#anyways enjoy teehee

[los-enemigos]

There's something in G13’s memory about Slicer… that G13 is like, “Slicer is good people. I don't wanna see Slicer killed.” And there's a moment where G13 is sorta, like… “Oh, I need Slicer, for my plans. Slicer’s a part of the Hive, and that's my hacker collective, and I don't wanna see that…”

Wherever Usha is, she feels something different about that… relationship, that G13 is not focusing on.

«────── « •XXX• » ──────»

A series of chat logs retrieved from a computer believed to belong to G13, detailing his relationship with this person known as "Slicer".

[remxedmoon]

boo! old woman jumpscare

greyscale vers below!

[spearxwind]

✦ Tfw your killer AI gets himself stuck in fucking orbit, somehow still manages to be a nuisance ✦

I've had this idea in mind for a few years and finally drew it, but since I've missed doing actual comic pages and I really wanted to start messing with more creative paneling I thought I'd use it as an excuse to experiment instead of just doing a little strip like usual >:] so enjoy this shitpost in 4k ultra HD edition

[ptanalo]

she just looked like that

[northern-passage]

clementine

[mrtequilasunset]

Part two of the court of Harry's mind! Here's the Motorics

Psyche skills

[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.

[cerealmonster15]

jamiazu / ashenviper week day 6: toxic yaoi overblot

SORRY it's very much a rushed mess especially in the lower half jdkslfjksd i was v busy today and trying to hurry to get something done for this before midnight [covers up the clock... i was close enough,,, it's still day 6 in some time zones jkfdlsjfs]

unfortunate that the overblots have so much going on and take me ten billion years to draw otherwise i think id like drawing them more bc they LOOK VERY COOL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[laidback-thrills]

CULT AU! Henry Miller

He was right.

Father thought he could play God.

Father Miller may be dead, but he is very much alive.

[cherry-bomb-ships]

Positively mind-blowing!! ❤️‍🔥🤯❤️‍🔥

[[💜❤️‍🔥Click for higher quality! Tag list as well as the initial sketch will be under the cut. All reblogs are seen and appreciated!! ❤️‍🔥💜]]

@absentmoon @ava-ships @bee-ships @beetleboyfriend @berryshipbasket @canongf @cloudyvoid @derelictdumbass @dissonantyote @edencantstopfallininlove @final-catboy @flabbergasting @gible-love-nibles @flowering-darkness @hirayarts @hoppinkiss @hotrodharts @hyperionshipping @iwishihadfangs @iyamifucker @judetama-moved @lex-n-weegie @lficanthaveloveiwantpower @little-miss-selfships @little-shiny-sharpies @loogi-selfships @mandrakebrew @mintpecks @mothfinite @mrs-kelly @nameless-self-ships @nerdstreak @orbitingaroundyourlove @paper-carnation @p-i-t-s @qilinkisser @reds-self-ships @rexscanonwife @rotten--cotton @spacestationstorybook @squips-ship @ship-trek @toogayforthistoday @winterworlds

[bunnieswithknives]

Animatic for @mustangsart's AU, I really am a sucker for the power of codependent monster friendships

[pitchcom]

- california, chappell roan

[dexaroth]

Artfight attack for @oxu! silent speedpaint will be under the read more!

plus alt versions bc i had no goddamn idea what to do for a background so it might as well look better without one lol

speedpaint link

[beebfreeb]

do you have any docs about the conlang and/or conscript? i just found your art and that immediately stood out as incredibly cool. i wanna write some funny stuff

The majority of my conlang stuff is written on graph paper held together with a paperclip or a spreadsheet file on my computer, so I do not have much easily accessible to share. Hm...

The vocabulary is currently... quite measly ever since I bulldozed everything and killed it all dead. So fleshing out vocabulary and whatnot is what I have to work on next. Grammar is similarly rudimentary but it was never intended to be very complex. A lot of information wouldn't be encoded verbally, only through pheromones and body language.

[vohtaro]

Doodle request: Tobirama Senju and Oliver Armstrong (FMA) getting along and enjoying the nonsense attitude and Fur, Blue combo?

not to mention having brothers with whom they constantly get into bickering matches with? i entirely see your vision

[skrunksthatwunk]

something he can't put into words.