tagged by @adelaidedrubman to share the last line(s) of my wip(s) 

been bouncing back and forth between a few wips because brain is being like that so here are a few recent lines

fic 1. (the angsty fic)

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you.” One reason. That’s all she’s asking for. It’s all she needs to not have to go through with this. 

fic 2. (the cute fic)

He chuckles at that. “I’ll have you know it’s been at least two weeks since I’ve been shot at, Miss Orsini.”

She hums. “You’re overdue then.”

and fic 3. (the horny fic)

He walks over to her and she feels the bed dip as he climbs onto it. “Roll over,” he says. “On your stomach.”

She looks over her shoulder, eyeing him suspiciously. “What are you…?”

“Roll over,” he says again, more firmly and giving her hips a nudge.

"Okay, Darcy.... But why?"

"Because Tony is clearly Kuzco."

"... Okay. Yes. Obviously. Is Natasha the Little Mermaid?"

"Why? Because of the hair?"

"Mostly?"

"Come on, Jane. I'm sure we can come up with deeper symbolism than that."

"Anastasia?"

"First of all, not a Disney movie. Second of all, with the memory loss, obviously Bucky is Anastasia."

"Ooh, yeah. I like it. As long as Clint isn't Merida. We can do better than that."

"No, Clint is the boy from Brave who got a bullseye by accident."

"Wee Dingwall?"

"You remember his name?"

"I liked that movie!"

"It did have a lot of plaid in it."

"Shut up."

"Is Thor Hercules?"

"Actually, I think Thor is more of a John Smith."

"From Pocahontas?"

"Yes."

"Why? The hair again?"

"No! Because Thor was raised in a society that he considered to be much more advanced than ours and he was only looking for adventure without regard for the people who happened to be here already and he learned that mortals aren't savages after all... And also the hair."

"You've given this some thought."

"I've been trying to place Thor ever since we started this conversation."

"You can paaaaaaint..."

"Darcy no."

"With all the colooooors..."

"Darcy please."

"Of..."

"Don't."

"The..."

"Shut up."

"Bifrost."

"I hate you."

FRIDAY jumps in. "Captain Rogers is Hercules. They both turned from a skinny outsider into a buff Wonder Boy."

"Oh yeah! Zero to hero in no time flat!"

"Zero to hero, just like that!"

After, FRIDAY starts playing Disney music at odd times. Tony is haunted by Kuzco's theme music, Bucky can't figure out what the hell "dancing bears" have to do with anything, and Steve is frequently told he can go the distance.

Darcy finds it hilarious until FRIDAY starts playing "I Won't Say I'm in Love" at her.

"Oh hell no. You've got all your wires crossed. I am NOT interested in Steve. Like, at ALL."

“Your trigger finger. Left or right?”

Wyatt’s brows furrow in confusion. “Right.”

[Sybille] hums thoughtfully. And then her hand darts out, grabbing Wyatt by his collar. She drags him towards her. His hand flies out to catch himself against the desk, and in a swift movement she pulls her hunting knife from its sheath and plunges it through Wyatt’s right hand with enough force to embed its tip into the hard wood beneath it.

He lets out a loud, rasping shriek. The muscles in his arm begin to tremble, fighting the urge to pull his hand away and do more damage. He looks at her, brown doe-eyes wide with shock and glistening with fear.

That’s better.

tagged by @poeti-kat​ and @socially-awkward-skeleton​ to share my wip today

and tagging: @thomrainer​, @natesofrellis​, @harmonyowl​, @funkypoacher​, @adelaidedrubman​, @strafethesesinners​, @aceghosts​, @schoute​, @confidentandgood​, and anyone else wanting to share what they’re working on!

been nano-ing so things are super rough, but here’s a little exchange that i’m fond of between jacob and john that happens as jake’s driving johnny back to joe’s compound.

[Jacob’s] throat tightens as he struggles to swallow around a lump, and he has to blink away the strange burning sensation in his eyes. “We stopped at the corner store and I bought him ice cream. Then I carried him home.”

John’s gaze sears into him. It makes the fine hairs on the back of his neck prickle and stand on end. A weighty silence lapses, and then John asks, “You’ve carried that memory for a long time, haven’t you?”

It’s Jacob’s turn to spend a long moment in silence. His hands flex around the wheel, and while he wouldn’t say that a weight has been lifted, he does feel oddly relieved. The kind of way one feels after sharing a secret. In a curious turn, he feels like he’s just confessed to something. “Yeah,” he rasps. “I guess I still haven’t forgiven myself for it.”

“You’re not a forgiving person,” John observes.

(because i passed out before i could share this yesterday lmaooo)

tagged by the ever wonderful @natesofrellis, @socially-awkward-skeleton, @funkypoacher, and @schoute

and tagging: @harmonyowl, @thomrainer, @confidentandgood, @strafethesesinners,  @adelaidedrubman, @aceghosts, @poeti-kat, @jacrispea , and anyone else wanting to share what they’re workin’ on!

some more of ch. 4 of fragile creatures:

“So how much do you know about what’s been goin’ on?” [Rook] asks after they’ve been hiking for another fifteen minutes in silence.

“Enough,” Cooper shrugs. He doesn’t bother turning his head to answer. “Fucken’ Peggies took over. Militia’s been fightin’ back. Jacob’s been training a military or some shit up here. ‘S the long and short of it anyways.” He steps purposefully over a patch of leaves. “Watch your step,”he says, and Rook notices the faint glint of a tripwire catching the light of the setting sun.

She grimaces as they pass a Peggie impaled on the spikes of a triggered spring trap. “You set all these up?” she asks, and she can’t help but shiver at the thought of getting caught in one of these things herself. Be it luck, a miracle, or the will of God, she’s fucking grateful she never sprung any of them the handful of times she’s been in this area. The kid just bobs his head in a nod, his hair flopping at the motion. Unsure of how to respond, she opts for, “Smart.”

Cooper scoffs. “Yeah, well, I ain’t very strong or very fast. Anything less than smart’ll get me killed. Mind your head,” and he ducks under a low-hanging branch. There’s very little emotion to his voice. No contempt or bitterness at his perceived shortcomings, just cold hard truths. Not strong. Not fast. But he considers himself smart. And being smart -- being wary of strangers and setting traps -- is how he’s learned to survive in this nightmare his life has turned into. If you can’t outfight or outrun an enemy, then the only choice left is to outsmart them.

Guilt churns her stomach. This kid can’t be any older than sixteen and already his hands are drenched in blood. She doesn’t know what she could have done -- she hadn’t even known he was out here -- but she can’t shake the feeling that she’d failed this poor kid and his family. If only she had been stronger. If only she had been faster. If only she had been smarter, then maybe this child wouldn’t have the look of a boy who’s seen war.

and have the first section of an untitled charlie cutter x paola fic under the cut

tagged by the lovelies @natesofrellis and @socially-awkward-skeleton to share some wips!

tagging: @thomrainer, @harmonyowl, @funkypoacher, @strafethesesinners, @confidentandgood, @aceghosts, @jacrispea, @schoute, @poeti-kat, and anyone else wanting to share their work this fine day!

here’s the beginning of jacob’s pov section for chapter 4 of fragile creatures

There’s only one operating theater actively being used as a surgical suite within the walls of the Veterans Center. All the others have been gutted and turned into torture chambers. Jacob leans against the wall of one such chamber, his arms crossed over his chest. The cold of the tiles seeps through his jacket and he stares down the figure strapped to the gurney in the center of the room.

Strips of leather bind Deputy Pratt’s wrists and ankles to the slab of metal beneath him. Tears stream down his face and despite his best efforts, he can’t contain the wet, sniveling sobs hiccuping from his chest. Jacob marvels at the sight, drinking it in with a disgusted sense of satisfaction. Just when he thinks Pratt couldn’t be any more pathetic, the boy finds a way to prove him wrong.

“Please don’t do this,” Pratt pleads.

His eyes are red and bloodshot. It’s the first time since his trials that Jacob has seen him cry like this. He’s obviously grown too comfortable in his position as Jacob’s dog. Food, water, shelter, perhaps he's been too lenient. Pratt has forgotten his place. It’s time for him to revisit the kennel, remind him of what he is. Meat. Bait. In the end, Deputy Pratt is disposable.

Joe may not like it -- he may prefer a softer touch -- but Jacob is more than willing to put down a dog that refuses to behave.

Wordlessly, he pushes off the wall and takes a metal stool in his hand. He drags it loudly across the floor, the sound of the legs scraping over the tiles bounces and echoes off the bare walls. Pratt’s eyes go wide and his breathing comes out short and ragged.

Planting it next to the gurney, Jacob takes a seat, propping an elbow on the metal slab and scratches thoughtfully at his beard. 

“Help me understand something,” he begins, only for Pratt to turn his head away out of fear and shame. “Ah, look at me,” he tuts and he grabs him roughly by the jaw, forcing eye contact. “Help me understand something,” he repeats. “You have been afforded luxuries few others can boast. I have put a roof over your head, provided you with a place to sleep, warm meals, and the thank you I get is disobedience. Have I not been merciful? Have I not given you purpose?” he asks. Then he leans in closer, hissing, “Have I not made you strong?”

thank you so much for the tags @socially-awkward-skeleton and @natesofrellis! been super busy the past few days so writing has been slow but here are some words i’ve recently strung together:

fragile creatures ch. 3

“You know what happens if you try to run,” [Jacob] says. Then he slams the door shut and locks it.

and for a kinktober piece featuring sybille

The sight of the Deputy is almost always a welcome one, but finding her in his quarters at the Veterans Center, uninvited, gives him pause.

tagged by @socially-awkward-skeleton and @funkypoacher for wip wednesday (thanks for the tags!!! 💕) and tagging: @thomrainer, @poeti-kat, @schoute, @natesofrellis, @aceghosts, @harmonyowl, and anyone else who wants to share their wip (no pressure of course)!

seeing everyone work on kinktober is super inspiring, but for now have a(nother) preview of fragile creatures ch. 3

Jacob holds the sniveling mess aloft above the table for just a moment longer. “I ain’t gonna kill you,” he says coolly, “but you’re gonna wish I had.” He pulls the blade away and releases his grasp on the boy’s shirt. Gravity sends Pratt crumbling down. He falls gracelessly onto the table and the stack of papers he just collected goes flying back onto the floor. 

A low, disgusted noise slips from Jacob’s throat and he wipes the blood from the Deputy’s knife onto his jeans. He’ll sterilize it later, once he’s back at St. Francis and done dealing with Pratt. He’s thinking he might let the new Judges prowl freely in the woods surrounding the former hospital. Use Peaches as live bait and have them drag his whimpering body back until he’s so broken and bloody he can’t run anymore. 

Just as quickly as he entertains the thought, he’s pulled from it by the sound of gunfire. The regular intervaled shots coming from the makeshift range have been replaced by more sporadic and frenzied firing. His body moves instinctively before his mind fully processes what’s happening. His pistol slips free of its holster, right at home in his hand, and he ducks away from the window.  

“Stay the fuck down,” he snarls to Pratt. A bullet pierces through the office and embeds itself into the adjacent wall. 

Pratt stares with wide eyes but nods obediently. He grabs as many papers as he can and takes cover underneath the heavy wooden table. If he hadn’t pissed himself already, he certainly has now.