HOW MUCH OF A SINNER IS YOUR MUSE? TAGGED BY: no one, because @amatdestrui is slacking
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
dirt enthusiast
occasionally subtle
🪼

blake kathryn

ellievsbear
i don't do bad sauce passes
RMH

if i look back, i am lost
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"

Mike Driver

pixel skylines
Monterey Bay Aquarium
Xuebing Du

Love Begins
tumblr dot com
NASA
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
Keni
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@dramaticlatinname-blog
HOW MUCH OF A SINNER IS YOUR MUSE? TAGGED BY: no one, because @amatdestrui is slacking

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🍻 “ don't you ever blame me for what happened? ”
Drunken Confession: (Accepting)
“Wow, there is not enough booze on the Citadel for this conversation, Commander.”
But here they are, because Commander Wayland--Herondale, he’s still getting used to that one, has that look in his eyes that means he’s thinking about doing something stupid. At least if Simon makes the conversational kamikaze here, it might save them a bar fight.
Maybe. He’s feeling optimistic today.
But he throws back his...Asari?? drink? It’s blue, he assumes it’s Asari. They’re classy like that, and turns in his chair to better face his commander.
“Do I blame you for insane alien monster things blowing us out of the sky? No. I don’t blame you for something that wasn’t your fault, because that would be stupid.”
For awhile, Simon blamed him for leaving. Weeks spent sitting outside of the medical ward at Cerberus, so angry he could barely think. Because Jace left him.
But the Commander has enough guilt without tacking on Simon’s complicated survivor’s guilt. So he shoves it down.
Simon cocks a brow at him, a challenge written in the wing of it. “That’s like me asking you if you blame me for staying behind with the Normandy.”
“ if you could do anything in world, what would it be ?”
Drunken Confession: (Accepting)
“Jace?”
That gets him a pillow right to the face, and Simon takes his punishment with all the gravitas he’s capable of while lying on the floor with crooked glasses and enough shitty IPA in his bloodstream to kill a lesser man.
(He’s had three beers, he’s feeling it.)
But it’s not like this is news. Alec has been his best friend since kindergarten, and he’s been fully aware of Simons “deeply embarrassing” crush on his brother since sixth grade.
Alec indulges it, because Simon won’t ever actually commit to it. Bros before...other...brothers. Wow, that one did not translate to the homosexual community well. The point being: Jace Lightwood was one hundred percent off limits, no matter how many songs Simon not so subtly wrote about him.
“Well, the Plan was to get a place in New York and become famous.” He nudges Alec with a socked foot, said sock being covered in weiner dogs in hot dog buns. “You’re gonna work for your folks and sell poetry under a pseudonym and I’m going to start on the bar scene and then blow up and buy a mansion. Then you can be my live in little black cloud while we sleep with all the hot people but never truly connect with any of them, so as not to ruin our perfectly crafted images and haunting way with words.”
drunken confession.
your muse is drinking with mine and has been given the chance to question my muse anything they want to know. some may be triggering, others won’t. send me a 🍻+ the question you want to ask my muse for a tipsy, drunken ( honest ) answer.
“ what’s holding you back in life ?”
“ is everything alright? ”
“ when did you choose to give up ?”
“ what’s the kinkiest thing you have ever done ?”
“ how many have you slept with ?”
“ what’s your biggest secret ?”
“ do you believe in love ?”
“ what’s the meanest thing you have done ?”
“ what scares you more than anything ?”
“ have you ever considered running away ?”
“ do you love me ?”
“ what’s your dirtiest fantasy ?”
“ who hurt you ?”
“ what made you this way ?”
“ is there anyone special in your life ?”
“ why are you always smiling ?”
“ what lie have you told that hurt someone ?”
“ if you could do anything in world, what would it be ?”
“ who are you, really ?”
“ is there anything you regret ?”
“ what’s your biggest regret ?”
“ tell me about your first kiss ?”
“ what is your deepest, darkest fear ?”
“ is there anyone you regret kissing ?”
“ have you ever cheated, or been cheated on ?”
“ what is the most embarrassing thing in your room ?”
“ who have you loved, but they didn’t love you back ?”
“ is there something you have never told anyone ?”
“ when was the last time you cried ?”
“ how come you keep running away ?”
“ have you ever made someone cry ?”
“ if anything, what makes you hate a person ?”
“ what takes for you to fall in love, trust someone ?”
“ do you believe in true love ?”
“ what have you done that people would judge you most for doing ?”
“ do you regret letting me close ?”
“ is there someone you have a crush on ?”
“ what is the strangest place you have ever had sex ?”
“ tell me your most awkward date story ?”
“ do you ever get scared ?”
“ what do you really think of life ?”
add your own for further development.
❝You didn’t show up. I kept waiting.❞
Siken Starters: (Accepting)
“I’m really sorry, Luke.”
He presses his forehead against the table, even though he’s pretty sure it’s loud enough to be heard through the phone.
“I lost track of time, and I don’t have any blood here, I ran out and...I didn’t really feel safe going out to get more?”
I screwed up, I’m sorry.

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❝Unfortunately, we don’t have that kind of time.❞
Siken Starters: (Accepting)
“I’m immortal, we’re in Edom and my dad basically is older than living creatures as a whole.” He’s really trying not to be annoyed with you, shadowhunter. Like really trying.
But you’re being melodramatic and Simon is on the clock here.
“I need you to tell me where I can find your siblings, so we can get them somewhere safe. Because if the clave thinks you’re a deserter, they’re going to think your brother and sister are too.”
It’s a harsh truth, but blood is all people see sometimes.
Simon pinches the bridge of his nose, glasses pushed up. “I’m sorry everything sucks for you right now.” Welcome to my world. “But the best thing you can do right now is to tell me how to find Jace, and how to get him to come back with me so he’ll be safe.”
❝Draw a circle with a piece of chalk. Imagine standing in a constant cone of light. Imagine surrender. Imagine being useless.❞
Siken Starters: (Accepting)
Simon looks up from where’s he’s been bent over the potion that’s bubbling on his desk for Mrs. Rosales who lives in 6c, because her COPD is getting out of control again.
Which means he can’t actually see much of anything, because his glasses are all fogged up. Simon pulls them off to wipe them off on his shirt, sending his living room into blurry blobs of color.
And yes, he’s fully aware that his apartment looks like Harry Potter exploded inside of it, and he’s aware that it’s cliche, he has two older siblings who like to point that out regularly.
But Simon doesn’t care. He likes his cauldrons and his wands and his posters.
He likes them better when there aren’t wild eyed shadowhunters in his living room, making his life into a comedy of errors. But then...you can’t win them all, can you?
“I wish I could help you. I really do.” Because this shadowhunter is pretty, and he’s frantic, and regardless of what the clave might think about warlocks, Simon genuinely does like helping people.
“But...”
Here is where Simon is at a crossroads. He could tell a teeny little white lie, infused with enough truth that even the soul sword wouldn’t know the difference. (Thanks Dad for teaching him how to circumvent nephilim torture.) Or...he could tell him the truth.
Simon slides his glasses back on, watching the shadowhunter come into focus in front of him, stele twisting and turning between clever fingers.
“That’s my dad you’re trying to bust into Edom and kill, and I can’t really help you with that.”
❝Sorry about the blood in your mouth. I wish it was mine.❞
Siken Starters: (Accepting)
Simon’s heard about the whole ‘vision going red’ thing. It’s in books, he gets it, he gets that it’s some kind of metaphor for the futility of man and our connection to the animal world, or...whatever.
But even in his vampiric pubescence and everything that came after, anger has never made Simon see red.
But this?
Simon’s vision whites out at the edges because Jace “Perfect Example of the Male Form” Wayland-Lightwood-Herondale just fucking Jedi mind tricked him. Him! The guy who sat through Episode One on opening night and spent a week writing a hand written essay about why it was a cash grab of a beloved piece of lore.
Not that Simon can even think of lore right now, because Jace has this tiny little smile tucked into his lips, like he doesn’t even know it’s there, and Simon is pretty sure he’s going to die again if he doesn’t kiss Jace right now.
Which would be easier if Maia didn’t ban him from kissing in the bar, so Simon has to grab Jace by the hand, and maybe he uses a little too much vampire strength to yank him into the single bathroom stall and throw the lock, because the metal is indented with the shape of his fingers.
Jace, God bless him, catches on fast. He grabs Simon by the lapels and slams him up against the metal and kisses him like he’s not the one who was sitting at the bar two minutes ago, being sex on legs.
When they break, Jace laughs against his lips, raspy and low and whispers sorry about the blood in your mouth, I wish it was mine.
Don’t make me regret this.
❝And he knew it wasn’t going to be okay, and he told me it wasn’t going to be okay.❞
Siken Starters: (Accepting)
“Breathe, Jace. Breathe.”
There’s the silken lilt of encanto behind those words before Simon even realizes what he’s doing. This is a dangerous tight rope he’s walking with nothing to help him balance, only a nudge between hell and help.
“Your father is dead. Some days, that knowledge doesn’t make things any easier. It certainly doesn’t undo any of the horrific things you went through. But he’s dead. He’s dead, and he will never come back to hurt you again.”
The world is a dizzying smear outside of the bright color of Jace’s eyes.
“Your nightmares are just dreams. Maybe sometimes they’re memories, but when you wake up, he has no power over you. And Jace...you’re not alone. You don’t ever have to be alone again.”

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❝You saved his life. I owe you, I owe you everything.❞
Siken Starters: (Accepting)
Guilt sits hot and heavy in his gut. Simon was the one who kept thinking maybe we should leave it alone even as Alec was broken and furious and always on the verge of falling to pieces.
(Selfish, it was selfish. He didn’t want anything else to hurt Jace. But it still did. Always.)
And when Jace came to him, pale and exhausted and determined, Simon knew what was coming. Even if he didn’t want to go. Even if he was terrified. Simon was going, because Jace was going.
Because Magnus would have done it for him.
“I didn’t do anything, not really. It was the uh...it was the mark. So you don’t have to do that.”
Don’t thank me, I don’t deserve it.
me, flirting: id let you kill me
@dramaticlatinname
This is my James Bond impression.
"What was it like for you? When you fed on me?"
“You know that feeling when you’ve been sick for like a week and your stomach is gnawing on itself, but you’ve puked for days so your throat feels like an acid road made out of hamburger?”
Jace gives him a look that says no, he doesn’t know that feeling, but Simon can read the fondness in it all the same.
“Stay with me, here. So you feel like crap. But you think you might be up to eating, so you make some soup, just broth really. And you take that first sip and it’s...amazing. It’s hot and it’s smooth and it soothes your throat and it makes your stomach stop hurting.”
He shrugs a little, shoulders jostling against Jace’s. They can’t ever seem to sit somewhere with distance between them. It’s always elbows in ribs or tangled legs or hip checking.
It keeps Simon warm when he’s afraid he’ll be as cold as the grave.
“But at the same time...”
He pulls in a breath, long and slow and deep and when he blows it out, it sounds a little bit like you can do this, Simon.
“It’s like when we have all night, and you wrap your hand against the back of my neck and all I can think about is the way you feel around me. It’s that top of the roller coaster moment when your head is back and your legs are clenched around my waist and you say my name like you’re begging for something and-”
Simon clears his throat, and keeps his eyes forward. He doesn’t have the blood flow to blush anymore, but that doesn’t stop the phantom feel of it from burning across his cheeks.
“But I didn’t know what that felt like at the time, so.”
@dramaticlatinname
You’ll have to excuse her, she hasn’t actually run into a vampire in the daylight before, even if she’s heard of him through the Bane-Lightwood grapevine.
Related, she mostly smells them and gets a sense of revulsion or irritation. She does not, generally, feel distressed about them. Or like anxiety has gone contagious and airborne. Honestly he’s put her off lunch.
“Dae ye always look like yer about tae shake apart down tae th’ molecules or is that some sort o’ vampire vitamin D overdose?”
“Please don’t eat me.”
So it’s not his best opening line, but Simon has had considerable trouble with werewolves in the past, and given the fact that Luke’s position is the only thing that keeps him from being eaten on most days, he’s a little bit wary about a wolf that doesn’t answer to him.
“I mean, not that I’m implying you’re some kind of cannibal or anything. I’m just saying. Not saying! Asking. Asking politely. Please don’t kill me.”

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#simon: anyway here's wonderwall-
Because maaaaybeeeee-
@wolfilim ( x )
“Can you tell me about parabatai?”
It’s a glaring answer to that question before they ever get started. Simon kicks his shoes off and heaves himself up into a sitting position, holding the cup of cocoa in his palms.
He can’t drink it, but at least he can smell it and enjoy the warmth of it.
“Like...not the textbook definition. Can you tell me what it’s really like?”