#why am i committing to this bit

[alex-the-anxious-2]

SOME SILLIES! Ive only really learned how to draw tim so far so i shrink him on occasion :) plus continuation to masky plush. dont worry he was retrieved after this

Some more scribbles under the cut! Contains comic spoilers!!!

I dont rlly know how to draw skully LOL, tried making him mostly jay in this instance cuz like. idk dude probably doesnt like masky that much LMAO

[mossy-paws]

Sword PHIGHTING! period cramps moodboard

Gods mightiest warrior…….

Og image:

ANYWAYS EXTRA BITS!!!! So. Yeah. I wasted exactly 27 hours and 29 minutes of my life making this over a period of like. ~a week and a half LMAO????? I THINK IT WAS LONGER?? Yeah all of these are completely redrawn from the Og “panels”, replicating the dungeon meshi style is. MISERABLE I don’t know why I did this to myself holy fucking shit, all of you blame @squiffer-salad for this monstrosity she’s the reason why this exists in the first place /silly

anyways, I highly recommend looking at the panels individually because I put a lot of fun extra bits in them and just. A LOT of effort in general, any likes, reblog’s, or comments are insanely appreciated since this did take such a long time :’DDD, everything in these minus the backgrounds are completely redrawn/shaded/and colored by hand, this includes mid/screen tones as I used specific layers for those! anyways thank you for coming to my period cramp projection ted-talk I’m going back into my Everglade hole.

[plutoenjoyer]

jooyeon — randomly biting him

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

genre: fluff tags: drabble, female reader, biting, lots of playful teasing, cuddling, body kisses, established relationship

jooyeon did not sign up to have a teething puppy for a girlfriend but alas, he puts up with you randomly biting him because he loves you. you keep doing it because his reactions are always entertaining, so maybe he should figure out how to keep a straight face (skill issue).

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

while gaming

the idea pops into your head one day and you can't stop thinking about it. you know yourself to be very kind and caring towards your boyfriend, but you love to (playfully) mess with him even more. eventually, after pretty much no debate with yourself (really, not even a 'hmm, maybe he's busy') you give into your curiosity as you watch jooyeon gaming. he's extremely focused on the screen, playing some sort of fast paced flashing confusion of a game. this would be the optimal time to strike. your lips are contorted into the most mischievous smile yet, trying not to laugh as you approach him from behind. it seems he's doing poorly because he keeps clicking his tongue and mumbling to himself. he doesn't even notice you looming over and eyeing his very beautiful, very exposed neck (he's wearing his favorite t-shirt, once again). you may have ulterior motives other than just messing with him, but that's a story for another day. of course, you don't want to really upset him so you wait until he's in a loading screen to do it. quickly you lean down, and sink your teeth into the muscle in the curve of his neck and shoulder—gentle but firm, not enough to hurt him but enough to cause a mild and hilarious discomfort, much to your amusement. he shrieks and turns to look at you in both fear and maybe a little bit of lust? you wouldn't put it past him to be a freak like that, but it's hard to tell from how you immediately start uncontrollably snickering at his surprised yelp, so much so that you can't focus on the light blush dusting his features.

"what the— i— huh?" he looks at you in horror, a band clasped up to his neck where there's now a very light mark of red on his skin. he doesn't notice the game is starting on the screen behind him.

"babe...? ...hey? babe?" an utterly confused remark. you can feel yourself getting addicted already.

you say nothing as you walk away, shooting him a thumbs up with a signature stupid grin, and go back to whatever menial task you were up to while waiting for him to be done.

getting ready

this time he's brushing his teeth. usually when you two wake up, way, way past noon on the days you have off, you'll get ready for the day together in the tiny, shared bathroom of his dorm. he's still not expecting or nor knows to look out for your attack. his mouth is full of foamy toothpaste when you decide, on a whim, that you really want to feel the skin of his shoulder between your teeth all of a sudden. and so you do, having already finished brushing your teeth because you're not a sleepyhead like him at one pm. you try to keep the same pressure as last time as to not hurt him. yet again, he yelps and you find it incredibly amusing, and also extremely cute. you handle yourself better this time, making it a point to be extra cheeky about it by not having a large reaction, though it's hard not to let a grin slip. this time he shoots you the most adorable pout coupled with a furrowed brow—it's hard to scold someone when your mouth is filled with toothpaste. it looks like he's starting to understand this will be a reoccurring thing.

"what?" you muster your most nonchalant voice as you pick up your moisturizer and start to lather your face, completely unfazed as if nothing had interrupted his brushing.

he quickly finishes up and washes out his mouth. he looks you dead in the eye. "you will pay for this."

without missing a beat, you reply, "i have no idea what you might mean?"

he rolls his eyes with a scoff, trying not to laugh at your antics though you both know he thinks you're adorable.

sitting together

you're sitting next to him in the practice room. he's fiddling with his bass and the new little gadgets he's gotten for himself that changes the sound—you're no expert, but you love to watch him be so animated and excited over his love of music. you love it so much so that the cuteness aggression once again bubbles up in your chest and you have the urge to bite him. you go quiet all of a sudden and this time he knows.

"aaaah-ah-ah. i know exactly what you're thinking." it's like he's scolding an energetic puppy. "you will not catch me off guard this time. i'm prepared."

you frown at him, a little displeased that he knows your tells now. you didn't think it was that obvious considering how many times he didn't see it coming. but you utilize this to your advantage, seeming more genuinely confused as you try to convince him that you're innocent. "hm? what are you talking about?"

he gives you a look like he can't decide whether he wants to play along and just let you do it or press further and win on a self-satisfying level. he purses his lips, thinks for a bit, even grumbles to himself. you can see the underlying thought process of his mind just from the way his face contorts. it's like he's asking himself what would be the more amusing option. if you were literally anyone else he would have fought for his pride and honor like the true maknae he is but he loves you to the point where he'll just let you win. you both are truly two peas in a pod.

after a moments pause, he goes, "...it's nothing. but, oh man, my poor cold exposed neck is so cold and exposed to the weather right now! so cold and so out in the open. i hope nothing bad happens!"

you laugh so hard you feel your stomach cramping. he starts cackling too, literal snorts of laughter, and he playfully smacks your arm. "c'mon, i'm doing this for you—"

before he can finish his sentence you're already launching yourself at him. you can't help it. this man has your whole heart. you give him a huge kiss on the cheek, then on his mouth, and lightly nip at the skin of his top lip. he's even caught off guard by that, you wonder if you'll ever get tired of seeing him surprised. but eventually he eases into it, holding his bass away from him so he can be closer and kiss you easier. you're both laughing into each other's lips. it's perfect.

it takes a whole makeup wipe to get off all the lipgloss from his cheeks and nose and forehead. you might have gotten carried away.

trying to nap

biting him has become a sign of affection for you now. you're both cuddling in bed, napping after a long day of hard work. this time around, you're wrapped up in his arms with your face close to his chest. if you turn your head, you can get a perfect angle of his forearm... maybe you're a little tired, or maybe you want to signal something much more affectionate, but you bite him very gently on his bicep, kissing the area right after. he doesn't complain or retaliate, instead there's just a slightly amused exhale from his nose, the kind that someone does when they're too tired to react in full. you snuggle further into his chest afterwards.

"why do you do this?" his voice is groggy and raspy, but you can hear the smile in his voice.

"because you're funny. you're cute, too, but mostly funny."

he let's out a playfully annoyed noise, one that signals that he's accepted his fate as your boyfriend and squeaky toy, before asking, "do i at least taste good?"

"hmm," you muse while thinking of your next response, "nah, too salty."

he laughs at that. "too salty?" there's a pause, as if he has to choose his words carefully, "what can i do to get sweeter?"

you start to laugh, too, because that's so cringe. but you play along anyway, "oh? get sweeter? it's almost like you want me to bite you. did you discover something new about yourself?"

"so you admit to biting me!"

damn, he got you there. you scrunch your nose at that, not saying a word because you don't want to give him the satisfaction of acknowledging it after how long you've committed to acting unaware.

you choose to deflect, "whatever! i think you secretly enjoy it anyway!"

"nuh uh."

"you so do."

"and what makes you think that?"

you don't want to explain that you've been paying attention to how his face gets a little red and how his pupils get just a little blown out whenever you do so. he unknowingly will give you such an entranced look for just a split second until he goes back to remembering he's supposed to be annoyed with you about it. and you don't want to explain how much that makes you want to bite him more.

"i just think you do."

he studies you face, trying to piece together what you may be thinking about so deeply when it would be much more common for you to come back at him with a snippy retort rather than such a mild response.

"okay, then do it again and see how i react."

your heart starts to beat faster. is that a challenge? a threat? a promise of something more?

you look into his eyes. they're beautiful and deep dark brown. you can barely look away as you shift to gently push him down on the shoulders and position yourself over him. he seems to enjoy watching you take the lead, especially when your face is the one flushed and slightly embarassed at his provocation.

wordlessly, you bring your lips down to his jawline and pepper kisses along his neck. you feel the way his breathing hitches with every subtle ghosting of your lips and every slight breath that tickles his skin—it leaves you absolutely captivated. all that exists is this moment.

you finally bring your teeth down into that same swoop of his neck and shoulders just like that first time, but it's so much different now. the sweetest that you've ever tasted.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

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thank you for reading! <3

[vesrimm]

all he hears are screams 👍

[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.

[chaos-bringer-13]

My brain just hit an old hyperfixation (is this what it's called? I hope I used the word right) and oh dear am I losing my mind now. I need to write a story I think. About this one old guy. He's unhinged. There's so much information about him and yet not enough. I want to explore his character so much. He's definitely a criminal - at least he was one - and I'm 95% sure he can do actual real magic, and he's a musician and an artist and an actor and a magician and a philosopher and a traveler and a conman and so much more and also I think he's some kind of immortal. Maybe he just has a VERY long life. It's strongly implied he was a pirate at some point of his life. He started a cult by accident several times. My conspiracy theories about him include him being a secret god.

He's also a freaking round blue raven. Someone save me from my mind.

[fictionadventurer]

"If the structure of your world ever evaporates, I will still be here."

I think The Q might contain one of the greatest declarations of friendship/love ever.

[officialhouseguest]

cory in the DR tonight saying “idk i just think it’ll be funny…” really sums his whole game up cuz like—

this kid came in thinking “i’m gonna play up the little brother thing and get everyone to think i’m just a sweet innocent boy so i seem non-threatening!” — and, sure! that’s a solid plan!

…and then he proceeded to have a one-sided beef with hisam from day 1, joke-flirted his way into legitimately falling for america, was on slop for like half the season which has seemingly shrunk him by half, and decided he needed to go up against a reality TV legend in cirie. on top of ALL THAT he has now played a major role in saving felicia TWICE, it almost cost him his game prejury BOTH times, and she is more than likely STILL GOING AFTER HIM. (this is comedy.)

and now, as a result of all of this, he has been at the center of three (3) out of only like 4 big fight/blowout moments so far this season. two of which directly involved… FUCKING BOWIE JANE 💀💀💀

…ah yes sir, very lowkey, very under the radar, good work 🫡

anyway if that child can do anything it is commit to the bit.

[rexcaliburechoes]

does anyone else find it fucked up that moon's friends protect themselves from her with the skyfire at the end of moon rising?

[desire-mona]

inside out if it was my head

[alshaverpressbox]

was goaded into reading a Bad Hockey Romance Novel and now am being appropriately punished for my curiosity as I will eternally be haunted by the phrase "his voice is hot and sweet and hard; a Werther’s Original sitting on a radiator"

[the-sun-is-also-a-star]

your mutuals changing their urls AND pfps is like

[jestiamy]

qsmp makes me feel like a conspiracy theorist almost constantly. I see someone go "yeah bad almost exclusively chooses tophats in games when given the option" and I immediately run back to my conspiracy board and pin that next to the photo of q!slime and q!mariana saying they'll adopt juanaflippa because she has glasses like q!slime/q!mariana respectively under a sticky note captioned "??? the original spanish-english egg pairs were designed in a way meant to attract certain parents to adopting them???", that's connected by red string to a note pad page stating "how random was the parent pairing REALLY?" with nothing under it - which is then connected to a string that leads to several polaroids containing the ending(s) of the wall and the wreckage of the button, captioned "why build a wall that big only to have it end at a certain point?" followed by a string connected to a notebook page in the middle of the board reading "the illusion of choice?" - connected to several other seemingly dead-end questions and theories, as well as some slight stragglers only connected to eachother and not the middle. and then I look over my board covered in feverish notes and I go. yeah okay so I may just have like a slight problem

[le-agent-egg]

i saw one post about transmasc junko and now i literally can not stop brainrotting about it. why does it go hard. he would be all “i’m not transitioning because if the despair it brings me”. he would get a hockey boy (/derogatory) haircut. i hate him.

[lupismaris]

..

[zielenna]

I could feel the frustration mounting as the prose grew ever more sodden, as the author submitted to yet another cliché, hoping their strange feelings would foment, coherently limbed, out of the primordial soup of failing story. But I preferred these stories to most contemporary novels, which mirrored the pieties of the day with absurd ardor. For all the lone superiority suggested by their tone of moral indignation, these books were mind-numbingly easy to agree with. I preferred reading fans and dead people because they were hard to agree with.

Esther Yi, Y/N