#THIS ONE WAS SO SELF-INDULGENT

[petit-etoile]

A drabble idea for thee! I always thought when Tav/the MC steps closer during the Mirror Scene with Astarion that they were going to very gently touch his face while they describe what they see to him and he'd be doing his very best not to break into pieces since he's never had someone do that for him, to touch him with so much kindness without expecting anything from him in return.

my  heart  (part  of  you  lives  here)

pairing: astarion/tav wordcount:  1,237 content warnings:  i had this song by mitski on repeat the entire time & i fear that it is a mandatory listen other tags:  canon compliant, introspection, character study, developing relationship, getting together, gender neutral tav, human!tav archiveofourown: here.

tag list: @azrielshadows1nger, @pandimoostuff, @faevi, @microskies, @foreverthemaraudersera, @queenofthespacesquids, @claryvoyantfray, @6doodlaang14, @anne-isnotokay, @itshimbotime, @yeeteth-the-raven, @sessils,@8-opossums, @worryknotdear, @abirdaboxandachippedcup, @ghosts-and-ink, @b4um3pfl4um3, @gunslingerorchid, @hypopxia be added to the taglist here

summary: 

‘What?’ Astarion asks, voice soft.

‘I see you,’ you tell him. ‘Let me be your mirror. I’ll tell you everything you want to know.’

You step forward and stare into his eyes, taking in every detail of his face. Astarion may not have aged physically since turning, but he certainly lives a life worth telling. You can see who he is by every detail that has been etched on his face by years of service. His pale, full eyebrows. His round, honest eyes. You must’ve caught him off-guard. He only looks like this when he’s caught unaware.

Carefully, without moving too quickly, you slide both of your hands over the shape of his cheeks, holding him still. You can tell he wants to run away  —  His eyes dart back and forth all over the place, looking anywhere but at you  —  but he stays still at your tender touch, eyebrows pulling together in concern. You rub your thumbs against his cheekbones encouragingly, tilting his head from side to side to appraise his features. You hum appreciatively and touch the mole near his eye tenderly.

‘What?’ Astarion asks, voice soft.

Astarion doesn’t mean to do it. He drops his haughty façade in exchange for something more vulnerable, chin dropping so he can meet your eyes. You slide your thumbs against the dark circles beneath his eyes and smile. He scowls immediately, but it doesn’t frighten you. Perhaps it should.

‘I see you,’ you tell him. ‘Let me be your mirror. I’ll tell you everything you want to know.’

Your voice shakes slightly. You both pretend it doesn’t.

‘  —  What do you see when you look at me?’ Astarion asks.

You’re a little distracted by how his teeth peek out from behind his lips when he talks, but you steady yourself for his sake. You wonder if you should move your hands away. You don’t want to. You like looking at him.

‘You have strong, piercing eyes,’ you say quietly. ‘When you’re not as hungry, they shine brighter. When you are, they’re darker.’

His lips press into a firm line. ‘What else?’

The words slip out faster than you can think about them. ‘You’re pretty.’

‘Pretty?’

‘Your eyes crinkle when you laugh,’ you say, swallowing. ‘Laughing suits you. It lights up your whole face. Laughing makes you look your age.’

Astarion snorts, but it isn’t derisive. For all his love of attention, the more you study his face, the reclusive he seems to get. His eyes aren’t so penetrative now, and they’re more round the more you indulge him in his vanity.

‘What else?’ he pesters.

You slide your hands lower until you’re cradling his jaw. You push your thumb beneath his bottom lip and watch as he pouts. You’re trying so hard to focus, but he smells so handsomely and he’s so intoxicating that you struggle to keep yourself grounded.

‘You have a dangerous smile,’ you tell him. ‘Sometimes when you grin, one side of your mouth lifts higher than the other. Your teeth show, but it’s not… scary to me. You have a nice smile and… and… your jaw is very nice.’

Astarion snorts again and rolls his eyes, but he no longer seems achingly desperate for a perfect description. He grabs your wrists and leans in closer, showing you one side of his face and then the other, preening for your compliments and attention. He draws you in without even intending to. You stumble closer, and now that you’re worried, you try to move your hands out of your intense fear they might get sweaty from you being so nervous. He holds you still.

‘You’ve practiced looking disheveled,’ you whisper, throat tightening. ‘Your hair is…’ You change your mind. ‘Do a spin for me. Let me see the whole picture. Please.’

Astarion laughs  —  a loud babbling brook kind of laughter that makes you dizzy. He releases you then in order to twirl for you demurely. He looks at you from beneath his thick eyelashes and flutters them, biting shyly at his lip. It’s so very rehearsed that you can’t help but laugh as well, looking away. You touch your own cheeks and nearly cringe at how warm they are.

‘You’re very beautiful, but  —  ’

‘But!’ he interrupts.

‘But,’ you insist, ‘you’re Astarion!’

He gasps and looks positively debauched. He presses a hand over his chest and pretends to be wounded, winding down to the chair next to his little table. He waves you over and insists that you join him on the floor, and then it’s his turn to lean forward inquisitively. One small mistake and your noses would bump into one another. You wish a foul wind would blow and knock him over so that you could kiss him without embarrassing yourself.

You cross your legs and lounge on his decorative cushion, stretching out your spine and failing to dislodge a rather painful knot you can feel forming in your lower back from all the climbing and roaming. You distract yourself with a loose thread on his rug and try to smooth it back down in the crevice where it goes.

‘Now what did you mean by that, my dear?’ Astarion asks, nudging you with his foot. ‘That I’m Astarion.’

You close your eyes. ‘Oh, you know that you’re pretty,’ you say, grabbing his ankle before he can flee. ‘I’ve seen you bloody and muddy, and wet and ragged, and you’re still very pretty.’

‘Prettier than Shadowheart?’

‘So you think Shadowheart is pretty?’

Astarion whines and jostles his leg free from your grip. ‘Forgive me if I fish for attention,’ he complains. ‘It’s been so long since I’ve had this much fun.’

‘I think you’re the prettiest,’ you say with a shrug. ‘Prettier than anyone else in camp, except maybe Withers.’

You’re grateful that Astarion’s mood seems to have turned over. He’s not the easiest to always get along with and sometimes he’s so broody that you’re not sure how to navigate his moods, but you’re learning.

You both talk and laugh for a little longer about whatever comes to mind  —  You talk about Shadowheart’s make-up and Karlach’s morning workout routine, and how Wyll always stretches during daybreak and that it’s cute Lae’zel tries so hard to join him in order to entice him, and that Scratch permanently chooses to wake up Gale before anyone else is relieving because it means you get to sleep for a few hours more. You only realize how late it is when you turn your head and notice everyone has snuffed out their lanterns and candles. You bite the inside of your cheek and mourn the fact that you must go so soon.

‘I should go,’ you say ruefully.

‘You should stay,’ Astarion disagrees. ‘Come, stay in my tent for the night. You should get to use my things since I’m the one who forced you to stay awake past your bedtime. That bedroll looks awfully uncomfortable from here.’

‘Where will you sleep?’ you ask, suddenly reserved.

‘Next to you,’ he says, ‘or outside if you’d prefer. I could keep watch.’

‘  —  next to me is fine,’ you tell him.

‘Good,’ Astarion says, smiling. ‘Let me be selfish if it means I get to look at you. I’ll return the favor, you know. Let you know about your eyes and smile next long rest. It’s the least I could do.’

You’re too nervous to sleep that night and he knows it. But come the next long rest, Astarion tells you every detail about your face and you understand, with overwhelming gravity, what you have done for him.

[boytoykevinday]

People worrying if their fic is too self indulgent like....... that is the point of fanfiction. You are supposed to indulge . Every fic is self indulgent

[keymintt]

they say it wasn't humans who found the lost dutchman's gold

(another set of traffic box illustrations!!)

[newttxt]

lulaw bodyswap (or, the exquisite humiliation of trafalgar law) for @strawhattery's birthday!

bonus: the original toilet humor gag that ended up on the chopping block

[fandom-draws]

One in a million.

[mienar]

at the artist's loft

instagram | shop | commission info

[sanatomis]

cw. none except satoru being disgustingly cute (part 2)

satoru isn’t used to people calling him anything other than his surname. gojo-san to most, gojo-sensei to others. it’s simple, and gets the job done.

only a handful of people stick to calling him by his given name. to them, he’s satoru. it’s easy, and rolls of the tongue, and he greatly prefers it over the sound of his surname. it makes him feel like an actual person.

satoru never entertained the possibility of being called anything else other than those two names. he didn’t think it would ever happen.

for once, he was glad to be proven wrong.

“tough day, pretty?” you ask gently, and he sighs with a nod as he throws himself into your opened arms. his body moulds easily into yours, and he lets out a heavy groan as he settles onto the couch with you. the groan is loud, and over-exaggerated.

it’s so satoru.

you have to stifle a giggle.

“everything went horribly wrong,” he grumbles, his voice muffled against the fabric of your shirt. “the higher ups were up my ass again, my students laughed at me again, and when i finally made it to that bakery you liked they were out of your favourite pastries so i couldn’t get them for you—again!”

“oh, my poor baby,” you coo, and gently push his bangs out of his face. he nods in agreement, faking an immense amount of sympathy for himself. “‘s okay, at least you tried, hm? i think that’s very sweet.”

satoru hums, as if he’s deeply thinking about your words. “’m still your baby?” he mumbles, deciding that’s the most important thing right now. his eyes briefly flutter shut, consumed by utter bliss as you play with the hairs on his undercut.

“mhm, still my baby.”

“yeah? what else am i?”

this time you do giggle. he does this sometimes. you aren’t exactly sure why—but on tough days, satoru likes to crawl into your arms and listen to you call him every cheesy nickname under the sun. it’s easily providable and makes him so very happy, so you always indulge him.

“my honey bun.”

“and?”

“my boo bear.”

“mhm.”

“my sweetheart.”

“yes?”

you laugh softly. “my mochi,” you coo, and pinch his cheek. it’s a little squished because he’s laying on your chest, but it emphasises your point.

he grins under your touch. it’s adorable.

“keep them coming, please?” he asks, and you do. you always do, unable to refuse him. especially when he asks so sweetly.

“my sugar cookie.”

“my muffin.”

“my baby cakes.”

“my angel.”

“my love.”

“my husband.”

“h—huh?” satoru stammers, looking up from your chest. he lays his chin on your sternum, baby blue eyes blinking up at you. they’re filled with awe, surprise, and utter glee. “that’s, i’m not. . .”

“just testing the title, baby,” you tell him, and continue playing with his hair. he bathes in your touch and you smile softly as he grabs and kisses the palm of your hand. “what do you think, hm?”

“i think you should call me it again.”

“oh?”

“mhm,” he mumbles.

“my dearest husband.”

“again.”

“my handsome husband.”

“again.”

“my sweet husband.”

“again, please?”

you hum, impressed. “my well-mannered husband.”

satoru chuckles, and lays back down on your chest. his white hair tickles against your skin, and he sighs in content.

“i think i want to be your husband for real.”

“yeah?”

“yeah,” he mumbles and nuzzles further into your hold. “y’ve got the same ring size still, right?”

“i sure do,” you say, a content smile on your lips as you watch him slowly doze off to sleep.

“hm, good to know.”

for satoru, those nicknames make him feel as if he’s something even greater than a person—it makes him feel yours.

he’s not just gojo, the strongest. he’s not just satoru, the at-times somewhat immature adult with the sweet tooth of a child.

he’s yours. your baby. your honey bun. your boo bear. your mochi. your boyfriend. your love. and for satoru, there’s no greater thing in the world than that.

[ruushes]

my hof was born to be a griffon rider, if they could've given him a griffon at the start of dao the blight would've been over in a week

[rissaito]

“don’t cry, my child”

i was thinking about how venti canonically refers to the people of mondstadt as his “children” and how kaeya is included in that… then the brainrot took over and then i thought, what if when kaeya was a little kid and he felt lonely sometimes, venti would decide to shapeshift back into his little wind sprite form to comfort him…

[favoure]

"do the opposite of what people tell you to do"

[linipik]

Keith with traditional style tats🔥

[1pcii]

goth family bed time :)

(click for better quality // no reposts please but reblogs are greatly appreciated // please do not tag as ship)

[bloominglegumes]

been working on anime-girlifying the music bots for extremely self indulgent reasons,, havent yet decided for sure on designs but im having a great time

[dragon-spaghetti]

I feel like Angel rn oh god what have I done

[turtletoads]

5 card combo that autowins any duel vs guy who was dropped on his head as a baby

[choccy-milky]

nothing like some rest and relaxation after a long day of travelling 😇💕 ((from my oneshot! ao3/wattpad))