#WIP in progress

[cvnt-soup]

oh man i’m starving pass me the ketchup will you?

[paperclips37]

Bit more of that shirtless Frank thing I am trying to finish...

--------

Kids are told that Doctors are upheld, revered, respected. The reality was that people were assholes. Frank thought ruefully as Whitaker gently prodded at his ribs.

‘Any pain?’ Frank just shot the young man a look. Both men paused as screaming kicked off again. A patient had suddenly gone off on Frank as he examined him. The startling awareness after being postictal has seemingly driven him into temporary psychosis. He had gotten a couple of strong blows to Frank’s chest and ribs before Abbot and Donohue restrained him. Abbot had sent him to get checked over with Whitaker. Any argument that Frank had had disappeared at the withering glare.

Frank didn’t think any of his ribs were fractured, severely bruised though. He glanced down to see the growing red and purple colouring blooming on his chest.

‘Could you get me an ice pack please? And tell Abbot I’m fairly sure that John Doe has a leaking baggie of cocaine in his gut.’ Whitaker’s face contorted and he scurried out of the room. Dana appeared in his wake.

‘Oh Ken why is it always you?’ She passed over the ice pack. He hissed loudly as he placed the ice pack against his chest. The cold stabbed into his skin but it melted into soothing numbness.

‘Karma?’ Dana nodded with a mockingly expression of concern.

‘That would track.’

‘Love the nurse sympathy.’

‘Oh I only give that to people who deserve it.’

‘Ouch. And I thought you loved me.’

‘Begrudgingly.’ Dana stepped closer and gave him a cursory once over herself. Her hands much gentler than Whitaker’s. Experienced hands.

‘I’m going to get you up to X-ray.’

‘I’m fine.’

‘As talented a doctor as you are you can’t see through your own skin Kid. C’mon.’ The curtain twitched and suddenly Mel was standing there. Dana’s eyes flicked back and forth curiously. A devious glint blooming in her eyes. Those eyes that never failed to see right through him. ‘I think he needs the VIP treatment eh Mel?’ Mel reacted to the pat on her arm as Dana vanished with a swoosh of the curtain.

‘She’s getting me a wheelchair isn’t she?’ Mel didn’t respond. Frank glanced over to see the weirdest look on her face. Eyes overly large, eyebrows damn near hitting her hairline. She was staring at his chest. The bruising must look horrendous by now. He pulled back the ice pack, shivering at the icy droplets sliding down his chest. It was sweet how she cared. He noticed how she swallowed heavily in that way she sometimes did when trying to give herself a moment to steady herself.

The colours were striking against his ridiculously pale skin. His side ached. He had so far refused all pain meds. This was manageable, he’d suffered worse. Verifying Whitaker’s check, Frank gently probed his ribs. No sign of his ribs giving way. Mel shook her head, braid flying behind her.

Her gaze became more assessing. Doctor Mel appeared before him. Leaning down to examine his ribs. Frank did his best to resist the urge to puff up.

‘How’s the pain?’

‘Manageable.’ Her staring up at him from her current stance. Bent over, over the top of his glasses at him was just plain dangerous. Especially as her face was that mix of stern and compassionate that only work for her. He was suddenly very aware of the level of exposed skin and how close she was.

‘May I?’ Her hand hovered at the small gloves on the table just behind her. He nodded unable to trust his voice. Or his impulse control.

Frank turned his gaze to the ceiling. Trying to pretend it was anyone else. But there was no mistaking the gentle, light touch that only she could have. Her hands were cool and worked efficiently across his skin. Frank rattled off medical procedures in order of increasing complexity as she evaluated him.

‘I don’t think anything is broken but I agree an X-ray to confirm is the best course of action.’ She snapped off her gloves and Frank had a flash. A really inappropriate image of her playing the sexy doctor. Time for his yearly physical.

Get a grip. She’s your friend – stop being a creep – what few rational brain cells scolded him.

That was going to haunt him. He nodded still not willing to trust himself to speak.

Dana whistled from the other side of the curtain.

‘C’mon princess your carriage awaits.’ Dana bowed to him jokingly. Mel passed him a replacement ice pack. Was she blushing slightly? Usually he’d have refused the wheelchair but the combination of Dana and Mel disapproving and worried looks respectively meant he reluctantly sat down. Dana took control.

Cheers and jeers followed him as Dana wheeled him to radiography. Abbot had fast tracked his scan. The portable ones did not have enough detail for him. Sometimes he was such a worry wart. The fact that he was still shirtless was only a smart part of the humiliation. Cassie wolf whistled from the opposite side of the room. Santos rolled her eyes. Frank just ignored them.

The elevator doors opened to a yawning Garcia. The chuckle seemed to bloom from her feet and grow into the elevator. Just the cherry on top of this weird day. Dana had her limits in how long a joke would go on for. Yoyo? She’d try and get it engraved on his headstone.

‘Are we doing a calender this year?’ Dana was damn near giggling as she wheeled him in. Slapping his hands away from steering the chair himself.

‘Ooooooo we should suggest that to Gloria. Might get us the beds Robby keeps bitching about.’ Garcia and Dana started riffing over who would be in each month. Abbot being Mr. December was a choice but Frank knew better than to comment. That’s what they were waiting for. Garcia winked obnoxiously at Mel who was decidedly rosy in the cheeks.

‘Oooooo Chen should be August.’

‘Robby: December.’

‘Changing Doctor Daddy to Doctor Santa? Less sexy surely.’ Garcia stared down at Frank waiting for the repartee he was known for. Truth be told he’d barely been listening. Mel had kept her gaze fixed on the buttons for the elevator. While eye contact was different for her, she’d never really avoided his gaze like this. Had he done something.

‘Not sure how wise it is to have a full time lesbian consulting on the beefcake calender of the Pitt.’ The glare from Yoyo was beyond withering. A hint to the fact that he was right. This was rather out of her wheelhouse. But he didn’t dare suggest a gender flip one.

He was already struggling to stop his brain from having ideas.

He hated the sexy doctor routine.

Especially when Mel’s face was such an interesting (primarily) adorable shade of red. He was far to exposed, literally and figuratively.

‘I can be entirely objective.’ Tone: smug, knowing. All hot shot surgeon. Urgh.

‘Is lack of interest objective?’ Yoyo’s eyes lit up at the unexpected jab from Mel. Well not a jab so much as a curious observation. Dana was carrying out breathing excercises next to him. Trying to contain her laughter.

This was the longest elevator ride in history.

‘King. I like the way you think.’ Mel’s face lit up with joy. Frank tried his best not to be blinded by it. Pretty much a loosing battle. Her enthusiasm and verve for life was infectious. Within an hour she’d wormed her way through his master class in cynicism. Yoyo much like him was not immune to her charms.

Finally the doors opened to a bevy of cheers and catcalls. He was never going to hear the end of this.

Frank walked back into The Pitt. Nothing broken or anything to cause long term damage. He'd agreed to taking the next day off but insisted on finishing out his shift. He was a bit sore and stiff. He made his way over to the main desk. Dana was rolling her eyes and leaving Robby to his mopey devices.

‘Spot on diagnosis.’ Robby muttered or grunted. Some days it was harder to tell. Frank, shirt back on, just in time too. Myrna was enacting her usual routine. Hitting on anything male adjacent and relatively conscious. Frank kept his head down and took the proffered paperwork. He and Robby actually shared a moment of mutual irritation over red tape.

A patient went nuts because he was smuggling cocaine. And Frank got in the way. Could have been much worse.

‘Fruitcake!’ Frank did his best to look passive, not listening not any bit engaged. The blush that was appearing on his skin. He was not enjoying that at all. ‘Have you been avoiding me darling?’

‘Never.’ If there was an upside to doing this pointless paperwork, because really the hospital had no intention of ever ensuring proper safeguards for staff. It was at least he was getting a show. Not that Myrna refused to understand that sexual harassment wasn’t fun for anyone. But Robby trying to appear like he was in control of this dynamic was an exercise in futility. Robby who tried to control every part of himself so tightly he was liable to snap at himself.

Maybe he was being petty, but Frank was a petty petty man.

‘I heard that a tall dark doctor was half naked earlier today.... sorry I missed the show Fruitcake.’ Robby’s eyes stared darkly into Franks.

Oh god.

Robby was also a petty petty petty bastard.

‘Wasn’t me Myrna. Ask Doctor Langdon.’

[blorbocedes]

it's happening

[melikedraw]

Chat am I cooking or what HAGSHAHHAAHHA

[artisticbrainrotxx]

And he knew—with a conviction so daunting—that if she so much as flicked the cap off, he wouldn’t stop pouring. Not until he was laid bare before her, his soul stripped to its very essence for her to behold.

[oliolioxenfreewrites]

osi’s midnight masquerade; a theatre troupe of queer vampires who play by their own rules. Would you be able to tell us a bit more about the vampires who make up this theatre troupe? 👀

I couldn't begin to understand the lives of these salacious vamps, so, I'll let Osi provide clarity ;)

a mini wip intro for chirstmas?? i think yes

WIP INTRO - Osi's Midnight Masquerade (narrated by Osirys himself)

Being a vampire isn’t a blessing. Let’s start there. It’s not the romanticized eternal youth nonsense you read about in books or see on glossy screens. It’s not the allure of satin sheets or the thrill of moonlit hunts. It’s a tightrope walk, every step one miscalculation away from falling into something dark, sharp, and impossible to climb out of. I would know—I’ve been walking that line for centuries.

To most, we’re the fantasies they want to believe in: seductive silhouettes cutting through smoke and shadows, predators with a touch of tragedy. People want us to be beautiful and dangerous, the ultimate contradiction. They want the dream of immortality wrapped in silk and sharpened by fangs. And we let them believe it. We have to. The truth? The truth is too messy, too raw for their imaginations to handle. Without connection—without others to keep us tethered—we lose ourselves. The hunger takes over. The walls of who we are collapse. That’s why I built the Masquerade in the late 70s. Not just for the performances or the power, but for the people. For the family.

And what a family it is. Deeply flawed, creative, brilliant, infuriating—but mine. Each of them brings their chaos, their hunger, their fight. Every single one of them keeps me grounded in ways I can’t always explain.

Milo is the heartbeat of the Masquerade, the one who keeps us moving even when everything else threatens to fall apart. Her music isn’t just accompaniment—it’s a command, shaping the energy of every performance, holding the audience in her grip. She doesn’t simply compose; she controls, her hands always in motion, her mind consistently several tempos ahead. Small-framed, but impossible to miss, Milo has a presence that feels like gravity, the kind that steadies the room while reminding everyone who’s really in charge.

Her sharp, hazel eyes don’t miss a thing, and her voice—measured but biting when necessary—can cut through the noise like a conductor silencing an unruly orchestra. She thrives on precision, on keeping chaos at bay, but she’s just as willing to unleash it if she thinks we’ve earned it. Milo doesn’t deal in softness, but when you’re spinning out, she’s the one who holds you steady, unyielding and certain, even if she’ll never admit that’s what she’s doing.

Still, Milo isn’t easy to know. For all her command, she keeps most of herself locked away behind a wall of sharp wit and sharper boundaries. You’ll catch glimpses sometimes—in the way her fingers drift over the piano keys during a rare moment alone, or in the weight of her gaze when she thinks no one’s looking. But the second she realizes you’ve noticed, she shuts it down, turning back into the unflinching architect of the Masquerade’s rhythm.

Vinscint is her constant, the foundation beneath her intensity. Tall, broad, and deliberate, he moves as if he's never rushed a day in his life. His calmness steadies the surrounding storm, and his strength quietly holds the Masquerade together when everything else feels like it’s falling apart. They create a balance—Milo’s sharp drive is softened by Vinscint’s patience, while the weight of his silence is anchored by her commanding presence.

Together, they’re the reason we’ve even lasted this long, the ones we all look to even when we won’t admit it. Milo keeps the rhythm, Vinscint keeps the ground beneath our feet, and between the two of them, we manage to survive.

René? René is my star, the one who steps into the spotlight and makes you forget the world existed before he arrived. He doesn’t just perform—he commands. When René moves, it’s with a grace that doesn’t feel learned, as though the stage itself bends to accommodate him. His voice has a richness that fills every corner with the theater, every word an invitation laced with danger, every glance a challenge you know you’ll lose but can’t help but accept.

His presence is magnetic and intoxicating in a way that feels unfair, like the universe cheated by putting that much beauty, talent, and raw hunger into one person. He burns so brightly it’s a miracle he hasn’t engulfed himself entirely, and yet there’s always the sense that he might. He leans into it though, weaponizing the tension, the risk, and the inevitability of his self-destruction. He thrives on it, and the audience does too. They adore him, worship him even, and René takes that adoration like it’s owed. Because to him, it is.

Tof is something else entirely. He doesn’t just stir up chaos; he is chaos, wearing it like a tailored suit, all sharp smiles and sharper edges. He steps onto the stage with a kind of careless confidence, like he owns it—and, in a way, he does. Rules mean nothing to Tof. He doesn’t just break them; he obliterates them, scattering the pieces for everyone else to trip over while he watches from the sidelines with a grin that could cut glass. He likes to see how far someone is pushed before they snap, and when they do, he’s there, ready to offer a smirk or a sharp quip that makes you wonder if he planned the whole thing.

But here’s the thing about Tof: he’s not as reckless as he wants you to think. Beneath all that chaos, there’s a mind that’s always working, always calculating. Every sharp word, every sly grin, every rule he shatters—it’s all deliberate. He’s not just ahead of the game; he’s the one running it, even when it looks like he’s spiraling out of control. That’s his brilliance. He’ll make you think he’s falling apart, but the truth is, he’s the one pulling the strings.

Now, of course, Tof does have one glaring flaw—or maybe it’s just part of his charm. He can’t keep his dick in his pants. It’s not just the sex, though that’s certainly part of it. For Tof, it’s about the game, the thrill of pursuit, the power of knowing he can have anyone he wants—mortal or immortal. It’s the tension, the chase, the way seduction gives him the upper hand before the other person even realizes they’re playing.

Moving on to Xaviyr, my baby. My soft spot. My reminder of what it was like to feel alive before the hunger sank its teeth into me. Xaviyr is young by our standards, still carrying a kind of softness the rest of us can’t afford anymore. His face, round and open, hasn’t yet been hardened by centuries of survival, and his wide, dark eyes still hold questions instead of answers. There’s a quietness to him, a gentleness that stands in stark contrast to the sharp edges of the rest of us.

But don’t mistake that softness for weakness. Xaviyr may not burn like René or cut like Tof, but there’s a strength in his stillness that’s impossible to ignore. He draws people in without demanding their attention, makes them feel safe without ever promising safety. It’s a skill none of us could replicate even if we tried.

Still, I worry about him. Xaviyr’s softness is part of what makes him so vital to the Masquerade, but it’s also what makes him vulnerable. This world isn’t kind to people like him, and I can see the toll it’s already taking, even if he doesn’t admit it. He’s learning, though. Learning how to navigate the hunger, the power, the constant push and pull of what it means to be one of us.

Pandora, the silent watchdog of our darkest secrets, her gaze defined by the weighty burden of her knowledge. She is known for her clairvoyance, an ability that survived her transition into vampirism. Her eyes, like deep pools of wisdom, perceive the fragile fissures in our lives long before they expand, a subtle warning etched in her expression. She is the guardian who steps in when we teeter on the edge of self-destruction, gently guiding us back from the precipice when our blindness threatens to consume us.

And last, but certainly not least, there’s me. Osirys. Osi to those who’ve earned it. I’m the one who built all this, the one who keeps it standing when everything else threatens to fall apart. I’m not the star—that’s René. I’m not the heart—that’s Milo. I’m the centerpiece, the one who holds the pieces together even when they don’t want to fit.

I’m not proud of everything I’ve done to keep the Masquerade alive, but I don’t regret it either. Regret is a privilege unbeknownst to turn off the century’s vampires like myself. The stage is what matters. Our family is what matters. And as long as I’m here, as long as the lights still burn and the audience still comes, I’ll make sure the Masquerade survives.

When we come together, we create something special that’s bigger than just each of us alone. On stage, we become unstoppable. The crowd feeds us their amazement, their curiosity, and their willingness to be swept away, and we soak it all in. That’s the real desire—not just our good looks or charm, but the presence we bring. It’s about being able to look someone in the eye and make them feel truly seen, wanted, and alive. That’s what makes us what they call, 'seductive.' Once they experience that connection, they won't want to let it go.

Neither do we.

That’s what the Masquerade is. A lifeline. A purpose. It’s what keeps not just me, but all of us from falling apart; no matter how sharp the line my children and I walk. If holding on to the spotlight makes me a monster, so be it. I’ve learned to live with that. Because at the end of the night, when the audience is gone and the lights fade, I’m still here. And that has to count for something.

tag list ; reply or dm me to be added to it ♥

@drchenquill @illarian-rambling @kaylinalexanderbooks @leahpardo-pa-potato @slenders1ckn3ss

@somethingclevermahogony @inky-duchess @sassystyl @rotting-moon-writes @highlycosmic

@avaseofpeonies @oc-atelier @ceph-the-ghost-writer @paeliae-occasionally @davycoquette

@unforgettable-sensations @hissorrow22 @boredwritergirl @thewrathoffemalerage

@rirori-jeorgiarn @spookyceph @the-golden-comet @seastarblue @wyked-ao3

[zepskies]

hiiiii!! rumour has it u do requests!! n I'd luv if u wrote a lil tinee small sumthin about how soldier boy would react to you having nightmares 🥺 ig roughly translated i just need sb 2 comfort me u knooo 🩷✨ tysm I hope this request is ok 4 u n u totally dont have to do it if ur not feelin it ofc!! 🐰✨

Sorry, hun, I know it's been a while since you requested this but I was finally able to get to it!

I know you didn't ask for this specifically, but I think this is a great Soldier Boy x Reader prompt for the BMD-verse.

Coming soon this Saturday...

"In the Dark"

Pairing: Soldier Boy (Ben) x F. Reader

Summary: You and Ben have tackled the insurmountable together, but no one said the recovery would be easy.

It'll be set shortly after Break Me Down Part 17 (or sometime before the Epilogue). 💚

👀 Sneak Peek:

“…ake up.”

Words that just barely registered as you sucked in shallow breaths.

A solid pair of arms were caging you, and you instinctively fought the hold, uttering a whimper.

“Hey,” he said firmly. “It’s me.”

You let out a gasp and finally found Ben’s face in the dark of the room. Your chest heaved as you stared up at him.

Despite your relief, tears brimmed in your eyes...

[collineato]

this is going to be the best thing i have ever drawn look at him hes so cute

[aresuna]

Two WIPs! One of them is actually almost finished! 😊

[cvnt-soup]

hehheheheheheheehehehhehe

[purplecladmerchant]

my hands are freezing someone help me

[blorbocedes]

It has been two months, queen please let us feast upon a snippet 😫

ykno my norstappie max mutuals hate lando now and the lando mutuals hate the ship so the final chapter will literally have 0 readers 😫 but that's okay 🥲 here's a little snip...

cheer me on so I finish faster!!!

[melikedraw]

i adore mime bomb that would be awesome if u drew him

Wip of him being silly with the mental asylum cameras!!!!1!1!!1!1!1

I cooked with the perspective (I think)))

[mysticstarlightduck]

Song of Thorns - WIP Intro/WIP Wednesday

Jumping on the OPEN TAG by @little-peril-stories (here), and @kaylinalexanderbooks tag (here) because I was really inspired and wanted to give it a try! I tried to give my twist on the same format, because it was really cool!

(Also, I had been wanting an excuse to do an actual intro for this WIP for a while now, even though it's not my main one and is a much smaller side project lol)

By the way, if you like this, please reblog, it helps a lot 💕

Rules: Pick a WIP. Post something about it. On a Wednesday. Or whenever! It can be literally anything! (:

WIP INTRO - SONG OF THORNS

Title: Song of Thorns

Genre: High Fantasy/Dark Fairytale

Tags: #wip song of thorns #song of thorns

Synopsis/What Is It About?

Roselyn, a teenage girl from a backwater fishing village on the edge of the continent, moves to the kingdom's floating capital with her siblings - Jasen, her older brother and a brilliant aspiring sorcerer, and their 12-year-old younger sister, Portia - after Jasen gets a prestigious apprenticeship in the mystical city.

However, after a while, it becomes apparent that something is not what it seems in the city of legend. In fact, something is very wrong. When Jasen mysteriously disappears without a trace, trying to find out what happened reveals the true facet of the up-til-then-welcoming nobility, and gets her falsely accused of treason.

Sentenced to death for reasons she cannot understand, Roselyn finds her second chance when the royal family's youngest prince, the nephew of the King, sets her free in the middle of the night with a proposal - helping him stop the full extent of his family's schemes and save the city before it is too late.

With the help of the now-exiled prince and a couple other outcasts, Roselyn will expose the city's corruption and save her brother before it is too late. All the while she starts falling in love with the charming though lonely thief (Renn) who has stolen her heart. But with strange forces being tampered with and magic swiftly changing, time is slipping away disturbingly fast.

Tropes and Nice Stuff! (Or, a.k.a. What you can expect in this book!)

Friends to Lovers! (Renn x Roselyn, Prince Alaric x Jasen)

Eldritch horror, dark fantasy, and blood magic. The royals are basically fantasy mad scientists and it gets complicated...

The perfect city has some really fucked up secrets that nobody was supposed to find out. Ever.

Epic heists (or as I like to call it: these fools doing absolutely everything wrong but failing successfully)

Fantasy creatures, enchanted forests, a derpy giant talking cat. You name it! There are loads of peaceful sea monsters too, and some very dangerous creatures I've invented as well!

Sad, absolutely heartbreaking scenes and some goofy, silly scenes!

Goth thief who is actually very nerdy and not at all brooding.

An aro/ace druid's apprentice! A bit unhinged and admittedly clueless about the world outside, but the sweetest character ever"

An actually Good Stepmother! (Subversion of the Wicked Stepmother trope)

Enemies to Friends (that's a spoiler!)

A villain who may act childish but is actually not stupid at all and is the most threatening MF you'll ever meet

Whump! (Potentially)

Medieval/Renaissance period with a touch of Fantasy Science

A soft magic system

Siblings, family bonds, and intrigue!

Sometimes the villains kinda win and it is scary (but don't worry the heroes find a way to fight another day so it's not all doom and gloom, almost, but not.)

And more!💕

Meet The Main Cast! (The good guys)

Roselyn Lethia

A curious and opinionated teenager, Roselyn finds herself dragged into a net of intrigue, lies, and bloodied secrets after her beloved older brother suddenly goes missing without a trace, and the kingdom tries to convince her he never existed. She is kind, brave, and determined, though she can sometimes take on more than she can realistically handle, and needs to rely solely on her book-earned wits and sparse fighting skills to get through her fears. Her greatest motive is keeping her loved ones safe, but she also, deep down, yearns for some adventuring.

Prince Alaric of the Hyghsummit

Naive and slightly arrogant without realizing it, Alaric is the youngest prince of the reigning royal family. He is the nephew of the King and was largely raised by his stepmother Catallinah, a motherly but no-nonsense woman trapped in an arranged marriage to his uncle after the death of her husband, Alaric's father. Most of his other relatives from his large family consider him a weak link and most don't even bother with him at all - but Alaric is much more than the capital's "failed prince". He is a brilliant and well-read young man who has spent most of his time honing his abilities to bring down the lies of his corrupted family. He falls in love with Jasen, who became his friend after the latter started working as an apprentice to the court's High Sorcerer.

Renn Atrius

A foreign noble from beyond the royal lands, he was forced into the lifestyle of a thief from a young age, after being orphaned when his father was murdered for refusing to obey their neighboring kingdom's crown. Learning the art of disappearing into the night and taking valuables from the land that took everything from him and colonized his nation, Renn quickly became quite the nuisance for the King. But thankfully to his connection to raw blood magic, his slight vampiric abilities ensure no human soldier ever proves a real threat to him. He starts to fall in love with Roselyn, having become friends with her after trying to steal her coin purse (having mistaken her for a tourist from the capital).

Jasen Lethia

Roselyn's older brother, Jasen is a brilliant and highly ambitious student of the arcane arts. Their home village never provided much chances for his studies, but he kept practicing until he was good enough to earn a highly prestigious apprenticeship at the capital's Evocation Order. He is pragmatic, soft-spoken, and painstakingly patient, and though his studies are important to him, raising his sisters has been his top priority since their parents were killed in a bandit raid to their village when he was twelve, especially because their grandmother was too frail to really do much to raise them when she was alive. Jasen becomes close friends with Prince Alaric, who is around his age, though Jasen dismisses his own personal romantic feelings, believing that he would never be deemed worthy to love a noble and saying anything would only ruin their friendship, when in fact Alaric feels the same. Jasen went missing after discovering the truth about the King by accident.

Oriana Whisperleaf

A quirky and extremely talkative druid's apprentice, Oriana was neglected by her birth parents, who did not care for her. When she was five, she wandered into a local meadow and into the woods - no one came looking for her. She got really lost, but thankfully, she met the mysterious druidic witch who lived deep in the enchanted woods of the realm, a beautiful woman who took her in and raised her as her daughter and apprentice.

Portia Lethia

Roselyn and Jasen's youngest sister, Portia is a very quiet and often sensitive 12-year-old kid, who prefers to spend her time in the company of animals rather than people and wants to become an animal healer when she comes of age. She is smart, perceptive, and polite/well-behaved for her age, though sometimes she has a prankster streak!

Plot Points .... or not🙃 (so far, because this WIP is still early in creation)

"Peace and Quiet and All Things Nice - wait what tf is that in the water? Eh. Probably just a sea monster, it's likely nothing."

"You're saying we're going to the capital - a city literally built in the mountains floating in the sky?! Count me IN dude I am hyped!"

"Traveling. And traveling. And traveling some more. Gods, does this goddamn road ever end -? Oh, and we're there."

"Two unsupervised teenage girls explore an unknown city and shenanigans ensue. Also, meet this suspicious royal High Sorcerer dude who will mentor their older brother and is totally not gonna betray him at all. Trust me."

"Things are looking great! I'm having fun, this is nice!"

"OBLIGATORY ONE-YEAR TIME SKIP"

"I have the feeling some sus bullshit is afoot but I don't know why. And I don't know if I wanna know. Everything's fine! Right?... right?"

"BREAKING NEWS: Watch how an entire kingdom tries to gaslight a teenager!"

"...Why are there bloodstains in the castle? What are those gooey-looking branches? Oh, hell to the nah~"

"So apparently I've been arrested. That's new. They have yet to read me my rights."

"So either I'm gonna be executed or have my mind erased. That's new. How about neither? No? This is not how I saw my weekend going."

"Breaking out with the prince. I don't know which of us is more confused. We're totally not gonna die in like two days at this rate."

"Getting lost in a very cursed-looking forest and finding out that the kingdom is slowly dying. At least that druid looks friendly - if she doesn't try to kill us. Yet again."

"Meet this 100-year-old lady who looks 30. She's nice. A bit crazy though, I think, but nice? Real talk, I'm not sure if this is tea or poison, or if she knows, but I'm too concerned to ask."

"So your insane family has sent assassins to kill us? Neat. And you didn't think that was a priority to mention, why exactly..? OF COURSE IT WAS A PRIORITY YOU GILDED DIMWIT!"

"This goth mercenary guy did just try to rob me, but he did save my life, so. Plus he does look handsome in this light, ngl. Why does he look so cute, tf is wrong with me?"

"🎶And I'm never gonna sleep again, sleep again, lalala, what the eldritch hell did I just see -🎶

"Rival civilization! Finally! Pls tell me there's not an insane guild of blood sorcerers in this town my dude. I need a break desperately and I'm not sure if my sanity can handle any more - Oh thank goodness. It's just horrifying monsters beyond my wildest dreams then. I'd take that any day. How much does an inn cost here?"

"Group of dumbasses tries to pull off complicated plan. Proceeds to forget said plan halfway through and ends up improvising an entire heist. Also, that's a talking cat. Why is there a talking cat."

"Finding out your prince best friend has been in love with your older brother since they met. Pt 1"

"Not-so-Evil (actually the nicest) Stepmother jumpscares teenagers and feels bad about it. She has cookies though so that's okay though."

"The King throws a massive hissy fit, Special Edition (:"

"So. This is bad. This is bad. Thisissobad. I'm traumatized. I regret all my life choices and I think I'm going to throw up. This is so bad."

"We need a plan. A better one to be exact."

"Absolutely not! We are not breaking into that place, oh Hells no! No. Absolutely not-" (shift scenes, deadpan tone) "We broke into that place and I regret everything."

That's it so far! I'm still workshopping the ending from here (:

Playlist

Runaway - AURORA

Only Teardrops - Emmelie De Forest

Shadow - Livingston

Elan - Nightwish

Bad Feeling - Jaguar Twain

Tagging (gently, no pressure!) @kaylinalexanderbooks @littleladymab @cabbojage @lassiesandiego @little-peril-stories @oh-no-another-idea @thepeculiarbird @rickie-the-storyteller @crowandmoonwriting @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @gummybugg @forthesanityofstorytellers @doublegoblin @aalinaaaaaa @starlit-hopes-and-dreams @elshells @illarian-rambling @clairelsonao3 @conkers-thecosy @anyablackwood @diabolical-blue @cowboybrunch and OPEN TAG for anyone else who wants to do their own spin in this challenge!

[bushytaills]

𝐛𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐲𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐬; is a mutuals exclusive / selective multi-muse role-play blog for Doreen Green | Squirrel Girl & Peter Quill | Star-Lord & Rocket Raccoon Slightly canon but mostly taken away from canon sources!! Blog is completely independent, typically doesn’t follow first / follows first selectively HEAVILY DIVORCED from the Marvel RPC can also be fandomless!! Multi-fandom, crossover friendly & multi-ship friendly!! VERY low activity!! Loved and cherish by Doe - 22 - she/her

MAJOR WIP ⚠️

Carrd | meme tag | Rp starter tag | Rules

[gimme-blueeyes-n-harrystyles]

I didn't know I would see you so soon: Buck & Tommy meet the night before they fly into a hurricane

...Tommy wastes no time trying to locate Evan before he has a chance to waltz out of his life once again. When he catches sight of the man who radiates sunshine he takes just a moment to watch him before he hollers “Hey Evan!” When Buck waltzes over to him he can not help but smile at the adorable man, remembering why he hollered at Buck he takes a breath before he bites the bullet

“ So I was hoping I could get your number before you left so we can plan to meet up at that bar again, if you would like… of course” 

Evan blushes and grins, “of course… but I, I uh don’t have my phone on me so you will have to text me first”

As Tommy pulls out his phone he realizes that his phone has long since died so he pulls out a sharpie and hands it to Evan as he rolls up his sleeve “Write your number on my arm and I will text you as soon as my phone is charged”.  Buck smirks and says “Ink for ink” as he in turn rolls up his own sleeve so Tommy can do the same. 

Feedback is welcomed, being a first-time writer makes me feel like a fish out of water lol. It's not posted on Ao3 yet because of *anxiety*.