F U R I O U S

//multi-muse rp blog// // multi verse//

[wasteland-warchild]

I just wanted to pop on here to say I got mmfr tattoo 👀 after FIVE YEARS bro I finally got a tattoo. I miss this Fandom <3

[wasteland-warchild]

This the tattoo btw 💃

[wasteland-warchild]

I just wanted to pop on here to say I got mmfr tattoo 👀 after FIVE YEARS bro I finally got a tattoo. I miss this Fandom <3

[wasteland-warchild]

Man I miss this blog and the muses on here :/ if you're still alive and following. Anyone want to do some threads?

[vopolpuh]

[just-shower-thoughts]

Fuel is so valuable in Mad Max, but they waste it on low fuel efficiency vehicles

[whodidwhatnow]

WHAT ABOUT IT @lioness–hart

[lioness--hart]

I’m less versed in this part of the MMFR knowledgebase, but here is my Opinion™. Other folk who have thought more about this (looking at you @thebyrchentwigges) please chime in.

1) Fuel is scarce, but not that scarce. The Citadel has its own dedicated supply in Gastown, and Joe is working furiously to secure more. Joe benefits from creating artificial scarcity so he can control the populations around his empire not under his direct influence. Notice the only way tribes like the Rock Riders can get fuel for their bikes is through channels like Furiosa’s supply runs. I, personally, suspect that there is a black market of some kind, but Joe has more for cheaper. 

2) OP’s point is precisely one of the points the movie makes. A part of what makes Joe such a good bad guy is precisely the amount of waste for the sake of appearances (sound familiar?) he allows. Instead of handing out water to the Wretched in containers or using hoses to minimize waste, he literally opens the floodgates and likely 90% of the water that pours down on them lands on the sand and is lost. He dedicates the biggest vehicle in his war fleet– thus one with a large fuel usage– not to weapons or soldiers or supplies but his theme music. He touts himself as the savior of a reborn world, but he is guilty of the very same sins of excess that killed the Old World. That’s why he dies and Furiosa, who represents a new (theoretically) more sustainable way of living, triumphs in the end. 

3) The warboys, whose lives and deaths are written in tire treads and whose god is the personified roar of an engine, fill their time with machines when they’re not out doing war. So they mod the everliving shit out of their cars. I know pitifully little about how one does this, but I imagine they have found multiple creative ways to straddle the line between fuel efficiency and a properly hypermasculine tribute to the god of V-8. I’m not saying they’ve turned an Interceptor into a Prius, but I feel fairly sure they’ve been able to make a V-8 engine about as efficient as they can make it.

[erlie]

Break from the commissions. Mad Max fanart because I went to see it again today.

[thewalkingnerd]

Hope is a mistake. If you can’t fix what’s broken, you’ll go insane. - Max Rockatansky

[datemate]

Skull is an asshole and Fang is … hopelessly gay

[wasteland-warchild]

sokols-gun-shop:

He leaned into the kiss. He couldn’t help it; he never could. Her lips were (appropriately enough) like coming home, and he wanted as much as she’d give him. Every instant he spent kissing her was an instant he could pretend the last year hadn’t happened, pretend he hadn’t failed her.

When he finally broke it, he pressed his forehead to hers and tried to push through the mist in his eyes and the tightness in his throat. “I suppose that’s a start, right?” he managed, with a smile that came from his chest, tracing a thumb over her bottom lip.

“Maybe we should start with something little.” He leaned in to kiss her again, a quick peck on the lips. “Little promises. That’s how you rebuild trust, and that’s how you build forgiveness.” Another kiss. “I promise I’ll be here tomorrow, if you’ll have me.”

It was almost as if he belonged right there, skin on skin, breath curling around her face. She didn’t even bother trying to reject his closeness now. Blair was too busy swimming in her own thoughts and his little promises. 

Her gaze was a bit absent when she lifted her hand and touched his cheek. It felt like a habit, something to bring her comfort. The feeling of morning stubble grazing the pads of her fingers seemed to help her untangle her mess of a brain.

“Okay,” she breathed, closing her eyes and nodding, “promises. Little promises.” Blair cracked a weak smile and held her pinky up to him. “I’ll always have you.” And she meant that. Despite the heartbreak she was nursing, she still loved him.

[ivakir]

            You have no plans for tonight. Why not drink a bottle of a semi-lethal hallucinogen spiked with the blood of a mythical monster, and see what happens?

home                 rules                       about                  verses

[wasteland-warchild]

sokols-gun-shop:

It was the emptiness in the bed next to him, the lack of her, that woke him up. And it was the lack of her that he felt most keenly; the void behind him was palpable. Sitting up in her bed, pinching the bridge of his nose, Sokol tried to focus on solutions. No need to think about the ache in his chest or try to really, intimately feel his conflicted mess of emotions if he was busy fixing the problem. At least this was a productive coping mechanism, right?

Breakfast. Breakfast seemed like a good starting point. He always used to cook for her; maybe that could help repair things. He stood, swinging off the bed and down the familiar hall towards her kitchen when–

There she was. Fuck. Gently, quietly, trying not to startle her, Sokol put his hands on her arms. Squeezed. “Hey,” he whispered, pulling her to him. “Hey.”

Blair tried to fight it. The urge to let herself fall right back into his arms and forget everything. But she couldn’t. Blair nuzzled into his chest, feeling a fresh wave of confusing emotions. God, he was so familiar and warm, but there was something hanging over her head; a dark cloud of betrayal that she just couldn’t shake.

“I don’t know how to forgive you, Sokol.” she admitted in a trembling voice. “I grieved for you. I-I tried to get used to living without you, not knowing if you were dead or if you just didn’t love me anymore-- and..a-and...”

She looked up at him with those round, stormy eyes of hers...And kissed him. Maybe, in the deep parts of her brain, she thought that would fix it. One little kiss.

[blackgrlsaremagic]

@chelsemonet

[kodaksnacks-blog]

[wasteland-warchild]

sokols-gun-shop:

“Mmh,” Sokol mumbled. “Yeah. Le’s do that.” He was still barely awake himself, conscious only of her breath on his neck and her arms around his waist. Floating somewhere in that space between wakefulness and slumber. A space he didn’t want to leave anytime soon, not while Blair was still–

Blair.

So much for floating. Last night came back in a rush, hitting him all at once, crashing over him. The tears, the drop in his stomach, Blair just barely, tentatively accepting him back into her life for one night only. One night he very much wanted to stretch.

Sokol squeezed her hands and whispered into them. “Yeah. I want to stay here with you.”

Somehow, through her buzzing thoughts, Blair managed to drift back off to sleep. The little nap was restless, and she awoke around fifteen minutes later feeling more tired than she had before. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t pretend she was okay.

Unable to ignore that sick feeling any longer, Blair untangled herself from Sokol and sat up, brushing her hand through her hair. Her face was tight with pain. She didn’t look at him.

“I’m gonna go make coffee,” she murmured, slipping out  of the sheets. Sock clad feet padded out of the room in near silence, head down, arms curled around herself as if to block out the world. It was only when she was far out of his sight did she allow herself to cry again.

[monsterbrush]

Extremely self-indulgent Slit doodles. 

Nasty Lizard King. 

[impeartorachilles]

WHY AM I JUST NOW FINDING THESE WONDERFUL PICTURES OF THE LIZARD KING THANK YOU FOR MAKING THESES MY HEART JUST THROBBED

[wasteland-warchild]

sokols-gun-shop:

“I never could.” Sokol pulled their hands to his mouth, kissed at the backs of her fingers. There was something so reassuring, so soft and warm and comfortable, about Blair’s hands, Blair’s skin, Blair snuggled up against him. It felt like home, even if maybe the timbers were cracked.

For a moment, he thought about making her breakfast in the morning, before he thought better of it. The last thing she needed right now was to wake up without him again. No, Sokol was determined to stay.

Thankfully, Blair swam back into consciousness the next morning with the steady beat of Sokol’s heart beside her. She almost forgot that he’d been gone all that time. It was like time never passed. Blair hummed and nuzzled up against his back, mumbling about a soft, “Good morning.”

Then, her eyes snapped open. It all came flooding back to her, like a rock floating down, down, down to the bottom of a lake. She felt that same distant drone of hurt deep inside her, a throbbing bruise she just couldn’t seem to heal.

“I don’t wanna get up just yet,” she whispered, fighting the sting of tears behind her eyes. For one second, she just wanted to pretend it was all okay. As if she wasn’t still patching herself up. “Is that okay? If we just stay here for a while?”

[cestvibe]