My Illustration Of @lisellelascelles 's Fic, Weary Is My Brow Beneath The Crown For Thorin's Spring Forge

borders between countries aren't real btw we just made them up. there's no such thing as an "immigrant" we're all just people moving around on the same planet that we've always moved around on

tubi is one of our greatest warriors in the fight against streaming services costing a fortune for mediocre content. tubi has the most insane collection of movies you will ever encounter all for free. it has cult classics and questionable lifetime movies and movies that nobody except like three people on the planet have ever seen. tubi has movies that doesn’t exist. like if you just thought of a movie one day but never made it and no one ever made it it would somehow still exist on tubi. one day i will log onto tubitv dot com and i will see terribly inappropriate, overly complex, and strange on there. and i won’t even be surprised.

@jonmartinweek day nine: "au day"

had to combine the boys with my otp of course

I swear half the time I see posts on here I wonder if people even listened to the same podcast.

Constantly people argue about who would have made a better Archivist while completely missing what the Archivist’s actual role was:

Firstly, Gertrude was not a good Archivist. In fact, her being shit at it was a major plot point. She purposefully left the Archives disorganized to try and stop whatever Jonah was planning. She didn’t like using her compelling powers. She was good at stopping rituals. That isn’t the Archivist’s duty, she just took that on herself. We don’t really know who was ‘stopping’ rituals before her, though we can assume Jonah was at least invested in doing so until he figured out they didn’t work. (I’m also assuming rituals could not happen very often, with perhaps centuries between.)

A good Archivist would be nothing like Gertrude… she wanted to appoint Sasha because she could see they were like-minded and maybe we could extrapolate that Sasha would have gone a similar route in being obstructive to Jonah’s plans

A “good” Archivist would be someone who directly embraced the Eye and willingly took as many live statements as they wanted. I think we can say Jon was decent at the role comparatively.

Do not get being a good Archivist and being good at undermining Jonah’s plans( and the plot of the show) mixed up. Argue all you want about whether x character would have fallen for the ritual… but don’t say they would have been a good Archivist. Because you’re arguing for the opposite

dragon practice with our fav golden plated guy

Warm and Cozy (Bagginshield mini comics)

I had say it and I will say it again, I have a thing for Thorin cloak. And so have Bilbo x)

When Jon rests his weary head on Martin's lap, it feels like the clearest of revelations. The greatest of miracles. The ravaged world stands still – asleep or dead, doesn't matter, nothing matters except for the warmth of the cheek pressed to Martin's knee and the tingling of his stubble through the fabric of his jeans. Jon tosses and turns for a bit, looking for a comfortable position, and finally closes his eyes with a content sigh. The eye bags are growing darker with every passing day, just as the lines on his forehead are growing deeper. The world is at its closest to the end, and still Martin has never felt so in love before.

It seems that everything has been leading them to this moment – Jon in Martin's arms, tired but trusting and dear to him, so dear that his heart aches longingly. Martin reproaches himself for such thoughts and still can't help but thinks that he would let the apocalypse happen again, and again, and again, only to see Jon like this, to hold his hand, their fingers intertwined, to kiss the corner of his lips, to cradle him in his arms at night, hiding from the nightmares.

(They're both broken and crushed by fate, wrong and full of mistakes. Martin doesn't know whether they're going against what is destined, or right where they are supposed to be, whether they're going towards their death or a new life. He has no idea. Or better put it this way: he just follows Jon, no matter where he is heading, the way apostles followed Jesus. He believes him and in him without any doubt and is ready to die for him or with him, if it's necessary. This is how sick and twisted they are. At least, in this universe.

Maybe in another universe they weren't such idiots and found each other earlier. Maybe there Martin can kiss Jon every day and not fear lest this kiss should be their last. Maybe there they can just live – happily ever after, like in those fairytales. Maybe. Martin doesn't know. What he knows is that in this universe, in their universe, the sky is constantly watching them, the earth is soaked with sticky fear and blood, and they are the ones to fix all of this.

In this universe they are a tragedy, but Martin wouldn't change a thing in them for the world.)

“Your thoughts are too loud,” Jon grumbles, a quick green flash in his narrowed eyes. Martin bites his lip. He still forgets that his boyfriend knows and hears absolutely everything, and it is both exciting and unnerving.

“Sorry,” he says. That I think so much, that it seems to me that we have no future, that I believe in you like in God.

Jon finds his hand and presses his cheek against the palm. Martin chokes on his breath, as this act is so simple and yet so gentle that he suddenly wants to cry. (He never considered tears to be a sign of weakness, but he needs to be strong for Jon, so he just sniffles and squeezes his eyes, choking a sob rising in his throat.)

“Martin,” Jon calls out quietly, stretching the vowels in an oh-so-familliar way, and kisses the centre of Martin's palm as if kissing holy relics. No one has ever touched Martin like this. “It's alright, love.”

And just as saints on the icons cry with blood and myrrh, Martin is crying as well, soundlessly and ugly. Jon sits beside him and hugs his shoulders worriedly, kissing him on his temple.

“Martin,” he whispers softly, “my sweet, my dear, I'm here. It's alright, for now it's alright.”

Martin knows that nothing is alright actually, and that they can die tomorrow and no one will remember them. But right now Jon is right beside him, warm, soft and loved, and only this truly matters.

“Oh, Jon,” Martin exhales, his voice trembling, and it sounds more like a prayer.

Maybe, he is praying.

At least, his god will stay with him till the very end and will not leave him to die alone.

Your dead husband suddenly shows up at your door. He looks the same, speaks the same, holding him feels the same, but it's not really him. He's just a few degrees off, a handful of different choices removed from the man you knew. He doesn't know you, he knows a different you. He's standing right there but there's an entire universe between you. But even though you know he's not really the man you loved you beg him to stay because someone who's almost him is better than being all alone.

somewhere, there exists a memory of that fateful day

//

i somehow managed to delete the entire thing during the lineart phase, but worry not because i redrew him in his shining glory from scratch

NASA released the clearest pictures yet of our neighbours in the solar system

Oh and of course us

Honourable mention