I've got a few free hours. time to dive back into my abandoned steddie band fic
were so back
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Three Goblin Art

titsay

oozey mess

PR's Tumblrdome
Monterey Bay Aquarium

祝日 / Permanent Vacation
🪼
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
wallacepolsom

blake kathryn
Jules of Nature

Love Begins
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
todays bird

tannertan36
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me

Andulka

Janaina Medeiros
DEAR READER
Show & Tell
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@faewritesshit
I've got a few free hours. time to dive back into my abandoned steddie band fic
were so back
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
guess who's writing their 5 year old bozink fic again?
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
if your weird enough with the homies you can break all boundaries of platonic/romantic love and make a third, more evil thing
a podcast...
@doggogills-but-worse
It was late in the evening, or perhaps already early in the morning, and Micah was buzzing. He was high, and very comfortable, currently. Currently, he was on the roof of Leslie’s building, curled against their chest, both sprawled on the small couch they kept up there. He was pressed comfortably against Leslie’s chest, their legs around him, and one arm wrapped around his middle. His bones felt a bit like jelly, and his skin was tingling. Letting his head fall back against Leslie’s shoulder, he gazed up at the stars, relishing in the warm night air, and just how comfortable. he was feeling, catching sight of Leslie eyeing him, lit join to their lips.
Micah had been learning quite a lot about Leslie these past few weeks. Leslie was funny, and kind, and - for the most part - gentle. They liked physical contact. They liked it a lot, often giving a pout or grumble when the desired contact was broken. More often than not, Micah had some sort of hand on him when he was around them. Usually just a hand on his back, or arm draped over his shoulder. Tonight they were needy, pulling him close so as much of their bodies were touching and feasibly possible. That was how they had ended up in this position, almost fully on top of them, pressing them into the side of the couch. On occasion, they were a different kind of needy, a hungry, demanding, possessive kind of needy. It didn’t happen often, but Micah certainly wasn’t one to complain when it did. Micah let his eyes close, letting out a contented hum as he heard the crackle of the ember as Leslie took a drag. His eyes opened again when he felt teeth on his throat, hot smoke escaping the break between the skin of his neck and Leslie’s mouth. They didn’t bite hard, just a temporary pressure, holding him still. His heartbeat had just begun to catch up to the shifting moment when the teeth were gone, Leslie instead pressing a soft kiss against the spot before straightening, holding the half finished join in front of Micah’s vision.
There was a pause before Micah took the offered joint, picking his head back up to take his pass. He watched Leslie out of the corner of his eye. They were watching him, eyes half lidded, soft smile on their lips, hair nicely mussed from the breeze around them. Their weren’t as gone as he was, but they were getting there. The distraction became a problem when he didn’t notice how deep his inhale had been, and suddenly he was fighting the urge to cough, holding the joint back out for Leslie to take. He exhaled slowly, feeling the heavy smoke vacating from the recesses of his lungs. It wasn’t the first time Leslie had put their teeth on him outside of a sexual context. It was always similar, a short moment of teeth on his neck - always the neck - before being taken back.
“What’s that all about?” The weed was making him bold. Leslie’s eyes slowly focused back on his, they just blinked at him. “The biting.” He clarified.
“Do you want me to stop?” They almost sounded hurt.
“No,” He curled himself farther back against Leslie, pressing his head into the crook of their neck. “Just curious. ‘S different from… everything else.”
Leslie was quiet for a while, and Micah almost thought that he had overstepped some boundary he hadn’t seen. The weed dampened his usual panic response, letting him maintain a gentle curiosity. He allowed himself a glance up at them, they were staring into he middle distance as they held the smoke in their lungs, letting trails drip from the space between their lips.
“Dunno.” Was their answer eventually. Watching the smoke puff out as they spoke was mesmerizing. “I didn’t used to want to before, but it’s just… natural?”
“It’s new?”
“New since my whole… thing.” They grimaced a bit as a memory seemed to surface.
“Some sort of side effect?” He knew the broad strokes of what had happened with them. Leslie never really went into detail about much, preferring to keep details vague, and as light hearted as you can with matters like that.
“I guess that’s what being possessed by a person eating, rage beast does to a guy.” The nonchalant shrug they gave jostled Micah, and he snorted a short laugh, couldn’t help it really. It was inherently ridiculous. Leslie’s arm tightened around his waist, almost nuzzling their face into his hair. “What, my pain and suffering is funny to you?” Their tone was clearly teasing as Micah stifled another giggle.
“No, asshole.” He thwapped a hand against their leg. “You’re so casual about it.” Leslie’s huff tickled down the back of his neck. “You’re weird.”
“Rude, firstly.” They paused to take another drag, pulling long and slow. Micah watched the light off the ember dance in their eyes. “Secondly,” They e facing him again, hand on his chin, bringing their lips close enough to be almost touching as they exhaled. Obediently, Micah took in the smoke, letting his eyes close as the secondhand smoke filled his lungs. “You’d be the one letting the weirdo fuck you. What would the people think?”
The smoke came out of Micah’s nose as he laughed, turning away from Leslie as it turned into a spluttering cough. Leslie’s grip released, allowing him to sit up, burying his face in the sleeve of his hoodie. Vaguely, he heard an apology from Leslie over his coughing fit. Luckily, it was a short one, quickly clearing the smoke from his chest. He let himself fall back against Leslie, hearing a small huff as the impact pushed air from them.
“Oh no.” Lazily, he threw a hand to his forehead, craning his neck to look back at Leslie, a mock distressed expression on his face. “My beloved social reputation, what ever shall I do? How will I cope?”
“I could think of a few ways.” There was mischief in their voice as they watched him, a challenge in their eye.
“Oh yeah? And what would those be?” He was rising to it.
Leslie shrugged, looking around the messy rooftop as they responded. “Alcohol, drugs, sex, violence.”
“Very healthy, Leslie.”
“We already have one of those covered.” They gestured with the hand holding the dying roach. “The night’s young, I’m sure we could check a few more off of that list.” The grin they looked down at him with could only be described as ‘wolfish’ all teeth and intent.
Anxious anticipation began to creep its way up Micah’s gut and into his chest. It had been more than his required ‘days of rest’ he thought about it earnestly for a moment. It had been a shit week, and who was he to deny such an offer? He was starting to get cold anyway.
“No alcohol.” He twisted out of Leslie’s arms, standing up and turning to face them, holding out a hand. “Or I will throw up on you.”
“Deal.” Simultaneously, Leslie ground the crumbling filter down into their ashtray and took Micah’s hand, pulling themself up with surprising fluidity. They were solidly in his space, pulling Micah towards them, leaning to loom in over him. “I think we could arrange you a two for one.”
Their eyes were sharp, narrowed and dark. The hungry look. was back in their eye, lingering there as they looked down at him. The corner of Micah’s mouth threatened to twitch up into an anticipatory grin. A shudder ran down his spine as his adrenaline began to spike. The thrumming in his chest was only amplified by his high, his thoughts were sluggish, vulnerable. The instinct to run made itself known. He loved this part.
Another NPC drabble. This one is more fun less angst
—-
It was cold, the wind sharp as it bit at Micah’s cheeks, despite this, his hands felt sweaty shoved in his pockets. Austin’s grocery was right around the corner, and Micah could feel his heart in his throat. He shouldn’t be this nervous, and yet he found his breath shuddering as the flickering “Open” sign came into view. The straps of his backpack were digging into his shoulders, a bead of sweat sent a shiver down his spine, it felt like there was a stone stuck in the toe of his shoe, and the bell above the door seemed entirely too loud as he pushed it open. The buffeting wall of warm air was effective in shocking his system back into regular functions again, and he took in the room around him. The teenager behind the counter barely glanced up from whatever she was doing at the noise of the door, letting out a barely detectable sigh as she tugged a headphone out of one ear and let it dangle. He hadn’t seen her here before. That was fine. He was fine. He turned, a bit too abruptly, to head down the aisle closest to him. He wasn’t looking for anything in particular, in fact he hadn’t even planned to buy anything here at all, but he needed time to regroup.
In truth, Leslie offered because they did not want to be alone. All day, a clawing feeling deep in their gut had them restless, something primal, and confusing. They couldn't put a name to the feeling. It was a blessing that Micah had come by, and a pleasure that he was staying.
They had finished closing duties while Micah worked on a reading, the quiet a comfortable blanket around them both. The feeling in Leslie's stomach was growing worse. Something sharp, demanding their attention. Demanding to be sated. They continued to ignore it.
By the time they both made it up the stairs to Leslie's apartment, the feeling was all they could think about, despite their best attempts to focus on being a good host. Micah was comfortable enough in their apartment already, and seemed to leave Leslie space to work out whatever they were dealing with. A cold glass of water didn't help. It was only when they turned around and caught sight of Micah that they recognized the feeling. Micah was pulling off his bulky sweater, the motion catching his shirt, pulling it up enough to expose a stripe of his midriff. Leslie froze, transfixed as Micah righted his shirt, tossing the sweater onto their futon, and slowly stretching, rolling his neck from side to side, slowly loosening the muscles, practically baring his throat to Leslie. They recognized the feeling in their gut as their head was filled with the thought of what Micah's skin would taste like beneath their teeth.
Hunger. The feeling was hunger. A clawing, aching, bottomless hunger, demanding and ravenous. They were in front of Micah before realizing that they had moved, crowding into his space, looming over him.
Another NPC drabble. This one is more fun less angst
—-
It was cold, the wind sharp as it bit at Micah’s cheeks, despite this, his hands felt sweaty shoved in his pockets. Austin’s grocery was right around the corner, and Micah could feel his heart in his throat. He shouldn’t be this nervous, and yet he found his breath shuddering as the flickering “Open” sign came into view. The straps of his backpack were digging into his shoulders, a bead of sweat sent a shiver down his spine, it felt like there was a stone stuck in the toe of his shoe, and the bell above the door seemed entirely too loud as he pushed it open. The buffeting wall of warm air was effective in shocking his system back into regular functions again, and he took in the room around him. The teenager behind the counter barely glanced up from whatever she was doing at the noise of the door, letting out a barely detectable sigh as she tugged a headphone out of one ear and let it dangle. He hadn’t seen her here before. That was fine. He was fine. He turned, a bit too abruptly, to head down the aisle closest to him. He wasn’t looking for anything in particular, in fact he hadn’t even planned to buy anything here at all, but he needed time to regroup.
This npc hurt/comfort drabble got away from me.
tw: panic attack, references to trauma
---
It was late, almost closing time for Leslie. To be specific, it was 11:47pm on a Wednesday, and they were staring at the rack of postcards next to the register again. Stuck staring at the spot that it happened. The rain was drumming rhythmically against the wide front windows created a haze of background noise to their zoning out. It had been a month, but their bones still ached at times. Usually late at night, when they were alone. Nights like tonight. A throb of pain bounced dully around their jaw, an echo of the pain of feeling it crack and shift out of place. A tightening knot began to form in their stomach, and their vision tunnel, focused on the spot on the ground. The faint memory of the rage, the clawing hunger, the pain of their body reshaping itself, and the bloodlust that didn't belong to them. It was hard to take in air, as their chest constricted, short breaths becoming more rapid as the beginnings of a panic attack was taking hold.
Then, the door to the grocery store flew open, sending the bell above ringing loudly, and the door slamming against the wall. Leslie jumped at the sudden noise, feeling rushing it's way back into their extremities. Looking up, feeling their heart thrumming violently, they were surprised to see Micah. The newest member of the weekly support group, a short boy with roughly cut dark hair. He had been quiet the two times he had shown up, and hadn’t shared what he had gone through yet, and tonight, he didn’t look good. Wild eyes, soaked to the bone from the now torrential rain. He was trembling, standing frozen, dripping on the entry mat. He jumped at the sound of the door closing behind him, letting out a small yelp, his hands moving quickly to shield his face.
AO3 Etiquette
It would seem a whole new kind of AO3 reader/writer is emerging and it is becoming clear not everyone quite understands how the website community works. Here is some basic guidance on how most people expect you to go about using AO3 to keep this a fun community archive that funtions correctly:
Kudos is for when the story was interesting enough to make you finish reading. If it sucked or was badly written, you probably left. If you finished - you kudos.
If you liked it, you should comment. It can be long and detailed or a literal keysmash. Writers don't care, we just love comments.
No critisism unless the author has specifically asked or agreed to hear it. Even constructive critisism is a no-no unless an author note tells you it's okay. Many people write as a fun hobby or a way to cope with, among other things, insecurity. Don't ruin that for them.
Do not comment to ask the author to write/update something else. It's tacky and off-putting and will probably have the opposite effect than the one you want.
There is no algorithm, it's an archive. Use the search and filter function to add/remove the pairings/characters/tropes etc. you want to read about and it will find you the fics that fit the bill.
For this to work, writers must tag and rate stories. This avoids readers finding the wrong things and missing the stuff they want. I don't care how cringy that trope is in your eyes - it gets tagged.
Character A/Character B means a ROMANTIC or SEXUAL relationship of some kind. Character A&Character B is PLANTONIC, like friendship or family.
Nothing is banned. This is an implicit rule because banning one thing is a slipperly slope to banning another and another, until nothing is allowed anymore. Do not expect anyone to censor for you. Because of the tags system, you are responsible for your own reading experience.
People can create new chapters and sequels/fic series any time after they "complete" a story. So it's considered perfectly normal to subscribe, even to a finished story. You can even subscribe to the author instead just to cover your bases.
Do not repost stories or change the publishing date without an extremely good reason (like a complete top to bottom rewrite). It's an archive, not social media. No one cares what's the most recent, only what fits their tag needs.
Avoid deleting a story you wrote if you hate it - orphan it so others can still enjoy it, without it being connected to you anymore.
This is a creative fanfiction archive. No essays on your insights or theories please. There are other places for that.
I KNOW there's plenty more I missed but I'm trying to cover most of the basics that people seem to be struggling with.
I invite anyone to add to this, but please explain, don't berate.
gods my fic is just kinda projecting and cathartic venting. good job me
more npcs! this is Olive and Leslie, circa 5 years before the start of the campaign
Leslie was laid bed, their head - their everything - was pounding with a dull, radiating pain. The memories of the evening were still ricocheting around their mind. Bones breaking and reshaping. Muscles tearing and extending. The sound of teeth hitting the tile floor. The sound of the three men shouting, words lost in their ears, drowned out by the flood of hatred, anger, and a clawing, desperate, all consuming hunger. The feeling was still lingering, latched onto their gut like a phantom pain. Even if Leslie could get up, the thought of eating made them nauseous with the fear of what might happen if they give in to that impulse. Afraid that it would reawaken… whatever it was that was starving and so full of anger.
When the door of Leslie’s little studio apartment creaked open, they almost couldn’t hear the loud squeak over their pounding pulse. The realization brought them shooting up in bead, the sudden jolt of adrenaline drowning out the sharp pain that shot through their body in response.
“Sorry…” The small, nervous voice dampened the sudden panic.
“Hey, Kiddo. It’s okay.:” Their voice came out much weaker than they had intended. It was an exhausted tone of hoarse and gravelly that made them both wince.
Despite the growth spurt that Olive had over the past year, she still looked so very small in their doorway tonight. She was almost drowning in Leslie’s pair of old, borrowed pajamas. Hands with a white knuckle grip on the door, and eyes still puffy from the crying that had been done the past couple of days.
“C-can I come in?” Her voice was still thick with emotion.
“O’course.” Leslie patted the mattress beside them, giving her the most reassuring smile they could muster. “Get over here.”
Olive entered the room quickly, the door squeaking again as she shut it, and took the moment to make sure that it was locked. When she turned, there was only a moment of hesitation before she rushed across the room, practically launching herself onto the bed, arms wrapping tightly around his neck, pulling tight. The force of the motion sent them both falling back on to the bed with a solid thump and wheezed groan of pain. Her shoulders were trembling as they remained around Leslie’s neck in a vice-like grip. The deep, shuddering breath was felt more than heard before she held it in, holding back a sob.
“Careful, kid. You forget you’re getting a bit big for that.” A single wheezed laugh accompanied the chiding, which Leslie immediately regretted when it was more difficult than expected to take in another breath.
“I’m sorry.” She squeaked out, arms tightening their grip as she buried her face into their shirt.
“No, no it’s okay.” Despite the struggle to keep their voice from cracking, they tried to reassure the kid, moving to start rubbing gentle circles on her back.
“‘S my fault.” They could feel tears starting to wet their shirt as her voice started to break. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” She was repeating it like a mantra now.
“Hey, it’s okay. I’m okay.” The shaking was getting worse. “It’s over, Olive. We’re okay.”
The murmured comforts and quiet hiccuping sobs were the only sounds in the room for a long while. Eventually, Leslie noticed that at some point, they had started crying as the last of the lingering anger finally seeped out of them, being replaced by more familiar emotions. The shuddering in Olive’s shoulders was starting to calm as she seemed to have almost cried herself out, becoming a comforting - if a bit achy - weight on their chest. It was reminiscent of past nights - when she was much smaller - when she had run off after a particularly bad week and ended up on their doorstep. It had gotten them both in trouble more than once when Olive was with a family who checked in on her regularly, but Leslie could never bring themself to turn her away. After about an hour, Olive’s breathing had evened out, officially having cried herself to sleep, and Leslie was regretting not asking that Palmer guy to get them some ibuprofen before he - presumably - left.
—
At close to 9:30am, they were unceremoniously woken by the incessant ringing of Leslie’s phone. It was on the second phone call that Leslie managed to pick up?
“Hello?” Was all they could manage to croak out before the woman on the other end cut them off, launching into an angry tirade. “Good morning to you too, Ms. Hanson.”
Olive sat hunched next to Leslie on the bed, trying to scrub the sleep out of her eyes. It was going to be a long day.
“Yes… Olive is with me-
No, I’m not planning on bringing her to school today-
No, I wasn’t- I wasn’t on drugs yesterday!”
She had really made up her mind about what had happened the day before. Apparently she had a wonderful ability to rationalize. Delusional, but understandable. Leslie didn’t notice when Olive stood up, too busy attempting to defend them both.
“I- I had a… seizure-
No, they were- They were family friends.
Yes, a priest! What’s wrong with-
No, listen, I don’t-”
Leslie’s attention was drawn away from the interrogation by the familiar gurgle of the coffee maker starting up. Olive had officially moved on to making a morning coffee, currently digging through their cabinets for mugs. She turned around to shoot Leslie a glare after noticing all four of their mugs dirty, in the sink. They only shrugged in response.
“Listen, we- We don’t have time to talk right now. Call me back later, Ms. Hanson.” And hung up before she had the chance to protest, promptly turning the phone on to do-not-disturb, and tossing it on to the bed to get lost in the rumpled blankets.
With a deep breath, Leslie tried to process the rude awakening and register the numerous aching muscles and heavily bruised body. Before they could think to ask for help, or medication, they were suddenly struck in the side of the head by a rattling bottle of ibuprofen that had been hurled towards them across the room. They took a deep breath, determined to not be mad today, and let it out in a slow exhale, glancing at the bottle before finally looking up at Olive. She was frozen next to the sink, face beet red, and eyes wide.
“I thought you were going to catch it?” She squeaked. A weak defense.
“Oh.” They let their grimace turn into a grin. “You’re dead, kiddo.” Snatching up the pill bottle, they lurched up off of the bed as quickly as their body could manage, and began the painful dash across the room. Olive let out a screech in response, and braced herself against the counter, matching Leslie’s smile. She braced herself for the familiar chase around the kitchen that would inevitably end up with Olive in a headlock, and a relentless noogie being inflicted upon her. It would be worth the aching ribs and pounding headache that would result for both of them. Maybe.
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