#she felt so real because she WAS REAL

[malinaa]

if i think about the hunger games in peeta's perspective i WILL start sobbing

[syrupbitee]

free my boy from his own show he did nothing wrong

[ghost-proofbaby]

OH SAY LESS 14 WITH ASTARION PLEASE

so this is my first time publicly writing and posting astarion, so please be gentle. higher word count solely because i felt the need to add lore because, ya know, first time writing him! also, i changed the line just a tiny bit to better fit the character and scene. ALSO, uh... this is a little fade to black. i'm sorry. it just got too long.

14. "Oh, you're hard to please."

warnings: foreplay, sorta fade to black smut (it's there if you squint your eyes), an ungodly amount of pet names, mentions of past sexual abuse and healing from it, technical game spoilers, not edited, 18+ so minors do not interact

pairings: astarion x afab!reader (no pronouns used)

wc: 4.4k+

join the smutty party! send me one of these smut dialogue prompts with a character

How long had it been since Astarion had actually enjoyed sex? Craved it, even? 

If he recalls correctly, it had to have started to become tainted well over a century ago. Somewhere between the first and the third victim, when he’d realized how every single beautiful soul he had entrapped were simply being lured to their own death. And then, the sour taste left in his mouth only became more pungent the longer it went on, the more he came to the realization of just how used he felt. His body was no longer his own – it technically hadn’t been his from the very second he’d emerged from his own grave, and Cazador had been waiting for him – and everything about the act became an old rehearsed dance that he’d grit his teeth through. A chore, something to make his stomach churn, something to regret. A means to an end. 

Plainly put, it had been a while. 

But then you happened. You, who hadn’t blinked an eye when the first time you met him, he’d literally threatened you with a gods damned blade to your throat. You, who had repeatedly trusted him, even when it had been an objectively stupid thing to do. You, who had always offered him the utmost patience and genuine understanding, to the point in which if he thought about it too hard, he’d probably cry. You, who had led your group of misfits with brain worms right into victory, with plenty of personal demons defeated along the way. 

Personal demons including Cazador. 

Maybe that’s when things changed for Astarion. He’d already fallen for you before your group had reached Baldur’s Gate, he’d already gotten to know your body intimately before ever laying eyes on that ridiculously oversized brain you somehow made look easy to defeat. But that had been different, hadn’t it? He hadn’t really wanted to do that (not meant as an offense to you – certainly not after all was said and done), but had thought he needed to. To gain your trust, to gain your protection. And in the end, it turned out he never needed to do such a thing. You’d never said it outloud, probably at risk of making him feel even more regret after you’d learned all his secrets and darkest corners, but he knew. 

And knowing that you didn’t view him as something purely sexual, as a means to an end, as an item to use – well, it had the opposite effect of his request to no longer be viewed in that light. 

“What are you doing?” he says as he quickly looks up from his current book he’d been pursuing the moment you’d entered the room. He hardly cared for the words on the page – he just needed a way to pass the hours until you were available again. 

It was a hard habit to kick. Being so codependent on you, even with the end of the world resolved and the gift of safety being handed over to him on a silver platter. 

“We received mail,” you’re grinning wickedly as you hold up an embellished envelope, delicate fingers pinching the parchment as if it were the greatest gift to ever exist. He’d argue the real gift at hand was the last three months – time spent with you, in a place he can call home. But nothing could impede on your good mood as you throw yourself down on the mattress beside him, “From Withers, of all people!” 

His brows shoot up for just a moment before his face twists up with something akin to distrust, “Withers? What in the Hells does that sack of dust and bones wan-” 

“A reunion,” you cut him off, the look on your face warning enough against his attempt at an insult. “He’s reaching out to all of us to bring us together for a celebration, to check in on everyone, let us see each other again. Apparently, we were the easiest of the bunch to find.”

Astarion quickly lets out a tut as he snaps the book shut and discards it on the bedside table closest to him, “Well, we certainly need to fix that. Soon enough all of those little shits are going to end up on our doorstep, preaching about the power of friendship and how they want to check in on us.” 

You snort at that, laying flat on your back with your hair wildly spread out in a makeshift halo behind you. The sight causes something to stir within him, his gut twisting as he watches the way your knees knock together before slowly falling apart, your legs settling down as flat as the rest of your body.

He hadn’t taken you since that night at his grave. Before the epic final battle, before the two of you had made the decision to settle down somewhere for some well-earned peace and quiet. 

The moonlight dances past the open curtains, and his breath catches in his throat at the way the blue shadows dance across your skin. It almost reminds him of the first time he’d seen you fight. It hadn’t just been the blood splattered across your cheeks that had really gotten the better of his curiosity (even if that’s what he had told you when you asked), it had been the sunlight. Those rays of gold that had mingled with your own aura of warmth after you had helped the tieflings for the first time. 

You put the sun to shame, truly. And he missed it – Gods, did he miss it – but he was content to bask in the peace of night for a few months more before he finally cut you loose from the leash to begin your next phase of adventures to find him a cure. You had promised him you would, had already dedicated plenty of free time to research, and all you really needed was his word to begin. 

He’s selfish. The two of you can find a way for him to walk in the sun once more another day; all he wants right now is to bury himself in your warmth, to slot his body between your thighs, to hear every breathy gasp and the way you’d practically sing his name-

“Star?” you’re looking up at him from an awkward angle, eyes owlish and chin tilted painfully far back as you clearly await an answer to a question he’d been too lost in a daydream to overhear, “Did you hear me?” 

He clears his throat and adjusts the pillows behind his back, keeping him propped up as he admires you, “Of course I did, darling.” 

“Then what did I just say?”

“Something about how we’re absolutely not going to this reunion, yes?” 

Your smile is nothing but patient as you flip onto your stomach. He watches the way your shorts ride up your thighs, how the top of the soft fabric bunches at your waist. His fingers practically twitch with the need to weasel their way under it, to press his cold fingertips into warm flesh and hear you preen. 

Whenever you’re ready, you had whispered to him one night shortly after saving the world. Just tell me when, and I’m yours. 

He was ready. Insatiably ready, really. 

“Very funny. I said we should go, though. It’d be nice to see everyone again, wouldn’t it? All our friends?” 

You’re still talking about this damned reunion. Astarion has half the mind to figure out a way to summon the insufferable skeleton right here, right now, and drive a dagger into his bones until he’s truly nothing but dust. Solely for the distraction. 

“Your friends, my dear,” he corrects gently, “We both know they’re only overly fond of one of us in this relationship, and it certainly isn’t the one that they repeatedly threatened to stake.” 

The furrow of your brows is impossibly cute – he knows that look of determination. It’s the same one you wore when he mentioned it was likely that the two of you would never find a cure to his condition. 

“Our friends,” you insist, “Karlach adores you, Star. And Wyll has always been proud of you, whether he told you as much or not.”

“And what of Gale?” 

Your lips twitch at that, “Gale… certainly wouldn’t stake you on sight.”

“Ah, yes,” he flourishes, trying to keep his eyes from wandering anywhere but where your hands press into your cheeks as you prop your face up to speak to him, “Not staking me. The ultimate sign of kinship.” 

Focusing is a losing battle when you roll your eyes, and he finds his mind overtaken with insatiable lust again. Imaginative ways that he could have your eyes rolling for him under different circumstances. 

“You’re not getting out of this. They are your friends just as well as mine – so argue all you want, but we’re going to the reunion.” 

“Are you sure there’s no other way I might be able to…” he pauses with intent, finally lifting one of his docile hands to your cheek, letting his finger graze the skin with a feather light touch before it travels back into the mess of your hair, “Persuade you otherwise?” 

You almost fall for it, too. Your eyes flutter shut, your head tilts into his touch as if you were starved for the connection. But even with the lack of sexual intimacy, you both know there hasn’t been a day that has gone by in the last three months where Astarion hasn’t found a way to get his hands on you.

Holding your own, resting his cheek on your shoulder, spinning you like a child in the kitchen – he had quite the sudden arsenal of romantic gestures that didn’t involve old wounds. It had been awkward here and there, some of them landing and some of them leaving you both looking like fools, but he was trying.

Almost as hard as he was currently trying to not jump your bones. 

When you recognize the innuendo for what it is, however, you harden immediately. Your shoulders set, a frown settles, and your eyes open with set determination he knows he can’t falter without speaking plainly to you. 

“No.”

“No?”

You’re quick to lift yourself up onto your knees, putting distance between yourself and his hands, “The days of weaponizing sex are over. I don’t even want to joke about that.” 

And, oh, he’s finding himself in quite the mood tonight, because as soon as you’re retracting, he’s following. As you settle on the haunches of your calves, he’s lifting up from his reclined position, leaning forward so that his face is breaths away from yours. 

“I mean it,” you warn, narrowing your eyes and holding up a finger in that small space between you two. 

He tests his luck, wasting no time in snapping his fangs just millimeters from your skin. You both know he wouldn’t actually bite you, but it still humors him to see the way you whip your hand out of his reach. 

“Were you not the one who insisted that we ask before we bite?” you snap, and his smile only worsens. Like a cheshire cat, like a child never scorned by the world – he’s radiant and basking in the moment. 

He lets out a small hmph before saying, “You’re no fun, my dear. Come on – just play with me for a moment, won’t you?” 

Your face softens at his teasing tone, and he can see the way he’s withering away your defenses one by one. There was once a time where he’d done it with malicious intent, but this time around, it’s with nothing but good intentions. 

If you asked him, he’d go as far as to swear it on his own grave. 

“I’m sorry,” you apologize as if you’d done something wrong, and it makes more than half of his own playfulness drain from his face in absolute displeasure. Before he can so much as open his mouth to scold you about unnecessary apologies, you’re continuing on, “I just… After everything we’ve been through, it’s not something I find particularly joyous to joke about.”

What a rare thing, to have found someone to bare your soul and all your burdens to, and watch them offer to help you shoulder the weight without second thought or regret. 

He’s never met someone like you in all his years, and he might never again. 

“And if I told you I wasn’t joking?” he asks slowly, carefully, trying to choose each word with the utmost care, “I’m not weaponizing – I’m offering.” 

Whenever you’re ready. Just tell me when, and I’m yours.

He was ready. Very, desperately, sorely ready. 

The topic of the reunion is all but forgotten as you process his words, nose twitching as you decipher all that’s he laying out before you. “I want more than an offer.” 

“Excuse me?” 

He can’t help the small laugh that leaves him as he sits up properly, leaning into your space fully now with one hand pressing into the mattress just beside one of your thighs. He can feel the heat radiating from you, smell your blood rushing to your head as you try to be sensible. It’s a pitiful excuse for an internal war; all he has to do is close that conveniently small distance between your lips with his own, and you’ll have lost all sense of logic. 

“You’re…” you trail off, searching his eyes as if he holds the answer you’re currently looking for, “You’re sacred to me, Astarion. You must know that. And it will take much more than some joking offer to convince me to have sex with you when I know-”

“I’m not joking,” he’s nearly whining, letting his forehead fall forward to press to yours, “Gods, I am not joking about this. Cross my heart and hope to die again.” 

If he has to beg, he will. 

He’s spent two hundred years in an insufferable position of pure misery, pure shit, and the realization that he’s finally free has everything clicking into place. Proof of the change exists solely in the fact that he could have resorted to his tired old seduction routine from his life before to get what he wanted, but instead, he’s trying to just communicate. 

It was a novel moment. 

But he could appreciate it later, when the crotch of his pants wasn’t becoming increasingly uncomfortably tight and he wasn’t watching you closer than prey. When his stomach wasn’t so tight with desire and anticipation, just waiting for your word to indulge. 

“Do I need to beg?” he sighs, his lips brushing against yours ever so slightly from proximity. He catches the shiver that runs up your spine. “We both know I’m not particularly fond of it, but if I have to get on my knees for you- well, actually, that’s the entire point of what I’m asking.” 

You laugh at that, and his gut twists again, because it’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever had the opportunity to hear. Something more breath than any vocality, something sharp and spelling out the loss of words on your tongue. 

Your silence is enough for him to push it all a step further. Forehead still leaning against yours, he properly presses his lips to yours this time, slotting them between softer than a feather’s caress. Finding home as he can physically feel himself steal your breath away. His fangs just barely nip your bottom lip, unintentionally but still eliciting a delicious reaction of a gasp that makes him graze you a second time just to feel the way you’re leaning into him more, becoming absolute putty in his hands. Pliable for his taking, and Gods, he wants to take you. 

Something snaps. 

All hesitation has vanished as he grabs at your hips quickly, making use of the way your brain has gone blank from a simple kiss in order to lay you out below him. He moves you with ease, incredible speed in slotting himself between your legs before he’s caging your entire body in with his own. The squeak that leaves your lips from his manhandling affects him even more than your gasps had, a low growl shaking his chest as he kisses you deeper. Tasting, begging, searching – he wants this, but he needs to know that you want this just as badly. 

Your hands find purchase on each of his shoulders, squeezing tightly as if needing something to tether yourself to. You pull him in closer for a second, eagerly returning the kiss, almost feverish in the way you drink him in. But the next, you’re pushing him away, a game of want and sensibility still clouding your judgment impossibly. 

You always were stubborn about things like morals. And, well, it wasn’t very moral to just jump right into sex with your traumatized boyfriend who had explicitly said not to view him in terms of sex, was it? 

It was Astarion’s own damn fault. 

He could have just acted like a normal person, initiated a normal conversation in which he renegotiated his boundaries. But you’ve been on his mind all day, and he’s long since proven since the very day that you met him that he has little to none impulse control. 

“My, my,” he murmurs, pulling back from the kiss, eyes wild, looking at you with even more hunger than he had the first night you’d given him a taste of your blood in camp, “You’re just an impossible thing to please, aren’t you? Do you want me near, do you want me far? Tell me, my love, what do you want?” 

He settles all his weight onto one of his forearms as the other slowly brings his hand to your side, caressing over the soft fabric of your shirt – a shirt he’s quickly realizing is actually his own. He recognizes those flowy sleeves, that lacing across the chest, the off-white tone that had seen better days. Given all its wear and tear, he’s almost sure that it’s one of his shirts he had grown most comfortable wearing during the nights of your adventures against the Netherbrain. 

It’s cute. A sort of domesticity that he can ponder over later, when your legs aren’t hanging on his hips and your breaths aren’t coming out staccato as he hovers just out of reach from you. 

“I want whatever you want,” you whisper. Your eyes flutter open, looking at him with pupils so dilated they could swallow him whole. 

“Let me be very clear, then,” he hums, cold fingers creeping their way to the hem of the shirt, slipping beneath with practiced ease to find the smooth skin of your hips below. They dance and skitter up, up, up until he’s brushing against your ribs, “I want you. I want that warm cunt of yours, I want to feel every gasp and breath as your walls squeeze around me. I want to fuck you until you’re unable to walk on your own two legs, until you can only remember my name. I want to watch you come undone, my dear, and for it to be my own undoing.”

Your lips quiver in anticipation, and he feels your thighs tighten their hold on him, “Such pretty words. And… and no ulterior motives? No sense of obligation?” 

“None at all,” he smiles, a predator closing in on his prey, “I’m choosing this. If you want it, if you’ll have me, then I’m ready, pet.” 

Pet. The nickname rolls off his tongue, and he can imagine your walls fluttering just as your eyes do. 

Your hands lift from his shoulders to bury in his hair instead. One cradling the back of his head, the other resting on the nape of his neck as you toy with a snowy curl. It unfurls him further, has him humming lowly as he dips down to recapture your lips and bring you into him even closer. Closer. He needs all and any space between the two of you to become nonexistent. To feel every inch of your skin pressed to his, to allow you to physically curl up into his chest just as you had his mind all those moons ago, to make a home in a room with your name on it already somewhere between his third and fourth rib. 

“Do you really have to doubt if I’ll have you, my love?” you mutter against his mouth, smile breaking the kiss momentarily before he’s back with a vengeance. You don’t care – you’re apparently in a chatty mood, dodging his kiss to get your last words in, “There’s been a space in my heart for you since the moment I first met yo-”

“Yes, yes, very romantic,” he interrupts urgently, suddenly tugging your shirt up, “But, truth be told, love? I’m hoping there’s a space between your legs for me at this moment.” 

You snort, eyes pinched shut as you attempt to shake your head at the ridiculousness of the words that just left his mouth. At any other moment, you might point out how the outrageous comment is just another defense mechanism, veering him away from having to acknowledge the gentle sentiment behind your own words, but now’s not the time. When you open your mouth, probably to say something exactly along those lines, he rolls his hips down against yours, pinning your lower half deep into the mattress. You feel just how hard he is through his trousers – it’s impossible to miss, but he’s deliberating being sure that you feel it as he lets the tips of his fangs sink into your bottom lip. 

The resolve of fighting against his wishes is quickly dissolved. One thing after another, and Astarion has you bare beneath him before any other distractions or annoying conversation can send the two of you further off track. Your, his, shirt is tossed to one side of the room. Your parents fly to the other side of the bed. Only once he has the entire spanse of your body nude and vulnerable to him does he take the time to pause, to look down at you with absolute adoration. 

“Gods, you’re beautiful.” 

He’s said those words to you a million times before. Consistently greeting you with them, muttering them in the dead of night, whispering them as he kisses you awake. But they never lose their weight. And certainly not now, as he’s looking down at you like it’s the first time he’s ever seen that freckle on your chest or the curve of your stomach barren before him. 

“Please, if you’re comfortable with it…” you start, voice laced with desperation, but he shakes his head. 

He’s full of interruptions tonight, “Consider me comfortable with anything unless stated otherwise for this moment, my sweet.” 

“Take off your clothes, Astarion.”

His giddy smile should annoy you. That smug satisfaction in finally, finally getting his way as he undresses himself at almost twice the speed that he had stripped you. And yet he knows you’re enjoying yourself just as much as he is. You’re reveling in drinking in the bare caricatures of his body, every inch and every curve exposed to you just as you are to him. And when his cool skin meets yours again, his body sinking right into that space between your thighs that you’ve granted to him, you let out a short gasp that reminds him that you want this just as badly as he does.

You’ve waited just as long as he has. 

It almost mirrors that night on his grave. The slow descent of his body against yours, the way he slides a leg up to spread your own even further for him as he crawls his way back home to your lips. Unlike that night, however, he isn’t taking quite as much care, his movements far faster and far more needy. 

He’s been waiting long enough. He’s denied himself long enough. 

It really doesn’t matter when the last time he had enjoyed sex had been, because all that he cares about is that here and now, in this moment with you, there’s not a trace of imperfections to taint his enjoyment. 

Cazador is dead. The brain has long since been defeated. You are both safe. 

As he sinks into your heat, the only thing on his mind is that contentment, overwhelmed with the feel and smell of just you. 

He’ll never be a slave again. Never be viewed as something to simply be used and disregarded again, if you have any say. And one day, some day, he’ll even feel the warmth of the sun again. Thanks to you.

But until that day, the warmth of your love is enough.

When you sigh his name out so delicately, jaw all but unhinging itself in bliss as your back arches in reaction to his touches, he knows he’s made the right choice. 

And he supposes he lied, in a way, earlier. 

You’re not that hard to please – not when it comes to him, at least. Not when it’s his hands trailing along your skin, not when it’s his lips and fangs nipping at every opportunity. And certainly not when it’s his name that’s being chanted like a prayer from your lips in time with every thrust, every stroke, every single movement with the sole purpose of making both of you come undone. 

Astarion no longer questions when the last time he enjoyed sex was in the aftermath of it all. With you, pressed into his side, sweaty forehead nuzzling his chest, the only thing he cares about is the next time he’ll be able to do so. 

“We’re still going to that reunion,” you murmur, half asleep, fading away from him quickly to fall into blissful unconsciousness. 

He almost doesn’t breathe in fear of disturbing you. He’ll waste the night away, laying here, still as a statue for your comfort. 

It’s no surprise when he refuses to put up a fight, instead his hand simply drawing soft stars across the back of your bare shoulder blades as he sighs, “Yes, dear. We will. Now sleep.”

“I love you.” 

The words tumble from your lips so carelessly, so easily and without hesitation, he nearly shakes you awake to hear them once more. Again and again, he needs to hear them, to be reassured that you feel for him as ardently as he does you. 

But he has the rest of your forever to hear them. So he lets you sleep, sending you away with a simple press of his lips to your temples as your breathing evens.

“And I love you, my dearest sun.”

[hanzajesthanza]

witcher netflix: [drops]

henry cavill fans: honestly, i don’t really care about the story, i’m just here because hcav is hot asf

me: wtf? how shallow is this… only there because the titular witcher is hot? talk about missing the point…

witcher 4 trailer: [drops]

✨ciri✨: 😡

me: … i understanded.

[6vaguebook]

After watching this first two episodes of the Percy Jackson Disney+ show, my main takeaway (outside of Percy taking on THREE Ares kids with no training and not even being wet) is that Luke was done so, so well.

The actor EMBODIES him. Even before I saw him acting, one picture was enough to convince me that this man WAS Luke, despite looking nothing like him. His friendship with Percy feels so much stronger. I'm already feeling the devastation from the inevitable betrayal. Just. He's so well done.

[butterflysonnets]

yes i'm rooting for m*leven breakup because byler is neat but mostly? i'm rooting for m*leven breakup for the sake of el and mike.

to me, their romance was always a puppy love born out of a combination of social pressures, naïve curiosity, and a lack of true understanding regarding intimacy and romantic love and what it really is. it was real in that they do truly, deeply care about each other and they are close friends, maybe even shared an attraction, but a maturing romance is so much more than that. they've grown up and out of being boyfriend/girlfriend, and that's okay! i think television/film needs to show more often that most of us don't have definite "soulmates" or first childhood loves that we spend our whole lives with. it doesn't mean these relationships meant nothing and didn't impact us, it just means they've run their course and that something else is in the cards, and this is part of life!

i've always felt el was at her best and most confident self when broken up with mike, discovering who she was and what she liked alongside another girl her age instead of just relying on mike for mentorship on how to live in the real world. she deserves more of an opportunity to find herself, her autonomy, and her independence, and to love who she is, and she's made it clear she's felt insecure in the relationship with mike because she isn't being loved and understood the way she wants, needs, and deserves from someone who is her partner.

also, it's okay if mike doesn't love her in "the way he should". he is not obligated to love her romantically and stay in a relationship with her just because she's a girl, because she "needed someone", or because he cares about her a lot. he shouldn't be pressured into a romance if it's not truly coming from his heart. he deserves freedom to find out and honour who he is, too, instead of just staying in his non-functional first relationship — one he got into as a child, essentially — and defining himself that way because it's what's expected when a boy and a girl are close. he loves her in some way, yes, but it's okay if he doesn't feel comfortable or secure being her boyfriend anymore, for whatever reason that is. he's felt insecure too, and that's valid and it matters.

they are their own people and are steadily growing and changing every day. they need time to figure out who those people are, and it's become clear (at least in my opinion) that those people aren't meant to be a couple at this stage.

they deserve freedom. they deserve to grow up and be authentic to themselves and not feel like they need to lie for the sake of a relationship. they deserve to move on from this version of their relationship that isn't making them happy and rekindle the best part of their bond: their strong, beautiful friendship. they don't have to be a couple if it doesn't make them stronger and better and happier people.

i think it would be healthy and wonderful for a show, especially one consumed frequently by young adults, to show a relationship starting, progressing, and ending on good terms in this way. sometimes things don't work out, and that is okay.

[hamletshoeratio]

"A strong queen is just what this country needs!"

The Irish who know the queen in question as the famine queen:

[polysyndetonaddictsupportgroup]

Howdy, Syn! Hope you’re doing well. I’ve got a fun little ask for you:

If you’ve got some spare time on your hands, I was wondering if there was a little (non-spoilery) detail in—well, any of your stories, I’m obsessed with all of them—that you really enjoy but don’t think anyone’s picked up on yet. If there is, I’d love to hear any ramblings on it 👀

Have a good one!

This ask is ages old but I’m working on chipping away at my backlog little by little. Since I’m in a pez dispenser debris kick right now, let’s look at that.

I honest to God can’t remember if I’ve discussed this before, so sorry if it’s redundant, but one of the main points of pez dispenser debris is that the conflict is Man v. Self to the exclusion of all else.

Like, to an extent, there’s a secondary conflict of Man v. Society, but that 1) primarily (but not entirely) exists in Izuku’s past and 2) feeds into the Man v. Self conflict by being the primary driver behind both Izukus’ actions.

I decided to eschew any kind of genuine conflict between Izuku and the people in his life because I didn’t for a second want the narrative to get confused by considerations about whether it was safe to have told his loved ones about his past.

I very easily could have chosen to explore a plot line where the people around him feel betrayed or question him. At the very least, Mirio could have had a moment of “what the fuck, man, I’ve spent my whole career being looked down on as the world’s Quirkless hero and you didn’t think to fucking mention you grew up Quirkless?”

Close to the entire class has been vulnerable with him. Todoroki told him about being abused his entire childhood. He knows about Uraraka’s financial traumas. Iida nearly killed that guy the one time. Kirishima made him look at that suspicious bump in the unfortunate place.

These are kids who have spent the past three years in the trenches together. They’ve been in actual, life or death scenarios since the age of 14-15, and the only thing that they could count on was each other. And then here they are, at the very end of it all, and they find out that the guy they’ve been trusting with their back the whole time seemingly didn’t trust them enough to tell them a single detail of his life before they met him.

They could have been a little more conflicted about the revelation. At the very least, they could have questioned deeper how their friend went from 0 Quirks to a suspicious amount of Quirks when they spent their entire time at school with Guy Whose Entire Thing Is Transferring Quirks And Like. Trying to Murder Kids Who Are Specifically Them took personal issue with every single field trip they’ve ever had.

But every single outside POV is like “obviously we can trust him. It’s Midoriya. Anywho I will now be questioning my own character because he can’t be the problem so it must be me.”

If I explored plot points like that, it would have divided the conflict’s attention between Man v. Self and Man v. Man. The plot would have to devote time and focus to resolving Izuku’s issues with his loved ones and regaining their trust, and that would have detracted from a major theme of this fic, which is that this wasn’t about not trusting the people around him. He didn’t tell them because of an internalized issue.

Midoriya trusted his friends with his life. This wasn’t about fear of them rejecting him because he grew up Quirkless. The conflict is with himself.

I also eliminated sources of external conflict by having it all come out to the entire class all at once. I didn’t want to waste plot resources on what Izuku would naturally do in this situation, which is try to hide the little shit by all means necessary and quarantine his very existence. There would be too much time and energy wasted on slowly revealing the truth to select members of the class one by one.

And don’t get me wrong, that could have been an interesting plot—it just wasn’t the one I wanted to write.

This fic is about having to grapple with the part of yourself that is still hurt and angry about it. The part that cannot process the past to the point where you fear it endangers your future. You want your trauma to just go away and not exist anymore, because things are better so it means you shouldn’t have to be them anymore.

The older Izuku wants the younger one to be gone. He wants him to, at the very least, stop talking about what happened in the past and accept the future for how it is, because he doesn’t want to lose what he’s gained. But in doing so he mirrors the denial of self his younger counterpart is being far more explicit about.

Because both versions of Izuku are refusing to believe the other is them.

Young Izuku is doing it in a very literal way. That guy ain’t me. He killed and replaced me. There is absolutely no way I am him. He refuses to accept that there is any version of him who could become like his older self.

But the older Izuku is doing the same thing, just in a less literal sense. Hes almost acting like his old self is somehow legitimately a distinct entity. He slips and says it to Aizawa—stop looking at me like I’m him. The older Izuku wants to just bulldoze over his past and pretend like it doesn’t belong to him, but it just doesn’t work that way.

That’s the conflict I wanted to capture for this fic. Just this absolute refusal to reconcile your past and your future because to do so would require processing the trauma you’ve been through. And so I cauterized off all other sources of conflict, because they’d just detract from what needed to be center stage.

[jadewritesficshere]

What if for a moment

Steve Harrington x female!reader

Contains: drinking and being hungover, flirting, "unrequited" love (its not unrequited its just fear of change), female!reader wearing a bra, getting together, Steve calls reader "Honey", references reader (and Robin) stealing Steve's clothes.

18+ only

Your conscious slowly wakes up. Your head pounding, spinning even as you lay still. You inhale slowly, trying to steady yourself. Trying to remember what happened last night. The scent of Steve's cologne permeates your senses.

It's calming, albeit a little confusing. You start to open your eyes, but the light causes your head to hurt worse. You scrunch your eyes shut and shift in the bed. Moving causes you to notice the weight of something wrapped around your waist.

Your eyes snap open, Steve's sleeping face laid on the pillow next to yours. His arm wrapped around you, holding you close.

He looks so soft like this, so vulnerable. Hair messed up, sticking up in all directions. The subtle tension he holds in his eyebrows is gone, not a line of worry or stress on his face. His lips are slightly parted, soft exhales escaping along with a hint of drool.

You can feel your face warm. It takes everything in you not to fidget, you don't want to wake him up. You feel you shouldn't see him in such a state.

You've been friends for years, but waking up in bed like this? It's too much. Too...intimate.

You close your eyes, and for a moment, imagine this is normal.

What if those years ago, you didn't dismiss Steve asking you on a date because you thought it was a joke. What if at the last party, when you kissed, you didn't pretend nothing had happened the next day like you had the last five times it happened. What if you were honest about your feelings, your unfading love for him. What if you weren't afraid and took that leap?

You think it would be like this. Waking up wrapped in the embrace of your love. Soft smiles and kisses. You can see it clearly, you laughing as you push away, claiming you needed to brush your teeth. Steve would pull you closer and kiss all over your face. You would kiss back, brushing your teeth all but forgotten.

You'd make breakfast together. Hands reaching out and gently touching each other as you moved about the kitchen. He'd come up behind you, hands on your hips, pulling you into him. He'd gently sway with you to music, whether he hums a song or it's playing on the radio.

You'd giggle and turn so you could wrap your arms around him. You'd watch a smile spread across his face, corners of his eyes wrinkling from how wide he's smiling. Your eyes would dart down, you'd like your lips. You'd both be smiling, trying to purse your lips enough as you'd go to kiss-

"You're staring," Steve mumbles, snapping you out of your thoughts. He moves his hand off your waist and rubs his eyes. "Sorry," you whisper, feeling embarrassed at being caught.

"Don't be. I like it." Steve grins slightly at you before stretching," What time is it?". Your heart is beating faster- he likes it!- as you turn to look at the clock. You can't tell if he actually means it and is flirting or if he's just charismatic.

You told Robin that once. She stared at you for a full minute before calling you an idiot and walking away.

"It's almost ten," You sit up. The blanket tumbles down as you stretch your arms. You can hear Steve's sharp inhale. Your eyes snap to look at him. His mouth is slightly open, eyes wide, as he stares at your chest.

You look down, seeing your bright red bra. "Oh my god," you snatch the blanket up, covering yourself instantly. You hide your face behind the blanket, only your wide eyes visible. "Sorry!" You both exclaim in unison.

Steve clears his throat as his eyes dart off to the side, scratching at his cheek absently," You, uh, have nothing to be sorry for. It's a good color on you. You look good- great! Great just lovely-" Steve winces," I'm gonna stop talking now."

"Uh thanks...where's my shirt?" You ask softly. You like that Steve seems flustered, that he likes what he sees. But you also want to jump out the window and run down the street to get out of his sight. Yes, you've imagined him seeing you like this, but not in this context. This is just embarrassing.

"Uh...let me think," Steve's brow furrows as he frowns. "We were at a bar..."

"Celebrating Eddie's new job." You supply. You remember this clearly. Trying a fruity drink with Robin, doing shots as a group, getting your usual drink. It gets a bit fuzzy as the night goes on.

"Yeah yeah...did some shots, which damn i do not remember feeling this bad the day after." "Yeah, no, me neither."

Steve hums," There was a fight right?" "Oh yeah!" It's like watching a movie as the memory comes back. Two idiots at the bar started fighting, a glass getting thrown near you. Steve had pushed you behind him defensively. He was tense and ready to fight if need be, but you were more focused on how his ass popped in those jeans. You could not tell him that. But what happened next-

"Hopper showed up. He sighed real heavily when he saw us, cause we were drunker then a skunk." You chuckle slightly remembering his disapproving face.

Steve snaps his fingers and points at you," Yes! He took us home. Dropped Eddie off first, then Robin." You nod in agreement.

Steve pauses, looking at you as if he can see through the blanket you were hiding behind," Do you remember what happened in the car?" "No?!" Your voice comes out strangled, "Why, what happened?" Steve's face flushes and he looks away," Don't worry about it."

Then it hits you. You can see it all clearly. Like the last few times yall had drank together, you kissed Steve. Or Steve kissed you, you don't remember that part clearly. But you can remember his lips on yours. His hands running up your sides, you practically climbing on top of him. "Hey hey hey!" Hopper yelled. The slam of the brakes threw you off of Steve and against the front seats. "Don't you dare have sex in my car!"

You want to scream. Of course you kissed Steve, again, but in front of Hopper? With his disappointed angry dad vibes? You have to leave town and assume a fake identity, you can never face Hopper again.

"Well we made it home," Steve announces," And you said you were tired." You clear your throat. You had said that. Practically fell on your way up the stairs, Steve stumbling behind you trying to help.

"And we came in here and got in bed," you look around Steve's room and see your shirt crushed on the floor," I said I was hot and threw my shirt." "Yeah, and then you passed out. Not like actually passed out, you just said good night and went to sleep."

Steve gets out of bed, groaning slightly as his back and knees crack, mumbling something about "in my twenties...damn upside down.."

His feet make light sounds as he pads over to your shirt. When he bends to grab it you do NOT watch his ass. You don't dart your eyes to the ceiling as soon as he stands.

Steve tosses your shirt at you, hitting you in the face. "Get dressed, I'll make breakfast. If you want to wear something else, feel free to steal something." "It's not stealing if you give me permission." Steve scoffs," I'll never see it again, between you and Robin it's a wonder i have any clothes at all."

You hold your middle finger up at Steve's retreating form. The door shuts with a quiet click and you can hear him make his way down the stairs. You swing your legs out of the bed and slowly stand.

You pad over to his dresser. There are many things covering the top. A trophy from baseball, crumpled dollar bills and some loose change, a mini calender, and some folded clean clothes. You pick up the sweatshirt and watch as something flutters to the ground.

You look down at the picture looking up at you. Jonathan must have taken it at the last get together when you were drunk. Steve's arm is slung over your shoulders, he's staring down at you. You're leaning into him, arms wrapping around his middle. Your smile is wide. You look so happy to be there. And Steve looks at you with-

You inhale. Love. Adoration. The look on Steve's face.

You weren't looking into things. He wasn't just kissing you when you were drunk because he didn't want to make you sad or because he was horny. He was kissing you because he wanted to. He has been flirting. Robin was right, you were an idiot

You throw the sweatshirt on and practically run down the stairs. "Whoa, where's the fire?" Steve calls from the kitchen. You rush in, colliding with him as he's walking out. You almost fall, Steve's large hands grasping you to steady you. Your hands grasp his shoulders.

Steve's eyes dart all over your face. "What-"

"I remember. In the car." You blurt out. Steve's eyes widen slightly as he blinks at you. He licks his lips, your eyes focusing in on the movement,"You do?"

"I said I didn't cause I thought that you'd regret it. That you were just appeasing me. But you weren't, were you?" You bite your lip. Steve lifts a hand to rest on your cheek, thumb lightly pulling your lip out of your mouth, "I wasn't appeasing you, I wanted to kiss you."

"Yeah?" "Yeah, Honey." "Do you still want to?" Steve grins at your question. His thumb retreats from your lip, hand on your cheek holding you steady as he leans in. His lips are just millimeters away, you can feel the warmth of his breath. He pauses for a moment, as if to give you a chance to change your mind.

You surge forward kissing him. His lips are so soft against yours. Steve groans slightly as he deepens the kiss. Your arms wrap around his neck, hand finding his hair and carding through it. He yanks you closer to him, flush to his body.

You feel a jolt of energy down your spine, a warmth spreading throughout. You moan slightly, and Steve wastes no time. His tongue enters your mouth, brushing against yours.

You weren't expecting it but you melt into his touch. You press closer into him, gasping lightly. Steve groans into the kiss before pulling back to catch his breath. Your brain has turned to mush as you look at his slightly swollen lips and his face that's flushed.

You pant lightly as you look up at him," I'm sorry it took so long for me to say it." "I could have too, I'm sorry I didn't Honey. Thought you knew." Steve moves his thumb back and forth on your cheek. It's comforting but sends a thrill down your spine. You can feel his chest expand against yours with every inhale he takes. You can feel his hardness pressed against you, making you weak in the knees.

"You're staring again," Steve murmurs. "Sorry." "Don't be, I like it." Steve repeats. "I like you. A lot. Like like. I also like kissing you," you start to ramble but stop when Steve chuckles.

"I like kissing you too. You know what? All that time we spent apart just makes this so much sweeter. And uh if I knew at the end of the day, that by waiting I'd get to have you? I'd wait for eternity. Even if I could be with you for only one moment. Because one moment with you surpasses all the moments without. You're worth it."

You blink up at Steve as he looks away," Is...is that too much?" "No Steve. It's perfect, you're perfect for me." You kiss him lightly, heart beating fast. Because you don't want to miss this moment with him. As he said, one moment with him surpasses all without.

And you know without a shadow of a doubt that you love Steve. You always have and you always will.

[mynonclicheblog]

you're leaving in two months, huh? guess that's kinda my notice, too. at least we have the rest of the summer.

[gingermintpepper]

Little idle thought I've been having recently but I think Cyparissus' story is very important for characterising Apollo and Apollo's love. It's so easy to think of love and loss as two ends of a spectrum, likewise, so often, death is seen as an ultimate and tragic end in love stories - something final and inescapably tragic, the only force that halts love by separating the lovers.

Cyparissus' story is... not that. Yes, the deer dies and one can conclude then that death is once more at the heart of separating two lovers, but I think Cyparissus specifically requesting to die, specifically begging Apollo to let him grieve forever even after Apollo has done his best to help Cyparissus move on from the accident and Apollo letting him is a powerful thing.

Because Apollo not only puts Cyparissus' wishes over his own, he's also able to see past his own building grief to immortalise Cyparissus in such a way that both grants him his wish and allows other people to glorify Cyparissus as well! And I think such a beautiful thing is something criminally overlooked!

It's become something of a joke that 'all Apollo's lovers turn into plants' but from a functional perspective, flowers are the most brilliant way to keep the spirit of a beloved thing alive. Flowers are like stars - as long as there are humans, humans will always contemplate the nature of flowers and as the god of poetry and song, Apollo creating opportunities for his beloved mortals to be remembered eternally even if they never seized glory in the traditional way is such an intimate and beautiful thing. Even then, Cyparissus is elevated to a similar status as Daphne with Apollo's actions - not merely a plant or flower but one that specifically symbolises him, one that is extremely fragrant and beloved by him. Just as Daphne's laurels were synonymous with glory and victory, Cyparissus' cypress became a emblematic of grief and remembrance. Even today, thousands of years later, people still view cypress trees as mourning trees and plant them in cemeteries and use the ash in incense burnt in remembrance of others. How's that for Apollo keeping his word.

[dayurno]

basically

[noirrelite]

The many ways I've drawn Sierra's eyes since Feb 2022, in rough chronological order (oldest to newest)

[eebie]

Grinds my teeth to dust…. i wish touch didnt have so many Implications. im just trying to survive out here

[sanshinexx]

Here's part two of drawing my family pictures as the Bad Batch because I can and you can't stop me

[wavesoutbeingtossed]

All I’m going to say I think now that my brain remembered part of what it was thinking is that Taylor and Joe went through a lot together (good and bad) and regardless of how it ended or what led to it they both seem to be determined to keep that private and not throw each other under the bus and in the end they’re just two very, very different people whose outlooks in the long term were just never going to align and never has that been clearer.