#viv writes

[subbing-for-katsuki]

🧡💚🖤🧡💚🖤

There's nothing quite like the look Katsuki gives you when he's fucking you.

His brow is furrowed, which isn't unusual. It's not in the set of his jaw, either, or the punishing tempo of his hips slapping against yours. Pinning you down effortlessly, almost in a mating press.

What's nearly etheral are those deep red eyes trained on you. Watching you, picking you apart. Even with his breath growling out of him, the bass vibrates between both your chests. Makes your heart flutter.

He's watching you. For as much shit as he gives his old childhood friend, he is just as observant, just as meticulous in gathering information. In some ways, perhaps more so. Instead of penning it in a notebook, he sears it into his mind, his soul. From the slack of your jaw to the arch in your back, the way your eyes lose focus when his cock angles juuust right in your plush walls. The cute little tears gathering in your eyes, the pleading arches of your brows informing him that you're almost there.

You gurgle out a pathetic, whimpering moan. Such a delicate thing - he captures the sound with his lips, wanting to taste your sweet release on his tongue just as he feels your pussy gushing with slick around his cock.

He chuckles, biting your lower lip softly. A warning nip.

"Y'know, I'm not even close to done with you yet, pretty."

🧡💚🖤🧡💚🖤

[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

[ylangelegy]

like real people do ☢️ seungcheol x reader.

little is known about the apocalypse of 2017. a century later, archivists are now unveiling the relics they found from those who lived through that time.

★ seungcheol x reader.  ★ word count: 2.1k ★ genre: alternate universe: apocalypse, alternate universe: soulmates (the only way for your scars to disappear is when your soulmate kisses them goodbye), angst, romance. ★ warnings: major character death. depictions of death/violence, injuries/scars. established relationship; suggestive scenes but no real smut. set in a fictional apocalyptic world. doubling down on the angst warning; i cannot say with any certainty that this is a happy ending. ★ footnotes: this is part of my follower milestone event. viv gave me an inch (a request for angsty seungcheol) and, in turn, i am giving her a mile (a whole thing instead of just a ficlet). mahal kita, @heartepub! this will be the last hozier brainrot i offer you— for now. + much thanks to @gyubakeries and @tusswrites for beta reading! love you both to the end of the world. ❤️‍🩹

↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺ like real people do by hozier. apocalypse by cigarettes after sex. i know the end by phoebe bridgers. fourth of july by sufjan stevens. interlude: i’m not angry anymore by paramore. atlantis by seafret. end of beginning by djo. nobody’s soldier by hozier.

When the fish started dying, you did not think: This is how the world will end.

Why would you? The decimation of marine mammals and seabirds didn’t make the news. The misguided scientific breakthrough that triggered everything was kept under wraps.

It isn’t until much later, until the damage is irreparable and the Rapture is imminent, that you will realize it. 

The world as you know it is ending— but at least you have Seungcheol.

There’s some cruelty in the timing of it all. The two of you had just moved in with each other, coasting on the honeymoon phase of a long-term couple with a new thing to share. The paint on your apartment’s walls had yet to dry when the government declared a state of national emergency.

Dozens of other countries followed suit not long after, all blaming one thing or the other. Food crises. Social unrest. Cultural collapse. 

“This is crazy,” Seungcheol grumbles. 

The television is playing clips of a hurricane tearing through the Philippines. Extreme weather conditions, the reporters are saying. Due to the rise of CO₂ levels. 

You and Seungcheol are sprawled out on the floor, watching it unfold. The furniture store meant to deliver your couch has delayed shipment until further notice. 

Seungcheol has always been the sulky type, though the expression on his face nowadays has been less of his trademark pout and more of a serious frown. You can feel his growing agitation in the stiff way he holds you, in the set of his eyebrows. 

“It’s crazy,” you agree quietly, resting your hand on his knee in a bid to calm him a bit. “But it’ll pass.” 

Your touch seems to give some sort of reprieve. He rolls his shoulders. He unclenches his jaw. 

“It’ll pass,” he echoes, reaching out to intertwine your fingers. 

Neither of you knew just how wrong you could be. 

April 8, 2017 

Weird times. Cheol knows just how anxious I get when I’m cooped up, so he encouraged me to pick up journaling. I’m not sure how much this will help, but it’s worth a try. 

It’s been a month since everything has essentially gone on ‘lockdown’. The news says that all of this started because researchers wanted to regulate harmful algae. Their genetically engineered virus ended up infecting all algae, and now the majority of phytoplankton are just... dead. 

I don’t know what to write about. Terrible oxygen levels? Seafood costing a fortune? This ‘work from home’ system everyone is trying to figure out? 

I guess I should just write about the good stuff. That way, when I look back on these entries, I can remember something good.

Today, Cheol tried to fix a leaking faucet himself instead of calling for a plumber. We flooded the kitchen floor, and ended up wet from head to toe.

I cooked pasta, called mom and dad on Skype, and watched the latest episode of Santa Clarita Diet. 

Once everything opens up again, Cheol and I have to visit my parents. (And ‘get better screwdrivers’, he claims.) 

When Seungcheol first kissed you, you did not think: This man is my soulmate. 

It had been a clumsy, shy thing, traded way back when the two of you were high schoolers still stealing away from your eagle-eyed parents. Seungcheol liked to wax poetics about how it was perfect even though you know that first kiss was more a clash of teeth than anything. 

You don’t discover the truth of everything until a couple of years into dating. Seungcheol had gotten into playing basketball, and, one evening, you absentmindedly pressed your lips to a scar he had at the bend of his elbow. 

The mark smoothed out instantly. 

Seungcheol had giggled at the development before spending the rest of the night kissing every inch of your skin that he could reach— injured or not. You still think it’s one of your best memories as a couple. 

Kisses that healed scars. You hadn’t believed in the stories yourself until it had happened to you, until you realized how fortunate you were that your soulmate wasn’t halfway across the world or something. No, you had your soulmate, and he was more than willing to kiss away all your wounds. 

You had counted yourself as lucky. You still think you are, even now, as Seungcheol strokes your hair and holds you to his chest in the pitch black darkness of your apartment. 

His voice is quiet and small when he speaks up. “I’m sorry.” 

“What for?” you mutter back. 

“I’m sure this isn’t what you imagined,” he says. “For us moving in together and everything.” 

An amused snort escapes you. Of course that would be your boyfriend’s concern. There’s the rotational power outages and the merciless prices of goods due to inflation, but Seungcheol is worried about your expectations not being met. 

You shift in his hold. The days have been getting warmer and warmer, and the evenings are no exception. Seungcheol has taken to sleeping shirtless. You’re a couple of celsius away from doing the same. 

“It’s not your fault that we decided to move in together for the end times,” you say into the skin of his bare chest. 

He gives the small of your back a light thwack. “What have I said about the apocalypse jokes?” he chides lightly. 

You roll your eyes. He shouldn’t see it in the darkness, but he knows you all too well. “And don’t roll your eyes at me!”

His reprimand draws a short laugh from you. Even that feels like a monumental effort, like it's a waste of good air. 

Seungcheol doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about the two of you waking up in pools of your own sweat, doesn’t care that there are whole government newscasts on how to preserve oxygen in enclosed spaces. 

He holds you like a lifeline and kisses you until you’re breathless. 

“Cheol,” you whine against his mouth, the protest already at the tip of your tongue. The end is near; sex should be the last thing on your mind. 

But then Seungcheol’s fingers toy with the hem of your shirt, and he sounds so, so sweet when he mumbles, “Yes, soulmate?” 

That’s always gotten to you. 

“Unfair,” you groan as you work on shucking off your own clothes. “You’re so unfair.” 

In between giggles, he kisses every part of you. Again, and again, and again. 

June 15, 2017 

Cheol and I are on the run. 

He keeps telling me not to call it that because it supposedly makes us sound like criminals. I think it’s just funny, and God knows I need something to find humor in. 

As badly as I want to say “we have gone through worse before,” that would be a lie. We’re out of our apartment and trying to make our way to some place where there’s better air quality. In the meantime, we’re living out of his car. It’s so funny to me that I’ve started laughing until I’m crying. 

Anyway, the good stuff: Today’s sunset painted the sky purple. We snagged some still-cold cans of Sprite in an abandoned 7-Eleven. Cheol spotted a family of ducks crossing the road, pointed it out, and said “us, soon!”

Us, soon. It feels dangerous to hope, but that’s all I seem to do nowadays. That and being on the run. (Cheol made me strike out that last part, but whatever.) 

When Seungcheol finally admits to you that he is scared, you did not think: This means that things are much, much worse than I thought. 

Maybe because there were bigger concerns, like the car’s blinking fuel warning light and the scratches littering Seungcheol’s arms. Like the fool that he was, he had gone against your well-meaning advice to not look for help. 

He did not return unscathed. 

Your lips are pursed in a thin line as you rip open a Band-Aid. It’s one of the few that the two of you have left, and Seungcheol seems to remember the fact. He reaches out to stop you. 

“Hey, c’mon,” he urges, obviously trying to aim for levity. “You know there’s other ways we can fix me up, right?”

The frown that tugs at your lips shows that you’re still less-than-pleased at his little stunt. 

“Maybe if you didn’t head out in the first place,” you grumble. “We wouldn’t need any of this.” 

Seungcheol looks like he might push back, but seems to decide against it at the last minute. Instead, he wraps his fingers around your wrist and gives you a gentle tug. 

“It won’t happen again.” His tone is edged with remorse, enough to almost convince you. Almost. 

“No more playing hero?” you ask. 

A corner of his lip twitches upward. “No more playing hero,” he concedes before tugging at you again. 

You let him. You move closer into his space until you’re practically in his lap, until you’ve got a better view of the angry red cuts on his skin. 

Tentatively, you press chaste kisses to the injuries. Seungcheol’s hands find purchase at your waist and he tilts his head back, letting you work your magic. He’s quiet as your lips trace over each gash and wound, as you take away all the hurt with the ghost of a kiss. 

After a moment, he mumbles, “Is it bad that I want you right now?” 

“Seungcheol.” 

“Okay, okay.” A beat. “I want you all the time, actually.” 

“Shut up!”

The sound of his laughter fills the car. It’s enough to have you forgetting his murmured confession of fear, the vulnerability that he had tried so quickly to cover up with affection. For a moment, there is nothing else in the world except this, except you, except him. 

September 23, 2017

Is it weird to say that I’m starting to forget what it was like before all of this happened? Cheol is trying to assure me that it’s to be expected, that we’ll all be back to ‘normal’ soon, but I don’t even remember what normal is like anymore. 

I can’t forget. I don’t want to forget. And so here is a small list of things I took for granted: 

The first breeze that tells you winter is coming 

The kindness of people who don’t know you 

The smallest fish in the sea

Date nights with Cheol 

Clean water 

Breakfast

My parents

Cheol says there might be some biodomes ahead. Oxygen-regulated habitats. It sounds like something only the rich can afford. We don’t have a lot left between the two of us, and it’s getting harder to jump from building to building. 

But there’s something waiting for us on the other side— right? There has to be. 

May the best of my todays be the worst of my tomorrows. 

When the gunshot rang out, you did not think: This is it.

Seungcheol never gave you any reason to think that way. He had held your hand as you raided rundown grocery stores. He had positioned himself in front of you when there were stampedes. The world might have been ending, but he was with you.

He was with you even when the strangers you ran into started getting more aggressive. He was with you even when fights would break out over necessities like water and medicine. 

“People are dangerous when they're desperate,” he’d tell you softly— still his rational, kind self even when faced with the worst of mankind.

He was with you. He was kind. He was yours. 

Even when the bullet lodged itself right between his ribs. 

There is not much that you remember after that. 

The people dispersed. The cause of the fight— a can of chicken noodle soup, once your comfort food— lay forgotten on the floor.

The love of your life, staring unblinking at the sky.

When you sink to the ground, you’re moving purely on instinct. Your quivering lips press over his chest, over the red blossoming and staining his shirt. 

You kiss him. Again.

And again. 

And again. 

December 1, 2017

The kisses don’t work on bullet wounds. 

▸ Archivist’s note: The following entries are undated and some portions had been redacted/deemed untranscribable. We are led to believe that the author struggled to cope in the aftermath of their soulmate’s death. For posterity, we have still reprinted their final entries.

You’re so unfair. 

I still want you. 

Things I took for granted: ███████, you, ███████, youyouyou. 

What now? 

My love, it’s only a matter of ███████—

▸ Archivist’s note: Nothing follows.

This concludes our transcribed logs. The full collection can be viewed at the National Museum of Remembrance.

It is our deepest regret that the author is unnamed and that they cannot be properly credited. However, we know of two things with certainty. 

We know of a man named Seungcheol, and we know that he was loved. 

[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! 😽

[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

[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!?

[subbing-for-katsuki]

Warnings: noncon

Mercenary!Bakugo receives the title of Count and some land after his efforts in the King's war, and is offered one gift of his choosing.

Of course, from the minute he stepped into the throne room with his hulking, massive form, all the court nobles are scared stiff. Scars and tattoos decorate his skin, and his wild, spiky hair is grown down to his shoulders, too busy fighting in the countless battles of the last few years to bother cutting it.

He ripped the sleeves off the monkey suit the attendants tried to shove him into for the ceremony, it being too small for his body, the neck stretched open to show his bulging pecs, gold chains dangling down his chest. He flexes his hands open and shut, shooting glares around the room.

His footfalls are heavy and vibrate through the polished marble floor as he approaches the king's dais, where the small man sits, stroking his beard with one hand.

"Thanks to you, many lives were saved and many fruitless battles were won. I grant you the title of Count, as well as the land you once called home, Yueii. In addition, I will grant you anything you ask, any wish. Consider it my gift, as thanks for your service to this kingdom."

His fiery red eyes immediately shoot to the trembling figure standing just behind her father's throne - you're the youngest princess, just of age, biting your pretty lip and doing your best to appear brave. His face contorts into a harsh grin. The surly blonde brute knows just what he wants. He wants you.

"Her," he rasps, pointing one calloused finger at you, and with fear gripping your heart, your father readily accepts.

You're thrown over his mountain of a shoulder and carried out of the room without him even caring to sample the feast prepared in his honor. He doesn't care about fine dining by nobles' standards - he wants a good fuck.

And you're gonna give it to him, whether you like it or not.

[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.

[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 😴

[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'

[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