#THIS IS SO SICK OMG

[putadapower]

code: OROBOROUS

oook....omg

So you're telling me that Fiddleford gave Ford an axolotl as a gift, so he doesn't feel so alone at home but for the simple reason that Bill didn't like it...he released it

God, I don't even want to imagine what Fiddleford felt when he returned to Ford's house and saw that he released his gift

and of course Bill manipulating Ford, probably not wanting an axolotl in his territory because yk a real divine being in the only place where he was being worshipped and adored? HELL NAH

and it's obvious that he has to be a bitch every time Fiddleford tries to be a good friend to Ford

[hinamie]

u should think of tiny megu. To keep the stress at bay. You should draw him actually. Ooooo you wanna draw tiny megu getting the love he deserves so bad /j

he's with his 2 best friends

[gannonssweetandsuave]

ok sure

whatnots under

full sketch, decided to cut it because there was 2 much free space. looked awkward

ref

when i first met him I had been playing for hours on end and I was so motion sick I thought I was gonna pass out. I could barely read what I was saying to him.

[iindigoeyed]

saw this dress and purse and i KNEW i had to draw this, it's so her!!

[xx-sketchy-xx]

This was the most brain rotting drawing I’ve ever made.

this was an ask by @catgirl41. They asked “May I ask if you can swap Wally and Frank’s roles? If you’d like you can do a horror version.”

I just didn’t want the drawing to be tiny lol

[nailsinmywall]

Maeglin in gondolin (and curufin laughing at eol)

[martyryo]

Art request for just Marla and Tyler loving the narrator?? anyway you want 👍

Them showing love in their different ways 🧡

I loved this one, thanks sm for requesting!!!!! :3

closeups🤭

[hughiecampbelle]

Imagine Butcher trying to protect you from Homelander, who takes a special interest in you:

"Y/n-"

"Nothing happened!" You didn't mean to yell like that. Everyone turned towards you and Butcher. Some, like M.M. and Kimiko watched with pity. Others, Hughie and Annie, with understanding. It was only a few minutes, that was all. Trapped in an elevator with Homelander. If it were anyone else, they would have been dead. But you weren't just anyone. Your ear piece lost it's connection, the signal, and he was smart enough to destroy the cameras. A few minutes, that was all. It was nothing. He let you leave just like that. The Boys couldn't believe it. They thought you were a goner. Instead you walked right out. Supposedly unharmed. No one bought it. You wouldn't talk about it. You wouldn't mention it. Everyone tried, in their own way, to get you to talk. Butcher was their last resort. He wasn't exactly the most gentle. Still, he needed to know what happened.

"Doesn't sound like it." It was a kiss, that was all. He touched you and kissed you and when it was over, he laughed. Made a promise to see you again sometime soon. You froze and he was too strong and you froze. You felt like an idiot. You could have pushed him off or screamed, you could have done something. And now he was waiting for you. Butcher doesn't want to badger you, he doesn't like interrogating you like this, but if Homelander tried something he has to know. He has to know so he can punish him accordingly. This obsession he had with you was dangerous. He was a monster, a psychopath, and now there was a target on your back. You couldn't ignore that. None of them could.

"I'm done talking about this."

[gncrezan]

@infamous-if august pierce you have bewitched me mind body and soul.......

[zu-is-here]

Your Viking drawings are so cool. I love NM's role.

[amethysttribble]

Father had personally asked Feanor to stand for this portrait, so he was. Father had quietly suggested that perhaps this could be a painless exercise, which did not actually mean ‘painless’ but rather ‘silent’ for Feanor, but he agreed. Father told him this painting did not symbolize anything but his own desire to have a record of all his available loved ones around him, and Feanor was trying to see it that way- for the sake of his own sanity.

Because his stomach was roiling, and there was a heaviness in his chest, a great emptiness which his heart was pounding against, echoing, echoing, echoing.

Father had one hand on Feanor’s shoulder and the other was upon Indis’s. She was sat in front of them, smiling beautifully, little golden-haired Arafinwe in her lap. Around them, her three dark-haired children were gathered. Findis on Father’s other side, Nolofinwe with her, and Lalwen in front of Feanor.

To the unaware eye, Feanor knew, they must all look like they matched. Like they went together correctly. Like a family.

When the portrait was complete and those dark haired children were gathered around the mother and father, who would guess that one child was out of place? Who might glance at all that paint representing their faces and think anything but-

You could almost be her son, Feanor thought, and then his mind replied, But you’re not.

He was so still and he dared not move, because if he did, he’d never get back in place. If Feanor flinched once, the sharp, jagged pieces of him that never fit right in this puzzle would scratch one of them. They’d be annoyed and that would be it: he’d combust in anger, he’d shatter across the floor, snapping and snarling at everyone unnecessarily until he ruined their perfect little scene. Father said this might be a painless exercise. No, no; this was to be a silent, still exercise.

You could almost be her son. But you’re not.

How good a painter was this person Father hired? How varied his faces? Would he capture that Feanor’s nose resembled that of none of the people here? Could he represent that his frame was already different from his father and little half-brother’s?

Would he lie and throw a pleased smile on Feanor’s face? Not even Father had asked him to smile.

You could almost be her son. But you’re not.

Feanor’s presence made them fit together so symmetrically, maybe that was pleasing enough to hide the wrongness of this scene. Maybe that’s why Father made him come here today, the pretty scene. Why he asked him to suffer, even as the longer he stood here, the more and more Feanor felt like he was about to be sick all over the floor.

A ghost, a ghost, there was a ghost looming over their shoulders ruining this perfectly symmetrical scene. Couldn’t they feel her breathing down their necks, icy chill against sweat? Didn’t their perfectly posed heads feel her long, clever fingers wrapped lovingly around their necks?

You could almost be her son. But you’re not.

Feanor’s gaze slipped down to the back of Indis’s head. Her beautiful golden hair. She didn’t wear a crown, this was a family portrait, and that felt worse. So much worse.

If he let his eyes unfocus and his mind wander, he could try to lie to himself that her hair was much lighter and the faces of the children around them more closely resembled his own. The woman in front of him loved him, and she fussed over his hair before they sat for this portrait, and he’d let her do it.

The worst part was Feanor did know that Indis would help him with the ties of his robes, if only he let her.

You could almost be her son. But you’re not.

She’s not, she’s not, she’s not. It was a simple statement of fact. It was scandal enough that the father replaced the wife, when one at least chose a wife, but what freak replaced his own mother?

What would the people who saw this portrait think? Would they see Finwe’s happy family or would they see Feanor’s blaring, uncomfortable intrusion upon what gods and men declared to be a better order of things? Father wanted him to belong here, but he didn’t.

He just didn’t.

You could almost be her son. But you’re not.

A painless exercise. Painless, painless, painless, for them. Silent, still Feanor, a happy accessory to the triumphant union of Finwe and Indis, a grateful stray dog permitted to drink from the bowls provided by Indis’s family.

This exercise was just meant to capture the image of all Finwe loved, nothing more. Don’t think too hard about it, Feanor. You might make the children unhappy.

You could almost be her son. But you’re not.

You should pretend you are, though. That’ll make them like you.

Because they did so disdain him, most of the time. They disliked how he glared at their mother and started fights at family dinners and ignored them in the hallways. Why shouldn’t they? Feanor would hate a person who did those things to his family, too.

He just couldn’t stop, though. He wanted to, sometimes, when the exhaustion and loneliness caught up, and then he remembered that he wasn’t Indis’s son and never would be, and remembering that made him angry. Wouldn’t it just be so damn convenient for them all if he was almost her son?

But he wasn’t.

He was Miriel’s son. That was her name. He had no portrait with her. He loved her.

He loved Miriel, but it was Indis he posed with and-

When the session was done, Feanor jerked away from his father and shoved his way past Lalwen. As he went, Indis looked up at him, caught his eye, and he couldn’t help the sneer that crossed his face.

He hoped that was painless enough for her.

When he returned to his chamber, he went to the wash room and heaved in the pot there. The gagging and retching made wetness prick his eyes, and the sudden tightness of throat made him choke all the harder. The sickness and heaving stayed long past when there was anything in his stomach to lose.

No one came. Feanor hoped maybe Father would, but really, why would he? Feanor had been mostly good, just a little rudeness wasn’t worth either reprimand or comfort.

No, they were together. Maybe admiring their portrait, happy and pleased, or complaining about his behavior again. Really, why couldnt that Curufinwe just accept nice things?

I need to get out of here, Feanor thought, face and body wet with both sweat and tears. I need to leave this place.

He was a good son, and he could do anything else his father wanted but betray his mother further. No, Feanor couldn’t pose as Indis’s son even a second longer. He would destroy himself, if he had to think one more time-

You could almost be her son. But you’re not.

[anonymouscheeses]

They are everything to me.

[sualne]

you won't fucking believe what im working on again

[heavensincarnate1111]

I AM THALIA GRACE’s #1 DEFENDER ALWAYS!!! it makes me so sad when people misunderstand her choosing to be a hunter and putting the prophecy on percy.

like it was ALWAYS gonna be percy, he was always going to be the prophecy child. a main theme of pjo is that you can’t escape fate, that’s why chiron asked percy why it was important for them to know the story about kronos trying to dodge his own fate. you can’t escape it no matter what and thalia knew that better than anyone (since she literally was a damn tree, she knew her fate wasn’t that of the prophecy child)

plus, thalia’s character development is so underrated. when we first meet her, she’s very headstrong and assertive. she likes to be in charge and doesn’t have any interest cooperation, just like her father.

but as ttc goes on, she learns to work together with percy and zoe and by the end, she realizes that she wouldn’t even be able to be the prophecy child because she just isn’t cut out for it. THATS THE MAIN FOCUS OF HER CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT!!

the incident with the ophiotaurus showed her that she isn’t immune to temptation, she isn’t loyal to people, she’s loyal to power, just like her father.

and that’s the exact opposite of what percy is, which is why thalia gives up the prophecy because she knew it was never meant for her. it wasn’t out of her own selfishness (if selfishness was her motive, she would’ve kept the prophecy for herself!!!!)

and lastly, i really hate that “thalia didn’t think twice before putting the prophecy on percy but percy kept the prophecy bc he didn’t want to put the burden on nico” because it just shows even more how much thought was put into thalia’s decision.

like i said, thalia knew percy wasn’t loyal to power, he was loyal to people. he’s loyal to nico in a way and that’s why he doesn’t want the burden of the prophecy on him. that just shows EVEN MORE how much better suited percy was for the prophecy because thalia wouldn’t have been able to make that decision. and she knew that.

TLDR: they will never make me hate you thalia grace.

[meownotgood]

I shouldn't be working.... I should be kissing my favorite characters....... this is.... sick and twisted

[enyoalkis]

Otto Hightower throughout S2 EP2: