pathologic but it's a lost 1920s german expressionist film [id under cut]
[id:
image 1: a digital drawing of a fake poster, using bright colours and rough, painterly brushstrokes. the title, 'pest' (german for 'plague'), is written at the top in spiky black text. in the foreground a man dressed as a tragedian is staring intently at the viewer, his hands raised and splayed as if in horror. in the background, the town is framed against a red sky, with the polyhedron in yellow behind.
images 2 and 3: fake casting sheets for the film, with the names of the actors and the characters they are playing above a black-and-white portrait photograph of them. all the text is in german. in english it reads:
'Pest', a film by Robert Wiene
Alfred Abel as Victor Kain
Ernst Busch as Grief
Lil Dagover as Katerina Saburova
Ernst Deutsch as the Bachelor
Carl de Vogt as Vlad the Younger
Marlene Dietrich as the Inquisitor
Willy Fritsch as Mark Immortell
Alexander Granach as Andrey and Peter Stamatin
Bernhard Goetzke as General Block
Dolly Haas as the Changeling
Ludwig Hartau as the Haruspex
Brigitte Helm as Anna Angel
Brigitte Horney as Maria Kaina
Emil Jannings as Big Vlad
Gerda Maurus as Yulia Lyuricheva
Lothar Menhert as Georgiy Kain
Asta Nielsen as Lara Ravel
Ossi Oswalda as Eva Yan
Fritz Rasp as Stanislas Rubin
Conrad Veidt as Alexander Saburov and Tragedian
Paul Wegener as Oyun
Gertrud Welcker as Aspity
image 4: four digital sketches of set designs for various locations. all are strongly influenced by expressionist imagery, using extreme angles, warped perspective, and dramatic shapes. they are labelled 'street 1' (a street lined with houses), 'street 2' (a square with a lamppost and a set of steps), 'polyhedron exterior' (the polyhedron walkway), and 'cathedral interior' (the dais at the far end of the cathedral).
image 5: four digital drawings in a black-and-white watercolour style, showing fake stills from the film. all are similarly distorted and lit by dramatic lighting. the first shows katerina's bedroom, with katerina standing in the centre of the floor. the second shows the interior of an infected house. the third shows daniil staring out of the frame in horror, one hand on his head and the other raised as if to ward something off. the fourth shows an intertitle with jagged white text reading 'the first day' against a dark background.
end id.]
422 notes
·
View notes
stsg x angel
˚ ༘ ೀ⋆。˚⋆˚🐾˖°⋆。°🎧•‧.₊˚🐰₊˚⋆⭒。⋆୨୧˚˚ ༘ ೀ⋆。˚⋆˚🐾˖°⋆。°🎧•‧.₊˚🐰₊˚⋆⭒
snippet: measly 0.5k of an insight into my poly!stsg brain. reader is neutral!
warnings: stsg it it's own warning. suggestive language, suggestive dom/sub behavior and dynamics. reader being a pouty angel ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ✩‧₊ also, proabably poorly edited
author's note: dawg i just had some inspo and had to put thoughts to paper. and i must share! please enjoy my brain rot, my little clan of followers and those who will be searching in these tags.
˚ ༘ ೀ⋆。˚⋆˚🐾˖°⋆。°🎧•‧.₊˚🐰₊˚⋆⭒。⋆୨୧˚˚ ༘ ೀ⋆。˚⋆˚🐾˖°⋆。°🎧•‧.₊˚🐰₊˚⋆⭒
“Would you suck the strap?”
“It’s seven thirty in the morning, Satoru. Please don’t start right now.”
“But I’m serious!”
“Shut up, Suguru is still sleeping.”
“I’m not.”
You palm your face, glaring at Satoru through your fingers, “You woke him up.”
“I doubt me talking about your sexual tendencies woke up the household princess.”
“Can you just flip the pancakes?”
“Oh, you’re making pancakes?” Suguru murmurs, gruff and syrupy. His hair is haphazard, yet silky and smooth. The frizzled strands frame his angular, gaunt face. It’s too cold for there to be color in his face, kissed by late moonlight instead.
“Yes, like the mother hen I am.”
Suguru has a sleepy, languid smile on his face when he watches you roll your eyes. You’re in the prettiest pajama set- cozy and warm and accentuated, eyes still riddled with sleep, head of hair a little out of place. But the light flooding the kitchen makes your cheeks glow.
“We don’t need a mother hen in the house.”
“Oh, please,” Satoru snorts, waving around a spatula with chunks of gooey batter threatening to splash against the back of the kitchen wall, “‘Toru, please make me some breakfast. Toru, I’ll give you a kiss if you-“
“I didn’t say that.” You bark, brows furrowing. Placing your hands on your hips, you frown.
Satoru beams. “You might as well have- it was with your eyes.”
“My eyes?” There’s a pout on your face when Suguru has the audacity to smile. “They were half closed when I walked into the kitchen this morning-“
“They wouldn’t have been if you drank the tea I made you-“
“I did drink it.”
“Oh?” Satoru’s lips quirk, satisfaction apparent in his shrewd smile. “You’re such a good pet for listening.”
Your cheeks burst into flames, mortification further trailing into the deep lining of your gut when the little, white haired freak has the audacity to coo. Suguru holds a hand up, and both of you quiet. Submission is a small word compared to what authority he can pull from the two of you.
“It’s seven thirty in the morning, Satoru.”
And you smile, looking at the man who might as well have hung the moon and stars and sun himself. Shit, he might as well be the sun. The gravitational pull of the planet of you and Satoru that make it bearable living together.
That shatters briefly when he murmurs slyly to Satoru as he flips a partly burnt pancake, “Give it at least an hour or two before you start making her look like that.”
“Suguru.” You whine and he smiles the type of smile that melts your insides.
Huffing a breath, he tells you about going to get ready, to be good before he leaves the kitchen- abandoning you and Satoru in a vice like silence. There’s a pout on your face, laboriously crawling onto the kitchen counter to swing your sock-covered feet while the devious little shit continues to stack up pancakes as though there were four more of you in the house.
But they have an insatiable appetite, so it's a comment you hold with a bite of your tongue.
410 notes
·
View notes
imagine going to a haunted house with your friend, she gets so freaked out she runs ahead and you trip and fall and can’t catch up to her.
ghost sees you, stalking toward you with a knife and you suddenly can’t breath, tears streaming down your cheeks as you choke on a sob and beg for him to stop.
you’re hyperventilating, trying to crawl away but backed into the corner of the hallway, and you’re absolutely shaking from fear. it’s hard to catch your breath, feeling like your chest is collapsing in on itself, fat tears still falling and dripping from your jaw.
ghost puts the knife away, holds out his hands in a placating manner but you’re still too scared, still begging him to stay away.
he uses a radio to call for someone, and you watch as a gentleman — no costume, no fake blood or weapons — comes to you. ghosts turns the other way to keep others away as the man crouches in front of you, blue eyes deep with worry, a frown pulling on his lips.
“you’re alright, sweetheart,” he says in this raspy drawl. “can you walk for me?”
all you can do is whimper and shake your head, unable to stop glancing over his shoulder, wondering if ghost is going to come back, if someone else — someone worse — will appear in his stead.
“i gotcha,” he says, carefully scooping you up in his arms, making sure to not jostle your ankle too much as he takes you through a door, the atmosphere not as suffocating.
he gently places you on a chair, still worried, checking you over for anything he might’ve missed. he looks so soft, his distinct facial hair trimmed and kept, eyes gentle.
“‘’m john,” he says, and you find it within yourself to give him your name back.
he politely ignores the crack in your voice.
“you okay?” he asks as he places a hand on your knee, rubbing his thumb gently over and over.
“m-my friend,” you begin, voice thick and tears pooling at the corners of your eyes, catching on another hiccup. “she really wanted to go to this but none of our other friends wanted to and she looked so sad and i hate scary stuff, but i went with her anyway and then i tripped and she ran off and never came back for me,” you babble through increasingly thickening tears, reaching out for his shoulders and curling your fingers into his shirt, for comfort, to ground you.
he cups your cheek, thumb wiping away your tears, holding back his tongue on how your friend left you.
“let’s get you out of here, hm?”
259 notes
·
View notes