祝日 / Permanent Vacation
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@theartofmadeline
occasionally subtle
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YOU ARE THE REASON
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Today's Document
Keni
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PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
styofa doing anything
if i look back, i am lost
Sweet Seals For You, Always
DEAR READER
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
Misplaced Lens Cap
RMH
blake kathryn
Xuebing Du
seen from Brazil
seen from Germany
seen from Brazil
seen from Malaysia
seen from Canada
seen from Romania
seen from Türkiye
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Brazil
seen from Singapore
seen from United Kingdom
@manxahalf
Lord Slayer, there's a special kind of inspection that happens here on Sundays! Gonna need you to drop your pants for measurements.
Look, Doomguy’s too strangely pure in that regard to understand what you’re trying to get at here, but I’m not.
And I’m here to tell you that you don’t even need his bottoms to come off.
Pretty sure this shot here ought to sate that curiosity well enough.
holy shit it was crash?
...How do you know that na--?
Well. Whatever. If you know, you know.
She was a good soldier, and a strong lady. She had initiated between the two of them, but she didn’t really lay it on until after his training course was completed. Only right; can’t be dating your teacher. She knew the kind of guy he was, even knew about Daisy. Didn’t judge him. Hell, teased him about “cheating” on the rabbit; that’s the kind of special that Crash was.
...Doesn’t matter. She’s long since dead anyway.
After all, it’s been a century in a half in the material universe since he chose to stay in Hell; she probably bit it a couple of decades ago. Not like the whole ‘get sent to some alien reality’s spartan arena’ situation would’ve happened a second time.
Behold, as a heavenly sheen shines light upon the face of the champion, the savior of manki--
--okay no he’s back to normal.
Ohhhh? OvO Details, man, details.
Stop that.
Stop the-- weird-- text-face. You’re doing him a concern.
Sigh. Anyways... There wasn’t a whole lot to tell. It’s not as though he and her were able to get all that far before he got his ass shipped off to Mars. Not that they didn’t have opportunity to deepen the relationship, but...y’know, given the circumstances, they kinda had to play it close to the vest.
I mean, it’s kinda frowned upon generally for a lady to date a younger guy to begin with.
It gets even more complicated than that when she also trained you and was your commanding officer.
badassbarmaid:
It was nice to see that there was a human being underneath all that armor. His face certainly told a story, but his eyes gave away so much more than a few scars could. This man had been to hell and back and it was evident under the glow of her lights.
Tifa watched with intrigue as he downed the glass like it was nothing. Stomach and liver like steel, huh? It actually impressed her that he didn’t even flinch. She had seen others get knocked off their seat from the stuff before.
Catching the glass as he slid it back, she smirked. “You’re a whole bottle kinda guy, aren’t you?” she mused aloud, reaching for it and holding it up, before pouring more into the glass and sending both down his way.
“I’m impressed – you’ve got a strong build to handle that without a problem.”
He hand his hand upturned, idly waiting for the glass to be sent back down his way-- but was actually taken aback when the bottle came down the bar with it. How caught he was unawares was plain to see, as his broad torso lurched forward to keep from missing the bottle and letting good drink tragically shatter ‘pon the ground.
So, seemed she was willing to acquiesce the whole container? In that case, he really could just pay and leave at this point. He could, but it’d be a royal dick move.
What this was, was the game of acquaintanceship in action. The automatic process of consumer and distributor, unconsciously giving and receiving before separating again with nary a thought given to each others’ existence afterward, was broken when one initiated, taking a single step beyond that boundary to actively acknowledge the other.
The key player in this particular instance was this: the bottle. He’d caught her attention, so, she chose to throw this his way as a means to engage. Now, ordinarily, the Slayer wouldn’t really have any care for this kind of thing. He wasn’t really good at talking to begin with, let alone the random small talk.
That was ordinarily. And there was something in this situation not ordinary. Namely, he could still feel the sensation where the side of the bottle smacked into his hand.
If he’d missed, it really would have gone sliding right off the edge of the counter, for what was a passive toss. That’s not the kind of strength a little lady minding a bar was generally want to have -- especially considering who he was to be feeling it.
“...S’a good arm on you.”
The voice was low, quieter than one might expect -- but a strong baritone with just a hint of country inflection.
He poured another glass. Even if this was basically his now, he still had the courtesy not to presume to just chug the thing.
curseofthecolossi:
Darkness courses through his veins, ichor crawling up his pale skin. Abhorrent. Unnatural. The God of the Ancients was no more. Imprisoned deep within the recesses of Wander’s soul. In all Their infinite existence, Dormin never considered that Their pawn would have the willpower to overcome Their resolve.
‘humanity’
Even the thought of it puts a bitter taste in his mouth. Echos of Dormin’s feelings invade his mind. How foolish mankind could be. No human could ever match Them. They, the origin of darkness. They presided over the beginning and through this foolish mortal They would bring about the end. All it took was one simple lie.
Though Their plan proceeded without problems the boy (unbeknownst to Them) had slowly built up a tolerance to the corruption and in times of great stress could even channel it. To be imprisoned within the body of this fool.
‘Shameful’
Wander demands the god to be silent, forcing the invasive thoughts from his mind. Callous fingers rub exhaustion from tired eyes, his mortal mind still reeling from the truths he’d come to learn over the past years. Wander had been cursed with Dormin’s gifts and all the responsibilities that came with it.
Shades slowly pull themselves from the pits of Tartarus reporting to their master, their god. The voices of the newly departed breathe words of malice carried on the wind audible only to him.
S̵̖̞̣̠̘̞̳̋͝ǫ̴̝̩̬̮̘́͐͗m̴̖̝̼̟̮͗̒͆̑̒̉͘̕͝ę̷̛͉̘͔̠̬͚̪͉̈́͑̎̆͌́͐͝t̵̘̆͒̆̂͊͘h̵̻̩̥̕í̴̢̧̡̫͙͍̙͔n̸̙̺̲̪̙̄g̷̘̽͊͑̏̋̎'̶͍̺̭͊͆s̴̢͕͍̪͙̜̰̀̑̄͂̓̍̀͛͝ ̸̥̣̠̫͇̺̟͑̅̍̑̕͜h̴̛̦̲̮̯̋͊͛̈́̀̋̽̚ē̸̢̯̳͔̠̟͉͈̅̐̎̌͘͠r̵̼͚̯͚͖͔̦̟̣͔͗̽̾͌͆̚͝͝è̶̡̠̳̹̭̭ they whisper in discordant pitch ɹǝpɐʌuI I̷̢̼͍͓̞̥̠̫̓̏ń̷͚̝̙̜̯͆v̶̡̝͔̘͈͇̠͙̲̱̑̕a̴̺̬̰̋͋͋̌̿̍̈̚͠ḑ̷̞̣͚͎͉̞͇̾̉̽̒̑è̵̗̗̦͖͖̺͚̆̏̍͂́̒ŗ̵͎͚̺͉̻̞͖̀̄̏̈́͝
One shade slowly steps forward pointing in the direction of a figure before being scattered by the wind. They are far too close to the ruined entrance of the Forbidden Lands.
Soft blue light radiates from his eyes as the Guardian takes in the strange appearance of this newcomer. If Wander thought he was out of place this thing was altogether somewhere (or somewhen) they should not be.
“I’d be careful if I were you…to trespass on those cursed grounds is strictly forbidden.”
If the lightshow from behind his eyes was meant to have some sort of intimidation, Wander would find it didn’t land. In reality, all it did was bring the Slayer to briefly wonder if the source of that was in the vitreous humor, or if it was some transmission from the occipital lobe -- either way, he didn’t dwell on it longer than a few seconds.
Cursed grounds, huh? Well, of course there’d be some such superstitious nomenclature for the place; that’s why he was here to begin with.
And it’s not as though he cared for what others deemed ‘forbidden’ in the first place.
The Slayer simply advances from where he stands on the bridge, heavy bootfalls crunching the errant bits of rubble strewn around. He doesn’t even seem to be directly acknowledging the boy, likewise there’s no aggression in his body language, but no softness either. The Slayer is here on a mission, and that is that. He has no anger to show undeserving bystanders, but likewise no care for pleasantries, either.
He heads straight-on past Wander, a fairly wide berth between them. Visor facing straight ahead, he marches head on into the shadow of the threshold of the Shrine of Worship. However, he stops there, beginning to fiddle with something... Something in his hands, some sort of metal object. It appears to have two tubes, and a handle grasped in one hand, as well as a hooklike object chained to the bottom. Whatever it was, its purpose would likely be unclear.
Of course, the Slayer had no way of yet knowing that the monstrosities he’d come to lay low had vanished already. All trace of them gone to within the very youth he had written off.
Speaking of whom... If the dark god contained could get any read on this heavily-armed and armored stranger, they’d undoubtedly get the sense of something immense broiling below the surface...though, nothing more could be gleaned from inspection this distant.
The Many Names of Doomguy
I support demons’ rights. Demons’ rights to shut the hell up!
Good stance. Now go find a big gun and work on that cardio, because you’re either moving or dead.
Can't believe a humongo like you never had a girlfriend.
...
Okay, he can’t help but to give you a look. Who ever said that?
Starter Call!
Worried I might be a bit lacking in followers for one of these, but let’s give it a shot anyways!
Like this post for a personalized starter! Any questions, concerns or specifications, use the reply box or messenger!
Starter Call!
Worried I might be a bit lacking in followers for one of these, but let’s give it a shot anyways!
Like this post for a personalized starter! Any questions, concerns or specifications, use the reply box or messenger!
IMPORTANT TO RECOGNIZE because that initial botched take on the left got spread too far because ‘lel meme’ and not enough people seem to know the properly rigged version exists
@slayers-sentinel
Well, it’d been one hell of a night. The Slayer had found one of his sentinels, rerouted power couplings so that what the Kahn Maykr had done that needed the Crucible to patch it was nullified, and even found a new pizza joint to hit up whenever the mood struck him -- because after that first gigantic bombshell, he’d needed to decompress for the evening with a bit of gaming and order-in. Thankfully he had a kickass rig for it.
It was now that the Slayer found himself pacing some at the bridge, fists clenched. Ah, anxiety...it was the faintest sliver, but a sensation he hadn’t known in an incalculably long period of time. After all, it’d been that long since he’d ever had to care about someone else’s input.
His men were true soldiers; they’d run on a nigh-on Spartan internal clock back on their world. Only getting exactly as much rest as needed, then back up on their feet. Given the circumstances, however, he’d figured Halkel was gonna be sleeping in a fair bit to help make up for only god knows how much sleep debt.
Still, he ought to have been up for a while now...
Taking a breath, the Slayer wanders over to the broadcast detection monitor, swiping over on the touch screen for an option he’d never had reason to use before: the intercom toggle.
“If you’re doing something -- get to the bridge when it’s done.” He spoke, his voice sounding throughout the entirety of the Fortress of Doom. “We need to talk.”
His Night Sentinels were no fans of the Maykrs, that much was plain. They’d all forsworn the Mother God to stand at his side, to refuse the hordes that saw fit to devour all of Argent D’Nur. In the end of the day, while they’d failed, not a single one turned his back to the enemy. They all died on their feet, refusing to back down, albeit present company excluded.
Still, turning against the Kahn Maykr was acting against a malevolent individual; it wasn’t having the entirety of your faith quite literally destroyed, even if you’d chosen to move on.
Before they went any further, Hallkel would need to understand the full weight of what the Slayer had done -- and judge for himself if he dared to walk this path any further.
“And you will be their savior Your strength will be their shield, and your will, their sword.
You remain – unbroken. For your fight… is ETERNAL.”
PROFILE | HOME | RULES
badassbarmaid:
Ah, the strong silent type, she mused as he looked at her supply. Her brow raised in curiosity as he picked his poison.
“That one takes an acquired taste, you know,” she warned, almost amused by this exchange thus far. Throwing her hands up, she shrugged. “But hey, if you’re willing to pay the gil, it doesn’t matter to me.”
She made quick work, pouring the strong alcohol into a glass and sliding it down towards her newest customer. Tifa suspected he’d catch it without a problem. “It’s some of my best stuff, though it’s not often I get someone requesting it.”
That was because it was expensive and strong like Ifrit’s fire.
Of course, there was no verbal reply, but the lack of objection seemed to suffice just as well for an approval. Of course, the glass was caught easily as it was sent sliding down the way. Given the amount, he had to assume she was testing if he could actually take it... Seemed like this might be what he’d been looking for, after all.
Admittedly, he had kind of been hoping that the option was on the table to just pay for the bottle and be on his way-- but it seemed you can’t have all the luck.
There was a slight sound of depressurization as his helmet’s seal released-- before it came to smack down onto the bar counter with a decided loud thud.
Thus, was the Slayer’s usually-concealed visage clear for any to see.
It was a face that was littered with faint scars, shadows under the eyes telling the tell of some pretty serious sleep deprivation. The jaw was strong, squared-off. The hair, bog-standard short cut, but seemed to be darkened by some unusual means.
Probably not “old” by any stretch -- latter twenties, likely; given the lack of wrinkles and strong definition.
Without any fanfare, the Slayer knocked back the glass, letting it come back down heavily on the bar as he tested the drink. It had a rich spiciness to it on immediate tongue contact, the kind of tingling one might get from a strong mint invading his senses, though the flavor had a cinnamon edge to it. It burned the gullet on the way down, leaving a spreading warmth in the center of the chest. Little wonder this wasn’t a regular choice, this was the kind of drink reserved for challenges.
A long, sustained sigh of satisfaction left his lips, the first indication that he had any voice of which to speak of at all. Christ almighty, how long had it been...?
The glass was passed right back down the way to her as it’d come to him. Hit me.
@curseofthecolossi
The Slayer’s eternal quest, now and forever, was to see all of Hell’s horde’s to the very last purged from existence; this much would always be. Yet, his purpose was not so base. His cause, his drive, was to see mankind in all its forms across the dimensions freed of external malice that would seek their end.
It was the corruption, the perversion of peace, of innocence, that summoned forth his vitriol. And it was rumblings of such possible threats in one world in particular that brought the Fortress of Doom to bridge him here today.
A realm long abandoned, a ground of giants that roamed aimlessly, meandering around the countryside, seemingly devoid of menace -- on its own, nothing worth concern. Yet, these creatures’ surface peaceful nature was little beyond a mere lack of fodder for their wrath. By all known records, anything unfortunate enough to cross their path was hunted, brutalized to their death, without remorse nor concern. If by any means such beasts ever found their way to society, the carnage would be incalculable.
Just more abominations, capable of little more than preying upon the populace. They would not be suffered to live.
...Yet, arriving here, it would seem his records might have been a touch too dated.
A great temple, the landmark meant to mark the border between their lands and the rest of the world -- damaged, in shambles. The great bridge meant to link the path back to civilization over a gorge otherwise-unthinkable to cross had been collapsed. What truly grasped his attention, however, was the condition of the damage. It had been some time to be sure, but this was altogether recent.
It was then he was stopped. An all-too familiar sensation; an icy chill down his spine. Something was in the area. Something that was just plain wrong.
The Slayer turned, double barrels cocked and primed to unceremoniously execute whatever misbegotten hellspawn had made the fatal error of crossing his path -- and yet, there was no such thing to be found.
There, off in the distance, wandering the outskirts of the temple grounds was... Just...some kid. Some gangly, lanky kid in the middle of nowhere.
Was there some kind of settlement here? The possibility seemed worth a look. Nothing else to occupy his time, the Slayer made his approach to the old ruins from the edge of the destroyed bridge where he’d emerged, the pitch darkness of the portal snapping shut behind him.
