#i need to be sedated lol

[nosenipped]

˖　　 ݁　　…　　into　the　eye　of　the　blizzard．

they say eyes are the windows into a person's soul﹔ and this is jack's.  tumultuous,  ever—changing  &&.  UNFORGIVING.  intensity of the world's glaciers held within,  a ferocious,  icebound gaze that's not human in the slightest.  embedded with gradients of gunmetals  &&.  floes,  spun alive with child—like mirth.

bad habits persist,  an unblinking,  dead stare in the face of authority,  crinkles set ‘neath floes from centuries of laughter  ﹠  to guise untouchable melancholy.  a squall awaits,  crackling  &&.  brewing it’s winds.

their pupils are capable of constricting into star—like slits,  feline—esque.  it operates under light sensitivity  &&. strong,  usually negative emotions.  often paired with a snarl of curled lips﹔  an animal—akin cornered.

conversely,  when nightlight awakens within him,  eyes become a flared white—out,  a catalyst of a brimming supernova expands,  galactical surge weaved within their veins,  setting him alight.  he is not to be reasoned with,  a weapon has no heart.  where does he place his grief﹖  where will he enact his wrath﹖

[moxie-girl]

hey guys I collected all the Xander + David matching/mirrored sprites together bc I'm very very normal about their parallels!

(under the cut just for minor spoilers)

not all of these match perfectly but they're pretty dang close... (and there were also some that I excluded because they only sort of matched)

(no ones with ch2 David sprites bc not all of them are up on the sprite gallery yet, but I'm sure some of them match too...)

[quick-catton]

i'm never going to be normal again. oh my god

[whoyacallinyellow]

A Trojan Horse

Arthur Morgan x F! reader

Content: 18+ mdni, very low honor Arthur, angst, referenced/implied sex, canon typical events & violence - cw gen / substance abuse Type: second pov & rdr2 spoilers (wc - 1067) / pc: my PS5 a/n: wow, me uploading og written content?? crazy. this was in my drafts since summer lol, hi!

Summary: low honor Arthur navigating his skewed mental state, he could never put his guns down.

Heavy with burden, the man slouched after each strike. A sharp burn that prodded into his biceps made his knuckles turn white against the pine handle. Yet he continued against the ignited flames, sweating out the sin needed for a good night's rest. 

With a rather vicious strike, the logs would send echoing cracks across camp, his dull eyes meeting yours in between pent up visceral. 

The rings beneath them said more than any words. You hadn’t slept, and maybe he hasn’t either— God only knew that Dutch would eventually kill you all. The lucky few would leave with their lives, their permanent scars casting them out from society. But Arthur was always too much of a fool to realize. Blinded by promises and loyalty, he wasn’t sure what he owed the man anymore. 

The routine of wrath replaced the debt Arthur kept on an altar, only leaving traces of a corrupt man gone off the deep end. His sinful deeds engraved a trench over time, then eventually a six foot hole beneath his feet, there was no escape now. 

On his good days, Arthur would feed into a rare glimmer of hope he found in your eyes. 

His search for the same feeling would be fruitless, and inevitably led to you every time. The man could never control his gluttonous urge, ravishing through you and taking what his cruel years had pried away. 

Your optimistic proposal of fleeing would dance around his intoxication. The words sloshing around in his weary head, they never quite made sense against the view of your body. 

“Alright, darlin’,”

A shallow rasp would spill out and be followed by depraved hands reaching for your hips. His dismissal would temporarily appease you— he knew it would. 

Arthur’s blasphemous lust would momentarily be broken. Both your moans and prior offers of redemption digging deep into the scratches left on his back. 

Despite Arthur Morgan's decline, his skewed world rapidly moved on. The last ditch attempt of a changed man would often peek from the floorboards, but a day vowed to start with coffee would always end with whiskey.

The tinge of hope was worn on the outlaws shoulders, it was foolish to show vulnerability, the men he once called his brothers would use it against him. But maybe Arthur could still rewrite his wrongs, redeem himself in the time he had left. He just needed to leave, that’s what you always said. 

You nearly convinced him that solitude would fill the gallows of his soul, a home to embrace closure after years of running. A resentment of your words created war within, a part of him hated you for being right. He never did apologize after lashing out at you, the words were lost in the translation of his mind, which he only sank deeper into. 

The home he envisioned would manifest in the pipe dreams, created by the drugs for the pain brewing in his lungs. A home with you would eventually contort into a lone wolf on the vast prairies, still he hung onto the tenderness of your very first days together by the lake.

Maybe the window of his soul would soften with time under your presence, the cold blue dog eyes suited for killing would crack by the grace of yours, and settle into a warm sea that smiled off the sun. A more boyish look that still withheld some wonder, never to be tainted again.  

Only when your eyes fluttered shut is when his guard would lower, just enough to kiss the skin he scarred under the sheets. It wouldn’t make it go away, but help keep his guilt at bay. The dirty little sin of lust would be tucked away in a locked closet, separate from the rest. 

Arthur Morgan, a Trojan horse filled to the brim with wickedness, and you his pacifist. 

You would always be forgiving in return, accepting the trophy of a changed man; sparing him of judgement and disgust— he’d received a couple lifetimes worth already. 

But please, don’t stare for too long, he can't hide behind the half-baked smile like he can apathy. 

the walls within his temple are cracking. 

Tattered drywall would cover the insecurities and structural flaws, he wanted the walls a baby blue, but they would be painted black as sin, only to cover the hideous stains a lighter shade could not. 

You would live within these walls, protecting his inner peace while chunks of flesh and wood crumbled around you— but it’s nothing that can’t be fixed, don’t worry, he has tools and that soft smile of yours.

The lock to his temple would be neglected, and eventually the door would be left ajar. You didn’t close it on your way out, Arthur didn’t see you as a forgetful one—  

and his black walls would bleed a brief shed of grief. 

An unwanted solicitor would slip back through the open defenses he spent years building, and the devil would sell him a product he didn’t want to buy. 

That’s okay— no harm, no foul. He had to keep going, like he always does. 

But his focus would always conclude on your hands. Small and dainty wherever they touched, cuticles pure from the dried blood and countless deaths he accumulated over the years. He always appreciated them most on his chest before welcoming you into his embrace, he never did tell you that. The sickness had taken too much, blurring both the bliss and agony.  

He’d try not to focus on the way his palms encircled your back, or how your legs brushed against his lap, if he did, the walls would turn to glass. 

a soft answer turns away wrath… even if it’s just for a breath. 

Each touch you left on his body, the lips on his jaw and neck, the hushed affirmations that would give life to the tent, all would be scrubbed off by the blood of more enemies. 

gut, skin, consume, repeat, 

everyone knows a good hunter uses every part of the animal. 

An honest perspective would be regained as a violent cough rattled through Arthur’s frame, stinging his throat on the way out. 

The soft candle light flickered as a gust of wind whistled through the canvas, causing the man’s attention to fall onto your abandoned bedroll, soiled in mud by his boots. 

Tomorrow, he vowed to be a changed man. But tonight he would get lost in the bottle, the candle lit at both ends. 

~

[fangswbenefits]

Cute thought 🩷: Astarion casually fucking his hand in front of Tav, knowing it makes her lose her composure.... gets her all flustered....

He doesn't shy away from moaning her name as he squeezes all that precum with each stroke.

[putyourcigaretteoutonmyback]

i wonder if ill be like this forever

bound to relapse again

and again

and again

will i ever be happy with the scars fading?

probably not since still, despite what ive said

the blades are hidden in my room

and the urge comes back;

i guess at the end of the day

ill go back to it

because its all i know.

right?

maybe ill get better

though i doubt that.

[whomstsnek]

Y'all.

OUAW EP 46 is sooooooo fuckin awesome!!!!

Frothing at the mouth fr fr

[qprpbj]

sprinting here to alert our peril captain that melody said she believes darry and paul def had a thing on live today (im now gaslighting myself into it not happening but im 90% my memory is right)

also dan said casual is his favorite chappell roan song and also good luck babe and pink pony club which is just perfect for paul scrreeeeeee

DID SOMEBODY SCREENRECOEDDDD

[jayce-taliss]

this fandom is a prison

SO. I've officially moved to Tumblr after finishing Arcane, mostly because I was looking for (Arcane) Jayce and Viktor content.

I'm IN LOVE with vikjayce.

I'm not that surprised. I was already getting into LoL, but I wasn't expecting to get sucked into a different side of jayvik. Not complaining at all! It's great!!! All I think about is Jayce and Viktor!!! They're my everything, and I cannot wait until I'm so in that I can't back out.

okay im tired goodnight

[honeyhobies]

happy punkflower wipwed i'm making them sweet

[hnyibee]

wonder how priest feels knowing she has some of the coolest women ever in her character roster

[coolburgerphone]

IM SO IN LOVE HELP

[colourme-feral]

The translation here is closer to "If he were to abandon me/throw me away, I would die".

The choice of the word, abandon/throw away, is paralleled when Ryunosuke reveals to Kazuma that "As punishment, Ren's parents abandoned their child in a foreign country where he couldn't even communicate".

Despite being a child when his parents did this to him, their decision to do so matters less to Ren than his fear being abandoned by Kazuma.

Ren's choice has always been Kazuma. It was Kazuma the moment he told his truth of what happened in that hotel room to those adults in hospital, despite knowing he would be punished somehow. The fear he had for his actions was overruled by his fear that hiding the truth from them might affect Kazuma's life.

Ren continues to believe that Kazuma is straight and is merely in their fwb relationship out of kindness, thus Ren decides that he will have to be the one to end what he believes is a relationship with one sided love since Kazuma won't. To Ren, he is not abandoning Kazuma, but freeing him from this relationship that Ren has somehow trapped him into.

[trashlama]

Wazzzuppp my fellow heathens~ I'm back with a redraw of my old Monkey King drawing. Previously in a older post I had mentioned how it had been one of my favorites until it got ruined. Weeeell— last night in my state we had some pretty gnarly storms and the power went out. Soooo because I had no power and barely any battery on my cell I just drew instead. So bare with me! I had to use a little flashlight to draw the majority of it once the sun went down.

It's not as detailed/shaded as the other one but that's because I'm thinking about coloring it tho idk. Maybe, maybe not well see ~

Regardless I hope you guys like it!!!

(Quick thought should I draw a Macaque one?)

Sorry that the photos suck

Thank you for looking and I hope you guys have a great week~

[interplanet--janet]

Beginning to realize that I was in an echo chamber of hope and the belief that Kamala was going to win in a landslide. Now I'm in an echo chamber of doom and gloom and hysteria

[onrainynights]

I'm about to be so annoying btw