WIP Week is a week dedicated to updating fanfic or other types of fanworks. All fandoms are welcome to participate. Original works are also accepted. Please tag your entries with the #wipweek or #wip week tag. Since multiple fandoms and ships are participating, please clearly list the fandoms, ships, and content warnings in the post so that they can be properly tagged for any potential readers.
The second WIP Week of 2026 will be held June 21-27.
Each day will have a theme, but you do not have to post every day. You are also not obligated to follow these themes. You can work on one fic or fanwork for the entire week if you choose. If you’re not comfortable posting full updates but still want to participate in the week, you can post your daily word count and/or a small snippet from your work. The use of AI is prohibited.
Here are the prompts for WIP Week:
June 21: Your Oldest WIP
June 22: A WIP From Your Smallest Fandom
June 23: Your WIP Closest To Completion
June 24: Your Favorite WIP
June 25: A WIP From Your Largest Fandom
June 26: Your Newest WIP
June 27: Any WIP
You can post completed/updated fanworks to the official WIP Week AO3 Collection!
Late again! Didn't have time to breath yesterday. My unpublished WIP is Perfect Match. The idea struck me back in 2024 and I'm still developing this idea and writing the first chapter. I intend to post as soon as I've at least 5 chapters ready. I'm currently working on chapter 3.
It's a soulmate story that strikes a question. What if someone you already loves isn't your perfect match. Can a test determine who is your perfect match. Thrawn isn't Arihnda Perfect Match, their compatibility is laughable, but he isn't having any of that bullshit.
PERFECT MATCH | A Thrawn x Arihnda Pryce story
Summary: A new matchmaking service becomes a trend in the Core Worlds. It promises to bind anyone to their soulmate combining science and matchmaking. Through them, even the annoying and stuck-up Orson Krennic has met his perfect match. Surely, Governor Pryce can’t be the only one left out. It’s just a pity that the only person she’s interested in is not even remotely close to be her match.
I still haven't gotten around to make a gif of my own or any edits for this story, so I'll use this one from the incredibly talented @myevilmouse because this one is funny and is close related to Ari's feelings in this story.
Here goes a little excerpt of chapter 1 - 32%
“And how did you convince them to give Lothal the budget?” He doesn’t give it much thought, but something tells him she would be in a worse mood if she didn’t get it. “I take it you got the budget.”
She flashes a bright smile at him.
“Well, of course. The data we put together is good.” Smugness doesn’t really sit well with him, but he’s in a good mood and can make little concessions—he’s learned he’s always making concessions when Arihnda is concerned. And they do work well together, after all. “That with my speech convinced them that Lothal is a safe investment. Although…” she seems reticent at first, but then shrugs and adds, “Tarkin seems to favor you, that may have played a part as well.”
He's a… cordial relationship with the Grand Moff. But that’s as far as it goes.
“Tarkin doesn’t play favorites,” he comments. He has to, if he wants the conversation to keep going. She seems to love talking about politics and people involved in those political games. And even though he cares very little for it, he can indulge once in a while.
“He usually doesn’t, but when it does benefit him, he plays favorites just alright.”
She shivers. For a moment, he wonders if the air around them is getting chillier. But she shakes her head and focuses her attention back on him. He can’t help but notice how the lines around her mouth became tenser just a moment ago as she spoke about Tarkin.
Thrawn knows she’s no stranger to dealing with Tarkin. That’s how she managed to get the Grand Moff to give him and Vanto a career boast years ago. To this day, he doesn’t know how she did it.
He files this information for later research and for a future—he hopes—conversation.
“Krennic doesn’t like you, but he doesn’t like Tarkin either. The sentiment is mutual from what I could see today.”
“The enemy of my enemy…” he muses.
“You are learning something, after all.”
He flashes her a sardonic smile. If Ar’alani could see him right now, she’d be proud of him.
“Still, we all work for the Empire. I do not think Tarkin would favor Lothal if our data wasn’t acceptable.”
She chuckles.
“People work for themselves,” she corrects him. “Tarkin especially. Sometimes his interests happen to align with those of the Empire.” There’s a frown on her face as she adds, “I see I still have a lot to teach you, Grand Admiral.”
It gives him some hope. It does seem to bode well to their future. To keep Arihnda on his side, if needed, he doesn’t mind always staying behind on the Empire politics.
He wonders what Ar’alani would say if she saw him now. The man who promised to study and master politics happy to remain oblivious if it kept him close to a human woman.
“I prefer to think that our private interests are not above those of the Empire.”
She shakes her head, as if he’s a lost cause.
“Suit yourself, Grand Admiral.”
For a moment, there’s silence between them. He wonders if she’s going to leave the airspeeder now—leave him. But she looks ahead and asks in a serious tone.
“What about you? Don’t you do anything for yourself?” Her voice is lower, which makes him ask himself if he didn’t make up the last bit, “For pleasure?”
Dash it, I do feel desperate but has it really come to this? Demelza thought as she steeled herself. There was nothing for it but to ring the bell.
Barely a moment had passed before the handsome–and massive–oak door that had withstood the centuries was yanked open by what must have been a strong arm.
To Demelza’s surprise, it was not a servant at the door but the very lady of Werry House herself. Whether it was her custom to answer doors and act the footman was hard to guess.
Tales had been spread round the neighbourhood that the Dowager Lady Constance Bodrugan was unusual in many ways. Twenty-one years her stepson’s junior, she was known, rather unflatteringly, to be hard-riding and hard-swearing. It seemed as though in the five years since her husband’s decease, she’d given up most genteel pretenses and preferred the company of dogs to people. It was also rumoured she smelled of them but in such wind Demelza had no way of confirming that. Nor did she have cause to judge anyone for outward appearances–or for the rumours that preceded them.
“Good lord! Tell me it isn’t that time?”
“Oh no, there’s some months to go,” Demelza began.
“Well my dear, you look a fright!” her hostess declared and ushered her into the dim hall. It was less a criticism and more an objective observation against which Demelza really could not begin to argue. In fact the bald honesty of that statement took her so off guard that for the first time in that whole wretched day, she felt as though she might laugh. Instead it came out a sputter of agreement and gratitude mixed into one gruff utterance.
“Pah!” She nodded as her coat was peeled from her without having been asked.
Now, my oldest wip would definitely be Champions Aren't Born. So, snippet from chapter 4 it is. c:
It had taken Ratchet and Jazz barely even three millicycle to arrive at the hallway Cliffjumper's ping had originated from. Apparently, that had still been enough for a crowd of noisy Autobots, hoping to gawk at the mysterious sparkling, to gather. There were roughly a dozen mecha forming a rough circle around a corner, pushing onto the tips of their pedes or even at each other in order to catch a glance at the corner. Though they were packed too tightly for the medic to actually see the object of their curiosity, he could only imagine it all too well. Cliffjumper's ranting only confirmed what he had already known.
"Hey afthole!" the red warrior was just spitting, shoving, from what Ratchet could gather from outside of the crowd, at the tall blue bot that had made the unfortunate mistake of attracting the frontliner's ire. "You're scaring the bitlet. So, I don't care about your rumour-mania. You better take your nosy exhaust pipe and frag off before I put it somewhere you will never find it again."
For once, Ratchet was inclined to agree with Cliffjumper's cholera. The last thing B needed right now was the attention of a horde of gossip hungry Autobots.
While Jazz stayed behind at a respectable distance to pass out instructions to onlookers and passers-by, Ratchet roughly elbowed his way through the crowd. A few of them turned around to complain about the rough treatment, but once they recognised their fuming CMO, they generally retreated. Sometimes, the medic noted with a grim sort of satisfaction, it paid to have a reputation.
Within two microcycle, the crowd had dispelled except for a few stragglers still receiving orders from Jazz, leaving behind only Cliffjumper, Jazz, Ratchet himself and B. The medic could have almost felt like smiling at the efficient dispersal of mecha, if it hadn't been for B.
Of Travellers and Thieves, Chapter One: In Too Deep
(ao3 Link)
Summary: Sometime in the 1800s, somewhere out west. Times are hard, and morals are for those who can still afford them. A hungry young girl has just stolen a horse a poor boy named Persephone, led by the same feeling that made him call his own mount Hermes.
Wip Week, 25th February: Your Previously Unpublished WIP
hadestown western time baybee lets go
Fandom: Hadestown
Relationships: Eurydice/Orpheus, Eurydice & Persephone, Hermes & Orpheus, Eurydice & The Workers, Orpheus & The Workers
Content Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Major Character Death
My oldest WIP that I am coming back to is Have You Noticed You Are Breathing
So here's a snippet from Ch9
“Morning Jamie. Sleep well?” Ted piped up from over by the sink.
“Fine, I don’t like whatever this is,” Jamie huffed.
“I have got no idea what you are talking about,” Ted’s smile remained plastered falsely all over his face, the conniving little bastard. Ever since this victim statement had been mentioned, Ted had been on the warpath trying to get Jamie to write it. Jamie did not want to write it and so they were at an impasse. First time it was Ted, then Roy half heartedly trying to convince him, now Beard. Jamie didn’t want to rehash every horrific childhood memory he had, sue him. “Coach often spends mornings over her and brought us all pastries,” Ted added.
“This is an ambush where you are using Beard’s traumatic childhood to make me feel bad about not wanting to give a full impact statement about all of the things that he has done to me and I repeat my earlier sentiment,” Jamie muttered, thumping down onto the chair and levering his cast up onto the chair across from him.
“Nope,” Beard sighed.
“Nope,” Ted chirped. “I realised that the people asking you to do this are people that you don’t want to know what is in that form. You must be worried that Roy or Keeley or I will hear or see what is in there and want to talk about it and break it down further,” Ted explained, placing a cup of coffee down in front of Jamie and pushing the pastries closer. Ted wasn’t wrong; Jamie didn’t want to do it because it would involve a stroll down memory lane that would feel like he was being chased by a serial killer, but also it would lead to the pitying stares that made Jamie’s spine tingle. “Beard doesn’t care in the slightest …”
“Couldn’t give a fuck.”
“… what you write about your dad. He isn’t going to judge you or pity you or want to ever talk about this again.”
“I am perfectly happy to never talk to you again,” Beard contributed, staring at Jamie until Jamie was forced to look away down at the table.
“I don’t understand you,” Jamie muttered.
“Good.”
Final post today for @wipweek, and now I'm officially back on track. I updated my Naruto/Inuyasha crossover fic, wherein a reincarnated Kagome adopts Naruto as her younger brother, assuming he's half-demon. Misunderstandings and shenanigans ensue. Tomorrow is more Sasuke and the Baby!
