#I'M NOT WELL

[niraves]

Maybe he called him Buck because Evan would have been too painful.

[keithyaboii]

I when when when he when he calls spiderman pet names

HES HIS BABY BOY HIS SPECIAL BOY... I WISH I HAD SOMEONE TREAT ME LIKE THIS PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE

[silverformymonsters]

Well...it was nice while it lasted.

[yeyinde]

Outlaw!Price, the enigmatic leader of the notorious and deadly 141 gang, who stumbles upon you one evening near the stables (attempting to steal the mare he had his eyes on, no less) as you try to sneak out of the city (and away from the awful, awful man you're supposed to be married to in the morning), and decides to help you get away.

But if you think it's altruism that's making him lend a helping hand to a stranger, you're wrong. In this life, he knows it's kill or be killed.

And most importantly:

finders keepers.

“How's this,” he begins, and everything inside of you screams to run. “I'll accompany you across the desert. Get you somewhere safe.” 

“Out of the goodness of your heart, I'm sure,” you sneer, edging backwards. “As if I'm dumb enough to believe that.”

“Can't leave a maiden—” your scathing hiss makes his lips twitch beneath the thick moustache; “—all on her own like that. I know these parts like the back of my hand. No harm will come to you. That, you have my word for.”

“And what's that worth?” 

He dips his chin. “Far more than you could imagine, love.” 

You swallow. “I don't know. I don't trust you—”

“Smart,” he nods, drops the cigar on the ground before snuffing the end out with the heel of his boot. “But I ain't very patient. Better make up your mind quickly.”

“Well, in that case—”

“But," he cuts your scoff off with a low hum. "I'll put it this way for you: do you want me to be the one to accompany you across the desert or the one they'll pay, handsomely, tomorrow morning to drag you back home, mm?”

“You scoundrel—! You dirty, rotten—”

“It's business, love.”

“I don't have any money to even pay you to—”

His eyes are searing when they catch on the threads of your lace collar, razing over exposed skin like he's owed the privilege. You've never seen such hunger on a man's face before.

Your skin prickles. Heart sinking low with each rasping sweep of his eyes across your body. It's as if you're meat. Something to be bartered with. Bargained.

The rasp in his voice makes you shiver. “You're a smart girl. I'm sure you can figure something out.”

“I—”

“I'll leave it to you, then, mm?” He starts forward, then, chin ducking low into his collar to stare down at you through the wide brim of his hat. Each thud of his boots echo against the floor in haunting harmony with the metal clink of his spurs. 

More of his bulk is revealed as he steps out from the shadows and into the pale moonlight, and somewhere in your chest, the air becomes trapped. 

He's huge. Bigger, now, where most of him blended in, almost seamlessly, into the shadows. A massive mountain of a man. 

His shoulders seem to stretch the fabric of his vest and waistcoat taut, pulling sharply on the straining threads. The heavy brown of his jacket sweeps down to midthigh, the seam tucked behind the leather holster of his gun tied tight at his waist. The brass buttons of his dress shirt crease against the pull of his broad chest and barrelled stomach. The softness around his midsection speaks almost highly of a luxurious lifestyle—pure hedonism. The sort ladies back home whisper about. Violence, women, and booze—ruffians, the lot of them! But it seems to belie the power in his gait. In the flex of his thick, corded thighs bunching in the tightness of his denim trousers and the leather caps covering them.

He has the walk of a bear. Lumbering, sloven. A touch clumsy. 

And yet—

The softness about him hides the raw strength under the thick pelt. Deadly. The slow, meandering trawl of a man who knows, unequivocally, that he needn’t run or rush anywhere. 

It lodges somewhere inside of you. This knowledge, this fact. He'll outpace you in spades. Catch up no matter where you flee to. 

Your stomach folds, looping over itself. It's nausea, maybe. And something else—

He's so big. Burly. Thickened like the strong trucks of ponderosa pine. A man cut from the wilderness; made in the likeness of the savagery of the wild. The brutality of the desert, of mother nature herself. Kin to the affinity this land seems to have in taking every ounce of a man and leaving him bereft in the face of the looming unknowns in the vast desert.

None of the men you've ever met before look like him. Grizzled. Hardened.

His scarred, tanned skin speaks of a life living outdoors. On a horse, on the run—hard work made with his bare hands. You think the softness, the callous-free palm that gripped your fingers tight in a vice, and can't help but to lean, just a little, into him. Drawn there, like a moth to a flame.

There's something about this man that makes you tremble. Something that curls inside of your guts. Something deeper, darker than fear. Primal. Animalistic. There must be something wrong with you, then. Most know to run from the predators—not move closer.

He comes to a halt less than an arm's length away from you, close enough that you can scent the heavy musk of him so thickly in your nose. Something purely masculine—loam, humus—and yet unfathomably different from the men you've known your whole life. Horse, and sweat. Sun. The headiness of riding nonstop through the sprawling deserts of New Mexico. Leather, and gunpowder. 

The novelty of it all is enough to make you dizzy. And, as if to reinforce it, he leans down, the brim of his hat narrowly missing your forehead, and he rasps, guttural and dark, 

“and I do expect to be paid back in full, love,” his voice is felled timber. Low, and firm. “Or you'll find you don't like the consequences very much. Am I clear?”

The unmistakable iron in it snags on the tendrils of your resolve, pulling messily at the threads. No escape. It winds tighter, tighter— 

Still. 

Your only other option is to stay here, and in the morning, marry a man who made it abundantly clear that the sole use he has for you is to rebrand a dwindling legacy (women ought to be seen, not heard, darlin’, and I think it's high time someone teach you that); or— 

Make off on your own. Through the unmapped, untamed wilderness of New Mexico with nothing for protection except whatever you could reasonably steal away with uninterrupted, which. Isn't much. Not only that—this man, this outlaw, had made it abundantly clear that there would be a bounty on you come sunrise. One he'd be most eager to fulfil. 

Rock, hard place. No escape. 

You steel yourself, grappling with trembling fingers against the dwindling options in front of you, and offer a slow, jerking nod. 

He heaves a breath in response. “Good choice, love.”

It doesn't feel very much like one. It doesn't feel very good at all, even. 

In this little stable just outside of town, you sell your soul to the devil in New Mexico while the cicadas in the background scream through the ink black night. The sounds they make seem to ask, 

what have you done?

[spacemothes]

The Sun/Moon (fnaf) fandom to In Stars and time pipeline needs to be studied in a lab.

[rolanpilled]

Rolan's VA cameo, asking him to read Rolan's journal entries, found in his room in Act 3/Sorcerous Sundries...

I'm so emotional right now, I requested Mr. Taylor to read some of Rolan's Journal entries, specifically the one where Cal and Lia survive, and then the ones where they die.. I can't see from behind my tears... Thank you so much again to Mr. George Taylor for 1. being kind enough to respond to my email/open up a cameo for fans of his character and 2. for always being open to such requests and imagines!! You are truly the best!

But without further ado, here is the video and its transcript! This took me out, he recited the lines with so much emotion that I felt as if I could really hear Rolan coming to life, thank you again💖💖💖💖

“All has happened according to my plan. The way was rough - too rough - but we’ve arrived exactly where we’re meant to be - where I am meant to be. Master Lorroakan is a braggart and a hypocrite, but he has what I need: resources. Knowledge. The ability to become who I truly am. Cal and Lia roll their eyes, but they, least of anyone, can deny my potential. They know what I could become - if only I endure a little longer."

"…I can endure it. I don’t care. Let Lorroakan bluster and boast. Even a braggart has his uses. If I were to leave, it will have been for nothing - the loss, the death. The grief. Impossible. That sort of loss doesn’t happen without some purpose. I am that purpose. Is that hubris? Of course. But I’ve nothing left if not my belief in myself - in what I can learn, what I can do. Some day. Soon."

[thehumantrap]

Guys. The premiere was surreal. And the movie is super fun you're gonna love it. I saw Ryan right in front of me. I died. I love him even more now. Have some content (all taken by me):

[inmymagnetoera]

Anyway, I think it's a bit understated how much Charles must have suffered from Alex's death: one of his last original students had died to protect him, which he felt he had to do instead. To think that initially Charles didn't even know Alex was dead, but after they returned from Cairo he looked around and asked "where's Alex?"

I mean, imagine Mitski's "I bet on losing dogs" in the background while Scott gives him the news.

[ceallachs]

BABY SHOUTO IS FINALLY ANIMATED 🥬🍰

Just some minor redrawing/recoloring of my old  🥬🍰 art to match the anime!

I’M CRYING YOU GUYS HE IS SO CUTE AND HE DESERVED SO MUCH BETTER THAN WHAT HE WENT THROUGH

[almost-born-in-1893]

I hate it here.

[onlyhereforbylerlol]

THERES MOREEE 😭

THIS FEELS LIKE A DREAM SOMEONE PINCH ME.

[localguy2]

Absolutely love how Bungie threw in 1 random Hive Gaurdian that's just chilling around trying to do good despite her Ghost being out of its mind, and the Community collectively loses its shit and makes her the fan favourite within 1-2 days, in the process replacing other fan favourite characters who've had years of build up and attention.

[invaive]

and that's the scariest part too. forget the clown and the maiming and the interdimensional cosmic horrors. you grow up and you forget the people you loved most. who would have died for you. who did. and you forget their funny habits and their fears and their wants and their names and their faces and you can never get them back. and you don't realize that part of you is missing. it just goes away. all your love for them becomes a phantom limb and the words won't even stay on the page. what the fuck

[seasononesam]

Stackednatural- 46/327

Skin (1x06) October 18th, 2005

[weskie]

alright so hear me out y'know that one scene from the maroon 5 animals music video? where adam levine and a girl are completely drenched in blood, making out n shit? that but with wesker/reader god i need him carnally. i'm going feral i'm about to start running around on the walls

🫀anon

GOD I'M A HUGE FAN OF BLOOD SOAKED MAKEOUTS AOUGHHH BUT WITH WESKER???? LISTEN, LISTEN.,.,,,.,,,,,,

capcom please capcom please capcom please capcom please capcom please capcom please capcom please capcom please capcom please capcom please capcom please capcom please capcom please capcom please capcom please capcom please capcom please capcom please capcom please capcom please capcom please capcom please capcom please

[witch-craft-works]

This is officaly a Luka Hate page cause what the FUCK was that