#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!)

[shadewood]

— Я хочу, чтобы ты знал, что переживаю сейчас вместе с тобой. Это не сочувствие из вежливости. Я многое не понимаю, но хочу выслушать тебя.

[wtfforged]

boy why you so shapes

[crabsnpersimmons]

Have You Eaten? now on Ao3!!

welcome welcome! have you eaten?

the first story of my restaurant DCA AU Have You Eaten? is up on Ao3 now! Have You Eaten? is gonna be a series of stories, rather than a multi-chaptered work (like New 'Do, Same You) so i hope you'll enjoy the variety!

you can find the series here on Ao3

thanks to @starriegalaxy for proofreading

Note: don't worry, i haven't forgotten New 'Do, Same You, i'll be working on both at the same time because they're both near and dear to my heart and they're tonally very different, so switching between the two will give me some variety too

[hootyhoowoo]

A little 15 min doodle but first post of the year has to be Bingqiu!

[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

[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.

[evanwevand]

"What if we put SCP XXX in the same chamber as SCP XXX and-" Okay what if we put Dr. Bright, Dr. Shaw, Dr. Glass, Agent Diogenes, Dr. Clef, Dr. Kondraki, Dr. Rights, Dr. Iceberg, Dr. Gears, Dr. Gerald, Dr. Crow, Dr. Roth, Dr. Light, Agent Lament, Dr. Mann and Agent Strelnikov in the same house for two weeks

[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 ]

[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 🥰

[deer-a-day]

357(?)

merry christmas!!!!

[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!

[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✨

[tj-crochets]

Hey hi the indoor wasps are becoming a problem can you please send me all your home remedies for wasps in your home one just tried to crawl down my shirt (I don't get *that* many wasps in my house but like I would like less wasps inside my house. Preferably no wasps! I stayed calm when it was on my shirt but when it tried to crawl down my shirt I was no longer calm) (the wasp was caught (not in my shirt) and safely brought outside)