definedinsanity

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[definedinsanity]

hi. I am currently overly stressed and working one million hours. I haven't died or forgotten any of yall. I start vacation next week so we will hopefully see each other then ✌🏾

#also i have been so sick #not with covid but my fucking normal thing

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Oh? You're approaching me?

#i am losing my mind

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We'll never get free Lamb to the slaughter What you gon' do When there's blood in the water?

#; visage

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"" ᴛᴀᴋᴇ ᴍᴇ ɪɴᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ !

ᴀᴄᴄᴇᴘᴛ ᴍᴇ ᴀꜱ ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜱᴀᴠɪᴏᴜʀ !

ɴᴀɪʟ ᴍᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ 𝔽𝕌ℂ𝕂𝕀ℕ𝔾 ᴄʀᴏꜱꜱ ,

ᴀɴᴅ ʟᴇᴛ ᴍᴇ ʙᴇ ℝ𝔼𝔹𝕆ℝℕ !!! ""

©

#; promo #bam my love?????

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"The thing that started the whole avalanche of the character was, in the audition room, I thought it'd be interesting if he started his back to the camera, and I was pretending that he was eating. And as he starts turning around, he starts licking his fingers... until he gets to his middle finger, and he does this really, kind of crude gesture and just licks his middle finger. And I thought to myself they weren't gonna like it at all."

Michael Mando explaining how he eventually got the role of Vaas Montenegro in Far Cry 3, from “How Far Cry’s Iconic Villains Were Created - IGN Inside Stories”.

#i have never loved a man more

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Reblog if your muse has ever tortured someone.

#🤭🤭🤭🤭🤭

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@unrxlypirxte : [ HAIR ] : as they kiss the receiver, sender tangles their fingers into receiver's hair. || from Beth 😳

There seemed to be nothing in the way of exceptions Vaas Montenegro would make for his ' Hermosa.' Much to the chagrin of their comrades, the pirates who more or less made up their collective workforce, it appeared Beth could do no wrong. There were no valleys too steep to climb, no caverns too deep to traverse. With these extremes came such privileges the pirate lord seemed to bestow on no one else.

For example, if anyone else were to sneak up on Vaas like this, they would be killed.

Not Bethany, of course, little miss spitfire could do no wrong. Vaas had been in a bad mood before this. Made worse by the fact that he felt at times that Volker actively made an effort to keep the two of them separated. Beth had been sent away for days. Where, Vaas could only guess but the point was still made that Volker exhumed a modicum control over the aspects of his life he felt he was owed dominion. Like Beth, for example, he would love to have control over Beth.  

The room was dimly lit, an attempt to remedy the fact he had taken a rather extreme amount of fentanyl and he found a constant light source to be distracting. None of that mattered when he felt that familiar embrace of limbs, the smell of sea-tossed hair that crashed against the sides of his face when she brought her's to his. His smile was lazy at first, stunted by the fact that he felt he was on the verge of a heavy sleep, floating over his body like a spectator. Like a natural reaction, his arms eclipsed around her tiny waist, lifting her up and around so that her arms had no place to go but around his neck. The weight to her is light and full, a small gravitational weight that brought him back to the earth right when he thought he was about to slip off it. He was apt to die of an overdose one of these, sleep but never wake up. He ravished the feeling when her legs went around his waist.

"---ah, cara mia." A lazy attempt to connect what he knew of French. Mostly aided by the fact that Paolo and him had been watching Addam's Family while they knocked back the pills. Ah, tish, that's french. You know what French does to me! When their lips met, he made a singsong sort of hum that let her know the pleasure of the gesture. It was rough at first, accented by that energy Beth seemed to have an infinite amount of.

"---eres divina." He laughed, mock romance. Her fingers ran through his hair, teasing his already out-of-place mohawk. The roots ached with the tension, the demand of her griping fingers. He lifted her to him, brought his mouth to her collar bone and center neck. His lips parted around her delicate throat, kissing it gently as he waited to hear her laugh. She always did when he did that. "---how long has it been, huh? A century most like. You keep me waiting fucking waiting on you, very cruel."

#he loves her so much it makes him look stupid #unrxlypirxte

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bellytochin​:

Hector suddenly REALLY needs a cigarette.

Vaas looks like he’s finally coming into full awareness of the situation he was now in. The hitman sat there quietly, letting Vaas glance around the room, eyes landing briefly on his dog. Then he sags. Sags in relief? In calmness and respite? Hector has never seen Vaas look so relaxed. And when Vaas looked at Hector, he felt like he was a molecule being scrutinized underneath a microscope. 

“I went back.” 

Because of COURSE he did. Why the hell wouldn’t he? It wasn’t like Hector liked ANYONE ELSE on his island, right? The Russian might have been a bit slow to even stop Jason from running through the compound, but Hector might have died too if he’d been there. Was lucky he showed up then to get Vaas and the dogs out.

“I can handle a few Rakyat. It wasn’t crazy.” At the mention of a BEANSTALK, Hector frowns a bit. “Shut up.” Said without any VENOM in his voice. More exasperated than anything.

Despite himself, Vaas actually smiles at that. Goes to laugh but it turns into a cough that hurts more than from what he can remember from being stabbed in the chest. Mired in his misery, he hangs one arm over the bridge of his nose and tries to think. Tries to understand Hector and comes to the rather posh realization that he was never able to.

"---you're a real fucking asshole for that. Being the funny guy, the fucking comedian at a time like this."

That was the rub of it. Hector could be funny, even when not meaning to be.  It gave one a sense of endearment to him, a phenomenon that made him forget for a little while what he did for a living. What they all did for a living. His smile faded a little, his body very much demanding some kind of sleep. However the thought of waking up here by himself was nothing short of terrible. Without looking at Hector, Vaas adds.

"---you're going to leave?" 

This was meant as a request to ask the giant to stay longer with him but Vaas doesn't know how to form such a question. In all reality, he has never done it before. Never asked someone for the simple favor of their presence. The situation is new, fresh. He likes the idea that if he goes under again, someone will see it happen. Someone he trusts.  For once, he needs someone to stick around and stay within an arm's reach. He had done dangerous overdoses alone in the back of some riot tank. The feeling that you could go under at a moment’s notice, the knowledge that your body would go stinking for weeks before someone was apt to notice. It was one of the few things he could say he actually felt fear towards. 

 "---now that everything's fucking shits creek here. You'll find work where you're from, up that fucking beanstalk--"

#bellytochin

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unrxlypirxte​:

’ very romantic ’ - a joke, yes, but enough to make her cheeks flare up into a tint of red to challenge their vests, smile damn near contagious as she fought off the urge to comment about that specifically. Instead, Beth nodded in agreement.

“I was thinking that we could make some plastic explosives, maybe? Or get some, uh,” The English for her next thought escaped her for a moment. Brows furrowed before she recalled it and continued: “Get some sticks of dynamite, like we’re in the Wild West, y'know?”

Watching intently as he played with the sand, Beth found herself slowly sinking to her knees; shifting a little to get comfortable, her hands came to rest comfortably in her lap. For some reason, she figured this to be a quick conversation. Happily, she found that to not be the case.

Ah, that name. Hermosa. Once more her face grew red, gaze averting down, to the ocean, towards the jungle - anywhere BUT him. If it were anybody else, she would’ve told them not to say it. But she quite liked hearing it from him.

“ ’ us ’ ? ” Confusion was thick, brows furrowed as her lips pursed briefly. “I don’t know about ’ us ’ , Hoyt never said anything about me joining you?” A look out to the ocean, solemn in a way. Vaas would ensure she accompany him, that much was always certain. Now was her time to pick up some sand, allowing it to trickle between her fingers and onto her cargo pants.

“I heard the destination is Yara, a country like Cuba. Dictatorship. Military. That sort of thing. I’ve been there a few times. It’s nice,” A small hum escaped her, gaze gentle as the final piece of sand hit her knee. “What will you do off-island? Bring me back a souvenir? Go to a pub?” A pause. “If you don’t want to go, I can try talking to him. Work something out?”

And he liked the way her tone dipped a shade, liked those small humble reminders that she was not complete immovable stone. All the little miss tough shit she was into these days, all the screaming and the threats. She would blow up like something flammable, all steam and burning embers. But to have her this way, softer, just for him. The grin he wore now threatened to split his face in two.

"---yeah. Fuck Hoyt. I go you follow, these were the rules, yes? You remember you signed the fucking documents? The legal agreements? The vows, mi dulce, the honeymoon. "

Seeing her crouch down, to his level, appeared to be all that he hoped for. Dropping the sand between his fingers, Vaas slowly let himself creep on all fours closer so that the space between them was nearly nonexistent. Something he was known to just do when it came to Beth. Get as close as possible, making it impossible for her to take her attention elsewhere. He was all smiles and glee until he heard the name ' Yara.'

Vaas had heard stories. You always did in this line of business. War-torn countries were ample ground for crops. Fathers were liable to auction off daughters as their culture permitted, not knowing of course that their doing so meant little Sally would be indentured to a life of misery. And Daddy would only be seeing a sliver of the production she got back. Same thing happened in Kyrat, another event similar in South Africa. Made you wonder why they couldn't pillage someplace fucking big time like Munich or Paris. Someplace high-class assholes could be taken down a peg.

His demeanor sagged a bit, making him rather dramatically lie down on his back right next to Beth. The sky was particularly blue today, the clouds taking on the shape of a dessert's whipped cream dragged across the blue plate. Vaas tried to think of what it would be like elsewhere, tried to think of a world not surrounded by water and sand. Vaas didn't particularly like the idea of Beth being anywhere but here. Did not like to think of her life before he had been in it.

"---Bethany, tell me this. Listen to me for a fucking minute. Have you heard of the legend the natives have here, the one about the Pakina tribe? The mother, her two sons and the shit bag pendejo of a husband?"

#i swear i am going somewhere with this #unrxlypirxte

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mercyxkilling asked: for this meme. 

[ TUG ] : sender hooks their fingers in receiver's belt loops, and tugs them in for a kiss. 👀

There is no such a thing as intimacy here on Rook. There are no star-cross lovers, no perpetual Romeo beseeching Juliet. There are only those primal instincts animals have. Fucking to pass the time, growing close to ebb away the sadness and frustration of another day's losses. The pain of another fallen comrade, the humiliation of losing the battle in a lifetime of war. There is none of this between Vaas and Mercy. They live in that perpetual state of salesman and product. She has something to gain behaving in this sort of way. All soft and open, the look of her something out of one of those heartbreaking period pieces. Clothes sticking to the skin, long hair blown past features that have the hint of running makeup. She hadn't been crying of course, he knew her better than that.

Nevertheless, he allows her closer to him with her fingers at his belt. Allows her to brush those lips that taste of whiskey and honey past his and press deeper. And by all accounts they fit together, their lips like two missing pieces finally finding their pair. And he hates her for it, becomes more angry than he's ever felt toward her. She's playing him for something, wants some kind of retribution for the low state Hoyt Volker has put her in. He hisses, brings one hand down the concave of her back. The perfect impression of her hourglass shape, the graceful dip her back makes like the roll of a wave. His other hand goes down her thigh, hikes it closer to his hip so that he could carry her when she lets her weight go. He licks his lips, eyes brushing closed for a moment as he laughs. He could throw her, break her. Vaas would have to decide.

"---you're a fucking bitch, Mercy. You know that? You know you're a fucking piece of shit?"

#IS FURIOUS BUT HO R NY #mercyxkilling

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eliza: i have never seen batman 

vaas: 

#YOU FUCKING BITCH #you have SO MUCH FUCKING MEDIA TO CHOOSE FROM #YOU ARE BEING DUMB ON PURPOSE NOW

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strnza·:

              “i  never  saw  batman,”        she  admits  honestly,  with  a  little  shrug  -  though,  the  relevance  is  far  from  here  nor  there,  she  decides.  and  still  -  eliza  watches  his  every  move  as  he  scratches  something  into  the  bamboo  above  her  head,  trying  to  make  it  out  as  best  as  she  can.  it’s  the  move  he  makes  to  forcefully  open  the  cage  that  strikes  her  with  a  bit  of  surprise;  and  just  as  much  caution.  one  wrong  move,  and  she  was  dead.  rational  or  otherwise,  she  was,  at  the  very  least,  intending  to  be  respectful  of  her  present  company. he  smiles,  gestures  for  her  to  approach  -  eliza’s  eyes  adjust  to  the  surroundings  outside  the  bamboo  crate,  taking  in  every  detail  that  she  could;  including  what  words  the  man  before  her  spoke.        “everybody  is  somebody  —  señor.”

              maybe  he  expects  her  to  run,  just  wants  to  see  if  she  would,  given  the  chance;  the  truth  is,  eliza  doesn’t  entirely  understand  it  —  whatever  game  he’s  playing.  (or  maybe  he  isn’t  playing  one  at  all.)  nonetheless,  a  moment  after  being  given  a  bit  more  freedom,  she  cautiously  exits  the  cage  and  stands  at  an  arm’s  length  apart  from  him  —  he’s  still  got  a  goddamn  knife  in  his  hand.  eliza  brushes  off  the  backs  &  fronts  of  her  thighs,  standing  there  &  looking  around  as  if  to  say  -  well,  what  now?

              and  so  -  she  treats  this  as  casually  as  possible.  keeps  herself  calm  -  outwardly,  at  least  -  for  now.        “-  y’got  this  whole  place  t’yourself?  that’d  be  lonely.”

"---you never saw batman. fuck you, cabrona. this is your problem, no? you have no sense of culture, no sense of fucking standard. you kids these days."

before eliza is one of those old canvas chairs tourists use to lounge on the beach. perhaps, once upon a time, it had been used as such a thing. not anymore of course, the holed over covering has gone all ratty from misuse. backs have thrashed against it for too long, making the wooden framing look oblong and descript. think of the skin of the malnourished, shallow rice paper over calcified bone. proof that here is a land made up entirely of the recovery of shipwrecks, the small pieces left from people too unfortunate to come back from whence they came. there are ropes left on the arm rests, options in case she wants to make his work testy. by the looks of her, she will not. he gestures for her to sit, losing his patience.

"---hm, si, si. I am you, you are me, the birds sing and the trees twist. the unity of fucking nature and the universe. very poetic, 'liza."

 his tone is nonchalant now that he thinks he is only going to be seeing her this one time. he will shoot a quick ransom video, send it to any bleeding heart she might have back home. he is thinking of an italian father, a bearded fuck who has lost his wife to cancer. maybe he makes his pasta by hand, a family recipe that will die with little miss canary over here. daddy will forward vaas and his boss the money, they pocket it and lizzy baby here is off on to be sold around europe for chump change. he laughs despite himself, stops eliza from sitting even thought he just told her to.

"---lonely she says---fucking lonely---tell you what, sweetheart, my clientele are the ones who get lonely. the people who pay me to keep treats like you on the fucking market. i have the money to keep me company, yeah? tell me, mi pájaro cantora, how much are you worth? monetary value, sweetie. how much do you think someone would fucking pay for you? " 

vaas mosies closer to eliza, deliberately starts to undue a french braid she had close to one side of her scalp. he makes it look frizzy, unkept as if someone has gone and ripped it out. he is gentle though, his fingers careful as not to form knots or pull strands.

>"---also, golden fucking question here. you have been to california, right? saw so on your passport. my songbird is well fucking traveled, worldly. she flies from coast to coast, nest to test. you can act, yes? you sing, you dance, little miss 'liza has it all for me?"  

#aww bless you bb #i love you too uvu #but i am laughing because i love liza #she said this same thing to jacky boy #she knows their weakness

[definedinsanity]

I know I owe a lot and I am behind on memes but I am super stressed out and it makes it hard to write. December is the absolute worst time of the year because we are trying to cram as much students in before the holidays come around. that and my family is just sussy baka to the extreme. I am not ignoring anyone i swear to god. i am just sleep deprived. 

#;out of crazy #i am getting like three hours of sleep max

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The quality us utterly atrocious but I can't stop laughing.

#important

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i swear i am still alive. its just the end of the semester and i have so many papers to grade and send out.

#also momi is visiting and she requires a lot of attention

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Vaas Childhood memory unlocked.

#i am fucking crying #this is why he hates jason