#-tosses it into the WIP pile-

[asheanon]

I am so in love with this WIP and can only pray I'm just as in love with it when it is no longer a WIP. 🎨💙

#🌠 Ashe Anon | Art 🎨 #🌠 Ashe Anon | Starlight ✨ #🌌🌹💜 #Kuja 🪶🌹 #Sal 🌌🎹 #filling the void 🌌 #with #yet another WIP #-tosses it into the WIP pile- #and here come the tags...! #ff9 #ffix #final fantasy 9 #final fantasy ix #kuja #oc #oc x canon #wip #work in progress

[malenchka]

traumatized knife wielding child is such an iconic flavor and chara was the og fr

#REALLY wanna try drawing an older chara #never done that i dont think and its needed #*tosses on wip pile* #undertale #chara #myart

[arkaluca]

Let’s Go, Diego changed a lot 🏞️😳🌄

#doodles #beefy boys #tears of the kingdom #legend of Zelda #totk #tauro #banishing this from wip purgatory im tired of sitting on these with other ideas piling on that i want to add on so here *rat tosses art*

[cherryxblossxms]

I got to thinking about the Enchanted Pudding card in Obey Me. It was so interesting to see how overwhelmed Barbatos got when he noticed MC's pheromones that he just runs out of the room, totally flustered, and of course, I just had to get to thinking about breaking his usual calm collectedness like that again hehe <3

So now I'm thinking of teasing Barbatos by eating the pudding when you know you'll be around him, perhaps even before a little tea date with just him. He's so overwhelmed with your scent, he's doing his best to remember he's a butler to the Crown Prince of the Devildom, he has a reputation to maintain and protect. Not to mention he's a gentleman. He may have once been a wild demon, but he's worked to control himself, not give in to base impulses. But it's taking everything in him to not toss his teacup aside and just jump you on the couch and ravage you like his [inner?] demon wants. And by the look in your eyes and the teasing smile on your face, you know full well what an impact you're making on him. Not to mention your unabashed glances at the tent in his pants.

If you really want to turn up the heat, and because I've been in the mood for some soft domming content, maybe even tying Barbatos up with some lovely ropework and eating the Enchanted Pudding. So instead he's left desperate, surrounded by your scent, but unable to do anything about it. Of course, if he really truly wanted to, he could break the ropes or use his magic to solve the issue. But that's not nearly as fun, and he wants to make you happy and follow your requests as best he can. So you're just left teasing him, maybe playing with yourself in front of his as he's left to watch and suffer, grinding against his thigh or even his cock as he bucks his hips against you, because he wants nothing more than to finally bury himself inside you. But never giving him the satisfaction... at least, not right away. 💜

#obey me barbatos #barbatos smut #obey me shall we date #obey me smut #another idea to toss onto the wip pile #i prob got the pudding name wrong but i cant be bothered to open the game to check rn

[jmflowers]

Febricity (noun: the quality or state of being feverish)

Maya runs hot for a week after the explosion.

She sputters awake from the nightmares gasping, rasping like there’s still smoke in her lungs. She grabs at her face to remove a mask that isn’t there and claws her way to the edge of the bed like the floor is a life raft. A buoy. A way to stop drowning.

She feels like she’s drowning.

The sheets, abandoned in her wake, are soaked with sweat – night after night, just the same. So, she showers, the water as cold as ice, and closes her eyes lest she see steam rising from her skin. She strips the bed. Turns on the washing machine. Starts over.

Pretends everything is normal.

Nothing is normal.

She can still feel the blast. A wall of fire, headed straight towards her. She remembers the thud of her body, the uncomfortable jolt of her oxygen tank hitting the ground a second before she did. The crumple. The smoke. The smell.

Andy, beside her.

It does nothing to quell the hurt, remembering. Like kindling, it catches and ignites and it spreads until she’s engulfed by it on all sides. The hot heat of fire. The sharp sting of loss. The unbearable burden of grief.

She goes back to work and lifts her chin when the feelings get louder. When they threaten to consume her completely. When she knows she’s one wrong move away from being swallowed whole.

#minefic #from the pile of wips that deserve more attention #tossing this into the prompt party cause it's a vibe even if i never explore it further #that word man... that word #prompt party #station 19 fanfiction #i don't suppose this deserves the maya x carina fic tag #angsty yo

[cavsthighs]

pete is obviously team bike/bedroom domestique after seeing those pics. a fact i always knew deep down really. but i bet after years of being vehemently opposed to the practice g would end up really enjoying also doing this

#g when its suggested he go relax with peter. (just talks to him/interrogates him about This and are you sure you like doing this????? etc) #g several years later high on domestiquing duties: *suddenly and viscerally Gets It* #you know some day i will actually write this. tosses it careleslly onto the heap of wips piling up behind me like dirty dishes.

[charlottepuddingsama]

ZS college au or sthn where someone’s trying to get Sanji’s attention by making him jealous (“You literally do not need to do that. You’re a girl, you can just directly talk to him and he will bend to your whims” “No! I want him to treat me special! Not like all the other girls he coos after! This will do that!” “You’re literally insane.”) so Nameless Chick starts hanging off of Zoro bc who doesn’t love to steal a girl out from under your rival and it does work to make Sanji jealous but back fires bc she stumbles on Sanji with Zoro cornered demanding to be the only one allowed to be that close followed by a Very graphic makeout that Chick has to withdraw from spying on for the sake of her own innocence

#zosan #zoro #sanji #*tosses this on my teetering pile of wips*

[ronearoundblindly]

Ro!!!!!!!

Lone time no see my friend💕💕💕

Wish everything doing well. Love ya 🫶🫶🫶

Just share some thought for you.

What if the skinny Stevie is a weakening god? What if he could use the painting to collect soul? And he use the one to find his bride. A beautiful woman stands in the center of flower field, you can't see her face but when you look at this painting, you have a strong feeling

You have to buy this one.

And after days, you found there's a new man standes beside the woman, and he looks like Steve, what kind of god you think he would be?

ooooo, I'm getting strong Beauty and the Beast vibes from this.

SO what if Steve actually painted the work meant to draw in his bride hundreds of years ago, and while he waited--and waited and waited--he became more bitter and tortured and stopped painting beautiful things. He didn't care anymore...

...to the point of being the only artist willing to look upon Red Skull's real face and paint him in the 1940s ::big squee:: tossing in that history lol...

...until finally, you see the painting and are properly drawn in as his bride. You have to find the true Steve beneath all that anger and loneliness while he slowly remembers why he wanted love in the first place.

oh this. is. happening.

I've still got several days of hell week left, but I wanted to thank you in advance because I LOVE where this could go!

#ro answers #fic ideas #too many wips #toss it on the pile #shuffle them around like a deck of cards #and them immediately go play an entirely different game #yeah that's how i roll #no but seriously #i love this and will do this #steve rogers x reader #skinny!steve

[etherealvoidechoes]

Well to try and cheer myself up over some crappy news(let go from main contract job), here's a sneak peek to one new faction I mentioned awhile back.

Little thumbnail to a painting I want to do.

Chemical warfare baby.

#wip #tosses onto the pile of five billion wips.... that I may be able to chip at soon T.T #xcom #xcom 2 #xcom faction #art #jaart #my art

[voregeoise]

Thinking about.... sea snake Naga pred.

#appetizers #tosses new wip onto the pile

[betweenbreaths]

doctor's orders (WIP)

Fandom: Love and Deepspace

Characters: Zayne x Reader

Summary: Zayne is surprisingly obedient as a patient when it’s your turn to play doctor. 

Rating: E (M for this snippet though)

A/N: Posting this WIP first because I think it'll take me a while to write the full thing. :")

++++++

He’s terribly late. 

It’s almost midnight now, almost 12 hours past the time he was supposed to have you over at his place for lunch and a home movie date. He had already prepared everything perfectly, from the food, to the table setting, to the extra blankets on the couch (only because you liked to snuggle). And then you had arrived right on time, and everything was going perfectly.

That is, until his work phone rang and he received an alert that one of his patients had to undergo surgery immediately. 

You hadn’t looked fazed when he filled you in on the situation; after all, it was hardly the first time he had been whisked away from a date for unexpected work emergencies. You had told him before that you didn’t mind; saving lives came first and you’d have done the same if you were notified of wanderers in the area.

So he’d left promptly, promising to be back as soon as he could.

And now, twelve hours later, he has finally returned to the front door of his apartment, with a bouquet of flowers he’d picked up along the way as an apology. Zayne had texted you earlier to ask if you had already left, and you’d said that you would stay and wait for him, and that there was no hurry. 

He sees your shoes still neatly placed outside, and yet another pang of guilt hits him. He just hopes you’re not too upset. He’ll have to make it up to you somehow. 

As Zayne opens the door and steps in, he calls your name. 

Silence. No response. 

That… must be a bad sign. Either that, or you fell asleep somewhere. Certainly not in the living room, because there’s no trace of you other than the crumpled blankets and the remote control tossed to the corner of the couch. 

He shrugs off his coat, leaving it on one of the chairs by the dining table and peers around, wondering where you’d gone. Instinctively he heads straight towards his bedroom — you might be taking a nap there.

He knocks lightly on the closed door before opening it carefully, slowly, in case he wakes you. Then he hears you call his name. The tone in your voice isn’t one of anger or disappointment. 

In fact, it’s the opposite. You sound… mischievous, playful. Even a little naughty. 

Almost like you’d planned something completely unexpected for him, and you’d been waiting for him to come in, like a predator waiting for prey to fall into its trap. 

And when he steps in, Zayne all but forgets to breathe.

++++++

Leaving you alone in his apartment for twelve hours had left you with plenty of time to devise a surprise for your boyfriend. Your spark of inspiration came when you decided you’d do the poor man a favour and sort out his laundry for him since he can’t even afford the time to eat the lunch he’d so painstakingly prepared for that afternoon. 

And when you came across the freshly washed spare doctor’s coat in the pile of clean clothes, you were immediately drawn to it like a moth to a flame. You ran your fingers over the thick, wrinkled fabric, a smile playing on your lips when you think about how far he’s come in his career.

And when you put it on, the scent of detergent and warmth enveloping you, an idea so brilliant, so devious, popped into your head. 

After all, you’d already come over to his home already prepared with a new set of black lacy lingerie for him to tear off of you, and this coat would go perfectly with it. 

The look on Zayne’s face when he steps into his bedroom and his eyes fall on you is absolutely delightful. You see a myriad of emotions flicker in his eyes: confusion, surprise, bewilderment…

And then his gaze becomes hungry. Sinful. Heat pools in your centre as his gaze falls on your body, examining every single inch of you. You can already tell from his dilated pupils that in his mind, he’s ravaging you, kissing you senseless and tasting every drop of you, and god you can already anticipate how rough he’s going to be with you when you let him have his way. 

But first, you’re going to have some fun with this.

Zayne approaches the bed, each footstep almost echoing in your ears and mirroring your accelerating heartbeat and you prop yourself up on your elbows, clicking your tongue and shaking your head at the man. 

“You’re late for your appointment, Zayne. I’m almost off my shift now.” 

“I apologise. I was held up at work because of an emergency.” 

“I wish you would prioritise your health the way you do with your work.” 

Your lips curl into a knowing smile, and so does his, although his smile looks a little more defeated. 

“Using my words against me now?” 

“Maybe. But I don’t have time for small talk. I’m supposed to have a date with my boyfriend and he’s waiting for me at home, so let’s make this quick.” 

Zayne cocks an eyebrow but says nothing as you sit up and tap the empty spot next to you on the bed. 

“Lie down. We need to do a routine examination.” 

Surprisingly, Zayne does as he’s told without protest. You feel the bed dip with his weight when he sits down, and you swallow nervously when he stares at you up close, eyes darting down towards your lips and raking down your figure. His gaze is smouldering and you feel your cheeks warm as the corner of his lips turn up. 

“Like what you see?” you can’t resist the urge to ask. 

“It would be more appropriate to ask your boyfriend that, Doctor.” 

Right, right. 

You clear your throat, trying to get back into the roleplay. With Zayne now lying comfortably on the bed, you scooch over, placing your hand over his chest. 

“Checking for my pulse? Where’s your stethoscope?” 

You roll your eyes at him. “I don’t need one to know that your heart is racing right now. Do you feel uncomfortable? Any chest pains?” 

“Yes, it does hurt a little.” 

“Where?” You experimentally press on his left pec. “Here?” You shift your hand downward slightly. “Or here?” 

“No.” Zayne grabs your wrist then, and without warning, pulls you down with a hard tug. You lose your balance, falling straight towards him and you barely manage to stop yourself from giving him a headbutt when your left hand plants itself into the mattress right by his face. 

In this position, you’re now mere inches away from his lips, and his piercing gaze doesn’t leave your eyes as he re-positions your right hand on his chest. 

“Here.” You feel his strong heartbeat beneath your fingers, and the warmth of his breath fanning across your face. Just a little closer and you’ll be able to taste his lips and lose yourself in his passionate, fiery kisses. 

He’s clearly thinking the same thing as you, eyes falling to your parted lips. He sucks in a sharp breath when your tongue wets your lips — a habit of yours when you’re nervous. And then you feel his free hand come up to rest on the nape of your neck to pull you in, closer and closer to him. 

It’d be so tempting to just give up now, to let him have his way with you and to get that quality time and intimacy you’ve been craving all day now. In fact, you’ve been waiting a whole week for this, because lately Zayne has been too busy and today was the only day you could squeeze in a precious date with him. 

But that’s also the reason why you want to enjoy this to the fullest. After all, it’s not often that Zayne is so indulgent with you in bed. 

At the last second, you regain your senses and place your right hand over his mouth, putting an unceremonious halt to his attempt to kiss you. His lips graze the surface of your palm and that’s enough to make goosebumps rise on your arms. 

“If your chest hurts, let’s take a closer look, shall we? I’ll need you to take your shirt off.”

#love and deepspace #zayne #lnds #lds #lnds zayne #zayne x reader #my writing #love and deepspace zayne

[wildemaven]

had me fooled | dave york

-> pairing: dave york x f!reader

-> word count: 1405

-> content warnings: 18+ blog; mentions of alcohol, reader is mentioned wearing heels and a dress, mainly fluff, Dave and Carol are divorced, established relationship, soft Dave, if Dave is a murdering man— we know nothing about it, zero descriptive information about reader, please let me know if I forgot anything

-> notes: this was written on minimal sleep and like 3 hours, so I apologize for how rushed and lacking in all areas it might be. I just wanted to get it done before the new year so it wasn’t glaring at me from my wip pile. It’s not beta’d in the slightest, so all mistakes are my own.

-> holi-dave masterlist / wm masterlist

“I’ll see you at the office on Tuesday. Get home safe!” You yell with a wave to your colleague turned friend from the front door as she settles into her awaiting Uber. The last of the party goers to make their way home. 

The house is calm now. No longer filled with echoes of laughter and cheers that had permeated the walls throughout the night. Close friends, old and new, once scattered in every corner of your home. Now emptied cups littered on surface tops and trails of confetti shimmer across the floor in their wake. 

You relax into the silence as soon as the door clicks closed. The endless duties of a party hostess slowly shift into party cleaning duties, even at this early hour. 

The cold floor almost stings as you ease your bare foot onto the wooden planks, soothing the ache that’s built up through the evening. You toss your metallic heels you had purchased for the occasion onto the bottom step of the stairs as you make your way into the kitchen. 

You're grateful for the few friends who hung back, helping you gather up used paper plates and other food covered items into several trash bags. Deciding the rest of the mess was a future you problem. 

A small whimper catches your attention as you grab the last few empty celebratory bottles of champagne and place them next to the sink. 

You're met with the sweetest face and a look of annoyance, having to deal with a house full of people instead of a quiet evening of cuddles and ear scratches. 

“Don’t give me that look. Your Dad gives me the same one when he’s grumpy and tired too.” Bending down to give Delilah, the French bulldog who’s pouting at you from the comfort of her plush doggie bed, a few pets as she begs for you to hurry up so she can make her way upstairs to sleep. 

“Which look?” A groan floats from the couch in the living room, causing you to snicker at the defensive tone. 

Giving Delilah a scratch to the chin, a silent promise of bed soon, you make your way to the living room. 

“The cute look you’re wearing right now. Half asleep and grumpy that you’ve been having to entertain people for the past few hours.” You plop down on the opposite end of the couch where Dave is sprawled out. Pulling his feet onto the couch, your hands working to undo the laces of his shoes, dropping the shiny leather dress shoes over the arm of the couch— another future you problem. 

Your thumbs slowly dig into the soles of his sock covered feet that are resting on your sequin covered lap. You watch his eyes flutter closed, his brows pinched in welcomed pleasure as you knead out the stress of the New Year’s party you had convinced him to throw. 

“I’m afraid this is how I always look, Sweetheart.” Dave manages to grumble out, looking at you from where his head rests against a decorative pillow. He slowly removes his feet from your grasp, his arms open, beckoning you to join him. 

“It’s still cute.” Accepting his invitation, you crawl over him, nestling between his body and the back of the couch. “You had fun though, right? Everyone seemed to enjoy themselves.” 

“I did.” His fingers lift your chin, his lips finding yours in a soft kiss. “Even if I had to pretend like I enjoyed talking to half of them.”

“Had me fooled.” You playfully smirk at him. “Looked like you were really enjoying yourself most of the night.” 

“That’s because I had you by my side most of the night.” 

Dave’s hands had hardly left you the entire evening. Placed against the small of your back as you exchanged memories from the past year with your college friend who was into visiting for the holidays. Lightly brushing the length of your arm as he listened to a neighbor bore on about his new lawn mower that Dave had zero interest in hearing about. Your face in his hands, as the ball dropped on the tv screen, his eyes on you and only you— 5, 4, 3, 2, 1- HAPPY NEW YEAR! —That first kiss of the new year was shared as streamers and confetti exploded into the air. 

“Good point.” Your fingers begin to toy with the buttons on his shirt, as your mind reliving the entire evening, your head resting on his shoulder, his arms holding you close to him. “How are the girls?” 

“Asleep. They didn’t make it like they thought they would. Carol said they both passed out by 9.” You both laugh. Molly and Alice had both begged Carol and Dave to allow them to stay up until midnight, convincing them both they could make it the entire night. 

“There’s always next year.” A yawn escapes mid sentence, the evening and effects of the several glasses of champagne you indulged in finally catching up to you. “Let's go to bed, Dave.”

You start to push yourself up off of him, but you're stopped by his strong hand wrapping around your wrist. 

“Hang on a sec— there’s something I want to ask you. I’ve been meaning to ask you all evening actually.” There's a shyness in his eyes, one that you don’t see often with the confidence he possesses. 

You settle back into the couch, your legs tucked underneath you, your head falling back into the back cushion. Dave takes your hand in his, his breathing becoming a little erratic as he searches for the right thing to say. The silence between you drags on far longer than he means for. The soft snores courtesy of a sleeping pooch in the background are the only thing filling the room. 

“Yes!” Giving him an enthusiastic smile. 

“Yes? I didn’t even say anything.” His head lifts from the pillow, giving you a confused look. 

“My answer is yes!” A laugh bubbles up from your chest, you love catching him off guard like this. 

“To what? You don’t even know what I was going to say.” He sits up fully, face level with yours. Wondering if you truly know what he had intended to ask you. 

“You might be a man of the government, Babe. But you’re still easy to read. And I’m going to assume that the bulge you’ve been sporting in your pants all night, isn’t due to the effects of the dress I’m wearing. So, my answer is yes— I will marry you, Dave.” Your hand caressing the side of his face, his expression softening at your gaze. 

It was the same when he’d asked you to move into his home after only 6 months of dating. The girls were away with Carol for the weekend, the two of you enjoying a quiet summer dinner on the back patio. His quieter than usual demeanor wasn’t the first give away. He’d offered up space in the closet for you, a few drawers in the bathroom. He kept your favorite coffee in stock for when you stayed over, always brewed and waiting in a mug for you each morning. So when he said he had a surprise for you, all signs pointed to the obvious. Presenting you with a newly cut shiny key to his home, you promptly added it to your keychain after you both talked over how excited the girls would be once you were officially moved in. 

He reaches into his pants pocket, revealing the small velvet box he had tucked away all evening. Waiting for the perfect moment, only to realize a room full of people and all eyes on you isn’t what you would want. So he let the night carry on, watching everyone slowly trickle out the front door, until it was just you and him— alone. Just how you'd want it. 

“Dave, it’s beautiful.” He places the gold shiny ring on your left finger. Holding your hand out, admiring the diamond as it sparkles brilliantly in the dimly lit room. 

“It doesn’t hold a candle to you, Sweetheart.” His lips capture yours in a slow passion filled kiss, his hands pulling you closer, both of you falling back onto the couch.

“Are you going to ask me properly, Dave?” You tease, knowing he’ll be annoyed with himself if he doesn’t.

“Marry me? Make me the happiest man alive and marry my grumpy ass.” 

“Yes!”

#Dave York #dave york x reader #dave york x you #dave york x female reader #dave york x f!reader #holi Dave #wildemaven writes #pedro pascal #pedrostories

[ships-to-sail]

WIP Wednesday 4.3.24

Well, y'all, blink and it's been a week! Seven whole days later and I here I am again with more @firenati0n prompted shenanigans. The rival bakers stay rivaling, but there may or may not be (but most definitely is) sexy dough kneading this round, so. thanks be to the universe for that!

He motions across the street with a wild gesture. “There’s a new bakery?!” “Apparently,” Ellen says, her voice calm even as her brows pinch together by another fraction of an inch.  “Since when?!” “Since about two weeks ago, mijo, if you’d actually read any of the signs across the street,” his dad says as he comes out from the small kitchen in the back, wiping the flour on his hands onto the hand towel sitting on his shoulder. A wave of sugar-and-cinnamon smell smacks Alex in the face, and he knows the first pans of conchas are sitting on the racks in the back, waiting for them to flip the sign on the door from CLOSED to OPEN. “Patissier du Renard,” the traces of his father’s Mexican accent turning the French syllables into a different kind of dance. “Who the fuck is Renard?” “It’s French for —”  “Language, Alex,” his mother barks at him again, spinning on her heel, the corners of her mouth tucked down. The set of her jaw makes it abundantly clear that it’s not actually his choice of four-letter words that’s bothering her. But Alex, while not always the smartest guy, is also not an idiot, and so decides that this is not the moment he wants to push her on the issue.  Holding up two hands, he gives her a sincere, “Sorry, ma,” has he slips behind her, stopping to press a kiss to her cheek before he pushes open the swinging door to the kitchen and grabs his favorite bright yellow apron off the back of the door and flipping the neck band over his head.  He ties the strap behind his waist absentmindedly, making his way to the far fridge and grabbing out a 10-gallon tupperware of concha dough, tossing it onto the workstation behind him with a loud bang.  His thoughts stay on the new bakery across the street, the crowd of people he couldn’t see through overlaid with the columns and columns of numbers growing increasingly larger, but in vivid, blood-red font. He can’t see past it as he crosses to a different set of fridges, pulling down jars of fillings and jams — mango and strawberry, passionfruit and limón, whatever his hands can reach until his arms are full.  He drops them next to the dough with a clatter, and lets his hands work on autopilot as the gears in his brain spin at warpspeed, trying to process through this new piece of information.  He uses a pastry cutter to slice off a chunk of the dough, tossing it onto the waiting scale, before adding a smaller piece and then sliding the whole pile off the metal plate and onto the cool metal of the work bench. Reaching beneath him, he grabs a small container of flour and flicks it open, sprinkling some over both his hands and the table. His heels dig into the cold, partially sticky dough as he begins to pull at the edges of the pile, his fingers pushing and his palms pressing, his hands working occasionally together but even more frequently at odds, as he begins to work his family’s award winning concha dough into a batch of slightly-less-popular (but in Alex’s opinion superior) chamucos. 

a giant thank you to @suseagull04, @cha-melodius, @wordsofhoneydew and @hgejfmw-hgejhsf for the tags -- I'll leave my tags below the cut, and consider this your hearty invitation to take the open tag, especially if you never have before!

@affectionatelyrs @anchoredarchangel @anincompletelist @clottedcreamfudge @cricketnationrise @cultofsappho @daisymae-12 @everwitch-magiks @getmehighonmagic @happiness-of-the-pursuit @indestructibleheart @indomitable-love @inexplicablymine @leaves-of-laurelin @lizzie-bennetdarcy-afterdark @myheartalivewrites @notspecialbabe @orchidscript @rmd-writes @sparklepocalypse @ssmtskw @stereopticons @tintagel-or-cockleshells @welcometololaland @whimsymanaged @kiwiana-writes

#red white & royal blue #rwrb #wip wednesday #rival bakers

[sparklepocalypse]

It are being Wednesday, friends! I'm not even going to lie, words and I are not currently getting along -- haven't written a single sentence since I posted my unhinged omegaverse fic on Monday morning. However, the following people were lovely enough to tag me for WIP Wednesday: @inexplicablymine, @happiness-of-the-pursuit, @firenati0n, @bigassbowlingballhead, @captainjunglegym, @oxfordslutphase, @getmehighonmagic, @cha-melodius, @wordsofhoneydew, @magicandarchery, @heysweetheart-writes, @eusuntgratie, @thinkingaboutelephants, @orchidscript, @kiwiana-writes, and @anincompletelist, which feels like half the freaking fandom, so have some stuff from Facing Tempests and some tags under the jump!

Henry returns to his room once he can stand without his legs giving way. David is there, snoozing in his dog bed, but when Henry enters he perks up. He tilts his head, trying to peer around Henry, and Henry sighs. “He went home.” David whines softly and stands, stretching his legs before trotting over to Henry and nosing into the side of his knee.  “I know. You’ll have to deal with just me for the time being.” He crouches down to give David an affectionate ear scratch, but David takes a step back, then another, something almost reproachful about his expression, before huffing and retreating to his bed. Henry looks to his own bed. The linens are in complete disarray, the pillows bearing the indentations from two heads instead of the usual one. There’s a telltale stain of dried lube near the left edge of the mattress, discoloring the fitted sheet, and an opened condom packet is still lying on the nightstand. He disposes of the packet to start, and then turns back to the bed. The sheets come off easily enough, as do the pillowcases. Henry resists the urge to bury his face in the pillow on the right side of the bed, instead tossing the pillowcase into the pile with the rest.

With two hours and five minutes to spare on Wednesday in my time zone, I'm calling in @thinkof-england, @hgejfmw-hgejhsf, @duchessdepolignaca03, @priincebutt, and @mudbloodpotter05!

#red white and royal blue #rwrb #rwrb fic #my fic #alex claremont diaz #henry hanover stuart fox #alex x henry #firstprince #rwrb movie #wip: khix #wip wednesday #tag games

[dustdeepsea]

WIP Wednesday

Edit: The story has been completed and posted here on AO3 :)

It's Wednesday here in the future :)

Working Title: Nine Lives (sequel to aqua vitae) Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3 Rating: Teen (non-explicit excerpt) Relationships: Rugan/Tav (Baldur’s Gate)

This is set post-game, so possible spoilers for the end of act 3.

Note: This is a work in progress and is subject to major changes in the final published version. It is not proof-read or edited; all typos are mine.

Falling feels like flying. Tumbling through the sky, you feel like a rag doll cast out of an angry child’s pram.

One final tantrum from the Netherbrain in its death throes.

So this is how I go, you think. You feel strangely at peace, watching the water below rush towards you, smooth and serene as glass from up high. You look around at your friends, your eyes watering as the wind streams past your face. 

One last image to hold in your mind.

Gale reaches out, his hands moving in desperate patterns, even though you know that by now he’s burnt through every scrap of his reserves. At the same time, Astarion breaks the wax seal on a scroll with both hands. His catlike grace makes him appear seated in mid-air, suspended. He was always the better rogue.

You feel the gentle tug of transmutation magic, as you are lifted up by the scruff of your neck. Featherfall sparkles around you in the sunlight. You are still descending rapidly, but floating upright now. Spread out before you is the ruined cityscape, the harbour, the grey ships and their sails. Everything and everyone you’ve fought so hard for. 

You draw your arms and legs in, and shut your eyes.

The spell gives out three metres above the water, and you splash into the river. The cold water is a shock to your aching, battle-worn body. Your limbs seize up. You feel bubbles rush over and around you.

It takes a moment before your survival instincts kick in and your lungs begin to scream.

I want to live. 

The thought animates your leaden legs, forces them to flutter and kick. Thrashing your way upwards, you break the surface and gasp for air.

The end of the world has come and gone. You’ve survived.

The doors to the Elfsong are thrown wide open, and everyone in the city seems to be either passing through the bar, or spilling out into the streets with their drinks and singing loudly. The cellars have been emptied, and every bard in town seems to be playing on the same stage tonight. Commerce is the lifeblood of Baldur’s Gate, you recall Wyll saying. There’s nothing better for business than a near brush with death.

At some point, someone cast Prestidigitation on you, and pressed a hot drink into your hand. You clutch it numbly, the cup long grown cold.

Tomorrow, there will be a reckoning. You think about your remaining companions, your time together already coming to an end. So many goodbyes were already said that afternoon on the pier—you shake your head to interrupt the dismal thoughts. For now, you’re alive and that’s all that matters.

You can’t fault the people of Baldur’s Gate for celebrating. You would do the same if you were in their shoes.

The noise and press of the people around you is driving you mad. You put down your cup and push your way to the doors. All around you, the cheer goes up, red faces saluting you with their drinks. They hoot and holler, and shout your name.

“Tav! Tav! Tav!”

You smile and wave to your adoring crowd, as you edge your way to the exit. The roar of the tavern crowd fades as you leave their field of vision and they turn back to their revelry. You slip away from the crowd milling near the entrance and out into the night.

Most of the buildings in the Lower City are still standing, minus a few spires. Further away, folks stand around scattered bonfires, drinking and speaking more quietly.

You take in a deep breath and wrinkle your nose. The air is crisp but smells of acrid woodsmoke and ozone. Piles of illithid bodies are being burnt and tossed into collapsed doorways. Still, it’s better than being trapped indoors.

You exhale, and lean against a nearby facade that's intact. It feels like you’ve been holding your breath since you landed in the river.

“Now, that doesn’t sound very festive.” A gently chiding voice drifts over from the street.

You lift your head and watch its owner approach you, open bottle in hand. Of course he would be here, sauntering up to you, after half the city had been destroyed. This man clearly has nine lives.

“Rugan,” you say, and a smile breaks over his face. Exhausted as you are, you feel your lips quirk upwards in response.

“Tav.” He’s standing right in front of you now, and your body remembers a different night in a small room, lit by dim lamplight. You hope it’s not written all across your face.

“I like the hair piece,” he says, gesturing with the bottle.

Puzzled, you reach up towards your head and your hands close around a braided flower crown. Someone must have placed it on you in the tavern without you noticing. You pull it off, slowly, the wildflowers scattering tiny yellow and white petals as they catch in your hair. 

It hangs from your hands, loosely, as you glance between it and his amused face. “It’s been a very long day,” you say, finally, and he laughs.

“Long is an understatement, lass.” He offers you the bottle and you readily accept.

“Word on the street is that we have you and your crew to thank for all of us still being alive,” he says, as you take a sip. It tastes green and medicinal on your tongue. “Let me buy you a proper drink inside.”

Highsun liqueur. You lick your lips and sigh. 

“I shouldn’t.” You rub at your face and suppress a shudder at the thought of the roiling crowd in the Elfsong. “Sorry—I haven’t dared to have a drink all evening. If I accept one, I will have to drink them all, and then I'll wake up passed out in the Chionthar.”

He nods sagely, like it’s a dilemma that he’s encountered many times before. “Well, what would you like to do instead?” he asks, placidly. There’s no hint of leering or suggestion in his voice.

You’re stunned for a moment. No one’s asked you that question in a kindly manner, for a very long while. Gods and devils and their emissaries have hounded you relentlessly for what feels like forever, spurring you from one wild task to the next, the tadpole in your head all the while a ticking time-bomb.

“What should we do, Tav?” used to mean—which awful choice do we make now? Who gets to live? Who dies next?

For the first time in a long time, you can answer without despairing.

“I have an idea. Come with me.” Impulsively, you drop the flower crown on the ground, and take his hand. It’s large and warm against yours. 

He looks surprised, but doesn’t protest as you tug him towards the side of the tavern building, where fewer people are about. You hand the bottle back to him, and let go of his hand to rummage around in your satchel. With a flourish, you pull out the scroll of Dimension Door. You’ve earned this, all hundred gold pieces worth of it. No more scrimping and saving for the next fight. 

Linking your arms, you look at Rugan and flash him a perfectly ordinary, non-crazed grin. “Hold onto me,” you say, and crack the seal, teleporting you both to the rooftop of the Elfsong.

#wip #wip wednesday #rugan #rugan x tav #rugan x reader #my writing #I've accidentally started another series send help #dustdeepsea fic: nine lives #dustdeepsea series: trouble will find me

[belleandsaintsebastian]

hiiii @fruityindividual sash my love thank u sm for tagging me <3333

little snippet of my probably sub par writing oh well i had fun hehehe....

“Blah,” Rory said. “Blah Blah Blah.” She threw a pile of novelty socks in the open suitcase. It bled candy orange and pink lovehearts like an open wound. 

“Mmm.” Lane agreed from the other side of the room. She was carefully taping together a stack of CDs: When the Pawn… and Sgt Pepper’s as bookends. Rory’s bedroom was an explosion of nearly-nineteen years of novels and diaries and cups. Lots and lots of cups.

“I hate packing.” She proclaimed, frowning at a stack of paperbacks, twisting them this way and that, inspecting her jewels. Lunch Poems and The Outsiders and Anne of Green Gables. She tossed them in the case.

“I also hate –” kicking a pair of leather boots out the way, ones that zipped all the way up to her calves. Keep. “ – choosing. Like, what stuff to leave behind. I can’t Lane, I can’t do it!” Rory clutched a stuffed rabbit to her chest. The eye was falling out. 

“Well,” Lane gently pressed the stack of CDs into the bedsheets. They were a dazzling array of untucked corners and bright blue paisley. “That’s why I’m here. To be your ruthless right-hand man.”

Rory hummed, riffling through fourteenth-birthday cards in her desk drawer. “For instance.” Lane cleared her throat. “Do you really want to bring your I love pesto pasta from the annual Stars Hollow pasta eating contest that was cancelled five years ago?” She fingered the sleeve, the bright green stain. Rory snatched it. 

“Duh!” She brought it to her nose. “Mmm, still smells like 1998 and pesto and winning.”

Lane scoffed. “Okay, fine. How about your broken little miss piggy bank? Your half-depleted out-of-date lip smackers set? My grey guitar sweater?”

Rory huffed. “Okay, okay. I get it, I’ll purge.”  Lane put on Parallel Lines. They sat in their respective corners and purged.

nooo pressure (of c xx) tagging <3 @fatemy-friend @drowsyanddazed @pancakehouse @ernestonlysayslovelythings @stellaluna33 @disasterbiwriter @sarabethsilver @colgatebluemintygel @ivankaramazovsgf + anyone who wants 2 share their lovely wips consider yourself tagged <333

#hehehe feeling a bit awkward abt tagging my very incredibly cool and awesome writer mutuals hi guys ilu....<3 #anyways MWAH to u all <3 and gn !!!! #games #writing tag