#but he gets all the comfort he needs

[foodsies4me]

Imagine Magnus getting badly injured and the trainees finding out through the grapevine. Suddenly the infirmary is full of a whole clan of smol shadowhunters scheming on how to help him get better (and of course Madzie). Magnus wakes up to mountains of pancakes, a loft of blanket forts, a blushing boyfriend and a plushie shark toy. Magnus has never felt so at home.

I am blaming you for the way my hand just slipped because of course I had to write this. Sorry if I missed any typos/etc. I wrote this on my phone in the span of two hours while I should have been working. We can only conclude that I am far too susceptible to cute writing ideas thrown my way.

Magnus wakes up to muted lights and the familiar smells of sandalwood and melting butter hanging in the air. There’s a dull pain in his shoulder that spreads all the way down to his pelvic region, bursts of pain flaring with every beat of his heart as he tries to remember what had happened.

He’d been helping out a young warlock at the Labyrinth, teaching the younger man how to better control his magic, and then- Magnus doesn’t remember what happened after that. There had been heat and smoke and a terrified scream that Magnus couldn’t place as agony ripped him from his shoulder down to his lower back.

Magnus remembers Catarina being there. He remembers white hair looming over him as dark skin turned ocean blue and familiar magic danced with his. They’re just snippets, however, small fragments that paint a disjointed picture with no outline that Magnus can’t begin to understand no matter how hard he tries. And he does try. He tries until the sharp sting of his headache starts to overshadow the dull pain in his arm and Magnus is forced to close his eyes again.

It doesn't help.

The muted lights pierce through his eyelids, drawing shapes and painting colors that make him more nauseous with each passing second, and Magnus should be more worried than he is. There's an unfamiliar weight pressing on his chest, another wrapped around his uninjured arm as soft waves of magic wash over him.

He's in his loft, he realizes. The familiar buzz of his wards is caressing over his skin, mingling with the soft traces of magic - young and soft and worried - that is coming from next to him.

Magnus unconsciously tries to shift closer, tries to sink into that soft pool of warmth and magic, when a small voice speaks up, "Magnus, are you awake?"

Magnus groans in confusion. He tries to remember who that voice belongs to, tries to pull through the fog clouding his mind, when that voice speaks up again, sounding far more excited this time around. "Alec! Magnus is awake! He's awake, come look!"

The excited shriek is followed by a series of high-pitched squeals and stomping feet that push him to open his eyes again only to be met with too-bright lights and even more dazzling smiles.

"See? See? I told you he was awake," an excited little Sarah cheers as she pushes herself upright to give him a wide dazzling smile. She lets go of his arm to do so and it’s only then that Magnus realizes where the weight has come from.

Sarah is not the only one crowding around him.

What looks like all of the trainees are gathered around him, staring at him as if he’d just hung the sun. Clara is giving him a sunshiny smile from where she’s still draped over Magnus’ legs. Keith and Colton are sitting with their legs crossed on what has become Alec’s unofficial side of the bed while Max and Madzie are looking up at him in delight, their unfinished puzzle forgotten on the floor.

"Alright, give him some space," Alexander orders as he makes his way through the gaggle of children taking up space in Magnus’ bedroom, "I told you not to crowd him."

"Not crowd," little Steph denies, shaking her head left and right for emphasis as she too refuses to move from where she's plastered herself over Magnus' legs. "Hug."

"Alright, hug then," Alexander acquiesces with a fond shake of his head. "You're still going to have to move so Magnus can eat."

"But Magnus needs get-better hugs," Clara protests, throwing worried glances Magnus' way, "Catie said so."

"Catarina also said he needs rest and something to replenish his magic with. And that means food." Alexander says, lifting the two plates in his hands for emphasis. "But if you want to help, you can go choose a movie we can watch, okay?"

“Get-better hugs after?” Clara asks, throwing Alexander a look that makes it clear she’ll know if he’s lying.

Alexander sighs, throwing her an exasperated look that only eggs her on, “After Magnus has eaten you can give him more get-better hugs if Magnus wants them,” he relents, throwing an apologetic look his way that makes Magnus smile despite the pain he’s in.

“I could do with a movie and a get-better hug,” he offers. He doubts he’ll stay awake long enough to enjoy either of these things, but the twin smiles that bloom on Clara and Sarah’s faces are well worth the effort of trying.

“Be right back!” They both yell out in unison before they’re sprinting out the door to parse through the video library Magnus had summoned specially for the trainees. Aloysius and Doris follow behind them at a more sedate pace to make sure they don’t pick a movie that is too scary for them and Magnus feels his heart swell with joy.

A soft kiss on his cheek brings his focus back to Alexander. "Hey," he greets with that heartbreaking smile of his, "how are you feeling?”

"Like I ended up on the wrong side of a slicing curse," Magnus admits through a wide yawn, sinking into Alexander's embrace with a content sigh when he slides his arm around Magnus' waist to help him sit up.

"Catarina warned that might last a day or two."

"Hmm", Magnus hums absentmindedly, his mind slowly drifting off again, "did she now?"

"Yeah, and she also said you had to eat," Alexander says, gently prodding him back to wakefulness until Magnus opens his eyes to glare at him. Alexander has the nerve to laugh at him. "Don't give me that look, I'm just following Catarina’s orders.”

"If you must," Magnus sighs perhaps a bit more theatrically than necessary. “Don’t think I will forget this the next time you get injured, sayang,” he warns before his eyes land on the two plates on the bedside table.

"The trainees insisted you also get pancakes," Alexander shrugs when he notices Magnus’ expression. "I tried to explain you needed steak to-"

"It's Sad-Pancakes-Day, not Sad-Steak-Day," Max interrupts as he and Madzie wiggle themselves onto the bed to sit next to Magnus. “Sad-Steak-Day just sounds sad.” He finishes with a disgusted look at the Steak Alec had prepared before he plops Bubbles, who had somehow fallen behind Magnus, onto Magnus' lap.

The realization that Bubbles had been that little source of joy and magic - that Max and Madzie had given Bubbles to him while he was asleep, banishes whatever sly innuendo he had been planning to make. "I could do with a Sad-Pancake-Day,” he concedes, sinking further into Alec’s warm embrace.

The next few minutes pass in a haze off small, offered bites of steak and pancakes and sips of martini as Magnus struggles to keep his eyes open. His two plates are half-empty when Clara and Steph come running back into the room, small feet pattering on the wooden floor as they proudly show the movie they had picked along with Aloysius and Doris: Lilo & Stitch. Keith pops it in the dvd-player for them while Colton, Barika and Leo run off to grab some more pancakes for everyone. Clara and Sarah are quick to wiggle back into their earlier spots, and Magnus can’t remember ever feeling more loved than this.

His eyes are dropping shut, pain flaring with every exhausted beat of his heart, and yet Magnus feels warm. Happy. His past self would have scoffed at the mere idea. Even the Magnus from six months ago would have laughed in derision, but in this moment, surrounded by his small patchwork family of shadowhunters in training, his little sweet pea, Chairman Meow and Alexander, Magnus feels like the luckiest man alive.

The last thought that crosses his mind before the warm feeling of love and soft purrs lull him to sleep is that, while his past self might scoff all he wants, Magnus wouldn't change a thing.

[ruporas]

good mornings throughout the travel

[ID: Two comics of Vash and Wolfwood from Trigun Maximum. The second is underneath the read more.

The first is in four panels and follows Vash and Wolfwood through hotel rooms. First, Vash and Wolfwood exit adjacent rooms, and Wolfwood has sparkles floating around him as he exclaims, “Rise and shine! Ready to go?” Vash frowns, displeased, and says, Urk— Good morning to you too.”

Next, they’re in a room with two beds. Wolfwood is awake and fully dressed. He’s sitting on the bed and smoking, back turned away from the viewer and he says, “Wake up already, sleepyhead.” Vash sits up with his eyes still closed and yawns before saying good morning. After that, they’re sharing a bed, and Wolfwood gets up and says, “Morning, sunshine. Time to get up.” His body shadows Vash from the sunlight. Vash is still lying down with a blanket draped over him as he mumbles good morning.

Finally, they’re embracing in bed, both shirtless. Sunlight shines on them, but their contact allows their shadows to drape over their faces. Vash smiles, kisses the top of Wolfwood’s head, and says, “Good morning, Wolfwood.” Wolfwood sleepily says, “Mph, g’morning, needle-noggin’,” snuggling into on Vash’s shoulder. End ID] ID CREDIT

TRIMAX Vol. 10 Spoilers under read more // bonus comic

[ID: The bonus comic starts with Vash asleep in bed, fully clothed with his hair half-black. Someone says “Good morning,” and Vash says, “Morning, Wolf—w...” He trails off as Livio, holding a plate of food, stares with abject shock.

Livio says, “I’m sorry.” Vash, smiling but sweating, says, “No, it’s my bad...” Livio repeats, “I’m sorry.” Vash says, “Geez, stop apologizing,” and cuts off Livio’s “I—” with a “Good morning, Livio.” Livio quietly mumbles, “... Good morning...”

Vash sits up from the couch he was sleeping on and looks down, thinking, “... That’s right. I won’t wake up to you anymore... I have to get used to that...” End ID]

[astrolavas]

might as well put this here now that it's confirmed hunter was created as a toddler but i do have a headcanon that hunter's sprig plushie was originally a gift from belos from an early childhood...

belos getting it for him when hunter was a kid, back when he was still somewhat affectionate towards him, when he was actively making him love him/making him think HE loves him, before he grew colder/pulled away/started using more hurtful manipulation tactics... carrot and the stick, etc.

and then hunter not knowing what he did for the affection to end, wondering Where he went wrong, yearning to one day be good/helpful enough to get that affection back.......

and then after everything is done and belos is dead, hunter still asking darius/raine/whoever else would be going through the castle rubble to give him the plushie if they find it. cuz he still cares abt it, and it still WAS a source of comfort throughout his life, despite it being a gift from belos. in his mind the plushie is a positive thing in his life, that probably helped him through many scary moments and lonely nights..... a relic from the time he Felt like he was loved by his uncle.

[faeriekit]

The Foster Mother

Now on ao3 and VHS release

There was, supposedly, someone waiting for him in the green sitting room.

“…Why?” Tim asked. Most of the usual suspects had already come by to give their “condolences”—former Drakes Industries investors, curious about the newly orphaned heir; fellow socialites, once again flocking in to give and receive sympathies for their “close friends, the Drakes”; gawkers come to see what they could scavenge off of a dead family’s home, never mind that their child was alive.

“She claims to know you, Master Tim,” Alfred offered, kettle in his hand. He spent a moment deciding between different two canisters of tea; a sign of possibly difficult future conversation. “Her interest in your father's estate seemed quite…minimal.”

…Alright.

Tim was still in his formalwear. Dissolving Drake Industries would take at least another year, and plenty of future hours cementing the future home of certain resources in their dissolution, but the outfit probably was more appropriate for whatever oncoming conversation that was about to ensue than his planned change into Dick’s old hoodie and board shorts.

Okay. Tim steeled himself. The self-determination…mostly worked. Whatever. He trudged up into the green sitting room from the kitchen with his usual introduction ready on his tongue.

And then Tim walked into the room.

And then Jazzy was there.

*

Tim had been three, and Miss Jasmine had been his had been his third nanny. He’d outgrown the wetnurse early on, and his second nanny had been dismissed, so although Miss Jasmine was the third nanny, she was first nanny Tim could consciously remember.

She’d had red hair. She’d been very gentle with him.

She got him up in the morning and put him to bed at night; for the first time, there had been someone who sat with him until he was asleep, reading all sorts of books his parents had left to engage him with as an early genius. Then, when those were over and done as promised to his parents, they got unauthorized books from the library: silly books with made-up words, dinosaur books, books about teddy bears and adventures around the world.

Tim hadn’t been allowed to travel the world. Tim hadn’t been allowed a teddy bear. His parents had thought it would encourage undue attachment.

(It had been the same reason he’d never been given a pacifier.)

Miss Jazz had given him a knitted bunny. She’d said her dad had made it especially for him.

The toy’s name was Bunny and Tim remembered him being very soft.

She didn’t smile all the time, but smiles were rewards that were easy to earn. He finished his meal and she smiled. He finished an educational puzzle and she smiled. He was quiet all through her phone call and she smiled, and answered all his questions once she was done.

Jazzy had been the first person in his life who was there all the time. She’d kissed his forehead after the bath and kissed his scraped knees; she’d carried him in his arms when he was tired and sometimes even when he wasn’t. His parents had wanted him to be independent, proactive, and not clingy, but Jazzy had been someone who he could run to from his bed when he’d had nightmares and someone he could cuddle on her lap with when he’d cried.

She was gone when he was seven. He didn’t remember why. His parents had probably never told him, but still; he'd assumed he'd have found out why eventually.

Jazzy looked the same right now as she looked in Tim’s memories, although she was likely no longer a college student at a nannying gig. Her red hair was pulled into a high bun, her dress modest and conservative from her neck to her ankles. There was a backpack beside her foot. She was sitting, one leg crossed over the other, on the high-backed loveseat in the green sitting room.

She looked up when he came in.

Tim. Stopped in his tracks.

It didn’t matter. Jazzy—Miss Jasmine stood up as soon as she saw him, eyes alight with worry. Foggy memories were swimming to the forefront of Tim’s brain. He couldn’t move.

“Tim?” Ja—Miss Jasmine asked, teal eyes raking over his frame. Tim froze where he was. He didn’t move, wide-eyed and terrified for no reason at all when Miss Jasmine got closer to him, at a distance that was more appropriate for a conversation.

She stood there. Watching him. It felt like his mother had just come home from her trips with Dad, and a ghost of old terror wafted through him as he waited for her to decide he’d done something wrong. Her voice got softer. Her eyes got softer. Why was Tim feeling so wrong-footed?? It was only a former staff person!

“Tim?” her voice was so gentle. “I don’t know if you remember me. I’m—“

“M’s Jazz,” Tim croaked. Which. Wasn’t the level of formality he’d been going for, but better than Jazzy. He wasn’t a toddler anymore.

Miss Jasmine was so tall—honestly, was she taller than Bruce? She’d seemed insurmountable as a child; he hadn’t expected her height to truly be so statuesque as an adult.

(Or. Well. Almost an adult.)

She didn’t quite kneel down, but she did stoop lower, as if Tim was small and he needed to be on equal footing in order to have a serious conversation.

He could see all her freckles. Tim swallowed. It was too familiar. Everything about her was too familiar.

��You’re so big now,” Jazzy whispered, looking at his hair, his suit, his polished shoes. He didn’t feel it. “Oh, you’ve grown up so well.”

Thanks, Tim almost said. Something stopped him—something thick in his throat, to impassable to break through.

“I—“ he tried. He coughed. “Why…you… You’re here?”

Jazzy threw him an incredulous look, and then an incredibly wry one. “Well,” she drawled a little too primly, in the way that Alfred occasionally made obvious statements, “I’d think it obvious that when one’s parents have passed away, that those who care about you might come to check and see if you’re alright.”

Which. That didn’t make sense. Jazzy hadn’t come back for any other reason; she hadn’t come back for his mother’s funeral, nor when his father was injured publicly by a villain. Why start now?

“And,” Jazz added, seeing his visual confusion and distrust, “Your parents can’t exactly threaten me with a kidnapping charge for visiting you when they’re dead.” Pause. “Which I am sorry about. My condolences.”

Which. Whiplash. What a statement.

“Uh,” said Tim, who was rapidly losing control over the situation.

Jazzy stood again, and went back to her seat; she didn’t set herself down, though, as she only stooped to grab her backpack. “I am sorry for being unable to visit, although I really wanted to; you were at a very vulnerable age and had already moved into a class a year above you, and your parents should have been less hasty about replacing your main caretaker. The assassination attempts were unwarranted, but they did drive the point home that attempting contact was perhaps discouraged.”

“What,” said Tim. “Assassin what.”

“They were ninjas,” Jazzy offered, as if that was an answer. “Except the last one, which was a former marine. The point is that I do care about you, and wanted to ask if you had any idea where you’re going now that your parents are no longer…available guardians.”

Tim’s mouth opened. It closed.

Jazzy waited patiently.

“…How have you been?” Tim tried, resorting to a part of the script they hadn’t gone through yet.

Jazzy’s laugh was tired, but no less real. It was nothing like listening to his parents titter politely; he didn’t think Jazzy would even know how to fake a laugh. “Well, my brother told me that my former bosses had died, which was somewhat stressful. Otherwise, I’m pretty happy: I live with my brother and worked with him for the last few years. I was going to pursue medicine, but…well. The assassination attempts made it hard to interview for scholarships. I suppose that I could return to that now,” Jazzy mused, attention now elsewhere. She pulled the backpack off the floor and up into her grip. She opened it, and flipped through its contents. “How are you doing? I know that Wayne Manor fosters, but your parents were always rather…hands off. I thought the difference in levels of attention might be overwhelming.”

It was. Tim should be surprised how clearly she sees through him—

—But Jazzy used to watch him stim for almost a full hour after school, twisting Bunny’s arms back and forth until he could calm down. Seeing other people all day had been too much for him. Coming home from his parents’ parties had been similarly stressful.

She’d never been mad at him for it. She held him while he talked and stimmed and talked and talked and talked, and brushed his hair sometimes, or if it was very late and he was very young, helped him brush his teeth through all the medieval execution facts he could name.

“It is a lot to get used to,” Tim agreed quietly. He didn’t want to be ungrateful. He didn’t want to let on anyone about his plan to leave.

He had an out. The papers had already been filed; there was an actor waiting to play his uncle for a custody battle, ready for the fight.

Tim was ready to up and go. It was no hardship to leave all the good things here; anything beat making Bruce stick his fingers into Tim any deeper than they already were, compromising the dynamic they’d already established.

It was for the best.

“I can imagine,” Jazzy sympathized easily. “And I wanted to offer—well. I know there’s probably a lot of choices available to you, but my brother and I recently moved back to Gotham proper for the time being. He’s teaching astronomy courses at the university and I’m filing paperwork for Arkham patients. It’s not so privileged a home, but it’s quieter, and more central in town.”

…Tim’s heart skipped.

He. He couldn’t stop staring. Jazzy stared back at him, quiet and sure. Sure of what, Tim had no idea, but…

Why? Why would she want Tim? There was no way she would be able to get to his trust fund without his help, and he for sure knew better than to enable her ability to leech from him. The last time she’d known him, Tim had been a snot-nosed kid who cried all the time and couldn’t be normal for twenty consecutive minutes. His parents couldn’t even stand to be on the same hemisphere as him as a child. What appeal did this have for her?? What could having a teenager with severe baggage living in her house do for her?

And it’s not like there was any chance she knew he was Robin!

“Oh,” Jazzy suddenly interrupted. “I brought these for you, by the way. Your parents had tossed them out at various points; I’ve washed them since, of course.”

She handed him the backpack by the handle.

…Tim peeked inside.

On top was Bunny, still a washed-out faded sort of pink. He looked as fresh as he had the day when Tim’s parents had ”cleaned out” Tim’s nursery—in other words, a faded, a little gray, and slightly discolored from an old spaghetti stain. His button eyes were big and blue.

And beneath him were books that hadn’t passed his father’s muster as appropriately masculine reading material: The Velveteen Rabbit, with the cover a little scarred from a fierce attack of wet wipes. There’s A Monster at the End of This Book, with a goofy-looking Muppet on the cover, gold spine beat up beyond belief. Art Tim’s teacher at the time must have laminated and sent home; Tim’s dorky, crayon cat proved he would never make it as an artist, but attached to it was a photograph of a grinning boy with a bowl cut and a missing tooth.

Tim stared. There’d been purple marker on his hands and face. His grin looked…really bad, actually, like as if he was baring his teeth because he didn’t know how to smile. There was no formal grace there. Nothing to show the neighbors, nothing worth framing to put into the line of sight of the investors in the office.

Jazzy had kept it and brought it home with her. Jazzy had fished it out of the trash, and brought it with her to give back to him in Gotham.

It was crinkled like it’d been folded, over and over again. Further down in the bag was a crumpled certificate dedicated to “Timmy Drake, for: knowing a lot about octopi”, and a baby blanket Tim didn’t even remember. It had rocket ships on it. It looked as if someone had cut into it with scissors, although it had been obviously and brightly mended with red embroidery floss later on.

Jazzy had only been his nanny until Tim was seven. She had simply been gone one night, and Mom and Dad had been home for ten nights after without help before giving in and hiring Mrs. McIlvane and Mrs. Edith. Ms. Edith had never been so…permissive…with Tim as Jazzy had been.

Tim swallowed. He carefully put everything back into the backpack, unsure if he even wanted to keep it or not. It wasn’t like he could leave it here; he’d be gone, ideally, before the week was out. There was no point in taking it with him if he only planned to live with a stranger until he was eighteen.

“J…” Tim tried. He cut himself off before he could get too informal without prompting. “Miss Jasmine—“

“Just Jazz,” Jazzy corrected politely.

“—Why are you here?” Tim asked, ignoring how she’d technically already answered. He didn’t believe her. “What made my parents fire you?”

Jazzy’s expression turned…soft. Tim couldn’t look at her. Something horrible was welling with it, and he didn’t know how to cope.

“I’m here because I care about you,” Jazz repeated, and knelt beside him. She looked up into his face, and took his hand. Tim didn’t know why. He was practically an adult—he didn’t need this!

“And I was fired because your Mother overheard you calling me ‘Mommy’ on accident when you were tired. I suppose she was insulted, although I’d never know why; it’s not like she was ever home to bond with you in the first place.”

Tim’s throat closed. He missed his mom. He missed waiting up for his parents’ flight home, seeing their headlights outside the window, and knowing they’d bring home gifts from overseas. He missed using Mom’s perfume, and knowing he’d used more of the bottle sitting on her dressed than she ever had, but that it still smelled like her. He missed hearing his Dad telling all sorts of adventure stories and promises through the phone to be home for the holidays, even if Tim knew there was every chance he’d find some other way to spend the time back in Gotham.

And there was some small child in him who missed Jazzy, who hugged him and walked him to the library and made him soup from a can instead of fancy dinners and, who’d never needed to be waited for in the first place.

Tim looked at Jazzy’s round, freckled face.

He swallowed.

Tim moved out before the end of the week, as expected.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

There is a platonic explanation for all this. Right?

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[padawansuggest]

Qui-Gon: *on his first night with Padawan Kenobi after his older padawans convinced him he needed a new baby so he’d bother someone else* Alright, now I think it’s bedtime. I know it’s a bit earlier than usual but you have a whole new set of classes to switch to tomorrow so we have to get up early.

Obi-Wan: *is only 11, is fine with more sleep* Okay, Master! *wanders off to get in his pajamas*

Qui-Gon: *making a pot of sleepy tea*

Obi-Wan: *comes back in jammies looking confused*

Qui-Gon: What’s wrong, Padawan?

Obi-Wan: I can’t find my sleepy cocoon.

Qui-Gon: …your sleeping bag? Oh, I assumed you used that for camping in the room of a thousand fountains, do you usually sleep in that at night?

Obi-Wan: ??? No? No I use it sometimes but you’re right, that’s for camping nights. I mean my sleepy cocoon?

Qui-Gon: …what is a sleep cocoon?

Obi-Wan: It’s… it’s a stretchy fabric that goes over you?

Qui-Gon: …gimme a second, I don’t think I saw anything like that in your bags.

One call to the creche later

Creche Master: Is something wrong with Padawan Kenobi settling in?

Qui-Gon: Um, he’s missing something that I don’t think I’ve seen. He called it his sleepy cocoon?

Creche Master: Oh! That went into the laundry this morning, it probably got delivered back to us, I’ll have it sent right away.

Qui-Gon: Um, I need to ask… what is a sleepy cocoon?

Creche Master: *snort* It’s an anti-grav sleeping tube. It’s a compression material so he doesn’t feel it when he starts to float in his sleep. He’s too close to the cosmic force to control it, so they give him the compression tube.

Qui-Gon: …you’re saying he disobeys gravity in his sleep, so the tube makes him stop realizing it?

Creche Master: Yeah, it’s pretty important, actually. It keeps his joints in place. No cricks in his neck or dead arms if they start to fall.

Qui-Gon: Amazing. A straight jacket for his cosmic force abilities. I adore it. Please send it here. He can get out of it on his own, right?

Creche Master: Oh course, it’s just pressure, not actually being tied up.

Qui-Gon: Delightful. I’ll get him extras for off planet missions.

[haunted-xander]

Sometimes I think about Urianger's role in and feelings on the Thancred-Ryne dynamic and I think watching it kills him a bit inside. For several reasons.

Like, to begin with there's the guilt he's been carrying with him since he ushered Minfilia to the first, how he effectively killed the person Thancred cared about the most in the world and who's "death" ended up causing Ryne's entire Situation. He looks at what's happening between them and can only think "I caused this" even though that's not really true. No one person is responsible for this outcome, it's a culmination of several circumstances and the consequences of them. Logically, Urianger knows this. But it doesn't matter, because his guilt is overpowering his logic.

And also, like. What Thancred is doing here, the way he's knowingly letting Ryne be and stay hurt because he literally cannot bring himself to tell her his feelings, is the exact same mistake Urianger made with Moenbryda. Of course, the circumstances are vastly different, and the potential consequences to Thancred telling Ryne the wrong things or her misinterperating it is far greater (being a matter of literal life or death), it's still the same sort of paralysis they are trapped in.

And he knows it. He sees it. But he can't say or do anything about it, he doesn't have the right to. He acknowledges the mistake, but he hasn't really improved upon it yet. He still doesn't voice his thoughts and feelings as he should. He's also non-confrontational by nature, he doesn't argue or try to change peoples minds, he probably doesn't think he has any place to.

So, he tries to help in what little ways he can. Because he doesn't want it to become Monebryda again, he doesn't want to know he stole not one but two people from Thancred. So he does what he can. He tells Ryne little tidbits about Thancred, things that help her understand him but are safe to share. Nothing too deep, nothing too personal. Just small things, things that are purely factual, because he can't afford to give her a false image of who Thancred is. He teacher her fun and interesting things, because Thancred isn't in the mindset to provide her with non-essential skills.

I like to think Urianger has brought it up with Thancred at least once, during one of his stays. But nothing would've come of it. Not really. Unlike Y'shtola, Urianger isn't pushy, he'll bring it up once or twice and when he sees this won't go anywhere, he gives up. He wants to help, but he knows that persistance only does do much, and he is not the person who has the resiliance needed to push and push until Thancred finally budges (because he won't budge, it won't help anything but to sour things further by adding aditional stress to an already strained dynamic).

And like. Urianger gets it. He gets it because he's been the same way- not saying what he should to someone he loves more than anything else because she was meant to figure her life out herself, and 'steering' her in any direction by telling her his feelings (regardless of if the 'steering' is intention or not) will go against that. He gets it. He gets it and it's all the more painful for it. He knows it can't just be fixed by acknowledging it or with encouragement, something needs to happen to break the stasis.

I think this is probably why he stayed behind while they went off to Nabaath Areng. This is the very last chance they have to say what they want to, and he can't afford to be the anchor anymore. This is about them, not him, he can't let their resolution be buffed by his presence, so he stays behind. Which was probably for the best. Ryne got nervous when Urianger said he's staying behind, probably not too excited about being alone with Thancred (well, not alone, but WoL doesn't count) so soon after she had ran away crying. But she needs to be nervous. For anything positive to come out of this Thancred and Ryne both can't afford to be too relaxed. As sad as it is, the stress is necessary for anything to happen. He knows it. Does he like it? Absolutely not, but nor does he like his other plots. At least no one dies this time if it goes right.

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

im a Bit late to the "kill this guy meme w/ your comfort characters" but in my defense:

:]c

[trobeds]

i know the hunger games isnt about romance i know it isnt a love story but. theres just something so beautiful in the way peeta is the personification of what it means to heal and he /is/ the dandelion and the bread and the hope that things can be better even if they wont be fixed. even if the nightmares dont stop he will still hold her. wake her up and tell her shes alive. shes safe. and when its over and done and theres no more saving or protecting or trying their absolute hardest to die if it means keeping the other alive, the horrors dont stop. but katniss will still find that comfort in peetas arms.

[intotheelliwoods]

What was that about One falling asleep whenever he can and feels comfortable enough because the boy needs it? Hm? Something about him feeling safe around Poptart and not needing to keep his guard up was it? @dianagj-art *uses your own tags against you*

[waitineedaname]

I realized I made some notes on how different characters fight in mob psycho, and I never posted them. here you guys go, for any reference needs

Mob: mostly simple attacks, not very showy, just waves his hand and uses telekinesis/exorcizes something, doesn’t move around much. As ???%, much more destructive, psychic force seems to just emanate off of him and destroy everything

Teru: VERY mobile, throws himself around with telekinesis, puts his whole body into the attacks and tends to use moves from normal fights (punches, slaps, kicks, etc). Utilizes a variety of psychic techniques with flexibility, very creative. Piss stance, necktie sword. Much more flashy than Mob

Ritsu: uses powers to throw people/things around. While Mob and Teru attack with just psychic blasts, Ritsu tends to use his powers to grab other things as an attack (grabbing the delinquents and throwing them against each other, throwing the Claw guards against the wall, picking up cars to sandwich Shimazaki between them). Uses his environment creatively (fire extinguisher smoke screen against Shimazaki). More flashy than Mob, but not as mobile as Teru. Hand gestures for Drama

Shou: sneaky + speed + bomb!! Tries to be as evasive as possible using invisibility/speed (probably telekinetically enhanced?) to hit from behind, using either telekinetic force (his stomp in his introduction, the shockwave hit on ???%) or his charge bomb attack. Potentially uses speed/evasive moves as defense instead of the barriers we see most everyone else use

Serizawa: likes to channel his powers into an object (umbrella, business cards). Uses that object as a shield, sword, or something to blast psychic powers out of. Not very mobile in season two, moves around much more in the yokai fight. Not particularly flashy, but looks cool regardless

Reigen: deception/surprise!!! Either tricks people into thinking he’s going to do something else and then attacking, or just outright taking them by surprise and attacking before they know what’s going on. Usually doesn’t have a follow-up move, just does the one attack and hopes for the best. Prefers to bluff his way through a situation

[dykeyangel]

ik we've said this a million times but im obsessed with the way klaus is constantly surrounded by death and trauma and darkness yet he's such a vibrant and lively and compassionate person who continuously puts love and kindness into the world because he knows how dark it can get. just klaus who uses his dying breath to allow luther to say goodbye to sloane because he knows what its like not to be able to say goodbye

[ruporas]

can’t talk about it

[ID: Black and white comic of Vash and Wolfwood from Trigun Maximum. The comic starts with the sounds "thud, thud, click". Vash, mid-action of peeling an apple, turns to the sound, noticing who it was that entered, and says, "Oh, Wolfwood, you're back." He resumes back to his apple in the next panel as he speaks, "Where'd you go? You snuck out of bed quickly this morning..." Wolfwood's hand then enters the panel, hovering over Vash's cheek and Vash looks up as Wolfwood asks, "Can I?" Vash responds, "Not going to talk about it?" while using a hand to gently hold Wolfwood's hovering hand and presses a kiss to his inner palm.

Vash then gets up fully, setting down the knife down on the table and the apple onto a plate, He leans into Wolfwood as Wolfwood explains, "Had to meet someone. Nothing interesting to talk about." Vash kisses Wolfwood's left cheek and a hand moves to cup his other cheek while muttering, "You're being vague." Wolfwood says neutrally, "If yer really that curious, keep askin'. We  can talk about that instead of doing this." Vash leans back and responds, "Let's talk after, since... You look so tired."

The panel pans to a close up of Wolfwood's downcast eyes, bags heavy underneath his eyes. He doesn't allow Vash to sit in that moment for long though, then saying, "Yer not helping, Spikey. Being all slow with it... I could fall asleep right now." He moves his hand to start unclasping Vash's coat, starting from his collar. Vash with red cheeks, responds briskly, "Oh, shut up. I'm worried about you. I can't be worried?"

The final shot shows Wolfwood's back to the viewer while Vash's softened expression can be seen as he holds gently onto the side of Wolfwood's face and a hand firm on his waist. Wolfwood responds, "I'm fine, seriously," pausing for a moment before continuing, "Is it okay to still..?" Vash responds, "Yeah, it's okay."

The next image is a shot from later that night after the previous comic. Vash and Wolfwood are now in bed, half naked. Wolfwood's buries his face into Vash's chest, his arms wrapped around him, while Vash is petting at his hair. Vash reminds him, "Hey. You said we'd talk about it." Wolfwood pauses for a moment before piping up, "In the morning? I'm sleepy." Vash says, "Okay..."

The next two pages start from the morning after. Wolfwood is already fully awake, pulling on his outer jacket as he says to Vash, whos' still bundled in his blankets, "Breakfast is on the table. Make sure to eat it. I'm going to grab some things in town and then we're leavin'. Got it?" Vash says, "Mh." Wolfwood responds, "Good. See ya in a bit." The dialogue starts to shift into Vash's inner thoughts now, as he gets up and eats toast, thinking, "Wait. Weren't we supposed to... talk about it?" The next shot then shows him fully up, meeting Wolfwood in town. He carries a half worried expression with him while Wolfwood slides on his glasses for him. A quick panel shows Wolfwood's tired expression from the night before and quickly juxtaposes with Wolfwood in front of him who's smiling gently, the shades covering his eye bags. Wolfwood asks him, "Still not awake yet?" Vash pauses, his thoughts stirring, thinking, "Oh. I guess I was getting ahead of myself... thinking you owe me that kind of honesty." He smiles at Wolfwood and responds, "I'm awake!" His thoughts continue, "Maybe one day, you'd trust me enough to share your burdens."

The final image shows Wolfwood pulling at Vash's cheek and Vash complains, "Owwwww why..." Wolfwood quickly says, "You were thinking something stupid, right? It's all over yer face." Vash mutters, "Nooo, I wasn't..." END ID]

[extravagav]

Yk I never did truly recover from the sick fic chapter

[christakisbang]

kim daengdaeng my little puppy ㅋㅋ thank you for always teasing me and thank you for taking care of me ㅋㅋ gukbap ㅋ

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

I'm sorry I let down my guard.

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