#wear your gloves

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

weird hearing "were you a Theatre Kid" "were you a Sports Kid" "were you a Choir Kid" "were you a Dance Kid" bc no? i mean i did all of that and more but resented ever minute of it? actively avoided sticking with anything? i was a "In This Family After School Activities Are Mandatory Kid"

[ivymarquis]

ghost + "like what you see?"

😘

Sin Sunday

Cardio

Pairing| Simon Riley x F!Reader Rating| T Word Count| ~450 Kinks/Content/Warnings| Nothing too exceptional; some jokey slut shaming because we love a good grey sweatpants 🤭 Technically SFW just because Im trying to keep these short otherwise they will become 5k works and take 3 calendar years to answer. Also TECHNICALLY this fits @glitterypirateduck’s ghost challenge with the grey sweatpants so 😎😎😎😎

“Where are you going, dressed like a slut?”

Simon might be a man of few words, but there are few times in life where he’s rendered well and truly speechless.

It takes a second, but he does eventually find words. It’s obvious from your tone that you’re being a little cocktease, but he’s fully dressed. A session at the gym with Johnny is a routine occurrence. He’s wearing a T-shirt and full length sweatpants for fuck’s s-

Ah. The grey sweatpants. That’s what’s got you all hot and bothered.

He doesn’t get exactly what the appeal is- wasn’t even thinking about it, really when he got dressed.

You’re staring him down like a dog tempted with a bone, and Simon’s got a decision to make, doesn’t he?

“Like what you see, do you?”

Your answer is a simple nod, eyes trained on the sweatpants.

“Was gonna go hit the gym with Johnny. Not sure if that’s the plan anymore.”

He most assuredly can continue on with his plans for the day- go get a workout with Johnny, come back and fuck you stupid.

But clearly he’s got your attention front and center. That is a difficult thing to walk away from.

“Don’t let me get in the way of your plans,” you assure him. “But do hurry back. I’ll uh,” your eyes flick up to him and roam, appreciating the absolute unit of a man you get to call yours, “I’ll be here.”

“That so?” He questions. “Cause now I’m thinking today’s more a day for cardio.”

You pick up on his subtle implication immediately, and given how you go stock-still he shouldn’t be surprised when you’re shooting up from the couch, using the piece of furniture as a barrier to tease him.

Oh now it’s fucking on. You want to play a game, do you?

He can’t help but feel the affection he has for you spill over as he watches and immediately complies with your game. The bright eyed sparkle as you grin and giggle at him, faking out one direction or the next and leading him to chase you around the furniture- just out of reach that he can’t grab you across the shorter side.

Course, he’s on a highly skilled task force and you aren’t, so this little game will only go for as long as Simon feels like. But there’s no fun in not humoring you, is there?

Simon gets in his head enough you actually do manage to fake him out, taking advantage of the opportunity to bolt past him towards the bedroom.

The best kind of quarry is one that wants to be caught, he can’t help but think to himself as he chases after you.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

The red spot is a chili flake

The red spot is a chili flake... (context)

[fbfh]

Had to take this to the professional 🫡

We need more dad tony stark content (literally anything you got)

Literally starving

Thank you 😌

thank you for giving me more excuses to talk about this. Tony is such a good fucking dad in general, but he's especially great when you get sick. if you're in new york, he probably notices cause you're not up as early as usual. idk where this came from, but I can hear him clear as day walking into your room and smoothing your hair to wake you up, saying

"Hey pumpkin, sun's out." you only grunt in response, but it's not your usual sassy I don't wanna wake up grunt. It sounds softer, like you actually can't get up yet.

"You feeling okay?" before you can answer, he's totally on it. "jarvis, run a vital scan."

He rolls you over onto your back so he can look at you. you look... pale. you don't have the usual vibrance to your skin, it's gray and faded. you look like if you weren't lying down, you'd pass out. Your eyes are puffy and watery, your lips are chapped. You're not yourself. While Jarvis runs a diagnostic scan on your vitals, Tony also gets to work. he carefully sticks a microneedling patch on your arm to check your blood - something Strange helped him whip up, among many other ways to monitor your health without all that clunky invasive hospital equipment - as Jarvis gives him the low down.

"Elevated body temperature of 101.3 degrees fahrenheit, swelling of the sinuses, elevated white blood count..." Jarvis rambles on and on while describing your simptoms, only interrupted by an agressive coughing fit.

"And a rather nasty productive cough."

You look up at him and try not to get teary, you know crying will just make you feel more dehydrated and achy.

"Dad... I don't feel good..."

He looks down at you so warmly, and with so much love.

"I know, kid."

He stands up, determined to do everything he can to kick this cold in record time.

"Alright, your schedule for the week is cleared." He cuts you off as you object. "Ah-bup-bup-bup. I don't want to hear it. You are officially on bedrest until further notice. Jarvis, order out for some of that soup we like, some cough drops, and popsicles."

He looks down at you.

"You want ice cream? What am I saying, of course you want ice cream. Jarvis, throw in a few pints of Stark raving hazelnuts and bunny tracks."

He grabs the remote for your tv, putting on your favorite movie and has dum-e wheel you in a box of tissues. He grabs some vaseline and cold medicine, along with a fresh cold water and your favorite flavor of sports drink.

"Now. I want you to lay back, I want you to stay cool, and I want you to get some rest. And you're a Stark, so staying cool should be no problem." He gives you a kiss on the forehead, then stands up to move all his work to stuff he can do at home, and tell Pepper to cancel or reschedule the rest so he can spend the rest of the day watching movies and tv shows with you between naps. You can hear him muttering to himself as he calls Steven over to come check on you. If you weren't so tired, you'd find it funny that the only person your dad trusts to be your family doctor is also a wizard.

"Can stop aliens from invading earth, I can make an arc reactor that can fit in the palm of my hand, how have we not cracked this cold and flu season thing yet?" he mutters, making a mental note to discuss it with the rest of the Avengers at the next team meeting. you drift off to sleep feeling a lot better than you did when you woke up, and thinking about debrief folders titled Avengers v. Rhinovirus.

[carn-e-vil]

oh yeah.... im making aus now.... florist au but al haitham is a part time employee at the plant nursery tighnari owns and kaveh keeps running into him

[bubbiethesaur]

Sunshine Garden

Lol I return from the darkness to bring this messy doodle. Enjoy some flower pot decorating with Sun, who is definitely painting and is absolutely not distracted by lra y/n (or Sawyer as I’ve been calling them)

Heeheehoohoo back to the void I go (be on the lookout for chapter 19 in the next two weeks or so) :3

[cent-scratchnsniff]

ill make a whole piece on its own for the occasion but finally got 100% abno codex (finally got that one fuckass tool that has been evading me after 8 hrs of straight mem rep of the same 3 days). Library of Ruina time !!! ive been yelling about it to poor unfortunate souls who dont know abt pm at all . ill probably be busy playing it on my free time so not as much activity for a bit i think

[booplesnotts-art]

Smoke break

She’s a real meanie… grumpy ass woman.

Dealing with bodies all day is tough work. She’s not in the mood for conversing (she never is)

Ft messy lines cause I just apparently cannot do clean lines atm

[fatedroses]

He can't have shit in this family.

[canisalbus]

Does machete not like to be touched/not used to being touched?

I've noticed that whenever vasco touches him in your art, he's always has this grip, or an uncomfortable/suprised look.

I think he's just highly guarded and touch-averse, that's all. He has a history of being manhandled a bit as a child, nothing too extreme, just typical stuff you go though when you're a shrimpy and sensitive kid growing up under the care of a very harsh and volatile adult who doesn't realise how much stronger they are than you. As a priest he's expected to maintain an aura of solemnity and reverence so he just sort of lives in his own little bubble of personal space, which he's neurotically strict about. As it stands, most of the physical contact he gets comes from his doctors and personal physicians, and their treatments tend to be uncomfortable at best and degrading, invasive and painful at worst. So yes, neutral, let alone affectionate touch can be alarming and confusing if you're not used to it.

[bombuni]

bring back slutty emo boys to kpop

[wildstar25]

MiqoMarch Day 23 - Midnight

With their intended voyage into the void only a few days out, Arsay thought it the upmost importance that she steal her partner away to Kugane, that they might share one more fond memory together should things not turn out the way they plan in the thirteenth. It was as they crossed the very same bridge the miqo'te had once sat on together two years prior when Arsay gifted Y'shtola with a bracelet matching that of her own. A token of endearment which, Arsay confessed, she would have given to her fellow scion back then, had nerves not gotten the best of her. While their relationship has undoubtedly changed since the initial purchase of the jewellery, the sentiment remained the same. Y'shtola was someone who Arsay loved dearly and she will forever be grateful to have the seeker's life intertwined with her own. No matter where their free spirits took them, they would always hold each other in their hearts. A promise Y'shtola was more than willing to keep. She slipped the the string of beads around her wrist without a second thought. They were never to come off, not even when the two decided to delay their return to Radz-at-Han in favour of a private bath at the dead of night.

[sleipliir]

You’re scolding him not because of murder, you’re scolding him because he was sloppy with the murder.

[homosekularnost]

how it started vs how its going (ft seivarden)

[sereneabyyss]

Sy: gets weird PIDW flower nectar on his fingers. Ow! Why do you itch?!

Sy, fifteen minutes later after washing fingers off in the nearby stream: frantically writing nectar leaves residue on fingers that feels like dried Elmer's glue? Big white mark on skin, looks like when you get a burn from the oven? What is in this nectar????

Airplane, some time later: oh dude that nectar has acid in it

Sy: ... What is with you and acidic nectar?

[hiemaldesirae]

picked up this book called 'murder your employee: the mcmasters guide to homicide vol 1' from my local bookstore and . Hmmm. am i hearing murder academy radiostatic au... (<- delusional)

quick rundown of the books setting (time period vaguely 1950s, before 1962 at the latest) is that there's this murder academy (i say that but its closer to a uni than a boarding school which is typically what i think of when i read academy) open to applicants of all ages to train their students to murder. the admissions fee is an extremely high price, but regular people can enter in via sponsorships (like scholarships, sort of, but its more like a specific rich person sponsoring the candidate). the students don't operate on a regular year by year schedule because 1) no one knows where the school is and thus cannot always tell even what season it is much less the month 2) students are informed of their graduation basically the day of, when the faculty decides theyre ready to leave and complete their thesis project (AKA the murder). anyway its a very fun book and so of course i had to be insane about its premise

For what it was worth, Alastor hadn't meant at all to end up studying at the Hazbin Institution for Homicide Practitioners.

Which, in fairness, was just a fancier way of saying that he hadn't meant to get caught.

It had been a situation entirely out of his control. For whatever reason, that night, the swamp had been especially difficult to navigate- even alone, much less with a bloodied and battered body slung over his shoulder, he's quite certain it would have been a struggle to work his way around the place. And while that had never been a problem the few dozen or so times he'd made the trek before (granted, they were without the actual body in his hands, but it didn't make much of a difference when he'd been carrying heavy sacks of sand to offset the weight), there was an unfortunate caveat in his plan.

He hadn't banked on being seen and followed by a truly infuriating pair of 'detectives' (though surely whatever idea they'd held of a detective was truly and fully siphoned from one of those insipid moving pictures his dear Mimzy was ever so obsessed with), and he hadn't expected to be offered a spot as a student at this... interesting facility.

The smiley man sitting in front of him nods emphatically as Alastor finishes his little cajoling speech. The nametag on his black and red suitjacket reads Dean Morningstar, and a half-poured cup of brandy sits on the side of his table. Alastor eyes the alcohol with interest, if only because looking anywhere else in the room might make him lose composure and attack the bothersome man sitting across from him.

"So, then... Mr. Hartfelt, is it true that your next target was to be your father?"

Alastor narrows his eyes at the dean. The room's atmosphere seems to drop as he holds his gaze, both of them wearing smiles that convey vastly different emotions. "I'm afraid I don't know what you're referring to."

Of course, such a lousy comeback isn't tantamount to a proper argument (unless you're the type who enjoys messing with people, which Alastor is in all moments except this one) and the dean smiles when he realizes Alastor's slip up.

"See, you have an extremely generous patron backing you on your goal... not only to take down your father, who, by the way, seems to owe you quite a lot, considering your less than stellar upbringing and childhood, so good luck with that one, but also in relation to the other bodies that have been found half-submerged in the swamp." The little devil smiles merrily. "Sorry about that one, by the way. But we had to be sure you were a good candidate for our very highly revered course list. I mean... your sponsor is paying a lot of money to see you succeed, so... we had to be pretty thorough. Again, sorry, but it's just standard protocol."

Alastor clenches his jaw, feeling his eye twitch. He'd more or less tuned out whatever else Dean Morningstar had said after he admitted to resurfacing the already weeks old bodies in the swamp- Alastor's very first targets- as a means of... assessing him, apparently. "So you're the reason the bodies have started turning up in the bayou...?"

"Not entirely," Dean Morningstar shrugs, providing no further context. "In any case, this is sort-of a caught with pants down situation, I think. You don't have many options, Mr. Hartfelt. Either you stay as a student, or we let the truth out- and let your mother know first, before getting rid of you."

He grins sunnily at Alastor. "What will it be, young man?"

So, that was that.

Following that conversation (blackmailing session) Alastor finds himself being the unwitting recipient of a campus guide by the dean himself, who, despite his short stature and seemingly accomodating personality, had already managed to make himself an enemy in the form of one (1) incredibly vexed young radio host slash serial killer in the making.

"...And that's the Music Hall, where my vice-dean and most beloved wife holds her concerts and lectures on Murder, as a Fine Arts- you may notice the ingenious references there to one Mr. Thomas De Quincey, the famed opium eater of the 1800s London..." Alastor turns a blind eye to the dean as the man just kept on talking, choosing instead to focus on the surroundings instead of the urge to strangle the annoyance beside him.

The trip to the Hazbin Institution for Homicide Practitioners- a mouthful and an incredibly unnecessary one at that- had been less a trip to a school and more like a kidnapping, in which Alastor had been more or less blackmailed into going with the two detectives who'd found him in the bayou that day and then drugged to high hell from some sort of tampered liquor, then promptly deposited in front of the school gates and almost fed broken glass twice before nearly being poisoned and then having to sit through another blackmailing session with the Dean (the guy who'd tried to poison him in the first place). So... all in all, a rather unpleasant experience on his end.

Still, the scenery almost made up for it.

The campus was almost the size of his town back home, and towering gothic buildings from before his time populated the grounds. Signs in different languages were littered around the campus grounds, and exotic foliage grew in just the right places to make the patchwork of cobbled streets and oddly vintage buildings look uniform.

"Oh, Vox! How are you this afternoon?"

Alastor's attention is drawn back to the dean as the man greets a young man dressed in formal evening attire, complete with a pocket square boutonniere and sleek black gloves. The man in question has short-ish black hair, tied back into a small ponytail with a deep blue ribbon, and two striking eyes: one a glassy larimar blue and the other the deep brown of axinite gems. Alastor finds himself regarding the other while he and the dean make simple conversation. Something about him strikes him as familiar, though he can't quite put a finger on it exactly. "Going to the Music Hall, I presume?"

"That would be correct, Sir," Vox inclines his head respectfully. "Professor Leviathan asked us to dress for the occasion, since we would be doing another ballroom class."

"Ballroom class?" Alastor raises an eyebrow, and the man startles, seemingly not having noticed he was there. Rather inept for an assassin-to-be, Alastor frowns. Were these really the sorts of students they were training? Pretty-faced civilians knowing nothing of killing, who dressed up in evening gather for afternoon classes?

"A-ah, yes..." Vox looks off to the side, seemingly nervous. His cheeks redden slightly, like a child caught in the act of stealing candy. "Uh. You're new here, right? I haven't seen you around before..."

"He is," Dean Morningstar confirms, beaming. "Just arrived this morning, with a very generous sponsor backing him. In fact, he's going to be rooming at Pride House because of the sponsor!"

"Oh, is that so?"

Vox's easy confidence seems to come back to him as he turns to Alastor, seemingly mollified by the Dean's interference. Something inside of Alastor wants to see the man nervous again, if only because the uneasy approach of the man with the gemstone eyes reminded him of the shaky-footed does he would fake out during hunts. "Well, in that case, we might be roommates. It's nice to meet you, Mister...?"

"Hartfelt. Alastor Hartfelt," Dean Morningstar says before Alastor can introduce himself, smiling even when Alastor directs a glare at the man. "He's quite the upstart, I'll have you know- Hell, I think he may have set more fires on his first day here than you did!"

Vox chuckles awkwardly, a reaction that has Alastor's eyebrows raising with curiosity. "Well, I'd sure hope not. I really wouldn't want to cause Professor Leviathan any more trouble than we already have. He deserves a bit of a break from troublemakers like us, I'd say."

While Alastor is... okay, not really all that sure what exactly Dean Morningstar was referring to with 'fires started'- in his case, they were all non literal, considering his first arrival here had ended with him on the wrong end of a shotgun (its irony was not lost to him now, three hours later and standing in the middle of what looked to be a town square plucked straight out of Vienna's bustling populace despite the fact that they were in a location completely unknown to the rest of the world)... but whatever this man had done... it intrigued him, especially given Vox's reaction to it.

"Anyway..." Vox smiles once more, inclining his head in a bow. "I really do have to get going now. If I don't, I'm afraid I may be late, and Professor Asmodeus always picks on the latecomers to answer questions first."

"Ah, we won't keep you any longer, then," Dean Morningstar agrees genially. "Have a good afternoon, Mister Vanhal!"

"You too, Dean Morningstar, Mister Hartfelt," Vox bows once more, before turning off and heading in the direction of the Music Hall. Alastor regards the other man's retreating silhouette carefully.

"Is there something you want to say, young man?" Dean Morningstar snaps him out of his reverie, covering the faint smirk on his face with a gloved hand.

While Alastor wishes he could simply meet the other with simple derision, there is a question he had been meaning to ask. "What was the evening get up for?"

Dean Morningstar shrugs, but there's a glint of something Alastor doesn't quite like in his eyes. "Why don't you go and ask Vox yourself, if you're so interested?"

"...I'm surprised your staff haven't tried to murder you yet," Alastor responds shortly. He's much too tired and frustrated to entertain the man, and- well, frankly put, his mind is a little distracted at the moment at the thought of the man with the mismatched eyes.

Dean Morningstar laughs. "They're certainly welcome to try, as are you. After all, you're now a student of the Hazbin Instution for Homicide Practitioners- and we pride ourselves on our hands-on, engaging curriculum. Hopefully, your sponsor finds what they're looking for by sending you here."

"Hopefully," Alastor agrees. After all, there's nothing else to say: from here on out, it seems to be do or die.

Student Report written with input and conference from Dean Lucifer Morningstar

Student: Alastor Hartfelt, 29 years old, Sponsor

Sponsor: [REDACTED]

To the esteemed and generous sponsor of one Mister Alastor Hartfelt,

Enclosed is a report of your charge's first day at our esteemed institution. Please dispose of this report as soon as you are finished reading it for privacy insurances. We at the Hazbin Institution for Homicide Practitioners thank you for your interest and your patronage.

Sincerely, Dean Lucifer Morningstar.