How Can I Not Love Them?

I’m gonna write it in stone That you were my home

Kit to Dru

Because is just to cute

Backstory from KTO's interviews

Jun-ho is from a well-to-do family and his parents are both attorneys. He especially admired his mother, and tried to be a lawyer but didn't make it. Even though it was his dream, Jun-ho doesn't have any sense of inferiority or complex watching all the attorneys around him while working as a law firm employee.

That's why KTO thought Jun-ho is a really nice person and would fall for a girl whom he can admire and respect, and then Young-woo came into his life. She did what he could not, and this newbie attorney comes up with a brilliant idea that no one could. And the wedding dress scene was a spark.

In EP3, Jun-ho counts with Young-woo when she goes into Atty Jung's office. That was KTO's improvisation. He thought because Young-woo has a routine or a habit like that, Jun-ho would also be used to that.

In EP2, Jun-ho clinks his glass with Young-woo's when she can't do it with the others. That was also a scene made by KTO. He said it's easy to notice things like that when you're interested in someone, so he did it, then the director decided to do a close-up at his hands.

KTO's favorite scene is the sunset scene in EP4. He likes how Jun-ho says "I want an attorney like you to be on my side." not "I'll be on your side."

Jun-ho always carrying a backpack = also KTO's idea. Jun-ho is a litigation staff who supports attorneys, so he thought it would be necessary for Jun-ho to carry all the materials.

gifs are all mine from previous posts

And that's the Tea.

via Kaylee’s insta story 🗣

You know you have a type when you are on a rode trip reading Fahrenheit 451 and listening to Play With Fire by Sam Tinnesz.

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Stellar collision

The Western horizon was on fire: hot pink turned into mauve, wild orange into gold, the bright colours fading into paleness, then darkness. It was the day they whisper their vows before the gods, both Raven and Damian believed that love was not what stood at the foundation of their pledge, at least not the kind that fate had in store for them. No, that’s what they want to believe, what truly mattered most at this point was peace, peace through political marriage rather than an overwhelming affection. Peace. Damian, the youngest son of King Bruce and the noblest of all of Gotham’s princes, living or dead. As King Bruce was only left with Damian and Richard. Raven, a demigod, sired by Trigon the Terrible and mortal Arella.

The fragile truce between Gotham and Azarath balanced on the tip of a blade, depending on this union of convenience. Kon-El, former suitor, was wearing a scowl that would freeze unquenchable fire from the House of Hades. She could feel Trigon’s dark eyes burning into her face, the harsh, singeing heat of a desert behind it. She wanted to run, but she was also afraid of him giving chase. What was the point anyway. Before coming to Gotham, she knew how to fly, wings spread wide, flying away, her shoulders have borne heavy burdens, heavy burdens of solid stone. On how she prayed to fly away from them, and roam the freedom of the sky, but her father had cut off both her wings and left her rooted to the ground. There would no longer mountain's peaks with the promise of wondrous views to keep. It all came to an end the day her father told she had been promised to Damian, prince of Gotham, the great, Gotham the glorious, Gotham the magnificent. She should be honored, but her thoughts and feelings on the matter were inconsequential as the advice of a woman in wartime.

A week later she found herself at her wedding feast. Brothers and sisters her husband had in plenty, raised to be warriors they fought during war to lose their short lives. Jason, Helena and Timotheos had fallen. She only met her husband her wedding day. He was reserved but polite and not overly perfumed, and when her eyes fell on him she thought of Narcissus. Narcissus, who had been unable to pull away from his own reflection in the pond, enchanted by his own beauty until death claimed him. Although the way her tutor had prattled on and on about Damian’s innumerable virtues, Raven had not expected him to be as radiant as a god. The sun-kissed skin stretched to wrap around muscles built from years of practicing complex military skills, broad shoulders and powerful arms, movements of disconcerting grace for one so large. His facial features had a frank and honest quality to them, bright and deep-set eyes, as green as spring leaves with the touch of Persephone, a Greek nose, full lips. Indeed he could be called a god. Reluctantly, tore her gaze from his beautiful face despite the beet-red blush spreading over her cheeks. She focused on her new family.

Sorry not sorry I’ve been reading a lot about Greek mythology and I couldn’t help but write a damirae smut. 🤷🏼‍♀️🤷🏼‍♀️🤷🏼‍♀️🤷🏼‍♀️🤷🏼‍♀️ im working on it. Let me know if you like it.

@ravenfan1242 @chromium7sky @kallura-juniblade @shewhowillnotbenamed1 @tweepunkgrl

Don’t say anything, just reblog 

(via)

Heyo.

Because you are into Marvel, I was wondering if I could share/tag you in this Loki song I wrote? And if you have any type of creative stuff such as art or fics, we could have a look/share? ^_^

Sure. More content to become obsessed about. 🙂

James? My love? The Gracelet? WHHYYYYYY?!!!!!??

Magnus to Alec

Dear Alec,

Before anything else, I just want to mention once again that you are by far the handsomest man I have ever met, with the most beautiful blue eyes, and what I love most about you, among so, so many other features, is that you are a man of incalculable understanding, patience, and forgiveness.

Yes, this is our vacation. Yes, you and the kids are lounging on the soft white sands of St Barths, as is good and right. Yes, I have had to dash to London on urgent business involving Blackthorns. Yes, I have been receiving your many supportive texts, accompanied by your many photos in which you look angry while holding umbrella drinks.

No, I will not be back today. You must imagine me saying this with the heaviest of sighs and the most forlorn look. I need one more day. Blackthorn Hall is haunted—which I could have told anyone who had bothered to ask, I’ve never known a more obviously haunted place in my life—and none of the little Blackthorns (who I suppose are no longer quite as little as all that) have had to deal with this kind of ghostiness before.

So again, let me commend you for your forbearance in this time of trial. That is not sarcasm, just formal! I really mean it!

Love you, Alec. See you tomorrow night. The next morning at the absolute latest -

To the Greatest Man Who Has Ever Or Will Ever Live,

It will be tomorrow morning. I was meaning to depart tonight, but it is now very, very late, and I have had no small amount of wine, and these are not the conditions by which I would feel quite safe opening a Portal. It will not do me any good to return to St Barth if I show up on top of the Gustavia Lighthouse.

So since I cannot yet sleep, but must, let me quickly fill you in.

The Blackthorns are fixing up Blackthorn Hall—fancy that—and while I understand they are now properly adults, they are still young enough to use a hundred year old Ouija board they found hidden in the walls. Didn’t have a planchette? Not a problem, we will just make one out of scrap without reference to the wood or the ley-lines or any of the— Sorry. I couldn’t help it, it’s such the Shadowhunter stereotype. Leap before you look. In fact, just leap. Leap whenever and wherever.

As it turns out (spoiler alert!) the spirit of the house—at least the restless one—means no apparent harm and is just your standard everyday “ghost looking for its missing bauble to move on” situation, as you’ll see. But I was more alarmed for it being the house in Chiswick. Many generations of Lightwoods lived in it over many years, and there always seemed a dark shadow over the place. In the mid-19th it was the home of, I’m sorry to say, a very bad Lightwood, definitely one of the worst Lightwoods, and after that, well, its fall from grace was precipitous. I cannot say from what time period this ghost might date, but given its reaction to the name “Blackthorn”, I had my worries.

Anyway, by the time I got to the house, Julian and Emma had managed to cause the Ouija board to, you know, magically shatter into a dozen pieces. I magicked it back—note for future reference, easier to magically repair something that was magically broken in the first place rather than with, say, a hammer—and produced a makeshift but actually calibrated and warded planchette. And burned their planchette in a fire. Outside.

It was quick enough at that point to contact the presence in the house, who was indistinct, probably from being alone for the past hundred-odd years. Let me tell you, Alec love, I was worried then. I was worried that this ghost was someone I knew. Someone I cared about, once. It probably isn’t—most of them would have no reason to be ghosts at all, much less ghosts stuck here—but once the thought occurred to me, I couldn’t put it aside. I tried to ask but you know how ghosts are. “I do not now know you,” it said. Great. But did you know me when you were alive? Just “I do not now know you.”

Anyway the thing was peaceful enough. We finally got around to the topic of why he is a ghost—we got enough of a spoken voice to know the voice is male, at least. He spoke aloud, and firmly. I am bound here by a silver band, he said.

Whether this silver band is a ring, a bracelet, a handcuff, the concept of “the ties that bind,” or a group of robot musicians, I have no idea. But it’s normal enough for a ghost to be bound by an object and to be looking for the thing that binds them. I honestly didn’t get a negative vibe from the guy. I’m… let’s say ninety percent sure that it’s not the aforementioned Bad Lightwood, at least. I told Julian and Emma there was no harm in their keeping an eye out for a silver band during their cleanup of the house, but not to worry themselves sick over it. This felt like wise advice at the time, although we had all had quite a bit of wine at that point.

The wine was in fact drunk continually throughout the evening, as there are some salvageable bottles from the cellar—rather amazingly, although I don’t know, maybe Shadowhunters have wine preservation runes somewhere near the back of the Gray Book. And drinking red wine while talking to a ghost just seemed, I don’t know, the right pairing? But of course now I have a splitting headache from a combination of sulfites and light necromancy. I am going to put myself to long-overdue sleep, and then tomorrow at six in the morning your time please tell le garçon I would like waiting for me a café allongé, very hot and a sidecar, very cold. I will then entertain the children for the rest of the day while you, my love, my all, take a nap and join us whenever you please.

With all my love, all my kissin’, you don’t know what you been missin’,

M.

One of the funniest things about enemies-to-lovers ships is how they’re almost always obsessed with each other. Like if a character actively chooses to interact with another character over and over again instead of simply ignoring them? Throw darts at it all you want, but you still printed out a picture of them to hang on your wall