#daltoneering

[microcomets]

top 5 ways to eat potato

hewwo abbi

baked + scallions, butter, bacon bits and sour cream

roasted with garlic

FRIED as in french fries

CRISPED as in potato chip

raw like an apple

ask me my top 5 or 10 anything!

[mdzs-fic]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Additional Tags: 

Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Magical Realism, Steampunk, Getting Together, Fluff and Angst, Light Angst, Wei Wuxian Master of Clocks, Thread fic conversion

Word count: 17k

Summary:

lan wangji wants to ask him so many things. but he is still processing the fact that wei wuxian knows what he is. he knows what he is, and he's a clockmaker.

before he can stop himself, he's unbuckling the timepiece from around his wrist and setting it down on the counter in front of wei wuxian.

"it's broken."

;

vaguely steampunk au in which lwj is a time traveller who has got stuck in 19th century london, where his only way out might be with the help of the eccentric clockmaker who flirts aggressively at him every time he enters his shop

[xiejie-liubo]

Created for the MXTX mini bang. Secret agent Lan Wangji in Hong Kong. (Will edit with a link to the fic this was created for tomorrow--by @daltoneering)

*edit* OK, the link to the fic is UP!

Check out @daltoneering‘s fab enemies to lovers fic, KISS WITH A FIST. It includes everything you could want: kick ass fight scenes, secret missions, angst and pining, and incredibly hot sex. --All this with a happy ending <3 

[laamwangji]

daily dose of wangxian bunny fluff (G) by daltoneering/@daltoneering

au where wwx & a-yuan walk past lwj's house on the way to school every morning and a-yuan always has to stop to say hello to the bunnies in the front garden

[sweetlittlevampire]

I’ve just read one of the most amazing Wangxian threadfics over on twitter.

Steampunk-ish AU? Victorian London? Friggin Time Travel??

Wei Wuxian is a clockmaker, of all things. I love his little quirky shop.

If this is something for you, and you’re on twitter, please head over to  @/daltoneering ( @daltoneering on here, I believe, if you want to check out more of their written goods); the thread is still ongoing. It does feature adult content though.

[stories-by-rie]

hiya! i saw your request to be added to my taglist - i have done so, thanks so much! just a heads up that i'm mostly in fandom mode at the moment but there will also be more writeblr/depths updates soon :D

thank you!! and no worries! fandom mode is super valid ^^ I’m looking forward to the updates with absolutely no pressure! ✨✨✨

[alcego-writes]

I had great difficulty deciding whether to request wangxian or June/Winnie for this but I have decided to go for June/Winnie because I Miss Them: situation 26 and sentence 8 😘

26 - A very cheesy date ; 8 - “You’re lucky you’re cute, because your taste in music is awful.”

Abbi this combo is so GOOD! I had a blast with this little snippet, so I hope you enjoy!

I’m currently taking requests from this prompt meme!

 Clutching an oversized plush to her chest, Winnie turns around to grin at June. One of the plush’s black, beady eyes the size of a golf-ball stares June down, something made all the more upsetting because June has no fucking clue what the plush is supposed to be—she thinks it’s a bear, although it might also be an anthropomorphic ice cream cone. The overlap is surprisingly thorough.

“June?” Winnie asks, shifting the plush so that its ear (sprinkle?) is no longer tugging at her hair.

She’s let it grow out over the past few months, and the tight, fuzzy curls form a thick barrier between Winnie’s neck and the rest of the world. June’s fingers twitch as she remembers the scar at the base of her skull, and she’s glad that Winnie’s done this.

Winnie stomps one of her feet, making the wide leg of her orange pants thwap almost as loudly as her white sneaker hitting the pavement. “June.”

She’s pouting now, and—shit—she’s whining, and June is so weak when Winnie says her name like this, full of want and frustration. Her throat goes dry and her tongue turns thick in her mouth, entirely contrary to speaking, but something in June’s face must give her away, because Winnie’s pout turns into a smirk as she sidles up to June’s side, resting part of the plush’s weight on June’s shoulder.

Without thinking about it, June takes the plush, relieving Winnie of her soft—and surprisingly heavy—burden.

“June,” Winnie says again, almost a purr in June’s ear. “What’re you thinking?”

“Nothing,” June says, and it’s not entirely a lie. Her mind fuzzes out more than it used to now, even moreso with Winnie around. Only some of June’s struggle can be explained away with the magical trauma she put herself through; the rest belongs only to Winnie and the whims of fate.

“Right,” Winnie says, and she sounds… disappointed, almost.

June frowns. Why is Winnie disappointed?

Before June gets the chance to ask, a blast of wind drags the music of the carnival toward them. Winnie’s face lights up at the sound of it and she dances to June’s side, hugs her through the plush, and tries to drag her toward the source. June, knowing full damn well what will happen if she gets too close to the music, stays put.

“Junie,” Winnie whines, torn between the heavy thump of the bass and the woman she loves. “Come on.”

“I’ll stay here,” June says, offering Winnie a wan smile. She wishes she could go with her and be swallowed up by the hypnotic thrall of neon lights and strange lanterns, but June knows better, knows that it will all dull and die the moment she ventures in. But shit, does June want this.

Winnie’s fingers dance along June’s skin, gentle and scalding all at once—yet again, June wonders if this is a side effect of their magic or if it’s something natural, and, as always, she finds no answers. Just Winnie tucking herself under June’s arm, laying a fond kiss to her shoulder, and whispering, “You’re lucky you’re cute, because your taste in music is awful.”

Scoffing, June tries to get a good look at Winnie so she can properly engage in this next bit of flirting, but she forgets about physics. And, you know, the limbs of the maybe-bear plush.

“Winnie!” June calls as she wrestles the plush into submission, trying to see where her partner (in crime; in life; in love) has disappeared off to.

Predictably enough, June spies Winnie’s lovely poof of hair disappearing among the crowd, slipping into the carnival. June cranes her head to see Winnie laugh with delight, head tilted back as she stares at the string of rainbow lightbulbs hanging over the walkway, and a soft warmth fills June’s chest, makes her feel sure and solid, like she could do anything if only she put her mind to it.

Hell, she probably could, things being what they are.

Knowing that Winnie can still hear her, that Winnie is still so attuned to her, June cups one hand around her mouth and shouts, “Bring me kettle corn!”

Though she can’t see Winnie through the crowd, June swears that she hears her joyful laugh clear as day.