#gaming dubs

[ceragondubs]

Hello everyone! Today we have a spin-off for Rex Blanc, edited by Soulia Sora! We hope you enjoy! <3

[ddddd-pixels]

For International Asexuality Day, I'm hitting you all with the Ace Beam. ☺️

(This took a lot more effort than I thought it would, lol...)

Edit: 800 notes?! In less than five hours?! Thank you all so much!!

Edit 2: 2000... The most I got on any post before was just over a hundred, lol. You are all so nice!

[afterartist]

It’s badly layed out and the colours are wack but COMIC

Parallels between playable, blue coded, murder robots that drink blood and like coins

(I was thinking of also adding N from Murder drones here as well but i couldn’t fit the coin motif in with him :/ )

[xinyuehui]

It's sour??

[egophiliac]

This is a very random thing, but years ago I played a game where all the fae had Scottish accents, and I’ve never been able to imagine fae without Scottish accents since.

Therefore, I think that every fae in TWST has a Scottish accent. More specifically I’m convinced that Sebek has a Doric accent, and also that Silver actually has a Cockney accent.

I’ve been needing to share this with you for a while now, and I’m curious on your thoughts here.

ooh, that's a fun idea! I do see some Scottish inspiration in some of the little aspects we get to see of the fae culture (like the Day/Night courts, although they aren't quite as. extreme. as the Seelie/Unseelie :'). so it tracks!

I do like the idea of everyone having different accents in general! not in, like, a cartoonish or stereotypical way, but like...they're from all over the world, so I think it makes sense that that they wouldn't all speak with the equivalent of, like, a transatlantic accent. (...although that would actually be amazing in its own way, hold on --)

(there is something uniquely wonderful about the idea of Silver with a Cockney accent, thank you for bringing this into the world. his whole weird mix of formalities becomes that much better if you imagine he's never said an h in his life.)

[beauh]

Here are a bunch of comics by @the-hydroxian-artblog voiced over by me! Hope you enjoy!

[slutpoppers]

Diaboromon, Digimon the Movie

[soydoesart]

the dong

canon accurate dan + des

[reksink]

Requested Works from a Humble Swan 💚

[the-bitter-ocean]

(ACT 5 SPOILERS) Deciding to do more serious voiceovers of Mirabelle! You can find my other videos of me voicing her here and here!

[digital-chess]

"PENCILS? STICKERS? TNT? YOU WANT IT? ITS YOURS, MY DEAR! AS LONG AS YOU HAVE ENOUGH 💰BITCOIN💰!"

👑DIGITAL CHESS AU! 👑

Art by Raylee Anne

[y-psi-lon]

Walking through the Psychonauts world and pressing F at everything you see really pays off sometimes

average ten-year-old behaviour

[wri0thesley]

Diluc and L, pretty please!

L - Lily (purity): “I shouldn’t taint you like this. Not when you’re so pure.”

cw: injury, dub-con, captive reader

You're trembling. Diluc is blood-stained, his jaw set stubbornly, his clothes a mess of blood and charred carbon and mud and Archon-knows what else. You shouldn't have done this, you think, as his hand grasps your chin in his, as his fingers sink into the soft flesh of your cheek. He takes a slow, shuddering breath.

"You want to clean me up?" He asks you again, and you curse yourself for your own stupidity. He is your captor, not your lover. It can be hard to remember, wrapped in luxury, brought breakfast in bed by maids and dressed in pretty morning gowns of fabric you could never have afforded before Diluc's attentions - those days when Diluc is not here, and you can imagine Dawn Winery is yours.

But you are, at the heart of it, his captive.

When he is at home, he broods through the house; tells you shortly that you're not to leave this room, you're not to go onto the balcony without anyone with you, you're not to eat that, or say this, or forget your manners again. He sleeps beside you, arms like vices around your waist.

But he has not been home for two weeks, and when you had seen him at the door to your shared chambers, his face bruised and his lip swollen and bloody and his entire body bowed with exhaustion . . . you had forgotten all of it in a moment of weakness, and the memory of who you were before Diluc had made this your life had come rushing to the forefront.

You had seen to plenty of men and women injured like this, when you were in the employ of the Church of Favonius, running their clinics. You had patched up children's knees and sewn shut the wounds of the Knights with the same sweet smile and gentle disposition. You had learnt what to say to men like Diluc, who gritted their teeth and insisted it did not hurt and they did not need your assistance even as they fell to their knees on the marble floor of the cathedral and you had to ask some of the sisters to help carry them into the infirmary room.

You could backtrack. Slink back into bed, shake your head, say something about the mess and the scent of the blood--

But you couldn't really, could you? Diluc had - at least, he says - fallen in love with you in those little backroom infirmaries, elbow deep in blood and medicines and bandages. He had looked at your soft smile and heard your gentle voice and, he says, thought you far too sweet and precious a thing to languish there, at the mercy of any rogue who could walk into the Cathedral and ask for sanctuary. He would know you were lying.

You give him a wordless little nod instead, your face still cradled in his gloved hand. A look flits across his own visage; something so sweet and adoring and disbelieving it makes your stomach twist.

"I don't deserve you," he rumbles, and truer words have never been spoken, as he lets you take him gently by the arm and tug him towards the adjoining bathroom. You ignore the muddy boot-prints on the floor; you try and will yourself to imagine the Cathedral around you. Nothing more than Master Diluc Ragnvindr, needing your aid - you think, as your fingers reach for the fastening of his shredded, tattered jacket and push it off the broadness of his shoulders.

He lets out a hot breath that reminds you that this is not just an ordinary day at the Cathedral; looks at you through half-lidded eyes as you busy yourself with running warm water into the basin, searching for cloths and sponges. There is nothing untoward kept in this bathroom - Diluc does not even shave in here, lest you get the wrong idea about something sharp - but there are, thankfully, enough cloths and a tiny bottle of antiseptic, so that you can clean the wounds on his already scarred chest even as he hisses.

He . . . isn't often undressed around you.

That, he tells you, he will wait for - big soulful crimson eyes trained on you. Until you're ready. Until you realise just how hard he is working to take care of you and you return to him the affection he knows you have in your heart. He would never, he promises, hand on his heart, force you to do anything--

He says, as if you are not forced to play house like a pretty little spouse in his luxurious winery already. He says, as if you are not forced to bite down your growls and hisses and sharp words about the life he has stolen you from. He says, as if you are not forced to pretend you are someone else lest you simply go mad.

His breath is coming out in pants as you work your fingers through the matted crimson strands of his hair. His cheeks have flushed beneath your careful, slow attempts to clean him and his wounds. He groans, chest-deep, as you swallow and reach for his trousers, where you can already see that a gash on his thigh has stuck the fabric to his skin.

"This is how I fell in love with you," he grunts, as you manage to undo it, as your cheeks burn with humiliation as you undress him and he sits there, placid and silent. "So . . . lovely. So . . . caring. Even to those who don't deserve it." You kneel before him, so you can check over the wound to make sure there is nothing stuck in it--

And your mouth goes dry and fear and disgust war in the pit of your stomach as you realise he's hard, the stiff outline of his cock pressing against his underwear. Diluc reaches out for you, one hand curling around your shoulder, another soft groan falling from his mouth as he looks down at you.

You freeze where you are. The moment shimmers between you, charged with possibility, and you find yourself reciting a prayer to Barbatos in your head over and over again, muddling over the words in a fever pitch that Diluc will keep his word--

But he's been off ever since he limped into the Winery. Muddled. A blow to the head? Whopperflower nectar? Some creature's venom, some spell from the Abyss? You don't know what it is, only that Diluc is looking down at you and there is a hot, burning kind of hunger that he usually tries to hide written clear in his crimson gaze.

"You're so pretty down there," He says, voice low and dark and husky. "I . . . I shouldn't taint you like this. Not when you're so pure."

"Diluc?" Your voice comes out thready and reedy, your body trembling like a harp-string. "Let me patch you up--"

"No," Diluc says, more to himself than to you. "I've waited so long--"

The hand on your shoulder curves upwards, thumb brushing your collarbone, your jawline. You curse the thin little morning gown you'd let Adelinde dress you in this morning, the square neckline a little risque - giving Diluc unfettered access to the soft, vulnerable skin of your throat and your collar.

He's not interested in those, though. His thumb presses against the seam of your lips, instead. With a strength that an injured man should not possess, he uses his other hand to pull you closer at the same time as he hooks his thumb into your mouth, forcing it to open up.

Panic flaring in your mind. Diluc pulls your mouth open as wide as he can, uncaring that you're drooling - his eyes are somewhere far away now, as he mutters to himself--

"It's not so bad," he's saying, "I'm not . . . it's just your mouth, and I've been so calm, and you're so beautiful-- it won't . . . ruin you--"

"--'iluc--" You can't speak for his thumb in your mouth, for the saliva filling it, for the fear that runs through you as his other hand slowly goes to unbutton his placket as if in a trance.

"Shh," he says to you, and you have never heard a less reassuring hush. "It's alright, sweetheart. I would never hurt you. You offered, remember? I would never . . . force you to do anything--"

[xinyuehui]

⸺⸺ As long as the snow on the umbrella does not melt, you do not need to be afraid of anything.

[mintjeru]

i love him already, your honor

open for better quality | no reposts

[cosmoonex]

originally wanted to have this done by Hispanic Herriage month (ik i’m late) BUT

obscure host designs yay! don’t think i’ve seen anyone make designs for these two but here’s my take on Gutiérrez and the LA dub version of Schmitty + some headcanons!! 🦭

originally started working on them in like May but didn’t get around to finishing them till just recently 🙏 also is it obvious which of the two i projected onto the most 😭

+ some voice lines under the cut cus i don’t think many people have heard what either of em sound like

(i had two Josue clips but Tumblr would only let me post 1 WHYYYYY also sorry if my translation isn’t the best btw)

[TRANSLATION: Ah, how lucky! This is Quiplash 3 (Cruise Control). My name is Schmitty and you guys will come to hate me. Are we ready?]

and a Gutierréz line that someone posted a while ago