❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
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Stranger Things
i don't do bad sauce passes
we're not kids anymore.
roma★
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
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PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
Not today Justin
Jules of Nature
will byers stan first human second
Three Goblin Art
titsay
Peter Solarz
hello vonnie
Aqua Utopia｜海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
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@monsterdownangelup
// this just in: don’t become friends with monsterdownangelup. just don’t do it. she’ll rip your heart out and stomp it into the dirt and smile while she’s doing it.
fair warning. :|
[ I don't even know what particular cruelty this was in response to, but I'm not sorry. ]
That Happened
monsterdownangelup
The train rides are always the longest, and feel the most daunting when you’re alone with nothing to do but play with your toys.. And by toys, in this case, it’s fold origami and try not to draw unwanted attention —- Jezebel had been folding some of the more intricate designs.. She hadn’t really found one she liked for a new idea she had, nor had she really felt the energy she had expended into it had been really worth it even at this point. Her fingers were already nicked more than a few times, so bits of blood had seeped into some of the paper despite how calloused they had become. An empty seat in front of her seemed to be the only one left on the train.. Just big enough given her petite size, that the table could be moved forward to give someone of a larger size room to sit. Though she hoped someone accompanied by a foul odar wouldn’t take up the opportunity. Perhaps someone roguish pirate.. Someone like —- No, that would be asking too much. A tiny smile slips across her lips, and is gone almost as quickly as the train pulls out of the last stop before Opportunity.
He'd usually stay away from people.
Given his nature -- given the blood-stained buzz-axe clenched in pale, scarred fingers, clumsier now than they were before, versed only in killing and little else -- it's safer. But he's heard rumours. Whispers.
He'd heard her name and he and the Pyscho alike had no choice but to follow the sound of it. To see if she got away, to see if she was still alive. The Pyscho knows the deal. One innocent life harmed, and he'll open up their veins with a razor, he'll let the life drain from them rather than hitching a ride in the mind of a murderer. Still, he's nervous on the train, expecting at any moment the crimson to start licking at the edges of his vision, for the indiscriminate blood-rage to descend. Each moment that it doesn't, the tension in his muscles knots a little tighter.
[ A seat. Just sit down, and stop moving, and keep yourself to yourself. Don't give them any reason to fight us. ]
They're looking for one. Everyone he nears edges away, not even bothering to hide the fear or disgust in their eyes. Pandora takes all sorts, but even all sorts have standards. He sits, opposite a girl who seems to be fiddling with paper, folding and refolding.
" nghhhh blood-red on snow-white, a killing call for the sacrificial lambs. "
[ So much for keeping yourself to yourself. At least you didn't say -- ]
" welcome to the poop train! "
[ -- and there it is. Good job. ]
"Yeah, yeah. Just keep moving, big guy."
She’s not sure what he means, but that’s not unusual. For all the times she can understand him, there are three times as many where she can’t interpret his speech, and it saddens her a little. After this long, she’s reasonably sure there’s something behind that mask, something intelligent and (relatively) sane, and she can’t imagine how frustrating it is to be trapped behind babbling lunacy, how lonely.
"Besides, I was getting bored just sitting around. Too quiet."
The silence reminds her too much of the abbey’s tranquil atmosphere, and that’s a mental space she doesn’t want to be anywhere near. All that lives there now is betrayal and disappointment and they don’t need any visitors. It’s better to be traveling.
He does so.
As he walks, his axe swings at his side between loose fingers, which tighten occasionally to slash it through the air in front of him, the blade catching the weak remnants of sunlight as barbed tangs slice through some imaginary flesh or bone.
[ Usually, I'd avoid quiet as well. Too much time for thinking. With you, Siren, it's not so bad. ]
" sing a song of sixpence, jammed jagged-edged in newborn throats. "
[ Thanks for the charming imagery. It's helpful. ]
But something of the pyscho seems to understand her, and, what's more, to be concerned with it. Roughened vocal chords rasp out a half-hearted tune, tone-deaf humming that's supposed to be a song.
[ Let's hope she appreciates the motivation, even if the execution is a little off. ]
Drafts --3 Drabbles --1 Starters --0
----I'm around for a while, but multi-tasking, so things might be a little slow. If anyone wants a starter, go ahead and let me know and I'll add it to my to-do list!
I look at her and I see peace
---- I just sliced myself up pretty good, so I'm going to go ahead and hold my hand over my head for a half hour to slow the bleeding etc. This obviously renders typing a difficulty, so I'm gonna call it a night.
The saddest word in the whole wide world is the word almost. He was almost in love. She was almost good for him. He almost stopped her. He almost waited. She almost lived. They almost made it.
Tiny Stories (via mulders)
thoughts
(via dormouxe)
Bacon.
Someone’s singing.
There’s bacon cooking, somewhere, the tendrils of greasy-fat smell creeping in through his mask’s filtration and curling down his throat to the hunger in his stomach.
Someone’s singing while they cook bacon.
It’s the hairy baby, he decides, as his brain tries to break free of the lingering nightmare-memory-terrors that cling like spiders-webs. The hairy gun baby.
[ His name is Salvador. You sound ridiculous when you call him anything else. ]
Someone’s singing while they cook bacon, and no one’s trying to kill him.
They’d made camp, they’d sat at a fire, zer0 had told a joke that the Pyscho hadn’t understood but had laughed at anyway after a pause — too loud, too maniacal — because everyone else had laughed. No one tried to stab him. They let him sleep next to their fire.
And now someone’s singing while they cook bacon, and they might even let him have some.
[ You don’t deserve this. So thank every lucky star you ever see that you got it. ]
Since he’s not moving, Maya assumes the grunt is one of indifference or something like it, and her jaw sets in a stubborn line. She doesn’t like leaving her teammates out there on their own, without a healer around.
"What happens if he gets himself hurt?"
It’d be on her conscience, and she doesn’t want it there. A strange paradox: she doesn’t feel particularly guilty about killing, but she does feel guilty about leaving someone to die. It feels… cruel.
Besides, Salvador’s family now. They all are.
[ He's got enough muscle on him to be his own bulletproof vest. ]
But she's right, of course. She always is -- kind, sweet Maya, who cares for those who have no right to be cared for. He sighs, and tugs his mask down on one side, scrabbling to adjust the tubing feeding in. His fingers are harder to control these days. He'd struggle with embroidery, put it that way; clumsy, meaty, useless except when he's killing.
" smother the cries like a baby in the night. "
He turns, meaningfully, and begins trudging off in a slightly different direction than Salvador had left in, pausing only to make sure she's following.
Scent Meme: the smell of the atmosphere before a good rain
The clouds are pregnant with the promise of a storm. There’s something oppressive in the air, pressing in at him from all sides, so that every breath he takes in is the damp, fetid taste of inundation.
It’s going to rain, and when it does, the cargo he’s carrying is going to complain.
She’s been complaining for days now. That she’s hungry, that she wants to go home, that her bonds are too tight, that she doesn’t deserve any of this. He’ll wait maybe half a day more before he gives up and declares her a loss. He’d figured her for ransom material. Apparently, no one quite cares enough.
"Was that thunder? I think that was thunder. You’re not gonna chain me to a giant metal spike and wait for the lightning to hit, are you? C’mon, just — just let me go, I won’t tell anyone what you’ve done —"
He rolls his eyes, rubs a hand across his face (no mask, not yet, no idea what’s in store for him), and idly draws a gun. She falls silent.
"I wasn’t planning on it. But hey, now that you mention it —"
She squeaks. He smirks. Half a day more.
It’s a cruel business to be in, but it’s a dog eat dog world. If no one fills the ransom, he’ll turn her over to the preserve. They don’t pay well, but they pay better than nothing, and she’ll even get to go home at the end of it. He’s not sure what they do in there, but he figures it’s better than death for his hostages.
(If only he knew, he’d change his mind. Too bad he’ll have to find that out the hard way, soon enough.)
It’s not so much of what is said so much as the body language. Agitation and a feeling of a rising anger that left the assassin unsure of his position beside the large man. But to retreat now would show a mistrust that simply wasn’t there. Wariness of the unknown and a lack of knowing did not seem appropriate grounds to leave the other in such a fragile state. He had been pulled along as a teammate and Zer0 would do his best to treat him as such. An ! popped up on his helmet as a idea struck him. It had often worked for himself when emotions ran unreasonably high, perhaps the same could work for the psycho. "Take in a deep breath." The haiku paused as he demonstrated by filling his lungs with the cool crisp air. Followed by a slow release. "Followed by a slow release. Now do it again.” Only assuming he’d follow along the assassin proceeded to slowly breath in and out several more times. Hoping that this would help. "With each exhaled breath, Allow your tension to fade. Find some inner peace.”
[ Next you'll be trying to teach us yoga. ]
He can't control his mouth, and he doesn't hold out much hope for his lungs, but the Pyscho seems intrigued by Zer0's demonstration. He heaves in a breath, too large, lung-aching, and lets it out again. A noise that's somewhere between frustration and confusion forms low in his throat.
[ Inner peace. Pull the other one. It's a nightmare in here. You need to tell him that where we're going, we'll just find blood, and tragedy, and the truth that no one wants to hear. ]
" mrghh. "
[ Tell him. ]
" don't go, shadowman. "
Every time he manages to get a message through, there's a flicker of hope to it. He tries to hold onto the feeling -- that momentary surge of control, that tremble-edged strength that fades all too quickly. As always, he fails.
But his eye is fixed on Zer0, and there's only the slightest twitching of tense muscles. He's oddly still, by his standards.
[ Here's hoping he listens. ]
There’s a pause as she deciphers his Krieg-speak— something she’s become particularly adept at.
"…Okay, fair point. This is Salvador we’re talking about.”
It’s then that the full implications of a drunken Gunzerker with a lot of ammo suddenly hits her, and a mildly alarmed look comes over her face.
“—We need to find him.”
He looks pointedly in the direction the small, gun-laden man had disappeared in, then back to Maya.
[ Leave him be. He's killing the deserving. ]
He can't explain how he knows it. Whatever they did to him, whichever bits of his brain they poked and prodded and sliced and augmented, a part of it is sometimes aware of others like him. Right now, he can almost hear them screaming.
" nghhhh. "
[ Besides, this is nice. You, me, firelight. A few too many references to poop for real romance, but no one's perfect. ]
Since memories triggered by scent are the strongest...
Send my muse a scent and see how they’ll react to it.
"It’s only been three hours. How much damage could he really do?"
[ And here I thought you were intelligent, Siren. ]
Salvador may have only been gone for three hours, but three hours is enough time for a lot of bullets. Three hours and like, eight guns — enough for a whole lot of damage.
" a thousand thousand lead-stings, pretty lady! "
It’s always easier to almost say what he means, with her.
----hanging around for a while, though I've not got much do aside from a couple of messages to answer and a draft or two. Feel free to bug me or the pyscho!
----okay wow I was here for like ten minutes, but things are getting a little stressful in the real world so I basically can't settle to anything. I should be back later, and if you want a starter either send me something from the meme I just posted, or just let me know.
Arrested Development Sentence Meme, Part 2
"Wow, we’re just blowing through nap time, aren’t we?" "I think I maced a crane." "I use one adjective to describe myself. What is it?" "I have a responsibility to tell you that there is no candy in this office." "Oh, she thinks I’m too critical. Another fault of hers." "We do not wave our genitals at one another to make a point!" "It would help if you would all show up looking like a loving, supportive family." "You may not be good with women, but you are great with other people’s women. I’ll give you that." "I’m afraid that this offer comes off the table at midnight." "You were just…a turd." "She says that she’s got some evidence and she’s threatening to bring down the company unless we meet her demands." "The tears aren’t comin’! The tears just aren’t comin’!" "Uh, just to be clear: looks like he’s dead, or he is dead?" "It’s only been three hours. How much damage could he really do?" "I’m sorry, that was 100% inappropriate and I do apologize profusely." "There are no others. You fired everyone." "Butterscotch! Want a lick?" "I wouldn’t mind kissing that man between the cheeks." "Well, that’s like comparing apples and some fruit nobody’s ever heard of." "If you weren’t all the way on the other side of the room, I’d slap your face." "There’s only one sleeping bag, so we’re going to have to double up. Pigs in a blanket!" "I want to cry so bad, but I don’t think I can spare the moisture." "Suddenly playing with yourself is a scholarly pursuit." "Then why don’t you marry an ice cream sandwich!" "Do these effectively hide my thunder?" "I was made to understand there are grilled cheese sandwiches here." "I shall be neither seen nor heard." "I’m a monster!" "There are six things I’m mad about…and I’m taking over." "I was once called the worst audience participant Cirque du Soliel ever had." "Come on!" "Well, that was a freebie."
