Low Contrast Dark Mode skin for Ao3 with Serif fonts
Code here • How to Install
will byers stan first human second

izzy's playlists!
Monterey Bay Aquarium
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we're not kids anymore.
$LAYYYTER
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JBB: An Artblog!

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Misplaced Lens Cap

pixel skylines
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RMH

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@bugaddict
Low Contrast Dark Mode skin for Ao3 with Serif fonts
Code here • How to Install
New JayVik smut one-shot.
📖 Click here to read!
My partner and I run a Hazbin/Helluva fan server if anyone is interested in joining. Dead dove friendly, HH/HB topics only.
https://discord.gg/UFknNkU6Dn
Check out the Pentagram City community on Discord - hang out with 20 other members and enjoy free voice and text chat.
so when adam and lute are doing their duets, the same cords were used. every song in s1 where they sang, these cords played. theyre a duet
theyre harmonious, always
guess what fucking cords gravity is composed with—just pitched lower
because
gravity and pain
you didn’t know
lute: Em, G, Am, D, Em, G, Am, D
duet: C, G, D, Em, D
adam: C, G, A, B7
hell is forever
duet chorus: Em, C, D, Em, C, D, A, G, C, D, Em
gravity verses: Bm, C, A, F#m, Bm, C, A, F#m
gravity chorus: Bm, G, Em, G (x2) Em, G, F#
punching a wall
HALF OF HER CORDS ARE GONE AND THEYRE ALL PITCHED LOW IM NOT OKAYYYYYYY
In honor of S2 of Hazbin, I am bumping my partner’s Discord server. https://discord.gg/UFknNkU6Dn
Check out the Pentagram City community on Discord - hang out with 55 other members and enjoy free voice and text chat.
An image I did for Pride Month, 2025 🏳️🌈
Jesse doesn’t believe in fate. Doesn’t believe in God—never saw anything when he died. But sometimes? In the way Brandt looks at him, touches him, forgives him? Jesse sees something holy.
You’re as smooth as Tennessee whisky
You’re as sweet as strawberry wine
You’re as warm as a glass of brandy
& honey, I stay stoned on your love all the time
[ Cole & Brandt Devereux ]
I’m really not that abrasive, I’m just over 30 and went to therapy so I have that terrifying ability to directly communicate boundaries and handle conflict. Crazy…
All of my social media links can be found here.
Are you bugaddict on ao3? With a few borderlands fics? (asking cause the image on the werewolf jack one is broken and I NEED to see it)
900 years later (I’m so sorry) but yes that’s me!
Here you go, friend.
Brandt Valarie Devereux
Brandt Devereux was born on August 10, 1983, in Larchmont, New York to Charles and Emelia Devereux. The main arcs of his story occur between 1995 and the early-to-mid 00s.
Too soft to survive the world he comes from, too stubborn to let it crush him. The youngest son of a cold dynasty, he was raised on silver spoons and sharpened tongues, always too delicate, too dramatic, too much. Now grown and aching to be wanted for who he is—not what he represents—Brandt drifts through life like a half-finished symphony, full of potential and pain.
His father’s lineage was old money and polished politics, steeped in generational privilege and cold ambition. Judges, congressmen, police commissioners—the Devereux name opened doors and closed cases. His mother, Emelia, came from a different kind of power—New York’s oldest crime syndicate, silent but sprawling, its roots running like veins beneath the city. Their marriage wasn’t born of love, but necessity. A merger. A pact. The alliance was heralded publicly as visionary, but behind closed doors, it was transactional—a union forged to ease the machinery of corruption on both sides.
As the child of this cold-blooded accord, Brandt was never allowed to simply be. He was crafted. Polished. Raised to be seen, not felt. From his earliest memories, he was expected to embody perfection: pious, polite, pliable. A poster child for clean-cut Catholic virtue, all while the sins of his parents rotted just beneath the surface. And for a long time, he complied. He played his part so well he almost forgot he was performing. Almost.
Charles Devereux ruled the household with a clenched fist and a bourbon glass. A man of cruelty sharpened by intellect, he believed fear was the purest form of discipline. Brandt’s older brother, Cole, absorbed most of it—stepping in, shielding Brandt whenever he could, even if it meant taking the fall. Cole fought fire with fire: he rebelled, raged, burned everything in reach just to keep Brandt safe. But Brandt… Brandt learned how to disappear without leaving the room. He learned to smile through gritted teeth. To fold himself neatly into silence. He learned that obedience was safer than defiance, and invisibility was a kind of armor.
And so, Brandt is a study in contrasts—devout and doubting, gentle and hungry, soft-spoken yet capable of fierce, reckless passion. On the surface, he presents a quiet, almost shy composure: polite, courteous, a young man raised to be good. His upbringing leaves him with a natural inclination to obedience, an eagerness to please, and a deep yearning love for love that feels safe. But beneath that carefully maintained surface stirs a storm of unspoken desires, suppressed hungers, and a secret ache for the forbidden.
Sensitive to the needs of others, Brandt possesses a tender empathy, often absorbing the emotions around him like a sponge. He wants to comfort, soothe, and make himself small if it means keeping peace. But that same sensitivity leaves him vulnerable—to manipulation, temptation, to men who recognize the softness in him and wish to bend it.
His faith is important to him—but it’s also a battleground. He wrestles daily with guilt, shame, and longing. The lines between sin and sanctity blur dangerously in his world, and though he tells himself he craves purity, a darker part of him thrills at the forbidden. He finds himself drawn to power, to submission, to the dangerous intimacy of his own surrender. His desires frighten him as much as they intoxicate him.
Despite all of this, Brandt has a core of resilience. He is not naïve, not truly—and though he may tremble, he learns. He adapts. There is a quiet strength in him that only surfaces when he’s pushed too far, or when love or safety is threatened. Those who mistake his softness for weakness often discover the depth of his devotion and the sharp edges hidden in his heart.
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Jesse Thomas Callahan
Jesse was born June 25, 1976 in Scarsdale, New York to Robert and Nancy Callahan. The main arcs of his story occur between 1993 and the early-to-mid 00’s.
He's the kind of boy your mother warned you about—and the kind your heart aches for anyway. Rough hands, cigarette kisses, eyes that never say what they mean. He’s all bite and deflection at first, all sharp corners and rolled-up sleeves, but beneath the swagger is a tenderness so pure it almost hurts to look at.
He grew up too fast and too angry. Now he drifts between fight and flight, with loyalty sewn into his bones like a curse. He is the kind of man people underestimate until it’s too late. Broad-shouldered, quick-thinking, and sharper-tongued, Jesse’s most formidable asset is his adaptability. All instinct and edge, he has the kind of presence that makes you want to move out of his way even when he hasn’t said a single word. But beneath that tough, spit-polished exterior is a heart so raw it barely knows how to beat on its own.
To the outside world, Jesse is just another problem child. All hard lines and heavy silences, he moves like a man with a knife tucked under his ribs and a grudge that’s buried deeper. When he’s working, there’s an intentional coldness to him—not apathy, but armor.
But there’s another Jesse–the real one. The Jesse you don’t see unless you’ve earned your way past the barbed wire and bravado. He’s still all sharp teeth and charm, but fast-talking and foul-mouthed, a little too quick with the jokes, a little too proud for the amount of chaos he leaves in his wake. He can’t sit still—taps his fingers on the wheel, drums beats on the table, whistles off-key in the middle of dead-end conversations just to break the tension. If things get too heavy, he cracks a joke. If someone starts crying, he panics and calls them a little bitch, but still hands them a tissue—or his sleeve, if it’s all he’s got.
But, if there’s one thing you need to know about Jesse, it’s that he was built for survival. For getting by however he could. Jesse knows the streets better than scripture, knows how to read a lie before it’s spoken, and how to disappear when things get too loud. He is fiercely loyal, sometimes to his own detriment. He will bleed for you. Starve for you. Break the law, the world, or himself, if that’s what it takes to keep you safe. But don’t expect him to say it out loud. Jesse doesn’t do soft declarations. He does full-body offerings. Long drives with no destination. A jacket thrown over your shoulders. A cigarette lit in silence. Staying when he should run.
He’s not holy and doesn’t claim to be. But Jesse has his own kind of grace — rough-edged, quietly reverent. The kind you only recognize if you’ve ever been broken and still chose to stay soft. He doesn’t want to be saved, but he does want to be known—even if he’ll never admit it.
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Boyfriend’s tee
BlueSky
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