#some wip nonsense

[agentravensong]

characters who see themselves as more of a Force or an abstract concept acting in the world than as a person. characters who prioritize their role as a cog in some greater mechanism over their own personhood. characters who get their hands dirty, who run themselves ragged, who take on an unbearable weight, who hurt or neglect or give up or straight-up betray the people and things they once held close, because they believe in doing so they are fulfilling their Purpose, the thing they exist in this world to do (and no one else will do it, *can* do it, so it has to be them). characters who've determined that they are constructs bound to preprogrammed code, to a script already written for them by someone/something else, and have been operating under that mindset for so long that they don't know how to live on their own terms. characters who uphold the fate that is smothering them. can anyone hear me

[ruporas]

feast (ID in alt)

[sirazaroff]

My girl a vegetarian but she out there packing straight beef 💪🐰🥩

[basedonconjecture]

WIP Whenever & Some Sentences Shmonday

I have lost track of who tagged me in what and who hasn’t been tagged so you’re all getting them and I encourage you all to freestyle if you wanttttt:

@thedissonantverses @mythals-whore @ofcrowsanddragons @hyperions-light @bygonesigh @introvertedfangrl @biowaredisasterbisexual @mageofquandrix @dymme @complikatedd @ whoever else my brain is flatlining

Some baby!Selora & teenaged Viago/protégé-in-the-making content. It’s one of my headcanons that House de Riva tried to get a foothold in Treviso at some point prior to the occupation but turf wars and Crow politics kept them mostly out. Not really important here but it’s mentioned 🤷🏻‍♀️

Selora’s fingertips dug into the stone of the windowsill as she levered herself up, her toes finding the usual crevices and worn places in the building’s facade to give her an extra boost. Bracing her weight on one arm, she pushed against the wooden shutters, huffing a breath when they didn’t give as she expected them to—Viago must have fixed the latch. She cast a wary glance at the ground, three stories below with nothing to break her fall but the terracotta pavers set into the road.

Shaking hair from her eyes, she bent at the knees, carefully lowering herself against the wall beneath the window. The muscles in her arms were beginning to burn uncomfortably, but she dug her fingers into the sill as she considered. Adjusting the position of her feet, she breathed in deep, expanding her belly until she felt like it would crack her ribs apart, then launched herself upwards, throwing her weight against the shutters.

Her shoulder met open air. Balance lost, she started to fall, throwing out her hands to catch herself. Then, just as suddenly, something snatched at her collar, jerking her forward with enough force to drag her through the opening. The material caught around her throat, choking her as she tried to get her feet under her again. As she did, her eyes zeroed in on a pair of familiar leather boots.

“I was gonna use the door this time, Viago, honest!” she cried as soon as she was able to take a breath. Clawing at her collar, she tried and failed to break his hold on her. “But my last set of picks broke—they make us buy our own, you know—have you seen the market price of iron these days? I’d have to sell so many rats and then what would Lucrezia and Faustina do? I couldn’t—”

During her speech, Viago had set her on her feet, but kept a firm hold. He placed a hand on the top of her head, turning her face to look at the set of throwing knives rigged to launch themselves in the direction of the window. The trigger, now safely disarmed, had obviously been attached to the shutters she’d been about to force her way through.

Selora gaped at the contraption, whatever she’d been saying lost as her thoughts flew out of her head.

“Maker’s tits!” she swore, turning accusing eyes on the assassin to whom the flat technically belonged. “You trapped the window?”

“Of course I did, you idiot!” Viago scowled, releasing her finally, but not before smacking the back of her head lightly. “And it’s Andraste’s—ah, che cazzo. Nevermind. If you ever thought two steps past your nose, you would have counted on there being a trap.”

Turning away, he secured the shutters before crossing to his desk. She stuck her tongue out at his back and followed.

“What does a nine-year-old know about the market price of iron, anyway?” he groused, seating himself behind the desk. Multiple vials of different liquids, unrecognizable to her, were secured in a small wooden rack. He must have been mixing poisons again before she’d interrupted.

“Only what I hear at the Piazza,” she said with a shrug, dropping the sack she carried to her feet.

Aside from the docks, the Piazza del Mercato was where the most interesting things in Salle could be seen—or heard, in this case. Which wasn’t saying very much. In her opinion, Treviso was leagues more interesting with its many bridges and gondola-filled canals. The Piazza had nothing on the Grande Markets there, if she were being honest. The Talon had ordered all the De Rivas out of Treviso several months ago—that included all the fledglings they’d acquired there, Selora among them. They hadn’t been given a reason why, but Viago had said something about negotiations having gone poorly, and that it was more than she needed to know.

She’d tried to like Salle—its gentle hills and red limestone and terracotta, its irises and magnolias and citron trees—and, to a point, she did. Only she hated the warehouse where all the fledglings nested in Salle. It was too close to the murky tidewater at the edge of the port, poorly insulated, and smelled horribly like fish. And there were more of them than there’d been in Treviso—all bigger than her. Stronger and meaner, too. Viago’s flat was definitely more pleasant, by comparison, even if it always dark and faintly smelled of metals. It also smelled of parchment and marjoram and dried grass from the snake enclosures—she’d take it over fish any day.

“The butcher was complaining about pirates keeping the ore from reaching us,” she explained further, tucking a curl behind her ear as she took a breath. “But the blacksmith said his usual supplier said there was some big fight somewhere and there wouldn’t be any iron coming out of there for a while and we’d all best accept the higher price if we have to wait.” She exhaled, then blinked. “Where is Kirkwall?”

Viago’s gaze narrowed. “When did you hear this?”

“A few days ago,” she replied promptly. “They meet at the butcher’s shop a few times a week to…you know,” she shifted her weight, hoping she wouldn’t have to explain further, “but Beccari—that’s the butcher—he always leaves the shutters open because he gets too hot while—”

Viago cleared his throat.

“Anyway, there’s a ledge above that window that stays dry when it rains. I like to sit up there sometimes, but I can only hear them when they leave it open.” Selora barely paused before asking, “Are there really pirates?”

He didn’t answer that question, either. Viago was a bit strange that way, Selora had learned. She never could tell what questions he would answer and which he wouldn’t and it seemed entirely based on his mood. Sometimes he’d tell her directly, other times it would be as if she hadn’t spoken at all. Stranger still, he’d occasionally answer a question she’d asked hours or days after she’d asked it—without ever indicating he’d intended to. It really wasn’t surprising that people didn’t seem to like him much.

Currently, he was studying her like she was one of his experimental mixtures.

[happypeachsludgeflower]

One time, when I was still actively in the bnha fandom, I was writing a bakudeku fanfic and I got pretty far into it (I think I was up to like 8k of actual story written) and even contacted someone about beta reading, but then the person read it and accused me of being homophobic because I had Jiro as a side character being a raging lesbian and cracking gay jokes while being in the closet because she was gay panicking at Momo’s bare leg. And anyway, yea, I lost my desire to post the story and it’s now collecting dust in my wips.

[eyndr-stories]

Totally swamped from school & moving nonsense but rest assured, these silly robots still consume my every spare thought <3

[cervidaecorpse]

I accomplished something no one in my family has done before and decided to treat myself. I will most likely rework and colour most of them.

Shout out to the artist on Bluesky who put Phaser into his ancestor's clothes and posted it faster and did better than I did! I absolutely love their work!

(Mild?) 18+ below.

[foileadeux]

halfway theeere

[skywalking-through-life]

for the wip title game - Whale pregnancy wip lololol 👀

Lmaoooo, I was really hoping someone was going to ask about this, because it sounds bonkers, but it's actually just a half-formed, fluffy little idea about Annabeth's first pregnancy, whenever that is. Percy and Annabeth have talked about having kids multiple times in the books, and I think that's an adorable topic to explore, so at some point I'll probably write it! But this very basic outline of a scene is all I have so far 😂:

"Gods, I look like a whale."

"What kind of whale?"

She gives him a sharp look, but no reply. He grins.

"Mmm… I'm gonna say narwhal. Definitely a narwhal."

"Percy. You are supposed to be telling me that I am beautiful and perfect, not feeding into my delusions!"

"Wow, you don't think narwhals are beautiful? I'm hurt on their behalf."

She gives him a sharper look, and again, no reply. He grins wider.

"See? Narwhal! Adorable, squishy, and absolutely capable of stabbing me if I don't shut up."

A satisfied nod. "And don't you forget it."

Annabeth looks pensive, Percy comes over and kneels in front of her, rubs her belly.

"Why does it bother you so much? You've got a whole new life in there, of course it's gonna need space to grow." He pauses and presses a kiss to her belly. "And, for the record, I DO think you're beautiful and perfect."

"Well, if you think it's all so wonderful, YOU can carry the next one."

He gives her an impish grin. "I'm not a seahorse, babe. But you know I would if I could."

I hope you enjoyed it, my friend! 😂💙 I really would like to write it someday!

[crehador]

only five days left in the year... five dailies left...... 😨🥹🫠

[lokiina]

More custom gear for the boyo. Stealin and editing Kerry's boots.

I drew the toe spikes on my last art of him here, and was like "Ah this is sick." and then realized I had the power to make it real. So I made it real! They're currently only on my NPV of him. I gotta do a bunch more work to get them player cooperative/equipable yet. But I'm obsessed.

[jessicas-pi]

I went through my folders and counted, because I was bored...

I have 64 WIPs.

SIXTY FOUR OF THEM.

I THOUGHT I HAD MAYBE LIKE 20??? NOPE I'VE GOT 64 SOMEONE HELP ME

[haleynwriter]

🎓🧑‍🏫🧑‍🎓✍️

[whyoneartheven]

Worst version please!

@zolanort! You asked for this one as well :D

Ummm

I do not know why I wrote this

I think it is sort of meant to rhyme

[holydramon]

current thoughts for dwatd but with very little context

[applesap-fics]

Rereading older work is though because sometimes I unwillingly get really into it but I'm afraid I wont have finished the story OR I'll get shocked by a sentence that's written really terribly, or its full of mistakes and I should burn it all