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#the way i GASPED when this happened

eventide-owls · 3 months

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Alastor's only deserved swear in the series

My Alastor design was heavily inspired by Loves Art23 (go check her out on YT!)

#the way I gasped when this happened #hazbin hotel #hazbin #hazbin alastor #alastor #hazbin hotel redesign #hazbin hotel art #hazbin hotel fanart #alastor fanart #hazbin fanart #vivziepop #my art

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panicsimss · 7 months

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Sophie has been using her witchy charm to rizz up a frenchman named Raymond (since Cid isn't in the picture right now.)

All was going well for them until SOMEONE decided to rise up from his grave and spook poor Raymond. So...I guess Dante is here now?? Sure he may have ruined the vibes, but atleast Sophie has her best friend back.

#this dude raymond has the coward trait he was freaking out over bonehilda before this happened #but the way i GASPED when dante came back #it was inevitable bc his grave was in her backyard but way to show up unannounced man #cryin #ts3 #the sims #the sims 3 #sims 3 #ts3 simblr #simblr #ts3 screenshots #sims 3 screenshots #ts3 gameplay #my sims #*sophie la goule

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pileofsith · 1 year

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I bought an Inquisitor Reva figure and BOY OH BOY did it lead to a fun experience.

She arrived this morning, but I left the unopened package by the door, as I was in a hurry... By the time I was done with work, Filip had already taken out the trash and had erronously assumed the little postal box was meant for recycling.

So I am just back from an outing of dumpster diving in blind panic, at night during heavy snow, shuffling through soggy freezing cardboard until I located the package.

...There is at least something apt about finding Reva in the gutter.

#the little gasp I let out when I realised what had happened #at least she is home now #btw is it me or have star wars figures become insanely expensively like I was lucky to find her at a reasonable price #and I think I missed the boat for the seventh sister and fifth brother figures there is no way I am buying them at that price nuh-uh #filip would have gone himself but he is visiting his parents so that was also a fun conversation as he had to describe the trash bin lmao #random rambling

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fellpyrean · 1 year

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Claps hands alright we’re doing this! So I started listening to magnus archives a few months ago and it really did things to my writing ideas, so now I’m gonna round some up and post ‘em.

I forget where/when I first saw a moth!jon but u know. He’s cute. So here is some moth!jon AU! Corruption Jon :Dc and archivist Sasha! ~1800 words.

Since he is a corruption avatar in this, there is (as expected) some possibly gross bug imagery, but not a lot of holes. And no worms! :D

______________

The flat is quiet.

Quieter than Sasha expected, and much neater too than she expected when they connected this one to "Filth." The lights are off and there's a faint dusty, sweet scent in the air as she cracks open the door, torch slicing through the dark.

It catches on motes of dust. She thinks she hears movement, a susurrus of rustling like fabric faint in the depths of the place but little else. She pushes the door further, feels it catch on the ragged old rug on the floor and watches moths flutter up, batter against her torch in little puffs of dust before they flutter away.

Part of her worries as she steps inside, as she closes the door behind herself - leaving just a crack in case she needs to get out fast.

This is too quiet for something of the powers. The flat should be more of a wreck, more… more miserably bloodstained, more disgusting and unnerving, but it looks, honestly, just a bit messy, a bit moth-eaten. The couch sags a bit wrong, but hell, she can't pretend she's never had one like it. There are shelves of books, their edges chewed and pages no doubt holey, there's even a mug left forgotten on the kitchen counter. It's all dim; lit only by what spills around heavy curtain edges and her own torch as she steps further in and - and hears that rustling again from the end of the hallway and heads straight for it.

More moths flutter up at her steps, and she is wary, she is. But the things just… flutter uselessly at her hands, their wings shedding dust and their fat abdomens plump and full, but hardly a threat before they fly - further inside.

Towards that faint rustling noise, towards the door at the end of the dim-lit hall that is just open enough to allow the frantic moths to flit inside. Writhing and wriggling at the crack between door and jamb just a moment before they vanish inside, but the movement… it makes Sasha swallow.

Something about the way the bulbous little things squirm before they pop through sets her stomach on edge. Too many of them; more than she thought, all struggling to squeeze into that door.

The crack writhes by the time she reaches it.

She can swear she hears them whine and click and screech in tiny voices above the din of their frantically fluttering wings.

She uses her torch to push the door open. Fast, loosing a cloud of moths from the stuffed crack that fall and flutter and scatter into the dim room before her.

The rustling has not gone quiet. Neither has the soft, whining song of flapping wings and voices she cannot place as she raises her torch high, fumbling for her pepper spray in her other hand. More of a comfort to herself than any real belief it would accomplish anything against something abnormal, but the room doesn’t… change. Nothing leaps out of the dim shadows, nothing comes ravening towards her with a horrid, dripping maw.

It’s a bedroom. The bed is really as far as the light peeking around the curtains lights, in thin, dusty stripes across worn rugs and a small pile of abandoned clothes.

“A-Ah.”

Sasha whips her torch towards the voice, and stills.

There is… there is something like a man there. Tucked in the corner, with all the moths frantically fluttering, scuttling towards it. She watches, stomach queasy, as the moths drill between the heavy folds of the blanket? The wrap? It has folded around itself. It reaches a hand out to a particularly fat straggler and cradles it in its palms like a treasure, bringing it up slowly, carefully, and opens thin, paled lips and lets the thing crawl straight into its mouth as Sasha gags.

It is almost worse then when it looks up.

Long, straggling hair that was probably rather nice once. Now it is loose and lank, black shot with grey and dust that hangs over… over his shoulders, over the thing he has cocooned himself within. His eyes are dark. Too dark.

There are no whites, she realizes, and cannot help but feel her fingers twinge around the pepper spray.

But he isn’t attacking. He is just looking at her, head cocked like a curious animal as the moths burrow back into the shelter he offers.

She can work with this. She sucks in a breath, wills her stomach to settle as she tells it it could really be so, so much worse, and points the torch further towards the floor. Good manners. Going out on a limb that he’s probably not too fond of bright light.

“Hello,” she says. The strange man stares at her. Hard enough she swears she can feel the tracks his eyes leave on her skin, but she only makes herself stand taller. He seems to like that. He laughs. Not maliciously.

It’s soft. Like cotton, like it’s been a long while since he’s used his voice, and the rasp sticks to it as he speaks and Sasha tries not to linger on where exactly that moth went.

“Hello, Archivist. Doing house calls?”

He’s smiling. And that’s what gets her.

His voice is soft and smooth like old silk and his smile stiff like he’s unused to using it, but something about him feels familiar. It’s there, just at the corner of her mind, and she knows she’s frowning deeply as she casts a line and tries to hook just why she feels like she knows this strange man, but then he laughs again and stands.

He rustles as he does. That… that thing wrapped around him doesn’t move the way it should, not like cloth, but she can’t immediately place that, either. Not until he walks a little closer and her torch light catches on it and it… shimmers.

Like moth wings. And Sasha sucks in a breath.

She can see it now. The patterns in the dusty brown, the oranges that circle white to make massive, partly hidden eyespots. The thick, dark veins supporting the overall structure, and she can’t help herself from blurting out, “Can you fly with those?”

The man shudders, that smile hung unmoving on his face as he brings a hand to his mouth and coughs against the static.

“Not well,” he answers into his hand, his too-dark eyes sparkling. He lets his hand drop back into the too-layered folds of his wings and shuffles a little closer; his wingtips drag across the floor, like a blanket wrapped around a child too small for it, and she can see now where his long, untied hair turns into something shorter. A ruff of fur at the back of his neck, across the back of his shoulders.

(Can see the moths wriggling down into the fur, settling there, an army of tiny, coal-black eyes staring out at her, glinting green when her torch light catches them.)

And then he stands still, that faint smile on his face, his dark eyes half-lidded in an expression she cannot place, and waits as that soft, soft distant song hums in the room.

Sasha exhales. This is more than she dared hope for. He’s talking. He’s non-aggressive.

“I,” she begins, wetting her tongue before plunging back into her words. “I was wondering if I could ask you some questions. About the ‘Filth.’ About you.”

He watches, and she feels emboldened.

(Her phone begins to ring as she steps closer to him, and she ignores it. It’s Elias. She knows.)

“We don’t have answers. And if you could tell me, tell us what you know? About… about what’s happening.”

Her phone stops ringing. It starts again. The man smiles wider and reaches out. Sasha can see that his hands are… strange. Plated like chitin, and the desire to grab his hand and investigate each delicately plated joint wars deeply with the uneasy reminder that there are probably moths crawling beneath, of statements that were far, far more explicit about what ‘Filth’ did to a person than this man showed.

His hand waves in front of her face for a moment and she starts, coming back to herself, as her phone angrily rings again.

“Your phone?” the man asks, and Sasha doesn’t hesitate for a moment to shut the thing off.

(Elias. All three calls. If he doesn’t want her here, then she’s not leaving.)

“Well Archivist,” and she knows she is not missing the strange bitterness that clings to that word this time, knows there is something she is missing about him, “If you have that many questions, we should probably get a little more comfortable. I have a feeling that once I let you start, you’ll keep me well after dusk.”

And isn’t it bizarre? As he brushes past Sasha - both carefully and clearly telegraphing his movements so she only feels the barest touch of his wings as he heads back out into the hallway - she realizes she doesn’t feel afraid of this one. A little disgusted if she thinks about him too hard, yes, but there’s been no threat. No… no menace, no winding, evasive non-answers, just. Incredibly human remarks. It almost circles right back around from comforting to even worse than something as alien as the thing with the door. Michael.

But as the rustling moves away from her down the hallway, she can’t help but flash her torch around the bedroom. One last bit of nosiness.

An old, worn bed, rather like the couch. Shelves with books so moth-eaten they’ve gone to pieces. An open closet, filled with over-large sweaters and… She blinks. And oddly proper button ups, slacks.

And then… and then she turns her torch in one last semi-circle and catches upon a strange shine beneath the lumpy pillows.

Like polaroids.

The itch that there’s something she should know only grows when she spots them; growing from a thing at the edge of her thoughts to an all consuming need that drives her in fast steps across the dusty rug before she even catches herself. She fishes the pictures out with deft fingers and - and she thinks her heart stops in her chest.

She knows the people in the picture.

That long, dark hair shot with grey is distinctive - even set on a much more vibrant, lively face, and above a painfully crisp button up. He’s wearing glasses in the picture, and. A name tag.

She can’t read the name, but she’d recognize that emblem anywhere. Not that she needs to.

Because beside the stuffy librarian like man, his eyes green instead of black, stands… Tim. Tim, his shirt as loud as ever, his smile boisterous, and an arm slung affectionately around the man who couldn’t possibly be any more his opposite. And the same horrible name tag pinned to a pineapple-strewn lapel.

The man worked at the Magnus Institute.

He worked with Tim.

She knows his name now.

Jonathan Sims.

#tma #tma fanfic #moth jon #crowswritings #hides chatter in the tags #my tentative ideas for this were that it's actually a time travel AU #as well as (gasp) jon/tim #bc like i mean who is to say the time travel is actually time travel?#you may as well have been shoved thru the crack to another world entirely where the time flows differently #and in this world jon and tim were originally a lot closer #jon sims #sasha james #i remembered i needed to tag them anyway so just picture tim doing his best to flirt with this oblivious stick in the mud #and catching feelings along the way but the guy is just Oblivious #and then one day he vanishes bc future/alt world jon comes along and p much instantly gets eaten by another Fear #(i imagine corruption as the antithesis to the lonely thanks to my partner so he did feed himself to it in desperation tbh)#when he woke up in a world and more or less panicked not wanting the same thing to happen as before and was so so desperate not to be Alone #jazzhands #he didn't consider that this world was actually different in some ways and legit just thought it was time travel #so when he saw the pictures of him and tim he was deeply confused and panicked and guilty #ok final jazzhands #this is a short drabble #the full idea would be much more than a short drabble and i am not strong enough to do a 50k jon/tim AU #love to spin it around in my head tho

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tj-crochets · 8 months

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You should definitely tell people that you have blood pressure issues that make you passout if they're being angry, but if that doesn't work, you are under no obligation to tell random angry people the truth, tell them you have hear issues and your heart will give out if you don't sit when you need to.

Your safety is more important than honesty to random mean angry people.

Oh I absolutely do tell them when people are being jerks. I mean, most of the time, I just say I have heart issues and don't clarify if I have to say anything at all, but if they are being especially awful I'll launch onto a medical jargon-filled explanation while looking as like small and sad as possible. Like "sorry, I have ideopathic tachycardia and postural orthostatic hypotension, and the cerebral salt wasting syndrome makes it worse."

#ask away!#I usually don't bother lying or playing up any of my actual diagnoses when explaining to jerks #why I am using a wheelchair/wearing a mask/sitting down/etc #but uh. I do admit to very occasionally playing up one thing:#the 'gasping for breath between words while talking' thing that happens when I'm on the edge of an asthma attack #or when my heart rate is REALLY high #I will sometimes do a little bit of that if the person was being especially awful #and/or attempting to prevent me from using a mask or mobility aid (or from sitting down)#is it lying? yeah probably. is it the most expedient way to get them to back down? in my experience very much yes #sometimes ableist jerks just need the full weight of public opinion abruptly turned against them #and while I am sometimes frustrated by my perpetual babyface and the sort of #'harmless to the point of maybe needing help' vibe I seem to give off #it works out really really well for this particular social strategy.#people do ask me if I need help finding my parents when I am shopping sometimes though #could do without that. I'm almost thirty lol

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coquelicoq · 2 years

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yessssss we have arrived at the night before the count's duel with albert! mercédès is here! she's calling him edmond! she's begging him to spare her son's life!! she's saying shit like "avenge yourself, edmond! but avenge yourself on the guilty; avenge yourself on fernand, avenge yourself on me, but don't avenge yourself on my son!" and he's roaring in despair and seizing handfuls of his hair and AGREEING TO IT even though it means HE will have to die instead (because albert threw a glove in his face in full view of everyone at the opera a couple hours ago and men are such babies about that) and he will be dying without having achieved his vengeance, which in his mind is akin to god making all of creation and then on the seventh day "extinguishing the sun and pushing the world back into eternal night" (this is literally how he talks btw) and she's thanking him and telling him she still loves him and two little tears are coming to his eyes (but they disappear because, and i quote, "no doubt god had sent an angel to collect them") and then she's leaving and he's sitting there head in hands ("as if his brow alone could no longer support the weight of his thoughts") saying to himself "i was mad not to tear out my heart the day i swore revenge"! YES! YES! YESSSSSSSSS!!!!

#THIS IS THE SHIT WE HAVE COME TO SEE!!!#when she called him edmond i would have gasped but i was reading aloud so instead i just made the count's response very emotional #which it was supposed to be anyway so that worked out #because i'm reading this one chapter per day i knew yesterday that this was gonna happen today #and all day yesterday i was imagining how the conversation would go #i've read it before so i do remember the result of the conversation but i didn't remember the details #and like. it's SO good. it completely lived up to my expectations #he tells her fernand put him in jail! she tells him she's been dreaming EVERY NIGHT for the last TEN YEARS that he escaped from prison #by disguising himself as a dead body (which is actually what happened!!) but then was killed when the jailers threw the body #into the ocean!!!!#he's saying you want your son to live? okay. he'll live. and she's saying yes yes there's the edmond i love!!#and he's saying well you won't have much longer to love him because tomorrow morning HE'LL BE DEAD!!#because your son insulted me publicly and the thing i love most in the world after you (!!!!) is my dignity #so if i can't kill him then the only other option is to DIE BY HIS HAND #because that was the most dramatic possible way he could have relayed that information. fucking superb you funky little drama queen #the count of monte cristo #my posts

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trashmuis · 4 months

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Mmmmmmm ok so im very sorry folks, I meant to make some TCM content today but I got really busy and ended up not being at home so i didnt get a chance to make anything post worthy. rip... I will post some tho!! I'll make up for this i swear!! I'll finish stuff up so I can post it!!!! forgive me!

but uhhhh even tho today was busy, i did have a little bit of tequila when i was out in this evening after everything,,,, so when i did come home i actually just decided to rewatch Phantom of the Paradise instead of doing anything else like productive? (sorry again)

ive sobered up a little more now and i need to sleep but God damn man. it was so good to see the movie again. my husband was in disbelief the entire time. he both loved and hated it. he says it isnt a movie. I love the movie so much. the scene with The Phantom SPRINTING down the hall always kills me. it's such a raw shaky cam shot of him BOOKING IT i laugh so hard

and oh yeah,,, Winslow Leach. i love that tall nerd with the big blue eyes and thick-ass glasses and turtleneck sweater and fluffy hair!!! hes so fucking awkward and overly passionate and ugh! but also when he is the world's dorkiest goth bird man in the bodysuit with the black makeup im???? in love. im IN. love. i pretty much screamed in joy every time Winslow Leach was on screen bc I love that FUCKING DORK I LOVE HIM!!!! like why am I like this? why lmao

im gonna post all the fanart I've saved of this movie too bc it's all beautiful and amazing and I cant get enough. and yeah also the art and stuff I have too and some more tcm bc im still also obsessed with that too heehee

#William Finley just has this.... face. and body type. and performance style. that i really like ok #im simply drawn to him in this movie #he makes Winslow SO cute and SO nerdy in this wonderfully silly way but also SO dramatic too im in awe #I LOVE CHARACTERS WHO ARE UNIQUE AND CRAZY AND HAVE TOO MUCH PASSION AND CANT CONTAIN THEMSELVES #bc thats me i guess :)#also usually i like characters id gladly fight on the floor - currently chop top and nubbins #or characters that are so cute and i want to love them with all my heart - currently bubba #but Winslow is both and neither? i would be like aw cute but also steal his glasses and bully him and make him frustrated but then apologiz #and then touch his long slender pianist hands and say he's so talented and he might brush it off and accept it and it'd be all good #.... ok weirdly a lot of detail there sorry im. getting too into this hypothetical wtf (it happens) but um #i guess when it comes to the Phantom tho id just want to watch him run around and gasp and screech. idk. hes so weird and i love his drama #i want everyone to know i love my husband so much ik it's weird im gushing over another fictional man and mentioning him at the same time #but like it's not the same. i hope u all understand. my love for my husband is real and tangible. characters are.... different #just let me fantasize about the silly people i see in movies and stuff and compartmentalize it in my heart and brain ok. i cant help it #i always wonder how the fuck people see me when it comes to that but also if it bothers u i hope u get the difference like actually??? idk #not tagging #my life

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