my attempts at things

It’s impossible for Magnus and Alec to fully separate their personal lives from their work. In order to do that, they would have to rearrange parts of themselves. They would have to limit their smiles, keep their distance; each word would have to carry less meaning than before. They couldn’t let their stares or touches linger until they’re alone.

But shrouding their love in secrecy feels too ancient, too compromising. They’ve fought too hard to suddenly back down. It’d be impossible to find a way to unravel their souls, as if they weren’t living lives as two jagged halves with a desire to feel whole.

They stay connected, but make it subtle. They keep it between themselves, the way they like it. In a bustling room of dozens, Alec’s hand on Magnus’ back could make the others fall into the floorboards. While Magnus speaks, all confident hand gestures and a perfect posture, their eyes are locked, and Alec covers his mouth to conceal a smile. Their formal greetings are filled with mocking accents and handshakes lingering in midair for just a moment too long, smiles too broad, outfits too coordinated as one man tries to outdo the other with rolled-up sleeves and shirts partially unbuttoned.

They don’t realize that they practically shine in a room of scowling diplomats. Everyone sees them interact with an unimaginable level of fondness, focused on each other as if there is no mission, no negotiation. They hear sprinkles of Magnus’ editing in the final cuts of Alec’s speeches, and hear Alec’s words of consolation and comfort mumbled behind the door before the two step into a room of Clave representatives.

But the Downworlders, the Shadowhunters, they all turn a blind eye to any bouts of affection, because happiness is in short supply these days, and Magnus and Alec deserve their share.

At the end of the day, when the discussions end and everyone parts ways, Magnus and Alec stay behind. Nobody thinks to interrupt them as they lean against the sturdy mahogany tabletop and laugh at the day’s events, conversing at a distance but slowly pressing up against one another, hands inching closer like they’re teenagers and doing something unlawful, dangerous, risky.

They reach Magnus’ loft bathed in pale moonlight, confessions and desires spilling from grasping hands and shedded suit jackets, the air hot and heavy as lips are pressed to soft skin.

They are entwined as they sleep, and separate reluctantly in the morning.

‘I’ll be by your side the whole time,’ Magnus tells Alec, a familiar sentence that brings comfort in any context. He fixes Alec’s tie with precise movements, even as their eyes lock and the outside world dissolves.

Alec smiles in reply, warlock favoritism be damned.

Hey Voltron Fandom, what the fuck?

I’m going to get straight to the point, you guys are self-destructive and are going to kill the fandom over your petty arguments and stupid self-entitlement. There hasn’t been a day since the beginning of the fandom that everything has just been peaceful for once (and I’ve been here since it’s birth) You all should be ashamed of yourselves, fighting online and hurting real people over fiction (this is not specifically towards ships btw) And I’m putting my foot down at all of this bullshit and trying to stop it

This is pretty lengthy so everything is under the cut

Keep reading

Here to shake things up

[Ko-fi / Redbubble]

Do you remember when you were a child

and your mother kept telling you

“Don’t look directly at the sun or you will go blind.”

?

Well, you are the sun.

And I keep looking, looking, looking,

Until my eyes burn and tears fall down my cheeks,

But I do not close my eyes.

You burn so brightly I can still see you clearly behind my eyelids when my night falls because I live for your light and I cannot let you go, and even if I will turn blind I want you to be the last thing I’ll ever see, your hand clasped in mine.

A love letter to you from the Moon, from Dionysus, from Grantaire.

Princeling of my heart…

~~

Or, I wanted to draw a “quick lil warmup sketch” to get back in the drawing groove after Katsucon before working on Inferno again, and well yeah, that didn’t work out… SOBS I LOVE PHICHIT TOO MUCH I LOVE HIM SOBS

PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, EDIT, OR OTHERWISE USE MY ART WITHOUT MY EXPLICIT PERMISSION. More detailed rules available on my Rules & FAQ Post.

8

A bunch of screw-ups in your family. I mean, your mom… I’m not even surprised what happened to your brother. I’m sorry I have to be the one to tell you, but the Byers, their family, it’s a disgrace to the entire—

i may have just unintentionally challenged thor to a duel. im gonna freakin die

a thing i’m thinking about today:

harry potter, aged 23, visiting teddy and andromeda for his normal weekly cup of tea and w/e, and andromeda is in the kitchen and teddy’s run upstairs to fetch harry the latest game he’s obsessed with, and harry notices a leatherbound photo album half-sticking out of the bookshelf in the living room that he’s never seen before, and sort of idly takes it down, and it’s full of photos of the malfoys

photos of narcissa: standing stiffly next to andromeda, the two of them not touching, looking very dubious, and teddy’s ruffled head in the bottom left corner of the picture as he tries uselessly to leap up and wave; sitting very still in a high-backed armchair looking quietly pleased and possessive with teddy six months old and asleep in the crook of her arm; frowning intensely as she pushes rune cards towards a blithely chattering 3 year old teddy.

but most of the photos are of draco. draco asleep on the sofa with teddy curled up and asleep on his chest – there are deep grey circles under draco’s eyes and he’s waxy pale with exhaustion even in sleep, and teddy can’t be more than a couple of months old. draco looking horrified and holding a squirming pudgy teddy at arms length as teddy gleefully spits up what looks like some of his first solids on draco’s crisp white shirt. draco reading a copy of the daily prophet with a 2001 date while teddy crawls up over his back and hangs off around draco’s neck and blows spitballs in his ear. draco and teddy posed solemnly in andromeda’s back garden, draco straddling a broom, teddy next to him and almost beside himself with excitement on the toy broom harry got him for his fourth birthday. draco and teddy playing exploding snap. draco walking in a park next to andromeda with a fast asleep four year old teddy scooped up easily in his arms, snoring on his shoulder. draco in dark jeans and a soft, worn thin looking t-shirt laughing up at the camera while teddy advances on him with hands covered in brightly coloured paint.

harry had no idea narcissa and andromeda were in touch, let alone draco. when he hears teddy thundering back downstairs, he quietly closes the book and replaces it in the cupboard. it doesn’t have to mean anything. he testified at both of the malfoys’ trials. he doesn’t care about them anymore. he’s not even angry.

only that monday at the ministry, when he’s heading for auror hq, draco malfoy wanders past in his buttoned up formal robes clasped tight around his neck, frowning and haughty as ever over a file, shooting harry a swift venomous look as is his habit, and harry’s heart suddenly kicks into high gear.