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occasionally subtle
TVSTRANGERTHINGS
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
titsay
d e v o n
Sade Olutola
shark vs the universe
oozey mess
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
Product Placement
cherry valley forever
Sweet Seals For You, Always
will byers stan first human second
Cosmic Funnies
noise dept.
if i look back, i am lost
almost home
Today's Document
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@zenithbold-blog
Just a heads up, despite the fact I’ve scarcely been around the past while, I’m gonna be adding a new muse or two soon! A Pacifist Frisk from Undertale is a certain addition, the other is still more or less to be decided. At least until I make a separate blog for them, but that’s unlikely to happen any time soon.
' I may be tall bu' my feelin's are small! And fragile! ' - also painsaws bc... DG
small / tall starters( 300 years later, I’m so sorry! )
It really wasn’t his intention to be gruff with them- it really wasn’t. He’s… Never been the best with all that social stuff. Sure, in the guise of someone else, when he has a ready goal in mind, he could work his way damn near anywhere he pleased. Cunning, decisive, soft at the right moments and hard in the others. All of it as a ploy.
As himself, though? Alex Mercer- or the disease wearing his face- has little to no tact. Being himself seems to merit little for others, something that he’s scarcely had to worry about. It was just Dana… Dana, then Ragland, and now none of them are here to guide him. To cuff him over the head for being an idiot or to cough into their fist so he might reel it in.
And he truly doesn’t want to bring harm to the green giant who nearly cut his damn head off. Despite never lifting a hand against them, he still manages to inflict harm through his simple way of being. Cutting words, shit timing, raw cynicism, all of which the super-soldier has been subject to. For hours. Days? Time hasn’t always been his strong suit but it’s definitely been long enough to wear on them enough to open up this much.
They’re big, but gentle. Kinder than most. Better than most.
Their signs leave him quiet for a short time, piercing eyes of silver ice staring blankly up to their hands in unreadable thought. He blinks, just once, slowly. He looks mildly apologetic.
“ . . . Right. Sorry. ”
Alex turns, jaw working in an uneasy grind.
“ I’ll- uh, try to be more careful. About what I say. I know I can be rough, but it- isn’t intentional. Or personal. It just happens. ” His shoulders roll in a shrug, the most human emoting he’s probably done all day. He feels… Guilty. Guilty is a strange feeling to have, one he doesn’t get often anymore. “ Guess we’re opposites that way. If I’m pissing you off- ” His way of saying ‘if I’m hurting your feelings in any way.’ “ go on and tell me I’m being an asshole. Better for both of us. ”
Oh dear god it's Toaster. He's in the corner, standing on a box and T posing menacingly.
While one particular scientist scrambles for cover ( There is no way he’s being paid enough to handle the Doomslayer, a cranky man-eating virus, and whatever the hell this is, all at once. ) the Virus in the shape of a man bristles and scowls at the figure looming in the corner. Towering above the Virus with the unnecessary addition of a box struggling to hold their weight without breaking if the creaking is anything to go by.
How he hadn’t noticed the figure beforehand is currently unknown, but few armored humans have ever done him any favors. Why the man is posing like that is beyond him, though a few voices in his head whisper and giggle at the sight. ‘T-posing, ‘ they explain. ‘ A meme, ‘ they say. The abstractness in this particular branch of... absurdist humor, doesn’t quite make enough sense. The hint of humor thoroughly fails to reach him. What’s it even supposed to mean?
All he sees is someone looking to start shit, and he does not appreciate a perceived threat. Doesn’t matter that he’s confident few things can actually kill him, but pose for violence and you’ll get violence. What else is he supposed to do? Fighting’s easy. He enjoys it. Understanding those vague human intentions? Nowhere near that.
Silver-blue eyes flash dangerously and he shifts to stand just a little wider, fists at his sides and ready to go. His voice is a low growl, rough and short.
“ You got a point to make, or are you just here to terrorize the staff? “
He doesn’t give a damn about the staff, but someone else certainly does.
{ 3000 years later, I’m back! I forget if I ever mentioned it, but I am no longer going to be writing Connor from DBH. I had muse for him for like... three days. Then not so much. So! Instead I’ll be replacing him with a dozen other muses I DO have energy for, like a Pokemon Trainer and her Luxray whom I am quite thrilled to create. For now though, I’ll just try to get through drafts. Everything I’ve got going on with Connor is, henceforth, dropped. Sorry for not saying so sooner! }
People writing about any sort of nonhuman character
THE YOUNG GIANT
They’d spent thirty-two years on Earth, eons traversing dimensions, and not once had they been in one of Earth’s most natural and most treasured places. The last time they’d been somewhere this alive… it hadn’t even been Earth itself. It was Argent D’Nur. And now, thanks to a certain Samuel Hayden tethering them away after stealing their Crucible, they were right in the midst of it. The bronze and green of their armor blended well with the browns and greens of the natural world, even if it’d been created somewhere far more sinister. They didn’t need to breathe, but here they were, leaning against a tree with their breath knocked right out of them and hands hovering over where their ears were hidden by their helmet. It was like being bombarded! Sounds, smells, textures and sights they hadn’t once seen before. Okay, maybe not scent, they’d lost that sense from smelling too much decay, but still!
It was… incredible!
Normally, they would have scolded themself for getting so distracted when Hell still ran loose somewhere, but right now there was too much to take in– not nearly enough room. A sound akin to a raspy squeal escaped them, and they wasted no time ripping off their helmet and pressing their face right against the rough bark. Not sleek like metal, not smooth like bone, it was entirely new! They pushed themself off it, crushing underbrush with every step as they spun about with joy. Eventually, they spun enough to send them thudding to the ground, (silently) laughing and grinning like there was no tomorrow. It was everything they’d imagined and more. It was alive. Alive and organic. Oh, they may have had matching colors, but they knew they were the opposite of everything this forest stood for.
The Slayer honestly wasn’t sure what spurred them to quiet down– but something in them was sensing something, even if they didn’t have the slightest clue what that ‘something’ was. They sat up, squinting against the sunlight now burning bright in their eyes. This was a forest, so… it must have been an animal! Yes! Like… a rabbit! Thoughts of cyborgs, demons and zombies are all thrown aside at that prospect. They would completely destroy Hell three times in a row just to see a sweet little bunny– again! Of course, any other animal would still be pretty damn clue, but… bunnies.
( So accustomed to concrete and metal, it didn’t occur to them that a human could live here. )
Grabbing a handful of grass ( and carefully picking out anything they deemed unworthy of a rabbit’s meal ), they held it out to the woods with both hands. They clicked their tongue several times, tilting their head as they tried to spot movement despite the light in their eyes.
‘ C’mon, little fella! I don’t bite! I’m a friend! See? F-R-I-E-N-D! Ya’ don’t even have t’ come out much! I jus’ wanna see ya’! ‘
Although Hanna couldn’t say she was familiar with popular media, the girl had never seen anything quite like the creature gallivanting through these unfamiliar woods. The closest things she could relate were of soldiers in combat gear or advertisements for things called “Ex-Box” she saw in passing. The sheer size of the creature, however, drew memories of childlike wonder to the surface as bloodied renditions of tricksters and giants flashed to the forefront of her memory.
GIANTS.
Her father said they were not real. When she was young [ NEVER NAIVE ] Hanna had inquired how one kills a giant. He had shown her how to kill someone unnaturally tall and powerful, drilling her on it for months among other lessons. True giants, however, did not exist.
Perhaps that was one more truth to be uncovered.
This giant seems to be in a world of their own inside armor of eucalyptus green. Under speckles of sunlight perforating the canopy above, it looks more like sage. Or is that what giants look like? It looks difficult to penetrate with a knife or an arrow. Bullets will have to do. Or perhaps the softer material around the neck will have easier give?
It’s far more likely the giant is an agent, but why would they wear something so bold so close to the public eye? Hanna doesn’t want to kill any more than she has to.
They remove their helmet. Their smile is wide, toothy, euphoric. They look free. An agent isn’t free until they’re dead. They laugh in voiceless wheezes, spinning in pure celebration like Hanna had never seen anywhere except a party Sophie’d shown her. An agent didn’t have much to celebrate. They’re not here for her. Why are they here at all? Questions, questions, questions, all burning her mind like hot coals dropped on a bare hand. Hanna doesn’t intend to stick around long enough to ask, making to move from her place when their gaze is far from her angle but when they quiet and still, eyes of red and gold almost catch her. Hanna ducks away from sight. They hadn’t seen her. No, no, but they knew someone was there. Her hand stays on her gun as the sound of ripping grass breaks the forest silence. The clicking of a tongue. It’s beckoning. Friendly. They think she is an animal?
Cautiously, Hanna steps partially into view. She shouldn’t. Really, there’s no sane reason for it, but the giant called to her. Perhaps, they were also on the run?
Though she only caught the tail end of their eager signing, drawing on her thorough education of [ AMERICAN SIGN LANGUAGE: A VISUAL-GESTURAL LANGUAGE USED BY 500,000 MEMBERS OF THE NORTH AMERICAN DEAF COMMUNITY. ] Hanna understands she is not the creature they wished to see. She is here nonetheless.
“ Hello. “ Hanna says, a visage of pale golds and delicate silvers in sharp contrast to the giant’s loud green and bold orange equipment. Their face is scarred, lighter lines of endless trauma lancing across dark skin. Nothing hesitant in her demeanor, nothing afraid, though her voice is soft enough to be called a whisper. Were they ever gifted with such a sight, her voice might evoke the sense of cold, quiet winds over snow. Her hands, however, sign with sharp efficiency the same greeting. Just like she’d been taught. “ Now you see me. “
small / tall starters
requested by anon. Feel free to change pronouns or anything else !
small
“Get down here!”
“Wow…I’d want to climb that tree, if you know what I mean.” / “Do birds ever sit on you and get confused?” / “Hey, Groot.”
“I’m not short. I’m fun-size.”
“Good, adorable, wonderful things come in small packages.”
“I don’t appreciate your height.”
“I CAN REACH FOR IT MYSELF.”
“I’m not short, you just have the height of a Transformer.”
“I KNOW you can see me.”
“Fear me!!!”
“Uh…you’re blocking me.”
“Can you lift me for a second?”
“Slow down! I have short legs.”
“I have a super power. It’s called, my head never hits the ceiling.”
“Have you seen him/her/them? He’s/she’s/they’re like a mountain.”
“I always win at hide and seek.”
“I’ve always looked up to you…literally. Actually, can you sit down?”
“Heels make me feel powerful.”
“Do tall people have…big..hands..?”
“I might be short, but my ego is huge.” / “I might be short, but I will drag you down to my level.”
“I can’t reach your face, but I can kick your junk.”
“You don’t know the struggle when all shirts/dresses/pants are too long on you.”
tall
“I’m afraid of you because short people are closer to hell.”
“”How is it ironic that I’m afraid of heights?”
“Does my height offend you?”
“Let me reach that for you.”
“You can’t slap me if you can’t even reach my face.”
“I’m not tall, you’re just the size of an Oompa Loompa.”
“Huh? Who said that? I can’t see anyone.”
“It’s impossible to hide from you.”
“No, I don’t play basketball.”
“I’m not slowing down because you’re short.”
“You’re like a cute little fairy.” / “You’re like a small, terrifying gremlin.”
“My legs are long and sexy.”
“I’m not looking down on you. Except literally.”
“Aw, you look like a kid. How cute.”
“Being small makes you optimal for carrying.”
“You know what comes in small packages? Grenades.”
“All the cool presents come in big boxes. Like bouncy castles.”
“Why are you standing on the counter?”
“I may be tall, but my temper is short.” / “I may be tall, but my feelings are small. And fragile.”
“You don’t know the struggle when all pants/skirts/dresses are too short on you.”
“Let me block the sun for you.”
“Hey, short stack.” / “What’s up, shorty?”
thestupidmeanone:
“Moral grey area, got it.”
It was never simple, was it? He supposed that would be too easy. Just because someone apparently had superpowers didn’t immediately make them an asshole. But he liked to imagine it was very tempting.
Church was still not entirely sure who the DUP was, or even what a Conduit was, but he got the gist of it. Any overly-paranoid paramilitary force that shot innocent bystanders was going straight on his shit list. Not that he could really do anything about it, of course. But clearly, Copper could, in a manner of speaking. He was going to stick with her for awhile.
…the fact that she could apparently fucking metalbend helped a lot in that regard. Nice.
“Okay, so, what do we do about this, then? I mean, what’s it gonna take to get these DUP idiots to calm the hell down? Do we convince those guys to turn themselves in, or what?”
A blink, a pause, before the Conduit chuckles. “ Yeah, that. Sums it up pretty good. “
Copper, an on the nose alias if you’d ever heard of one, restlessly tapped false claw tips against the floorboards. Then drummed them, scratching at the wood every so often. If the DUP would just shut the hell up for a bit and let her think- how to stop them without destroying more of the historic district and getting people killed- that would be simply fantastic. But the DUP are all about crushing dreams, aren’t they?
Deceptively gentle eyes look over the seemingly normal man once more as she assesses his reaction. He seems so calm still, if not baffled by the situation. Fair, she couldn’t help but think. He’d been living under a rock this long, hadn’t he? Who wouldn’t be surprised by hearing people had fuckin’ super powers? If anything, he’s taking the news quite well. His commentary earns a barked laugh, false copper fangs brandished in a toothy, wide open grin. She looks like a true rascal, a right little imp.
“ Hell no! You crazy? They’d take me down with them if I tried to say they oughta just waltz back into that bitch’s grip, and I’m not ready to become the Government’s personal lab rat slash weapon of mass destruction. Fuck that noise, I’m an artist. I’m streamlined revolution, bah-bey. “ Oops. She hadn’t meant to let that slip. At the very least, there’s quite a few artists out there using copper as a medium, and he might not automatically assume she even used her powers for anything other than combat. “ Honestly, I’m pretty sure they won’t rest until we’re either captured or dead. Or once they get kicked the hell outta dodge- dodge being here. “
“ The last one’s my goal, though the Bannerman- stupidest nickname I swear- seems to be doing this a hell of a lot better than me in getting it done. Then again... I think he actually has friends to help, so. There’s that. Just taking control of areas they have their grubby fingers in seems to do pretty well on getting them outta everybody’s business. I’ve more or less called dibs on Pike Place, and a few other areas scattered around. “
Another pause. Something seems to click. She lurches forward, crouching and jabbing an accusing finger towards him. Not aggressively, just... Very enthusiastically. Oh god, he’s going to regret saying anything, isn’t he?
“ You said ‘ We! ’ ”
zenithbold:
{ By the way, while I’m here, I made a server for anyone who loves Prototype! Feel free to join this thing! }
Here’s a link that won’t actually expire!
“ Hey, if you’re smellin’ like a sewer and lookin’ like a trash panda, you’re gonna catch a lot more attention than I think you’d like. Why don’t you try to like, clean up a bit? “ Quiddity just had to ask!
Normally, his anger would boil before he completely blew his top. Sure, it scarcely took longer than a few minutes of conversation for him to really go berserk, but there was normally some kind of intermission. A chance for him to process what he was up against, or what they were doing that even warranted his aggression. ( Which, normally, involved some twisted paranoia involving a desire to hurt him. ) Then he’d start throwing fists. It was the verbal attack first, though. Hurting people wasn’t his goal– protecting himself was.
But not this time. Not when, for once, he was REALLY being insulted. Adrian swirled on his heel, making an attempt to grapple her by the shirt and drag her to face him. As far as he was concerned, she had damned well EARNED the hell she was about to receive. It’d been a while since he’d been this alight with rage, seeing red and wanting nothing more than to see blood fly. Maybe she’d keep that fucking mouth shut if he smashed it in.
“ –SAY THAT AGAIN, MOTHERFUCKER!! I FUCKING DARE YOU!! ” No turning back now– someone was getting ripped to shreds, and he wasn’t in any place to care which of them it was.
Joe Curtin
{ By the way, while I’m here, I made a server for anyone who loves Prototype! Feel free to join this thing! }
Here’s a straight up link ‘cause i’m on mobile and the old one probably expired! https://discord.gg/zG6baQ Prototype fans welcome!
Mother? by Elena Samoylova
