#...uh

TOWA'S ATELIER

a playlist inspired by and dedicated to Slow Damage (スロウ・ダメージ)'s main protagonist, Towa. dissociation, falling in and out of conciousness, sex, alcohol, sadomasochism, suicidal thoughts, a feeling of being hollow. a walking corpse. wandering aimlessly around town. collapsing in an alleyway hoping someone finds and hurts you. sketching, compulsively, for hours. your hand aches. the dizziness and blurred vision from painting for hours on end feels so comforting and familiar. a foreign face in the mirror. [ENTER] featuring: Nine Inch Nails, Primal Scream, Yves Tumor, Portishead, New Order, Sneaker Pimps, Massive Attack, Gorillaz, Bob Marley, Vanessa Daou, BUCK-TICK's Sakurai Atsushi, Elisabeth Fraser, Julee Cruise & Angelou Badalamenti with music from Twin Peaks, Boy Harsher...and some more.

Cross X Dust !..

...Crust? Or so I've seen others call the ship that

..Or a friend would say, 'Pizza Crust'.

Cross (Xtale/Underverse) belongs to Jael Peñazola on YouTube, otherwise known as jakei95 on Tumblr

LV 20 Cross, concept, belongs to withtheworms

↑ I think? Correct me if I'm wrong ↑

Leah woke with a start and tried to jolt upright, only to find herself already sitting.  Sitting and-and tied, bound to a chair, fastened in turn to the concrete floor, and surrounded by stacks of shipping containers.  She wriggled, thrashed, pulled at the restraints.  When that failed, she glanced around, looking for hidden eyes or cameras, before flexing the spines on her arms.  They made a mess of her sweater sleeves, but somehow missed every rope—

—and then the ropes squeezed tighter, straining her ribs with a subtle squelch, and she realized they weren’t ropes at all.

Well.  This should be easier, at least.

She huffed, or tried to, and glared into the darkness.  Still nothing.  She elected to start the quipping anyway.  “Really, Coral?  I know you’re petty, but this is ridiculous.  Kidnapping isn’t a good look on you.  And neither is stealing my bit!”

“She’s not here.”

Leah half-managed to swallow a yelp and jerked her head upwards.  Atop the nearest pile, framed in feeble moonlight, crouched a figure, too plain for Coral and too tall for Parrot, with pale, unblinking eyes.

“Not yet, anyway.”

“Oh, you are dead meat, you know that!?”  The chair rattled underneath her as she struggled again; the restraints (seaweed?  Tentacles?  Whatever) kept squeezing, but she ignored them.  “This city belongs to the Crown of Thorns!  Those campy supers only stay here because we let them, and the second the Crown gets here, she’s gonna rip you to shreds!”

A pause, with nothing but her grunts and heavy breathing.  And then a huge splat, mere inches from her, and another as she shrieked.  A third.  Several long, fleshy things, bristling and damp, and utterly, utterly still.

Starfish arms.  Intact, yet unmoving.

She stared into those blank eyes.

“No, I don’t think she will.”