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[somegrumpynerd]

Remaining kitties for the garden

Here are all the kitties who didn't make it to the website and their pet screens c:

^The regular kitties (The nothing option would make Error show up and just kinda glare at everybody lol and there would be mirror and paper bag options to see Dust and Horror again)

^The winter kitties (The snow option would bring out Blue and Dream, the christmas lights brought Fresh and the stocking was Ink)

^The special pairs (I don't think any of these made it to the polls lol but putting out a bed would bring Horror and Dust together, putting out a rainbow cushion would bring Color and Killer (this was how you would finally be able to pet him) and putting down comic books would bring Epic and Cross, who would finally purr when pet with his bestie)

[your-local-hellclock]

<Ohhhhhh. I should not use the mass post editor. Ah. Okie dokie.>

[charmandabear]

Office Hours: I want this like a cigarette (3/16)

Pairing: Astarion/Named F!Tav Rating: Explicit Word Count: 4.9k Tags/Warnings: semi-public sex, under the desk blowjob, vampire biting/blood, chair sex, wildly unprofessional behavior (full list on ao3)

Summary:

Ancunín makes Rosalind feel so gods damned flustered, there simply has to be a way to get her revenge.

Okay, I know I goobered it and released this chapter a week late, but I'm hoping to make up for it with the fact that a) the Masterlist will be out momentarily, and 2) you're getting chapters 3 and 4 at the same time. And chapter 4 is almost entirely new stuff! But that's for the next post.

Next chapter ~ Read it on AO3 ~ Masterlist Office Hours playlist on Spotify

Ever since Rosalind slept with Ancunín — or, perhaps more accurately, he fucked her mercilessly over his desk — she hasn’t been able to get him out of her head. It's a little embarrassing, frankly. Every time she passes him in the hallway, a single glance over those round wire frames has her suppressing the moan that bubbles in her throat. One whiff of his fragrance and her pussy clenches in a Pavlovian response.

Standing in front of her mailbox in the main office, she reads a thrilling update from Volo about season selection. The next meeting is going to be even more brainstorming. Lovely.

Rosalind can smell him before she hears him, and the heat creeps up the back of her neck. He comes up behind her, standing closer than is probably necessary, and reaches above her head to empty his own mailbox.

“Pardon,” he says politely, but she feels like he’s going out of his way to brush against her. A shiver runs down her spine as he very gently grazes the back of her neck while shuffling through the papers.

He turns and starts chatting amicably with Hope. How can he stay so cool when Rosalind is practically in shambles? She pretends that she’s still reading the short memo just to collect herself. When he finally leaves the main office, she manages to turn around and imitate some semblance of a normal person. Hope catches her eye and frowns.

“Is everything alright with you? You're looking a little flushed,” she asks, genuine concern coloring her voice. Rosalind twists her face into a smile, hoping that it reads as gratitude rather than annoyance.

“Yeah, I'm fine, thank you. Probably just a little dehydrated,” she says, putting a little extra rasp in her voice to help sell the story.

“I’m about to leave for lunch, I could grab you something from the student union, if you're thirsty.” She smiles sweetly, fully unaware of the double entendre.

“I'm good, I have some water back in my office. I appreciate the offer, though.” The smile is now plastered to Rosalind’s face as she moves to leave the office. She bumps into Karlach while trying to make a hasty exit.

“Gods, soldier, you okay? You look like you just got out of a sauna.” She claps Rosalind on the shoulder and her knees buckle. The technical director had spent 10 years in the army, so Rosalind couldn’t fault her for the nickname, or the smack to the shoulder, for that matter.

“Just a little thirsty, is all,” she replies, continuing to scoot her way out of the office.

“Yeah ya are!” Karlach points two finger guns at her and flashes a big suggestive smile. Rosalind freezes for a half second, then realizes that Karlach is making a generic lewd joke and not pointedly calling her out for her current condition. Rosalind awkwardly finger guns back as she finally slips through the doorway and books it to her office.

She sits down at her desk and grabs her water bottle, taking a long sip. It's unbelievable how much of a hold he has on her. She thinks back to her bathtub fantasy from a few days ago. She could not have predicted the dynamic more incorrectly. She really thought that she would be the one in control, that she would have him coming undone for her.

That’s one of the few positive memories of her relationship with Aradin. He was a condescending ass — frankly, not too dissimilar to Ancunín. But when she got him into the bedroom, it didn’t take much to turn him into a pathetic whimpering mess. Her favorite thing was to ride his face, finally getting him to shut the fuck up. She shakes her head to clear it of the memory.

Instead, she lets the image of Ancunín pounding into her while pushing her face into his desk flood her mind, setting her heart racing. Her breath hitches slightly as the memory plays out vividly, like her own personal erotica.

“It must be rather exciting, whatever's got your blood going that way.” His sultry voice interrupts her debaucherous thoughts and she yelps in surprise. She glares at him leaning in the doorframe, hands in his pockets with his unbuttoned collar poking out from beneath a charcoal sweater. Looking like an absolute gods damned treat. He chuckles and saunters into her office, settling into one of the chairs across from her desk and crossing his lithe legs. Rosalind grumbles; despite her newfound attraction, he's still an arrogant little shit.

“I thought you couldn't come in uninvited,” she scowls, keeping her voice low for fear of someone overhearing.

“I don't recall being invited to come last time, but you didn't seem to mind,” he says with that little giggle of his, and Rosalind crosses her arms with a petulant pout. “Regardless, the rule only applies to homes, not individual rooms within a public university.”

Her frown deepens, unsure if he's being patronizing or not. “Is there something I can help you with, or are you just here to frustrate me?” She leans forward on her desk, trying to imitate his casual authority. She isn’t terribly successful.

“You seem to be doing that perfectly well yourself, the way I could hear your arteries pumping from down the hall.” His smile widens, flashing just a hint of fang, and her resolve weakens. He stands and stretches his arms above his head, his sweater raising just enough to show off a sliver of porcelain skin. Okay, now I’m positive he’s just doing this to annoy me.

“When you have a free moment, stop by my office, I have something to show you,” he drawls, an almost bored lilt coloring his tone. “And do try to keep that heart of yours under control, it’s distracting to the point of vulgarity.” He glances at her over his glasses one more time before retreating into the hall again.

Rosalind crosses her legs, trying to ease the ache between her thighs. He's absolutely insufferable. And he’s so much worse now that he knows he has this power. Well fine, if he has something to show me, he can walk it over his damn self. I’m staying right here. She wrenches open her laptop in an attempt to distract herself with work.

***

It’s a few days later when Rosalind finds herself in the student union, waiting for a coffee to help fight off the bitter cold. Out of the corner of her eye she spots the fight choreographer for the play currently in rehearsals. The PhD candidate studying githyanki history has an assistantship with the theatre department as fight choreographer for at least one play per semester.

“Lae’zel!” she calls, waving at the grad student. She spots Rosalind and walks over, expressionless.

“Greetings,” she says in a tone that Rosalind would attribute to anyone else as cold. But she’s grown accustomed to the gith’s less animated manner of speech.

“Hey, how are rehearsals for Rosencrantz and Guildenstern going?” Rosalind asks conversationally, and Lae’zel scowls.

“Not as well as I’d hoped. These students of yours have absolutely zero combat training, save Varrl, of course,” she says flatly, the disappointment all too evident in her voice.

“That makes sense, I’m sure he’ll make for an excellent Lead Player,” Rosalind replies as the barista calls her name. She turns to grab her coffee and when she turns back around, Ancunín is strolling up behind Lae’zel, snowflakes dotted across his black peacoat. Rosalind’s stomach clenches when she sees him, and she’s almost grateful for his dark round sunglasses that hide those piercing red eyes of his.

“Tut tut, Professor, don’t you know all that caffeine is bad for your heart?” he coos with a vicious smile as he shakes the snow from his hair. Rosalind can already feel her cheeks flushing, but she’s determined to keep her cool.

“Dr. Ancunín, I didn’t realize you were so concerned for my heart,” she retorts with the most aloof energy she can muster.

Lae’zel shifts her eyes between the two of them briefly before apparently deciding to ignore whatever tension she can sense. “I’m glad you are both here, for I have a query regarding the character of Hamlet. He is in this play very little, and I cannot glean his fighting style from the minimal source material.”

“Did you read Hamlet as a part of your prep?” Rosalind gives her a quizzical look, and Lae’zel stares at her matter-of-factly.

“No, why would I bother wasting my time with that?” she asks earnestly. Rosalind opens her mouth to respond and then closes it, realizing that she can’t argue otherwise.

“Hamlet would have impeccable sword fighting technique as the son of a king,” Ancunín answers Lae’zel’s initial question, but keeps his eyes fixed on Rosalind. “He’d be well-trained. Disciplined.”

She’s furious at how quickly he can make her heart pound in her ears. The corner of his lips twitch upward and she knows he can hear it, too. But she’s determined to maintain the upper hand.

“He’s also a bit of a show off, and extremely arrogant.” She holds Ancunín’s gaze for a moment longer before looking at Lae’zel. “This is for the fight on the pirate ship at the end, correct?” Lae’zel nods, so Rosalind continues, “Yeah, I would imagine he’s fairly careless, completely self-absorbed, and ultimately a coward when it becomes too much for him to handle.” Ancunín’s smile grows wickedly as Lae’zel contemplates Rosalind’s analysis.

“Yes, that does make sense to his character, particularly given his escape and the end of the scene,” she says with a nod, and then looks back at them pointedly. “And professors, if fornication is required to maintain a healthy working relationship, please, do not include me in your foreplay. It’s rather unprofessional, and rather sloppy.”

Mortified, Rosalind splutters, “We are not sleeping together!” in the exact same moment that Ancunín smirks, “Last I checked, she likes it sloppy.”

Rosalind whirls around on him, wishing that she knew any magic at all that could cause him psychic damage. Lae’zel simply rolls her eyes with a quiet, “Ch’k,” before stalking off, leaving them to simmer in their awkward moment.

“You can’t say that shit in front of my colleagues!” she hisses at him, and his smile turns downright impish.

“Oh don’t give me that, like you weren’t having fun,” he sneers, and she clamps her mouth shut. The problem is that she was having fun, before he took it too far.

“Ass,” she grumbles and takes a swig of her coffee as she stomps out the student union, his giggle ringing in her ears like a bell.

***

Back in her office she seethes at her desk, rapping her fingertips rhythmically against its surface. She needs to find a way to get her revenge, to somehow make him feel as flustered and uncomfortable as he does to her. A small, reasonable voice in the back of her head reminds her that escalating this power struggle will not end well, but her stubborn pride quashes the thought down.

Without having a fully formed plan, Rosalind finds herself walking towards Ancunín’s office. She takes a moment before knocking on the door, smoothing down the front of her dress and tousling her hair to give it a little more volume.

Suddenly the door opens and her student Mol comes barrelling out in a huff.

“D’you believe this berk? Gettin’ on my tail for ��academic integrity.’ Ain't nobody more integrous than me!” she grumbles, adjusting her bag angrily. She turns her heated gaze to Rosalind. “Can you talk to your boyfriend and tell him to leave me alone?” she spits and Rosalind splutters involuntarily.

“Mol, we’re not—”

“Come off it, miss. Everyone sees the way you look at ‘im. Just work your magic so I can get back to gettin’ a college education.” And without another word, she's off. It’s been less than a tenday, the students couldn’t possibly be gossiping already, could they?

She shakes her head and steps into his office. It's just as cozy as last time, warm light emanating from lamps in every corner to compensate for the blackout curtains over the windows. She strides up to his desk and slams her hands down on it.

“Please tell me you’re not so stupid to tell the students about what happened,” she scowls, and he glares at her.

“Gods no, I’m a vampire, not a monster,” he hisses back before taking off his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose with a sigh. “No, that girl is just too clever for her own good. I’d almost respect it if she didn’t get on my last nerve.”

She crosses around to the other side of his desk and leans against the edge, letting her skirt ride up ever so slightly. She catches his gaze flicking down to her thigh before he puts his glasses back on and looks up at her from his chair. “Speaking of vampire,” she says, hoping she’s not too obvious in the way that she shakes her hair clear of her neck. “How do you get around campus without burning up in the sun?”

“Darling, I didn’t realize you were so concerned for my skin,” he flashes a self-assured smile, clearly pleased that he’s able to use her flirty banter against her. He casually rests his hand just above her knee, but Rosalind doesn’t miss the way his eyes narrow with a mild suspicion.

“Maybe I’m just curious,” she says, nonchalantly examining her nails. “Maybe I’m invested.” She trails her fingers down his wrist and plays with the buttons of his cuff.

“Just a concerned citizen?” He visibly relaxes as his hand absentmindedly begins to slide up her leg, stopping just under the hem of her skirt. “If you must know, it’s only the direct sunlight that causes harm. If I’m sufficiently covered up, and the cloud cover is thick enough, then I’m safe.” He squeezes her thigh on the word “thick” and her breath catches in her throat.

“Didn’t you say you had something to show me?” she asks in a raspy voice. She wants to kick herself; she was determined to not give him the satisfaction by bringing it up.

“Hmm, now that was several days ago, what makes you so certain I still have it?” he asks in an overly performative sing-song voice.

“Well if you don’t have it, then I guess I’ll head out—” Rosalind turns to leave but he catches her wrist and pulls her down until she’s straddling his lap. Before her logical mind has time to protest, she’s wrapping her arms around his neck and rolling her hips into him, pleased that she can feel the beginnings of an erection. He lets out a little puff of air that can almost be mistaken for a moan. She takes a deep breath and arches her back, letting her ample tits graze along his lips. He runs his nose along the neckline of her dress and slides his hand underneath her skirt to cup her ass. Her mouth drops open silently as she grinds into him harder, aching for any bit of friction.

Then a knock at the door.

They both freeze and stare at one another. There’s a muffled voice on the other side.

“Dr. Ancunín, do you have a minute? I have something extremely important to tell you,” Dr. Dekarios from the School of the Weave shouts through the door.

Rosalind has no idea what possesses him to instinctually reply, “Just a minute!” and the two of them share a silently mouthed exchange.

-What the fuck are you doing?

-I don't know, I panicked!

-What am I supposed to do?

-Hide, perhaps?

Without thinking she slides off his lap and hides under the desk. Just in time, too, as Dr. Dekarios doesn't wait for permission to open the door and waltz right in.

“Dr. Ancunín, thank goodness, I hope I'm not interrupting anything.” Rosalind can hear the arcana history professor rush in and eagerly sit down in one of the red velvet lounge chairs across from Astarion’s desk. She groans internally with the realization that she might be stuck here for an unbearably long time.

“Actually, Dr. Dekarios, I was on my way out,” Astarion says as he starts to stand before quickly reversing that decision. Rosalind realizes with a smug sense of satisfaction that he’s still slightly aroused.

“Completely understand, I'll keep this brief, then. So, the other day, you and I spoke of the use of bardic magic and its position amongst playwrights in Renaissance England.”

“Yes, I recall,” Astarion responds through gritted teeth. He sinks back down in his chair, resigned to sitting through this conversation.

“And how it was common practice at the time to use magic from the College of Swords as decreed by Elizabeth? Ben Jonson, Marlowe, Beaumont and Fletcher, they all used College of Swords magic.” Dr. Dekarios’ voice increases in pitch with his excitement. Rosalind suppresses a sigh, preparing herself for a long wait in this cramped space. It would be uncomfortable for a thin person to fit, nevermind her, especially while trying to keep out of the way of Astarion’s long legs.

Although…

What if she didn’t keep out of the way? What if she just… brushed her hand along his thigh…

Astarion coughs to hide the sudden intake of breath her touch causes. He crosses his legs and she smiles knowing it's to give himself a little reprieve. A feeling I know all too well.

“Yes,” Astarion says, his voice frustratingly even, “I recall your enthusiasm in telling me this.”

Rosalind assesses his body language, trying to read his response. Is he into this? Is this a game he wants to play? She decides to test her luck again, dragging her fingers up his thigh more deliberately. His leg quivers and he shifts his posture as the arcana professor continues.

“Well, I had a thought. Consider this: Shakespeare brought about a major shift in how we think of the Western theatrical canon as it pertains to bard magic, correct?”

She shifts forward and squishes her tits into his knees that are now pinched tightly together. She slides her hands up his inner thighs, prying them apart slightly. She leans into his legs further as her hands continue their journey upward, squeezing as they get to the top of his thigh.

He kicks suddenly, a soft thump into the back of the desk. Is it a warning, telling her to stop? She pulls back and glances up at him, but the top of the desk obscures most of his face. All she can tell is that he continues to stiffly nod while Dekarios rambles.

“And remind me, what other major storytelling convention did Shakespeare also shift during this time?” Rosalind makes a face, and she honestly can't tell if he’s actually asking, or giving Astarion a mini exam in his own specialty.

She waits for some sort of response from him. After a moment, he lets his thighs fall open and gently nudges her hip with the side of his shoe. No, his foot.

This motherfucker is playing footsie.

Oh he is definitely into her little game.

She pushes his legs open again, this time sliding her hands all the way up to his cock, and she can feel it twitch beneath the wool of his pants. She gently strokes him and his hips give a subtle twist into her.

“I'm not sure—” Astarion begins, but stops short when his voice cracks. She nuzzles his bulge, running her lips across it as it hardens. She slips a hand under him and gives his balls a gentle squeeze. She can hear his breath stutter, but it's unlikely that Dekarios can as he quickly answers his own question.

“The humors, correct? My understanding of non-magic literature isn't fully up to snuff, but I am correct in remembering this, yes?”

Rosalind licks a fat stripe across the fabric and she hears a metallic click above her head, like his watch just made sudden contact with the surface of the desk. She can imagine the veins in his hands bulging as he clasps them together tightly.

“Hm, no, ah yes, you are correct. Most English Renaissance playwrights understood characters as a balance or imbalance of the four humors.” Astarion manages to keep his voice relatively steady despite the slight stammering, and Rosalind is determined to up her game. She reaches up to undo his belt buckle as quietly and efficiently as possible. Luckily, she’s able to hide the noise within Dekarios’ exclamation.

“Yes! That's exactly what I was thinking! So, hear me out. What if these two gradual changes were related? In moving away from College of Swords magic, Shakespeare felt less constrained by the four humors. Or perhaps the other way around?”

She reaches into his pants to free his cock, now fully hard, and teases her fingers along his shaft. His hips buck a little more forcefully, as though controlling his movement is growing more difficult. She grips his pelvis tightly, holding it in place, and relishing having the upper hand for once. She didn’t expect it would be quite like this, but she’s not complaining. She flicks the tip of her tongue across his slit and his hips twitch again under her hands.

“Could be…” is all Astarion can manage to reply. Hopefully at this point Dekarios is in a full-on oration and he won't need to contribute much, if at all.

She pops the head of his cock into her mouth, working the underside of it with her tongue. She clamps her forearms down on either side of his lap, pulling him closer and letting her tits brush his inner thighs. She squirms, the slick feeling between her legs and the heady lust making her dizzy until a miniscule moan works its way into her mouth. Not loud enough for anyone to hear, she can only hope, but she’s certain that Astarion can feel the vibration by the way his hips jerk again. His face above, or at least what she can see of it, gives little away.

“And this could even,” Dekarios continues, showing no sign of awareness of anything else happening in the room, “signal the shift into realism, could it not? Beginning with Shakespeare and culminating with Chekhov and Ibsen in the nineteenth century?”

She takes in more of him, relaxing her tongue and letting him fill her mouth, discovering his taste. He almost lifts off his chair in his attempt to thrust into her, and she uses it as a way to take him in deeper. Her jaw is beginning to ache with how slow she’s going, but it's worth it to feel Astarion’s frustrated discomfort.

He takes a slow breath before speaking again.

“You know who would absolutely love this discovery of yours?” His voice is low, smooth, as she bobs her mouth on his cock. “Professor Tavlin of the theatre department. Her office is right down the hall.”

She chokes and he deftly covers the sound of her gag with a cough.

“Bless you,” Dekarios says after a fraction of hesitation. Then he continues as though there was no interruption at all.

“Then I shall share my findings with her! Down the hall, you say?”

“Room 208.”

“Excellent!” Dekarios stands and Rosalind wraps her hand around the base of Astarion's shaft, letting some saliva dribble out of her mouth to lubricate it. She can hear the wizard quickly make his way out the door.

“Gale!” Astarion yelps as she twists her hand and swirls her tongue in tandem. He clears his throat and corrects his decorum. “Dr. Dekarios, the door, please.”

“Oh, of course! Apologies,” he says with slight chagrin, and the door latches with a dry click. Astarion rolls his chair back and grabs Rosalind’s hair, pulling her out from under the desk.

“You saucy little minx,” he growls and she stumbles forward, their lips crashing together. He breaks the kiss by yanking her hair back, and his eyes sparkle wildly over the wire frames. He roughly turns her around and pulls her into his lap, his shaft pressing into the cleft of her ass. “Having fun with your little games?” he hisses in her ear as he pulls her dress up with one hand, the other sliding down below the waistband of her leggings.

“You certainly seemed to be,” she says with a breathless giggle that gets cut off by a gasp as his fingers slide easily through her folds before finding her clit. The hand on her dress slides over her breast, pinching her nipple into hardness as she arches against him.

She reaches her arm behind his neck, twisting her fingers into his silver curls to keep herself braced against him. He makes quick little circles around her clit with his ring and middle fingers while continuing to grope her breast with his other hand. Her head falls back onto his shoulder while she breathes heavily, writhing beneath his touch. He presses sloppy kisses to her shoulder, licking and nipping without sinking his fangs into her.

“Fuck, please, bite me,” she whines, clutching onto his hair and pushing him against the crook of her neck. She can feel his lips stretch into a smile before he bites down, and she slaps a hand over her mouth to keep from crying out in bliss. The sensation is such an overwhelming mix of pain and pleasure, the initial ice cold shard that melts into a lightheadedness bordering on sublime. The fingers on her clit slow and his grip slackens as he loses himself in her blood, and she whimpers needily, rutting her hips into his hand.

Just as Rosalind’s vision starts to darken, Astarion unlatches and roughly pushes her off his lap, spinning her around by the waist and easily tearing through her leggings and underwear.

This man is wracking up quite the clothing bill.

He pulls her back into his lap, barely taking the time to line himself up before sinking her down onto his cock. He shoves his fingers into her mouth and she moans around them, the taste of her own juices flooding her tongue. He keeps his other hand firm on her lower back as he thrusts up into her.

“Gods, fuck,” she groans, words muffled by his fingers as she continues to roll her hips into his, pushing her cleavage into his mouth. He pulls the neckline of her dress down to expose her breast, taking her nipple into his mouth and sucking lightly. She breathes heavily and tries to stifle the noise of her moans by pressing her open mouth into his hair. She can smell that citrusy fragrance he wears and her fingers claw into him.

“Please, I’m— Astarion,” she whimpers before clamping her mouth shut and burying her face into his ear.

“Fuck— look at me,” he growls, and her eyes lock onto his as his glasses slide down his nose. He pulls her into a rough kiss to keep her quiet, and he tastes faintly of iron.

He fucks into her harder as she bounces on his cock, her needy whimpers growing louder against his lips. The piercing pain of his nails digging into her ass and the grunting deep in his throat as he approaches his release send her rocketing to her climax. She comes with an explosive cry that gets swallowed into his kiss. She continues to ride out the waves of her orgasm as she feels his, his hips thrusting upward as his dick throbs with the pulse of his semen.

They finally slow, the sticky mess between them squelching loudly. They listen intently past the sound of their heavy breathing to try to detect any indication that someone overheard. When they deem it safe, Rosalind lets out a sigh of relief before the two of them dissolve into giggles. He drops his forehead onto her shoulder as she rests her cheek on his sweaty mass of curls.

They disentangle themselves from one another and she winces slightly at the feeling of him sliding out of her pussy. She gets a better look at him, her blood still smeared on his lips and chin, his now flaccid dick slumped above his waistband. She’s certain she can't look much better, dress rucked up around her waist, one tit hanging out over the neckline.

They methodically put themselves back together, Astarion stuffing his wet dick back into his pants, Rosalind straightening her dress and hair. She catches his gaze again and somehow he still manages to make her blush, but this time bringing a feeling of warmth and giddiness rather than frustration and embarrassment. He reaches out to tuck a wayward lock behind her ear.

“Next time, can we please have sex in your office?” he says with a teasing chuckle. She swats his chest playfully only to find herself drawn into him, not wanting to pull her hand away. It's strangely romantic, and if she were able to think clearly, his hands snaking around her waist might bother her. But her head is still spinning and her cunt is still throbbing with the aftershocks of her orgasm, and little could upset her right now.

That is, until the doorknob turns and Dekarios pops his head back in.

“Looks like she’s not—” His voice dies off quickly when he realizes what he's walked in on. He coughs, mumbles an incoherent apology, and backs out quickly.

“I swear to the gods I'm getting a scroll of arcane lock for that damn door,” he growls under his breath, and she leans her forehead against his chest with an exhausted sigh.

[arcadeian]

name & pronouns. cole, but i also go by keen. he/him.

most active muse(s). uhhh... none at the moment? though i have the highest muse for chris, bonnie & probably my ocs atm. also james ( @undenial ) is constantly occupying my brain.

rp pet peeves. oh, too many to count. but one of my biggest is when you're trying to plot and are constantly met with a brick wall whilst being the only one to offer ideas. "they wouldn't do that. that wouldn't work." okay? how about you contribute to the conversation instead of making me do all the heavy lifting, only to get shot down at every turn. also, communication and lack thereof.

experience / how many years. god, like... 20, almost? i started way back in early middle school on gaia fucking online, of all places. as far as tumblr goes, i've been writing here since 2011, starting with the bioshock & resident evil fandoms.

fluff, angst or smut? technically all, but i prefer angst / drama / horror stuff. i enjoy smut as much as the next guy, but i have to be in the mood to write it. fluff is... eh. kind of a snoozefest, imo. i get a few posts into a thread with ~domestic bliss~ and wind up bored out of my mind.

long / short replies. medium, i'd say? for casual threads, i like 1 - 2 paragraphs or so. if it's something super involved and dramatic or w/e, i like longer ones. but i refuse to participate in this trend of padding your replies with two paras worth of metaphors and imagery that don't contribute to the plot.

best way to interact. i really prefer plotting, especially since i tend to write characters who fall under very niche categories / fandoms. if it's someone who can easily fit into other circumstances, by all means, i love a good inbox prompt. but i am not a person who handles it well when there's no plan, or some semblance of one. i need some idea of where we're going.

best time to write. i wish i knew! i've been struggling real hard lately. maybe i'm spoiled by writing on discord, maybe i'm just having a hard time with motivation. maybe it's both.

tagged by. @threadpull mwah xoxo tagging. @omniterror , @alphateamsfinest , @ubcs , @maimedaffair & whoever else wants to do it.

[dangerpronebuddie]

Inspiration Saturday!!

Tagged by... so many people throughout the week, including @hippolotamus and @tizniz today who both wrote INCREDIBLE stuff y'all should show some love! 🩷💜

Thank y'all so much for the tags, even though I haven't been writing much this week. Good news is, I'm done with finals!!! 🥳 With school out of my hair for now, I can focus on my longer fics... Maybe lol. Right now, I have a new wip that's going to be done tomorrow, hopefully. It is pure angst, and I apologize 😬. It's inspired by this post from @lover-of-mine. I'm sharing a snippet, and I really want some help with the title. So...

(snippet under the cut)

"I wasn't belittling you," Helena says, "I was just trying to say that he needs a mother-" "His mother is dead." Eddie spits out the words like they burned his tongue, the fire coursing down to his heart and scorching the muscle. For the first time, probably ever, it actually hits him. Shannon doesn't need time. She hasn't left for a while with the promise of coming back. She isn't anything like Kim, and Kim isn't anything like her. She isn't on a beach somewhere waiting for him. Shannon is dead. "His mother is dead," he says again in a shaky whisper. "Shannon's dead." His stomach lurches, just like it had when he saw her lying in the crosswalk. Her weak voice echoes in his ears as he slumps against the fridge. The tears he's been holding back since he woke up in the hospital stream down his face and he follows them, letting gravity take him to the kitchen floor. He covers his face with his hands, if anything to keep from having to see the look on his mother's face. His heart squeezes painfully in his chest, and for a moment he thinks it's the start of a panic attack, but the ache is different. He can still breathe, he's hardly struggling beyond the hiccupped sobs ripping free of his throat. The ache beneath his sternum sends him right back to that ambulance, smiling through tears in the foolish hope that being brave would comfort his dying wife. "She's dead," he whispers again, tasting bile on his tongue. He swallows thickly and curls his hands in on themselves, thumping them against his forehead in a sick semblance of a prayer.

Again, I apologize.

Absolutely no pressure tagging:

@13shadesofanni @lover-of-mine @monsterrae1 @loveyouanyway @thekristen999

@daffi-990 @wikiangela @bidisasterevankinard @actuallyitsellie @fortheloveofbuddie

@diazsdimples @exhuastedpigeon @spagheddiediaz @steadfastsaturnsrings @ronordmann

@kitteneddiediaz @wildlife4life @theotherbuckley @rainbow-nerdss @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove

@lunarspark-cos @idealuk @shipperqueen6 @misshiss727 @likeamollusconarock

@lin27 @jshadow01 @orangeboxfox92 @smallandalmosthonest @thegeekcompanion

@emilybahu @lemotmo @awolfnamed-nyx and anyone else who wants to share!! 🥰🩷

[thewitchofcedarandbone]

Hello.

I'm Theo [they/them]. <- Follows/interacts from @earthenremains

A thirty one year-old non-binary witch.

I've been loosely practicing for seven-ish years.

My path is solitary, and I can be quite skeptical, which as I'm sure you can imagine can make practicing witchcraft and believing in the occult a challenge at times.

I am currently working with the Norse goddesses Hel and Freyja (see below for links to their devotional blogs).

My current areas of interest are:

Death work - My path started in earnest in 2017 while dealing with the grief accompanying a very sudden and unexpected close familial death. But my interest in death work precedes this, as I have been a member of the Vulture Culture* community for over ten years, working with animal remains in all their forms.

Tarot/Cartomancy - Despite owning a handful of decks, I am still very much learning to read the cards. And before you ask, no I do not offer readings nor do I ever plan to.

Shinrin-yoku (forest bathing) - I have been a patron of the trees since I was a child, always content to sit beneath their branches and focus solely on nature. Well before I knew its name or origins, forest bathing was my way of meditating and finding calm.

The personalized path - I've spent far too long trying to follow the 'trending' paths of others. Forcing myself into a mold that has never felt quite right. So I am learning how to carve my own path and do what feels right for me.

Norse Paganism- I'm still figuring things out, but one path I keep circling back around to is Norse paganism and the history/myths surrounding them.

My intentions for this blog are to collect and curate posts I resonate with, and to share some posts of my own to better define my path.

*Vulture Culture encompasses the collection and processing of animal remains in various forms (bones, roadkill, hides/pelts, wet and dry specimens, taxidermy, insect pinning, etc). For me personally, I am mostly a bone collector/processor working with roadkill or natural deaths of wild animals. However on this blog you will also see a few of the pelts I own and acquired from Indigenous hunters/trappers that I use on my altar. If these things bother you, please consider unfollowing or blocking the tags listed below.

Personal tags, other blogs, TWs, and DNI under the cut.

Personal Tags:

#theo bell -> My posts

#for the tome -> Things to add to my journal

Other blogs:

Main/Vulture Culture blog - @earthenremains

Mundane/personal blog - @thicketry

Hel Devotional - @offeringstohel

Freyja Devotional - @offeringstofreyja

Baldr & Nanna Devotional - @offeringstobaldrxnanna

Other socials:

Vulture Culture Instagram - @earthenremains

Witchy Instagram - @thewitchofcedarandbone

Pocket Deities Instagram - @pocketdeities

Personal Instagram - @thicketry

Tags for Organization {WIP}:

#correspondences

#offerings

#spells

#ancestor work

#death work

#death witch

#spirit work

#skeptical witch

#witchy reminders

#mundane before magic

#witchy crafts/things to try

#deity work

#spellcraft/#spell work

#grimoire/book of shadows/witch's journal

#journal prompts

#journal entry

#private posts

Trigger warnings:

#tw: animal bones - Posts containing any semblance of animal bones.

#tw: animal fur - Posts containing any semblance of deceased animal fur.

Do not interact:

Nazis, TERFs, transphobes, homophobes, xenophobes, ableists, bigots, etc. If you're scum, I don't want you here.

Welcome Header /// Divider

LAST UPDATED: MARCH 2025

[dangerous-disposition]

WIP Wednesday - Friday (from last week): romcom!AU edition

So I've just been plugging away at this fic and I actually kinda just forgot to keep posting the snippets but I'm here!!! I'm going to post the snippets I promise so here is the next section!!

The Set-Up - Steve POV & SFW

“You wanna take a shower before you go?”

“Probably a good idea. I’m pretty sure there’s lube in my hair,” Eddie complained lightly, raising an eyebrow accusingly at Steve. “You have any idea how that got there, Stevie?”

“I plead the fifth,” Steve responded and Eddie rolled his eyes with a laugh. When Eddie made a move to roll over to the edge of the bed, Steve grabbed his wrist lightly and smiled when the other man looked over at him curiously. “Quick kiss?”

Eddie’s expression relaxed, even as he sighed heavily and leaned over. “So needy,” he grumbled before kissing him. And Steve knew Eddie was just teasing, that it was just a joke, and he even knew that he was being a little needy.

The comment still cut Steve to the quick.

When Eddie pulled away, he immediately rolled off the bed and onto his feet. Steve absently registered that Eddie was complaining about something—“Jesus, my legs are still fuckin’ Jello.”—and he was pretty sure he laughed an appropriate amount when he realized Eddie was looking at him. Eddie had smiled back at him, broad and dimpled before disappearing in the bathroom, leaving the door open.

Steve watched the doorway for several moments before turning to stare up at the ceiling. Letting out a slow breath, Steve closed his eyes and tried to bring back some semblance of the confidence he was feeling just ten minutes ago.

“Needy.”

Letting out an explosive sigh, Steve ground the heels of his palms against his eyes.

It only hit so deep because it was true. At his core, no matter how much he tried to make sure everyone was happy and content, Steve was desperate for the attention and affections of others. He was clingy and pushy, and sometimes inappropriate like asking a one-night stand for a kiss before he went to take a shower before going home.

“Yes, Steve, you wanted ten days to ‘get away.’ Not me, but you didn’t even actually ask me.” “You suggested it! What, I was just supposed to go on a vacation alone?” “Of course not, Steve. I mean, you don’t even go to the grocery store alone.”

The argument with Nancy was crawling back into his head for the first time since before he went to the pool. Steve had managed to tuck away the hurt and the bitterness, even while talking about her to Eddie, but now? While he was grappling with wanting Eddie to stay when the man wanted to leave? It was impossible not to remember what she said. Hell, didn’t he just prove some of her point? Not even twenty-four hours after she dumped him and Steve was already fucking someone and getting moody that they wouldn’t spend the night.

Steve only managed one night alone, and that was probably only because he was drunk.

Taking a deep breath, Steve worked to set aside those thoughts until Eddie left. The man would be finishing up in the shower soon, and Steve didn’t want him coming out to find him moping like a child.

Tagging the people who asked for a snippet: @sidekick-hero @scarcrossdlvrs @inairbinad @theheadlessphilosopher @hellion-child @stobinesque Tagging the ppl i think would also want to see this: @xenon-demon @lets-try-to-be-normal-otakus @thefreakandthehair @legitcookie @patchworkgargoyle @starryeyedjanai

[messitydepressity]

✨End of Year Bookends Game✨

*Copied from the great @bumblepony , Thanks for the tag! This is too cute.

Rules: Snip first and last line/paragraph/section/artwork you created this year - bookends, if you will 💖 and don't forget to tag some friends! I've taken first and last to mean first and last posted for myself but you do you and pull from wips if you want!

First paragraphs posted: Air in my lungs, ’Til the road begins on 09/28/24

Deep breath in, slow breath out.

He can do this. He’s done this before. It’s been nearly twenty years, but those instincts never leave you. 

Rubbing his brows and pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, a breath hisses out between pressed lips. 

Deep breath in, slow breath out.

Focusing forward from his place in the hard plastic chair, desperately trying to blink the remainder of not enough sleep and too much smoke out of his eyes, he loses the air in his lungs for what feels like the hundredth time in less than two hours. 

His eyes settle on the intimidating creature in front of him.

Thin, translucent, slightly wrinkled skin and so incredibly small.

Pinker than he can ever remember his first being. More delicate, fragile.

Like his heart.

The burn of failure hasn’t felt this fresh, this raw and scorching, since the weeks following his thirty-first birthday.

Despite the bitter taste of failure, he can’t help but feel seventeen again rather than thirty-six. The situation is so incredibly similar despite being decades apart and with two vastly different women.

Last paragraphs posted: Everywhere, Everything on 12/31/24

"I'm sorry I'm late, but I'm told you might forgive me since I bring cheesy potatoes." Tess places the two plates next to her and then leans forward to rest her elbows on her knees.  

Ellie's head snaps toward her so fast that she clips the bottom of his chin with the top of her head, making his teeth clack together uncomfortably.  

She stares at Tess for three full breaths, before turning to him and searching his eyes.  

She must find whatever she had been looking for because she's scrambling over his lap in a rush to get to Tess in a blink. He watches Ellie wrap wiry arms around the woman he's been doing a precarious dance with for years.  

Both look so damn happy to find each other solidly real.  

They're a mess, all of them; Maria and Tommy included, but maybe this is how he steps away from the ledge, maybe this is the path away from the loss and pain that has followed him like a wraith hidden in the dark clouds of his psyche.  

Tess had to have come back to them for a reason, the universe had to have a purpose for allowing them to be whole again.  

He'll lead Ellie back to herself, claw his way to some semblance of normal too, and give Tess the space to decide if she wants to be a part of this fucked up little family.  

He's known since Bill and Franks, that regardless of how she'd felt, she was family.  

The question is, does she want him to be hers?

--

Absolutley no pressure tags: @marceltheshellwithflipflopson @ketchupchipsaregross @stumbling-away

Please feel free to ignore this if you would like!

[clericofshadows]

get to know your fanfic writer!

I was tagged by @rotschopf-thedrow <3 thanks!

When did you post your first ever fanfic?

I'm new at posting fic lmao so my first was back in April of this year,

First Character(s) you wrote?

For posted fic? My Shepard, Regis.

Main Character(s) you’re currently writing?

Regis Shepard/Zaeed Massani, since I'm focusing a bit more on ME2 at the moment. But after that it's back to Regis Shepard/Kaidan Alenko/Zaeed Massani for some more stuff between them :).

Character(s) you haven’t written about before but plan to write about soon?

Jack, Grunt, and Garrus. Going to attempt to establish some interesting dynamics (Regis and Jack) and try to set up some reasons in fic-canon as to why Regis has a few suicide mission deaths (Garrus, Grunt, and later Legion). Maybe. We'll see how it goes.

Fandom(s) you’re currently writing?

Mass Effect, although with the release of Phantom Liberty I want to get into CP2077 stuff with my V and Viktor Vektor <3

Platonic pairing(s) you’re currently writing?

Regis Shepard and Miranda Lawson. It may not look like it now, but they're close to becoming some semblance of friends.

Also a bit of Regis and Kasumi and Regis and Wren, my N7 Fury OC turned Shadow Broker.

Your top AO3 tags?

Excluding relationship tags...

Communication

Hurt/Comfort

Grief/Morning

Hey I've spent a lot of time ensuring my triad is healthy AND making them suffer :)

Current platform you use for posting?

AO3 and Tumblr.

Snippet of the WIP you are currently working on?

trust doesn't come cheap, aka where Regis learns who brought his body to Cerberus and confronts Miranda about it, among other things.

“But you do have me, and I’m here however you need me,” Zaeed replied, leaning in close.  Regis closed the distance between them, more free and open with his affection now that he met up with Kaidan, that they were able to clear the air and open the possibility for more.  That their triad can and will continue one day. Zaeed pushed him up against the wall, the same spot where Regis first saw him on Omega, threatening a target. The feeling of the cold, hard panel sent a shiver down Regis's spine, heightening the intensity of the moment. Regis let out a pleased sound, letting Zaeed take over despite where they were, submitting to his advances. Regis moaned against his lips, about to grind up against him, but someone cleared their throat a short distance from them.  “I wouldn’t say this is the best time and place, Commander.”    “And why is it that you care, Lawson?” Regis asked with a hard glare, his earlier desire replaced by irritation at the intrusion.  She stood with an arched eyebrow, a hint of curiosity in her expression. She folded her arms across her chest, seemingly unfazed by the situation, her confidence unshaken. Changed out of her normal Cerberus dress “whites,” she wore a long khaki coat belted around her body, a clean and pristine look that suited her well. Out of all the fucking people to interrupt… but perhaps this was a good opportunity to go ahead and get that damn conversation out of the way.  Zaeed slowly pulled away, tilting his head to the side as if to ask if Regis was going to go ahead and deal with what he learned from Aria.  Regis nodded, answering the silent question. “I assumed you wouldn’t want the crew to gossip about your love life,” she replied, keeping her expression neutral.  “Or perhaps even beyond that.  Word travels fast about you.” Regis wouldn’t have called it concern, the barb at the end seeming to signify she was talking about the Alliance being aware of him… and all his connections there.  As if she was baiting him, dangling the knowledge that she knew about his relationship with Kaidan. And what that could mean if he were to learn of this "affair." “You’re right.  Word does travel fast about me.  Shame that it took me a while to learn who exactly handled my body here on this fucking station,” Regis said, watching her eyes widen in recognition.  The truth hung in the air between them. She stepped back.  The gravity well stirred.   “I knew your word was full of shit, but I never expected this,” he continued, staying against the wall.  “We are going to have a long talk.”

I think I've seen most of my fellow writers tagged so... if you see this and want to share, go ahead :D

[gwyns]

you can hurt, too. your pain isn't a burden" what series is that? <3

why, i'm so glad you asked, anon! i hope you're ready for a somewhat ramble filled post

short answer: it's the briar sisters trilogy by the lovely carly h. mannon. there's currently two books out, with the third slated for release in january!

long, fangirl inspired answer: it's one of my favorite series ever. like, no joke

i read the first book earlier this year before the second released, devoured it, cried during it and it healed some part of me. then, the sequel released and i, again, devoured it, cried during it and it healed another part of me

i have never related more to characters than i do nicole and misha, but especially nicole. i've seen many people over the years talk about how much they relate to nesta and that's why she's their favorite character ever. i finally get that now with nicole, not that i can't relate to nesta (i do, very much), but it's different here because nicole feels and sees and expresses things exactly the way i do. it's such a comfort to find yourself in a character like this

i'll try to keep it short but i wanted to showcase some of the quotes that made me full on bawl during my read because, that's me

i can't explain to you how many times i've kept myself together simply because i felt like if i didn't, i'd never be the same again. i wouldn't know how to put myself back together, to feel some semblance of the person i was before

this seems like such a simple thing, especially since we've seen many characters in sjm's books feel unworthy, but to have it put in this perspective? it made me feel less alone. i do feel unworthy, but in a way i don't see many people talk about openly. i'm not even worthy of being seen as an option for love, not even a flitting thought through someone's head. it feels silly typing it out but... this meant a lot to me

and here's the quote you inquired about. reading this genuinely did something to me... i wish someone had said this to me many years ago. i don't want to get into my upbringing or anything but there have been many times where i've kept my hurt quiet so i wouldn't burden my parents. it's a very exhausting way to live

again, i don't want to get too into my personal life but for those who do know, somewhat, this... hit too hard. too close. it's still a lingering fear of mine i have to try and combat. in fact, i'm doing it right now and only mildly succeeding

and to end my too long list of quotes, here's some misha ones (please excuse how different this screenshot looks, i had to take it on my computer instead of my phone, like the previous ones). another constant fear of mine, being too much to handle and making the person i love most in the world hate and resent me for it. to become a burden to him, too. it's a terrible feeling and i wouldn't wish it on anyone lol

i'm going to shut up now but genuinely if you've been looking for something to help scratch that acotar itch while waiting for book news, this series is the closest thing i've found to it. it has fairytale elements, namely snow white and sleeping beauty, fated mates, dislike to lovers trope, betrayal, an interesting world and lore just... please read them. and, you know, tag me in any and all posts because i have brainrot

[antivanruffles]

20 questions for fic writers

Was tagged by @supermarine-silvally

How many works do you have on ao3?

205 lol

2. What's your total ao3 word count?

796,133

3. What fandoms do you write for?

I mean, I have 20-ish different fandoms posted on Ao3, but various other odds and ends over the years.

I guess mainly: Dragon Age, Mass Effect, Hunter x Hunter, Baldur's Gate 3 (because new and shiny), Sailor Moon, Critical Role (mainly c1), and The Greatest Showman which no one cares about anymore but Anne/Phillip 5ever.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

Five Times Cullen Failed to Propose, and 1 Time He Didn't (DAI, 641) Something Different (Horizon, 517) Five Times Varric made Cassandra Blush, and One Time Made Him (DAI, 444) Overnight Delivery (Gossip Girl, 438 - this one legit surprised me?) Out of Body Experience (DAI, 389)

(Side note: love me my 5+1s, no one at me)

5. Do you respond to comments?

I try to! I very much appreciate all comments, but sometimes I don't know what to say beyond "thank you" and feel like I should say more? IDK!

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I guess The End of a Possibility, a companion piece to Possibilities (I'm so original). Because ahaha I was so mean to Alt!Varric in that.

7. What is the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Honestly most all of mine are pretty dang happy? I'm all fluff and/or smut all the time. LOL

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Not that I'm aware of.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I do write smut. Kind as in kinky or vanilla? I'm a lot more vanilla because it's just as much about the emotions as it is the deed.... mostly. LOL

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

Not generally? The most I've done is like imagining certain characters in other universes. Like the Dragon Age crew in the Mass Effect universe or something similar.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Again, not that I'm aware of?

12. What's the longest you've spent working on one fic? And the shortest?

I couldn't tell you the longest. I've had multichapter fics that have taken months to finish, or one-shots that took years to finish because I was stuck on the generally idea, or it got shoved on the back burner.

Shortest would be doing flash fic prompts, so like 15 minutes?

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I have!

14. What's your all-time favorite ship?

*cries in fangirl* I LOVE THEM ALL

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

NEVER SAY NEVER!!

16. What are your writing strengths?

I think I'm good at writing dialogue, and I can be funny sometimes.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

How do descriptions?

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I've made this mistake in my life, but I think now that I am older I am firmly in the realm of: don't do it unless you are proficient in that language, or can have someone translate for you.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Sailor Moon!

20. Favorite fic you've written?

Which ship is my favorite? Which child do I love most? Why are you such a cruel questionnaire? God, I suppose I should give some semblance of an answer since I didn't on the other one.

UHH, I can honestly say I had an absolute blast writing Out of Body Experience, and had a great time getting people's reactions to it. :)

Tagging: whomst ever would like to steal this meme (because I'm terrible and lazy, but I DO genuinely want people to do it if they want)

[snoozeagustd]

100 FOLLOWERS MILESTONE CELEBRATION!?

HI, OKAY WHAT THE FUCK??!! I just woke up and what do I see?

THIS:

I am literally in shock right now! 

thank you so much for all of the love that you have given me and honestly thank you so so much for all the support you all have given this blog! I never expected this blog to have 100 followers, let alone more than 100, but you all proved me wrong.

THANK YOU MY LOVELIES I WILL ALWAYS BE GRATEFUL FOR EACH AND EVERY ONE OF YOU <33

To celebrate (because i like to find excuses to celebrate anything and everything), I wanted to do something fun! Thank you so much Freya darling (@sugarwithtea) for helping me come up with a few ideas for this event and for keeping up with my rambling! This literally would not have been possible without you my jaan!

I will be taking requests for this event over 2 weeks (!!!) and I'll try my best to answer them as soon as possible. Please read the rules for each game (whether you can be on anon, whether you are a mutual, ect)

all posts related to this event will be tagged as #nixie hits 100!

I hope you guys enjoy~~

(please ignore how messy this banner is. i’m doing some semblance of editing after literal years and i have definitely gotten worse-)

💫 vibe check : i’ll tell you what vibes i get from you/your blog in a moodboard (ive never done this before so please don’t mind that it’s not great) (off anon please)

💕 shipping game : send me a description of yourself/a fun fact + a fandom (Marvel, Obey Me, BTS or TXT) and i’ll ship you with a character! (anon is allowed)

🕹️ games: any of your typical tumblr event games! (fmk, would you rather, top 5 or anything else you can think of!) (anon is allowed)

🔖 recommendations (from you) : send me any recommendations you have for tv shows, movies, books, songs, tumblr blogs, etc! (anon is allowed)

📑 recommendations (from me) : i’ll put my ‘on repeat’ playlist on shuffle and recommend you a song! (off anon please)

🫂shout outs:  recommend some of your own fics or just some fics you love so we can show appreciation for all these amazing writers here on tumblr! (anon is allowed)

❤ first love: share some crush stories with me! (anon is allowed)

Since it’s also my birthday today, I've decided to add a few more personal asks so that you can get to know me better!

🔮 then and now: tell me your first impression of me and I'll tell you mine! (off anon please) (mutuals only)

🏹  exchange ship: tell me who you ship me with, and I'll tell you yours with a why (off anon please) (mutuals only)

💌 questions: send me any questions that you have for me! NSFW questions are allowed! (for NSFW asks, you need to be off anon so that i can verify your age) for general questions, you can ask me on anon! (gain inspiration here or here )

✨ advice: ask me for some advice on questions about life or just whatever you want! (please don’t take my answers seriously) (anon is allowed)

Below this, I'm just going to tag some of my friends here on tumblr who have made my time here super super fun and memorable! I am truly grateful and appreciative to all of you!

to some of my closest friends here:

@mochakat @eternallydaydreaming2015 @tea-is-vibing @adoveamongdemons @poetic-dumbass @buckyinluv @kaitioo @sugarwithtea @jjkeverlast @yoongukie-ff

firstly, thank you for taking time out of your day to talk to my pathetic ass :’) i really do hope that we can continue to be friends for a long time because i don’t know what i would do without all of you. You guys don’t know it, but you have become a big part of my life! I truly treasure and appreciate all of you <3

i love and treasure yall sm, you have no idea 💖💗💝❤️‍🔥❤️🧡💛💚💙💜🤎🤍💕

to the rest of my moots:

@istanfluffycontent @yourlocaltimetraveler @chiimiie @namkook @hawtymin @hobipost @kookiecrumb @parkdatjimin @bebejungkook @smasmashie @thetaeprint @xpeachesncream @liyacreate @glamrocklevi @angeladore @just-another-fangirl-69 @henry-and-the-seven-lords @obeythebutler @adoveamongdemons @this-bitch-needs-therapy @incorrectlyavenged @somniprobe @satandrankmy-coffee @a-hoe-in-human-form-2 @kimtaesss @underratedbitch-number13 @pjiminbloomx @yoongukie-ff @skyfull0fstories @lvoekook @wrote-my-own-deliverance @youlightmeupfinn @gimmethatagustd @bangtanintotheroom

I know that we don’t really interact much outside of reblogs and/or likes but I hope you know that whenever I see you in my notifs, I literally smile like an idiot. no joke. anyways, please feel free to approach me because due to my anxiety, I will never be able to although i really want to talk to all of you. I hope that we can get closer eventually <3

to the rest of my followers,

thank you so so much for allowing me to reach this milestone when I never ever thought that I would. I really appreciate you and I adore seeing you in my notifs! I do recognize you, you know? I hope that as time goes on, we can have more of such events and celebrate together!!

💖💖✨✨

[kai-writes-fan-fiction]

In Hiding Part 4/?

Hey loves! Sorry it took so long for me to write part 4, I’ve had school and band. I like this chapter, so I hope you do too!

Word count: 1566

Warnings: Really un graphic violence, mentions of undiagnosed PTSD, OCD, and depression, and my inability to write good endings

The last 30 minutes on the Quinjet were pure hell. Tony kept trying to grill you, and you didn’t respond, which motivated him to ask even more questions.

Finally, he rolled his eyes and asked, “Where are your parents?”

Hundreds of locked-away memories flooded your mind. Your parents had sold you to HYDRA at age 5. You didn't know much about your parents or their identities.

After he asked about your parents, you broke eye contact and looked anywhere but into someone's eyes.

“I see.” Tony scowled but continued asking more questions, but you weren't in the mood, even more now than before.

You eventually drifted off into a daydream as Tony’s questions slurred together. You dreamt about what your life could've been if you had parents and weren't mutant. You could still have parents; you wouldn't have sustained all of that torture at HYDRA, and you would've gotten to go to school!

School, something many take for granted. You didn't have any higher education, and being 15 and more innovative and 99.99% of the world, it was a moot point. Still, being among everyday people, having friends, and discovering your passions, would be amazing.

Snaps in your face brought you back, courtesy of Tony.

“Kid. Kid! Hello?” He snapped in your face.

You had returned to Earth and- hey, look at that! Tony is within head butting distance. Maybe it'd get him to shut up, or would Loki attack again? He was staring at you from the back of the jet, unmoving, eyes trying to predict your following movements.

“KID!” Tony shouted.

You'd had enough of hearing him in your face, so you turned back to him, made eye contact, and-

“Don’t do that, girl.” Loki snarled from his seat.

Tony turned to him and cocked his head.

“She was going to headbutt you, obviously. Don't get within 5 feet of her.”

Tony thanked him quietly and sat in his seat, glaring at you. You made eye contact with him once more, and you smirked.

The rest of the ride was quiet, save for a few tiny pockets of conversation and Tony coming up with more dumb questions, which you elected to ignore.

——————————

You had finally reached the compound, and all you could think about was your impending doom.

Steve picked you up again, as your restraints render you immobile. You fell limp in his arms, head dangling. You were so tired and so worried.

Steve carried you into the compound and to a room, or rather, a cell. The space was empty except for a cot in the corner and a sink. The wall next to the door sported a one-way mirror.

“You’ll stay in here; Stark wants to ask you more questions; he’ll be in here soon.” He put you down on the floor, and you looked up to him. He uncuffed you and swiftly ran out in fear of you trying to bolt again.

Little did you know, he and many of the other team members were staring at you from the other side of the glass, observing you in attempts to understand how you worked and your erotic behavior.

The room was made of something that made you powerless, and the walls were a blinding white. There weren’t any windows, and a single notepad and pencil lay on the bed.

You sat in the center of the room for 5 minutes, staying stationary. Once more, scenarios of what the Avengers might do to you crowded your mind. Tears came again, and you sobbed quietly. Everything hurt, and you were once again reminded that you'd been awake for almost 24 hours. So you carefully laid yourself out on the ground, being mindful of your bruises, and cried there.

—————Avengers POV—————

“So- uh- what do we do now?” Steve pointed to you, still crying on the floor.

“Poor thing,” Wanda remarked, frowning.

“Poor thing? She may be a child, but she's evil!” Tony scoffed.

“She could be a beneficial asset to the team,” Nat suggested.

“I don’t trust her.” Tony crossed his arms and looked back to your shaking figure.

“Tony, I kinda volunteered to go talk to her.” Steve turns back to him. “She's got a notepad, and if she doesn’t open up, we’ll send someone else in.”

“Why the hell did you volunteer me? Kid hates me; it's obvious.”

“Just go see if you can get anything out of her, Tony,” Natasha ordered.

“Fine.” He rolled his eyes, stepping into your cell.

—————Your POV—————

Tony Stark stepped into your cell, the door shut with a loud ‘thud.’ His intentions were unclear, so you backed into a corner. He crouched in front of you and looked into your puffy, red eyes.

Now that the two of you weren't fighting, he noticed how truly young you were; you still had that childlike glimmer in your bright blue eyes. You had been turned into a villain, but it wasn’t your fault.

“Hey, kid.”

You didn’t respond, just blinked. He grabbed the notepad and pencil on the bed.

“Since we haven’t heard you speak, we put this here for you to write on. Do you know how to write?”

Of course, you knew how to write. You stared at Stark, annoyed that he thought you couldn’t write, and slowly nodded your head.

He handed you the notepad and pencil and asked your name, which he knew. He was trying to create a sense of normalcy for you.

“(Y/N)” You wrote.

“You have great handwriting and a beautiful name (Y/N).” He said, reaching for your hand.

You winced when Tony touched you and quickly brushed him off.

“Understood.” Tony moved back and asked you, “Did HYDRA give you your powers?”

“I don’t think so. I was young. I don’t know.” You wrote. You did know, however. You were born with powers, and that’s why your parents sold you. You were too much to handle, and many people were willing to pay hefty prices for you.

You weren’t fond of visiting HYDRA memories, let alone talking about them. Memories of being tortured plagued your dreams every night, and it seems that HYDRA had found a way to torture you even after you escaped.

Often loud noises would bring back memories, as would needles and human contact.

“I want my clothes back.” You wrote. You thought they might bring some semblance of home, a piece of you to hold, and you’d be able to smell your apartment and yourself.

Tony nodded. “I’ll see what I can do. Do you need anything else?”

You shook your head and wrote, “Please leave now. And don’t stare at me from the window. It's creepy.”

Tony chuckled. “Ok, Banner is going to come to check on you at some point.”

You nodded and waved your hand towards the door, signaling him to leave.

Tony slowly got up, and you stared silently as he left the cell. Before he shut the door, he looked back to you, stationary on the floor, staring up at him. Once he was gone, you stared into the mirror, not at yourself but any unsuspecting souls behind it.

Once you thought the sufficient amount of staring was reached, you got up and went to the bed at the far corner of your cell. It was perpendicular to the door, so you could see if anyone entered and be ready to defend yourself.

–—————————

It must've been an hour or so until Banner walked into your cell. You jumped up from the bed and pushed yourself into a corner. He frowned and set down what he was carrying, which was a tray of food and your clothing.

He stepped away from said items, and you scrambled to grab them, scared he’d take them back. You backed yourself into your corner once more, shielding yourself with your clothing.

“Hey, (Y/N). Remember me?”

You scowled. You remembered him, and you weren't very fond of the memories you shared with him.

You didn't move, eyes still trained on him. He kneeled about 5 feet away from you, not wanting to startle you.

His voice was low and soft when he asked, “Can I come closer?”

You stared, not knowing how to answer. Would Bruce hurt you again? Could you trust him? It didn’t look like he was holding anything more to hurt you. You allowed yourself to creep closer, slowly inching towards him.

“See, baby steps.” He looked towards the window. You assumed some people were still watching the two of you.

You let yourself come closer, until you were about a foot away from him.

“Can I touch your hand?” He reached out and touched you, but you winced and pulled your hand away. You still didn’t trust him, you would need a whole lot more prof before letting him, or anyone for that matter, touch you.

“Ok, I’m going to go now, get some sleep.” He stood and turned away from you, heading to the exit.

He stepped out, and turned off the lights in your room. It was almost pitch black, except for a dim light coming through the window. You climbed into the bed, and stared up at the ceiling. You were exhausted, but sleep refused to come.

It must have been 45 minutes when you finally drifted off to a restless sleep. You dreamt about what would meet you in the morning.

Tag list: @sweetpeaflower01 @kinny-away @mangobangi @cumulonimbus34 @oakiedokie @moonbaejpeg @coollemonsaresour @screechingshepherddeputygoth @trinity-1002107 @padmoonyfeorge @laurenced1l @vaaalexandra

[autumnalwalker]

Writer Tag Game

Thanks for the tag, @fearofahumanplanet!

Passing tag on to @cljordan-imperium, @ren-c-leyn, and @ceph-the-ghost-writer. And, as always, and open tag.

Do you write in order?

Yes. That's pretty much the whole premise for @thearchivistsjournal. As for Empty Names I'm a little looser, but still mostly yes. For that one I've had frameworks or dialogue snippets of potential scenes that I won't get to for a long time, but the main chapter writing is all in order. Well, except for one occasion, but that was a case of the first several chapters consisting of multiple points of view that were semi-simultaneous and could really be interchangeable in their order.

Do you start with something particular?

For The Archivist's Journal I had some very loose notes at the start of premise, setting/world building elements (but not so much that I'm not still figuring out a lot as I go and leaving some parts intentional unknowable mystery), and core cast. After that I just started writing an entry a day to keep time passing in-universe in sync with time passing IRL and (mostly) making it up as I go. I don't usually have an exact plan for what I'm going to write each day and instead I treat it as a sort of solo roleplay trying to just logically flow from what came before.

Empty Names was a case of coming up with rough ideas for characters and then trying to figure out what I actually wanted them to do that would give them an excuse for interacting, and then I made the world and plot to accommodate that. For writing the individual chapters I've gotten into the habit of writing a couple paragraph summary and then going back and writing to fit that summary (or diverge as may happen once things start playing out). I had a plan to make up the individual arcs/missions as I go based on prompts that I find online when I get there. That kind of happened with the arc I'm currently writing, but I've kind of heavily diverged from the prompt by this point. We'll see if I keep doing that or not.

How fully formed does your writing come out the first try?

Just about as fully formed as it's going to be (see next question). Aside from the occasional note or sketch of something that won't be gotten to until way later but I need to get the scene out of my head now, of course.

How many drafts do you go through?

One and a half-ish? With The Archivist's Journal just being a raw, well... journal is - again - kind of the point. I might look it over for spelling/grammar/word choice before posting, but that's pretty much it. For Empty Names I'll write a chapter and then leave it in my buffer until I have several more chapters written before posting. During that time I'll often refer back to or reread the prior unposted chapters while I'm writing the chapter furthest ahead in time. In addition to catching the basic technical issues this way, I'll sometimes make changes so that it works more cohesively with the things I wrote later. A few sentences swapped around here, a new paragraph inserted there, a rephrasing of a line of dialogue to be more in-character where needed, etc. No major changes so far this way though.

I imagine that if I were seriously trying to write a book for publication I'd be more rigorous about this, but since this is just something I do for fun in my spare time (but also trying to keep to a semblance of a schedule) the most important thing is to just get something out and move on.

Tell me about your process ?

I kind of said all that in the earlier questions, but I'll reiterate in numbered list format as per the format of the game.

For The Archivist's Journal:

Rough concept notes in a single .txt document way back at the very start.

Write an entry every day while keeping in line with what came before and what I've taken notes of in the past for logical consistency and continuity.

Do random google searches while writing so that I (sort of) know what I'm talking about (at least enough to sound halfway plausible/believable).

Take notes of worldbuilding elements to refer back to later, especially of things that will recur on a regular schedule (moon phases for the mist nights and shades, floating island docking days and times, etc.).

If it gets really late at night, decide whether to finish the entry the next day (while still also writing a new entry for that day) or split the entry in-universe due to The Archivist being too tired or interrupted to continue.

Half-Joking Bonus Step: Blame issues and inconsistencies that slip through on the Archivist character being an unreliable narrator and pretend they were intentional on my part.

For Empty Names:

Make up characters.

Make up world and plot as an excuse for those characters to interact.

Write down rough skeletons of various key scenes, most of which it'll be months at the very least before I ever get to them. (Occasionally add more to this document if I ever happen to get a conversation/scene stuck in my that the main body of writing hasn't gotten to temporally yet.)

Start writing the actual story.

Write a chapter over the course of (ideally) a week or so. (This time frame has gotten destroyed by the various end-of-year holidays, but hopefully I'll be able to get back up to that pace as the new year picks up.)

Leave that chapter in a buffer queue while I write the next couple chapters.

Review previous still-unposted chapters while writing the most recent chapter and make minor edits as needed/as they occur to me across all of them for cohesion's sake.

Post the earliest unposted chapter and move on to writing the next chapter.

[agustdiv1ne]

candy hearts — TEASER

♡ READ HERE ♡

pairing: choi yeonjun x reader

genre: childhood best friends to lovers au, fluff, angst

wc: tbd (projected to be 10k+)

summary: spending valentine's day with your best friend had become a sort of tradition for ever since you were seven years old. despite the twists and turns in your friendship as both of you grew up, the one thing that never changed was the box of candy hearts that he placed in your hands every year.

warnings: tbd, none in this snippet

TEASER

tuesday, february 14th; age 12

you leaned your head against your palm as you zoned out in your last period class. science had never been your favorite subject, even less so given that your teacher had been informally dubbed the school's wack job. 

as the day had dragged on, you realized that the holiday wasn't as widely celebrated in middle school. the so-called 'special' day was reserved solely for the few couples on campus, most of which had been dating for only a couple weeks. you bet most would be broken up by next month, the typical cycle for immature, hormone-riddled relationships. 

but back to your science class.

you felt your eyes nearly roll into your skull as your teacher excitedly explained the concept of genetics and punnet squares. what a riveting topic to listen to for an hour on valentine's day. however, you couldn't focus on his boisterous ramblings when your mind was chock-full of bitter thoughts of how your best friend had decided that he couldn't be seen with you at school. 

okay, maybe not back to your science class. you were too distracted, too bothered, to concentrate.

because while yeonjun had promised to not leave you behind in middle school, it grew exceedingly obvious, as the year went on, that he had lied straight to your face. this holiday was only a painful reminder of that fact.

you couldn't entirely blame him, though, the vast sea of middle school causing you to slowly drift apart from each other as you both tried to find where you fit in. he had made new friends easily, the shy boy you once knew emerged from his shell, countless peers recognizing him for his impressive talents in baseball, in dance, in singing, the list could go on. he was good at everything that he tried his hand at, and by the middle of seventh grade, he had become the campus' golden boy. even the eighth graders knew him!

this came with a cost, however, and that was leaving you, his best friend of five years, behind (for the most part, at least).

you had found your own friends, of course. you had to, or else you would have been deemed a loner, and no one wants to be a loner in middle school. it was uncomfortable, having to talk to people you had never interacted with beforehand. despite this, you had found yourself a little group through your art class: yeri, chaeyoung, and yuqi. they had welcomed you into their trio easily. though it felt weird to have friends other than yeonjun for the first time, you were happy. well, uh, besides the whole yeonjun thing.

with only one class with him, it was easy to not speak to each other during school. your hangouts were now confined to after school, when he wasn't surrounded by his new friends and could make time for you. you never tried to talk to him about it, scared that he'd twist your words and it would destroy what semblance of friendship that remained between you. honestly, you wished that you could go back to elementary school, when things were easier, when you could talk to him at school without worrying about the consequences of doing so. 

yet you knew it wasn't that easy. this wasn't elementary school anymore.

your eyes subconsciously trailed over to the boy in question. you were supposed to hang out with him after school, but there was always that one insecurity that rattled around your mind:

what if this was the year that he finally blew you off? for good? 

you shook your head, going back to the worksheet your teacher had passed out as you were distracted by your thoughts. punnet squares, okay. one parent with a dominant and recessive gene, one parent with two recessive genes. now fill in the squares…

"hey, y/n."

your head shot up from at the sound of his voice. eyes wide at the fact that he was speaking to you at school. it had been months since he had last done so.

"oh, hi yeonjun. what did you need?" you sent him a tight smile, not that he noticed. twelve year-old boys were never most observant.

he placed a box of candy hearts, the same thing he gifted you every year, on top of your desk. it was blank, no message or name in sight.

"i wanted to give you this before i forgot and it got crushed in my backpack." his voice quietened, almost as if he didn't want anyone to hear what he had to say next, "we're still hanging out after school, right? like we always do?"

you nodded, and he shot you a small smile, "great, thanks."

he walked away. as soon as he sat back down in his seat, his friends were punching at his shoulder, teasing him, asking him if he was dating you. you could hear it all from where you were sitting, but you wished you couldn't after what he said next.

"me? with her? no way, we're just friends. i could never see her like that."

you never truly realized how much he truly meant to you until you no longer hung out until after school, but this? this hurt. it made your chest ache when you saw his borderline disgusted face at the insinuation that you were dating each other. what was so bad about you for him to have that reaction? was it your hair, your face, your acne? you found yourself mentally paging through every possible flaw you saw in yourself until the bell rang, signalling the end of school. 

yuqi walked up to you at the front of campus, immediately spotting the forlorn look on your face, "hey, you good?"

"uh, yeah, i guess. listen, i have to go meet up with yeonjun. catch you later?" you asked.

"yeonjun, huh? are you sure you're not dating him?" she smirked, and you rolled your eyes, your mood worsening even more.

"we're just friends," you spat, turning away from her, "he'd never like me like that, anyway. i have no chance with him. i'll see you later, yuqi."

the further you walked, the worse you felt about how you spoke to yuqi. she didn't deserve to deal with the brunt of your wrath, it was uncalled for. you wanted to run back to school and apologize, but you were sure she had already been picked up.

you'd have to make it up to her tomorrow.

as you neared the supermarket a few blocks down the street from school, you could see yeonjun waiting near the entrance, his foot tapping against the sidewalk impatiently. his bike sat next to him, which explained how he arrived much earlier than you.

"took you long enough," he teased as you approached, but you didn't answer, only sending him a half-hearted smile in return. his grin fell, eyebrows now furrowed. oh, now he noticed how you were feeling? typical. "you okay?"

that was the second time you had been asked that now. you wanted to say no, you definitely were not okay, that it hurt to hear him say those words earlier, that it hurt that you couldn't even talk to him during school. you wanted to tell him that you felt abandoned, you wanted to tell him that he broke the promise he made a year ago, that ever since the first day of seventh grade you felt left behind. you wanted to ask him why he even bothered hanging out with you when he couldn't bother even speaking to you at school.

but you didn't.

instead, you plastered an artificial smile on your face, trying to make your voice sound a little more energetic than you felt, "yeah! i guess i'm just tired. science wasn't exactly fun today, y'know?"

"tell me about it," he laughed as he walked beside you, easily accepting your excuse without prying. you wished that he would have pried. "he's the weirdest teacher i've ever had, i can't believe he hasn't been fired yet."

"right?" you replied as you walked down the aisle full of candy. you picked out one of the overpriced boxes of heart-shaped chocolates before walking up to the register. you tried to hand some of your money to the lady helping you, but yeonjun swatted your hand away.

"nuh-uh, you're not paying for this," he argued.

"but-"

"no."

you visibly deflated, scrunching your nose at him in distaste. he simply grinned at you in response.

"ah, young love," the cashier sighed as she took yeonjun's money. your heart clenched, thanking her before you two walked outside again, the air cool against your skin, the sun glaring into your eyes, the weather the complete opposite of your mood. you glanced over at yeonjun. you wondered why he hadn't protested when she said that. you didn't ask.

his hand found yours, dragging you around the corner behind the building. your heart raced, skin heating up slightly at the contact. your reaction couldn't have meant anything. no, you couldn't like him like that. you were friends, nothing more, nothing less.

as you sat next to each other behind the supermarket, unwrapping and eating the chocolate that he had bought you just a few minutes ago, you realized that you really couldn't deny it anymore: you were in love with choi yeonjun, your best friend, and you couldn't do anything about it.

hope y'all are excited :) if you would like to be tagged when the full fic is posted, please send me an ask!

→ © to agustdiv1ne. do not copy, repost, steal, and/or translate.

[flownwrong]

tagged by @redmyeyes (thank you, writing tags are the best!!) to share a WIP snippet. absolute nightmare for me, but since i'm determined to get through the habit insecurity of holding my shit so close to my chest i can never get anything done, it's a cool one.

so, there's this indulgent thing i wanted to write for an event; something where i'm trying to bring my 8B wincest feels and my love for unreliable (living) spaces together. this particular bit i've written in... May, i think? and haven't touched since, so i'm bewildered reading it now and want to do like 18 things differently, and i'm probably gonna after i have some semblance of a finished draft.

here goes:

This time, he hasn’t stumbled into it. He wasn’t even up. It—took him, there’s no other word for it, right from his bed, from inside the shivering approximation of sleep he goes through these days, and it’s unfair, it’s unfair, he wants to yell, like he’s ten and Dad told them to pack their shit again, not a month since they came here, it’s unfair because this was supposed to be a home, theirs, with Dean.

He hasn’t seen Dean in… however long since that corridor; doesn’t know if they’re supposed to be avoiding each other now, if Dean’s simply succeeding at playing by the rules Sam didn’t notice, once more. He’s curled as small as possible against—a not wall, something, holding his weight, if there is such a thing; his hands have shaped themselves into useless fists, all on their own. He unclenches them, stiff—is it getting colder here? There’s nothing visible beyond white light, perfect and even, and he feels like he’s looking down through glass, empty space all over and around and under his feet, too, nothing solid. He’s not even sure it’s air, from how his lungs contract painfully every once in a while, but darkness doesn’t come; he’d take darkness, now, every real thing it would mean.

He wants real, wants Dean: touching him, skin and blood, rubbing some semblance of heat back into his white-out body, mouth smearing satiny across his collarbone; talking to him, white-lipped promises, awful and true and deserved, consoling him, in that way where he makes it worse, and still Sam’s lungs unfold; holding him—up against a wall, a threat, hard all over, breath a wet patch on the thin fabric over his shoulder; in the circle of his arms, bigger than this everything; tight, tighter; close.

i hope to get it done this year (no irony, a thing that's supposed to be ~16k words in my head and have some approximation of a plot and is currently at ~8k is gonna take at least that long, lol). by then i will also hopefully get over my fear of sharing something out of my super narrow comfort zone and be able to post it ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

this tag dies with me unless @cowboywincest or @nigeltde-fic miraculously feel like doing this at any point in time :')