#can’t stop & won’t

[boinky-doinky]

Omg what???? 🫵😧

[sentientsky]

you idiot, we could have been…us.

[potato-lord-but-not]

saw this gem today and had to sketch out these guys because omgod. this movie

[kate-komics]

I drawded them again, ma.

[bonesbuckleup]

Ten years. It’s been ten years. Ten years. A decade. One tenth of a century. It’s been a whole ass fourth grader. Ten years. Half of twenty. Ten yea

[omgjolras]

lil enj

[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 any more.

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.

[sadghostgirl14]

[waffle-gal]

Freakshow Showtime DLC:

Phantom of the Opera🥀

@hootbon for Freakshow AU

[shima-draws]

Thinking about the reactions Ace and Sabo would have to finding out Luffy’s in love with Sanji;; Honestly Ace being the overprotective one is probably more in character but it would be so fucking funny if Ace just catches Luffy staring at Sanji for a little too long and decides he’s going to be his little brother’s ultimate wingman. He’s COMMITTED and he’s going to sneakily create SO many romantic moments for Luffy to take advantage of. But Sabo,, Sabo turns out to be the overprotective one LMAO he sees Sanji smile softly at Luffy one (1) time and he’s like oh HELL no, not MY little brother. Ace tries to set them up, Sabo tries to…SABOtage them ;)))))

Even more hilarious is if this is happening at the same time. Luffy is oblivious but Sanji’s inwardly questioning what the hell is going on bc every time he THINKS there’s a romantic situation blossoming between them, absolute disaster strikes right after. Meanwhile in the background Ace and Sabo are arguing (“Stop fucking everything up you’re ruining all my plans!!” “Luffy’s far too young to have a boyfriend, are you kidding me right now?” “He’s NINETEEN Sabo get over it!!” “Not until that cook wins my approval and right now it’s not looking good for him” “ARE YOU ACTUALLY SERIOUS. Sabs do you HEAR yourself rn”)

They are silly and I love them

[toastybugguy]

Fanon perception:

The actual text of the show:

guys the huge difference is actually really funny when I’m not actively crying about it

[arlathvhenan]

“So anyway Solas killed Mythal—”

No dude he downloaded her. She’s in his brain.

[hitmewithsomebooks]

@jegulus-microfic Jan 22 - cry

437 words

Tw: knife cut (accidental)

~

“Oh— fuck!” Regulus yelled, and James was in the kitchen in an instant.

“What’s wrong??”

“Nothing, I just cut myself, the fucking knife slipped…” Regulus answered, hissing as he stuck his finger under the tap.

“Oh, Reggie…” James frowned, examining the cut. It wasn’t severely deep, certainly not to the bone or anything, but it wasn’t a little scratch either.

“Here, let me.” The older man said, grabbing a washcloth from the shelf and wetting it. He wrapped it around Regulus’s finger, then led him to the bathroom.

“Sit there.” James instructed, pointing to the edge of the tub, and Regulus did, holding the washcloth tightly around his finger. James dug through sink drawers, finding gauze and bandages. He brought over a new, dry washcloth as well, removing the wet one. Regulus winced.

“I know, love.” James soothed, drying the area. He then unpackaged the gauze, beginning to wrap the cut snugly. After a few seconds, Regulus’s hand began shaking. James assumed it was simply pain, until he heard a sniffle. He glanced up, to find tears rolling silently down the younger man’s face.

“Reggie, baby, what’s wrong?” James asked, brows furrowing in concern.

“It’s, um, its nothing, ‘s dumb, I’m sorry, —”

"No, it's not nothing. Talk to me." James interrupted, finishing wrapping up his injured finger. He set the gauze and bandages down, tugging Regulus until he came down to the floor with him.

“Just… no one’s ever done that for me before.” Regulus answered quietly, forehead resting against James’s neck.

“What, wrapped a cut?”

“Yeah. Or anything, really. I sobbed the first time Pandora brushed my hair.” Regulus added, and James was overcome with sadness.

“Oh, Reg…” he murmured softly, clutching him tighter. Regulus chuckled, the sound watery.

“I’m okay, James, don’t worry. It’s just overwhelming sometimes.” Regulus answered, smiling against his neck.

“If you say so. But I’m not going to stop. From now on, I’m gonna kiss your every boo-boo. I’m gonna braid your hair, and button your coat, and absolutely brush your hair, and I’ll give you massages… anything you want, Reggie.” James babbled, his words coming out distractedly.

Regulus loved when he got like this. Sometimes James became so filled up with whatever emotion, whether it was anger or sadness, joy or jealousy, he would babble whatever came to his mind. He always sounded so passionate, and Regulus could listen to him all day. He pressed a kiss to James’s head, finally slowing the words tumbling out of his mouth. James leaned into him, rubbing a hand up his back.

“I love you, Reg.”

“I love you too, James.”

[call-me-cosmic]

🍇

[sensitiveheartless]

Operation Good Riddance: time to shut out the rest of the world for a bit, get blankets and hot cocoa and just REST

[newtsnaturethings]

Apparently yesterday was Circus Day lol