#ashintheairlikesnow
Rules: Post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them and then post a little snippet of it or tell them something about it! and then tag as many people as you have WIPs.
tagged by @hold-him-down
WIPS (in no order and with no context):
- The clinic 2
- AUDEN 2
- Untitled document
- Untitled document
- [REDACTED BECAUSE OH GOD THIS TITLE IS A BIG SPOILER LOL]
- Prison shit
- [oops nope can’t post that, that’s a huge spoiler too]
- Training
- 1d1r first client
Tagging:@pumpkin-spice-whump@quietly-by-myself@wolfeyedwitch@whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump@thecyrulik@winedark-whump@orchidscript@maracujatangerine@card-games-and-pain
WIP (that I can still find and don’t include school stuffs) Pile:
- Mafia Madness Series (NEED A NAME)
- Cassius in Bathtub pt.2
- Micheal Gets Collared
- tumbl requests I should really do
- no words that I’ve written (fanfic)
- hell angst
- Marco Comes Home pt.4
- this lonely barricade doc
- Micheal + Marco court
- Unstoppable Forces doc
I’ll tag @whumpiary@ashintheairlikesnow@yet-another-heathen@redstainedsocks@wildfaewhump
Oh damn. Hmmmm.
- Untitled (Chris)
- Untitled (Antoni)
- Snitches Get Stitches
- Family Business
- Vendetta
- Fishy Fishy Fish Fish (look, don’t judge me)
- Rite of Passage (Paul Higgs)
- Kidnapping
- Kidnapping 2
- Assassination
- She Calls This Love
- Jameson and Allyn Doin’ It (oh my god I shouldn’t share these titles)
- Dannate Spice
- Too Much Brand New Again
- Jakauri Fix
- Don’t Go Out There
- Burn It All Down
- A Good Boy
- Run
Tagging@orchidscript@clockworkgalaxies@pretty-face-breaker@straight-to-the-pain
Am i the only one that titles nothing in my wips? and if it has a title it’s an acronym? (thanks for the tag @ashintheairlikesnow! you are so orderly!)
- untitled document
- untitled document
- untitled document
- Jamison drabble unfinished
- THWTLK brainstorm
- unfinished vys drabble (yes thats the title, bc its unfinished)
- untitled document
- dray commission ref sheet
etc etc etc. I don’t title anything, maybe that’s why i can’t ever find the right doc lol
CW: Referenced hand whump, kidnapped, recaptured whumpee, beatings, blood, ptsd/trauma flashback, creepy whumper
The Same Bed: Part One: Jake|Part Two: Krista|Part Three: Chris|Part Four: Vincent|Part Five: Antoni|Interlude | Part Six: Nat
-
The car rumbles under Nat’s feet, a slight soft vibration that comes right up through the bare soles and travels up her legs. She flexes her toes a little, enjoying this one piece of free movement that she isn’t allowed in any other way.
Her heart beats, under the weight of flannel and cotton, as steady as she can make it, which isn’t to say she isn’t shaking or that her pulse doesn’t race. There’s only so much she can do to stop those automatic responses to her situation.
Nat’s fingers have gone numb behind her back, pressed between her spine and the slight cushiony softness of the backseat. Sharp-edged plastic digs in along the little rounded bone on her wrist on one side, then the other, as she tries to shift and find a more comfortable position. She forces herself to move, to stretch fingers out and then rub them against the leather. They tingle, painfully, but the seats are soft as lambswool, probably custom and cost more than Nat’s entire truck is worth.
Jameson’s head is heavy against her shoulder, but she doesn’t try to ask him to sit up or to move. She knows his skin is tacky with blood by now, and for her it’s enough just to hear the steady inhale and exhale that proves he’s at least still breathing.
Hehas to keep breathing.
The blindfold bites against her nose and cheekbones, digging in so tightly she’ll be marked with red if Owen Grant ever takes it off. So far, they just… drive. They have to have left Berras - he’s driven for so long and without taking any turns that would suggest he was just trying to get her lost in her own city, the place she knows best.
No… no. She isn’t that lucky, not this time.
Owen, in his smooth shining luxury car, is leaving Berras and taking them somewhere else. Nat thinks she knows where he’s going, and that makes the cold pulse of fear inside her deepen. The farther they go, the less she can promise that the only thing she could think of - with Owen screaming and a gun in her face - will actually work.
Jameson coughs, a heavy rasping sound - the first noise he’s made in at least an hour. She thinks. Without the ability to see, without knowing where she is or where he is going, she has no idea how long she’s even been in this car.
It had been, what, eight-thirty when Owen Grant showed up at the front door? Something in the heavy weight of exhaustion in her mind makes her think it’s midnight by now, or even later. Where are they going?
You know where, Nat’s mind whispers to her.
The Same Bed: Antoni
CW: Burning, beating, some derogatory language, ptsd, references to murder
Part One: Jake|Part Two: Krista|Part Three: Chris |Part Four: Vincent
-
The sun is setting as Antoni pushes the shopping cart out of the store, throwing a kind of golden haze over the dozen or so cars in the parking lot. The water in the bay will be glittering, he thinks, appearing streaked with reddish gold. To the north, the sky is turning orange, the legacy of wildfires up in the canyons far from Berras, fires that won’t stop burning.
If he stops, he can smell smoke in the air, just a little.
The fires aren’t coming south, they say, but it doesn’t matter. Antoni’s carefully rebuilt life is on fire without their help. The people he loves are being set aflame and he can’t do anything but offer to go buy groceries while Jake holds a shaking, sobbing Kauri and the new one, Rafael, tries to talk to a nearly-silent, perfectly-still Chris.
Heat sticks his shirt to his shoulder blades, makes his scars itch all over his arms and his torso, has the dark brown curls at the nape of his neck tickling his skin. He wears long sleeves no matter the season, but that gets its own kind of unwelcome attention in blistering dry heat like this.
One wheel on his cart sticks and he has to constantly course-correct, pulling the cart back slightly and then pushing forward again, bumping off the walkway into the pavement. The cart rattles, the plastic rustles, and Antoni is going to lose his mind with the anger he can do nothing about.
A woman with a little girl holding her hand walks past him, the little girl singing something vaguely familiar. They look at him - and whatever the woman sees in his face, she tightens her grip and hurries the girl along.
Jake’s ancient car doesn’t unlock from a key fob, and Antoni has to feed the key into the lock on the trunk physically to get it open. The trunk groans in protest, but Antoni pushes it up anyway, and feels a brief burst of something like delight when it stays up instead of trying to crash back down on his head like usual.
The trunk is huge, at least, and there’s plenty of space for everything he needs to put in there. Chris’s favorite cereals and some chocolate nutrition shakes - he stops eating when he’s like this, unless you force him to, and then what he can eat narrows to a tiny sliver of options. Antoni did his best - the cereal and the shakes, the frozen chicken nuggets and french fries, loaves of plain white bread - that’s all for Chris, to coax food into him when his body is too frightened for anything but whatever it reads as safe.
He has cat food and litter for Krista’s little old man Pepperjack, too, while she stays with them for a few days. Jake’s called some people to check her apartment over and change the locks, but Antoni thinks Krista will move, soon, anyway. Her lease is almost up and she won’t feel safe in that space any longer.
Even if she wasn’t the actual target.
His chest twists in anger and nerves, but Antoni is solid, and he is quiet, and he loads the bags without allowing his anger to take root. They’ll deal with it all as it comes, like they always have. Antoni will handle it, if he can, and let the rest of them heal themselves with contact and touch and soft words.
Antoni will handle the other things, the things that would make them have to leave the safety of their home.
Above him, the light has dimmed enough that the big streetlights in the parking lot click on, and a low soft buzzing sound settles under the calls of birds and distant human voices, the rumble of traffic down the highway.
If it weren’t for the slight scent of smoke that prickles across every visible centimeter of skin, it would be a lovely night.
He drops the last bag inside and slams the trunk door shut so it’ll catch, turning to push the shopping cart to the little cart corral on the next row, about ten spots down. He’s vaguely aware of another car door opening, clicking shut quietly, but the rattling of the wheels and metal of the cart mostly cover up the sound of footsteps behind him.
He pushes the cart into the corral, watching it crash against the back and come to a rough stop. He exhales, sticking one hand in his pocket to pull Jake’s keys back out.
And then there’s something immensely, awfully familiar shoved against the small of his back. Antoni tenses, spine ramrod-straight, and the solid muzzle of the gun - that’s what it is, he’s had guns pushed against every part of him with Mr. Davies, knows the feel of a gun more intimately than any kiss - pushes harder, bruising through his shirt.
“Walk,” The owner of the gun says softly.
Antoni hears the safety click off.
He walks.
KILL HIS ASS ANTONI
