Discoholic ๐ชฉ
Today's Document
shark vs the universe
Origami Around
will byers stan first human second
Misplaced Lens Cap
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
Andulka
Noah Kahan
occasionally subtle
TVSTRANGERTHINGS
KIROKAZE
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PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
Janaina Medeiros
Cosimo Galluzzi
Game of Thrones Daily
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
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@sharedsoul
|| maria shepherd-sunderland written by Drak. pst time zone. multi-ship. main verse based on the leave ending. abilities adjust to verses with or without magic. please reblog memes and aesthetic from the source. โก follows back from corvidamned.
Starters | Fun Things | Open Starters | Rules | Bio affiliated: none yet!
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Greta Garbo in publicity stills for Torrent c. 1926
Silent Hill 3: 'God' (2003) Designed By: Masahiro Ito
Godโs face was based on the boss 'Mary' from Silent hill 2 and the arms were from Valtiel & Red Pyramid Thing.
Due to her imperfections and unnatural/hasty birth, as well as the hate and anger in Heatherโs heart, She is twisted and malformed, with her legs lacking flesh and ending at the knees appearing to not be much of an human, her spine and pelvis are visible.
God seems to posses no intelligence, lacking consciousness sentience and self awareness, much like a baby which has just been born. She is rather much a monster.
Resembling both the incarnations of God Incubus and Incubator In Silent hill 1.
The Company of Wolves (1984) | dir. Neil Jordan
Silent Hill 2 (2001)
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moschino, black swan dress
Cameron Diaz, W Magazine, 2006
The executioner offers an unceremonious shrug leaning on it's knife like it can't bare it's own weight. What is the purpose of this interaction? It should kill her, it knows that much, but curiosity is a fickle thing. It wanted to see what she wanted. What she hoped to gain by talking at something that cannot respond. It held no care for her, just another manifestation from one guilty conscious like the rest of everything that made up the other side.
It's fingers twitched, digging it's nails into it's gloved hand before moving to grab the edge of the pyramid atop it's head. How much longer until the loop kept going?
How much longer until it feels her warm blood on its hands? The closest to thing it'll ever come to showing another being affection. It wasn't certain. It was caught here the same as she was. They were mirrored paintings of a man's guilt with memories that were not entirely their own. Maybe she'll remember this time. Maybe she won't.
Maybe it'll kill her when this conversation inevitably ends. Maybe it won't.
The shrug doesn't comfort, but it's fair. Up close, he is still so strange and familiar. Tired and cold, while she flittered around him with such energy. Yet, by his veins and his breathing, she had to believe he was alive. Something made, but much different than her loathed mannequins who kicked and bruised and gathered en masse around her candles. And if reason is useless, why not go down the path of curiosity. Glacial eyes switch between his stance and the sudden grasp at his helm. Was it in pain? Her hands hover to help, not knowing how not to make it worse. She looks for a smooth side of the rust and lays her bare hand on it, then at the risk of being cut, does the same for the other side to try and hold him in place. Was it her fault?
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+ bonus:
The Holiday (2006) dir. Nancy Meyers
@desiderixm | continued She can feel his smile on his breath. It earns him an immediate glare with icy blue eyes. A stray strand of hair divides her face into unequal halves. Pink nails turn the stove off. Rust flashes between cold daylight visions of a woman who once hummed as she stirred. She grips her pot with both hands as if to present her supper with pride. The vision fades and Maria pours half the soup on the floor, then lets it tumble to the ground with a loud bang and a squelch. She steps around the mess, and past him, not even giving his arm a tantalizing drag on the way out. She wouldn't be what she is if she didn't fight her fate. Right of the hallway, he can find her clinging to the top of the stairwell, looking down at the depths below.
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๐ถ @sharedsoul for PH
๐๐ฎ๐ฌ๐ข๐ ๐๐๐ฆ๐
Send ๐ถ for a song that reminds me of your muse
๐๐ก๐๐ฐ๐ข๐ง๐ ๐ ๐ฎ๐ฆ
Thereโs a little piece of you Still catching on my ribbon Get it off, get it off, get it off, get it off, get it off! Cos I simply donโt love you Not again, not again, not again, not again, not again! Iโm not broken
@desiderixm | continued Her killer... She worked up the balls to speak to him. She might as well asked something worth asking. And now as he breathed enough to exude a plume of cold, she feels silly. Of course it is. She slicks one side of her blonde hair back, and drags her fingers down from the back of her neck and shoulder to her decote. There's a frustration here, but its not what he thinks. She knows what she was, what she had to be in that place. She knows her performance, her battle, earned her her life. She bents a boot behind her ankle, then takes one step closer. Why is she human? And not... like it? Is she both now, when candles and keepsakes and symbols in the blood give her chances at a price. She approaches as close as he would allow her to approach. "Will you kill me, when he's not here?" Would he feel the need to, outside of these loops?
