one for the queue

so the last couple of weeks in terms of headcanons have been weird and not-very-consistent for me, so i thought i’d remind you guys what i’ve done this month in case you’ve missed anything - 

even’s friendship with the Boys // vilde x magnus friendship // subtle bfs pt.2 // cute evak hipster dates (guys i love this one idk about u) // isak’s sleeping problems // evilde + rainy mornings // boys talking about isak when he’s not around // evak shower (nOT WHAT YOU THINK) // post o helga natt warmth // even embarrassing isak 

Angels on Earth

Angels who are adrenaline junkies, chasing danger just hoping it will make them feel alive, feel infinite again. Angels who don’t care about the pain or injuries their adventures may bring; it only helps them feel more like themselves.

Angels who smoke, drink, do drugs, because hey, this body is temporary and wasn’t mine in the first place so what does it matter?

Angels who go out in the desert on clear nights looking for the strange lights in the sky, who go off in the woods looking for cryptids, trying to find something else that isn’t supposed to exist so they feel less alone.

Angels who break any and all laws they find useless, shaking their heads at the petty rules and restrictions placed on humans and at those who form the governments, pathetic humans who somehow find themselves fit to be placed above the rest. Angels who are rebels on earth as well as in heaven, impatiently awaiting the nearest revolution.

Angels who spill the truth about themselves to whoever will listen after one too many drinks or one too many nights stuck inside their own head, who know how delusional they sound but can’t bring themselves to care anymore.

Angels who’ve expertly mastered playing the part of the human they’re wearing, sometimes feeling bad that they’ve deceived so many of their vessel’s loved ones who don’t know that their child, their sibling, their friend, is long gone and replaced by some unfathomable consciousness.

Angels who stay armed at all times, whether it be switchblades in back pockets or revolvers under mattresses. Angels who sleep with a knife on their bedside table just in case their past comes looking for them. Angels who feel naked without a weapon.

Angels with little to no empathy who’ve learned how to portray emotions and reactions as well as anyone who feels, who can almost understand the feelings on a logical and mental level but not entirely. Angels who form attachments with the mind, because they can’t with their heart.

Angels who are a far cry from the selfless beings humans write them off as, who don’t care what happens to humanity, save perhaps for a handful of humans. Angels who only truly care about one or two people, but would level empires for them.

Angels who abandon their charges because they’re beyond help at this point, because they’re uncooperative, because they piss their angel off one too many times.

Angels who recognize each other on the street, perhaps once friends, lovers, enemies. They don’t speak. Their eyes say everything their mouths don’t.

Angels who don’t want to go back to heaven, who would rather stay trapped in an endless cycle of human lives than return to the corrupt shell of what heaven used to be.

Angels who avoid religious establishments like the plague, because how dare any mundane soul claim to know the doctrines of the divine.

Angels who are depressed, who are sick of the empty feeling in their chest, who don’t know how to feel whole again.

Angels that know that even going back to heaven will never heal old wounds, that nothing with ever be the same after their family was torn apart by the war.

Angels who remember nothing of home or who they were, who have only a feeling of divinity burning in their soul as their guiding compass.

Angels who remember too much, who feel it eating away at them every moment of every day, who think their lives would be easier if they could just forget. Angels who resent the knowledge of who and what they are, but know they’d be lost without it.

Angels who were made to destroy instead of create, who lament that humans can’t see that destruction can be just as beautiful and pure and raw as creation.

Angels who don’t remember God, who never knew Him, who don’t care to. Angels who know they wouldn’t get along.

anonymous asked:

I was wondering how long does it take you to write one chapter. Do you upload one chapter and immidiately start writing the next one, write two simultaneously, or maybe have a queue with a few almost- ready and just give the one last touch to the one that's to be uploaded before publishing it? Because, honestly, one chapter of that length per week is a pace faster than any even Yuuri could endure ;)

It depends on the chapter and my mood. If I’m really focussed, it takes maybe 5-6 hours to write & edit a chapter. If I’m having a tough time (which seems to be every week 😂) then it takes me almost twice as long. Mostly because I get distracted while watching netflix as I write.

….. I write the chapter the week I post it. 😅

I always take a day off after posting a chapter, and then I’ll usually write a little bit over the weekend. But there are times I end up writing the whole thing the day or night before. Mostly because I’m a horrible procrastinator.

But yeah, I’m not hoarding chapters or writing simultaneously. If I finished writing earlier, I’d get the chapter to you as soon as it was done. You guys literally get the new chapters hot off the press. 😄😘

Alexandrite by SilverMirror12

Chapters: One-Shot
Genre: Canon AU
Length: Under 5K
Rating: General Audience
Secondary Characters: None
Secondary Pairings: None
Themes: AngstDomesticity, Established RelationshipFluff


“And it’s not like I don’t miss you when I’m stuck at the Institute. So I thought, maybe I could try it.”

Magnus’s eyes trailed down to the ring in sudden understanding. “You wanted to wear something of mine,” he clarified.

Headcanon: There’s one royal portrait that went missing from the Pevensie’s line. It was a very beautiful, but pollen heavy spring that year. Edmund and Susan had very bad allergies and Peter and Lucy were suffering from colds. They didn’t think it that bad and told the artist he didn’t have to adjust their appearances. The man shrugged and continued painting. In the end, the artist was right. Edmund and Susan had squinty, swollen eyes and Peter and Lucy had bright red noses. They originally hung it on in their hall, but it went missing a week later. They all insisted it wasn’t any of them, but no one knew where it went…or who would want it honestly. The mystery remained unsolved.