todays bird
Sweet Seals For You, Always
Three Goblin Art
EXPECTATIONS
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
Misplaced Lens Cap
@theartofmadeline
Cosimo Galluzzi
#extradirty
No title available
official daine visual archive
Origami Around
Aqua Utopia｜海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
Not today Justin
oozey mess
YOU ARE THE REASON
Sade Olutola
macklin celebrini has autism
cherry valley forever
seen from Malaysia
seen from France
seen from Brazil
seen from Estonia
seen from Estonia
seen from Trinidad & Tobago
seen from Uzbekistan
seen from South Africa
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Argentina
seen from United States
seen from Ukraine
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Dominican Republic
seen from United States
seen from Uzbekistan
seen from United States
@rememberthenightrider-blog
Fact: Night Rider/Crawford calls all of the Armalites “honey,” and is in love with all of them on some level, though he mainly sleeps with Toecutter, Johnny, and Bubba. He also uses “honey” for anyone he’s close to or wants to be close to.
He’s a poet who has a great deal of poetry memorized. Ask him how to Walt Whitman sometime.
We all agree that Nightrider is what happens when Walt Whitman and the entire Beat and New York Schools of poetry have a love child, right?
“So this is goodbye. Take care of yourself.”
Nightrider shoots down the urge to roll his eyes. Bubba gets cold and arch like this when he’s upset. It’s his way. The point is to address what’s behind the words. Talk to that.
“It’s just for a few days, honey. Get my head on right again. You’ve seen me take off for a few days before. I always come back to my family, don’t I? Always know right where you are.”
He holds his hand out to Bubba. “You know I love you. Always.”
Loafe with me on the grass, loose the stop from your throat, Not words, not music or rhyme I want, not custom or lecture, not even the best, Only the lull I like, the hum of your valved voice.
I mind how once we lay such a transparent summer morning, How you settled your head athwart my hips and gently turn'd over upon me, And parted the shirt from my bosom-bone, and plunged your tongue to my bare-stript heart, And reach'd till you felt my beard, and reach'd till you held my feet.
Swiftly arose and spread around me the peace and knowledge that pass all the argument of the earth, And I know that the hand of God is the promise of my own, And I know that the spirit of God is the brother of my own, And that all the men ever born are also my brothers, and the women my sisters and lovers,
And that a kelson of the creation is love, And limitless are leaves stiff or drooping in the fields, And brown ants in the little wells beneath them, And mossy scabs of the worm fence, heap'd stones, elder, mullein and poke-weed.
--Walt Whitman, “Song of Myself”
Night Rider for some of those more Platonic answers too.
who steals french fries off the other’s plate: nrwho jokingly moves in for the kiss when someone asks if they’re a couple: nrwho has to bust or bail the other out of jail: tcwho gives the other advice/comfort about dating issues: they’re both shit at this but the mostlywho shamelessly cheats at games by reaching over to cover the other’s eyes: nrwho immediately calls dibs on the top bunk: nrwho starts and who wins the pillow fights: pffftwho says “your pants would look better on their floor” to the other’s potential crush: tc
Yeah, most of this is bullshit, Toecutter. I have never stolen a french fry in my entire pure existence. You, on the other hand, have stolen fries aplenty.
Oh captain my captain!
You know how much I loathe that poem.
“Well, baby, I could always read you some more from Great Saint Walt.You like this one, dontcha?
“ Loafe with me on the grass, loose the stop from your throat,// Not words, not music or rhyme I want, not custom or lecture, // not even the best,// Only the lull I like, the hum of your valved voice.
“You hum real good for me, baby. I’ve missed you.”
Hey, Muddy. Got your nose!
Muddy responded with a honking chuckle, and pawed at the Nightrider’s hand playfully. “Oh, yeah? Well, you’re gonna have to take the rest of me, too!“
Mudguts threw himself in for a sloppy hug.
The Nightrider swings the smaller man around and around in a few lazy circles before smooching his forehead and putting him down to ruffle his hair. Then he pokes his chin. “Boop,” he says with a toothy grin. “Hey, come help me unload the car. I got the good stuff.”
20 minutes into Mad Max and Chill and he look at you like
Bubba, man, that’s always my face when we find a ride I can lift and the MPF is up my arse....
Right before I yell and floor it!
Headcanon: The Nightrider has become a nigh-universal mythical figure throughout the Wasteland, with each culture having its own embellished explanation for his significance. The War Boys believe him to be the first warrior to die historic and reach Valhalla.
I’m worshiped as a god?
Far out.
reblog this before the20th of august to get a free sketch!
you’ll be contacted via pm so be sure to have your askboxes open! i will contct you via my main blog komeikakobunask(don’t follow it, it’s just a roleplay blog on hiatus)
what do y’all have against problematic characters do y’all expect rps to thrive with 30 neutral goods just baking pies and feeding the homeless doin the same stale ass skinny love angst plots like fuck
Mudguts! Did you and Lini try that thing I told you about? Marmaduke loved it!
Aww, yeah! Had ‘im sqealin’ like a fox in heat!
Don’t know what to do with all th’ extra sausages, though. Might slip ‘em into Clunk’s lunch.
Man, fuck Clunk. Rat arse.
