#all that makes perfect sense

[datshitrandom]

How was to be in a gay relationship (klaine) on screen?

“It was fucking awesome man. I mean the main thing here, like not because I’m trying to be blasé about the obvious thing in this question because we are saying that this is a gay relationship, nowadays, we just call it a relationship on tv, but to contextualize it, a gay relationship on mainstream Fox Network, that’s a pretty cool thing to be a part of. I often equate my relationship to that whole experience to Slumdog Millionaire which is, if you are familiar with Slumdog Millionaire is a kid that gets ask a bunch of questions and he just so happens to have the experience to answer this very specific things, now being cisgender straight kid you go 'oh oh what? are you going to allow this guy to talk gay shit?', I’ve been so culturally queer my whole life, not because I’m trying you know, actually, I was gonna say not because I’m trying to be cool but I’m gonna erase that, is because I am trying to be cool. All the sh— in my life that I have tried to emulate, learn from and be inspired by are one hundred percent queer as f—. It was in queer communities that I’ve found people that I idolize, that I want to be, to learn something from. And I’d say that’s a gross generalization, that’s a lot of things and a lot of people. But I grew up in San Francisco in the ’90s. I watched men die. There was an awareness of the gay experience that was not a foreign concept to me. So, it was a narrative that I cared deeply about. I wasn’t like a f— saint or like 'I’m the man for the job', they hired me and they said, 'You’re the guy,' and I said, 'Okay, I’m the guy I will do my best, I will do my best to talk about it in the way I believe and a way that I’m passionate about'. So in many ways I’m glad that it was me because it was a thing that I really like showing up for and it meant a great deal to me that it meant a great deal to other people. Because when people say they were affected by that show or that relationship, it’s not because of me, it’s because of that relationship on a TV and the risks that people took to put that on TV and most important of all it took the people watching it to have the "aptitude" for seeing beyond what was maybe given to them in other avenues of culture. People of all ages, all spectrums of awareness say, 'I didn’t grow up with a show like that and it was a really meaningful thing for me to see,’ and I go ‘I didn’t grow up with a show like that’ and that would’ve been very meaningful for me too, you know?, regardless of the fact that I’m a straight kid. That has value. For anyone who’s been an underdog, we all know, in any shape or form — sexual, religious, biological, whatever — it has value because there’s going to be a lot of people who see that and go, 'Okay, I can now understand this in a context that maybe I wasn’t able to before'. So short story long, what was it like? It was a fucking privilege and I love talking about it and I’m so grateful I got to do it." - Darren Criss at the Chicago Comic & Entertainment Expo Q&A | April 27th, 2024 

[ameliadoesstuff]

something about s1-3 zane is just. oh this guy is so silly and friend-shaped. look at his friendly boy swag. like????? how could you ever hate him. the ultimate silly

not to hate on his titanium era because frankly it is very cool. but the essence of s1-3 zane is unique and uncapturable. he is just a little guy you can put in your pocket. his default facial expression is so inherently funny. there are no thoughts behind these eyes. i would trust him with my life.

[starrjoy]

Pandora AU good ending <3

[nix-xin-art]

Mmmm Soundwave transformers prime… yummy yummy

[myuminji]

two people come to a realisation that day: one with joy, the other with sorrow. both are doomed by their realisation.

thinking about the idea that wolfwood just gets so devastated how vash, someone he cares about so much, could treat himself like that, and gets overwhelmed by the realisation that he can't do anything to stop him. how he loves this person but he can't do anything about it. how he loves this person and he can't do anything about it either.

and then there's vash who completely on the opposite end—found someone who cares enough for him when he doesn't anymore, and he can't do anything to stop it. it's too late, he knows it, the person will now shed tears in his stead.

(he realises it's too late to stop him, or himself. the gears on the clock turns again. and again. and again. it never strikes.)

[florencemtrash]

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter Fifteen

Azriel x Day Court Librarian Reader

Summary: Y/n's clairvoyance is a gift from the Mother, but it feels more like a curse. With the power to gain knowledge through touch alone, Y/n holes herself up in The Alcove and hopes her powers and parentage will remain a secret. But things will change after the Summer Solstice ball and a chance encounter with a certain Shadowsinger.

Warnings: ANGST... that's about the only major warning I can think of

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

Jurian and Vassa took the attic and became scarce, but when night and day slid into one another you still heard her painful screams, muffled as they were by the magic that encased their room. It was a feeling more than anything else. A tension that gripped the House until it seemed to be sobbing. At sunrise and sunset without fail, Vassa’s body broke and rearranged itself, flesh turning to feathers and feathers to flesh. Before it had been a painless process where her body came and went in its various forms, but no longer. Now she felt everything alongside an itch deep within her bones that couldn’t be satiated by food or drink or anything else. 

Go to the lake! Her body screamed. Go to Koschei! And then punished her when she didn’t comply. Like a beast had sunk its claws into her flesh, its waiting mouth only inches away from snapping. To stay away was a slow, agonizing march to death. To move close would be swift, but final, and somehow Vassa knew that if she gave into Koschei’s call, she would be lost forever.

You lingered at the base of the attic's staircase, your bare feet sinking into the soft rug until the sounds of cracking bones finally ceased. Three pairs of feet shuffled above your head and you heard Jurian’s faint whispers like a gentle push of air. When the door opened and Lucien emerged, you saw Vassa crumpled on the floor, now a bone-thin woman with dull, coppery hair and skin ravaged by scratches and pockmarks. 

“Shhhh. It’s ok.” Jurian whispered, encasing her in his arms. 

“I can’t,” her voice trembled. “It hurts. I-I-I’m burning.” 

“Y/n?” Lucien frowned. The door slammed shut with a bang and you jumped backwards. You clutched a velvet pouch close to your chest and then slowly held it out to Lucien. 

“It’s for Vassa,” you explained, trying to keep your eyes on his mismatched ones — one russet as river stones, one gold like the sun. He opened the bag and stared in confusion at the fine, white powder within, giving it a tentative sniff. “Morphine. Humans use it for pain.” 

“I know of it.” Lucien’s frown deepened. “They get addicted. Take too much and they die.” 

“She’s already addicted. That’s what’s happening isn’t it? Koschei’s drawing his power away to get her to return to the lake and every day that passes she’s dying.” Lucien tightened his fists around the bag, still skeptical. Vassa had endured enough. He didn’t want to have her endure this either. “The bag is enchanted and will never allow her to draw too much. Just enough to calm her hunger. If we’re lucky it might help her sleep too.” 

Lucien stood there, clenching and unclenching his fists from around the gold drawstring, waiting for Vassa’s cries to cease. But they never did. And there you were standing in front of him, unwavering and expectant. There was a glimmer of stubbornness in your gaze. A sign of the hours you’d spent researching Vassa’s condition and acquiring the strange human drug, and your disapproval if Lucien didn’t accept it. 

“Thank you, Y/n,” he whispered, “But please go. Vassa hates for anyone to see her like this. Even Jurian and I.” 

You swallowed thickly and nodded, disappearing down the stairs as quickly as you could. The next morning when the sun rose over the mountains and Vassa changed, you heard only the House’s usual breathings. 

The House buckled under the weight of the Inner Circle’s secrets and the sheer volume of history that had occurred within its walls and between its occupants. It utilized its magic in clever ways — your door opened with a creak that wasn’t there before so that Azriel would always hear your comings and goings. Lucien would suddenly find his door locked and the curtains drawn on the days when Helion made surprise visits to see Y/n. Nyx would find himself ushered around by a broomstick that swatted his ankles when the adults were discussing private matters. It was all a great deal of work. 

So it was a relief when Rhys and Feyre quietly moved their children to the House of Wind with Nesta and Cassian, and when Mor and Emerie took the final steps in emptying their rooms and went to hide out in their city apartment. It was even more of a relief when Helion returned to the Day Court, but not before throwing a heavy threat in Azriel’s face that if he should ever hurt his daughter again in any way, shape, or form, he’d strip the wings off his back. 

Meals at the House were tense, quiet affairs, something not even Feyre, Elain, and Nesta’s sisterly conversations or Cassian’s light-hearted humor could ease. Elain stayed close to Lucien’s side, one hand always on his arm or resting against his back or brushing against his, but that didn’t erase what the Blood Duel had done to his trust in Elain. He was kind, but guarded, especially when Azriel was in the room. But it was more than she could ask for because it was more than she’d ever given him in the beginning. 

You and Azriel were worse off.

You were speaking once more, but your words were always laced with a bit of apprehension and Azriel’s were always filled with sorrowful hope. Conversations were dull, short, and didn’t even begin to brush the surface of all the things you should have been talking about. You were terrified not of the Shadowsinger, but of his opinion of you. Did he want you so he could fix you? So that he could feel needed? So that you could be another one in a list of females he burned through? 

It never truly seemed like that was the case, but you also didn’t trust yourself when it came to your emotions. You had told him once that you couldn’t imagine having a love like Feyre and Rhysand’s, or Nesta and Cassian’s, and you still meant it. You were a matchstick and he was flint, and you didn’t know what would happen to you after he had lit you aflame. For all you knew, you were already burning and this wonderful thing you’d had with Azriel would live and die with nothing more than the memory of an embrace in Rhysand’s office to show for it. 

But oh how you ached to touch him again. To hold him like you had before and to have him return the gesture just as strongly. 

You stiffened when Azriel’s hand brushed your arm, warmth bursting out from the point of contact. 

“I’m sorry.” Azriel whispered, and he was talking about more than the wine he spilled when he reached over the table.

You spared him a glance, the first real look you’d given him in two weeks. The flagon slipped from his hands, and if it weren’t for his shadows catching it an inch above the floor, the room would have been doused in burgundy red. 

“Does Lucien know?” 

Rhysand looked up from his papers. Missives from the Darkbringer army and Illyrian troops up north clogged his desk, all begrudgingly accepting his orders to prepare for what could amount to another lengthy war. Letters thrown back and forth between the seven courts added to the chaos, all of them war-weary and desperate for a path that wouldn’t lead to bloodshed. 

You took up the center of his room and stood so quietly he hadn’t even noticed you until you spoke. It had been eating away at you for days since Lucien’s arrival. Every time you two saw one another or spoke, you tried to scrounge for clues that would reveal whether he knew he was Helion’s son and whether he might suspect you were Helion’s daughter as well. The other members of the Inner Circle had been tight-lipped about that secret, a skill you now knew they all possessed with alarming dexterity. 

“Does Lucien know he’s Helion’s son?”

Rhysand slumped back in his chair, rubbing his temples with one careful hand. Finally he said, “Yes.” 

The answer knocked the breath from your lungs. You’d been expecting the opposite. “Does he… does he know about me?” 

Rhys sighed and shook his head. You didn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved. 

“How long has he known?” 

“Six years. Feyre was the one to tell him. She was actually the first of us to recognize the similarity, believe it or not. But then, no one ever dared to give weight to the rumors surrounding Helion and Aurelia Vanserra while Beron was alive.”

You rocked back and forth on your feet, breath shaking as it entered your body. “Six years. Six years and you never thought to tell Helion that he has a son? I thought you two were friends?”

Rhysand tensed. “I’m Lucien’s friend as well and he begged us to never speak of it - to live as though we’d never learned that secret. And I keep my secrets. We all do.” 

“You and your family have made that very clear in the time that I’ve been here.” 

“If you mean Azriel—”

“Don’t play dumb, Rhys, you know I’m talking about him.” Tears pricked at your eyes, adding to the humiliation that had coated you like a film ever since you’d seen his memories about Mor, Elain, and Gwyn. “I don’t—” You swallowed thickly, “I can imagine how you must have all been whispering behind my back about Azriel and I. How you must have found it so pathetic the way he charmed me when I was really his fourth choice.”

“That’s not true.” Was what Rhysand was going to say. But he didn’t need to. Azriel said it for him. 

Your face lost all color, any bravado melting away at the feeling of Azriel’s shadows wrapping around your ankles like ribbons of silk. You could feel him in the room and that quiet darkness he carried around with him as inherently as if it were stitched onto his body. 

Azriel was shaking. Shaking. With anger, turmoil, or grief — you couldn’t name it. All you knew is that one moment you were standing in Rhysand’s office, all velvet upholstery and suave, expensive taste, and the next you were in Azriel’s room. 

Everything smelled like mountain air. Maybe it was the gothic windows that stretched into the vaulted ceilings, stained glass opening out onto a personal balcony with deep blue curtains fluttering in the breeze. But you were sure that even with the windows barred it would smell the same. It would smell like Azriel. If you threw open his wardrobe you’d come face to face with a wall of black. Lots and lots of black. Black suits he hardly ever wore. Black fighting leathers. Black leather jackets for everyday. Black trousers. Black boots on the floor. Very practical. Very Azriel. 

If you dug through his dresser drawers you’d find black boxers and socks to match and no shortage of knives and daggers hidden behind wooden planks or in leather sleeves nailed to the bottom of his desk. But at first glance you only saw three weapons in plain view — Truth Teller, blade down and stuck in the wood grain of his desk beside a pile of reports, and two obsidian blades hanging from the wall beside his midnight blue bed in the shape of an “x.” 

The smell — Azriel’s smell — calmed you, at least up to the point where you turned to find him standing less than six inches away, hazel eyes boring into yours. Then your pulse skyrocketed. You were certain that if he only looked down to your heart he’d see it pounding against your chest like a drum skin ready to burst. 

“That’s not true,” he repeated earnestly. “And don’t you dare believe it. Not even for a second.” 

His eyes jumped back and forth between yours and before he could stop himself, his hands were grasping yours in a gentle hold. The leather gloves were soft and supple beneath your fingertips. You wanted to rip them off so you could feel his scarred hands again. 

“You weren’t meant to hear that,” you whispered, suddenly feeling small. That angry humiliation went up in a puff of smoke and left you shy and uncertain. 

Azriel gripped your hands a little tighter and you watched as tendrils of shadow worked their way up your arms and got lost in your hair. “But I did,” he said breathlessly, “And I need you to know that it’s not true.” 

“Azriel—”

“I know—” he was shaking his head, “I know what Helion said and I won’t lie and tell you that I’m perfect or that I’ve made any smart decisions about love in the past — I’ve not make a single one — but… but Y/n you’re not a fourth choice. You’re not something broken that I’m trying to fix or some fantasy I’ve fallen for.”

His hands shook and despite the gloves his hands still felt sticky and wet. Slick with your blood. The burning scent of iron in his nose.

“You’re the most real thing in the world to me. You’re—” You’re my mate. The words crawled up his throat like acid and it just felt wrong. He would say those words to you. He would. But not now. Not like this. He came up with something else. “Y/n, please tell me you believe me. Please.”

And there you were. Falling all over again. Burning like a matchstick on fire. The flames slowly eating away at you bit by bit. You wondered what would happen when you finally hit the ground, or when you ran out of length. Would he still hold you like this? Would you still feel real to him? 

“How am I meant to know, Azriel?” 

You’d always been good at books. You knew the ways in which these stories worked where the themes and plot points had been preordained and written with the purpose of being tied up in a neat package by the final page. People were very different. They were unpredictable and chaotic and they could lie through the skin of their teeth and believe they were telling the truth. And that was the problem wasn’t it? Because you still believed every word that came out of Azriel’s mouth, and his hands still felt like they were keeping you tethered to this earth when sometimes your powers and the memories that came with them made you feel like a whisper on the wind. Weightless and at the mercy of something you couldn’t control. 

“You can trust me. You can know for yourself.” 

He pressed your hand against his cheek and you wanted to cry at the faint pricks of stubble beneath your skin and the sharp curve of his jaw. 

He wanted you to use your power on him. He wanted you to learn all the ways he wanted you. All the ways he loved you.  

But you couldn’t do it. 

Azriel panicked when you remained silent, staring at him and at his hands like you were frightened. All at once he was back on the streets of Velaris, cobblestones shaving away at the skin of his palms as he dragged his way up to you inch by bloody inch, fighting against a body that was too broken to move. 

He couldn’t remember what it felt like when he’d stabbed you through the chest and dropped you on the street. Everything between the moment he saw Andrian’s clear-cut eyes to the moment he saw Rhysand’s horrified gaze was fuzzy and dark. But that made it worse because now in his nightmares he could imagine all the ways he’d hurt you, each version teeming with the same level of horror and possibility as the previous one. 

He let you go and hated himself when you stepped back, your hand slipping away. 

“I won’t… I won’t hurt you again, Y/n. I swear on my life. I’ll-I’ll make a bargain, I don’t care. I would sooner die than let something like that happen again.” 

I don’t know what I’d do with that kind of love. If I’d be able to handle it. It might be too much for me.

“Y/n, please.”

 I am not broken. But I am afraid. 

You fled from his bedroom. 

The air had a bite to it now with winter descending. The snow line on the mountains dipped lower and lower each day, creeping like ivy down a brick wall. 

Elain never wore gloves. Not when she was gardening. It was something she and Ione had in common. She liked the feeling of her strong hands, the callouses on her palms and fingers that she’d earned all on her own. She grunted, slamming her shovel into the soil and feeling the microscopic chips of ice give way when she kicked down on the blade. It was too late in the season to be planting tulip bulbs. If she’d been in Velaris she would have done this four weeks ago. But it was alright with her. She knew the value of hard work, and she had enough hope for the future to believe that even though she was late, she’d have something beautiful to call hers come springtime. 

“It’s time for that conversation I was telling you about,” she said cryptically, as was her way. 

Lucien dropped the final basket beside where Elain now knelt in the dirt, her pale pink dress dirtied and littered with her own handprints. The brown bulbs rolled around like oversized chestnuts, the kind that he’d be roasting over a fire right now if he were still in Autumn Court. Instead he was here, lingering in a Court that had never felt like home. Then again… he’d never felt at home in Autumn, Spring, or the Human Lands either. 

He straightened up and wiped his hands clean on his trousers, golden and russet eyes trailing over the River House’s grounds for this mysterious person he was meant to speak to.

There. 

The faint swishing of black robes behind a dark green topiary tree. He should have known Elain had been talking about you. 

You cracked your knuckles and rehearsed the words you’d scribbled out earlier that day and then set to fire in a maddening loop. You’d been restless with the truth of Lucien’s parentage and you couldn’t believe that the others had held their tongues so readily. As it was, without Azriel’s company to help quiet your mind, you’d dug into this new piece of information like a starving animal and couldn’t let go.

Was this a good time to tell him? Would there ever be a good time to tell him? You had no idea. 

Somewhere in the attic, you knew Vassa was itching to take to the skies like the burning comet she was. Every night she shivered in Jurian’s arms, the morphine barely able to take the edge off the humming in her bones, and every morning she let him lock her away in her cage. It was getting worse and worse trying to keep her from succumbing to Koschei’s influence. Even now you thought you could hear her keen cries whistling from the attic like ten thousand arrows launched into the air. 

Somewhere else, in a secret, hidden place you knew nothing about, Andrian had finally been imprisoned. Andrian with his bent neck and silver, candy-floss hair and bloody little hands. 

You shivered and jumped back five feet when Lucien called your name, kind eyes narrowed in concern. His shirt was loose and open and the sweat on his body rose like mist off his skin. He was his mother’s son first, Helion’s child second, and fire still ran through his veins. The chill did not touch him. 

He tipped his head to the side, red hair spilling out from the messy way he’d tied it up and away from his face. A brutal scar ran through his eye like a fissure, starting at the center of his brow before clawing its way down his jaw like a lightning strike frozen in time. But for all the cruelty he’d been dealt with in life, his eyes were gentle, even the mechanical one that whirred and flashed in the sun. 

They were even kinder when he looked at you. You with your inquisitive gaze and curious nature, like a stray cat that couldn’t help but linger too long at doorways. One foot inside, one foot ready to run and hide. He’d caught you watching him at dinners, and he’d catch himself staring when you walked around the house with a book in your hand, so utterly absorbed that you would bump against doorways and bang your hips against sharp corners. 

“Elain told me about you. Did you know that?” 

You blinked in surprise. “What did she say?”

“Elain… Elain doesn’t always speak clearly. Much of what comes out of her mouth can feel eerie or discomforting. But, she told me before we left for the Night Court that I would be happy I came. That I would never regret the things I learned on my trip.” He tilted his head even further, looking more and more like a fox with each turn of his face. “And she mentioned a bird. A bird with ink-tipped wings and eyes like a crow.” 

You flexed your fingers, well aware that the tips were smudged with ink, the nails bitten down to the quick. 

“Someone clever and cautious who’d been hidden away their whole life and needed to see the sun.” 

You felt stripped bare. That strange vulnerability that comes with being summed up in so few words had you feeling airy. Like one sentence could be enough to carry the weight of the three centuries you’d lived and never buckle. 

“I know you’re Helion’s son. I recognized it the moment I saw you.” 

Lucien stepped back, scarlet brows shooting up into his hair with alarm.

You hesitated, then continued on cautiously. “I recognized it because I would know my father’s face anywhere.” 

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

______________

Author's Note:

I KNOW IT'S A CLIFFHANGER ENDING BUT I NEEDED TO BREAK EVERYTHING INTO CHAPTERS SOMEWHERE AND I'M GOING TO TRY AND GET CHAPTER 16 UP BY WEDNESDAY SO I DON'T LEAVE Y'ALL HANGING FOR TOO LONG. HAVE MERCY!!!

The good news is that Chapter 16 is already mostly written, I just need to edit it all to make sure things flow smoothly. Also, LUCIEN KNOWS NOW AHHHHHHHHHHHH

Sorry for the Azriel angst... but it's delicious, no?

[vellichorsdesire]

cuddling with your f/o(s) in bed but your arms always fall asleep. their hair gets in your face sometimes or vice versa. being in the middle of kissing, noses bumping too much or you just miss their lips completely with your eyes closed. bumping foreheads accidentally!!! kissing even more and then breaking it off to yawn or giggle and trying to kiss again but it only repeats. goosebumps and shivering whenever you touch them. accidental (or very much intentional/jokingly) shoving/elbowing because the others feet are too cold or it is suuper warm to even be this close to each other. they love and love and love you tremendously still through anything and everything. even if you steal the covers off them when you sleep, maybe

[dhmis-autism]

listened to The Bradys and thought about duck again you all know what that means

[adamparrishmybeloved]

AU car racer ronan lynch ends up in a forgotten town by mistake has to do community sentence because he wrecked something, meets former lawyer adam parrish that ran away from the city hustle after being very successful at it. is this something? does this mean anything to you? yeah, it’s the plot for the movie cars and what about it.

[purpleshadow-star]

It's kind of funny (heartbreaking) that there were multiple Ravens who wanted a number, to the point where some tried to manipulate Jean into helping them one way or another, but none of them would have been next in line. No matter what they did, there was always someone ahead of them on the list. Someone who wasn't even on the team. That someone wasn't Neil. Neil was a surprise to everyone, including Riko. That someone was Andrew.

Kevin might have had to beg Riko to go visit Andrew, and Riko might have laughed at Kevin and dismissed Andrew when Andrew turned him down, but make no mistake, if Andrew had accepted and had become a Raven, he would have taken that #4 spot within his first year.

If we're being real, Andrew had more of a chance at becoming part of the perfect Court than any of those Ravens ever had. Even Jean thinks of Andrew as one of them.

The other Ravens never stood a chance.

[odetojupiter]

so, we know that abuse and victim responses to abuse are very central to aftg, but what i find interesting is how other characters respond to the victim’s reactions, especially when it comes to mourning their abuser. there’s something about kevin mourning riko, aaron mourning tilda, neil mourning mary, andrew mourning cass, thats so important to me because it really truly highlights how even when people are united through similar traumas, the differences in their situations makes it impossible to fully understand the relationship a person has to their abuser. neil, aaron, and andrew are united through the abuse, neglect, or - what the fuck is the word i’m thinking of? permit? condone? i mean, knowingly allowing it to happen and not intervening - stemming from a maternal figure. but neil can’t understand why andrew would hold on to cass for so long - he refused to let her go until aaron came into the picture. and andrew can’t understand why aaron would mourn for tilda, potentially viewing aaron’s grief as a betrayal of their promise. and they all ridicule kevin for his reactions to riko. of course, neil and andrew are also abused by riko, but they still can’t understand the complicated relationship between kevin and riko because, at the end of the day, they just weren’t there.

i mean this is primarily an observation but i really love how trauma and trauma response is depicted as nuanced, complex and overall just difficult to understand from an outsider perspective in the books. it reads as really real, and though it can be frustrating when a character doesn’t understand a different character’s response, you have to understand that their perception of said character’s response is warped by their own experience of abuse.

andrew bounced from home to home, never had stability, so obviously he held tight on to the first mother-figure that didn’t outright hurt him. his self-worth was probably low enough that he thought living with drake was a fine price to pay to keep cass.

neil only ever had his mother, and he’d willingly accept her harsh hands because he believed she was just keeping him safe from the very real dangers that were closing in on them.

aaron was dealing with an addiction, and so was his mother; he was equally dependent on her to avoid withdrawal as he was scared of her anger.

i don’t really have a point anymore but you get what i’m saying

[eerna]

me explaining why Will/Elizabeth/Jack love triangle was a perfect little one-movie arc that wasn't present in the final movie because it was never about choosing and instead just about dynamics and character development so they all outgrew it by then

[myokk]

Hi! I'm still feral for these two, would you mind giving us some art of them in their later years together!?

Hello angel!!!!

Sorry it’s taken so long to respond🫶🫶 but I wanted to draw some new art for this ask💓

We have: Sebastian and Eloise trying out their new fancy camera with a selfie, pictures of them with their daughter, and finally…idk I just always felt like this drawing is when they’re a bit older💓

I want to take this ask as an opportunity as well to talk a little about how I imagine their future (I have no chill & you can ignore this and just enjoy the art if you want😇).

I am a COMPLETE pantser - I never know how a chapter’s going to end when I start writing it (I always just have a few scenes I know I need to include to keep the plot moving forward). Although I have different *big* scenes I’m always writing towards, and themes/plot elements I’m always foreshadowing (shout out to @elliecutte for catching *almost* all of my hints and appreciating my general no chill😆), IM STILL NOT 100% SURE HOW I WILL END THINGS !!! 😳 I have a lot of endings I see as possible, and I think soon it will become more clear to me what will work the best💓

HAPPY ENDING:

Eloise and Sebastian become Unspeakables. I have a LOT of thoughts on this profession that could be its OWN post, and I feel like Unspeakables are generally specialized in one or two departments, but as their interests/research change they also change.

Eloise becomes an Unspeakable in the Mind and Death departments, with the occasional foray into Time. Her ancient magic is connected with all of these things (my version of AM is NOT like the game) & the Department of Mysteries is one of the only places that gives her any useful information about these things. Plus she thinks too much (it IS her hobby after all😆💓) and is very introverted so a hermit job like this is a perfect fit.

Sebastian becomes an Unspeakable as well, but I feel like it takes him a long time to specialize in anything, if he ever does. I just feel like becoming an Unspeakable is the adult equivalent of sneaking into the Restricted Section🥹🫶

They grow old together (I won’t explain TOO much) & have a lovely little family🥹 at least one daughter that they both dote on. Sebastian had an amazing childhood (idyllic until it wasn’t), and wants to give his daughter the same, and Eloise works hard to make sure their daughter feels the love that she never had growing up🥺

When Sirius is burned off the family tree, Eloise and Sebastian take him in🥹🫶 (they’re like 100 years old but WIZARDS LIVE LONGER…) The same happened to her all those years ago, and she wants him to know that his whole family hasn’t abandoned him.

Eloise LOVED her nieces - Bellatrix, Andromeda, and Narcissa - when they were younger, but as Voldemort becomes more powerful & people realize WHAT he’s doing, she has to separate herself from them. Her heart breaks seeing Bellatrix go mad, and seeing Narcissa engaged to a Malfoy out of obligation😔 (iykyk)

I haven’t thought any more about happy ending but I think it’s fun to think about how their future story might weave in with the actual canon events, ESPECIALLY since Eloise is a Black🥹💓

SAD ENDING:

After Sebastian gets his hands on Slytherin’s relic, it really starts to consume him and makes him even MORE obsessive than his natural tendencies - I imagine it similarly “talking” to him like Slytherin’s locket/horcrux did in Deathly Hallows (😳)

Eloise is deathly afraid of the changes she’s seeing in Sebastian and steals it from him (he would never willingly give it to her ESPECIALLY if it starts to feel like a precious item to him)

BUT the relic triggers the latent Black Family Madness in her - the madness that afflicts almost every woman in her family since…🤭 - and she herself starts to lose touch with reality. Her body and soul are already destroying themselves between the curse and the ancient magic inside of her, and the relic is what triggers it in her.

Sebastian becomes an Unspeakable, focusing on the Mind, in a desperate attempt to find a cure for his Eloise🥺

He never gives up his research, and sometimes when he comes home she is lucid and they talk about his research - otherwise, he just loves and takes care of her.

(He’s never successful in finding a way to reverse what he feels he caused in the first place - his ambition and single-mindedness is, to him, the reason why all of this happened)

Honestly who knows if I end their story either of these ways😌 I just love thinking of AUs and different endings and I have a few others I’ve considered as well!!! And whatever endings I don’t write will be immortalized on this blog and in my art as well🙏

[tangramkey]

i love my Basketbot Portal AU

[pierremcguire]

the 2024 f1 grid as sanrio characters

[oceanwithouthermoon]

yk when i think about it, especially when im watching the anime with people who havent read the manga, the reason a lot of people who only watch the anime and didnt read the manga misinterpreted saikis character so badly is definitely in part because of how damn fast paced the anime is 😭

like that little smile and eye shine frame is there for not even half a second in the anime, so its easier to miss it and assume that he really did only finish those workbooks to get coffee jelly ☠️ its much more clear if you get a good look at how he reacts here that hes just a silly little tsundere and a fucking liar