SHOTGUN.

𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘯

[fightrisk]

HOWDY!   i’ve been mostly focused on ren lately but i’ve had other muses slowly poking their noses into my business again, sarah included, so i’m going to toss her on my multi [ @wakingyoung ] with the rest of my dumbasses and see how that feels

[starhaunt]

flame and rust.   flame and rust, the permutations of burning.   you’re on fire.   your eyes are on fire.   it won’t last, you don’t want it to last.   you can’t stand anymore.   but you don’t want it to stop.   it’s what you’ve come for.   it’s what you’ll come back for.   it won’t stay with you, but you’ll remember that it felt like nothing else you’ve felt or something you’ve felt that also didn’t last.   // indie sci-fi horror original character inspired by eclipse phase, the expanse, altered carbon, and cosmic horror.

[unforsakearc]

          𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙿𝙸𝙽𝙴𝚂, 𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚈 𝙾𝙵𝚃𝙴𝙽 𝚆𝙷𝙸𝚂𝙿𝙴𝚁. 𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚈 𝚆𝙷𝙸𝚂𝙿𝙴𝚁 𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝙽𝙾 𝚃𝙾𝙽𝙶𝚄𝙴 𝙲𝙰𝙽 𝚃𝙴𝙻𝙻 :           𝙷𝙴 𝚆𝙷𝙾 𝙳𝚁𝙸𝙽𝙺𝚂 𝙵𝚁𝙾𝙼 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙳𝙴𝙴𝙿 𝚆𝙰𝚃𝙴𝚁, 𝙼𝙰𝚈 𝙷𝙴 𝙺𝙽𝙾𝚆 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙳𝙴𝙿𝚃𝙷𝚂 𝙾𝙵 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚆𝙴𝙻𝙻. 𝗮 𝗽𝗿𝗶𝘃𝗮𝘁𝗲 + 𝗺𝘂𝗹𝘁𝗶-𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗿𝗮𝗰𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝘄𝗿𝗶𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗯𝗹𝗼𝗴, 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗮𝗶𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗺𝘂𝘀𝗲𝘀 𝗳𝗿𝗼𝗺 𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘄𝗮𝘁𝗰𝗵, 𝗿𝗲𝗱 𝗱𝗲𝗮𝗱 𝗿𝗲𝗱𝗲𝗺𝗽𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻, 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗹𝗮𝘀𝘁 𝗼𝗳 𝘂𝘀, 𝗮𝘀𝘀𝗮𝘀𝘀𝗶𝗻’𝘀 𝗰𝗿𝗲𝗲𝗱, 𝗳𝗮𝗿 𝗰𝗿𝘆 𝟱 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗺𝗼𝗿𝗲.    𝒅𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒍𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒅 𝒃𝒚 𝒚𝒖𝒎𝒊.

[fightrisk]

“ it’s just you and me, baby rain.   where you go, i go.”

[fightrisk]

@falsecop​ said:   bed :   my  muse  wakes  up  in  the  same  bed  as  your  muse  with  little  recollection  of  the  night  before.   ❰  one word prompts, accepting.  ❱ 

her body aches.

early morning sun filters through the cracks between the boards that cover the tower’s many windows.   slow eddies of dust flicker and glint in the cool light, caught in a draft they likely won’t ever escape from, and her fingers lift as if she can reach out and touch them.   there’s a hint of half-dreamed reverence to it — she might yet still be asleep the way her eyes play tricks on her, tracking the whorls of dust as they shift and shimmer, all but reaching right back to her. 

a half second of panic bursts in her chest as the dust all but shapes itself into the idea of fingers to mirror her own and she’s centimetres from making contact when a hand stretches its fingers flat against her stomach.

she jerks awake and the dust spirals away, scattering with the sudden movement.

it takes everything in her not to immediately clamber off the bed and across the room.   she doesn’t remember falling asleep.   she knows it’s only been hours but it feels simultaneously like days and lifetimes have passed in the same breadth of time.   remembering the night before feels like trying to remember six months ago and it doesn’t sound entirely wrong inside her head to say there’s no real difference.

the hand belongs to him.   there’s no real question of who, of course it’s him.   it’s just that she’s forgotten in her six-hour-six-month sleep that he’s been there with her the whole time.   it takes a concentrated effort to turn her head back far enough to see if she’s tipped him into wakefulness too.   the sudden relief that washes over her when her eyes find his in the grey light is almost shameful.   she doesn’t want to examine it.

there’s just the one bed, but that doesn’t explain why even only half-awake she's glad for it.   slowly, careful under his hand lest she scare it away, she turns where she lays on her half of the cot until their knees touch, until there’s nothing between them but the span of empty space and the bridge he’s built with his arm.   it says something, but she’s not sure what.

she builds her own bridge to answer him in silence.   dream fingers, real fingers, dust eddies of her own as the centimetres close and ghost-light she touches the curve of his chin in the murky haze of morning.   for a brief moment there’s no secrets between them, no convenient lies or half-truths or pretenses to dance under.   for a brief moment there’s just the searing light of possibility and despite everything else going on outside the bounds of their little bed she can’t help but feel like this is right.

she doesn’t smile, but the sentiment is there all the same when her thumb grazes the scruff that hides his jawline.   she feels like she hasn’t seen him in years.   maybe she’s never really seen him at all.   maybe this is all that really matters, for as long as this moment lasts.

“hi.”

[fightrisk]

someday someone is gonna give me the twister/stormchaser au i deserve

[fightrisk]

lonesnipr​.

     “Y’know, a wise woman once told me    ‘if you’re alive, you got choices’,” a palm went to his chest, feeling the fabric of his shirt as if reaching for something that wasn’t there, “And in this world that sorta thing    well it’s pretty much the whole point.”

“don’t you get tired of it?”   she didn’t mean to be so defeatist, but the question was out before she’d even realized she wanted to ask it.   she could feel the anxiety in her chest, the exhaustion, the sensation of just being done with all of it.   “making choices.   what are we even doing out here?”

[neckkiss]

via weheartit

[shesnake]

[mysterymeat6649127739816]

its sooooo ugly how confident so many dudes are in producing the most average music and art … … . .…… ..  where is their shame …   why did i get taught so much more shame than is useful to me 

[utopians]

after a thorough medical assessment, the doctors have described me as ‘a lot. just like a lot to deal with’

[i-seeaspaceshipinthe-sky]

my 2020 in four pics

[drachenmagier]

The old gods do not comprehend artificial light. It collapses their superposition and leaves us wondering about lens flares and multi-exposure, craving answers, unable to accept the reality only artificial eyes can perceive.

Acrylics on mixed media paper, and with slight digital tweaking, since black is such a hard colour to scan. :)

[fightrisk]

i love the atmosphere of dead cities and towns. i think that's a huge part of the appeal of apocalypse stories for me, the empty shells of humanity that are left behind, the people who come later who try to piece together the story of who we were before the fall

[fightrisk]

“that your dog?”   she doesn’t like the shake in her voice or the way the sudden presence of another human being makes her feel trapped.   out of control.   as far as she’s figured she’s in someone else’s territory, a vast expanse of safe space sprawling out around her with no determinable limit yet.   she doesn’t like the not knowing either.

it’s colder out than she’d thought when she made her escape from the hospital.   the fact that they had infrastructure enough to offer that said a lot about who they were and what their focus was, but it didn’t make her feel any better about waking up somewhere strange.   the itch to find a good spot to hide was too deeply ingrained at that point, she’d needed to get out and away and not have a bunch of strangers showing up to ask her a bunch of questions she had no interest in answering.   and that’s if she’s lucky.

she glances up over her shoulder at the owner of the approaching footsteps, trying to draw her too-big sweatshirt tighter around her like an added layer of protection.   she hasn’t decided yet if she needs it.   “it’s a nice dog.”      @unforgive​    — for oliver

[fightrisk]

aintdad​.

“     𝐍𝐎𝐖, 𝐈 𝐀𝐈𝐍'𝐓 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝐀 𝐆𝐈𝐅𝐓 𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐇  —  but  i  can’t  help  but  to  feel  like  you’re  makin’  a  big  mistake.     ”          the  humanity  in  the  gesture  only  serves  to  arouse  a  sense  of  pity  in  him.   if  she  were  smart,  they  wouldn’t  even  be  having  this  conversation.   surviving  this  world,  this  infection,  takes  a  blatant  sense  of  selfishness.   you  don’t  get  far  carrying  the  load  of  another  on  your  shoulders.   had  it  not  been  for  the  pain  shooting  up  his  leg,  joel  might’ve  laughed  in  her  face.  instead,  he  kicks  his  gun  towards  her  and  glances  towards  a  window.

“     just  fuckin’  go.   we’re  still  people  now,  but  we’re  both  gonna  be  dead  if  you  sit  here  tryin’  to  play  the  hero.     ”          maybe  it  was  better  this  way.   one  way  or  another,  this  fate  would  slowly  catch  up  to  him.   whether  it  be  now  or  sometime  down  the  road.  you  don’t  get  to  live  a  long  and  prosperous  life  after  everything  he’s  done  in  the  name  of  survival.   if  it  wasn’t  the  infected,  it  would  be  ending  up  on  the  wrong  side  of  a  gun,  or  pissing  in  the  wrong  person’s  cereal.

“     if  the  tables  were  turned,  i  woulda  done  left  you  already.  hell,  if  we  weren’t  even  in  this  situation,  i  woulda  taken  all  you  had  and  left  you  for  dead.   i  sure  as  hell  ain’t  worth  stickin’  your  neck  out  like  this.     ”

“yeah,” she says with little fanfare, calm agreement in her voice, “i know.”

she’s done a lot more for a lot less before, though there’s nothing wholly altruistic about the choice to stay with him.   time has passed since before, things have changed immensely all the way down to basic human interaction, and she still hasn’t decided whether it’s more selfish to leave someone behind or to try and save them so she doesn’t have to live with the weight of that choice on her shoulders.   a bit of both, maybe.   she’s always been good at going down with sinking ships.

"at least let me look at your leg.”   she sinks to a crouch in front of him, pairing his gun to her own and studying them both to make sure whatever safety there might be is engaged if it can be.   last thing they need is another wound added to their list of problems to solve.   she’s surprisingly calm when she looks up at him, but it doesn’t hide the note of insistence in her tone.   “no point you staying behind if you don’t have to.”

[fightrisk]

“everybody's been telling me to be thankful i’m still alive .”

@lonesnipr​   ❰   lyric starter call, accepting   ❱