#they def said this

[plxy-bxy-bxnny]

Thanos: *angrily presses Min-su against a wall* WHERE'S THE MONEY?!

Min-su: ...

Min-su: Are we about to kiss-

[mawguai]

I want to go back and talk to you

[choccy-milky]

☼ seb & clora x elden ring ☼

SUPER self-indulgent thing i had to draw once i got the idea, bc i love FromSoftware and all their games (...& also bc i will never get tired of drawing clora like an ethereal lightbulb LOL 🔆) ↓ extra doodles and a lot of yapping below❗ ↓ (& elden ring DLC final boss spoilers)

their boss mechanics bc im a nerd LMAO🥰

if you target clora and kill her before seb, seb will be inflicted with madness/frenzy, and his stats will be raised for the remainder of the fight

with clora dead, seb will stop using holy/slash damage, and will instead use occult, madness/frenzied flame, and his own blood to inflict bleed damage

killing clora first makes the fight wayy harder, but also reaps much better rewards/a unique item (like the ornstein and smough boss fight in DS1)

if you kill seb first and don't finish off clora quickly enough, she'll just keep reviving him over and over (like the twin princes fight in DS3)

when you get seb down to like 10% health, he'll stop going on the offensive and will instead do everything he can to protect clora (while being visibly beaten up & limping😭kinda like sif in DS1)

this is the boss i re-skinned them as (promised consort radahn) bc i love this design...and even the lore makes sense bc the big guy (radahn) was brought back to life to serve miquella and fight for him (kinda like my seb and his horcrux👀) i also considered giving clora a halo similar to miquella's (but in the design of her hairclip) except i scrapped that bc i thought it looked weird LOL. i still like the idea tho so...just pretend its there LMAO🙂‍↕️🙏 ok im done 🗣️

[birdy-babe]

I was rewatching Helluva Boss as I do after new episodes drop to find lil things

AND LOOK WHAT I FOUND

“Are you little creatures not being careful up here?!”

“You know if YOU get in trouble”

“I get in trouble”

“We don’t want that”

“If you get in trouble, I get in trouble”

[faunandfloraas]

One Kid's Room, 2024.

[manyrepulsivethoughts]

that one post comparing ruin's and LN2 endings altered my brain chemistry so now have this

[your-mums-nuts]

[smoozie]

Screaming, crying, throwing up. What do you mean immediately after killing Scar, Grian says "I don't feel good" and immediately after killing Impulse, Martyn says "oooh that feels good"

[milfygerard]

Witch- The Paper Kingdom (leak) - My Chemical Romance

leak originally found here on reddit. Album cover by me.

[morganbritton132]

Eddie’s just trying to show off his new guitar picks on his TIkTok account while in the background, this conversation is happening:

Steve: Want some m&ms?

Robin, holding out her hand: When I was a kid, I would assign each of my family members a color of m&m and then eat them in order of who I liked the least to who I liked the most.

Steve: Who did you eat last?

Robin: My cat, Lucy. She was the brown one. I would swallow them whole so I wouldn’t hurt her chewing.

Steve: Makes sense

Steve: What color would I be?

Robin: Blue

Steve: *fist pumps*

[arkaniist]

listen listen ok i love age gap stuff as much as the next fujo but in zhongven's case the WAY funnier and more accurate dynamic is college prof. zhongli and the guy everyone thinks is his undergrad (at worst) or TA (at best) but who is actually a 36 year old fellow teacher from another university. every time venti visits zhongli on campus for a quickie to bring him lunch, zhongli has to put up with a swirl of rumors about his scandalous relationship with a babyfaced newly-18 year old. students keep showing up after class thinking they can flirt their way out of his notoriously difficult 10 page final exam. his reputation with most of his fellow teachers is so strained and awkward.

and venti is a year older than him.

[b1nkee]

saw the original n knew I had to draw the cutest fat girl I know in this shirt

Here’s the original

[stuck-in-jelly]

A consistent detail I like about Claudia is how terribly she speaks about Elves.

She constantly refers to Rayla as an object rather than a person “Their elf.” “His elf” "Your elf" as if she is just an accessory of extension of Callum and Ezran.

Even they first capture Runaan even she says "we can find more practical uses for this one." which in hindsight kinda feels like the "in pieces!" part when she talked about transporting Pyrrah.

And there's always a layer of condescension when she is talking about/to elves "aw look dad, they brought shields~" "Oh are you sure? Are they real friends?"

The same way she shouts about Elves seeing humans and worthless filthy animals is the same way she treats them, really driving in how much she is playing into the cycle of violence.

[gomacave]

Crawled out the same hole

[dirtbagcore]

the brainrot is extreme. heres another silly doodle (ノ≧▽≦)ノΞ●~*

+ obligatory close up of the cute little faces lol

[velarisdusk]

I Slept with Someone in Wings of Illyria

A Bat Boys Band AU

word count: 1.5k author's note: i have not been able to stop thinking about bass player az, nor have i been able to shut up about it (exhibits A, B, and C found here lol). i am so taken with bass player azriel that this was originally gonna be a one time thing to get the mf thoughts out of my head, but i may make this a collection of drabbles/one-shots/whatever the fuck. enjoy ! <3 ✦ . AU Masterlist . ✦ ✦ . Masterlist . ✦

The room is sweltering, the kind of heat that clings to your skin and wraps around your throat. Bodies pressed together, arms raised, the crowd surges with the beat, their cheers deafening as the final notes of the song fade out. 

Cassian tosses his drumsticks in the air, catching them with a grin as he leans back, his chest heaving from the sheer energy of his playing. His skin glistens under the stage lights, sweat dripping down the sharp cut of his jaw to his bare chest. Rhysand steps forward, guitar slung low on his hips, running a hand through his sweat-damp hair, the movement so casual it borders on taunting. 

The three of them are magnetic—untouchable—but your eyes are glued to Azriel. 

The bass still hangs low across his hips, his dark shirt clinging to his chest and arms, every inch of him shining with effort and heat. His hair sticks to his forehead in damp strands, but he doesn’t seem to care. There’s a faint curve to his lips as he looks out at the crowd, their screams refusing to die down even as Rhys steps up to the mic.  It’s Wings of Illyria’s last song of the night, and the air is thick with anticipation.

“Alright, alright,” Rhys says, his voice rich and smooth, but it barely registers over the roar of the audience. He glances back at Az and Cass, shaking his head with a laugh, and you catch the way they all exchange a look—silent, knowing.

Cass twirls a drumstick between his fingers, grinning wide. Rhys throws a wink at the crowd, and Azriel… Azriel holds up a hand, palm out, a subtle watch this gesture that has your stomach flipping. 

And then he steps forward.

The moment his fingers graze the mic stand, the noise dips. He leans in, his lips brushing the mic, and inhales sharply. The sound carries through the speakers, intimate, like he’s right there beside you. The crowd freezes, the energy shifting into something electric, breathless. And then, he chuckles.

It’s low, almost a growl, and it sends a shiver down your spine. For a moment, the room is still. And then, chaos. The screams erupt again, louder than before, like every single person in the crowd had been seized by something primal and uncontrollable.

Azriel laughs, throwing a glance over his shoulder at Rhys and Cass. They’re laughing too, Cassian smacking a hand against his drums while Rhys shakes his head, mouthing something you can’t make out. 

But then Az turns back to the mic. 

Your heart stops as he adjusts it slightly, his hand steady, his expression calm but sharp, focused. The moment stretches, and you swear he looks right at you before his lips part, and his voice spills into the venue. 

It’s not Rhys’s voice this time, not the smooth, cocky tone that usually owns the opening of this song. No—this is something darker, rougher, saturated with a raw kind of emotion that makes your knees go weak. You know this part by heart—hell, you’ve screamed it in your car more times than you can count—but hearing Azriel sing it? It’s like hearing it for the first time. 

He owns it, every word dripping with purpose, with heat. His voice snakes through the room, curling around you, pulling you under. The crowd is a blur, the sound of their cheers distant compared to the way your pulse pounds in your ears. 

And Azriel knows it. He’s fully in control, commanding every single person in the room with nothing but his voice and the intensity in his eyes. When he glances over at Rhys and Cass again, they’re grinning like they know exactly what he’s doing—and exactly what it’s doing to everyone in the room. 

You’re breathless by the time he finishes the verse, and when he pulls back from the mic with that faint, wicked smirk, the crowd surges again, screaming louder than ever. 

You scream too, the sound ripping out of you without restraint, caught up in the heat and the pounding bass still thrumming through the room. But then Azriel’s gaze sweeps across the crowd, scanning the sea of faces, and it lands on you. 

Your breath catches. 

It’s brief, a flicker of his hazel eyes locking onto yours, but it’s enough. Enough to leave you wondering if he’s seen you before—if he’s noticed you at every show you’ve managed to get into, always in your usual spot near the edge of the stage, close enough to feel the pulse of the speakers in your chest. 

And then he turns back to the mic, and your chest tightens all over again. 

It’s the way Azriel shifts his stance—shoulders squared, leaning slightly into the mic as his fingers curl around the neck of his bass—that holds you captive. His voice joins Rhys’s in the next verse, a low harmony that wraps around the melody like smoke, rich and addictive. 

When the lyrics take a turn—something dark and suggestive, dripping with innuendo—you swear he looks at you again. His lips curl just so around the words, and the way his hand moves on the fretboard has your pulse racing. 

It’s stupid, you tell yourself. Ridiculous, really, to think that someone like him would single you out of a crowd like this. But as the song builds to its peak, the heat of his gaze feels too intentional to ignore. And then they hit the chorus, when Azriel takes over the melody for one shining moment, he sings a line that makes your cheeks burn, makes your hands curl into fists at your sides. It’s not subtle. It’s meant to be filthy, meant to tease and taunt, and he sings it like it’s directed straight at you. 

The crowd loses it. You barely hear the screams over the pounding of your heart.

He’s still looking at you when the song ends, sweat dripping from his temple as he lets the bass hang low against his hips, his breathing heavy. Cassian slams his drumsticks against the snare one last time, punctuating the end of the set, while Rhysand tosses his guitar pick into the crowd with a lazy smirk. 

Azriel doesn’t move for a moment. He stays there, on the edge of the stage, as if waiting for something. 

And then he winks. 

It’s quick—blink-and-you’ll-miss-it—but you see it. You feel it. 

Your knees go weak, your grip tightening on the barricade to keep yourself steady. By the time you process what just happened, he’s already turning away, laughing at something Cassian said as they disappear backstage. 

The crowd surges again, desperate for an encore, but all you can hear is the pounding of your pulse. 

Your knees are still trembling as the crowd surges around you, voices raised in chants for an encore. You try to breathe, to ground yourself, but the memory of Azriel’s smirk and the weight of his gaze keeps playing on a loop in your mind. 

And then, just as the noise reaches a fever pitch, you see him again. 

Azriel lingers near the side of the stage, his bass slung over his shoulder now, his hand reaching out to clasp the shoulder of a man in a black security shirt. You watch, heart pounding, as they exchange a few quick words, the guard leaning closer to hear him over the din. 

It’s casual—normal, probably—but then Azriel points.

Directly at you. 

You freeze. Your pulse spikes. There’s no way, you think. No way this is happening. 

But it is. His arm extends toward the crowd, his finger cutting through the haze of heat and lights to land right where you’re standing, gripping the barricade for dear life. The security guard nods, glancing in your direction as Azriel leans closer, lips moving again. 

He says two words, slow enough for you to catch even at this distance.

“Blue top.”

Your breath hitches, your gaze darting down to the shirt you’re wearing. Blue. Not just blue—bright blue, standing out against the darker tones of the crowd like a beacon. 

You look back up, your heart slamming in your chest as Azriel straightens, throwing one last glance your way before disappearing offstage. 

For a moment, you just stand there, frozen, every nerve in your body buzzing. Did that really just happen? Your mind races, replaying the movement of his hand, the way his lips had formed those words. Blue top. 

Your gaze darts around, scanning the crowd. Maybe you imagined it. Maybe you’re losing your mind because surely he didn’t mean you. But your stomach flips again as you realize—no one else around you is wearing blue. Not a single person. 

It was you. 

Your fingers tighten on the barricade. He had pointed at you. You’re sure of it. And then you see him. 

The security guard is cutting through the clusters of venue workers. Your breath catches when his eyes land on you, sharp and direct. He doesn’t say a word, just jerks his chin toward the end of the barricade, a silent instruction.