oh-my-damn - Tumblr blog

[oh-my-damn]

The Tortured Poets Department is a great reminder that women don't owe the world pretty. Taylor Swift doesn't owe anyone an easily digestible pretty pop album wrapped in a bow with short songs you can make TikToks to. She's allowed to present something raw, uncomfortable, and vulnerable to the world.

[oh-my-damn]

Tav: I can fit the whole world in my hands.

Astarion: I don’t even think that’s remotely possible, my dear.

Tav: *smiles and cups his face in their hands*

Astarion: *lightly blushes and pushes them away* Get off me, I have a reputation to uphold.

[oh-my-damn]

Tav: -Lovingly watching Astarion after a long day-

Astarion: PUT THAT DAMN SMILE AWAY!! IT'S A GODS DAMNED TRIPPING HAZARD, AND I AM FALLING FOR YOU!!

Tav: I love you so much, Astarion <3

Astarion: WOULD YOU QUIT BEING SO TENDER AND GENTLE, YOU RADIANT BITCH!!

[oh-my-damn]

you found out today that a phrase you have used before was coined by an abusive man. this felt like getting your teeth taken out. it made you sick and sad and tired, but not surprised.

bad people tell you to be careful when you talk badly of bad men, that it could "ruin" a life. you had your life ruined by a bad man, not that it ever matters to them. your real life having real consequences is not valued as highly as the potential of his future.

this has always been a frustrating little mathematics problem for you. you've missed school and had to call out sick at work and had panic attacks that lasted for weeks. it stole sleep and food and friends from you. you cried in public, fucked your relationships up. and the whole time: your present has never mattered so much as the great what if! of his future. like - one life (your life) is already ruined, should we really ruin two?

so you live with the consequences and he doesn't, and that's just like, something you need therapy for. you once discussed this with one of your friends over coffee. she chewed the wooden stirrer, looked off into the distance. "once i became a victim, everything that happens to me afterward is automatically less interesting in the eyes of the general public. it is always about him. he changed my identity. to survivor. to statistic. meanwhile this whole time - i am a person."

you learned in college that three out of five of your favorite artists and authors were actually abusive assholes. these days, you are no longer surprised. oh, is that what was happening behind closed doors? of course it was, he was a "genius," and she was just a girl. you are talking about him in art history, so obviously his career was absolutely ruined, for eternity. that's what happens, right? they strike your name from the record and refuse to remember you? nobody really knows her name, but hey. that's what you get for being close to celebrity.

you got into an argument about it, which was a bad argument, because it made you cry. he said what, you want us to just ignore all the things this man did because he made a few women uncomfortable? and you'd balled your fists up and choked on it. later, in bed, you agonized over the response you'd been trying to articulate but never found the right moment to deploy: you are ignoring what any person could do if they weren't being fucking abused. maybe her talents far exceeded his and she was just never allowed to fucking use them. maybe we only see genius in white men because they purposefully fucking squash and silence any other people with talent.

but you'd cried about it instead of saying that, because you are the cost. you are the talent and potential that he took. you used to be brave and smart and clever and unafraid. like a lich, he stole years of your life.

quiet on set made you sad and sick and tired, but not surprised. unfortunately, one of the things he said was true: an entire network of people allowed it to continue. this is not news to you, because you have seen entire networks of people make the same fucking excuses when the same thing or-worse happened to you. and your particular story isn't even in hollywood. it was just a guy. it was still difficult getting people to stand up for you.

you and your friend wait in line for your coffee. like a standup joke, one man turns to the other and says "can't wait for every bitch to come crawling out of the woodwork complaining about harassment. it's another metoo." and you think - oh, that's the network. your boss tucks her hair back and whispers that while your skirt is cute, you're giving the boys the wrong idea. that's the network. when you'd told your "friend" about what happened, she'd said oh you must have misunderstood, that would never happen. and that's the network.

you woke up this morning panting, because years later you still have panic attacks. oh, it's not a network, actually, it's a web. and you, little moth: are you still surprised you're caught in it?

[oh-my-damn]

i think i love you, which is odd, because i promised myself i couldn't love anything that breathes - on account of a sense for the dramatic and also one time i got thrown against the ground so hard that the splatter was chalk dust. i said i'd never let that happen standing up. it happened like a sunrise anyway, between the fingers over my eyes. you flew as a bird and made a nest in my heart. i want it to pass over me like a locust. my hands keep shaking. anything close can cut through bone. like looking down a deep hole, i hear the stones skitter over and plunge. i wanna be an adult about this and instead i feel like crying. this will only make things worse. i wasn't supposed to do this again. what a fool, this girl.

it's like she wants to get hurt.

[oh-my-damn]

People are always saying Astarion must be really kinky

And sure, I mean that comes with the whole vampire thing. He's not vanilla that's for sure. But on the other hand he's also oddly...Gentle? He cradles tavs head during bite night and checks on them the morning after.

He is very soft and loving in the first romance scene, if you don't invite him to bite you, it's basically just sweet kisses and gently being set down on the ground. The "roughest" thing that happens is getting pushed against a tree. He's playful. He doesn't do anything "kinky" or rough unless invited. When partnered, his kisses are very sweet. He always takes a moment to look into tavs eyes and smile after and tells them how amazing they are or how much he enjoys being with them.

He only gets rough by default if he's ascended. In which that is a whole power dynamic that tav is consenting to (hopefully, otherwise don't ascend him). I feel like with all the things he has gone through, he cherishes being soft and gentle with his love more than anything else.

TLDR: Astarion is a big softie by nature and I think that's cool. Especially with the stereotypes of how vampires act towards their lovers in most media.

[oh-my-damn]

i should have never bought bg3 this pale ass elf has taken over my life

[oh-my-damn]

(write about it in the comments too!)

[oh-my-damn]

Me every time I'm down by that fucking river

[oh-my-damn]

due to not wanting to. I will not be

[oh-my-damn]

I love Astarion so much he is so fucking silly. He acts all suave and mysterious and he's very good at it, but the second you catch him off guard and he's just acting like himself he is straight up fucking goofy. The way he goes "oh, hello!" and waves at you while reading The Necromancy of Thay. The way he points at the bomb gnome and says "let's not do anything hilarious!" before she can blow you all up. The fact that when hes confronted by the Gur in Act 3 (which realistically be KNOWS you can all take care of if he really wanted to) he just goes "ohIthinkwe'reintrudinglet'sleave,quickly".

And so many more. He is just so silly!!!!! There's a man there who is genuinely goofy and kind underneath it all, he just has to deal with so much bullshit on a daily basis!!!

[oh-my-damn]

Shadowheart, unblinking, staring at Tav across the campfire because everyone knows they snuck off with Astarion after the tiefling party last night: does fucking a vampire count as necrophilia?

Everyone: *freezes*

Gale: *drops his big spoon into the breakfast pot, spattering some on Lae’zel*

Wyll: *startled coughing fit*

Halsin: *genuinely considering the question*

Karlach: *whispering to Wyll* what is necrophilia? does that mean, like, a thing about necks, or, what…?

Tav: I…I think I need to go lie down.

Astarion, returning from his morning hunt a few moments later, emerging from the woods and taking in the strained camp-mosphere: why is everyone being weird? who died?

Lae’zel, still angrily cleaning herself off: you

Gale: *drops his spoon again, seconds after successfully fishing it out the first time*

[oh-my-damn]

i meant to be a casual fan but it ended up ruining my life

[oh-my-damn]

Excited for work tomorrow merely bc it means I get to listen to TTPD for 6+ hours straight

[oh-my-damn]

My favorite sex position is when you love them and they love you back.

[oh-my-damn]

Imagine Astarion with ears so sensitive that he's never willingly allowed anyone to touch them except for you. Imagine laying next to him in your bed, facing him, lifting your hand up slowly for that first touch. His eyes on yours, the rapidity of the breath he doesn't need to take, but still does reflexively. Seeing that he's nervous, but that he's trusting you, feeling his shaking hand come to rest on your waist. The audible sound he makes- half a moan, half a gasp- when you finally brush your thumb over the soft skin at the tip of his ear.

You trace the long shell of his ear and watch his pretty eyes, deep red like velvet in the moonlight, flutter shut. He says your name softly, as close as you've ever heard him to prayer. You pinch his earlobe gently, and his hips roll forward involuntarily, the jut of his hipbone pressing against your thigh as he makes himself still. Heat flares low in your belly, but you tamp it down as quickly as possible- likewise, Astarion makes himself still against you. This isn't sex and won't become sex, you'd promised each other (though that's not to say that you won't explore this thoroughly during one of your hours-long lovemaking sessions. He is all about experimentation these days, after all).

You lay there, touching him in his most vulnerable place, with reverence and grace and occasionally disbelief that you could be here at all with this beautiful, horrible, ridiculous and wonderful man, that you could be trusted so completely. You take in his every shuddering breath, the flexing of his fingers in your shirt, the softness of his mouth when he presses his lips to yours and tells you he loves you. If you have your way, if he has his, if somehow your utterly insane lives hold together for a year or a decade or ten, it will always be like this.

[oh-my-damn]