#except im not sorry I LOVE THEM

[kandigored]

the mirror pool

so ive been thinking about this au ive wanted to make inspired by the incredible pogd au by @beluvbug for a while !!

this is a very self indulgent au based on pinkie dealing with the conflict of wanting to be taken seriously while also playing themselves down constantly as a way to please others, especially when it come to their identity as nonbinary and their disabilities

i was going to make the first post about this au a little comic but ironically the disabilities have made that a bit hard and i wanted to post something for it

[mrmeepsmadmind]

bee's protective nature over anyone persists even as a ghost & i think he sometimes forgets or doesn't care that only star can see him (sadly no touch tho) & will start shouting & angrily try standing between people who are mad at starscream even tho he can't be seen, he just wants to try & help anyways bcs STOP IT >:(!! BE NICE !!!! cried the ghost no one can hear or see except for the poor guy getting yelled at & trying to overhear the conversation over bee's frantic rebuttals while trying to discreetly let bee know it's ok while ALSO trying not to look Insane .

continued attempt at a 4am drawn doodle comic below

i might draw detailed later but yeah i just wanted to give yall this headcanon bcs i love starbee so much... the nagging wives finally finding their true loves... another nagging wife.

' you .. do know only i can hear and see you, unfortunately, right? or are you starting to go loopy, because i don't need another insane figure haunting me. I have enough already, as you can try and fail to imagine, little bee . '

' trust me, im Well aware .. of everything you just said . .. but i just. i couldn't just Stand there and do Nothing while someone talked to you like You were Nothing . that's not the autobot way. that's not- my way . '

' . . . '

[xxlady-lunaxx]

offers the weekly (or so) dose of sanegiyuu angst

sanemi caring for giyuu and slowly nursing him back, coaxing smiles and eliciting laughter from the pretty raven-haired man. but the surge of warmth it gives him from the trophy of a happy giyuu only lasts so long. so that sanemi feels like he can’t, in any way, be sad. he fears that the slightest frown might trigger a wave of discontent that ultimately will have them both crashing under the currents. he’s afraid that he’ll ruin every bit of progress they’ve managed, leaving them back at the starting point. he refuses to cry, he refuses to be weak, he refuses to do anything but carry on supporting giyuu and being the one who holds them both up. and he says nothing, even when the circles under his eyes nearly rival giyuu’s obsidian hair, even when he ends up silently spiraling down, down, down the rabbit hole he only just managed to pull giyuu from. and it isn’t until his resolve is hit for the final time, the hammer shattering him completely, that he finally says something. but, despite everything, he denies giyuu’s comfort. insists it’s only a matter of time. when it’s not. time is working against him. tugging the loosely woven threads of togetherness out, undoing the hasty patchwork. still, he draws away. curls up into himself and pricks his finger on the needle, trying to sew the remnants of his sanity back. he will not let giyuu parent him. he will not let giyuu see what a pathetic, idiotic, broken man he actually is. because everything he does is for giyuu’s benefit. everything he lives for is connected to this beautiful, wonderful man who somehow still tries and tries to help him. until it takes too much work for sanemi to pull away. he knows it’s futile. but he still lets himself sink into giyuu’s arms, finally—finally—trusting himself into his care. he won’t ever be alright. but if he lets giyuu do this—for… him—then maybe giyuu will be able to get through everything. knowing sanemi trusted him, knowing giyuu was so much more than words could possibly define, and manage to do everything sanemi could never. because giyuu was everything, and he deserved the world, and sanemi would throw away his life for him. for tomioka giyuu.

[kagoutiss]

does anyone. share my vision

[swiftsgrath]

incorrect agatha all along part 1/?

[milolovesbmc]

“And then he takes me in his arms, and then he lights another cigarette…”

[fujimousee]

@sanusoweek sanuso week day 3 : firsts ........ 🤭

[wasabijean]

rip freakazoid you would’ve loved tumblr

[artandbrimstone]

dakota!!!

you're my fuckin hero man!!!

you mean everything to me dude!!!

theyre so silly what if i just exploded

PLATONIC GHOSTKICKS YOU MEAN EEVEERYTHING TO MEEEEEE

[jorisjurgen]

SIN EATER IS A JORIS KERUBIM SONG

SIN EATER IS A JORIS KERUBIM SONG

SIN EATER IS A JORIS KERUBIM SONG

SIN EATER IS A JORIS KERUBIM SONG

To hell with it, I'm too lazy to retype my tags so here they are lol.

[hiemaldesirae]

The Hazbin Graduate’s Guide to Homicide (3)

HAZBIN'S MIDSEMESTER STUDENT REPORT Student: Vox Vanhal Supervising Staff: Professor Enoch Leviathan Sponsor: Not Applicable To the Board: Vox Vanhal may be one of the most brilliant students this school has seen in decades. In all my years of teaching at Hazbin, I have never met a student more insanely ready to learn and apply their skills- due in part, of course, to said student's own possible insanity. I mean this in a jovial way, of course, but I will admit that when young Vanhal's true identity was revealed to me that my first thought was along the lines of 'is this student insane?' Whether or not my student's reason should be called into question is something myself and my fellow professor Asmodeus have discussed in length, but there is one thing that we can definitively agree on: If there is any one student in this school who I would choose to place my bets on, it would be Vox Vanhal. There is nothing more to say at this time of report evaluation. Sincerely, Professor Leviathan.

May God's blessings be with you now and at the hour of our deaths, Amen.

[ 1 ] / [ 2 ] (<- read these first for context and more murder academy radiostatic content!)

Though Alastor may have thought that Vox was much more knowledgable in how Hazbin's Institution for Homicide worked, the truth was, Vox was still fully flying on the seat of his own coattails.

He had no damn clue what he was doing still, and although it'd been two weeks since he'd arrived, part of him still felt like how he did when he'd first arrived: hesitant, scared, not knowing where to go or what to do besides the want to make his boss suffer as he killed him.

That level of animosity might sound strange to anyone not a Hazbin student or alumnus, but it was perfectly normal for any student enrolled in the academy to have such feelings. After all, there was quite a rigorous process involved in the application, and for Vox, this application process (and what led to it) was perhaps more intense than most.

There had once been a time where Vox had dreamed of becoming a Hollywood starlet, one who lit up the silver screen and was blessed by hundreds of thousands of cheering, dedicated fans who would fawn over his every move and action. He'd wanted to follow in his mother's footsteps, at one point. But after taking on his first roles in Carmine Studios, the glamour of Hollywood had shattered like fine glass.

"Miss Vesper! Would you please look over here for a second?"

"Miss Vesper, when is your next movie coming out?!"

"Miss Vesper, is it true that you and your co-star on Anna Karenina, Valentino Vega had an affair-?"

"Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck! That- fucking bastard!" Vox rushed into the privacy of his and Val's shared apartment, slamming the door behind him as he collapsed into the couch, head cradled in his hands. He couldn't even begin to start detailing the number of ways he'd wanted to fucking butcher and rip apart his boss.

Andrealphus Goetia was no stranger to the spotlight, naturally. One of Hollywood's top directors, the man had been an influential cornerstone in the history of movie-making, a real legend to light the days. But behind that picturesque platinum reputation laid a monstrous piece of shit.

It had been a complete accident that Andrealphus had found out about Vox's identity.

Vox himself hadn't even really planned out what to do about himself at that point, only that he'd known that the dresses he wore on screen were far more suited to his best friend than they were for him. Knew that the copious amounts of makeup flattened on him everyday made him feel more like a clown than a princess, that it was the most uncomfortable feeling to have to sit and play the pretty face for the audience's sake.

But he persisted, telling himself, one more year, one more year til my savings account has enough to supply Val and I with a comfortable life and we can leave.

But of course- of course Andrealphus had to ruin it for him.

The man had found out and immediately proceeded to blackmailing Vox with the information, holding things such as promotions, media gossip and rumors over his head. And now... now... Vox stared down at the script he held clutched in his hand, his knuckles turning white as he grasped it with an iron grip.

"Dieser verdammte bastard," Vox muttered under his breath.

Though he'd never loved the spotlight that came with his first taste of fame, he had loved acting. Had loved being adored for his skill, applauded for the emotions that he could evoke in crowds of people and the way he could twist people's hearts. He had wanted to be one of the best, a household name.

And now, he stared down at the script for a movie that Andrealphus knew would tank his reputation. It was absolute bullshit. The plot was held together by thin strings and a bit of glue, despite being an adaptation of one of the past decade's best selling books. Not only that, but the moment he left the safety of the apartment once more, he would also have to contend with the rumors that were steadily piling against him and dragging his loved ones and friends into it too.

All this, because Vox had refused to sleep with his shitty boss.

He could still hear the fucker's voice- come on, don't you wanna say that you got a piece of me? I'll even leave out the part about you being a transvestite, darling, just the fact that I got a piece of you is enough.

God. If only.... if only he could see that bastard's face when he crushed his fucking skull in between his hands. He wanted to see Andrealphus' stupid face contort in revulsion and terror when Vox finally did the deed, wanted to bathe in the the fotze's inbred blood. He'd do anything for the chance to just kill that piece of shit-

"Amorcito?"

Val's voice makes Vox jump on the spot, quickly shifting to hide the script from view. His friend comes around the corner, eyebrows furrowed with concern, and it's this that makes Vox break his composure, a single tear falling down his face as Val frowns, taking a seat next to him on the couch. "Voxxy, amor... tell me what's wrong."

And because he can never keep his mouth shut when it comes to his best friend, Vox tells him everything. Val nods along, pauses at the right moments, all of that stuff that friends do when they're trying to let you know that they'd rip apart your shitty boss if not for the law.

But- and perhaps this is something that Vox knew deep down to be true anyway- Val was a bit different in that aspect. He'd met the man under... less than legal circumstances, after all, and he knew that Val was the heir to quite the illustrous cartel career.

So when Valentino stops him with a firm hand on the shoulder and hands him an application paper for Hazbin, telling him to think it through, Vox barely takes even a second glance at it before filling it out.

Now, two months later and sitting in the auditorium of Hazbin's famed Music Hall, Vox doesn't find himself regretting the decision. Sure, it's a bit lonely without Val's supporting presence by his side, but the students he's met so far have proved to be some of the friendliest people he's had the pleasure of knowing: ironic, considering the kind of school they're studying at. And he's even managed to make a friend! Not that bad a start, altogether.

Vox absentmindedly doodles on the edge of his notes as Professor Leviathan's soothing voice lectures them on the importance of a proper alibi. "If it walks like a duck, quacks like a duck, looks like a duck, but it has an airtight alibi, it is...?"

"Not a duck," the auditorium echoes back to the professor, who nods, looking satisfied with the class's response. "So, then! The first step to alibi making is...? Miss Velvette, perhaps you'd like to answer this one for us?"

The girl sitting beside Vox shoots up in her seat, looking as if she'd just fallen asleep and was awoken by the professor's question. "Uh... the..."

After a moment of silence and stuttering, Vox takes pity on the girl, sliding Velvette over a slide of paper that she squints at before reading. "Make sure you're in a different place from the crime?"

"And how would I do that?"

"I... uh. Use an accomplice...?" Velvette stutters.

Professor Leviathan shakes his head, looking disappointed. "Not quite. One thing you will have to learn at Hazbin's is that you should never rely on any other person to carry your deed out for you. No hiring accomplices- after all, paid personnel's loyalty is shaky and they have no honor code preventing them from taking you to the police- and absolutely no committing crimes as lovers, unless you can guarantee that neither of you will be snitching. Would anyone else like to take a try?"

Vox raises his hand hesitantly. "Move the crime scene or otherwise obscure the culprit?"

Professor Leviathan snaps his fingers, "Yes! Absolutely. One of the best ways to make yourself an iron clad alibi is, if the pope is shot in the church at midnight, make sure that you are seen halfway across town in the bar at midnight; so drunk that you cannot even leave until your wife comes to pick you up at two- and no one will suspect you, even if he was actually killed right outside the pub and moved to the church instead. By moving the crime scene, you can make yourself an ironclad alibi. Obscuring the identity of the perpetrator and making it someone who couldn't possibly be you also works splendidly. After all, if the police believe the murderer to be a six foot tall adult man, then the actual perpetrator, a four foot tall young woman, would be able to pass by completely unnoticed. Thank you for that input, Vox. Now, onto the actual creation of such an alibi..."

When class ends, Vox is the first to leave his seat and head for the door, intending on leaving and getting to Track with Professor Satan as quick as possible when someone stops him in his tracks with a firm grip on his shoulder.

"Hey. Vox Vanhal, right?"

"That would be me, yes," Vox turns to face the person he's talking to, only to be met with the young woman that Professor Leviathan had called out in class earlier. "You were... Velvette?"

"Yep, that's me," the chipper young woman responds. "Listen, I know you don't know me at all, but I really need to get through this school year. Like- look, okay, I'm in a little bit over my head right now. I still want to go here and do what everyone here does, of course, I'd love to just go and plunge a damn butcher's knife into my cunt of an ex-friend's neck, but... well, you saw how I did back in class- look, what I'm trying to get at is I need someone to help me. And you're like, Leviathan's star student. So- I don't care what I have to do, I'll-"

Vox holds up a hand to stop her.

"I don't need you to do anything for me, unless you've got any tips on how to kill my boss and make him suffer during it. But I'll help you with whatever you need to study during your courses. Just..." He pauses, taking a moment to think out what he's about to ask. "Could you teach me how you did your makeup on your own?"

Velvette blinks, clearly not expecting that response. She laughs, a shrill, sharp bark and grabs his hand to shake it firmly. "Yeah, 'course I can. So, do we have a deal?"

"We do," Vox smiles. "Pleased to make your acquaintance."

[itsdefinitely]

oc things and stuff

[eebie]

Grinds my teeth to dust…. i wish touch didnt have so many Implications. im just trying to survive out here

[littlehatmouse]

lots of doodles because i forget to post art here most of the time

[scionshtola]

FFXIVWrite2024 Prompt 4 - Reticent

characters: Hien Rijin, Y'shtola Rhul rating: G | word count: 1216 words notes: Hien clears up some misconceptions about his relationship with Corisande. Slight spoilers for the Stormblood patches.

When Y’shtola arrived in Doma, Hien greeted her personally. On the advice of Corisande—a small aside in a letter sent ahead of Y’shtola’s arrival—he kept the meeting short and to the point, inquiring about her work and offering his assistance, as needed. He’d provided her with an apartment, if she chose to accept it, and access to his limited staff as she desired.

She’d accepted his hospitality with appreciation, and Hien had left the encounter with a slight swell of pride at having done well by the Scion so highly spoken of by the Warrior of Light. Over the course of her stay in Doma, while their relationship did not grow so warm as the one she seemed to share with Yugiri, he was happy to say they were rather amicable.

Or so he thought. But now, walking beside her on the Azim Steppe, he could feel a chill wafting in his direction. 

Corisande had run slightly ahead to speak with Cirina, leaving Hien and Y’shtola alone together as they followed. Unsure of how long the moment of privacy would last, he cast about for some way of broaching the topic—and confirming his suspicions—and settled on, “Corisande has been a great help to the people of Doma. Our restoration efforts would not be half so far along without them.”

“I am sure they would be happy to know their efforts are making a difference,” Y’shtola said evenly, without looking in his direction. 

“They spoke very highly of you, on our journey together,” Hien continued, trying his best to be nonchalant. “Quite effusively, if I might add.”

“So you have said.” The response was just short of terse, and he was certain she had started walking faster, though her lack of height gave him the advantage. 

“You spoke as effusively of them when first we met.” Hien paused, and glanced at her before he spoke again. “I admit I didn’t quite grasp the depth of your friendship until the three of us began to work together.”

Her expression remained as smooth as a river-worn stone. It hardly surprised him. In the short time of their acquaintance, she had shown herself as a self-possessed woman, difficult to ruffle.

Y’shtola’s reply was short, in length and tone. “We are close.”

Her reticence amused him. Had he not spent the last few days with the both of them—had she not grown cool toward him with Corisande’s presence—he might have left her to her secrets. Instead, he said, “I didn’t think you were one for obscuring the truth. We both know that is quite an understatement.”

Even that was putting it lightly. He had borne witness for days now to the ways Corisande and Y’shtola gravitated toward each other. Always half-turned toward the other, as if a private world existed between the two of them. They seemed able to communicate full thoughts with only a look, despite the limits of Y’shtola’s vision, and they worked in perfect tandem together, often anticipating what the other would ask or say before they even spoke.

Perhaps that could be explained with a deep friendship, were it not for how often they seemed to forget he was there, providing him with an unobstructed view of the warmth in their gazes when they looked at each other—when they lingered long after the other had turned away. 

Ahead of them, Corisande was deep in conversation with Cirina, oblivious to the exchange happening behind her. Hien leaned slightly into Y’shtola’s space, whispering conspiratorially, “Though I am not sure Corisande quite realizes it yet.”

“I am not obscuring anything,” Y’shtola stopped just short of snapping at him. “There is nothing to hide. Though you may be unable to engage in a conversation with Corisande without flirtation, she and I have no need to partake in such behavior.”

Hien fought a smile at having his suspicions proven correct—the occasional flirtation peppered in the easy back and forth of his conversations with Corisande was the cause of her distance. He did not think she would take kindly to even minimal gloating, so he kept the victory to himself, and said, “No need, perhaps, but the desire is there. You need not deny it—neither of you are as subtle as you believe.”

“Your conclusions are ill-informed,” Y’shtola said, a sharp edge in her voice. He was not quite sure, between the two of them, who it was meant to cut. She turned to him with narrow eyes. “If our familiarity has been as overt as you suggest, it is simply a result of the gratification of our reunion.”

“Besides,” she added as she turned away, seemingly as an afterthought, though Hien guessed it was more of a calculated risk than any carelessness on her part. “Corisande’s attention is held elsewhere.”

It did not take an academic of any caliber to puzzle that one out. He laughed, and she shot an irritated look in his direction. “If their attention is elsewhere, it is certainly not on me.” 

Hien only flirted with Corisande because it made her laugh—she never responded in kind, and he never wished for her to do so. Any hope of romance between them had long diminished, almost before it had even begun. “Did she tell you of the kiss we shared on a hill not far from here?”

Y’shtola looked away again, her jaw set. “I know of it.”

An interestingly vague answer. She’d learned of it, but perhaps not from Corisande. “Then you should also know that it ended in disaster. And enough tears to drown any budding romance.” 

“If their grief was enough to deter you,” Y’shtola said, and this time there was no mistaking the recipient of her ire, “perhaps the romance should not have been pursued so casually.” 

“I will not argue that,” Hien said, with a twinge of shame in his chest. It had not been his proudest moment, though he was sure that the conversation that followed the short-lived attempt at romance had made way for the friendship they had now. “I knew very little of their past at the time. The feelings were new and not so deep rooted as—” yours “--those of others.”

Y’shtola studied him, her eyes narrowed. “You are becoming quite the diplomat.” 

“I’m certainly learning,” Hien said, with a smile. “You should tell them, and spare the rest of us all the longing looks at each others’ backs.”

Y’shtola laughed quietly, and he was grateful that the conversation was ending on a pleasant note. The chill he had felt from her had evaporated. 

He stepped forward, walking backwards so he could look at her as he spoke. “Or perhaps you need a challenge to motivate you? I can resume my efforts, if it will inspire you to speak up.”

Hien had barely enough time to dodge the stream of air she aimed at his head. She wore an impish smirk when he looked at her, and pushed her way past him with a bump of her shoulder. He watched her catch up with Cirina and Corisande, the latter of whom immediately looped her arm through Y’shtola’s as they walked. 

Corisande looked over her shoulder at him, smiling brightly and gesturing for him to catch up. He jogged after them, falling into step next to Cirina with a smile.