Is this anything

unleash intergalactic chaos in style!

Who was putting up all the caution tape around Canaan House. Was that a last minute addition pre-lyctoral trials or were the skeletons dutifully keeping track of which wings crossed the threshold from 'decrepit' to 'condemned'

Sixth House stepping in as self designated OSHA

get souped idiot

(closeups under the cut)

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domestic life (immensely depressing and has a lowering effect on the ego)

audio: you have 13 seconds before the island fucking explodes you hot topic wannabe and you blue gumball son of a bitch. you have done nothing but destroy my life i hope you both die.

thank you @ cloudstation for the meme format

grateful for reblogs, i spent too long on this and maybe i will make more who knows

Based on a shitpost by @paramoregf

harrianthe + sewing (variations on a theme)

Harrow.

Even though I long to call that little body language expert of yours a hack and be done with it, I'm not going to say that I didn't want it. Because unlike some people, I am not a serial liar. And, on occasion, I can even process complex emotions without purging their source from myself entirely.

At any rate. Put yourself in my shoes, Nonagesimus. You've been starved of all companionship except - blech - Ianthe. You were dead for months - felt like years.

And then she touched me with those burning hot little hands of yours, and I thought it was you. I wanted it to be you.

I opened my eyes. That couldn't be helped, honestly. You were there in the frame of her, and she was all decked out in your favorite shitty color (if not quite as encrusted with bones), and her hair was almost the right length again. But her eyes were all wrong - the same color as mine were before I made the biggest mistake I can't regret. Worst of all was her face. Not to encourage you, but she doesn't come close to the force or the depth of your expression. She filled it out with one emotion at a time, and she didn't have anywhere near the mastery of your eyebrows that you did. When I look back I could kick myself for not calling her an imposter immediately.

I'm not making excuses, but I only had a second to take in all this information. A lot of the more clever remarks above come from later observation. I, fool that I was, was mostly thinking that you came for me. I was looking at the raggedness of your hair and the sharpness of your jaw and the queer unpaintedness of your lips, and I was wanting you in a way you probably would have killed me for.

And that's when she kissed me.

I didn't do anything weird! You haven't had my tongue in your mouth or anything like that. The sanctity of your mouth remains unblemished by all but the corse of the Locked Tomb, unless you count that jaw inspection thing with Tridentarius, which is completely your call to make. I didn't bite your lip or make a weird noise, or even take your hand. Granted, you can thank the element of surprise for some of that. You don't have to scrape Nav off your tonsils, is the point - maybe just take a few cold showers and put some extra paint on your lips going forward.

Technically, I have nothing to apologize for.

I'm sorry, Nonagesimus.

I pray the tomb is shut forever, I pray the rock is never rolled away…

Or the alternative title, “One flesh, one end, bitch!”

It is finally done! The ninth house prayer from Gideon the Ninth as an early 16th century manuscript, because it just made sense in my brain.