#BUTTT

[pinkiepig]

Girlfriend and the one she’s crazy for

[stagefoureddiediaz]

When you manage to make Oliver stark look small - you are a unit!!

[zketylers]

-> “Care for a smoke?”

JOSH HARTNETT as THE SALESMAN / THE COLONEL

SIN CITY (2005) — “The Customer Is Always Right” Pt. 1, dir. Robert Rodriguez & Frank Miller

[starcurtain]

Lost my 50/50 at max pity for Anaxa. RIP. I guess we'll meet another day, you wet tissue paper man. 🥲

[messrsrobyn]

thinking so much about "And my soul, Dumbledore? Mine?" and "Lately, only those whom I could not save."

thinking so much about how dumbledore expresses concern for dracos soul, that his soul is not yet damaged and he doesn't want that murder on his conscious. to ruin his soul. and snape says.

and my soul, dumbledore? mine?

thinking so much about how albus could be snapes first murder

about how dumbledore says "how many men and women have you WATCHED die?" and snape says "only those whom i could not save."

watched die, not killed. not even necessarily talking about his post-deflection, just generally. watched. not killed. soul not yet damaged from murder.

thinking OH so much that snape potentially went through being a de and a double spy, only for his first direct murder to be. albus.

[happi-dreams]

FINALLY DONE WITH THIIISSS SSILLLY THING GOD ,,,

anywho lost n found au comic!!!

i think when emmet gets his new job 1 or 2ish years later he’s friends with kenny first

[chateaunoirsims]

✾ WIP #3 ✾

Started working on another build for (guess this) my favorite character in Dissonance

It’s this whole thing where he moves into his family home..for reasons that will be established later on in the story and was wondering what exact build would fit that. Stumbled upon “Japandi” interiors on Pinterest and here we are.

I think it’s mostly Asian interior inspired but there are still some clearly obvious modern elements to it

[fkapommel]

Hrngghhh........

[lordjimp]

Grading Fanart checklist

Deacon

-fake ass wig. like obviously not rooted to his head.

-a wrinkle or two, like is obvi not a 20 something

-cuffed jeans

-ginger body hair (plus points for some grays)

-an air of 'cocky bastard'

John Hancock

-sharp teeth

-tired af (boy for real walking around like -u-. open your EYES)

-pointy boots with a little heel/hooker boots

-sopping wet rat eyes

Arcade Gannon

-gay socks

-little bit of hair ankle between said gay socks and his pants

-permenant eye bags

-lil pudge. and a soft face.

Nick Valentine

-half cast shadow/ light through blinds

-disheveled clothes (like he dressed himself months ago and still hasnt straightened it out)

-hand on his hips/in his trousers so his trench coat is lifted behind in wrists OH LORD

[sharks-fandom-madness]

I feel so sad bc now that my followers keep increasing its getting harder for me to respond to every comment and I feel bad bc I don't wanna be like... ignoring people or their comments

But if you guys ever wanna talk to me my dms are open! 🥹 I just apolocheese that I will struggle to respond but I'll ALWAYS RESPOND EVERNTUALLY

I may be mentally ill, but I sure do love making friends 💖

[ragingtempests]

the more i see of lucanis and spite... like... can we get an anders and justice callback as a treat? like... idc if his story was over in da2, mama wants to see her little sewer mew mew.

[dvchvnde]

It appears on several lists of must-see places before you die, usually accompanied by a beautiful picture of the sprawling park—one with towering, gunmetal batholiths and rugged, snow-capped peaks on either side of the frame, almost perfectly mirrored. They plummet into a vertiginous drop down to a lush valley of vivid Scheele’s green below. 

Through the unfathomable gap of these primordial mountains, nestled in the thick of the valley, is a white line of the rushing river that bleeds into what makes this place an absolute must: 

The roaring waterfalls, the gorgeous fjords. 

When you click on the pictures, the magnitude of just how massive this land is, and just how big those gorges are makes it all seem so empyrean. As if the land itself touches the heavens in places, disappearing into the sky. Swallowed by the aether.  

It's dizzying. 

And entirely remote. 

Save for a visitor centre close to one of the bigger falls, this place is far removed from civilisation. A protected land hidden like a glimmering gem in the privacy of the wilderness. It's the sort of place where novices are well-forewarned about the dangers of testing their mettle against a basin of nature that sees less than one hundred people traversing the rugged landscape a year. 

You only have yourself to rely on out here, someone writes. It's not for the faint of heart. 

Simply put: it's perfect. 

Cheap, too. You follow the instructions, requesting a weekend pass in the northern backcountry. Permits approved, credit card accepted. A map is emailed off along with an itinerary of what to bring, what to do (and what not to do—no scents, nothing that isn’t bear-repellent approved, no firearms without pre-approval from park services; same with fishing and hunting), and where to go. Signing in and out is mandatory lest they have to launch a massive, and expensive, search and rescue for you. 

It’s all a little overwhelming (beware of wild animals, do not engage with them, do not feed them; do not leave trash in the outback; do not swim in the rapids and be wary of the vicious undercurrent in the river; do not go where you are not prepared to be) and the laundry list of what not to do seems bigger than you’re prepared for. Trepidation sinks in. 

And then, as if in mockery of your unease, an email pops up in your inbox—

you're in bear country now, it warns, and then proceeds to tell you how to defend yourself against an attack—defensive and predatory—and to always, always, report any sightings you see to the park rangers. Immediately. Instantly. Without hesitation. Anything. Everything. Footprints, feces. It could save someone else's life. 

It’s daunting. you are your own protection, it adds, vicious and cold. Cruel. We share the responsibility, but you are the one who carries the biggest burden. Be smart, be prepared, and be cautious.

They send three emails about safety, and advise that you attend a two-hour-long park seminar when you arrive on your first day to warn you about the dangers within the valley, the wildlife and rugged mountains, the steep ravines, and the treacherous rivers. 

The man leading the seminar is dismissive during it, derisive. The park is open to the public, the ranger mumbles, gruff and unkind. His eyes skewer into the meagre rucksack on your back, and the outfit you picked—trousers, a thermal long-sleeve, and hiking boots the sales associate assured you that you would grow into, and huffs, adding: and it’s up to said public to decide if it can survive in here; we post signs and warnings and make all of the dangers as accessible as we can, as apparent as we can, but once you sign in, and head out, you are on your own. 

But in none of these pamphlets, in this abrupt dressing down of your limited experience and their ambivalence on whether or not you can take care of yourself, does anyone ever tell you about the real danger hidden in these woods:

man.

Or rather, a man. 

There's something unmatched about the wilderness, about the innate sense of self-reliance that seems to exude from within, this precocious sense of isolation and inner dependence. Out here, so far away from rescue or civilisation (about seven clicks in the opposite direction, give or take a few additional hours just maneuvering around jagged rock cliffs and steep canyons), you only have yourself for guidance, for salvation. 

Maybe that's part of the reason why it draws you in so much. This idea of alienation. Of loneliness. 

You are as safe as mother nature permits. As the grit in your bones allows. Flash flooding, intense storms. Whiteouts. Avalanches from the highest peaks in the distance. Surges in the river below. Currents. And—

Bears. Wolves. Wolverines. Bison. Moose. Coyote. 

The list of hazards always seems to exceed the majesty of the world around you—haphazard cliffs, towering batholiths, roaring rivers—but only marginally. It's always worth it when you're there. In the heart of it all, staring down at the ink-black water below a massive fjord. The cut of limestone. Water slicing through the valley. It's ancient, primordial. And standing in the basin of its grandeur, a meagre slip of time in the palms of unfathomable aeons, the dangers balance out. Risk, reward. 

This one, though, is probably the loneliest place you've ever been. 

As you stand outside the visitors centre, the park looming large and untamed before you, there's a prickling sense of unease that permeates the air. A fine mist of worry draping over your shoulders. The park is—

Unfathomable. 

The ledger they had you sign in on boasts five names in the last three years. A quick flip through the aged pages is just as barren. Empty. 

“Not the most isolated or remote, no,” one of the wardens says, eyes creasing against the harsh glare of the sun. He offered to accompany you into the park, and you'd eagerly taken him up on the offer. Not quite ready to be on your own. “That's probably higher up. Quttinirpaaq, maybe? Heard from some buddies up there that they had no visitors last year. We do pretty well. About one thousand a year? Usually filmmakers and the like. Adventurous types. Gets kinda lonely up here. Ain't no Banff, that's for sure.” 

You felt that isolation when he'd reached the cut-off heading toward South Nahanni, and waved you along. Sage advice following him as he walked, hand on his holstered gun. 

“Keep yer wits about ya. Strange things happen in these parks, ya know?” 

Strange things, indeed. 

It starts with a noise. 

The rustle in the tussock concealed between heavy, darkened spruce. Snap of twigs underfoot. A shallow grunt when you're clamoring up the steep incline cradling the mouth of a still lake. Footfalls echoing through the valley when you rest in the lush green grass, peeling an apple to satiate the meagre appetite you've dredged up on your climb to get to this spot. 

It can all be chalked up to the wilderness. Sound, you know, is a mirage in a place like this. Deceitful. Screams that sound like it's right next to you are just the trawling echoes of wind whistling in a canyon. It isn't anything to be immediately worried about. This space is vast. Open. You'd see someone if they were there. 

An animal, maybe. 

But that thought does little to quell your sudden nerves. Or abate the spike of anxiety that rivets down your spine. 

It feels like you're being watched. 

This unease lingers as you pack your apple core inside your travelling pack. Nothing left behind, you remember, and pretend that's the only reason for the quick survey you take of the area. Just in case. Just in case—

Nothing.

Just a sprawling valley, an endless sea of green, crawling up jagged monoliths. In the distance, a thunderous plume of fog curls over the sawtooth peaks. Their heads lifted to the heavens as if scenting the looming danger congealing in the distance. Thick gunmetal clouds brew over the mountains. A sudden swell sweeps through the valley, shaking the tussock. Cold enough that your teeth chatter. 

They warned you of an oncoming storm. 

[randomname3]

WHEN did they change Nemract's music???

[zketylers]

JOSH HARTNETT as MATT SULLIVAN

40 DAYS and 40 NIGHTS (2002) dir. Michael Lehmann

[vin-at-thehub]

I have a bit of a fainting problem. Comes with bring chronically ill/fatigue. I tend to follow certain precautions for it, and I found a video while scrolling on YouTube that summarized a bunch of the ones I used, and I decided to send it to a friend of mine. This was our exchange and honestly, that’s based.

They’re so real for that. Hehe love them /platonic.

[whatitsemerald]

SYLVIAAA RAHHHHHHHHH