ＧＯＨＩＧＨＥＲ @syniiscm - Tumblr Blog

qabalistic-deactivated20140907

» ( syniiscm )

EVERLASTING SLEET AND THE STREET IS QUIET, EVERYONE IS hiding from the hail - and what not, mayhap from the police officers as well, whilst they were at it. Those thoroughfares were not impregnable; for any of them. The public way was actually the hunting territory for giant fanged hounds, not a subject of laughter in any matter if what; the rules that prevailed here was nothing more than brute force and influential connections. Power and money, those were the ways to get a spot on the throne. It was a crucial little bubble, regrouping all sorts of anarchist to the no fixed abode, it was, definitely, a world of its own - filled with quite compelling quiddities. Streets were like a refuge, in which scoundrels met to exchange seditious news and different objects and substances of various kin; a refuge where its inhabitants were fighting to survive, hitting each others until pools of blood would form and noses were broken, where everything was disorganized and where words held meagre meaning, it was survival at its fittest. And shame and pride were two different things in there.

You had to be either r u t h l e s s OR s i l e n t to pull through the mess.

WELCOME TO

( The paradise of the l a w l e s s . )

Unadorned khaki parka jacket covering finely built-up silhouette; same frame leaning backwards against red tiled wall. Humidified air tickling both of his nostrils; before long, a rough sneeze was followed, manus sought for warmth in the same manner of a moth searching for light. Ending in the front pockets of the wintry upper clothing he wore; whilst shoulder rose as a shiver scoured his whole body, certainly due to the chilling temperature. The arctic-ish weather was a matter of controversy - at times, the informant could appreciate its presence and others; he would rather not have it manifest. It was a bother, especially if one managed to catch a bad cold.

’ Ho — - ? ’

Faint sound of curiosity escaped from between frozen pallid lips; carrottop’s noddle veered slenderly to the right as sugary honey orbs caught a glimpse of a beyond their ken entity. Evidently, uncommon it was not, to see lads around here, lurking and searching for some forbidden stuffs, but — - this boy did not look like one of those casual ones; more like an idiot prat who tried to look tough, even though he was not. Ghastly mien - bare of the paint (since he uses the suit symbols as a covering or mask, so he does not use face paint on normal days) - remained impassible.

’ I would suggest you to get back home, kiddie, there is nothin' for you ‘ere. ♦ ’

syniiscm

He liked to believe that his mettle had been tested before, that he was a boy of some superior made quality that could withstand the avarice of the world around him. Oh, how he would like to believe. But the fault lay somewhere within him, some defect in his brain or his heart or wherever intangible things lay in the human body, gifted onto the boy like a sin from above. He was no different from a child his age, he was no better than them, in all aspects. Stan was average and in that, his paradox was born, since he was average and the world was not and he had the ability to see through it's shit so finely it was lethal. Thus, he could not believe that he was superior, and he could believe that his mettle had been tested, he was a cynic to his own being.

Adventures could come, adventures could go, yet each new one was just as scathing in its experience as the last; constantly churned about in some great cosmic joke, the problem here was that he was used to it. He had lived through them all, he'd lived through the aliens and the zombies and the invasion of the Jerseys and even Christ's second coming (which by the way, sucked), he had, he had, he had, so that by the ripe age of thirteen he was sure the world had tossed everything it could at him, but, oh, Stan had been wrong, and he wasn't surprised.

Thereby the land of the lawless was nothing new to the boy no, not this one, it was his element, in a sense. He shivers in his jacket even as he walks, chilled to his core by biting winds that had evolved beyond cold, to some extreme that he'd never tasted before. Teeth chatter in a cold, dry way, his tongue stuck the roof of his mouth; he wasn't trying to be tough, the scowl just happens to be there, his shoulder's just happen to be rigidly held upright. He was following a formula that he has mastered in the ten odd years or so that he had with the strange and the bizarre and the absurd, step one, step two, step three, go home.

"----that's a problem, see, dude. i'm pretty sure this isn't South Park."

#qabalistic #( * verse ⋮ ＣＯＵＮＴＹＯＵＲＳＴＡＲＳ．. )#{ ah man thank you!! you have beautiful writing }

mxcormick-deactivated20140626

He wαтcнeѕ his friend’s finger trace itself to the waste bin as he gathers the paper towels together. His index finger and thumb only pinch the center before lifting the now-soaked paper off the floor. A fruity trail only foams at his nostrils, Kenneth inhales it, taking it in. Well, that was a waste. There are still some visible wet traces among the tiles. He rises from the floor once more-only to make way toward the trash, shattering the bit of silence between him and Stan with every footstep. Once there, the boy stares deep into the can for a moment, almost hesitatingly. It would be pretty amusing if he could only launch the towel at Shelly’s face. A part of him is eager to do so, then again, she wasn’t going to stand back and let them do as they pleased. She really did pack a punch for a girl. Instead, he lets the towel plunge into the deep tunnel, not only because it is useless now, but because he wants to start over. The boy wishes none of this hadn’t happened in the first place. If only there were a reset button he could hold down like in one of those old Super Nintendo game systems. And that’s all it is, just a ғoolιѕн deѕιre.

He turns only to face his friend once more. Crimson fluid pools at their Philtrum and the sight had caught him off guard, This was Stan, after all. He dashes toward the papery roll and tears off an ivory sheet.

’ Hmph, Shtanph!’

With that, he steps toward the other and hands them the tissue. Fuck, he hadn’t even finished wiping the floor completely. It was irresponsible of him—what could people expect from a couple of kids? Kenneth can only imagine someone stepping into the sticky remains throughout the day.

A grin coats his features. Hell, it almost felt like a game of hide and seek. Only, Shelly was the seeker. So there, he begins to walk out into the living room whilst listening to his friend. A chuckle only escapes him before continuing.

' Yermph shimpshermph ib a memph, dumph.'

’Shmph shmaimph almmph omph da comphers.’

syniiscm

The laugh comes like broken glass, petering out in fragments that don't sound complete ---- maybe it's because he tastes blood on his tongue, alongside side the rusted taste of penny copper that is the harbinger of more mess to come. He find's that he'd rather not throw up his breakfast of Cheerio's, especially after the haphazard half-assed job that they did cleaning the floor.

As a child tends to do, he looks for a way out of the hole that they've dug themselves in, snickering through his bleeding nose at the memory of a memory of a time not too long ago, lathered in the absurd that his whole life seemed to exist in, though always beneath that lay there the macabre and horror and rot that those memories came with. He doesn't care about responsibility or mopping up messes or even about how bad Shelly would kick his ass for leaving the house without telling her ----- he was a kid, and that was his excuse for not giving a damn, and oh, how Stan wishes to never grow up and face the reality of being a man living with the rot without the lather that came with childhood.

He's out the door, mitten-ed hands wrapped tightly around the cloth, sniffing through the pain before he tilts his head back and stops the bleeding the way his father taught him to. He can hardly see where he's going, what with the sky being his view now, but the sound of Kenny's breathing is all that he needs for a guide. It's a cold day, which is the usual for the crummy town with its eternal winter, and Stan has no idea, really, as to what he really wants to do with time sprawled before the two boys. A groan is offered as a spike of throbbing pain responds to the feel of coarse paper being shoved against tender, bruising skin.

"this is lame----" he speaks around the cloth, words muffled even then "Kyle and his dumb Jew holiday. we were supposed to chuck rocks at passing car's today. or Cartman, right Kenny?"

#mxcormick #& ⋮ mxcormick ( .1 )#{ there there bae i hope this ne was alright ;u; }#( * verse ⋮ ＣＯＵＮＴＹＯＵＲＳＴＡＲＳ．. )

kihyuuki

snowman

#( * the gang ⋮ just the usual )#kaptiv8 #mxcormick

kaptiv8

sᴇʟғʟᴇss ʜᴀs ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴀ ᴡᴏʀᴅ to describe Kyle. he has his selfless moments, like anyone with even the most basic of moral buildup, but he is — as if expected of a mere child — an opportunist with only his own best intentions in mind. bonds open and close and lock and split with imaginary, gravitational pulls that link us all to those we care about and he is one of the few to go out of his way to show that concern to those not even involved in his friendship. ʜᴇ ɪs ɴᴏᴛ ᴀ ᴍɪɴᴅʟᴇssʟʏ ɢɪᴠɪɴɢ ᴘᴇʀsᴏɴ, though under the tender oppression of a lifetime friendship, this falls prey to transformation, turns to sand in his hands, and he finds he’d do anything for his friends. Cartman is not his friend, and so he does not get to incorporate colloquial racism into the boys’ afternoon games.

something deep and dark inside of him extinguishes when he sees Stan; a calming effect his general apathy towards the ongoing hatred between Kyle and said fatass has dealt him with, over the years. he deflates, shoulders dropping instantly, and frowns at the kitchen counter he’s yet to make it past as if it has somehow caused this wrong, before making a grab for an unsuspecting dish cloth somewhere around his left, and swallows his pride for the second time today.

”—sorry, dude.” he offers, bending at the knees to wipe up neither the first nor the last mess he will unwittingly make in this house. "don’t worry about it. will you grab my hat for me? — I don’t know where it went.”

syniiscm

And selfish has never been word to describe Stan, though even he from time to time falls prey to what is only natural to a child, no, to all things breathing and feeling and human. it is done without thought, natural to him as breathing is to the lungs, but again, not to an extreme that dons on his mop of messy black tresses a halo of angelic purity. since he is not pure, this boy, he is a child of scrapped knuckles and cracked teeth and his own brand of childish ignorance that has survived out of pure sequestered mountain town longevity. weary apathy is all that greets what is presented to him in that repeated show of Kyle, burning red with anger, and said absent prick, sulking off somewhere alone with his own self righteous bastard reason.

He may not care for the routine that Kyle and Cartman go through, but he does care for Kyle (read: loves) and to some far extreme that he never acknowledges, Cartman. Thus the annoyance can only reach a mild boiling point, and the spilled coke is expendable, because Stan is not selfish, nor is he selfless, but he is a good balance, a good balance, a good balance. Besides, both boys are pathetic and hopeless and they need him, he knows this, they need him----and where he is not selfish, he is prideful.

"don't worry about it, man. It wasn't that great a drink." a lie, but sometimes Kyle needs to hear one.

He leaves his friend, all dolled up and pretty like some gay elf princess, in favor of something better, something he knows that'll calm him down, passing from the kitchen to the adjacent room in quick easy steps, toes comfortably wiggling in the confines of socks that he'd been wearing for one, two, three days now? There greets him his living room, the couch, the TV, and between the two, the pedestal of Home Depot-bought wood turned coffee table where the game console stood. He's forgotten about the hat, but he'll find it later, Stan's sure.

"Come in here when you're done, I wanted to show you something anyways."

#kaptiv8 #& ⋮ kaptiv8 ( .2 )#( * verse ⋮ ＣＯＵＮＴＹＯＵＲＳＴＡＲＳ．. )#{ uvub gay elf princess }

cartmxn-archive

Once again, Cartman fucked it up! He knew, he was aware of Stans warnings about the dog freeing itself easily. But what has he done? He let go of the dog, right as he was paying his ice -cream, and off was the dog. He didn’t even bother to look for the dog, nor to search for him. The rest of the day he just was casually eating his ice-cream before he returned later that evening at the Marsh’s house - without the dog. Holding his hands in defense, Cartman backed off slowly. ❝ Whoa, whoa, Stan, fucking chillax, dude! I told you, it wasn't my fault, that stupid ice-cream man was distracting me!❞ What a stupid lie. ❝ Fine, I'll help you with your stupid cur!❞

syniiscm

And here Stan wonders what exactly possessed him to trust his pet in the clammy, grabby, ice cream caked hands of eric cartman. Though sometime long ago he'd stopped rebelling against the mere idea of Cartman being his friend, he felt now the bitter distaste that he associated with the unwanted fourth member of his usual group of friends. he'd been warned against all his life, by his mother, by his father, by the church, that it was bad, bad, bad to treat someone like he treated Cartman ----- but goddamn, did he deserve it. Yet Stan was not Kyle, he was not governed so blindly by wanton emotion alone; here the line is drawn and here Stan proves that he can be civil, even if he does want to shove the remains of the other boys ice cream right up his nose. He knows restraint.

"you better help, asshole. if anything happens to Sparky, I'm blaming you, you got that, man?"

#& ⋮ cartmxn ( .1 )#cartmxn #( * verse ⋮ ＣＯＵＮＴＹＯＵＲＳＴＡＲＳ．. )#{ ;u; thank you darling }

----- "woah."

#( ooc ) ⋮ this nerd speaks.#{ the followers keep trickling in }#{ in ones and twos and three and im just like !! }#{ been inactive for os long but guuh dont }#{ mind me thank you for the follow }#{ any one up for something quick and plotty or some writing }#{ i can totes do }#{ kisses all your cheeks }#{ replies and activity coming your way fast }

quarterlesbian-deactivated20141

By hoshikagami

#( s ) ⋮ * boy meets world

axepriincess-deactivated2014101

[「 — ✘ 」; She grins, white teeth seeming to sparkle. But they don’t, of course. That only happens in tv shows and things that are not real. Though, she herself wasn’t too real in the first place.

“ — you guess? ”

syniiscm

---------- okay, okay, musters the most intelligent look he can at the moment. cute. it made his stomach twist in the familiar pennies on his tongue way that he got with Wendy, only he wasn't with Wendy anymore and girls usually confused and bewildered and generally made him feel awkward. He wasn't cute; that's what his grandma called him. Maybe it was a compliment. He did learn by rote that it was proper to say please and thank you and all that social shit that he really didn't care about.

"well, whaddya want? A frickin' medal i'm not sure about the cute stuff, dude the important thing here is, who're you?"

#axepriincess #& ⋮ axepriincess ( .1 )#( * verse ⋮ ＣＯＵＮＴＹＯＵＲＳＴＡＲＳ．. )#{ laughs u have a beautiful muse dear !! }

"--------you fat prick!" he barks, oozing with the sort of anger that simmers at the edge before it spills over in a spew of annoyance-turned-violence akin to the explosion of a volcano. his words threaten action, since Cartman's about to get a rare ass beating from Stan, and one, two, three seconds are all that stand between the present and the very near future. His anger spawns from fear ---- he loves that dog and he warned, he warned, about the leash.

"I told you not to let Sparky loose you better help me find him or I'll kick your fat ass!"

#cartmxn #( * verse ⋮ ＣＯＵＮＴＹＯＵＲＳＴＡＲＳ．. )#& ⋮ cartmxn ( .1 )#{ there we go i hope its alright ;u; }

testabxrger-deactivated20140626

syniiscm kaptiv8 pxrdition

’ Aren’t you excited for wacky tacky day this Friday? ‘

syniiscm

"I can't say, really. It's gonna be lame but still, it sounds fun."

#testabxrger #( * verse ⋮ ＣＯＵＮＴＹＯＵＲＳＴＡＲＳ．. )#{ weaves friend a flower crown here we go }

tybaxel

1000 followers is a milestone i never thought i would reach. thank you all for your support and general appreciation of my artwork!! it really makes me feel great about myself!!! 8)

#( gUUUH I LOVE THIS TOO )#( * the gang ⋮ just the usual )#kaptiv8 #mxcormick

malxfique-deactivated20140725

syniiscm, pxrdition

『 ♚ 』───────

A smile, followed by a soft, chirpy little giggle adorned Bernadette’s presence as she observed the other, attempting to place whether or not she had met them previously.

❝ Well well, aren’t you just a darling? Have we met? ❞

syniiscm

He doubts darling is a word most people would use to describe him ---- (perhaps grandmothers with their soft droopy faces creased with a million lines would call him darling, perhaps his mother for the sake of embarrassment would call him darling) rarely is he called darling and never does he take kindly to it. Blame his father, perhaps, for the quintessential dogma that has been embedded somewhere in his malleable boys mind, but Stan is no darling. It is flowery, it is soft, it is repugnant and he rebuffs it with all of childhoods naivety.

"naaahhhh, I don't think we have. then again, you're a girl, soooooo"

and in that reply he expects her to understand that she is a girl and thus she is a completely different species. That they operate on two different dimensions and (through his petty prejudices) boys are the superior of the two. Girls, of the sub par dimension, just aren't on his level. Also, ignore the fact that he's dressed in an old oil smudged shirt and his father's goggles.

#malxfique #& ⋮ malxfique ( .1 )#( * verse ⋮ ＣＯＵＮＴＹＯＵＲＳＴＡＲＳ．. )#{ ovo !! }

axepriincess-deactivated2014101

radiatinguncertainty & frozenvice & syniiscm & DARE'd !

[「 — ✘ 」; “ — Your face … It is so cute ! ”

syniiscm

----- ew, a girl just called him cute. that's gross. girl's are gross. in a cute way. now that's confusing. Stan's confused. The world's confusing. Shit, who gives a damn anymore.

"uuuhhh, thanks, I guess."

#axepriincess #& ⋮ axepriincess ( .1 )#( * verse ⋮ ＣＯＵＮＴＹＯＵＲＳＴＡＲＳ．. )#{ oh gosh this is late im sorry but thank you still ;u; }

synnesai

Friendly faces everywhere

synnesai

inspired by this —- to clear up some things, these sets are like “What are some things people call you or make fun of you for?” and these are the answers, you know? of course, these characters are so much more than these negative things. i hope that clears that up!

[Team Craig] [Others]

#( * the gang ⋮ just the usual )#kaptiv8 #mxcormick #{ hey now }