Wip Wednesday - Tumblr Posts - Page 2

“theyre my comfort oc <33 just look at them they're so baby :')”

the oc: *has lost their sense of morality because of the amount of trauma they went through oh also is a mass murderer*

WIP THURSDAY!

For this poll, I Won’t Leave You Behind won!

So, here is a WIP from the fic!! It was hard to pick because at this point I couldn’t remember what I have and haven’t already shared, but I’m fairly confident I haven’t posted this segment yet.

Enjoy!

A recollection of an impromptu Garchomp biology lesson with Ingo emphasizes how bad his situation really is.

—————

Ingo reached out, stretching himself as far as he could go. His hands connected with her shoulder — thank Arceus — and he shoved hard. Hard enough to knock her right off her feet.

He had to.

Akari had made it. She landed in the snow and out of the path of destruction, safe.

“Well,” Ingo readjusted his position, shifting to get a better look at Akari’s Pokédex notes. His finger moved to point at the head of one of Akari’s observational drawings of a gabite, tapping gently on the paper.

“Notice their heads, how their lower jaws are noticeably less bulky than their upper ones. While the muscles that open their jaws are surprisingly weak, their downward bite force is incredible. It’s to ensure prey cannot escape, and every muscle in their neck is fashioned to specifically assist with this, resulting in quite an impressive steel trap for a set of jaws.”

Ingo’s finger moved down to the neck of the gabite as he talked, emphasizing his words. Akari found the information to be new and interesting to her, but she didn’t quite understand the reason for the impromptu biology lesson. Not until Ingo sat back, the glow of Ember’s back illuminating his side as he turned his head to her.

“Now, the design of a garchomp’s jaws improve upon this in every way, pushing power to a one-way extreme; practically all of its lower jaw strength is sacrificed for maximum downward bite force. Nothing can force its jaws open once they clamp down, except for the garchomp’s decision to open them again. And while a well-placed blow to the snout may possibly convince them to do so, it would not convince an enraged alpha like Jörmun.”

Akari glanced up at Ingo as he continued to talk, all prior attention for the Pokédex in her hands now abandoned. The worry in his voice had completely snagged it.

“Miss Akari, I cannot imagine the force behind the bite of an alpha of the species. If we are unfortunate enough to cross tracks with Jörmun tomorrow, I cannot stress it enough; above all else, stay away from her front. Do not let her catch you between her teeth. Nothing may ever get those jaws to open once they clamp down, besides Jörmun herself. And alphas do not easily deviate from their violent, one-track minds.”

Akari was quiet. She had stopped writing. Ingo could tell she was trying to figure out how to summarize all of his advice in her notes.

If she was having trouble summarizing it, she wouldn’t remember the most important part.

“Just, above all else, do not let her catch you between her jaws.”

Rows of jagged sawteeth clamped down hard, easily perforating right through layers of clothing, puncturing straight through skin, and settling deep into fleshy layers — sturdy as a steel trap.

WIP… DAY? (o゜▽゜)o☆

I was tagged by @theartofblossoming! Supposedly for #WIPWednesday but anyways, I’m always happy every time you tag me on something, dear ♪(´▽｀)

So here’s a peek on the chapter that has been killing my few braincells for the past few weeks of Love Gun:

She made him turn elegantly, both bodies in tune with the slow music. It pleasantly surprised MacCready—he was supposed to be the one leading and yet, somehow, she had managed to take control over their dance. There was a sort of harshness in him that Bluebird found entertaining, feeling his rough and indelicate hands. Amused, Bluebird rested her head between his neck and shoulder and MacCready felt how she smiled on his skin.

MacCready suffered the agony from the thought of how unreal everything was. The feeling of her nose and face in his skin and how relaxed she was in his arms. For some strange reason beyond his comprehension, he was happy. He remembered the night of the storm, all wet because of the rain and holding each other’s hands as Bluebird quietly sobbed in the dark. The question of why was she crying traced his mind with curiosity.

The hand MacCready had on her waist travelled across the curves of her slim body to her hip and brought her body closer to him. Bluebird gasped in surprise and responded with a tighter grip on MacCready’s shoulder, but didn’t pull away his hand.

“What am I doing?” MacCready thought as he buried his face on her hair “, what are we doing?”

I don’t know who to tag since I’m still quite new to the community in tumblr, however, I love to tag @theyoftenwhisper in this kind of things, only if you fancy it; no pressure! Thank you so much for your support and feedback. 

Anyone who wants to do this tag, feel free to do it and tag me if you want to!

Hello everyone! Thank you for the tags @heartstringsduet @corsage @paperstorm @nisbanisba @bonheur-cafe @carlos-in-glasses @emsprovisions 💕 I will rb you all in a bit I have some work I need to do first 😭 In the meantime I’ve been noodling on a little 5x02 coda 🍩

Carlos raced them to the firehouse after, defying the speed limit and uncharacteristically skirting through several yellow lights to get TK to work on time. He’d had to practically push TK out of the car when he tried to initiate a quickie in the parking lot.

He couldn’t help it, his husband is very hot when he drives like Vin Diesel.

Apparently Carlos’s mind had been in the same place, though, because he’d busted right out of his morning Ranger briefing and swung on over to Voodoo Donuts on Sixth Street, the famous donut shop that always has a line out the door, just so he had an excuse to come back to the firehouse.

“Oh yeah?” TK responds, sliding a hand up Carlos’s chest to play with the knot of his tie. “Is that what’s got the extra hitch in your giddy up?

“Shut up.”

“I saw the way you walked in here. All that swag.”

“Maybe I just had a good morning.”

“Oh, I remember,” TK smirks.

Tagging @ironheartwriter @honeybee-taskforce @orchidscript @tellmegoodbye @captain-gillian @whatsintheboxmh @chicgeekgirl89 @literateowl @alrightbuckaroo @thisbuildinghasfeelings @welcometololaland @eclectic-sassycoweyes @ladytessa74 @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut @basilsunrise @lightningboltreader @liminalmemories21 @freneticfloetry @sapphic--kiwi @herefortarlos @firstprince-history-huh @fitzherbertssmolder @fifthrideroftheapocalypse @filet-o-feelings @fallout-mars @your-catfish-friend @kiwichaeng @tinyluminaryzombie @guardian-angle22 @rmd-writes @iboatedhere @reyesstrand @never-blooms @decafdino @certifiedflower @irispurpurea and OPEN TAG 🏷️

Thank you for the tags @heartstringsduet @whatsintheboxmh @bonheur-cafe @nisbanisba + jumping on @ironheartwriter’s open tag 😘 Sharing a bit from the next installment of Kali fic. First installment is on ao3 here!! These are all short, non-linear standalone fics so each installment can be read on its own.

Carlos had been very understanding when TK told him he wasn’t looking for a relationship, that the best he could offer him is mind blowing sex and an occasional low stakes date. TK’s trying to ignore the tiny sliver of his heart that fluttered pathetically when Carlos smiled with those warm brown eyes and told him he was good with casual.

He knows deep down that there’s nothing casual about this man. There’s a countdown on this thing they’ve got going on. There’s just no way a guy like Carlos, with his perfect posture and his button downs and his 401k and his sweet, unshakable steadiness stays single long enough for TK to get his shit together and be ready for anything more than friends with benefits.

He might not ever be ready for another relationship. His heart is too damaged. He is too damaged.

He pulls back from where he’s been kissing and biting at Carlos’s neck when he feels Carlos’s large hand encircle his wrist, pulling his hand out from its exploratory mission inside Carlos’s jeans.

He keeps a tight grip on TK’s wrist, bringing his other hand up to cup TK’s jaw.

“Are you sure you wanna do this here?” He asks, still panting a bit. “I can drive us to my place. Be home in ten minutes. It’ll be a lot more comfortable in the king size.”

“I’m plenty comfortable,” TK answers. Doesn’t bring up the fact that he honked the Camaro’s horn with his ass approximately three times while he was climbing into Carlos’s lap earlier.

Tagging @orchidscript @captain-gillian @tellmegoodbye @honeybee-taskforce @chicgeekgirl89 @alrightbuckaroo @literateowl @thisbuildinghasfeelings @welcometololaland @eclectic-sassycoweyes @ladytessa74 @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut @basilsunrise @lightningboltreader @liminalmemories21 @freneticfloetry @sapphic--kiwi @herefortarlos @firstprince-history-huh @fitzherbertssmolder @fifthrideroftheapocalypse @filet-o-feelings @fallout-mars @your-catfish-friend @kiwichaeng @tinyluminaryzombie @corsage @paperstorm @carlos-in-glasses @emsprovisions @guardian-angle22 @rmd-writes @iboatedhere @reyesstrand @never-blooms @decafdino @certifiedflower @irispurpurea and OPEN TAG 🏷️

Progress shot on the worst bastard in Dogtown for wip wednesday 😼 don’t wanna show too much hehe

WIP Wednesday :]c

An old Oc’s daughter that I meant to start designing ages agooo

She/They

Also just got to Mourning Fields boss fight (Not outright saying it bc yk, spoilers) and beat it first try (Aphrodite my effing savior, I love my grenades) But died bc Zeus got mad at me in the next chamber bc I chose another god over him.

Her art always makes my whole body tingle, in a good way.

Finally a WIP that I'm vibing with 🥲

Trying out some new angles to challenge myself. Took me half an hour to get it right but it looks good so far!

Anyways, hope you like this messy sketch! I guess (^///^)

(Edit : I finally drew the dead bodies AKSDFKSADF)

thankyou for tagging me baby!💗

"Fuck, baby. You don't wanna' know what that shit does to a man like me."

Your eyebrows creased together in a frown, not understanding what he meant by 'man like me'. But you'd learn... soon enough.

It was at that moment you felt something hard and thick underneath your ass, you squirmed trying to move away from the foreign object poking into you. Ari was quick to grip your hips with his free hand, stilling your movements and letting out a deep growl, sending shivers down your spine.

no pressure tags: @dbnightingale24 @evansbby @dungeonpuppykai @brioffthegrid @navybrat817

WIP Wednesday

Share the last line of your WIP, with no context!

Thank you for the tag @alexagirlie

"This agreement gives your brother quite an army, my prince, do not forget that." Lyanna snapped, taking one step closer to Aemond.

Tags: @lady-phasma @foxyanon @arcielee @tumblin-theworldaway @barbiedragon @targaryen-dynasty @thought--bubble @valeskafics

Interlude: These Little Scraps of Misery

Previously: Prologue Tumblr Link for Prologue, Chapter One; Chapter Two, Chapter 3, Interlude Chapter 4 Chapter 5, Chapter 6 Chapter 7 , Chapter 8 Chapter 9 , Chapter 10 , Interlude 2 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 , Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16

Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav

Warnings: 18+. NSFW, Ethical and non Ethical BDSM, noncon, some allusions to sexual violence, flashbacks to sexual violence, discussions of sexual violence, dubious boundaries, attempted sexual violence, dubcon, blood licking/blood kink, reference to cheating behavior, emotional trauma, group sex, sex, smutt, anxiety, negative thinking, sexual trauma, recovery, healing, angst,

Word count: 119k

Warning: Hey everyone 💖—I just wanted to give a quick heads-up before diving into These Little Scraps of Misery. This interlude gets pretty heavy, dealing with emotional distance, power struggles, and some tough moments between Sima and Astarion after Chapter 16. If you find yourself sensitive to themes like dominance, manipulation, or trauma in relationships, please take care of yourself first. Your well-being matters more than anything, so feel free to skip or pause if it gets too much. I’ve included this interlude to really show how the cracks are forming in their relationship. There’s love, but it’s complicated, and this is a pivotal moment for them both. Thank you all for sticking with this story—it means the world to me. Take care, and as always, I’m here for any questions or thoughts. 💕

Status: Ongoing

Chapter 17: Oct 23 2024

Song of the Hour: When the Party's Over - Billie Eilish

Entire Story Link on AO3 Spotify Playlist AO3

After the Cut!

Interlude: These Little Scraps of Misery

Five days. It had been five days since Astarion’s hands had last touched her. Since his breath, hot against her neck, had sent both pleasure and pain rippling through her skin. Five days since she had felt that correction. The marks it left were far more than physical.

She hadn't let him near her since.

He didn’t ask. He didn’t press. But she felt his eyes on her, probing, wondering, waiting. Astarion was patient, and she wondered if he was counting the days, too.

Five days. Has it really been that long?

The question drifted through her mind, but she let it fall away, unimportant now. Everything felt unimportant now. The palace was quiet, save for the low murmurs of the spies and servants, moving like shadows beyond her closed doors. The same doors that separated her from him.

Sima found herself staring, hours passing without notice. She sat in her chambers, lists and papers spread before her, detailing plans for expansion, ideas for their future domain. Their domain —that’s what it was supposed to be, wasn’t it? She was supposed to be his partner, the one to stand by his side. To turn, to become what he was. What he wanted her to be.

Her fingers trembled as they grazed the parchment, a reminder that her body still reacted, even when her mind did not. She felt the echoes of that night in every step, in every breath. She had told herself she enjoyed it. Hadn’t she? I did. I wanted it... But the more she thought about it, the further away the truth seemed to drift, until it was swallowed up by the quiet void that had taken root inside her.

A part of her wished to forget, but the memories lingered. His hands on her body, his breath against her skin. His voice, sharp with dominance, with possession. It had thrilled her once— hadn't it? But now... it was like a shadow creeping over her, making her shudder in ways that had nothing to do with desire.

She had wanted him, right until she hadn’t.

That was the worst part. She had wanted it. Right up until the moment when his strength became too much, his grasp too tight, his words too cruel. Until the game shifted and she found herself no longer playing. She had become the piece to be moved, controlled, corrected.

And she had let him.

The memory came unbidden, slipping through the cracks in her resolve.

She had been in bed, beneath him. The sheets had felt too cold against her skin, but his body was hot, almost suffocating. His hands had moved over her, rough, demanding, and she had responded—out of habit, out of reflex. She had touched him like she always did, traced the familiar lines of his muscles, the planes of his body.

But inside, she had felt nothing.

She went through the motions, her fingers grazing his skin, her lips parting with practiced ease. She had played her part well enough, but somewhere in the middle of it all, she had drifted. She had become numb.

His hand had tightened around her thigh, and still, she hadn’t flinched. His breath was hot against her neck, his voice a low growl in her ear, but all she had heard was the distant echo of her own thoughts, spiraling deeper and deeper into the hollow space inside her.

And then, he had looked at her.

He had paused, his gaze searching, probing, trying to find something in her expression. His fingers had brushed her cheek, a gesture that might have been tender, but it felt foreign. Alien. Like it didn’t belong to her anymore.

Her eyes had remained open, staring at him, but she didn’t see him. She wasn’t really there.

He had noticed. She knew he had. The way his movements slowed, the slight tension in his body... he had known something was wrong. But he had said nothing.

When he finished, he had left the bed without a word, slipping from her chambers and leaving her alone in the cold sheets. He hadn’t come back.

That had been five days ago.

She had avoided him since, avoided his touch, his voice, his presence. He gave her space, but she knew it wouldn’t last forever. He was waiting, watching, always watching, as if waiting for her to slip, to fall, so he could pick up the pieces and mold them back into what he wanted.

The weight of it all pressed down on her, suffocating. She was slipping, falling into herself, the world around her becoming distant, muted, as if she were watching from far away. She went through the motions—plans, meetings, strategies for the upcoming ball—but none of it felt real. None of it mattered.

The nights were the worst. Alone in her chambers, the silence wrapped around her like a shroud, and she could feel the distance between them widening with every passing hour.

Five days.

Has it really only been five days?

She had tried to keep herself busy, to focus on the ball, on the intrigues Astarion had set before her. It was supposed to be her chance, her opportunity to prove her value, her skill. He had praised her for her persuasive tongue before, the way she could bend others to her will with nothing more than a few well-placed words. She was supposed to use that skill tonight.

But all she could think about was his hands. The memory of them on her throat. The bruises they had left, both visible and invisible.

Her mind drifted again, back to the moment when she had first realized how wrong it had all gone. She had told herself it was still part of the game, still part of their dangerous dance.

That this was what she had wanted, what she had craved. But the truth was colder, sharper. The line between pleasure and pain had blurred, and she had let it happen. She had let him cross that line, without a word, without protest. She had allowed him to take what he wanted, and now she was the one left with the scars.

You wanted this... didn't you?

The question echoed in her mind, but no answer came. She couldn't bring herself to confront the truth, couldn't face the weight of her own complicity. So, she pushed it down, buried it deep inside the hollow place where the rest of her emotions had retreated.

Her fingers tightened around the edge of the vanity, her knuckles white as she held on, trying to anchor herself in the present. But the memories kept pulling her back, dragging her under.

Five days...

She could hear his voice now, distant but clear, discussing the ball, the upcoming intrigues, the schemes they were meant to execute together. He spoke of power, of control, of manipulation, and all she could think of was his hands. His breath on her skin. The way he had looked at her that night, with something that wasn’t love, wasn’t passion.

It was dominance. It was possession.

And now, as she sat in the silence of her chambers, she could still feel that dominance clinging to her, wrapping around her like chains. The more she thought about it, the tighter those chains became, until she could barely breathe.

She closed her eyes, the weight of it all pressing down on her chest, making it impossible to think, impossible to feel anything except the cold, creeping numbness that had taken hold of her heart.

But she couldn't afford to fall apart. Not yet. Not tonight.

Tonight was the ball. Tonight, she had to play her part. The Veiled Night Ball was her chance to prove her worth, her ability to navigate the treacherous waters of vampire politics. Astarion had said so himself, in those quiet moments over breakfast, when he had tried—and failed—to pull her back into their usual games of flirtation and innuendo.

She had deflected with precision, dodging his verbal traps with ease. He hadn’t pressed the issue, hadn’t questioned why she hadn’t slept in his chambers for the past five nights. Maybe he was giving her space. Or maybe, just maybe, he was waiting for her to come to him.

But she wouldn't. Not yet. She couldn't.

The thought of his touch made her stomach twist, made her skin crawl. She had once craved his touch, the way it had made her feel alive, powerful. But now, it was a reminder of how quickly that power could be taken away, how easily the balance could shift.

She wasn’t ready to face him. She wasn’t ready to admit that something had broken between them. That something inside her had cracked, and she wasn’t sure if it could be mended.

Five days.

Sima's reflection stared back at her, but it wasn’t the woman she had once been. Her skin, rich and dark like the earth beneath a setting sun, had always carried strength, a beauty that defied the scars of her past. But now, her features seemed dulled, her spirit suffocated beneath layers of silence and pain. Her eyes, usually fierce and unwavering, were hollow, distant—a reflection of the woman she had become.

A hollow version of herself.

But she couldn’t allow that. Not anymore.

She took a deep breath, fingers brushing against the cool surface of the vanity as she straightened her spine. Her body responded instinctively, as if reclaiming the posture she had once mastered. The gown clung to her form, the corset cinching tighter, but this time it didn’t feel suffocating. It felt... grounding.

The woman in the mirror was still there, waiting to be called upon.

Her eyes flickered, the hollowness replaced by something else. A spark of defiance. A slow-burning ember of strength. She wouldn’t fall apart. Not tonight. Not ever. Astarion was watching, always watching, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing her break.

Sima adjusted her gown, smoothing the fabric over her hips. Her hands steadied, no longer trembling as they had been just moments before. Her gaze sharpened, no longer lost in the haze of memories and pain. Instead, her mind settled on the present, on the ball, on the role she was meant to play.

You are stronger than this, she reminded herself.

And she was. She had survived worse. She had endured the horrors of Calimport, had clawed her way out of the shadows. She had rebuilt herself once, and she would do it again. Piece by piece, she would reclaim what had been taken from her.

Her back straightened, her shoulders pulled back as she lifted her chin. Her eyes, no longer distant, gleamed with a quiet fire, the kind that could burn through anything, even the silence that had threatened to swallow her whole.

She was ready now. Ready to face the world again, to wear the painted face of grace and strength that had carried her through so much before. Tonight, she would step into the ballroom with her head held high, her heart steady, her gaze unwavering.

Astarion might be waiting for her, but he wouldn’t see the woman who had crumbled beneath his touch. He would see the woman who had survived it, who had taken that pain and turned it into something stronger.

The mask was in place.

Sima rose to her feet, her movements fluid and deliberate, the embodiment of grace and control. She drew in the last of her makeup; a small black dot, behind the ear, drawn to ward away the evil eye. It was a reminder of her mother, her power, and her resilience in the face of whatever lay ahead.

She would play her part tonight, but it wouldn’t be for him. It would be for herself. To prove that no matter what had happened, no matter what corrections he had imposed, she was still her own.

Her eyes narrowed slightly as she glanced once more at her reflection. Not broken. Not lost.

And certainly not his to fix.

Interlude: These Little Scraps of Misery

Previously: Prologue Tumblr Link for Prologue, Chapter One; Chapter Two, Chapter 3, Interlude Chapter 4 Chapter 5, Chapter 6 Chapter 7 , Chapter 8 Chapter 9 , Chapter 10 , Interlude 2 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 , Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16

Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav

Warnings: 18+. NSFW, Ethical and non Ethical BDSM, noncon, some allusions to sexual violence, flashbacks to sexual violence, discussions of sexual violence, dubious boundaries, attempted sexual violence, dubcon, blood licking/blood kink, reference to cheating behavior, emotional trauma, group sex, sex, smutt, anxiety, negative thinking, sexual trauma, recovery, healing, angst,

Word count: 119k

Warning: Hey everyone 💖—I just wanted to give a quick heads-up before diving into These Little Scraps of Misery. This interlude gets pretty heavy, dealing with emotional distance, power struggles, and some tough moments between Sima and Astarion after Chapter 16. If you find yourself sensitive to themes like dominance, manipulation, or trauma in relationships, please take care of yourself first. Your well-being matters more than anything, so feel free to skip or pause if it gets too much. I’ve included this interlude to really show how the cracks are forming in their relationship. There’s love, but it’s complicated, and this is a pivotal moment for them both. Thank you all for sticking with this story—it means the world to me. Take care, and as always, I’m here for any questions or thoughts. 💕

Status: Ongoing

Chapter 17: Oct 23 2024

Song of the Hour: When the Party's Over - Billie Eilish

Entire Story Link on AO3 Spotify Playlist AO3

After the Cut!

Interlude: These Little Scraps of Misery

Five days. It had been five days since Astarion’s hands had last touched her. Since his breath, hot against her neck, had sent both pleasure and pain rippling through her skin. Five days since she had felt that correction. The marks it left were far more than physical.

She hadn't let him near her since.

He didn’t ask. He didn’t press. But she felt his eyes on her, probing, wondering, waiting. Astarion was patient, and she wondered if he was counting the days, too.

Five days. Has it really been that long?

The question drifted through her mind, but she let it fall away, unimportant now. Everything felt unimportant now. The palace was quiet, save for the low murmurs of the spies and servants, moving like shadows beyond her closed doors. The same doors that separated her from him.

Sima found herself staring, hours passing without notice. She sat in her chambers, lists and papers spread before her, detailing plans for expansion, ideas for their future domain. Their domain —that’s what it was supposed to be, wasn’t it? She was supposed to be his partner, the one to stand by his side. To turn, to become what he was. What he wanted her to be.

Her fingers trembled as they grazed the parchment, a reminder that her body still reacted, even when her mind did not. She felt the echoes of that night in every step, in every breath. She had told herself she enjoyed it. Hadn’t she? I did. I wanted it... But the more she thought about it, the further away the truth seemed to drift, until it was swallowed up by the quiet void that had taken root inside her.

A part of her wished to forget, but the memories lingered. His hands on her body, his breath against her skin. His voice, sharp with dominance, with possession. It had thrilled her once— hadn't it? But now... it was like a shadow creeping over her, making her shudder in ways that had nothing to do with desire.

She had wanted him, right until she hadn’t.

That was the worst part. She had wanted it. Right up until the moment when his strength became too much, his grasp too tight, his words too cruel. Until the game shifted and she found herself no longer playing. She had become the piece to be moved, controlled, corrected.

And she had let him.

The memory came unbidden, slipping through the cracks in her resolve.

She had been in bed, beneath him. The sheets had felt too cold against her skin, but his body was hot, almost suffocating. His hands had moved over her, rough, demanding, and she had responded—out of habit, out of reflex. She had touched him like she always did, traced the familiar lines of his muscles, the planes of his body.

But inside, she had felt nothing.

She went through the motions, her fingers grazing his skin, her lips parting with practiced ease. She had played her part well enough, but somewhere in the middle of it all, she had drifted. She had become numb.

His hand had tightened around her thigh, and still, she hadn’t flinched. His breath was hot against her neck, his voice a low growl in her ear, but all she had heard was the distant echo of her own thoughts, spiraling deeper and deeper into the hollow space inside her.

And then, he had looked at her.

He had paused, his gaze searching, probing, trying to find something in her expression. His fingers had brushed her cheek, a gesture that might have been tender, but it felt foreign. Alien. Like it didn’t belong to her anymore.

Her eyes had remained open, staring at him, but she didn’t see him. She wasn’t really there.

He had noticed. She knew he had. The way his movements slowed, the slight tension in his body... he had known something was wrong. But he had said nothing.

When he finished, he had left the bed without a word, slipping from her chambers and leaving her alone in the cold sheets. He hadn’t come back.

That had been five days ago.

She had avoided him since, avoided his touch, his voice, his presence. He gave her space, but she knew it wouldn’t last forever. He was waiting, watching, always watching, as if waiting for her to slip, to fall, so he could pick up the pieces and mold them back into what he wanted.

The weight of it all pressed down on her, suffocating. She was slipping, falling into herself, the world around her becoming distant, muted, as if she were watching from far away. She went through the motions—plans, meetings, strategies for the upcoming ball—but none of it felt real. None of it mattered.

The nights were the worst. Alone in her chambers, the silence wrapped around her like a shroud, and she could feel the distance between them widening with every passing hour.

Five days.

Has it really only been five days?

She had tried to keep herself busy, to focus on the ball, on the intrigues Astarion had set before her. It was supposed to be her chance, her opportunity to prove her value, her skill. He had praised her for her persuasive tongue before, the way she could bend others to her will with nothing more than a few well-placed words. She was supposed to use that skill tonight.

But all she could think about was his hands. The memory of them on her throat. The bruises they had left, both visible and invisible.

Her mind drifted again, back to the moment when she had first realized how wrong it had all gone. She had told herself it was still part of the game, still part of their dangerous dance.

That this was what she had wanted, what she had craved. But the truth was colder, sharper. The line between pleasure and pain had blurred, and she had let it happen. She had let him cross that line, without a word, without protest. She had allowed him to take what he wanted, and now she was the one left with the scars.

You wanted this... didn't you?

The question echoed in her mind, but no answer came. She couldn't bring herself to confront the truth, couldn't face the weight of her own complicity. So, she pushed it down, buried it deep inside the hollow place where the rest of her emotions had retreated.

Her fingers tightened around the edge of the vanity, her knuckles white as she held on, trying to anchor herself in the present. But the memories kept pulling her back, dragging her under.

Five days...

She could hear his voice now, distant but clear, discussing the ball, the upcoming intrigues, the schemes they were meant to execute together. He spoke of power, of control, of manipulation, and all she could think of was his hands. His breath on her skin. The way he had looked at her that night, with something that wasn’t love, wasn’t passion.

It was dominance. It was possession.

And now, as she sat in the silence of her chambers, she could still feel that dominance clinging to her, wrapping around her like chains. The more she thought about it, the tighter those chains became, until she could barely breathe.

She closed her eyes, the weight of it all pressing down on her chest, making it impossible to think, impossible to feel anything except the cold, creeping numbness that had taken hold of her heart.

But she couldn't afford to fall apart. Not yet. Not tonight.

Tonight was the ball. Tonight, she had to play her part. The Veiled Night Ball was her chance to prove her worth, her ability to navigate the treacherous waters of vampire politics. Astarion had said so himself, in those quiet moments over breakfast, when he had tried—and failed—to pull her back into their usual games of flirtation and innuendo.

She had deflected with precision, dodging his verbal traps with ease. He hadn’t pressed the issue, hadn’t questioned why she hadn’t slept in his chambers for the past five nights. Maybe he was giving her space. Or maybe, just maybe, he was waiting for her to come to him.

But she wouldn't. Not yet. She couldn't.

The thought of his touch made her stomach twist, made her skin crawl. She had once craved his touch, the way it had made her feel alive, powerful. But now, it was a reminder of how quickly that power could be taken away, how easily the balance could shift.

She wasn’t ready to face him. She wasn’t ready to admit that something had broken between them. That something inside her had cracked, and she wasn’t sure if it could be mended.

Five days.

Sima's reflection stared back at her, but it wasn’t the woman she had once been. Her skin, rich and dark like the earth beneath a setting sun, had always carried strength, a beauty that defied the scars of her past. But now, her features seemed dulled, her spirit suffocated beneath layers of silence and pain. Her eyes, usually fierce and unwavering, were hollow, distant—a reflection of the woman she had become.

A hollow version of herself.

But she couldn’t allow that. Not anymore.

She took a deep breath, fingers brushing against the cool surface of the vanity as she straightened her spine. Her body responded instinctively, as if reclaiming the posture she had once mastered. The gown clung to her form, the corset cinching tighter, but this time it didn’t feel suffocating. It felt... grounding.

The woman in the mirror was still there, waiting to be called upon.

Her eyes flickered, the hollowness replaced by something else. A spark of defiance. A slow-burning ember of strength. She wouldn’t fall apart. Not tonight. Not ever. Astarion was watching, always watching, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing her break.

Sima adjusted her gown, smoothing the fabric over her hips. Her hands steadied, no longer trembling as they had been just moments before. Her gaze sharpened, no longer lost in the haze of memories and pain. Instead, her mind settled on the present, on the ball, on the role she was meant to play.

You are stronger than this, she reminded herself.

And she was. She had survived worse. She had endured the horrors of Calimport, had clawed her way out of the shadows. She had rebuilt herself once, and she would do it again. Piece by piece, she would reclaim what had been taken from her.

Her back straightened, her shoulders pulled back as she lifted her chin. Her eyes, no longer distant, gleamed with a quiet fire, the kind that could burn through anything, even the silence that had threatened to swallow her whole.

She was ready now. Ready to face the world again, to wear the painted face of grace and strength that had carried her through so much before. Tonight, she would step into the ballroom with her head held high, her heart steady, her gaze unwavering.

Astarion might be waiting for her, but he wouldn’t see the woman who had crumbled beneath his touch. He would see the woman who had survived it, who had taken that pain and turned it into something stronger.

The mask was in place.

Sima rose to her feet, her movements fluid and deliberate, the embodiment of grace and control. She drew in the last of her makeup; a small black dot, behind the ear, drawn to ward away the evil eye. It was a reminder of her mother, her power, and her resilience in the face of whatever lay ahead.

She would play her part tonight, but it wouldn’t be for him. It would be for herself. To prove that no matter what had happened, no matter what corrections he had imposed, she was still her own.

Her eyes narrowed slightly as she glanced once more at her reflection. Not broken. Not lost.

And certainly not his to fix.

this isn’t done yet but it’s been a while since I posted so I figured i’d share what i’m working on rn!

this is also because i’m happy with how it looks and wanted to share it in case I fuck up the colors later

Thanks @mathiwrites for tagging me! In fact, it's actually fitting that I got tagged by you. You're the one who’s beta-reading this for me.

I was originally planning on making this a sneak peek on AO3, but it got taken down because they don't really allow WIPs on there. So, here's a sneak peek into My Hero Academia: Rewritten Sparks! Coming soon to AO3 on July 7th. Take a look!

“Young Midoriya!”

As Izuku clutched his chest in pain, he heard All Might call out in a panic. But Izuku already knew that it was too late. He coughed up a familiar metallic taste, which spattered on the hard concrete. The liquid crimson shined like a ruby gem. Some of it drips from his chest and all over his hand. Izuku started to go numb as his knees went slack. He couldn’t feel anything but cold, unforgiving rain pelting his back as if to rub salt into a wound.

“How pathetic. The quirk my younger brother had been accumulating for generations. And this is who All Might entrust it to? A quirkless child with a washed-up dream?”

Izuku looked up at the face of the villain who pierced him in his chest, his vision starting to blur as he tried to piece together the villain’s face. Whenever Izuku saw this villain…he couldn’t help but recognize it. But from where? Izuku knew All for One as the older brother of the first carrier of One for All, but every time he saw him…I saw someone else. Someone familiar.

“Well…you did one thing right. Thank you, Midoriya Izuku. Thank you for returning what is rightfully mine.” With the villain’s last words, everything went black.

*****

Izuku. Can you hear me? Hello?

Izuku opened his eyes and saw nothing and everything. The beginning and ending. Light and dark. Life and Death. Good and evil. And everything in between.

“There you are. My beautiful creation.” The entity cupped the young boy in their hands, making him realize how small he was. “I thought I lost you.”

Izuku looked up at this entity in shock; their presence was imposing yet welcoming at the same time. “Where am I?” He asked in confusion, looking around at the vast empty void that surrounded the two of them. “Am I dead?”

“Yes. And no. You are dead for the time being. Soon, however. you will be reborn.” The entity explained to Izuku. “Time is about to reset itself. So we only have so little time to talk.” “Talk? About what?” Izuku asked in bewilderment.

“About your wish.” “My…what? What do you mean? Who are you?”

“I am Omo. I have watched over many worlds since the dawn of time. And you are…”

WIP Wednesday!

Tagged by @sophiainspace thank you!

Not sure if this will be in the final draft or not... but here's something from Trophy!

Barry opened his eyes “No.” He looked around, taking in his new surroundings with a mounting horror. “No, no, no, no–” The events of earlier were coming back, shattering his entire world all over again, a world that was spinning before his eyes. “No, no, no, please–” He didn’t know who he was begging, the universe, the speedforce maybe– anyone who could undo what he couldn’t.

@negative-speedforce @vexic929 @shrinkthisviolet @i-hate-happy-endings @practically-an-x-man no pressure of course !

UPDATE: we're getting closer!!!

TAGS: !