#so he never does 👍

[faunandfloraas]

Seungmin saying they changed song by so it would be easier for people to watch and listen and then me seeing people going "Yes! It's good it's on tiktok and shorts now" and I'm like. Oh. You're all so fucking stupid <3

[just-rainbow-thoughts]

Something something similar yet different idk I’ve never been good at comics or captions

[badnewswhatsleft]

Sorry to be stupid but which band did Joe almost get "sold" to?? (I was thinking about it for so long and couldn't figure it out)

omg LOL no anon you're not stupid i will freely admit that 1. it was not a very good joke on my part and 2. i was coming at it from a weird angle anyway😭 i was mostly thinking convolutedly ab like. joe in relation to 2010 the damned things :')

[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.

[male-duckk]

thinking abt joe/carlos

[weidli]

pi have you read this fic. cause you should absolutely read this fic

https://archiveofourown.org/works/30603701

4.07 / It's the Great Pumpkin, Sam Winchester

i realize this is supposed to come off as haha dean likes pretty girls but like. what he's actually SAYING is that if he could pick any body to live in he'd pick one that looks like a pretty girl. which is not the same thing

[moe-broey]

Smartass guy with a flat affect vs guy who almost always sounds like it's joking and likes to play dumb. Neither immune to the urge to over-explain themselves in earnest. Fight.

And now I'M gonna over-explain myself 😤😤😤😤😤 Because this piece captures like. Some headcanons of mine that are so precious to me, and SO much. Of the Moefonse dynamic and friendship... the heart of how their back and forths work.

But first close-ups/text descriptions for easier reading!

From the very start, Alfonse is playing. That's his intention. To say something he knows will get a good response out of Moe. But his delivery is either too dry and flat or too genuine. He's extremely subtle, and his humor doesn't tend to land because of that.

Meanwhile, Moe can be unaware... generally. But just as much, if not more, it's deeply attentive towards the things it cares about. It takes these things SO seriously. Moe... really hates being misunderstood. It struggles with empathy, and its sense of compassion is entirely self-centered. Which seems unrelated, but all of these things contribute to it making a joke, and then feeling a need to immediately explain the joke. Just to make sure we're all on the same page, here. Nobody is left out.

So just. Joke (passed!) + Joke (also passed!) into Joke (passed, carrying on the bit), into Worry (Joke check: failed.) into Worry/Reassurance (You're my dear friend and I love you. No need to worry) into Understanding/Reassurance (yeah that WAS funny). Which, as a side, really flatters Alfonse... that's not something he gets often. He gets it A Lot from Moe though LMFAO

AND ... FINALLY..... FINAL TIDBIT OF CHARACTERIZATION

This doodle was closer to what the final panel was supposed to be (under the thought bubble), but I got distracted and forgor..... but it has essential characterization.... honestly both drawings do. So it's fine LMFAOOO

But it is So important. That neither of them are acting on their feelings. And it is sooooo important. That they're extremely verbally affectionate with each other anyway. And it all comes full circle, to the top caption. Moe sounds like it's joking here. But it is SO genuine. Also Moe might as well have said "I want you, like carnally" with that. Endlessly ambiguous guy. And for better or worse, Alfonse is built the Exact Same Way. 🧍

Oh yeah and. The. Posts. That inspired this LMFAOOO

They're both doing this. Btw.

[buttercup-barf]

Under the cut are mostly self-insert doodles of decreasing quality. Again, not much directly tied to Team Fortress 2. Might as well toss these out while I have no access to my puter. Much yapping under the cut and in the tags incoming.

Another self-insert, this time less of a "here's me as a tenth class" and more of a "here's my game experiences translated into the class I would take the place of". The Cleaner. Although I guess they could still be wearing either suit. It doesn't matter that much.

That one Convict's Case taunt with Backup would be extremely funny, because the man would be on the verge of a breakdown (he does not want to go to jail so bad you have no idea). The second image- I owe no explanation. You know what I am. You see the pattern with my favourites.

The duality of the man. Resting face versus "just heard you express interest in religion/Russian folklore" face. He's not that hard to make friends with, when you pull him away from all the explosions.

Some doodles of trying to figure his face out. Unfortunately, the more I stare at him, the more I worry that he looks like A Certain Guy With The Last Name "Kazarin", and the fear of never being original in my life caught up to me.

Don't look at me, don't perceive me, I refuse to explain any of my actions to you.

[swordmaid]

my hag romance murder mystery au turning to magistrate astarion working with executor shri’iia we kind of like that development

[spokelseskladden]

was absolutely shocked and saddened to learn that I've become my father if he was a left leaning semi-communist. so that's pretty horrifying and life ruining.

[inkats]

is it autism or is it a symptom of previous longterm social isolation and lack of agency ?

[skrunksthatwunk]

not my dad not liking moral orel season 3 🤭🤭🤭that's so embarrassing for him (<- he's not wrong for feeling that way but i think it's like 60% because he doesn't like it when art gets weird and that's so so tragic for him)

[keeps-ache]

ggghhg i hate vehiclessssssss ghghghhghhhhh [dies dies dies forever]

[feedingicetothedog]

i do think there's something really interesting to be examined irt the age change from the iwtv book to the show bc even though lestat has been alive for 140+ years, he's still just as existentially confused as louis. he doesn't have any good answers for him when it comes to what their purpose is bc he genuinely doesn't know and is making it all up as he goes along, just like a human being. if they were approximately the same age, this would be frustrating but not surprising since they're both still very young both as humans and vampires but bc show lestat has been alive for over a century, i can imagine that louis felt even more cheated in having lestat as a mentor. like what do you mean you don't know????

during their conversation on the bench in ep3 i think is louis starting to realize that lestat doesn't know anymore about this than him and it always reminded me of that part in tvl when lestat meets marius and asks him what the purpose of vampires is and marius is like we don't have a purpose, the world doesn't need us and it will need us less as time goes on. it's like if this being who has lived such a long time hasn't been able to figure out what all of this is about, how could i possibly ever hope to do the same? i think it adds a layer of existential dread that you will never ever figure any of this out and it will never get any easier or more comprehensible and you just have to live w that forever

[ljuerlav]

how do you ask your roommate to leave surfaces generally in a clean and working order. not even talking about clutter but like oil and grime and shit

[immortalsins]

oughhhhhhhhhhh