#wip w

[camillathe6th]

WIP WUESDAY: actually it's a draft prompt because I have nothing else in my files.

@glitchy-npc tagged me very nicely, thank you so much ♡ however, work is kicking my teeth and ass, so... no time for WIPs and longer pieces—I've only got this thing I wrote yesterday for a prompt.

BUT FIRST, tagging people of course, I would like to see YOUR work in progress (no pressure) @kittlesandbugs @crowshuh @westealtoys @m3k-fhr @thecryptidenthusiast @punkranger

PROMPT: Alternate scenes, scenes that did not happen, scenes that could have happened, paths untrodden. WHAT TO EXPECT: Regene brain, and children meeting.

2000. (UNIT F-22nθπ)

On the way. On the way, before, on the way to the—house's sprawling, house's secrets; but no more. No more for a little while because it moves. Not that—not the body, the hands, the mind, around in the crowd, though it does move too—not that, but this. The painting. The painting, it moves.

Eyes on the painting. Mind on the painting. Soul on the painting.

Hands—body—flesh—still now, just still, all still. In front of the painting, as it moves: outside hushed, inside sparking.

It says: The Bayou, by Romare Bearden. Oh it fires. Oh it bursts. Oh it sings. It wiggles-squiggles-jiggles. What’s this? This one, this beautiful colorful heart-pull-full bird—never seen before, this bird, this specific bird, all color, all warmth. Close to flight. Close to light.

“It’s striking, isn’t it?”

Gasp. Breath. Heart. Heart alive. Heart stutter. Mouth stutter:

“What?”

Move—back and down, back down to earth. Down the eyes. Down, all the way down, to the child. The child is—is, impossible to say, what children are, how old children are, how real children are. But this child is—real, it seems, real as a warmth, uncorpsed, and all color in his blue adult-like suit, and the hair… Close to light.

“The painting,” he smiles, his teeth askew. “It’s my favorite. Is it also your favorite?”

“It’s being sold.”

“Yeah… I mean, yes.” Grimace. So much—grimace, humans, crumpling texture on layer, digging creases into cheek fat. Well fed. Round, dimpled and sweet, like a cratered moon hanging in the sky. “It’s not my mom’s favorite.”

The body reacts. Twitches. Clicks. Speaks:

“She put it in the auction?”

“Yes… Maybe it’s better like this, right?” That smile doesn’t have teeth, or truth. “Someone who likes it will have it now.”

“It’s a painting.” Eyes on eyes. “Nobody can have it.”

The child is real, isn't he? He frowns, he hm-hms, he thinks a bubbling thought, and he—suddenly, he dares, he, he—raises his child’s hand, alight, aflight, and he—touches.

Hand on the painting.

“That’s true,” he says, as if it was true for him too. “Especially the bird.”

Eyes on the bird. Eyes on the child’s hand, its plumpness, its softness when it skims the bird—line by line, a slow knowing.

“Hey, what’s your name?” the child says again, looking up.

Breath. Heart. Heart stutter. Mouth stutter. Quick. Find something. Quicker. Name—no, numbers—lies. Quick now—eyes on the painting. Oh how it moves and fires and bursts and sings and springs. This is where. Soul on the painting. Name on the painting.

“I...”

I? I? I?

“Daniel!” a voice, a hiss. The child jumps back. At the end of the corridor, a woman—a shadow in all-white. “Stop bothering the help and come here.”

Look. Look down. Eyes on eyes. No smile now, and not much light.

“I gotta go back,” the child says, and that is true for you too.

[r1nkratmoved]

it’s wip waturday everybody!! Tagged by @hadrassians :] thank youuuu

I don’t have anything new since I’ve been art blocked and sick :( we have a timed palette/new brush experiment, shark brows and big teeth, reverse yassification, and a bday dawn (+ bonus ofc)

No pressure tagging @eydika @punkranger @askweisswolf @kittlesandbugs @the-rebel-archivist <3

[z0mbie1uvr]

thanks @avalonjoan for tagging me! these are all aftg and mainly all kevin centric. these are mostly unnamed wips living in my notes app. these are all working titles btw will most definitely change.

ten minutes - kevin gets roofied at edens on an weekend out with the monsters (this takes place before canon events) mainly takes place the morning after.

migraine - kevin has to call andrew to pick him up in the middle of class because he ignored the signs of a migraine and stubbornly went to class anyways.

for valentine’s day i give you the stomach flu! - multichapter kandreil fic (takes place the week of valentine’s day, but will definitely not get posted then. it’s gonna be a late valentine’s day gift ig) neil is patient zero, then kevin, and then andrew (order could change though). each chapter is a focus on each of them being sick.

kevin gets appendicitis - kevin wakes up sick with stomach pain, they all think he’s just unwell until the pain and sickness becomes unbearable.

mmmmm tagging @nanatsuyu

[slightlynightowl]

I suppose we changed too quickly

like leaves in autumn, we were bright before we died.

[sea-hake]

[r1nkratmoved]

wip whenever // tagged by @kittlesandbugs and so Many More

tagging @punkranger @hadrassians @eydika @mihqorio and You reading this 👈 if you feel so inclined

It wouldn’t be a me post if I didn’t bully danny (lovingly)

[r1nkratmoved]

wip waturday… tagged by @eydika <3

no pressure tag @mihqorio @hadrassians @kittlesandbugs @punkranger @camillathe6th

‘stop drawing (elbow up) portraits’ no ❤️

🙂‍↕️👍

[camillathe6th]

WIP Wednesday(!!!)

@glitchy-npc very very nicely tagged me for a WIP, thank you so much for thinking of me 🫶🫶 and LOOK, it's actually Wednesday this time, I'm nailing this shit.

Anyway, my next chapter is a conversation about telepathy and names and interpretation between Romare (they/them) and Daniel, and these are the only lines that make sense as of now (curse commute and putting stuff in my notes without being able to write them in full, I hate having ongoing wips.) Most importantly, I'll tag @punkranger, @kittlesandbugs, @the-rebel-archivist of course, and @westealtoys, @wonda-fhr, @silvery-bluish, @ladyshivs, and @thenightdayblogger if you feel like sharing something (from any source by the way, doesn't have to be FHR). And anyone else who wants to, too!

WIP.

“But it’s not the same, right?” I ask, breathing too fast now. Leg day sucks. “Between digging into one’s mind and the foreground thoughts…”

“Surface thoughts.” Just a glance, tinged brown-honey in the smog-sun. Do they feel it too, this sudden vertigo, this falling sky, when our eyes meet, and meet and meld? “That’s what I call them.”

“Surface thoughts,” I hold their gaze, and the gaze skitters away, scorched golden. Maybe they do. “I like that. Impulses and masks. Something to peel back.”

“You’re wrong,” they say, as they usually say, knowing I’m not wrong. “There’s nothing to peel back. Surface thoughts are as true as they get, and then they get muddled with consciousness and justification and all that bullshit. What you get if you dig is not the self, but what people try to verbalize to better shy away from themself.”

“Do you think so? Impulse is not truth. Neither is thought.”

Just in time, I dodge their treacherous leg, a trip-up away from having to start from the top; behind the dark lenses, they watch me hard, crouched low against the wall: a breath away from attack, a clench away from heat.  

“Go faster,” they order, slash as a whip.

“Of course, Rom,” I grin, jumping the rope faster. “Punishment is sweet.”

Quick, before it slips, they catch their smiling back, and give me a glare instead. Dirty little shit (not my thought).

“I hit you that first day,” they fling, keen on bruising. “That was impulse. That was the truth.”

“And then you held your hand out to help me up,” I catch, unscathed. “Also the truth.”

“What, are you nature versus nurture-ing me right now?”

“No.” The rope hits the ground, under my feet, one, two, three, one, two, three. “I don’t think violence is nature. I don’t think connection is nurture.”

“Oh, please! Shut up.”

“Right…,” I smile, my mind a simmer, their mind its burning. “Because I’m wrong?”