if you get this, answer with three random facts about yourself and send it to the last seven blogs in your notifs! anon or not, doesn’t matter, let’s get to know the person behind the blog
(feel free to ignore this if you don't wanna answer!!)
hi!
i prefer typing on a typewriter to writing on my computer; i just can't seem to let words stay when i can delete them. i can't delete them from a physical page and it allows me to gain the momentum necessary for writing.
on the other hand, i like to create art using my graphics tablet more than painting traditionally lmao
i keep some of my favourite lego figurines inside my computer behind the glass case. the frozone and mr freeze are placed next to my processor so they can cool it down :D
“Life is suffering. It is hard. The world is cursed, but just get used to it and you won’t be disappointed. Is that simple!... Just a friendly advice.”
@synthized picked 52 ( for sin ) | spotify wrapped meme
CLOSURE — TAYLOR SWIFT / but it’s fake and it’s oh so unnecessary
‘ Did you get a letter ? ‘
Bitterness dripped from Evan’s long-since-faded southern accent, as years of state-hopping had finally landed him in this CITY, this wasteland of high rises, crumbling concrete, people everywhere — everywhere — and noise, God, the noise. Endless drilling into his mind as he wished for the protected, innocent younger years spent on beaches, hearing the waves crash.
I know that it’s over, I don’t need your closure
The reality he had clung to was over. However he’d found himself in the company of Sinister so many . . . days, months, years ago, they all blurred, ever since the DESTRUCTION of the world he once knew, the one he tried so hard to hold onto but his humanity crumbled within him. Despite it all, he wasn’t alone, and that was the only thing he could feel grateful for right now. God, or the one he used to believe in, had slipped through his fingers so easily, and now he stood here as a near-thirty year old man trying to find the strongest yarn to sew his soul back together, but there was no putting together the pieces he grasped at with wet, sticky, blood-covered hands. Fear, fear, fear. Too much for a boy who’d only wanted to find his sister, but instead lost himself, his faith, and the world around him.
Don’t treat me like some situation that needs to be handled.
‘ I wish you’d gotten a letter, ‘ he said, having known about Sin’s grapple with loss and devastation. He, Evan, could never have gotten a letter from the sister who was long since dead, the proof of which still not in front of him, tangible, yet so REAL in the nothingness of the city in which he stood now. She was nowhere, but everywhere. There was no jealousy for the other’s situation, no comparison that would make Evan feel better, because these weren’t the scenarios one could trauma-olympics their way out of. No, Evan had to find his way and out of the embers of a law abiding, God loving ( and fearing ) young man, because now stood the shell of his old self, of someone who would have paid millions to be put into a simulation that could throw his consciousness onto a beach, so he could breathe in the salt air once again.
and the rust on your door, I never need anything more.
Spotify wrapped: 52? - mars ( Keine Antwort - Montez )
He looked a mess, Andrei knew that. It wasn’t entirely his fault, his dedication to his craft did that. Though lately it prevented him from feeling like he could rest. He’d been going on and on for days, places and time blurred together in front of his green eyes. He almost looked like a robot, felt like one. Then again, when had he ever been truly normal? A man like him so raised in hate and anger, he didn’t know anything else. It was all eventually going to crash down on him and one day it finally did. Finding himself leaning against the wall of an alleyway, he needed a breath or a moment. Something to gather himself to keep going. And it’s in that moment he felt a pair of eyes on him, an unfamiliar gaze and he can feel the judgement. The observation as he was being studied. He hated it. But what was a proper thought process when it came to words in such a state? It was nonexistent and he felt himself speaking without truly thinking. “Far too little sleep and I don't even know where I've been.” He mumbles out. “Is that what you want to hear?”
there’s a sad sort of wavering smile on his face. through the best of times, through the worst of times. as if he’s letting someone in on a humorous irony. yet, the humor is naught to be found. smile is to keep from crumbling, & tearing apart at the seams. shrugging, & looking up from the left steps of his grand church. words proceeding a small nod. “If there's been a fool around, It's got to be me.”
Booted foot gently kicked at the unconscious body, a wicked sounding laugh escaping lips before effort was made to acknowledge the other. “Would you believe me if I told you I found him like this?” Though the bruised knuckles and bloodied lips would tell a very different story.
His head hung low, panting breaths to take in what he needed after such an ordeal. Not that he had lost the fight, the Romanian rarely did. Hell, he he couldn’t even remember the last time and if he had any concern tossed his way between all of that. No, never. He was too large that most just assumed he would shake it off and move on, not that he didn’t. Andrei was used to handling himself in almost any and all scenarios. So when he heard a question of someone asking where he received his black eye from, it caught his attention. Head lifted slowly, green eyes landing on the figure as his less bruised eye narrowed slightly. Looking him over, Andrei remained silent as he thought over just where this would get him. He was unaccustomed to someone, especially one he didn’t know, even showing a speck of care. His jaw tenses a moment as he contemplates his answer. It’s then he lifts his left hand up and waves it off. “It doesn’t matter.” Andrei grumbles slightly. “I have handled the problem, if you think I am a victim then you’d be wrong.” A small roll of his shoulder occurs as he winces slightly. “Unless I fought someone you know then, I’m sure you know who did this.” That was usually the more obvious problem when someone approached him like this, not that he cared and his expression showed just that.
send “ who did this to you ? ” | Accepting | @synthized
“ i wouldn’t take it personally, kiddo; they’re louder than my mother-in-law was when she figured out her son’s future betrothed was me! you’re here for the dinner, right? “ he’s already pushing the door open for his new friend, other arm preoccupied with an assortment of three brown paper bags in a last minute scavenger hunt of the local stores. vanilla pods, rum, six cans of italian soda, and five pounds of ground pork, to name but a few of his purchases. but ultimately, it’s all worth it; henri’s asian fusion wrappers, etienne and tim’s custard pots, and ramsay’s cocktails are always crowd pleasers this time of year! but it’ll take a good three hours before henri winds down for the night. and if henri is being contrary, then the entire family is bound to be at decided odds with one another. it’s just a fact of nature. “ you hungry? we won’t have dinner for a while, but i happen to know a number of people under this roof who planned ahead with some supplies for tonight! leo’s been running all sorts of appetisers out since lunchtime, we got every sort of snack you can think of. or if you want a drink, there’s enough cocoa in the kitchen to float a cruise ship, and enough eggnog to flood the pacific! take your pick, alright? “
@synthized liked THIS POST for a family holiday dinner starter! ( and the locations of all the other muses are under the tags if sin wants to mingle!! )
@synthized : “ you are allowed to need help sometimes . ”
— It wasn’t usual to stumble across this caliber of advice ; not around here at least . Even his therapists offer him mediocre lines . ‘ Just think happy thoughts . ’ or ‘ Look at the bright side of things . ’ . Meaningless words meant to fill the air and get Arthur out of their faces . They never assist , even when it’s their job and Arthur has been pleading for help for decades . He’s trying to get better : to get to the root of his problems and expend every method available to him so that maybe , just maybe , he can feel happy even if it were just for a single day of his miserable life . He doesn’t even know what happiness feels like : as long as he can remember , he’s only felt agony . The last place he’d thought he’d find genuine advice was on the streets of Gotham . He’d just gotten off of work and his anger was taken out upon a pile of trash bags that practically buried an industrial sized dumpster out back of Ha-Ha’s ( his place of work ) . It’s been a horrible day , and he hadn’t expected to have a run in with anyone in this dank alleyway . The concrete remains dampened from the morning’s rain , the sky still bleek as oncoming winter nipped straight through the threads of his old brown jacket . The stranger must have passed by and witnessed everything and Arthur hadn’t noticed until the voice cut through to him louder than his own breathless panting . Initially embarrassed that his tantrum had been seen , the discomfort soon subsides as the other’s words brought him into contemplation . Eyes cast downwards as he stands , not necessarily looking at anything as he’s in tune with the sound of the man’s voice repeating the sentence in his head a few times again until it finally processes .
— He’s right : people are allowed to need help , but Arthur struggles to convince himself that he is allowed to . That his burdens mean nothing and his feelings don’t matter . They never have ; his mother makes that clear to him every single day . And no matter how many times he begs and screams , not a soul would stop to help him and he’s left to navigate this life on his own . Cast aside — unwanted . He’s sure that if he keels over and dies on the sidewalk right in front of this very alleyway , every single person passing by would simply walk right over him as if he were just another crack in the pavement . His life holds no value , and his needs are not important enough to be met . Or at least that’s how he feels . “ But ... what about the people who don’t matter ? Are they allowed to need help too ? ” Arthur’s question was loaded : an obvious invitation to his own insight to how he views himself . Perhaps a cry for help of his own , though he doesn’t expect anything from it . Maybe , this stranger was simply being nice : he doesn’t really care about some struggling clown for hire he’s happened to stumble across beating up a pile of garbage in a random alleyway . Arthur’s sure of it . Or maybe it’s one of those situations where people would only do something kind for someone else if only for the bragging rights later . ‘ I helped this poor man in an alleyway today ! ’ and his friends would give him a pat on the back and tell him how good of a person he is . It happens often ; he sees it on the news . People exploit the needy for clout all the time . Who’s to say that’s not what this man is trying to do ?
— But Arthur digresses . Emerald hues lift now to look at the other . His gaze hawk like ; piercing as he silently takes in everything : from the way the stranger dressed to the way his face reads with concern . It’s foreign to Arthur and though he thinks he see’s concern , he’s unsure . Arthur has never been good at reading people albeit the amount of time he spends people watching just to learn how to fit in . His observations have never worked out in his favor . His hands threaten to fidget and he slips them away into his jacket pockets so that he could toy with a folded receipt from the gas station . “ Because ... it really doesn’t feel like they are allowed to sometimes ... It’s like , the moment they need help , everyone acts like they are annoying them or something . ” he added . “ They’d rather watch them drown than help them . ”
❛ Y’know, I’ve been watchin’ some a’ those movies people consida’ “cult classics” and some of ‘em are so fuckin’ borin’. How could anyone like this shit? ❜
RANDOM FACT: Well, Rose's tattoos aren't always the same. Due to her rapid regeneration, her tattoos fade within a few weeks to a couple of months. So she's constantly getting new ink and new designs to replace the faded ones.
send me a ✐ for a random sentence starter from my muse
Wall was pushed off with a sigh. As she closed what space there was between them, breath she wasn’t aware she was holding onto was released. “It isn't whether you do it well or ill, it's that you do it all.”