#Honestly I like this more then I should
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kochei0 · 8 months ago
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I turn to Ares.
Thanks to Tyler Miles Lockett who allowed me to draw inspiration from his ARES piece for page 2! Look at his etsy page it's SICK
⚔️ If you want to read some queer retelling of arturian legends have a look at my webtoon
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remxedmoon · 5 months ago
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yknow i think their cloak should be a little stained actually. just a little.
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isjasz · 8 months ago
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[Day 246]
More background practice but it got out of hand goshdangit .png
They chilling :D
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koszmarnybudyn · 2 months ago
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I found a really good refrence... So Kayne.
Oh also the og refrence under the cut cause i did use it for the background:
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benevolenterrancy · 25 days ago
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Scholarly peak is catching up on recent literature
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aesthetic-uni · 2 years ago
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Misha Collins is the funniest straight man ever. He’s the only person to arguably queerbait in real life. He had to come out as a straight. He was told by WB to just stay bisexual. He’s living every homophobe’s nightmare scenario but the only difference is that everyone actually loves it for him
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xxplastic-cubexx · 28 days ago
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Hi!! Your Cherik is so good and gorgeous 🤩🤩 If you don't mind wanna try to draw some Fall of X Cherik please?
thank you so much !!
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i have a couple of ideas relating to the fall of x period specifically since theres. A Lot i wanna play with, so i hope this lil thing may be a satisfactory start :]]
and the obligatory bonus:
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#xmen#xmen comics#fall of x#cherik#charles xavier#erik lehnsherr#erik magnus lehnsherr#max eisenhardt#professor x#magneto#snap sketches#for clarity on of this tag ramble im calling magneto max OK ok#sorry it took me a while to answer- ive been busy this week !#but yah like i said theres a lot of Fall Of X moments i wanna poke at#one i really wanted to doodle around was max's time with the shadow king from Resurrection of Magneto#the third issue is prob my fave in general if im so tbh .... but i wont prattle bout that ill go back to my previous prattle#i dont think i have a comic in mind prob just a doodle with shadow charles....#i mean if im devious enough i can def turn it into a comic but for now i just know i wanna do something with that#honestly even this moment i might revisit when i have more time to draw something. a lil better#i dont hate this its a sound start- but i THINK i wanna draw a smooch. a lil kiss. idk we'll see#cause im cheeky like that. 'will this be the last time i see you' 'girl idk we can kiss about it though' etc etc#god not to get off topic but im so curious what will happen with these two ... but thats for a diff post i guess#honestly if you guys have any runs i should read lemme know !! i just finished way of x and bar that ive just been reading the 60s issues#i have a couple on my list i wanna check out but im always excited to look into recs if yall think theyre worth it !!#but ya. thats all from me for now#my time is so finite this week i hope i can draw these sillies again soon .. i have a lot of ideas i fear#maybe i can sneak in one more doodle tonight ... <- doubtful
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pinescent-and-gingerbread · 1 month ago
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✧ Fantasies in the dark
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✦ Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Female!Reader ✦ Summary: In which Arthur catches a glimpse of your intimacy, the vision driving him into madness until he finally decides to give in to his urges. ✦ Warnings: SMUT 18+, MDNI! Masturbation, nudity, voyeurism (reader not aware he's staring), self-depreciation, and lots of shame from this poor man. Arthur's pov. ✦ Words: 2,7k Arthur's pic is mine, others are from Pinterest. And as always, as English isn't my first language, prepare for some possible misspellings. Read on AO3
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Lately, Arthur had a problem. An incessant, disturbing, haunting problem.
He couldn’t sleep at night.
This could have been related to the gang’s precarious situation, being hunted down by the Pinkertons and surrounded by enemy gangs, O’Driscolls and Lemoyne raiders everywhere. Or even because of some older wounds, the loss of Eliza and Isaac amongst others, reminded almost every day by the complicated family portrait John painted with Abigail and Jack. Or the hurtful thought of the life he never had with Mary that was always following him since he had seen her again near Valentine. Life doomed from the start by his inherent violence and the mountain of corpses he was responsible for.
Arthur had plenty of reasons not to sleep at night. But this wasn’t because of any of that.
He couldn’t sleep because of you. 
Not that it was your fault. In fact, you didn’t even know about any of that and Lord have mercy, he was praying that you’ll never find out; because he would never be able to look at you in the eyes then.
A few weeks ago, the gang had settled at Clemen’s Point. A rather pretty spot just near the lake, and not so far from town. But it wasn’t exactly the place that was causing him trouble. It was the unexpected view he was having from his tent.
For some unknown, mystical reasons, Miss Grimshaw while deciding the camp’s ajancement had decided to place your tent right next to his. Not so big of a problem at first sight, right?
Except that you were a night owl combined with the suffocating warmth of the place. Making you get to bed naked.
Oh, Arthur knew you do, because every night, every single one, you let a candle lit to read, or write, or God knows what before sleeping. The light casts your shadow against the tent’s canvas. The shadow of your very much nude body.
The first night Arthur had noticed, he had come back exhausted from a job in the middle of the night and laid on his cot without even taking the time to remove his boots or hat. A very usual and typical slice of his life, which lately felt more and more like a terribly used one. As if all these slices were repeating again and again. An accumulation of jobs and missions and robberies and fights; deceiving, lying, stealing, killing. Over and over again, going round and round. At night, he was reduced to a slumbered mind in a spent body, that was definitely becoming old and rusty. Already half asleep, mud and twigs surrounding his tired limbs, his thoughts all tangled up like a ball of wool, he had turned his head to his left, reaching from instinct for his pack of cigarettes on the little table next to his bed. Another slice of bad habits from a bad life.
That’s how his eyes had met with this quite erotic shape displayed on your tent.
Said eyes had grown so big that it had fully woken him up all of a sudden, as quickly as if someone had dumped a bucket of iced water on his shocked face. After half of a second of pure stabbing surprise and incomprehension with his hand hanged in the air, his breath stuck in his throat as if really being punched in the gut, he instantly turned his eyes back to the ceiling of his own tent. Cheeks burning red, heart pounding, as if someone had caught him in the act of doing a terribly shameful thing. Exactly as if he had really seen you naked.
He had feverishly grabbed the cigarette pack without looking at it, gaze refusing to turn again, these two blue diamonds locked on the ceiling of his tent, and had messily pulled one out of it, his shaky fingers fumbling, almost spilling everything on the ground.
He must have looked so damn ridiculous.
The smoke helped him to calm down, its soothing and comforting feeling spreading and burning through his lungs. He had fallen asleep, turned to the other side facing the wagon, trying not to think too much about the peek of your intimacy he had witnessed, telling himself it probably was going to be an isolated incident. 
But of course, of course the Lord had to torment him even in the rare moments of peace he could have enjoyed.
Turns out this was apparently a habit of yours. 
To be honest, he probably deserved to be tormented. But this was years from what he had in mind when it came to the Lord's punishment for his life of crimes.
And Arthur, even though a hardened man in many ways, able to lock lips during torture, kill men with bare hands, and stay emotionally strong in any kind of situation, was still only, after all, a man. A man with needs.
Filthy, disgusting needs.
He had tried to resist. Had tried not to let his eyes slip in your direction like that first night. Sometimes he would allow himself a quick glance, just to check if you were wearing any clothes for once, like a normal person. And maybe the night after would be different? Every evening spent at camp, his pupils would end up brushing the sinful silhouette in just a soft, slight sight, as if not to scare you, as if not to feel too bad about it.
But it was getting harder and harder not to stare. The easy lies about just checking on you or looking at anything else in the same area as your tent to have the chance of winning a glimpse of you would soon not be enough.
Just the mere fact that he knew you were completely bare, only a few meters away from him, singly the thin and superficial fabric of the tent between the both of you, was getting him hard and sweaty, and making his blood boil as a virgin teenage boy would. He could almost physically feel it, like a burning presence in his back when he was sleeping head against the wagon's wall.
The Human mind may be well designed for a lot of things; it forgets an event too hard to carry or can trick you into thinking you're not experiencing any physical pain in extreme situations. But Arthur had learned that it was extremely poorly made when it came to ignoring something. The more he was trying to not think about his unholy urges, the more he ended up being plagued with them. As sure as the seasons always turned in circles, you would come back to his effusive psyche.
And Oh, he was ashamed. Ashamed and revolted by himself. This was absolutely not in his habits, all the contrary. Yes, he was an old miserable bastard who had killed and plundered. But for God's sake, he had never acted obscene towards a lady before.
But the shame wasn't enough for him to stop. On the nights when the guilt was at its lowest —when the tediousness of his days was nibbling at his patience, he had let his eyes wander to your sinful figure, telling himself that maybe if he did, he could just go on with his night and finally rest. Just a quick taste, not too long.
But it only made things worse. It made him dream of you. 
Dream of you stripped, his imagination taking the lead of what the tent’s fabric was preventing him from seeing. Dream of you moaning, taking him so tightly, welcoming him in your warm body and into your arms. Dream of the feeling of your skin under his fingertips, of the sight of your naked body squirming with pleasure. He would now often wake up frustrated and angry, if he had succeeded in sleeping at all, his member hard and throbbing on its own, his heart beating powerfully in his chest as if it had been real. His pants and blanket had even been damped one or two times. 
What was he, a fifteen-year-old boy again? He was so angry and mortified by the physical obsession his body was having with you that he was constantly in a foul and fiery mood;  bitter with everyone, his tension leaking into every movement and every word he spoke. He started missing targets when shooting, getting even more reckless and hot-headed during jobs, jobs often ending up missed or taken care of negligently, yelling at people when they weren’t fast enough, or clever enough, or silent enough, breaking things, breaking rules. The lack of sleep was making his deadly efficiency fade away, replaced by sloppy and messy gestures, stopping enemies from falling dead at his feet like his lethal skills always did, castrating the only thing that was left of his masculinity.
And yet, he couldn’t stop watching you from afar during the time he was at camp, telling himself he knew, or at least had an idea, of what you looked like without these clothes on; feeling a twisted sensation of pride imagining he was the only one who did. On top of that, your sweet personality and beautiful face weren’t helping him at all with his addiction. Filthy old bastard, stop it- he had to mentally slap himself to prevent staring at you for too long, especially staring at your chest that this goddamn dress you had chosen to wear wasn’t covering at all; or your ass these goddamn pants were fitting way too well.
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Tonight, Arthur is avoiding going to bed too early. He knows he would just lay in it waiting for you anyway. Instead, he goes for a walk along Flat Iron Lake’s shores, bringing his journal with him. Two entire pages are already dedicated to your shadow. He had no idea a picture exclusively made of black and white flats on a sheet could have such a powerful erotic effect. Or maybe he is a complete degenerate —which, he is sure, is more and more true.
He has to be honest with himself, he could just go to a hotel, or out of camp for a few days to sleep under the stars, and the matter would be settled.
But he doesn’t want to. Because deep down inside, his urges are winning, making him feel like the most foolish and weakest man alive. He enjoys watching you. He enjoys seeing those forbidden plumped curves cast on this canvas. He feels like you're not leaving him any mercy, pitiless, his days dictated by the wait for his taboo rendez-vous, his nights by your sensual apparitions in his dreams.
He is trapped, you have completely tamed him, and irony of it all, have absolutely no idea you are making him feel like this.
This woman is drivin' me insane.
After a few hours on the cold shore's sand, his fingers only capable of creating quick little sketches and scribbles, his feet lead him back to camp. What a surprise. He finds most of the gang's members already asleep, apart from the ones on guard duty and some late campfire enjoyers talking about life, about love, grief, the future, the past. He briefly nods at them without a word and walks to his private space. He already knows what’s waiting for him there, your tent looking like it’s still illuminated, his thoughts and body avid for it.
No, don’t be a fool, Morgan.
He sits down on his cot. Mumbles to himself orders and curses to try and stay reasonable. Takes off his hat, runs a hand through his hair, sticky with sweat and dirt from his busy day, as all the other ones, as always. Scratches his beard and his ears with a sniff, tells himself he needs to take a swim into that lake. That he’s as dirty on the inside as he’s on the outside. Pulls down his suspenders before stretching his shoulders, a pained groan escaping him. A cigarette joins his lips, a match lights it, and he breathes in slowly. He tries to calm down, focusing once again on this homey feeling it brings him. 
But his brows furrows. His lips tighten. He knows he won’t be able to hold on much longer. He needs to sleep properly. Even being the all-mighty Titan he is, he still needs a good night of sleep from time to time to keep the engine of his body turning, and you have kept it from him for days.
He lies to himself promising this is only for his health.
That this is the only way for him to stay focused during the day; the only way to rest properly and be at his best again tomorrow.
That this will be the only time he’ll do that.
His only moment of weakness. 
The still-lit cigarette and his good conscience fall to the ground as he lies on his cot, settled on his left side, his right hand already roaming on his lower belly. 
His eyes drop on the scene he had fantasized about for what seems like years to him at this point.
Lord have mercy…
Your shadow looks so perfect. He takes his sweet time to notice every detail of it, enjoying to the maximum his sinful behavior, now that he had succumbed to it. How you’re laying on your back, reading your book with your legs crossed. The curvaceous shape of your body looks divine to his insatiable gaze. Your hair messily tangled around your head. The silhouette of your chin and throat making him hungrier than any feast he could have attended. Your belly, rising and falling with your chest and breasts, gives the shadow an organic appearance. Your delicate legs, from the base of your thighs to your calves, to your feet, your toes mindlessly curling as you get lost in your story. And of course, the blurry outline of what was between them…
Damn it.
His hand quickly reaches his belt, unbuckles it,  fiddles with his pants, opens them carelessly in an urgent grip. He spits in his palm, lashes out at himself when the desire of it being your wetness instead crosses his mind, and slips it between the buttons of his union suit. It finally wraps around his desperate shaft, gorged with blood, and he wonders if he already had been this hard before.
The moment he feels the pressure of his own fingers around it, he can’t help but sigh deeply through his nose, and has to physically block the groan he was about to let out.
Make no noise, moron.
He bites his lips to stop any other immoral sound from crossing through his mouth. Last thing he needs right now is to get caught. He slowly rubs one languorous time from up to down, then up again, his fingers brushing his swollen head right where he needs to. He instantly knows he won’t last. He had dreamed about this, about you, both during days and nights. His eyes are locked on your tantalizing silhouette, this deiform delicious flesh. Goddess of the night, Queen of his desires.
His hand rubs once again and his muscles tighten. He starts to stroke in a rhythmic pace, his moves are efficient, messy, careless. He masturbates the same way he takes care of himself —quickly, roughly, as if matching his disgust towards his own self. The exact opposite of what he would do to you if he could. This is pure physical relief.
Yes, God, yes…
Your name turns in his mind between blasphemous curses as he pleasures himself, stroking faster and faster, delightful warm sensations spreading through him. Finally. The burning is no longer in his back or mind; it's right there around his erection, flames licking all around it.
He wants to be able to join you there, so badly. He wants to discover the tone of your bare skin in those places you never show to anyone. He wants to whisper sweet things in your ear and you to sigh back, your voice high and softly shaking from pleasure. He wants the lewd intimacy, the shared tension and the electric, exciting touch of two foreign skins discovering each other for the first time. He wants to see your hardening nipples he can only have a glimpse of through the fabric. 
He wants to have you, to take you, consume you, all to himself. He wants you to think about him the same way he is now, wants you to come while thinking of him, only him, your mouth to moan, whimper, scream even, all thanks to him. 
He wants your hand instead of his, around his cock right now, pressing harder, moving faster.
Yes, yes, jus’ a bit more darlin’… -
A movement from you, a real one, makes his pace slow down and his heart stops, afraid you might have by some sort of divine knowledge understood what was happening. But you’re just shifting in your bed, positioning yourself on your belly with your book open against your pillow, and Arthur’s balls spasm; he now has the most perfect view of your ass, its gorgeous, decadent round and plumped contour making his member twitch in his fist.
Ahh, shit… So god damn perfect… 
Pearls of sweat leak from his forehead to his neck. His ears shut close to the outside world, his surroundings completely disappearing. Now, there’s only you and your perfect back beautifully arched ending with your perfect bottom and him, and no one else’s on Earth. His breath is jerky, his entire face completely crimson, his fingers pumping so hard and fast he’s basically fucking his hand —your hand, with those wet and unmistakable noises filling the air.
His breath speeds up as Arthur feels his deliverance coming, blood rushing in his veins. He sees himself behind you grabbing fistfuls of your cheeks, he sees his erection diving deep between them. And it's the last straw. His brows are crunched in an exquisite expression of pure sexual delight, jaws so tensed he’s about to break his teeth, your pleasure-filled voice screaming his name in his head, dragging every sensation out of him. His orgasm hit him with the strength and speed of a thunderstorm, lightning bolts of satisfaction striking every fiber of his body.
 Yes! Yesss  —Damnit! 
He comes hard with a low and throaty growl he forgot to —or couldn't repress, silently repeating your name again and again, his lower lip almost cut open from how hard he had bit himself, an enormous vein on his forehead where sweat covers his skin. His thick, hot cum spills messily in an indecently large amount, the aftermath of having held himself back for so long, leaking on his pants and fingers and staining his cot; a dash of white contrasting with the darkness of what he just did.
He’s praying to the Lord and the Devil, any mystical forces known to man, that nobody had heard his final relief sound, especially not you. It was louder than what he would like to admit.
Shit, so damn good…
Using his black bandana, he roughly cleans himself then tosses it somewhere on the floor, his cock finally softening as he shoves it back under his clothes, balls empty. And it feels good. So good a wave of shame and guilt crashes onto him once more. What a pig he was for jerking off while ogling you. What an old bastard he was to mingle you and his filth. But at the same time, he feels like his muscles are thanking him, his restless flesh satisfied, even though he almost hurt himself with how fast he had stroked, lost in his haze.
His bittersweet and contradictory feelings accompanied him as he took a last glance at your tent before drifting off to sleep, his breathing still a bit raspy as if he had run for hours. You had closed your book and taken the candle between your hands to blow on it, the little flame flickering before fading. And then, darkness.
The curtains falling on the stage at the end of this private decadent act.
Eyelids heavy, Arthur knows he will finally sleep tonight.
But he also knows this isn’t the end of his torments at all; the conflicting thoughts paint his mind just as the sun pierces through the dark ebony clouds of a thunderstorm, creating those abruptly dazing shapes and color, pitch black laced with blinding light.
Never in this life or the Other he will forget the form of your naked body, no matter how wicked he feels. Because when it comes to you and only you, Arthur Morgan is, indeed, a very weak man.
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tagging : @a-court-of-valkyries and @zae-heeyyy
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tenderjock · 9 days ago
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SPIKE: do you need a dog. i can bark caps frm
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itspileofgoodthings · 4 months ago
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one of the things that continues to strike me on reread is how much the character of Darcy, and Austen through him, finds Mr. Bennet dead. And how much Elizabeth, in growing and changing and discarding her past blindness, has to move past her way of seeing her father and thus of seeing reality, because the two are connected! Darcy’s letter exposes her father’s flaws to Elizabeth in a way she’d never been able to see before. Most especially the way his laziness and neglect of his own gifts have hurt his family and that ultimately he doesn’t. care. Not enough to change. It literally says that she comes home from Hunsford and tries to laugh at her sisters’ and mother’s folly (the way she used to; the way her father has taught her to by example for her whole life) and she can’t anymore! It sticks in her throat. She is grieved by the failures that she sees in him, all the more so because she IS his favorite and she loves him! And the thing about Mr. Bennet is he never changes. The Lydia/wickham situation exposes to him sharply his own conduct and the consequences and he feels it! Because he is neither stupid nor unfeeling. But he, like everyone, has free will. And he chooses not to change when the opportunity presents itself. He even jokes about how quickly his feeling bad will pass and how soon everything will go back to normal, to his laziness and his selfishness. He is set in his ways and he serves as a contrast to Elizabeth’s personal journey because he embodies a version of a person she could have become and was in danger of becoming if her only goal at all times was to laugh at and judge people from the sidelines.
#pride and prejudice#I’ve always loved his character because he IS funny and he is iconic!!! and his love for Lizzy is touching!#he’s not faking it.#but he is so flawed. a man of taste a man of ability a man of judgment.#a man who could and SHOULD have set a different tone for his children and chose not to!#and they SUFFER FOR IT#their house is a divided one. and every child feels the pain of living in a house where the parents neither respect each other#nor are on the same team#there is a crack running through their house for this reason and it’s how Lydia (and Kitty) came to be so neglected!#who is going to discipline them or guide them? certainly not Mr. Bennet!#he’s so important to teach too. because the boys LOVE HIM. of course!#and are always very struck by his failures and laziness once I point it out#and yeah Darcy one of the only people who can expose him. because Darcy is putting in the work a man should be doing#Darcy’s house IS in order. his love is active and protective. he is fulfilling his role!#Mr. Bennet’s gifts are so extraordinary—the wit. the insight into human nature. honestly the capacity for wisdom#but he likes his library. he likes enjoying himself more than he likes doing his duty#as either a father or a husband#he does fail Mrs. Bennet! I have compassion for her there#anyway I love to think about this: something no version I have ever seen has ever fully explored#but man is it on the page#yeah yeah sorry for all the words. teacher off duty etc.
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basslinegrave · 4 months ago
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#considered posting this to my 'main' for a second but then realized i just post most ship art here so it goes here.#now the real question should i use the main tags or stick to a ship tag. but i think the tags might be empty anyway so dont mind if i do#my art#monarch a trois#dr. girlfriend#henchman 21#the monarch#dr mrs the monarch#uhhhh#venture bros#vbros#ask to tag#im new here i have no idea what tags to use 🫡#i mainly just wanted to draw them all together cause yknow. they could be a thing#so yeah this is ship art but take it however you want#ALSO i got very lazy with the clothes and coloring i honestly just wanted to do a pose like this and then didnt really want to think abt#the clothes and then when it came to coloring i considered leaving them in all black but it was hard to see them then#so i added a tiny bit of color after having this sit in my files for over a week#i want to draw them more but i have no ideas at all im just imagining them having like movie nights whenever they can nd stuff#i loved how domestic the show got to depict them being somehow. injecting the scenes where theyre in their kitchen into my bloodstream#but now that sheila isnt a part of the villain trio its like ough... leaving the boys home alone in their r/malelivingspace#garys s7 room 💀#also i cropped this cause i could not be bothered to draw shoes. i actually drew them for dr gf and monarch but i gave up on garys#<- has not drawn shoes in months because of liking cartoon animals that dont wear them
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ashes-in-a-jar · 4 months ago
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I haven't thought much about Jonathan Sims for long enough that I kinda feel like I've started thinking about him a little more divorced of the emotional attachment I might have had once. Because I just saw a post lamenting his slow descent into inhumanity and losing his identity, becoming the archivist rather than Jonathan Sims, losing his friends, his house, everything he loves.
But is that true? That put upon head archivist persona he had in the beginning, was that really him? The way I see it, real life has already leached him of any identity he might have had, he didn't really have friends, Tim and Sasha clearly weren't, as we saw in their season 5 recording. He chose to make them his subordinates over beib friends, pushed away Georgie, he became so desperate for approval that he agreed to take a job he clearly has no idea how to do, let his stress over it isolate him from everyone around him, had a desperate need to assert himself in the beginning of every recording as 'head archivist of the Magnus institute london'. Forget about even having a home, he often slept in his office for heaven's sake.
The way I see it, this story is about him finding himself, finding the perfect place for himself in this already doomed world that was already strangling him and everyone around him. He became the Archivist, no longer needing to connect himself to some godforsaken capitalistic institute to identify himself. found his role, he enjoyed its power, even admitted to it. He found love. He found purpose in trying to save the world. In the end he was surrounded with the friends he made along the way (as friendly as they could be under the circumstances). He was finally allowed to make real choices, have true responsibility over himself and not be some tired corporate worker, part of a tired pointless system. Sure his choices weren't that great, and getting there was through outside manipulation and his own ignorance and he had to suffer immensely and pay an awful price of what we like to call his "humanity" but he Became and found what we all look for - his calling.
"It's still me" he says in the last episode. Because he is. He lost nothing and gained everything. Even dying in his lover's arms.
Forget about being human. In the end Jon achieves apotheosis and truly becomes Jonathan Sims
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egophiliac · 10 months ago
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did you know that in one of dorm epel's voicelines he mentions he once got lost in pomefiore and ended up in a creepy basement. it's never mentioned again or given any clarification and i think about it every day
that comes up a couple of times actually! there's just like...a weird creepy dungeon slash old alchemy lab that the Pomefiore castle was built on top of. I think Vil might use it sometimes? but really it serves absolutely no purpose beyond the characters every once in a while being like "oh yeah, there's that secret underground laboratory we all apparently know about" and then never elaborating on it at all.
(I know it's a movie reference, but it's still pretty wild to just. in-universe have a not-so-secret basement alchemy dungeon that never has any relevance beyond a couple of throwaway lines. what other buckwild secrets does NRC hold that the characters just never talk about for some reason)
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poorly-drawn-mdzs · 5 months ago
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Thank you all for an incredible 500 days of love and support. I offer you: answers to questions that no one has asked.
(As always, more can be found in the tags <3)
#poorly drawn mdzs#mdzs#wei wuxian#a-qing#jin ling#wen ning#jiang cheng#“Hey wait this feels like there should have been way more content for questions” Yes. There was.#I was not strong enough to redraw *all* of what was lost. Rest in piece the original (lost to tea related accident)#But I'll tell you all the fun other things that would have been drawn out right here in the tags!#Did you know my longest posting streak was 61 days? And my longest hiatus was 6 days?#Did you know I missed posting on 92 days of those 500 days - meaning I posted 82% of the time on a daily basis?#I'm normal about collecting data. I have so much data on this blog for normal reasons. I'm also so normal about art. The normalest.#Honorable mention for the character rankings: Lan Wangji! for “Most improved in rank”.#Sorry Lan Wangji fans but until the audio drama I honestly was...pretty indifferent towards him.#I think a huge part of that was due to the fact he's constantly paired up with WWX; who has *so* much charisma and steals the scene#But I've really come to like him a lot more since starting this project. He rose from mid-tier to being in the top ten!#Dishonorable mention: Nie Huaisang. Who fell out of number 1 spot and out of the top 5.#He just hasn't shown up a lot! And my rankings are fickle! They will probably change once I finish the third season!#My favourite comics are: A lot of them! And the ones I have yet to make!#I'm very sleepy at the moment while writing this but I do want to give a huge shout out to YOU.#Yeah! you reading this! Thank you! If you've been here since the first week or just started reading: THANK YOU!#If you've only ever lurked and never even liked a single post but still read my comics: THANK YOU!!#In creating this blog - I have found 500 days of more happiness that I could have ever imagined.#Thank you for joining me on this journey. Thank you for giving me your time and your support.#It means more than any 'thank you' could say B'*)
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hellboundhimbo · 4 months ago
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WOE MEME DUMP BE UPON YE here’s part 1 lol
ignore the fact the last one is in a completely different format than the rest of them xoxo it wasn’t planned to be part of the dump but i figured id include it.
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somecunttookmyurl · 1 year ago
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i'm not reblogging the whole post again but @zorilleerrant you are so real for this
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