#am i projecting? peRhaps

[lesbospirk]

I get frustrated by fandom mistaking Kirk's impulsiveness + optimism for stupidity. Just because he can be a silly little gambler who believes in the good in the world doesn't mean hes dumb. He is a really interesting and complex character and shoudn't be put into the 'happy idiot' archetype.

Plus, I really hate how optimism is treated like a naive or childish trait in general. It's hard to be optimistic, especially when you've seen half the shit Kirk has

[kiwiaok]

firm believer in neil josten having just as many issues with sex as andrew

[trans-hua-cheng-agenda]

Thinking about teenage demisexual xie lian who develops a crush on Feng Xin but doesn’t recognize it as a crush at all (partially because he doesn’t know gayness is an option)

Over 800 years and he never feels whatever *that* was again and forgets about it

Then Hua Cheng shows up and obviously develops feelings and only after they’ve been dating for a while does Xie Lian look back and go “WAIT A MINUTE-“ about how he had felt about Feng Xin

[thejesterstears]

In my heart Pomni has an anxiety disorder and ADHD

[ageofgeek]

ok, i’m absolutely obsessed with fics where aragorn and legolas are basically in a QPR and love each other so much, like, platonic soulmate level shit, but aragorn also still adores arwen romantically

like, basically this meme

pls send me recs if you have any, i’m obsessed with this dynamic

[cheeriecherry]

Hi I love your writing! For the 5 sentence prompts what about Viktor dating an s/o with a lot of tattoos and piercings? SFW or NSFW <3 keep up the wonderful work

Since he’d met you, Viktor had only ever seen you wear sweaters. Sweaters, and in the summer, long-sleeved cotton turtlenecks…though perhaps those could also be considered sweaters. He never thought much of it - you weren’t breaking any academy dress codes, and even if you had been, it wasn’t any of his business. Until the days start getting warmer, and warmer, and soon the entirety of Piltover and Zaun is stuck in an uncharacteristic heatwave. Every window in every building was thrown open to catch a cross-breeze, and most of the students and staff at the academy had begun foregoing formality for function; uniforms were replaced with much lighter, flowy-er fabrics, and some classes were held outdoors.

But then there was you. Viktor had asked if you were comfortable enough wearing what you had on, and you’d said you were, but…he was growing concerned. The lab was spacious, but it wasn’t particularly airy, and even with the doors propped wide open, there wasn’t much flow in and out of the room. Both he and Jayce were reduced to melted puddles of their former selves, barely able to accomplish any work, and throwing back glasses of water like their lives depended on it. But not you. 

Viktor startles out of his thoughts when a clatter sounds behind him, and before he has a chance to fully turn around, his partner is swearing quietly and darting across the room: seconds later, he joins Jayce at your side. “What’s wrong with them?” he asks, quickly clearing off one of the lesser-used desks in the lab, where Jayce quickly lays your dazed form down. You’re mumbling quietly to yourself, only somewhat conscious and perhaps even delirious; washed out in colour, breathing quick and shallow. Viktor sets a hand on your forehead, and is shocked when the touch feels like it’s burning him. “I think they’ve got heat stroke,” he says, and quickly orders his partner to fetch a medic, “I’ll stay here and try to cool them off in the meantime.”

He feels incredibly guilty when he starts tugging at the hem of your sweater, even once he realizes you’ve got an undershirt on, but he knows it’s for your own good. Thankfully you’re regaining some of your wits, and don’t fight him, even if you do make a couple noises of complaint. He tries his best to reassure you, but you whine again, and stare up at him with hazy eyes. “M…don’ want you t’ judge me…” you slur, confusing Viktor for a few seconds. Until he finally gets a good look at your bare arms and shoulders, and everything clicks.

From your wrists up to your neck, you’re decorated in ink. Beautiful swirls and intricate details - it almost looks like an oil painting, in his opinion. “Tattoos?” he’s almost disbelieving, “Zlatíčko, you thought I would judge you for wearing art on your skin?” You whine again, and he shakes his head with a soft laugh. “My sweet, I am from the undercity, remember? You do not find a person there without- oh.” His heart sinks when he remembers where you come from: the same place as he does. The difficulties he’s had throughout the years with fitting in topside, and having to fight to get even a dust mote of respect. Your tattoos, while common in Zaun, were less so in Piltover - seen as improper, or a sign of delinquency; wearing them openly would have only reminded people of your origins. “Y/N,” he says softly, such that you barely hear him, “You are absolutely stunning; magnificent, beautiful, otherworldly - the list goes on. We can perhaps have a better conversation when you feel a little better, but the sentiment will remain the same: do not hide yourself away because you fear what judgements you might face.”

[velsyd07]

golly do i love drawing sun looking like he’s either about to throw hands or is just genuinly tired of everything instead of being the brightest and happiest sunshine he was supposed to be 🥰😍🥺

[buckleyvol6]

do we think eddie likes la oreja de van gogh. bc i do

[tezzbot]

I've seen quite a few people say that Branch was left alone to raise himself after his grandma died but, like, I really doubt that, because with their living situation there must have been hundreds of parents and primary guardians taken when their children were still young.

So I headcanon that there must have been a sort of, everyone was in charge of raising the kids as a collective type thing. It was just that Branch really had connection with pretty much no one outside of his family and had lost just so much already, and with him turning grey he wasn't able to bounce back like other kids his age might have been.

I imagine there was meal times he sat quietly away from everyone else, kind of picking at his food. He probably wouldn't have participated in any activities with the other kids. He just slowly isolated himself until eventually he was just left alone by other kids. Leaving any adults taking care of the groups he was in to simply worry about him, but still keep him fed and making sure he got outside at least once a day.

Maybe, like a lot of quiet kids, he took to reading. Sort of teaching himself how to survive (on paper lol). It was probably a "Well at least he's doing Something." for the caretakers lol

Then, on the night of the escape, someone would have had to have gone and got him, helped him through the tunnels, made sure that he got to the place that would become pop village, house him while he grew and began creating his bunker.

Then eventually he would become a snappy teenager, learning the the moodier he was, the more that other trolls, no matter his age or not, would begin just leave him alone.

Well GOOD, alone was what he really wanted.

...Wasn't it?

He would grump around outdoors sneering and barking things angrily at others and have his panic attacks and plans in the solitary saftey of his bunker... which Could be even safer, maybe if he just dug it down a little deeper... ten stories might just be enough... For storage that is.

He isolated himself. He made the village roll their eyes and turn their backs on him. Confirmation bias is a hell of a thing. Yes, as long as he was the one making people leave him on purpose then it was his decision not his fault

But there are likely some older trolls in the village that probably still wonder if they could have done more to prevent Branch from becoming so suddenly hateful and rude and miserable

[seventh-district]

Midnight Hour

With the warm haze of sleep fading from you, your brow furrows as your right hand presses lightly against his lower abdomen, your thumb sweeping up and down in a small attempt at a comforting motion. You quietly call for his attention, voice still thick with sleep.

“Star? Is everything okay?”

His typically silent breath suddenly hitches, and his head angles down to face you. Now that he’s turned toward the light, you catch the way his eyes shine, and the way the light reflects off of what you quickly realize are tear tracks, running down his cheeks.

You awake in the middle of the night to find your lover in tears.

Pairing: Astarion x Reader

Word Count: 3,139

Content Warnings: [crying (obviously)] [non-specific mentions of Astarion's past trauma] [this fic was written by someone who hasn't actually played the game and that might show in the details/the lack thereof]

Blinking your tired eyes open, you squint at the light of the crackling fire in front of you. Closing them again, you let out a soft sigh as you try to guess at the current time. Given that you woke on your own, you’re assuming it’s likely close to, but not quite, time for you to take over tonight’s watch shift.

Your group has fallen into a routine where you pair off into teams of two, and a different team keeps watch each night. Tonight’s turn belongs to you and Astarion, and he’s taken the first half of the shift as usual. You usually, ironically, sleep your best on the nights that he keeps watch, in spite of only getting half the amount of sleep as you do on the nights another team has the job.

You suppose you can credit the fact that, at the end of the day, Astarion is a creature of the night. Something about knowing he has the upper hand when it comes to any unwanted nighttime visitors your group may encounter is… reassuring. To you, as well as to the others in the group, loathe as some of them may be to admit it. That is, once they all felt confident in his promises to not make a surprise midnight snack of them, at least.

Tonight is a bit of an exception, though, and you’re not quite sure what woke you early this time. You typically sleep soundly until he gently coaxes you awake, nails combing through your hair, voice soft and apologetic in your ear. He’s always somewhat reluctant to wake you, but he does so nonetheless, having learned his lesson after the first time he made the executive decision to let you sleep the whole night through. His arguments of “You really looked like you could use the rest.” and “What’s one sleepless night? I can sleep when I’m dead.” didn’t hold much water in the face of the way he dragged ass through the entire next day.

In “the spirit of fairness” and “proving that he can stick to an agreement,” he never tried to take the whole shift by himself again. It definitely didn’t have anything to do with how guilty he felt when he heard the disappointment in your tone when you awoke that first morning and discovered he hadn’t stuck to the plan. Definitely.

Laying there in the quiet, you try and fail to pinpoint what feels different about tonight. You don’t hear any strange noises, nothing feels unusual, and blinking your eyes open again you raise your head a bit to look around the fire. The rest of the group are circled around the other sides of the heat source, sleeping soundly. You figure that you’re probably just getting used to this routine by now, and your body simply woke up around your usual shift change time on its own.

Still, that doesn’t explain the vague, unplaceable feeling that something is just… off.

You let out a sigh that turns into a yawn as you stretch and roll away from the fire onto your back. Letting your head roll further to the left, your eyes land on the familiar sight of your lover’s back as he sits in his usual position beside you, diligently watching your six.

He’s taken to placing his bedroll right next to yours, insisting that you lie between the fire and himself. You couldn’t really argue with his point that he can’t feel the cold anyways, so there’s no need for him to be the one next to the fire. Nor could you argue with the benefits of having him as a line of defense between you and whatever lurks beyond the reach of the firelight.

The feeling of security and protection that he provides you with is still relatively foreign to you, and a soft smile blooms on your face at the warm feeling it brings. Your smile then falls a bit as you remember the silent question you ask yourself on the regular, of whether or not you provide him with the same.

You roll the rest of the way to your left, and shuffle further toward him, closing what remains of the small gap he’d placed between the two of you. Lying halfway on your bedroll and halfway on his, you curl your body around his seated form, bringing your right arm up and gently placing a hand on the right side of his waist. He flinches slightly, and if this were earlier on in your relationship, you’d retract your hand. He’s long since informed you though that his reaction to unexpected touch is simply involuntary, and as long as it’s you, you’ve no need to pull away.

You recall the quiet, restrained desperation in his voice when he first explained it to you, all but begging you not to pull away. He can’t control the way his body reacts to touch, given that before you, he couldn’t recall the last time being touched meant anything other than pain. In spite of that though, he wants it. He wants you. That’s obvious in the way that he, without fail, immediately relaxes under your gentle touch once his mind and body process that it’s coming from you. The way he’s come to not only relax, but to lean into it. Lean into you.

You’d never push past his boundaries, never in a million years, but he’s made it quite clear after about a thousand of your quiet requests for consent at every minor touch, that he’s entirely welcoming of your non-sexual physical affections. Getting the man to verbally admit that he actually enjoys cuddling with you, without the truth being concealed beneath a heavy layer of playful banter and practiced, honeyed words didn’t come easy, but he came around to it in his own time.

So, you don’t pull back, instead following through with the motion and slowly snaking your arm around his waist. You press your front against his lower back and curl around to rest your left cheek atop his left thigh. You can’t help but notice that he doesn’t relax into you in the way he usually does, and your head turns to the right a bit, struggling to get a half-decent look at his face as you’re both turned away from the fire light.

He remains tense, still, and unresponsive to your movements, gaze seemingly locked dead ahead of him, staring out into the dark forest.

With the warm haze of sleep fading from you, your brow furrows as your right hand presses lightly against his lower abdomen, your thumb sweeping up and down in a small attempt at a comforting motion. You quietly call for his attention, voice still thick with sleep.

“Star? Is everything okay?”

His typically silent breath suddenly hitches, and his head angles down to face you. Now that he’s turned toward the light, you catch the way his eyes shine, and the way the light reflects off of what you quickly realize are tear tracks, running down his cheeks. He’s actively crying, tears dripping from his chin, and now with his head tilted down at you they take a different path, running down to converge and fall from the tip of his nose.

You nearly bolt upright in your shock, quickly unwrapping yourself from him and clambering around on all fours until you’re sat down in front of him, your hands gripping tightly to your upper thighs in worry. His wide-eyed gaze followed your every movement, and even now that you’re sat still in front of him, his eyes still dart around, frantically scanning you, for what, you don’t know.

“What- what’s going on?”

You keep your voice as quiet as you reasonably can in spite of your shock and concern, not eager to wake your companions and have everyone witness… whatever this is.

He doesn’t respond, looking just about as lost as you feel, shaking his head in silence as more tears fall. It’s one hell of a sight, and it suddenly hits you that this is the first time you’ve ever seen him cry.

Unsure of what to do and what even caused this, you resist the urge to wrap him in a hug, not wanting to overstep in this unfamiliar territory. Instead, you glance back over your shoulder and once again see and hear nothing of note before trying another question.

“Is there a threat? Did you see something that scared you, honey?”

He takes a long moment to answer, seeming unsure, before eventually settling on another shake of his head. His lack of confidence in his answer isn’t the most reassuring thing at the moment, but given that you aren’t detecting any danger either, you decide to believe that he really didn’t see any threat. At least, not here. Not right now, in the present moment, in front of him. He seems about halfway here and halfway gone, and if your growing suspicions are correct, he’s probably been sat here lost in the dark corners of his mind for a while now, given the state he’s in.

You catch movement to Astarion’s right side and watch as Karlach raises up from her prior position sprawled out face-down on her bedroll, propping herself up with her forearms beneath her. Her expression of concern is too aware and her eyes are too awake for her to have just now woken up, and you quickly gather that she’s probably been awake and laying there long enough to have heard your questions and Astarion’s lack of any verbal response. She doesn’t say anything though, and doesn’t move, just letting the situation unfold and keeping a watchful eye on the darkness behind you.

Relaxing slightly at the knowledge that someone else is awake and helping to keep watch now, your focus shifts back to Astarion, who’s gaze has moved to his lap, tears still falling fast. It’s almost unsettling, the way he cries. There’s no sound, no movement, his breathing is hardly even affected, nothing more than the occasional shaky breath to give away any sign of struggle at all. You don’t have to guess why it’s like this, given what he’s told you about his past. You’re sadly certain that he learned to cry like this ages ago. Silent and still, sat alone in the dark so no one would notice.

You don’t want to think about the sorts of punishments he’s endured as a result of showing such pain and emotion, but your mind pulls from what experiences he’s shared and offers up a few anyways, making you begin to feel sick.

Leaning down and trying to catch his gaze, you ask another question.

“Astarion, are you with me right now?”

He blinks, more tears spill, and his lips finally part as he responds to you with a strained whisper.

“I’m trying to be…”

You smile in spite of your current emotions and the general mood of the situation, doing your best to be something positive, something gentle, something safe for him to focus on.

“There you are…”

You say it to yourself as much as to him, relieved to finally hear his voice, as laced with pain as it sounds. You hold out your hand near where his lie balled into fists in his lap, offering him contact without forcing it on him.

“I want you to keep trying, okay? Do your best to come back into the present with me. You can take my hand, if you’d like?”

He stares down at your offered hand for a long moment before shakily unballing one of his fists. He hesitates, fingers trembling, before reaching out and placing his hand in yours. His skin is even colder than usual and slightly damp to the touch, and you couldn’t be less put off, or give less of a fuck about the messy state of him right now, or ever, if you’re being honest. You just want to help him, however you can.

You curl your warm fingers around his palm, wanting to pull him into a hug so badly but restraining yourself, letting him call the shots.

“You’re okay now, Star. You’re safe right now, here with me. We’re safe.”

He’s quiet for another long moment as he shuts his eyes tight, taking in your words. His other fist unfurls, and his body trembles almost imperceptibly.

“I… I’m sorry… I’m sorry…”

Your heart breaks.

“Honey, you have nothing to apologize for. Nothing at all, I promise you.”

He shakes his head in disagreement, his voice an insistent whisper.

“I shouldn’t be doing this.”

Your shoulders drop from where they’d been tensely held up, body slumping with a silent sigh as you watch him still try to hold this wall up between the two of you. You’d made it past a number of his walls already, but this one… this one you’ve yet to be granted access behind.

“It’s okay to cry, you know?”

Another shake of his head, this time with far more force behind it, almost vehement.

“No.”

You soften your voice, insisting.

“Yes. It is. You can cry now, Astarion. No one’s gonna hurt you. No one’s gonna judge you. I swear on my life, that’s the truth.”

His breaths become more labored, uneven and shaking.

“You aren’t his anymore. The old rules don’t apply. You can let it out, now. No one, and I mean no one, is going to punish you for it.”

His eyes pinch closed and his head shakes hard side to side, like he’s fighting his own mind, and his hand opens and closes like it wants to grab onto something. He then moves, wrapping his free hand around your arm and suddenly you’re being pulled toward him, desperately, insistently.

You follow the motion as he continues to tug at you, first leaning forward and propping yourself up with your other hand on the ground as he continues to pull you closer. You quickly gather what he wants as he lets go of your hand in favor of latching onto your other arm, pulling you upward, choking back tears all the while.

You raise up on your knees and his hands move once again to hook beneath your arms as you allow yourself to be pulled up onto his lap with physical strength you keep forgetting he possesses. Hooking your legs around his waist, you wrap your arms around his shoulders and pull him into you. His arms wrap tightly around your waist and he buries his face into the fabric of your shirt at the collar, muffling the soft sound of his crying which has now turned to full-blown sobs.

He’s still shockingly quiet in spite of it all, and you imagine it’s a mixture of being unable to let go of what’s ingrained into him, and not wanting to alert the entire camp to his current breakdown.

Your thumbs stroke up and down in place on his back, not wanting to let go of your hold on him but still wanting to give him some sort of comforting motion to focus on. Besides, you figure petting across the entire expanse of his scarred back might do the opposite of calming him down, so you refrain and keep your arms wrapped firmly around him. Turning your head down toward his, you whisper to him in between soft kisses to his temple.

“That’s it, love. Let it out.”

“You’re safe now, Astarion, I swear.”

“There’s nothing wrong with this.”

“I’m so proud of you.”

“You have every right to cry. No one ever should’ve taken that away from you.”

He grips you even tighter as you shower him with painfully unfamiliar affection and acceptance, comfort unlike anything he’s ever felt before in his horribly long life. His forehead presses against your right shoulder as his crying slows, trying to ground himself and catch his breath. You make a point of holding him securely against you, breathing slow and deep to give him an example to follow.

You catch movement in your periphery and glance over at Karlach as she quietly sits up and makes a series of silent lip movements and hand gestures that you don’t entirely grasp. You work them out to mean that she’s gonna take over watch for the rest of the night, and you can rest with Astarion. You send her a grateful look and mouth a “thank you,” to which she waves you off with what you think you read as a silent “don’t mention it” on her lips.

After a short while spent focused on slowing down his breath and bringing him fully out of his memories and back here with you, you whisper quiet words in his ear.

“Your work is done, Astarion. You can rest now.”

You mean it in both possible interpretations of the words, and he seems to understand that, his body finally relaxing against yours for the first time tonight.

“You wanna lie down with me, love?”

He seems like he almost nods, but stops himself, whispering back in an exhausted voice, scratchy and thick from crying.

“Someone has to keep watch.”

You hesitate to inform him that Karlach has already taken over that role for tonight, sure that he’d get no sleep at all if he knew she’d witnessed this. You know you’re gonna be awake watching over him for the rest of the night anyways, so instead, you offer a compromise.

“I can hold you and keep watch at the same time, love. Just… let me sit and you can lay against me.”

He gives the suggestion a moment of thought before nodding his head, reluctantly loosening his hold on you. You maneuver the both of you carefully so as to avoid allowing his tired eyes to catch sight of your obviously awake companion sitting behind him.

It isn’t much of a task considering his eyes are halfway closed already, his only remaining focus locked on you. You settle down at the head of his bedroll, guiding him to lie down and bringing his head to rest in the center of your lap.

Your hands take turns gently combing fingers through his white curls, and you feel his tense shoulders begin to relax at the feeling. You bring a thumb down and gently stroke over the lines creasing his brow, quietly encouraging him to release the tension he likely doesn’t realize he’s holding. You watch him pull in a deep, albeit still slightly unsteady breath, and you can practically feel the relief that washes over him when he exhales.

Words aren’t necessary between the two of you at this point, not in this moment, but you offer him a few anyways, hoping they’ll resonate in his tired mind as he slips into sleep.

“You’re safe here, Star. Rest easy.”

A/N: Like I said in the CWs, I haven't played the game for myself (yet!) so I only know what I've seen in the hours of (mostly Astarion-focused) scenes I've watched on YT. As a result, this might have read a bit funny if I've gotten certain details wrong. For instance- I have no idea how resting at the camp actually goes, whether or not someone keeps watch all night, etc. Also I'm not sure if Astarion even needs to actually sleep or if he meditates/falls into a trance and just calls it sleep, but for the sake of simplicity, (and me being clueless,) when I say he falls into sleep just assume he's doing whatever he'd normally do to rest. On a different note- this little fic was inspired by a combination of two things. The lovely art and additional commentary on this post, by @velnna , and also by me listening to Midnight Hour by Sierra Eagleson on loop for like, an hour, and daydreaming up this specific scene before proceeding to write it out. It is a beautiful song that is now the title and theme-song for this fic, and I encourage you to go give it a listen if you haven't heard it already. Header Image Source: x

[wolfienation]

rhaenyra is such a girldad. and i dont mean that in the typical "rhaenyra you are the father" green kids jokes kinda way. i mean that rhaenyra has traumatized jace in a way only a father can traumatize his eldest daughter while still loving her unconditionally and no i will not explain further

[intherosegardens]

seemingly awkward doms <33

doms who are a little shy when you first introduce yourselves, maybe struggling to find a way to keep the conversation going. they ask if they're being too much, and you reassure them that they're just fine. despite their awkwardness, they have a subtle charm to them, and you decide to give them a chance

cut to hours later, and you've cum more than you ever have before and you're floating on a different plane of existence while your dom (much more confident now) kisses your forehead and cleans you up.

[kerryweaverlesbian]

What if I exploded into blood and gore and viscera just real quick and then reconstituted like nothing happened and then everyone can get back to what they're doing. I just feel it would be fun to do.

[ultrabooob]

people giggle about bojan’s clothing and outfits but at least he’s learnt to dress for his proportions

[bread-stickk]

I think someone should have taken Sparrow to Great Wolf Lodge when he was in his love wolf phase

[arsoniiii]

hurt and comfort renga 👍