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#my darling
4s1na · 2 years
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"my darling, you will never be unloved by me you are too well tangled in my soul"
— Atticus
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sketchy-tour · 10 days
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Anyway here have some sketches!
Mostly just me actually drawing this man with a ref instead of from memory to relearn him a lil
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terrywho-cartoons · 1 year
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A very quick Jason Todd
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sirlanval · 8 days
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birthday boy
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thomashelbyswife · 1 month
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Tommy Shelby - Peaky Blinders S1E6
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fluffyhairedboy · 8 months
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I think cuddling is so underrated. I want to drape myself over him unapologetically, embracing him as if the stars and moon would collapse because, regardless, I would hold him close just so he knows how irreplaceable he is.
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cinnbar-bun · 2 months
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Random Things I Think Crocodile Does
This isn’t really anything special it’s just my word vomit. As always, MENA!Croc 💖💖 my beloved. No defined gender for reader. This is just random ass hcs for funsies kinda crack ngl.
All below!
Snores loudly in bed. The cigars are catching up to him. Refuses to get help for it or acknowledge he may have a snoring problem.
Falls asleep really quickly. Like. Anywhere. If you two are sitting on the couch watching a movie, he’ll fall asleep ten minutes in (if you’re lucky enough to have his attention that long) and then wake up when the credits roll. He’ll sleep through a damn war, but suddenly the credits are up and he’ll say “wow, what a great movie.”
Pistachio man. Loves pistachio ice cream. Loves pistachio ashta pancakes. Loves pistachio anything.
I mean in general he looks like he’d love eating mixed nuts but I think he’d enjoy pistachios the most.
Drinks tea very very dark with no sugar.
OKAY SO IM NOT SURE IF YALL WILL UNDERSTAND I THINK THIS IS LIKE AN IMMIGRANT OR POC EXPERIENCE BUT THOSE THICK ASS BLANKETS?? WITH LIKE THE PRINTS ON THEM??? He has one, it’s blue and has tigers on it. (Why is it always tigers?)
Doesn’t like you touching the thermostat in true daddy fashion.
But like in the opposite way, I think his DF makes it so he is immune to the heat so he cranks that shit up and you’re sweating buckets.
Likewise could you imagine him being a baby the minute the temperature drops a bit?? 😭😭 he’s wrapped up in twenty layers because it’s 68 degrees and he’s convinced he’ll freeze to death.
Don’t bother playing Monopoly with him.
The old man who squints his eyes and puts his phone to his face to read anything.
Guy who sends long ass voice messages/voicemails to you, count how many times he almost hacks his lungs out.
Omg like my personal favorite thing… him slipping into an Arabic accent or using Arabic whenever he has a brain fart on an English word.
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canisalbus · 3 months
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Just wanted to tell you that your recent art of Machete looking after Vasco while he's sick reminded me of Nights at the Villa by Gogol. Only a small fragment of it survived, probably because it's straight up author's diary about falling in love for the first time with a man who is already dying. It's such a beautiful little piece and your art really reminded me of it's vibes. Anyway, I'm mentally ill about russian literature and I love your dogs <3
The longing and lamenting quite something, poor guy.
It's not very long so I'm just going to put the whole thing under the cut ->
They were sweet and tormenting, those sleepless nights. He sat, ill, in the armchair. I was with him. Sleep dared not touch my eyes. Silently and involuntarily, it seems, it respected the sanctity of my vigil. Its was so sweet to sit near him, to look at him. For two nights already we have been saying "thou" to each other. How much closer he has become to me since then! He sat there just as before, meek, quiet, and resigned. Good God! With what joy, with what happiness I would have taken his illness upon myself! And if my death could restore him to health, with what readiness I would have rushed toward it!
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I did not stay with him last night. I had finally decided to stay home and sleep. Oh, how base, how vile that night and my despicable sleep were! I slept poorly, even though I had been without sleep for almost a week. I was tormented by the thought of him. I kept imagining him, imploring and reproachful. I saw him with the eyes of my soul. I hastened to come early to him and felt like a criminal as I went. From his bed he saw me. He smiled with his usual angel's smile. He offered his hand. He pressed mine lovingly.
"Traitor." he said, "You betrayed me." "My angel," I said, "Forgive me. I myself suffered with your suffering. I was in torment all night. My rest brought me no repose. Forgive me!" My meek one! He pressed my hand. How fully rewarded I was for the suffering that the stupidly spent night had brought me!
"My head is weary," he said. I began to fan him with a laurel branch. "Ah, how fresh and good," he said. His words were then… what were they? What would I have not given, what earthly goods, those despicable, those vile, those disgusting goods… no, they are not worth mentioning. You into whose hands will fall -if they will fall- those incoherent, fleebe lines, pallid expressions of my emotions, you will understand me. Otherwise they will not fall into your hands. You will understand how repulsive the entire heap of treasures and honors is that attracts those wooden dolls which are called people. Oh, with what joy, with what anger I could have trampled underfoot and squashed everything that is bestowed by the mighty scepter of the Tsar of the North, if I only knew that this would buy a smile that indicated the slightest relief in his face.
"Why did you prepare such a bad month of May for me?" He said to me, awakening in his armchair and hearing the wind beyond the window-panes that wafted the aroma of the blossoming wild jasmine and white acacia, which mingled with the whirling rose petals.
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At ten o'clock I went down to see him. I had left him there hours before to get some rest, to prepare [something] to him, to afford him some variety, so my arrival would give him more pleasure. I went down to him at ten o'clock. He had been alone for more than one hour. His visitors had long since left. The dejection of boredom showed on his face. He saw me. Waved his hand slightly.
"My savior." He said to me. They still sound in my ears, those words. "My angel! Did you miss me?" "Oh, how I missed you." He replied. I kissed him on the shoulder. He offered his cheek. We kissed; he was still pressing my hand.
He did not like going to bed and hardly ever did. He preferred his armchair and the sitting position. That night the doctor ordered him to rest. He stood up reluctantly and, leaning on my shoulder, moved to his bed. My darling! He weary glance, his brightly colored jacket, his slow steps- I can see it all, it is all before my eyes. He whispered in my ear, leaning on my shoulder and glancing at the bed: "Now I'm a ruined man."
"We will remain in bed for only half an hour," I said to him, "and then we'll go back to your armchair".
I watched you, my precious, tender flower! All the time when you were sleeping or merely dozing in you bed or armchair, I followed your movements and your moments, bound to you by some incomprehensible force.
How strangely new my life was then and, at the same time, I discerned in it a repetition of something distant, something that once actually was. But it seems hard to give an idea of it: there returned to me a fresh, fleeting fragment of my youth, that time when a youthful soul seeks fraternal friendship with those of one's age, a decidedly juvenile friendship, full of sweet, almost infantile trifles and mutual show of tokens of tender attachment; the time when it is sweet to gaze into each other's eyes, when your entire being is ready to offer sacrifices, which are usually not even necessary. And all those feelings, sweet, youthful, fresh - alas! Inhabitants of a vanishing world - all these feelings returned to me. Good Lord! What for? I watched you, my precious, tender flower. Did this fresh breath of youth waft upon me only so that I might suddenly and irrevocably sink into even greater and more deadening coldness of feelings, so that I might become all at once older by a decade, so that I might see my vanishing life with even greater despair and hopelessness? Thus does a dying fire send its flames up into the air, so that it might illuminate with its flickering the somber walls and then disappear forever.
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vintage-rejects · 10 months
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Popping on here to celebrate the most important day in the world—
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Happy Meet The Spy Day!!!
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cookinguptales · 8 months
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god, I'm genuinely so happy for Guillermo. there's something so magical and freeing about your first pride, and his was weird and silly and kind of absurd, but it was with his family and they all supported him and I'm!! a mess!!
Guillermo coming out to his human family in s4 and then immediately getting put on a pride float by his vampire family in s5 just has me wailing!! on the floor!!
Guillermo feeling like he didn't fit in anywhere and then creating a place just for himself! where he doesn't have to lie about his second family or his sexuality! where he can be with the vampires and the humans and be something that's not quite either but still good all on its own!!!!!!
he may not be able to attend pride during the day, but he found his own at night! seeing him let go and enjoy himself and the people around him has me feral!
I just...
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plus he got to wrap his crush's dick in a literal pride flag! what a night!!!
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crimson-nail · 7 months
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butch teddy bear milly thompson :)
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centaurisolarflare · 1 year
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A soft little König blurb after all that filth:
I have this specific image in my head of being at the airfield or base or wherever right when he gets back from a mission, so he’s still decked out in all his gear. Once the two of you are away from prying eyes, he leans down as you pull his sniper hood up and hold it back over his helmet so you can kiss him. It’s a hungry kiss – full of “I’m so glad you’re safe; thank you for coming back to me” and “I thought about you every night; we’ll always find our way back to each other”. 
It’s urgent yet loving and you’re pressed as close together as you can be – some of his gear digging into you – both his hands holding your face, but then he can feel you start grinning against his lips. It morphs into you smiling so much it isn’t even a proper kiss anymore, until you’re outright giggling into his mouth. He pulls back, quirking his brow at you in question, but you’ve dropped your head to his chest. He holds you steady as you shake with laughter, smile now pressed against his tactical vest. When you pull yourself together enough to speak you do so with a little tug at his hood, telling him how it’s like you were pulling up a bride’s veil. 
He’s frozen, starring down at you with so much adoration it hurts, and he grips your biceps when he asks you, softly, if you’d wear a veil at your wedding. He doesn’t specifically say if you were marrying him, but the hope is plainly evident in his eyes. The hope boils over and scalds the inside of his chest, trickling down his ribcage, when you giggle again and say how it’d only be fair that he has to push past some fabric to get to your lips after you’ve done it to him so many times. 
He surges down to kiss you again and the only thing he can focus on for the rest of that week is wondering exactly how lovely you’d look standing with him as you exchange rings.
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dolcet-dreams · 2 years
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Hearing “Look, I didn’t want to be a halfblood”
can be so personal and fill you with so many emotions
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hollerite · 1 month
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Excuse me? Ex-fucking-cuse me? ANGELA???? NOW???? HERE AND NOW???? AT THIS VERY MOMENT??? THIS IS UNHEARD OF! UNPRECEDENTED! ENTIRELY UNHEARD OF? DO YOU HONESTLY MEAN TO TELL ME THAT RIGHT NOW, AT THIS PRECISE TIME OF YEAR, IN EXACTLY FOURTEEN DAYS, WE ARE TO RECEIVE AN ANGELA ANNOUNCER? WHAT? HOW? ITS NOT EVEN WALPUSRGIS???? AND ITS FUCKING FREEEEEE???? I WOULD HAVE PAID A HUNDRED DOLLARS FOR IT???? PROJECT MOON I LOVE YOU!!!!!
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thomashelbyswife · 2 months
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Tommy Shelby - Peaky blinders S1E6
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