The Bowery Presents
No title available
ojovivo
NASA
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
untitled
No title available
Origami Around
will byers stan first human second
official daine visual archive
❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
art blog(derogatory)
trying on a metaphor
Love Begins
Sweet Seals For You, Always
No title available
★
JVL
seen from United States
seen from Türkiye
seen from Colombia
seen from United States
seen from Japan
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from Argentina
seen from Jordan
seen from Australia
seen from Germany
seen from Ecuador
seen from T1
seen from United States
seen from South Korea
seen from South Korea
seen from Saudi Arabia
seen from Russia
@hishunt-blog
THE CROW is not tethered to home. not much can be said. they do not help , nor do they harm —- their intentions are blurred as are their reasons for being. some say they are the Almighty’s dark-horsed messengers , the last few plucked by His bidding in one final hope before end times. to seek the few worthy humans and help them transcend ——- others exchange blame saying they are the cause of the sickness , labelling them the HARBINGER OF DEATH & OMEN OF THE FOLLY OF MAN.
“Man, I would kill for a cheesesteak right now. Honest-to-god cheese, fried onions, beef…or chicken, hell, I’m not picky. What’s Seattle got? Dungeoness crab? What would Buzzfeed say the top ten reasons Seattle’s better than you!! are?”
‘ funnily enough some people still do kill for food. ‘ poor choice of words , benjamin. ‘ seattle has .... fish-markets. and rain on a good day. any of that sound appealing to you ? cause i’ven’t got the cash. ‘
he staggers. weight pushes against the stone walls. clenched fist barricades lips , catching blood splatter carried by his cough. his mask draws down beneath his chin. sodden boots carry grime and bodily remnants that leave a trail only for those driven by bloodlust to follow. he’s far from many eyes , away from oedon chapel whose incense settles nerves quite nicely. shame. strength leaves to soften his joints and he collapses to sit , groaning aloud. someone’s around but he fruitlessly shuns the underlying fear-needles that prickles his skin.
false advocate of Their gospel who dons Their wear , bound to death away from the Church : how grossly fitting. ‘ another beast in man-garb , another hunter , or both ? i’ve faced too many delusions , i’m inclined for you to just tell me. ‘ he looks nowhere , only ahead. // @calis-vol ♡’d.
SHE IS ....... a distant mirage granting lonesome eyes distant hope. she is honey-limbed with a visage undeciphered , a puzzle he wants to solve ----- she is an anomaly the hunter seeks. not for a head , nor life , but for her heart. who is she ? rattles repetitiously , fading only to recur and throb his eardrums tenfold. it drives him mad that he doesn’t know. she fills him and empties him , gives him hope but dries him from it. who are you ? he wonders.
let me seek you again , benjamin yearns if not amid his delusions , but to salvage his sanity’s remnants. let me seek you again , the sweet nectar of a different smell better than this carnage. give me solace - be my home.
let me find you.
excerpt of A MIND’S PATH UNTRAVELED inspired by this photo of ‘ the one he (benjamin) seeks. ‘
FRIEND OR FOE chimes within the back of his mind in warning to heed , wary of man. he is one unsheathe away from death after steady conversing each time , but the corruption here is steadfast , undaunted by rotting sanity. a brow arches as silence fills the spaces between them ----- he’s quick to break it by wordlessness’s lack of solace. ‘ still sane in the head , hm ? ‘ his laugh is empty , but abates waves of discomfort. ‘ or has bloodlust already afflicted you ? ‘ ... o hunter , hath thine own humanity lost its value ? // @brandedearth ♡’d.
i just want to get this blog rolling and want people to write with so please like this for a starter. mutuals & non-mutuals.
‘ come on , ben , sif isn’t that terrible . tell me she has not grown on you since we met ? ‘
& as if to reinforce her master’s words , the great dire wolf whined in an innocently amicable fashion , bloodied nose pressing against her master’s thigh as gloved digits fondly slid through her fur . the night had been a dark one ; one flowing nightmarish rivers of blood under a waning moon near full , the hunters’ only company in the pitch alleys of their beloved and dilapidated city . coagulates of beastblood clung to artorias’ jaw , forgotten in the heat of adrenaline and the slayings of monstrosity neverending .
‘ now , where to next ? ‘
‘ sif is wonderful ; i was referring to you. ‘
his smile curves the lines of his mouth beneath his mask. indeed , the bond between master & animal is the final clasp onto sanity for some. those who are decayed or falling prey to the disease can feel so alone , isolated in their harrowing spiral into insanity , with their living pet as consolation for their despair. the more the merrier as they say. fortunate sif is healthy compared to her boney & deprived counterparts.
heavy smells fill the air , add weight along with the grime lacing their clothes. a gloved hand brushes minute chunks from his white-turned-maroon clerical neckwear before proceeding one of the many darker alleyways : shortcuts with unknown meanderers further down occupying the way. ‘ your preferred spot : the aqueduct. shortcut to the other part of yharnam. ‘
“Oh, sure! And while I’m at it, I’ll invite them down into the grave for a lovely cup’a tea and a slice of Victoria sponge to laugh about the situation – y’know, just friendly mortal stuff like that!” Bura snarled, with the corners of her painted lips curving in opposite directions as they distorted across her cadaverous face to reveal the unnatural rows of yellow teeth underneath.
“Now that I’ve REALLY thought about it, I think I’ll open the gates to all mortals at all hours! Why don’t I just hold a little party in the cemetery along the way - after all, talking to people is my absolute and only goal!”
Gloved, skeletal fingers tapped against the earth in a manner similar to that of a scurrying spider, all while glaring at the stranger as she peered out of the empty grave she stood in, awaiting their response with an unsettling, toothy grin that stretched from ear to ear.
he holds the stick that prods. what shall one expect after baiting another non-human if not a brief slap of the wrist with temporary lecturing that’ll wash away ? she ranges to ghastly , chilling , but a sort never out of the norm for the life of a hunter. at least she isn’t abhorrently rotting : filling the air with a nauseous stench that benjamin’s too , and not , used to. her grin beams , sarcasm lacing her tone and he watches. the words go unfiltered once they stray from his mouth.
‘ personally , i would love some tea. ‘ a step away from death - sweet death with its alluring scent , pretty bud at the center of its decaying petals. he’s a finger-brush away from acquiring it as he treads a path with the graveyard resident.
instincts raise the hairs on the nape of his neck watching her , tingling with invisible fingers brushing past them. grip on his sword tightens. ‘ & why shan’t you ? some mortals can bode well to make your acquaintance ------ ‘ the border between non-seriousness and truth blur. benjamin is digging his own grave if he continues in this manner , hands grasping shovel and all. ‘ killing them only adds onto your abundant ghost problems. ‘
“Stupid kids, goin’ in the cemetery after hours. How many more times must I drag them six feet under the ground and throw a coffin full o’ rocks on them before they realize that they ain’t welcome in here when the gates are closed? As if there aren’t enough ghosts taking up space.”
‘ you can always try talking to them. i’ve heard it’s very useful for those .... incorporeal. ‘
♞【on a red horse】- What a dirty world, War thought, feeling the DUST settle in her lungs && the BLOOD under her soles, neither of which were new feelings to the Horseman. Neither were they unpleasant. Wasn’t she made for them, after all?
The blade in the man’s hand does NOTHING to stop War in her approach, merely causing her to rise a brow and feel the presence of her own SWORD against her side. She stopped a few feet away from the man, not urging him to attack.
Vigis may be War incarnate, but that doesn’t mean she picks fights with everyone. She only picks fights with fun people.
‘ I don’t hide my presence. ‘ Is the only answer the Horseman provided the stranger, ignoring his mockery or the curious coincident of his words. Language had always fascinated Vigdis && she had always loved this particular part - pray tell.
‘ Are you always this fast to pull your sword? ‘ War asked with a curious tilt of her head && a smile upon her cherry lips, her stance the picture-book edition of GRACEFUL. Her clothes fit this world - a black mantle over a dirty red blouse (dirtied by blood, perhaps?) && a black leather vest; black cloth pants && dark leather boots, speckled with mud && blood.
SWEET UNCERTAINTY ! with its enticing , beckoning hand stirring outcomes that are far from happening. mute these assumptions a little voice within his skull orders ---- she doesn’t bait for his withdrawn weapon , doesn’t scratch the itch of the trigger-happy and gung-ho. spikes of roused paranoia shrinks ; his holy blade returns back into its holder for another time. next time don’t act so hasty. she is a pedestal different from the sludge of regulars & predatory townsfolk , experience leaving her untouched by yharnam’s inescapable grime. he heeds her words , loosens the tension that knotted his shoulders. who’s to say she won’t snap anytime soon ? or maybe himself ...
gray eyes focus on her. an exhale carries a breathy sardonic laugh. ‘ have a bullet go through your head enough times at the hands of someone with the same purpose as you , you gain the tendency to be wary. ‘ brothers & sisters of the hunt. right. most are the poison that underlies rot , steady with blades stemming from their backs in mistrust ; ready to kill after succumbing to the madness and taint. ‘ good you don’t hide , or maybe stupid .... who’s to say what i’m doing is the act of an intellect ? ‘
he recalls the bloodshed , the foul stench of an obliterated beast with its carcass laying after it’s slain.
‘ another hunter ? ANOTHER brave outsider ? ‘ he looks to the statue , lets his gaze linger as if it’ll come to life. sounds of the husks of ruined men drone in the background.
‘ i am sick of these dogs , but it appears i’m in constant company of one. ‘ slick side-eyes & faux distaste adorning his words : the perfect concoction for a joke. // @abysstained ♡’d.
i just want to get this blog rolling and want people to write with so please like this for a starter. mutuals & non-mutuals.
OPEN STARTER.
crimson smears black cloth. he’s a red blotch in a sea of gray and darkness. his hand tugs at his billowing clothes , disentangling it from the clasp of a statue’s outstretched , adamant hand -- “come hither , dear boy , befall the same fate your brothers had” it pleas ; they aren’t my brothers , he answers , but catches himself drowning in a sea of thoughts & voices prone to drive him mad.
if he isn’t mad already.
a foreign clack of heavy soled shoes on stone prompts him to stop , drawing out his holy blade that’s reminiscent of the healing church days at their prime.
‘ PRAY TELL , are you always this wary in your approach ? ‘ dear hunter , so cautious in your stride. using words as a shield with no ability to determine FRIEND OR FOE. he waits , poised to attack if need be.
