welcome to limbo fuckers

It's an extensive gallery of high-res images that includes such rare, behind-the-scenes treasures as:

Hugh Dancy and Laurence Fishburne hugging it out in front of a corpse

Mads Mikkelsen coyly showing off these guys

Hettienne Park posing with her own corpse

Dog eating hand

Hugh looking absolutely delighted to see Mads

Mads eating pencil

Hugh posing happily among array of near-naked actors

If angels were originally described as amalgamations of wings, eyes, and wheels of fire...

What if they were based on nebula and galaxies that could be seen from earth?

And I know like, not much of this IS visible at this level from earth, but our understanding is that the universe is currently expanding, and skies being darker before light pollution was a thing... What if?

but like, his face is like, “it’s one inconvenience after another.” he’d defo be rolling his eyes here if he had the energy

In a village nestled between tall pines children play Manberg Vs Pogtopia, the names of nations and reasons for war long forgotten as they hit each other with sticks and tackle their friends to warm summer grass.

When their mothers tuck them in that night they tell them stories of a snowy wasteland, so ancient it still holds the scars of long wars forgotten. They tell them of the wasteland’s inhabitant, the greatest warrior this world has ever seen. His name is lost to history but warriors still pray to him on the eve of battle and tie ravens feathers in their hair in his honor.

If the children misbehaved that day their mothers tell them a different story, one of a masked man who steals bad children and drowns them in the sea.

There’s a crater a few miles east of the village in the middle of the marshlands up by a glittering ocean. The crater is so deep that you can throw rocks off the edge and never hear them hit the bottom. Legend says that once upon a time the goddess of death had a son who walked this earth and when he died in her rage and grief she tore into the city that once stood there with her bare hands and ripped it from the earth leaving nothing but a crater behind.

On long sunny evenings in the inns that dot the coastline bards tell stories of a cursed city of gold and glass buried in the heart of a desert where it snows. They whisper the city is full of riches but nobody who looks for it ever comes back.

On stormy nights the Bards tell a different story, a story of a town that sits over a slumbering god. Strange things happen there. Red vines sport up over night. If you listen closely, the people say you can hear them talk. Everyone there has red eyes and cold cold hands.

If you start at dawn and ride in the opposite direction of the carter you can reach the vault before nightfall. The locals claim it used to hold a faceless god guarded by a king but time has weathered the vault’s defenses and the towns children dare each other inside its walls, running though the tight passages.