#comes a bright day

[tuppencetrinkets]

~#75,000 icons of Imogen Poots, 200x100, slightly sharpened from: 28 Weeks Later, A Late Quartet, Black Christmas, Castle in the Ground, Centurion, Chatroom, Christopher and His Kind, Comes a Bright Day, Cracks, Filth, Frank and Lola, French Exit, Fright Night, Green Room, Greetings from Tim Buckley, I Know This Much is True, Jane Eyre, Jimi All is by my Side, Knight of Cups, Me and Orson Welles, Miss Austen Regrets, Need for Speed, Outer Range, Popstar Never Stop Never Stopping, Roadies, Rule Number Three, Solitary Man, Sweet Virginia, That Awkward Moment, The Art of Self Defense, The Father, The Look of Love, V for Vendetta, Vivarium, Waking Madison and Wish.

This content is free for anyone to use or edit however you like; if you care to throw a dollar or two my way for time, effort, storage fees etc you are more than welcome to do so via my PAYPAL.  Please like or reblog this post if you have found it useful or are downloading the content within.  If you have any questions or you have any problems with the links or find any inconsistencies in the content, etc. please feel free to drop me a politely worded message via my ASKBOX (second icon from the top on my theme!)

[crabsnpersimmons]

i'd love to celebrate my birthday with y'all! no pressure to say or do anything, just wanted to share and "invite" you all 🥰

[keymintt]

self-made north star

[dayurno]

it’s fucked up that some of kevin’s descriptors in-book by aftg narrators include words like unparalleled, brilliant, beautiful, disorienting and that riko thought kevin was smart and sharp-tongued and could see potential from a mile away and that every conversation at the winter banquet stopped as soon as kevin day walked into them. my brother you are a force of nature

[s0fter-sin]

soap's whole deal being sniper and demolitions gets me going bc on the surface they sound so different but when you get into it, you realise it's bc soap's smart

sniping is all math; calculating distances and wind interference and bullet drop. something i think people overlook is he was listed as a sniper first so it can be implied that he's better at it than demolitions. he does more sniping in both campaigns than demolitions work; in capture or kill, ghost specifically calls on him to take down the aq snipers

and demolitions is math with a hit of chemistry; knowing what mixes with what, knowing how much to use, recognising environmental factors and adjusting accordingly. it's not just about the boom; so much work goes into contained/ planned explosions. especially when having enough power for a breacher charge and not bringing down the whole building is the difference between mission success and failure

the chemical bombs he makes in alone can't just be any old cleaners, they have to have the correct reaction to each other; he just knew off the top of his head what would mix with what to create what reaction. he would also potentially have to recognise them by sight/smell bc they would’ve been written in spanish

soap would also have to know architecture; recognising structural integrity and weak points so he knows exactly where to plant a charge to bring it down and how it'll come down

he has an incredible soldier's mind people just forget that bc he's sociable which itself is a skill

we know he tends to buck against orders he doesn't agree with like when he pushes back against ghost in capture or kill and shepherd when he tells them to release hassan

he gets closer to people and sees if he can trust them and that's when he follows them without question. really think about how he talks to alejandro and rudy; he asks about their home and alejandro's family and rudy's relationship with him. those aren't questions you ask a stranger after a few hours of knowing them. that's not even touching on his relationship with ghost

he also deliberately brings people of higher ranks down to his level; talking informally with ghost and giving him a shoulder punch, addressing alejandro (a colonel!!) by his first name and rudy by his nickname despite literally just meeting them. he personalises all of them and it’s in direct opposition to the reason most characters do that; it’s not due to insubordination or lack of respect, the more he respects and trusts someone, the more casual he is with them

he digs into people; he wants to know what makes them tick and that determines if he can one, trust them and two, follow their orders. once he decides that, he's the ultimate soldier; he bleeds loyalty which makes him vicious when that loyalty is taken for granted

he isn't naive or bubbly or insecure; he's an incredibly smart and aware soldier. he's aggressive and bloodthirsty and loyal and intuitive and i love him so much

[novelconcepts]

There’s a line from American Gods I keep coming back to in relation to Yellowjackets, an observation made early on by Shadow in prison: “The kind of behavior that works in a specialized environment, such as prison, can fail to work and in fact become harmful when used outside such an environment.” I keep rotating it in my head in thinking about the six survivors, the roles they occupy in the wilderness, and the way the show depicts them as adults in society.

Because in the wilderness, as in prison, they’re trapped—they’re suffering, they’re traumatized, they’re terrified—but they’re also able to construct very specific boxes to live in. And, in a way, that might make it easier. Cut away the fat, narrow the story down to its base arc. You are no longer the complex young woman who weighs a moral compass before acting. You no longer have the luxury of asking questions. You are a survivor. You have only to get to the next day.

Shauna: the scribe. Lottie: the prophet. Van: the acolyte. Taissa: the skeptic. Misty: the knight. Natalie: the queen. Neat, orderly, the bricks of a new kind of society. And it works in the woods; we know this because these six survive. (Add Travis: the hunter, while you’re at it, because he does make it to adulthood).

But then they’re rescued. And it’s not just lost purpose and PTSD they’re dealing with now, but a loss of that intrinsic identity each built in the woods. How do you go home again? How do you rejoin a so-called civilized world, where all the violence is restricted to a soccer field, to an argument, to your own nightmares?

How does the scribe, the one who wrote it all out in black and white to make sense of the horrors, cope with a world that would actively reject her story? She locks that story away. But she can’t stop turning it over in her head. She can’t forget the details. They’re waiting around every corner. In the husband beside her in bed. In the child she can’t connect with across the table. In the best friend whose parents draw her in, make her the object of their grief, the friend who lives on in every corner of their hometown. She can’t forget, so she tries so hard to write a different kind of story instead, to fool everyone into seeing the soft maternal mask and not the butcher beneath, and she winds up with blood on her hands just the same.

How does the prophet come back from the religion a desperate group made of her, a group that took her tortured visions, her slipping mental health, and built a hungry need around the very things whittling her down? She builds over the bones. She creates a place out of all that well-intended damage, and she tells herself she’s helping, she’s saving them, she has to save them, because the world is greedy and needs a leader, needs a martyr, needs someone to stand up tall and reassure everyone at the end of the day that they know what’s best. The world, any world, needs someone who will take those blows so the innocent don’t have to. She’s haunted by everyone she didn’t save, by the godhood assigned to her out of misplaced damage, and when the darkness comes knocking again, there is nothing else to do but repeat old rhymes until there is blood on her hands just the same.

How does the acolyte return to a world that cares nothing for the faith of the desperate, the faith that did nothing to save most of her friends, that indeed pushed her to destroy? She runs from it. She dives into things that are safe to believe in, things that rescue lonely girls from rough home lives, things that show a young queer kid there’s still sunshine out there somewhere. She delves into fiction, makes a home inside old stories to which she already knows the endings, coaxes herself away from the belief that damned her and into a cinemascope safety net where the real stuff never has to get in. She teaches herself surface-level interests, she avoids anything she might believe in too deeply, and still she’s dragged back to the place where blood winds up on her hands just the same.

How does the skeptic make peace with the things she knows happened, the things that she did even without meaning to, without realizing? She buries them. She leans hard into a refusal to believe those skeletons could ever crawl back out of the graves she stuffed them into, because belief is in some ways the opposite of control. She doesn’t talk to her wife. She doesn’t talk to anyone. It’s not about what’s underneath the surface, because that’s just a mess, so instead she actively discounts the girl she became in the woods. She makes something new, something rational and orderly, someone who can’t fail. She polishes the picture to a shine, and she stands up straight, the model achievement. She goes about her original plan like it was always going to be that way, and she winds up with blood on her hands just the same.

How does the knight exist in a world with no one to serve, no one to protect, no reason propelling the devastating choices she had grown comfortable making? She rechannels it. She convinces herself she’s the smartest person in the room, the most capable, the most observant. She convinces herself other people’s mysteries are hers to solve, that she is helping in every single action she takes. She makes a career out of assisting the most fragile, the most helpless souls she can find, and she makes a hobby out of patrolling for crimes to solve, and when a chance comes to strap her armor back on and ride into battle, she rejoices in the return to normalcy. She craves that station as someone needed, someone to rely upon in the darkest of hours, and she winds up with blood on her hands because, in a way, she never left the wilderness at all.

How does the queen keep going without a queendom, without a pack, without people to lead past the horrors of tomorrow? She doesn’t. She simply does not know how. She scrounges for something, anything, that will make her feel connected to the world the way that team did. She moves in and out of a world that rejects trauma, punishes the traumatized, heckles the grieving as a spectacle. She finds comfort in the cohesive ritual of rehabilitation, this place where she gets so close to finding herself again, only to stumble when she opens her eyes and sees she’s alone. All those months feeding and guiding and gripping fast to the fight of making it to another day, and she no longer knows how to rest. How to let go without falling. She no longer wears a crown, and she never wanted it in the first place, so how on earth does she survive a world that doesn’t understand the guilt and shame of being made the centerpiece of a specialized environment you can never explain to anyone else? How, how, how do you survive without winding up with blood on your hands just the same?

All six of these girls found, for better or worse, a place in the woods. All six of them found, for better or worse, a reason to get up the next day. For each other. And then they go home, and even if they all stayed close, stayed friends, it’d still be like stepping out of chains for the first time in years. Where do you go? How do you make small choices when every decision for months was life or death? How do you keep the part of yourself stitched so innately into your survival in a world that would scream to see it? How do you do away with the survivor and still keep going?

They brought it back with them. Of course they did. It was the only way.

[vixpunix]

Can you draw Fresh? Pretty please

ofc!! just for u <33

Fresh :3

Fresh by CrayonQueen/loverofpiggies

[notbecauseofvictories]

[ Watching the Sky — 2019 - 2024 ]

[jamandjazz]

My personal headcanon is that Pony got his love for reading from Darry. When Darry was in high school he’d read the books he got in class out loud to Ponyboy and straight up just handed him some of the easier ones so they could talk about it later. In my brain the reason Ponyboy clings onto it so much is because it’s one of the things he and Darry REALLY bonded over when he was a kid and it just brings back good memories of when they got along better.

[aannonn]

sigwshws so proud of this one ohgosh.... >V<

them<333 [song is Time Adventure ; Adventure Time btw!! ^_^)

lil' funfact; this was originally supposed to be a hugging compilation drawing.... welp- lol no regrets✨

[paintpanic]

Kirbtober Day 24: AU

[In which Panic posts art for her AU which she's never explained before.]

[beneaththeshadows]

Mother Merciless

She don't speak. You bloody bastards cut her throat too deep for that. But she remembers.

But her eyes were the most terrible thing. Her eyes saw him, and they hated.

It is a monstrous cruel thing to lose a child.

Lady stoneheart for (a super late) Halloween art trade with the amazing (and very patient as always) @acewithapencil, I picked the OG goth couple Brynden and Shiera, and she picked Lady stoneheart!

It was once again a pleasure to make art for you, and I gotta say I quite liked the result, so I decided to also do something small in watercolors and I know I'm not very well versed in it (this is literally my 7th piece ever in this medium) but I'm glad I did it, and most of all I'm glad I did it for you!!!

So anyways, I hope it looks nice and I really hope you like it!

[lxvebun]

So many ideas and thoughts about Summer crush Gojo. It's HIS season his eyes alone are a perfect resemblance to the summer sky! all clear blues with fluffy white clouds. He's bright, warm, sunny-

but summer has two sides. One that is all that bright and sunny, filled with gentle breezes and melted ice cream dripping down your fingers. Time stops ticking and days blend into one another

And then there's the Summer storms. The other face of summer. Where the sky fades into gray and the sun blankets behind thick clouds, with rain that comes down harshly, turning the streets into one giant puddle. The warmth sticks to your lungs and your eyes burn from the rainwater slipping in. And the ocean is by far the last place you'd want to be. Waves so big and unrelenting it washes away anything in its vicinity. Pulling it into its dark depths where no sunlight can ever reach.

And I just think its so perfectly Gojo

He's sweet strawberry icecream kisses under clear blue skies. A warmth that will burn itself into your skin. His love a big, merciless wave you will never recover from.

[fastianini]

Valentino Rossi & Marc Márquez

all i need—radiohead

[vagun1ka]

im into reverse now...

[synthshenanigans]

You Sound Like Louis Burdett is a banger song I wish it was real 💔 [looking at you spotify]

skeleton-less & textless versions ✨ wahoo ✨