@twoblackhands-blog / twoblackhands-blog.tumblr.com
Heyo, sorry for the bother! But I was wondering if we could maybe rp?? c:
Sure! Would you do first post? :>
AHHH ; v ; alright, but before I do, I just want to let you know that I’m gonna be using Ferret ( http://shiny-warboy.tumblr.com/post/123572721565/war-boy-form-name-ferret-the-firebomb-age-24 ) just so you know, is he okay for you? Sorry I’m kinda new to this fandom / rping on tumblr.
He’s great!!! c: }
hoss-thejack-ofclubs is talking about butt chugging tea make him stop}
Natural Eye Color Chart
tag your eye color
Heyo, sorry for the bother! But I was wondering if we could maybe rp?? c:
Sure! Would you do first post? :>
I live, I die, I live again!!
Go serious, go dark, go full out heartbreaking. PULL AT MY MUSES FEELS
yep, it’s official }
snit is going to be an imperator}
now to figure out how that’d go down}
ok but Snitter is going to be an imperator some day
and, with that promotion, his name will be changed to Imperator Bastardus}
A short (sorta spoilery) fansong for Nux from Mad Max: Fury Road. <3
Tried to make it sort of raw and harsh, but also gentle, to suit the character.
Lyrics and ukulele chords under the cut.
Here guys, have some feelings.
Holy shit this is so fucking good
“It’s Been An Adventure, Mr. Fredricksen.”
“Adventure Is Out There!”
Someone asked me to post these two companion pieces together so it was easier to reblog them.
THIS WAS NOT OKAY
DUG
HE’S STILL WEARING THE ELLIE BADGE
I was just going to scroll past this when I REALISED what it was
inquisitorhotpants OH MY GOD D:
Mad Max: Fury Road: Full Behind the Scenes
Max and Goose - for jesserockatansky
“Bloody /rude/, idn'it?” Hoss ventured, a jingling sack around his hip as he moved with a nondescript limp. “Bahkin’ loike ya know who’s walkin’ in, aye?” Circling the mass of bags below the other, he knelt and sighed softly, reaching down with a creased brow.
“…‘ow'ya feelin’, mate?..”
The tired War Boy lifted his head, straining swollen eyes open. The sclera were no longer pink, but blood red and crackling with burgundy veins. Moisture pooled along the creases of Snitter’s waterline, and streaked down his face involuntarily.
“Sowrry.” Snitter added rather quickly, pushing himself up to sit. The world fet like it was soggy, bloated with water and off-kilter beyond words. “Whassat jingling?”
A clear of his throat followed, productive and wet and sticky. “Shit, really.”
Carefully parting the swollen lids, he peered into the bloody orb that gazed melancholically back at him. A pang of empathy broken across the War Boy’s chest as he gave a small breath, surveying the rest of the damage. “Fack,” Hoss muttered, “ain’ lookin’ too hoigh eithah..”
Reaching to the knot that kept the bag in place, the Gunner scratched at the other’s smooth scalp in reassurance. “Oi uh..w’s able ta snag me sahm tabl'ts, Organic says it’s good fah Windpipe-Cloggies…” Eyes cast downward in concentration, he produced a mound of nine small, uneven green-brown compressed capsules in his palm. He peered back and forth, from the sick Boy to the caps, searching for recognition or relief. “‘Ese are 'em.”
“Gee, thanks.” Snitter replied, voice dulled and nasily with the stuffiness of his sinuses. A short grumble followed, and he leaned into the Blackback’s oil slick touch. There was something to be said about the calming effect of a warm, oily palm against Snitter’s brow, especially when he was unwell.
“Jus’ swallow ‘em, then?” The question followed quickly, and the War Boy plucked one of the capsule’s from Hoss’s palm. Honestly, out of every month-at-a-time spell of sickness, Snitter had never seen proper medical attention. He had never been sent to the OM’s hall, avoided it like the plague.
“Bloody /rude/, idn'it?” Hoss ventured, a jingling sack around his hip as he moved with a nondescript limp. “Bahkin’ loike ya know who’s walkin’ in, aye?” Circling the mass of bags below the other, he knelt and sighed softly, reaching down with a creased brow.
“…‘ow'ya feelin’, mate?..”
The tired War Boy lifted his head, straining swollen eyes open. The sclera were no longer pink, but blood red and crackling with burgundy veins. Moisture pooled along the creases of Snitter’s waterline, and streaked down his face involuntarily.
“Sowrry.” Snitter added rather quickly, pushing himself up to sit. The world fet like it was soggy, bloated with water and off-kilter beyond words. “Whassat jingling?”
A clear of his throat followed, productive and wet and sticky. “Shit, really.”
Snitter still lay in bed-- read, on the floor-- his nose red and eyes puffy. Allergies had always been a terrible thing.
“Go ‘way. Oi’m tired.”
