#maybe more to come?

[snowvism]

all i think is i love you

a bones and all (2022) au & redraw

[tideswept]

Written for @veloursdor, one evil-doll-exposure-therapy-by-way-of-Obikin-nonsense coming up!

thy fearful symmetry

(2k words: spooky Obikin AU. Dolls, childhood, loneliness, and forgotten memories that never leave.)

👻🕯🎃🕸🦇⛓🖤🕷🥀🪦🐈‍⬛💀🌙⚰🍁🕸️

The doll.

Christ, the doll. 

Obi-Wan froze with his foot on the first step of the staircase, staring unseeingly at the second landing. He had only just come back from burying his father and speaking with the solicitor.

Obi-Wan’s chest rose in a shuddering breath. The house, and everything inside of it, belonged to him.

Which included the doll.

Anakin.

Nausea rose up his throat like a high tide. Obi-Wan retreated. Up the stairs was Qui-Gon’s study, the place that he hadn’t been allowed to enter, not after the incident that had started it all. 

Fuck. How had he forgotten? He supposed that it shouldn’t matter, not anymore. Qui-Gon was gone. There was to be no heartfelt reconciliation between father and son. No probing questions about had truly gone on between Qui-Gon and Tahl, no explanations. With Tahl also gone, it was only him left.

The liquor cabinet was unlocked. If it hadn’t been, Obi-Wan would have taken a hammer and cracked the glass. He was in no mood to be sober. He tossed the keys onto the dusty dining room table—there was dust everywhere, implying Qui-Gon’s habit of locking himself up in his office hadn’t changed—and grabbed a bottle of rum.

Prize in hand, he settled on the steps of the backporch. The shrill mating call of grasshoppers seeped through his brain, another reminder that he was back in Stewjon, even more so than the copse of trees facing the property. Somewhere, out there, were all his old hiding spots—where he’d go to escape the arguments, the cold silences. 

Better the hush of the uncaring forest than the emptiness of his foster parent’s dissolving marriage. 

The first sip of rum burned. So did the second.

Obi-Wan tipped his head back, the bottle pressed to his lips like a clarion, and swallowed all the fire and bitterness that he could take until he was nothing but ashes, bombed out and numb. 

He hung his head forward, shoulders slumped. Receiving the news—Cody’s apologetic expression, right on the heels of what should have been a victory for them, a major contract signed that meant they were now playing in the big leagues—the plane ride, the other papers signed. The calls and texts from friends to extend their condolences, well-meant, but like being punched with a screwdriver each time his phone rang. Putting on the mask of the famed Negotiator to reassure them that he was doing as well as could be expected, that his father had been in his seventies, a heart attack was shocking but not that much of a shock—

He took another drag of the rum. His fingers twitched restlessly. So did his mouth, craving a cigarette. He should have stopped by the convenience store. But the funeral arrangements. The ceremony. The solicitor. All of it in a whirlwind of two days. 

And the fucking doll was the first thing that popped into his head the moment that he was alone. Figured.

Anakin. A name he hadn’t allowed himself to think of in forever. Referring to it as the doll had been easier, and then it’d been easier still to sweep up those memories into a dark corner of his mind. Banished along with the rest of his childish fears, to be suppressed in favor of bigger, more important worries. Getting into a good school. Getting along with his roommate. Getting laid. Getting a job. Getting out of Stewjon. 

Not necessarily in that order.

Two hours later, he was still sitting there. Above him the sky was an endless expanse of dark, clouds shrouding the moon and the stars that still glittered like gems, undisturbed by light pollution. Obi-Wan had cycled through grief, anger, and exhaustion until his eyes ached, eyelids drooped, and his stomach was an empty pit. 

He felt like he stood on the set of a play. If he got to his feet and walked over to the trees, he’d discover them to be two-dimensional, made up of plywood, painted with care to trick the eye. That if he pushed through, he’d wind up backstage, where he’d find…

Obi-Wan blinked, startled. He jerked as if yanked out of a deep sleep. 

“Fuck,” he swore softly. The rum bottle was empty. His grieving suit was hopelessly rumpled. 

Time to call an end to this day from hell. 

He rose to his feet, overly cautious, and felt his way into the house, turning on the lights and then leaving them on as he traveled. Climbing the stairs in his condition was a fool’s gamble, his center of balance was definitely skewed to the left, and if the floor didn’t stop lurching underneath his feet like a capsizing ship, Obi-Wan would throw up. 

Eventually, it did stop. Mostly because he collapsed on the sofa. 

Displaced dust fluttered in the air. Obi-Wan turned his head and coughed. “Jesus, dad.” When was the last time Qui-Gon had been in the living room? Who lived like this? 

A crazy man, whispered an insidious little voice. 

No. He wasn’t going there. Tomorrow, fine, whatever. He could deal with that tomorrow. 

He could deal with Anakin tomorrow.

—

“Want to play?”

Obi-Wan plucked at the hem of his shorts and then looked up, surprised. There was a young man blocking out the sun. Obi-Wan didn’t know him.

But then, Obi-Wan didn’t know anyone. This was his third foster family in as many months. 

He pressed his lips together, doubtful. People were sometimes nice to him, only to then be mean. Best if he kept his distance. Even if this wasn’t a trap, what was the point in talking to someone he’d never see again?

A minute passed. Obi-Wan plucked at his shorts again. They were too big for him. His new foster mom had bought them thinking he was the normal size for a five-year-old boy, but he wasn’t. He was scrawny and gaunt. Food had been scarce at the last house, that was why they’d taken him away. 

“Cat got your tongue?”

Obi-Wan wrinkled his nose and, unbidden, blurted out: “Cats don’t eat tongues. Cats are nice.” 

Then he cringed. Crap. 

“Cats are nice,” agreed the young man, and knelt down on the grass. His eyes were a deep blue, darker than Obi-Wan’s own. Even kneeling, and with Obi-Wan sitting at the bottom of the back steps, he was slightly taller. He offered his hand the way adults did. “Would you like to see some kittens?” 

Obi-Wan was suspicious. He didn’t shake the hand. Instead, he crossed his arms, tucking his arms under his armpits. “No.” 

“Are you sure?” came the playful rejoinder. “They’re very cute.” 

Obi-Wan firmed up his chin. There weren’t any kittens. This was a lie. A trick. “No, thank you.” 

His strange visitor… pouted. 

Obi-Wan wasn’t sure how to react to that. “Um,” he said, a little breathlessly, because oh, no, was the young man actually sad? He was wiping at his eyes like there were tears there, and Obi-Wan’s sense of compassion—and guilt—was immediate and all-consuming. 

“I’m sorry! I—I do want to see the kittens. B-but I don’t know you. I should stay here.” Within sight of the back door, like Tahl had told him.

“Oh, is that all? But I live here, too.”

“Um. Do you?”

“Oh, yes. For a…” The young man stopped. A line formed on his brow. “You know, I don’t remember how long I’ve been here. Isn’t that funny?” he shrugged, as if it wasn’t really that important. “I’m Anakin.” 

“I’m… Obi-Wan.” 

The smile Anakin gave him was sweet, mischievous. “Well, we won’t go anywhere, if you’re not comfortable,” he announced. “But that means we’re not strangers anymore, right?”

There was a certain logic to that, Obi-Wan supposed. But when he opened his mouth to agree, the door behind him creaked open on its hinges. 

“Obi-Wan? Are you hungry? I’ve made snacks,” Tahl said.

“Yes, ma’am,” Obi-Wan automatically said, and then turned back to Anakin. If he really lived there, shouldn’t Tahl have made snacks for him as well? 

But Anakin was gone.

— 

He’d sell the doll, Obi-Wan decided the next day, after the hangover had stopped pounding nails into his skull. As much as he wanted to throw it in the bin, he couldn’t. It’d meant so much to Qui-Gon, and it had historical value and… 

Why destroy something out of pettiness? He was a better man than that. For God’s sake, he wasn’t a kid anymore. There was enough gray in his hair that he was considering dyeing it, but then he’d questioned himself why he’d bother. 

The rest of the house would also have to go. Donated. Or whatever. There were probably museums that would salivate at the chance to go through Qui-Gon Jinn’s collection. The man had been both well-respected and infamous in certain circles, loved and hated—if not hated, by the end. Surely if he reached out, they’d send someone to evaluate what was worth preserving… they could have all of it, really. Obi-Wan didn’t care.

But before that could be set into motion, he needed to go into Qui-Gon’s study. 

He left the house to pick up something to eat, and came back with caffeine. He’d need it. 

Unlike the rest of the house, the upstairs hallway was clean. Obi-Wan placed his hand on the doorknob to Qui-Gon’s study and cast a worried glance around, reduced to being nine years old again, and sneaking into his then-father’s study. 

Sneaking in to see… to see Anakin.

Obi-Wan exhaled sharply through his nose. The doll. Sneaking in to see the doll. Anakin had never existed. Anakin was the product of a young child’s overactive mind. He’d overheard Qui-Gon at some point talking about the doll, and then his mind had filled in the gaps.

That was all. Logical. 

And yet. He couldn’t turn the knob. Not out of fear that Qui-Gon was around the corner and would find out, but out of a strange swirl of anticipation in his gut. The doll was his now.

(Anakin was his now.)

Obi-Wan opened the door. 

—

“Why is Qui-Gon so mad?” Obi-Wan’s voice trembled, along with his lips, his hands. Even his breath squeezed in his lungs. He didn’t want Qui-Gon to be angry. Qui-Gon was the best foster dad he’d ever had; he always had something to teach Obi-Wan, some curious stone or feather to show him. He never sighed and rolled his eyes at any of Obi-Wan’s questions, no matter how dumb. 

Fear sat like a block of ice in his chest. “I d-don’t get it.” To his despair, tears squeezed out of the corners of his eyes. Obi-Wan scrunched them shut, but they rolled down his cheeks. 

Anakin was quiet. Then his hand brushed the top of Obi-Wan’s head. “I don’t know,” he confessed, and he sounded young even to Obi-Wan. “I don’t think he’s mad at you. If anyone—” Anakin broke off. “He’s probably angry with me.” 

With Anakin? 

The fear melted with the heat of indignation. He scrambled off the bed. “He can’t make you go away.” Obi-Wan wouldn’t let him send Anakin away, he’d—he’d tell Tahl, even though she was just as weird about Anakin. He’d—

“No,” said Anakin, with a strange, resigned expression. He was usually lively, if moody, and Obi-Wan didn’t like the change. “No, he can’t. So don’t worry about it, alright? Cry if you need to, and then let’s go visit the Open Circle.” 

“Boys don’t cry.” Obi-Wan sniffed. 

Anakin’s smile was lopsided. “I cry all the time. And I’m just as much a boy as you.” 

This was not the revelation Obi-Wan expected. First, Qui-Gon angry with Anakin, now Anakin, somewhere, crying? Where Obi-Wan couldn’t see? 

“You can’t cry anymore,” Obi-Wan told him. What he really meant to say was you can’t cry if I’m not with you, but his young mind couldn’t translate his thoughts into words without losing something along the way. 

But Anakin understood. 

Anakin always understood him. 

—

Obi-Wan flipped the light switch. And there, under a large glass cloche on Qui-Gon’s desk, was the doll that his father had destroyed his life for. 

God, how he hated it. 

— 

(Anakin could never leave him alone again.) 

[radar-chaos]

As promised, a special little surprise Christmas present for all of you!

[um-prompts]

62 writing prompts based on my songfic playlist!

enjoy!

Featured: kill the lights set it off • choke i don't know how but they found me • cannibal tally hall • feel better penelope scott • ramblings of a lunatic bears in trees • idk if i'm a boy blue foster • asthma attack noahfinnce

"I'm afraid the spotlight dried you up."

"You make me sick with all the lies that you spill."

"Not even death could stand in the way."

"You never even tried in the first place."

"kill the lights, kill the actor, kill the actress."

"I'll break your pretty face."

"Oh, you clever little things."

"What a precious basket case."

"If I could burn this town, I wouldn't hesitate."

"Bite your tongue and choke yourself to sleep."

"You get everything you want."

"Money always talks to the idiot savants."

"I am the willing victim of a cannibal."

"She rips out my bones just like I'm an animal."

"When I'm feeling like my blood is drained, she calls it a game."

"The wound she leaves is unmistakable."

"I'm not the only one she has come to see."

"They could be the ones to make her believe."

"She's a phantom."

"Please, won't you tear me open wide?"

"I don't wanna feel better."

"No one's ever gonna love me like that again."

"I don't wanna get over you."

"I'd give anything to miss you again."

"I know I'll never know just what to say."

"I'm a sad girl in a dorm room."

"Someone loved me, someone fucking loved me."

"I'd give my life to have a room that feels that small."

"I had a right to die, a right to live, a right to choose, too."

"Can you fucking imagine?"

"I wanna rip the stars to shreds."

"I'm a healthy baby girl who traded sunshine for disease."

"I loved someone I barely knew."

"Lost my sense of home from the words that I've said."

"Maybe I'll just descend to dirt."

"Would anyone listen to this, the ramblings of a lunatic?"

"My mind does play an awful trick."

"I'm running from my emptiness."

"My brain is tired, my stomach's sick."

"Why has constructing sentences become like pulling teeth?"

"Is this carcass even me?"

"Is this catharsis, therapeutic plunge to darkness or elaborating upon my mediocrity?"

"Maybe this is a result of me finally accepting that I'll be alone forever."

"I've never felt more comfortable in the concept of things ending."

"Maybe this writer's block that I've been perceiving is to stop me diving deeply into my internal being."

"All my friends are dying, some faster than the others."

"I'm trying to distract myself from the fears that I've discovered."

"I don't know if I'm a boy."

"I know I wanna be called pretty."

"I am something in the middle."

"I don't know if I'm a reject."

"I know that I've been breathing different when I'm wearing makeup."

"Those stupid words served to protect me."

"I cannot figure out these stupid words."

"Now I know that I'm a reject, my own special kind of loser."

"I am the physical embodiment of everything I never wanted to be."

"I am the prime example of indecision."

"What am I supposed to do when I'm so see-through?"

"I had never thought that life would be like this."

"If living was the equivalent of breathing then maybe I should prepare myself for another asthma attack."

"You think I know myself, well you'd be mostly wrong."

"If lying was a crime then I'd be doing time."

[youthofpandas]

What’s up with how the dunmeshi fandom just lies about this kind of stuff all the time. It is easily confirmable information that it was a monthly series, something incredibly common in the industry.

A not weekly magazine schedule is literally common !! Especially in the seinen shoujo and josei demographics, sometimes monthly, sometimes biweekly, sometimes every two months, sometimes seasonal! Please stop lying about how Dunmeshi was some special unique creation that defies all standards of manga just to hype it up because it is so clear that every single one of these comparisons is centered around Weekly Shonen Jump (and understand that SJ has many magazines under its brand that are monthly or semimonthly). Not everything is WSJ and it needs to stop being the only point of reference in conversations like this 🤧

[chalkrub]

autumnal chill....featuring the girl

[lazylittledragon]

if i had a nickel for every au spawned from twitter that i SWORE i was going to be normal about

[sweetaru1]

the snails but I turned them into giant mounts!!!! for funsies mail mounts!!!!! I usually hate spending more than 3 hours on a piece, but I had a lot of fun doing these

[monobmp]

Today's doodles + BillFord I GUESS 🙄🙄🙄🙄🙄🙄

[watchingwisteria]

listen there really was just something about how in the book, snow’s 3-page descent from hesitant lover boy to deluded mfer happens entirely in his mind. lucy gray gives him no indication whatsoever that she suspects him, that she’s going to leave or betray him. he’s just sitting quietly in the cabin waiting for her to return when that seed of calculated suspicion, which he has needed to survive the capitol, takes a hold of him and chokes the life out of any goodness left inside him. it really drives home your terror as a reader that “oh my god did he kill her? did she escape? what happened to her? why would he even think that?” in a way that when the movie had to adjust for visualization it lost some of that holy shit this guy has lost it emphasis.

[bacchuschucklefuck]

truly this one's just for me. I can do what I want foreverrr

[ruushes]

i HAVE been working on this ive just been fighting it for my fucking life but i think ive finally got it to the point i can work on finishing 😭

[odinsblog]

The crew of a massive container ship that crashed into the Francis Scott Key bridge in Baltimore early Tuesday warned of power issues before the collision, which caused the bridge to collapse into the frigid Patapsco River, officials said.

Maryland Gov. Wes Moore said the warning from the ship’s crew likely saved lives.

“We’re thankful that between the mayday and the collapse, that we had officials who were able to begin to stop the flow of traffic so more cars were not on the bridge,” Moore said. He called those officials heroes.

Moore noted that the bridge was up to code at the time of the collapse. He said the collapse was a “shocking and heartbreaking” event for the people of Maryland who have used the bridge for 47 years.

(continue reading)

[radar-chaos]

A Christmas gift for you all.

December 25th. Noon. <3

[ashoss]

this idea wont leave my brain please help me !! YIPPEE HADES BATKIDS !!!

without the bg and text under the cut :))

asdhj probably gonna post like,, two at a time because thats ,, a lot,,,, of drawing ,,,,,,, so heres tim and jason! i think i got the hang of it more with jason lol

ALSO ALSO!!!

thank you to those who helped me with the titles for the batkids!! they were all really good :D (all on insta lol)

timothy: the tenured - thomson_at

[blackkatdraws2]

[Toon x Mobster] Only he can make him laugh like that...

Jack Desmond is the silly guy. Gavriel Huffman is the scary guy. They come from different worlds that has contrasting genres, one more cartoonishly comedic and the other much dramatically darker.

It's kind of a running gag that Sir Huffman is unable to laugh without looking absolutely wicked. Both in the cartoon world and his own world.

That doesn't stop Jack from being completely smitten with him though, his voice is the most mind-melting thing he's ever had the pleasure to hear

[AUDIO USED:] Men I Trust - show me how