#mustdie

[charleslovemustdie]

bestie is your username based on your real name? like charleslovemustdie? cause I think that is very sexy in the vampire sort of way

yess<3 it’s not my legal name but i’ve gone by Charles Love on the internet for like five+ years now i’d say

[alexisnotstraight]

gerard cat!!! this lil kitty was requested by @glxybld-mustdie !!! they crave violence, you can see it in the lack of shoes. i love im not okay gerard more than i should. i think I've found my one true passion, drawing cats who look slightly gay and mentally unstable. this one took me less than 1 hour, which is a lot but less than last kitkat so that's good! keep sending requests! i need an army

[themostfangtastic]

just had a brain moment. dnp fans having their user as [name]isnotonfire is the same energy as mcr fans having their usernames as [name]mustdie. same energy.

[ashisnotonfire]

if tumblr banned "isnotonfire" and "mustdie" in usernames emos would be well and truly fucked 🖤🖤

[rcubens]

WARDS AS ONION HEADLINES — 1/???

inspired by @mustdies feat. @natcliachen , @mustdies , @starrrling & @themickey

[flamerunn3r]

collab with @mustdie (their lines my colour)

[lucifersruberduck]

Quick intro post.

Greetings! Welcome to my shitty little blog, I'm Theodore; you can also call me Duckie or Luci.

I post almost only Hazbin stuff here, if you wanna see everything else I'm obsessed with, my sideblog is @theo-mustdie <3

I'm finally 18, shameless and I don't give a fuck, so long as you're respectful, I'm okie with whatever.

I make attempts at writing, try to draw once in a while and fail spectacularly, I read a lot, reblog a lot, and love coming up with plots, general ideas and headcanons.

Great chance I might have ADHD but I can't get it diagnosed right now. Asks are open for whatever you want to say, don't hesitate to send the most unhinged shit you can think of, I'm bilingual spanish/english.

Transmasc, panromantic and definitely on the asexual spectrum, I don't know where I fall on it yet though.

I love a lot of things, but this blog is dedicated only to Hazbin Hotel, and basically any cute ship I come across.

I don't have a preferred dynamic when it comes to shipping Alastor as many do, I go from extreme to extreme on the spectrum that are his ships and I love exploring different aro/ace identities through Alastor.

[vesvius]

DANTE | "TARTAREAN PHLEGETHON"

"TARTAREAN PHLEGETHON" by BASTIAN S.S.

"He sinned his way to hell, yet no one told Emilio he would encounter his dreams in the afterlife, paddling his way to him, as if water and fire could merge without a doubt. "Damn me," he sighed."

In the heat of the Underworld, where rivers of fire and forgotten souls intertwine, Emilio is a man whose past is nothing but mystery and sin. Cast into Phlegethon, the river of fire where the tormented pay for their transgressions, he is about to face eternal damnation.

Emilio was once a charismatic figure of questionable morals, his descent into this infernal realm unveils a tapestry of deceit, betrayal, and forbidden desires. Each step through hell brings him closer to confronting the wrongdoings that haunt him, sins that even he cannot fully admit.

Amidst the chaos, the Boater of Lethe, the new guardian of the river of forgetfulness, offers a chance for absolution or oblivion, and Emilio needs all the forgetfulness he can get to avoid his death by flames.

In a realm where every shadow hides a secret and every trial demands a price, can Emilio unravel the enigma of his own damnation before the fires of Phlegethon consume him forever? Or will he succumb to the temptations of the Boater of Lethe whose intentions show nothing but selfishness? Not that Emilio was a better man to begin with.

"Tartarean Phlegethon" is a steaming tale of sin and mercy falling in (or out of) love. Bastian S.S.'s 14th published book and the sequel of "Peccadilloes in Lethe" brought back memories to fans all around the world. The sequel became a hit in his first week.

© @mustdies

[lookclike]

where: the great room

when: very late night/early morning

with: @mustdies

eliza was wandering the house aimlessly, like an old specter with nowhere to go. she was already in her pajamas, and barefoot, but going to bed would surely only lead to either a sleepless night or nightmares. instead of braving those, eliza walked through memories, stopping every so often to look at  a particular picture or portrait displayed in the room. one in particular made her stop, a faded but pristinely kept portrait of richard and winifred. eliza remembered her first time seeing it distinctively, five years old and barely used to the idea of having a home. she had tugged at mrs tristan’s hands and asked how come they already have a picture of her in there? the older woman had merely pursed her lips and lead eliza away, starting a fascination that would only grow when she realized the girl was not, in fact, herself. she took the portrait in her hands, barely aware someone else had entered the room. “is it weird to be back?” she asks as soon as she recognizes dante’s bleached hair, putting the picture back in its place. “it is for me and i was here just a month ago.”

[naomikojima]

Who: Naomi and Dante @mustdies

When: Saturday, September 4, 2005

Time: 11:04pm

Where: Game RoomGif Credit: Here

Naomi's wandering had continued through the night, hundreds of steps through the vast building. It had seemed everyone she ran into wanted to have a drink and not talk about their feelings, which left her trail less straight than earlier in the night. Naomi was a lightweight, and knew she was tipsy as she entered the game room.

Standing in the doorway, the memories came flooding back in. The chess matches that she enjoyed, even when she let Reuben win. The dart matches and board games, seeing her peers enjoy themselves, or fight. It felt like it belonged in a different time the way Richard had kept the technology, not a screen in sight.

She froze as she saw Dante, not sure if it was the alcohol or that their eulogies had ended up in similar territory, a shared pain. "Hey Dante,"

She didn't want to meet his eyes, his deep, soulful eyes. Naomi's feelings for Dante had been complicated, and she generally gave him space. He was boisterous, bold and expressive in ways that Naomi could never be, and deep down she ached with jealousy.

"What are you up to?" Her voice was louder than usual, thanks to the wine. She searched for something, some game or activity that could occupy her dizzy mind, the bar well stocked in case things became too clear again.

[angusbyrne]

LOCATION: One of the shared bathrooms in the house DATE: Sunday, September 4, 2005 (post-wake, 9:30 ish? what are timelines) Closed starter for @mustdies

There was only so long that Angus would allow an injury to be wrapped up in something that hadn't come from a first aid kit. The gash on the palm of his hand had stopped bleeding for some time now, but it needed a proper cleaning, an antibiotic ointment, and a sterile bandage. All of which he would have really rather done without a witness, but it seemed God didn't feel so kindly toward him on that front.

He'd just tracked down the first aid kit Mrs. Tristan kept in the bathroom on the first floor—possibly placed there to come in handy for any injuries acquired from horsing around out on the lawn—when he heard the door creak. Angus' right hand was curled upward close to his stomach, but he clenched it into a painful fist when the door swung open in its entirety. Angus didn't say anything at first, simply allowed his gaze to look heavenward.

"Blessed Mary, Mother of Consolation, pray with me for the virtue of patience," he started aloud, as halfhearted a prayer as he's ever given. He knew this one wouldn't do jack shit in the next 5 minutes. "There are so many times when my lack of forbearance keeps me from becoming the kind of person God wants me to be." His tone was even, emotionless, and all performance. "Please assist me in welcoming difficult people with a patient heart."

Angus looked straight at the intruder—at Dante. "Amen."

[sama-not-sam]

who: Sama and @mustdies where: the wake when: around 3pm

Sama had reset her watch when she landed in New York, but she still kept doing the math in her head, converting the time on her wrist to the time in Geneva, the time her body was used to. It was 3pm, which meant it felt it was 9pm, well past the time Sama usually put pleasantries to bed and got to work in the privacy of her apartment. But here she was surrounded by strangers, people who wanted to talk to her about Richard and expected her to be polite and sad. It was all so performative, and while Sama could perform with the best of them, she’d been awake far too long to still be putting up with this sort of nonsense. 

So she found herself in need of something to get her through the rest of the wake. She needed, and she couldn’t believe she was thinking this, something to take the edge off. Normally, Sama liked the edge. Not in the way an adrenaline junky did, but she liked when tensions were high or a topic was important or she was coming up on a deadline. Today was different, and she wasn’t as concerned with the why as with the fact of it. What mattered was, just then, she didn’t want to feel like a live wire. 

Sama had been offered a drink more than once because she needed to ‘chill out.’ Such offers were universally met with disdain, mainly on principle, but now it felt like a good idea. She’d thought it a wise decision when Mrs. Tristan established a dry wake, but she was beginning to reconsider. A solution presented itself when Sama caught sight of Dante lingering at the edge of the tables. 

She made her way over to him with the hard-eyed and quick stepped air that left no room for interruption. “I know you have a flask.” She slid into the seat next to him and held out her hand. “Share.”

[starrrling]

where: the woodrow house when: saturday morning who: @mustdies

One glance at Dante—freshly flown in from a prize fight, with a bruised face that could’ve been a perfect match to Reece’s—and Reece was already struggling to hold back another tinny fit of macabre laughter; an inappropriate giggle escaped unbidden, and she supposed it wouldn’t be the last one she’d let out this week. Dick would probably appreciate the symmetry. “Whoa, you look like shit,” is the first quip out of Reece’s mouth, and it’d probably seem a lot snarkier were it not for the fact that she followed it by pulling Dante into a quick and wordless—though it’s tight, probably too tight—hug. Then, thinking on her feet: “I, uh, I tried to get the others to bust their faces up, too—y’know, in solidarity—but I couldn’t get anyone to go for it. Guess I’m the only one around here who understands loyalty. I thought the matching would really make a statement, too.”

[woodrowhq]

"They're taking Richard's loss quite hard... Don't worry. They'll find their way back."

Please unfollow:

@mustdies

The role of The Rebel has been reopened.

[lettersfrombeyondthegrave]

"[name]wastaken" is just the non emo version of "[name]mustdie"

[rcubens]

🕑 DAY 2 — 07:07, SUNDAY • 5 hours since the funeral ☏ @mustdies

He’s done a somewhat successful job of avoiding guests and the rest of the wards. Only occasionally being stopped for condolences before the person offering them realized he was the one who could stand to learn a little something about timing and courtesy.

He slithers up to his room, head down, sticking to quiet corridors and tight service staircases. There’s a surprising weightlessness within him. No trodding around like a kicked puppy which he used to be known for. Had he said all this to Richard when he came up a week ago maybe they could’ve sorted it out and he would’ve conjured up beautiful words for his eulogy and been everyone’s favourite boy. Perhaps, this was the way things were supposed to be. Who was Reuben if not the antithesis of his peers?

He stood in the centre of his room, drinking in the quiet. He looks to his suitcase and its contents strewn about, a pack of cigarettes sitting atop the heap— perks of the job. He crabs the pack before tossing wrinkly handfuls of his clothes into the open case. If he left now, maybe no one would notice he was gone and he would avoid all the painful explaining. The cigarettes are tossed between hands as he contemplates.

It’s down another set of cramped steps and halls before he’s at a small balcony facing the other side of the lawn. A frequented spot for smoking undetected. Cigarette between his lips, he dips to light it. His head turns slightly at the creak of the old doors.

“Want one? They’re testing new filters,” He asks, looking up at Dante from his spot on the stone floor of the balcony. A peace offering before the anticipation of violence.