Tf2 shipping. And the like. In the mood to ramble about some characters today so expect my take on the Swordvan dynamic under the cut ! Heavymedic thingy in the tags. Man I can’t stop talking about these hat guys.
Won’t be as long as the heavymedic breakdown I typed last time but I think their dynamic is also pretty silly, not exactly the tragic type yknow. Sniper’s a wet cat man, pathetic, eats anything he finds blah blah, but when demo and him first meet degroot’s under the impression that Mundy is somehow very cool. He has the shades, he doesn’t talk much, he shoots people from far away, and he’s Aussie. Doesn’t get sexier than that, apparently. Mundy finds that out from Jeremy (third wheel) and freaks. Avoids Degroot for the next month. Only makes Degroot fall harder (”man. He’s so independent and always knows what to say.” Meanwhile Mundy says shit like “chuck a u’ey”). Shenanigans ensue
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Danny’s side of a phone call to a friend
“like, I get that you think I’d get along really well with your family, but I really don’t feel safe going to a new place.”
“ yeah, but my parents place is not-safe I know, you know? Sometimes the danger you’re familiar with is easier.”
” look, I’m sure your family is safe and not threatening, but everywhere feels unsafe to me. If the one place where I am supposed to be safe is not, how could I possibly feel safe anywhere else?”
“ I get that you want me safe. I get it. I’m just… I’m just scared.” sniffle
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@hetaween-event Day 1: Cabin in the woods
These two images are part of a series of photographs depicting rural life in Eastern Europe at the end of the 19th century. They became notorious in certain online spaces due to an urban legend tied to them: it is said that the couple depicted disappeared in the autumn of 1870 under mysterious circumstances. However, this is only a rumour, since neither of the two women have ever been identified. Additionally, people claim to see a giant human-like shape among the trees in the first photograph, which they believe is related to their alleged disappearance. However, this is most likely an illusion created by the strong shadows and poor quality of the image.
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11. Blood at the corner of your mouth.
It is not your blood at the edge of your mouth. Not your blood that your tongue swipes from the corner of your lips. Not your blood whose coppery tastes lingers between your teeth.
But he fucking deserved it.
Sister Kindness has you tucked under her arm as she, to use her words, books it. Something she must not do often because she huffs and puffs her way through the crowded Shaded Bower. And though some call out ‘Sister’ to her with warm recognition she does not stop ‘booking’ it.
(Sister Kindness would have you know that she is perfectly in shape for a woman of her age. She was ‘huffing and puffing’ from the extra weight of carrying you, thank you very much.)
She slows when the westshore pier appears around the corner and then she steps off the main path and sets you down. Kneeling to be something more like eye-level, she pulls a Roegadyn-sized handkerchief from the depths of her habit. Wetting a corner with a flask pulled from a separate, equally confusing pocket she begins to clean the blood from your face.
Sister Kindness’ hand is firm where it grips your chin, holding as little of you as possible. For once the contact does not send you recoiling. Perhaps it is the way your rage has left you as quickly as it had flooded you, leaving you feeling drained of everything else as well. Now that the moment has passed you tremble and, to your horror, you can feel a well of tears rising to fill that empty space.
“Was a helluva bite, darling girl,” Sister Kindness’s voice is quiet as she tilts your head to the light, searching for any blood she may have missed. You focus on her creek colored eyes and swear you feel their waters lapping at your ankles. Her smile is sudden but woozy around the edges; she is just as shaken. "Reckon he'll have a scar, too. Bet he lies about who gave it to him."
‘He’ was an elezen man -- maybe a merchant but likely not, as Sister Kindness did not know him -- with a face as sharp as his ears and a smile that spoke of too much confidence. And you had hated him on sight. His crime was making Sister Kindness uncomfortable and his mistake was not being aware of his surroundings.
It does not take much pressure to break skin.
Pleased with her work, Sister Kindness rises and disappears the handkerchief away. Handing you the flask, she instructs you to take a sip, swirl it around your mouth, and spit it out. There is some confusion about what 'swirl' means but, eventually, she is satisfied with this too.
“Well, we didn’t get what I came for but we’ll be headed home all the same. Come now, before the ferry leaves without us. We will, ah, not be telling the abbess about this.”
You don’t know if she means the bite or the trip to the city.
You don’t ask.
Thank you for the ask, Anon!
][ Sensory Prompts ][
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grimmauld place, number twelve, is high arched windows, and silver cutlery, and portraits of ancestors, and high arches, and statues, and chandeliers, and rooms that are supposed to be warm because the fireplace is on but it’s so, so cold, with eyes of the people before one staring at them, judging one’s every move. in the tapestry room, one can see those before them, another reminder of how they will never be able to escape the bloodline. grimmauld place is stairs with dark banisters on which one can slide and grab on when they’re running away from oneself, from their eyes, from their voices, and the garden behind the house with benches and a fountain and bushes of roses in which one can hide and smoke and gossip and act like everything’s fine, even if for just until they put the cigarette out against the heel of their shoe. it’s something of a rotten beauty, because even if one does know it’s beautiful, there’s something bitter, something suffocating about it. there’s a graveyard, where only one’s relatives lay, and whenever the anniversary of one’s death approaches, they go and lay flowers and shed fake tears and wish that one day, they will escape, either to the cold grave or to somewhere with just a little bit of warmth. (caskets are lowered in the ground rarer and rarer, because the family is slowly dying, like the stars in the sky flicker and dim, but every time the fathers and the men carry, and the woman grieve. the children are far too young to be there, to know what it means, but they do, and they know they will end up there, too, sooner or later.)
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I think a lot of the villains in one piece are severely under reacting to having the shit beat out of them by some teenager in shorts, flip-flops and a straw hat that’s only been an active pirate for like a few months. like i would be going insane, crazy even, if that happened to me.
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