and to feel like they can't get through things on their own (at least not for a while)

anonymous asked:

I'm saying this from the perspective of a shipper I guess but looking at all these Sheith moments got me thinking.. Would it be possible that the creators themselves are actually planning for them to be canon at some point? But because of some complications..(not gonna name it) they decided to scrap it off? Do you think this is possible? Although Keith telling Shiro he is like a brother to him kinda made me sad? lol I have got so many questions so I can't wait to see more of this amazing series!

Hi anon! The thing is, writing and animation for shows like this are done way in advance. When season 1 came out, I imagine the plot up until seasons 3 or 4 was already set in stone. And Voltron, like most shows, works off a “TV Bible” that had all the major plot points outlined right when the series was first pitched so,, once you plan things out like that I think it’s difficult to make big changes to characters’ relationships.   

I think the writers have also made it clear that they are going to go ahead with their narrative rather than catering to popular fannon, particularly when they’ve told certain fans they don’t agree with their mentality at all. Even with things like how they mentioned Allura was a teenager like all the other paladins, a lot of people didn’t headcannon that, but the writers stood by it. It’s their own story after all, and I don’t see why they should change it. As for sheith, we know the writers have outright told people that harassing shippers isn’t okay and they’re completely against it. 

There are also plenty of writers, animators, and VAs who have liked clearly romantic sheith fanart, cosplay, or pro-sheith posts (and gotten backlash for it). So we know they’re certainly not opposed to shipping it. And I mean, whether it’s romantic or not, we know that the cast certainly seems invested in their dynamic. The fact that their relationship and character development is by far the most fleshed out is certainly apparent. Here’s also some stuff staff has drawn that shows they at least like Shiro and Keith’s bond: 

So anyway, despite how the fandom can be, I don’t think it would necessarily deter the writers or dissuade them from following through with major writing decisions. And given how supportive the staff has been of sheith, I don’t think they would suddenly just abandon whatever plans they had for their character development together. Under the hypothetical that they did make sheith canon, I think they would just maybe adjust how they went about it so that the fandom could kind of like, ease into it, and hopefully not be too mad about it. Though I have no doubt people would still harass the staff if sheith happened, which just…makes me feel really bad to be honest…

On the BOM line though anon, I don’t think it goes against sheith at all and here’s why:

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anonymous asked:

I just need to comment how much I love the fact that they seem to now have separate spaces for filming and living!! I can't understand how weird it must've been to not have a place in their old house that was just theirs, and I'm happy to think they may get this privacy now (and if they do decide to share little bits of the upstairs part, then great. But I hope they do what makes them more comfortable!!)

They’ve made their upstairs a sanctuary and away from work while their downstairs is where they’ll record everything and I’m so happy about that because I can imagine how flustered dan and phil could’ve gotten in the london apartment having no space to themselves that didn’t remind them of making videos and to hide away IM SO HAPPY FOR THEM AND THE LONDON DUPLEX WILL BE GREAT

it’s funny how just a few lines from dnp’s own mouths about a certain issue can completely change the way you see something that you thought you’d fully thought through and had a grasp of before. i was quite certain that in this new place they would likely not film in their bedroom(s) because i thought i understood, on an intellectual level at least, how awful it must be to know that millions of people can constantly look into the places where you live/sleep and generally have all of the intimate, personal, human moments of your life. it just made no sense to me for two people who are so, so private and value that privacy so much. i’ve frequently thought about how they might have felt trapped in this house that they chose and the filming habits they developed when they were five years younger and more naive about the degree to which their audience would continue to grow and grow. but somehow it hit me in a more visceral way today, and in a sharper way, to hear dan talk about how they were going crazy in that house, not just for the somewhat silly/comedic reasons they listed in their announcement video but because their whole house was also their filming set. he talked about how the gaming office was also their actual office and their whole house is always full of cameras and lights. it made me think so much more deeply about what it must be like to live that way, in which the physical space that you occupy and that you treat as a haven and a sanctuary–the only place you’re ever away from prying eyes–is still constantly exposed to those same prying eyes all the time bc you have nowhere else to go. and shelling out money for another filming space (”an office” like many popular youtubers have started renting separately from their homes over the past few years) never seemed like a move dnp could make. they are apathetic and probably legitimately anxious in certain ways to leave their home,  and they seem to genuinely enjoy working from home and staying inside as much as they can. and shooting their vids in the place they live gives them a ton of flexibility– like the ability to film at 3am, which seems to have become habitual for them. 

basically. without rambling about this for too long. i’m emotional in the best way that they’ve found a place that presents a perfect solution to these issues that they’ve had to live with for so long. i’m just so so happy for them. they’ve created a way to continue working from home but to also have an actual home where they can be fully and authentically themselves and never have to worry about the fact that millions of people know everything about how they live. they can still show us that truer part if they want, but only on their own terms–through photos and very brief or occasional filming,,, whatever they want to do basically. but they are setting the expectation and standard from the get go that that portion of the house is theirs. and this speaks volumes to me. it’s such an immense show of commitment to their relationship and to their future–it shows that their life together (their personal life, not their professional one) is something that they think needs to be protected and nurtured and cherished and everything about that is so lovely <3  at the same time they have gone to great lengths to also ensure that we feel comfortable with this change–they’re making sure that their filming locations are set up in ways that we are familiar with, utilizing a lot of the decor and tidbits that we’ve grown to love and that also mean a lot to them. they’re not filming in some sterile location that is stripped of everything personalized and human. things like the sofa crease and the muse poster and phil’s bedspread and whatnot–items that were originally bought bc they meant something to dan and phil but that eventually also took on great meaning to the audience–those things will still form the backdrops to the content they make. but upstairs they’re giving themselves the chance to fill a new space with presumably new things and new memories that are all for them. i don’t know how anyone could think about that and not just feel a little bit faint about how much dnp clearly value each other and this life that they share. it’s enough to make my head spin haha :) i’m so happy for them, and so content when i think about the peace and promise that this move might be bringing to their lives.

anonymous asked:

What's your opinion on this robot harry?For me it's so annoying he can't even pretend to be excited for his own tour, his social media presence is such a turn off

Well I’m sort of digging myself a grave with this one, but since I haven’t seen a post I can fully agree with, here we go. Disclaimer, I actually study this at uni. I was the Social Media Manager for the planning and putting together of a fashion show, on all platforms. I just handed in last month a 6-months marketing plan that was based around social media promo. So I do have a bit of knowledge in this area. I am by no means an expert, but this is my future field of choice, so I like to think I’m at least educated.

The situation isn’t as black and white as people have put it so far. All I’ve seen is “he’s horrible at engaging with fans” and “he doesn’t own you shit so stop complaining”. The answer is a very big grey area in which Harry’s actual social media presence fits perfectly in my opinion. First of all, there’s two main templates we studied for marketing purposes this year, Gaynor Lea Greenwood’s promotion suggestions (2009) and Burcher (2013)’s Paid, Owned and Earned media concept. Long story short, the first one is your traditional marketing campaign and the second one relies more on social media and advertising on it. Now, I think Harry’s team went for the more traditional approach, and let me explain why.

Harry started distancing himself more and more from twitter and Instagram ever since the hiatus started.Even before, during OTRA and MITAM promo, most of his tweets were promo stuff, lyrics I’m not sure we fully understand even now, charity work, promoting friends or tweeting about holidays/important days or events. His fan interaction has been low for quite a while, and I’m honestly baffled people are acting like this is news. Looking through his Twitter in 2015, there are some tweets to fans, yes, but they’re very sparse.I counted about 12 in 5 months, most of them in September, when Perfect came out, and around the release of MITAM.His tweets were mostly thanks to fans for various awards and nominalisation, promoting the songs/album, some lyrics and, without fail, after every concert he tweeted a thank you for coming.

It felt more personal than what we have now (tho in all honesty, his tour hasn’t started yet and if we eliminate the OTRA tweets it’s already a different story), but Robot Harry has been a thing then, and people were riding along with it instead of condemning it to the extent they do now.But, the thing is, Harry didn’t have the entire burden of engaging with the fanbase like he has now.Louis, Niall and Liam always took turns in taking the lead in replying to fans and interacting with them, which allowed Harry to do his part and everyone was mostly happy.

And yet, I personally don’t feel this frustration many people feel. I think it’s quite interesting actually. A bold move that wouldn’t work for other artist whose career relies on people who live and breathe social media (maybe Beyonce or Adele, but they are in another league). I was very intrigued by Harry’s statement in the Behind the album video, in which he said that there was a time in his life when people knew everything about him, and he didn’t like it.He has been overexposed since 2012, his personal life splashed across tabloids, fake relationship or not.And now he disappeared for a year (and has been retreating into himself for at least 2) and he wrote this mysterious™ album, trying to see if people can listen and understand it without knowing much about the current him. In this context, having an album that surrounds itself in mystery and then doing 4 Q&As on twitter and 3 livestreams sends…extremely contradictory messages. I can, and will fault his team for presenting a dual image of Harry that sometimes makes 0 sense, for handling a lot of things so poorly, and for the entire Carolina mess, but I will say that his social media fits this old school mysterious rockstar image they’re showing of him. I also think his actual reason is very personal and very real, and I respect the fact that he didn’t compromise this choice he made for promo purposes.

His promo relied on more traditional channels. TV and radio appearances, print magazines, and most importantly, the secret gigs. Now, I’m sorry, but I felt entirely more connected to Harry running across London at 8AM in my pyjamas than by any twitter spree he’ll ever do. I never did this before. This reminded me of the stories my dad told me, of queuing up for days in front of the box office so he’d get the tickets when they went on sale. It was very old school and it worked for me. It was a phenomenal experience, something I will never forget. And he did this for us. All profits went to charity, he didn’t do this for money. And while I know this was for a few selected cities and a handful of lucky fans, it was intimate and it was special and I think everyone, regardless if they were there, or vicariously living through pics and videos, felt a connection to Harry. We got emotional on his behalf when he sang with his idol on stage 2 weeks later, you don’t do that for someone you have no connection to.

Now, the actual reason I’m happy with what we’ve got is that it is genuine from my POV. Liam is the perfect candidate for a comparison, since he also took a bit of a break from social media (not as heavy as Harry’s, but he definitely wasn’t as active as Louis or Niall) and his promo is as textbook as it gets. He slowly, but surely increased his activity since January, a few more tweets, a few more pics on Instagram.A big turning point was April when he posted 13 pics on Instagram, compared to 8 in March, 4 in February and 3 in January. His Twitter went through a similar process.Now, the moment he started posting more, I knew his music was gonna be out soon. It’s pure marketing. You start your campaign weeks before the actual launch, it’s only natural. Unless you want to drop it as a surprise, but that’s another discussion. Actually Harry did it too, with the TV ad, but that was ruined by the info getting leaked beforehand and everyone getting pissed off by that so whatevs. Now, Liam is going for the approachable celeb route. Streams, Instagram stories, snapchat, tweeting fans, loads of pics, videos with popular Youtubers. It’s nice and about as well handled as it gets (apart from that weird video release earlier than it should have been and Liam just generally being a bit…odd?off?idk how to explain it, but a lot of people feel the same way from what I’ve seen). It fits with the image Liam is going for, it aims at the right target audience. He’s not trying to enter a new market like Harry is. He’s consolidating his place in the current market from what I’ve seen (and I’ll admit I haven’t followed his promo as closely as Harry’s). Trying to imagine Harry doing this sort of promo doesn’t really work for me.

Niall has been present on and off social media ever since he came back from his trip last year. Literally, if I pull up the calendars people have been making each month, he doesn’t get more than a handful of days without doing something, so it’s unfair to compare him to the others, since he’s always around and posting and doing stuff.

Louis deserves a better team and I won’t have anyone uttering anything else in my presence, and yet somehow, despite Niall’s constant presence and Liam’s textbook engagement, I’ll never feel as connected to them as I feel to Louis. Louis’ tweets are the perfect mixture of absolutely adorable fan service (“our year” 😭😭) and some of the things he’s passionate about (tv shows, fashion, footie/sports). His promo for JHO was….I have no words for it and I’m gonna have a rage fit if I start thinking about it, but his overall persona is charming and endearing when he’s posting things himself. He created a real communication channel between us and him and he knows how to use it when he needs to send a message (warning selfies anyone?Only you?). There’s an actual analysis of Instagram stats that shows he’s the number 1 male account in engagement and overall likes and that doesn’t surprise me one bit. Louis is a smart businessman, he has a loyal fanbase who is here for him through thick and thin.

And on top of everything I said so far, none of them owe us anything outside the promo bubble. Apart from shoots, songs/albums/tours info and official announcements, they do not owe us anything. If they chose to share a picture from their home, that’s their personal space, and while it’s good for PR, amazingly good in a society that thrives from the feeling of knowing everything about everyone (like what’s your fave’s breakfast and how’s their cat is doing), it’s still a part they can choose to keep private and no one should be entitled to ask for more.

Have you seen Adele’s Instagram? It gives you this illusion of closeness to her, with make up free selfies, funny poses and landscape shots. Too bad literally everything is from touring and other official appearances right? There’s one picture of her home, and that’s to celebrate the end of the tour. Harry sort of did the same with the booklet pictures. He allowed you into his personal space in a controlled manner, just like Adele did. Only he did it in a different way. His promo is just different and you have to think a bit outside the box to see that he actually did a lot of things other artists do. Just a bit differently. Was it perfect?Fuck, no. Was it as bad as many people make it look like?Personally, I don’t think so. It was just different and people are entirely justified to see it as a good or a bad thing. I see it mostly as a good thing. Mostly.

anger management: mars
  • mars in the 1st: i know it doesn't feel like it, but you need to let that anger out, consume you and explode. i would advise you to hit something but then i'm sort of afraid that you'd hit me--at least it's a nice conundrum, i don't see a lot of those, these days. i recommend exercise or sports because you know, two birds with one stone. or you could get drunk and kick people's asses in bar brawls/video games, both would be cathartic, i think.
  • mars in the 2nd: bottle up your emotions, man. and that anger too. and when it reaches a breaking point, burst the entire dam because you're too good at it. but no, really, find a repetitive task that grounds your anger to a center, don't hoard it like dragons hoard gold, as you're wont to do. and make sure it focuses on a rhythm and unleash it using that focus. get it through your thick head: passive aggressiveness is not attractive.
  • mars in the 3rd: i would tell you to punch your sibling but that'd be too drastic. i suggest you write all the words you're dying to scream and curse, the words you're gonna use to tear the world into two, in paper, make an origami of it and flush it down the toilet. that'd feel good, trust me. if not, i'd advise you to talk it out with a person you trust to be objective, look at it from a logical perspective as to why you're angry and methodically decode why it's making you want to annihilate something. you'd feel much calmer afterwards. (or end up reading six books in one day and write vicious reviews on how stupid the characters are--that works too)
  • mars in the 4th: i know this sounds ridiculous, but open the fridge and the tub of your favorite flavor of ice cream, dig into it face first without using a spoon while watching really sad anime. you'd feel much better. or you could take it out on your home, violently redecorate or tear off the curtains. or something. i suggest doing heavy household tasks that'd exhaust you, so when you take a shower and get rid of all that sweat, you feel at least some semblance of calm.
  • mars in the 5th: this sounds terrible and cliche, but use it to be productive. use it in your art to make a statement because it has pissed you off. run that extra mile on track. get the best score on a creative writing course--you get the gist. make sure it helps you shine, not the things/people that made you angry, because trust me, an anger like yours is nothing short of an inferno.
  • mars in the 6th: fuck with your classmates/co-workers. otherwise channel it into helping people with things they can't do themselves/solving their problems while grumbling about how fucking stupid they are. you could also finish household chores and with your exhaustion, calm your anger. i know there's so much you want to say and it makes you feel like you could burst, but channel that anger into mundane tasks to get them done faster, finishing that side project earlier. and the satisfaction will quell that terrible rage, trust me.
  • mars in the 7th: fuck up all your personal relationships and one on one communication and brood like there's no tomorrow, man. other things you could do are: changing your entire wardrobe to spite the person you're angry with, listening to heavy rock metal that somehow speaks to your soul at the moment and go wild on a shopping spree. the tornado in your head won't completely disappear, i know, you passive aggressive fuck, but it'll help, i can assure you that.
  • mars in the 8th: plan hypothetical revenge on your object/person of anger. i know it's not satisfactory unless you back up that bark with bite, but i advise you to not do that, because you'll feel terrible afterwards. so the notion that you could get revenge, if you wanted to, is satisfying in and of itself (just don't actually want and do that, i'm saying this for your own good). listen to your favorite metal band and scream like there's no tomorrow. or tell the people you're angry with how you plan to eviscerate/castrate them in vivid detail in your head. you'll feel a lot, i repeat A LOT calmer.
  • mars in the 9th: run away from it. literally. complete avoidance has always been your best strategy, hasn't it? i suggest preaching about why you're angry to anything that will listen: a wall, a donkey, babies too small to crawl away. think about affirmative action, man, and for god's sake, face the source of your anger instead of running off on a road trip with no money just for the hell of it. heck, play that weird airport finding game in an unknown place you're gonna have to navigate on your own. or play video games in general: don't let that energy go to waste.
  • mars in the 10th: channel that ball of righteous fury into your ambition and dexterous work ethic (translation: become even more of a workaholic than you already are) and shove your success, your regained dignity, your perseverance right to their faces. you are made of poison and stardust, and that is the greatest strength that belies your anger. use that strength to work miracles. or smoke weed, but that's not exactly a good thing 0/10 would not recommend. but don't, i repeat, don't take it out on your personal relationships. that's exactly what will lead to your downfall.
  • mars in the 11th: do NOT use it to fuel your god complex. i know you're angry at the world and how frustrated you are--i am too, but AN IDEOLOGY IS NOT A SOLUTION BECAUSE ITS APPLICATIONS IN REALITY ARE VASTLY DIFFERENT THAN THEY ARE IN THEORY. you're seeing an injustice? make sure it is not one anymore. plan it out, how you'll right all these wrongs: with your friends, with people who share the same views as you. dissect and analyze these problems and annihilate them but i repeat: DO NOT LET ANGER TRANSFORM YOUR EGO INTO A GOD COMPLEX YOU WEIRD WONDERFUL SHIT IT WILL DESTROY YOU
  • mars in the 12th: don't get others to unleash your anger or manipulate them into being assertive for you. just don't, that's freaking pathetic. i strongly suggest you sleep: take a long, preferably 8 hour nap and cuddle something/someone. once you wake up, you'll be looking at it from a newer, fresher perspective and will actually find the energy to express your anger appropriately instead of using other people as puppets that dance under your strings. music would help to calm you down, as well. so try that first, all right?

team-bughead  asked:

Could I please request a hot smutty one where betty and jughead have a deal where they can't touch each other for like 48 hours, but they are both teasing each other in that time and one of them breaks (you can decide who) followed by lots of smut. I feel slightly embarrassed to request this 😂

love, love, love this one! Again sorry for the wait, i want to do all your ideas justice so sometimes it takes a while to churn them out! Anyway I hope you enjoy this love and thankyou for your support and encouragement on my work! I love you x

warnings: SMUT!!!!



It was hot.  More than hot actually, in fact Jughead was almost positive this summer was more akin to hell on earth.

It was early July and the heat had already exceeded Riverdale records, making it clear they were on track for a sweltering, unbearable few months.

And for the teenager whose wardrobe mostly consisted of layers, flannels, denim, and leather and of course the renowned beanie the heat wasn’t exactly a cause for celebration.

Jughead groaned, head hitting the back of the vibrant leather booth he was sprawled across. The curser on his laptop screen blinked at him obnoxiously- a reminder of the words that would not come.  

The agitated boy glanced around the crowed diner, finding even more cause for frustration. It seemed as though half of Riverdale’s population had decided to seek refuge in the Chok’lit Shoppe, making it a little harder for Jughead to enjoy the air conditioned space he felt even more at home in than his foster house.

Just as he was spiralling into another brooding monologue about the woes of wanting to get a refill but dreading losing his booth, the bells at the entrance chimed, signalling the arrival of another patron.

It wasn’t just any patron though; it was the one bright spot in this god awful summer. It was the one thing that was making all his suffering, completely and utterly worth it.

And that was Betty Cooper, clad in a tiny sundress that showed off her gorgeous, long, tan legs.

Her eyes scanned briefly around the crowded space before landing on Jughead; lighting up when they met his and skipping happily over to his booth.

“Hey you,” he greeted, unable to keep the smile off his face in her presence.

“Hi,” Betty returned sliding in beside him before placing her lips over his.

Jughead relaxed into the kiss, savouring the taste of her lips which were much more refreshing than any cold beverage could have been.

As she pulled away Jughead couldn’t help but notice the dewy glint on her skin, the heat obviously affecting her too.  He licked his lips, unable to resist the enticing sheen and wanting nothing more than the trace the column of her neck with his tongue.

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@arabian-batboy said: Can you write something where Bruce comes across Jason in an alley after his resurrection but before Talia took him in & since he couldn’t talk at that time (& because he’s supposed to be dead) Bruce thinks it’s just a hallucination and just leaves him?

It had been a long time since Bruce was afraid of ghosts, mostly because they never left him alone. If this one seemed more real than usual, hey, it had been a rough day.

Always was, this time of year. 

April 27th. Bruce liked to think he was getting better— maybe some year he wouldn’t find himself lurking in Crime Alley on today, the anniversary of Jason’s death— but he wasn’t there yet.

It made sense. How was he supposed to forget Jason? That was what it would take, Bruce knew, to leave the guilt behind. Every time Jason crossed his mind, it all came crashing back: the grief and shame and pain in his chest. 

Flashbacks, sometimes. Hallucinations.

He wasn’t particularly surprised to see his dead son lying on the cobblestones. It was bound to happen today. 

Bruce took a deep breath. It was time for another hell ride through his own subconsciousness. What would it be this time?

Older, he thought— this Jason looked older, the age he would be if he had lived. That was normal; Bruce spent a lot of time imagining Jason alive and growing up. This Jason looked like he had been on the street for a long time, and Bruce could explain that too; they’d met on this spot when Jason was young and homeless. Of course he was remembering that day. 

Bruce blinked away the image of Jason, small and defiant, sprinting towards the mouth of the alley with his tire iron. Who hit the Batman with a tire iron? Jason did. Jason was…

Well, Jason was dead. Jason had been extraordinary— brave, bright, explosive, kind— but he was gone, and the illusion on the pavement was just that: an illusion. A memory. Bruce’s mind playing tricks.

The punishment he deserved. He could feel it beginning like it always did, his heartbeat pounding in his ears, his fingertips, his chest, rooting him to the stone underneath him until he couldn’t run— not that he should run. He hadn’t saved Jason. The least he could do was feel it.

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ptw30  asked:

Hihi! You mentioned on AO3 you have no prompts for Ulaz and Shiro right now, so...if you're still taking prompts, would you mind writing one about Ulaz and Shiro - maybe at the Blade headquarters? Thanks!

Ohhhh I do not mind. I do not mind at all.

Technically they aren’t at the Blade headquarters here, but. Um. I’m not sorry. 


Kolivan is not pleased when Ulaz calls him from halfway across the galaxy.

“There were no other options,” Ulaz repeats, for the third time. Kolivan stares back at him from the communication screen, silent and impassive. His mask is down, but it’s no improvement: Kolivan’s face is nearly as stoic and unreadable as if he had the mask up.

Nearly. Ulaz isn’t fooled. The tick in the corner of Kolivan’s eye and the small flare of his nostrils give him away.

“Be that as it may,” Kolivan says. His tone speaks volumes, too: brusque, blunt, syllables sharper and harsher than usual. ‘Not pleased’ is an understatement. “I cannot permit you to come blindly back to headquarters after such a foolish sacrifice.”

“My actions were not foolish,” Ulaz insists, defensive and heated. The comm unit in the stolen Galra ship is small, made smaller by the tracking devices Ulaz ripped out and dismantled with his bare hands. The ship was intended for short journeys; it was never meant to make the long trek Ulaz faces now. “Against your timing, perhaps, but not foolish. Thace is still on board. He will remain as informant for as long as physically and feasibly possible.”

“The choice was not yours to make.”

“And yet I have made it.”

“At what cost?” Kolivan asks. The comm image blurs for a tick before it steadies, stable. “Your plan has failed. This was your alternative?”

Ulaz casts a glance over his shoulder. Shiro’s asleep, propped up against the far wall - ‘far’ is a generous statement. This ship is too small. Shiro’s tucked his back into a corner, his arm cradled to his chest. He’s sleeping off the drug and what Ulaz is fairly certain is a concussion.

“No,” Ulaz admits, quietly, “This was not part of my plan.”

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anonymous asked:

what are your thoughts about bakugou and midoriya's relationship? platonic, i mean

I live and die for it, every part of the manga in which that relationship is shown progressing is between my favorite parts of the manga and I’ve reread them a hundred times and cried over them way more than necessary - the battle trial one? yes, the end of terms exam? absolutely yes holy shit, the post-license exam fight? god yes fuck me that’s my absolute fav, the rescue arc? shit yes between all the reasons why that arc’s my fave the change in the deku/baku relationship is definitely a worthy of note one

It’s an interesting relationship, a painful one that’s making both of them grow so so so much, a rivalry they both need to better each other and keep each other straight on the path to become two great, all-around heroes - I’m not sure they’ll ever end up having the type of relationship Izuku has with Todoroki or Bakugou with Kirishima, I don’t think it’s possible for them to be friends like that, they’re just too different to properly fit like that and to avoid stepping on each other’s toes every single day of their lives they’d have to change their core personalities too much, but they did end up being able to coexist (Bakugou’s even giving Deku tips!!!) and I do think they’ll be able to cooperate and support each other in the end. If one day they’ll be able to make fun of each other in a friendly manner and egg each other on and be honest with each other without it escalating into a full blown fight I’d truly be happy, that’s probably my main dream for this whole manga. For them to have a healthy rivalry, one in which they can maybe even laugh together. I think it might happen, I’m waiting for it to happen

Anon said: Hi Fran! I’m obsessed with your BakuShimaNari work. Here’s a cute thought to hopefully cheer you up a bit while you’re unable to draw: they’re all in their early 20s and Denki likes to poke/smooth out the little crease between Bakugo’s eyebrows and tease him about getting wrinkles early from all the scowling he does. Bakugo flicks him in the nose and says he’s starting to get crows feet from always grinning like an idiot.

Oh my god. Oh my g o d this is the sweetest thing I’ve ever read. Oh my g OD I’m just imagining them doing that and Kiri in the background watching them like they’re most precious thing in the world I’m dying rip me this just made my whole life thank you so much anon *sob*

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anonymous asked:

You are so cool man. Okay, I just got into investing as in I opened an account with bank of america merrill edge for retirement but haven't done anything else. I know I should like buy safe stocks and stuff, but I am so wary of researching this. like i just don't trust sources that i google or magazines (my dad was interested in stocks and lost a lot of money so I just can't trust him or those magazines). I see that you have set up different markets (target retirement, inflation protected), (1/2

(2/2) and other funds. How did you get started? Where did you research? Like books or things. Thank you for your time!

Aw, thank you Anon! So, this is a little bit of a narrative, buckle up. (There is a readmore below! Read more!) 

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iamleighbot  asked:

Can't send the symbol because tumblr Hates me with a passion but I'd love to see hair washing and any Star Wars pairing you choose! Especially if it's post-battle or something and it's aftercare related.

There’s blood in her hair. 

“Jyn,” he says, quiet in respect for the night, and Jyn makes a move like she’d be startled if she had the energy for it. 

“Sorry.” She’s quiet too. “I didn’t mean to wake you.” 

“I wasn’t asleep.” Cassian sits up. There’s blood across her face too, and on her clothes. She must have come right from the mission; she’s not the one who has to debrief her missions. A part of Cassian is glad that he’s not the one who has to be debriefing right now, so he can be here, right now, though the larger part still hates whenever she leaves without him. Maybe he could have stopped some of the blood on her right now, if he’d have been there. 

“It’s not mine,” she tries for a cocky smile, but it’s just exhausted. Cassian understands, all too well. “I’m fine.” 

“Good.” She does smile at that, because she knows how it says all the things they don’t dare say, not now. Not in the middle of a war. They don’t say it, and they don’t talk about how they sleep in the same bed and don’t sleep when the other’s away. Instead, Cassian gets to his feet, lets the blankets fall away from him. “You shouldn’t sleep like that.” 

“I’m tired.” 

“You’ll feel better clean.” He runs his hands over her shoulders, down her arms. It’ll get blood on his hands. It won’t be the first time, or the last. “Shower first.” 

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The Wildcat and the Bear (Part 3)

Part 2 - Part 1

“What are you doing here?” Nesta asked as he walked into the tent.

“Why I’m walking into my own tent?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

She rolled her eyes, “Right now, is what I meant. Don’t you have work?”

He sighed, “I was sent home. For the week.”

“Week?” she whistled, “What did you do? Accidentally trip on your ego?”

“Ha-ha, very funny. If you must know, I was sent home to get better acquainted with you.”

“What’s to know? My name is Nesta, I’m twenty-three years old, I’m from behind the walls and I’m married to you, apparently .”

“The enthusiasm in that last part is absolutely overwhelming, sweetheart. What they want is for us to get that kind of acquainted, if you know what I mean,” he said with a wink, “I figured since that’s out of the question, maybe we could just move your things here. Oh, and the Elder said he’s going to come over to check up on he wants to start your naming ritual tomorrow.”

“Oh, amazing, now I can look forward to that . Does that mean you’ll get to take my clothes off?”

His smile faded, “No. Not… not tomorrow. In fact not ever if you don’t want it. It would have been at the end of the week, but it’s up to you.”

“No jokes from you this morning, I see. To what do I owe this delightful turn of events?”

He let out an exasperated sigh, “Mother’s tits, woman, you think I can’t take anything seriously? We are in this situation, for better or worse, so I am going to behave myself accordingly. I respect you, Nesta, and right now that means no jokes.”

“Not something I expected to see in you anytimes soon. Though, I must admit, the irony of the method is not lost on me.”

“What?” he asked, bemused by how seamlessly she said all of it.

She chuckled, “The way to shut you up, or at the very least quiet your jokes. All I had to do was marry you, which was, incidentally, the very last thing I’d ever do.”

Cassian simply rubbed his temples, “How is it that you’re amused by this situation?”

“Come, Cassian, you of all people must understand the concept of finding the humour in stressful environments.”

“ I do. I just never really thought you would.” He smiled, looking at her sheepishly, “It is delightfully ironic.”

They shared a smile, quietly in their little moment of understanding. “So…” Nesta started, averting her eyes quickly, “We should get my things and bring them here, I suppose.”

Cassian smirked, “Give it a few minutes. No need to make the entire tribe think I’m that fast. Oh, and would you mind making a few noises? Maybe shake the tent a little?”

Nesta groaned, “That was short lived.”

He just chuckled, “I was prepared to be serious for much longer, but you spoiled it by being accepting of the humour of it all.” He shrugged, “Your fault, sweetheart. And, just to check, that was a no?”

“Not a chance in this life,” she snapped back.

“Can’t fault a man for trying. They’ll probably just assume you’re the quiet type.”

“The tent isn’t even close enough for anyone to hear!” She exclaimed, almost furiously, throwing something at his head.

He ducked and easily dodged the flying object, “Fine! It was just for me! Throw a bear a bone, sweetheart!”

She threw something else at him, “You are infuriating!”

“I try my best,” he said on a laugh, dodging another one of her projectiles, “On the bright side,” dodge, “if anyone does happen to pass our tent right now,” dodge, “they are likely to think,” dodge, dodge, “that we are in the midst,” dodge, “of something, if a bit unconventional of a something.”

“We have to go to my tent!”

His grin was so wide it almost hurt his cheeks, “And why is that?”

“I’ve run out of things to throw at your head!”

He lifted a finger at her, “ Attempt to throw at my head. You’ve yet to land a hit.”

“Therefore I need more things!”

He outright laughed at that, “Unfailing logic, Nes.”

“I give up,” she sighed, throwing herself on his furs, so very dramatically.

Cauldron she was a beautiful thing. Call him crazy, but Cassian was absolutely stunned by her beauty, especially in her fit of rage. He just wanted to follow her onto the furs and hold her close to him. Unfortunately, the most she felt for him was annoyance and all she did was tolerate him. So instead of taking her into his arms, he simply sat next to her. “Don’t give up,” he said gently, “I’m sure you’ll hit me if you keep trying.” She just glared up at him.

“What now? What happens from now on? Do we keep pretending we’re happily married?”

“No, I don’t expect that…” he sighed, “I just want to try. That’s all I’m asking, that we try.” He looked at her, eyes pleading, “I think that we have something, Nesta, you and me. I think we have have potential. Don’t you?”

“I don’t know… I…” she sighed, “I just don’t know.”

“Do you hate me?” He asked quietly.

“No…” she said just as quietly, “All I know is that… I couldn’t just walk away from you yesterday.” It wasn’t the first time he’d heard that from her. During the war, when everything had gone to hell, when he was sure hejj was going to die. Similar words, a simple ‘I can't’ when he’d told her to run and save herself. He had thought they were moving forward in whatever they had but they’d ended up moving many steps back. Everything that had happened had just been too much…

“I’m sorry,” he said, and he was, he really really was, “I’m sorry this is how it ended up going… I’m sorry.”

She just sighed shaking her head, “Not your fault… it would be so easy to just blame you, but it’s not your fault…”

They sat there for a little while longer, both looking down, in their own heads. “We should go get your things…”

“Alright… there aren’t many things, really, just a couple things from behind the wall.”

He just nodded, keeping quiet for lack of words really. It seemed like he never managed to say the right thing around her. Unless it was to get on her nerves, he was incredibly well versed at that. Anything else he failed miserably at. So he just got up and offered his hand to her to help up. He felt foolish almost immediately after, of course she wasn’t going to take his hand, she doesn’t need his or anyone else’s help.

To his surprise, she took his hand and accepted his help. She simply walked out and led the way to her smaller tent. They walked in silence through the camp, he simply followed her, his eyes tracing her outline as he meditated on the state of things. Was all of this his fault? Wasn’t it? If you wanted someone to win you a battle he was your man. A war? He could put something together. Anything Nesta Archeron related? He was clueless as a babe. Just his luck.

His eyes tracked her curves as she bent to enter her tent. Did it make him horrible that he like watching her? It made him feel quite conflicted… she might just be the enigma of his life and he was nowhere near figuring her out. All he had was that feeling, at the pit of his stomach that she would be important to him but that didn’t really tell him much.

He let her have a few moments to herself before he joined her, he understood how tough it could be to go through so many changes at one time. Truth be told, he had been worried about her since the end of the war… Maybe he’d be able to make it up to her by being there for her now. He entered the tent to find her kneeling on the ground clutching a small carved wooden figure to her chest. She wasn’t crying or anything of the sort, but… she wasn’t alright either. It took a moment for it to dawn on him that it was one of her father’s creations… Quietly, he sat next to her, not touching, not even looking at her. He just sat there.

Eventually she sat all the way down, her hands going lax, “I don’t even understand why this is so hard,” she whispered, “I hated him… I wished he was the dead one for since the day my mother died…” Her voice was so faint, it hurt him to hear it. It physically hurt him.

“He was still your father,” he said softly, and you saw him die, you pleaded for his life and he still died , he thought to himself, remembering how horrible it had been, how she’d sobbed, how in the end it hadn’t made a difference.

“We should get back,” she said quietly back.

He nodded, “Just tell me what you want to take and we can go.”

She took the little figurine and a little chip of wood with painting on it then pointed toward a wooden chest, something he’d learned was common on the other side of the wall, “The chest has my clothes in it,” she explained.

He nodded, walking to the chest and picking it up. It was heavier than he had anticipated, so he grunted as he picked it up.

Nesta gave a loud snort, “The Commander of the Night Tribe armies outdone by a stack of women’s clothes?”

He grunted again as he started walking, “A stack of women’s clothing inside a huge wooden box.”

“Stop whining and make yourself useful.”

“I am useful!” he said outraged, “Ask anyone!”

“Must I remind you that you are unemployed at the moment?”

“For a week!”

She shrugged, walking out of the tent. Cassian just chuckled as he walked after her.

anonymous asked:

Hello lovely admin!!! I already love your blog and I can't wait to see what else you put out!!! If it's not too much trouble, I'd like to request some HCs/reactions! I'd really like to know how the captains and Ichigo would react to their s/o being a waitress and coming home to tell them about all the terrible people they have to deal with. If that's too many characters then please pick your favorites to do instead! Thank you in advance!!! 💙💙💙💙

Hello, lovely anon! Aaah, you all and your compliments~ You’re making me blush! I’m was so excited to write this one!

Shunsui Kyoraku

–Shu would definitely be an avid listener. He likes to ask about how your day was when you get home anyway, so he’s already there waiting. Hearing how cruddy it was would give him this empathetic smile, and he would put his big hand on top of your head as he listened.
–He would tell you how proud he was of you for taking all the horrible patrons in stride. He’d say things like “That’s my girl,” and “You did well.” And he’d shamelessly let you pout, because it means he gets to hold you~


–Since she believes that struggles build character, she wouldn’t be too concerned with your day. She’d listen, give you some advice, and expect you to move on with your life.
–If you were really upset about it, I honestly feel like she’d probably loan you one of her prized black cat plushies. They make her feel better, why not you?

Rojuro “Rose” Otoribashi

–Always one for theatrics, he’d likely give you a heartwarming speech about perseverance. One that makes you roll your eyes, but ultimately lifts your mood because it’s quite ridiculous.
–He wouldn’t understand why you’re chuckling, because he was being serious, but in the end you’re happy, so he doesn’t mind. He’ll sling an arm around your shoulders, and give you a kiss on the cheek.

Retsu Unohana

–While she would comfort you, she’d also bring up that everyone has their own burdens to bear, and that all you can do is continue to be yourself. Some people react to stressors poorly, but that shouldn’t put damper on your mood.
–Also, tea.

Shinji Hirako

–If anyone were to blow it out of proportion, at least on a small scale, I have a feeling it would be Shinji. He’d suggest (only half joking) that he hunt them down in that eerily calm way he handles things. 
–This causes you to giggle, and tell him that’s not necessary, so he’ll settle back down. “Guess you’ll have to settle for some cuddling, then.”

Byakuya Kuchiki

–He would tell you to ignore such worthless people, that their opinion and words are utterly meaningless, as they come from the dregs of society.
–He would offer to take you on a walk about the gardens, and to sit with some tea by the koi pond to relax while he held your hand.

Sajin Komamura

–He’s probably up there with Shunsui on how he’d comfort you. He’s proud that you dealt with them well.
–Do you know Goro? His dog? Yeah, play with the dog. Dog’s make everything better, he would say.

Lisa Yadomaru

–She’s pretty damn robotic about it. She’s listening, honestly, but that rarely changing face of hers sometimes makes you wonder. 
–If you were upset, she’d probably offer to read manga with you. If you’re angry…she’d probably do the same thing. For someone who’s so unaffected by people, she’s not really sure what you want her to do except listen.

Kensei Muguruma

–Kensei, in his efforts to cheer you up (or calm you down, again, depending on if you were angry or not), would come off more like a drill sergeant. We all know he isn’t uncaring, however his angry demeanor is nearly impossible to break through. BUT, he’s also a tsundere.
–Bearing that in mind, when he realizes that what you really want is for him to hear you out, and maybe hug and kiss on you a bit, but complies…with a hilarious red tint to his cheeks.

Toshiro Hitsugaya

–Toshiro would definitely tell you not to dwell on it, but he would listen. While he generally finds complaining irritating, his s/o is special. Seeing you unhappy brings him no pleasure.
–However, if you mention anything like maybe there was a gross guy hitting on you, the air will drop a few noticeable degrees…

Kenpachi Zaraki

–Let’s get one thing straight, does he or does he not tend to solve things with violence? There’s a slim to none chance that if you’re dating Kenpachi, you can’t/don’t fight. For this, we’ll assume you’re pissed off, so it’s time to spar, work off some steam.
–…But not with necessarily with him (neither of you would enjoy that fight). He’ll acquire some of his willing subordinates, you’ll kick some ass, and you’ll call it a day when you’re wrapped up in his aggressive embrace.

Mayuri Kurotsuchi

–I’m sorry, but Mayuri just does not care. He doesn’t give a single shit, and there’s nothing you could say that would convince him otherwise. Unless one of the people who made your day awful were of an interesting background, or had some kind of unknown, strange ability that he could study, what happened is your problem.

Jushiro Ukitake

–This little bean, let me tell you, rivals Shunsui with how great he is at consoling you, or calming you down. He will make you tea, and give you sweets, and just generally be there for you.
–He would also give some similar advice as Unohana, saying that everyone has their own battle to fight, and that it’s no reflection on you. “Cheer up, my dear.” Also, sweet forehead smooches~

Ichigo Kurosaki

–This boy would just pull you into his arms, regardless of your mood, and listen while you bitched. He’s quiet, but shows he’s listening by nodding his head, and he’d tell you not to worry about it.
–When you’ve calmed down: “You feel better? Yeah? Good, let’s get something to eat.” Food doesn’t solve everything, but it definitely helps when you’ve had a bad day.

anonymous asked:

can you do RFA+V+Saeran for an mc who does MMA fighting :0 like they see her all banged up but she's still smiling (ofc bc who can't smile at the babes) n stuff. thank uuu

“bc who can’t smile at the babes“ Very accurate. I could be bleeding to death and I’d still smile at them.

-That’s mildly intimidating..
-He’s definitely not a fan of violence…
-That’s not going to change the fact that he is very impressed at how talented you are.
-Like you’re so strong?? How?? Can you tell me your secrets??
-Even though it’s violent, he’s supportive until the end of everything you do, so he attends all of your matches and sometimes also your training, if allowed.
-He was watching a match of yours and was growing more and more concerned. Never once has he doubted your skill, but your opponent is not holding back at all (not that he expected them to).
-During a time out, he rushes over to check on you.
-Your face is so bloody he almost screams.
-“H-hey, are you okay?”
-You give him a big smile. “I’m great!”
-Not the answer he was expecting but honestly he has so much respect for you. Like he’s always had so much respect for you but damn you just doubled it.
-Now, he’s your biggest cheerleader and fan, but he was before anyway. The only difference is he’s not as worried about every little thing that happens during your matches. He’s more focused on giving you encouragement from the audience.
-Seeing you injured isn’t a pleasant thing, but the fact that you can take so much is so admirable.

-He does take comfort in knowing you know how to fight, though. It takes some weight off his shoulders. You can defend yourself from the wolves~
-He watches all of your matches, of course; from the front row, if possible.
-Just like how you go to all of his performances.
-He’s very nervous the whole time because he’s paranoid that you’re going to get seriously injured. He is on the edge of his seat. Anytime you get hit, he has a heart attack.
-Zen knows you’re amazingly talented, but he can’t help but worry.
-When he sees you all beat up,
-he panics.
-Your nose is bleeding and your face is littered with bruises and dark marks.
-“Jagiya, are you okay??!!”
-You give him the most sparkling smile ever. “I’m great!”
-…Not the response he expected…but it’s adorable!!!! You have such a fighting spirit!!!
-He still worries about you, but now, he believes in you even more. He cheers from the sidelines all the time.
-He brags to everyone he knows that his s/o is an MMA fighter. He even tells exaggerated stories about matches you’ve won.
-If you have any awards, he displays them around his place.
-So proud.

-She knows judo.
-So everybody knows not to mess with either of you.
-You guys are the badass couple that looks all adorable and relationship goals worthy, but everybody knows to be nice or else they’ll get a black eye, if they’re lucky.
-You aren’t just a loving couple running a cafe together. You could fuck them up if needed.
-Don’t mess with Jaehee and her s/o or else.
-But anyway~~
-She is supportive af
-Words cannot describe how proud this Mom Friend™ is of you. She’ll go to every one of your matches. She wouldn’t miss it for the world.
-Soccer mom but instead of her kid it’s her s/o and instead of soccer it’s MMA fighting
-In her opinion, you’re more talented than she is when it comes to fighting.
-She’s usually able to stay calm when your opponent is beating you up. She knows it’s part of the sport and you’ve been through it all before.
-But you were getting beat. up. during this one match.
-When you have a timeout, she rushes over.
-“How are you feeling, _____?”
-You smile at her with a busted lip, bleeding down your face. “Better than ever!”
-Jaehee smiles back, inspired and pumped up by your energy.
-“That’s my _____!”
-Jaehee would rather attend your matches than musicals.
-That’s how much she loves you and your career.

-He doesn’t want you getting hurt.
-here we go again
-You tell him that you’ve been doing this for a while so you know what you’re doing, and you also go very in depth about all of the safety precautions in the sport to calm him down.
-While he was watching you fight once, you got beat up pretty bad, so he was very worried.
-When there is a timeout, he goes straight to you.
-“Love, are you okay?”
-You smile up at him. “Yeah, I’m doing great!”
-“…They must’ve hit your head too hard. Where is my lawyer?”
-Seriously, your bleeding profusely from your lip and you’re covered in bruises you’re not “doing great”.
-“Jumin, I’m fine.”
-Have fun convincing him
-With time, he’ll calm down. When you say you’re fine, you’re really fine. He trusts that you’re skilled and know your own limits.
-Eventually, he’s more proud and impressed than worried.
-Granted, he is still worried, but only low key.

-Impressed, to say the least.
-He knows how to defend himself, but you? You’re like a professional.
-He really pushes the “Defender 606” nickname. He calls you that all the time now.
-You’re so strong he just swoons.
-He likes watching you practice because you’re so talented and he’s so in awe of everything you can do.
-Stop staring at me Saeyoung I’m trying to focus on training
-At matches, he’s only a little worried about you.
-He knows punches are nothing. His 606 is too strong to be fazed by something so weak. He only gets worried about serious injuries like broken bones.
-You were getting the hell beat out of you once though and he was getting worried.
-During the time out, he goes to you.
-“How are you holding up..?”
-Despite having a busted lip and bloody nose, you give him the most determined, energetic smile and say “I’m doing great!”
-He laughs. “Yeah! You show ‘em, _____!”
-Cheering so loud it disturbs the people around him and he almost gets kicked out happens a lot.
-But he brags about you constantly. He’ll make up stories that are no where close to real just to make you sound even better than you already are.

-He doesn’t like violence of any kind really but he’s still sooo supportive of your MMA career.
-V, who wouldn’t hurt a fly, in love with you, an MMA fighter.
-Seeing you get hit always makes him worried but he trusts your skills.
-He can be a bit of a doting mother hen sometimes, like he’ll give you bandaids and treat even your smallest injuries once you get home because it’s important to him.
-“Make sure to stretch, _____!”
-“_____, remember to drink plenty of water while you’re training!”
-He does go to all of your matches as support. Honestly, his presence motivates you.
-But, one day, your opponent was beating the hell out of you.
-V became concerned. He rushed to you during a timeout.
-“My love, are you okay?”
-Busted lip and bloody nose, you smile widely. “Of course!”
-..Oh, okay.
-No need to worry then. _____ can handle themselves.
-So he just calmly goes back to his seat after giving you a few motivating words. He’s not as worried about you because you’re obviously fine.
-He congratulates you after each match and tells you how amazing you were, even if you lost.

-He likes that you know so much about fighting because it means you can handle yourself if need be. It eases his worry and anxiety knowing that if you were in danger, you could defend yourself, and if he was in danger, you could defend him.
-He flinches every time you get hit, and sometimes even when you just get swung at.
-One match, you’re getting really battered up, so he is a big ball of anxiety.
-He comes over and checks on you during a time out, visibly very concerned.
-You smile widely, your mouth a bit bloody. “I’m fine, Saeran. I feel great!”
-Is that normal..?
-But he trusts you so… he believes you when you say you’re okay.
-He really doesn’t like you getting hurt but you’re obviously okay, judging by your attitude towards the sport.
-He really doesn’t understand the appeal in this kind of thing, but he doesn’t want to be unsupportive. Sometimes, though, he doesn’t attend your matches simply because to full of loud crowds and people fighting so it makes him uncomfortable. If it means anything, he does wish he could support you better…
-He tries his best please be patient

rigitwolf  asked:

Ok, I know everyone praises P2 for having a canon gay relationship, But can we talk about how it isn't apex of represantation. I mean, while Jun's great, writers avoided giving him a Shadow. Also his relationship with Tatsuya has pretty much all yaoi cliches of that time (like game can't stop reminding us how feminine Jun is). I think Naoto and Kanji's (and Chie's, in the original) are much realistic and meaningful represantations of gender perspective in Japan.

I agree with some things you have said Anon, but I also think you got a lot of things wrong too, so I’m going to try to adress those things down below in this big post.

Just have in mind that this could be just my own opinion in the matter and I could have made some mistakes or forgotten to mention something, but I really respect your opinion and I will be careful to say anything about the matter.

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anonymous asked:

Okay (btw i love that mcspirk one) but maybe with idk, space sirens? Like they attack the ship and as siren they should have to pull them out in space and let them die (and they eat them too i guess) but jim/bones siren can't because the other is very attractive so they sort of save the other's life (maybe through a kiss bc those who are kissed by sirens can breathe in space?) And optionally some other sirens maybe try to eat/kill them anyways but the other fights them off and all?

  • Sirens don’t work like most predatory creatures roaming space. They don’t attack humans or other aliens outright, instead they’re much more like vultures. Waiting for others to attack, and then picking off the scraps. Luring doesn’t work so well when nobody hears you through the thick walls of space ships. With humans in Klingon territory, that’s usually very easy dinner. Humans in their own, not so much. And sometimes, when hunger strikes enough, sirens will attack those smaller supply shuttles.
  • Jim is part of the group that attacks two small shuttles on their way to bigger ships, like the Enterprise. Jim’s seen it pass multiple times. The lights, the speed, the pure size of it magnificent. But these vessels won’t ever make it there, because his family is breaking the shuttles apart and dragging victims outside.
  • He doesn’t usually think twice about it, until now. His eyes find Leonard immediately, when the hole in the shuttle drags his body outside and tumbling into outer space. Jim is quick to get to him, but something stops him from his usual habit. Leonard looks at him, eyes dark and angry - not even necessarily terrified. Just intimidatingly mad, and somehow, Jim feels like he needs to keep this man alive. He doesn’t know why yet, but it’s a gut feeling. And so he reaches out, cupping Leonard’s cheeks, and he leans in to kiss him.
  • “What. The fuck?!” Is the first thing Leonard shouts at him, and Jim smiles fondly at him. “I saved your life,” he says. “Like hell you did,” Leonard says, and Jim tries to stifle a laugh at how helplessly the other floats without Jim holding on to him. Humans are weird that way. “Why can I breathe here?” “The same way fish breathe in water,” Jim explains. “… No,” Leonard replies. “Yes,” Jim says. “I’m going to die here,” Leonard mutters to himself. Around them, nothing but some debris from the shuttle, and otherwise a whole lot of nothing. “You’re not going to die here,” Jim promises. “And if I die,” Leonard continues, blatantly ignoring Jim, “so will hundreds of others. I can’t believe this. Fucking space.” “Wait, what are you talking about?” Jim asks. “I’m a doctor, damn it, I was traveling to a ship that would take me to a planet suffering a bad epidemic.” “Well,” Jim says slowly, “shit.”
  • Leonard’s arms are strong around Jim’s shoulders as Jim swims - or flies, however you’d call it - through space. It’s not unpleasant, but the odd feeling in Jim’s stomach is guilt, and maybe the excitement of having something to do other than simply surviving. If he can get Leonard to that nearby ship, then maybe he could still save all those people. And if that meant never seeing this man again, not having him as his own, then so be it.
  • They do get Leonard back on a ship, but not the way Jim had intended. Leonard uses his comms to signal the ship, and to beam just himself aboard. But when he mentions Jim’s a siren, Jim gets beamed on board, too. The sudden surge of oxygen around them makes him gasp for air, though his body is quick to adapt to it. What he’s not adapting to, though, is the force pushing him down to the ground, arms quickly tied behind his back. “Wait,” he hears Leonard call out, “Jim’s not harmful. Let him go.” But they don’t, and Jim’s knocked unconscious.
  • He wakes up in a small room with zero gravity and little oxygen, more accomodating than the ship itself, but it’s still a prison. Theres even a guard in front of the glass window, doing his best to ignore Jim when the other knocks on the glass. “Please,” Jim says, “I just wanted to help. Let me go.” “I cannae,” the guard says, a weird accent Jim can barely understand, “we have our orders.” “I will die in here,” Jim says. “No you won’t, the captain’s delivering you to the collector.” “The what?” “It’s like a zoo,” the guard explains, though that doesn’t really explain anything to Jim at all.
  • “Leonard,” Jim says when the doctor comes to see him. “Are you okay?” Leonard asks, but Jim shakes his head. “No, Leonard, I don’t want to be here.” “I know,” Leonard says, “I’m sorry. I’ll see what I can do for you.”
  • Jim doesn’t know how long he’s been there. Must be a while, because every time Leonard visits him he’s wearing a different outfit. He does his best to try and persuade the captain of the scavenger ship to let Jim go, but apparently Jim is worth some good money. At least the guard, Scotty, is nice. Gives him most of the meat on his plate and chats to him about building things. More ships, and stuff like that. Jim is still miserable, but in the presence of these two men, a little less so.
  • “How are you doing?” Leonard asks, “are you holding up alright?” “No,” Jim says, “Scotty explained to me what a zoo is. I don’t want to be put on display, Leonard. I don’t… This is what I get from saving your ass. I should’ve just eaten you.” “Why didn’t you?” Leonard asks, and Jim shrugs. Hesitates, before he answers. “You were beautiful.” Leonard looks at him blankly for a few seconds, then; “What?”. “I thought you were beautiful,” Jim says, “eating you would’ve been a waste.” Leonard sighs, quiet for the longest time, and then he bangs his fist against the glass dividing them, hard enough to make Jim jump. “Damn it,” Leonard curses, “fine. Ima smuggle you out of here.”
  • The roles are reversed, now. Jim’s arms are tightly around Leonard’s shoulders as the other carries him through narrow corridors. Scotty helps them, for no reason other than the goodness of his heart. Also partially because their plan is to escape in a small cargo ship, and Scotty wants to fly it. Doesn’t really like his job here, anyway, he says. And thankfully, Scotty knows just which corridors to take, who to avoid, and how to get to the docking station relatively unseen.
  • By the time they fly out, they’ve shot a few people, but no one rang that alarm. Not yet, but Scotty suspects they will, soon, and he sets course to hide the ship amidst a meteor shower. “Are you nuts?” Jim overhears Leonard yell at Scotty. “They won’t look for us here,” Scotty says. “Because we’ll fucking die,” Leonard counters. “I know how to fly a shuttle, doctor! We won’t crash.” Though he’s barely finished his sentence when they do hit a rock nearby. “Starting now,” Scotty finishes his sentence.
  • The scavenger ship passes the meteor shower without looking at them, and Leonard lets out a relieved sigh. “I think we’re in the clear,” he says, sitting down next to Jim, and he gently squeezes his arm. “Where do you want us to drop you off?” “Well, where are you going?” Jim asks. “That planet I mentioned before, they still need help. After that, back into space, probably.” “Can I come with, when you go?” “I mean, if you want to,” Leonard says. “Then yes, I’d like that,” Jim says. Leonard helps him up towards the exit of the shuttle, but he makes sure he’s secured tightly himself before considering opening that door. “Thank you,” Jim repeats, and he leans in to kiss him. “What was that for?” Leonard asks. “Just making sure you can breathe in space, when that door opens,” Jim says, throwing him a small smile. “You already did that.” “Hmm,” Jim agrees, hands on Leonard’s cheeks and he shamelessly repeats his actions. “Again?” Leonard asks, though Jim smiles when he feels the other’s arms around him. “Maybe one more time,” Jim says, “just to be sure.”

anonymous asked:

I loved your post-game tarot card for Isii, and I wanted to ask: what do you think all of the companion tarot cards are? Some are obvious (Dorian's default= The Magician) but plenty of them I can't figure out. What's your take?

Hope you were looking for a detailed examination of each of the companion and adviser cards and their meanings, cause that’s what you’re gonna get. :P

First, I’m so glad you like Isii’s post-game tarot card. I’ve been meaning to finish her starting card for quite some time now. As for the companion cards, I think some of them are stronger than others in terms of how well the card’s meaning matches the character it’s tied to. Images were sourced from this post where you can see scans of the entire DAI Tarot set.

One last thing: Tarot cards are highly interpretational based on context. That’s why you can shape a cohesive “narrative” from what is otherwise an arguably random assortment of cards. While the Major Arcana tend to have fairly well-defined qualities, the Minor Arcana does not possess the same consistency. (If you don’t believe me, go do some digging on tarot card meanings from different books and websites. You are likely to find completely different and sometimes contradictory meanings for certain cards, depending on the author.) Quotes used are sourced from ata-tarot


Beginning Card: The Hermit

The Hermit is a figure that has risen above emotion and disconnected from his desires - they are distractions that stand in the way of his journey. The Hermit strives for wisdom and seeks answers from within rather than the outside world. He can only depend on himself. He alone is immutable and he knows that any person who lends him aid cannot help him forever. Such alliances are temporary. “For true wisdom to emerge, there can be no distractions. Any preoccupations of the world, no matter how small or inconsequential they may seem, will be heard as shouts that drown out the still voice within.” The Hermit is alone, not only by choice but by necessity and is comfortable traveling through darkness if it means he will emerge in the light at the end. The Hermit may try to guide others with the lessons he has learned, but he is not a teacher. He knows he cannot teach what must be learned through experience. The appearance of the Hermit suggests that a mentor may appear in the subject’s life or that they must choose to help guide another into discovering their own truths.

Romanced: The Hierophant

The Hierophant is a holy man, one who holds secret or forbidden knowledge. Most often it is represented as a high-ranking member of the clergy, a symbol of the power of spirituality to shape the world according to one’s beliefs. Unlike the Hermit who moves alone, the Hierophant is a leader who others follow not because they have been coerced or deceived but because their faith drives them. The Hierophant is not an individualistic card - all is done for the betterment of the whole. The needs of the many outweigh his own desires. The Hierophant is tasked with the preservation or return to tradition and a rejection of its opposition. While this can sometimes be harmful (like the historical treatment of those who oppose Church teachings), it is usually beneficial. The Hierophant is a far cry from rebellion - his is a card of order and uniformity. If the Hierophant appears, it may foretell the appearance of a mentor; someone who will teach you his beliefs in the hopes that you will join him. The subject should be open to receiving these lessons. Something is coming and the subject lacks the experience to face it alone. Only he can provide that.

Ending Card (unromanced): The Tower

The Tower is a destructive force, though it should not be taken as something malicious. The crumbling structure needs to fall in order to be rebuilt. When wisdom and enlightenment are resisted, sometimes their influence must be forced. Old attitudes and beliefs have to be abandoned, whether you like it or not.  “You do not want to give up your ideals, and you cling to them like a child to his precious security blanket. This attempt at security ensures nothing, really, except a disastrous change that will painfully rip away that which you did not discard of your own volition.” The Tower is not a gentle card, but often necessary. It usually represents tearing away lies the subject has been telling themselves, facing harsh truths in favor of comfortable deception. The crumbling tower’s fall is inevitable due to its faulty foundation. Rather than waiting for it to collapse, The Tower gives it a sharp shove and lets gravity do the rest. Rather than focusing on the rubble, The Tower should be seen as a card of opportunity; it is like a phoenix, burning away the old and sickly so that something can be reborn in its place. When The Tower appears, the subject should prepare themselves for change and be ready to let go of what makes them feel comfortable and secure, otherwise the transition will be a painful one. If the subject ignores the warning and clings to the status quo, the are in for a rude awakening. Change will happen because it is needed and nothing they can do will stop it.


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icouldbewicked  asked:

OMG I didn't notice Murdoc's red eye. Please give us more of that, Jamie. Anyway I mentioned the cover because it looks as if Russel is having to lit in the most effort of support 2D. I can't imagine the convo they with possibly Murdoc and Russ arguing on the position/who supports him most, until maybe Noodle takes control. And yes 2D has no shirt on. Now I wonder what Russ would say or so once 2D saw the cover.

(In reference to this Crack cover)

(ao3 link)

“I’mma hurl, mates.” 2D’s voice was slurred and mumbly even more than usual, the high-pitched intonations turned down and sloppy. He got like this, sometimes, but. Well, this was extreme, even for him. Either he was still hungover or he lied when he mumbled that he was in ‘right top sober shape’ earlier that morning. 

“If you ‘hurl’, yeah, I’m gonna push yer damn face in it.” Murdoc groused. He, too, was hungover, but that was a normal occurrence for him during press days. Any day, really. When your wake-up call was a screwdriver or some irish creamer, the sudden lack of it didn’t do well for anyone’s mood. 

2D groaned and leaned forward, his face squat against the front seat. They’d rented one of those nice luxury SUV’s while they were in the city, and the sun-tinted windows were coming in handy. Even so, he looked miserable. 

“Muds, I ain’t… I ain’t jokin.’ I need somethin.’” His voice was even quieter than usual. 

“I said shut u-”

“No you didn’t. Be quiet, Niccals. He don’t need the noise.” Russel looked at the back seat, glaring holes at both of them.

“Oh, he’s fine, Ho-” Murdoc paused, watching as 2D groaned and started rubbing his palms against his eyes. Uh-oh. That was a shitty sign. The last thing they needed was to cancel the photo shoot because their lead singer got a crippling migraine and had to lay down for three days. Shit. “Fuck.” 

He rustled around his bag, trying to find something, as Russel periodically glanced back at the two of them. His annoyance, too, turned to worry when he saw how bad off 2D was looking (”ironically green,” Noodle muttered, when Russel asked her to pay attention to what was going on).

“I told’ya, I’mma- I feel like shit,” 2D mumbled. He sounded pathetic, but then again, he usually did when he was sick.

“Can you at least wait until we get there? We’re gonna be late. You can- You can hurl in the bathroom, or something, right?” Russel asked, and was met with just another groan. 

Murdoc was still rummaging through his bag (something he seemed to take only to press circuits like this and seemed to have a little bit of everything in, if only he could find it), and finally came up victorious just as 2D rolled down the window and let out a disgusting bout of dry-heaves. 

Luckily, nothing came out, but still; Noodle gagged and Russel turned a little green at the noises he made. 

Murdoc pulled the singer back with a jerk, grinning triumphantly. 

“What’chu smilin’ for?” 2D asked plaintively. “All’a us are gonna look green in the pictures now.” 

“Nah, nah, mate, see? Just take this. Here, here, drink some water with it.” Murdoc handed him something, along with a water bottle. 

2D, maybe as a testament to some of his more nefarious practices, didn’t even question it, merely downing it and then drinking about half the water bottle to wash it down. He numbly handed the water bottle back (Murdoc, not expecting it, just let it drop to the floor of the slowly cluttering SUV), and pushed up against the back of Russel’s seat once more.

“You give him some ibuprofen, Muds?” Russel asked.

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, somethin’ like that.”

“Good. We’re pulling in now. Hang in there, ‘D, you’ll feel better soon.”

2D gave a weak thumbs up through the middle divider of the front seat, and Murdoc just laughed. 

An hour and a half later and Russel finally keyed in to the fact that whatever Murdoc gave 2D, it was not ibuprofen. 

Sometimes, no matter how hard 2D tried to hide it, when he was not sober, his eyes would… Almost seem to reflect light differently. And now was no exception. Glassy and unfocused though they were, as usual, there was something more about them that meant no picture with him completely bare-faced would ever hit the stands. 

Murdoc just laughed about this fact, while Russel gave a world-weary sigh. It took Noodle to just slap a pair of glasses on his face and be done with it. 

The real problems didn’t arise until they were actually standing in front of the green screen and being told to pose. It wasn’t too abnormal for their gang to be dressed weird; especially 2D. Interviewers hadn’t just grown used to their, ah, unique way of answering questions, but their unique clothing styles, too. 

So shirtlessness, glasses, jeans and a propeller hat, while odd, held a kind of avant garde style to it that Crack could appreciate. 

2D being unable to stand up on his own, on the other hand, was an issue. Not to mention his incessant giggling. 

“I’m confiscating that ‘bag’ of yours after this,” Russel said out of the side of his mouth, grabbing the back of 2D’s pants when the man started to slide down, like his legs couldn’t hold him up. 

“Aw, fuck off, he isn’t tryin’ to puke now, is he? I count that as a marked improvement. 

“Hm.” Russel hummed, annoyed, and when he got 2D standing again, said, “’Least you can do is help hold him up.”

They all fidgeted for a while, trying to get maneuvered, while 2D giggled and generally flailed (”like a giant idiot,” as Murdoc put it, and Noodle fixed with “an idiot you created, Muds, so I don’t know what that makes you”). 

The photographers clearly weren’t getting anything good, and they were all getting increasingly annoyed, so eventually Noodle just huffed, stood back and watched the boys fall and then nodded. “Russ, you stand there, let Chee lean against you. Muds? Stand in front of him, help pin him in. I’ll keep him straight.” 

The resulting image? Weirdly posed and not altogether composed, but at least everyone looks alive. Murdoc and Russel even look like they’re approaching happiness, and 2D, while looking manic as hell, is at least presentable. More than usual, maybe; it’s amazing what the lack of anxiety does to that kid’s smile. Noodle, for her part, thinks she looks…. Well, odd, but it could be worse. 

They could all be taking pictures stinking of 2D’s vomit. 

Still. They’re all going to have to have a very long, very serious talk about the presence of anything other than ibuprofen in the house (or on the road) from here on out. Regardless of hangover status.

Don’t Forget, Pt. 3

Originally posted by colorfulbts

Summary: “It is okay if you do not remember me, I can do the remembering. But in a world where I hold absolutely no place in your life, not even as the girl who knew your name before your face, I think it would be a place too cruel to live in.

Characters: Jungkook, (she/her) Reader, Taehyung

Tags: Angst, romance, food for thought

Memo (Prologue), Pt. 1, Pt. 2

There is a certain lucid quality in the way time ticks while on commute, the idea of leaving behind a neighbourhood so faithfully occupied during the past years of your life for a territory beyond breeds a sense of detachment in your system. Your body remains bound by the ropes of reality, yet your spirit wanders with no desire of  ever returning.

Perhaps it is in your best interest that you cultivate the habit of breaking away every once in a while, though admittedly, the prospect of retreating into the dreams that afflict you so for comfort, be they night or day, is terribly ironic. But you cannot help it. You suppose it is to do with being born a dreamer. Trodding through life with no solid plan, the tiles behind you crumble with the lifting of each foot, and the path ahead is formed in the space where your feet land next, a future made of earthquakes that threaten to pull you under.

Nothing is ever clear to you. Not reality. Not dreams, certainly not the days ahead. And you question why you continue to go through with such uncertainty, why you have not yet called it quits with the world and cross into the other side when the boundaries that separated each half have long blurred and blended together.

You like to think that up until last night’s events, you have lived a life in search of answers to questions you did not know to ask.

His name is Jungkook.

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tomsleftbrow  asked:

can you write another that's like the reader is a costar on SM:H and it's kinda like the song Satisfied from Hamilton where Haz is Angelica (giving up the girl) and Tom is like Eliza (getting the girl) but there are still super strong feelings between reader and Haz. And the one you just wrote was perfect- I can't. Sorry for bugging ya!

Pairing: Tom x Reader

Storyline: (x) 

I also thought of this song while writing this: (xx)

Originally posted by starkquinzel

You sat, perched classily on the stool in front of the bar. Chatter was surrounding you as your eyes scanned the wall of various bottles of aged liquor. A man, dressed suitably in a black vest, sat beside you. His eyes met yours briefly, giving you a smile that made your heart flutter.

“Hello, darling.” He spoke breathlessly, his voice was soft, with an elegant accent. You returned the smile. The bartender came over then, asking for his poison. After taking your orders, since you were dry, the well-dressed man turned to you.

“What’s a lady like you doing sitting by herself?” He asked, subconsciously bringing his pink lips in between his teeth..

“No man can quite get it right.” You answered, giving him a sly smirk.

“Get what right?” He asked, leaning in closer to you, his eyes playful. You didn’t answer as the bartender slid over your guys’ drinks.

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Sometimes, he thinks about his mother.

When the sky is grey but too indifferent for rain, and even Brooklyn is drowsy and quiet beneath him. When his schedule is unusually slow, but potions are steeping, and he needs to give his eyes a break because ancient symbols are blurring together from the strain of another night turned into an early morning. In these empty seconds, when he’s caught off-guard by the lack of consultations, meetings, visitors, demands-

Here, in these quiet moments, when the silence is staggering, his mind wanders down paths he knows are fraught with dangers. One tentative step, a smell, or in this case, a color, and he knows he should pull – run - back, but he’s already traveled too deep, hasn’t he? So he goes deeper, leaving behind storm clouds for the dull grey of three ceramic bowls set neatly along a small table.

A small and rundown thing, wasn’t it? Centered in the middle of a room he can’t quite remember. He can remember his mother’s laugh, one delicate hand cupping the thick, ceramic dish, another gently smoothing his then tangled hair. How his stepfather would wink before stacking the bowls, then tucking him into his small cot, the linen always itchy, but comfortable in ways only nostalgia can account for. Magnus thinks about how, for a few years, they were happy, a family, and then -  

A demon. An echo in time that reverberates throughout the loft, shaking the crystals of his chandelier. Forgive me, Father. He thinks about the gasp that likely came when a dagger pierced warm skin. And then-

It’s for the best, a shaken, broken voice. Just don’t fight it. Don’t fight. Fingers wrapping around his throat, squeezing and pushing him into the freezing waters below. And for a few agonizing seconds, Magnus was sure he was going to die, and maybe he was meant to, but then-

Vodka, Magnus thinks, slamming back into himself with a force that shatters the table lamp next to him. And if his heart is racing, well, he’s already reaching for the remedy.

One gulp, a quick and desperate thing, but it doesn’t help. Of course it doesn’t. The burn of vodka threatens to take him back, submerge him in memories of fire filling his throat, but it wasn’t the water anymore, was it? It was something else, something primal, building in the base of his gut until his body shook with it. And he wants to pull back, remove his own memories until he can’t remember the feeling of energy ripping from his body, but it’s too late, it’s too-

A knock. Forceful and loud against his door.

Magnus surrenders to the shudder that passes through him. It’s not enough to shake away the memories, but it’s enough to unclench his jaw, smooth away the ridges between his eyebrows until whoever’s knocking won’t notice the storm raging on the inside.  

Another succession of knocks, faster and louder than before. “And suddenly there came a tapping,” Magnus mumbles, pleased with the way his voice doesn’t waiver.

One deep breath and a snap of his fingers reveals Simon, huddled and trembling between the doors. There’s no trace of the creature that could rip a mundane in two if he chose to, just the shell of a boy, frightened and oh so alone.

“I-I saw my mom,” he says, voice breaking like a wave. “I didn’t even mean to, I swear. Not after Raphael made me promise not to after he- after he – but then there she was. Ten feet in front of me and I couldn’t say hi, couldn’t even wave to let her know I was okay. G-go-” he swallows the words he still can’t say, “I wanted to, you know. I just wanted to see her smile, tell her that everything’s going to be okay, but I can’t. I can’t and she’s so sad, Magnus. She looked so sad and I did that to her. This is all my fault.”

“Oh, Simon,” Magnus soothes and ushers him in.


Gold and green pigment swirl together like a nebula against the setting sun. Beautiful, Magnus thinks, a work of art, really. Expertly crafted with the finest of ingredients. Another job impeccably accomplished if he says so himself.

“Chance of failure?” The client asks lowering the vial until they’re gripping it against their sternum.

“So long as it’s used as directed, the chance of something- unfortunate -happening is…minimal.” Magnus punctuates the point with the wave of his ringed fingers and a smile that holds no hints of reassurance.

Glancing back towards the vial, they’re lips part in hesitation. Under usual circumstances, the caution would be something respectable, after all, potions and serums are not things that anyone should handle half as carelessly as they normally do. But today, after six months of work accumulated to only three ounces of liquid and a skeptical glace, it’s downright grating.

“Minimal,” they repeat, voice verging on accusatory.

Magnus shrugs. “If you never go out on the branch, you’ll never get the fruit.”

“It’ll have to do.” Not thank you, of course, never thank you. Just good and finally and you’ll hear from me if something goes wrong.

“Now,” Magnus says, bringing his palms together to alleviate the weariness that’s setting into his joints. “About the remainder of my payment.”


Another tissue pulled from the box, soon crumpled and discarded onto the floor with the others.

“Love,” Magnus says, certainly not thinking about brooding eyes, and a touch that literally threatens to undo him- “is a tricky thing, indeed. Let’s get you sorted, shall we?”


Magnus portals back to his loft precisely four seconds before his phone starts ringing. Placing several boxes of fresh ingredients delicately on the table, he shuffles through his pockets before sighing. So much for assuming he could have a simple night in with Alec.

It’s how he finds himself, hands in pockets, some fifteen blocks from Van Brunt Street. Instinctively, Magnus checks the glamour, making sure they’re protected from the rush-hour traffic flowing around them. Summer moisture is thick in the air, along with palpable tension. Thankfully, the situation isn’t as dire as Luke initially assumed, and while the injuries are severe, the young werewolf, Asa, if he recalls correctly, will survive.

Magnus watches as Luke sends off the remaining members of his pack, back rigid with strain. As soon as they round the corner, Luke undergoes one of several transformations he’s perfected since he was bitten. Gone is the alpha wolf, demanding order after the attack. In his place, stands someone more level-headed and tired. Magnus can’t help but see himself in the pinch of Luke’s should as the detective turns towards him.

“Witnesses?” Magnus asks, already guessing the answer.  

“Unlikely,” Luke responds. “And you’re going to be hard pressed to convince them this was an unfortunate run in between Downworlders. Asa’s convinced it was deliberate.”

Magnus noted the lack of cameras as soon as he appeared on the scene. If the fight was indeed the result of a coincidental run in and heated words, it certainly was a well-placed one. “You think he was followed?”

“Potentially. Figure I’ll pay a visit to some neighboring shops, see if I can pick up anything odd that might tip us off.“

Magnus nods. "Good call.” Then after a second: “Thought about bringing anyone else in?”

Luke rubs at his neck, likely revisiting a question that’s been lurking around the peripheral of his mind all evening. There’s no need to ask about who Magnus is referring to. Clary, no doubt, was one of the first people Luje thought to reach out to. Personally, Magnus would go with someone a little taller, someone with a wide smile, whose body contoured perfectly with his own. How he longs to be wrapped around that particular body right now.

“I’d like to keep this between us,” Luke responds, finally, and Magnus can’t argue. “This will be delicate enough without getting the others involved. At least for the time being.”

Magnus has spent a fair share of time with Luke over the past few months, between their mutual involvement with a certain set of Shadowhunters, a growing unease between Downworlders, and a desperate hunt for Valentine. So much so that his judgment is easy to defer to. Luke is careful where he needs be, bold when the occasion calls for it, and most importantly, rational when emotions are running high. It was easy to come to respect him, easier still to call him friend.

"Full discretion,” Magnus agrees with a quick pull of his lips, “say no more.”

“I appreciate it.” Luke moves to stand next to Magnus, shoulders still tight with unease. “You know they’ll want blood for this.”

“They always do.”

They exhale in unison, comfortable enough with each other to stand there, shoulder to shoulder, wondering how they’re going to prevent the situation from escalating.

“You’ll help me keep the peace?” Luke asks, finally. “May not be pretty and there’s already enough on your plate.”

Magnus takes a long, careful breath. Funny how keeping the peace always feels like picking a side. Briefly, he wonders what he’ll lose in the process this time. "As much as I can.”

Luke reaches out, placing a hand on his shoulder.  "Thank you,“ he says, and Magnus feels it.

"Of course,” Magnus answers, nearly breathless.  It’s never thank you, after all. “It’s what I do.”

“Yeah,” Luke agrees, “but you don’t have, and I can’t deny it feels good having you in my corner.”

“Well, that makes two of us.”


He loses himself, sometimes.

Nights when trails of blue weave through his fingers like serpents. Caressing his skin as it weaves through his rings until it captures his wrists, kisses his arms, before wrapping itself around his body.

There is no space here to worry about younger warlocks integrating dark magic into their spells, or contracts he’s become too preoccupied to finish. No room to envision Catarina’s self-satisfying smirk because she was right after all, wasn’t she? But he’s accustomed enough with that to tuck it away and examine it later.

Valentine is prowling the perimeters of an ever growing shadow and for the first time in a very long time, Magnus doesn’t have an immediate solution to the threat. Hasn’t a clue how to protect a Downworld that’s unraveling from fear.  

There will be time to think about all of that later. Tonight, with the last of winter nipping at his skin, Magnus unfurls his fingers as an orb of white grows between his palms. Breathing in, he expels the last of his worries, watching as his energy flows through his hands until he can cradle it.


I’m worried about you, not-Ragnor says from a position he’s certainly not taking up on the couch.

“Why?” Magnus asks in spite of himself. To his credit, he doesn’t look this time, even with evening drowsiness softening the edges of his instincts. “Just this week I saved a woman’s son, helped Luke prevent another war between werewolves - you should have seen Raphael handle the rouge vampire group, the potential in him-

Of course you did. Magnus imagines the frown, daunt and unseemly. That, my old friend, is precisely why I’m worried.


“I have to say,” Magnus says, hand trialing down the cracked cover of a tome that bleeds timelessness into his skin, “these are quite exquisite.”

Catarina hums next to him, eyes half lidded and dark. Four hours he assisted with a healing that had pushed even his friend’s abilities to her limits, yet here he is, pouring the remainder of his strength into a collection of books it’s simply not fair for one warlock to possess. Oh, Magnus has his share of collectibles and trinkets, most immortals are prone to collecting odds and ends, but these, he thinks, feeling energy pulsate under his palm, are treasures indeed.

“Something told me you would appreciate them,” she says, voice soft from spent energy.

“And I do,” Magnus agrees. He moves towards the next volume, flipping through pages of lore half-forgotten and obscured by ages.  “Well, if you wanted my curiosity consider me hooked, how did you manage to get your hands on these?” It’s unbecoming, he knows, but tomes like these are never freely offered.

Nor, it appears, are straightforward answers from friends. “I’ve seen where your curiosity leads and I have no interest in it,” she responds as sweetly as the wine in her cup. If Magnus looked up, he’d catch her staring from the side of her eyes, satisfaction settled on her shoulders like a shawl. He doesn’t give her the pleasure and imagines her smile growing wider.

“It seems like age is finally making a bore out of you,” he quips, hiding his own smirk in a sip of red wine.

Setting down her glass, Catarina sits up until she’s facing Magnus, blue skin highlighted auburn by the fire. “If that’s the side-effect of wisdom, I readily accept it. And you, dear friend, should consider those an example.”

“An example?” He’s taking the bait, but Catarina knows how to work him and they both know it.

“Of where your attention should be focused. Perhaps if you distanced yourself from the problems of everyone surrounding you, you’d have more time to spend taking care of yourself and your own passions.” If it’s meant to be light, there’s a weight to the words neither of them miss. “Instead, you’re moderating Downworlder dramatics and interjecting yourself in Shadowhunter affairs.”

Magnus feels his head tilt to the left before he realizes he’s doing it. “Trust me, Catarina, my passions have never been so well tended.”

“Ah,” she responds with her own head tilt. “Deflection. They’d be more dignity in simply agreeing with me.”

Catarina isn’t wrong, not entirely. Spaces once reserved for bargaining services in exchange for goods beyond ingredients and information are becoming increasingly overcome by Clary and Jace barging into his loft or mending reoccurring rifts between Simon and Raphael or listening to the pleas of a seelie before facing trial. After shouldering room in his schedule for Alec, well, there’s not much room for much else. 

It’s a conversation they’ve had countless times, and if Catarina has lost a measure of support in the absence of Ragnor, it’s not exactly a comfort. Thing is, Magnus has never been particularly good at turning his back on those who need his help, has he? Even when his mind begs him for it. An hour, a day, just a moment to breathe without the weight of the world pressing against him like a vice-grip.

And sometimes, Magnus wants to listen. But every time he thinks about a werewolf or vampire, frightened, alone, abandoned, he remembers walking down unfamiliar streets, the yearning to tuck himself in a cot that no longer existed, and even if it did, he wouldn’t be welcome there. Not in that bed, or that home, or the family that he was once able to call his own.

Demon, the word bites into his neck like a mantis, but he’s been living with the poison since he ran from the riverbed.

He won’t allow another Downworlder to feel what he felt. Regardless of what he has to give up in the process.

His hand stills, palm flat on the tome. “There’s dignity in helping others,” Magnus says, voice low like the flicker of flame behind him. “Besides, if Valentine wins, it won’t be the Shadowhunters who will suffer the loss.”

Catarina falls back against her chair, shoulders pushing against the plush pink velvet. “Don’t you get tired of cleaning up everyone’s messes?”

A ghost of a smile pulls at Magnus’ lips, but it doesn’t stick. “They need me, Catarina.”

“Magnus,” she says, and he can already feel her words of warning swarming towards him like hornets. Instead of a bitter sting, there’s a just a rush of air as she exhales. “There’s always been too much room in that heart of yours for your own good. It’s going to be your doom.”

She smiles at him, a soft and tragic thing born from a fight she can’t keep fighting.

They both know how this ends, the price he constantly pays.

His reply is lost to the taste of wine coating his tongue. And there it is again, the silence that creeps into his head and does wicked things with his thoughts. Bending and twisting and molding until toes are creeping past the wood of a bridge and he can’t hear anything past the roar that says jump. But instead of a roar, it’s a whimper. Pleading and begging him to give in.

Stop it coos. You’ve done enough. Hasn’t he earned the chance to rest? Let go, it soothes, and sometimes, Magnus wishes he could.

Times when he feels hallowed out and scraped raw. When he’s certain he has nothing left to give, but somehow manages to find a piece of himself not yet ripped from his rib cage and hands it over, free of charge, to another Downworlder broken in ways his soul can still relate to. Just wall himself off like his friends have begged him to, like his heart has pleaded him to, but then he remembers how hard he fought to open himself up again. Forgetting every stone that cracked his temple and the warmth of the blood that trickled down his face because he was different. Dangerous in ways that humans feared and Downworlder’s couldn’t account for.

Magnus finishes the remainder of his wine in one long gulp and for a second, it feels like drowning all over again.

“That’s what I thought,” Catarina says. “I’ve taken the liberty of sending for the others. Most won’t come; likely too busy fortifying their homes in case Valentines finds a way to activate the sword. Those who do, they’ll need orders, and something to make it worth the risk. I’ll see to that.”

Magnus snaps his head up, eyes widening. “My dear Catarina, this isn’t your fight. Valentine holds enough power to destroy the Downworld, I can’t ask-”

“You don’t have to.” If she were a lower person, she would have rolled her eyes, he’s sure of it. “It’s not your fight either, but if you choose to stand, and it was a leap to assume you wouldn’t, we’ll stand with you and your Shadowhunters.” Snapping her fingers, both glasses refill with amber liquid. “Last book, green cover; one of the first mentions of the Soul Sword. Do what you can with it. But listen to me Magnus Bane, for the remainder of this evening, I don’t want to hear a word about Valentine or Shadowhunters, I forbid it.”

“Not even a very particular one?”

And just like that, he feels a hand grasping him from the frozen waters.


Sometimes, everything is overwhelming.

When exhaustion digs deep into his bones and he’s torn between collapsing onto his couch and reaching for the drink cart, but even the idea of conjuring a gin and tonic is too much. So he lingers, idling in his living room as his legs sway beneath him, wondering if this is the moment he’s going to fall, crumble under the weight of everything thrown onto his shoulders.

When Magnus tells himself he should have known better. He shouldn’t have gotten involved with Shadowhunters. Just like he shouldn’t have taken in Raphael or Simon or Jace (or Beatrix, Naomi, Greg). But here he is, too drained to breathe think move, and even though he could rid himself of these headaches with a snap of his fingers or just saying no, his mouth mind soul betrays him.

He can hardly blame anyone for calling him a fool when he ushers Clary in later on that evening.

He’s has never been good at protecting his own heart.


He notices the garlic first.

An overwhelming scent that floods his senses as he exits the portal.

Magnus pauses before walking towards his kitchen, arms crossing before he casually leans against the entrance.  

Alec glances up from the stove, smile easy and wide. “Hey,” he says sheepishly before losing his confidence in a short huff. “I know we didn’t–I figured you’d be tired – it’s just that you were gone for a few days and I thought maybe it’d be nice if you came home to-” He takes a breathe. “Is this okay?”

Magnus feels something crack in the center of his chest. Something dark and cold, encasing the last bit of himself he was trying to protect. Part of him reaches for it on instinct, desperately trying to drag it back where it’s safe, to hide it before the cracks turn into craters he won’t be able to repair, but it’s too late. He’s split open and vulnerable yet somehow, he feels warmed because of it.

“More than.” It’s more of a whisper, a ghost across Alec’s cheek as Magnus moves to hug him. And if he gets lost in the contact, the subtle shift of Alec’s torso as the Shadowhunter moves to align his body more closely with Magnus, well, at least he’s not the only one.

Magnus sinks against him, wanting nothing more than to shut his eyes and get lost in the touch-scent feeling- of Alec. But if he closes his eyes, the exhaustion will catch up to him, and if it catches up to him, he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to handle it. 

“That bad, huh?” Alec asks, gently kissing Magnus’ forehead.

“Just tired. And starving.”

The truth is, Magnus left his appetite in the heat of India but the smile is enough to make him ravenous. The truth is, Magnus could snap his fingers and have the finest foods lining his counters, but this feeds something else, something deep in his core that’s been empty for entirely too long. Taking Alec’s chin between his fingers, he lifts his head until their lips meet, slow, and soft, so much more nourishing than anything he could ever eat.

Leaving his hand cupping Alec’s face, he looks towards the stove, then back towards his boyfriend. “So, what’s the occasion?” Magnus asks, “Last time I checked, there was still a war on.”

Alec shrugs, almost sinking back into himself, but he stays where Magnus can reach him. “You.” A smirk he’s becoming more comfortable with settles on his face and oh, what Magnus would do to keep it there. “Isn’t there always going to be a war or a problem that needs to be fixed?” Magnus smiles in spite of himself. “C’mon, sit.”

Placing a hand on the small of Magnus’ back, Alec guides him to the table before setting a plate and a glass of wine in front of him. He remains close, setting himself up so it’s easy to weave their legs together, and Magnus feels some of his exhaustion slipping from his shoulders.  

Outside, a war is one. Valentine slipped through their fingers, almost literally when he thinks about his spell book, continuing to collecting artifacts that can alter their world in devastating ways. Outside, Magnus sits through councils and Alec leads patrols, but tonight, this is more than enough.


They talk about him, about Valentine, because he’s always lingering in the undercurrent of their conversations these days, like the steady hum of magic that pulsates just under Magnus’ skin. A distraction, certainly, but Magnus has lived through enough near misses to know there are still pressing matters to attend to. One glance behind his shoulder will certainly attest to that. Books even he forgot he owned are scattered across the dining room table, with sheets of ingredients still not filled settled on top of them as lazy reminders, and somewhere amidst all the papers, there are contracts that still require his approval. Quite frankly, it’s messy. But they won’t go away until the job is done, just like Valentine won’t go away until he’s locked up or dead.

Not for the first time, he thinks of dragging himself to bed, allowing the warmth of Alec’s arms to sink deep into his muscles, soothing the tension that comes with nights spent huddled over ancient tomes that even Magnus can’t quite make sense of. As if to make a point, his eyelids droop, summoning a yawn as easily as he summons portals. How his body betrays him. Or maybe just enables him. He can’t deny the appeal of spending a few early morning hours tucked away in the bedroom with Alec.

Magnus stands at the thought, but his eyes travel back to the books covering the table. Maybe just one more glance before he takes a break. Yes, just one more glance before he drags himself across the silk sheet of his bed and gets lost in the warmth that is his boyfriend.

Magnus settles for the couch, opening the doors to the balcony before focusing his magic on bringing a tome into his hands. He pauses for a moment, taking in the sound of Brooklyn still sleeping below him. The air outside hints of spring, but is still cool and refreshing as it nips at his exposed skin. Whether it’s the cold, his exhaustion, or his longing to be close to Alec, he gives up on getting any more work done. Before he can move though, Alec emerges from the bedroom, bleary eyed and squinting.

"Have you gotten any sleep?” Alec asks, voice rough like the stubble that’s beginning to grow over his jaw. Magnus would appreciate the sight much more if it wasn’t another testament to the strain of Valentine’s victories. Magnus may know how to separate the weight of an impending apocalypse just as easily as the next immortal, Alec though, Alec carries the weight on already overstrained shoulders. Magnus sees it working through his muscles, tightening his shoulders as the softness of sleep leaves him.

Magnus offers an easy smile, “I had every intention of joining you, but duty called.” He lifts the book for emphasis.

Alec shakes his head before running a hand over his eyes. They’ve all been pushed to their limits lately.  “Magnus-“

“I should take better care of myself,” he echoes before getting drawn back into a passage.

Conceding, Alec walks to the kitchen, mindlessly grabbing the red and black robe Magnus had wrapped around himself for the majority of the night. “It’s freezing,” Alec says, wrapping the silk tightly around him to prevent the fabric from draping down one of this shoulders. Though his point certainly stands, the sight is enough to warm something in the pit of Magnus’ stomach. 

It was almost too easy falling into the rhythm they’ve finding here. Months ago, Magnus was certain he’d have to endure endless gossip about the Lightwood-Brandwell union, now Alec’s navigates Magnus’ home with an effortlessness that speaks of familiarity. Magnus wants to capture this moment, trap it in a vial to preserve its perfection. Something tells him he’ll need it in the chaotic times facing them.

The sound of the coffee maker refocuses him. Habit stops him from telling Alec he doesn’t need to go through the trouble, because Alec always seems intent on going through the trouble. Home brewed coffee, greasy hamburgers from the lower east side instead of catered meals from Nepal, small gifts before they head to the pool hall or out for dinner. It’s nothing special, but it made me think of you. And didn’t that always make Magnus feel like he was holding the world in the palm of his hands.

When Alec returns, he’s holding two mugs of coffee in his hands. It’s domestic in a way Magnus hasn’t allowed himself to think about in centuries, but here it is, draped across him like a cotton blanket. Magnus wants to sink his fingers into it and pull until he’s uncomfortable with the sensation, but he settles for accepting the cup of coffee instead.

Alec lingers, standing in front of him until Magnus flicks his eyes up, then smiling at the look of impatience. Not a second after Magnus moves the book towards the arms of the couch, Alec claims his lap as his own, curling in on himself until he’s sprawled somewhere between Magnus and the cushions, head burying itself against his chest. Neither of them notice when the book falls to the floor.

Draping a hand around Magnus’ neck, Alec tugs until their lips meet. It presses in on Magnus, the smell of coffee, fresh and warm next to them, the lazy taste of Alec’s mouth as silk glides against his skin. Trapped here, the world feels a little less chaotic than it did before.


Sometimes, it’s easy.

Times when the air outside is warm and fresh from a passing rainstorm. When Magnus shifts, trailing a finger across Alec’s exposed collar bone, instead of burying himself in research. Here, in these empty seconds, he  knows what he’s fighting for.