#i am soooo annoyed

[local-limebug]

i hate MANY things about how angsty the s'chn t'gai family's canon is but i think my main issue with it is that it really makes a "jim meets spock's siblings" scenario impossible because of the timelines

(p.s. if you know any fics of jim meeting spock's siblings, send them my way pls)

[yurimic]

they really do match each other’s freak huh

[emmaziadarcy]

When you draw the Three of Cups, you will see three women lifting their cups up in the air in a celebration of some sort. Good times are in the air, for the three ladies have wreaths made of flowers in their hair. Wreaths are often associated with success and victory, so their happiness is well deserved.

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7]

[moncuries]

i do not gaf about drawing percy with blond or black hair but atp, annabeth is black to me. it has changed her character and how she moves thru the story significantly and i do not want to draw her as a white girl anymore. so please do not request it from me.

[angelsdean]

sdsifdkdk sam jealous that he's not in the FBI database like dean and then grumbling abt it when called out, peak younger siblingism

[earlycuntsets]

Alex Saavedra (founder of eyeball records and early advocate or mcr) responded on reddit and he liked my username!

I got an original 2002 bullets shirt! and he came on reddit to say it’s legit. He explains real bullets merch vs recreations/new bullets merch. It's hard to tell on ebay what is real bullets merch or something that was sold at hot topic in 2014.

[mars-ipan]

Mars, you have a lot more patience than I would at this point gdhfkjgdsfg. If you'll allow me to choose violence for a second:

-

Hi anon! Did you know you can engage with other people without interpreting every word they use in the worst way possible, making a million assumptions about their background and prescribing opinions to them they've explicitly told you they don't have?

I don't even disagree with all of those rebuttals, but if you want people to engage in discussions with you you have to treat them like human beings, not your opposition in a court case. What are you expecting to get back when you act like this? About nonexistent fingers in his ass guy?

You should at least have got off anon and owned what you said- unless you're using anon to block evade, in which case you should consider respecting people's boundaries.

:D waow…. feeling very cared for in this chili’s tonight

[skrunksthatwunk]

something he can't put into words.

[laufire]

early 00s comics be like. everyone was SO mean to stephanie for NO reason.

[cadaverousdecay]

if i double text someone i have to be put down but if someone double texts me i am planning our wedding

[theultimatekamehamehavoc]

ᗩᑕᑎE IᑎᐯᗩᔕIOᑎ

[timdrakespridespecial]

shut the fuck up arin thinking lloyd & nya were his parents after ras beat him up whattt 🥲

[han-solo-cant-dance]

I did not miss trumps voice its like having to listen to a dumb older relative who believes the moon landing was faked and believes the ai images on Facebook are real

[spaceratprodigy]

[ cropped 😇 ] — 💋 Cybill n Iris 💋

@grimreapersbutt — she always on that damn husband of hers fr fr she can't get enough of him

Commission Info | Ko-Fi | My Links

[itsalwaysforyou]

the black sky and all those lights

a silly little something i wrote for jalentines!!

When Mal opens the dormitory door, Jay is standing in the hallway in his workout gear, hair tied up in a bun. He’s already grinning in that way he does when he wins a fight. Mal rolls her eyes at him. Grabbing her bag, she says bye to Evie, and joins Jay in the corridor. 

She scowls as they walk, her workout clothes tight on her skin. Jay had insisted they’d do things properly, and not in their usual leather. 

The hallways are decorated for Valentine’s Day, making Auradon Prep even more gaudy and colourful as usual. Pink and red hearts plastered across the walls, boasting the abundance of love here in Auradon. Jay’s had a thousand notes in his locker. Mal’s had none. Every morning, she watches Jay approach his locker like he would a target on the Isle. Weight forward, shoulders squared; ready to fight if needs be. And the paper falls to the floor like blood, only sickly pastel. Scrawled glittery gel pen. Words confessing passionate love, or asking him on dates, or doodles of hearts. Jay smiles the whole time. Greets and winks at girls. Scrunches those notes up in a fist. 

“Everywhere looks disgusting,” Mal says as they approach the sports hall. Heart-shaped bunting crests the doors.

Jay holds the door open for her. “It’s fun.”

“You would think that.”

The sports hall is mercifully free of décor. They drop their bags in the corner and begin to warm up, another stupid practice Jay insists on. His top rides up as he side-stretches. Isle rule: never show skin, especially to the enemy. Except, Jay loved to parade around in those stupid sleeveless vests. She’s yelled at him plenty of times about it—Are you insane? You’re a walking target. He would just grin and say, they’ll have to catch me first.

Jay laughs as he grabs the practice swords from their stands. “Here.” 

He throws it, and Mal catches. The weight in her hand is familiar. Already, her pulse is thrumming faster, and maybe if she closes her eyes she’ll be back on the docks, with the wind ripping at her hair, and the salt stinging her nose, and half a dozen of Uma’s crew jeering over the clanging of swords. 

Jay chucks her a mask too, before attaching one to his own face. The mesh turns her vision slightly hazy.

“Ready?” Jay asks.

Mal’s watched fencing practise a few times, mostly as an excuse not to do homework and instead watch her boys wipe the floor with all those prissy Auradon princes. Coach Jenkins appointed Jay captain of the team a few months ago, a role he takes more seriously than she’s ever seen him take anything. 

“Rassembler! Salute! Lower the point. Masks down. En guarde!”

Mal lunges first, which Jay clearly anticipates, parrying her blow. He circles. Strikes. Mal blocks it. He’s quick. Reflexes honed to a sword’s point; learned by practise and theory. Mal lashes out again, just catching his free arm before he jerks away. She grins underneath her mask. Her breath comes quicker. Jay’s blade arcs down, hitting her chest. Mal swats his blade away. She hears him laugh. She growls. Strike. Parry. Strike. Block. Strike. Jay lands another hit. Their shoes squeak against the linoleum floor. 

“Come on, Mal,” Jay teases. 

Mal lunges like a cat on its prey. Jay’s blade grates against hers like steel against flint. Jay may be quick but Mal’s smaller, and she weaves her way through Jay’s blade until they both have the sword’s point angled at each other’s chests. 

They’re both panting. Jay lowers his sword first. Takes off his mask. 

“You came in clutch at the end,” he says. 

Mal huffs, wiggling the mask off her face and wiping her forehead with a sleeve. “You actually get training.”

“And now I’m training you!” 

His hair has loosened during the sparring, spilling out at the seams. He unties the bun; flips his hair down and shakes it out. In this late-afternoon light, his hair could be made of gold. Hair longer than Mal’s ever had. 

He pulls his hair back into its bun, deft fingers making quick work. When he straightens back up again, his face is slightly flushed from the match. 

And Mal looks at this boy she’s known most of her life; this face and these hands; a boy that has held her at the end of the world and the start of a new one. And she snatches back down her mask. 

“Again,” she says, lifting up her sword. 

She’s swinging before Jay’s even had the chance to pull his own mask back down. Her blade slices against his chest, and she hears the breath escape from his lungs. 

“Fuck!’

Jay’s blocking her hits in no time. Mal grits her teeth. A boy who’s inhabited every place she’s ever been. The shadow along the street; a fixed point on the rooftops. Those long, quick fingers that know their way around bandage; around open flesh; around her own hands. Like a comet to Earth. Like an eclipse. Totally consuming. 

And here, where the sun shines brighter than they could have ever dreamed, she is left blistering. Those girls that fawn over Jay, professing their love with the same ease that Mal can hold a dagger to a throat. Jay’s clicking tongue, and that low fry to his voice when he’s chatting someone up. Everything is always so easy to him. He can wrap anyone around his finger with a wink. 

His blade slams into her stomach. Mal pants, the budding pain in her side clearing her head. Jay’s standing above her like some heavenly deity. 

“Best of four?” he offers.

“Yeah, whatever.”

“C’mon. Let’s take a break.”

Jay drops his sword and grabs his water bottle from his bag. Mal joins him, still gripping her sword, gulping down her water like a man in a desert. 

“We should do this again soon,” Jay says. 

“Tomorrow?”

“It’s the Valentine’s Ball tomorrow.”

Mal snorts. “Yeah, and?”

“I was gonna go.”

His words are coming too slow; too considered. Like when he used to talk about his dad, or a particularly bad Barge Day. Rehearsed. A guard dog who’s smelled danger, prowling at the sidelines. 

Mal presents her blade. “En guarde!” she shouts, and Jay ducks her swing before scrambling over to his own sword. 

“Really, Mal? Another sneak attack?”

“I’m keeping you on your toes.”

They waltz around the sports hall, the blades clashing and slicing and singing.

“We all agreed we weren’t going to go to the Ball,” Mal says, jabbing at Jay.

“We never agreed anything.”

Jay lands a blow. They are at the dockyard, with its rotting wooden pier and dead fish stench. The screeching of metal; the shouting; Mal’s heart hammering like the tide. Blood, and life. The roar in her ears. A dragon’s call. Body moving without a thought, as quick as a lightning strike. Not having to look behind her because she knows Jay is there.

“Exactly!” she says. “Why would we want to go to some stuffy Auradon ball?” Jay tries to say something but she ignores him. “Why would we care about Valentine’s Day? It’s corny, and over-commercialised, and a stupid excuse to make everything about love.”

Jay has her backed up against a wall. With no time to mount his mask, his lips are slightly parted, and his hair is escaping from his bun again. He looks just like he did on the Isle; none of his perfect prince act that fools Auradon. His sword hovers above her throat. 

“Do you yield?” His voice is low.

Mal stares at him. Those eyes that have seen every part of her. All the blood; every smile; her pale skin in the dark Isle nights. The boy that has beheld her every action; weighed it all against his own understanding of the world, and decided that they slot together as easily as a bullet in a pistol.

“Who are you going with to the Ball?” Mal asks. She’s still clutching her sword. She could claim the upper hand, if she really wanted.

A grin creeps across Jay’s face. All those notes and heart-shaped lollipops. The giggling girls at his locker. He could pick any one of them. All of them so beautiful, in their sunset-coloured dresses. He could have anything he wanted.

“Well,” Jay says. “I was going to ask you.”

The sword’s point makes sure they keep their distance. Never too close. All touches so light; so fleeting, as if you could’ve mistaken them for a dream. As if you could’ve imagined the whole thing. All those nights in the hideout where the barrier of the body seemed thin, and the world became so small: just two kids who wouldn’t even dare knock knees. 

So Mal shakes it all away with a laugh. “I’m not going to the Valentine’s Ball.”

Jay lowers his blade. Neither of them move. “Not even with me?” 

“I’m sure there’ll be plenty of other girls who actually want to go with you.”

“I want to go with you.”

His words echo through the empty hall. His word is as steadfast as ever, the only opinion Mal will ever trust. Compass, anchor: Jay does it all. 

Heralded here, Mal as real as the vast sky outside. Here, in his gaze, held aloft by trust where there shouldn’t be and compassion where there shouldn’t be and understanding where there shouldn’t be. A home for all her broken bones. 

Mal’s lips unfurl into a smile. This ache in her chest. In her throat. Jay always being able to disarm her. Jay in every place she’s ever been. Jay as her shadow; her skin; her second self. A reflection in the mirror. The line of separation is nonexistent. Like the sun, like the moon: one cannot exist without the other.

[swinging-stars-from-satellites]

hmmmm