#but YEEE

[l1-b1]

I am decades late to this trend but hi here’s harumi

[secretmellowblog]

You want me to think? The thing that killed Inspector Javert?

[noliaert]

Jetko wip <3

I HAVE NOT ABANDONED YOU I SWEAR

(yes the eyes' directions are gonna be fixed)

[smilesrobotlover]

do you know how? what? Lofty’s Abel looks like

Haha, here’s some notes she wrote down herself

From what she’s told me, he’s basically an older botw Link with his hair down with stubble and a scar on his chin. This is for blood of the hero at least. For the skord x botw one, idk what he specifically looks like? He’s more clean shaven, I know that, and I think he has shorter hair? But he also has a royal guard outfit. Idk I’ve drawn him enough I just kinda do Link and then add some old man qualities on there bdskbsksbs

[hasquetzorkukudoneanythingwrong]

Language lesson.

Ok, so this is kinda random, but I decided to try and do this fun sorta language about words of mesoamerica, mostly Aztec and Mayan.

First, starting with the term "Aztec" itself. Aztec is a kinda fun term. It's an exonym that was given to the Natives by the Spanish, tho still in the native Nahuatl language.

(Also, btw, if a word in Nahuatl ends in "tl" the l is silent)

Aztec is a combination of "Aztlan" and the suffix "-teca" which translates to "the people of Aztlan"

Aztlan is a mythical or pseudo-mythical land that's supposedly where the Nahuatl peoples came from, according to their mythology, before eventually the group who'd eventually found Tenochtitlan would be lead their by Huitzilopochtli.

People have tried to find potential candidates for where Aztlan could be, were it to be a real place.

Technically, given the mythology relating to Aztlan, any Nahuatl speaking people such as the Tolteca could also be considered Aztec, tho the term is only ever applied to the Mexica people of Tenochtitlan (and maybe the other people of the triple alliance?)

Ok, I think that's all for now, hope you guys found this informative!

[romanxeisdeadbutimnot]

Zosan // was supposed to be a nsfw drabble but I haven't written that far here (I forgor)

Puppydog Zoro (zoro with puppy ears and tail) that likes to roughhouse, epescially with his owner (Sanji). Some may think Zoro hates him, but they get along so well and Zoro loves Sanji.

When Zoro behaves, Sanji one night decides to reward him. Zoro is laying down in his little bed when Sanji asks Zoro to stand up. Zoro is curious, and stands up. He's a bit taller than Sanji, but obeys willingly to the shorter man.

"Hm? What is it?"

Sanji raises a hand and ruffles Zoro's hair, who's tail wags joyfully.

"You've been such a good boy for me lately. Do you want a treat?" Sanji smiles softly, watching the joyful look on Zoro's face.

"Yes! Yes, I want a treat!" Zoro's tail was wagging, almost bouncing on his feet. He was so excited to have Sanji's affection, and there came a low chuckle from him.

"Very good boy, I'll give you a treat~!"

With that statement, Sanji nuzzled his face into Zoro's neck, who let out a surprised whine. His face turned red as he felt the stubble on Sanji's face tickle his skin.

Out of instinct, Zoro hugged Sanji, his big arms wrapping around him easily. Zoro was still expecting some sort of treat, but this intimacy was nice.

When Sanji pulled back, Zoro was so excited to get his treat and-

He kissed him. Sanji pressed his lips against Zoros, and he swore his heart jumped. His owner's lips on his, the passion that quickly rose as Zoro hungrily kissed back.

[bonesblubs]

heya bones!! i hope ur doin well nd are having a good time :D! just wanted to say that i think ur an amazing, wonderful, talented person!!! thats all hjfhgfj bye!!

Aaaa thank you so much my dear!! That means so much!! I actually got some rly good news recently, so I won’t have to worry so much about financial stuff in a bit, which means I’ll be able to draw recreationally more soon!! Hoping I can start sketching and sharing more here as a result :)

In fact, does anyone here have any requests they’ve been sitting on? <3

[floydsteeth]

i’m adoring your modern!AU choices, it’s very inspiring!!! so i would love to see more of that. also any new AU ideas you might have, ‘cause i love AUs hehe

Working on the modern!AU has been so much fun and i really wanna keep working on it

its consuming my every thought and i love it :3

also it gives me reason to research weird things i wouldnt otherswise

but over all, working on it is fun and im so happy you like it!

im not very good when it comes to thinking up au's and headcannons so this'll probably be the only au i do but all that matters is im having fun

if you have any ideas for some of the characters i'd love to hear them! :D

[lifeofclonewars]

so I may or may not be writing a marching au prequel for Cody day now...

[neon-u-dumb-shxtty-child]

Hi Neon!! Are you fine with other people drawing your ocs? I'm not sure if you've mentioned it before so I wanted to check :>

Or course I’m okay with other people drawing my ocs! In fact i encourage it :3

I’m completely fine with it as long as people follow my boundaries (no nsfw until I’m an adult, nothing going against my dni, etc)

But besides that love seeing people draw my ocs! It makes me really happy like :0000000 my babies,,,, are getting drawings,,,, :,3

[corvidpaws]

FUCK YEAH!!

[oriiduckko]

YOUNG SCRIBESSSSS my beloved

I’m assuming it’s more of an ‘if they were kids during the story’ kind of thing as opposed to ‘what the Scrybes were like as kids’ sort of thing?

Yeeee some sort of thing like that hehe

[secretmellowblog]

It’s fascinating to see how much Jean Valjean’s characterization lines up with modern descriptions of PTSD. When Jean Valjean is triggered by upsetting reminders of the galleys —or believes he might be forced to go back to the galleys—he often forgets where he is, has “panic attacks” where he becomes disconnected from reality, doesn’t hear people when they’re talking to him, and behaves frantically/desperately or attempts to flee as if he’s being attacked even if no one is actually attacking him.

When he comes across the chain gang with Cosette, he becomes frozen in terror and seems to believe for a moment that he is the one being pursued:

Jean Valjean’s eyes had assumed a frightful expression. They were no longer eyes; they were those deep and glassy objects which replace the glance in the case of certain wretched men, which seem unconscious of reality, and in which flames the reflection of terrors and of catastrophes. He was not looking at a spectacle, he was seeing a vision. He tried to rise, to flee, to make his escape; he could not move his feet. Sometimes, the things that you see seize upon you and hold you fast. He remained nailed to the spot, petrified, stupid, asking himself, athwart confused and inexpressible anguish, what this sepulchral persecution signified, and whence had come that pandemonium which was pursuing him.

(….)

Jean Valjean returned home utterly overwhelmed. Such encounters are shocks, and the memory that they leave behind them resembles a thorough shaking up.

Nevertheless, Jean Valjean did not observe that, on his way back to the Rue de Babylone with Cosette, the latter was plying him with other questions on the subject of what they had just seen; perhaps he was too much absorbed in his own dejection to notice her words and reply to them.

In Arras, he spends most of the night overwhelmed by a sense of unreality that often turns to terror, and at one point even blindly runs through the empty halls of the courthouse “as if pursued” in a moment of panic:

He sought to collect his faculties, but could not. It is chiefly at the moment when there is the greatest need for attaching them to the painful realities of life, that the threads of thought snap within the brain. He was in the very place where the judges deliberated and condemned. With stupid tranquillity he surveyed this peaceful and terrible apartment, where so many lives had been broken, which was soon to ring with his name, and which his fate was at that moment traversing. He stared at the wall, then he looked at himself, wondering that it should be that chamber and that it should be he.

(…)

As he dreamed, he turned round, and his eyes fell upon the brass knob of the door which separated him from the Court of Assizes. He had almost forgotten that door. His glance, calm at first, paused there, remained fixed on that brass handle, then grew terrified, and little by little became impregnated with fear. Beads of perspiration burst forth among his hair and trickled down upon his temples.

At a certain moment he made that indescribable gesture of a sort of authority mingled with rebellion, which is intended to convey, and which does so well convey, “Pardieu! who compels me to this?” Then he wheeled briskly round, caught sight of the door through which he had entered in front of him, went to it, opened it, and passed out. He was no longer in that chamber; he was outside in a corridor, a long, narrow corridor, broken by steps and gratings, making all sorts of angles, lighted here and there by lanterns similar to the night taper of invalids, the corridor through which he had approached. He breathed, he listened; not a sound in front, not a sound behind him, and he fled as though pursued.

When he had turned many angles in this corridor, he still listened. The same silence reigned, and there was the same darkness around him. He was out of breath; he staggered; he leaned against the wall. The stone was cold; the perspiration lay ice-cold on his brow; he straightened himself up with a shiver.

In the bishop’s house, he panics at the sound of a door opening:

He decided on his course of action, and gave the door a third push, more energetic than the two preceding. This time a badly oiled hinge suddenly emitted amid the silence a hoarse and prolonged cry.

Jean Valjean shuddered. The noise of the hinge rang in his ears with something of the piercing and formidable sound of the trump of the Day of Judgment.

In the fantastic exaggerations of the first moment he almost imagined that that hinge had just become animated, and had suddenly assumed a terrible life, and that it was barking like a dog to arouse every one, and warn and to wake those who were asleep. He halted, shuddering, bewildered, and fell back from the tips of his toes upon his heels. He heard the arteries in his temples beating like two forge hammers, and it seemed to him that his breath issued from his breast with the roar of the wind issuing from a cavern. It seemed impossible to him that the horrible clamor of that irritated hinge should not have disturbed the entire household, like the shock of an earthquake; the door, pushed by him, had taken the alarm, and had shouted; the old man would rise at once; the two old women would shriek out; people would come to their assistance; in less than a quarter of an hour the town would be in an uproar, and the gendarmerie on hand. For a moment he thought himself lost.

He remained where he was, petrified like the statue of salt, not daring to make a movement.

He often behaves as if on autopilot, mechanically doing actions without seeming to understand what he’s doing or hear who he’s speaking to, the way he unfortunately does with Petit Gervais:

“My piece of money!” cried the child, “my white piece! my silver!”

It seemed as though Jean Valjean did not hear him. The child grasped him by the collar of his blouse and shook him. At the same time he made an effort to displace the big iron-shod shoe which rested on his treasure.

“I want my piece of money! my piece of forty sous!”

The child wept. Jean Valjean raised his head. He still remained seated. His eyes were troubled. He gazed at the child, in a sort of amazement, then he stretched out his hand towards his cudgel and cried in a terrible voice, “Who’s there?”

Prison had such a massive horrific effect on his mind, and on the way he interacts with the world. He’s constantly living under this sense of terror and paranoia that he’s being pursued, that he will be brought back to the galleys, a terror that often turns into blind almost-mindless panic.

It’s been mentioned before and is a kinda basic analysis, but Jean Valjean’s prison sentence was really far more than nineteen years— the severe mental physical and emotional trauma from those nineteen years lasts his entire life.

[oflightsabers]

me three weeks ago: I'm going to be more regularly active in at least a small way

my business: *comes back with a vengeance within days*

[ruvi-muffin]

MY BIGGEST QUESTION THO

Will sam still play veth ????

BC I WANT HIM TO !! ????

But also

Like listen, w tm9 they could rly go ham w hireing and promoing marginalized voice actors bc So Many Characters are poc. Like... ik they're probably Thinking about it but like

ALSO WHO DOES THE RASPY VETH VOICE BETTER THAN SAM I MEAN REALLY

Same w beau like, i could see it but also ;;;; she's marisha's Baby

[benevolentvampire]