#is it how I speak(type)

[soranker]

98 lovemail doodles >_<

[arcanegifs]

ARCANE LEAGUE OF LEGENDS: 2x03 - “Finally Got The Name Right”

[slfcare]

the most difficult thing about growing as a person socially, as in getting out of your shell and noticing that you are, is that there will still be times when it doesn’t feel like you’ve grown at all! times when you can’t really connect with anyone around you, times when you fail to enter into an existing conversation, times when you say the wrong thing (or nothing at all when in hindsight you probably should’ve). but that’s also kind of the best thing, because that’s the thing that helps you realize that sometimes, it’s not you or your lack of skills or any shortcoming. sometimes certain environments just aren’t for you and certain people aren’t your people, and that’s okay. that’s human. it’s okay to not feel the progress you have made all the time.

[fagtainsparklez]

i may be a toxic gatekeeper but unless they were there all these sad quote/imagine accounts will NEVER understand the intricacies of “what am i without you?” / “yourself?” because they NEVER put a question mark on tubbo’s response. yeah the quote hits hard on its own whatever but the context is SO necessary and adds SO much. tubbo’s response isn’t really. as driven as “yourself.” with that period (.) would be. and, again, adding the period spins the meaning and narrative into something completely different (in a bad way!!! to me!!!! boooo booo tomato tomato etc!!!!)

because tubbo responds in a way that makes it seem like tommy asked him if the sky is blue. like, yeah, obviously yourself, what do you mean, boss man? because tubbo doesn’t value himself in the same way tommy values him. and tommy doesn’t value himself in the same way tubbo values him. there’s a clash of ideals on both sides. that’s what makes it so interesting!!!

but by removing the question mark you create this call and response of “i can’t imagine myself without you / your personhood is important and i am here to remind you to value yourself” instead of the much stronger call and response of “i can’t imagine myself without you / i can’t imagine myself mattering (that much) to you” and it drives me insane

[marzipanandminutiae]

[buttercupshands]

I started drawing this next day after I finished Act 6

13 or so days and it's finished!

Main things are traditional and Loop's body was edited digitally after

Unedited it looks like this

I've been torn on how to do Loop's body for the entirety of lining, also

A bit sad the main lines are visible only as a wip, most of this thing is literally just a ton of sharp lines

I think it's also my first day of drawing, Loop is just a sketch here (feat. my leg)

I even finished the beans before it so they were a moral support, because if you let me things like this take a year

[arolesbianism]

Oh god is that a comicfrin drawing where they have whimsy quick someone throw that guy into a decades long timeloop

[spidehpig]

my fever induced thoughts about bird is horny & ovulating x mean bastard ghost

mostly just rambling, didn’t check for coherency or grammar. i’ve been plagued by these thoughts and just had to get them out sorry.

ghost x reader

mean bastard ghost with a bird who’s been so needy and clingy all day long. he’s not really sure what’s got her panting and gagging for his cock like a whore, must be a cycle thing. either way he doesn’t mind, in fact he finds it amusing. he’s so used to just indulging himself, parting her thighs with his meaty hands and swiping his tongue along her folds as her little squeals and protests fall on deaf ears.

it’s not everyday that he’s the one to wake up to her trying to take what she needs from him. her pretty moans shaking away the last tendrils of sleep from him as the wet cotton of her panties rut against his thigh and her other hand gropes at his cock straining against his boxers. he has half a mind to push the greedy brat onto her belly and just mount her right there. but this unashamed desperation radiating from his bird is a rarity he’ll indulge in.

he feels a little sick satisfaction when her sweet moans break off into a frustrated little cries as his fist clamps around her waist, halting the desperate little grind of her hips. ignores her begging and pleading as he slips from the sheets. leaves her aching and wanting as she trails into the shower after him with a cute little pout.

keeps his face stoic as he pinches and flicks at her swollen nipples, his other hand pawing at her ass. working her up into a frenzy again, makes sure she can feel his heavy cock throb against her thigh as he cups her dripping cunt. thick fingers bullying their way between her lips under the guise of washing her clean. likes the way she shivers and bucks against him when his knuckle brushes across her clit. he quickly twists the rusty shower handle when she reaches for his cock again and huffs out a raspy laugh when she squawks at him as the shower water turns to ice. doesn’t look back as he steps out and tosses a towel at her.

maybe he shouldn’t punish his little bird’s confidence and needy demands. it’s not every day he wakes up to her wet and willing, so eager to milk his cock. but he has the time and patience today. maybe it’s boredom from such a long leave or maybe he’s just a bastard he thinks as he pulls her onto his lap later as he watches the game. fingers sneaking under the fabric of her tank top to pinch and twist at her nipples until she’s squirming in his lap searching for the friction of his hard cock. waits until she’s panting and whining again before pushing her off his lap a grunting at her to go fix dinner. gives his cock a couple of lazy tugs as she shoots him a dirty look and stumbles into the kitchen on unsteady legs.

later ducks his head under the kitchen doorframe to corner her against the counter to paw and grope at her pretty hips, feels the soft skin of her inner thighs are still slick. pulls back the second she sighs and arches back against him. he ignores the way she glares at him across the table as he shovels the dinner she made him into his mouth. and just to be a prick, finishes his game after dinner while she angrily slams the dirty dishes around in the kitchen.

waits until she’s finished until he prowls off into the bedroom and lights a cigarette as he settles against the pillows. sprawled out across the center of the bed, he finally shoves the waistband of his sweats under his balls to let his heavy cock spring free. precum already leaking onto his thigh as he barks at his bird to come take care of this.

can’t help but smirk as she hesitates in the doorway. unsure if this is just another one of his cruel tricks after he had spent all day teasing her. fists his cock and tells her to come take what she needs. almost barks out a laugh as her eyes widen and she quickly wiggles out of her panties and scrambles up onto the bed. licks his lips when he gets a glimpse of her already glistening cunt as she crawls up over his hulking body. has half a mind to stub his smoke out and sit her over his hungry mouth. instead he takes another drag as her thighs stretch wide on either side of his thick waist to hump her slick cunt along the underside of his cock.

he makes no move to touch her as she ruts and humps against his cock, the bed already creaking with her frantic movements. only pausing to grit his teeth as the tip of his cock catches on her warm hole as she rocks backwards again. lights up another smoke as she leans back onto her haunches to bury two fingers into her cunt when it becomes apparent he won’t be doing anything to help satiate her needs. pupils blown as he watches her sloppy cunt swallow her little fingers. not at all enough to prep her for his cock.

she doesn’t seem to care as she lurches forward and her nails dig into the fat of his chest as she rises up onto her knees, reaching back as she pathetically tries to line his leaking cock up with her cunt. her little grunts of frustration are music to his ears as she struggles to catch the tip on her hole again. movements faltering and sputtering a little when he blows smoke in her face. sweat glistening along her brow when she glares at him and finally manages to sink down a few inches.

his eyes roll back with how tight she is, half expects her to stop and beg him to finger her open. instead she grunts in pain and tries to bounce and wiggle her way down onto his prick. barely any leverage with the way she’s already risen so far up onto her knees just to straddle his thick waist, the cushioned mattress does nothing to ease her struggle. and fuck, watching her buck and bounce just to bully his fat cock into her greedy cunt is tearing at the remains of his control.

it’s not until her walls finally relax and she sinks down onto his cock with a yowl that he finally acknowledges her. cooing and taunting her for being such a needy slag, drooling over his cock all day long. watches the way a sob wracks through her body as her hands grip at the fat of his stomach trying to get some leverage to push herself up on his cock. barely manages to rise up a few inches before she’s letting out a frustrated sob and instead just grinds back and forth on his lap with his cock buried in her cunt, so pathetic.

she yelps when he slaps her tit and growls at her to ride him proper. sniveling after his cock all day long and she can’t even take it right? he decides he’ll let her whine and mewl and beg him to just take her as she grinds on top him. she can’t even take what she needs. maybe when she finally collapses from exhaustion will he flip her over and breed her pretty cunt. seems like he’s the only one that can give her what she needs after all.

[am-i-interrupting]

Worth Keeping | Haymitch x Everdeen!Reader

Chapter 1 | Lost Bet

Summary: For the first five years of mentoring, Haymitch was not numb but indifferent to these new tributes, on their way towards death. This year, he's forced to change that approach when his childhood friend's little sibling is called at the reaping.

Your reaping best was a dress, knee length with sleeves that bellowed out. They were made from the slightly scratchy material of the produce bags from the capitol but that is precisely what gave the sleeves their shape. The thick material was easily manipulated and held its form rather well. The rest of the dress was made out of patches of left over fabric. A waterfall of colors. Your shoes were just regular boots, worn with time and age.

That didn’t matter. You always felt like a grand princess when you wore the dress.

It was your masterpiece. A thing you’d made over the course of a year. Carefully hiding fabric swatches when you thought they’d match the others you’d collected. You stitched it all together by your own hand and no one else’s.

You were proud of it and if the capitol didn’t like it for their shiny televisions, they could kiss your ass. ‘Cause you sure as hell weren’t gonna change it.

Burdock came up behind you. He ran his fingers through your hair. He hooked one around a small section. It was divided into three parts and he started braiding.

“Last year,” he said.

You wanted to nod but didn’t want to mess up his work. “Last year.”

There was a tense silence between the two of you. Your foot shifted from side to side beneath you. He wouldn’t look you in the face just like every other year.

“You’ll be fine,” he said as he tied off the braid.

You grabbed his hand and force a smile up at him, determined to not show your nerves. “I will be. I am.”

“You are.”

He sighed through his nostrils.

Every single reaping was different now. It didn’t used to be like this. Not years ago. It just so happened that the day of your first reaping two of your childhood friends were ripped away and neither of them came back.

“Come on, it’s getting depressing in here,” you said as you walked past your brother and out of the house door.

You breathed in the air. It was thick and heavy. There was a certain stickiness to it.

“It’s a miracle they don’t pack up their equipment,” you said, raising your voice loud enough so Burdock could hear from inside. “Rain’s in the air. Might ruin all their shiny shit.”

“They have the money to replace it,” he said as he closed the house door.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

The district was normally quiet before the reaping and booming after. There was no day people drank more and worked less.

“Where’s ma and pa?” you asked.

“They never came home last night,” he answered. “Apparently there’s some coyot pack that’s been around. They wanted to find it. Then they can sleep when they get back and have no consequences.”

“Other than pa complaining tomorrow about sore his feet’ll be.”

He snorted at that and pushed you along.

You almost wanted to take off your shoes and walk down the dirt path. There was something so satisfying about that feeling of the earth between your toes. You could do it later though and you’d done it enough to know how it felt by your heart.

The boots were just so confining. No matter how worn they were, they structured in a way. Maybe your foot could fit instead the shoe but it couldn’t sit the way it was supposed to when gravity caused it to spread.

If you got anything bigger though it would weigh down your foot and rub against your skin. No matter what kind of socks you put on, it would still manage to rub your skin raw.

You gave your name, waiting for the line up.

They always put the little ones in front. Those wide, innocent eyes filled with their first experience of fear and shock. No idea how it felt to be in that position until they were in it and not able to hide the way they felt now that they were.

The perfect expressive faces for television.

That’s all anyone in the districts was to the capitol. It’s the only time they ever seemed to care about making things at least look livable but not too livable. It all had to be clean but just dirty enough.

You gave Burdock a hug right before your name was called.

You saw your parents coming in the distance. Both with tiredness etched in their every being. Tam Amber and Clerk Carmine right by their sides. You gave them all a way.

You got your hand pricked by a capitol member for what would be the last time. Your blood was smeared across the white page along with all the others of age for what would be the last time. You walked to that little closed off place for the last time.

You were almost out you weren’t stupid. You weren’t out yet.

Being one of the oldest people meant your name was in there a lot more than some others. Just, hopefully it wouldn’t be you.

Hopefully.

The whole ordeal started.

Haymitch sat down on stage. He never really did stand. He’d tried his first year and he been too drunk to stand straight. He kept leaning from side to side. Now, like every year, he clutched a bottle in his hand and had a far off look in his eyes. His feet dangled off the edge of the platform. His back covered the bottom half of the microphone stand from view as he leaned on one hand and tilted his bottle with the other.

Reaping day was hard for everybody, especially since Haymitch’s games.

Not only was it the day that two kids were going to be sent off to their death. It was also now the day that a boy had died, killed in front of all of them for trying to escape the death sentence only to reach it early.

There had been a change since that day six years ago. It was no longer Drusilla Sickle who pulled the names. That change happened almost instantly.

Now she was replaced with a much younger woman. In her twenties. She always had brightly colored and drastic makeup. A shocking outfit. You’d heard her name was. . . It had an F in there, somewhere.

She, in contrast to Haymitch, had perfect posture even in her heels. Her movements were fluid and delicate. Always thoughtfully planned.

She had a high pitched but clear voice. Perfect pronunciation. A wonderful announcer’s voice with the cheeriness but somberness to fit the capitol and the district’s emotions. All performative, surely but that perfect balance nonetheless.

As with every other year the speech played. One that made many glare or roll their eyes.

No one wanted such a drawn out and lengthy process. At least not in the districts. Like a bandage, everyone wanted it quickly dealt with.

“Now, it is time for us to discover which courageous young man and woman will be select to represent District 12 in the fifty-sixth annual Hunger Games,” and though her voice was sweet it did almost make one yearn for the harsh vinegar of Drusilla again. At least she was direct with her ever present disdain.

“Ladies first,” she said before she placed her hand in the bowl. Her hand swirled above then went below the piles of paper. She shuffled them and then drew out a single piece. Your heart froze when your name was called.

A sinking feeling you’d felt once before came to you.

Your hand went to your bracelet on your wrist. Years old and once a necklace you’d outgrown. It was wrapped and twisted around your wrist. Colorful pieces of thread stolen from Lenore Dove’s bedroom at the age of eleven. A rock from the river you’d sneak to tangled in it. It was made by you and your childhood best friend’s collective efforts just weeks before your twelfth birthday when you would be eligible for slaughter.

You turned your head, half expecting to see her, and you did. A brief glimpse of twin braids that framed a heart shaped face and a scar on the forehead above grey eyes that looked at you with the exact same horror of which you felt now.

She was gone.

You clutched the smooth stone and walked past the girls in line. They parted with no hesitation.

You looked back and saw a brief glimpse of your parents, Burdock, Tam Amber, and Clerk Carmine all huddled together and all with the same.

Peace keepers forced you forward.

You met Haymitch Abernathy’s gaze. His bottle was down on the stage. His feet were planted on the ground. He was oddly steady.

You were marched forward. Every time your feet hit the ground it was like you were being shook to your very core.

You really wished you were barefoot just to feel this dirt one last time.

As you grew closer and closer, you could see him clearer. Tears began to well in your eyes but you forced your head to stay up tall as you blinked the down. Your breath hitched in your lungs, caught on your ribcage.

Everything was just coming back to six years ago again, it seemed, as you saw that numbness which covered up fear and hurt in Haymitch’s eyes.

He spoke not a word. You didn’t expect him to.

You walked up the steps and grabbed the woman’s offered hand. It was soft. She placed her arm around your shoulder and her back other hand on your upper arm. She rubbed her thumb up and down. You were guided to your place and her touch was gone.

“And now for the boys.” A moment of silence. “Milo Declan.”

Milo was a younger boy, only twelve years old. He had strawberry blond hair and brown eyes. His face was still round with baby fat of which he’d yet to grow out of and likely never would now.

You heard the drag of a bottle against wood. Haymitch tilted it back once more. He walked away from the and out of the camera’s view.

“May the odds be ever in your favor,” the woman said as she backed away.

Milo wiped his hands on his pants before he stuck one out to you. You grabbed it, shook it.

Then were suddenly in a room. Your mother and father visited you. Hugged you. Said words you couldn’t process. Were pulled out by peacekeepers.

Burdock came in after. He hugged you. Whispered words of love and pushed your hair out of your face as he looked at you close one last time.

It was when Tam Amber and Clerk Carmine came in that reality finally sunk in.

You collapsed in Tam Amber’s arms, crying into them. Smoke cling to his clothes even though he’d been nowhere near a fire. Clerk Carmine hugged you from behind.

“You better,” you began through hitched breath, “be singing loud enough that I can hear it when I step in that arena. I don’t want to die in silence.”

Both of the men held you tighter.

“You won’t, buttercup. You won’t,” was either could say.

[ulteri0rm0tives]

Now.. I'm not doubting Johnny somewhat (?) loved Alt in his own convoluted and severely misguided ways but uh.. to call them soulmates? Did we uh.. did we not play the same game? Watch the same scenes? Because it's crazy y'all r saying that when we literally play as his actual soulmate

[arielluva]

look within

[egophiliac]

hey so I know you said art for personal use is okay but i was curious as to if you would be okay with me printing out your art 😭 i need things on my walls in my dorm and ive been obsessed with your unique magic series since you posted them lol. totally ok if not!

oh yeah, that's absolutely fine, thank you! ❤️❤️❤️ and if you're after the UM posters specifically, I put up higher-res versions of them here so they should print pretty nicely! :>

[lizzybeeee]

DATV explaining the 'Regret Prison'

A REGRET PRISON IS STUPID AND I'M TIRED OF PRETENDING THAT ITS NOT

TL;DR: a prison can serve as a metaphor but it shouldn't be entirely comprised of a metaphor.

From what I understood from what the game gave us: Solas has made a new prison to move the God's too - since bringing down the veil would free them from the Black City. This new prison is separate(?) from the fade or so far removed/contained that bringing down the veil would not compromise it...apparently. We interrupt his ritual, Solas gets sucked into the new prison he made, and the elven gods are free.

When Rook gets kicked into the fade they're physically there - which means it's a physical place in the fade, like how it was a mixture of physical/thought when we entered it in DAI. Which makes sense - the gods are real and living beings, they need to be in a place, there must be some aspect of physicality to it.

Alright, cool, it's a Black City 2.0 - I assume it's better defended to prevent people breaking in/out again?

NOPE.

We get there and it's a 'regret prison'?? It's tied to the regrets of those within it? Composed of regrets??? Solas had to wait for the right moment for Rook to be sufficiently 'full of regret' that they could switch places?

So is the prison tied to Solas's regrets? If so, how can Rook escape? The prison seems to work around the idea that it relies on the regrets of the person it's holding to work - which is how/why Rook was able to be trapped and later free themselves (along with whatever remains of the team apparently being able to do something on their end, not that we hear about it).

WHICH IS STUPID!

Are you telling me the prison intended to hold to megalomaniac elven gods was going to imprison them based on their own regrets? Is Solas assuming that Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain are as self-pitying as he is? They'd break out quicker than Rook did! He made a time out corner for the elven gods to sit in and gave them an out if they reflected on their emotions/regrets or decided that they don't regret what they did. Elgar'nan, a spirit of tyranny, is not going to 'regret' his actions - he is going to justify them by telling himself and others that he knows what's best.

We can come across some of Solas's regrets in the prison if you run around a bit and explore:

Remnant of Failure - talking about the orb from Inquisition.

Remnant of Parting - talking about Mythal

Remnant of Reflection - more vague, talking about the Titans I believe.

So maybe he altered it - maybe he intended the prison to be 'locked' with his own regrets because after a millennia of having a pity party he still can't bring himself to self-reflect and look to the future. But what if Solas died? Or if his guilt lessened - would it diminish the strength of the regret prison?

We already have pre-established lore (though DATV has shown they don't really give a crap tbh) that once the being that has claimed/altered an area of the fade is slain, it's influence diminishes both in and outside of the fade. So if the prison was tied to his regrets then it would require Solas to basically live forever to keep it stable - especially if he brought down the veil and removed the one barrier that kept the world and the fade apart.

Rook and Solas needed some assistance to exit - but it doesn't seem like it was much! Solas used his dagger and Rook just...got out through a fade tear? This is Solas's 'more secure' second prison? It has a worse track record than the Black City! If Rook - who is not an elven god - managed to escape the regret prison what is to stop anyone else from breaking in and out of the prison?

And what did Solas intend to do with the blight - the bulk of which is apparently in the black city?? If bringing down the Veil would free the gods in the black city doesn't that mean that the blight would also be released?! Did he have a plan? Why does he go fully ahead with bringing down the veil at the end if the black city is still there and filled with blight?!

I get it: the 'regret prison' is a metaphor for how Solas holds onto the past and how Rook can move past their regrets and grow. He's trapped by the past - it's a prison. Cool. But this prison is supposed to by a physical place to contain the gods - not just to solely contain Solas. The mission is literally called 'A Cage for Gods'.

The Black City is an actual place that's so far out of reach of anywhere else in the fade that no mage can ever reach it while in dreams - let alone physically, which was only done once and took tremendous effort/blood sacrifices. It made sense - it was cool to see floating in the sky in DAO!

Though it's not said specifically, it's strongly implied that Arlathan is the Black City. You can see in the concept art that floating elven city is exactly the same as the black city in DAO! It's this foreboding thing just lurking in the sky - a constant reminder of the sin that led to the horrors of the blights and darkspawn. A real place with lore and history that also serves as a metaphor for the hubris and destruction of those who call themselves gods and act as tyrants -> for both the evanuris and the magisters.

I WANT TO UNDERSTAND THIS BIOWARE!

WHAT IS THIS KINGDOM HEARTS NONSENSE???!!

[automatonknight]

go my noble knight

[8nigiris-spam]

crossover of two of my biggest hyperfixations... cool rocks with very long hair

and more corundums

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Culture Shock

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