#astraea writes

[aaja-pia-tohe-pyaar-du]

I'm jealous of people who grew up in homes where love was loud.

Where affection didn't have to lower its voice or look over its shoulder. Where it lived in the open; easy, abundant, unquestioned. The kind of love you didn’t have to earn or interpret…..just receive.

I grew up in an affectionate home too. But ours came in fragments.

In softened gestures.

In pauses.

In almosts.

Love was there; of course it was there. Just….quieter.

Folded into small acts instead of spoken out loud. Hidden in responsibilities, in routines, in things done rather than said. It existed, but never fully took up space. Never all at once.

And sometimes I wonder what it would have felt like to grow up inside a love that didn’t hold back.

A love that filled the room without hesitation so much that you never had to question if it was there.

[celesteablack]

And i will carry your name like the flower pressed preciously between the pages of my favourite book

[captastra]

Violet Chemistry

Chapters: 1/2 Fandom: The Falcon and the Winter Soldier (TV), Captain America (Anthony Mackie Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Joaquín Torres (Marvel)/Original Female Character(s) Characters: Joaquín Torres (Marvel), Original Female Character(s) Additional Tags: First Dates, First Kiss, Romance, Eventual Smut Series: Part 1 of Writer's Month 2025 Summary:

Sparks fly between Joaquin and Rhea on their first date, leading to a moment that makes it a night to remember.

Day 1 of @writersmonth is here! So excited to share Rhea and Joaquin's first date :D Thank you @lustaniasaxon for looking it over and @incognito-insomniac for summary help <3

Taglist (link on pinned post): @olliesaurus-rex @lasersinthejungle @jellisdraws @oh-nostalgiaa @seliviawanders @bitchesofostwick @orionlancasterr @incognito-insomniac @amadeus-lmao @finding-comfort-in-rain @euryalex @mxanigel @darkqueen458 @bewitchingbloom @adelaidedrubman @aceghosts @iobsessoverfictionalmen @inafieldofdaisies @bearcina @shellibisshe @mathlann @cloudofbutterflies92 @imogenkol @undyingembers @carlosoliveiraa @tommyarashikage @space-whalesharks @ronqueesha @gayafsatan @miscneilleaneous @saintvalentinex @thedeadthree @nowandthane @taciturntraveller @toxictoad @moonlit-jellies @thefrostyshepard @spaceratprodigy

[astraeasilvers]

Tumblr's linking system refuses to work, so the link is here

I posted the Eleventh chapter of my fanfiction, The Lies You Tell Yourself (and the Truth You Fail to See)! I intend to keep posting another chapter of a fic every Wednesday between 1 and 3 Pacific Time.

Chapter 11 Passage:

Juumonji glances away, taking his seat and replying, “I just helped her out of a situation yesterday, on my way home.” Togano grins, taking a seat next to him. “What kind of situation?” “Some guy was harassing her,” Juumonji states simply. Kuroki leans towards him. “Oh, yeah? How’d you help?” Juumonji glances away. “I decked the bastard…” “Rash as always,” Kuroki chuckles.

[astraeawritingarchive]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

I posted the Thirty-ninth chapter of my fanfiction, Arpeggio 21: The Devil’s Chorus! I intend to keep posting another chapter of a fic every Wednesday between 1 and 3 Pacific Time.

Chapter 39 Passage:

The plane finally lands, and Hiruma is relieved enough that he almost takes off like a bat out of hell to get to their destination. Almost. Collecting his luggage from the baggage claim carousel, Hiruma glances over his shoulder. Sena had enough foresight to send his guitar and everything off to the American hotel a few days before, so no one would see just yet. As Sena picks up his bag, he glances at Hiruma, and smiles. Shit, are ya trying to make me do something stupid in public??

[aaja-pia-tohe-pyaar-du]

Sitcoms are sad.

They are sadder than those love stories where protagonists don't end up with each other, where they choose lives so wildly different that they stop looking back.

Sitcoms aren't like that, no, they aren't tragic love stories where heartbreak is loud and final.

They are worse.

They make us fall in love with the ordinary; the everyday breakfasts, the group hugs, the terrible plans, the spontaneous evenings that somehow turn golden. Just simple something that starts to feel everything.

It's like getting to know a new friend; learning them like a street you've walked for years, the cracks in the pavement, the old tree that always blooms first in spring, or like that one rare family in my neighbourhood that I actually like; their home always warm, their door open, their laughter spilling out like fairy lights.

But then........they leave. quietly.

Because sitcoms are sneaky.

They aren't loud with heartbreak, nope. It's in the little things; the empty apartment, the uncooked food left in the fridge, the group chat that stops buzzing, the unoccupied couch that no one fights over now.

It ends with people laughing, content with the little life they created... But it leaves us crying.

Sitcoms are sad.

Not because of how they end, but because how alive they once felt.

[aaja-pia-tohe-pyaar-du]

I love love.

I love the way it leaks into places it doesn't belong.

Not just between lovers; but between friends who stay on calls too long, between people who learn your silences better than your words.

I love the way love refuses categories.

How it shows up as comfort, as loyalty, as staying.As choosing someone even when there's nothing to gain.As missing someone without wanting anything from them.

Love isn't always desire.

Sometimes it's recognition. Sometimes it's the relief of being seen and not corrected.

Sometimes it's laughing so hard with someone that your chest hurts and thinking; please don't let this end.

I love how love makes you irrational.

How you reread old conversations like they're sacred texts. How you notice when someone's tone shifts by one degree and pretend you didn't.

Love is the reason we hesitate before speaking. The reason we overthink goodbyes. The reason certain people feel like home even when you don't know where you stand with them.

I love that love is messy and selfish and gentle all at once.

That it makes you want to protect people and also want to crawl inside their ribs and stay there.

Sometimes love is quiet.

It doesn't need confession or labels. It exists in shared glances, inside jokes, and the comfort of knowing someone would show up if you asked.

And sometimes love ruin you in the softest way.

It teaches you how deeply you can feel without ever asking to be chosen back.

I love love because even when it hurts,

it reminds me that I'm alive.

That I care.

That my heart is still reckless enough

to attach itself to people and moments

and call it meaning.

[aaja-pia-tohe-pyaar-du]

I never really felt like I belonged. Not truly. Not with my family, not with my friends, not even with acquaintances. Yeah, there were moments, times I had real friends, people who saw me. But then life happened, my father's postings, their own shifting paths, and we drifted. Slowly, silently. And I was left behind.

I've never truly known that feeling of belonging, not in shared laughter, not in teasing jokes, not in loud, chaotic fights. I was just… there. Smiling like I meant it, sitting quietly, wondering how long before I'd be alone again.

It's in the way I always came last on the priority list. The way I was left out of cousin hangouts. The way my interests were laughed at, not leaned into. Maybe because they were all boys, and I was just the girl, the odd one out. A burden, maybe. So why bother taking me along?

And so I sat, again, with people twice my age, absorbing their critiques like bruises: how wrong I was, how short I was, how incapable I seemed to be. And it never ended. "You're always on your phone," they said. But no one asked why.

Why I was always the one left out.

Why I was trying so hard to hide my tears.

Why my hands kept shaking.

Why I dug my fingernails into my skin just to hold it all together.

They never looked beyond the surface. Never saw the quiet battles. Never really saw me.

All they saw was someone who wasn't enough. No one ever stayed long enough to see who I truly was.