fullmetall

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hmmm catch me on @barksback at some point perhaps

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trust.

dialogue prompts from trust by hernan diaz.

there's nothing more conspicuous than anonymity.

you've been so brave. you've done so well.

i've never been away from home this long.

what matters is the tally of our accomplishments, not the tales about us.

denial is always a form of confirmation.

self-interest need not be divorced from the common good.

no investment pays higher dividends than education.

you were my muse.

i feel like i've always known you.

generosity is the mother of ingratitude.

i know what a man with bad news looks like.

there can be great honor in defeat.

a selfish hand has a short reach.

it's never been so easy to get rich.

the worst literature is always written with the best intentions.

i didn't choose to leave. i was forced out.

all property is theft.

i have no country. i don't want one.

the root of all evil, the cause of every war: god and country.

i don't like marxists, but marx....

fictions are supposed to be harmless, aren't they?

fiction, harmless? look at religion.

there's no reward for being reliable or obedient.

the closer one is to a source of power, the quieter it gets.

the story you made up for yourself is very convincing.

i take care never to deny gossip and tales.

it's you, but it's not you.

you love _____. i can tell.

you should write these stories down, you know?

lucidity is the best hiding place for deeper meaning.

we both have a penchant for loneliness.

do you truly understand what my job is about?

my job is about being right. always.

i can't tell whether you're being sarcastic or naïve.

would you like to stop for a few moments?

____ saved me. no other way to put it.

this place felt like a home once.

i wish i could have met _____.

sycophants bore me.

i'm famously averse to social functions of any kind.

you've never brought me flowers.

the time has come for action.

never give roses in even numbers: even numbers are for funerals. uneven numbers are for love.

all we have left to choose is different forms of terror. terror and imperialism.

this idleness is killing me.

i care about you. that's all.

want to cuddle a little?

i wanted to start on a clean slate.

all throughout history, the origin of capital has been slavery.

i'll know if you're bluffing.

am i boring you?

i'm so tired of saying i'm sorry.

chaos is a vortex that spins faster with each thing it swallows.

pluck is as important as elegance.

the more people partake in your everyday life, the more entitled they feel to spread stories about you.

are you saying even your friends spread rumors about you?

that's what they think friendship means: the freedom to turn you into a topic of conversation.

you should leave town. right now.

there is a better world, but it's more expensive.

i've never had champagne before.

having the same goal isn't the same as having a shared goal.

you're one of few who could cast the first stone.

it was a relief to realize i had no choice.

i'm not sure what i imagined, but it wasn't this.

i trust your judgment, even if i disagree with it.

you know you can always come back to this mess.

yours is such a confident chaos.

a fortune seldom has one single owner.

i still have that penny.

there's nothing more private than pain. it can only involve one.

there are so many things i'd like to like.

you can come to me, whatever you need.

as always, you mistake doubt with depth.

silence between two is always shared, but one of the two owns it, and shares it with the other.

our time apart improved our time together.

where there's a ventriloquist, there's a dummy.

i've forgotten what it feels like to be well.

god is the most uninteresting answer to the most interesting questions.

has time slowed down, or sped up?

people look at me differently now.

a bell in a bell jar won't ring.

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don't cry for me.

dialogue prompts from don't cry for me: a novel by daniel black.

for a life like mine, there is no redemption.

i'm still in the house where everything happened.

this is not a game.

you just might be somebody one day.

sometimes i want to kiss you.

i don't want anyone else's pity.

a man's history is all he has. it says more than his mouth ever will.

you look like yourself.

there are no do-overs in this life: either you get it right, or you wish you had.

i thought i was doing a good thing.

the point of history is to tell you how to live in the future.

i feel like i don't know you at all.

hurt is worse than anger, you know.

loneliness can kill you, you know. it makes you think and do strange, unhealthy things.

have you ever done something unforgivable?

you're the sharpest pencil in the drawer.

we teach what we know.

memories reveal who you used to be, what you once thought important. the regrets you cannot shake.

what the hell's wrong with you?

___ will never forgive you for this.

pride really can kill a man.

you were the glue that held us together.

you have every right to be proud.

enjoy these years. you'll never get them back.

how old should you be before you have sex?

i thought of you all the time.

that's what they say education does: sets the captive free.

people ought to govern themselves.

my mom says i talk all the time.

you don't know how old your own kid is?

i'm not sure i ever loved that way again.

i've always wanted to go to times square on new year's eve.

everybody gets to grow. even you.

tell me something funny. i'm tired of crying.

will you send me a sign that you're okay?

everything i've loved, i've destroyed.

silence isn't always quiet.

people don't mean no harm. they just don't care enough.

take care of yourself. nobody gonna do it but you.

what really happened? did you ever know?

everybody knows. we just don't talk about it.

that silence cost us more than it protected us.

your love was enough.

i've outlived damn near everybody.

i thought you'd be long gone by now.

don't chastise yourself when you're trying to do better.

there's nothing you need from me anymore.

love doesn't make us perfect. it makes us want to be.

what would you regret most, in the end?

i just want to go home.

i know you. i can tell when you're lying.

don't cry for me. i've cried enough for myself.

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good morning tumblr nation :D it’s been a bit of a Week:tm:, but i’m wanting to finally try to Do Things here. i’m at work til 3, but after that (and on my breaks)? who knows!

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rip edward elric you would’ve loved minecraft

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MEMORARE [me.moˈra.re], verb, from latin memoro or memor:

mcmorare; an indie marvel oc with verses in the hunger games, ted lasso, wwdits, dead by daylight, and more. written by quinn. ©

to remember, to mention/recount, to remind

[fullmetall]

IT WAS ALPHONSE WHO HAD INVITED ARISTA, knowing that ed would have to put himself together long enough to entertain company. his brother made coffee and small talk, and ed slips on a mask of normalcy as he plays along, still in the habit of preforming two months after the games, even without the cameras or audience. al spoke of adjusting to changes while dancing around the elephant in the room, the my brother came back different, i miss him even though he’s right here, neither of us know what to do with that.

it wasn’t long before al had excused himself, saying he’d promised to swing by the curtis’. ed shot him a Look as he left, one that said i know what you’re doing, and it sucks. now, he bristles as he stares into his half-finished coffee, the mask he puts on for alphonse starting to slip.

‘ has anyone considered what i want, though? ‘cause it doesn’t feel like it. ‘ an unfamiliar coldness slips into his voice. he doesn’t seem to notice, or maybe he just doesn’t care. ‘ i mean, have you thought that maybe there’s a reason it’s my brother who comes to you and not me? maybe it’s because i want to be alone! maybe i just don’t want to talk to you- i don’t want to talk to anyone. ‘

ed downs the dredges of his coffee and begins to gather the dishes from the coffee table. he wishes he could chuck them at the wall, glass scattering everywhere, finally relieving the pressure in his chest. ‘ you’re wasting your time, arista, ‘ he mumbles. ‘ i don’t want you here, and i’m sure you’ve got better things to do than talk to a wall. ‘

@fullmetall sent: i don’t feel good about my life, is that what you want to hear me say? fine.

It can come off as a bit much sometimes, all her checking in, she knows that. Arista knows she needs to get better at letting it go sometimes when they push her away. It's just hard to know sometimes, when they need space or when they're pushing her away out of some sort of self-sabotaging urge - sure, there's types, but no two tributes are the same. This is only her second victor. And it's so hard to just sit there and let them go through it. That's the whole reason she got into this, because she couldn't just sit by and watch. There has to be something she can do.

She just needs to get better at accepting that sometimes the something she needs to do is leave them some space.

There's a moment of pause, a breath taken before she speaks again. "I'm sorry, Ed." She doesn't look shaken by the snap, but she does look sorry. She looks tired. "I'm just..." What? Trying to help? Just don't know what to say? There's not much that will take away the facts of this situation. She isn't a pessimist, but she knows that. "I want you to know you're not alone with it. None of us should ever be alone with it."

[fullmetall]

₍ 🎞 ₎   fight club  (1999)  rp  starters  ! featuring violence, explicit language, unhealthy relationships & mature topics . some lines have been slightly adjusted for rp purposes .

how much can you know about yourself if you've never been in a fight?

you met me at a very strange time in my life.

i found freedom. losing all hope was freedom.

i want you to hit me as hard as you can.

the things you own end up owning you.

yes, these are bruises from fighting. yes, i'm comfortable with that.

it's only after we've lost everything that we're free to do anything.

if i don't say anything, people always assume the worst.

this isn't love, it's sport fucking.

i know everything you do, so if you know then i know.

i no longer have any fear of death. but i am in a pretty lonely place.

i wouldn't feel good about my life, is that what you want to hear me say? fine. 

this is your life and it's ending one minute at a time.

i see all this potential, and i see squandering.

listen to me, i'm giving you a direct order. 

you have very serious emotional problems.

you're sorry, i'm sorry, everybody's sorry, but... i can't do this anymore.

it will hurt more than you've ever been burned before. you will have a scar.

i'm grateful to you. but this is too much. i don't want this.

you're the worst thing that's ever happened to me.

this is probably one of those cry-for-help things.

you're not getting this back. i consider it asshole tax.

fuck what you know. you need to forget about what you know.

is your life so empty that you can't think of a better way to spend these moments?

start a fight. prove you're alive.

you are too fucking... blonde!

you have a kind of sick desperation in your laugh.

all the ways you wish you could be, that's me.

i am free in all the ways that you are not.

i'll bring us through this. like always.

this is your pain. it's right here. look at it.

you are not special. you are not a beautiful or unique snowflake.

i'll carry you, kicking and screaming, and in the end you'll thank me.

you can swallow a pint of blood before you get sick.

you're not your job. you're not how much money you have 

we are all part of the same compost heap.

you're never really asleep... and you're never really awake.

when people think you're dying, they really, really listen to you

what do you want me to do? you just want me to hit you?

i don't wanna die without any scars. hit me before i lose my nerve.

on a long enough timeline, the survival rate for everyone drops to zero.

every evening i died, and every evening i was born again, resurrected.

nobody takes this more seriously than me. 

i didn't create some loser alter-ego to make myself feel better.

why would anyone possibly confuse you with me?

without pain, without sacrifice, we would have nothing.

three pitchers of beer, and you still can't ask.

you wanna make an omelet, you gotta break some eggs.

you have to consider the possibility that god does not like you.

i'd be very, very careful who you talk to about that.

i felt like destroying something beautiful.

everything's far away. everything's a copy of a copy of a copy.

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bored at work so: how does your muse take their coffee/what is their go-to coffee order? ed drinks his coffee black and genuinely enjoys it that way. sometimes adds sugar if it’s really bitter but chances are he’ll drink it so fast the taste won’t matter anyways

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soul eater au would go kinda hard ngl

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been having a bit of writer’s block this week but rest assured i am rotating blorbos in my mind

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reblog if you are firmly against the use of AI in roleplay spaces. this is not the place for AI-written drivel or generated images.

[fullmetall]

edward elric

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i am what i do in the dark now. i bleed only for myself.

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@feuhrer said: [ . . . ]

HE'S BEGINNING TO FEEL LIKE A CORNERED ANIMAL, the fog of capitol's miracle drugs already beginning to lift as he smiles for photos with people who feel entitled to it because they put money towards trying to keep him alive. they ask him questions like how did you figure out the demolition pattern so quickly? and were you afraid you'd bleed out before ezra? they, lovers of eccentric extravagance, compliment the shine of metal grafted to skin, calling his choice of prosthetic a bold statement piece as if he hadn't needed to show a vicious disapproval towards more realistic models, a new sort of rage bubbling past his teeth as he yelled that he wouldn't take a prosthetic at all if he couldn't at least choose which one he'd be stuck with.

several people move to touch it, grabbing at his wrist and holding metal arm out, oohing and aahing as unmarred fingertips run over the plating. it's almost like armor! was that intentional? does this model require more maintenance than others? they pull and prod, treating shiny new appendage like a toy, unaware of the pain their curiosity brings him.

they talk at him rather than with him and he nods along. all he can think of is the recap, three long hours dedicated to the highlights of the sixty-ninth hunger games. ed almost hadn’t recognized himself on the screen, covered in blood and grime, vicious glare sharpening a still-round face.

that glare melted into pure panic as, on the final day, the muttation caught him off guard, teeth sinking into flesh and tearing away his right arm. panic is a misuse of oxygen, he’d repeated, over and over and over as he dragged himself into an alleyway, ripping up his jacket to try to create a makeshift dressing. you’re hyperventilating. panic is a misuse of oxygen. calm down or you’ll pass out. panic is a misuse of oxygen. panic is a

someone calls his prosthetic an upgrade, voice tinged with a bizarre sort of jealousy. it’s then that ed gently shakes himself away, desperately scanning the crowd for a familiar face.

golden eyes finally land on roy. the eerie faraway calmness from the recap and the interview are gone. what takes its place now is a familiar agitation, emptiness filling with newfound awareness as medicine cocktail wains- he shoots roy a look that screams i'm about to fucking lose it. his escort wastes no time crossing the room, making a lame excuse ( which ed can’t hear over the ringing in his ears ) before gently ushering newest victor away.

ed grips roy's forearm so tightly he’s sure it’ll bruise, almost afraid to lose him in the small crowd. panic is a misuse of oxygen. panic is a misuse of oxygen. panic is a misuse of

' i'm sorry, ' he manages. there's a weird sense of shame that washes over him. strong enough to survive the games, still too weak for the fucking afterparty. what a joke. ' i'm sorry. i can't- fuck, it hurts too much. i'm sorry. '

no one's mad. you're safe.

when did they get out into the hallway? ' it hurts. ' even he isn't sure if he's referring to his stump, the gradual med crash, or maybe just the entire ordeal that is the closing ceremony. his head is spinning regardless, black spots decorating the corners of his vision. without warning, he presses his back to the wall and slowly slides to the floor, drawing his knees to his chest. ' i think 'm gonna be sick. '

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i love when personals reblog my shit it’s so fun

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i think part of why ed started keeping his hair in a braid instead of just a ponytail as it grew out was to practice a task that required fine motor skills as he got used to his automail. shit like that is a lot harder when you can’t really feel what you’re touching