i have to be up in a few hours and i can't feel my hand

Masterpost of Cryptic Shit from The Adventure Zone

Because damn Griffin’s given us a lot of mysteries to work with. (Excerpts from the show under the cut.)

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anonymous asked:

I always imagine Draco gardening, (idk because he gardened with his mom when he was little maybe?) anyway, now I've imagined Harry coming to see Draco, spotting him with dirt on his cheek and knees scuffed from the ground. I can't decide how Harry would react though. Would he think it's cute? Out of character? Weird?

As Harry walks down the stone steps into Draco’s garden, he can’t help but feel as if he is trespassing upon a scene he isn’t meant to see.

He’d known he wasn’t due at Draco’s til half past noon but he’d been bored and restless at his flat alone, and if truth be told he’d missed Draco something terrible after a week away on assignment.  So on a whim he’d tried to use the floo a few hours early and had been pleasantly surprised to find Draco had left the connection open for him.

Except when he’d stepped out into the lounge he’d not seen Draco anywhere.  He’d called out for him, and poked around his house, but there was no sign of him anywhere.  Harry had almost started to worry that something might be wrong until he’d noticed the kitchen door ajar which had led him out into the dewy, sunlit garden.  

It was unusually warm for this time of year and Harry had only expected to find Draco enjoying the sunshine.  He mostly definitely hadn’t expected to find Draco on his knees amongst a bed of flowers; his sleeves rolled up and grass stains on his knees.  But what Harry found most startling was the sight of Draco bent over on his hands and knees, a line of sweat dripping down his neck and his long, elegant fingers digging into the dark, rich soil.

Harry wasn’t sure why he found it so shocking, he’d known Draco liked to take care of his own flowers.  He’d told him as much on their third date, mentioning how he used to tend to the flowers in the garden with his mother as a child.   He’d said it casually enough at the time as if it was nothing, but Harry had known then it was Draco’s way of revealing something very intimate about himself to Harry.  The significance of that small comment had not been lost on him.

However there was a big difference between knowing Draco liked to garden and seeing him work the earth with his bare hands.  Harry wasn’t sure what it was exactly, all he knew was that the sight before him made his clothes feel too small and his heart feel too big.

And so when Draco abruptly stands a moment later, embarrassed and rubbing his hands on his pants Harry nearly sprints across the garden, pressing Draco back against the stone wall and tangling his fingers into Draco’s and holding on as if trying to anchor himself.  There is something different about this kiss, something raw and desperate and Harry dimly wonders if Draco feels as exposed as he does.

“If I’d have known you liked to see me dirty I might’ve invited you over to watch me garden a long time ago,” Draco teases when they finally stop kissing, his eyes locked on Harry with a gentle fondness that makes his chest ache.

“I love you,” Harry whispers quite suddenly.

Draco doesn’t say anything at first, just blinks a few times and Harry’s stomach drops immediately, wondering if he’s misread the moment.  But then its Draco’s turn to nearly slam Harry back against the wall, kissing him as if his life depends upon it.  

Draco doesn’t say anything, doesn’t say the words back, but his hands tremble as he hold’s onto Harry, pressing messy kisses to his neck and face and just about  anywhere he can reach. 

 And Harry smiles, because Draco hasn’t said the words out loud, but its in his eyes and his touch and his smile, and he knows that Draco is saying it back in his own way.  So Harry closes his eyes, letting Draco’s touches wash over him as he inhales the smell of grass and dirt, memorizing every moment and relishing in the overwhelming sensation of being loved.

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.

anonymous asked:

Okay but going to a wedding with harry in a tropical place and my god he gets drunk and talks about how he can't wait to marry you and I really should stop talking before I hate myself

And maybe the reception is being held at a venue that’s on the beach, but it’s obviously not right on the water. It’s been a few hours into the reception, because the couple decided to make it into an actual party, not a formal event that ends in two hours, and the two of you have somehow wandered off away from said party towards the water. You’ve had a couple of drinks, but Harry’s definitely had more, and you know he won’t touch alcohol for weeks after tonight, but god he’s cute when he’s drunk, isn’t he? You’ve had an arm around him to steady him while you walk along the water, and he’s clinging to you. All you’ve got to light your way is the moon, but it’s big and bright in the sky. You can still hear the music coming from the reception, but it fades out the longer you walk, and soon enough all that you can hear are waves crashing just a few inches away from your feet and Harry humming. 

He’s got his suit pants rolled up a bit, so that they’re not dragging through the water, and you try not to think about how expensive that goddamn suit was when he sits down in the wet sand just beyond the shore and grins up at you. He makes grabby hands at you, and you want to tell him no, because you are very much aware of how expensive the dress you’re wearing is, but you give in before you really ever talk yourself out of it when he spreads his legs to make room for you to sit between them. Which you do, and he wraps his arms around you immediately, and you rest back against his chest. “’M gonna’ marry you. One day,” he says after a long moment of just listening to each other breathe, breaking your comfortable silence for the first time in fifteen minutes probably. You laugh, though, and shake your head. “You’re drunk,” you tell him, and he attacks your neck with kisses. “’M not,” he argues, and you glance back at him, a fond expression on your face. “Tell me what kind of wedding we’re gonna’ have, then,” you murmur, and he pulls his bottom lip between his fingers like he does when he’s thinking about something he really cares about. It makes your heart beat a little bit quicker in your chest.

“Tha’ mean you’d say ‘yes?’“ He questions, and it’s not what you were expecting him to say, and you feel the blush creep onto your cheeks as your hands move to hold his over your tummy. He’s drunk and probably won’t remember come morning, anyway, so you decide to at least be truthful, even if he’s joking. “Of course,” you nearly whisper, and you feel him full on smiling against your neck. “Dunno’ if we’d have a tropical wedding, like this one,” he starts, and you raise your eyebrows. “You love the ocean, though,” you point out, and he nods, shrugging. “Yeah, but – I dunno’. Doesn’t seem very us, does it? I don’ think we’d get married on a beach,” he reasons, and you nod like you understand exactly what he means, and you kind of think you do. You almost always vacation wherever there’s a beach, but for whatever reason, you don’t see that being the place you’d get married, either. 

“Think I’d wanna’ get married in Holmes Chapel,” you tell him, and he’s the one who raises an eyebrow this time. “Why’s that?” He questions and you grin before you situate yourself so that you’ve turned around to face him, basically sitting on his lap with your dress pushed up around your thighs so that you could wrap your legs around his waist. He’s smiling up at you. It gives you butterflies. “Like how happy you are when you’re there,” you murmur, and he smiles wider. “Would want it t’be intimate and kinda’ traditional, I think. Nothin’ exotic. ‘S about us, yeah?” You nearly whisper and he rubs along your hips. “‘M gonna’ marry you,” he says again, but this time his words are a bit firmer, and you just shake your head. “I mean it – even ‘f I am drunk,” he giggles, and you’re laughing, too, leaning forward to press a kiss to his lips. “One day,” he adds, and you shush him, kissing him again. You don’t know if he’s too drunk to remember this come morning, but you think it’s something you’ll remind him of if your wedding day ever does come. 

JOURNAL 3 BLACKLIGHT EDITION REVEALED! (Part 3)

Oh boy. This is it. The final stretch.

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Loosely based on a true story of my friend and his girlfriend during her college graduation and the rest of us just couldn’t stop awwing because GAH

Ao3


Castiel is graduating and Dean isn’t here.

It’s a horrible feeling, knowing his boyfriend isn’t with his family as he walks across the stage, but Castiel understands why, to a degree. Dean works the graduation ceremonies. He kinda needs to do that if Castiel wants  to graduate at all, but still…

Which leads to now, Castiel waiting with his fellow Arts and Humanities college graduates as the timer counts down to zero, at which point they will all walk out into the arena and sit down for about two and a half hours of speakers until they walk across the stage, have their name called, hear applause as they walk across, take the stage helper’s hand on the stairs to avoid falling, and walk back down to their seats as college graduates. It was routine at this point to Cas, he himself having been to enough of the rehearsals whenever Dean was working them to know what comes after what. He had thought he’d feel a little different when the graduation would be his own, maybe with his best friend cheering him on and congratulating him with a kiss at the end, but instead Dean will be somewhere else making sure the entire graduation runs smoothly as a Marshall or helping the vice presidents run errands or something else that he’s done before.

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zarohk  asked:

So, I'm not totally sure the timelines match up, but do you think that Rachel's sisters (especially Sarah who is younger and more naive) could have watched Buffy the Vampire Slayer and decided that Rachel is the Slayer? Goes out at night, all hours, secret boyfriend who only visits her at night, can't tell their single mom, etc.

[First of all: the timelines do actually match up quite well.  In #20 there’s a brief mention of David’s dad (of all people) watching Buffy on TV, and although Animorphs started and ended first most of its run overlaps with Buffy.  Second, I LOVE this idea so much.  Rachel and Buffy are two of the people who were massively influential in teaching me and my friends that it was possible to be girly and tough at the same time.  Third… Voila.]

It starts as a way to distract her sisters, on the nights when their mom can’t make it home and their dad is too busy to call—Rachel will put on whichever Buffy episode she’s got saved in the DVR and all three of them will watch it together.  However, all three of them fall in love with the show over time, until they’re catching each episode live: Sarah laughs at all the puns and hums along with the theme song while Jordan waxes poetical about how dreamy Spike and Angel are.  

Rachel just loves Buffy herself, because there aren’t enough girls on TV that can look that fabulous and kick butt at the same time.  It becomes a weekly ritual, one that Rachel sometimes has to miss if Cassie or Jake calls with urgent news, but she’ll put aside anything short of the alien invasion to catch it with her sisters.

*****************

Jordan meets Rachel at the door, which is a bad sign because their mom and Sarah are both asleep and Rachel herself went to bed six hours ago.  The mission was long, nasty, and exhausting, the way they always are, and Rachel’s too keyed-up from the adrenaline rush to think of a proper excuse for why she’s sneaking in.  

She and Jordan stare at each other in silence for a few seconds, Rachel leaning on the door frame, Jordan holding a comic book in both hands as she sits on the end table in the foyer.  Jordan becomes the first one to speak.  “Sarah and I were talking,” she says.  “And I think we figured it out.”  

Rachel feels her stomach churn.  She’s not as careful with her sisters as her mom.  She never has been.  “Figured what out?”

“It’s okay.”  Jordan clutches her comic book a little more closely, expression solemn.  “We won’t tell Mom.”

Rachel crosses her arms.  “Won’t tell her what, exactly?”

Jordan thrusts the comic book at Rachel.  The cover shows a girl—Buffy Summers, judging by the title—holding a wooden stake in one hand and a sword in the other, her blond hair whirling around her as she thrusts the sword at a spike-covered greyish creature in the corner of the frame.  

Rachel takes a step back from the comic, not sure whether to laugh or to cry.  

“It explains everything.  Where you sneak out to almost every night.  Why you’ve got blood under your fingernails half the time when you get home.  Why you’ve got a secret boyfriend who only comes out at night—”

“I don’t have a boyfriend,” Rachel says reflexively.

Jordan nods, eyes wide.  “Uh-huh.  So you definitely weren’t seen by half the school at last week’s dance with a mysterious guy who has blond hair and is never seen around town.  You don’t have a boyfriend, even though I’ve heard people talking in your room in the middle of the night.  And you always leave your window open, even—especially—when it rains.  Almost like you’re waiting for a secret vampire boy—”

Rachel snorts a laugh.  “Tobias isn’t a vampire.”

Which has exactly the opposite effect than the one she intended.  “Oh my god,” Jordan whispers.  “Tobias as in that guy who disappeared last year? Everyone thought he died—” She gasps.  “Unless he did die.  And now he’s back!”

Much as Rachel wants to laugh and keep laughing until she falls over, she understands that this conversation actually has serious implications.  With effort she sobers herself.  “Look,” she says at last.  “There are things… Things I can’t tell you.  You wouldn’t be safe if I did.”  

She looks Jordan in the eye.  Jordan is taking this conversation seriously—probably more seriously than Rachel herself, for that matter.  “I understand,” Jordan says.  

“As soon as…”  As soon as the war’s over.  “As soon as it’s safe.  I’ll tell you everything.  Right now, there are things I can’t talk to you, or to Mom, about.  But someday I will.  I promise.”  Rachel can’t be more honest than that.  

“Okay.”  Jordan bites her lip.  “I just wanted you to know your secret’s safe with me.  And if you ever need help, like, hiding a body…”

Rachel smiles, overwhelmed with fondness.  “Thanks.”  She yawns.  “Now, if it’s all right with you, Dawn…”

Jordan makes a face.  

“I’m wiped, so I’m going to bed.”  She walks past Jordan and up the stairs to her room.  

“Rachel!”

She turns around.  Jordan is standing at the bottom of the stairs, hugging her comic book against her chest with both hands.  

“On the show,” she says haltingly.  “They say a lot about how slaying’s a dangerous job.  About how most slayers don’t live to be twenty.”  There’s real fear in her eyes, as she looks up at her sister.  

Rachel grins, tossing her hair over her shoulder.  “Really, Jordan, you should learn not to believe everything you see on TV.  After all, it’s just a show.  No vampire’s gonna take me down.”  

****************************

“You know, my sister thinks you’re William the Bloody.”

«Who’s that, a spokesman for Kotex?»

***************************

She doesn’t get much input on the actual headstone; she’s too young for that.  She does, however, manage to put in a special request for the plaque on the statue they erect outside of Washington D.C., a proud grizzly bear rearing up to defend the Capitol.  

Rachel Daniella Berenson, the plaque reads.  She saved the world.  A lot.  

VOMIT WARNING (I know some people don’t like that, so just a warning)

Because I’m spiraling into a Voltron writing obsession, here’s another college AU, based loosely on my own experiences ayyyyyy *finger guns*

(Also you should definitely send me some prompts because I want to write more Voltron but don’t know what else to write)


“So I was thinking we could-” Keith started, but was once again, for what must have been the hundredth time today, cut off by Lance.

“-Hey, have you guys seen that video?”

Keith and Hunk groaned in frustration.

Shiro sighed. “You did it again, Lance.”

Keith let out an exasperated sigh. “Lance! You can’t keep-Lance! I’m talking to you. Will you pay attention for like, FIVE minutes? Or even TWO?”

Lance snapped his attention back to Keith. “Hmm?”

Keith clenched his jaw, frustration bubbling in his chest. Lance was completely unable to focus. On ANYTHING. He had been distracted and disruptive all day, bouncing off the walls and going off on tangents that were completely unrelated to what anybody was talking about.

Keith was exhausted just trying to keep up with him. Even Shiro, ever patient Shiro, was growing frustrated with him.

“What’s WITH you today?”

“I…uh…too much coffee, I guess.” Lance said, glancing around uncomfortably before hopping out of his seat and grabbing all his stuff.

“Lance, what’s going o-”

“-I have to go do homework!”

Keith, Shiro and Hunk watched as Lance hurried off.

“What…was that?” Hunk asked. “I mean he’s always been…crazy but not like THIS.”

“Uh…coffee, apparently.” Shiro frowned.

Lance burst into his room, his heart pounding in his chest. He was just annoying everyone, but he couldn’t help it. He tried, he tried SO hard, but he was completely and totally unable to focus.

He had completely forgotten to take his medication this morning, and he didn’t realize it until nearly five PM, and by that time it was too late. If he took it now, he wouldn’t sleep that night, and he needed to sleep.

He knew it was a lost cause, but he was going to try and get some studying done.

Instead of studying, he found himself spinning in his desk chair, staring up at the ceiling to count the tiles.

While he was spinning, some Velcro from one of his projects caught his eye, and before he knew it, he was taping half of it to the wall, and half to his hands.

Keith walked in right as he was about to launch himself off the bed and onto the wall.

“Lance!”

“Yes, roomie?” Lance asked, bouncing up and down on the bed lightly.

“What the hell are you doing? Get down!”

“I wanted to be SpiderMan.”

“You wanted to be spider-get down!” He cried, throwing his hands in the air. “I thought you were studying.”

“I was going to…but then I got sidetracked.” He said, slowly coming to a standstill.

“Okay, this,” Keith said, gesturing from the wall to Lance, “is NOT a good idea. Seriously.”

Lance sighed. “Yeah I guess you’re right - hey have you seen that video?”

Keith pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t…you need to be a bit more specific. What video are you talking about?”

“The…uh…guy who ate weed brownies and thought he was dead. Ooh! There’s this really good show on Netflix. The Flash, have you heard of it?Season one isn’t great, but it gets better. Have you watched it?”

Keith blinked. “No, I haven’t. Lance, are you alright?”

“Peachy. Why?”

“You’re all over the place, man.”

Lance’s face hardened, and he got off the bed and went to sit at his desk. “I told you. I had too much coffee.”

“Um…okay.”

Keith sat on his bed, facing Lance. 

He watched as Lance struggled to calm himself enough to focus. 

He watched as Lance tapped his pencil on the desk incessantly and rolled back and forth in his chair while he stared at his laptop. He must have gotten up fifteen times to go walk to their mini fridge and walk back to his seat.

Then, Lance straightened in his chair and pressed a hand to his stomach. A grimace crossed his face and he stood up.

“Lance? Are you okay?”

“Stomachache.” He bit out, gritting his teeth as he climbed into bed.

Keith frowned. “Are you going to be sick?”

“I don’t…maybe.” He groaned.

“What happened? You were fine literally a minute ago.”

“I’m fine. Leave me alone.” He groaned, curling into himself as tightly as possible.

“Lance-”

“-I’m FINE. This happens a lot. Leave me alone.”

“What do you mean?” He demanded. “Do you need to see a doctor?”

Lance let out a heavy sigh. “I have…nnngh…I have ADHD.”

“That…what does that have to do with your stomach?”

“I forgot to take my meds. This is a side effect.”

“Oh shit.” Keith said, his eyebrows shooting up. “Do you need anything?”

“I just need to…r-ride it out.” He groaned, gripping the blankets and writhing in pain. Sharp, stabbing, cramping pains were shooting across his abdomen in waves.

“Are you sure?”

Lance just groaned in pain, pressing his face into the pillow.

“Okay, I’m calling Shiro.”

“No-”

“-it’s not up for discussion, Lance.” He said firmly.

Lance whimpered in pain, squeezing his eyes shut.

Keith dialed Shiro’s number, keeping his eyes on Lance.

“Hey, Keith.”

“Shiro, we need you over here.”

“What’s the matter?”

“It’s Lance.”

“What happened with Lance?”

“He has a really bad stomachache…he’s writhing in pain in bed and I don’t know what to do.”

“Does he have a fever?”

“I don’t-Lance, do you have a fever?”

“No, idiot. I don’t have a fever.” Lance spat. “I’m not SICK, you don’t need to call Sh-Shiro…I’m f-ngggh.”

Keith rolled his eyes. “He doesn’t have a fever.”

“Give him something for the pain, I’ll be there soon.”

A wave of nausea rolled over him, and he got out of bed and made a b-line for the bathroom.

Lance slammed the door shut, and leaned over the toilet to empty his stomach. When he emerged from the bathroom, pale and shaky, Shiro was there.

“Are you alright?” He asked, pressing his hand to Lance’s cheek.

Lance batted his hand away. “I’m fine.”

Throwing up almost always brought relief when this happened. He felt mostly better, his stomach still hurt but it was nowhere as bad as before.

“You’re not fine.” Shiro said, shaking his head. Lance groaned, thoroughly irritated at all the attention he was getting.

Keith pursed his lips. “He says it’s a side effect from not taking his medication.”

Shiro frowned. “What? What medication?”

Lance clenched his jaw. “I have ADHD. I forgot to take my medication and that’s why I was so unbearable today.”

“Lance, you weren’t-”

“I annoyed you…I know I was.  I knew when I kept cutting you off.  I know how annoying I get when I don’t take them…I tried really hard to stop…to be normal, but I couldn’t.  I’m sorry.” Lance said, his eyes filling with tears. 

“Look,” Shiro started.  “I’ll admit…I was getting frustrated.”

“Me too, but dude, it wasn’t just that you were annoying.  We knew something was up, you’re not usually this…uh…”

“All over the place.” Shiro supplied. 

“Yeah, that.  You’re not usually all over the place like this.”

“We were just worried.” 

Lance looked at them.  “You were?”

Both Shiro and Keith nodded.  “Yeah.”

Lance sighed.  “I don’t really tell people,..ever.”

“Why wouldn’t you tell us?” Shiro asked. “We’re your friends. Did you think we’d judge you?”

“Well…yeah…kind of.” Lance muttered, bringing his eyes to the floor.

Keith shook his head. “Why would we judge you for that? So what? What…uh…is ADHD?”

Lance rubbed his forehead. “Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder. I can’t focus, basically. Look, as much as I’d love to continue this…health lesson…I’m exhausted.”

Shiro nodded. “Yeah…thank you though, for telling us. We don’t think any less of you, you know.”

Lance hung his head, rubbing the back of his neck. “I appreciate that, thanks.”

“Get some sleep, feel better.” Shiro said, clapping him on the back. “Call me if you need anything else.”

Keith walked him to the door as Lance got back into bed. “Thanks, Shiro.”

“Anytime.”

anonymous asked:

*curtsies* Duke, I need some help here. Just noticed that I have a huge lack on my character creation. I only write the "warmey hearted and happy" characters. How can I... "fix" that? I have interest in writing different characters but... I just... can't. It's like I didn't understand them enough. How do I write a cold and calculist character? Without making it either a "happey heart" or unrealist, or even the "completly feelingless stereotype"? Please help me!!! I have no idea of what to do!!!!

*Curtsies* First big rule of writing that Tumblr brainwashes out of people because we tend to balk at anything ‘problematic’: 

You need conflict in fiction. 

If everybody is nice to each other and agrees about everything and never miscommunicates, you don’t have a story. You have slow-burn fluff fic and that’s fine if that’s what you’re trying to write, but if you aren’t, you need to spice things up. You need problems. You need conflict. You need more than one personality type. 

Writing good characters is hard. You are literally inventing a human being from scratch, and that kind of complexity takes months (if not years) of work to create, so that’s the first thing I want to be clear about: 

There are no shortcuts to good character.

Writing is, in every sense, an iceberg type of art form, and what a reader will eventually see on a page is only about 1% of the work you actually have to do to make that 1% worth reading. Character, like plot and setting and everything else in fiction, requires long hard nose-to-the-grindstone hours of work. It also requires research. You can’t skimp on any of this or your characters will come out feeling like paper dolls. 

As for how to actually excavate a character: I’ve talked a lot about this under the character development tag and especially this post here, but here is what I think should be the first step for everyone who’s trying to turn a paper doll into flesh and blood: 

Start with the moment where your character first appears in your story, and work backward through every remotely significant event of their life until you get to their birth.

By ‘every remotely significant event’ I don’t just mean when their mom died or when they lost their virginity. I mean every event that was remotely significant to them, even if it was just getting their braces off or listening to their favorite band for the first time. If you really commit to this, it’s going to raise a lot of questions along the way. How long did they live in Kenosha? Where did she get that dress? Why did her dad lose that job? Who introduced her to that author? Here’s the crucial thing: 

Nothing you learn about a character is insignificant. 

Even if it’s just what their least favorite vegetable is. 99% of this information will not end up in the final manuscript, and that’s fine. What’s important is that you know it, because a character (like a real human being) is the sum of their parts, and even their childhood aversion to cooked carrots will contribute to who they become. I recently got a question on my author blog about why I can spit out so many random trivial details about each of my main characters. And the answer is because none of it’s random and none of it’s trivial. If you’re trying to bring a person to life with prose, you can’t afford not to know every little thing about them. Want to know why? 

It is a hell of a lot easier to write a character you know as well as you know yourself than to write a character you only know as a player in your story.

Characters have lives before and beyond the book you’re writing, just like real people have lives before and beyond the moments you interact with them. Our life experiences shape who we are and how we behave, so if you don’t know everything that has occurred in this character’s life prior to this moment, how could you possibly know how they would respond to a question even as simple as “How are you?” So. Spend the time. It will not be time wasted. Writing requires patience. 

Writing also requires research. Because you can’t just write a bunch of characters who are vague avatars for yourself, you will have to venture out of your comfort zone. If you do that thing I suggested where you plot each person’s life all the way back to their birth, you will inevitably stumble across things you don’t fully understand–and that’s where the research comes in. You have a hard time writing cold, calculating characters? Start with the basic questions: Why is this person this way? Coming up empty? Find some real-life examples. If you’re writing a serial killer, go buy every biography of real-life serial killers you can get your hands on. Watch Making a Murderer. Take a criminal psychology class. Writing about a chef? Read chefs’ memoirs. Follow chefs’ blogs. Go to restaurants. Learn to cook. Don’t steal any real person’s personality wholesale, but pay attention to patterns and details so that when you create your own character, they feel real. 

Use the real world for research. Learn from life.

The most important lesson you can learn from life is that very few people can be easily categorized. Most exist somewhere on a moral/behavioral spectrum that doesn’t fit neatly into those Myers-Briggs boxes everyone here on Tumblr loves so much. People are complicated and often conditional. A character who is warm-hearted and loving is much less interesting and much less believable than a character who is warm-hearted and loving but only towards children, because we immediately want to know more about her and why she doesn’t have the same sympathy for people her own age. And let’s be honest: no real person is warm-hearted and loving all the time. Figuring out exactly how this person’s life has gone will help you decide how they behave in any given situation.

We all have quirks and idiosyncrasies and learned behaviors that may, at first glance, defy explanation. We have hopes and fears and secrets and none of that is stuff you’re going to discover by taking another MBTI test on a character’s behalf. Rifle through the stuff of their life until you know not only exactly which magazines are lying under their bed but also why they have five credit cards they aren’t telling their wife about. When it comes to character, you can never know enough, even though writing in broad strokes might look a lot easier at the outset. Nothing about writing is easy, characters included.

People are messy. Resist the urge to simplify them.

Put the work in. I promise you, doing the digging and the research and learning who a person is before you try to put them on paper will make every word you write about them come more naturally and make more sense. And though a reader may never see those notebooks crammed full of every minute thing you learned about their life, they can intrinsically tell the difference between paper dolls and characters who are three-dimensional and fully formed and have been turned inside out by their author. 

Really all this advice comes down to one thing, which is that you can’t half-ass character. You’re creating a person. 

Commit.

Blue Skies

A/N: Happy Birth @snogfairy! I know I missed it last year but look!! I made something! Fantasy and everything <3

Avian!AU

Pairing: Nalu, Fairy tail

Words: 4506

Rating: T

Part: Oneshot (Angst) (Fluff)

Lucy loved flying.

She loved the feel of air whipping through her hair, of the strain on her back muscles as she rose herself high enough to find a current she could rest on, the crisp scent of pure oxygen that swirled above the clouds.

He favourite part of flying, however, had less to do with the act itself and more with the company.

“Bet I could reach that cloud that looks like an upside down cat first!” Natsu called, wings beating steady and strong as he held his position beside her. His wings were coloured like flames, yellows and oranges shimmering in the down of his feathers and close to the arch of bone that structured them, reds a rich jewel tone at the tips of his feathers with blacks and greys scattered along the outer layers like hidden shadows in the forest they played in.

“And what do I get if I win?” Lucy asked, grinning at her best friend’s challenge. While Natsu may be fast, Lucy was faster, not weighed down by a seven-foot wingspan and coiled muscles. Lucy’s wings were much more modest in length, only six feet across, but she knew they were beautiful in a way that was unmatched in her hometown. They were pure white with a soft golden undertone from the down feathers, silver tips of her outer feathers reflecting light and creating a glow that surrounded her like a halo in the moonlight.

Or at least that’s what Natsu had told her that one night they had stolen a bottle of strawberry mead from the guild kitchen and had picnicked along the edge of the lake under the light of the stars.

“I’ll fix all damaged boards and doors in your roost, but when I win you hafta cook for me for a week!” Natsu crowed, circling Lucy in an effort to expel his growing restless energy.

“My roost is damaged because you keep crash landing in it,” Lucy pointed out sourly, following Natsu’s movements as she kept her face towards him as she talked. “I mean I leave the window open every night, how you keep overestimating your landing is beyond me.”

“So you do leave it open for me,” Natsu leered, rising slightly so he could look down at Lucy. She felt heat crawl along her neck and she pouted at being caught. Stupid boy.

“Go!” Lucy shouted instead, allowing herself to drop slightly into the current below them and get a quick boost as she shot towards the cloud Natsu had pointed at.

“Cheater!” Natsu howled, following quickly on her heels. Lucy kept her arms close to her sides, laughing as Natsu cursed her loudly, voice barely carrying through the air rushing past them, words lost to the wind. Time blurred as they raced, Lucy’s heart pounding and sweat starting to bead on her temples and hairline, whipped away before she could fully register their creation. Lucy saw Natsu start to crawl into her peripheral, his eyes glinting with competitive joy and challenge. She swore under her breath, pushing herself to beat harder and cut through the air before her, weaving through different air currents and timing her beats of her wings for the most energy gained, every decision made in a millisecond through reflex alone.

Keep reading

Preference: You Can't Sleep

Ashton: Hearing footsteps softly coming towards the kitchen, you sigh. You hadn’t meant to wake him up, really. A very sleepy looking Ashton leans against the kitchen doorframe, frowning when he sees you. “Can’t sleep again?” He asks, yawning a little. “Go back to bed, I’ll be okay.” He shakes his head. “Baby, you need to see a doctor or something. This is like, the fourth night you’ve had trouble sleeping.” He pauses, then his eyes widen. “Is it… is it me?” He asks. “What? No, Ash, it’s not you. I just can’t fall asleep.” You assure him, walking over. He pulls you into a light hug, resting his forehead against your own. “Then what? Tell me, so I can help.” You sigh. “There’s honestly nothing wrong.” You say. Ashton walks over and starts to make coffee. “What are you doing?” You ask. “If you can’t sleep, I’ll stay awake with you until you can.” You smile a little. “Ashton, go back to bed. You’re tired.” Ashton frowns again. “Yeah, but I can’t sleep if you’re not there. The bed gets cold.” He says. You walk over and wrap your arms around him. “How about we just go cuddle?” He thinks about this for a moment, then shakes his head. “How about we go watch movies and cuddle until you fall asleep?” You sigh, feeling blessed to have such a man in your life. “I’m sorry, I know this is getting annoying.” Ashton takes his face in your hands. “Baby, no! It’s not annoying. It’s just more time I get to spend with you.” He murmurs, kissing your nose. “Yeah, but less time you get to sleep.” Ashton shrugs, pulling you into the living room while asking, “who needs sleep, anyway?”

Calum: You roll over for what seems like the millionth time. Calum sighs, sitting up. “Babe, what’s wrong?” He asks. You sit up and turn on the bedside lamp. “I don’t know. I just can’t sleep.” He frowns, moving some hair away from your face. “Want me to sing to you?” He asks. You nod, curling into his side as he sings a soft tune. “Anything?” He asks when the song is over. You groan and shake your head. “You should go back to sleep. You need it.” You tell him, biting your lip. “I’m not going to sleep when my girl isn’t.” He says stubbornly, but a yawn slips out. You smirk and he chuckles. “Okay, I’m tired. So what?” You roll your eyes. “So, I’m not going to be like Michael and force you to stay awake. Sleep, babe.” You say, reaching over to turn out the light. “Is there anything that’s bothering you? Maybe you just need to talk about it.” Calum says, pulling you into a spooning position. “No, not that I can think of. You’re home, the boys are home. Everything is perfect.” Calum runs his fingertips over your stomach lightly, making you shiver. “What about the hate? Have you been reading it lately?” You shake your head. “Not since the last time you told me not to.” Calum frowns, not being able to figure out what’s wrong with the love of his life. Then it hits him. “Babe?” He asks. “Yes, Cal?” You reply. “When is the last time we… you know?” He asks, chuckling. You roll over onto your back. “It’s been awhile, I guess. Why?” You ask, watching as he gets up and walks to the end of the bed. He grabs your ankles and pulls you until your cute plaid pajama shorts meet his eyes up close. “Calum, what are you doing? The boys are downstairs sleeping. They could hear us.” You protest, but he yanks off your shorts and underwear. “I don’t give a fuck who hears. I’m taking the edge off so my baby girl can sleep. I’m going to fuck you so good until you’re too tired to fuck anymore.”

Luke: Staying in multiple hotel rooms had its benefits, but it also had its problems. Problem number one being that eventually, they all just began to feel like home. So when you and Luke actually did come home from tour, sleeping in your own bed was very difficult for you. Even with Luke by your side every night, the bed just didn’t feel like home anymore. And this night was no different. You get out of bed and walk to the bathroom, hoping you won’t wake Luke up. You splash water on your face, and when you look up, Luke is standing behind you. “Did I wake you? I’m sorry.” You mumble, turning to face him. “You know, splashing water on your face is just going to make falling asleep harder.” Luke tells you. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. This bed used to be my everything, second to you. And now I can’t even sleep on it.” You complain, crossing the short distance between the two of you and hugging him. “Princess, nothing’s wrong with you. You’ve just been staying in so many hotels that you forgot what your own bed feels like. C'mon, I’ll help you.” Luke pulls you back into bed and pulls you into his side, holding you close. “You know what I really want right now?” You ask. “What’s that, princess?” You look up at him. “That bed on that hotel room we stayed at in Italy. The one that had the purple pillows? Oh, I loved that bed.” You say softly. “That bed had some pretty nice things happen on it.” Luke mutters, smirking as he remembers the night involving whipped cream and strawberries. You giggle. He rubs your back lightly until you fall asleep, but that doesn’t happen for another few hours. The next day, when you come back from visiting friends, the bed from the hotel room in Italy is in your bedroom.

Michael: While Michael has been known to have some insomnia, you did not. You could sleep all day, every day. Or at least, you used to be able to sleep all day, every day. For some reason, that all changed one night. You just couldn’t fall asleep. You tried sleeping in bed and on the living room couch, but nothing helped. And unfortunately, Michael had cured his insomnia when the band went on a break. Well, that’s not unfortunate. That’s a great thing. But for you, it was unfortunate because that meant while he was asleep, you were wide awake. The roles had been reversed. You look over at your sleeping boyfriend, hearing his light snores fill the silence of your bedroom. You bite your lip and tap his cheek lightly. “Mike, wake up.” After repeating this a few times, the bleached blonde’s eyes flutter open. “What? What’s the matter, kitten?” He asks urgently. “Nothing. I just… I can’t fall asleep.” He props himself up with his hand. “Wanna talk about anything that bothered you today?” He asks. “See, that’s the thing. It isn’t just tonight. I haven’t been sleeping for weeks.” You confess. “Kitten, why didn’t you tell me?” He reaches over and strokes your cheek gently. “You were sleeping great. I didn’t want to ruin that.” Michael frowns. “You wouldn’t have ruined it. But you should have told me, I could’ve helped sooner.” He says. You nod. He sings to you softly for a few hours until your asleep. The next morning, Michael goes to the store and buys everything that’s related to helping a person sleep better just for you.

anonymous asked:

PROMPT: Since we know next to nothing about the Acar family, can you please write an Iftar fic at Yousef's household and Mama Acar knows and so do his siblings (if he has any) and it's just a fun time but also Sana is super nervous!! If you don't have time or can't do it, I understand, but if you do, thank you so much!

Hey nonnie, this is two weeks late so I’m you’re still around and you like it! :D

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sana has been staring at the clothes hanging in her closet for the past half an hour. She’s never this indecisive about what she should wear, but this wasn’t just any occasion.

She was going to Yousef’s house. For iftaar. She was going to meet his mother and sister.

Unfortunately, Baba won’t be there since he’s away for a business trip. Yousef had told her earlier.

 

Well nothing unfortunate about that as far as Sana was concerned, one parent was unnerving enough.

After much consideration she finally picked the white churidaar salwar kameez her mom had bought for her from the Pakistani store downtown, and matched it with a light pink hijab.

Elias was waiting in the living room, wearing a blue and silver kurta and looking “fresh” enough to give Mutasim a run for his money. When she walked out he raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“No black?”

She frowned. “Is it too much?”

He got up to stand in front of her and then with a big smile said, “Of course not. You look beautiful sis.”

She smiled back and was about to say thank you when he added, “Yousef won’t be able to tear his eyes away from you for the entire evening.”

So she ended up lightly hitting him in the arm instead. “Elias! That’s exactly what I’m afraid of. What part of lowkey don’t you understand? It’s already weird that I’m tagging along to an iftaar invitation with all the boys, I don’t want his mom to catch him making eyes at me. Please don’t add fuel to the fire by saying anything inappropriate.”

Elias made a motion where he sealed his lips shut and then threw away the key.

With a sigh Sana followed him outside and got into the car.

As he revved the engine he said, “You know, It’s not like he’s the only one with the heart eyes. You turn into an emoji around him too.”

She tried not to grin but failed. “Oh shut up and just drive Elias.”  

XXXXXXXXXXXX

It turned out that Elias wasn’t the sibling she should’ve been worried about. Because as soon as Yousef opened the door, his nine-year-old sister Amena came bouncing up to them and exclaimed, “Is she finally here? The girl you’re always talking with on the phone?”

“Amena!” he gently reprimanded as he moved her aside to let them enter. Elias laughed while Sana smiled nervously.

“Sometimes I stand outside his room and all he does is talk about how much he loves your smile and beautiful you are.” She looked Sana up and down with an appraising and eye and then declared, “He’s not wrong you know.”

“Okaaaay, that’s enough.” Said Yousef as he gently clamped a hand on his sister’s mouth and picked her up to take her to her room before she revealed any other embarrassing details about his long conversations with Sana.

Elias was having a blast and called after him, “How come you never call me beautiful? I’m hurt.” He mocked while Sana turned redder by the second.

Yousef returned quickly and lead them to the living room where the rest of the squad was sitting. Adam, Mutta and Mikael got up to greet Elias and said hi to Sana.

“Where’s Yenge?” Elias asked just as Mrs. Acar walked in.

“Right here” she said with a smile. “It’s so nice to finally have you boys back in my home, you should come here more often instead of troubling Mrs. Bakkoush all the time.”

“It’s no trouble, Mama likes having guests over.” Sana said and Elias smirked at her, knowing full well how her constant complaints about his friends being in their home 24/7 had conveniently disappeared as soon as a certain carrot loving boy had confessed his feelings for her. Now she was suddenly as welcoming as her parents.

“Ah Sana. It’s so good to see you too habibti.” Mrs. Acar went over to give her a hug. “You look prettier every time!” she said as she kissed her cheek.

Elias elbowed Yousef and wiggled his eyebrows as if to say, “your mother approves” and Yousef just shook his head and smiled.

“Why don’t you all move to the table, there’s only a few minutes left.”

“Do you need any help Yenge?” Sana offered even though she hoped the answer would be no. Thankfully that’s exactly what she said.

Yousef discreetly whispered as he walked by, “You’re useless in the kitchen anyway” and then winked over his shoulder while Sana glared.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

There were three minutes left for Iftaar and they all raised their hands to pray. Sana closed her eyes and concentrated on her Duas, listing them one by one and finishing off with an Ameen just as the call to Maghrib prayer started.

Before she could reach for her first date her phone pinged with a new text. She looked across the table to see Yousef typing.

Yousef: Hmm, I wonder what you were praying for.

 

Sana: Don’t get too cocky, your name wasn’t mentioned.

 

Yousef: : (

She was about to reply when Mrs. Acar said, “So I hear you’re planning to follow in your father’s footsteps and become a surgeon Sana.”

She nodded. “That’s the hope Yenge.”

“Mashallah. In a few years I’ll be calling you Dr. Bakkoush.”

“In a few years you’ll be calling her daughter in law.” Elias, who was sitting next to her, muttered under his breath. Sana kicked his leg under the table while smiling sweetly at Mrs. Acar and he tried not to groan too loudly.

Amena piped up, “It’ll be good to have a doctor in the family.”

“Indeed.” Mrs. Acar agreed with a significant glance at Sana. She blinked, wondering if she was reading too much into it, but no one said anything more as they all began eating Mrs. Acar’s wonderful dishes, so she breathed a sigh of relief and took a large helping of the Fırın Makarna.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

She hugged Mrs. Acar goodbye and promised to come visit again soon. Amena winked at her and Sana patted her head, causing the little girl to scrunch up her face.

Yousef walked them out to their car. Elias embraced and thanked him, and with a knowing look got into the car so Sana and Yousef could have some time alone.

She leaned against the car and folded her arms. “So, not as disastrous as I had imagined.”

He laughed, “Oh, you were never so nervous. For no reason. Mama loved you, I could tell.”

“Yeah I noticed a little something too.” She narrowed her eyes. “Did you say anything Yousef?”

He did that thing where he reached behind his head and messed up his hair, his nervous tic. “Uh, maybe.”

She lightly his his arm. “Yousef!”

He caught her hand and then brought it close, rubbing patterns over her wrist with his thumb.

“It’s okay, they’re all pleased. Like I knew they would be.”

She closed her eyes and smiled. “Well, I guess it’ll be my turn soon.”

He raised her hand to his lips and pressed a soft kiss to it. “Don’t worry about it. There’s no rush.”

After all, they had all the time in the world to spend with each other.

anonymous asked:

Headcannon of maybe the boys reaction to a s/o drawing their portraits and showing it to them? (I can't tell you how many times I've sumited this to another blog and it never gets answers 😫😣)

Ah, sorry it took so long to get to your request- especially given that you haven’t had this request filled anywhere else you’ve requested (though that has probably changed since you dropped this request in my inbox, huh? :D) I’ll write these as legit headcanons because I’m reaaaaally tired and I just want to get some good content out before I conk out for the night! <3

Tagging: @nifwrites, @itshaejinju, @rubyphilomela, @xalexanderxkozachenkox, @stunninglyignis, @blindbae, @the-lucian-archives, @asendioncosplay, @hypaalicious, and @lady-asuka :D

PERMALINK: https://themissimmortal.tumblr.com/post/160332723825/headcannon-of-maybe-the-boys-reaction-to-a-so


Noctis: Noctis admires that you are interested in drawing. Although, given that he doesn’t like getting his picture taken a lot, he’s probably not too keen on getting sketched either. Not to worry though, you end up sketching your sleeping prince because that’s when he looks the cutest! It doesn’t take you very long to get it right- you’re only drawing for fun anyways- so you plan to show him the sketch when you go to visit him at the Citadel during your summer break. When you eventually show Noctis your sketch, you feel a little nervous because you’re just trying to prepare yourself for the very real chance of Noctis getting angry that you sketched him without his permission- and while sleeping at that. But you really wanted to share your work with him, so you took the plunge. Luckily, Noctis is pretty gobsmacked by your talents and ends up shyly placing his arm around your shoulders and nuzzling into your neck in a display of rare affection. “Thanks for this, y/n. I really like it- you can draw me whenever you want- I really don’t mind.”


Prompto: Prompto LOVES to take everyone’s pictures, but similarly to Noctis, he doesn’t really like it when others take pictures of him. He’s pretty much got the same attitude towards being sketched. One time, when you tried to sketch him at the Crow’s Nest, Prompto got so uncomfortable he choked on his food and called it a night early. From then onwards, you learned not to sketch Prompto while he was having meals- although you found his eating habits extremely adorable, you weren’t going to make Prompto feel uncomfortable to capture it on paper. It took you a while to figure out when it would be safe for you to sketch Prompto, but you finally found your chance when Prompto was immersed in an intense game of King’s Knight with Noctis, Gladio and Ignis. You ended up sketching Prompto’s intense look of concentration, getting the angles of his beautifully handsome face just right before you grinned at your final rough product and brought it to your lips to kiss affectionately. Later that night, just before bed, you surprised Prompto with a kiss to the cheek and handed him a piece of paper- the sketch you had made of him playing King’s Knight- before taking a seat beside your boyfriend. Prompto merely stares at it for a few moments before turning to you, tears misting over his usually clear blue eyes. “Do you… really see me this way? Do I look this perfect to you?”

You, of course, nod. “Of course,” you say “you’re my sweet angel and I love you.”


Gladio: Gladiolus Amicitia doesn’t have any qualms about himself or your habit of sketching him doing random things throughout his daily routine. You’ve sketched him while he was working out, you’ve sketched him while he was out on a grocery run, you’ve sketched him while he was in the shower, you’ve sketched him while he was in post-coital bliss… you’ve got a drawing for almost every aspect of Gladio’s life. This time, Gladio’s cleaning his broadsword when you approach him with a pen and paper in your hands. You left your drawing things in the Regalia, so you had to improvise and beg Ignis for a blank page out of his recipe notebook and a pen. Ambling up to Gladio, you grin down at him and plop down beside him while raising your drawing utensils up to his face. “You mind if I draw?” you ask Gladio. Gladio shakes his head, a small smile gracing his thick lips.

“No, of course not. Get my good side, yeah?” Gladio jokes, throwing you a wink before you roll your eyes and get started on the sketch. The two of you sit in mutual silence, Gladio cleaning his sword and you sketching his perfect side profile as he worked. After around and hour, the two of you are finished and Gladio immediately turns to you and wraps you in his large, strong arms. “So babe, whatcha got for me today?” He takes your sketch and smiles down at it adoringly before pressing a tender kiss against your temple. “You’re so talented- thanks y/n. I love these sketches.”


Ignis: You like to draw Ignis while he cooks different dishes. And Ignis enjoys getting a copy of your sketches of his delectable masterpieces. So initially, you’d hidden the sketches you did of Ignis, and just offered him the sketches of the food. He was absolutely thrilled to see how detailed you could make your art, and praised you endlessly. One day, after a particularly trying hunt with a behemoth, you decided that after dinner, you would show Ignis the sketches you had done of him DURING the cooking process of his prized recipes. Ignis is washing up after providing you and the rest of the guys a wonderful, nutritious meal, so you approach him with a rather teeming pile of sketches in your arms. Ignis glances at your briefly and offers you a welcoming smile. “Hello love, something the matter?” he asks, his brow furrowing slightly as he rubs against a rather stubborn piece of dried food on a plate.

You sigh and shake your head. “No, not really. Just… I drew you something.” Ignis’ smile widened and his moss green eyes lit up in excitement. Your heart soared at his reaction. He was always so openly enthusiastic about your art.

“Oh, well then- let’s take a seat after I finish up and you can show me your meal sketches-”

You smile up at Ignis, cutting him off. “They’re not… meal sketches. They’re of something- or someone- else.” Ignis stops his movements for a moment before nodding carefully.

“Okay. We’ll take a look at those then.”

When Ignis finally sits down and views your numerous sketches of him, your cheeks and flaming red. Ignis, however, is dead silent for a few moments. Suddenly, he turns towards you and his eyes a brimmed with fondness and appreciation.

“Y/n… sweetheart. This devotion you have for me is unfounded- I am only a man, and not a perfect one at that. And yet you draw me like I’m divinity.”

You smile and shrug gently. “You are to me.”

Libraries and Piragua (Lin-Manuel x Reader)

Summary: You were sexiled by your roommate on a day that you’d kill just to collapse into bed. You end up passing time with someone that makes your day end on a high note.

Word Count: 1,340

Warnings: Aimless plot, mentions of sex (nothing graphic), cussing, mentions of death (but character death like Abuela Claudia’s death in ITH mentioned is what I’m saying)

A/N: College AUs are my weakness, this is a demonstration of my knack for tying In The Heights into literally anything (and making my Classical Tradition professor proud with my Sophocles reference). Also, I am obsessed with the way Lin’s eyes are so expressive and was forced to take out approximately 1,000 references to them from this fic during proofreading.
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“Please [Y/N]? You owe me from that time you broke the coffee machine, [Y/N].” you muttered, mocking your roommate’s pleas as you trudged across campus to the library. You planned on mocking your own stupidity for agreeing to her request once you were done being annoyed with her. She had to pick the one day you ended up having a terrible, rushing-everywhere, everything-goes-wrong kind of day to seal the deal with the guy she’s been pining over for months. 

You yanked open the door to the library with an unnecessary amount of force before you stalked inside. You made it upstairs, appreciative of the near empty scene. There was only a few people scattered among the tables or computers along the wall. At least you knew you’d be left alone with your bitterness. 

You pulled out a chair to toss your bag onto before shedding your jacket. Once you got settled in, you pulled out your headphones and laptop. You popped in one headphone and scanned your library looking for a song that might ease your exasperation. Once you had it playing you pulled out your textbook and leafed through it, debating whether you wanted to be productive or not. You settled on not and shoved it away before pulling your laptop closer. With your one free ear you heard a chuckle and you internally sighed before turning to find its source. The table to your right had a boy who was looking at you amused. You wondered if the dark circles under his eyes meant he was as exhausted as you were.

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anonymous asked:

Hi! I hope your day is going well so far. Can I request something for Damian sneaking into his older batsis' room when he can't sleep?

It’s been alright so far! Thank you! I hope your day is going well / will go well! Thank you for requesting! Hope this is alright for you! 


Damian has tried counting sheep and even reading through a couple of historical journals to try and lull himself to sleep but to no avail, he laid on the bed, eyes still wide awake. He had tossed and turned for a good few minutes before promptly throwing the covers off of his body.

“TT.” He sat up and looked around the bedroom. Damian does not even know how long he had been trying to fall asleep but he also knows that it’s probably nearing 3AM right about now.

He briefly contemplated the decision he is about to make before getting off the bed. He padded to the door and quietly closed the bedroom door behind him. Walking through the hallways at night used to be something he looked forward to because of the lack of people but nowadays, it just seemed rather empty, lonely even. He frowned as he took the familiar walk to his sister’s bedroom.

Damian isn’t sure you are still awake at this moment. Normally you would be, Damian supposes, but considering the fact that lately it seemed as if you had been putting in a lot of hours at work, you probably wouldn’t be awake either. He shifted. “TT.” Maybe he should just go back to his own bedroom?

The moment he reached your door, he lets his hand rest on the doorknob, questioning whether or not he should disturb you. He could just sneak in, stay beside you and leave right before you wake up for your morning shift. Damian is torn between wanting to sneak in and leaving – you did seem a little bit worn out earlier when he went to talk to you before he had left for patrol with father.

Damian dropped his hand from the doorknob and is about to turn away to head downstairs when the door opened. You stood there, looking at him sleepily. “Hey Damian.” Your voice is heavy, laced with sleep. You let out a small yawn. “I figured it would be you.” You open the door wider. “Come on.”

Damian frowns. He was sure he had been quiet enough and he knew he barely made any noise when he had approached your door earlier.

Seeing the confused look on Damian’s face, you let out a soft chuckle, pulling him inside. “You tend to forget that I live with a bunch of detectives and trained vigilantes. I have come to pick up some tricks for myself too.” You were not about to tell Damian that you are aware of how he would sometimes sneak in to your bedroom – you knew your little brother would just be super embarrassed afterwards. That shall be a secret you will carry to your grave.

“TT.” Damian walks over to the unoccupied side of your bed before making himself very comfortable.

“How was your patrol?” You ask, padding back to your bed. You got under the covers and threw them over Damian too. He turns to his side so that he can face you. “Alfred did not wake me up so I assumed none of you came home too injured.”

Damian shakes his head. “TT.” He is starting to feel his eyelids getting heavier. “Todd got grazed by a bullet but it was nothing too life threatening.” His voice is getting softer and heavier. “What about you? How was your day, big sister?”

You smile, turning to properly look at your little brother. You could see him struggling to keep his eyes open so you decided to entertain his question. “It was super tiring but I managed to help a lot of people today. A little girl even shared her apple juice with me because I fixed up her hand. Poor girl broke it when she fell off a trampoline.”

Your explanation fell upon deaf ears and instead is greeted with a light snore. You giggle to yourself when Damian twitches slightly before moving closer to you. You tuck the covers up to his chin before pressing your lips on his forehead.

“Sleep well, my little brother.”

Sharing A Tent With Murphy

Pairing: John Murphy X Reader
Requested: no
Warnings: some mild cursing, and sexual references
A/N: I’ve had the idea for this bouncing around my head for awhile, and finally decided to put it down on paper. This is my first time writing about anything other than 5sos, so feedback would be greatly appreciated! Thanks for reading, and I hope you like it!
Word count: 1479

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“What do you mean I don’t have a tent anymore?” Murphy exclaims angrily at Bellamy.

You were helping Clarke and Octavia tend to the sick after Murphy had brought an infection back to camp. Your father had been a doctor on the ark, and you were following in his footsteps until you had been arrested. You were caught stealing medicine for a little girl, but you don’t regret it since she got to live because of your actions.

“We needed the extra supplies and since you were banished, we weren’t going to let them go to waste,” Bellamy explains to him using his ‘I’m the boss’ tone. Sighing, Murphy looks down at the ground and runs a hand through his dirty hair.

“Fine, but where am I going to sleep now?”

“You’ll have to share with someone.”

Murphy laughs grimly, “And who would that be?” He sneers. He knew no one would want to share with him, everyone despises him. Bellamy looks around the drop ship until his gaze lands on you; your eyes lock together. You know what is about to happen; you were credited with being the nicest delinquent around.

“Y/N,” Bellamy yells over to you, “come over here, I need to ask you something.”

You place the medical supplies you had been sorting down. Rising from your kneeling position you walk towards the pair. You look at Murphy, and take in his appearance: his clothes are torn, stained with dried blood, and dirt is caked onto his pale skin, a sharp contrast. Murphy’s wounds still haven’t been cleaned, you realize.

“What’s up?” You question Bellamy, raising one eyebrow.

“Murphy is going to be sleeping in your tent, with you, until further notice.”

“What? My tent barely has enough room for me, let alone both of us,” you protest crossing your arms over your chest and jutting your hip out.

“I guess you’ll have to make it work.” Bellamy walks off, leaving no room for discussion. Sighing, you turn towards Murphy, who had been watching the ordeal with a bored expression.

“Well, come on then.” You motion for him to follow you as you lead the way to your tent. As the two of you make your way towards your tent you can hear people whispering, all of which concern the boy that is trailing after you. Murphy is playing strong though, keeping his head up high and facial expression locked into a firm glare straight ahead. One of the comments catches your attention, it’s louder than the others, the person obviously didn’t care if anyone heard them.

The boy had said, “She better be careful, or next thing you know she’ll be murdered by that psychopath.” You whip your head around without even thinking.

“Who the hell do you think you are? Last I checked, Murphy was the one helping the sick, sure he got them infected, but they’re the ones who hanged and banished him. Where were you? Out hiding away and doing nothing to help the camp? Yeah, that’s what I thought. So shut your damn mouth and do something useful with your pathetic life.”

With that, you grab Murphy’s hand and hurriedly drag him away. Unzipping the flap, you go inside and quickly tidy up the few things you have. Turning, you see Murphy shifting on his feet, unsure of what to do. You nod your head towards the bed, silently telling him to sit down. He follows your noiseless command, sitting on the edge of your makeshift bed of old blankets and animal pelts. Finally, you take in his appearance again, his face is dirty, clothes torn. Decidedly, you stand up and make your way to the exit of the small enclosure. Murphy’s head shoots up, you hold out your hand in a stop motion, telling him to stay put.

You walk towards the small tent next to the drop ship that houses whatever medical supplies people had been able to scrounge up. Entering, you head straight for the table that holds bowls of moonshine, then bandages, and finally a bucket that had been collecting water outside of the door. Once you situate the items in your arms you make your way back to the place you’ve started calling your home. All eyes were on you. No one had ever seen you snap like that, you were generally a nice level headed person.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” you told one group that was openly staring at you.

Slipping back into your tent you saw Murphy in the same position you left him in, staring intently at his hands. You place the bucket of water besides you as you kneel in front of him in between his knees. Gently you take his left hand in yours. After dunking a piece of cloth in the water you start to clean off his hand. Looking up at him once you shift to a moonshine soaked rag, you softly speak, “This is going to hurt.”

He met your eyes, only giving you a brief nod to acknowledge your words. As you dab at the wounds on his hand, an audible breath in and wince was the only reaction he let you see. You move from one hand to the other, repeating the process. When both hands were clean you stilled.

“Take off your shirt,” you demand in a firm tone.

“So, this is why you’re letting me stay in your tent, you’re trying to get into my pants. Y'know all you had to do was ask, right?” A smirk spread across his face.

“Trust me Murphy, if I wanted to, you’d be naked and begging by now.”

“Is that so?”

“You know it.”

“Then prove it.”

“No. You’re injured and I’m not really into the dirt and blood covered look. Now, take off your shirt.”

Giving you a, dare you say, playful glare he pulls his shirt over his head. You can’t contain the gasp that slips past your lips. His chest is covered in long, angry gashes. You put a hand on his shoulder, pushing him down so he’s on his back looking up at you. Shifting your position, you now sit near his waist, you’ll have to lean over him to reach the top of his chest. You start cleaning him from his collar bones down to his hips, trying to ignore his tensing abs. Blushing you reach the top of his pants and glance up at him. You know the next thing out of your mouth is going to be incredibly embarrassing to ask.

“I-is there, uh, anything else, I, um, need to clean?” You awkwardly ask, looking anywhere but his eyes.

“No, but there is something you can suck,” he says, his signature smirk placing itself back onto his lips.

“Only in your dreams,” you retort after quickly composing yourself, and rolling your eyes. You grab his shirt from where it had been carelessly dumped on the ground. He takes it from your outstretched hand, then lets it fall back to the ground next to the bed. All you can do is give him an exasperated look.

“Sorry doll, I sleep shirtless and it’s time for some shut-eye,” he places his arms under his head, muscles flexing as he does so. You hadn’t even realized the sun had set while you had been intently cleaning Murphy up. You also hadn’t realized how tired you were, once your muscles had stopped their task they felt heavy and sore. It had become a familiar feeling at the end of the day after working long hours healing the impulsive delinquents.

“And what makes you think you’re getting the bed?” You place a hand on your hip, head tilting to the side.

“C'mon, I’m injured.” His lips form a mock pout, matching the sarcastic glint in his eyes.

Sighing you tell him, “Fine scoot over,” while climbing up from where you were leaning back on your legs by his legs. You situate yourself under the covers Murphy had been pulling out from underneath him.

“Just a warning, I’m a sleep cuddler.” You turn your body, facing away from the boy, onto your side.

“Trust me, I don’t have a problem having you closer,” you hear him whisper right before you drift off to sleep. Making you question if he had really said that.

You woke up the next morning with a warm body pressed against your back, and a hand resting on your boob. For a second you relish in the warmth the body provides, before realizing who it was holding you. Struggling to move away from the embrace, the hands around you tighten. Wiggling for awhile longer with no use, you slump against him, giving up on getting away. Lightly you feel the all-too-familiar smirk of John Murphy press against the back of your neck. That asshole was awake.

“Murphy, if you don’t get your hand off my boob, I’m going to castrate you,” the threat came out of your mouth in a low growl.

anonymous asked:

Hi there! I saw where you opened requests and I'm so excited because I loved your Sundance Kid series! Can I request a fic where McCree invites his fem!crush somewhere private to tell her how he feels since he can't seem to get it across to her with subtle flirting? (She's shy and finds it hard to banter back (/^.^\) Thanks!

Glad you like the series. Thank you for the request and I hope this is what you wanted. It took me a little longer than expected and its longer than I thought it would be!


You usually only came down to the shooting range to watch the others. You weren’t much of a shot and never were comfortable with a weapon in your hand. Technology and science were more down your alley. Since you were young, technology and science had fascinated you and that’s what you ended up doing with your life.

“Hey, sweet pea,” McCree calls out behind you and you turn to him with a smile. The cowboy had always been one your favorites.

“Hey there, McCree. I watched you shoot today. Looking good as always.” That seemed to boost his ego and he gave you a toothy smile.

“Not as good as I usually am though. My arm here has been actin’ a little funny – think you can look at it for me?” He holds his mechanical arm out towards you and you shake your head.

“Come with me to the lab and I’ll check it out.”

He walked silently beside you, twirling his six shooter every now and then with his flesh and blood arm.

“Are you nervous about something, McCree?” you ask him jokingly.

“Now what would I have to be nervous about, darlin’?” The truth was, he was ridiculously nervous and had nothing to do with his arm. In fact, there was nothing wrong with his arm, he just wanted to spend time with you.

You stop as you reach the door the lab and turn to McCree who seems to be a little too close to you all the sudden. “M-McCree,” he leans in closer and you take a deep breath.

“Yes, darlin’?”

“I need…I need you to put that cigarillo out before you come into the lab…please,” you add breathlessly. He smirks and nods, dropping the offending thing to the floor and stepping on it.

“You’re the boss,” he says, still too close to you.

“Yeah, don’t want anything accidentally exploding.” His eyes widen and he stands up straighter giving you room to move away and open the lab door. “So, what’s wrong with your arm?”

“Well, uh, it seems a lil stiff,” he lied.

“Where?” You hold your hands out and nod your head, waiting for him to show him your arm. He moved closer to you and held out his arm still not showing you where it was stiff. He wasn’t even looking at your arm, he was looking at you and you could feel yourself blushing. “McCree…”

“It’s Jesse.”

Jesse…could you please move your arm for me so I can diagnose the problem?”

He let out what sounded like a displeased grunt as you poked and prodded at his arm. You could still feel his eyes on you but you purposely avoided his gaze. “You sure are pretty,” he says suddenly.

“Oh…I…thank you, Mc-Jesse. I can’t find anything wrong. Maybe you should just try to take it a little easier on this arm for a bit.” You stand quickly and move away from him, feeling yourself getting warm again. “Is there anything else you needed?”

He wanted to say you. He wanted to say a little bit of your time, but he couldn’t bring himself to say either of those things. “No, sweetheart. Thank you. Guess I better just take your advice.”

“You do that and…I’ll see you later.”

He was about to speak when someone else came into the lab and caught your attention. He lingers for a moment and you look at him, “Did you need something else?”

“No, ma’am,” he gives you a forced smile and tips his hat before leaving.

You were busy in the lab for the next few hours and when you finally left, you went straight to your room to relax. The room was dark when you stepped in and you dropped your stuff into a chair before turning the light on. A piece of paper on the floor catches your eye and you bend to pick it up:

Meet me at the shooting range at 9,

Jesse

What could he possibly want with you at the range this late? You look at the clock and realize its already 8:45. Looking down at what you were wearing, you shrug and tell yourself that will have to do; there was no time to change. Besides, there was no reason to get all fancy just to meet McCree at the range, right?

You make your way to the range, keeping a steady but calm pace. You didn’t want him to think you were rushing to see him but you also didn’t want him to think you stood him up.

“’Bout time you showed up,” Jesse says from the far corner of the range scaring you half to death. He made his way over to you, the ring of heat from his cigarillo shining a bit of light on his face.

“I’m actually a few minutes early, McCree,” you say nervously.

“Jesse…remember?”

“Right. Jesse. So, what are we doing here? Are you going to show me how to shoot that Peacekeeper or something?” you joke.

“No, darlin’. I, well,” he takes his hat off and clears his throat, “There’s something I need to tell you.”

“I’m listening.”

He hesitates for a moment then blurts out, “I like ya, alright?”

“Oh?”

“I been tryin’ to tell you for the longest, but you’re so shy and sweet and it was just so hard to come out and say it. I didn’t wanna scare you away, sweet pea,” he finishes and you couldn’t think of anything to say which scared him because he started pacing. “Now, I’m gonna need you to say somethin’. I can’t have you bein’ quiet. My heart’s just beatin’ outta my chest right about now…”

“You’ve always been one of my favorites,” you admit.

“So, you’re sayin’ you like me too, huh?”

“Maybe…a little,” you tease.

“Hey there, don’t go hurtin’ my feelings.” He seemed to be feeling a lot better now that he had told you what he needed to tell you. “You mind if I walk you back to your room?” He offers you his arm and you take it.

“Not at all, Jesse.”

“Before we go though, I gotta ask…who’s your other favorite so I can rid of them as soon as possible?” He puts his free hand on his Peacekeeper and you laugh.

“You’re a troublemaker.”

“I am but I reckon that’s why I’m your favorite.”

You nod your head in agreement. There was no use in denying it any longer.

i’ll never be your mother’s favourite

Request: “Love your writing!! Can you write a Shawn imagine about him being nervous about meeting your family for the first time and he ends up feeling sick the whole way there but you tell him to just relax and it’s just nerves but once you get there later that night he just continues to feel worse and worse and ends up falling really ill and you feel bad for him and take care of him?? And maybe he’s embarrassed about being sick at your parents house??“

Pairing: Shawn Mendes x reader/female character
Rating: General audience
Words: 1353

John Mayer is playing softly on the radio as they speed past the trees on the side of the highway. Shawn buttons and unbuttons the top button of his shirt in the side view mirror for what feels like the hundredth time. They’re getting closer to her parents’ house and he can feel his stomach turn at the thought of standing in front of them for the first time. He looks hesitantly at the tie in his clammy palms every few seconds.

“Do I have to wear the tie?” he groans. “I feel like I’m already in danger of asphyxiation with this shirt collar.” 

“If I have to wear this dress, you have to wear that tie,” she says, eyeing the piece of silk in his lap. “Besides, it was your idea.” She receives nothing but a pitiful expression in response. “Fine,” she gives in. “But you’re helping me out of this damn thing when we get back home.” She rolls her eyes when she sees the smug smile on his face. “Not like that! This dress is tight as hell and I’m going to need help taking it off.”

“Oh, so no sex?” Shawn smirks at her. She smiles and shakes her head as she puts on the blinker and turns onto a smaller road. 

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

I have a Malec prompt for you: Alec returns to the Institute after spending the night at Magnus's. His neck (and deflect rune) is covered in hickies and he can't be bothered to heal them with a rune/is feeling defiant and doesn't want to.

i live for alec not giving any fucks

Alec pretty much figures out what’s wrong the second he steps into the Institute’s front hall. Raj looks over at him from his desk and arches a slow eyebrow, to which Alec scowls as furiously as he knows how. He can feel the heat suffusing through his cheeks as peoples’ eyes track his movements, their gaze falling to his neck where he is pretty sure Magnus has staked his claim. 

“Bro.” Jace says as Alec approaches him and Izzy, regarding him with bemusement. “Are you serious?” 

“No, I’m Alec.” He responds dryly. Izzy snorts and covers her mouth as she looks down at the table, flipping through something on her tablet. 

“You’re not going to maybe…I dunno, cover up your goddamn hickeys?” Jace exclaims. 

“Mm.” Alec hums noncommittally, peering over at Izzy’s tablet and assessing the incoming reports. He’s trying desperately to focus on that, instead of dwelling on how exactly he got those hickeys - 

How he’d been straddling Magnus on the couch, pressing heated kisses along the underside of Magnus’ jaw, open-mouthed and slick, and so very, very filthy in a way he’s only recently figured out how to do; how Magnus had been groaning under him, his hips rolling relentlessly in graceful little circles, teasing Alec with just the right amount of friction, so endlessly good; how Alec had pulled back for just a second to drag his thumb over Magnus’ lower lip, ducking his head and smiling, and Magnus had flipped their positions, his biceps flexing under Alec’s grip as he’d pushed Alec back and bracketed him in with those long legs; how he’d scraped his teeth slowly, torturously down the line of Alec’s throat, and then closed his mouth in an imperfect seal over the angry red marks and sucked, his lips like a brand against Alec’s skin - 

Alec shudders. Yeah, he can’t bring himself to even skim his fingertips over the marks without immediately melting and calling Magnus to just take him home and ravish him; there’s no way he’s pressing over them to draw a healing rune or something. Not happening. 

And it’s - entirely possible - just a little bit - that Alec likes the reminder that Magnus loves him and doesn’t care who knows and that’s - there’s something so infinitely precious about that. He’s helpless in the face of anything Magnus does, reminded all over again that he’s found a love more extraordinary than he thought possible. 

“I used to think it was cute that you’re so gone on him, but now it’s just tacky.” Jace complains, breaking Alec out of his reverie. Alec and Izzy glance at their brother to see him pouting impressively in a way he developed at age ten and never quite let go of. “I don’t walk in with hickies from my boyfriend, and I’ve arguably got more of an incentive to do so.” 

“What?” Izzy asks, amused. “What incentive could you possibly have?” 

“Simon’s a vampire.” Jace announces loudly as Simon and Clary walk out of the hallway and approach the table where the three of them are gathered, engrossed in some conversation. Alec arches an eyebrow as Jace continues, unaware of his boyfriend and Izzy’s girlfriend coming up from behind him, “He has a neck kink.” 

Simon stops and flushes red, his mouth falling open as the surrounding Shadowhunters all look away, blushing, or - in the case of Raj - leer impressively for all of a second before he falls off his chair laughing. 

Lightwoods.” Raj wheezes as Alec rolls his eyes. 

Jace.” Simon hisses, and Jace looks back at Simon cheerfully. 

“Hi babe.” He says, reaching out and snagging a hand in Simon’s shirt, pulling him closer. “Look, Alec’s got hickeys from Magnus. You refuse to let me leave without putting an iratze on my neck.” 

“That is so much more about your sex life than I wanted to know, but good on you, Simon.” Izzy snickers. “Apparently you’re a lot more adventurous in bed than I realized.” Alec shudders. 

“I’m so glad Magnus has his own apartment.” He mutters to himself. Clary laughs at that, and they exchange an exasperated glance over Jace and Izzy. 

“Magnus is the High Warlock of Brooklyn.” Simon says, scowling up at Jace. “He could probably appear right now and whisk Alec away and no one could say anything. You’re just dating a simple vampire.” 

“So what, Alec is allowed to have his hickeys?” Jace whines. Alec groans and tips his head back. 

“When did we turn into a gossip circle?” He sighs. “I’m allowed to have whatever the hell I want on my body because I am an actual adult. Leave off and take your weird jealousy somewhere else private.”  

“Good idea.” Jace says, smiling winningly at Simon, who throws his hands up and mutters something that sounds suspiciously like ‘insatiable’ before he stalks off with Jace in tow. 

“I guess we’ll go on patrol in a few hours?” Izzy asks, laughing as she draws Clary closer. “And you, big brother, can go back to Magnus and ask him to finish what he started on your neck.” 

“I hate all of you.” Alec says, even as he takes his phone out to text Magnus to come and do exactly that. 

(When they go on patrol, Alec has a matching line of hickeys extending from just below his collar to just above the waistband of his jeans. This time, his meddling siblings do not see them.)