#pure boys

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

while we wait.

may i offer you all a pubby?? lil bby barns?

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

I hope you take this as the compliment it is intended to be, but you strike the same chord of irreverence-as-love, jokes-to-showcase-sencerity that I get from Chuck Tingle, and I adore both of you.

You have bestowed the greatest honour upon me.

[benevolenterrancy]

"If the original novel had given this thing more than ten words of description, there was no way he wouldn’t have remembered!"

[fictionadventurer]

How did Treasure Planet manage to come up with the greatest aesthetic in all human history? Victorian elegance plus space-age flair, with just enough dirt and grime and wear and tear to make it feel real? A combination of traditional and computer animation that perfectly embodies the movie's blend of old and futuristic? How does it get any better than that?

[dmitryanya]

i'm just saying, they're all disney and this boy could use a princess emotional support group

[ichigoginchan]

zoro our pure boy

[eledsart]

the gerudo outfits are always my favorite

[yeetus-feetus]

tim is still 17 because he is fae.

thats my new theory. i mean just look at his unsettling inhumanly blue eyes. thats a creature right there my guy. he hasn't aged physically but trust me he is at least 100 years old, that's a fae child right there.

he's been interested in Batman since he first appeared on the scene, he has newspaper clippings from when the Joker made his big entrance, he was there for all of Batman's early mistakes, he was there at the circus when Dick's parents fell.

there is almost a century knowledge behind those odd, reflective eyes. he knows things a 17 year old shouldn't, he has reflexes not even Batman himself has.

he moves wrong. something about him is just off. his team mates have it within good reason to think of him as some sort of Gotham cryptid.

Dick is convinced it's just autism because all the other bats are lmao. (it's a good cover for Tim so he goes along with it.)

[paintedcrows]

Assorted Gravity Falls doodles!

[98chao]

Yummers

[shadebloopnik]

Thinking about how in the beginning of the series, Sir Pentious just wanted to be recognized(by the Vees, by the sinners of Hell). He just wanted people to see him and his worth.

And at the end of the season he's redeemed, has the eyes of Heaven itself on him, and has the literal King Of Hell salute to him

[wordsinhaled]

Charles has settled on Edwin's lap in the wingback chair in a comfortable sprawl, his knees on either side of Edwin's. He'd gone about it with a practiced ease, as though this is something he's done a million times; as though he belongs here; as though he could search out this spot in his sleep, if ghosts could sleep.

Yet Charles being so near to him, and with such deliberate and specific intent—that being their mutual enjoyment—is a relatively recent development, in the grand scheme. Edwin is... ablaze with the newness of it. He has to tip his head back just to get the full measure of Charles perched astride him, of the low lamplight diffused across Charles' face, of the fond, familiar mischief that glimmers in his eyes.

Port Townsend may have opened Edwin to his innermost desires, but if he is very, very honest he can admit that his private longing for Charles is of much older provenance. He would have given Charles an eternity to sort out the shape of his own feelings, if he needed it. And if it had meant Charles' continued happiness, he would have been content to live out their days alone in his regard, content with a cherished friendship that never included this.

By some miracle, he does not have to.

It had not taken Charles anywhere close to an eternity to figure out the rest, so to speak. What is a single year, after all, to a pair of ghosts? Falling in love, Charles had told him, felt like waking up in a strange bedroom which became, as you shook off sleep, suddenly as familiar as your own. "Oh... bit of a weird metaphor, that," he'd said, wrinkling his nose in the way Edwin privately found exceedingly endearing. Then: "Sorry, mate. I'd been building up to this, you know? What I was gonna say to you. Had it all planned in my head and now. Well. Can't get it out right, can I?"

But semantics didn't much matter, in the end.

In the end, being in love with one another had come to them as easily as it had to fall into step walking through the gates of St. Hilarion's, away from their shadowed past and towards their intertwined future.

It is dizzying to acknowledge that this is real—not a game, or a trick, or a trap. Just Charles Rowland, whom he adores, looking equally smitten as he steadies himself with his hands on Edwin's upper arms, the better to give an experimental shimmy of his hips against Edwin's. Like an anchorless ship Edwin drifts on the sweeping tide of pleasure their proximity brings. He relishes how Charles’ gaze rolls over him, terribly tender in its focus and promisingly molten.

"Charles," he says in unspooled wonder, simply because he can. Simply because happiness, in this moment, takes the shape of his best friend's name in his mouth. To his own ears he sounds strangled. Transported. Not himself whatsoever. It ought to scare him, the difference Charles can work through him so easily with the barest effort; it both does and doesn't. "I am certain you'll be the death of me."

"You're already dead, mate," says Charles, "live a little," and he actually giggles, like he's just said the funniest thing in all the world; like it pleases him immeasurably to know he can have this mad effect on Edwin. The giddy edge of his laughter vibrates through his chest, and into Edwin's. And Charles sounds breathless, even though ghosts do not need to breathe.

Edwin loves him so much, just then, that it genuinely aches. Not the agony of hell or the shocking burn of iron, but something new altogether, an incandescence that lances sharp beneath his breastbone. Something else to add to his running mental catalogue of sensations he shouldn't be able to feel, along with the beginnings of a flush spreading over his skin and the welcome heat of Charles' body through their clothes.

It is, all told, rather overwhelming.

Charles must read something of the enormity of his predicament writ plain on his face, for in the next second he reaches out to stroke careful, calloused thumbs over Edwin's burning cheeks. It's only a feather-light touch, back and forth and back again, one that might irk him were it to come from anyone else—but Charles has always been permitted certain liberties, so instead Edwin finds it... grounding. Or exhilarating. He isn't sure which. Possibly both.

"Hey," Charles says. "It's all right. It's fine. Still going slow, remember? This is brills, just this. We can st—"

"I do not wish us to stop," Edwin protests, before Charles can even finish the unthinkable suggestion. He could remain suspended in this precise millisecond for the next thirty years without complaint. "It is only that I... I can feel you. And everything. Everything we are doing. And it—you—you are so very...”

"Good?" Charles supplies, grinning Edwin’s favorite of his grins—the wide, unfettered one that shows his gums and lets a bit of his tongue peek between his teeth. He looks hopeful, impossibly bright in his joy, and just a little wicked.

“Yes,” Edwin says. "Better than good." He smiles up at Charles, some distant part of him registering that he must look utterly besotted.

Charles laughs, delighted.

And he tips forward to drop his forehead onto Edwin’s shoulder; to put his lips to Edwin’s neck, just below his ear. He presses a kiss there, so quick Edwin might think he’d imagined it, except that Charles does it a second time. And a third, this one open-mouthed and lingering, sending little shivers skittering down Edwin's spine and drawing a soft noise from his throat.

“I like this,” Charles whispers into Edwin's skin. His voice is raw-edged, confessional in a way Edwin hasn't quite heard him sound these three-odd decades. “So much. Being like this, with you. Didn't know how much I would, did I? 'Course you'd see it before me. Brilliant, you are, Edwin Payne."

[thequantumranger]

Raúl Esparza in Season 23 of Law & Order: SVU (1999-)

[idliketobeatree]

hey do you think Charles would fall for Niko shouting "help! Edwin is not moving, he needs CPR!" dropping everything like oh shit and getting deadly serious ready for that mouth-to-mouth action, as Crystal screams in the distance HE DOESN'T EVEN HAVE TO BREATHE CHARLES

[somewhereincairparavel]

Gentle reminder that every time Jason Grace gave his offering to Jupiter, he prayed for his dad to help Nico. Just saying.

[jkvjimin]

(67/∞) the perfect nose for butterflies to land on it ♡