tea Time
Would It Hurt?
Halloween
Missing
Uncomfortable
7 notes · View notes
planeoftheeclectic · 6 months
Text
Oh boy, this is about to be a blast from the past. Thanks @skarabrae-stone for the tag!
Rules: Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass this onto other writers. Let’s spread the self-love 💖
So I only recently started writing again, meaning I've only got 2 works that are from the last decade, but honestly I'm still very fond of those older ones; they do an excellent job at being what they are.
Doing the no pressure tags above the cut because I don't know if that messes them up: @stonemaskedtaliesin, @zyrafowe-sny, and @firecoloredwater, plus anyone else who sees this and has written something! Hyping yourself up is good practice!
Columbo: Turnabout's Fair Play | 19k (Incomplete) | T | Columbo x Ace Attorney set between AA3 and AA4
Summary:
Technically speaking, Mr. Wright, this isn't my usual beat. But Detective Gumshoe - you know Dick, right? - I owed him a favor, see? And it had been a slow week, so I figured I'd look around, see if I could give the guy a hand. Real stand-up guy, he is, we could use more like him. And anyway, I know you're a real busy guy Mr. Wright, so I'll make this real quick, get out of your hair. I know you and he were real good friends, so I'm sure this is a difficult time for you. Oh, uh, just one more thing Mr. Wright. Why were the two of you such good friends again?
As I say in the dedication, this is the idea that helped me break a very, very long dry spell, so it has to take the top spot for that if nothing else. @stonemaskedtaliesin had introduced me to Ace Attorney, I had introduced them to Columbo, and at some point they went looking to see if there were any crossovers and were disappointed to find none. They come tell me this in discord and I, like a fool, say:
"Well, actually, it makes sense there aren't any. I mean, they're kind of contradictory worldviews. The whole point of Columbo is that he always gets the right guy, and the whole point of Ace Attorney is that the police never get the right guy."
Fortunately for all of us, I continued:
"I mean, for it to even work you'd need some kind of convoluted setup - maybe that would stop the AA police from just arresting someone immediately. And who would be the killer anyway? Well, ok, there's an option there, but who should they murder? Maya? That'd be mean, but that's the obvious choice. Hmm...nobody likes him, I could murder him, but how--oh."
And at that point I stopped talking because the end of this story materialized in my brain and I wanted to make sure it was a surprise. Spoiler culture may be overblown, but murder mysteries are an exception, I feel.
Anyways, if you're a fan of either series, enjoy gen fic, like seeing characters get what they deserve, or just want to see Columbo at an anime convention, this is the fic for you! From a writing standpoint, it's been really fun to experiment with a very limited POV, to try to mimic the feel of a television camera. And of course, Columbo's dialogue is a joy to write. (As you'll see later, dialogue is one of my strengths)
Song of the Peregrine [Podfic] | OG fic is 39k (Incomplete) | T | Chrom/F!Robin but honestly it's mostly gen | Kid Icarus Uprising x Fire Emblem Awakening
Summary:
There were reports of something in the skies of eastern Ylisse. Something with wings as black as pitch and eyes as red as rubies. Dark Pit has no clue where he's managed to land himself, but it turns out that Pit and Palutena don't have a monopoly on annoying. He can leave these humans anytime he wants, and he will. Soon. Any day now. If the Shepherds have it their way, that day won't come any time soon. (In which Dark Pit ends up joining the Shepherds, and the world tilts.)
The original fic is @stonemaskedtaliesin's, but I like to consider myself its honorary godparent. We've spent a lot of time worldbuilding for it, and it's so good you guys. It's going to be amazing. There are long term plans.
I started the podfic because I wanted to listen to it as I fell asleep. The audio quality is definitely shakier in the first couple chapters as I figure things out, but it's been really fun learning new skills and doing lots of fun silly voices.
...still need to finish editing chapter 5.
Anyway, blanket recommendation to go read this if you know anything about Kid Icarus (Fire Emblem is a bonus but not necessary, iit's pretty well-explained in-story) and if you like podfic, hey! You're in luck! Fun fact: this is the only Awakening podfic as of right now. Yes I'm also surprised. Maybe if I ever finish this one I'll set out to try and change that. goat milk and oats Grima would be so much fun to voice.
Warrior Cats Smoofs | 8.5k | G | Gen | Warrior Cats
Okay I'm kind of cheating here but that's going to be a theme for these last few answers. I wrote these over a decade ago with my best friend at the time. She had internet, I didn't, so we had a joint account on the Warrior Cats Wiki and the Warriors Fanfiction Wiki, which are both Fandom now I believe. I archived them to AO3 because of that, and because even years later they would occasionally get a new comment from someone who really enjoyed reading them. And, as I said, I'm still very fond of them. My handle on most of the internet still comes from these stories and that account. They are simple, silly, dialogue and stage directions only parodies, and they were a blast to write. I still remember the melody we came up with for the ending jingle. I'm pretty sure these guys (plus the playwriting class I took) are a big part of why I tend to be very dialogue-heavy. I like fun purple-prosy descriptions, but sometimes a few spoken words can convey a whole lot of actions. Show Don't Tell taken to the extreme, I guess.
I'm pretty sure The Library was our most popular one back in the day (to the point we made a sequel)! The Auction was the first (though doesn't hold up quite as well...lol they're all 15 years old anyway). I'm very fond of Christmas Caroling because all the lyrics are singable and that is my PET PEEVE IF YOU'RE GOING TO DO IT THE METER HAD BETTER BE RIGHT OR AT LEAST CLOSER THAN A CATHOLIC HYMN. Most of all though, I'm fond of all the memories these have. I don't know where Moss is now, but I hope they're doing well. It is also fun to see where I've come from over the years - like I said, upon reflection it makes sense that I tend to default to pretty dialogue-heavy.
The Palutena Trap | 4.7k (Incomplete) | T | Gen (past Palutena/Medusa | Kid Icarus Uprising
Summary:
Kid Icarus meets the Parent Trap.
That's it, that's all I've got.
Ok now this one is cheating because it's not published anywhere yet except in snippets on tumblr. This was actually conceived at almost the same time as Turnabout's Fair Play, but I'm trying to only focus at one at a time, so this one won't properly see the light of day until TFP is finished. (We're getting there! We're almost at the end of Act 2 out of 3!!) That does mean that I'm going about writing it in a very different way - there's going to be lots and lots of editing once I finally set down to publish this. Which is probably for the best - I'm sure there are bits of tfp that would be better if I wrote the whole thing and then went back to edit.
My favorite part of this story is still the normal-people jobs I've given everyone, since this is technically a modern AU. We have an investigative journalist who lives on a yacht, mob boss, butler who's retired MI6, and front woman for a punk band which is actually a front for an eco-terrorist group, for example. I talk more about this story here and here. Aside from that, my favorite thing is exploring the relationship between Dark Pit and Lady Palutena, and between Lady Palutena and Medusa.
The former gets off on the worst possible foot in canon, and it's only ever obliquely addressed, so it's a lot of fun to play with and extrapolate from. In this version, Dark Pit is a child whose mother gave up everything to do with him (and said some pretty nasty things in the court record). So that's where we stand: how do you reckon with that? What does it mean that you still want some kind of relationship, or at least answers? What is family and blood, in the end?
The latter relationship is one that's...well, I wouldn't say it's canon, but it's definitely canon-compliant. It's rather like Narumitsu, in that I look at it and go "hm. whatever is going on between those two, they're not normal about each other." This is true in canon, and if anything it's less true in The Palutena Trap, since despite the name the story is not about getting the parents back together so much as reconciling a mother and son. But the more this idea ferments in my brain the more I want to have some kind of meeting at the end. Maybe it goes badly, maybe it goes less badly, but I have this mental image in my head: Imagine the messiest divorce you've ever seen. Ugly, dragged through the papers, all kinds of legal issues, you part ways never to speak again. You hate her guts, and you can't go a month without thinking about her because she's always got Yet Another Stupid News Article coming out. You find out your kids have been playing some switcheroo on you, and when you meet her again you're coldly civil, both of you clearly holding yourselves back from starting a slugfest in the local forum, and then you see: she's still wearing your wedding ring. The one you picked out, the one you put on her finger 14 years ago. I just. IDK they're not normal about each other and the complexity and ambiguity of it compels me.
Vaguely Remembered 2nd Grade Writing Assignment | like 2 pages maybe | G | Gen | The Land Before Time
Alright this one's definitely cheating but this has already been a lot of reminiscing about the past, so here's a toast to the very first thing I ever wrote: an adventure story starring the main cast of The Land Before Time. All I remember about it is it absolutely sucked to get started but once I did it was longer than it needed to be and I used the word Petrie-ball™. Yes, including the ™. The Petrie-ball™ was how they solved the big obstacle, I think. Like I said, I don't remember much of it, but I remember how proud and happy I felt when it was done. So here's to you, long-forgotten fanfiction adventure story. Here's to the first of many, with many more to follow after.
(Also, if you want to see more of TFP, Palutena Trap, or Peregrine Podfic, you can bother me in a few hours for WIP Wednesday! If you want more OG Peregrine you have to bother @stonemaskedtaliesin instead. Actually, make sure you do that, I know they've got chapter 8 waiting in the wings and I NEED to see how that scene with Pip and Lissa plays out)
8 notes · View notes
charmcity-jess · 8 months
Text
Tumblr media
Happy Wednesday Eve! Here's a little snippet of what I'm painstakingly working on. And I am working on Chapter 25. I promise you. I have two scenes written and am tackling the next part - Therinfal. It's taking me forever but I want to get it right.
War of Hearts || read from the beginning (AO3)
It had been hours ago that they left Haven. Evelyn was no longer used to riding for such a long time, and her butt was sore. They had stopped for lunch an hour ago and she assumed they would be stopping again soon for another break. Sore butt aside, they stopped way too many times for her liking. She just wanted to get to Therinfal and get this business over with. Of course, she didn’t deny that she had grown accustomed to Cassandra’s fast pace when traveling.
Sure enough, not an hour later - it must have been around three in the afternoon - they stopped so the nobles could exit their carriages and stretch their legs. The nobles on horseback dismounted and joined them. The soldiers stood off by themselves, passing water skins that she doubted contained actual water.
She resisted the urge to rub her ass in front of all these people. She was sure Josephine would not approve. But it was hard; it hurt.
While she was trying her hardest to look inconspicuous, rubbing at her hips, Leontine Pontival came over. He was a tall man with dark, shortly cropped hair. He had bright blue eyes that held a keen intelligence. She was sure he could read her thoughts through his looks alone. He was devastatingly handsome.
Tags under the cut
@knuttydraws @raflesia65 @thedastrash @morganlefaye79 @charlatron @kittynomsdeplume @kemvee @a-shakespearean-in-paris @jentrevellan @isk4649 @for-the-ninth @noire-pandora @cleverblackcat
19 notes · View notes
materassassino · 2 months
Text
WIP Wednesday
Am I a week late? Yes. I forgot. I'm sorry. BUT! Today is a Wednesday, so I can make up for it.
Tagged in the circle by @emmalostinwonderland
Sharing a different Old Guard fic this time, one I'm procrastinating because of all the research I have to do for it.
One final, snatched kiss and they step away from each other, the last thing to release is their hands. It is agony to turn away, and Nicoló keeps looking back, over his shoulder. Yusuf, he can see, does the same, until the sun drenches the land in the pinks and light reds of full dawn and the cliffs of the wadi separate them. Finally Nicoló turns away, head bowed. Quynh is surprisingly quiet through all this. Nicoló chances a look at her, and for once there is no glint of mischief in her eyes, just a small, indulgent smile. “We must look quite pathetic,” he murmurs. “It’s young love,” she says, squeezing his arm fondly. “It is new and bright and beautiful and you’ve never felt anything like it before, have you?” Nicoló shakes his head, flushing slightly. No one has ever moved his heart like Yusuf has, changing the very shape of life for him. “It’s easy to lose yourself in it,” Quynh says, and she sounds like she knows how it feels. “It can devour you, drown you in it until you forget who you ever were without it. He may complete you, Nico, he may be the other half of your soul, but you must also be yourself even without him.” The prospect isn’t appealing at all, and Nicoló says so. Quynh’s smile is a little pitying now, and it rankles. “I mean it. When I met Andromache, I knew I’d found the person I would love for the rest of my life. It was perfect, it was fire and madness, and I realised that if I continued like this, I would lose myself. I would forget to be Quynh. So we separated, walked different paths for twenty years. And I remembered who I was, what I could do alone.” She releases Nicoló’s arm and dashes up a boulder on the side of the path, standing atop it like a mighty conqueror. “I was Quynh! Tiger of Au Lac! Scourge of Nanyue! The Heavenly Arrow of Lam Ap! I still am! Quynh of the mighty bow and fast daggers! She who laughs as she kills!” With a snarling laugh she leaps from the rock and lands beside him, and he can’t help but smile at her. “And I am still Andromache’s, as well. When we reunited, it was all the sweeter. Knowing who I was alone helped me love her more.”
Trying to explore any differences between Andromaquynh and Joenicky and also because I want to write reunion sex. This entire fic came about because I had a mental image of Nicky and Joe rolling down a sand dune as they kiss, which amused me.
Tagging uhhhhh @non-un-topo @dangerouscommiesubversive and @veradragonjedi
20 notes · View notes
ghostoffuturespast · 10 months
Text
OC Playlist Meme & WIP Wednesday
Tagged by @merge-conflict Thank you kindly! 🧡I didn't have anything written last week when you tagged me...
I'm not sure if I did the homework correctly, but pick a song(s) that goes along with something you're working on? (Doesn't have to be writing) Or do a playlist for an OC? That second one sounds like less work lol.
Tagging with no pressure: @shimmer-like-agirl @vox-monstera @wanderingaldecaldo @fly-amanitaa
Here's the song:
Echo Home by The Kills
youtube
Here's a spoiler for the next chapter:
Sounds of life marched on outside the walls of her apartment, the clamor of the mundane counting away the minutes and hours.  The quiet of the moment settled on V and River's shoulders though, blanketing them with the heavy burden of the world.  Of reality.  V closed her eyes and laid with the pain, every breath straining her ribs and the rest of her broken body.
Everything hurt.  Ached.
A tender touch on her forearm made her eyelids flutter open.  She watched tan knuckles trace the cyberware embedded in her arms, the bruises and old scars that marbled her skin.  All the things she hated.  Brown gazed down at her from the edge of the bed, tinged with warmth and sadness.
“What is it?”  V blinked, too tired to speak more than a whisper.
River heaved a sigh.  “You know I hate seein' you like this, right?”
"Because I’m incapable of taking care of myself…  Because I'm just as ugly on the outside as the inside now?"
"No…" He shook his head and paused to stare at the hand on her arm.  Hesitating.  "Because it reminds me of all the times I’ve fucked up… And because you don’t need to keep doing this to yourself.  Punishing yourself for things that aren’t your fault."
"It’s– it’s not like that."
"Is it?  Pretty sure I know what martyring looks like.  Did it for fourteen years."
V searched the bags under River's eyes, evidence of his recent sleepless nights.  "Still doing it…"  He didn't defend himself and she winced as she shifted, her hand trying to reach for his.  "Aren’t we just two workaholics?"
He met her the rest of the way, entwining his fingers with hers.  River's thumb wound circles in her palm as he looked out the window, dawn breaking into day.  The neon of the city faded with the early bloom of sunlight.
Glancing back at her, River lowered himself onto the bed and laid next to her, the mattress sinking under his weight.  "Could go for a nap."  Their chests rose and fell before he spoke again.  "You should get some more rest too."
"Honestly, not sure if I know what resting's supposed to feel like.  If I know how."
Metal replaced flesh and blood as River's organic hand brushed the side of her face. The caress came feather light, as if he worried about breaking her further.  "Close your eyes."
Amber and brown.  Side by side.  She didn't want it to disappear.
But V did as he asked and she breathed him in as he kissed her.  The forgotten scents of leather and earth spilling over, a balm on her senses.  The connection a solace to their battered spirits.  River's touch was infinite in its softness and so impossibly warm that she'd give everything just to drown in it.
She didn't want it to end.
"Feels a little somethin’ like that."  He murmured against her lips.
Salt stung the corners of her eyes, the tears descending like ocean waves.  “River… Stay?  Please.  Just a little while longer.”
She pleaded to him.  To her own body and mind. A dying wish to keep dreaming. A warm hand soothed, wiping away the cold tracks left on her skin and giving her something solid to hold onto.  To come back to.  A reality she never wanted to fade away.
River placed another kiss on her lips, a gentle touch that stitched her back together and erased the pain.  “I’m here, V.  I’m here.”
13 notes · View notes
moodymelanist · 5 months
Note
Can we get a snippet of your Where The Light Won't Find You for WIP wednesday plsss😗
of course!! I've never really done WIP Wednesdays but if the people want to see it I'm always happy to make it happen 😗😗
Lucien’s mechanical eye whirred as his gaze flitted furiously between Nesta and Cassian. “What happened?” 
“As you can probably guess,” Cassian answered, momentarily pausing his frenzied pacing to motion to their disheveled appearances, “we didn't get much talking done.”  “We tried,” Nesta added from where she was sitting on one of the couches. Admittedly, she hadn’t tried as hard as she could have to keep things civil, but she had tried, and so had Cassian. “Feyre seemed open to having an actual discussion, but Rhysand was clearly looking for a fight.” “And we gave it to him,” Cassian finished with a grim look. He finally stopped his pacing to come and stand directly behind Nesta, and his reassuring presence had her settling more comfortably into her seat. “He said this meant war.” “What a surprise,” Elain said sarcastically, carefully folding herself up as she sat in the chair directly across from Nesta. “He’s never liked Nesta, and now he has the chance to get rid of her forever. He probably feels like Solstice came early.”  Nesta turned and gripped Cassian’s arm as tightly as she could through his leathers, somehow anticipating the low growl he made before he even drew the breath to take it. “Calm yourself.” “Sorry,” Cassian muttered, forcing himself to take a deep breath. “I don’t like hearing… that.” “I know,” Nesta told him.
34 notes · View notes
mareenavee · 9 months
Text
WIP Whenever~
Oh, I managed to remember what day it was today! HEY. (: So I have a bit to share. Excuse the [redacted] as I preserve some semblance of a surprise when you guys get to this part in the story.
I wasn't tagged yet, so I'll start the train with the most esteemed: @paraparadigm, @changelingsandothernonsense, @thana-topsy, @thequeenofthewinter, @friend-of-giants, @the-storytellers-seer, @rhiannon1199, @saltymaplesyrup, @tallmatcha, @archangelsunited, @snippetsrus, @oblivions-dawn, @gilgamish -- leaving some of ya'll to tag each other and feel free to tag me anyway so I can see what you're working on!!
Here's the longer collection of snippets from Chapter 26. Not quite the last lines, because spoilery. BUT do enjoy the ~chaos~ lol
More than the fire had, the Shout began to melt its frozen exterior. The place had felt wrong before, but something had warped in the collision. Where the room had been pristine and so carefully constructed, it was now returning to a state of chaos. [Redacted] reeled, seeming to shrink, if that was possible. It was losing grip on its magic. More and more of its lair started to fall away back into the void, or else Oblivion; patches of reality pulled forward, stark against the ruined illusion. Varlais, face set in a severe scowl, took its moment of weakness as a signal and pulled an ebony dagger from somewhere in his coat. He rushed at [Redacted], stabbing into it with all the force he could muster.
As with ice, silence shattered.
Sound rushed back into the room with an explosion, causing Nyenna to cry out. The ringing in her ears made her lurch in confusion as she stumbled forward. She could hear the caustic Shout as if the [Redacted] itself had captured the Word and turned it back on her for her crimes. The Word’s power seemed to have amplified in the quiet, like a delayed assault on her senses. It had been meant to destroy the armor of her enemies — that had been her perception. Instead, it was unwinding her sanity.
The Shout was all she could hear over the chaos. She couldn’t tell what was real. Glimpses of an ancient battlefield blurred over the melting ice of this place. A storm of light and darkness swirling with souls in a place that touched the sky. A Dragon Priest on a platform of pale stone with its arms and staves raised, visage of a dark dragon looming huge behind him, impossible red eyes locked on hers.
“Dovahkiin…”
She gasped, barely grasping consciousness, willing the nightmare to clear from her eyes. [Redacted] had lost its hold on the spell that had, up until then, muffled reality as if they’d all been buried under an avalanche of snow. Slowly the room was warming. She felt the tug of the thing desperately trying to pull Magicka from them in an effort to regain its upper hand. But they had none left. There was nothing to take. It righted itself, still too huge, and with all its strength it launched a blow in her direction. She slumped against the supports that had been crumbling with [Redacted]’s lack of control and slid down to the ground, weak with the echo of the dragon’s Voice still piercing her skull.
She watched as Teldryn adjusted his grip on Chillrend with a flourish, rushing in to defend her. The sound of it reverberated, each clang of the sword a cacophony, each footfall a miniature torture. Her own Voice was still clawing at her mind, the hiss of the dragon tongue mired with Bosmeris and Common. Even covering her ears could not stop the Shout from burning. In the vision, it had looked like acid pouring down — an almost elemental call. It was wrong in every discernible way, but still just one Shout. But this…? It had compounded upon itself somehow, and she knew deep down the sound of it would never leave her. It lived in her soul. She heard the cries of the dragon there, at war with the knowledge she’d so long buried. Tears poured down her face. She felt nothing else but pain. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t breathe. Darkness was clawing at the edges of her awareness. Was this death? Was that the cost of this power? She was so tired.
The barrow. No, the burial mound. Kynesgrove. The ground beneath her feet — trees filled with birds chattering only to be so suddenly silenced. And then? The strings of necromantic energy twisting down, down. Sahloknir, stark against the sky as he burst forth from his cairn after centuries untold, sleeping, waiting. She wanted to sleep. Dear Gods, she needed sleep. The racket of tattered wings against greying skies prevented it. She looked down at her hands. Skeletal, and acid-eaten. Then normal, gripping a blade. Dead again, covered in ice, skin flaking away in the wind. The images shifted too fast for her to comprehend. She looked up, eyes locked once again with her enemy, here and not here at the same time. Was she? She shook her head, the ache overwhelming. His bitterness echoed in her empty chest, the sound of it escaping between her ribs.
Her mind searched for the familiar. She looked over at Teldryn as he hacked at [Redacted], its wails dulled to a blunt murmur. The image was weakening, though she wanted nothing more than to hold tight to it. All that remained was the malice of the great dragon, darker than the night closing in around her. She knew the name — felt the shape of it on her tongue. She was remiss to speak. It hurt too much. She had no strength left to bear the agony. Her eyes fluttered closed, and as she faded, his vile words seared themselves into her mind.
“Krii daar joorre.”
22 notes · View notes