#but babey I am BACK!!!

[manitapaleta]

Art for @nark-week day 1: adrenaline/discipline

Larks first time flying Nicholas Air™️ lol

[deecotan]

cooldown

bonus hug.png because i like how it turned out:

[hinamie]

summer is coming so i'm giving them the beach day they deserve

[eddievedders]

TED LASSO — 3.01 "Smells Like Mean Spirit".

[formulanni]

HAPPY BEAR DAY TO ALL WHO CELEBRATE

Tags: @st-leclerc @three-days-time @the-wall-is-my-goal @saviour-of-lord @rubywingsracing

[transgenderenkidu]

Lighteater

erin and the void dragon are from @comicaurora

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

I imagine barnaby trying to be all cool and flirting with howyd subtly but his smoke gives him away fjsns

he thinks he's smooth smh...

[shorthaltsjester]

having thoughts and feelings about perc’ahlia and their could-be-but-would-never-allow-the-other-to-destroy-themselves-enough-to-actually-become-the-briarwoods parallel/foilism. particularly with vex and delilah and potential places this season might go but also just vex’s “it’s like i’m a bad omen” and the fact that like. vex has full awareness of her feelings for percy and alludes to them to him. but then after she has sex with him it is so so compelling to me that vex is like. this is all i can have with him and i’ll take just this even if maybe it’s flying too close to the sun. and something something the shot of delilah embracing sylas after she’s brought him back, looking over his shoulder into a mirror where it looks like she isn’t holding anything at all and just . god. the like oppositional threads of delilah refusing to lose sylas and holding on tight at any cost and vex holding herself so far from percy to deny the pain that would come with losing/hurting him and the like. venn diagram cross over of something is lost anyway.

[danascullly]

Sorry I'm late.

9-1-1 - season 7 episode 6 - There Goes the Groom

[autistic-beshelar]

4 hours into essek supercut and chill and i am on my disabled essek bullshit

critical role wiki: elves do not require sleep, nor can magic put them to sleep

essek: is visibly affected by a sleep spell, explicitly tells jester he's trying to sleep when she wakes him up at 2am to ask for pastries

[artbyace]

RETURN TO TRENCH

lil tyler doodle as i (patiently) await new music drop

[silvers-starrway]

Bunch of older doodles I forgot to post lol. The au brainrot is back in full force :]

[perdamian]

thinking about the way i said, out loud, “they should cut the rat grinders heads off and throw them in the lava so it’ll be harder to revive them” mere moments before murph made the same comment… riz gukgak you will always be my most beloved maniac

[andromeddog]

hello, your art is absolutely amazing!!! the use of stars/red is so captivating!!!

hi anon! (and all the other ppl in my askbox who i haven’t answered (im sorry i was briefly dead for a few months)) thank you so much for the nice ask, im glad u like my silly little drawings. let’s hold hands

[effervescent-emmett]

Carlisle’s passionate plea to the Volturi circa 1720

[blurglesmurfklaine]

Truth be told, Jack doesn’t remember the eight seconds he spent on the bronco’s back.

If any moon-eyed fangirls come up to him and ask about it, he plans on giving the standard blanket responses, like all he heard was the roar of the crowd.

In actuality, all he has are fragments from right before the livestock hands pulled that gate. It’s hard to forget that kind of anticipation racing through his veins, the sawing sound of rope pinning his riding glove to the back of the horse as Jack grit his teeth, ordering Racer to pull it even tighter.

Everything else, like the sickening crack from his head slamming against Midnight Train’s spine that made the audience cringe in horror, was told to him second hand. 

The trainer who checked him out gave him a lot of medical jargon he wasn’t too familiar with, but Jack gathered the important stuff. No riding for three days, get plenty of rest, neither of which he has any intention of following. And of course, there was the whole spiel about concussions affecting memory.

Imprinted in his is the face of one of the pick-up men as Jack faded in and out of consciousness, stern and cool and steady. He can nearly still feel strong arms around him, keeping him from falling into the dirt of the arena, can still hear the New York accent reassuringly mutter, “I’ve got you… I’ve got you.”

So if Jack can’t stop thinking of the pick-up man who hauled his limp body from the horse into his lap, he’s chalking it up to brain damage. 

He’s been named Rookie of The Year for Bareback Riding—Jack Kelly can’t afford to be distracted by any potential flings. 

And still, every time he blinks, that face is waiting for him just behind his eyelids.

It’s the longest, most agonizing twenty-four hours before an opportunity to make a bad decision presents itself to Jack. He usually doesn’t make it that long. He also usually doesn’t go that long without visiting Dancer, but his body needed to recover after being thrown off that horse in the arena. 

The first thing that greets Jack when he enters the stables is the very same face that’s been stuck in his mind since yesterday. The pick-up man is reaching up, brushing the soft golden mane of the quarter horse that pulled Jack off the bronco.

“Fancy meeting you here,” he greets, drawing up his most charming first-impressions smile.

“In the stables?” asks the pick-up man. Not an ounce of his attention dedicated to brushing his horse’s long blond mane is redirected to Jack. “Pretty sure this is the least fancy place to meet someone.”

“It’s as good a place as any to thank you. For yesterday.”

“I assume you mean when you got your ass bucked off of Midnight Train and I dragged you out?”

Jack scoffs. He should probably be accosted, but he’s only more intrigued. “That would be correct,” he admits.

“No need to thank me, in that case. Just doing my job.”

“Be nice if I had a name to the face that saved my rawhide.”

“And it’d be nice if you checked your staff sheet maybe once before you rode.”

Jack blinks. “Pardon me,” he begins, leaning an elbow up against Dancer’s stable, “but have I offended you?”

“Not yet.” His head twitches in annoyance. “But you’re a rodeo man. You’re bound to eventually.”

Jack crosses his arms. “I’ve been nothing but a gentleman.”

The pick-up man pauses and sighs, finally rewarding Jack with a look in his direction. He pretends not to, but Jack catches the way his eyes quickly scan him up and down. “David. David Jacobs. Which you’d have known if you’d check your staff sheet. You haven’t even bothered to give me your name, because you assume everyone already knows it.”

“So you’re saying you haven’t heard of me.”

“Oh, I’ve heard all about you, Jack Kelly,” David answers, turning his attention back to the silky mane he’d been brushing.

Jack looks up at the horse in question—a beautiful quarter with an unusual coloring halfway between brown and straight up golden. He steals another glance at David, head turned up in an admiration that’s reserved for the sacred bond between man and horse, as ridiculous as Jack admits that sounds.

Still, it’s quite the sight. David is quite the sight, beams of the setting sun reflecting off his green eyes, the shadows accentuating the perfect combination of curves and angles on his face.

 “Gorgeous,” Jack finds himself muttering.

“Thanks,” David replies, completely missing where Jack’s compliment was directed. “Shimmer’s my pride and joy. If you should be thanking anyone, it’s her. She’s a bit of a social butterfly. Even broncs love her.” He turns his gaze to Which one’s yours?”

“The skittery one right next door.” Jack points out the appaloosa horse, Dancer, aptly named for the way she fidgets her feet when she’s excited.

David snorts. “Figures. Shimmer’s obsessed with her. I always catch them talking to each other ‘cross the stables.”

“Funny. I’m obsessed with you.”

David rolls his eyes. “Maybe you should be obsessed with brushing up your technique, and you won’t get your ass handed to you so often.”

“Ass handed to me? I made it to eight seconds.” He also ranked fourth in the semifinals. As a rookie. But he won’t bring that up right now.

“It’s going to take a lot more than eight seconds to impress me.”

“Let me take you out to dinner then, darlin’. Show you that I can go all night.”

“You think you’re cute, don’t you?”

Jack shrugs. “To be completely honest, I think I’m downright adorable, but that’s besides the point.”

He thinks he might see David’s mouth twitch when he returns his attention to Jack. “I don’t sleep with cowboys. Kind of a rule of mine.”

“Believe me, sweetheart, you spend a night with me and we won’t be doing any sleeping.” He chances hooking a finger under David’s chin and dragging his mouth dangerously close to his ear. It’s entirely too brazen and forward, but Jack doesn’t know any other way to be. “You think Broncos are the only thing I know how to ride?” he asks, grinning when he hears David swallow around a drying throat.

“You couldn’t keep me saddled if you tried,” David mutters back, and his breath against Jack’s cheek sends a shudder from his ear, through his spine, all the way down to his toes.

And then David shoves him. Hard. Sending Jack toppling over his own feet and sprawling out onto the ground with an incredible lack of grace.

“Like I said,” David calls back as he opens the gate to Shimmer’s stable and saddles her up. “Technique could use some fixing.”

The click of horse hooves trotting against cobblestone fading into the distance, Jack decides he’s unequivocally in love with David Jacobs.