#he’s slaying I fear

[biblicallyaccuratemeat]

No matter how many times I watch a YouTube compilation of Leon’s one liners, I will fucking cackle every time like it’s my first time hearing it. He is so chaotic for no reason.

[hawkeyefierce]

that’s my peepaw!!

[dee-lusion]

oh no

rise and fall of a philly princess

[crismakesstuff]

what if instead of the viltrum empire they were the viltrum cuntpire and instead of conquering the galaxy they served cunt

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

D'Arce S Ending: "As soon as I can revive him from the dead, the wedding is BACK ON!"

[cecoeur]

pimply brace face baby 👶🏻💖😫🤏🏼🐣

[borgialucrezia]

“I will never fear to cite Cesare Borgia and his actions. Whether it is better to be loved than feared, he was considered cruel; nonetheless, that cruelty united Romagna and brought it peace and stability.” — Niccolò Machiavelli, The Prince.

[imerian]

Vr46 academy keychains

Set of five charms that all match in different ways

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　 . ✦　　˚　

Open for detailed pictures of each one

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ *ੈ✩‧₊˚

ִֶָ 𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆★⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ

:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:

˖⁺‧₊˚⭒✮⭒˚₊‧⁺˖

. ݁₊ ✶. ݁ ˖ˎˊ˗

I ran out of tags so I'll say it here but i would greatly appreciate a reblog, especially if you share your thoughts on these pieces in tags (⁠｡⁠•̀⁠ᴗ⁠-⁠)⁠✧

(Also i forgot that bez have matching part with luca so I didn’t add that to tags sorry

[laritamiauu]

Do you like my Poseidon design???? I based it off yours (if that’s okay (I just like the horns, the freckles, and the way his hair bangs things looked))

OMG IT'S SO COOL

also that skirt and tights are SLAYIIINNGGG

[biolumien]

i had all, most of, some and then, none of you

jo togame x gn!reader ty to @/yisxn putting some thoughts in my brain... i did want to write some more pre-shishitoren arc togame because hes so... shakes my fist at him generally implied that reader is at the very least smaller than him word count: 1217

strong is one of the words you can use to describe togame. it’s an apt word–probably the most apt word there is. he’s strong. he’s the collected one, when compared to jumpy choji. he’s the one who strikes down the weakest links, skins them, as it goes–a language he uses with a cold kind of certainty. all the unworthy, all the scumbags, all the weak–skinned, as if scraped with a knife. that’s his job. 

and he’s certainly got the brute force to enforce it, at the very least. the room always seems to go quieter when he shows up–a mixture of quiet terror and buzzing anticipation crackling right underneath the surface. waiting for the all-great and all-powerful jo togame to show some fuckers what-for.

so why is it that he’s at your door right now, in the middle of the pouring rain?

the summer rain is balmy, causes the air to become sticky and humid. you felt condensation sticking to your skin as you opened the door, the chilly air nipping at your skin. 

“togame?” you ask, rubbing at your eye. “it’s… fuck, it’s late. didn’t i tell you that–”

togame slumps.

he doesn’t seem hurt, but he leans forward, pressing soaked hair against your chest.

“i didn’t know where else to go,” he mutters, and his voice is flat, that slow characteristic drawl you’ve always known, but when he raises his head to look at you, he suddenly seems so much more exhausted than you could have ever anticipated. so you fold. you reach out a hand to cup the back of his neck like he’s a misbehaving cat, and are met with the freezing cold of his skin. his shishitoren jacket is soaked all the way through, soaking past his kimono. 

“come on,” you whisper. “let’s get you inside, dry you off.”

navigating togame through your house is hard, especially when he’s about as flexible as a cadaver right now. once or twice you’re forced to catch his head right before he smashes against a cupboard, seemingly relying on you to navigate him into your bathroom. you sit him down to lean against your bathtub, and you sit on the edge of it, producing a white fluffy towel to dry his hair. he wordlessly takes it from you, staring at it.

“and your clothes,” you say, after a moment. “take those off. all of it. i’ll get you something spare… if any of it’ll fit you.” 

togame makes a noise of assent, reaching to the back of his neck to undo the tiny, soaked braid before starting to rub at his hair. 

it’s hard to find anything. you produce a few overstretched shirts from the wash, a pair of sweatpants with the waistband so obliterated that the elastic’s more of a suggestion than an actual band that would snap on your skin, but the pickings are slim. as you pick up the offerings to throw them into the bathroom, you turn to find that togame has already stepped out of the bathroom. he’s wearing his boxers, thankfully–but you can see the toll fighting’s taken on him–scars littering his skin, and more concerning were the smattering of new and old bruises on his skin–reddish to purplish-yellow on some of the deeper ones.

he’s still drying his hair, his expression still strangely sullen, dark.

“here,” you say, holding up the shirts and sweatpants you picked out. “hopefully these can fit you.”

“... thanks,” togame mutters. he sits down on your bed, slumping his head forward. you watch him put on the sweatpants and one of the shirts–you silently thank your lucky stars that they do fit, after all. 

togame’s not much of a talker–he’s said to you multiple times before that he’s the kind of person who doesn’t mind it being silent–that he loathes small talk meant to fill up a space. and you’d usually agree–silence between the two of you has always been comfortable, never awkward. and yet, today, it’s abundantly clear that it’s a hollow kind of emptiness, a miniature kind of death.

“did you finish drying your hair?” you press, after a moment. you reach out a hand to touch his hair, and you can almost feel the way he flinches–but you push through for the moment to touch at his head. it’s damp, but passable. 

togame reaches out a hand to touch yours where it’s still on his head, shifting his other arm to pull you closer to him. you fumble for a second, stumbling a little bit as your knees knock against each other. he presses his head to your chest, a shaking exhale passing his lips.

“i’ve fucked it all up,” togame says after a moment, his voice sounding choked. “i’ve lost him…”

“lost him?” you ask, and your fingers brush through his hair, and he leans into your touch, before jolting away when he realizes what he’s doing.

“choji,” togame says, his voice sounding hoarse. “i’ve lost him–what am i going to do–” the hand grasping yours shakes for a moment, and you feel something in you break ever so slightly.

“hey, hey,” you say, quiet. your free hand moves to touch his face, and when he looks up at you, his eyes shine with unshed tears. “togame…” it’s an expression you hope the rest of the shishitoren will never see–because the reformed shishitoren seemed so much more unkind. it’s an expression you thought you’d never see–and he doesn’t even seem to realize he’s close to crying–the pain of his eyes stinging probably no different than any other injury. “i’m sure you haven’t lost him.”

“i made him do it,” togame says. “i made him become leader–and now he’s worse than ever–i thought skinning people, i was loosening the weights on him–that he’d be able to find freedom on his own, but–”

you shift forward, sitting on the bed next to him, pulling hs head closer to your chest. his hand tightens against your shirt, tight but not tight enough, as if he’s terrified of his own strength. perhaps he was, now–frightened of his own actions–frightened of the weight behind them. 

“it’ll be okay, togame,” you whisper. “you’re his best friend, aren’t you?”

“some friend i am,” togame says with something like bitterness, resentment, worry, hatred in his voice. “i’ve led him down a path i don’t know i can pull him back from–” “you can,” you say. “you will. if there’s anyone who can, it’s you.”

togame’s shoulders shake when he cries.

it’s not a fact you’d like to know, not really–you wonder if togame let his shoulders shake when choji stared at him with dead eyes, and told him bluntly to leave if they didn’t share the same vision. you wonder how long togame had stood there in the rain that day, wondering if he’d made the right choice. and yet today, on another rainy day–he seemed to have come to a completely different conclusion.

you hold him until he falls limp against your arms, his shaking sobs turning into the soft and slow breathing of sleep. and when you lie in bed, feeling his grip tightening on your shirt as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear on him, you wonder who will be the one to put him back together, should he be the one to lose his way.

[shattteredvisage]

HE'S JUST KEN GABRIEL JIM

[senei]

more stupid junk. this time with voice gaming(however the hell that would work)

[yugsly]

He is like a chew toy to me. A nasty piece of asparagus

[penisslayer69]

Um uhhhh ed painting from art class :3

[misersdream]

Slay the Prince - The Thorn

[hoshizoraorchestra]

idk man just thinking about how damsel3 literally just breaks the narrator. it is worse than the very thing that he will do Anything to prevent. that's how terrible it is to witness and to describe. man. man. i need to lie down.