#the untitled wip

[pizzamanstan]

MAGIC SYSTEM TAG

@inseasofgreen did an open tag, and I'm going to take advantage of that!

Explain the magic system of your current WIP as poorly as possible. Bonus points if you use bullet points

Doing this for my untitled wip because the Basin is literally just bog-standard vancian-adjacent D&D magic.

So, the magic of The City:

What if mana was a massless viscous liquid that had a topography independent of the world's?

What if it also came in multiple colors?

And using magic is just: push, pull, change color, change viscosity.

But like, you can cause those effects in dozens of different ways.

Ok... and the gods?

uhhhhh...

The City being at the intersection of multiple planes of existence make deities... odd.

They don't do mana exactly, or arcane magic in general. So they have to transmit their power through the means available to them in the City.

Wifi. The gods give you powers and magic through wifi. Somehow.

Except the nature gods, who give you power when not near wifi...

No pressure tags below! Taglist tagging @abiteofhoney and @seastarblue Also tagging @elkieselkiewrites and @write-with-will

If you do (or do not) want me to tag you for tag games please let me know!! I'm far less anxious tagging you in these if you're on my taglist.

[lynnlovesthestars]

😭😭😭😭😭😭

[sad-girl-hours23]

okay 🛋️ ikea fic has me intrigued 👀

Yay! Okay. This ended up being more than five sentences lol and full disclaimer, the tone of the story is going to change quite a bit from this part (it's gonna get disgustingly domestic).

And it's shaping up to be very Tommy-centric, but anyway! I hope you enjoy.

Tommy’s phone chimes multiple times in quick succession. He opens his messages, thinking there’s some emergency, only to see he’s been added to a group chat with Eddie, Hen, Maddie, and Howie. 

Eddie: Whatever you do, do not let Buck tell you about his couch theory. Do not ask. Change the subject. 

Maddie: Don’t let him out of your sight for more than five minutes. He won’t resurface for hours. Put a leash on him if you have to lol

Howie: Don’t let him eat the meatballs!

Hen’s only contribution is a laughing face emoji.

Tommy shakes his head and laughs. He’s never met a group of people more prone to dramatics. 

He replies, It'll be fine.  I’m helping Evan pick out a couch, not caring for a Mogwai.

He’s left on read.

Two hours, six separations, two unsanctioned jaunts to the restaurant, and one spirited debate over the use of couch versus sofa later, and they still don’t have a couch.

Tommy looks at Evan, furrowed eyebrows, bottom lip tucked between his teeth, clipboard clutched in his hands.

Oh right, he thinks. My boyfriend is a fucking gremlin.

[cartwrong]

For the @ficwip word of the week: park

Catherine had met River once as a child. He had these enormous blue eyes that seemed to study you from behind a fringe of blonde hair. Rose had brought him by the Park–or what was then the Park, it was a hotel now–when they made the trip into the city to see a play and visit Grandad at work. He was the only child she had ever seen there and it was an odd thing to see David Cartwright turn from the Old Bastard to Grandad in his presence. 

Catherine could never quite picture the woman who would have abandoned that towheaded child who clung to Rose’s hand and laughed when David pulled a coin from behind his ear. Charles died only weeks later and after basement interrogations from Bad Sam, she hadn’t stepped foot in the Park since. With everything that happened after, she hadn’t thought about that moppy haired little boy until he trudged up the Slough House staircase twenty years later. 

 Catherine had taken every day since then one day at a time, now, waiting for River to come through surgery, she was simply taking it minute to minute. 

[gaytommykinard]

that same morning—

sal stirs and mumbles a gruff “’morning,” into the crook of tommy’s neck, shuffling closer to press up against him fully, his hard dick very purposefully brushing against tommy’s ass.

tommy has to bite down on a moan, disguise his desire as exasperation. “did you wake up horny or something?”

“always,” sal’s mouth forms a grin against the bare skin of tommy’s shoulder before pressing a kiss to it. he shifts, pushing tommy onto his back and climbing over him, making his way south and leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses down tommy’s torso as he goes. he pauses for a moment, looks up to meet tommy’s gaze and says, “i wanna fuck you so bad.”

tommy’s breath catches in his throat. he can’t hide how turned on he is, not with sal’s head so close to his crotch. but he can’t bring himself to admit how much he wants that, how much he’s been wanting that since they started this thing between them, but never dared to ask, because handjobs and blowjobs are one thing, but this?

“what, now?”

sal laughs, shakes his head, nosing at tommy’s happy trail. “not now, no, i’ve got a little league game to get to.” he places his hands on either side of tommy’s hips and pushes himself off the mattress, craning his neck to get a look at the alarm clock on tommy’s dresser. “in an hour,” he says with a sigh, and lowers himself back down. “still got a little time.”

tommy swallows, eyes to the ceiling. “joey’s playing today?”

sal hums affirmatively and shuffles further down, and tommy closes his eyes and lets himself get lost in this moment right here.

[sharpjay217]

Ok, I'm curious about the GIGGS Phasmo, but I make it sad thing you got going on for your WIP ask game. What kind of sad are we talking about here?

(Asks are about this tag game!)

So a bit of context on me, is that I am a huge fan of stories about grief, death, and finding peace with it. One of my favorite games is Spiritfarer. I actively seek out stories that are going make me feel some kind of melancholy.

My GIGGS AU is also a sort of a Hermitcraft Ensemble AU, just with GIGGS at its core. Along the way, between regular Phasmo-style ghost hunts, the crew occasionally encounter standouts. The ghosts of people who would have been their friends in another life, or maybe even once were.

I imagine this as a series of oneshots, each a kind of character piece for a non-GIGGS hermit, as GIGGS tries to figure out who they were and how to help them.

Basically, GIGGS Phasmo but the hermits are ghosts. Because I like to make myself sad. :)

[cj-the-random-artist]

I’m working on a comic rn and this sketch isn’t gonna make it into the final version but it was too funny to not post (that is narinder for the record I just didn’t sketch his scar in for this one, cuz I figured out early on enough that I wasn’t gonna keep it so I didn’t bother ahem but I promise that is him lol)

[candywraptor]

WIP Wednesday - Untitled Ruin Sequel (RadioDust)

Angel didn’t remember the first days - at least, not very well. He had fled from that foreign place - from the wide, mocking grin and the wild, unfeeling stare - and he had gone to his room. He didn’t know if he had been seen or if he made any noise as he’d darted through the halls, his head low and his arms wrapped around his middle - trying to keep himself whole, to keep the pieces from spilling onto the floor. There was only the barest wisp of memory, just a ghostly specter of a thing, of hearing the door snick closed behind him, covering him in darkness, before his legs gave out from underneath him and he collapsed under the weight of it all. He remembered the feel of unfamiliar, high pile carpet under his fingers as he’d twisted it, ripping at it, the tears coming instantly - silently at first as he’d curled in on himself and felt like his inside were trying to melt into one sick puddle in his gut.  He had ground his teeth to the point of pain, his hands raising to yank at his clothes, his fur, his hair - ripping out strands by their roots as he struggled to take a breath, his body shaking with the effort of silence.  The ceiling was falling in on him - the temple they had built, the fortress where Angel had been safe and warm and hidden inside - was collapsing all around him. The rubble was crushing, the sound of his whole world cracking in half and giving way into a chasm of black, empty nothing was deafening and it peeled his sanity away from him in ribbons, taking his mind and puncturing wide, gaping holes into his reality - into all things he’d thought he’d known, the things they had built. It was gone.  His breathing came to him then, he could feel his lungs start to inflate and it was too fast - he was hyperventilating - and somehow Angel made it to the bed. He never remembered getting up, never remembered crossing the room, but he knew he had because that was when he’d started to scream.  He’d buried his face into the pillow, drawing no air, close to suffocation - wishing for it - as he sobbed and screamed and lost himself to delirium. He was no more, no longer a person - no longer a thing with solid matter or a body or thoughts or consciousness. He was only the anguish that pressed in all around him, ripping the shrieking from his chest, soaking the blankets with tears and shaking him apart at the seams - at the ends of his soul.  It was devastation and pain like he had never felt before. It was all consuming, a gaping maw of teeth and void that left room for nothing else. He was lost to it, drowning in it, soaked in the desolation and the broken, jagged pieces of his decimated world. Glass and darkness and pain - so, so much pain. In every inch of him, in every piece of everything he was - his heart, his lungs, muscle and bone. Anguish and agony and nothing, nothing else. It was like dying. 

This is the first chapter for a squeal to Did I Ruin Your Night? (Did I Ruin You?) a RadioDust fic and also my first fic in general. It takes place right after the orphaned A Fool For Lesser Things.

Mixed emotions here but I have ideas that have been knocking around for a long while and I think I can put them into words now. Looking forward to writing Angel again!

I'm going to try and get into the habit of posting WIPs every Wednesday, too. I think it will get me engaged and I enjoy sharing. Hopefully, there will be another next week!

[wanderingaldecaldo]

Six Sentence Sunday Monday

@impishbiscuit tagged me forever ago, and I just started a new WIP lolsob, so here are six (five) sentences fresh off the google docs. This is for a prompt (I submitted) in WoNC and I really thought I'd be writing for Ted & Becca, but it seems that Mitch and Val have moved back in. 😌

Mitch paces beside the panzer, pulling hard on the cigarette in his flesh fingers. He hasn’t seen V yet this morning, other than when he left a cup of coffee for her while she was still asleep in his bed— his face flushes at the memory of her sprawled across the double mattress, breasts peeking out under the thin sheet. He’s not sure what to expect from her now. She’d made it clear it was just for the evening, that she was just seeking comfort and she trusted him enough to be the source of that comfort. He tells himself if that’s all it was, it’s enough that she trusted him like that; he knows he’s lying.

Tagging with no pressure: @streetkid-named-desire @ghostoffuturespast @luvwich @merge-conflict @medtech-mara @nightride-sniper @pheedraws and you, if you wanna join in! Tag me and share what you're working on!

[goblinontour]

With his eyes shut, he could pretend no one was watching.

And that’s what he needed. The illusion of privacy, the reassurance that even now, even in this moment, he was still in control.

How easily things went. How pliable he became when he let himself be. You smiled faintly to yourself, watching him from above as your hand pressed down just enough to make him exhale.

He didn’t have to ask twice. You’d always make it quiet for him.

[pizzamanstan]

A (New) Little Intro

Hello, I'm pizzamanstan (I have also responded to pizzaman, pizza, or stan; whatever you prefer)! Here you'll mostly find me sharing the work of my wonderful moots, posting photos I've recently taken, or posting about writing and worldbuilding. (Putting the rest of my intro below the cut to save space!)

About Me: Mid 20s, he/him, and a masshole at heart. Currently in my final semester of college, working towards a Master's of Architecture degree!

Fiction I Like: Bullet Train by Kōtarō Isaka, The Night Circus and The Starless Sea by Erin Morgenstern, “The Cage of Sand” by J. G. Ballard

Non-Fiction I Like: Amusing Ourselves to Death by Neil Postman, The Death and Life of Great American Cities by Jane Jacobs

While I'm focusing on school for the next few months, I am still writing and worldbuilding occasionally. I've got two main projects on my mind:

The first is a currently untitled writing project that I'm posting about through a series of vignettes and the occasional snippet.

The second is a D&D setting that I used when I had enough time to actually run a D&D campaign... But it's a setting I really enjoyed and put a lot of effort into!

Project 1: Currently Untitled Project

In progress, and typically written when I've got free time. I suppose one of my next posts will be a more general introduction to the setting, but I enjoy building it out through vignettes, so who knows.

The Statue in Duard Square The Sailor's Mark Ask 1: How do people travel? Ask 2: Rambling about the New West Side. Prompt Vignette 01 01.1

Project 2: The Basin

This setting was used for a D&D campaign that's on an indefinite hiatus at the moment. The titular basin is a relatively dry area surrounded by mountains on three sides. A militaristic hobgoblin empire is the dominant power here. It currently defends its overstretched borders from lizardfolk and human raiders, and also deals with its ancient foe, the remnants of an elven kingdom that once rivaled the Empire in power. Meanwhile, nearby powers outside the Basin attempt to take advantage of the preoccupied Empire.

I actually have a pretty decent map for this project at the moment

Flashbang/lightmode warning on these links...

The Nations of the Basin: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Misc. Details

I've started some taglists! If you want to be added to either list, do any of: dming me, commenting on this post, or reblogging this post!

Writing Taglist: @abiteofhoney @seastarblue

Tag-game Taglist: @abiteofhoney @seastarblue

[wikiangela]

tease tidbit tuesday

tagged by @diazsdimples @daffi-990 @disasterbuckdiaz @fortheloveofbuddie @jeeyuns 💖

a bit of the natalia fic again bc it's almost done and should be posted sometime this weekend or next week - this one is gonna be just short and sweet, rn it's at 3.5k and not gonna get much longer haha

prev snippet

___

“I thought you had plans with Natalia tonight.” Eddie adds, closing the door behind them.

“Uh, yeah, plans changed.” Buck shrugs, then faces Eddie. “I need to talk to you.”

“So you said.” Eddie raises an eyebrow, an amused smile dancing on his lips. “What’s up?”

“This is-” Buck chuckles, then takes a deep breath. “This is gonna be so out of the blue, and I’m sorry, but I just realized this like not even half an hour ago- or, actually, Natalia, of all people, helped me realize this- we broke up, by the way, me and Natalia.” he adds, words just spilling out of him chaotically, while Eddie’s face is a mix of amusement and confusion, and then also concern.

“Oh, I’m sorry-” Eddie starts, frown deepening.

“No, don’t be.” Buck waves him off with another chuckle. “She helped me see something I can’t believe I missed this whole time.”

“What’s that?” he asks, trying and failing to hide a fond smile, probably not wanting to appear too happy and insensitive to Buck’s breakup – he seems like does feel bad for Buck, but at the same time, that soft and loving look that’s there any time Buck just rambles on and on forces itself onto his face. Fuck, Eddie really does love him back, doesn’t he? How could Buck have been so blind?

___

no pressure tags: @elvensorceress @gaydiaz @diazass @thebravebitch @silentxxsoul @shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @arthursdent @911onabc @housewifebuck @rogerzsteven @watchyourbuck @underwater-ninja-13 @eowon @loserdiaz @evanbegins @ladydorian05 @pirrusstuff @wildlife4life @nmcggg @diazpatcher @lover-of-mine @king-buckley @monsterrae1 @thewolvesof1998 @hoodie-buck @puppyboybuckley @weewootruck @honestlydarkprincess @buckaroosheart @spagheddiediaz @steadfastsaturnsrings @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @exhuastedpigeon @jesuisici33 @theotherbuckley @hippolotamus @rainbow-nerdss @malewifediaz @spotsandsocks @giddyupbuck

[sad-girl-hours23]

Fuck It Friday

Thank you for tagging me @jamieroyjamieroy :)

Here's some more of my untitled IKEA fic, previous posts can be found here

On the way to the living room section, Evan pauses at a kid’s playroom display. There’s a desk and an art easel in one corner. In another corner is the most realistic play kitchen Tommy’s ever seen. Evan walks over to it, opening doors and turning knobs, smiling to himself.

Tommy thinks about his spare room that’s collecting dust more than anything else; how it has plenty of room for a kitchen set, and a desk, and an art easel. 

Tommy walks over to Evan. “Jee would love that.”

“Huh? Oh. Yeah.” Evan sets down a tray of cinnamon rolls he’d pulled from the oven. And they’re just standing there, for what feels like a lifetime, in this room built for pretend. 

Tommy looks around and he imagines a few more kids running around. Except they look less like Howie and a lot more like, well, Evan.

Tommy didn’t know he even wanted kids until he was standing with his boyfriend in an IKEA display at 2 P.M on a Sunday afternoon.

And well, he shouldn’t be surprised. Evan had a way of uncovering hidden parts of him, dusting them off and offering them back as if they were new, as if he was saying: look, it’s you.

Evan was always introducing Tommy to himself.

Tommy clears his throat. “Do you want—”

Evan turns toward him. “Do I want…?”

“To show me the couch you found?”

Evan takes one more look around. Then he turns back to Tommy and smiles. “Yeah. C’mon.”

[cartwrong]

Could you tell us about riv shirley? It sounds interesting

I answered some here but wanted to wait until I had a new clip to share to answer this. I shared a bit and then talking with the wonderful @tenderhooked about it has helped immensely move it from mostly vibes to some coherence of a story.

I'll put another clip below the cut:

Shirley Dander was pissed.  Lamb was going to be even more pissed at the pair of them. Likely more at River than Shirley–the old spook didn’t actually like any of them, but seemed to have a soft spot for hating River in particular–but Lamb had attempted to fire her more than once. Well, he succeeded at least once. Now, tied to a chair with only an unconscious River Cartwright for company, Shirley was starting to think maybe she should have stayed fired because as much as she wanted to get loose and kill each one of these fuckers, the blood seeping into her sleeves from the cuts the restraints had caused was making it seem a bit of a lost cause.  But once they freed her, which they would eventually, and then she would kill each and every one of them.  Hopefully.  There were a lot of them, as far as she could tell. There could be more. She had seen six for sure. And it was just her and River. Well, probably more likely just her. River wasn’t looking too fit for service at the moment. River didn’t look fit for anything other than laying in a hospital bed. He was unconscious, having passed out from pain on the third hit of a wrench to his clearly broken hand and whatever other bones had snapped under the weight. 

Shirley had heard them snap. It would’ve been cool if it hadn’t been River. She was already fantasizing about turning the wrench around on the bastards holding them. Then it would sound really fucking cool.  But for now she was stuck tied to a fucking chair watching River’s chest rise and fall unevenly and hoping it continued to do so.

[gaytommykinard]

tommy waking up with sal wrapped around him like a goddamn koala bear and this - this nameless, unspoken thing between them - had started out with a drunken hook up that somehow turned into a semi-regular thing, and it was good, it worked, they're just blowing off steam, it's just sex, it's not a big deal - and that was a lie he could never look in the eye, could he, because it was a secret affair with someone he worked with day in day out - but now he wakes up and there's a warm body in his bed, there's a strong arm around his middle, there's steady, hot breaths on the nape of his neck, and tommy has to close his eyes and count to ten in his head because his heart aches with want for something he thinks he can never have. he doesn't know sal loves him back.

[littedidyouknow]

*sigh*. I’m very tired of my own brain. So I just had a discussion with someone at work (and it really, literally lasted no more than 5 minutes). And then i got the urge to write this thing when I really (really) shouldn’t be starting anything right now. And certainly shouldn’t be writing at work, either lol.

But anyways here we are so have an unedited snippet of this untitled wip that was just born and for which I already have 800 words apparently 🤷‍♀️

Happy WIP Wednesday!

“I’m sorry, M’am. But if there are no further signs than this, we can’t—“

“I’m telling you there are,” the voice was desperate.

And Rhys hated anyone being desperate, but this voice especially.

He was moving before he realized.

“I’m very sorry Mrs—“

“Miss,” the woman corrected with a rougher voice than before. “It’s Miss—“

“Archeron,” Rhys filled in as he finally stepped in near them.

All three heads turned towards him.

Nuala and her apologetic face.

Miss Archeron—Feyre—and her alarmed one.

And—

“Hey there, Missy Juliet,” Rhys said softly at the child in her mother’s arms. “What’s wrong with you?”

There was a silence, during which the small set of eyes only blinked at him.

And then, it was Nuala who said,

“I already told them we can’t—“

“We’re just leaving,” Feyre sighed—a painful sigh Rhys would have preferred not hearing. “We’re just—“

“What’s wrong?” He repeated softly, for her this time, as he met her blue-grey eyes. “What’s going on with her?”

Feyre swallowed. As if on instinct, she tightened her arms around Juliet and said, very slowly, “she’s… she’s just not—“ she shook her head, glancing at Nuala for a second before her eyes turned back to Rhys. “I know it’s nothing. But she’s absolutely exhausted. She’s never been like this, I—“

And Rhys knew it, too. He’d first met the pair of them a couple of months ago, when they’d been admitted in the hospital for chest pains on Juliet’s part. And Rhys had worked with worried parents—the ones who looked up the internet for any symptoms they thought their children had and ended up somehow convinced they were the doctor here. He knew overbearing. He knew overconfident.

Feyre wasn’t.

Feyre was always quiet in her worry, always careful.

If she had made the trip, it was because something was wrong.

“Let’s get you checked up,” Rhys said reassuringly with a small smile to the child—who, indeed, seemed absolutely out of strength. “Alright? Let’s get you—“

“Should I call for a nurse, Dr. Knight?”

Nuala’s voice was gentle, her hand was already on the phone when she asked.

And Rhys couldn’t blame her, either—with anyone else, he would have nodded, and gone back to his friends waiting behind him.

But…

“No, I’ll take care of it, Nuala,” he flashed her an easy smile. “No worries. Will you tell Cass to go ahead without me?”