#yes i know its joe

[retrokid616]

OH THANK FUCKING GODS break time

also did F.R.I.D.A eat F.G.C's coin? if so

see y'all in a bit

[automaticcomfort]

so much! for stardust!!!!

[whollyjoly]

@luztoyeweek 2024 day 2 - francis forever by mitski

[muadweeb]

TARGARYENS AND KENNEDYS GAEL / ROSEMARY AEMON I / JOE JR DAERON THE YOUNG DRAGON / JFK BAELOR THE BLESSED / BOBBY AEGON V / JFK JR

[theribbajack]

Just finished G.I. Joe: Renegades for the first time and hoo boy. It's been a long time since I was down this bad for a ship.

Lineart below the cut:

[unproduciblesmackdown]

has happened plenty around iconis goings on but what an all-timer

[crossbackpoke-check]

re last answer: please don't stop, being very unhinged about these two pretty white boys is helping distract me from the sharks losing streak rn so bring it on

https://www.tumblr.com/bondedpairs/764566430180147200?source=share

(sideblog woes but there's the link for you) anyway in the vid they talk about going over to each other's houses to have dinner and things and while that is a delicious example of their codependence i love it bc through an rpf lens there is definitely some old man ******* going on. they can have the dilfs and each other.

(someone else mentioned kept boys which i could write an essay on but i fear being Perceived™️)

anyway if you have anything to add to this please do, if not ignore me and i will hide under a rock until the stress-related insanity has worn off and i am a functioning member of society once more 😂

- @bondedpairs

ty for the video!!! and please, WRITE THE KEPT BOYS ESSAYYYY i promise i will read it with my hands over my eyes if you don’t want to be perceived. do it scared!! do it anyway!! we’ll all love you for it!!!

[potter-inthe-tardis]

Im gonna need someone to cast Joe Keery in a period romance asap

[digirainebow]

your love for sage makes Me Very emotional

ooooh then i apologize in advance for how sappy and emotional i'm about to get in my reply to this but, its fine we are both gonna be in an endless cycle of making eachother almost cry and thats just how its gonna be

its like. gosh how do i even put this. i'm gonna sound like some tortured poet in a sec

nss games were the first place i'd heard stories told the way i wanted to tell them. playing and falling in love with the original oxenfree felt like someone was finally finishing my sentences? and in turn, i felt i was finishing theirs. every time i made fan content of any kind--be it art, writing, or just basic appreciation--it always felt like nss weren't just grateful for it, but celebratory of it. i have always been more quiet about their importance to me than i wanted to because i am very anxious about parasocialising and never want to be too much for anyone. but YOU tage YOU have been so vocal, and its been SO inspiring to me.

sage and all the shitters, to me, are the visual representation of this sentence-finishing metaphor i've whipped up. and now that i've finished lost signals, i think that's half of what the game is about in the first place. mutual understanding, between people that create. creators of art, creators of life. it kinda feels like they made this game partially as a thank you to the fans, and the passion we had for the first oxenfree and its ARG. and the fact that you picked up on that and ran with it so far in advance of the game release is so special to me. you identified with it before it was out, and you finished their sentence. you made your own versions of these characters from only the smallest details, and the fact you came so close to being spot on with them is so fucking cool, but i think their differences are what made them even more special for the nss team! i think they are beyond thrilled that people understand their art the way you do, and that people like us want to make our own art because of their art! i think the end of tape 6 really showed that specifically, i think that's why it was the last one <3

i hope that made sense, and i hope you're okay with me publishing this especially since we aren't even really friends yet, i just! its important, you're important! and the lead up to this game wouldn't have been the same without you and your excitement and your art so, yeah. thank you :') thank you, for sage. SAGE 4EVER

[rigginsstreet]

one thing about me is i will be balls deep in a fandom actively hating on an actor i post a lot about, thus creating great confusion amongst people following me for that specific content

[unvexes]

watching ani for the first time and i genuinely do not understand ppl hating it,,, it’s so silly.

[jademight]

Happy birthday to the best Hulk adaption <3

[lupismaris]

So technically speaking the oldest son in our family should be named after an eldest son of the direct generations before per Italian American tradition (so one of the parents or grand parents/uncles) in this case but the eldest son died before my father got to meet him and thus the technical eldest son in our family was named after our great grandfather instead and not called Sonny as is tradition (he and my father refuse to admit that he is no longer the eldest son because i now exist)

i am tho realizing that if my Italian grandfather (god rest ya Joe) who half raised me and loved me deeply were still alive to be a part of my transition and were as supportive as i hope he would be, especially in spite of my father failing in the role of being a supportive father, he would no doubt see that our family lacks a Sonny of its own, bemoan the neglect of tradition, and anoint me the new Sonny, the true eldest son

[whollyjoly]

for some reason i can't explain i know saint peter won't call my name

nothing that lives, lives forever - an immortal soldier!alton more au

(1.1k of snippets from my old guard(ish) au where alton more is old, too old, and has been living and fighting far longer than anyone should. full description/other thoughts at the bottom. tw: blood, violence, mentions of death)

Alton clicked the lighter closed, running a thumb over the silver case. The night was warm, sticky in a way that he never could get used to. He sucked in a breath from the cheap cigarette, letting his head fall back against the rough side of the barracks.

It was quiet. Typically, there would be no end to the commotion coming from the small building, one of many that littered Camp Toccoa. The wall of sound was ever-present, no matter if it was shouting or laughing or snoring. But whatever the cause, there was always noise. 

No matter if it was a blanket of noise he knew well, unchanging except for the language and the scenery. Soldiers are soldiers, and some things are a constant. It could almost be comforting, if it didn’t also mean that the need for soldiers was a constant as well.

However, tonight was a Saturday, and it was one of the few weekends that Sobel had allowed Easy the use of their weekend passes. Almost every man in the company had jumped at the chance to get off base, to travel home if they could and spend time with loved ones. The ones with farther-flung hometowns had spirited off to Atlanta, happy to spend their time drinking and dancing and fucking instead of slogging through another run, three miles up, three miles down.

Normally, Alton would have joined them in their carousing - it was easier to pass the time with the effortless camaraderie built during a training camp than bored and alone. 

But today had been a bad day. The sound of swords and the shift of sand beneath his feet followed him out of his nightmares, the humid summer of Georgia morphing itself into the baking, dry heat of the desert. 

His shouts must have been real, because when a hand came to shake him out of his dream, the first face he saw was not that of a grouchy NCO, but of a blood-caked Saracen, eyes alight with righteous fury. 

Alton didn’t think. He had grabbed the knife from under his pillow, an old thing that had been sharpened more times than he could begin to count, and was on the man in less than a breath, pressing the blade into the side of his neck. The familiar thrum of blood beat against his fingertips, the grit of sand scratched his gums. He knew what he had to do, had done it a thousand times, a thousand thousand times, what was a little more bloodshed spilled across his feet-

Alton had blinked, and came to himself in a rush.

Instead of an unnamed Saracen, the ashen face of Johnny Martin stared up at him, eyes wide behind the knife.

Alton drew back his hand, retreating almost as quick as he had lunged earlier. He mumbled a quick curse and apology as he stepped out of arm’s reach from the man. It wasn’t until Martin’s eyes widened even farther that Alton realized his tongue was slipping out Arabic of all things.

Usually, Alton was better about remembering himself, who he was almost as important as where he was. But for whatever reason, his demons had decided to catch up with him that night.

After a quick smile and some quip about the Krauts in his dreams, he managed to wave an only-slightly-mollified Martin off. The shorter man apparently hadn’t forgotten it though, if his watchful eyes during chow that morning were anything to go by.

Alton was just glad that no one else was awake to see it, at least. That was the last thing he needed.

And so, instead of joining in on a weekend of broads and booze, Alton found himself waving away the invitation by an eager Smokey and bemused Alley. When the horde made their way out of the barracks, fantasizing in bawdy terms about their planned misadventures, he felt like he could breathe easy.

Fucking finally.

~~

Alton took another drag from the cigarette. He watched the smoke curl, up and up until it faded into nothing amongst the darkening sky.

The lighter was a welcome weight in his hand, grounding him to this time, this life.

The design was worn by now, details barely visible after a half century of worrying. It still managed to amaze him, sometimes, what people could do with the smallest of canvases. Alton didn’t feel the same wonder however, wasn’t as mesmerized by the beauty man could create as he once was.

But in the quiet moments, he could still appreciate the time some French craftsman took to transform a hunk of metal into a small token carried around by a dead man.

Luz had spied the lighter one weekend, and laughed at him for using something so old-fashioned. Alton just shrugged, not caring to admit that he was still getting used to having a light at his fingertips. It wasn’t all that long ago when he was still lighting a pipe with a flintlock pistol, and not so long before that when he would carry around a flint and steel.

Time was passing all the more quickly these days, technologies changing and advancing, and everyone was obsessed with needing things to be quicker, cheaper, simpler. Alton scoffed. He could hardly find it in him to care.

He glanced down at the lighter in his hand, shifting it back and forth in a practiced motion and watched as the light skittered across the sides. 

It had shown flowers, once. A veritable garden of carnations, daffodils, and lilies of the valley, with leaves spilling across the front panel onto the back. They represent good fortune, he was told. Good fortune, luck, and hope. 

When the merchant described it to him, eyes ablaze with a passion known only to those with wares to sell, Alton didn’t try to hide the snort that escaped his throat. 

Fortune and Luck had abandoned him long ago, and hadn’t returned since waking up in a battlefield abandoned by all but the dead, sword in his chest and blood in his mouth. 

And what the fuck was Alton supposed to do with hope?

It was the quote on the back that had caught his eye, all those years ago in a street market in Reims. The beveled edges had faded with time, the familiar letters Alton traced were more memory by now than any physical mark. Une vie honorable est une vie éternelle.

An honorable life is an eternal life.

Alton couldn’t help but stare at the message, both then and now. He hated that goddamn word. Immortal. Unending. Eternal. 

They were such flowery words, used by people who craved what they couldn’t have, what they shouldn’t. The romanticized idea of the everlasting, the fountain of youth, the gift of life! Alton was sick of it.

This wasn’t life. He was a fucking dead man walking. And he sure as hell didn’t do anything honorable to deserve it.

months ago, while thinking about the absolute insanity of the almost...cavalier? attitude we see alton more have over the course of the series, an idea hit my brain: what if there was a reason nothing seemed to phase him - not panzers, not being a breath away from a car wreck, not bastogne, not speirs? what if this wasn't his first war? that thought spiraled me into a minor insanity that is this: my immortal soldier!alton more au, loosely inspired by the movie the old guard (2020). the idea is that, once upon a time, there was a soldier in a land many centuries ago. one day, he died in battle. and then, he woke up. and then he died. and then he woke up. over, and over. drawn to countless battles, conflicts, and wars, each one etching itself into the core of his soul. a never-ending cycle...until one sweltering summer, where he found himself at a training camp at the foot of a mountain. anyways. at some point, i plan on writing this as a full story, but that is admittedly a long ways away. however, in celebration of alton more's birthday today, i wanted to post my favorite scene that i've written for this au! it's set sometime at the beginning of the story, in the early days of camp toccoa. mostly, it's just a character study of this version of alton more. hope you enjoyed! and of course - happy birthday alton more!

(song insp.)

taglist: @sweetxvanixlla @coco-bean-1218 @bucky32557038ww2 @georgieluz @samwinchesterslostshoe @xxluckystrike @next-autopsy @ronald-speirs @land-sh @ronsparky @panzershrike-pretz @theredrenard @kyellin

[cryptidapprentice]

re: lrb (in the tags)

[eternallovers65]

THIS!!!!!

anyway taylor probably won’t see you defending her right to date a bigot, and she very much has the privilege to not care about the opinions of her fans when they don’t align with hers. but the people of every group he’s targeted— from black, to jewish, to disabled, to muslim, to trans, to indigenous, to chinese, to god knows what else— will see your stance and feel your betrayal. i think it would be a good idea for some of you to take a step back and think about how you’re alienating your own mutuals, friends, and fellow fans, and disregarding their very real and very valid hurt, to kiss a popstar’s ass.