I Couldn’t Figure Out If I Was In Love With/attracted To My Best Friend Or If I Just Really Liked The

You guys just have to trust me on this one and click here okay?

Poor Sona 😅 She's the sweetest mom though, we know she just wants them to be happy at the end of the day ❤️ These characters are from The Last Hours series by @cassandraclare

David and Patrick + a cute collection of casual kisses

this is an experiment:

trying to prove something to my friends

REBLOG IF YOU THINK PANSEXUALITY AND BISEXUALITY ARE TWO DIFFERENT, VALID SEXUALITIES

You ever think about how they made the minions immortal so that they wouldn’t have to explain how they reproduce

This is a Saracen/Dexter fic.

(Saracen’s POV) (All the dead men are alive and Ravel didn’t betray them)

We’d fought for centuries side-by-side. I find it ironic, now, that we are side-by-side in the end. The earth is burning up.

We always knew we wouldn't be able to stop it one day, but now that it's here, I'm trying to remember why we ever fought in the first place. We weren't fighting for our own benefit; we were fighting for the benefit of the mortals. I still believe in the cause I fought for, but was it really worth my life? Was it really worth it to lose all of my friends?

Dexter and I lay on a silent lifeless hill, watching apprehensively. There was no one I would rather be next to me.

All my weight was leaning against him, and our hands were clasped tightly together. His arm wrapped around my chest.

We weren’t scared. We had resigned ourselves to the inevitability of death long ago. During most of our missions, death was always close by, watching and waiting. Despite this, there was still a sort of heaviness in my chest. Our situation wasn’t sad, but bittersweet. The world may be ending, but at least I am with the person I love the most. At least we won’t be alive to mourn for each other. I hate that I can imagine years into the future without Dexter, when the pain will be mild, and the memories will be dull and lacking in everything I once felt.

I may not be scared to die, but there is a small part of me that worries about what will happen afterwards. Will Dexter and I lose all our memories and feelings along with our bodies? Is this the end of us?

I turned my face up to Dexter. He was lost in thought, and his eyes were unfocused. He was staring at nothing in particular. I pulled his face down to face my own to grab his attention.

“What are you thinking about?” I asked. His eyes were locked onto mine.

“I wish,” he whispered, “that we didn’t spend so long fighting.”

“I wish we had more time together,” I agreed.

The heat was reaching us. It came mildly at first. The heat was hot enough to make me sweat, but it didn’t hurt yet. We only had a few minutes left though.

“I love you,” he breathed. And I told him I loved him back.

I am painfully aware of how small we are right now. There must be thousands of others spending these last moments with the love of their lives. Like I was. All of the sorcerers know about this, but we kindly kept the mortals out of it. They would spend their last few minutes confused and in pain, so maybe we should have let them be with their loved ones. I wasn’t sure what I would have wanted.

The heat was beginning to hurt. There was a burning sensation on my skin. A searing pain shot into my skin, and I cried out. Dexter was holding me harder than he ever had before, and I was doing so to him. was burning hot, and the pressure of his body made it hard to breath. Still, I didn’t let go. I couldn't.

It felt like time was slowing down. I was aware of every single sensation: the smell of sweat and burnt flesh, the feeling of warmth in Dexter’s chest, and the scalding pain. Even though my eyes were closed, shades of red and orange blurred into my vision. I could hear Dexter and I’s breathing. I could hear our heartbeats. I could hear sizzling. I could hear our cries of pain.

My skin was being burned off now. I couldn’t see it, but I knew. I could feel it. I was holding onto Dexter for dear life. His body was on top of mine, taking in most of the heat.

I wanted to look at Dexter again, but the pain was so unbearable that I could.

“Dex-” I managed. He didn’t answer me. “Dexter?” I choked. There was no answer. His arms had loosened around me.

He was probably dead, I realized.

(I wrote the happy ending on ao3)

Don’t people notice that even though Sam and Dean say they’re writing an article they never actually do. Like nobody minds that they’ve been lied to

The time I publicly destroyed a bigot in Starbucks

This might sound fake but I assure you, my life is stranger than fiction.

Me, minding my own beeswax: I’ll get a large warm milk please!

Some guy: under his breath Warm milk? Get a life.. they don’t even sell that here

Barista: Actually yeah we do sell warm milk, does that bother you?

Some guy: Rolls eyes imagine actually drinking that

Me: I don’t have to imagine grabs my warm milk and takes a good sassy swig

The guy: Notices my ace pin Oh so you’re an aceggot? So you just don’t get laid? That figures

Me: Yup, I’m a proud “aceggot” and that has nothing to do with my preferences in beverages

Woman behind me: Did you seriously just call that person an aceggot? What kind of world are we living in!?

Me: Yep, I’m used to it though.. That’s what you get for being openly asexual it seems!

The guy: I’m literally a gay man and I won’t let you Jesus freak aces shame me for having gay sx, people like you are hurting my community. I’m gonna go have SX with my boyfriend

Me: Uhhhh buddy you were the one shaming me for buying warm milk and now you’re shoving the image of s*x down a sex repulsed ace’s throat… Not a good look. And yes, I’m a proud Jesus freak!

Woman: I’ve been an out asexual woman since the 80s and let me tell you, mr. Gay, we have done nothing but further acceptance for your community and carry your community on our backs.

Me: You have the nerve to talk down to an asexual elder? Really?

Barista: Throws water on the bigoted guy

Barista: Well… I might lose my job for this but at least I can say it was worth it

Me: picks up my warm milk and pours it on his head

Bigot: I HATE ASEXUALS AND ASEXUALITY. YOU ARE NOT EVEN HUMAN.

Me: loudly and proudly Another warm milk please, on the house! I think I’m owed it

Barista: You know it!

Bigot: storms out crying

ohhhh the detail of Finbar being Skug's nephew is inchresting 👀 though it makes me wonder if in your hc they know about it?

They do!

See, Finbar and Skug always felt like kind of an odd relationship.

Finbar isn't the sort of company Skug normally keeps - if you look at basically all his friends (except Scapegrace, who adopts him in much the same way a dirty stray cat adopts a random family) they tend to be very classy, highly intelligent, vaguely olde-worlde, verbal sparring sorts. Finbar is a punk rock stoner who barely knows where he is half the time and constantly forgets that Skug doesn't know his wife. But it's never mentioned how they met, or why Skug trusted Finbar enough to leave his emergency cache with him, or why Finbar sometimes treats Skug like family (i.e., calling him his kid's "Uncle Skulduggery").

So in my headcanon, it goes a little something like this:

Like? Petulance meets her husband while she's fixing planes for the brits during World War I. He's a pilot. They marry in the middle of the war, say ~1916.

Finbar is born ~1938, and once the war starts, he's looked after by his father's parents during the daytime while Petulance is working.

~1940. Petulance's husband is shot down in a dogfight. Finbar is the one who tells her daddy is dead - days before the authorities turn up on her doorstep to officially tell her she's a widow. She's inconsolable. Skug comes over from Ireland to support her, which is the first time he's ever met her son. He offers to bring her back to Dublin, set her up with whatever she needs, but she doesn't want to uproot her son from from his dad's home. Skug stays to help out, because she's struggling, and she's his favourite, and he has never not been there when she needed him.

1941. Height of the Blitz. She gets a call at some silly hour of the morning - her MIL has had an accident and has been admitted to hospital. She leaves toddler Finbar in Skug's care while she goes to be there for her MIL.

She never comes home. The hospital is a direct hit. Finbar is an orphan.

He's too little to really have a say in his custody. Skug makes the same offer of support to Petulance's FIL, if he'll raise the boy. The old man doesn't want to stay in London without his wife and son, so he takes Finbar and goes back to Ireland with Skug, away from the war. For most of Finbar's childhood, he's raised by his grandpa, with a generous monthly stipend from Skug to make sure they don't want for anything. There are very occasional, sporadic visits. But Finbar looks like Petulance, and most of the time Skug just...can't. It's too raw.

When Finbar's visions start getting more upsetting and more frequent, grandpa doesn't know what to do. He's aware of magic, but he doesn't trust it, and he prefers to pretend it doesn't exist. Eventually he reaches out to Skug, who pulls some strings at the Sanctuary to get info on Sensitives in County Dublin and - oh, how fortunate - finds one he knows. He puts Finbar in touch with Cassie, and she trains him to use his magic responsibly.

She's a hippie in the 60s, and when the 70s and 80s come around, Finbar gets really into the punk movement and feels like he fits in somewhere for the first time and becomes just. Really rooted in that whole subculture, which is a huge difference between him and Skulduggery "Got Tortured To Death For And Gaslit For A Century By Government, Continues To Work For Said Government" Pleasant, but also gives them something to bond over, because. Petulance was a revolutionary; she had Strong Opinions on Irish independence, she was a suffragette, she would've been very proud of her highly anti-establishment son. And that's bittersweet for both of them.

As with all Handbook stuff, I share credit with @thats-so-craven