“Oh, you shouldn’t block people just for being rude to you in the notes” buddy, I will block you for being rude to somebody else in the notes. You don’t get to use my posts as a platform to verbally abuse other people.
Hey, if you don’t have something nice to say about other people’s creations (gifsets, art, fic etc)
then
don’t say anything at all.
You’re telling me you think you have a right to give unsolicited criticism on fandom content that someone made for free? No. You don’t. There is a huge difference between giving someone constructive criticism when they invite it, and rolling into their comments and replies to tell a creator you don’t like their work.
The former is a cooperative collaboration. The latter? It’s useless. It’s not something the creator asked for, it’s not what fandom content is about.
The unsolicited negative opinion of some Internet stranger, even if it’s given with the aim to be helpful (which it rarely is, to be honest) often does more harm than good.
Fandom content is first and foremost made for the creator. They write the fic they want to read or post the gifsets they want to see.
They post because they want to share that joy within a community, and if they want constructive criticism they will ask for it and invite trusted individuals they know to offer it.
Also not every creative endeavour is practice “for the real thing”. Not everyone wants to improve. Sometimes they just want to make a thing and be satisfied with it.
also, this sort of argument always conflates the right to do something in terms of, like, legality with the right to not be considered a jerk for doing the thing
you CAN hop onto people’s art and fic posts to tell them how much you dislike the thing they made. nobody’s gonna arrest you or kick you out of fandom. what they will probably do is decide that you’re a rude, entitled asshole
it’s not illegal to be an asshole, but it’s not really something to aspire to, either
✨it’s not illegal to be an asshole, but it’s not really something to aspire to, either✨
I forgot that writing is very fun and that you're playing pretend. like all this shit and pressure about craftsmanship and art! NO!!!! you are a grown up playing with dolls! it is silly and you should have sooooo much fun pushing their heads together to make them smooch!!! or torturing them, which is what I did to my toys as a child, to the point where my mom thought I was going to grow up evil
Daydreaming 🤍✨🦋🌙
ai generated images make me increasingly sad and tired the more i see them in more and more casual contexts. i dont know how to explain, but it just fills the world with a bunch of nothing. no matter how visually stunning the pictures might be, there's nothing behind it for me. no dedication, no emotions, no feelings, no hard work or creativity, nothing i can truly think about, admire or enjoy. i dont think thats how art is supposed to be
We live for a clingy Astarion.
One that can't keep his hands off of you once he's finally got you all to himself.
How he curls his pointer fingers into the waistband of your trousers and yanks until you're flush against him. Grabs a cheeky handful of your ass when you lean in for a kiss, cups your face with his free hand just to feel as it grows hotter, guides you until your mouths are slotting together in that languid push and pull that never fails to have goosebumps rising along the skin of your arms.
It's absolutely perfect. The warmth of you. The little sounds you keep making into his mouth when he swirls his tongue around yours just so. The steady rise and fall of your chest against his own, unmoving one. He's so spellbound that he's forgotten to breathe again. A moan gets trapped in his throat–comes out like an eerie creak when you tangle your fingers in his hair to drag him impossibly closer. He finally hiccups in a breath when you give a teasing nip at his bottom lip. Full on groans this time.
It never gets old, he thinks, being with you. It's rather funny.
Astarion's been as close to you as one can feasibly get, more times than he can count at this point.
Body to body. Flesh to flesh. He's been tangled up in you–has buried parts of himself so deep inside so many different ways that he often forgets where he ends and you begin. He's kissed you until his lips have gone numb from it. Held his ear close to your panting mouth to hear the sounds you make for him and only him. Committed every whine, and groan, and whimper to memory as if he'll be deaf by morning.
He's sank his fangs into the soft skin at your neck, wrists, chest, thighs–mapped out every major artery until he could find them with his eyes closed if he had to. He's swallowed down your lifeblood in greedy mouthfuls until your warmth overtook that ever-present ache in his bones. Your life becoming his own. Every time he feels his skin flush with heat, he thinks of you and the gift you continuously choose to give him.
You make him feel more alive than he's felt in over two hundred years.
But, he's an awful, greedy man. You give, and give, and give again, and he can't help but want more. Need more.
So Astarion pulls you close again, kisses you over and over, presses his bare skin to yours and basks in your warmth, and explores every curve and dip and imperfection in your perfect skin with his mouth, and tongue, and teeth. He counts the number of times he can make you say his name and how many different ways you can say it. He trusts you with everything, just as you have trusted him. He lets himself get lost in you in ways he'd never thought he'd have.
And when it's over, he lies close to you. Presses a pointed ear to the spot on your ribs where your heart beats the loudest and listens as it slows. You're tangled up in one another– parts of him buried so deep inside that neither of you are sure where he ends and you begin. You fall asleep rather quick, lulled by the lazy trail of his fingers along your goosebumped skin, wherever he can reach.
It never gets old, you think, being with him. It's rather funny.
Waking up to find that Astarion is missing after going out for a hunt the night before. Going on a search for him, only to find him sprawled out in the grass somewhere just outside of camp, basking in the warmth of the sun.
He came out of his tent at dawn to greet the sunlight and just dropped into trance after lying down to feel it. Might have even fallen asleep– a rather rare thing for elves to do at his age, even rarer for a vampire. He has one arm slung over his face to shield his eyes, the other folded to rest a hand against the soft, pale skin of his bare chest.
He looks so peaceful that you would absolutely hate to disturb him. Would definitely threaten the well-being of anyone else who dared to. So you don't.
You just sit a little off to the side (like a bit of a creep) and watch. Watch the rise and fall of his belly as he pulls in unneeded, soft breaths to take in the scent of the morning air. Watch as his head lulls to the side, letting you catch the slightest glimpse of one of his eyes. Pale lashes contrast with the rosy pink of his cheeks. It's a flush that spreads over the bridge of his nose, too. Down his neck. All the way to the points of his ears. He looks warm to the touch.
Your hands twitch at your sides. Breath catches in your throat at how ethereal your love is. He's beautiful to you always, of course, but there's something especially sweet about seeing him like this. Warm. Happy. The most relaxed you've ever seen him.
You wait there with him until he wakes. Until the commotion of the others in camp as they get ready for the day becomes loud enough for him to stir. His lips, pouty from slumber, smacking lightly as his arms reach out above him, back forming an arch as he stretches until his spine gives a nice crack. His little moan of satisfaction has your own cheeks going warm, and even warmer still as he catches your scent on his next inhale and turns to look at you.
Eyes glassy. Lids heavy. He gives two, hypnotizingly slow blinks as he takes in your form. Up and down. Studying you just as much as you were him only moments before.
There's this smile that comes just before he slips into that usual smirk of his. A genuine, awfully content little thing. The sight of which you will be replaying in your head an endless amount of times, perhaps for the rest of your life.
You can't even hear his comment on just how creepy it is for you to be watching him sleep because you're too busy trying not to swoon.
And the sound of his voice when he's just woken? Forget about it.
“Oh boo hoo you shouldn’t ask your friends for favors we’re all adults”
I just spent three hours pulling up carpet and staples for a friend’s home renovation and we all did nothing but chat and joke and have wonderful conversation the whole time.
Helping somebody move or renovate or giving them a ride to the airport is functionally the same as going mini-golfing or playing a board game: it’s an activity that you do that is made more fun by having good company, and which provides something to talk about when the conversation lulls.
“Shared joy is double joy, but shared sorrow is half a sorrow.”
YOU ARE SO SMALL!!
i thought i was ready when i turned the sound on. i was not. he is indeed.
so small.
turns sound on
the sound:
Band Astarion
This is doing things to me.
Also never thought Astarion would play in a hair metal band.
This isn't a funny tweet it's a threat
I'm just going to leave this here, because this woman said what I've been trying to articulate for ages much more effectively and succinctly than I've been able to
The Crucible by Arthur Miller
Image I.D. — “I may think of you softly from time to time. But I’ll cut off my hand before I ever reach for you again.” — End I.D.
I have to remember: the Hiss. The Hiss is the enemy.
- Jesse Faden, Control
CONTROL — Opening Credits