thegodsareus

[thegodsareus]

the colors of the tortured poets department by taylor swift

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The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins

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— Franz Kafka

RHAENICENT APPRECIATION WEEK Day 3 - touch

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I turned around, there was nothing there Yeah, I guess the end is here (insp)

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There’s a reason why this prison is the worst hell on earth… Hope. Every man who has ventured here over the centuries has looked up to the light and imagined climbing to freedom. So easy… So simple… And like shipwrecked men turning to sea water from uncontrollable thirst, many have died trying. I learned here that there can be no true despair without hope.

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“What doesn’t kill me better run.” —Kaz Brekker, Six of Crows

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DIRECTOR'S NOTE • Nov. 2023

You can't go home. This play has a particular care for and interest in its victims. The resident

inciting event is endless. tragedy is much more concerned with footnotes than it is with gods.

well acquainted with what happens afterward, storytellers claim they can't diverge from what's

written: resist. rage against what must be. tell a story about war without talking

about love. survive its aftermath. fail to find resolution. make this suffering

a home. There's no breaking this chain— fate, as always, gets its way.

Poetry assembled from the program of an Oresteia production. Nov. 2023.

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another one of my uni portfolio pieces. something about kind gestures of strangers that go unnoticed because we're so used to them and the inherent goodness of people etc etc etc

honestly i just wanted to draw a comic because i wanted to show off my illustration skills. i wish i had spent more time on these & drawn more comics for this series but i was running out of time :(

(made in photoshop)

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repress reframe recant (gaslight gatekeep girlboss: unreliable narrator edition)

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The Shared World, Vievee Francis

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she bent most of the rules. she broke the rest.

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@storyseekers event 17: art in books — the atlas six

The day she woke up and realized she could make her own world would be a dangerous one.

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“I don’t know if that’s true,” I say, but neither of us pursues the subject.”

If We Were Villains

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To the One Who Looks Back, Dante Émile

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The Houses Of A Song of Ice and Fire

The Lannisters

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the poet as an autopsy table, Dante Émile

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when you're younger you make fun of it because it seems boring but one of the best parts of getting older and maturing is recognizing how simply lovely all that cliche shit is. sunsets really are so endlessly satisfying. the hint of lilacs in the breeze really is soft and delicate and sweet. sometimes it feels good just to successfully clean the sink, to find an affordable appliance in the color you've been wanting, to try a new recipe, to finally get through that one television series like how you've been meaning.

it seemed stupid because they tell you - it'll feel quick - but it does feel quick. when i was younger it was like time was molasses. i couldn't get out of there fast enough. all the eras of my life stretched out into taffy. but then you are 29 on a walk with a friend and you both just stop to smell the lily of the valley at your feet. you are both standing there, quiet, enjoying the simple moment of peace.

they say it gets better a lot, which used to have no meaning to me. better for me was undefined and daunting. but here is one way it got better without me trying - a few days ago i was walking my dog and stopped to stand in a sunbeam, turning my cheeks up at the shaft of golden fairylights, the dustmotes in the wood all shivering their little dancing bodies. a stranger stopped and kind of cocked her head and said basking? and i laughed nervously, already moving to get out of her way. instead, she said can i bask with you? and we stood there, full adults, a soundless hum in our chest. when the clouds came back over the sun, we made that awkward small talk - yeah i didn't expect it to be this chilly! and haha spring allergies are comin'.

and you pour yourself a cup of tea and are delighted when you measure the sugar ratio perfectly and you manage to parallel park correctly on the first time (probably because nobody was looking) and yoga really did help your lower back mobility and brown paper packages really do tug on your heartstrings and you love sweaters and furry blankets and watching your little potted plants grow one new and shining leaf and you want to find your younger self and say. yes, i am nostalgic for summers that bent like wheat and were buzzing with low energy and sleep. but darling. adulthood gets better because the time condenses into a prayerbook of your own psalms, these tender beautiful memories. it gets better because things become prettier, gentler, kinder to you - somehow. without you even noticing. you just get to the top of the hill and you realize - oh, this is the thing i've been missing.