#a trial

[hateusandseeifwemind]

We should all be pushing our bodies to prepare for something unknown

[dirusubs]

DIR EN GREY - Fukai [My Bloody Vampire](Eng subs)

[vashti-lives]

I had to be so mature at dinner about the fact that my hamburger bun had a butthole.

[kagaz-ki-kashti]

R A N D O M

[howifeltabouthim]

It is a trial to live in such a retired corner of the country, where one rarely sees anyone worth seeing.

Mary Balogh, from The Constant Heart

[captainkurosolaire]

Clarity

 A prickled speckle of ashed filler splashed from a capped cigar recently ignited to plume, a silhouetted back drop of an hourglass absorbed the raining white-ash dust into the concentrated strands equivalently from a transmuting imagery. Th’ eerily semblance, ends await none...

Choker thoughts arose born from repetitive failures, preventing sublime. A calloused rough-skinned hand drew in squishing away the rolled-stick of stress relief between a drawn clasped. Condor wings of the free soar against rush tides against a stepped vessel. Upon th’ planks of wet wood a laced pair of studded-combative leather boots hung steadily, fearlessly, conservatively drawn to reflection.

A trip to the unknown spoke to the troubled soul. The serene tides, the creation of his being he confined for answers, strength, resolve. A lasting surviving brethren of the seas struggled possessed helplessly by the sins committed from leadership lit of over-ambition, a marked by branded tattoo matching that of his masculine right back-shoulder of a skull an eye-patch and crimson inked eye staining the flesh as it burned against the captivating sunlight from raising High Noon giving a sparkled set of vast blues in the horizon. Head space drew into his conscious affairs, <Had I ever, won... Truly?> Flashes of him remaining in prone from recklessness, bleeds, gunshots, stabs, all messages now kissed as scarred memories. To a confident man. What become left of them when they lose that? Pride of actual losing was a nature in the rigged game or so his cogwheel spun. One gained experienced far higher then a hand raised t’ victory statistically. But was there a thing of losing too much? To sacrifice too much? When the treasures held of yours that were fought in chased gauntlets, wars, battles. What was the purpose anymore? His rival’s words left coldly a mist against his wounded. He was broken, taken by shattering despair. Realization seeped in his hunt for the supernatural and mythological here he stood in this position. Accumulating a lost half of his former crew that he first drew in, another half sunken to the tides of his cursed ambition and lead by his navigation. Two bright recent additions to his crew were added with only two others remaining closely to him. The only other person who held that crest he wore was now a servant of demonic undertakings because of his compelling urge to had dig up a folktale, a wise one at most. The evidence of what made him inspired to be shaped from a King of Gold, A pirate revealed of treasures, immortality finding salvation and pioneering his own freedom, creating his own utopia of crews who bled gold. Echoed back from his past Cap’n and Founder of the Goldbrand. Alas though, he had sinned and drove into closer the gravity.

A promise warmly echoed to him in frustration. Soundlessly he chuckled with a half-cocked smirk, a hand tipped over towards his head and yanked off a tricorne hat and held it closely before throwing it to the seas to be taken. He threw away dressing as the part of a Captain. He wasn’t deserving of that any longer. He never had the privilege of going through initiation. His crew that would have conducted that nearly were all butchered and now that last one had his sin eating him like a parasite from the inside out rotting away his skull. His moonlight had dimmed against him in a spotlight from being cascaded by it.

His amber lit eye closed soothingly to solace as he was whisked against the sea-breeze and tugged in a caressive touch. Before popping up again enlightened resolve. A end had to be committed. Between his doings. If he could not provoke the devil. He would come to its Lair. He knew that this spoiled a less than likely chance of survival to those of the sane. Something infested him out of an obsession that losing wasn’t an option. He had to clean up his stumble-beginnings from here on out. His past would remain forever repeating his crimes and bleeding from his over-bravado. If pushed to shove and he had to put a bullet in the last thing tethering his past to give them mercy. He wouldn’t hesitate against the trigger. This journey, this path, could be supported but it could not be aided by any remaining person close to him. He wouldn’t ever make them suffer the unrelenting unknown visit of the Void. He couldn’t.... not this time.  This was not an intention at redemption of sins. This wasn’t a jab at being noble.  Or saving a potential catastrophe that was brewing. What it was, clarity...

B L A C K             D E V I L                           S A G A ~ Master-List of Previous Chapters

 - Entry # Chapter 4.

[bomberqueen17]

walburgablack replied to your post “Ooh here’s another rant, just in case you thought maybe I’d been too...”

oh. god. I would not know how to deal with this sort of thing. I had to soak a fungus-y pressure cooker today because we forgot to scrape it out in time, but things actually on fire would freak me out.

I actually have a fire extinguisher in my kitchen. I know where it is, it’s near but not behind the stove (crucial: you must not put it somewhere you’d have to reach through what’s most likely on fire to get to!), it’s rated for both grease and electrical fires (I think??). I thought about getting it. But I was like. Well. If i can just beat this with a spatula until it goes out, then I won’t have to use the fire extinguisher, which I’ve never used and also I know will be a total fucking mess.

Our toaster catches fire occasionally too. Smushing the burning thing with a spatula usually works.

A spatula would not have worked for this, it was too big. IT WAS LIKE WHOLE HUNKS OF ANIMAL FAT WHO LEAVES A BROILER PAN LOOKING LIKE THAT OH MY GOD.

So. Dude did the smart thing, went first and opened the door, then got hot dish mitts. It’s important not to do anything foolish when confronted with fire. I have no complaints about his handling.

But the passive voice and use of “we”-- Not Acceptable. Absolutely not, bucko! “We” did not fail to do this! It did not fail to happen on its own!