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.
and taggin’ (with absolutely no pressure): @socially-awkward-skeleton, @strangefable, @noetikat, @natesofrellis, @sstewyhosseini, @aceghosts, @purplehairsecretlair, @confidentandgood, @gaeadene, @harmonyowl, @deputyash, @thomrainer, @funkypoacher, and anyone else wanting to share the most recent line(s) of their work(s)
So, one night Jane and Darcy are a bit drunk and start trying to figure out which Avenger is what Disney character.
"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."
FRIDAY doesn't say anything; she just turns up the volume.
this is still super rough but here's a little taste of peggie syb :)
“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.
Applying a little more pressure and twisting the blade, she leans in, crowding his space. “You're lucky I didn't take it clean off,” she says, her voice low and threatening. “Now, listen carefully, because I’m not going to repeat myself. Are you listening?”
He nods, swallowing thickly.
“When you question my authority, you’re questioning Jacob’s. Are you questioning Jacob’s authority?”
“No.”
She gives the knife another twist and relishes at his pained hiss. “No, what?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Good. Because let me make something perfectly clear. You may be Chosen, and that is a wonderful, glorious honor,” she says. “But I am Favored. Jacob gave you purpose, just as he did to me. You are in your rightful place, as I am in mine. This is the will of the Father. Do you understand?”
“Yes…Yes, ma’am.”
“Good.” She pulls her knife from his hand and casually wipes the blood onto her jeans. Wyatt snatches his hand from the desk, cradling it and applying pressure with the uninjured one.
Sybille eases herself back into her chair and gives him a nod. “Now, go get that taken care of. I’m pulling you from your patrols until that injury doesn’t affect your ability to shoot. Until then, you’re cleaning the latrines. Understood?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he says, but he doesn’t move, not even when she returns her attention to the battle plans in front of her. A good soldier is obedient. A good soldier waits for a formal dismissal.
She smiles and motions for him to hurry up and leave. “Dismissed.”
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.
“But Joe is,” he counters, because that was the point of sharing the story. Not his own festering guilt. “You’re family. And after all the effort he went through getting us back, he isn’t just going to throw us away.”
(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
Charlie Cutter has a crush.
Once upon a time in Italy, Chloe introduced him to the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on. She was small and petite -- five-foot-two and a hundred and twenty pounds soaking wet -- and she had the temperament of a wet cat. Though now that he thinks about it, that might have had something to do with the fact that it was storming when they first met, and she didn’t have an umbrella.
They stood in an empty church, dripping onto the marble floors. Her hair had clung to her face, her dark curls weighed down by the amount of water soaked into her locks. The expression she wore had been severe, but as Sam kept talking, her scowl only deepened. “Enough,” she had said, moving her hand in a slicing motion, cutting Drake off. “I only listened to you out of professional courtesy to Signorina Ross. You wish for me to restore or appraise an artifact? I will do that. You ask me to help steal one? I will not. I do this for the history, not the money. Prove to me you care about that, then maybe I reconsider.”
Sam and Chloe shared a defeated look, their shoulders slumping as they exchanged twin grimaces. They were both good smooth talkers, but when it came down to it, their love for adventure and money always outweighed their interest in historical preservation. You couldn’t cheat an honest woman, let alone a stubborn one.
But Charlie -- Charlie, who cares about the history as much as the adventure; Charlie, who took the time to do a bit more research into the actual artifact and significance of it on his own time; Charlie, whose intellect was constantly underestimated -- took the honest approach.
He told her everything he had learned about the piece: its origins, its history, the stories of the lives of the people who owned it for the past three-hundred years. He told her of the kindly old lady he’d met during the research process who told him it belonged in her family before the Nazi’s took it from them, and all she wants is for it to just be out of the hands of the private collector hoarding away stolen wealth. “The thing is already stolen, miss,” he had concluded. “We just want to get it back.”
She looked at him for a long moment, her dark eyes narrowing as she searched him for any amount of insincerity. And then something in her demeanor shifted. Her expression softened and her shoulders relaxed. With a humph, she turned her attention back to Chloe. “Maybe I reconsider,” she said. “Signora Frazer and this gentleman here. Lunch. Tomorrow. Piazza Manfredo Fanti. We will talk there.”
And had she not pointed directly at him, he wouldn’t have realized that he was the “gentleman” she was referring to. Bald head, crooked nose, he knew he had the kind of face people were scared of. Leaning into that was how he made a name for himself in this business. But as Chloe sighed in relief and Sam turned to shoot him a confused look, little butterflies fluttered in his stomach. Charlie Cutter has been called many things, and “gentleman” usually wasn’t one of them.
They had walked out of that church with not quite what they had hoped for. But they had a glimmer of opportunity, and that was better than nothing. “That was a good save, Charlie,” Chloe had told him, and to this day, Sam still teases him about being called a “gentleman.”
This was the night Charlie Cutter met Signora Paola Orsini. He’s been smitten with her ever since.
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?”
and here’s a brief dialogue exchange (that’s part of a much longer conversation) between Rook and Jacob via radio from ch. 5 that i’m pretty pleased with:
“I already told you. You let me get these kids outta here, and I’ll do whatever the fuck you want.”
Jacob hums happily and she can hear the smile in his voice. “A dangerously tempting offer, Deputy. One that I will eagerly take and hold you to.”
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.
and taggin’ @schoute, @poeti-kat, @aceghosts, @harmonyowl, @thomrainer, @funkypoacher and anyone/everyone else wantin’ to show off their most recent work!
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.
The door flies open and Jacob curses as he very nearly blows the head off one of his Chosen.
