#i think it fits teehee

[mwoonie]

#1 SUMMERBOY !!!

[ineed-to-sleep]

Blacked out in front of my tablet and woke up with sketches of my Touchstarved mc + Kuras my beloved. woops

[ato-dato]

Filler Perona!!!

[l-ii-zz]

Almighty Tallest Miyuki and her dearest son soldier

[bluwingz-artz]

10.26.23

Werewolf | meow

[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.

[snailvibes]

Redid my Max design!!!! Also enjoy a lil timeline of her and her appearances!!

[goldieclaws]

Voice of the Broken vs Voice of the Contrarian be like

Reblogs appreciated, thank you! 💖✨

Patreon | Tw//tter | AO3 | Itchio | Commissions | Webcomic

[absurdumsid]

slowly getting sick of the horror.... speaks.. like this.... dialogue im shoving that onto dust now

[litrallytyrus]

their dynamic (homosexual relationship) means everything 2 me

[lets-go-banana-fishing]

American Beauty

[max-the-silly-guy]

Chat I have a vision

[stellabyystarlight]

finally my full tora outfit design and info prediction yippeee ^_^ i had posted one some months ago but i like this one better :3

[triglycercule]

small leisurely moments like these mean more than expected

ok hi triglycergang. it's AUGUST?!?!?! ugh,,,, anyways here's my like once a month art piece because i am a slow ass artist. the mtt are supposed to be chatting at a park during sunset!!! also new au just dropped

you wonder why killer dust and horror are wearing those DISGUSTING outfits??? you wonder where killer's soul is??? well it's all gone in this au which is called uhhh.

jk fashion au... wooooo!!

first things first to know: this au is NOT my idea. it was originally someone on twitter's idea to dress sans aus up in nanchatte seifuku but i think their account got deleted/banned. and i cant find the account because it was a japanese account and probably has some random username. so just remember that this isn't my idea but i guess my own twist on it. i really wish i could find the og creator,,,,

second thing to know: what the fuck nanchatte seifuku/jk (just kidding) fashion even is. here's the link to read for yourself: https://aesthetics.fandom.com/wiki/Nanchatte_Seifuku. yeah that's jk fashion. i really loved this au when i found it originally because i myself dress up in jk and also i just really love soft fluffy things like this. this au isn't gonna be angsty or particularly elaborate or anything i just wanted cute things and women in my murder time trio. also this isn't gyaru btw

third thing: uhh my inspirations for this??? well my main one that i really wanna focus on is that feeling of happy sentimental melancholy. you know like after you finish a really fun day hanging out with your friends and youre on the drive home and look back at how fun the day was? that's what i wanna encapsulate :3 also i think that the day to day school life is really cute and sweet and i wanna make more designs for the other aus so my trio can have more people to hang out with

well uhhh i think that's it?? mayhaps i shall begin drafting up other designs for the other aus. i wanna make little mini comics for this too like 4koma because i love those short yet sweet comics!!! should i tag this? i think i should tag this perchance. also extra mtt notes/full designs below became i love these three they're my daughters

[thechibilitwick]

why does nonsense bungaku fit them so well hurhhghurhughurughur