#playing tourist

[shy-fairy-levele3]

Had a fun day playing tourist in the city today. Hung out on the waterfront, went to the art gallery, and now I am enjoying a meal at one of my favourite down town restaurants.

[goryhorroor]

horror sub-genres: slasher

[veen83]

nyc adventure day.

last friday i treated myself to a “happy 1 year in nyc” adventure day. i took the day off work, made a list of a few places i wanted to see, and set out for the day. in the end i clocked over 15,000 and traversed parts of chelsea, chinatown, little italy, the lower east side, nolita, washington square park, and union square. i visited a museum, ran a few errands, perused some bookstores, and…

[sagabrielle]

I've seen people try to make the claim that lestat, armand, and even marius were good at their art forms, and it was just louis that sucked at his chosen art form.

are we reading/watching the same series?

vampires are bad at art. they can't do art. art is a human trait, and they are no longer human. their capacity to make meaningful, innovative art has been severed, as penance for the dark gift. lestat's lyrics are cringe, marius can't accurately capture the likeness of his muse (i.e. WHITEWASHES them)*, and armand makes plays/musicals like...that. their art forms come with a thick layer of ignorance. there are certain aspects of their art that are good; lestat's voice, armand's drama, marius technical skill, etc. but the emotion and humanness of art that draws us, humans, to it, is gone. not for their lack of trying, necessarily. they do try. they just...can't.

in the same breath, we can argue that louis wasn't good at getting the right 'moment,' but louis was successful in capturing people that meant something to him. claudia, armand, his victims, etc. that was his goal. he achieved that. so. they are all equal parts good and bad at their chosen art form, such is the consequence of being a vampire.

*marius was the donor. however, imo how the hell are you going to pay someone to paint, have your love model, and then keep the painting where he is depicted so poorly...still a disconnect.

[hotluncheddie]

Steve: …Eddie we’re in Paris and all you seriously care about is the 4ft Garfield we saw outside some cafe?

Eddie: :]

[obsessionavecdescouteaux]

Murder Fiction: The Embalmer,

As your eyes flutter open, you slowly regain some of your vision. The room appears blurry, and you see doubles of everything, leaving you feeling disoriented. The bright, illuminating lights above you cause you to squint as you struggle to make out your surroundings. Your mouth feels parched, and swallowing is difficult as your tongue and throat are unresponsive. And that’s when it hits you.

You’re completely naked, wrists and ankles bound to my autopsy table, your waist strapped down tightly.

You try to move, but the fentanyl I injected you with has you in paralysis. Unable to rotate your head, your eyes search the room.

I watch you,

I’ve been patiently waiting for you to regain consciousness while admiring your close to lifeless body.

Your eyes skimming the walls, you’ve taken a notice to my tools. I have a nice variety of hammers, pliers, knives, saws, drills and screws,

but don’t get ahead of yourself, I’ve reserved something special just for you.

I step aside to grab my dissection table, still out of your sight. You hear its wheels roll against the basement's concrete floor.

As I draw near, I notice your bloodshot eyes widen, but your breath barely stirs, still shallow from the intoxication.

“Tu es à l'aise?”—Oh, that’s right. You’re a tourist, you don’t know much French, do you?

Rhetorically I ask, “Are you comfortable?”

You are unable to answer, whether it be from the effects of the tranquilizers or from sheer fear. You stare vigilantly at my masked face, trying to discern any hint of emotion or intention.

Smiling, I place a small pillow under your head and neck.

“Is that better?” you remain silent, but something tells you I look familiar. As you try to piece together where you’ve seen me, I remove my gloves and trace your neck with my fingers.

I apply some pressure, searching for your carotid artery. There she is.

“Have you ever seen one of these before?” I point to a machine with multiple tubes protruding.

“This is an embalming machine, and each tube serves a different purpose.”

Your eyes widen, and your stomach drops with the sick realization of the atrocities I’m about to commit against you.

You try to speak, but as tears roll out of your eyes, you let out a faint cry.

“Oh, don’t worry, darling. I am going to take excellent care of you. You are comfortable, aren’t you?” I ask while my fingertips gently run up your thigh.

Your cries become more aggressive, but you’re still unable to control your speech.

“This tube is a trocar. I’ll use this as I puncture your vital organs to release their fluids but don’t worry, doll, we will use the second trocar to refill them with embalming fluid,”

You are gaining more mobility now, so you move your head back and forth while you cry.

“No, no, darling, calm down. I won’t be rough with you; you’re in good hands. See?” I raise my hands to show you how clean they are.

I let out a sigh; you won’t stop crying.

“So, Are you ready? Of course, you’re ready. Look at you, all marked up with my Sharpie. I did that while you were unconscious to save us some time. See how considerate I am?”

As I grab my scalpel off the dissection table, you begin to twist your wrists and ankles, hoping to let yourself loose.

Gently, I press the scalpel near your collarbone. You flinch and cry loudly as I puncture you.

“Shh, doll, it’s going to be okay. You’ll be the prettiest corpse in the morgue,” I reassure you.

As I lick your blood off my scalpel, your body is shaking, full of adrenaline, and you begin to twist yourself frantically.

As you try to scoot your strapped down body away from me, I grab the aneurysm hook.

Before I have time to probe you, you manage to speak.

“I know you. You’re the man from the train,”

Surprised by your statement, I stopped right before inserting the hook into the lovely incision you let me make.

“And what makes you so sure of that?” I ask curiously, as I am masked, how could you be certain?

You look at the bookshelf ahead of us, “There, I saw you, reading on the train. Not many people use books or read philosophy,”

I smile at you sweetly.

“Ah, yes, darling. You got me.” I sigh,

Frantically, you begin begging for your life, “Please let me go, I won’t tell anyone, I can’t remember your face, please just let me go!”

I roll up my mask. “See, doll, this is me. Nothing to be afraid of, don’t you remember smiling at me? It would be best if you didn’t smile at strangers. Some may think it as an invitation,”

“You’re sick! You’re a sick monster! People will be searching for me!”

“I know, darling, and they already are, that’s why we must keep going,”

Removing my mask entirely now, I place the aneurysm hook at the entrance of the incision I made. As I hook deep into you, you let out a scream that echoes through my basement.

Your blood sprays against both our faces. The smell of iron fills the room.

As I hook your carotid artery, you gasp for air and continue screaming as I pull it to the surface of the incision.

Your blood is everywhere, and your body is shaking; as I quickly insert my groove hook into your artery, I slide a tube inside of you.

Going into shock, tears gracefully sliding down your face, blood spilling out of you and off of your body. I take a step back to admire your beauty.

Look at you, a beautiful bloody mess.

I begin to lick your blood off your neck and face; you taste so good, your blood so warm for me.

Gently biting your neck, feeling your artery between my lips, I kiss you softly.

“You’re doing so good, baby, you’re such a beautiful doll,”

Your blood is covering my basement floor as it slowly drains out of your weak body.

Barely alive, I puncture your stomach with the trocar attached to the embalming machine.

As I flip on the switch, your body twitches and twists on the table. Your eyes are full of tears, with little life remaining.

Applying low pressure, I slowly drain your blood to keep you barely alive.

The embalming fluid exits the tube and begins to flood your body.

Your gaze widens with surprise, while your hands clench into tight fists.

Your body shakes compulsively, as if you’re having orgasm after orgasm.

Your throat violently contracting, body vibrating as I hold down your shoulder with one hand. My other hand controls the hook and trocar attached to your artery…..slowly but forcefully pumping you with embalming fluids.

A few more seconds of pain, for an eternity of beauty. You’re doing so good for me.

Barely choking now, you can hardly breathe as you’re almost completely drained of all your pretty blood, full of preservatives.

Your lips are tinged with a shade of blue, and your eyes are starting to roll back into your head. You look both beautiful and serene.

As I inject you with embalming fluid, I can’t help but wonder if smiling at me was everything you had expected.

[alexturntable]

rogerfederer Unforgettable days in the wild 🐆 🦁 🦏🦒 🌳 🌍

[redrcs]

Playing with Light.

Vatican City gate, Apr 2008

[2laffy2]

Me watching the genshin impact drama going on be like:

[hereissomething]

rewatching grav falls after all this time lets fucking gooooo

[canisalbus]

Okay, its game night and tonight's game is monopoly. Can be Vasco/Machete only or you can also include modern versions of the fic characters, you choose

Who's winning? And more importantly, who's taking this way too seriously?

Vasco (horse and rider) has gotten bored and largely given up, he's messing with people's houses and hotels and stacking them on top of each other, fiddling with his phone and wandering into the kitchen to get a snack and stretch his legs every ten minutes or so.

Vittorio (thimble) is winning. He doesn't seem to follow a specific strategy but has played his cards well and luck evidently favors him. He owns the most properties and is the most financially stable player by far. He's been the quietest of the bunch all night and feels shyly pleased about being at the top, but gets very apologetic when someone lands on one of his high-rent locations and he has to take money from them.

Machete (howitzer) and Piero (tophat) are taking it way too seriously. Both have agreed that Vittorio may be invincible at this point, but they're on a head-to-head battle for the second place. Everyone else has expressed willingness to call it quits but they're way too competitive to give up until one has clearly and objectively beaten the other. Machete has fancier and more developed streets but he keeps ending up in jail more often than anyone else. Piero is the banker, owns three of the four railroads and is trying to get the last one from Machete.

Maurice (battleship) was the first to go bankrupt and has retired from the game, now he's mostly chilling with Vasco and giving moral support to Vittorio. He's getting sleepy and peckish and thinking of maybe getting late night takeout on his way home, but he doesn't quite have the heart to leave yet. At 11:56 he joins Vasco in the kitchen to make grilled cheese sandwiches that will surely give him heartburn next morning.

Alonso (racecar) was just a little too rude last time and he wasn't invited.

[ssruis]

Really funny that tsukasa will be like “I’m so talented and great everyone praise me” & then when people try to thank him for something big outside of like. Acting or producing something. He’s like “I didn’t really do that much though”

(Specific context bc I’m not taking screenshots of two entire card stories: toya is thanking him for bringing him out w saki to the mall/arcade to cheer him up after main story akitoya divorce)

[utilitycaster]

the idea that Orym has a death wish has led to some of the most laughable meta I've seen. Orym tells his closest friend - who has a penchant for delightfully wild impulses, is possibly important to the enemy's plot, and is about to see her biological father, about whom she has all kinds of complicated feelings - to not take unnecessary risks and people are handing out pamphlets on "a Treatise on Orym's Belief in Doom; Being an Account of His Deep-seated Hypocritical Actions Regarding The Pact With Morrigan, Hag and Fatestitcher" and it's like. idk man maybe they're going to be separated in a very clearly dangerous scenario and she specifically is in an emotionally charged and tricky one and he is saying "be careful", a normal thing friends might say to each other.

[stellarflare]

I think for the aftg sequel Nora is never writing the gang should go play the olympics in Japan and while there they discover that kengo is actually the second son and the main main branch who stayed in japan is after kevin because it turns out his mom convinced tetsuji who convined kengo to steal a like a billion dollars and run to the US to play stickball

[newtafterdark]

A little WIP of something, bc I'm sketching up some more outfits for Sköll! This time for a special occasion: visiting the Tiefling village, which he hasn't gone home to in almost 10 years.

He used to be the jeweler of the place... and I want him to show that off to the party for sure! >:]c

[gingergari]

baby’s first fakemon 🎉

Brairn

Type: Grass/Rock

Height: 8’0” 2.4 m Weight 247.0 lbs 112.0 kg

Ability: Wayfinder, Sturdy (Hidden)

Wayfinder is the Brairn evolution family’s signature ability. This Pokémon’s moves will always hit, but it will always move last.

Pokédex Entry 1: Brairn prefer to remain stationary if possible. Hikers can reliably use them as cairns.

Pokédex Entry 2: It is believed that Brairn originated from the emotions and spirit of hikers on trails.

Origins: Brairn appear to be based on mossy cairns.

Etymology: Bryophyta, the taxonomic division of moss + Cairn

Brairn evolve into ??? at level 31.