#and to love himself

[bakuliwrites]

Just to Be Held- Astarion x Reader

I’ve had this condition for two centuries, but truth be told? You were my first.

Rating: Mature

Fandom: Baldur's Gate III

Pairing: Astarion x Tav, Astarion x Reader

Tags: Discussions of sex, blood, fluff, hurt/comfort, emotional, body autonomy, Baldur's Gate III spoilers, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Affection, Gender-Neutral Tav, Astarion's POV, Tiny Kisses, In this house we cherish and love Astarion the way he deserves to be cherished and loved

Summary: Astarion and Tav share a quiet, peaceful moment together along their journey. Astarion learns that he is valued and loved. Read here or over on my AO3.

Sometimes, when Astarion drinks from you, it's overwhelming. The sensation of his teeth piercing your skin, pin-pricks in your tender flesh, warm blood welling up to greet his lips. He can feel himself drowning, every nerve ending in his body lit aflame. It's almost too much as iron bursts across his taste-buds, flooding his throat with the heat rushing through your veins. 

He drinks to sate and never in excess. He's certain that if he let himself partake in too much of you, his mind might never rest, though it is tempting at times. All the years he's spent in darkness, forced to consume the blood of pests and creatures far less appetizing than you, have left him longing for sweeter meals. But he hadn't accounted for how utterly overwhelming that might be.

When he's finished, he pulls back, breathless and overheated. It's as if he's febrile. Sometimes, he's filled with a clarity, a strength unlike anything he's ever felt before. Other times, his skin feels like it's on fire. Like with the slightest coercion, he might combust. In these moments, all he really wants is to rest. But he’s never known rest, and he’s not quite sure how to ask for such a thing. So he resorts to what he knows: teasing you with tantalizing promises of illicit rendezvous’ or making some sort of snide remark before stalking off into the night.

Sometimes, his encounters with you end in said trysts. Most often, however, they don’t. It’s almost frustrating how unbothered you seem when, after he’s done feeding from you, he doesn’t initiate anything further. You sit almost passively, waiting for Astarion to make a move, seemingly content either way the night ends. If you’re not doing this for sex, he wonders, then why the hell are you helping him at all? Surely, no thinking creature would want something so important as their blood to be taken from them without getting something in return. At least, that’s his logic for it. It almost makes him trust you less for not demanding recompense. 

So, no stranger to confrontation, Astarion decides it’s high time you gave him some sort of explanation. As you enter his tent that night, he greets you with a steely gaze, a frown deepening the lines of his face. 

“Are you alright, Astarion?” you quietly venture, boots crunching over gravel. A small branch snaps under the weight of your steps, causing you to flinch as if the rest of your party is going to hear it from where they slumber. When they don’t come bursting through the tent flaps, your shoulders relax once again and you turn back to the pale elf before you. Your furtiveness is almost endearing, Astarion realizes, and irritatingly so.

“What are you getting out of this little arrangement of ours?” he blurts, crossing his arms over his chest and passing you the most petulant gaze he can muster. He watches a look of shock pass over your face, before it settles into something pensive.

“I- I don’t know,” you mutter, “I guess- I haven’t really thought about it as something I would ‘get anything’ out of. It’s just- you need to feed. And I’m happy to provide.”

“You know, most people would expect something in return,” he reasons, dissatisfied with your answer, “It’s not as if what you’re doing is a minor inconvenience for you, like letting me borrow a hanky or something. I’m draining you of something rather necessary for you to live.”

“I mean,” you return with a shrug, looking rather flummoxed by his outburst, “It’s not like you’re taking a lot.” 

“Tsk,” he huffs, realizing he’s not going to get anywhere with this line of questioning. Perhaps asking you was a fruitless endeavor from the start. Astarion drops the subject, pouting as you settle in to let him take what he needs from you. You bare your neck to him, relaxing on his bedroll as he leans down to sink his teeth into you. It’s always the same each time: your involuntary gasp as his teeth pierce your flesh, the combination of both his and your relaxed exhales as he drinks. 

Maybe it’s the humid night air or maybe it’s his own frustration, but Astarion feels the fever in him build with each sip he takes from you. A pyretic euphoria, born of longing for blood more nourishing than what he had to resort to for two whole centuries. He feels satiated by you and it’s almost- embarrassing. He feels mortified to react so viscerally, so enthusiastically. He pulls back suddenly, watching you wince as he roughly removes himself from your neck. But the irritation on your face dissipates when you meet his gaze. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” you offer, your voice so gentle, it hurts him, “You seem preoccupied.”

Astarion hardens his gaze, gritting his teeth and opting to remain silent. Of course he’s preoccupied, but it’s nothing he wants to delve into. Least of all with you. But instead you decide to pry, speaking up with a tender, “Want to talk about it?”

“Not particularly, no,” he returns, glancing sheepishly away and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, crimson smearing his pale skin. He bites the inside of his cheek, snagging it with his sharpened canine, hoping it’ll stop the stinging threat of tears in his eyes. 

“You can go now. I’m done with you,” he coldly spits, avoiding your gaze. He hears the rustle of fabric as you obediently lift yourself from his bedroll and make your way to the tent flap. But instead of opening it and leaving like you normally would, you pause, your hand grasping the fabric. 

“I like being with you,” you quietly explain, turning to face the vampire spawn, “You asked me what I get out of this arrangement of ours. Well, I just- I guess I just like you.”

Astarion frowns, arms still crossed and posture stiff as a board. But he can’t hold his silver-tongue, despite his upset. 

“Unfortunate, really,” he murmurs, unable to help the smile tugging at his lips when you laugh. 

“I don’t need to ‘get anything’ out of this time with you,” you go on, letting go of the tent flap and striding back towards him. You kneel down, eyes filled with a brightness Astarion can hardly believe is meant for him. A silence passes as you wait for him to respond. He fidgets with his hands, clenching and unclenching his fists before he finally allows his shoulders to slump and an exhausted sigh to escape his lips. His body still feels overworked, heated and unable to settle. 

“I assumed that sex was what you wanted from me,” he starts, still unable to look you in the eye, “Stupid assumption. It’s the only thing I’m-”

It’s the only thing I’m good for, he wants to say, but stops himself. 

“Well, let’s be honest,” he chuckles ruefully, trying to divert your attention from his unfinished statement, “I wanted that, too. I mean, how could I not.” He says this with a sly smile, something impish twinkling in his eyes as he sweeps over your form. But then his face falls and he casts his glance to the ground again.  

“It’s just- sex isn’t always what I want,” he finishes, “And I assumed that it’s what you wanted. So I guess I was- I don’t know- worried that you would be disappointed when we don’t tear each other apart like animals every time I feed from you.”

Another pause, this time filled with anticipation. With anxiety. For some reason, when Astarion has been around you lately, he’s found himself incapable of holding his tongue. He spills his thoughts left and right to you. It’s terrifying, the effect you seem to be having on him. It’s taken him a long time, but still, he isn’t sure he should trust you. Yet here he is, regurgitating deep-seated fears that are better left buried in the rot that’s bloomed in his mind. 

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,” he hears you whisper, pulling him from worry, coaxing him from the tendrils of self-hatred and disgust that have entangled him for two hundred years. He glances at you, disbelief in his crimson eyes before a rueful smile breaks his shock.

“You are far too kind to me,” he chuckles, a cocky smile on his face. 

“I mean it,” you return, brows crinkling your forehead, “We don’t even have to touch if you don’t want to. And if you don’t want to keep this arrangement anymore, that’s totally fine. I’d be happy to help you find another source of food. I won’t be hurt.” 

He eyes you suspiciously, scanning you for any hint that you might burst out laughing at some sort of cruel joke you’ve made, or some sign that you’re absolutely bullshitting him. The look you’re giving him is almost naive. He scowls, nauseated by your sincerity.

“Well, I don’t mind physical affection,” he mutters, desperately trying to hold on to his air of indifference, “Just-”

His shoulders slump as he releases a heavy sigh. He’s been worn down by your patience, worn down by years of keeping everything to himself. Here you are, offering up companionship without any expectation. Here you are, sitting in front of him, telling him that you actually, for some gods’ forsaken reason, like spending time with him and you’re not expecting any sort of compensation from him. So why is he trying so desperately to push you away?

“All I’ve ever been is used,” Astarion admits, wondering if he’ll regret this admission later. Waiting for the other shoe to drop, like it always does. “I don’t get a say in what happens to my body. I don’t get a say in what happens to me at all.” 

“Astarion,” you breathe, gently cupping his face and turning his head so he can meet your gaze. His eyes are filled with a deep sorrow, the desolation of two hundred years scarring every crimson facet of his irises. In you, he sees no ounce of malice, no smarmy flattery, or deceit. All he sees is you, offering him your kindness, offering your companionship, expecting nothing in return. 

“What do you want?” you go on, “Right here. Right now.” 

Astarion’s mouth goes dry. His blood, your blood, threads through his veins like white hot needles. His nerves feel open to the air, every brush of the wind on his skin like lightning shooting through his body. Overwhelmed. He’s so overwhelmed.

“I just want to be held,” he finally whispers, and the absolute devastation in his voice threatens to break what little composure is left in that tent. 

“I think I can do that,” you return, smiling softly. You let him take the lead, laying back on the soft bedroll beneath, waiting for him to decide what he wants to do. He sits beside you, cautious. He is raw and he is new, shivering from his overworked nerves, cold from the overpowering feeling of sweet blood in his body. 

Gently, Astarion lays his head down on your chest and tenses, unsure of what to do. When was the last time he was gifted a moment to just rest? To just lay in the arms of another? He can’t remember, and thus, he can’t even remember how to relax. He shifts uncomfortably where he lays, trying to find some position where his arm isn’t falling asleep. You give no protest, patient as he rearranges himself. Finally, he finds something suitable and goes back to resting his head on your chest. 

“I can stay as long as you’d like me to,” you offer, your voice reverberating through your body, before you both fall quiet.

In the silence, Astarion listens to the powerful thrum of your heart, the way it beats in rhythm to an unsung tune. He hears the air constrict in your lungs when he first rests his head upon you, before you let out a deep, comforting sigh. Crickets chirp in a jovial dissonance beyond the fabric of the tent and a wolf howls sorrowfully somewhere in the distance. 

Astarion can still taste the metal of your blood on his tongue. He can smell it rushing through your veins, nourishing and enticing. It mingles with the faint smell of whatever makes you you, whatever pleasant natural musk you have that has become so comfortingly familiar over the months. The curling smoke of the fire outside has woven itself into your clothing, though it is not unpleasant in scent. 

Astarion glances up at you from where he lays, studying your serene face. Your eyes are closed, eyelashes feathering shadows on your cheeks. Your mouth is parted ever so slightly as you doze, lips evoking pleasant memories of the way they’ve felt against his skin in nights past. He lets his eyes rove for a moment, searching the tent ceiling as if he’ll find something particularly interesting up there. He doesn’t, except for a small hole he’ll have to patch, come morning. Though, it is nice to see a couple twinkling stars peeking through the broken fabric. 

As his eyes flutter shut, Astarion feels the heat from your body, cozy and benevolent. He presses further into you, wanting desperately to feel your closeness. In response, your arm wraps around him, pulling him nearer. Your nails tickle his back as you rub small circles into it. Snowy ringlets caress his forehead when a breeze picks up the fine strands of his hair. The earth beneath him isn’t terribly comfortable, but between you and the bedroll, he doesn’t much care. 

For the first time in two centuries, Astarion thinks he might feel peace. It’s very possible, he decides, that in this quiet moment, he feels safe. In your arms, he could let down his defenses. Wrapped in your warmth, Astarion could allow himself to be vulnerable. 

He slips his hand into yours, intertwining your fingers, quietly whispering that he’d like it if you stayed the rest of the night.

"Also, if you could possibly not tell the others about this?" he adds, somewhat jokingly, "Can't let them think I've gone soft."

"Your secret's safe with me," you chuckle, before smiling softly at him and pressing a tender kiss to the top of his head. He lets the feeling wash over him, calm and comfort him. When his body settles, when his mind finally manages to quiet, Astarion lets his eyelids fall shut. He lets you envelope him in your embrace. He lets himself sleep, knowing he’s safe with you. Astarion lets himself dream, and they’re the first pleasant dreams he’s had in centuries.  

A/N: I normally do a banner for my fics, but I really wanted to use this gif I had made of one of my favorite Astarion cutscenes. It's where he admits to Tav that they're the first "thinking creature," as he puts it, that he's ever drank from. The line delivery is incredible, the way Astarion looks away is so heartbreaking and endearing. This small moment of vulnerability is one of the first ones we see from him and it just feels so special. I wanted to write a fic exploring how he might feel in regards to Tav letting him have the freedom of feeding from them. And I wanted to explore the idea that Astarion might find it odd if Tav doesn't expect anything in return. There's a later line in one of his cutscenes where he's very obviously self-conscious about the fact that he and Tav haven't been intimate in a while. His sense of self and value is so contingent on the fact that his body has been used for two hundred years. I wanted to write something for Astarion that would give him a peace, gentility, and rest, without sexual intimacy. Anyway, I could ramble on and on about this forever. Perhaps I need to make a longer post about it, so I'll get on that.

#astarion #astarion bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion x you #tw: blood #baldurs gate spoilers #bg3 #bg3 spoilers #astarion spoilers #fluff #comfort #body autonomy #astarion learning to be vulnerable #and to love himself #astarion love and light of my life #dani writes #my fanfiction #my gifs #gifset #tw: blood drinking #tw: heavy conversations

[a-dumb-sarcastic-bisexual]

Like the majority of society I’m obsessed with Nimona

And I rewatched it a million times and one thing always sticks out to me 

There are moments when Ambrosius is surrounded by light like a little protective bubble 

That keeps him away from the man he loves more than anything 

#nimona #nimona 2023 #ambrosius goldenloin #ballister boldheart #ballister x ambrosius #goldenheart #he always looks so small in these scenes #like the light is going to swallow him whole #it almost looks like a little kid wearing his parents clothes #like he’ll never live up to the expectations society has placed on him #this man is so lonely for the whole movie #poor baby had to figure out everything by himself #he looks so tired in the second picture #the thing that kills me is in the last scene he tries to leave the bubble #but Bal shoved him back in #bubba looks ethereal throughout the whole movie #this movie man #it kills me slowly #I love it so much #I’m gonna go cry myself to sleep now #people from the rise fandom know I only post angst when I’m sleep deprived

[watchingwisteria]

listen there really was just something about how in the book, snow’s 3-page descent from hesitant lover boy to deluded psychopath happens entirely in his mind. lucy gray gives him no indication whatsoever that she suspects him, that she’s going to leave or betray him. he’s just sitting quietly in the cabin waiting for her to return when that seed of calculated suspicion, which he has needed to survive the capitol, takes a hold of him and chokes the life out of any goodness left inside him. it really drives home your terror as a reader that “oh my god did he kill her? did she escape? what happened to her? why would he even think that?” in a way that when the movie had to adjust for visualization it lost some of that holy shit this guy has lost it emphasis.

#seeing some discourse and im not saying lucy grey didnt know #im saying she never dropped the kind of hints that she knew like she did in the movie #or if she did snow isnt worried about them until he very suddenly is consumed by them #snow is not concerned about whether or not she believed him. of course she did! hes snow! #but then shes gone…. for a while…… #and its the sudden immediate drastic unravelling that comes across so clearly in the book #that i knew wouldn’t translate to screen yet still cant help but miss #the hunger games #coriolanus snow #tbosas #lucy gray baird #not a crime or anything just a note that i cannot stop thinking about #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #this is all from memory of reading it quite a while ago. so maybe 3 pages is an exaggeration #but i remember it happening VERY quickly and without much external cause #like we as the reader have no indication as to whether shes nearby or not. #snow has no idea either. he just SUSPECTS. and his suspicion breeds the hatred that has been bubbling inside him all this time #he hates how she undoes him. he hates that he WOULD run away with her if shed let him keep his secrets #and he HATES more than anything that she makes him WANT to tell his secrets #he wants to be vulnerable and reveal the ugly nasty parts about himself and still be loved #but he does not let himself and it is everyone’s downfall #he chooses cruelty bc it is easy and familiar and makes him feel more powerful than the vulnerable give and take that real love requires

[comradekatara]

ppl who are like “there’s no way sokka’s art skills would improve, he’s ontologically bad at art” ummmm. dude. you realize that this is the mary sue of hobbies, right? this guy could out-westley westley. he would develop an immunity to iocane powder in less than a week because he’s just that prodigious. he became a kyoshi warrior who could best their leader in a matter of hours, and this was the first time he had ever trained in his life with an actual teacher and opponent. he mastered the sword in one day, if we’re to take piandao’s word for it (and considering his name is literally sword, he is clearly an expert). sokka looked at the rough schematics for hot air balloons after the eminent inventor in the world had spent who knows how long not able to get his idea to actually work like “uhhh…. this may sound obvious, but have you tried a lid???” he has borderline supernatural aim with a boomerang. he was dropped into a haiku battle knowing nothing about the form, and not only beat the leader of ba sing se’s premier haiku club, but also chose, completely unnecessarily, to make each verse rhyme. if he actually sat down and practiced drawing, maybe with some instruction from a trained artist, or easier beginner’s materials than ink and a brush (you’ve all seen my art, and I still cannot paint with ink and a brush), I think sokka would easily be able to produce a work on par with (if not superior to) the mona lisa by the following morning.

#sokka #suki #piandao #the mechanist #synthesis #(bc princess bride reference) #(he is sooo westley coded tho. and not just because he’s an annoying smug asshole. but that is part of it) #‘sokka cant draw’ factoid actually statistical error. sokka can do everything in the world except bend and love himself

[bastardlybonkers]

i feel like not enough ppl are factoring in the cultural clash between laios and shuro and the many micro agressions shuro faced while being in their group. literally the name 'shuro' in itself is one

his name is toshiro 😭 lets also not forget that he has his own communication issues, in the opposite way that laios does- thats literally a factor in their argument, that his envy for laios's ability to express himself sincerely manifested as part of his distaste for him.

ig all this to say like, was their fight heart wrenching, especially when reading laios as autistic? absolutely. anybody whos ever been in laios's position knows how much it hurts to realize someone you thought was your friend doesnt actually like having you around, especially when they didnt tell you and you had no way of knowing due to not understanding their cues. but im begging yall to step back and see the nuance of this situation cause im gonna be real a lot of you are kinda just brushing over it acting like everything is toshiros fault and that hes a terrible person when in reality hes an average guy who really, really clashed with laios and it led to a very long misunderstanding due to their supremely opposite methods of communication. even laios and toshiro, after letting everything out in their fight, were able to come to an understanding and start a foundation for an actual friendship built on better communication

ok yknow what Edit: i shouldve made it even more explicit at the end of this post, i hadnt thought i would need to since i started the post with this, but i think a few too many people are missing my point so i just wanna clarify. i shouldnt have said 'really clashed' and left it at that because yeah they did, but it wasnt just their opposite methods of communication, it is also very much that toshiro was experiencing microaggressions via laios. it may have been unintentional on laios's part, but it still happened and wore him down, made it harder for him to communicate on top of both the more subtle social cues that he was raised with and his own communication difficulties. i also want to say that the fandom reaction to toshiro and the complete ignorance of this point is also racist tbh or at the very least ignorant. i understand that the anime did not cover this panel, and neither did the manga, as this was an omake, but im gonna be real with you guys. there are enough context clues within the story to clue you into this. if you didnt pick up on it thats ok, but i think this is a good lesson in picking up subtext in the stories that youre watching and/or reading. kui shouldnt have to explicitly say 'by the way laios was racist to toshiro' for this point to be understood, and at the very least, when the author portrays a character in a sympathetic light (as kui clearly does) it should make you question Why they are doing so and what makes them sympathetic, rather than youre immediate and only reaction to be 'well i hated what this guy did/said so i hate them and they suck'. idk exactly how to finish this, just. idk. question your biases and gut reactions to things you see in media and stories, and think about whether or not theres subtext that youre missing.

#dunmeshi #dungeon meshi #shuro dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon #toshiro nakamoto #dont get me wrong i understand relating to a character and hating whoever wrongs them cause youre protective or you relate really hard #but i think toshiros been getting the short end of the stick for a long time now 😭 #even his love for falin is misunderstood #he literally states all the reasons he likes her #and none of them are superficial #but hes so closed off and has such difficulty expressing himself that instead of asking her out or smth he just #proposed to her out of the blue 😭 #leading a lot of ppl to just assume that he went 'white woman spotted' and proposed #do Not misunderstand me i am #a HUGE farcille stan #obviously #but i dont think toshiros feelings are surface level and i think theyre absolutely crucial to understanding him and his motivations #as a character in this story

[chloesimaginationthings]

Gregory and Abby's first stop at the FNAF pizzaplex is Freddy!

#myart #chloesimagination #comic #abby schmidt #fnaf gregory #glamrock freddy #fnaf #fnaf movie #security breach #fnaf fanart #five nights at freddy's #they snuck into the pizzaplex without anyone knowing lmao #this is Gregory’s ver is ‘my dad works at Nintendo’ #Abby would be absolutely star struck and just believe Gregory no doubt #and Gregory is feeling so cool about himself BAHA #Had to let Abby meet Glamrock Freddy she’d be over the moon about him #they are all so silly I love em

[inkiedraws]

"LOL this flip-flop wearing loser thinks he's gonna kick my ass and destroy my whole kingdom in the span of an afternoon. What an idiot"

I didn't intend for this to be a full comic, which is why it just kinda ends. Sowwy

#one piece #monkey d luffy #donquixote doflamingo #trafalgar law #i've been too nice to dofy so im gonna draw him suffering #dofy feels insulted and takes out his annoyance on the ptsd victim #also really loving trebol being the manipulator and then being like “hey this kid is alright!” then becoming the manipulated himself #him turning into a weird enabling father figure without ever intending to is great #but oda intentionally made him so gross an unappealing bc HE KNOWS he can get away with it bc the story is so good #and i hate him for it #anyway dressrosa's a good arc

[televised-eyes]

the way crowley’s lil head bobble lines up perfectly with aziraphale touching his back, it’s as if the touch caused an involuntary shiver up crowley’s spine…

#also steadying and bolstering himself as aziraphale kisses him back #i’ve been looking at this for too long #sighs #good omens #good omens 2 #gomens #aziraphale #crowley #anthony j crowley #ineffable husbands #aziraphale x crowley #crowley x aziraphale #aziracrow #final 15 #david tennant #michael sheen #send help #god i love them #<3

[happyheidi]

𝖵𝗂𝗇𝖼𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗏𝖺𝗇 𝖦𝗈𝗀𝗁'𝗌 𝖻𝗅𝗈𝗌𝗌𝗈𝗆𝗌

1- 𝘚𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘨 𝘰𝘧 𝘍𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘈𝘭𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘎𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘴. 𝘝𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘷𝘢𝘯 𝘎𝘰𝘨𝘩, 𝘈𝘳𝘭𝘦𝘴, 𝘔𝘢𝘳𝘤𝘩 1888 2- 𝘈𝘭𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘉𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘰𝘮. 𝘝𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘷𝘢𝘯 𝘎𝘰𝘨𝘩, 𝘚𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘵-𝘙𝘦́𝘮𝘺-𝘥𝘦-𝘗𝘳𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦, 𝘍𝘦𝘣𝘳𝘶𝘢𝘳𝘺 1890 3- 𝘗𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘛𝘳𝘦𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘉𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘰𝘮. 𝘝𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘷𝘢𝘯 𝘎𝘰𝘨𝘩, 𝘈𝘳𝘭𝘦𝘴, 𝘈𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘭 1888 4- 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘗𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘖𝘳𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥. 𝘝𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘷𝘢𝘯 𝘎𝘰𝘨𝘩, 𝘈𝘳𝘭𝘦𝘴, 𝘈𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘭 1888

#look at his love for spring #how flowers grow - that they grow in the first place… #I feel like he showed them how much he appreciated and loved them by painting them #immortalizing them - even if just for himself #I’m rambling… #I just love his art am #cottagecore #vincent van gogh #nature #naturecore #flowers #flowercore #art #artwork #paintings #spring aesthetic #light academia aesthetic #classic academia

[beybuniki]

re-read the 200s and I love their awkward phase in-between animosity and rekindled friendship :) bakugo has an awkward way of expressing his interest and worries regarding deku’s quirk and deku in general it’s so funny to follow

#also love the petty rivalry they need that !!!!!!!! #he’s even scolding all might my boy is stresseddddddd #the way he’s ‘eavesdropping’ on deku and shoto because he can’t trust deku to come up with a good lie himself but god bless shoto’s trust #in his friend #anyway funny phase I love awkward neither friends nor rivals phases #I think this is from last week I just colored it :) #bnha #deku #midoriya izuku #bakugo katsuki

[egophiliac]

don't think I'm not still deep in the episode 7 brainrot. because OH BOY AM I

(also one more extremely, obnoxiously self-referential thing, I'm -- I'm so sorry)

#art #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland spoilers #twisted wonderland episode 7 spoilers #twisted wonderland episode 7 part 7 spoilers #twisted wonderland book 7 #twisted wonderland book 7 part 7 spoilers #and so ends the saga #(this time for real i promise) #malleus post-episode 7: shroud...i should have heeded your warnings...now tell me more about how i may hunt this elusive 'snipe' #alas poor puppies :( i'm glad they had a little aside about how they can fix them after this whole mess #let ortho have his dogs! #man i love that this has come down to malleus vs technology though #MY FAVORITE #ortho: you can destroy the shell that links me to this mortal world...but can you select the CORRECT DOWNLOAD LINK??? #malleus: (downloads a billion viruses and dies instantly) #also i'm probably the only one who thinks idia complaining about his own mental tartarus prison is funny #but there we go #idia has two modes and two modes only #he's either in the middle of a metaphor where he finally forgives himself for his brother's death and takes charge of his own destiny #or he's like 'fuck yeah i'm about to get isekai'd into the internet! (immediately falls over making dying whale sounds)' #wait no he has a third mode: actively suffocating because silver and sebek won't stop squishing him #look he's just delightful no matter what's going on okay

[aslyran]

Visions

#i have so much love for botw link #he remembers nothing but the weight of the sword #he is willing to take in incredible amounts of pain and responsibility just to understand himself and his previous life a bit better #its not as if he’s not responsible and courageous #but this iteration of link has lost so much-even before the game it seems taking his destiny has made him quiet #dunno remember who was it who wrote #‘the sword became a needle snd with the thread of destiny; it sew his lips’ #but apart from the desesperation of looking for a trace of himself in all things #he is also guilty and scared of what his past holds #anyways i should write a fanfic not pour this into tags #botw #breath of the wild #link #legend of zelda #master sword #animation #procreate dreams #link botw

[loumands]

I feel like many people have a fundamental misconception of what unreliable narrator means. It's simply a narrative vehicle not a character flaw or a sign that the character is a bad person. There are also many different types of unreliable narrators in fiction. Being an unreliable narrator doesn't necessarily mean that the character is 'wrong', it definitely doesn't mean that they're wrong about everything even if some aspects in their story are inaccurate, and only some unreliable narrators actively and consciously lie. Stories that have unreliable narrators also tend to deal with perception and memory and they often don't even have one objective truth, just different versions. It reflects real life where we know human memory is highly unreliable and vague and people can interpret same events very differently

#the way some people (usually lestat fans lol) talk about louis being an unreliable narrator has frustrated me #i still insist louis' unreliableness is mostly subtle (passing quickly over things he doesn't want to think about #presenting things that factually happened in a way he can build a story that makes sense to him #not knowing what lestat is thinking and feeling so interpreting him differently than lestat himself probably would) #rather than he's telling something that didn't really happen or is under armand's mind control or something #like for example i think it's been made very clear all the abuse really happened they're not gonna suddenly pull the rug from under it #if anything i feel lestat is going to turn out to be even worse than louis perceived him when we hear people who are not in love w him lol #keanu.txt

[r-aindr0p]

Man the jury is unhinged on those culinary crucible event

I genuinely thought for a few seconds that Ortho would idk casually nuke the food

#twisted wonderland #culinary crucible #ace trappola #idia shroud #cater diamond #lilia vanrouge #ortho shroud #what’s up with the smiley guys giving you a 1 #not ruggie giving a 4 while divus literally refused instantly to even taste the food please… #and idia being well himself is just absolutely fantastic #he’s so damn pathetic why is he holding the spatula with the tips of his fingers (affectionate) #loving his voiceline abt cater bringing him the happy meal toy whenever it’s anime themed #twst shitpost #managed to pull him and still have 100+ rolls waiting for rollo and I will stack more keys

[scintillatingshortgirl19]

i think im having a stroke

#what is happening. what am i watching. where am i #anyway i am mostly incoherent but i have. a thought or two #this man is so repressed that he skipped right over the part where a guy can't handle any suggestion that he might be gay #instead our boy gregory is getting ahead of everyone (including and especially himself) #by joking about being gay and specifically about being in love with wilson #because hey! that must mean he couldn't possibly be repressed :) #he's just that secure in his straightness :) #... #...yeah #house md #hilson #house season 2 #the mistake #op

[wordsinhaled]

i’m so totally normal about the fact that aziraphale’s last (known) deliberate foray into the queer community was when he learned the gavotte at the fictionalized hundred guineas club (!!!) in the 1800s and now in the 2020s he’s like “grindr? what’s that?”

many are talking about his repression which is very valid… and yet the thing to me that stands out about aziraphale is that he’s actually… incredibly stable in his identity and that identity IS incredibly queer. queer by the standards of heaven AND by human standards as well

metatron describes his “de facto partnership” with crowley as “irregular.” and in fact aziraphale in his entirety is irregular. he likes and makes it his business not only to understand but to be a connoisseur of all manner of things angels aren’t supposed to even remotely care about. food. music. books. theatre. sleight of hand. and more.

it’s the sort of behavior that would’ve gotten him othered, treated as a bit odd, in heaven even if he hadn’t chosen to consort all across the earth with a literal demon. and it IS treated that way - the fact is aziraphale even as an angel has got proclivities that set him apart from the rest of the host (even after offering him the highest position in heaven, metatron still acts deeply dismissive of him… like aziraphale’s bookshop is merely a quaint little hobby of his that can be easily transferred to another custodian, and not a literal extension of who aziraphale has become, full of his tartan and unique bibles and special vintages of wine and the books arranged in a very specific way)

so. aziraphale is a queer angel but of course he’s also queer to other humans. but in such a way that… he had his realization a LONG time ago, and put the matter very much to rest after that. aziraphale is perpetually something like several centuries behind schedule. he owns an ancient computer that probably continues to run windows 98 simply because aziraphale’s decided it should. he wears the same waistcoat and coat for generations because he simply likes them precisely the way they are and sees no reason to change them. but the idea that he doesn’t know how he comes across to others - of course he does. he knows he looks like your prim and proper grandfather and he prefers it that way

aziraphale looked around at humans in the 1880s and said: ah yes. this is where i fit. and promptly ensconced himself in that queer subculture. learned the gavotte. read his austen. loved crowley from afar. aziraphale is fiercely and vibrantly queer. just with the sort of assurance of someone who lives with his lover in a commonlaw marriage for decades and then shows up at city hall for the certificate once society decides it’s ‘allowed.’ like… he hasn’t had any need to know what grindr is because aziraphale’s ‘scene’ was a century and a half ago and it defined romance for him too.

but my favorite thing about aziraphale is how much of him is about appearances versus the truth. he can lie straight to angels’ faces and sleep at night. he knows he comes off soft but he once wielded a flaming sword. he dissembles helplessness but he’s far from it and he knows precisely how it makes others treat him. and at the core of aziraphale is rigidity, inflexibility of ideas… his sense of self is stable where crowley’s is malleable, and so on, and so on

and the fact that he’s continuously fixated on trying to misguidedly do the right thing, the fact that he seeks heavenly approval and wants to fit the world into his schema of good vs evil… in no way do i think that means he isn’t one hundred percent aware of how he feels about crowley or what it means about him by angelic or human standards. i’ve seen some folks saying that aziraphale doesn’t want to like kissing crowley and like… as much as i love me some brideshead revisited/atonement flavored angst; i put forth that it’s not internalized homophobia or queer panic but simply: “i’m trying to do the right thing for both of us and you won’t let me.” and “i wanted our first kiss to be different.” he was envisioning an entirely different flavor of romance than what he got but he emma woodhoused too close to the sun

like, y’all. aziraphale in all likelihood has a glorious collection of historical queer erotica. he just has a feathery diva coat hanging in his closet, and for what. “oh, good lord” he says at crowley’s revolutionary outfit in the bastille, while eyeing him up like an entire meal. he’s so good at affected propriety, at carefully constructed stuffiness, but between the two of them aziraphale’s got to be the one who has experience

aziraphale had been physically throwing himself at crowley the entire season. he orchestrated an entire regency ball so they could touch hand to hand. he spends the entire season (well, and season 1) looking at crowley like he’s particularly coveted. he looked at crowley before the fall like he was glorious and beautiful. aziraphale’s queer and he knows it and i think that isn’t his problem, it’s the fact that he wants to build a different sort of future for the two of them but crowley’s gone and thrown a wrench in it by reminding him of everything he can finally have. like. that’s the heartbreak. it’s how dare you make this ugly? i forgive you for our first kiss being all pain and salt. it’s my dearest, i wanted to make heaven as beautiful as you deserve. as sacred and safe for us as our bookshop. and i can do that for us, because once i held a flaming sword and i still remember how the hilt felt in my hands. and now the taste of you is in my mouth.

#coughs this is also why aziraphale’s a dom. but that’s a separate post #good omens #good omens 2 #ineffable husbands #good omens 2 spoilers #this continues to be an aziraphale stan account #‘aziraphale is traumatized’ and ‘aziraphale celebrates the part of himself that loves crowley’ are two ideas that can coexist #feeling a bit like this take might get me flamed whoops but. i’m deep in my az feelings tonight so i guess i’ve decided to share anyway