#the sap

[naturally---who]

I feel like Lan Zhan would totally be the type to keep a little trunk I'm the corner of the Jingshi full of Sizhui's stuff he grew out of. like not even stopping when he started attending class or anything but like all the way up until Wei Ying comes back. and the reason I feel like he would do it would be because

he would want to keep his son close and cherish him forever and

he would be saving it all for when Wei Ying came back so he wouldn't miss out on AYuan's childhood

Lan Zhan would of course never tell anyone about this while he was doing it and he would be content with all the people outside of the people that need to know just not knowing. Until a few months after Wei Ying's return when someone slips and it gets out there in what was surely an accident (whoever did it better hope it was) and the entire cultivation world finally realize that THE Hanguang-jun was secretly a HUGE sap who keeps a little box by his bed with AYuan's little baby booties in it

[shana-silver-fox]

Do you think there were Pam and Roy shippers at the beginning of The Office? Are there people that stupid who can’t see a tried and true plot/trope right in front of them? I mean everyone knew what Roy was from the first episode. no one was bubble wrapping him and calling him King stock boy muffin. Know your tropes. Know your role. Accept when you are Roy and not Pam and Jim.

[see-arcane]

Very quick important Future Canon:

Verity Willis adds another tattoo to her arm. She gets it done in a very unique chimerical ink. The dwarf who concocted the colors and fashioned the needles is an artist with his craft as surely as his cousins are with their anvils and cauldrons. 

“Tell it what you want,” he tells her as he holds the tool up to be addressed. She tells it. 

It’s a greater challenge than artist and implement are accustomed to--even ink that moves of its own volition has limits, especially when it comes to depicting shapeshifters--but the task is taken. Together they have stitched the likenesses of pucas and lycanthropes and chimeras and a dozen other fluid fey faces into all manner of hides: they won’t be thwarted by the image of a single god, no matter how perpetual their changes.

Artist and implement go to work. Carefully, meticulously, every drop of a drop introduced with precision. 

Hours crawl and Verity is still. The image--images?--slowly build a house on the underside of her wrist. She wonders if she imagines it--them--pressing its forming ear to her pulse, grasping the veins, giddy that the shivers of blood cannot buck it loose. It is there to stay.

So the artist claims with no small lilt of pride. The work is done and the ink is home. 

Depending on the week, the day, the minute, she sees something different when she looks at it. A bird of black and white and a bloody beak. A fox with less amber in its eyes than emerald. A snake coiled in snug loops around her forearm and trying to crowd out the illustrations that were there first. A god. A goddess. A grin made of fire or the suggestive shadows on a full moon. These and hundreds more.

And yet the image is also the same. Always the same subject under the feathers, the scales, the pyre, the masks. Always the same. 

To her eyes if no one else’s.

[isisisak]

Good morning, while we wait for the Sana + Isak scene, think about all those times Isak gets piggy back rides now.

First time happened after Even cooked and Isak was helping (read: sitting on the counter and directing the spices. bc hello? he is the master of spices) and then it was time to give Isak rewarding kisses for being such a good helper so Even was standing between his legs and then suddenly he turned around, put his hands under Isak’s knees and said

“Hop on!”

Then this one time when Isak was a grumpy, sleepy lump in bed, where it’s warm and soft and cozy and Even was in such a good mood (*sigh* those morning persons) he pampered Isak’s face with all those kisses and then pulled him into a sitting position, rubbed their noses together and then whispered against his mouth

“Come on, Baby Monkey” and turned around.

Or the time when Isak got really, really drunk on Mahdi’s birthday. He wanted to stay mainly sober but as those plans go one drunk Eva

(”Isakiyakiiii, here have a shot with meee!”)

and also one very interesting drinking game (Even now may or may not know his part in that awful Penetrator song) later, he was basically shitfaced. He and Jonas were sitting on the stairs, Even crouching down in front of them, when Even suggested they get home and

“Oh! Yesss, plissss....Evi, I don’t want to move though”

he slurred and really tried to keep his eyes opened but, boy, his lids were heavy. His boyfriend with his amazing hair and his plaidshirt just grinned up at him and tipped his back, raising those fine, fine eyebrows (Isak may have sighed dreamily more than once while this interaction happened) in question. Isak returned the grin and asked  “Monkey?” to which Even answered with a soft peck to his lips and murmured

“Yes, my Baby Monkey”

and turned around for Isak to hope on. Once on his back he made a salute gesture to the general direction of Jonas and smooched Even’s cheeks, one hand firmly in that soft hair of his boy (for direction purposed of course).

[britishhusbands]

louis wore japanese flag socks just for steve???? they love each other so much?????

[clockworkfiction1822]

I’m Ready for the Czech.

As a lover of fantasy, my dear, I feel I must confess. 

And I only admit this weakness of mine under great duress. 

But I love your flourished charm and the way you dress. 

You steal the hearts around you the way one might play chess.

You’re a spectre, a phenomena, one can never possess.

But as I stare into your warm grey eyes, my love, I do digress. 

See, I live for the defiant revolution that is your personal success.

The way you you dusted yourself off and shined under stress.

Over-educated and by all accounts, over-dressed. 

It’s a lunacy of mine that it is you I want to impress. 

In fashion, in etiquette, in all things you profess. 

You’re my lord and lady, my Czech baronex. 

The ruler of propriety, the monarch of finesse! 

For these reasons, I feel I must confess. 

It is your sharp tongue and mind that I wish to caress. 

I feel your kingdom and mine could really coalesce. 

Your standards are high, so it may just be best.

If you let me ramble on; and don’t you dare say yes.

[misstisalir]

[ TEA ]: sender prepares a mug of hot tea for the receiver. [Loki to Sigyn]

[Bad Day Prompts :: Accepting] The modern world was a marvel of wonder after wonder. Mankind might be killing the whole damned planet, but at least certain things helped make the bad all the better. Sigyn, for example, had her women's shelter, and a husband to see when she came home most of the time. Their years apart had hardened her, but it was easy to soften when the smell of tea drifted over her nose like a bouquet. The smile that flicked up the edges of her mouth was quiet, almost reflective as she came up behind him. If it weren't for the distinct aura of their seidr, she never would have dared. Scaring him was not something she ever intended to do.

Her arms wrapped around his waist, nose pressing in to his shoulder blade gently, "...Smells like my favourite. You always know when I've had a bad day."