why do i do these things for you

i heard somebody verbally whimper a meak “oh no” as merlin was suddenly and abruptly blown to kingdom come and then i realized with sad, hot tears streaming down my pallid face that it was me. my heart was broken. my houseplants were all dead and my toilet was clogged.

So I’ve been getting this feeling that some Tumblr users are under the impression that vaporwave / cyberpunk / whatever aesthetics is anti capitalist exclusively and like.

No? I’m not at all for socialism. Socialism can’t work in the real world. Just in case anyone was wondering about my personal politics v my blog.

Thanks.

I’ll also admit that one of the reasons I’ve not been on tumblr as much lately is that all of the drama is getting to me. I love you all dearly but my anxiety has been worse lately and I can’t handle it. I applaud all the good and important discussions being had but I likely won’t contribute to a lot of it until I’m in a better frame of mind

4

“why do you love lance so much?” why do you NOT?! look at him! this boy can light up any room he enters

bonus:

Aside from the sadness/disappointment/self-deprecation induced tears, from canon we know that Bakugou is an angry crier, Kirishima a sympathetic crier and Kaminari a stress crier, which, when you really think about it, means that once one of them starts crying the possibility of all three of them ending up in tears is pretty high

Right, yeah, I understand.
—  Ravenclaw, who does not understand, but they have a reputation to uphold.
Do not take, share or search for photos of BTS wherever they are.

Please, let them enjoy this small break they have. Do not let Bon Voyage happen again.

If you see photos - do not share them. If you see the members - do not share their location, take their photo or follow them.


Please. Do not be a part of the reason as to why they feel they always have to stay in their hotel.

If they wanted to share their location with the fan base, they would have. Right now, I do not feel they want this information to be known. Thus, whatever the reasons are, I feel we can respect that.

4

Lonely prince Noctis of Lucis asked the Astrals for a friend…

…So the Astrals sent him an hyperactive gunsman with passion for destruction and chocobos.



Apologies for poor quality. I’m not an artist, but this had months in my head and had to put it down some way. Tumblr is also lowering the already low quality, but the joke’s what matters. :]

It’s all directly traced from the original Lilo & Stitch scene and adjusted into the characters. Except Gladio. I only traced the outline of Nani’s head and did the rest myself. 

I’m not supposed to have the time for this.
I regret nothing.

anonymous asked:

I know you probably have a lot of requests with the gods and monsters - but would you ever do an Ares based one?

Zeus’s mistress Io remains in her form of a cow, guarded by Hera’s servant Argus, and Hera is content.

She will remain in that form until her death. Hera hopes that lying with her husband was worth the sacrifice.

Zeus won’t speak to her, unwilling to admit the cow is actually his lover and ensure her death, and equally unwilling to stand against his wife to try and rescue her. Hera has him just where she wants him, and it can’t last, it never does, but she intends to enjoy it while it does.  

Then Artemis comes to her, gold and fierce. She never flinches away from her queen, staring her in the face as if she is nothing more than another of her huntresses. If Hera did not hate her for being her husband’s daughter, she thinks she might actually like the girl. “Io has a destiny,” she says, “you must let her go.”

“I don’t care for her destiny,” Hera says idly, “especially when that destiny involves getting with my husband’s child.”

“She is to give birth to a new line of kings,” Artemis hisses, “to be the wife of a death god, to be mother goddess of a whole new people. She is not meant for us. You must let her go.”

“I am Hera,” she says, “I am Queen. I must do nothing.”

Artemis growls, hand twitching for her bow, but Hera only raises an eyebrow. Let the girl try. There are few that can stand against her, and the huntress is not among them. Artemis lets out a low breath and says, “Do it, my queen, and I will grant you what it is you most desire.”

“Some peace and quiet?” Hera asks.

“A child,” she answers. “Let Io go, let her fulfill her destiny as a goddess of the Black Land of the Nile. If you do that, I, the patron goddess of childbirth, will personally use every ounce of power I possess to ensure you conceive and deliver a child of Zeus.”

Hera’s eyes narrow, “Neither my power nor his has ever been able to achieve this. What makes you think you are any different?”

“We all have our domains,” she says, “just as you cannot command the sea, just as your husband has no power over the art of weaving, so can I ensure a healthy child when you could not.”

She taps her fingers against her throne. They call her a mother goddess, though she’s raised no children. Hephaestus may be her precious son, but he doesn’t know that it was not her that threw him from Olympus. Very few people know that. And she didn’t raise him regardless, that honor belongs to Hecate.

A child, of her and Zeus. A child she can raise.

“I accept,” she announces. “You may take her, and Zeus may fulfill her destiny.” She leans forward, brings the oppressive weight of her power to the fore and lowers the pressure of the air until Artemis is left shivering. “Know this, Patron Goddess of Childbirth. If Io births a son of Zeus before I do, I will travel to the Black Land of the Nile and slay her and her children with my own two hands. Not even Hades will be able to put her back together again.”

“Yes, my Queen,” Artemis says, unable to keep her teeth from chattering.

~

Hera is true to her word. She allows Hermes to think he’s tricked Argus and to steal Io away. She pretends to be outraged at the audacity, at the pure white cow traveling to the sands of the Nile.

Artemis is true to her word. Hera lies with Zeus, like she has so many times before, and a child grows inside of her. One day she stands before her husband and brings his hand to the swell of her stomach, “This is your child.”

Something almost like happiness steals across his face. She forgets, sometimes, that they hate each other only as much as they love each other. After so much time together, many would think it would be one or the other. They simply opted for both.

Artemis is there during the birth, her easy confidence more comforting then Hera will ever admit. Delivering Hephaestus was easy compared to this. She screams and cries and Hestia’s hands on her shoulders are all that keeps her from collapsing and begging someone to just cut the child from her. She doesn’t think she can die in childbirth, not with Artemis between her legs. She wishes she’d thought to ask before this began.

But she does not die. Her son is born, just as healthy and beautiful as Hephaestus was. “Well done,” Artemis says softly, placing the squirming child into her arms.

Zeus touches her hair and kisses his son’s forehead. “We shall call him Ares.”

“Very well,” she agrees, so tired her eyes struggle to stay open.

She hands her son to Hestia, and finally allows sleep to take her.

~

Ares grows into the spitting image of his father. Same copper-red skin, same silky black hair. Her husband keeps it short, but her son lets his grow long. The minutes Hera spends every morning brushing his hair are among her favorite.

He has an eager smile and a soft heart. Hera doesn’t know where he got it, since it’s certainly not from her or Zeus. Demeter tolerates his bumbling after her, though any time Kore attempts to meet her cousin Demeter’s temper frays. Poseidon allows Ares to explore the depths of the sea with a minor sea god acting as his guide. Apollo plays for him, and Artemis teaches him to hunt. Zeus’s lightning doesn’t burn his son, and when storms rage he takes Ares to the top of Olympus and teaches him to throw lightning bolts.

Hera selfishly does not allow Ares to go to the underworld. She knows he would be safe there, that Hades would protect him as he protected Hephaestus, but that’s precisely why she won’t allow it. They got to raise one of her sons already. It pains her to share Ares with them now.

He is happy, and kind, kinder than anyone would expect a child of her womb to be.

“He must choose a domain,” Zeus rumbles, watching Ares shoot arrows with perfect accuracy.

“He is a child still,” Hera says, “let him remain so for a little longer.”

“If he does not choose a domain,” Zeus warns, “one will choose him. We are gods. We must be gods of something.”

She flickers her gaze at him, and he scoots an inch away from her. “He is a child, and for now a child he will remain. We are not Demeter. We shall not thrust the responsibilities and power of a deity on a child who is not prepared for it.”

Zeus disapproves, but says nothing more.

Her son will be the god of something patient, something soft. The god of lost children, of heartbroken suitors, of forgiveness. Something where his gentle heart will aid him instead of hurt him.

She traded her happiness for power. She doesn’t regret it. But Ares doesn’t need to do the same – she’s the most powerful goddess that still walks the earth. He’s her son, and he’ll want for nothing she can provide.

~

Ares is almost fully grown, long hair reaching his hips even braided, and the strength of his limbs is such that he can keep up with Artemis on her most vigorous of hunts, that he can throw his father’s lightning bolts halfway across the world.

He’s been to every place, and met every god of the earth, sea, and sky.

Except for one.

 It’s not hard to find the volcano. He’s strong enough and old enough to take care of himself, and his mother does not worry when he says he’s going to the earth. But he did not tell her where, precisely, on the earth he was going.

He has strong legs.  It’s easy for him to climb to the top of the volcano. He’s almost made it there when something grabs his shoulders, stilling him. He turns, and stares into a single large eye. “What are you doing?” the cyclopes growls.

“I’m looking for Hephaestus,” he says, “He’s my brother.”

“My master has many brothers,” the cyclopes says.

Ares shakes his head. He is not the product of his father’s fling with a sprite or mortal. “I am Ares, son of Zeus and Hera. Just as Hephaestus is. I came here to meet my brother.” The cyclopes hesitates. He asks, “What’s your name?”

“Brontes,” he answers, surprised.

“Brontes,” he smiles, “I just want to meet him. I’ve never met him before. I won’t linger.”

There’s a moment where Brontes looks conflicted, and Ares tries to look as unassuming as possible. “Fine,” he huffs, “but don’t get angry at me if he dips you in lava.”

“That would be fun,” he says brightly. Lightning doesn’t burn him. So far the only thing hot enough to cause him pain is Hestia’s fire. He probably could go swimming in lava.

Brontes looks at him as if he’s slightly unhinged. He just keeps smiling.

~

There are more cyclopes underneath, and bright glittering machines that Ares can’t even begin to wrap his mind around. “Who are you?” someone demands, and a hand grabs his wrist and yanks him away from a boiling vat of lava that he’d been peering into.

He looks up at a man taller and broader than he is. He has skin almost as dark as the obsidian of his volcano, but lighter eyes. They are the color of dark amber, of molasses. “We have the same eyes,” he says happily.

Hephaestus releases him instantly. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Why not?” he asks, “The mortals talk of you. No one else will. But you’re my brother, right?”

“You shouldn’t be here,” he repeats, “Does Zeus know where you are?”

He shrugs, taking a step closer. His brother takes a step back. He wonders if he’ll have to treat Hephaestus like a spooked horse.  “Father doesn’t keep track of where I am. Mom know I’m on earth.” Hephaestus flinches, small enough that he almost doesn’t notice. “We have her eyes, you know.”

He can’t stop starring at Hephaestus’s skin. They do not work like mortals – Demeter, Hestia, Zeus, and Hera are all different shades despite coming from the same parents. But – Ares looks so much like his father. Kore looks like Demeter. Yet Hephaestus looks nothing like their father. He can see their mother in him, in the eyes and shape of his jaw, even in how angry he is right now. He looks like Hera does when she’s about to lose her temper, lips pressed into a thin line and the careful stillness of his shoulders.

“I wasn’t trying to make you angry,” he says plaintively, “I only wanted to say hello.”

Unlike their mother, Hephaestus lets out a deep breath and seemingly all of his anger along with it. “I’ve been avoiding you.”

“Why? You don’t even know me.”

Hephaestus kicks him lightly in the shin, the pretty gold and copper of his metal legs catching his eye. “You have legs, and I do not. Hera did not throw you from Mount Olympus as she threw me.”

Ares looks hard at his brother’s face. The stories say his mother threw her son away for being ugly, but he seems just as handsome as any other god Ares has seen. His features are strong and chiseled, and he supposes that could have looked unattractive on a baby, but –

– his mother loves him. Hera loves him with a ferocity only matched by her temper, she loves him at his most mischievous and irritable, loves him when a stray thunderbolt sets Demeter’s hair on end, loves him when even Artemis and Apollo have grown tired of his antics, loves him when Athena can tolerate no more of his questions. He is her son, and so her love comes without conditions.

He doesn’t think Hera would have loved his brother any less just because of how he looked.

He also knows that if he tries to say that, it’s likely Hephaestus will push him into a lava pit.

“Well, that’s not my fault,” he says, “If you don’t want us to be brothers, can’t we at least be friends?”

Hephaestus’s face softens. He looks like their mother then too.  He crosses his arms, “You can’t tell your parents.”

Our parents, he thinks but doesn’t say. “Obviously. Where did you get so many cyclopes?”

The last remnants of his brother’s stern façade shatters as he throws back his head and laughs.

~

Ares is very near maturity, more adult than child, and his father constantly pressures him to choose a domain. He usually quiets with one sharp glance from his wife, but the fact remains that it is time for Ares to take his place among the gods of the pantheon, to have temples in his name and worshipers like a proper deity.

He doesn’t really want any of that.  He wants to continue hunting with Artemis, learning with Athena, building with Hephaestus.

His brother lets him help out in his workshop sometimes, if he’s very careful and does exactly as he’s told. Otherwise he sits on a table, legs swinging, and watches his brother work and tells him about what he does in the time in-between visits. He talks about their mother enough that Hephaestus doesn’t flinch at her every mention, which Ares can only consider an improvement. Sometimes Brontes will stand beside him and they’ll eat sweet buns together.

Unfortunately, all things, good and bad, must come to an end.

~

There are two giants, Otus and Ephialtes, who grow tired of hearing of the golden boy of Olympus, who grow jealous of his kindness and his beauty.

These two giants sneak onto Mount Olympus in the middle of the night, sneak into Ares’s room, and kidnap him. They’re not stupid enough to attempt to kill him. Instead, they stuff him into an urn, and seal him inside. Ares rages and fights, uses every trick he can think of to break out his prison, but none of them work.

Stuck at the bottom of the urn and seething, he can’t help but think that if he’d listened to his father and chosen a dominion he might be strong enough to free himself. But he didn’t, so he can’t, and instead he waits.

And waits.

And waits.

Days turn to weeks turn to months. He knows they’re looking for him. He knows his mother will tear apart the whole universe attempting to find him if nothing else. But – what if they can’t? What if he’s stuck in this urn for the rest of eternity?

In his darkest moments, his sorrow turns to rage. He is a god, son of Hera and Zeus, how dare they do this to him?

Then, one day, the urn opens.

Hermes peers down into it, then his face splits into a grin. “We’ve been looking for you!” He reaches down and hauls Ares out, and for a moment all he can do is blink at the glaring sun. Then his vision clears, and he sees they’re in the midst of a battle. The giants are fighting against the gods, against his parents, against the twins, against his brother. It’s bloody carnage, but – he can’t help but feel touched that all these people came looking for him. “Almost everyone offered to help find you,” he says, “but Hera didn’t want to draw too much attention to ourselves trying to sneak into their territory.”

No sooner has Hermes finished speaking than a giant barrels into his mother with sickening snap. Her shoulder slopes at a grotesque angle, but it hardly even slows her down.

“I have to help,” he says, a desperate urgency filling him. They came to help him, and now they’re getting hurt. That’s never something he’d wanted.

“Ares, wait!” Hermes calls out as he goes hurtling toward the battle. He doesn’t wait. Fighting on the ground can only do so much good, they’re strong but they’re outnumbered one hundred to one. He darts to Artemis, twisting around the bodies she’s throwing over her shoulder. “I need your bow!”

“Ares!” she says joyously, then, “What?”

“Trust me,” he says, “give me your bow.” A giant comes running towards them. Artemis flips him over her shoulder while continuing to stare at him in confusion. He’d be impressed if he wasn’t so worried. “Artemis, please!”

She hands over her bow. She moves to give him her quiver of arrows as well, but he’s already moving away from her. Next it’s to his father, who’s hurtling lightning bolts towards the swarm of giants crowding him. They’re deadly, but only so effective at close-range. He grabs a sizzling lightning bolt right from Zeus’s hand, the only being on the planet who could do that and survive, and keeps running. “Get clear!” he calls out over his shoulder. “Everyone move!”

He runs up past Hermes, needing to get to high ground for this to work. “Get everyone off the battlefield,” he says to Hermes. “Now.”

Hermes pulls a face, but by the time he makes it to the top of the mountain, the gods have shaken off most of the giants, are far enough away that he doesn’t have to worry.

He can do this. He’s Ares, the son of Hera and Zeus. He’s been trained in archery by the great huntress herself. He breaths in, and strings his father’s lightning bolt like an arrow. He pulls it back, breaths out, and lets the lightning bolt fly.

It lands in the middle of the battlefield full of confused giants. With a great clap of thunder and a burst of light, they’re all gone.

All that remains of the traitorous giants is a crater.

The gods are approaching him, his mother at a limping gait that makes his chest ache. Zeus gets to him first, grin stretched wide as he grabs him by both his shoulders. “My boy! That was magnificent!”

“Thanks,” he says. The smell of charred flesh is in the air, and it makes his stomach roll.

They kidnapped him. They stuffed him in an urn for over a year. They hurt his mom.

That doesn’t mean he enjoyed it. He never wants to do anything like that ever again.

“This was destiny,” his father says enthusiastically, and Ares has no idea what he’s talking about. “This is what you’re meant to do, son.”

He stares. He hopes it’s not.

The other gods are still at the bottom of the mountain. Artemis and Apollo each have one of his mother’s arms slung over their shoulders and are helping her up the mountain. Hermes and Hephaestus aren’t far behind.

He’s never seen his father look so proud of him. There’s a leaden pit in his stomach he can’t explain.

“In honor of my son’s great feat,” Zeus booms, his voice carrying across air, speaking with the voice of the king of the gods so his words become law, so they spread to every corner of the world, “I declare him Ares, God of War.”

Ares can’t breathe.

This isn’t what he wanted.


gods and monsters series, part xvii

read more of the gods and monsters series here

warhammers, shields, arrows, swords...what century is this?? have you not heard of guns??

we’ve always taken shelter in our unhelpable pride

Dating Jonathan Byers Would Include

@kurtwxgners


  • Photos. Let’s just get this out of the way here and now.
    • Photos of you, photos of the two of you, photos of you with his family –
    • According to Jonathan, there can never be enough photos of you
      • Well, he never outright says it, but you can assume such from his actions
    • Depending on how you are with getting your photos taken, there can be a mix of what kinds of pictures of you Jonathan has an abundance of
    • If you enjoy it, you model and pose quite a lot. There’s plenty of goofy pictures of you that were done to make him laugh
    • If you detest it, he tries to respect your wishes. Honestly, he does. But sometimes you just look so beautiful and natural and that profile of yours looks so right in this lighting and just –
      • *click* “… Did you just take a picture of me?” “I’m sorry..!!”
  • Meeting *because* of said profile looking great in lighting
    • You were honestly probably just getting some reading done while walking to your car/the bus/however you get to and from school. Jonathan happened to look your way, saw you, and became incredibly smitten
    • Normally he’d just take the picture he wanted with or without the subject’s awareness and move on with his day. With you, however… He felt different about doing that. Almost ashamed in himself if he did it without your awareness, or even permission
    • Nancy looks in the direction Jonathan has been staring at for nearly an entire minute and immediately knows what’s going on, suggesting that Jonathan just go talk you
    • Of course, Precious Picture-Taker™ is too shy to do it, so Nancy tries another route: Gently pushing him towards you until he’s about halfway to where you are
    • He was about to give up and walk away but you looked back at him just before he could. Poor soul froze and could feel his heart beating so fast it felt like it was encased in ice. Meanwhile, his face was growing warmer by the second
  • Jonathan was incredibly tongue-tied when you asked if you could help him. Nancy had to step in and say he was doing a senior project for photography and that you seemed to fit the criteria he’d told her about
    • His face said “What?”, his eyes said “Panic!”, but his heart said “Thank you, St. Nancy.”
      • After you two became a couple, you would occasionally tease him about how shy and cute he was being over “little ole you”
  • Him making you breakfast
    • It’s already a part of his regular routine, so if you spend the night at the Byer household or arrive there in the morning on the weekends or even school day, you can trust that there will be a fourth plate laid out and stacked with food for you
    • If he goes to pick you up in the morning to go to school, he packs you a bag with a breakfast burrito or breakfast sandwich
  • Being involved in a two-headed mother hen of a relationship
    • You’re protective of your lanky prince, always trying to get him to sleep more, making sure he’s dressed warmly in winter when he goes out to take pictures
      • You’ve stood up to many bullies and unsavory people on his behalf, much to his dismay (and much to his poor heart’s horror)
      • This includes his father, whom we will discuss later
    • Jonathan, however, is virtually the same with you. In fact, he might even be even more of a mother hen!
      • If you’re begging him to put on gloves and a scarf, he’s darn-well making certain that you’re doing exactly that – even when it’s not that cold out
        • God help you if you sneeze …
      • He carries a mini first-aid kit in the glove box of his car not long after you two begin dating, which he’s glad to have done after you once got a splinter during a walk
      • You’re pretty sure he just plain likes feeding you because even beyond packing you breakfasts (which he makes because he thinks you aren’t being healthy enough), he’s always offering you snacks or has some on standby
      • Jonathan isn’t a confrontational person, but he will throw fists if somebody speaks ill of you
        • (To be honest, as upset as it makes you to see him hurt, you need to admit that there’s something attractive about seeing him get animalistic
      • Clarification: Jonathan is definitely the bigger mother hen
  • Developing a big sis-type relationship with Will and his friends
    • You learn a bit about Dungeons and Dragons for his sake before realizing it’s pretty fun. You want to join the group at some point, and agree to do so after Mike’s current campaign is over so that you don’t feel like you’re intruding
    • You inherently become protective of Will and make it your vow to mess up anyone who dares mess with him
      • Jonathan quietly appreciates this
  • Joyce adoring you and always ready to save a spot for you at the dinner table. The Byers household ultimately becomes your home away from home
    • She’s just so happy that her eldest son not only has a significant other, but one who treats him properly and embraces his oft ridiculed characteristics
    • (However, if you spend the night or anything, she still would prefer his bedroom door stay open. Just an involved mother’s preference)
    • She always makes sure you go home with a plate of something
      • Since Jonathan is the photographer, there aren’t too many photos with which she can embarrass him with – doesn’t mean that there aren’t any at all, though
  • The first time you meet Jonathan and Will’s deadbeat father, you try to hold your tongue. However, the keyword here is “try” because you ultimately failed
    • The moment that bastard uttered a single word about Joyce and/or her boys, you were hot as a studio light
    • You were cussing and screaming and calling out as though you were getting paid for it, growing hot in the face
    • Meanwhile, Jonathan stood there for a few moments, completely gobsmacked: Even when faced with ridicule back in Hawkins, he’d never seen you so pissed
      • When he finally comes back to reality, however, his instincts kick in and he gently ushers you away.
      • He can’t tell why his face is red: It’s not embarrassment, he decides, but maybe it’s a little closer to shock, pride, and … excitement?
  • Double dates with Nancy and Steve
  • Nobody telling you about the Upside Down or anything that happened until at least a year into the relationship
    • You’re not exactly upset that such information was withheld. How could you be when you’re too busy being horrified at the trauma everyone has surely gone through
    • As a result, you become a lot more affectionate towards Jonathan, always nervous that somewhere deep down he’s still very much frightened over his experiences. Speaking of affection, though …
  • PDA being a very quiet, tame thing between you two
    • Jonathan, being the closed off person that he is, isn’t necessarily going out of his way to show PDA in the way that most of your peers are.
    • At most, he’ll peck you on the lips or hold your hand. But in every peck and every hand-holding moment, you can feel the growing love he has for you, never allowing you to doubt his intentions even once
  • In private, Jonathan still exhibits slight hesitancy to show bigger, more emphasized forms of affection towards you, often fidgeting when you two are sitting together and watching a movie
    • He may need some encouragement or a clear sentence where you consent to him wrapping an arm around your shoulders
    • Once you get him cuddling, though, Jonny’s as comfy as a kitten in a sun spot.
      • Nothing will stop him from nuzzling you and quietly sighing with content
      • The boy loves neck kisses, giving or receiving. He won’t do the former as often due to his shyness, however. But you rarely let this stop you from placing a quick peck on his own neck to receive a slight shutter or him turning his blushing face elsewhere
  • Jonathan can’t help but feel like any nickname he gives you sounds awkward falling from his mouth.
    • At most, he’ll call you “sweetie” or “honey” but he often winds up sounding so unsure or clumsy about it that you can’t help but giggle about it
    • You, however, go nuts with naming him things and he doesn’t seem to mind: Jon-Jon, Jonny, Jon Boy, Jo-Jo, Baby, My Tired Puppy, Jon-Bon, Stieglitz, Picture Perfect, etc. (After 1983, you begin referring to him as Jon Bon Jovi sometimes)
  • Blasting The Clash from his room when you’re over or when it comes on the radio in the car
  • Jonathan becoming so used to your bizarre comments and conversation topics that he’s barely phased by them anymore
    • He plays along with them, even offering genuine input when you ask for it
    • He never wants you to feel like you’re too strange or your thoughts are invalid – he knows that feeling all too well and would never wish that on anyone he cares about
    • As such, he invests himself into every conversation you have, even if he may not have any real thoughts on the subject matter. But if it’s important to you, then he at least needs to make an effort
  • Helping him prepare his portfolio for his NYU application
    • Jonathan was honestly a little nervous about telling you that his dream school was NYU – most wouldn’t imagine a shy, quiet guy from a town like Hawkins to be able to make it out of the neighboring cities, let alone to such a prestigious school in a big city.
    • His little heart did an entire gymnastics routine of shock and complete glee when, after he told you, you gained expression on your face and told him that you needed to start immediately to create the perfect portfolio
    • In the end, a great portion of the photos wind up including you in them or some aspect of you or something Jonathan later admits he finds symbolic of you
    • You want to ask him why, but you kind of already know: You’re his muse, simple as that
  • Enjoying just that: Life with Jonathan (when it’s not involving the Upside Down or whatever else is out there) is simple.
    • Not in a bad way, but in a sweet way, the kind of way that makes you think of cute diner dates on Friday evenings, walks for ideas for photos on Saturdays, baked pies for Sunday dinners.
    • The sweet feeling of holding hands as you walk down Main Street, making idle chitchat
    • Life with Jonathan feels like you’re eternally wrapped in one of his sweaters – which, much of the time, is plenty true
  • Always being so proud of him and knowing that you two are a team, be it for fighting against the supernatural odds, or for fighting against the more difficult parts of reality
    • He’s your weary-eyed prince, you’re his knuckle-bearing, fire-tongued princess

the thing about Bakugou is that, in the limits that his personality allows, he’s soft for Kirishima - he calls him by name, listens to him and always answers him, tries to help him out as best as he can, accepts his help when Kirishima offers it, actively works to make him feel better when he’s down, never yells at him unless it’s an answer to Kirishima’s teasing, has no problems in complimenting him and pointing out his strength, he’s soft for Kirishima

he openly considers him a friend and treats him as such, he cares and doesn’t really try to hide it, though his inexperience in showing that sort of feelings does make him come off as awkward now and again 

I guess what I mean to say is it’d be nice if the fandom could remember that, instead of writing him as angry and prickly and downright offensive and uncaring when dealing with what has been recognized by the canon as his best friend and someone he does enjoy the company of over and over again