#mark bramble

[doyouknowthismusical]

#musical theater #do you know this musical #poll #42nd street #harry warren #al dublin #johnny mercer #michael stewart #mark bramble #language: english

[artemis-speedster]

Younger Bennett Bramble & Older Bennett Bramble - edit

• Show - Saving Me ( 2022 )

Definitely recommend

#saving me #saving me cartoon #bennett bramble #fan edit #my edit #liam bramble #carla bramble #mark bramble #sophie bramble #fandom #cartoon #cartoon characters

[mojo72400]

Just finished binging Saving Me season 2 for 4 days from 3/23/23-3/24/23, 3/26/23-3/27/23 (Spoiler warning)

Liam crying in episode 6 while Bennett fails to show empathy to him was hilarious. Older Bennett freaking out over seeing his young self and Penelope fall in love was also hilarious.

Mark and Carla are the rare instances where parents are depicted to be affectionate to each other but not in a cringy way.

I love how Older Bennett was kinda disappointed that his future doesn't have him marry Penelope even though he was avoiding it, showing that he was used to it. I wonder if they ended up friendzoning each other to lead to this future or they still have a chance to get together in the past. Maybe they can work it out with Bennett not having to drink kale smoothies and eat tofu or maybe like them.

I can't wait for a 3rd season since it ended with Bennett opening the secret DGS elevator in his parents' bedroom and instead of going in, he questions them instead as they woke up.

Bennett managing to bluff Snodgrass by revealing his secrets thanks to his future self and Older Bennett managing to drive away Older Penelope by proposing to her in one of the bad futures was badass.

#saving me #byutv #bennett bramble #liam bramble #carla bramble #mark bramble #penelope snodgrass #reginald snodgrass

[cloverplover]

rotting from the inside

#if you cant tell i gave up at the end of this #anyway ashfurs markings are supposed to be like mold growing on bramble #warrior cats #bramblestar #ashfur #warrior cats designs #warrior cats art #wc designs

[sallytwo]

... The poem may be an elegy for childhood losses.

(On Dream Song 29, Thomas Travisano)

#myart #hollyleaf #power of three #warrior cats #MY MAGNUM OPUS!!! #AUGHHHHHRHGHHHHHHH #GUYS. DREAM SONG 29. DO YOU EVEN UNDERSTANDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD #okay here are all the details: ‘if he had a hundred years’ with the mountains is supposed to bring to mind the ancients #everyone is supposed to be faceless except for holly. on the second pace the bottom 3 silhouettes are leaf crow and squirrel #and their eyes are white with colored iris to look even MORE uncanny. the fire cuts across holly’s throat foreshadowing her death #the entire second page with the fire is showing how this once event has completly collapsed her life it’s everywhere she can’t escape it #lightning on 3rd page also represents the storm. and the fact that holly was scared of storms after the fire with is so :( #i also imagine holly used to be a lot lighter gray as a kit/paw with tabby markings. just personal hc #ashfur killing scene again you don’t see the action you don’t even see her face just the aftermath. she wasnt there it didnt happen. etc #the leaf has the tufts of her fur that were in his claws from the fight the only ‘evidence’ of it happening. #and the last two shots show her alone in the tunnel dreaming of her family (squirrel bramble fire sand leaf and lion and jay) #vs lion and jay. and the prophecy. who don’t even stop to grieve her because they’ve found the 3rd cat. nobody is ever missing

[picturebookshelf]

The Complete Brambly Hedge (1999)

Story and Art: Jill Barklem (Original Stories published between 1980 - 1994)

#brambly hedge #the complete brambly hedge #mice #animals #jill barklem #nostalgia #picture books #kid books #kidlit #children's literature #children's books #i love these stories so much this is exactly my brand #i love kid books with detailed water colour art - especially when it's about small animals #the foxwood series hits a similar mark - same for redwall though those novels obviously aren't illustrated #1990s #90s #1980s #80s

[luriendotmp3]

why is the almer oldheart tag so barren. i am going to eat drywall

#cracks knuckles. time to fix that #i swear i am going to write an essay on him some day mark my words #brambles #pyre

[bristlepaws]

hog time

#new fursona waddup #not 100% sure on the markings/colors but ill adjust as i go if need be #brambles #my pronouns are still they/them to everyone looking at this post just fyi-- #scribblings

[nyan-1233]

This is the dumbest thing ive ever done on cap cut but i wanted to mess around with the funny lil animations the app has and funky backgrounds so have a lil warrior cats au!

*Warning! There is a bit of flashing lights!

#i swear i can make better animatics this was just for fun #warrior cats #bramblestar #crowfeather #crowstar #Tawnypelt #tawnystar #squrrielflight #squirrelstar #Feathertail #stormfur #Jayfeather #hollyleaf #Lionblaze #warrior cats au #wc #cap cut #animatic #tawny x squirrel question mark? #they are just beating up bramble for squirrelf thats about it

[amethyst-halo]

reworking his design Again mostly changed his face markings bc i didn’t like them

#warrior cats #warriors #alderheart #wc alderheart #sketch's sketches #i was looking at some art and realized ''fuck i really like his original design'' #but i like the new design for tiger and bramble so i kept the shapes and just cut down on the markings #and i like it!!! im happy w this #i will cry if i decide i don't like it though i stg

[magpiesky]

Bramble + a headcanon about his eventual leader's mark

#though if i had to make an au #he wouldnt be leader at all #sorry bramble #you were cooler when you were guy to help cats overcome their tigerstar fears #warrior cats #warrior cats art #erin hunter warriors #brambleclaw #bramblestar #the mark is just over his left btw #tigers was on his right #magpiesky

[childofaura]

Ok not gonna lie, if there is ONE thing I am actually mad at Yoshiku’s art for, it’s the fact that Freya had a mark on her face that she was bullied for, and yet:

“I said, ‘Bitch, where?!”

Like hot damn my dude, I can understand if the FEH developers screwed you over and didn’t tell you she had a mark on her face, but if that was the case, they would have corrected it.

Commit, my dude, COMMIT!

#Fire Emblem Heroes #FEH #Like my guy how am I supposed to be convinced this porcelain-skin bitch was bullied for a mark? #Heck you could even make it look ‘aesthetic’ and make it look like the brambles she wears or something!

[brambletea]

my long-distance love has flown home so i am making Comfort Pasta to distract from the longing.......

#🌼 #bramble rambles #some of their lipstick marks are still visible on me #which is a very sweet comfort

[mitjalovse]

Hugh Padgham was a name during the 80's. He meant a certain set of sonic signifier that caused many of his clients to fit in with the times in a commercial manner. Of course, he also produced the worst Bowie album of the period. Mind you, I don't think that's Padgham's fault, Bowie really struggled with Tonight, since the latter followed his juggernaut. Additionally, I can tell what he intended to achieve – he wished to do a leaner version of Let's Dance, yet something went terribly wrong. I think a couple of commenters on my favourite blog about Bowie proposed an interesting theory – Bowie's best songs from the mid 80's on could form an intriguing LP, yet his filler during the period always diluted these tunes' impact.

#David Bowie #tonight #dancing with the big boys #derek bramble #carlos alomar #omar hakim #carmine rojas #guy st. onge #sammy figueroa #iggy pop #robin clark #george simms #curtis king #arif mardin #mark pender #stanley harrison #lenny pickett #steve elson #80's music #rock

[trashcanplant]

The Harvest

Mob Au to @//clownsuu

Penny to @cherrythepuppet

Vince to @cloudy-dreams

TW: Spooky scary scarecrows send shivers down your spine! Rotting meat.

Grover sat at the bar, keeling over a hearty glass of rye whiskey like there was no tomorrow. He felt miserable, grabbing at his chest and struggling to breathe. His mind spaced out, and when he came back to reality, Penny was sitting beside him.

“Ugh… what do you want.” He groaned, slamming back another cup. Grover let Howdy finish pouring him a new one before he turned back to Penny.

With the changing of the seasons in full swing and clumps of leaves layering the ground, she had now taken a poofy feather boa oon her bare shoulders. The little lady raised her eyebrows at him as a snarky grin graced her lips.

“Hi.” She said quickly, turning to Howdy and raising her finger. He nodded silently and started to prepare a Shirley Temple.

“Doesn’t answer my question.” Grover grumbled worthlessly, sinking into the bar stool like his roots were planting into the ground.

“Well, Scarycrow—“ Penny began before a cough from Grover interrupted her.

“Not my name.” He growled. Penny rolled her eye.

“Yeah, anyway, Boss told me to tell you ‘Feed him’ So. Feed him. Whatever that means. Has he started talking in third person?” She questioned, looking down at the pear bracelets over her opera gloves. Grover perked up. He looked out the window, downed his drink, and stood up.

“Where are you going?” Penny asked, reaching for her drink that Howdy had just finished shaking and topping with whipped cream and cherries. Her eye followed Grover as he grabbed a coat.

“Out.” He said. This piqued Penny’s curiosity. She’d heard from Antoni that Grover wasn’t allowed ‘out’ without permission. She hopped from her barstool, chasing Grover into the night.

“You’re not allowed out! Boss said-“

“Boss told me that I need to go when he gives the word. Where the fuck are those birds..” He growls, eyes on the skies as he listens for a distant cawing. His eye spots two birds, barely visible behind the night sky as they cry from their branch. Grover huffs, turning to Penny.

“You’re helping me make a delivery.” He said sharply, practically dragging her by the arm to one of the cars.

“Hey! What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” She shouts, struggling against his grasp.

“Help me make the delivery and I get you whatever treat you want.” Grover replies, getting her in the car. It’s not the usual continental that he’d drive. It’s a pickup truck, back covered with a tarp. Penny sits in the passenger seat, holding her arm nervously.

“Fine.”

And they drive off into the night. Penny watched as the lights from the city began to dim. The truck passed by the warehouse that marked the edge of town and drove farther than that and parked at the tree line. Grover got out of the truck and took the cover off the truck bed.

It was a cacophony of flies, buzzing over the top half of a deer. It had been ripped in half, and smelled like it had been a long time since it had died. Its guts had stained the bed red and maggots had begun to creep through the deers skin and pelt. Grover looked down on it, grabbing it and easing it out of the truck. It hit the ground with a somehow wet squelch. Something leaked from the deer.

“Help me.” Grover said, and when Penny got around the truck she screamed. It alerted the crows which dotted the trees, and Grover slapped a still wet glove against her mouth.

“Shut the fuck up. Vince don’t like noise.” He commanded. Penny stared at him with a wide eye, shivering in her unfit-for-weather dress.

“Grab the back.” Grover said, looking over his shoulder into the tree line. Penny squirmed, reaching down to try and carry her half of the weight. It was unfair, Grover had to lean all the way down and walk backwards into the trees with Penny trying to direct him in the dim light. He was pricked by several brambles and stabbed with sticks.

When the pair passed the tree line and entered the clearing, it was like walking into the world’s most terrifying sculpture park. The figures were all in the midst of fleeing. To the untrained eye it would look like wood carvings, but the way that the flies landed on them and how new branches grew from they eye sockets and mouths of these people made it obvious that it wasn’t just sculpture.

Grover and Penny carried the deer, sticks crunching under their shoes. The two approached the center of the field and Grover dropped the deer. He looked around at the stillness, searching for something in the trees. Penny felt uncomfortable, her head on a swivel as she looked through the field. She could have sworn she saw one of the bodies still breathing.

Grover whistled, taking a step away from the dearly departed deer.

“Watch em feast.” He said with a little grin on his face. The crows flooded from tree line, swooping at the carcass. Grover laughed, and Penny turned over her shoulder to see a hunched over figure with dark eyes and an elongated mouth. She screamed, grabbing onto Grover who looked down at her.

When his eyes landed on Vince in the darkness, reaching out to grab Penny, Grover swatted his hand away.

“No, Vince. I get’cher real hungry to have someone new join ya but not her. She’s family.” Grover said, staring at Vince as the cut noose swayed around his neck. They held eye contact. Vince opened his mouth and murmured something in a low, unfamiliar tone that sent chill down Penny’s spine.

“Look, how bout next time I bring one here fer ya I’ll letcha do yer tree thing an’ all that. I like them screams too, gotta admit..” Grover said with a low chuckle. Vince had a raspy laugh, not saying a word but staring at Penny. Grover looked down at her again.

“Her names Penny. I needed an extra set a hands pullin’ the deer. I know ya like a bit of a scaredy-cat, but I got reprimanded by Wally when I had brought Poppy out here. You ‘member her, Vince? Real tall bird broad?” Grover said. Penny had a look of horror plastered on her face as she kept a grip on Grover’s pants. Vince did not respond, reaching out a finger to graze against Penny’s skin. The taller of the scarecrows grabbed at the other, holding his gloved hand tightly.

“I’ll see what I can fix up fer ya. But not her. Not her.” Grover said protectively. The crows behind him cawed as they finished their feast and flew back into the trees. The plot was silent again, save for Vince’s ragged breathing. Penny stared up at Grover, then at Vince.

“D’ya need help spreading the bones across the field?” Grover asked. He gave Penny a little pat, a nonverbal way of telling her to head back to the truck. As she began to walk away, Vince turned his head with an audible creak. Grover kept his attention, talking to him calmly.

It took over an hour for Grover to return to the pickup truck. Penny was asleep, her head against the window. Grover glanced out the driver side window at Vince who stood just beyond the tree line. He waved goodbye, then turned around on the road to drive home.

From just under Penny’s opera glove, a small leaf began to sprout.

#welcome home oc #grover haymaker #penny peaches #vince vineyard #mob au #welcome home au #welcome home mob au #mob grover haymaker #mob penny peaches #mob Vince vineyard #planty stories

[peachesofteal]

Ghoap x reader zombie apocalypse AU? 👀 just gonna leave that here...

Ooh anon you got me with this. Thought about it all night. A full fic of this dynamic in an apocalypse setting would be so good. Sadly, I don't have it in me to write an entire fic for this but I scratched it out as a dead disco au down below on my phone (I took bits and pieces of zombie media and smashed them together as I like):

18+ MDNI / angst, death

It was an accident.

All you had wanted to do was try to find some mushrooms. You knew this part of the woods usually had a fair amount to forage, and you were pretty good at distinguishing the good ones from the not so good ones. You hadn't meant to get distracted.

You knelt down to the forest floor, picking at a piece of bark on a downed log when you heard the rustling, the suspect sound of something moving through the brush near you.

You expected one of the slow ones. The ones that usually found themselves this far from the city, wandering aimlessly, looking for the next meal. Decaying and rotting flesh hanging from their limbs, a sign they had been long infected, the decomposition marking them as something easily escapable.

You did not expect a runner.

You screamed- a huge no no, as Simon had been drilling into your head- when you saw it, far too late, tripping over yourself to try to get away, your hunting knife pressed into the palm of your hand.

You stood little chance against a runner. They were fresh, muscles still intact, lactic acid burning through their bodies, movements fast and sharp, able to take down an entire human in one fell swoop. They even looked like you, still holding their pallor, their posture, their fine motor skills.

Only their minds were gone. Addled by the infection, brains turned to hot mush inside their skulls.

They had one objective.

Eat.

You managed to clear the log, sprinting as fast as you possibly could, trying to take long, deep breaths through your nose just as Johnny taught you.

"More oxygen that way, love. It'll help your endurance, keep you runnin' longer."

They were always doing that now, equipping you for survival. Trying to train you like a solider, teaching you the finer points they thought you should know.

"We're gonna make it, together." Simon had said, the morning they showed up in the middle being away for work, clad in full tactical gear, guns in hand. "As a family."

"Ye have to listen to everything we say, alright darling? Everything's goin' to be okay." Johnny promised at the same time as you tried to pack some essentials into your backpack with trembling fingers.

They were obsessed with trying to instill as much of their knowledge into as possible, trying to prepare you, help you, listing off rules they thought were key, ensuring you knew to follow them.

One being: don't get distracted.

You curse yourself, feet flying underneath your body and heart thrumming in your chest with panic. You're too slow, and you can hear it behind you, sprinting just as fast as you are, preparing to launch and take down it's next meal.

You don't see the snare of brambles until you're in them, nearly slamming to a stop, thorns scratching against your skin as you fight against the thicket. It's too dense, slowing your ability to get away... and the runner is still hot on your heels, working its way through the mess, snapping its jaw like a shark.

Simon comes out of nowhere. One second you're hacking away at the branches and the next, there's a massive, solid warmth at your back, standing between you and the snarling monster. He's facing away from you, brandishing a knife, engaged in a full fight with the runner, taking it to the ground in an attempt to get the blade into its temple. You watch mouth wide, frozen, holding your breath until the job is done, and Simon is hauling himself upwards, pulling you into his arms before stepping back to look you over.

You burst into tears. You've always told them, you're not for this kind of world. You're too gentle, too sensitive. You're a painter, for fucks sake. Not a killer. You're too soft to survive.

They say it doesn't matter. That you can be as soft as you want, because you have them, and they'll be the killers. They'll be the hard ones.

"Did it get you? Let me see, c'mon-" He checks your arms, your neck, the tear on your shirt but finds nothing. "Alright, you're alright." He's telling you, and himself, relief exhaling from his body with each syllable. "You're alright, darling. I've got ya. Come here." He holds you tight, rubbing your back, kissing your cheek, your forehead until you're calm, breathing deeply and wiping your face.

You believe the worst has passed, until you blink up at him, and see the blood on his neck.

The bite.

"We need to make a plan."

"We're nae makin' a bloody plan." Johnny hisses, and Simon closes his eyes like he's tired. "We keep goin'. We'll make it to the rendezvous with Price and they'll have a solution. We dinnae even know how fast it spreads."

Simon lets loose a sigh, heavy with exhaustion. With the toll that this life has become. With the weight, of everything. He tucks you into his body, wrapping his other arm around Johnny, and holds the two of you close. Tightly. Tighter than he ever has before.

"Alright."

The next morning, everything is different.

You woke up last, fire still barely smoldering, little energy bar on the ground next to you. The guys sleeping bags were already rolled up, stacked neatly with Simon's pack, and the long gun that Johnny carries.

But they were nowhere to be found.

Confused, you slid free, stretching with a silent groan, scanning your surroundings until you spot them on the edge of the woods, locked together on their feet, Johnny's face mashed against Simon's neck, strong arms holding him close.

"What's going on?" The question comes out confused when you get close, and Johnny pulls away with wet eyes, hands shaking. What's happening? Why are they both crying? Fear screams through your body, red alert systems firing up as your brain struggles to put all the pieces together.

"Simon-" Johnny begins, but stops abruptly, eyes slamming shut, lips pressed together in agony.

"'m not feelin' too well." Simon explains gently. "You and Johnny are gon’ start on ahead, and 'm gonna stay here for a while." Something, something logical, something smart, is shouting at you from the back of your mind but you shove it away, opting for delusion instead.

"Okay, you're going to catch up though, right? You said. We'll find-" You frowned, looking from him to Johnny as a sick feeling grew in your stomach. "Johnny?"

“Look at me.” Simon combs through your hair with trembling fingers, unsteady for the first time in your entire existence. “I love you, darling. I love you so, so much.”

“S-stop, we're supposed to stay together, you- you said-“

“You have to go with Johnny now, okay? He’s gonna take care of you.” He jerks you forward, closed mouth pressing against your forehead. "I love you."

“No, Si.” You sob, fingers curled in his vest. “You have to come with us. You have to, we’ll fi-find a cure, they’ll be help, somewhere.”

“Johnny.” He chokes, and a strong arm wraps around your waist, Johnny’s heavy, tearful breathing echoing just above your ear. Someone works your fingers free, pulling your hand away but not letting go, holding onto you like a lifeline.

You look up between him, to his face, to Simon’s and realize. They’ve already said goodbye.

Simon strokes the back of his fingers down Johnny’s cheek, tears dripping down his own.

“I love you both, more than anything. More than life.” He squeezes your hand, rubbing a thumb over the back of your knuckles, and then steps away, pulling the handgun from the holster on his thigh. "Take care of each other."

"NO!" you scream, but Johnny is dragging you backwards like a rag doll, away from where Simon stands in clearing, gaze never breaking from the two of you, face wet with tears. "Johnny!"

"Darling-" he chokes out amidst a sob. "Shhh, please. Please." He begs you to be quiet, to hush, but you can't, you can't stop screaming, or fighting him, trying to get back to Simon, to reunite your family, to stay together. You scream and scream until Johnny’s hand claps over your mouth, his own words clogged by his cries, pleading and begging until he's cutting off your oxygen with a desperate apology and lifting you over his shoulder like dead weight.

The last thing you hear before you lose consciousness is the sound of a gunshot.

#peaches asks #peaches writes #ghost x soap x reader #I could be convinced #dead disco zombie au