#just the start

[smalldarkroom]

Look at this little koala 😍

Unbelievable… and I just want to remind you that this is his FIRST YEAR in F1.

This is just the start of his fruitful journey 🧡🇦🇺

[howifeltabouthim]

For what had happened? Nothing, but the touch of flesh on flesh, a kind of groping in the dark, an initiation which, if it was an initiation, might lead nowhere. But it might.

L.P. Hartley, from The Harness Room

[faffreux]

3D JOLLIGIG GONNA GET BLOCKED OUT TONIGHT HELLOOOOOOO WOOOOOOOOOOO

[jaaneedo3]

MASTERLIST

Love and Other Dogs

Single dad Chris Evans was spending Saturday afternoon with his son Oliver and their dog Dodger at the dog park. Chris looks away for just a second and Dodger takes off after a squirrel, Oliver chasing after, leaving Chris in a panic when he turns back and they're gone. Enter Y/N, a young woman who runs her own dog sitting business and just so happens to stumble upon Dodger and then Oliver. Their lives changing forever that afternoon.

Part 1 •Part 2 •Part 3

Part 4 •Part 5 •Part 6

Part 7 •Part 8 •Part 9

Part 10 •Part 11 •Part 12

Part 13 •Part 14 •Part 15

One Shots:

Sweet Baby

Joe Keery and his wife welcome their first bundle of joy.

[chloreen]

[annasbowlerhat]

Now... how to get moving pictures in the brain in to text..

[hazy-dayz-longer-nights]

Rough draft 🥰🌼🌸🌻

[nasriniris]

Estella (part one)

Content Warning: trauma responses, allusions to trauma, though no details on what the trauma was.

Screams ravaged her throat, echoing off the walls, waves of pain reverberating in her ears. Bolting upright in bed, Estella took several deep, steadying breaths. She wasn’t there, not anymore. She was at home in her bed, safe. That word hurt though, and she rushed to do another check of her home, ensuring all windows were closed and locked, all doors were closed and locked, and there were no signs of anyone besides her and her two cats. The search took a mere 4 minutes, as she had drilled to be able to complete it quickly. When finally she complete the checking of her home, Estella finally collapsed into herself, the tears finally coming as she felt safe. These episodes had been happening off and on for years. She would go months without having one, then suddenly, something small would worry her and she would spend months waking up every night to check the house once again for something wrong.

Her therapist had said it was normal, after what she had gone through. Estella wasn’t convinced of that until she found other people like her, who had seen into the eyes of evil and come out on the other side, alive but broken and forever altered. Others always had it worse; they all said that apparently. The support groups and her therapist insisted that they all said that others had it worse. It didn’t lessen the shame she felt for these freakouts. Mary told her in every session she brought it up in that the shame was a result of others’ expectations of how they handled trauma, and that it wasn’t her fault she felt any of the ways that she felt. Sometimes that helped Estella cope, but in moments of darkness, it did nothing for her. As the initial panic subsided, she did the only thing she had ever found helped.

Estella stood on shaky feet, eager to get started as she moved to the room she had set up with her altar, the candles and herbs she used as part of her practice, and the many other things she enjoyed as a witch. Her tears dried on her face as she poured salt into a small bowl, adding crushed rosemary and powdered thyme, mixing it together, and then going around her home, sprinkling a little in every room. As far as she was concerned, it would purify her home, and she felt she needed that right then.

Ignoring the confused glares of her sleepy cats, Estella returned to her witchy room. After casting her circle, she started in on lighting her candles. White, black, red, and green candles all lit, she meditated on what she wanted those to accomplish. The white candle she asked to cleanse and purify the energy around her, bringing her calm. The black she asked to act as protection, banishing the negativity and refusing anything harmful to come near her. The red she asked for the energy to keep up with everything as she asked the green to help her heal. Healing, she had found, was an exhausting process, so she would need both the red and green to work together as she tried it.

Deep breathing ate up her time as she stayed there, watching the candles burn down, allowing her nervous system to calm down over time, feeling the anxiety drain out of her, and aiding that sensation with grounding techniques. Others always recommended things like meditation and grounding to help deal with trauma, and Estella eventually realized most of it sounded just like the witchcraft she had been practicing before the events of that night. When she got back into it, she found it did help, if only marginally. Some people could work through their traumas without ever talking about it, focusing instead on other aspects of the traumatic responses in their therapy, but she had not found that to be the case for her. Getting everything out verbally turned out to be what she needed, but she preferred to do that in therapy sessions, so she utilized the aspects of witchcraft that helped her in dealing with everything to cope between sessions, and threw in the journaling her therapist recommended.

Eventually, the candles burned all the way down, and though Estella didn’t recall how long that took for those small, standing candles, she knew it wasn’t a quick process. Finally standing, she felt steady enough to grab her journal and begin writing out the nightmare that had woken her so violently. Mary had told her that it was ok if she needed some time to steady herself before journaling out what was wrong, because how helpful was it really going to be if she just ripped pages apart in her attempts to scribble everything out while still shaking? Estella had taken that advice to heart and found a ritual that worked to help her ready herself to delve into the murky waters of her mind. Before she did that, though, she would have to clear away the salt she had sprinkled around. Never was she more thankful for having all hardwood floors than when she needed to clear up her purification stuff.

First, she always got purification on her home going. Then, she would get her candles going and meditate until they burned all the way down. Those small candles didn’t have a problem doing it, and she would get big packs of them for fairly cheap. After cleaning up and completing the purification of her home, she could finally face her journal down and get to work. Every time she did, she felt the knot of apprehension that came with remembering. It got a little easier with repetition, but only a little. She still felt sick doing in and was always glad that she wasn’t trying to do it without steadying herself at least a little. Facing down her latest journal, her pen still shook in her grasp a little, though was steadier than she thought it would be.

The words flowed from her pen, water racing down a river at break-neck speed. Memories came to the forefront of her mind, disjointed and full of fear. She held back from full flashbacks, though just barely, having kept herself as grounded in the real world as she could. Time stalled as the words and thoughts consumed her, pages filling and flying past. Estella was carried along, helpless to stop the flow, yet in total control of its direction. The dream had been a disjointed, distorted version of the real events, as they often were. The dream involved things that couldn’t have possibly happened, like plunging into the blackened depths of the earth itself through a hole that opened up beneath her suddenly. But it also involved the real events, taunting her with a reality that she had always hoped to avoid in her younger years.

Finally, when pages had filled and the end of the dream came, Estella was able to slow her pen, the rush of emotions, thoughts, and memories becoming a trickle. She had never doubted that traumas such as hers changed people forever, but she had never imagined the soul-shattering reality as it truly was. She had seen the facts of change in others who had suffered as she had, but she was never privy to the truth in all its expansive hells. Like her, others mostly hid away the worst of their trauma-responses, choosing to put on a brave face for the world because the world demanded it of them. If you broke down in public because of your trauma history, no one understood or cared why; they saw nothing more than a person in hysterics. The reasons for breakdowns were as invisible to the world as the air itself, but unlike air, most refused to even acknowledge that they existed.

The loneliness was crushing, and the reality of having to keep it together in the world at large was daunting. Estella took deep, calming breaths as she reminded herself that she was not actually alone, but the keeping everything together in public was ultimately why she never understood truly was it was to suffer with trauma until it happened to her. She couldn’t have been prepared for the changes she would go through. She had never been a throw-caution-to-the-wind kind of person before, but she had never suffered so much anxiety and fear over her personal safety. Mary called it hypervigilance, but Estella wondered often if it was hypervigilance, or just vigilance. After all, she needed to be prepared.

By the time Estella felt as though she had recovered from the worst of the episode, the wee morning light was starting to rise outside, though she had a few hours left before her alarm for work would go off. She debated just staying up for the rest of the night but heard her therapist’s voice in her head that she needed sleep and decided to heed the sage advice. Her cats had stayed quiet and sleepy throughout the events of the night, only giving her a cursory glance from the comfort of her bed as she crawled back in, before settling back down. They would likely be adorable little terrors later, but for now, she was grateful for their soft, cuddly bodies warming her bed as she settled back down to get a small measure of rest before her day in the world at large had to start.

[asteroidtroglodyte]

[lazylittledragon]

can't believe we're all adults being forced into the club penguin level of censorship in 2024

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

The math just adds up!

[seagiri]

when she draw on my pile

[leafie-draws]

I think the biggest downside to having animal ears and a tail would be trying to mask your discomfort in public like imagine trying to play it cool in customer service but your tail keeps bristling

[cozylittleartblog]

cant tell you how bad it feels to constantly tell other artists to come to tumblr, because its the last good website that isn't fucked up by spoonfeeding algorithms and AI bullshit and isn't based around meaningless likes

just to watch that all fall apart in the last year or so and especially the last two weeks

there's nowhere good to go anymore for artists.

edit - a lot of people are saying the tags are important so actually, you'll look at my tags.

#please dont delete your accounts because of the AI crap. your art deserves more than being lost like that #if you have a good PC please glaze or nightshade it. if you dont or it doesnt work with your style (like mine) please start watermarking #use a plain-ish font. make it your username. if people can't google what your watermark says and find ur account its not a good watermark #it needs to be central in the image - NOT on the canvas edges - and put it in multiple places if you are compelled #please dont stop posting your art because of this shit. we just have to hope regulations will come slamming down on these shitheads#in the next year or two and you want to have accounts to come back to. the world Needs real art #if we all leave that just makes more room for these scam artists to fill in with their soulless recycled garbage #improvise adapt overcome. it sucks but it is what it is for the moment. safeguard yourself as best you can without making #years of art from thousands of artists lost media. the digital world and art is too temporary to hastily click a Delete button out of spite

[adriles]

they are Cancelling me for dealing with my grief as best i can . also for the vicious war Crimes