The Beholding - Blog Posts
my attempt at the iconic:
so i got into TMA this summer,,,
(my own original work so please don’t repost anywhere without credit!)
open hand or closed fist would be fine
the blood is rare and sweet as cherry wine
BREAKING: Local archivist almost gets eaten by worms and then refuses to go home until he's interrogated all his co-workers.
When I said new art was coming soon I didn't mean this soon but the grind never stops I guess.
I'm thinking of doing a jmart comic soon but I've never really tried to draw anything like that so maybe I will maybe I won't, you'll just have to wait and see.
The distortion formerly known as Micheal Shelly.
Oh mY GOD THIS TOOK SO LONG. Jonny sims has a choke hold on me at this point and I'm going to do so much more tma fanart, if I'm bothered, I might even finish an animation for it but in the mean time have this.
I just finished the magnus archives what the fuck, this was meant to be fluff but now I think it's more bitter sweet than anything.
Anyways, nothing happened after mag 159 and Martin and Jon lived together in a cabin for the rest of their lives I swear.
"Sorry sir, you have 👁️" "I see"
Jon: *in the coffin*
The eye: shit!!! No!!! My special boy!!! Jonah!!!
Jingus McBingus: *in jail*
The eye: I didn't want it to come to this. Mahtin! Mahtin! The tapes, Make a tape castle on the coffin. My special boy, my poor special boy
I lied put your clothes back on, we’re going to talk about how Martin was never meant for the Lonely. He was forced into it by the middle of season two- season three because NotSasha wasn’t interacting with the gang and Tim became angry at anything involved in the institute and Jon went missing. Thus accidentally isolating him and because of Martin’s nature as a pessimist trying to romanticize his life, he was taken by the lonely. Same vibes as all your friends being depressed and you’re trying to keep them happy. He was meant for the Web but working for Peter Lucas solidified his fate
The Beholding
Under observation.
This drawing of Jon I did while at my little sisters swim meet, it’s not my favorite but it took forever Sorry it’s been a minute since I posted anything junior year is kicking my ass
oh em gee sonathan jims???
The sky looks like this right now btw:
Which is of course completely normal and could not mean anything ever at all
this is so stupid. original img under cut
I have a list of fanart I want to draw but I’m also writing my finals in a week anyway have some traditional sketches of mine :P
Im in season 4 now,.... this is what happens, right?
This gif plays in my head 24/7
I imagine a tiny House behind my eyes using them to see and controlling me like a mech
It keeps me sane which I very much am
Screw it, here's how Martin meets Jon in my Monster au
He’s making tea when he first sees it. An early morning, his mother still asleep and the haze of just past sunrise settling over the world as he pulls the kettle with him to the sink to fill it up. His mind about just as foggy as the air outside, wiping sleep from his eyes before setting his gaze through the window above the sink; and he has to do a double take at the shape that’s standing under a tree behind the fence line.
He turns off the tap.
He can’t make out much of the details from where he’s standing, but that hardly matters in the face of its impossibility. A black shape with almost undefined edges and a shape that could have been human but… wrong, somehow. Fundamentally wrong. Like staring into a shadowed void that made his eyes water when he tried to look closer, a lack of tangibility looking like cracking static or a bug in the very nature of reality, a glitch personified and absolutely covered, head to monstrous toe, in glowing, never once blinking, bright green eyes. Fingering, with impossible clawed fingers and predatory intent, through decaying box of old books and magazines and things from the attic he’d left there with still every intention to throw out.
And then the thing's head turns, snaps its hundreds of eyes all at once to focus on him as he ducks down behind the counter. Eyes wide, unstable as he lowers himself on the floor, back pressed up against the cupboard under the sink and brings a shaking hand to press against his mouth. The heavy weight of a thousand eyes all focused on him in that moment, as his mouth goes bone dry with a thing that stands what feels like right behind him. Just waiting, and watching him, and seeding his dread and just waiting for that one movement, that once excuse to crash through that window and end him before he can even let out a scream.
It takes hours of nothing happening for him to work up the nerve to move again. To pull himself up over the counter enough to peek and see the spot by the tree empty. It doesn’t bring him the relief he thought it would, not with the still constant impression of that thing still watching him, now unseen when before he at least could have had the knowledge of where it was.
It's gone now, he can't see it and oh god that just makes it so, so much worse.
The space under the tree is empty, the yard itself is as lonely as he's come to expect but he can still feel those eyes. And he stands, staring through the kitchen window, trying very hard to find it again with frantic eyes swept over the yard, picking through and focusing on every dark corner and hiding place. Expecting, with some awful dread for it to be very, very close all at once from where it’s hiding, to smash through the window or to appear right behind him, even as the feeling of hundreds and thousands of eyes all focused at once still persists, has him pinned down where he's stood. Waiting for him to make a move, for him to do… something. Something he's not sure of, and that fact alone makes him very afraid. That one wrong movement, one wrong action and it's all over. And he can't see it but oh god, he can feel that it can see him.
And in that moment, all he could think beyond the fear as he backed away from the window slowly, shaking under the feeling of that relentless gaze trained on him and waiting to strike, was that when it did inevitably come, (as by now he was sure it would even as it bided its time) all he could do was just hope it would be quick and painless.
The relentless choking dread whispered a very, very different story.
After a few more hours of thumbing through books and not daring to step back into the kitchen or anywhere near a window, the feeling faded. Slowly, no discernable moment where it all cut off, maybe just enough to not notice him so much… He worked up the nerve enough to move, to push through the door and past that threshold enough to step outside and search for a minute or two, to make sure before he gripped his shoulder bag tighter and started his trek to work.
Never stopping once, tense as all hell, jumping at shadows and trying very hard to resist that urge to look over his shoulder, or to entertain that constant fear and feeling of eyes, watching from just out of sight.
The box of books was gone. At the square of empty pressed grass all he could do was swallow it down, and squeeze the straps of his bag again, and keep walking.