#Yar | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bamsara · 11 months

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it's all I could think of when I saw this. I was staring at it for a good... for a bit.

yar

#yar

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cheesyjester · 4 months

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Jevilll JEVIL HEHEHWGSHDHHE JEVIL- *cough*

Sorry 🙏 my weirdness was hanging out again 😳... how embarrassing

ANYWAYS- short lil story real quicck!-

On an app I used to use, long ago now, I would always lose friends and followers cuz I liked drawing Jevil so much (and did some ship arts-) but yeahhh I always lost followers and friends over it, they'd be complaining about me drawing him too much yet they drew the characters they flipped over all the time too so like.. wtf?-

ANYWAYS BUT HERE Heeeerrrrrreeeeee I can post him whenever I want without getting literally harassed and made fun of for doing so !!!

And I can find... so much... jevil... related art... that empty Jevil shaped void in my twisted heart can finally be filled 😭🙏!!!

HejjshahshSHDHSJJS YAY I LOVE JEVIL BUT NOT IN THE ROMANTIC WAY JUST IN THE JEVIL IS A DAMN AWESOME COOL CHARACTER WAY! YIPPEEE!!!

(OK goodnight ^^/it's morning for me but oh well)

#Jevil #deltarune #yay #slweepy #yar #jester #heheheh

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o-i-w-u · 2 months

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Crimson, what’s your greatest fear?

they're deathly afraid of the barrels

#fanart #art #ask #asks #doodles #sams #tsams #the sun and moon show #bloodmoon fanart #tsams bloodmoon #prince of crimson #sams au #au #aus #lord kc au #sun and moon show bloodmoon #light angst #yar

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patchesenthusiast · 4 months

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messy brush test :) found a good one ft BG3 GOTY YAYYYYY congrats neil (im late but whatever)

#astarion #bg3 #baldurs gate astarion #yar

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khudkifavourite · 3 months

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▪︎ samay aacha bura chalta rahega, par mauj masti nahi rukni chahiye dosto😎👍

#geetkibkchodi #desiblr #desi shit posting #desi things #desi stuff #mauj masti #karo #yar #maze se #desi tag #desi tumblr #desi #shit posting #desi culture #desi girl

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delipsikolog8888 · 3 months

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Yar deyince kalem elden düşüyor. Gözlerim görmüyor, aklım şaşıyor . Lambadaki titrek alev üşüyor , Aşk kağıda yazılmıyor Mihriban . Abdürrahim Karakoç

#yar #lamba #şair #şiir #mihriban #alıntı #edebiyat #sözler #hayat #delilik #delipsikolog

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und3rwat3r-a5tr0naut · 6 months

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Blorbos from playing pretend (dnd)

Esper is @/neillesart’s

#Oakley #esper #fellswapdew sans #dnd oc #yar #uhhhhh uhhhh yeah that’s it #bingus #astro.scribbles

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ghostowlattic · 5 months

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Morning.

#self #face #yar #sunday #hi #good morning

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psychicsharkbagelsports · 6 months

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Cars+S.T.A.L.K.E.R Charecters

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wightwanderer · 7 months

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Into the mist.

W29 Alverstone leaves Yarmouth station for Freshwater in the early 50's.

Cr: Offtherails

#heritage #isle of wight #train #station #history #locomotive #line #photography #wight #wightwanderer #archive #yarmouth #west #iow #photo #rail #yar #fog #mist #moody

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sxnyarostova · 10 months

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symbiosis

do i put this on ao3. anyways this is my velma/roxie fic i hope you enjoy i love them

Roxie Hart reckons that she’s going crazy. Consistently oscillating between this ingenious high and manic low, she never stays in either mood long enough to feel comfortable, to feel like she’s riding the wave of life. Touring’s hard work, something that takes a toll on both the mind and the body– Velma’s words, not hers–, but there’s typically no problem she can’t deal with when she’s got liquor on her hands.

A glass of gin and a splash of icy water on clammy cheeks usually calm her right down: the combination doesn’t help her very much anymore, though. She’s taken this remedy a little too many times, which explains her growing resistance to its calming properties. These days, the only thing that truly ties off the frayed ends of her psyche with a pretty little ribbon is, well… Velma.

Roxie doesn’t love her: it’s become a mantra over these past months spent ducking in and out of hotel after hotel and theatre after theatre. There’s the occasional pharmacist and gin joint as well, but that doesn’t count.

Instead of doing whatever love entails– because how the hell is Roxie supposed to know what love is when she’s never seen it in action?–, they kiss, they fuck, and Velma disappears somewhere between midnight and eleven in the morning, or at whatever ungodly hour Roxie wakes up after a night of debauchery. It’s an understanding they’ve reached, something as sure as the lacquered planks beneath her feet, an aspirin tablet swallowed dry that leaves an indent in her throat long after it's worked its magic. It is not love.

Roxie never did very well in school, but she’s making up for lost time. Touring means that she spends a lot of time in a train carriage with Velma, who smokes, drinks, stretches, and reads magazines: there isn’t exactly a way for Roxie to kindle a conversation when Velma gets all quiet like that, so she’d gotten her hands on a book about animal behaviour, of all things, from a dressing room somewhere in Illinois

It’s interesting, with little tidbits about interspecies relationships. Take predator-prey, for example; it’s one she’d known all about even before she cracked open the dusty tome. It’s kill or get killed in America, after all: a girl has gotta have learned something after she’s fended for herself in this cesspool of a country for this long.

But symbiosis is something she’s never heard of before, and she reckons after a brief skim of the chapter that Velma Kelly excels at whatever this professor is banging on about. Somehow, regardless of how the other is involved in her affairs, Velma Kelly always, always comes out on top; she’s the symbiote, the organism that gains something even if she’s leeching blood, leaving trails of her venom in somebody else’s blood, or spreading diseases left, right and centre.

It’s infuriating, but Roxie finds herself crawling back to Velma’s bed anyway. When you’re desperate for something to curb the restless ticks that haunt your head, you’ll do anything.

(She still remembers the panic that had risen in her throat after that first night, when she’d woken swaddled in sheets, sitting in the most fragrant viper’s nest known to man. Roxie had always known that she was going to spend her days scorching in hellfire– murder didn’t grant you a seat by Jesus– but she wasn’t ready to be indicted into the Devil’s inner circle. Surely there was something wrong and sinful about what she’d done with Velma the night before; surely there were scriptures in the Bible that forbade women from touching like that.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Velma had asked as Roxie scrambled for her robe, which lay in a crumpled heap of velvet on the hotel carpet. Despite her casual tone, an undercurrent of venom lazed beneath Velma’s words. “Were you faking those giggles last night, Roxie Hart? Are you considering leaving vaudeville and busting into Hollywood with your affected little squeals?”

“I– no!” Roxie mumbled, blindly throwing her arms through their respective sleeves. “I’m fine. I really am fine. Last night was… new, that’s all.” She blinked, brushed a flyaway curl back into place, and offered Velma a blinding smile.

“I thought new things didn’t scare you: always considered you a modern girl.” Velma raised an eyebrow as she stopped in front of the vanity, fingers deftly securing a double string of pearls around her neck. She fixed the clasp before latching her eyes onto Roxie’s ruddy complexion, her bob swishing by her ears like a beaded curtain. “I know what this is. You’re thinking about sinning, ain’t you?”

Roxie hated how Velma seemed to have her entire world and all its inhabitants figured out. Life was nothing but a jigsaw puzzle to Miss Velma Kelly, and every piece she put down always managed to lock into place. “...Well, don’t you ever think about sinning?” Roxie said, fiddling with the sash of her robe. “I don’t know how often you fuck blonde girls who you met in a jail cell, but—”

Velma guffawed. “I stopped repenting when I was twelve, sweetheart. The only compass I’ve got is my heart.” She gave her chest a gentle thump. “Whichever way it aims is where I’ll go, and if it’s pointing in your direction—” she threw her hands up as if to say ‘what the Hell’ “—then that’s where I’m headed ‘til it tells me otherwise.”

“Oh,” Roxie said, brows furrowing. “Well, I– I don’t know. I–”

“Did you enjoy it?”

Roxie nodded, platinum hair bouncing earnestly around her face.

“And did you feel like it was wrong when it happened?”

Despite the condescension in Velma’s tone, Roxie found it in her to respond, shaking her head no.

“I don’t see what the problem is, then,” Velma said, sitting primly atop the vanity. “You see, sex is a little like murder. If you felt justified when you did it, you don’t have to worry your pretty little head off about it.” She held up a flask, glinting silver in the noontime sun. “Care for a little pick-me-up?” )

Roxie wonders if Velma’s a drug of sorts or an exorcist with the blessing of some twisted God who likes helping murderesses stave off their guilty consciences. She’ll be tearing out her hair one moment and laughing the next: as soon as Velma’s teeth meet the lobe of her ear, the crowding voices that haunt Roxie’s head dissipate into nothing but malevolent spirits, melding into the atmosphere.

She sighs, pulling another cigarette from the open box in her robe pocket and slipping it into her mouth. Velma, Roxie muses, needs her for the success of their marquee-lining act: she needs Velma for all the wrong reasons. Roxie uncaps the lipstick on her bureau, gives the base a tiny twist, and begins absentmindedly applying another layer: she doesn’t know why she bothers. Her lips are plump and red enough, and Velma’s practised lips remove any traces left after a night of performing. It’s just therapeutic, she supposes, the feeling of wax sliding across her lips.

“You ready?”

The lipstick in her hand deviates from its trajectory and streaks across her face. “Jesus, Vel,” Roxie hisses, hastily rushing to a mirror and rubbing away the runaway line of red. “You ever learned to knock?”

“What difference would it make? I’d still come in regardless of your response,” Velma shrugs. She grins, pulls out a tissue from a nearby box, and passes it into Roxie’s waiting hands. She is striking in her costume, kitted out in a dark leotard with obsidian garters that blossom against her skin. “Well? Are you ready, kid?”

“Yeah,” Roxie grumbles. She gives her curls one last fluff, readjusts her own pearly pair of stockings, and tosses the tissue into the bin. “But– Velma? Before we go? Can you–?”

Her mind is running circles at the thought of performing. If she thinks long and hard about it, Roxie’s been a performer her whole life. She’s acted for her parents from the age of five and for her prospective beaus from the age of fifteen, doing the former out of fear and the latter out of a deep-seated desire for security. She’d acted when she was on trial, too, and frankly speaking, Roxie’s exhausted.

She needs someone to remind her that she’s Roxie Hart, and the only person who can do that is Velma, with her kisses and brass comments and the behavior that she only displays when she’s around Roxie. Velma Kelly is Roxie’s savior; the lighthouse in the distance, the shore that Roxie longs to find after hours spent in the water. This is symbiosis.

Velma pecks Roxie on the cheek without another word.

#yar #amity writes #chicago the musical #velma kelly #roxie hart #roxie x velma

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malinastharlock · 9 months

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