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#thats his name right..........

nomazee · 27 days

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enough to make me cry

blade is your only roommate, your only friend, and your only way home from this terrible party you found yourself in.

blade x gn reader — 3.3k — college & roommates au!, very americanized college experiences, frat parties, mentions of drinking & vomiting, could be read as platonic but there are definitely romantic undertones, feelings of inadequacy/being out of place, hurt/comfort, social anxiety, blade is probably ooc i'm gonna be so honest, mild kafka & reader friendship, erggg im probably missing something

notes: no i have to be so honest blade is probably completely out of character i have not played a single side quest with him in it but i just think he has reluctant roommate-to-best friend potential and i wanted to pour that into a fic,,, this is mostly unintelligible but i did proofread! love you all

—°+..｡*ﾟ｡*ﾟ+.*.｡.—

A warm hand rests on your shoulder, and the first thing that you think is Blade’s hands are supposed to be cold.

It’s really pathetic. You’re somewhere in a stupid frat house, the thrumming of music around you. There’s the flashing colors and sounds of Mario Kart on the TV, the smell of puke (probably yours) and corona lite, and a hand on your shoulders that you’ve discerned is not your roommate, Blade’s.

Looking to the side, you follow the hand (painted, manicured nails, definitely still not Blade’s), and it leads up to an arm up to a shoulder up to a face, and—oh.

“You’re—” you pause, getting your words in order before you puke them up, “you’re Blade’s pretty lady friend?” It’s supposed to come out as a statement, but leans more to a question. She looks down, a bit of a teasing grin on her face, but her eyes are a little soft so you trust her.

“Is that what he calls me?” she jokes.

“No, I’m— I came up with that.” If you had any dignity left in you, you’d be embarrassed to admit that to her. Unfortunately, you’re pretty sure that Kafka (the pretty lady friend in question) just held your hair back and wiped your face as you puked into a frat-house toilet, flushing your dignity away with your dinner. Your eyes burn with tears and mortification, and you pray that only Kafka saw your embarrassing mishaps.

“I called him to pick you up,” she tells you, already looking away from you and scanning the room as if looking for something, or someone. “I would take you home myself, but I’ve got some things to take care of. And I’m assuming you didn't bring your keys with you?”

A quick pat-down of your pockets confirms that, yes, you somehow managed to leave your keys at home, the one personal necessity that you were supposed to bring besides your phone. Which, thankfully, you do at least have.

“Umm, the…” you mutter, tongue tangling uselessly as you try to find a way out of here without facing the impending doom of Blade’s aggravated scolding and his I told you so’s.

A week ago, you went to him with an invite to this frat party and begged him to come with you, saying something like You don’t go out much, this is your chance! He’d adamantly refused, calling it a bad idea and rolling his eyes whenever you brought it up. But you were stubborn, and you wanted to have a fun college experience, so you forced him to drive you to the party with the promise of paying for his next gas payment and getting your own ride back home at the end of the night.

“I can go,” you finally tell Kafka, mind stringing along memories and thoughts and alarm bells of get your ass home before you have to sit in an awful car ride with Blade, “It’s, like, a fifteen minute walk, don’t call him.”

“It’s a little too late for that, kid,” Kafka drawls, amusement in her words. She’s smiling down at you, and you’re reminded of how small you feel. “He’s already on the way.”

“No!” you protest, a little too loudly, but not loud enough to be heard over the thumping of music and bodies and voices. “It’s— Kafka, please, just tell him to turn around, I really don’t want him to deal with me today.”

If you knew her even less, you’d misinterpret the twitch in her expression as concern—but you’re not too dumb, so you read it as amusement. “Trust me, he’s not going to have a problem with that. You’ll be fine.”

Whatever that means. Kafka’s too cryptic for your liking, but you won’t complain. She wiped up your vomit from the dirty bathroom tiles and stayed with you to make sure you didn't get trampled, and she didn't complain about any of that. In a week, when you have enough strength to face her again, you’ll treat her to a good, expensive, flaky pastry. She seems like the kind of person who would love those.

Her phone buzzes with a text notification, and she clicks her tongue, standing up and pulling you with her. Her hand is still warm, seeping through the sleeve of your shirt as she takes you by the forearm, gentle but guiding. Your stomach churns at the thought of seeing Blade, the thought of him seeing you like this. Freshly-puked-out with a nasty stomachache all because of a party that he told you not to go to.

You hold back your protests as Kafka leads you through the still-crowded frat house. What time is it? Has nobody gotten bored yet, seriously? At least you didn't kill the mood by running to the bathroom and weeping into the toilet. It seems like nobody noticed, except for Kafka, and you don’t know if that should make you feel comforted or just more upset.

The cool air of the night hits you as you step through the front door, eyes tracking your feet as you walk down the concrete steps. You see the silhouette of Blade’s ugly blue car in your peripheral vision, but you don’t want to look up in fear of seeing the disappointment on his face so soon. He’s going to rip you a new one, and then call you a slob and kick you out of the apartment and say I can’t have a party fiend living with me even though this was your first party ever, honest.

You barely register that you’ve reached the passenger side of Blade’s car, only coming back to awareness when Kafka opens the door for you and starts nudging you into the seat. A really pathetic part of you wants to grab onto her arm and cry hard enough that she just relents and lets you walk home, but you’re already half into the passenger seat, looking everywhere but Blade.

“Take care of them, won’t you, Bladie?” Kafka commands lightly, her hand leaving your arm as you get situated and buckled up in the car. Blade lets out a little huff in response and your stomach sinks. He’s already annoyed.

The car ride to your apartment is only five minutes at this time of night. You just have to survive five minutes in silence and pray that he doesn’t tear into you and scold you like a disappointed parent. A glance at the clock on the car’s console confirms that it’s half past midnight. What the fuck. What were you even doing at the party for that long, besides vomiting and crying?

The car rumbles, exhaust sputtering a little bit as Blade pulls out from the side of the street and drives slowly, carefully, as if not to rattle you, and you really just want him to speed up and throttle the car around so you feel more guilty about waking him up in the middle of the night to come pick you up. Blade goes to bed at eleven, the latest. You can’t imagine why Kafka thought it would be a good idea to call him, of all people, but then you remember that you kind of don’t have any other friends on campus. Your chest tightens at the thought.

Blade makes some kind of sniffling noise, his way of trying to initiate some kind of conversation. There’s not even any music playing, because he always drives in dead silence because he’s abnormal, and on any other day you’d tease him about it like you always do. You see him turn his head to you in the corner of your eye, but you refuse to acknowledge him. You wish he’d just start scolding you, yelling at you or something.

Tears prickle behind your eyes, painfully so, but your hands tighten around each other in your lap as you will yourself to not cry like a baby in front of your roommate. He lets out another sigh, but it doesn’t sound angry, just tired, and somehow that makes you feel worse.

“What were you guys even drinking?” is his question of voice, and it’s the one question you didn't want him to ask, and you can’t help it when the tears spill over and you bring your hand up to wipe them away frantically, hiccuping a little bit as your gut churns.

“What—” Blade stutters, and he never stutters, and you see him whip his head around to look at you, crying into your hands over a simple question, and you just want to leave the car and walk home like you told Kafka you would do. He pulls over to the side of some residential street. There’s a dog barking in a yard and wind chimes clinking together, and you think of your handmade bottle cap wind chime hung in the balcony of yours and Blade’s apartment, and it just makes you cry more.

The car comes to a full stop. Blade puts it in park and turns completely to you. You spare a quick glance at him through the gaps between your fingers, and there’s something like worry on his face, which you’ve never seen before. His face is pinched, lips parted as if wanting to say something, but he can’t. He’s waiting for you.

“I didn't drink anything, Blade,” you sob, feeling miserable at the state of yourself, at how you went to a frat party with nobody you knew and just walked around like a lost child, too scared to drink or talk to anyone, too anxious to say a word. “Not even a shot, or a sip, nothing from the fridge. It was so stupid, you were right, okay? It was a stupid idea, and I shouldn’t have gone.” Your breath catches in your throat, and the car is dead quiet as Blade lets your words sink in.

You try not to make so much noise when you cry, but you’re sniveling and wiping your face and wishing that he would just stop looking at you like that. You can still see the ruby-red of his eyes even when you can’t bear to look up at him, and it makes you so viscerally upset.

Blade is beautiful, really, and it makes you so upset that he looks better than you right now despite him being dragged right out of bed by Kafka’s phone call with a request to pick you up just minutes ago. You, who spent hours selecting an outfit, just to feel inadequate and wholly ugly the minute you walked through the door. It felt like you were back in middle school, spending hours with your parents picking out an outfit to a school dance, looking through ties and pants and shoes, just to show up and feel both overdressed and underdressed, feel like a fool, feel like you just can’t look the way everyone else does. Like something is always a little wrong.

“Kafka said that you got sick. You didn't drink anything? You’re sure?”

��No,” you confirm pitifully, wanting him to just drop the topic and drive the rest of the way home and never talk about this again. “I was just anxious, and I puked like an idiot. Kafka helped me, she was the only one that I knew at the party. I don’t know. I don’t remember anymore. I was just anxious.”

He says your name, not unkindly, but with a prying tone that just makes a fresh wave of tears stream down your face in rivulets. “Why would you go if you didn't know anyone?”

“I don't know!” you shout, heated with embarrassment. You’re acting like a child, throwing a tantrum and crying and shouting in Blade’s car. The seatbelt is too tight on you. You fiddle with it, pulling it from the juncture of your neck and shoulder and loosening it, scratching your bitten nails against the scratchy cloth and looking out of the car window so that you can avoid Blade’s awful, terrible, intrusive gaze.

“I just wanted to be normal, or something. I don’t know anybody from any of my classes. I don’t talk to anyone from my major. And then I got the invite for the party somehow and I just thought it would be fun. I don’t know, Blade, I know I should’ve listened to you, I’m sorry.”

“Stop,” he says firmly, fully turned to you now, as if he wants you to look back at him, to listen to whatever he’s going to say, and that’s the one thing you don’t want to do. You hate that he’s being kind. You wish he’d be sarcastic and mean and cruel, bite into you and feed off your self-pity. But he’s being nice, nice in the same way that he’s nice when he buys the right brand of milk for you (because the others make you sick, and the taste is different), or when he drives you places in his car when it’s raining so that you don’t have to take the buses everywhere, or when he comes home with your ridiculous coffee order that costs a hellacious amount of money with all of your substitutions and additions and flavorings.

“There’s nothing to be sorry about,” he says resolutely, leaving no room for argument, “Just— I didn't know you were feeling like that. I would’ve gone with you if you told me you needed someone. I assumed you were going with a friend.”

You don’t respond with I don’t have any friends, because you’re pretty sure that’s clear enough by now, and you don’t want to confirm what’s already been confirmed a million times over just from the way you act. The way you cling to yours and Blade’s apartment, the way you never spend a second longer than you need to in any of your classes, the way that sometimes, when Blade goes out for class or work, you sit on the couch in silence with your laptop out, doing your work for the week and checking the clock and taking naps so that you don’t have to feel so alone for so long.

“You didn't want to go,” you say instead, “I wasn’t going to make you just because I’m— I don’t know.”

“I would’ve gone for you,” he tells you, really tells you, with a force in his words, like he wants to drive the point into you with a stake, driven right through your heart. “I would do a lot of things if you asked. You just need to ask.”

You don’t— you really don’t want to think about what that means. What he means. You rip your eyes away from the car window and turn to face him. He’s not too close. You almost wish he could be closer, but you would suffocate under the pressure in your stomach and behind your eyes.

He shouldn’t say things like that, things like You just need to ask, because you’d ask for a lot if given the chance. You’d ask for him to come to parties with you, stay by your side, let you put a hand on his shoulder and guide him around another disgusting frat house as if you know what you’re doing. You’d ask him to sleep in the same bed as you some nights, just a foot away from each other, backs turned to each other but still close enough that you can feel the unnatural coldness that radiates off of Blade.

You’d ask him to introduce you to Kafka and that other girl they hang out with, to say something stupid and funny like This is my abhorrent roommate, be nice to them, and that way you’d have more contacts in your phone that aren't just Blade and your parents and two old high school friends who you haven’t spoken to in a year. You’d ask him to be a lot more than just a plus-one to a party full of people you’ve never met.

“I just want to go home,” you breathe out, a guilty confession burning your gums and leaving a sour taste in your mouth. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying sorry,” he asserts for the second time tonight, making your lungs squeeze as you puff out a tired exhale. Blade turns back in his seat, taking the car out of park and heading back onto the road—driving slowly, yet again, avoiding cracks and potholes in the road. “You need to eat something. You’ll wake up with a hellish headache if you go to bed dehydrated.”

“I don’t think that’s true.”

“I said it, so it’s true,” he says petulantly, turning the car down into a road that’s definitely not in the direction of your apartment building. To your hidden delight, the glowing sign of a twenty-four-seven ice cream store comes into view, and you sit up just a little bit. Blade slows the car as he turns into the drive-thru, glancing at you with an eyebrow half-raised.

“What do you want? I’ll order for you.”

“I don’t have my wallet,” you admit, just a little bit embarrassed. “I didn't even bring my keys with me. Do you think they take Apple Pay?”

A breathy laugh escapes him, and you catch sight of a dimple pressed into his cheek, and you want to press your thumb into it and look at his smile, just for a little longer. “Don’t be dumb. I’m paying,” he tells you, the same way he has every time he pays for your cafe drink, or when he comes home from work with your favorite, and says You’re broke enough without having to pay for these drinks, don’t pay me back in that snippy way he shows his care.

You ask for a medium vanilla milkshake, with sprinkles, and he gets you a large instead, which you’re more than grateful for. He refuses to let you look at the receipt for the total cost, and hands you the milkshake with a comical severity that you often see in him. The sweet drink washes away any bitter taste left in your mouth, and you feel a little better, a little nicer in your haphazard party outfit and under Blade’s fleeting gaze.

A deep sigh escapes you, one of relief, when the car finally parks at your apartment building. Blade puts a cold hand between your shoulder blades, unobtrusive and leading, and it’s a comforting contrast from the heat lingering on your skin from the party and the closed car. It feels right, more in-place than Kafka’s warm hands were when she wiped your face and kept you steady, though she was just as gentle.

Blade all but tosses you onto the couch, claiming that it’s much too late for a shower and he’d rather not deal with you collapsing from exhaustion in the tub. You relent easily, the exhaustion of the night hitting you and soaking into your limbs.

“I’ll let you sleep on the couch,” he says, and it’s a good and kind thing, because he knows that sometimes you hate your bedroom because it’s just too empty, and the constant sound filtering into the living room puts you at ease. He never lets you sleep on the couch, because it’s bad for your back, and he jokes about you developing adult onset scoliosis with the awful way you sleep. Letting you do it, just this once, is another one of his small mercies.

The TV is on, humming at a low volume, and your legs are thrown across Blade’s lap. You’re shocked that he’s willing to fall asleep with you like this, but he’s kind, sarcastic and biting but kind all the same, as much as he loathes to admit it. It’s not too lonely, you decide, hearing the bottle cap wind chimes on your balcony clink together in dissonant harmonies.

(There’s a missing text from a new contact on your phone when you wake up, coming from pretty lady friend, extending an invite to brunch in two days, and you kick your legs on the couch in giddy excitement, thinking about how you’ll rope Blade into coming with you, too.)

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taglist: @tragedy-of-commons

(pssst!!! send me a msg or fill out the form in my navi to be added to the taglist!!!)

#blade x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #blade hsr x reader #hsr blade x reader #hsr ren x reader #thats his name right..........#blade x you #hsr x you #honkai star rail x you #begging myself to write something under 1k next time #i miss when i had the ability to write short drabbles instead of behemoths #i say this as if i don't have a supernatural blade fic thats already 5k and not even halfway done #THATS the real behemoth #he's so out of character here forgive me #i just like his pretty face #me writing about a frat party when i have yet to even touch the vicinity of a party house

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vulpixhoney · 2 months

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of course Sklonda doesn't like the nickname "the ball". of course she doesn't. because, while now is is an affectionate name from friends who love and respect him, it was a belittling nickname while he was being bullied. like. we know how much Fabian cares for Riz, they're best friends and Fab trusts him implicitly, if Riz asked him to stop he absolutely would immediately

but all Sklonda sees is them using a mean nickname that was used when he was getting racially targeted for being a small creature and thrown in a trashcan

#sklonda gukgak #sklonda gukgak you are my world #she just wants to make sure hes okay #like they don't MEAN it that way but it still has racial undertones because hes a goblin #like they LOVE riz but obviously sklonda hates that they call him that #and shes right to!#thats her son and his friends call him they name that was used to bully him!#with affection but still #fantasy high #dimension 20

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jinbedreams · 2 days

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It's been so fascinating to see how strongly people react to Toshiro in Dungeon Meshi. When I first read that scene I didn't feel hurt by Toshiro's rejection of Laois at all, I was more shocked at Laios raising a hand to him in anger because Laios had always felt like a man free from such anger and aggression. Although it was very powerful to see that Laios was capable of feeling such a way. I felt the scene was very emotionally charged and an important moment for both characters.

So when I started hearing about how hurt other people were at seeing Toshiro lash out in frustration towards Laios, and seeing people express discomfort towards Toshiro I was surprised but not confused. Honestly I was more surprised at myself for not having a similar reaction because I have also been subject to being led on in "friendships" that the other person secretly despised (or at least did NOT feel the same). It can be very hurtful to discover that someone has built a resentment towards you but never made any attempt to clear the air with you until a point of crisis.

I am autistic and I struggle a lot with relationships but in this instance I didn't see myself in Laios' shoes (although I have been there) instead I found myself relating to Toshiro. A man trapped by social expectations, rigid rules of engagement hammered into him from a young age, only to discover that there is someone who does not follow these rules at all. Even more bizarrely they seem completely free from any of the consequences that would befall Toshiro if he ever deviated from his carefully cultivated mask.

I can say from experience it is confronting to try and unpack your own high masking trauma while also feeling compelled to support the low masking autistic person in your life. Even if the other person means no ill will and has not truly done anything wrong, having them unknowingly walk all over you can be enough to push you to a breaking point. There is an intense frustration that comes with seeing someone else get away with not following the social rules you have beaten yourself painfully into shape to fit.

Yes Toshiro could have chosen any moment to correct Laios on his name, or clarify his discomfort or his personal boundaries, but that is operating under the assumption that Toshiro feels safe enough to do so. He is a stranger in a strange land, and often in that position it is a safer choice to subject yourself to a level of discomfort simply to keep the general peace. Where my fellow high maskers at? We make biting our tongue a fucking art.

#Could Toshiro have approached the topic in a more gentle manner? Yes #But in that vein Laios could have checked in with Toshiro and made sure he got his name right or that he also felt the same way etc #thats the beauty of this story #no one is right or wrong theyre just people #and despite their differences they do have a level of respect for one another #god I love #Dungeon Meshi #shuro #toshiro dungeon meshi #laios dungeon meshi #laios touden #DONT even get me started on Kabru hes got me in even more of a chokehold than these two

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fishsticksart · 9 months

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Francesca - Hozier

If someone asked me at the end, I'll tell them put me back in it

[Francesca, Hozier // The Ghosts of Paolo and Francesca Appear to Dante and Virgil, Ary Scheffer // Francesca, Hozier // Canto V, Inferno, Dante Alighieri // Francesca (Official Video), Hozier // Francesca, Hozier // Ship on Stormy Seas, Ivan Aivazovsky // Francesca, Hozier // Canto V, Inferno, Dante Alighieri // Paolo and Francesca, Mosè Bianchi // Francesca, Hozier // Paolo and Francesca da Rimini, Gustave Doré // Before Romeo and Juliet, Paolo and Francesca Were Literature’s Star-Crossed Lovers, John-Paul Heil // Paolo and Francesca, Frank Dicksee // Francesca i Paolo, Ludwik Wiesiołowski // Before Romeo and Juliet, Paolo and Francesca Were Literature’s Star-Crossed Lovers, John-Paul Heil // Paolo and Francesca da Rimini, Dante Gabriel Rossetti // Francesca, Hozier // Francesca (Later with Jools Holland), Hozier on BBC Music // Canto V, Inferno, Dante Alighieri // tumblr user @handgf // The Kiss, Auguste Rodin // Paolo e Francesca, or Morte di Paolo e Francesca, Gaetano Previati // Hozier // Hozier // Hozier]

#web weaving #web weave #web weavings #webweaving #hozier webweaving #hozier #hozier lyrics #francesca #francesca hozier #francesca da rimini #dantes inferno #paolo and francesca #you have no idea how insane this song makes me #first of all MY NAME IS LITERALLY FRANCESCA #LIKE HOZIER WROTE A SONG WITH MY NAME AND NOW I GET TO HEAR MY NAME IN INTERVIEWS???#AND MY NAME WRITTEN IN HIS HANDWRITING?? HELLO INSANE #and then my second thought was when i realized since it was dantes inferno themed album it was probably in reference to ->#-> francesca da rimini and ding ding ding i was right #and i knew this cause im a complete nerd who reads Smithsonian articles for fun and there was one article about francesca and paolo #and thats actually where some of the art in this came from cause i went back to that article today #and i forgot that part about Tchaikovsky but it's actually really touching and fitting i felt like #its so cool how much art has been inspired by francesca and paolo for so long #and i just had to make this and i loved it cause its such an aching touching song that descends beauty #and the quotes from the inferno itself with francesca speaking were so beautiful #wow im such a nerd but i love it #shoutout to hozier once again for giving francesca and all francescas out there the recognition they deserve #OH AND ALSO I HAD TO PUT IN A CLASSIC Ivan Aivazovsky PAINTING #CAUSE THATS THE ONE THAT PEOPLE MISTAKE FOR GATHERING STORM BUT ITS DIFFERNT!!!!!!!!!!!!#CAUSE THIS ONE IS MORE ANGRY AND TURBULENT AND OMINOUS #WHICH DEFINETLY FITS THE STORM AND HURRICANE LYRIC I FEEL LIKE IDK I LOVE COMBINING MY NERDY ARTSY INTERESTS

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willowandthesagaofgayyearning · 2 months

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So i just feel like i have to post about this because y’all need to understand how much i love Leonard ”Bones” McCoy. Like he is so cringefail silly goofy, sweetest fucking guy with a grumpy exterior.

Like that is my loser pookie girlfriend right there. I wanna fuck him nasty sloppy gay style.

#star trek #star trek tos #leonard mccoy #bones mccoy #leonard horatio mccoy #THATS HIS FULL LEGAM NAME #WHAT KIND OF A FAGGOT IS NAMED HORATIO #I WANT HIM SO BAD #HES IN MY BED RIGHT NOW ACTUALLY

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altamira-a · 4 months

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Hello, Malevolent fans- I've got a question for you.

So my name is Arthur, I'm a big podcast fan and at some point I stumbled on fanart for Manevolant. Now I know the main characters name is Arthur, and that he has this spooky yellow ghost (?) Attached to him. Now I'm not sure if this is right and if I am I don't want to spoil myself, but I have an idea that it's The King in Yellow, or Hastur, which would be Very ironic because I Love the King in Yellow. I had an old DND character who was in his cult, I even have a tattoo of it.

(For reference)

But what I want to ask, and I know it's a biased crowd but is it any good? If I'm right this is a coincidence I can't pass by but I know podcasts are a big time sink. What do you think?

(Also, if it helps, I'm a massive Magnus archives fan. I found the fanart while looking at the tag, it's my favourite)

#malevolent #malevolent podcast #arthur lester? i think thats his name #arthur lester #the king in yellow #hastur #please dont spoil me if im right i Really want to listen to this show #thank you for your help though i really mean it

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anonymouscheeses · 12 days

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Big fckn redesigns here. Well mostly Charlie but Vaggie somewhat too 🥰🥰

Blue fits Charlie soooo much and I cease to see that many redesigns with this color. I still want red to be used in most of their designs because well. They are in hell, but not too present so to make way for other unique colors. Charlie has several physical traits from her parents but also she has some details in her clothes that match with them. When I uhh, introduce their designs you'll see lmao. I also tried to make her have a more roundish design, I jst LOVE those typ of designs omg. I just want the characters with not too many sharp corners pls Viv bro... 😔 oh yeah she's mixed cuz her mom's are darker in their redesigns. Alot of their genetics went down to Charlie so she doesn't look like an exact copy of Lucifer, I kind of hate that trend with hh and hb characters, like did the moxxies dad give birth to him bro 😭 also I kept her bow because it looks so cute and silly on her it just fits, I wish they made it bigger in her show design because it would fit her silliness so much. She has a cape with stars because morningSTAR smh why didnt they do something fun with that, missed potential but whatevs yknow I still love og designs no matter what anyone sayss. Did you know I love Charlie, I could ramble for days. I think I love Charlie guys. Maybe jst a hunch idk... also... s-snake fangs.. jeepers anddd..... snake tongue.... shiver me timberz

The wife ever. I had animation in mind more when I designed her, not like in a "How easy or hard would this be to animate" way. But I like to imagine when she's shocked her hair kind of fluffs out plus her actual fluff, when she's mad her bow turns into kind of horns and then her jacket expands like wings. Gave her a more hotel like outfit, she likes to work for fun (ew). Her socks are socks but she has some fluff under them she just tries to cover it up because she hates herself 🤪 (she doesn't hate her bigger body she actually feels much more comfortable chubby than when she was skinny with Adam. She was burdened with the weight of Adam's image of women... In this sorta rewrite she gained weight when she goes to the hotel because she's more happy. I'm dying I love chub Vaggie so much guys please) headcanon: she kind of likes fashion, it's like a fun hobby of hers to stitch together clothing and go out and buy clothes she'll never wear. She taught Charlie how to stitch and she SUCKS so you can jst see it on Charlie's pants.

Second outfits! Charlie's hotel uniform for. Well. Hotel stuff. She usually only wears it when new people come to the hotel, which.... isn't often, if at all. She still likes to keep it just in case. Also she goes really cartoonish when it happens, she does the looney tunes run and changes into her clothes in like 2 seconds. Can you see my vision? 😭😭

Vaggie's is in her armor. She has several pairs of armor lying around in the hotel in completely hidden spots. It's kind of surprising uhh. Yeah she wears it alot more than Charlie wears her alt uniform but still rare to find her in it. I don't get the whole thing with the exterminators and them not being able to fight according to Carmilla. Which is kinda stupid, I'm not gonna lie. So, instead of that, Vaggie has just let her guard down and has gotten much more comfortable in her surroundings so she feels like she doesn't need to fight anymore, she's just gotten rusty 's what I'm sayin. I have no idea how to draw armor. You can tell...

Extra below cut vvvv

BABY CHARLIE!!! With the heads of my redesigns for Luci, Eve, and Lillith. Haha you still cant see them. Uhh, ill definitely finish the thing one day. Its not even that big of a project thing, i think i jst keep going to other drawings so im like not focusing on one thing lmao. Lucifer has heterochromia because he was cursed to forever be reminded of his betrayal. I only explained that because Charlie has it too, it's kind of a curse on the entire blood line where at least one eye is red. This is like. Slightly older Charlie than the baby Charlie in show? I jst wanted to put her in overalls cuz omg that's jst so cute ughhh 😭😭

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel charlie #hazbin hotel vaggie #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin hotel eve #hazbin hotel lillith #chaggie #varlie #rainbowmoth #charlie x vaggie #vaggie x charlie #ill get to the other........ one day #art #fanart #artists on tumblr #digital art #charlie morningstar #vaggie #i hate her name. its now Valerie. or was it Valarie. i dont remember. uh. hi #i totally forgot abt my human au ILL ANSWER QUESTIONS SOON YOU GUYS I JST HAVE ALOT IN MIND RIGHT NOWW #lillith morningstar #lucifer morningstar #eve morningstar #WHY AM I SO HAPPY THATS A TAG. ITS LITERALLY CANON THEY WERE PRT MUCH POLY. I JST LOVE THE FACT ITS ACCEPTED 😭😭#hazbin hotel chaggie #hazbin chaggie #lucifers stolen wives #could that be the ship name for those three. or if someone comes up with a better one 😭🙏 im ass at ship names #baby charlie #also every morningstar member has a curse of some kind. sooo ill explain in the other post thatll come out in 2069 /j

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miodiodavinci · 8 months

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i found one of my old middle school sketch books while cleaning up today and saw there was A Good Deal of ghost trick art in it, so i decided to spend some time paying tribute to the ghost detective that fundamentally changed my brain chemistry in 2011 w

old ghost trick art under the cut—minor spoilers in the dialogue whoops👇