I honestly think Gen-Z and younger simply does not understand how recent widespread smartphone adoption is.
I am not that old, and I didn't have a smartphone until probably late high school. For most of my life, many if not most people were not walking around with a magic internet machine in their pocket that they pulled out and used constantly for everything.
I WONT SETTLE FOR A GUY WITH A FAKE JOB! HE SEEMS SO DESPERATE FOR LOVING BUT BABY IM NOT!! GAVE! MY! HEART! WITH ZERO STIPULATIONS! NOW! I TAKE! CAREFUL CONSIDERATION! I'M NOT KISSING ANY BOY THAT IS PASSIVE! THEIR INDECISION IS PAINFULLY UNATTRACTIVE! PAST! MISTAKES! ARE JUST NEW INFORMATION! THESE DAYS IVE GOT EXPECTATIONS!
One girl fighting against the “blonde girls are stupid” stereotypes the other one fights against the “black girls shouldn’t be in the film industry” type
Annabeth chase in every universe you show your haters how wrong they are 🫶
One of my favorite SJM scenes EVER is the one with Bryce and Hunt in the bathroom in House of Earth and Blood. It was so beautiful, raw, and packed full of meaning for both characters.
The Umbra Mortis, one of the most feared, strong and respected warriors in Midgard, plagued with self loathing and shame for the things he’s been forced to do. A scarred man, a slave, his heart hurting for what he’s had to do to survive. A big powerful Angel reduced to nothing because of his own thought of himself.
Bryce, the “party girl” who cared for nothing, being the only one who saw Hunt and all his ugly bits, but still chose to care for him in this dark moment. She didn’t run away from him.
He opened up, and she caught it all for him. He became his most vulnerable self ever, and she took this and cared for it, cherished it, protected it. She was kind, gentle and nurturing. She caressed all his hard edges and saw him for who he really was and held his hand through all of it.
This is what Sarah does best, these kind of raw scenes and healing arcs.
Hunt gripped Bryce’s hand atop his knee. “Is it in my DNA that Bryce and I are mates? Was that engineered, too?”
“No,” Aidas said quickly, “that was never intended. I think that was left to higher powers. Whatever they may be.”
Bryce and Hunt ARE mates. Period. Idk how some people read these lines and thought "well, something is off, they're not mates, Bryce and Az actually are"
Bryce Quinlan lines that Nesta needs to steal (and say to Cassian)
"I'm getting real bored with you giving me orders and forbidding me to do things."
"I'm sorry if your fragile ego can't handle that I know what I'm fucking doing."
"Nothing going on upstairs, but everything happening where it counts."
"You were bitching this morning that I wasn't doing anything of value. And now that I am doing something, you're bitching about it, too? Get your shit together, Athalar."
"There's nothing wrong with being a party girl. I don't get why the world thinks there is. It's easier for me - when people assume the worst about what I am. It lets me see who they really are."
"No one likes a condescending asshole, Athalar."
"Hang with me, Athalar, and you might get rid of that stick up your ass after all."
"Fuck off."
"Hunt has learned his lesson about pissing me off."
"No one likes a narc, Athalar."
"I don't need a male telling me when to eat."
"Because I was trying to convince it not to kick you in the face, asshole."
"You're a fucking traitor, Athalar."
"I don't remember giving you permission to shove your nose into my business."
"I never realized it. That you and I are mirrors."
Season three at camp half blood after they get Annabeth back
Annabeth: (office style interview) Everyone is being super weird lately. I mean I know not everyone likes Percy but there is a really weird tension in the air. And everyone keeps staring at me. I mean I know people thought I died but I’m fine. Mostly. And Percy has been staring at me a lot lately.
Percy: (office style interview) I may have told some people to go fuck themselves. And threw someone in the lake. I also might have yelled at an 8 year old. If I did any of those things. I’m not sorry about it. I did what I had to do to save one of my best friends.
Thalia: (office style interview) Percy was freaking the fuck out because he has a crush on Annabeth and he does not know that yet. it was interesting to watching that white boy crash out for like a week not fun but interesting. 
okay so maybe this is a dumb idea but it’s always “oh! bucky is insecure about getting softer and gaining weight” but what about the reader (his gf/his wife, dealers choice) gaining weight in the relationship. how would he act, and talk to her about it?
as someone who has been struggling with her weight her whole life (release me) like going from underweight to overweight to “normal” to slightly overweight to almost underweight i feel like there’s maybe not enough fics with mentioned of the reader being the insecure one
totally understand if this is something you wouldn’t want to write but idk, going through a hard time after gaining weight and lowkey can’t help but search for a comfort bucky fic
idk if this whole rant makes sense lmao
thank u and have a nice day <33
You don’t notice it all at once.
It’s gradual.
The jeans that used to slide on without effort start hugging your hips tighter. The sweater that once draped loose across your stomach now clings in ways you don’t remember. It isn’t dramatic. It isn’t some cinematic transformation. It’s just… different.
And because you’ve spent your whole life swinging between too small and too big and never quite right, different feels dangerous.
You don’t say anything at first.
You just start dressing strategically. Oversized hoodies. Bucky’s shirts. Avoiding mirrors. You turn slightly away when you change, even though you’ve changed in front of him a hundred times before without thinking.
Bucky notices.
Of course he does.
He doesn’t say anything right away either. He just watches.
Watches the way you tug at your waistband when you sit. The way your smile tightens when you catch your reflection in the microwave door. The way you hesitate before letting him slide his hands under your shirt.
One night, you’re standing in front of the bedroom mirror in just your underwear. The light is too bright. The shadows feel cruel. You’re poking at your stomach like it personally betrayed you.
You don’t hear him come in.
But you feel him.
Warmth at your back. His chest pressing gently between your shoulder blades. His arms sliding around your waist.
You stiffen.
His hands settle on your hips. Solid. Grounding.
“You’re gonna bruise yourself,” he murmurs softly.
You swallow. “I’m fine.”
He hums, the sound low in his chest. Not convinced.
His hands don’t squeeze. Don’t grope. They just rest there, thumbs brushing absent circles over your skin like he’s memorizing it.
“Talk to me,” he says.
And that’s the problem. Because if he asks like that — quiet, steady, patient — you will.
You exhale shakily. “I’ve gained weight.”
There it is.
Said like a confession. Like you’re admitting to something shameful.
Bucky doesn’t move away. Doesn’t tense. Doesn’t do anything except shift his chin to rest on your shoulder so he can see your face in the mirror with you.
“Okay,” he says gently.
Okay.
Not oh. Not are you sure. Not you shouldn’t.
Just okay.
You hate that your eyes sting. “I don’t like it.”
His brows pull together slightly, not in disagreement — in concern.
“You don’t like how you feel, or you don’t like how you look?”
You hesitate.
“…Both.”
He nods once. Thoughtful.
His hands slide from your hips up to your stomach — slowly. Giving you time to flinch if you need to.
You don’t.
He spreads his palm flat over the softness there.
“This,” he says quietly, “is the same body that wraps around me every night.”
Your throat tightens.
“The same body that laughs so hard it snorts when Sam says something stupid. The same body that carried you through every version of yourself you just listed.”
He presses a kiss just below your ear.
“I have watched you be underweight. I have watched you be exhausted trying to stay small. I have watched you barely eat because you thought smaller meant safer.”
His voice never sharpens. It never rises. It just stays steady.
“And I have never loved you more or less because of a number.”
You shake your head slightly. “But I feel bigger.”
He hums softly. “You are allowed to change.”
His hand moves, fingers tracing the curve of your waist.
“You know what I see?” he asks.
You don’t answer.
“I see my wife. I see a body that feels warm when I hold it. I see thighs I can squeeze. I see softness that makes you comfortable to curl into.”
He pauses.
“And yeah. I see weight gain.”
You blink at him in the mirror.
He shrugs slightly.
“It happens. Bodies aren’t statues. They’re not meant to stay one shape forever.”
His hand slides down to your hip again, giving it a gentle squeeze — not possessive, not sexual. Appreciative.
“If you’re unhappy because you don’t feel good in your skin, we can talk about that. We can adjust routines. Go on walks together. Cook different dinners. Whatever makes you feel strong.”
His thumb rubs over your hipbone.
“But if you’re unhappy because you think I’m looking at you differently?” He leans closer, his mouth brushing your shoulder. “That’s not real.”
Your voice wobbles. “You don’t think I look… worse?”
He actually pulls back at that.
Not angry. Just baffled.
“Worse?”
You shrug helplessly.
He turns you gently in his arms so you’re facing him now. His hands cradle your jaw.
“I wake up every morning and think I am the luckiest bastard alive that you picked me,” he says quietly. “You think a little weight is gonna undo that?”
A shaky laugh slips out of you.
He rests his forehead against yours.
“You know what changes when you gain weight?” he murmurs.
You sniff. “What?”
“My hands have more to hold.”
It’s so simple it almost hurts.
“I don’t love you because you’re small,” he continues. “I don’t love you because you fit some shape. I love you because you are you. The way you think. The way you feel. The way you curl into me like I’m home.”
His thumbs wipe under your eyes gently.
“And if your body changes ten more times in our life together? I’ll still be here. Loving every version.”
You look at him, really look at him.
There’s no hesitation in his expression. No pity. No forced reassurance. Just certainty.
“I’m scared of going back to extremes,” you admit softly. “Of losing control again.”
His face softens even more.
“Then we don’t let it be extreme,” he says. “We keep it gentle. No punishment. No starving. No hating yourself into a different shape.”
He presses a kiss to your lips.
“We take care of you. Together.”
His hands slide down your arms, lacing your fingers with his.
“You are not a before and after picture,” he whispers. “You’re my wife.”
And when he pulls you into his chest, squeezing you tight — not like you’re fragile, but like you’re solid and wanted — you don’t feel like something that needs fixing.
You just feel held.
And maybe that’s the first step to feeling okay again.
Eris Vanserra whose eyes are the same amber as the tree resins found in the depths of Autumn's forests.
Eris Vanserra who is long-limbed and uncannily tall and moves with willowing motions.
Eris Vanserra with a scent like oud, like agarwood, like the balsam sap that leaks from old trees: earthen and woody and green. Eris Vanserra whose anger smells like woodsmoke—like burning.
Eris Vanserra who can hear moss grow and scent the harvest coming and feel fish swimming in the rivers like they're in his own arteries.
Eris Vanserra who is of the land, and of the forest, and therefore is not fully separate from it.
I really love headcanoning that the unnamed Vanserra brothers are not just evil, discardable sons of Beron - but just as complex as Eris and Lucien in their own ways with distinct relationships that they have with each of their brothers.
It would be such a disservice imo to make the other brothers invisible to the narrative by flattening them to villains that only serve the purpose of getting out of the way by the end.
They all grew up with Beron's abusive authority and their mother's gentle love. Each one of them have different pressures placed on their shoulders because of their birth order or what label was given to them at an early age. They are forced to form alliances or stab brothers in the back in the competitive pit that Beron creates in their family. They make their own way existing in a cruel, high pressure environment. Some lean into their role as the spare where others find comfort in never being considered at all.
And importantly, each of them struggles with how to love, knowing what it feels like but unable to truly hold it safely in their grasp. Unable to call anything theirs.
I think the Vanserras are a perfect opportunity to explore the ways that domestic abuse shapes a family. The way each member finds survival in their role, how violence is a language that makes victims and perpetrators of everyone involved.
Give me Vanserra brothers with depth and range. Vanserra brothers I can root for and others who I reluctantly know need to be left behind. Vanserra brothers with dreams and ambitions of their own.
I know we all have different ideas about the names of the Vanserra brothers but I have an angsty headcanon about it...
When the LoA first found out she was pregnant with Beron's child, she vowed to herself that she would never love it. She knows it's cruel, and perhaps she is no better than him, but she grows to resent that ever expanding bump.
She knows it is unfair to hate something so much; especially when that something is part of her. But she knows, better than anyone, that nothing good can grow from such barren soil. This child, this thing, that has planted its roots inside her will grow to inherit it's fathers most insidious qualities.
So, after months, when she feels the sharp stab of movement in her womb she names him Eris. Meaning strife...or pain. Afterall, it is what binds her to this child.
The day Eris is born is the bloodiest day in Autumn's history. He comes into the world screaming; a mirror of all she has had to endure.
When the healer places that tiny, fragile bundle into her arms his piercing screams settle into pitiful little cries. For a long time she just stares at him, asleep in her arms and cradled to her breast like it settles something in him. It settles something in her too, she realises.
All the resentment and all the hatred she felt is replaced with something aching and tender. Something like love.
That night she vows to always love him. To nurture all the good in him, all the parts of him that are her. Because the most beautiful flowers can still bloom in fields of ash.
Years later when she finds out she is with child again she names him Jasper, it means joy. Then Dorian comes along, a gift she thinks; and Leander, her brave boy. It's not until many years later that Silas is born, long prayed for and much loved. He was followed by Rowan who looked so much like her brother when he was a boy, with messy red curls she used to play with as he slept.
Of course there was little Lucien too, her light. A child of hers born of love, at long last.
She loves all of her children equally but sometimes when Eris smiles at her, all she sees is the babe that healed what Beron had broken, and she knows he is all hers.
The Plitvice Lakes National Park in Croatia is exactly how I picture the Forest House. A gorgeous Autumn forest combined with a collection of rivers and waterfalls that flow together so perfectly
it's a good thing Piper and Jason were the ones talking to Hercules because it would not have gone well if they'd sent Percy
Hercules: oh woe is me, I'm such a tragic figure! Hera induced me into madness and I killed my wife and children because I no longer recognized them!
Percy, unmoved: Skill issue, dude. Hera wiped my memory, but I still remembered my girlfriend and how much I love her.
Hercules: How dare you speak to me like that, you petulant little--
Percy, drawing Rip Tide: Sucks to suck. And you really suck, man.
romaincrisis
pixelskylines
janainaart
yousharknotpass
kaledo-art
baratheonpilled
stormborns
izzy806
