Spantzz

raising, like, from an earlier age?

magnus with a fashion sense, obviously. he loves sitting on the table in blitzen’s shop and helping him pick fabrics and colours, legs swinging.

related: magnus and blitzen wearing coordinated outfits, complete with sunglasses, sipping starbucks and judging people.

magnus following hearthstone absolutely everywhere, like a blonde shadow. 

you know the thing where you hold the hands of both your parents and get them to swing you really high as you walk? picture that

blitzen is a night owl, so when magnus gets nightmares he goes and sleeps in a blanket burrito on the floor of his workshop to the lullaby of a sewing machine

hearthstone brings him to the park, and calmly playing games in the grass.

some PTA mom, watching them sign back and forth for a while: aw, that’s sweet. what are you two playing?

magnus, with a dimpled smile: we’re preparing for ragnarok! i can’t wait to fight to the death.

You're too kind, buddy! I'm just glad I'm not the only one who's enamoured by Edythe, Jules, Beau, & Co. hehe

But, like those 3 mfs, especially. Their singular-brain-cell personalities scratch my brain just right, and I have so many more stories to tell about them in my office AU.

Honestly, I can't quit them even if I tried. And boy, did I try when I got art & writer's blocked to oblivion last month.

I mean, I even got the receipts 😂😭

But yes, the next chapter IS on the way. TRUST! 🛐

Hehe I love drawing Elliott...😋

I headcanon that he has bad memory with buzzcut specifically! Want to draw story around the issue someday

Messy bun high on his head, pencil sticking out of it that he forgot he put there hours ago. He's wearing his reading glasses, hunched pensive over a manuscript at his desk, ink staining his fingers.

Been thinking about his glasses sliding low down his nose, just small, half rimmed, delicate. Barely there. Barely noticed, until he realizes he can't quite make out the words on the paper, before a long finger reaches up with a practised motion and taps them back into place.

It's autumn, he's in a turtleneck. Cable knit. Green to match his eyes. Cup of caffeine cooling forgotten at his side as he reads over what he's just written, lips quietly forming the words, tongue darting out in between paragraphs almost of its own free will.

He's tactile. I can see him holding his pen to his lips, letting the tip brush absentmindedly against teeth and tongue just to feel something on the edge of touch, of taste - a single point to ground him in the moment - to remind him he's corporeal - of this world - and not simply cerebral concepts and emotion.

The more you know 🌈 🌟