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#tallyhalll #tally hall #tallyhall #marvins marvelous mechanical museum #joe hawley #zubin sedghi #rob cantor #andrew horowitz #ross federman #tally hall poster!!!#bora karaca #MMMM!!!!#me rn:#AAAAAAQAAAAAAQSKJAFNWRBKVCJBKE #!!!!!#GOING INSANE #BUT LIKE IN A GOOD WAY

#mmmm!!!!#letters from stephanie*#Spotify

we are born of the blood / made men by the blood / undone by the blood.

flaming holy sword cleaves through the body of a church servant, a hot spray of blood following its arch as the foe crumples to the ground with a garbled moan. axel doesn’t even notice it anymore; it has writ itself into the very pores and lines of his skin, has painted his attire a deep, rusty red, has made a home of his olfactory senses; it even sustains him now: it writhes within his guts, surges through his veins, makes a living inside his bones and embeds itself into his brain—calling / beckoning him ever further to the hunt. he cannot recall the last time he ate, the last time he rested ( oh, but the night is ever so long and the waking ever so far away ).

the crow cawing at him, dead wings flapping uselessly along the earth, is ignored as he makes his way towards the balcony overlooking the city yharnam. beside him, the cathedral rises; a towering structure still reminding of its former glory despite its crumbling / decaying façade. the red moon hangs low, casting feeble light over the surrounding darkness. a thick, purple haze pollutes the streets. the trees are dead, twisted things; stench of death and copper permeating the air: no sign of life for the growling and howling of the beasts below. and clinging to the cathedral’s once – proud walls, a lesser amygdala, its seven arms spread wide, its eyes piercing through stone and flesh and brain – if he were to listen closely, axel can imagine he hears her breathe ( oh, great one, bestow us mercy / show us with your many eyes what we should not be able to see; all insight granted is knowledge gained: but what of its consequence when it is but a madman’s knowledge? )

green eyes stare keen from under his hat’s brim, drawn, as ever, by the moon. the growling grows thicker, as if they sense his presence; or perhaps it is only in his own mind ( is this how it starts? was this how it started for you, my friend? ). a presence shifts next to him, bringing him back to the present. “ i see you got my summons, noctis, “ he addresses the vileblood appearing from the shadows, something akin to mirth briefly curling his mouth beneath the mask. “ how fares the queen? “

@ilmortale

#v. fear the old blood ( bloodborne )#ilmortale #mmmm!!!!#let's do this #also no need to match i was just .... all over the aesthetique #also the only time i'm ever using this desaturated psd tbh #just pretend he's wearing a hat and a cloth over his face