#in the tunnels

[avanillaskyline]

Does everyone else assume Jon just has a specific "work cardigan" he leaves around the Institute for when he's "staying late"? I imagine he has like 2 other cardigans (one's identical to his work one) at home but the work one is particularly musty and smells like earl grey

[two-idiots-one-thought]

MAG041 - Too Deep

The credit for the idea goes to @grrrenadine, truly awesome work.

specifically this post

I just drew it in my own style and in ink.

check the creator out, her work is awesome.

[gynandromorph]

I've learned that naked mole rats have no subcutaneous fat which is why they're so wrinkly it was either fat or wrinkly for shiloh I guess--

[good-wizard]

Hey, so what do these creatures look like?

They have leathery wings and four glowing eyes each. their teeth are sharp and stuck out of the skin around their mouth, the mouths themselves are so full of teeth and coated in the poison; even now my arm burns from it, fighting the damage it's doing. They're like bats, but almost fungal, unnaturally animal. Strange stalks stick out of their heads in unique patterns which emit spores, I think they use this to almost sense the presence of their prey, they can practically smell you by tracing the spores. That's why I had to run earlier, they would have slaughtered us all. There's too many for me to count, but if I'm quiet it appears they cant hear me, I smell pretty similar to them thanks to all the time in the tunnels. They have claws too, on the ends of their feet and hands, coated in that same sickly poison. I tried to cast befriend animal, like always, but they refused suddenly I received a vision. Those cackling, bat like creatures swarming from every cave, no matter how small, from every grate and pit on wizard island they would fly, leaving in their wake mounds of rotting corpses, and terry, i could sense their feelings to, they loved the bloodshed. They want to kill us all and make us suffer during the process.

[asteroidtroglodyte]

5 years ago, I was in Rehab.

10 years ago, I was watching my Potential and Opportunities dissolve and evaporate in an ocean of cheap gin and expensive whiskey.

But 5 years ago, I was in Rehab.

One of the exercises they had us perform was to imagine ourselves happy, 5 years in the future.

Many of us in that room had forgotten how to imagine nice things happening to them. A few snorted (well, I snorted), finding the notion that we’d even still be around in 5 years grimly humorous.

For about half of us, it was the last stop on the way down.

But I indulged the therapist. I was there, after all, because I did not want to die. So, I imagined myself, 5 years hence.

Happy.

It came to me all at once; an artistic remix on Norman Rockwell’s Freedom From Want, reframed with myself placing food at the table.

Sunday Dinner At My Place, I answered, when it came my turn to share my fantasy. I was asked what food I imagined eating.

It’s not the meal itself, I said, it’s the implications framed around it. Sunday Dinner At My Place means that I have a Place. It means that I have Family that will actually speak to me and friends who actually want to see me. It means money enough not just to feed myself but others too. It means having the time to spare to take the time preparing the meal.

A lot of nodding heads all around me. A struck chord. Many people with no Place, in that place. Nowhere that would lament their leaving.

5 years hence, as I lay down to sleep in my Home, with my Wife and my Son, surrounded by my Art and my Flowers, I reflect.

It was a long road. It was hard. We lost people. So many people. There were long days and long nights and hospital stays. Angry arguments with ghosts. I changed, in ways I never hoped for, or expected. Good ways, finally, for once. Slowly, against the backdrop of a world in chaos, I found my mind.

Sometimes, My Wife wondered aloud, what she did to deserve me. After some stumbling with my feelings, I eventually settled on an answer.

I’m a Rescue.

She gave me a Home.

And, so, I gave her a Family.

It seemed fair

This Sunday, my folks, which whom I have not had a shouting match in years, will come over for dinner. We will cook and eat together. My Friend became My Wife, and she took a piece of me and with it she made Our Son. There will be many hugs, and no violence. Good Things Happened.

I don’t know who needs to hear this, but you don’t know what the future holds.

don’t give up yet, ok?

It could get good, even.

[windofthegods]

Fanged Schoolroom.

[bleepzip]

heartless?

[the-znoze]

more doodles bc lou really hurt my feelings

[zegalba]

Abandoned Tori Gate found in Japanese Tunnel

Such gates are used to mark the entrance to sacred grounds or gods' territories. "The tori gate symbolizes the division between the sacred and the profane, and is considered a spiritual gateway between the physical world and the spiritual realm."

[avanillaskyline]

Guys why did no one tell me this is Jurgen Leitner?? I feel so conflicted

[lavender-menace-420]

AU where the others find out Jon is going to explore the tunnels in Season 2 and forcefully tag along (Sasha is alive and everything is fine)

I made a part 2!

[flurmitcraff]

Mumbo, desperate to feel normal for once, releases dirt on his fellow hermits and asks the community to rank their weirdness.

[wolfythewitch]

Minor redesign

[mournfulroses]

Ernesto Sabato, from his novel titled “The Tunnel,” originally published c. May 1948

[barbiediamondcastleofficial]

guys Sasha is not the responsible one in the archives. She saw a weird guy with fucked up hands and an uncanny laugh and immediately followed him to several secondary locations. I’m SO sorry to say this but the only og archives crew member with self-preservation instincts is Tim

[druid-for-hire]

[images ID: three images of a comic titled "one must imagine sisyphus happy" by druid-for-hire. it is a visual narrative beginning with someone with wrist pain (depicted by bright orange nerves) working at a drafting table. the reader is shown the same wrist as the person uses it for many everyday tasks such as carrying a grocery basket, pushing elevator buttons, typing, and doing dishes, until the pain dissolves all the panels into chaos. the person then performs several physical therapy exercises until the pain subsides. they sit back down at a desk with their laptop, sigh, and begin typing. a small spark of pain reappears. end id]

a fun little piece i made during the semester and submitted into our school comic anthology! (which you can buy at the Static Fish table at MoCCAFest in NYC ;] ). it's about artists and injury