#deadlook

[fresh-san]

Inktober Day 4 - Dodge

[thingsphoenix21]

*After Hera caught Zeus with Metis* Zeus:I was trying to make her forgive me. Hera: For what? Zeus: Because I'm trying to be a better person for you. That's all I fucking do. Tell me what else can I do to make you believe that I love you! Tell me. Hera*looks down* Zeus: You are never gonna trusth me... Hera*deadlook*: Trusth you? You think that I should trust you? Zeus:Yes. Hera*chuckles*: Where has that ever gotten me? Zeus: You've never gonna forgive me are you? No matter what I do? You are just gonna keep brining it up every time. Hera: Because I don't trusth you.

[zainyyyy]

the dark circles under my eyes are almost as deep as my depression today

[grungeloopsy-blog]

Lighter 🥀☠️ #aestethics #aesthetictumblr #adorable #deadlook #grunge #grungelook #grungeaesthetic #tumblr #makemecry #vintage #indie #glitch #glitched https://www.instagram.com/p/BvdShVrltLH/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=h3mloexxtpuq

[arieann-pentagon-art]

For @avrii.sgutz . . #APen #TransgenderCartoonist #ArtTrade #blue #Deadlooking #PaleSkin #Longhair #Blackhair #Wideeyes #Male #Procreate #ipad #DigitalArt https://www.instagram.com/p/B-2xa5BlBWo/?igshid=1d1au9nep12lz

[sexx-me-down]

I shouldn’t look 👀 like this early this morning #selfie #me #deadlooking #zerouv https://www.instagram.com/p/BzI4e8fh7LgUtFcjymwSGQFVH7zVnkk6RoKu6c0/?igshid=7o7xukiebv53

[pabosu]

Uvnitř mrtvý? Jestli mě slyšíš a já vím, že ano... tak věř, jednou nad tebou vyhraju! #demon #demoninsideme #evil #psycho #crazy #insane #blackeyes #deadlook #dark #darkplace

[niikuty]

This is the result of the #photoshoot of today with #vascoinglez A little bit of #darkmakeup #dark #soul #rock and #metal But is not all ;-) wait to see the results! #corpspaint #corps #blackandwhite #deadlook (em Amadora)

[evenjabisa]

One of the restful thoughts I have discovered recently that keeping my positive attitude work right and easily made my life aspects accepted is "God's hand" behind every situation in my life..

-I lost something, that doesn't mean I don't deserve it, but god's hand stashes better and made cracking so far from me..

-Hurt by others, doesn't mean stop struggling toward my rights, but he mature me, and strength my weaknesses..

-get misunderstood, I figure out that, Allah saved me from strike pain and bad luck..

-I get into deadlook point into a dark tunnel, مش عارف بس ربنا هيتصرف وهينجيني..

-time of difficulty test our faith, our strength, Maybe god's hand meant to purifies our human soul..

We always ask God to cure us of our hardships but we never stop consider that our hardships are curing us..

مفيش فكرة في الحياة تخليها جميلة ومقبولة اكتر من حقيقة أن ربنا موجود مطلق في العدل والحق والكمال، ومن " فَإِنَّكَ بِأَعْيُنِنَا "..

[miraclesnail]

Writer’s Month Day 26: Wedding

Fandom: Percy Jackson and the Olympians

Pairing: Miranda/Will because I like crack pairs. Written in one go! No looking back! Editing done while writing it! No revising! Just putting the fingers on the keys and going wherever my mind takes me. 

Content: hurt/comfort

Miranda feels like she’s going crazy. 

Every second, she feels like throwing up. Not to mention her area surrounding her foot feels like utter crap. Not to further mention, the gross disrespect of her dignity from every one of her friends. They think they’re being sneaky, coming in to check on the inventory or to find a piece of paper or to clean but she can clearly see the side eyes they make. 

“They’re just worried about you,” Will says offhandedly, not looking up from writing in his notebook. 

“They should be more worried about food. Who’s going to go scavenging now?”

“Percy will.” 

“And who’s going to fend off the zombies?”

“Percy will.”

“And who’s going to—”

Will sighs and stands, walking over to sit on the foot of her makeshift bed made of layers of blankets over cardboards on a bed frame. His smile is exasperated, but still kind and Miranda reminds herself to reel back the complaining. At least, when Will is present. Katie will listen to all her ranting without getting tired. 

“Miranda, listen to me. Percy will take care of everything and if it proves too much, we have Clarisse and Michael. You just worry about getting better.” 

“I do feel better,” she argues, “I can go out now.”

And to demonstrate this, she moves the covers away and throws her leg off the bed frame before Will can say anything. The moment her injured foot hit the tile, her vision blacks out and the nausea becomes overwhelming. She distantly hears Will shouting and the cold metal of the bucket being pressed into her hands. 

She stops holding back the vomit and let loose, emptying out barely anything. Oh god, she misses Camp Half Blood. Dimly, she’s aware of Will holding back her hair and his hand rubbing her back. When she finally stops heaving, Will takes the bucket from her and help move her back to the bed. 

“Don’t say it,” she groans as her head falls back on the raised pillow.

But Will still says it. “I told you so.” 

“Ahhhhh, I told you not too.” 

“I told you so.” 

Miranda groans again and stares at the ceiling. She never tries to think about it, but she can’t feel her foot. She can’t wiggle her toes. The lie she told herself that it’ll heal, that it’s nothing, that it’s just an infection and nothing Will can’t fix, that the despairing look on Will’s face is for the world and not for her, is becoming harder and harder to believe. She never asks and Will never tells her, but it’s time she asks and for Will to tell her.

“Will I get better?”

Will didn’t hesitate. “I’ll make sure you get better.”

“That didn’t answer my question.”

“You will get better,” Will says firmly. 

You didn’t answer my question. 

The days pass in boredom. Moving her foot causes unbearable pain in the surrounding areas, but the area of numbness is spreading inch by inch everyday. It scares her. It terrifies her. Every hymn Will is trying isn’t working. Percy’s transfer healing isn’t working. Nothing is working. 

“It’s not going to happen. Stop thinking about it,” Will hisses, eyebrows scrunch together as he scribbles furiously in his notebook. 

“I didn’t even say anything.”

“I can see it on your face.” 

“You’re not even looking at me!”

“I can feel it in the air,” Will corrects, finally closing his notebook to sit on the foot of her bed. He moves the blankets aside and Miranda looks away from what is probably her very deadlooking foot. She holds back her grunts and wince as Will jostles her foot. 

He sings a hymn, but she didn’t feel a change. And Will curses, taking out his notebook and scribbling some more. She takes a breath and glances at her leg. It’s as bad as she pictures and she quickly looks away. Disgusting. Gross. So very very gross.

“Don’t worry. I’m on the verge of a breakthrough,” Will mutters.

“You shouldn’t lie. You’re not very good at it,” Miranda jokes, but she shouldn’t be talking. The fear isn’t concealed very well in her voice either.

Most of her days are spent just staring at the ceiling and talking with whoever is available. Most days it’s with Katie and Clarisse. Nico and Percy avoids her. Michael is too busy, Will too. Even though he’s always with her, he’s working all the time on a cure. Recently though, Katie and Clarisse stop visiting. They exhausted the local area of supplies already and have to look further out. More time scavenging, less time for her. Makes sense.

No doubt, she is bored. Crazy, crazy bored. Bored enough, she’s ready to attempt walking again. Whenever Will isn’t looking, she uses her bokken to bring her closer to the edge. She notices Will has certain tics. When he’s scribbling, his focus is very surface. Any noise she makes, he’s quick to pick up on. But when he has his pen in his mouth and he’s staring at the ceiling, he’s focusing very deeply. Only her screaming will get his attention. 

That’s when she’s going to do it. 

She watches until Will is deep in thought, before throwing the covers aside, sitting up, and very, very gingerly placing her poor foot on the ground. It burns, but she’s going to get up and stretch even if she passes out. With her precious bokken as her cane, she uses it as leverage to get to her feet. 

Aw, fuck.

Her knees buckle. 

She fells forward rather than backwards. 

Her hands slams on the tile loudly.

She holds back her scream, teeth digging into her cheeks.

And when the pain finally dims enough for her to be aware of her surroundings, Will is still deep in thought. She’s going to get away with this!

The door clicks open. Katie enters. 

Aw jeez, she’s not going to get away with it.  

She ends up getting a 30 minute lecture from Katie and a 15 minute one from Will. Not as bad as it could be, honestly. Maybe it was her crying from the lingering pain that lessen her punishment.

And I didn’t finish it. I’m sad :(

[fresh-san]

Inktober Day 1 - Dream

[arteydesobediencia]

and you are feeling

the beats, the music, the coldness of your own pale deadlooking hands

and your head keeps spinning and you feel kinda dizzy

AND THEN YOU THINK YOU FEEL SICK!!!

that you're gonna tHrOW UP!!

but you don't because pff i'm a 20 year old i'm literally an ADULT

maybe they were too many bongs, it was after your looooong "t break" (withdrawal symptoms) after all

why are you writing you, stupid dUDE

i'm not a dude

i'm not anything

fuck.

[leocuccittini]

if theres anyone i trust to lose to a one legged man, it’s andrey

JANNIK ON ONE LEG IS INSANE THO HES DOING SO WELL

i hate it here im gonna lose and win either way my deadlooking boiz sigh

[i-artofwar-i]

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[cuppahekate]

Today I celebrate all the sh!tty emotions and feelings 🤎 Recognizing 👉in the moment of anger and disappointment that I had a choice to rise up or stay down. I chose to to rise up by processing my feelings, to ground and take a nature walk. Along the way I discovered these wild rose hips. ❣ The first I've ever been able to find. I chose 3 red and 2 deadlooking ones. 5 total to represent the 4 elements and Spirit. 🌟 As I was harvesting I clearly felt I was looking at gifts of life and death, young and old. The bright colored rose hips of energy and the older, weathered skin of the crone. The wise crone. I gathered up the rose hips in my cupped hands 🤲 and slowly returned on my walk feeling the energy of the Crone Mother whispering in my soul and body Her wisdom, Her guidance. And I rose up with the medicine of rose hips. #rosehips #energy #energywork #celebrate #celebration #croneenergy #hekate #hecate #grounding #rooting #naturemedicine #crone #wisdom #soulwork #spiritualpractice #witchesofinstagram #energyworkersofinstagram #energetics #selfmastery #selfdevelopment #selfhealing #selfcare #emotions #feelings #elements #life #death #guidance #mentor #pineappleseasonishere https://www.instagram.com/p/CImo6bCJJ9F/?igshid=unjbeubp6x6o

[bobbyfischerhistory]

Fischer, Smyslov Play In Deadlock

New York Times, New York, New York, Sunday, September 20, 1959

Fischer, Smyslov Play In Deadlock American and Russian Draw in 7th-Round Adjourned Game of Chess Event Bobby Fischer, United States chess champion, played to a draw with Vassily Smyslov of the Soviet Union in their seventh-round adjourned game in the challengers' tournament at Bled yesterday. The 16-year-old Brooklyn student was cheered by his success in scoring half a point against a former world champion, with whom he is now in a quadruple tie for fifth place. It was an uphill struggle for the American inasmuch as the position, upon resumption, appeared to be favorable to the Russian. Fischer held his own in an ending that called for the most exacting calculation. Results of other pending adjourned games brought about important changes among the leaders. Tigran Petrosian, Soviet Union, until then the sole undefeated contestant, lost both of his unfinished games. He resigned after fifty-seven moves to Svetozar Gligoric, Yugoslavia, in the seventh and was then defeated by Fridrik Olafsson, Iceland, in the eighth round after sixty moves. Consequently, Paul Keres and Mikhail Tal, both of the Soviet Union, shared first place with scores of 5½-2½. Petrosian, at 4½-3½, dropped to a tie with Gligoric for third place. Gligoric also won in the eighth round from Paul Benko, Hungarian refugee from New York, in fifty-three moves.

https://bobby-fischer-1959.blogspot.com/2018/05/fischer-smyslov-play-in-deadlock.html

https://www.nytimes.com/1959/09/20/archives/fischer-smyslov-play-in-deadlook-american-and-russian-draw-in.html

https://www.facebook.com/BobbyFischerTruth/posts/556783168174498