#n+2

[nova-skittle]

what if i made a silly lim. life pearl design and put into a lockscreen size

[lamina-tsrif]

1 seems to be very captain sparklez colors mayyybbbee?

dad sparklez? spare dad sparkles please ma’am

[oursnoirphotos]

[somuchbetterthanthat]

Whumptober, Day 2: explosion 

The world is made of smoke and pain and a loud, high noise ringing in his ears when Tim manages to take a breath. Breathing is not a relief, quite the contrary; it makes him cough and something metallic fills his mouth. It occurs to him, as he tries to blink without being able to see anything, that he is dying. 

He did not think he would have time to think about it, but when has ever been that lucky? So he’s going to die. Big deal. He pulled on that trigger knowingly -- or as close as he could in the midst of all the mindfuckery that’d been going on... He takes another breath, and it hurts just as much as the last. Why couldn’t it be quick?

“Tim,” says a voice; it sounds very far away, barely recognizable. 

He opens his mouth. Tries to say “Jon?” and coughs again.

Then, there is the hand; even now, even like this, Tim is immediately aware that this is a not a human hand. It has human fingers, yes, five of them that curl almost gently, carefully around Tim’s forearm, its thumb rubbing almost soothingly at his burn skin, making Tim whimper, but it’s also cold and too rigid, its skin feeling weird and melted against Tim’s, and he freezes in horror. 

“Fuck off,” he says; hopes that he manages to say it. “Fuck off you stupid creepy mannequin -”

“Tim,” repeats the voice. “Tim.”

It is low and sweet and familiar, and Tim feels like he’s going to be sick. 

“No,” he says. “No, no -”

“I wish I could fix you,” says the voice that cannot be Danny’s. It is very close to his ear now. “But i’m very tired, and my skin hurts.”

“No,” Tim repeats, but it’s weaker now. He feels dizzy and warm and blood keeps leaking from his lips, but he can’t feel his legs anymore, and cold plastic nestles next to him. 

“Tim,” it says again. “Tim, I think i’m scared.”

Tim wants to yell; Tim wants to cry; Tim wants to laugh. 

Tim says, his voice hoarse and small: “It’s ok, Danny. I’m scared too. It’ll be alright soon, though.”

“Tim.” There is something nuzzling his shoulder. It says his name, again, and again, like a broken record, and Tim finds himself murmuring: “It’ll be alright, Danny. It’ll be alright.” the world is fading, slowly, almost gently now. 

Tim tries to take another breath; his chest is not rising. “It’ll be alright,” he tells himself softly. “We’ll be together soon.”  

[perfect-album-covers]

[prada-archive]

NAIVES NAOMI CAMPBELL PHOTOGRAPHY PAOLO ROVERSI STYLING BABETH DJIAN MIXT(E) MAX N° 2 SPRING/SUMMER 1997

[ilsolenonlasciamailaluna-blog]

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Alexander Milov - Love

Franco 126, Tommaso Paradiso - Stanza Singola

[richardarmitagefanpage]

Hammer Films talks about The Lodge.