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#i guess
vanityloves · 2 minutes ago
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first, i HATE murdoc niccals >:((
second, i read his wiki so i can bully him >:)
but then,,,, i read his wiki :{
,,,,then i become obsessed >:]
and now i run a murdoc hate club >:D
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mythscar · 6 minutes ago
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               iron, he tastes iron. blood. it isn’t his own. 
              she’s a wily little thing. petite, but with enough determination to make tahir look like a bitch. he isn’t tahir, though. the blonde breathes loud, exertion spent on trying to wiggle from beneath him, but he knows better than to think she’s spent. he braces himself with a knife - her own - at her throat, her hands pinned at the wrist in his other. this isn’t the first time she’s been pinned down with a knife to her. last time it was four men. and they carved her up just to rais’ liking. now, she’s a fox caught in a trap meant for bigger prey. a fox that should’ve known better.     
             “fuck you,” she spits and it’s red.
             “pretty as you are, you’re not my type,” he replies, wiping his cheek with his shoulder, unbothered.
             “y’know, usually, i’d be offended,” she grunts, making a show of writhing beneath the straddle he’s got around her, but he can feel the effort doesn’t match the noise. she’s planning something. “but it sounds like you’d be a drag in the sack.”
             roman’s mouth splits into a grin and deanna’s temper strikes flint again, igniting in a blazing fury. he’s amused. 
             “you gonna off me already? i got shit to do. people to see.” 
             he ignores her, drawing the knife away from her throat to check the time on his watch. the curtain of sunset drops soon. in that split second, he feels the mistake he made. deanna brings up both knees to force him closer to her, in the sweep of momentum that follows, she drags down both hands from his grip and sends her elbows at a dig in to roman’s collarbone. 
             something snaps. a bone. his or hers, it doesn’t matter.
             there’s a scramble. a flurry of movement. he out pounds her when it comes to muscle and mass, but she’s quick. perceptive and a loose cannon. he tastes gravel now.
             she’s on top with his gun, the barrel of it presses against his forehead. cold steel against hot flesh. 
            but her own blade is wedged between them, tip teasing at the point just below where her ribcage meets. every breath she takes means a pinprick of pain despite the fabric of her shirt. one wrong move and the plunge won’t be a pretty one. his other hand is caught in the tangle of her hair. a stalemate. for now.
             he smirks.
            “i told crane he should’ve killed me when he had the chance.”
            knife be damned, she doesn’t hesitate to bring the gun crashing against his temple in a side swipe. his head torques to the left and his vision sparks with stars. red creeps into the edges of his blurring vision. a ballsy move. an emotionally invested move. in the distance, biters rustle and make sound. further still, to their left, he can hear virals. they’re coming. roman doesn’t move the knife, doesn’t counter the hit.
            “you don’t get to fuckin’ talk about him, you piece of shit.”
            “do you know how many times i could’ve killed him and haven’t?”
            “you want a goddamn cookie? you got a rep of trap and release then tear gas, bud. we’re not playing this fucking mind game.”
            she’s angry. good.
           “rais is going to get what he wants. he always does,” roman presses, she stiffens and he gauges the reaction. it’s personal. “he sets his eyes on something and he’s blind to anything else. he wants crane.”
            “i said shut the fuck up.”
           “ignorance is bliss, isn’t it? you and the soldier don’t like to listen to what you’re told because of who it’s coming from. pride is the downfall of most heroes.” she squints, trying her best to obscure the confusion that tries to make itself known. he can see it in her eyes. green, not unlike the countryside here in harran. the shadows behind her darken, the buildings stretching out for the volatiles and their run. soon.
           but it’s a particular set that grabs deanna. tahir. another of rais’ masked men. they came. sooner than he thought they would, they came.
           no one helps roman up. he works out the pain in his shoulder, tucking deanna’s blade into his gun holster. two men hold her, despite her struggle, but she stills when rais himself takes hold of her jaw.
           “women like you are like stallions,” he says, roman takes up place at his side, but rais doesn’t acknowledge his presence. “beautiful and strong-willed. but even the most stubborn horse can be taken out to pasture and put down or made useful. sometimes all it takes is a good ride for you to be broken. the stronger they are, the more broken they end up. get her out of my sight. keep her quiet or she won’t be the only one to die tonight.” 
             tahir is swapped out for another of the bigger men and it’s rais that hands roman his reclaimed gun. they each lay a strike on the blonde. her mouth still runs as they drag her away.
             a stallion. a horse that need only be broken. harran’s backdrop shifts, but the narrative remains the same. a man in a suit clasps his shoulder.
            “we’ve made contact, but - your sister is wild, roman. the contact we made went ignored. slighted. she wishes to be nothing more than a ghost. she follows her own whim. much like a stallion, all she need be is broken. she’ll joins us in time. she needs to see reason. you speaking with her won’t go well. she’ll run again.” 
             alice.
             there’s the sharp, precise sound of a woman in immense pain and then silence. the weight of it extends out. the warlord smiles, satisfied. 
            “i’m surprised, roman,” rais’ dark gaze presses against him from all sides. roman doesn’t flinch, doesn’t break eye contact. tahir is watching, too. watching not unlike a vulture, waiting to pick from his bones. “that you didn’t set this one loose, too. tahir,” he still hasn’t broken eye contact with roman. “she’s yours to do as you please. though -” he’s all teeth, “i’d suggest being careful, crane’s soiled her and poisoned the well.”
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            every man breaks into laughter save for roman.
            a stallion.
            a broken stallion.          
            the men all move as one, out of the shadows, out of the night.
            roman stays.
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in the future
people are searching for the sacred or some shit jim morrison said 
he dead  - fukken poets  and rawk star ego 
do i really want my 15 minutes andy 
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dontwannabefound · 9 minutes ago
turn on anons if you want weird asks. I want there to be a nagging fear at the back of your mind like "yeah it was probably someguy but maybe it wasnt"
it took way too long for me to figure out how to do this. but it’s been done.
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harrystylescherry · 10 minutes ago
Martin freeman 😭😔
the way i thought this said morgan freeman
and honestly...that would’ve been the better choice
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memesbyeloise · 13 minutes ago
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He lost himself with the time, vibrant memories steadily substituted by patches of black and agony. He cried and wailed, but no one heard him underground, forgotten and abandoned, as pieces of his mind corrupted and eroded just as his unrest peaked over and over again.
Trapped inside the earth, locked and forgotten, with nothing to reminisce but the betrayal and loss, Azhdaha had lost himself far more than he had ever thought possible. Alone, basking only in regretful solitude and the darkened mold corroding his mind, ever growing and ever consuming, thoughts of vengeance, he felt the rage consume his bones all the more, waiting, for the day he could finally escape this formless cannibal, depriving him of everything that made him himself.
And so he plotted, alone and cold, under thousands of layer of stone, for vengeance, for freedom, for finally decimating the one who caused him such pain, his former best friend, the very one who had gifted him his Form and his Eyes (or had he, really?). Only for his attempt to be ruthless crushed, like a bug underneath heels of stone, his own mind fighting against him and he felt his rage, all consuming, take part.
Defeated once again, sealed dormant under millennia of stone, and trapped in his decaying solitude once more.
He dreamt, in his slumber. Of the earth and soil above him, and of the people that occupied his land. And he wished to crush it, stomp it to dust and revel at the trembling of the earth as his power once again manifested, free. And his rage spiked, watching how mindless the insignificant humans worked, and the earth trembled from his dormant rage, and he wished only to crumble it as much as he himself was crumbling.
But nothing would stop him from watching the freedom he could never attain.
In one of his dreams, something captured his attention, a beautiful, magical sight, that had his rage quieten for only a moment. A deity, he thought, incomprehensibly, as he watched the human work away at stone and jade, carving and molding until only the most breathtaking creatures took its place. Some he recognized, from his long forgotten days in the surface, roaming and free, and other he could not understand, even if the so lifelike and vivid creations seemed to whisper on his ears, murmuring their names.
He was mesmerized by his dream, and fought against the black that engulfed him to watch just a little more. Still, the erosion was unforgivable, and once again claimed his brain to the depths of loss.
The cycle repeated itself, over and over watching the magic before his eyes, beautiful creatures emerging for the most precious materials and the most ordinary stone, adorned with vividness that he distinctly remembered not to ever have had. Mesmerized, he watched, despite of himself, as his rage subdued and melted into the cold stone surrounding him, with the same fervor you had as you sat amidst your creations, the cold and heartless creatures your only company.
And Azhdaha reels in his mind, something in him so deep forgotten but still present enough to scream, because the loneliness you felt was the same he felt, both surrounded by only coldness, hardness and unforgivingness, alone in a world that seemed them not. And he raged once more, growling and wailing as he futilely tried to escape his confines, to reach the one other who created as beautiful as he had ever seen.
Because from pure stone, you carved life, and Form, and Eyes, and he knew that it was you who had carved him (all again).
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strikingmischief · 14 minutes ago
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I miss talking to my therapist, oh well
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alternatejersey · 14 minutes ago
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what’s up besties 😇😇😇 just deferred an exam I would have had to write tomorrow at 8am to next Tuesday LOL
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here-be-me · 16 minutes ago
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Borrower meets an alien
Can I write better? Yes. Will I edit this? Maybe. Does any of this shitshow make sense? Who knows, it’s a borrower and an alien. You decide
She could do this. She could do this. She was a borrower, and sure there where aliens and terrified humans, but this wasn’t harder than what she had been doing before.
Ok...maybe it was a little harder with all the chaos surrounding her, but she had survived worse.
Her foot missed an indent in the wood and she panicked.
What was she thinking! This was so much worse than before. At least she had a home, food and a warm bed to sleep in with her only fear being spiders and the human who’s walls she resided in. But they where gone most of the day so it wasn’t too dangerous.
But then aliens had descended from the sky in intricate silver starships (and then some humans had revealed themselves to be undercover aliens pretending to be human) and the world had flipped on its head.
Predators turned to prey faster than she could blink and almost overnight, the once heavily populated city she knew had become a crumbling ghost town. Nothing but towering buildings devoid of life and light aside from the occasional firefight between the beans she had been terrified of and the even more frightening aliens.
The few times she had caught sight of the towering creatures, she had seen it in her nightmares for weeks.
But one of those loosing battles wasn’t the reason she had hurried to scale the ruins of a bookshelf, hook still so far up and the ground so much further down.
No. It was something so much worse.
Clicking around in the next room, a creature that sent chills down her spine stalked.
Hunted was more accurate.
And even more so was what exactly it was hunting.
Her.
She had known the second she hid, somehow it’s glossy, featureless head had enough sense to look in her direction, and whatever hidden eyes it kept, bore into her, setting a raging, ice cold fire that consumed untill all that was left was her instinct.
And it told her to run.
So she did, racing into the next room and beginning the ascent up the bookshelf where she found herself now, struggling to get a foothold. When she had missed the indent, the force had swung her away and out into the open, only to pull her back into the bookshelf’s gravity, but before she could get another hold, she was pulled back again.
Over and over she swayed, always close enough to the shelf that it brushed against her, but always swinging out before she could grab it. Always teasing and never letting her have.
Until something crashed into the wall from the other room, jostling the shelf and unfortunately freeing her hook. Leaving her to plummet to her demise.
Her stomach churned as a cold calm overcame her, the sickening feeling making her go limp as the hard floor rushed closer.
What a lonely life she had lived. Her father had died while she was still young, crushed beneath a mousetrap. Her mother shortly after from a cat. Leaving there only child alone with the bare basic knowledge.
She had never found another Borrower, her closest form of likeness being the very human who had caused her dear fathers demise.
She had never had the strength needed to leave her only home even though every room brought memories of her few happy years. Her mother’s fragrant cooking, her fathers gruff laughter. Every memory like a burning coal.
But she would see them again soon. Her mother’s hugs, her fathers encouragement.
She closed her eyes as the ground grew closer and the seconds ticked down.
The floor never came though, instead, her back met with a burning leather surface that thrummed with the rapid beat of a pulse.
And when she fought against her eyelids, she was met with the very creature that hunted her. It had no eyes visible through the galaxy of shiny blue smoothness that covered its face, the same blue that acted as tight armour plating across majority of its strange body, the rest a carbon black.
From what she could see as it rose to its clawed feet, it had strange legs like the hindquarters of a dog or cat, with a relatively human torso and a long, snaking appendage protruding from the back of its skull.
And then long shadows crawled across the sky above her, and she looked up to be met with three sharp claws and no thumb in sight.
Then a clicking filled the room and the creature spoke and that was all she remembered before the world descended into black.
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fullbottles · 18 minutes ago
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america’s favorite girl, as always
not a vtuber, just a personal model <3
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jacks-wack-attack · 19 minutes ago
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I’ve come to the conclusion that if someday I ever write a book, I am going to put it in first person present tense, so everything will be happening as it happens and no one in the audience can guess if any of the POVs die. 
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vie1seitig · 22 minutes ago
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I have this 1100-page book to read but I can’t stop reading angst fan fiction
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