#it's like catnip to me.

[larsnicklas]

leafs points leader through the first half on an another extended point streak in his contract year yes i know that's right!

[ashleyeveerson]

Haven't been able to think about anything other than the victorian/edwardian/WW1 twink and his 80's punk almost-boyfriend for a week, send help

[whump-is-love-whump-is-life]

Thinking about a royal whumpee's crown being melted down and reshaped into a shiny, metal collar

[buckttommy]

BISEXUALS WAKE UP !!!!!!!!!!!!!

[icarusdiesatdawn]

this edwardian twink has bewitched me body and soul

my youtube channel

[ohitslen]

Happy birthday TRIGUN STAMPEDE!! 🎉

[comradekatara]

okay be honest. if someone as hot as sokka (is constantly established to be by other characters within the text) said these exact words to you, you would also fall in love with them on the spot and/or be overwhelmed with uncontrollable horniness. yue is valid

[linka-from-captain-planet]

Favoritism

(Dark Justiciar!Shadowheart still being the worst Sharran ever despite being Mother Superior and Shar’s Chosen and going on a 10 minute long, basically unprompted, gushing, unbecoming-of-her-status rant about how amazing Nocturne is and how she’s her favorite and the others can die mad about it… impeccably consistent character writing)

[qtepasacalabaza]

You can't give me two characters who are essentially the opposite of each other and expect me not to go crazy over them😭😭

[yourfatherjustinmcelroy]

I apologize for the person I am going to become in light of new Pok art

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

yeah so i'm falling for @weevmo's Guys... they're so neat! i dig their vibes and can't wait to see what Corduroy Stew is all about <3

[simmyfrobby]

Battle Cries – The Amazing Devil

(x, x, x, x)

for @rimouskis based on this fic 💙

[thereigning-lorelai]

bonus:

[potatobugz]

scene redraw bc i want everyone to know that he said this and this happened

[thetarttfuldickhead]

A week or two after the Dubai Air protest Sam happens upon Jamie lounging listlessly on a bench in the otherwise deserted gym. He’s not doing any exercise, just sitting there and staring out into nothingness with a curiously vacant look on his face.

Sam hesitates, hovering in the doorway. He’s come for a little bit of extra weights before heading home, and he hadn’t expected anyone to be here this late, least of all Jamie. It’s been a long day and Sam’s not sure if he’s up for dealing with the (possibly) reformed bully right now. Even if they are edging towards friendly, and even if that’s no small thing given what’s come between them before, there’s still an undercurrent of charged uncertainty to their interactions, a stilted hesitancy to their cautious politeness and careful attempts at casual camaraderie.

Jamie hasn’t explicitly told Sam that he’s sorry for the things he’s put him through. Sam has decided that he will not let his decision to give Jamie another chance be contingent upon this. It’s very tiring, being angry and resentful of the other’s presence: so much easier to accept the taped up logo for the peace offering it was, and let that be Jamie’s apology.

(If it rankles, it only rankles a little.)

Reminding himself of his decision to let bygones be bygones, and that they won’t ever get anywhere if they don’t actually learn to talk, Sam steps into the gym. Asks as he would any other glum-looking team mate he’d unexpectedly happened upon, “Are you all right, Jamie?”

Holds himself ready, holds himself steady, if Jamie should bare his teeth and bite, now that there’s no one around to see it.

But Jamie only starts a little, like he hadn’t noticed Sam or he’s surprised to be voluntarily addressed. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, I’m good, man. Great, you know. It’s just… I’m a bit tired, I guess.“ He pauses, then his face suddenly collapses and he gives Sam the most plaintive of looks. “It’s just so fucking exhausting being nice all the time. I don’t know how you do it, mate.”

Ah. Sam tactfully doesn’t say that it’s usually no effort for him and that he doesn’t really understand how it could possible come that hard for anyone.

He also doesn’t point out that not actively being mean to people isn’t quite the same as being nice.

Because Jamie is trying, isn’t he, even if it’s painfully evident that he still needs to try, that it doesn’t come quite naturally.  

“Bit like when Spike had that chip in his head and had no choice but to team up with the good guys, isn’t it?” Colin had muttered a few days after their wayward striker had re-joined them, and yes, Sam had had to agree: it is a bit like that.

But there’s no chip in Jamie’s head (Sam is pretty sure). He’s here of his own free will, trying to be a good team mate and a better person because he wants to be. That has to count for something, doesn’t it?

Sam is pretty sure his dad would say it does. Sam wants to be the sort of person that lets it count.

And Jamie is looking genuinely dejected, in a way that has Sam feel a small surge of something that isn’t affection but isn’t too unlike it either. A little bit of pity mingling with amusement; enough that he’s moved to brave sitting down next to Jamie.

“Well, I have had more practise,” he says lightly. “I bet you will be really good at it if you give it a bit more time.”

“Yeah?” It’s offered casually, but there’s no disguising the faint hope in it. Sam can feel Jamie watching him out of the corner of his eye.

“Of course,” he says, and then, feeling bold, “You are Jamie Tartt. Aren’t you good at everything?”

A pause, and Sam holds his breath, praying that Jamie will understand that he’s being teased rather than mocked—

Then Jamie snorts, a sound halfway to a chuckle. “Yeah, man,” he retorts, bumping his shoulder against Sam’s, very carefully. “I’ll be the fucking best at being nice. Swear down, I’ll be so good I make you look like Geezer Scrooge.”

“That, I’d like to see,” Sam says drily; says sincerely. Standing, he nods towards the weight bench. “Do you think you can be good enough not to let me be crushed to death while you spot me?”

For a moment, Jamie looks taken aback, and Sam braces himself for a snide retort to his presumption – but it doesn’t come. Instead Jaime’s face clears, and he gives a sharp nod.

“Course, mate,” he says, and rises to follow Sam.