lmfao that has got to be a pain in the ass to do
i wrote a limerick for some mick jerkoff once

I really don’t care.
     I honestly do not care.
Spare me your stories.

(出典: kyoushu)


     ’tis not a haiku—
Close enough.

Double Trouble

[ numericalassassin ]

Zer0’s first thought upon seeing the face of his supposed double is not about how frightening or otherworldly he is, no, it’s about Atlas. How could they have been trying to imitate this creature and fail so completely. He’s surprised to note that he’s insulted, not for himself but for this other Zer0. They didn’t even try.

Wordlessly he returns the gesture, releasing the seals on his own mask with a hiss, pulling the piece forward and up until his head is revealed, not quite human anymore with the mods occupying much of the right side of his face, but far more so than the being standing before him. Both unmasked, the illusion of similarity is utterly shattered.

"They didn’t even try." He says, his voice strange to his own ears without the helmet’s speaker system, his tone disgusted at Atlas’ failing. Nothing like the resounding, lyrical speech of the other before him. Blue eyes, one mechanical and glowing bright, sweep across the creature’s ‘face’ as it were, caught somewhere between remaining fear and awe.

                    The hum he emits is a pleased one in response to the reaction that he is given to his true appearance, unblinking oculars observing silently the removal of the identical veil that hides what his imitation was created from the world. It’s true, Atlas had hardly made much of an attempt when it came to the many series of assassins created in Zer0’s likeness in an attempt to replicate the original Eridian race. It’s a laughable notion, but laughter is a foreign concept to his kind.

                    "—They didn’t have proper information."

                    After all, that was not far from the truth. Just as Hyperion and the other Vault Hunters did not, Atlas had known just as much about Zer0 as they had—which was close to nothing, save for fluid, poetic speech and rhythmic movement, knowledge of advanced technologies that gave him abilities far beyond the grasp of mere humans. The revelation of just how inaccurate they’d been, however, urges him to press forward, the sound of footsteps falling on the ancient planet nonexistent as he steps forward, the tips of hidden fingers carefully reaching up to prod at the intricate circuitry laced with human genes.

                    Disgusting what humans would do, with the promise of power.

                    Like a thick layer of skin, the suit dissipates from claws, the digistruction following the same concept of his weaponry as it retracts to a hidden sheath stored amongst his body. Fingertips are like daggers, curiously picking and prodding at parts revealed by the simple removal of the helm—but in return, he’s revealing himself, becoming vulnerable in the face of the one person upon this ball of dust who could possibly deserve it. And by the time his shoulder has been revealed, a skeletal wing outstretches itself, the plasmatic webbing and feathers igniting like a slagged fire. As the last remaining Eridian, once he’s revealed himself from the suit, he has full control of the substance—it’s a fuel.

Artist: Sneaker Pimps
Album: Splinter
Song: Lightning Field
Plays: 189
Double Trouble

[ numericalassassin ]

"What can you be then, that I was killed to make this, an imitation."

Something told him he didn’t want to know. He didn’t want to have anything to do with this creature that looked like him but was so cold and dead. He wanted to run, for the first time in his life he wanted more than anything to turn and run in the opposite direction, take shelter with his friends rather than stay here and have everything he’d ever known torn down around him.

But he wanted to know. He wanted to see what the point of his nightmares was, why he had been condemned to create the creature he was now. So he stayed, his heartbeat echoing in his ears like drum beats.

                    That is all the confirmation that Zer0 required to begin revealing his true identity to the one person who could possibly deserve to see such. No verbal response comes, simply a bodily shift as his weight rests upon one taloned foot, empty hands lifting to the helm that hides him from the gaze of those who choose to look upon. There’s a lingering moment as fingers hook into the hidden hinges that keep the helmet sealed to the thick, thermal suit, releasing its grip upon the back before he’s carefully prying the mask away—

                                        And what lies beneath is nothing close to human.

                    Upon removal, it comes clear just why a voice distortion tool is necessary—more, a translator, it should be called, as the structure of his frame allows no room for a vocal system any akin to those possessed by the species that has come to habitate Pandora. There is no mouth, no nose, no ears, simply hollow caverns in which eyes lie; several dark, colorless masses, scattered about what would be a human face if he were related to the species even in the slightest.

                    When he chooses to make another vocalization, it’s a resounding sound, a deep hum that breaks and softens, each intonation caught by the translator within the helmet that remains clutched within the grasp of flexible dactyls.

                    "How inaccurate, Atlas crafting me human. I am far from such."

                                        There is far more to this form possessed as well, but he chooses to give his imitation time to take in what has been revealed to him—after all, learning such a factor must take a lot out of a person.


[ death-from-above-bitches ]

"What, you gonna kill me or something? Repawn for around here is free, fucker!"

The man taunts, snickering to himself before starting off. He found it kind of funny that Handsome Jack thought these guys were Bandits. Bandits killed everything and stole cars, made their own guns, burned eachother alive for, meh, the fuck of it.

                    "No, but if you choose not to do as I say, I will certainly make you wish you were dead—and once you respawn, I will hunt you down and do it all again."

                    Funny, bandit, but Zer0 highly classifies the likes of you within that very same category. Tread lightly, and keep in mind that Zer0 is not exactly the sort of being that a normal human should choose to trifle with.






[ justadderidium ]

She jumped backwards from the bright light of the….sword.  Her lips curled back slightly in a small snarl, he was messing with her.

She uncrossed her arms and took a ‘casual’ battle ready stance, looking at him through narrowed eyes.  “I just think I might now that you offered.”

                    Rather than verbally respond, he takes out the particular bandit that he’d crossed paths with, flicking the putrid copper away once the fresh corpse falls with a simply toss of his wrist before the digistructing weaponry is sheathed once more.

                    She is not his target; therefore, he will not bother attacking her unless she initiates a fight first. Continuing on his way, he says no more.


[ bad-maw ]

Bad Maw gave one sharp laugh as he took in the appearance of the assassin. He was a scrawny thing, and just as short as everyone else in comparison to him.

You’re suppose to be some expert killer or somethin’? Right.”

                    "Expert killer is one way to put what I do. I assassinate."

                    And the assassin says no more, choosing to continue on his path straight through to the Bloodshot Stronghold as if it’s none of the large nomad’s concern to bother with interrupting this invasion.