Cape Schmidt sits at the northeasternmost corner of Siberia, a place that is by definition remote. But even by that measure, this former Soviet airbase is particularly desolate, a place so devoid of light and color that every photo Andrey Shapran made there appears to be black and white.

SEE MORE: Explore an eerie Soviet base at the edge of the world.


i’m just going to start a running list of anders and fenris wank whenever i see it. i don’t think people realize how much people hate both of them, and for literally the same reasons (they always complain about mages/templars, they’re so whiny, i couldn’t wait to give him back/stick a knife in his back). if you don’t want to see this post, please block it. i am tagging it, and any time i reblog it with new ones, #glowstick fanwank, along with #anders critical, #fenris critical, and #fandom critical. 


Explore an Eerie Soviet Base at the Edge of the World

Cape Schmidt sits at the northeasternmost corner of Siberia, a place that is by definition remote. But even by that measure, this former Soviet airbase is particularly desolate, a place so devoid of light and color that every photo Andrey Shapran made there appears to be black and white.

The haunting images in Cape North reveal a forgotten place where snowdrifts cover abandoned military equipment and buildings crumble from age and neglect. You can almost feel the cold, and the desolation. “There isn’t a living soul around,” Shapran says.

(Continue Reading)


Garbage von martin
Über Flickr:
France, Sony a7R, Zeiss Batis 25mm F2

anonymous asked:

Nine, can you tell us stories about the moors? Pretty please? What are your favorite parts? Do you have any favorite places or favorite photographs?

We don’t have moors in Ireland! At least, whatever combinations of hills, wetlands, fens, bogs, shrublands, peatlands, dunes, heathlands and forests we have aren’t called moors. What we do have (among many many other wonderful geographical features) is the Burren, an area of limestone karst on the west coast.

As I learned in every geography class since I was nine years old, karst is formed when acid rain seeps through the cracks on sheets of limestone, eroding as it goes and forming underground caverns, fissures, and sinkholes, and a landscape that looks like this (x):

The Burren is like dreary windswept moors but even more bleak, inhuman, and desolate. Standing in the middle of a field of karst is like standing in the middle of the moon. The last time I went to the Burren we stopped at Ailwee Caves, and we walked down under the earth, past a den of cave-bear bones, into a cavern spanned by a man-made footbridge, and the guide turned off all the lights and the darkness of the underland swallowed us, every  cell. (Also we saw baby owls and peregrine falcons and the bird handler gave me an African vulture feather, which I still have, though my dog has since eaten it a bit.)

We also have bogs. If you have been following me for a while, you probably have heard me talk about the bogs before - how they are older than every single trace of civilisation that has ever polluted this country, how thousands of years ago they were used as offering-spots into which sacred kings were given at the end of their terms, how they occasionally spit out bodies (peat-cured and perfect) like Old Croghan Man and Cashel Man, as well as bog butter, gold, armour, crowns, and weapons. How they are home to the last of the Gods from Below, the great Irish elk, bog-black and enormous:

(That’s the Natural History Museum here in Dublin. For the record, last time I visited I was precisely as tall as that first leg-joint. They are very, very large.)

Bogs are blackland, unknowable, life-in-death, death-in-life, all things in eternal resurgence. They provided jobs, kept the Irish warm, housed our ancient bones, swallowed our kings. This is the Bog of Allen:

Isn’t it beautiful?

Discord Chat

I created a discord chat for Desolate Village, this chat would be where I will mostly be posting things about the re-make. Since I’m using this chat to help me improve the game a lot. Because there was a few things I didn’t like about the original one. 

Also this chat would have a lot of spoilers to the plot of Desolate Village so if you haven’t play the game don’t join the chat.

If you have any Ideas for the remake or just a fan of the game, please stop by the Discord chat to give me a tip on how to make the game better. 

https://discord.gg/6Hae5dX <=== Link to the Chat.

Also thank you all for 100+ Followers, I will try to do something special. I’ll post information about this when I come up with the idea what to do (it might be a contest).  

some info about yours truly and his workplace.
it’s up to some revision.

a lone gas station plopped in the middle of nowhere. it’s on one side of sparse grassy dirt (it has a parking lot only fitting eight cars, excluding the four pumps there). there’s a two lane road right in front where passersby can go in or out. there’s no streetlamps aside from two which light the gas station. the gas station itself retains an older look, a retro design right out of a 60s photograph with the dirt and stains to show inside and out. 

when one stands outside at night there is only darkness all around, past the veil of its two lights. the star-studded sky much clearer among its desolate location, severed by population, the city or suburbia.

right across the gas station, past the old asphalt, two-lane road that’s plenty cracked, are cornstalks. a vast field of them that eventually lead over to a forest. the tree-infested expanse can be visible past the corn depending on the season. there have been rumors spread around by lifelong residents nearby (’nearby’ meaning several-mile radius)  who claim death fills the soil but not to the point it’s been entirely noticeable, just that it’s been a common thing and so few barely want to trek the woods across the gas station.

some have claimed new generations try follow in the footsteps, some screaming can echo off miles away and there’s a silhouette of a scarecrow that’s only moved positions later on in the night. sometimes it’s not even there at all. (it’s been gone most nights, really). 

there’s a hanging silence given the gas station is at a deadspot. bad cell reception that ernest tries to salvage when texting his friend. otherwise there’s not much to listen to - no radio, not a lot of internet-usage. it’s usually eerily silent. 

ernest has faced a few people that have made him uneasy, but those customers are dealt with in a manner of get-in-then-get-out.  he dawdles with the customers he’s semi-comfortable with so they can help ease off this weird feeling that occasionally stirs.  there’s several occurrences that have really made him feel compelled to quit.

More inside looks before the official launch of Heavy II this weekend in Sydney.

“In 1992, I traveled to South Central Los Angeles on assignment from Vrij Nederland, a Dutch weekly magazine, for a story on the destruction and rebuilding of the area after the Rodney King riots that broke out after the LAPD officers involved in his beating were acquitted. Being physically present in South Central following the riots touched me deeply. Driving around desolate streets that resembled a war zone, smelling the air, meeting people, coming into contact with the human toll of pervasive racial injustice—all of this had a significant impact on me. The reality of any explosive situation is at once more and less dramatic, and always more nuanced and complex than what the mainstream media can convey, so being there in South Central enabled me to be confronted with people’s individual and collective experience of a long and ongoing history of violent events.”

— Dana Lixenberg. (Imperial Courts)

Heavy II launches this Saturday, 10th of December, 6pm – 9pm
at the ACP Pop-Up Gallery, 118 Oxford Street, Darlinghurst NSW 2010.

For more information visit our events page here

anonymous asked:

What's your favourite era for each of the boys?

Gerard- Hesitant Alien
Frank- Death Spells
Mikey- Danger Days
Ray- Black Parade.
Though they were all damn fine in Desolation Row.

Over the Hills and Far Away

Where forlorn sunsets flare and fade
On desolate sea and lonely sand,
Out of the silence and the shade
What is the voice of strange command
Calling you still, as friend calls friend
With love that cannot brook delay,
To rise and follow the ways that wend
Over the hills and far away?

Hark in the city, street on street
A roaring reach of death and life,
Of vortices that clash and fleet
And ruin in appointed strife,
Hark to it calling, calling clear,
Calling until you cannot stay
From dearer things than your own most dear
Over the hills and far away.

Out of the sound of the ebb-and-flow,
Out of the sight of lamp and star,
It calls you where the good winds blow,
And the unchanging meadows are;
From faded hopes and hopes agleam,
It calls you, calls you night and day
Beyond the dark into the dream
Over the hills and far away.                       

「Melt In You」Sweet Pool Drabble

PAIRING: Tetsuo x Youji
WORDS: 300+
RATING: General
A/N: Me being “stop vomiting drabbles and work on your one-shots already”.


There’s only one way to warm you up.

Winter wind howled through the desolate marsh and bit at his frozen skin. Days were short, nights were long, the dampness creeping into his weary bones made his body ache. He rubbed his hands, blowing hot air into his palms as he stared into a distance, finding for that shadow he was already all so familiar with.

Winter wasn’t his favourite season; it chilled him from the inside, from the outside, it made him want to lie down and not do anything until spring made its way back into his lawn. He wasn’t weak, but there was just something with the cold weather that would never fail to slow his motions down and he hated that feeling.

With a soft sigh, he stared into the distance again, pulling his scarf up to cover his mouth before he caught sight of a shadow that had his eyes brightening.

The man seemed no less edgy than him; he moved in hasty steps, looking around, and stopped only when he spotted him.

He was about to step out of the station, but the man was quicker. He was almost running towards him.

“Waited for long?”

Winter was cold; it’s horrible. It drained the energy out of him – it was never his favourite season. But as he heard his voice, coupled with the look he was so very fond towards, nothing mattered anymore. The chilly breeze didn’t matter, the frostiness where his skin was exposed didn’t matter.

Because what mattered was the pair of warm palms pressed against his face, and the soft kiss on his lips that’d melted the ice within him.

“Let’s go home.” It was the same low voice, quiet yet gentle.

It was his favourite voice.

With a nod, he smiled, entwining their fingers together as they walked out of the station, the winter breeze no longer bothered him.