tragicallynerdy

@tragicallynerdy.bsky.social

492 Followers 351 Following

yer fav queer canadian who writes fanfic about pirates and noodles about. tealoranges, Jim rare ships, and garlic souper. mid-30s, they/them. 18+ only! Co-captain of @garlicsoupweek.bsky.social & @ofmdrareships.bsky.social! Mod of @ofmdevents.bsky.social‬

A lego pirate ship from an older set from the 90's. It is mainly complete, but no people are on the ship.
Two Ao3 comments, both placed by a spam bot under the name Maya on the fic "between a rock and a hard place." They read: 1) Thoughtful storytelling you have such a gift for writing the moment after something important happens, the settling, the stillness. This has been sitting in my mind for a while, and I finally decided to bring it up. (Next text is gibberish) 2) Gibberish reading: Blive taled hw write harseven where hurting moving.
A photo of a golden retriever lying on my bed.
A golden retriever dog on a leash - she is not walking, but instead lying in the grass.
A plate of strawberry cream cheese pie that has not held its shape, and is in a messy pile. It has strawberries, a cream cheese filling, and graham cracker crust.
A photo of a very tall aloe plant. The base sits on a small shelf, while the rest of her grows up against a big window. She has reached the ceiling of the window's frame and is growing against it.
A pie made with fresh strawberries, a cream cheese/whipped topping, and a graham cracker base.
Ahead of them, a flock of birds takes wing, erupting from the marshy reeds near the shoreline. Jim can’t see what startled them. Maybe it was Jim, with their quiet paddle, and their red canoe slicing through the calm waters. Jim rests their paddle across their knees as they watch the birds disappear over the trees, canoe drifting across deep blue-green waters. Their shoulders ache. Jim forgets, sometimes, that they can take a moment. That they can rest. They’ve never been good at slowing down. They’ve been trying, lately. Oluwande and Archie help. And now, here, in the sort of place where time feels impossible to measure – they’re trying. Breathe. Listen to the buzz of bugs in the reeds, the lap of water against the nearby shore. A frog croaks, low and rasping. Far, far in the distance, a loon’s haunting call. Jim picks up their paddle, and starts again. Dip, pull, swing. Dip, pull, swing.
A screenshot of my rookery from the Roost app, showing one songbird, one seabird , a loon, and one snail. The birds are named Asparagus, Breakfast Burrito, and Charcuterie, and the snail names Escargot. They all have various speeds of flight .
Text reading: random fic writer questions 1. which of your fics is your pride and joy? 2. when and where do your best ideas seem to strike? 3. is there another author who inspires you to write? 4. how long do you spend editing? 5. do you use a beta reader? 6. what's your usual writing environment? 7. what's a fic you didn't expect to be popular but really took off? 8. what wip are you most excited about? 9. do you write in order or do you jump around? 10. do you outline? 11. which fic did you do the most research for? 12. would you ever accept requests or commissions? 13. is there a writing habit you wish you had? 14. what are your top three most used additional tags? 15. what are your three most popular fics by bookmarks? 16. do you make playlists for your fics? 17. what genre is easiest for you to write? 18. what's a trope you want to write but haven't written yet? 19. which fic would make the best TV show? what kind of TV show would it be? 20. do you listen to music when you write? The post is watermarked "bangtanagan"
A screenshot of fanfic reading: “I think,” Oluwande said slowly, looking around and taking in the tiny chairs, the bright and simple signage, and the colouring pages stacked on one table, “that this event might be for children.” Archie winds her fingers in his and drags him to an empty spot on the floor. An empty spot on the floor amongst a gaggle of children between the ages of 4 to 12, by Oluwande’s reckoning. At least they’re at the back, so they’re not blocking anyone from view. They haven’t hung out, just the two of them, in ages. So when Archie had poked her head into his bedroom and asked if he wanted to go to a snake show with her, just the two of them, of course he had said yes. Even if snakes aren’t really his thing. “Naaah,” she says, sitting criss-cross apple sauce herself, looking just as eager as some of the kids about the snakes and lizards in cages at the front of the room, “it’s the library, it’s for everyone.” Oluwande takes more time to sit beside her, carefully stretching his legs out between several kids. “Yeah, but this is in the kids section, and we’re the only adults here without a kid –“
Four crochet chicken stuffies of various sizes in a row on a bed. The first is a big black chicken, the second a much smaller white chicken, and the last two are teeny tiny black chickens. They all have a very similar make, and the same silly face.
A restaurant sign for a seafood place called Hank's. They have an oyster bar.
Text reading: The phone clicks. "Hello?" Fresh tears pour down his face. "Stede," Edward chokes out, "I fucked up. I don't want to be alone, please, please, let me come home -" "Ed? Hombre, you've got the wrong number." Edward stops. His fuzzy mind clears just enough to realize that the voice isn't Stede's at all. Wrong accent, wrong pitch, wrong wrong wrong. He drags the phone away from his face and stares at the blurry, wet screen. The name on display reads Saviour Jim. Jim. He called Jim. "Ed?" Jim is speaking again, a bit more cautiously. "Hey man, you still there?" He puts the phone back to his face and closes his eyes again, tears making his throat hurt. "Sorry. Sorry. I'll go." "No, wait, don't you dare fucking hang up asshole -" "I won't," he gets out, "Jim, I'm sorry, I fucking - I messed up."
An emoji mashup of a rainbow and a snake, turning into a rainbow snake stretched over two clouds.
A photo of two columbine plants, both of which are absolutely covered in flowers. One of the plants has white flowers with just a hint of purple, and the other has flowers that are white in the middle and purple on the outside.
Jim wakes up warmer than they’ve been in years. There’s something heavy over their waist, a comforting weight that reminds them of the heavy woolen blanket their father used to own, of their brother’s leg tossed over theirs when he crawled into their bed after a nightmare. Of a simpler time, when the weight that held them down was warm and soft and real, not their own guilt made heavy as iron. The memory cuts deep, softness turning to grief, a stone in their chest. They hold their breath, try and focus on their body and not their mind. And realize that the weight and the warmth is not a blanket, not some accident drawing their ghosts to the surface. There is someone in bed with them. Someone tall, and warm, and terribly close. Their hand slides under their pillow, reaching for the knife they always sleep with, before they remember the night before. Before they remember Edward, and the shape of his mouth against theirs. They’d had sex. It had been good, and then – and then he’d fallen asleep. Passed out in their bed, naked and sated and unafraid. When they’d tried to wake him he’d mumbled something they couldn’t understand and rolled into them, face pressed against their bare thigh.
A screenshot of an Ao3 fic summary reading: look at you love, you've got that golden glow tragicallynerdy Summary: “You gave him up,” Jim says, smirking at the way Edward squirms on his chair. “He’s mine for the night. Mine to fuck.” They grind against Stede as they speak, punctuating the words. “Mine to breed. And mine to mark, just as goddamn much as I want.” Edward closes his eyes and looks away. They don’t miss the shudder that runs over his frame, or the way his hands clench on the edge of the seat. “Fuck you.” Jim laughs, turning their mouth back to Stede’s jaw, his pretty throat. “Nah. I’ll fuck your man, though.” Kinktober day 9: Breeding. Jim breeds Stede while Edward watches.
A small bouquet of garden star of Bethlehem and forget-me-nots
A selfie of me sitting on the shores of lake huron. I wear a "protect trans kids" shirt and a bass pro shop hat.
“Shut up.” They press him up against a wall, one hand firm on his hip, the other sliding around the back of his neck. Then they’re dragging him down to their level, or pressing up to meet him, he can’t tell – Their mouth is softer than he thought it would be. Cold lips, a little chapped, and he can taste smoke and whiskey before they even open their mouth. Edward lets out a noise, eyes slipping shut as their tongue traces his lip, his own mouth opening to let them in. And god. God. They taste good. Edward’s hands fall to Jim’s hips, fingers aching to slide beneath their baggy flannel shirt. It’s been far too fucking long since he’s been touched, since he’s been kissed, and he wants. “Jim,” he gasps, breaking away from them, staring down with wide eyes at the flush growing across their face. “What the hell.” Jim’s brows crease. Their thumb strokes the soft hairs at the base of his neck, and Edward can’t help but tilt into the touch. “This is what you want, isn’t it? It’s why you keep asking me out. Why you kissed me when you were drunk the other night.” Edward gapes. “What? No!” Jim arches an eyebrow. “I mean – yes, I want this –“ Jim smiles, leans up to kiss him again. He sways into them, kissing back hungrily. “It’s okay,” they murmur against his mouth between kisses, “I get it, you’re looking for a rebound. It can be me, then you can fall in love with someone else.”
A screenshot from The Great British Baking Show of a contestant saying "It's not as much of an erection as I wanted it to be" as Prue watches.
A photo of Ed Teach from OFMD lying face down in mud.
a very rough sketch of archie from OFMD kissing a rock that has jim's fake beard, fake nose, and hat on it. archie has her legs and arms wrapped around it as she makes out with the rock. a patch of lichen on the rock and archie's butt are helpfully labelled.
A screenshot of an Ao3 fic titled: between a rock and a hard place by tragicallynerdy Summary: “Alright,” Archie mutters, “right, so, let’s try this for a change.” She shuffles over, swinging one leg over the long low outcropping that she’s sure used to be Jim’s leg. It’s broad, a little smoother than the rest of rock Jim, but still rough enough that yeah, Archie’s not going to take off her pants for this. But fuck, when she digs her knees into the sand, rocks down onto the hard firmness of their form – Christ, yeah, that’ll work. “Fuck,” Archie gasps, grinding down the hard length of rock under her cunt. “Fuck, you feel good –“ Archie was supposed to meet Jim for some nice magical beach sex, but when she gets there, all she finds is a rock wearing Jim's beard and hat and clothing. A rock that she's sure must be Jim, trans-m'orgy-fried into a boulder. And, well, who said that magical beach sex had to be with your partner's human form?
A photo of dwarf lake irises, a small purple and yellow flower.
Digital art of Jim and Ed from OFMD cuddling. Jim sits upright, and Ed sits against them with his head on their shoulder. Jim looks at Ed out of the corner of their eye and smiles softly. The art is simple lineart with minimal shading, a pale pink background, and a white heart over their heads.
NSFW text reading: The way he grips the back of their neck now isn’t the same as being choked by his hands, his beautiful fucking hands, but its close on the hierarchy of Shit Jim Likes Too Much. It makes them feel caught, collared, held by the scruff of their neck, and they can’t imagine running when he holds them like this. “You’re being so good,” Ed murmurs, pressing his lips to the soft spot just under their jaw, over their pulse point, and their stomach twists, their chest tightens, and their cock aches. The hand gripping their ass drags them in, letting Jim roll their hips in a filthy grind. But there’s no contact, not really, because he didn’t let them straddle his thigh this time, and there’s not enough – They should beg. They think it’s what he’s waiting for. He likes it when they beg, when they plead, when they get so goddamn desperate and needy that they can’t hold it back anymore. They could open their mouth, say please Ed, fuck me, and be as good as he keeps saying they’re being. Jim is so fucking tired of being good. So fucking tired of the twist in their chest, the ache that won’t let up, because they love hearing it, they want to hear it, even if they know it’s not true. They like pretending, right along with him. But sometimes they don’t want to pretend. Sometimes they want his fists, his teeth, his belt cracking across their skin. They want it to be hard, and mean, and to fucking hurt. They could beg. Or – or –
Two slices of homemade bread on a plate. One has homemade strawberry jam, the other has butter.
Longer text reading: “We don’t have time for this,” Ed sighed, rubbing his temples with two fingers. Fucking tension headache. “We need to be putting distance between ourselves and that Alliance cruiser, we barely slipped past them –“ “Jim’s got it,” Pete interrupted him. “And don’t even start on ‘It’s not their job’ or whatever, they’re better at the helm than you are and and you know it.” That didn’t make a difference. “But –“ Lucius stepped into his space. His hands were so much softer than Ed’s, but when he reached up, gripped Ed’s chin, they were gorram strong. “Enough,” Lucius said, voice firm. His eyes were intent, impossible to look away from. “We’re shiny. Quit being ornery and let us take you out of your head.” Ed exhaled, the tension bleeding out of his shoulders. Fuck. “Okay.” Lucius leaned in and kissed him, soft at first, then harder, all teeth and tongue, making him moan. When Lucius pulled away, he gave Ed a soft smirk, patting his cheek. “Pete? Would you strip our dear captain of his clothing?” Pressing in just as close, Pete leaned up, kissed him too. Hands tugged at his coat. Ed’s heart raced. “Anything for you, love.”
a very rough sketch of archie from OFMD kissing a rock that has jim's fake beard, fake nose, and hat on it. archie has her legs and arms wrapped around it as she makes out with the rock. a patch of lichen on the rock and archie's butt are helpfully labelled.
The baked bread in my dutch oven. It's beautiful with a crusty top and golden crust.
a round loaf of unbaked bread dough that has been scored rather shoddily on top into a loose pattern.
Jim’s new form is so much rounder than their human one. Square, broad, and sprawling. They’re just as solid as Oluwande like this, except, you know, actually a whole lot bigger, and ten times more solid because Oluwande is all soft and easy to move and warm, and now Jim is hard and rough and cold. Just as angular as they usually are, though. Archie’s into it. Really into it. She never thought she’d find a rock hot, but when that rock is Jim, well – “Alright,” Archie mutters, kneeling down in the sand, swinging one leg over the long low outcropping that she’s sure used to be Jim’s leg. It’s broad, smoother than the rest of rock Jim, but still rough enough that yeah, Archie’s not going to take off her pants for this. But fuck, when she digs her knees into the sand, rocks down onto the hard firmness of their form – Christ, yeah, that’ll work. “Fuck,” Archie gasps, grinding down onto Jim. Her fingers find purchase in the craggy surface of their – torso? Yeah, she supposes that’s right, even if she’s not sure that what it’s called really even matters to them anymore. And man, Jim, what a way to fucking deal with the whole ‘Gender terms’ of it all, who gives a fuck about what body parts you have when you’re a goddamn boulder. But she’s holding on, yeah, she’s gripping them tight and using the purchase to rock down harder against the hardness under her cunt. “Fuck, you feel good –“
A four square prompt generator result, the results are Bare Butt Guy #1 (Alex whatsisname's butt), Nigel Badminton, Videogames, and PWP.
A screenshot of an Ao3 fic that reads: dearly loved by tragicallynerdy Summary: “Look up,” Jim whispers, hand finding his again, body warm against his side. The night sky here is always beautiful. Darker than it ever is in the city, deep and rich with so many fucking stars that he can barely believe it’s real. It reminds him of being a kid, in the tiny village he grew up in, lying on the grass and staring up at the stars until he was lost among them. It’s a good feeling. But now – oh, now – Greens and blues and a deep red wash across the sky, painting the night like poetry. Brighter than he’d thought possible, stretching so high, so wide, until it’s all that Ed can see. And not just painted there – they’re moving. Dancing their way through the sky, slowly flickering to their celestial song. Ed swears he can almost hear it. He feels it, deep in his bones, ringing through with that sense of wonder that he’d thought he had lost, once upon a time. “The northern lights,” Ed whispers, unable to look away. “Holy shit.” Jim and Ed, getting older and watching the night skies.
A photo of a bagel sandwich with coleslaw, turkey, and cheese on a colourful plate.
My hand holding a cassette tape for Schoonertown by The East Pointers.
A mirror selfie of me wearing a Reading Rainbow T-shirt, a flannel around my waist, boots, and a Bass Pro Shop hat. Despite wearing the outfit of a fishing dad, I look very gay.
A photo of me in the room with paper stars and chains. I am hoisting up Loki, who is a black cat, and holding him to my chin.
A photo of me dipping Sarah and kissing them in front of our Christmas tree. Sarah wears a long black dress, while I wear grey pants and a burgundy vest.
A screenshot of the auction being filtered by low to high cost.
A paper mache salmon in the early stages of being covered in strips of paper with glue mix.
A screenshot of an Ao3 fic titled "as life gets longer, awful feels softer" By tragicallynerdy Summary: Ed has TMJ. It complicates things. Sex, alright, sex, it complicates sex, because Ed likes oral sex, he likes it a whole fucking lot, so sue him. But it's fine, whatever, he can just take a break from giving blowjobs and eating people out, he can baby his jaw and he won't be in any pain. Well, he won't be in more pain than his usual chronic pain. Excellent plan, 10/10 no notes. Until he meets Stede. And then he's in love, and horny about it, and he wants to give Stede blowjobs like all the fucking time. Well. Shit.
A video of me picking up a puzzle. Im standing in front of a kitchen table that has a puzzle laid out on it. I say "Okay, my phone is set up in an elaborate situation, I have a puzzle that I finished, gonna try this thing -" I make a whoop sound and pick up the puzzle by both corners. The puzzle stays intact except for two pieces. I make a ridiculously excited face, clearly thrilled it worked, and start moving the puzzle back and forth, saying "Whoooo! It's gonna fall apart any second but look at me go!!" With a massive smile I step back so you can see the whole puzzle, do a little dance, and then put the puzzle back down before raising my arms in victory.
Text reading: one would think that it would kill his boner. Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately for him, crying has never killed Ed's boner, so why the fuck would this be any different?
A selfie of me taken in a parking lot. I am a white nonbinary person with a growing mullet. I wear a black sweater, a brown Levi's coat, and sunglasses.
So – right. Got a little sidetracked. But back to his jaw. His stupid fucking jaw that’s been fine, hasn’t it, for like a fucking year, ever since Ed weaned himself off his favourite part of sex in favour of being able to open his jaw wide enough to eat a burger and not feel like he’s going to die. It’s been fine, and he’d nearly forgotten about it. And he really likes Stede, and really really likes making Stede feel good, so he keeps forgetting about it, maybe a little bit on purpose. He forgets to be careful the very first time Stede kisses him like he’s hungry, forgets even more as Stede tugs him into his bed and presses him to the mattress and presses two fingers into his mouth. Forgets again when he crawls between Stede’s legs, sucks on Stede’s cock like it’s the best thing he’s ever fucking tasted. And then his jaw pain comes back. Because of fucking course it does. Because it was never gone to begin with, was it, he hadn’t really fixed it. He’d just managed. And all it takes is three blowjobs, more makeout sessions than he can count, and a day where he smiles so much that he thinks his face might get stuck that way for the jaw pain to come roaring back. Ed doesn’t care. Fuck his jaw, and fuck his pain. He’s going to use his mouth on Stede every which way he can, jaw be damned.
Embroidery of strawberries and strawberry flowers with text reading "despite, despite, despite" .
A screenshot of my score from the colour swatching game. It is 48.27/50, and the five colours are shades of blue, teal, and purple. Text below reads: perfect score. Congratulations. You've peaked. It's all downhill from here.
Long text reading: Look, Ed is forty eight. Nope, fuck, he’s forty nine, his birthday happened again, didn’t it? Either way, he’s almost fifty, and that’s basically sixty, which might as well be seventy, and he’s so far past the point of believing that he’ll find love that he’s stopped trying. He hooks up, pretty often if he says so himself, but he doesn’t have any hope of meeting anyone to actually love. Not like that. Then the world comes along and says “Fuck you, mate, yeah you’re fucking forty eight – forty NINE but we think it’d be great for you to experience the sort of crush that makes you feel like a goddamn teenager again, and not just a crush, but love, real love, vulnerable love, so how about that? Yeah, we thought so, you fucking punk, you’re not going to say no to it because you’re starving, aren’t you, fucking desperate for love and affection and pretending you’re not because you think you’re too cool or too old or too undeserving. So here, have the loveliest man you’ve ever met, and he’s a little silly, we’ll give you that, and way too enthusiastic about everything, and really into bugs of all things, but maybe you like that. Maybe you like a lot of things that are deeply uncool, actually, and maybe it would be fun if you had to re-think everything you’ve ever thought about yourself, and relationships, and what you deserve. Because you deserve this. You deserve him. You deserve the sort of love that makes your whole world spin.” So yeah. Ed falls in love, and the world spins.
A screenshot of an AO3 fic titled: never seen you shine so bright By tragicallynerdy Summary: A knock sounds at Jim’s door. “For fuck's sake –“ Jim groans, shoving themself up from the couch, phone pressed tight to their ear. If Lucius is back again to interrupt their Valentine’s day phone call with Ed, they’re going to kill him. “Shit, sorry, give me a second, Lucius is being a dickhead.” Ed’s laughter rings through the phone speaker. “Take your time.” Unlocking their door, Jim swings it open, already glaring at whoever’s on the other side, holding their phone against their chest so Ed won't hear them ream Lucius out. “Lucius, I swear to fucking god –“ Jim stops. Jim stares. It isn’t Lucius at the door. Ed Teach smiles at them with dark red lips, her own cellphone pressed to her ear. She winks, and Jim’s heart starts racing. “Hey, lover. Happy Valentine’s Day.” Jim is expecting to spend Valentine's day alone, because you don't get a fancy dinner date when your sort-of-maybe-girlfriend is a famous rockstar who's on tour across the country. But a surprise visit from Ed turns the night into something beautiful.
A photo of the side of an airplane seat. A small metal circle with a groove to hang a clothes hanger and the symbol of a clothes hanger is on the side of it.
Me holding Cass, a fat orange and white cat. She is looking upwards with a pleading expression as if begging for release.
A long drawing of a cartoon worm in rainbow colors done across three pages of paper. It sits on a table with a cat, drawing supplies, etc.
A godspeed you black emperor poster. It shows an angel in a forest with a snake, hands reaching up to it, and a single big eye
A framed Postal Service concert poster showing Toronto, including the CN tower and a bluejay and small spaceship in the sky. I hold up a bad cartoon drawing of a bluejay that will go over the one on the poster.
A child's canvas painting of a pink cartoon cat walking on grass with the sky, a tree, and sun in the background. Small beads are glued to it. A piece of paper reading "I would not sully this art masterpiece with my own version" is taped to the easel it rests on.