#*cotld

[uspiria]

City of the Living Dead (1980) dir. Lucio Fulci

[spraykit]

Greetings. How has your week been, fellow human person?

meh...

[allysr00m]

Pearl in Steven Universe and Izzy in Our Flag Means Death are similar characters to me, both are characters who get a ridiculous amount if undeserved love and do a load of abusive things to a character of colour or POC coded character while bring obviously white (everyone says Pearl is Asian cotlded but cone on she's literally got white skin and is a red head, peopke also say Izzy is everything coded), and the said poc cited character gets demonised for their response to the abuse, and both have a super toxic queer romantic attachment everyone acts like is wholesome, and both just show really gross creepy behaviour in general but get love no matter what, and both mess with personal ships I have and the ship that includes them is more popular (I ship Bismuth, Lapis and Peridot as a throuple but everyone loved that episode where its implied Bismuth likes Pearl, and I suuuuper ship Roach and Fang after that super cute scene with them in season 2, but people ship Izzy and Roach cos of one suggestion in one scene).

[ginwhitlock]

aj cook is a mormon. do with that what you will

SHES A WHAT??? I JUST THOUGHT SHE WAS A MILF I—

My type for women is just,,,, blonde, so this is disheartening and soul crushing. I will be praying abt this later 😖😞🤚🏼

[triales]

Anon / Fringilla said: DON’T LOOK BACK, THOSE DAYS ARE GONE.

            THE BED IS NOT SOMETHING THAT HE TAKES FOR GRANTED. It is not like the bed at Kaer Morhen. It is not like a tavern bed, either. And it certainly is unlike the bed at that shared room at Thanedd. But that was a long, long time ago. Outside, the cotld blisters the air. It is warm, to be here. The winter is too harsh for anything but cozying up, he thinks. His cheeks would flush with red were they capable of it. And that is precisely why they’ve decided to winter here. The Winter here is unlike any Winter he’s endured before ... woefully unlike a Winter at Kaer Morhen. Woefully unlike anywhere. 

            Here, there are no sharp edges. Like a Dream. 

            The bed is not something that he takes for granted. She, too, does not take it for granted. She uses it much to her advantage, with all sorts of creaks, squeaks, squeals. He touches her, too, with his hands, callused as they are. He smells not of waste, not of bloods and guts. He smells of herbs and sandalwood. She smells of something that he can’t quite put a finger on, Witcher Perception or no.  And what ever is it that she does causes the medallion around his neck to throb and shake violently. He does not question it. He questions, in fact, very little here.

            Geralt is quiet. In the same way that there are implicit truths, he is quiet. His chest heaves, and he squeezes her thigh. She sighs, satisfied. They sit, together, in silence. But she cannot sit in the unbearable, uncomfortable silence for long. And she suggests, then, something that makes him very unhappy--tardiness in its essence. Time wasted twists in his gut, like a knife. Like a hot knife, like a brand that’s been marinating in the heat of a fire, or a hearth, red hot. 

            It is pointless to reflect on What Could Have Beens. There are certain truths in existing. Every Witcher knows this--their life has been chosen for them. Fatalistic, perhaps, but true. It is pointless to dwell. He is here, and they are there, worlds away, his unnamed Gone.

            “There exist certain, individual truths that each person must come to accept ... their own unique, lived truths.” 

            It is a lofty ideal--a lie. It’s a good one, too. Like the fairy-tale land. Like the Medallion she has made for him. Like the ease that rests so carelessly on his shoulders. But there, too, lies the crux of the issue: certain lies are fragile, and only last as long as they are meant to. And she smells in a way that he cannot precisely identify. This, too, makes him uncomfortable ... much in the way that Fringilla, too, finds herself comfortable with Geralt. Like a Cat, ready to pounce. The Witcher’s smile is rotten, then. She thinks to herself that she’s gotten used to it, that she loves him, but she hasn’t. It’s vicious, savage, like white maggots squirming around in carrion, or a deer felled in the forest, toppled over to die in its own gore. Geralt shrugs.

            “Oh, well. You’re right, Fringilla.” 

[alphagatereal]

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[thatrareskykid]

This is Sage

They are a rebel bard, they play the flute and all of their outfit is based on sky: cotld

There is an ilusion over them, the first time you see them, you have to throw a D20, if the results are ≤10, you see them as a woman, if the results are ≥11 you see them as a man

Not even I know their true form

Hope you like them :D

They never take off their mask, but here are some examples to how they would look like:

I created a dnd character partialy based on my skykid

Anyone wanna see them?

[horrorfan0679]

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A post shared by Kenny Patton (@horrorfan79)

Finally got my replacement copy of COTLD today! So glad the special features work now! #nowwatching #cotyofthelivingdead specialfeatures #gatesofhell @arrowvideo

[uspiria]

City of the Living Dead (1980) dir. Lucio Fulci