#so easy to break lmao

[tennessoui]

democratic fic part four

(democratic fic masterlist) (2.5k)

“We should go,” Kenobi says.  His voice shakes as much as his hands do, and Anakin has the almost irrepressible urge to grab them and still them. Hold them. 

“You should never have come down here in the first place,” Anakin bites back, even though his anger is far from productive. They should go. Anakin knows this. Anakin should be leaping at the chance to whisk a willing Kenobi back up to the safety of the Upper Levels. Kenobi is being cooperative. He’s only known the boy for a few days, but he already understands that Kenobi is rarely cooperative at all.

Kenobi’s lip curls up into the beginnings of a sneer, but something freezes suddenly in his face. His eyes go blank as he looks around, and then they start to water.

Oh stars, the boy is crying.

Oh stars, the boy cries so prettily that it makes Anakin feel like a dirty old man to have his hands all over him like this.

“They—” Obi-Wan blinks tear-filled eyes up at Anakin. “They were going to—”

Anakin swallows rather thickly. “Yeah,” he mutters, letting his hands fall to rest on the boy’s shoulders. The Force sings around them, so damned loud Anakin can hardly concentrate. “But uh. You’re safe, alright? I, uh.”

He flicks his eyes back to the crumpled, still forms of Obi-Wan’s would-be attackers, and the reality of what he just did catches up to him like a tidal wave. “I killed them,” he says out loud, eyes widening. Oh fucking Sith’s hells, he just killed a sentient. He could be—arrested or lose his seat in the Senate—he took another’s life—Force, the Jedi would demand he be put in Force suppression cuffs again. Worse, he’d have to sit through their remedial lessons and the Council would lecture him for hours on proper use of the Force. 

At least if he’s behind prison bars, he’d be forced to pay attention this time around, he thinks rather hysterically.

A pair of slender arms wind around his waist, shocking him out of the spiral of his thoughts. “For me,” Obi-Wan murmurs, pressing up into his hug and resting his head on Anakin’s shoulder, face turned into his neck. He can feel the wetness of Obi-Wan’s cheeks from his tears and the softness of his lips brushing his skin as he speaks.

He fits so well into Anakin’s arms, like he belongs there. 

This thought is just as hysterical as his previous ones.

“You killed them for me,” Obi-Wan repeats, nuzzling further into his neck. The way he says it makes it sound like it’s all fucking good, a justification to explain the literal fucking crime Anakin’s just committed. 

A voice that sounds very much like Padmé is screaming at him in his head that no justification can explain away taking someone’s life, but then Obi-Wan pulls back from his one-sided hug and looks up at him again with wet eyes. His face is scratched up and bleeding. His hair is mussed up too from the creature’s claws gripping and twisting it.

It makes such a sense of wrongness well up in Anakin’s chest that he almost chokes on it. 

“They would have hurt me,” Obi-Wan says. “But you killed them before they could.” 

Anakin gets the very strange impression that if Obi-Wan were a loth-cat, he would be purring right now. Purring and rubbing up against him.

Though, he doesn’t have to be part loth-cat for that last part, which he’s already proven.

But it’s not as if the boy is wrong. The Zephrian would have hurt him. Anakin prevented that hurt from coming to fruition.

As if someone else is controlling his body, he raises his hand to Obi-Wan’s face and fits it against his unblemished cheek. They’re both shaking now. Adrenaline leaving the body perhaps. Residual fear from Obi-Wan. Maybe even shock settling in.

“We should go,” Obi-Wan whispers, even as he stands still, face cradled in Anakin’s palm. “This may be the lower levels, but eventually a Coruscanti guard is going to find the bodies.”

The bodies. The bodies that Anakin made.

Obi-Wan’s eyes flare for a second—a trick of the light making them shine golden as he huffs out a breath. “I’m cold,” he says, and he shivers again.

He’s cold because he’s wearing a skimpy little outfit among the shadows of the Lower Levels. He’s cold because more skin is showing than he’s got hidden away. He’s cold because he is not tucked away in his grandfather’s apartments where a pretty little bird like him should be.

Anakin’s nostrils flare even as he drops his hand away from Kenobi’s face to yank his cloak off and drag it over the boy’s shoulders. “We’re leaving,” he bites out, anger rising once more at the sight of the little princeling in front of him.

“That’s what I’ve been—Force!” Obi-Wan’s snappish reply turns into a surprised curse when Anakin takes his elbow and pulls him into motion. “Ow, Anakin!”

But Anakin knows now what Obi-Wan really sounds like when he’s in pain, the high, pitchy gasp he’s capable of making, so he does not ease up on his grasp. He just—he needs to get the boy back where he belongs, away from him, and then he needs to forget all about Obi-Wan Kenobi.

“You’re going home,” Anakin snarls, cutting through the crowd in the opposite direction. The smartest of the people around them get out of the way as soon as they see him coming. Kenobi makes a little noise of surprise when someone shoves into him, pressing closer to Anakin. “And then I’m never going to see you again.”

“Don’t be so pessimistic,” Obi-Wan says, panting slightly as he has to walk twice as fast to keep up with Anakin’s strides. “My grandfather will hardly ban you from seeing m—”

Anakin swings them to a stop and pushes the infuriating princeling up against the closest wall. “That wasn’t an opinion,” he growls, using every inch of his greater height to loom over the boy. “That was an order.”

Kenobi’s eyes are round, wet. There’s none of that fear that had been present earlier, even though he is being held against an alleyway’s disgusting wall by a murderer. 

“You should be afraid,” Anakin mutters, tracing his eyes over the lines of Kenobi’s face. “Why aren’t you afraid.” This isn’t a question either; this is a demand. 

Kenobi blinks up at him and then relaxes into the wall. “You killed them for me,” he murmurs. “And then you gave me your cloak.”

As if that’s an explanation.

Anakn bares his teeth, feeling wild as the Force howls around him.

“Thank you,” Obi-Wan adds, dropping his eyes away only to look at him once more from under his fucking eyelashes. “For saving me.”

Some newly awakened beast inside Anakin roars at this, though even he cannot tell if it’s from satisfaction, hunger, or rage.

“I am never going to see you again,” he repeats as firmly as he knows how.

“Yes, Senator,” Kenobi replies. His mouth curls up into a small smile. Anakin wants to bruise him. “But I can’t fly like this, Senator,” he bites at his lip. The cut on his face has stopped bleeding, but it looks wicked. His hair is still a mess. “Please take me home.”

Anakin scowls. The boy calls him senator like it’s some other title altogether. It makes his tongue feel heavy, his chest tight, and his face hot. “I’m flying,” he barks before turning out of the alleyway. He feels wrong-footed. Wrong. 

He killed a sentient today, but all he can think about is Obi-Wan Kenobi’s pretty little face looking up at him as tears beaded along his eyes. All he can think is that he should have kille the Zephrian faster, before they or their monkey could ever touch Kenobi. All he can think is that he wants to make Kenobi cry again.

Kenobi’s speeder-bike is where the boy left it, watched over by the same eager vendor. “No one touched it,” the man swears as soon as he sees Anakin approach.

“Good,” Anakin tells him. “Much obliged.”

He swings his leg up and over the seat grabbing its handles. It’s a new make, of course it fucking is. The little princeling would never fly anything but the newest speeder on the line. It makes him seethe, that Kenobi will never know the poverty Anakin came from, that he’ll never appreciate how fucking good he has it, that he’ll risk everything he has on a whimsical decision. He’ll leave a brand new speeder in a shit alleyway. He’ll parade around the Lower Levels in diamonds and sapphires. He’ll cry for others—

“Hey!” The vendor protests. “Hey, you said—”

“I lied,” Anakin growls back. Kenobi’s arms wrap around his waist again. The boy presses indecently, unnecessarily close. 

“You sleem—”

“You should leave,” Obi-Wan’s voice chimes in, lilting and calm and filled with such a heavy application of sheer power that Anakin’s feet automatically kick the speeder into low gear before he realizes that Kenobi wasn’t commanding him. 

“I…should leave,” the vendor repeats, sounding struck over the head. Anakin feels rather struck too. He’d heard of the Jedi mindtrick, most people had given the prevalence of the Jedi in popular culture, but he’d never seen it in action. He’d never heard it.

It sends a shiver of disgust down his spine in a way the popularized idea of the trick never had. To take control of someone’s mind—to enslave them to your will, even for a second….

Kenobi presses his face against his neck, turning so that his lips slide over his skin. “We should leave too,” he murmurs as if he has not just stolen a man’s free will from him, if only for a moment. 

But then—Anakin killed a sentient tonight. Does he have any room to be disgusted with Kenobi’s actions?

Padmé would despise both of them if she knew what they got up to tonight when they left the gardens. Wouldn’t she? Not that he’d ever tell her.

Anakin’s mouth forms a thin line as he pushes the speeder into motion. The engine purrs near-silently as it’s guided forward. Anakin almost wishes it were louder so he could not hear Obi-Wan’s inhales and exhales—but then, he’d still be able to feel them, plastered to his back as he is.

He flies, with Kenobi’s loose instruction, to the sector and apartments the Count is renting out. All the lights but the ones illuminating the docking bay are shut off, the quarters completely dark.

Anakin pulls the speeder parallel to the docking bay and waits for the boy to slide off and onto the platform.

“Is this the trade then?” Kenobi asks lightly as he dismounts, his hands clutching each other beneath the too-long sleeves of the cloak when he stands straight on the safety of the docking bay. “I keep your cloak, you keep my speeder-bike?”

“I will have one of my aides return it to this address tomorrow,” Anakin says flatly. “But you can keep the cloak.”

“I don’t want your stupid cloak!” The words burst out of Obi-Wan, much louder and more fierce than Anakin expected. The boy’s hands make fists at his sides. 

He recovers quickly though. “Then what do you want, Kenobi? Because I can’t pretend I have the slightest idea!”

“I want—” the boy cuts himself off an scrubs his hands over his face so roughly that the cut across his chin and up his cheek starts bleeding once more. Anakin watches it re-open in the moonlight, Kenobi’s blood appearing more black than red. “I just wanted you to like me,” Obi-Wan finishes with a sniffle, voice breaking halfway through his confession.

Anakin clenches his jaw and looks away, feeling awkward and confused and strangely sympathetic. ��You cannot force another into liking you, Obi-Wan,” he finally replies, cutting his eyes back to the boy’s pathetic figure. “It is not like one of your mind tricks.”

“I know that!” Obi-Wan says, “Of course I know that, I’m not a youngling!”

“You’ve been acting like one this entire night!” Anakin snaps back, sympathy draining away from him to make room for the anger.

Obi-Wan stills, and his eyes flash. “I can show you, Senator,” he says, tone changing completely. Becoming sultry. Dark with promise. He takes a step forward, allowing Anakin’s cloak to shrug off his narrow shoulders and pool around his feet. “I can show you I’m not a youngling…if you want…”

“What—”

Obi-Wan flicks his fingers through the air, and the speeder’s engine is sputters into idleness at the same time Anakin finds himself pushed roughly back on the seat, leaving just enough room for Obi-Wan to slither over his spread legs and sit himself in his lap.

“Kenobi—”

Obi-Wan’s arms wrap loosely around his neck. The only reason Anakin doesn’t shake him off is because he’d probably fall to his death off the docking bay just to be contrary.

That’s the only reason.

“I don’t want you to think of me as a youngling, Senator,” Obi-Wan murmurs, ducking his head and catching Anakin’s eye. “I’m not a youngling, and if we’re being honest, I’m not sure you’ve been looking at me like I’m one either.”

“Get off—”

“Exactly what I want, Senator,” Obi-Wan says, using his grip around Anakin’s neck to rock down against him. It feels good. Stars help him, it feels good.

And Obi-Wan must know it or feel his pleasure in the Force or something, because he smirks slightly, a crack of honest emotion in his seductress mask. 

It sends a pang of arousal up his chest at the same moment he finds the strength to raise Kenobi off of him and push him to the docking bay’s floor.

The little minx falls easily onto his back, spreading his legs wide as he props himself up on his elbows to pout up at Anakin. “Well now I’m just confused, Senator. Do you want me to act like a youngling or act like a man?”

Anakin exhales forcefully, hands clenching into fists on the speeder bike’s handles. His front feels cold; his lap too empty.

Palpatine was right. Kenobi is dangerous. Best avoided. Best to be put out of sight and out of mind. “I want to never see you again.” 

The words come out flat and robotic. He can’t even fucking blame Kenobi for laughing when he hears them. Anakin sort of feels like laughing at himself the entire flight back to his apartments.

When he wakes in the middle of the night, erection straining against the thin material of his sleep pants and Kenobi’s sweet face fading from behind his eyelids, he doesn’t feel much like laughing anymore. Perhaps more like sobbing, as if he were the young temperamental boy out of the pair of them. 

(Poll For The Next Part LIVE)

[identifying-cellphones-in-posts]

Same fingerprint scanner my ass

The Samsung does NOT have a round fingerprint scanner

But in all honesty, I couldn't identify a phone if it had a fuckin model number on it

I'll be totally honest here... I did notice the shape was different from the start. I was being lazy and thought, "oh its just the angle.... the edit I did over the original could've compressed the pixels to make it look round.... yeah no need to dig any further" <- Thats the devil talking.

It kills me to read the notes on the og post cause everyone thinks I didn't notice the fingerprint scanner when the truth is much more embarrassing: I ignored it cause I'm what you might call... stupid

[ragnarokhound]

for the au ask game—dimension or time travel au? 👀

For the AU ask game!

Ohhh this kind of au is always so fun because there's literally infinite directions to take this OwO the question for me becomes what would be the most fun/interesting time or sideways universe to send them (and if only one goes back in time, or both of them 👀) or what alternate reality would it be the most galvanizing for them to see... 👀

Oh. I know. I'm still in my cups over saltwateroracle AKA @n1ightw1ng's Arkham Knight Jason dimension hopping au so...

Five fun facts from a dimension hopping au I'd write:

Your choice of comics verse Jason and Tim who don't get along, enemies to coworkers style. But ala The Long Way Home (excellent fic btw everyone who cares about Jason and Tim's relationship whether romantic or platonic please go read it) they get warped together to Arkhamverse and don't realize it. At first.

Separately, they meet their arkhamverse counterparts. Jason nearly get blown up by Arkham Knight Jason, Tim has no idea what to make of his double being married? To? Babs? They meet back up and go 'you thought YOUR double was weird'

'you thought your double was weird, wait til you get a load of fucking BRUCE.' 'Is the batmobile? A tank??' Jason gets very sus of the 'suppressive rounds' Arkham Bruce fires at the mercenaries. Tim gets very sus of the whole ass people he's got stashed away at the batcave lmao

Arkham Bruce is running on such severely fucked up fumes that it makes them actively miss their own Bruce back home. They help him with rounding up Riddler and Scarecrow and with handling the thorny Arkham Knight problem, but absolutely are going to get betrayed 'for their own good' (or because Bruce doesn't trust them) eventually. So they find themselves leaning more and more on each other as the only familiar and trustworthy face in this fucked up dark clown maze version of Gotham

Things end better because of their influence than in the game (something something cure for jokerism something something Arkham Knight Jason gets catharsis/reconciliation and a shock blanket and some soup) and they get themselves home ASAP and everything 100% goes back to normal and they definitely will not be talking about how Tim totally kissed Jason when they thought they were going to die at the end there, nuh uh, no way, Tim has very important debriefings to write byyyye--

(Bonus fun fact: Bruce is very confused but ultimately accepts the out-of-the-blue check ins/hugs he receives from Tim and Jason with aplomb. He reads Tim's report and goes 'Ah. Yes, dimension hopping will do that to a motherfucker'. He can't follow-up with either of them though, for some reason they've both gone dark for a week. Together. At the same safehouse. Hm. Better to leave that one alone, he thinks.)

[nabaath-areng]

" First impressions last. "

[wavywhiskers]

It's almost here 🐍 Those who follow me on Twt may already know that I have been developing NO ONE, a small introductory RPG Maker game focused on naga!batter, one of my AUs of the batter.

CURSE was originally supposed to be a sole game focused on him, but I got too many ideas, the project started to get too big and I burned myself out. What I did was chop CURSE into pieces, smaller bite-sized games that I hopefully can actually manage to complete. So CURSE is now the name of the whole series, and NO ONE can be considered a prologue.

After playtesters feedback, I'm going to apply the suggested changes and release it on Itch.io. Should be up during this week.

Here's the link!

[elliebell77]

sorry i havent been posting i think im burnt out rn

[shuploc]

Who is your favorite character to draw as of right now? I’m just curious. 👀

Oh, Miguel, 100%! I could draw him all day, every day. A very, very close second though would be Viktor from Arcane.

Idk why, but I absolutely love faces that are pretty striking. Lots of natural contrast, prominent features; dark eyes, dark hair, sharp edges, that sort of thing. It's so satisfying to draw. And I mean, I also love both Miguel and Viktor very much 😌❤️

[lgbtlunaverse]

I don't think we talk about xiyao exes to lovers enough. I understand that in canon the "breakup" ended with death and imo it was never going to end any other way (I have a lot of feelings about how jgy is doomed from the start) but even in aus where survival is an option I barely ever see their full potential realized. The fact that there is this heartbreaking gap that is between them now, and yet that, despite it all, they can't stop loving each other. When you have drama this good, why is the conflict relegated to outside threats and we end up with little to no exploration of internal strife, of the fact that these guys have been living a domestic lie for a decade (I cannot stress this enough, the amount of parralels between xiyao and jgy's marriage to qin su are staggering.)

And let me be clear I will NEVER begrudge anyone their hurt/comfort and wanting their faves who are denied happiness and peace at every turn to find it. god knows I need that sometimes. Or even the less healthy but so emotionally devastating fics where the caring isn't good, and it doesn't fix anything- might only make things worse, actually- and xichen ends up recreating his father's fate. I love all of those things. But. Man. This divorce was over 11 years in the making it should take AT LEAST that long to resolve. What do you do when the person you trusted the most lied to you for years? What do you do when the only person who's ever believed in you loses that faith so completely they'd hurt you over a lie without hesitation? I need me some xiyao who try to get over each other for 20 years and fail. I need them to meet after not seeing each other for years and have it hurt like no time has passed at all. I need arguments where no one raises their voice but that feel like a screaming match anyway. Do you see my vision?? Do you see what we could have?

(if fics that do exacly this are out there, recs are of course welcome)

[larkoneironaut]

Assembled a miniature book store (in 21 hours) which I think Solas would like to relax in 🥹 I'm so proud of it, especially installing the lights was hard, felt like an electrician after being successful 😭

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

Hello! I have come asking for you to info-dump about the the modern human au. I full of brain rot of them (especially after the last thing you posted about them, damn) Maybe you can tell us a bit more Sally!!

lucky for you, i've been full of that good ol brainrot As Well! thoughts! feelings! ideas! i got em!

so since we're already on the subject of the Crash Arc, allow me to expand on it for a moment before i get to Sally Thinkings! if you've read the snippet, you may have noticed the extent of Wally's injuries was not listed yet. well! he got messed up with a capital F! since it's fiction and i'm god in this scenario, i'm veering slightly away from realistic damage, immediate & lasting. bc lets be real. if i stuck to "this is as realistic as i can make it", then Wally would be aaaaaabsolutely fucked. it was a bad crash in a very unsafe vehicle at high speeds. like - this is what happened. a drunk driver hit Home going 70 down the freeway. swerve, fishtail, tumble down a (small, shallow, really its more like a glorified ditch) ravine with trees and rocks and shit on it. absolute miracle that Wally didn't die in the crash, let alone during the solid half hour (slightly longer) he was trapped in Home before someone noticed the crash site and called emergency personnel. Wally "hanging up" on Barnaby was actually the impact jarring him so he slipped and hit the end call button. but yeah without going into technicalities and detail, Wally has some lasting damage in his dominant hand. It takes extensive physical therapy for him to be able to paint/draw again at the same level he had been at. the hematoma hadn't done a lot of brain damage that wouldn't resolve itself with time. in my mind, when Wally wakes up in the hospital, for a few days he's very confused and his memory is shot. he'll wake up, interact, then go to sleep, but when he wakes up again its like waking up for the first time again. he just can't retain memories for a bit. he's got some severe brain fog. his mood is also kinda fucked with - he's uncharacteristically irritable with low patience, etc. these are all things that clear up with time, but in my mind Wally has chronic migraines going forward. bad ones! and there are days where it's harder fr him to concentrate. and yk. a teeny bit of chronic pain where his shin bone was pinned back together and where his hand was essentially crushed. but other than that he's fine going forward! good days and bad days!

but enough about that! You Want To Hear About Sally!

i imagine that she becomes quite successful in the theater industry. i'm not too familiar with it myself, so i'm gonna be uh. Vague about it? but she starts her own theater troupe - it's a bit of a commute from home base to the town she works in, where the theater is located in, but she makes it work! of the group, she's probably away more than any of them. working on shows, traveling to work on other ones - i like to think she's been on Broadway! she probably has had opportunities to do tv/movie acting, but idk... i feel like Sally would be like "nah. live shows or nothing". maybe at some point she takes up voice acting gigs, as long as she can do them from home. she probably has her own little room-turned-VA-studio thing. idk how that works either! it seems right! but yes Howdy's store's automated messages and advertisements are in Sally's voice. she's probably picked up a temporarily modeling gig here and there.

so Sally is very very busy. Poppy is supportive. everyone is, and they all love to help out when they can - and reel Sally in when the "stardom" starts to get to her head. they do their best to acclimate to occasionally getting jumpscared by her voice in a grocery store or in. idk. fashion shoots. victoria's secret billboards. that last one was a joke! maybe. i think she would.

i also like to imagine Sally like... getting some sort of award and then spending a solid five minutes naming her friends, thanking them with specificity, and then plugging their own stuff. they probably have a rotation for who accompanies her as her plus one for events and parties she may or may not be invited to. she's not like... a Big celebrity but! she's Known and Liked! she has Connections! i like to imagine her and Wally looking dapper as fuck at a Venue...

so the friend group typically stays together, with Sally going off to do her Things the most. she makes sure to schedule time to be with her friends and girlfriend/wife/Poppy between work and gigs and etc. she somehow finds a balance with Ease. or apparent ease... someone get this girl a vacation...

[demobatman]

byler is so real because mike describing meeting will as "the the best thing hes ever done" compared to him saying meeting el was "dumb luck" just goes to show that his and el's relationship was circumstantial and now is a struggle to maintain/to Want to maintain and his and wills relationship is one he chose and will continue to choose.

[sunfoxfic]

Hello! I know you’ve posted about ao3 skins and coding before, so I’d like to ask a question about that kind of thing. Do you know of a way to create a pretty divider to use in fics? Like the more complicated swirls used in physical books, not just a colored line?

This tutorial goes over it in really good detail

[s0fter-sin]

i’ve been watching yannis marshall choreography for like 15 minutes and i’m back thinking about my dancer au

gaz suggests a pole dancing segment for the music video for price and ghost shuts it down hard, saying he doesn’t do pole. gaz calls him selfish, that he’s just saying no to spite him but ghost holds firm; not even listening to soap as he tries to reason with him and reach a compromise

soap gets to practice early like he always does, just to see ghost blasting another life by motionless in white and doing a flawless pole routine. he’s as mesmerised by him as he always is, such beautiful movements contrasted by the seemingly harsh music, and waits for him to break before teasing, “i thought you said you couldn’t do pole dancin’.”

ghost just wipes the sweat off his face with a towel. he knew he was there

he always knows when soap’s there

“i said i didn’t do pole; not that i couldn’t.”

“what’s stoppin’ you?” soap asks, genuine and innocently curious and it’s the only reason ghost doesn’t completely shut him down

“what ‘bout you?” he asks instead. “ever done pole?”

he shrugs and sets his bag down. “enough to get in a twirl or two. ‘sides, gaz’s better suited to that kinda delicate work.”

“now, that i know is bullshit,” ghost scoffs and soap tenses, expecting him to go off on another rant about his best mate (just like he waits through gaz going off on ghost) but- “i’ve seen your competition tapes; you’re plenty strong enough to work a pole.”

soap stares at him. “how have you-?”

“price,” he answers simply, throwing the towel on top of his gear and all but stalks towards him. “i like knowin’ who i’m working with; he sent me your breakdancin’ comps. if you can hold a three-fingered hollowback handstand, you can bend on a pole.”

soap sputters as ghost grips his tank top and yanks him over to the pole, setting his hands in place on the body-warmed metal; bracketing his body with his own. he guides his body through the motions; teaches him how to fall and catch himself in a spin, how to gracefully climb and hold his body in midair

soap laughs as he throws himself into a spin just to bend his legs over his head, twisting his body to latch onto the pole with knee and lean perfectly horizontal with his other leg splayed out; his arm thrown above his head

he tips his head back to catch ghost’s grin and almost drops himself as he jumps up to join him; artfully climbing above him and holding his whole weight on his hip as he flips down to look at him

soap’s breath catches at the scant distance between their faces; so close he can count the near invisible freckles on ghosts skin, his fair lashes and the deep flecks of gold in his dark eyes

ghost is just as entranced; his grin slowly fading as he looks into the light sparkling in soap’s eyes. he tips his head towards the mirrors lining the studio and they slowly turn to look at themselves; fitting perfectly together

“see?” he whispers. “we don’t look all that outta place, do we?”

“no,” soap whispers back. “we don’t.”

[undefeatablesin]

Me adding smoke, skulls and disembodied hand motifs to the backgrounds of Altar for almost every panel

[threepoint14art]

Boyfriends <3 in cookie form because why not at this point. I am haunted

Popping candy because it explodes, if you take loon outside he will fucking explode T-T get it? Grape jello because it has green AND purple and I refused to make his ass an eggplant o(≧口≦)o, and also scorpion cookie already exists and I cannot win against her design </3

[quillkiller]

sorry to young royals but *haymitch voice* simon could live a hundred lifetimes and NEVER!!!!!! ever deserve wilhelm