#viv writes

[ttptsd]

Hi, Tumblr. Hi, beautiful people. I know I never come on here anymore. I hope you are breathing. I hope you are hugging your loved ones and cuddling your pets and holding space.

I need somewhere to say this and I deleted my Twitter a while back. I was very active on Tumblr when I was very religious. I was well known as a queer Christian on here. I'm now, years later, no longer religious at all, leaning very hard towards agnostic but basically atheist, tbh. I don't think there is a God or afterlife or anything. I think there is just us, and now, and each other, and the earth, and empathy. It is times like this when I think that the most. My spirituality, of any kind if you call it that, is simply finding love and joy in every day and connecting to the nature and the comfort in the fact that I'll return to it one day, when I die. That we all do. The circle of life and humanity and feeling very beautiful things and becoming dirt, then grass, then perhaps deer one day. Because nothing is created or destroyed, even eons from now, my energy, my atoms, may be a deer or a bird or something else. It won't matter what, but it will be beautiful. And no matter who we voted for, or what we believe, we will all be dirt again one day.

I will also take a second to give an update on my personal life, since it's been a long time. I will tell you all I'm single, living with my cats, enjoying my life thoroughly. After a several year long job hunt, I finally got a "real" job as a fundraising & events coordinator at a really good nonprofit. For the first time in my entire 20s, I'm able to breathe when it comes to money. I've been working there just over a month and I love it so much, I am so so happy. I'm still also running my freelance business as a side hustle and growing deeply closer to my family and friends, the people I hug and cherish each day. I'm going to the gym, my skin is good, my sleep is the best it's ever been.

And to me, again, that's my spirituality. It's joy and friendship and sitting in restaurants laughing. It's doing good, meaningful work, and getting an okay paycheque for it. It's feeling like I'm finally on the right path in my life, after a few hard years, after some trauma in the past two years. I say this also to remind you that life is not just about the big picture, it's also about the little things, the day to day, the way we find comfort in ourselves and our loved ones. The way we heal and find empathy and hold each other, that is the most important thing. I know life is hard, but we do not stop finding hope in it, no matter what.

I heard this on a podcast once and for some reason it has stuck with me and is oddly comforting in hard times: "How you feel and what is happening are not always the same thing."

If there's anything I can do to help, please let me know. I'm here for you and with you.

Please enjoy these pictures of my cats in this trying time.

[thelovelybitten]

bad news: I'VE FUCKING EXPOSED MYSELF AS A SOUTH PARK FANFICTION WRITER TO MY PROFESSOR BC I FORGOT TO REPLACE STAN'S NAME IN THE VERY LAST PARAGRAPH HBGHBSDBGKSDBKJGBSKJBSKBBKSBGBBGIBI I'M GOING TO OFF MYSELF

good news: i got a 95 on the assignment

[thespoliarium]

ANNOUNCEMENT!

Hello, everyone! As you may all know, I have been quite noisy about this, but I have been writing a book. I am finally happy to present to you the title of the book...

"The Tired Red Swans: A Secret Love Story from Soviet Russia."

What's it all about? Well...

"USSR, 1931: Irina Shulzhenko was chosen by General Secretary Joseph Stalin to be the governess of his children, when she meets Vyacheslav Molotov, who was the 3rd Premier of the Soviet Union. Amused by each other, the two became friends and later became lovers. A story of love, lust, power, politics, and communism, witness one of the controversial yet legendary love stories hidden for years in Soviet Russia." Whoa!

Disclaimer: The author deeply condemns Stalin’s atrocities, and hopes it never happen again. The casting here would be as is from Armando Iannucci’s movie The Death of Stalin (2017), although it closely follows the real-life chronology of events.

So, who are the characters? Well, most of them are Soviet figures like: Molotov, Stalin, Khrushchev, Beria, Zhukov, Bulganin, Malenkov, Mikoyan, Kaganovich, Svetlana and Vasily, and some more!

But our main character is a woman, and her name is Irina Shulzhenko!

Irina Shulzhenko is the main character of TTRS. She is the governess to Stalin's children, Molotov's secretary, once Foreign Minister and Soviet Ambassador to the UK. She is played by none other than Lara Fabian!

More details? Okay! It's got 50K+ words, and 36 chapters. I worked on it for like 2 months, while balancing schoolwork. Whoa, juggler!

This will be released on Archive of Our Own, next Saturday, June 10, 2023! Mark your calendars! I will shamelessly promote this so bear with me.

I'll post the link once it is all done!

And here's the playlist!

[thelovelybitten]

this is me promoting chappie three of my stendy fic. again. underrated piece of work.

I love NOTHING MORE THAN THESE EMAILS I S2G I GET GIDDY

better than drugs

[notebooks-and-laptops]

I am once again imploring people to stop claiming that the companions and factions needed to be sanded down compared to previous games because otherwise there would have been Discourse. I am imploring you to stop thinking that any world (real or fictional) needs to be smoothed down and made simple to make others comfortable. I am asking you to think about what that implies when the 'softening' relates to things like characters cultural heritage, systematic oppression they've experienced, their trauma or even their anger. Demand better from your stories; do NOT fall into the trap of thinking that fan Discourse and Bad Reactions should be avoided at all costs. This is Not something we want to be encouraging or a direction we want all our mainstream media to head in.

[papayadays]

Happy birthday Joyce!!! And we get the gifts? Queen behavior 😌

🧸: Oscar and 21 from this list (sharing food with the other) we all know Oscar is not a food sharer he'd probably stab you with his fork if you tried to steal a bite

a/n: awww tysm 🥰 (stop, you're making me blush ☺️) viv, this was literally so cute and fluffy i can't

sharing food with the other

oscar piastri came off as quiet and calm, a stark contrast to his teammate lando. however, that was only if you didn’t get to know him well enough. once you did, well, he was pretty different.

the oscar you knew was able to yap your ear off, act like a little shit, and laugh at the lamest jokes. but there was one small thing.

“c’mon, is there a reason you won’t let me eat your food?” you protested, sitting next to oscar in the hospitality as oscar ate his typical avocado toast.

“there’s literally some over there,” oscar said, gesturing to the kitchen. you narrowed your eyes at his attempt to deflect.

“but i want some of yours,” you responded, hand darting out to grab a small piece. however, thanks to oscar’s fast reflexes, he caught your hand gently and brought it to his lips, pressing a kiss. “osc,” you pouted.

“why?” oscar countered, continuing to eat and ignore you.

“why not?” you grinned mischievously.

“i just like my food, okay?” oscar said, defensive. “plus, you’re capable of getting your own.”

you rolled your eyes playfully, hitting his shoulder lightly. “one day, i’ll steal your food,” you vowed.

fast forward, you and oscar were sitting in a restaurant to celebrate your one year anniversary since you two first started dating. it was in a cozy and elegant restaurant, and both of you were dressed up. or at least, less casual in terms of outfits.

you two ordered, and when the food arrived, your mouth watered. everything looked delicious. “here,” oscar said, holding a spoon with some of his dish on it near your lips. “let me know if you like it.”

your eyes widened as you ate it, smiling at the flavors. “osc,” you said, beaming. “you let me have your food!” you were enthusiastic, and that confused oscar.

“...yeah, and?”

“you never let me have your food,” you grinned. “and now you did!” 

oscar’s smile softened. “well, what’s mine is yours,” he shrugged.

“that’s not what you’ve said before,” you protested, pointing a finger at him playfully. “you’ve said that you just want to have your food.”

“well, maybe i’ve changed,” oscar replied defensively. “maybe i realized that we’re going to be doing this for the rest of our lives anyways.”

your heart fluttered at his words, surprise filling you. he was thinking about forever already? “thank you,” you said quietly. “and we are going to be doing that for the rest of our lives. so get used to it.”

“looking forward to it,” oscar chuckled, pushing his plate towards you and letting you steal another bite.

joyce's birthday bash! 😽

[shadowjinx626]

Me: Ahh, so Satan was in Hell way before Lucifer’s fall. Heck the way Ozzie and Bee look at Lucifer’s chair, insinuates how annoyed they are at him not doing his job.

Viv:

Me: How the hell were we supposed to get that!?

[thespoliarium]

I've thought about it with The Tired Red Swans and my upcoming WIP...

Why I wrote it BINGO (transcript under the cut)

Keep reading

[gingebreadbeetle]

There’s no way Hazbin fans (more so Stans) and Viv herself genuinely believe Hazbin hotel is anything like Bojack? Where does Hazbin even take inspiration from Bojack?? Bojack horseman is such a good show, with complex thoughts and ideas expressed in its writing and characters.

Vivziepop is not a curious writer. She doesn’t care about representing people, she has a limited creative mind because she cannot understand politics nor philosophy beyond a highschool level. Her progressive ideology is built of hate for women and the fetishization of gay men. She has nothing interesting to say, nothing new to add and no substance to her works.

There are so many reasons bojack horseman works where Hazbin doesn’t, and I’m tired of pretending a ‘adult show’ that brings up ‘adult themes seriously’ is on the same level as bojack horseman.

[thoughtkick]

I love that word. Forever. I love that forever doesn’t exist, but we have a word for it anyway, and use it all the time. It’s beautiful and doomed.

Viv Albertine

[rubitheracoon]

I can't get over this one single frame in episode 7

I might be over-analysing but Even when alastor is making an 'oo' sound when he speaks THE SMILE IS STILL THERE!

this is the ONLY time in the entire show he has dropped his smile for even a second.

And honestly the frame on its own doesn't even look like he's making an 'oo' sound

There has to be something to this it looks intentional but I can't think of any reason why he would be frowning in this moment cuz he's literally just guilt tripping Charlie in this scene.

I NEED ANSWERS DAMMIT

[thelovelybitten]

what are the odds i submit stendy fanfictions (change their names to not expose myself) for all my creative writing assignments

[thespoliarium]

“so i dream of you,

coming to you in a kv-1 tank.

and so help me into tomorrow,

when i leave this bitch's head blank."

goodnight y'all 😴

[coff33andb00ks]

55 + george because i can’t stop thinking about him

"Stay there. I'm on my way."

driver + number = drabble <3

thank you for this darling George definitely needs more fics 😌

warnings: drunken fuckboy behaviors, not proofread, part of my upcoming mafia au universe

suggested listening: The Devil is a Gentleman by Merci Raines

You're not quite sure how you let Charles talk you into coming along to the party, but here you are, still nursing the drink you got when you first arrived. You've danced, enjoyed some chatter with other people. The music's getting louder and the party goers are getting rowdier but you know Charles will take you home.

You just have to find him.

Couples are making out out in the open. Making your way through the room, you gasp as bodies crash into you, wincing when your drink spills down your front.

"Hey doll what's your hurry?" a voice slurs, and you shudder at the feel of a hand grabbing at you.

Charles. Charles. Where the hell is Charles? You wrench away and push through into the next room, pausing long enough to set your empty glass down. The room is relatively empty, save for a handful of couples dancing too close for your comfort. No sign of Charles.

"C'mon, doll, we got some good stuff that'll help you relax." It's the same drunken voice and you immediately look for an exit. Either up the stairs or out the door, and you don't like the idea of being outside and even more vulnerable.

Upstairs it is, and through the first door that doesn't lead into a bedroom. You're grateful it's a bathroom and lock the door behind you, leaning against the door as you try to figure out what to do next.

"Doll where you at?"

Pulling your phone from your purse, you try calling Charles ten times, each one ringing until voicemail picks up and after the fifth slightly panicked message you don't bother.

Fucking Charles. When I see him again I'm punching him right in his stupid adorable face.

You scroll through your contacts, mentally crossing off each one - you don't think the florist will come pick you up - and stop at the most recent addition.

George R.

Tall, so very British, you met him in the bookstore last week, both reaching for the same book. You'd joked that he was picking up Pride and Prejudice for his girlfriend, he'd told you no, just replacing a dogeared copy. Somehow that had led to a discussion of the classics, and he'd smoothly offered to exchange numbers.

"Perhaps we can meet and discuss more favorites?"

"I'd like that."

This wasn't a favorite. This was an emergency. And you remember that he seemed like the type a stranded woman could call in case of emergency.

He answers on the second ring.

"Hi. It's..." You barely get your name out, tensing when there's a banging on the other side of the door.

"Of course." He pauses. "What's wrong?"

Later you'll ask him how he knows something wrong but the drunken asshole is still banging on the door. So you tell him what's wrong, and don't think twice when he asks if you're at the Stroll estate.

"Stay there. I'm on my way."

The phone beeps and you blink, staring at the screen as the banging ends. Pushing away from the door, you set your phone down and wash your hands, feeling them shake as the doorknob rattles. You're certain he'll give up, but he doesn't, continuing to call out–

"C'mon doll playin' hard to get just makes me want you more."

–and rattle the door.

Until, suddenly, he stops. Your eyes widen when you hear what definitely sounds like a fist meeting a face, followed by thud of a body hitting the floor.

Then, gently, a knock.

"It's George." He sounds so calm. As though he regularly goes out in the middle of the night and punches drunk guys out.

When you unlock the door and open it, he's there. Looking as though he just left some swanky dinner party in his suit and tie.

His expression is concerned, and when you glance at the crumpled figure on the floor behind him he shifts to block your gaze. "Did he hurt you?"

You shake your head. "No, he... He didn't touch me."

"You're sure?" he asks, searching your face. When you nod, he seems satisfied. "Let's get you home then."

Grabbing your phone, you let him guide you from the bathroom, glancing back at the man on the floor. "Did you–"

"He would have passed out soon, my dear. Absolutely sloshed." George has a gentle grip on your arm, ushering you down the stairs and out the front door, seemingly unconcerned by the surroundings. A car is waiting at the base of the wide front steps, still running and driver's door open. He opens the passenger door for you and you sink into expensive leather.

"Thank you," you say once he's behind the wheel and driving away from the house.

"It's no trouble at all," he assures you.

"I don't usually do this." You don't know why but you feel like you have to explain yourself. "Parties and all that. I just came because my friend–"

George snorts.

"Invited me along," you finish lamely.

"The Stroll family isn't a safe, my dear," he advises after a moment. "I'm not sure how closely connected your friend is with them, but if you care for your safety you'll stay away in future."

"Was that guy one of them?" you ask softly.

"No, I don't think so."

The rest of the ride is quiet, and when he parks in front of your house he gets out to walk you to the door. And suddenly he's the affable man you met in the bookstore, asking to meet tomorrow for lunch. His lips are soft against your cheek in the seconds before you go inside, and you're smiling as you close the door.

It's not until you hear his car drive off that you realize he hadn't asked you your address.

[mohntilyet]

asked my brain 'have you had enough of veilguard yet' and it answered with 'remember when you wanted a vivienne romance so bad you made it up'

[flemingsgirl]

We got this

Supporting your best friend never let to such a heartbroken moment in your life. The story follows up to Vivianne's ACL injury.

TW: mention of injury, some angst

Watching the Lyon game filled you with ecstasy many fans gathered in the emirate’s stadium. The teams headed onto the field, and the anthem echoed through the venue. Vivianne was lined up in the starting eleven. As they got into their position Viv’s eyes found your figure in the crowd, and one side of her lips curled up as she waved at you.

It was an even game possession from both sides as well as pressing, creating chances. Some tackling here and there but still nil-nil. Three minutes additional time, the most hurtful you have ever lived through. Lyon took a chance and scored the nil-one due to an own goal which resulted from a free kick.

Arsenal with the kick off followed by an attack towards the goal Viv slaloming through the bodies and trying to get the ball she missed. Abruptly her butt met the cold grass and she waved for anyone to notice but the game went on McCabe sprinting into the box passing to Manuum and she stops. The gazes of her teammates fell to her laying on the ground. Viv hid her face in her arms and her body shaking as she cried in pain. You could see that van de Donk kneeled next to her trying to speak to her, caressing her back. Your hands clenched over your mouth and eyes wide as the stare down at Vivianne. The scratcher arrived just seconds later but it felt like hours, like the time froze and your heart broke. The medic finally arrived at her side; she turned over her arms still covering her face. They put her leg in a splint careful and slow. Her face scrunched up as they moved her to the scratcher, her face went pale, and her eyes shut as the tears ran down her cheeks.

When she was carried off Beth and you already standing at the side line the stadium cheered for the forward player. She was pushed into the tunnel and you and Beth trotted behind the woman. You let her enter before. Pacing up and down the hallway you fidget with your scrunchy. Stopping in one spot you shift from your toes to your heel and forwards again, eyes wandering through the room. A hand lays down on your shoulder and you turn around. Your eyes meet with Beth’s reddish and tear cover ones. “she’s really crestfallen.” You bring your arms around Beth and pressed slightly, “thank you,” the words are mumbled into her coat.

In a slow manner you open the door stepping into the room, it holds many emotions. “Hey gorgeous.” Your hand grabs a chair and place it next to the examination table. With her eyes shut she nods and stutters, “hi.”

“Oh Anna,” placing her hand in yours you squeeze it and rub circles on the back of it. “it’s going to be okay, yeah? I’m here. I’ll always be here, every step of it,” you bring her hand up to your lips and gently let them touch her skin. A tear slips out of her eyes, and you brush it away. “You’re freezing up,” getting out of your coat you lay it around her shoulder, your scent meeting her olfactory receptors.

The room went silent again until Viviane lets heart shattering cries and sobs out pulling your coat higher so she can hide her face in it. As the sound is processed in your head tears cover your sight, “it will be you and me til the end. You remember my sweet warrior?” moving closer to her you stroke her back and kissed the crown of her head. “We’ll get through this. You’re the strongest woman I know. The best player I ever met and I’m grateful for having you in my life. You’re my best friend my other half. You hear me Miedema?” your eyes darting on her, “you hear me beautiful?” you stroke through her hair, she leans into your touch and you can feel her shift.

A knock on the door echoes through the cold air. Beth head peaked in, “they’re gonna take to the hospital now, just so you know.”

Giving Beth a reassuring smile you answers, “all right,” disconnecting your touch on Viv’s head and lowering the hand which holds hers she grabs tightly onto it she makes you halt.

“Please stay,” her quivering voice mumbles. Out of the corner of your eyes, you can see Beth’s smile drop, and her eyes fall to the floor.