#misty being misty

[becasart]

To prison they go 👮‍♀️📸❗

[lesbiyawn]

LOVE how they just revert to their messy teen selves when they’re around each other again. im gonna need a whole season of just their adult selves interacting

[masked-creator]

POV : you pass by the rich kids in school

(Click for better quality)

[tabithatwo]

glaad awards 2024, yellowjackets winner of outstanding drama series

[wistfulwatcher]

#just a knight looking to her queen for approval

[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.

[snoopysnose]

She's like this because of us.

YELLOWJACKETS

[i-just-drink-coffee]

Everyone friend group needs a dead frozen earless girl, her sad and insane gf, a goth with issues, her schizophrenic and god like gf, girl who almost got her face bitten off, her gf who likes dirt, a crazy bitch who tries to poison everyone, a gay useless coach, a dead non verbal brother, a girl who’s job is cooking stew and being a hater, a weird nice girl and some guy named Travis.

[vanpalmr]

YELLOWJACKETS 1.06 - Saints | 2.06 - Qui

[the-meme-monarch]

you're telling me these jokers are the resistance rangers

anyway cog<-->toon swap au :] sorry to the several other cogs i didn't have toon design ideas for. and practically every toon npc i didn't have cog design ideas for

graham, benjamin, and holly's designs were Very inspired by this post!! i don't know who to credit for anteater flint, beaver spruce, or mole william ive seen those from a lot of different people ! cat misty came from my post here though

[moodymisty]

*rattles my breeding kink prison cell* which primarchs would sabotage their lovers contraception?

HORUS.

but also tbh I think that would also be an Alpharius/Omegon thing, a Russ thing, and also Sanguinius.

Hear me out on the Sanguinius one. I HC him to have a major possessiveness beneath the surface, and there's something about the idea of your birth control 'failing' and having a child (despite him saying he didn't think it was a good idea) triggers some primal possessive part of him.

[jattendschaton]

what if we 🥺👉👈 collaborated on a project together 🥺👉👈 inspired each other 🥺👉👈 built one another up 🥺👉👈 created something new and fun 🥺👉👈 while cheering each other on 🥺👉👈 and bringing joy and fresh ideas to our works 🥺👉👈 wouldn't that be cool 🥺👉👈 I will fall in love with you, to be clear

[miwtual]

@lgbtqcreators creator challenge — anger, parallels, horror, free choice

MISTY QUIGLEY + “CARRIE” FROM CARRIE THE MUSICAL (insp)

[cogdominium]

saw a post in the corporate clash tag that caused me to black out and make this

[bakudekublogblog]

it never stops being funny to me that people are bkdk antis in the year 2024 like “katsuki bullied izuku!! how dare you ship izuku with him” ??? take it up with izuku he’s is the one pining his ass off for him. I can’t make izuku not yearn for katsuki ??? I’m sorry I have observational skills?? izuku is just like that you think I can stop him??

[beldaroot]

misty quigley is death. she is the one that controls who lives and who dies. she is the nurse who can heal and who can harm. sometimes she lets other people be the executioner - a girl with a knife acting as a butcher, a man with a gun acting as a detective. sometimes she lets nature take its course - a snowfall, a slippery cliff, a fractured lake. but she always she has a hand in death. sometimes she does not have full control over it: sometimes she kills and it kills her too.