#hope that's okay :))
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"We don't hang around a lot of iron. Burns us and forces us to be, like, solid for a few ticks. Vulnerable. Don't wanna advertise it, do we?"
- Charles Rowland | Dead Boy Detectives S1E1
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lanterns-and-daydreams · 9 months ago
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Grayson: Do I look like I'm joking to you?!
Y/N:???
Y/N: you know how to do that???
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reedwojiraocean · 19 days ago
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I wanna hug u plz can I hug u :3
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of course!! :D
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zoklaanogar · 5 months ago
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need more interactions on ol' jonny boy.
like this for a lyric based starter , taking place in various different verses. feel free to specify a verse. multis , please specify which muse you would like the starter for.
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meadow-roses · 6 months ago
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Artfight attack on @crystallink of her OC Black!
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idiots-assembled · 1 year ago
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requested by @m0ose-idiot
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introvertedexhuastedpigeon · 6 months ago
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titan luz moodboard
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0ccuria · 9 months ago
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We are in our own little Halsin Echo Chamber 🤝
@silveredbark @pedros-immaculate-vibes @commandershepardvasfuckit
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mono-socke · 11 months ago
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Day 4: Squipped Character
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thishazeleyeddemon · 1 year ago
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I'm serious: what format do you read in?
:0
Hi 👋 sorry for immediately forgetting to answer. Usually ebooks these days - I remembered I have a library card literally the moment after I sent that ask, which is. Embarrassing - but I really like reading physical books still? I wanted to save a little and buy the hardcover of Sleep No More, I like hardcover books.
Does. That answer the question shshskdks
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forestofforever · 6 months ago
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@arcanescholxr
👹- put my muse under mind control and convince them they are a beast or monster of your muse’s choosing. - Benjamin convincing Dwight he's turning into some kind of wild beast and he's the only one who can help him...? 👀
Dwight felt sweat start to bead on his forehead. His hands were clammy and there was an aching sensation in his jaw and muscles. He rubbed his arms up and down himself in an attempt to soothe him. Then he had to stop himself because his rubbing turned to running his nails up and down his arms, as if he were trying to scratch his own skin off. Something was growing beneath him. Something was changing inside of him. It was beginning to frighten him and he couldn’t remember what triggered this. Everything seemed so normal and fine and then…it changed. Dwight looks over to Benjamin with tears in his eyes. “I don’t understand…what’s happening to me?”
It was a truly delicious sight; the other man desperately trying to soothe himself and failing miserably, then turning to him for guidance and comfort. When he spoke his voice was calm and gentle.
"I'm not sure, dear. What are you feeling? Try to walk me through it."
He was eager to hear what the other had to say. Sure, Benjamin could read him like a book, the man was clearly uncomfortable and anxious, his mind playing tricks on him and his body joining in to make it all even more confusing and upsetting, but there was something especially satisfying about hearing it be put into words... well, that and of course the other being unaware of the fact that it was Benjamin who was responsible for all this. He'd have to act like an innocent bystander, entirely unaware of what was happening to the poor lad, in order to win his trust.
"Tell me. I'm here to help you."
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gallawitchxx · 1 year ago
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sunday picrew + tunes 🪩 😎
i was tagged by my beloveds @heymrspatel @creepkinginc @whatwouldmickeydo @metalheadmickey @transmickey @whatthebodygraspsnot & @darlingian to do this picrew! & then some of them also wanted me to share some songs i listen to on repeat! thanks pals, ily pals! 🎵🖤
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when you're being to me, you're being mean to yada yada yada...
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🎶 spotify ON REPEAT 🎶
shuffle your on repeat playlist and list the first 10 songs that play, tag 10 people.
one more weekend - maude latour
home by now - MUNA
you make it easy - red hearse
too much - carly rae jepsen
papercuts - landon conrath
what’s it gonna be? - shura
silhouettes - colony house
so hot you’re hurting my feelings - caroline polachek
flatline - orla gartland
what if i love you - gatlin
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tagging @abundanceofnots @crossmydna @energievie @look-i-love-u @ian-galagher @juliakayyy @lupeloto @sam-loves-seb @ritualpyre @deedala @too-schoolforcool @sickness-health-all-that-shit & whoever else wants to play! xx
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appleciders · 2 years ago
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1x03 | 1x05 | 1x08 | 1x10
[ID: four gifs of Grace throughout Bad Sisters. ID credit to @dagswaniels, with some additions!
Grace is asleep, dreaming about her and John Paul's cabin exploding. As she dreams, her face appears troubled. Her left hand, prominently displaying her wedding ring and holding knitting needles with teal yarn, twitches.
In another scene, Grace is knitting a red scarf, but she pauses as she looks out the window, then glances over to the side table where a picture of her, Blanaid, and John Paul is sitting. The walls behind her are teal.
Grace is watching TV, holding a ball of teal yarn in one hand and winding it with the other, wrist still wrapped from her fall. The pillows behind her are also teal.
Clearly emotional and exhausted, Grace sits on a teal couch in her and John Paul's cabin, knitting a red scarf as she watches a movie on the TV. Her brows twitch at something onscreen.
end ID]
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burnedelytra · 2 months ago
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Door
- @underground-potato-farm
Philza could see his breath in the frigid artic air. He held his side where blood pooled, dripping onto the fresh snow as he limped back home. The "Immortal" Had barely escaped, almost lost his title as the man who never dies. Of course that was more in the grand scheme. If you're looking for a man who never loses, that's his son. Who he was returning home to see now. The artic empire. Their empire. It would be under siege soon. He needed to recover quick, of course getting to their home was never an easy part. It's miles of fresh snow and chunks of ice, finally entering a cave and seeing the start of stones they had placed. the far off glow of a furance and torches. "Techno!" He calls to his friend, his comrad, his family. The bleeding hadn't stopped. He finally reaches the piglin, working to catch his breath in the low glow of their frozen home. "They're coming. there was too many of them. I'm sorry" Several arrows had pierced his black wings, A large gash along his left side and blood staining his hands from where he tried to stop his own injuries.
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soulstagger · 3 months ago
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Hawk has always been a bit of a clown. Sure she was flirty and good in combat, but she was a jokster. Very different from a lot of comapny Tone would keep.
What she did not know, however, was that Hawk was keeping her safe from the shadows. Here they were, in a tavern, trying to get some rest. Tone would, eventually, fall asleep. As she did, a shadow of an assassin appeared on her window, getting ready to sneak in and kill her...or he would have, had an arrow how been shot through his skull before he could break in. Hawk appeared and covered his mouth before he could scream, then she would gently pull the villain away from the window and snuck away from the corpse. Hawk would bury the would be assassin far away from the tavern, and sneak back into Tone's room.
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"So beautiful..." She muttered quitely and cleared some of her white hair away from her face. "I don't know why I feel this way but...I love you..." She whispered before turning away, Hawk had a feeling these feelings wouldn't be returned.
Hawk would creep out of Tone's room and gently close the door before returning to her own room...after getting some empty beer bottles from the bar...
Tone would wake up the next day to find Hawk, laying on her bed, with bottles of alcohol scattered all over the place. Of course she would not know that these were placed. Hawk would wake up and stretch.
"Ohh~! Drank a lot haha...good morning captain!" She saluted Tone tiredly.
I sat on this but I feel like, its nice and genuine to read on its own.
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ragesin · 7 days ago
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@gluttons the hand that offers is a dangerous one
Whispers of this abhorred existence first encroached upon his ears amidst offers of worship, tormented wails and prayers of plight laid to rest at his feet by mothers, sisters, and daughters ( ishtar, goddess of love, goddess of war / i have cried to thee, suffering, wearied, and distressed, as thy servant / see me o my lady, accept my prayers ). The source of their woes ? A pitiable creature, demonic in nature but lacking in many respects. The ingredients were there, laying dormant within the spectrum, twisting and writhing within an half built cathedral of snarling voracity, a shade seeking to feel that void in his soul with that of others offered upon the crumbling altar. Another wayward soul born from remnants of flame as it left the hearth, dull spark that managed to persist, casting frail shadows as a flickering ember gasping for oxygen.
Gluttonous greed served as the sinner's sole guide, the ways of the world lost to him and born as a loveless thing, hidden away from the gaze of the Demon King. That’s the difference between demons like Meliodas and demons like them, between rhaidu and the rats that scurried in their darkness.
Ignorance was bliss, but such self deception could lead a starving being straight into the ravenous maw of the unseen, canines and molars prepared to snap shut the moment threshold was passed, foolishness blinding sight to the hand of the waiting beast that had first offered its mercy.
Come, Meliodas / son & father / God proclaimed, appearing human-like, the shadow of death cloaking his shoulders, eyes giving away nothing and teeth flashing in a baring of fangs, all predator - meets - prey as he stared down the other. For you are young and have strayed from your true people. The shepherd has come to save you from yourself. Curb your self, allow the Demon King’s will to fill your incomplete soul once more and remember that which you must have forgotten: His glory. Honour him. The moment one knows themselves, they will know of Him. So that your days may be long, you can still find your salvation in the Lord.
The starving being dared to reject, to spurn generosity and sink teeth into exposed flesh, seeking another meal. A mistake. Is it any wonder then, why a firmer hand was required ?
The prince bore the title of 'the Love'. Not the Forgiveness.
He understood in a way. From time to time, that fleeting desire to consume, as love was many things and one such face it wore was that of hunger. He understood as well that true repentance came with screams and pain, it came with the one in the wrong brought low by their own actions. To eat is to be prepared to be eaten. Meliodas would accept this demon into his embrace. To open his eyes, he would allow this creature to feel his love.
A deep love. A great love. A love powerful and formidable. A love that crushed like a mace.
And it was time for Meliodas to open his jaws, fangs gleaming with anticipation, and take a bite.
It made sense to him, with what he knew of love ( what did he know, what manner of loveless creature are you yourself to lay claim ) and how you must restrain the self at times.
Love will set people free: it will tear apart your body to escape measly confines and then hungrily feed on the remains, descending like a wild beast upon any carcass rotten enough for a picky tongue. An agonizing dance of pity and reducing emotions to ashes, an affair bereft of hatred. It’s torture. An event defined by the psychological element, the bloodshed secondary. A cycle of self destruction, peace and violence intertwine. There's never one without the other. But there’s a certain holiness to the shedding of blood, to be dipped in a river of red and be cleansed, to be purified by the heat coursing through the veins, to taste the metallic tang of violence and lick the knife dry.
So he gifted 'care' the only way he knew how.
For the demon, Meliodas was the cool knife tracing pulses of life, searching for just the right spot across an unblemished canvas to press the edge in and dye it all a new color. He was the fingers taking care to burst blood vessels, coaxing bruises into existence under his touch, porous bone creaking under steadily rising pressure before giving away with a mangled crack, digging into sockets between gore-stained cheeks to leave them hollowed. He was the dark sword descending upon exposed planes of flesh and carving through mutilated limbs.
Meliodas would not deny basking in that familiar medley of sustained agony, of drinking in the flurry of emotions twisting expressions and the flood of tears, of watching the life rush out from punctures he left behind and feeling it in turn rush through him.
He took another bite. A bud of muscle and sinew splintered open, a flower of pulpy bloodstains and split veins from the tombstone of a judged body. Beckoned claws gripped and peeled back the weeping wounds further, allowing the flower to bloom, allowing it to rot.
( the pain he inflicts feels so good / he wants another taste of this terrible intoxication corrupting his blood / he wants more despair and to share in this violence / sacrifice yourself on his obsidian altar and make him feel alive )
He bit down harder. Blood dripped from his plate, clotting on the ground, feeding the sandy dirt. Another missing piece laid bare for hungry eyes to devour, overflowing and never ending, staining white attire / arms / static face. Meliodas was a messy eater and had a bad tendency of playing with his food, savoring the taste, breaking it apart piece by piece. He took his time. Long enough for the maggots and insects to start trying to pick at the scraps left in his destructive wake.
When the time teetered on the edge of the final bite, to consume the last of this dark entity into himself, he dangled the last morsel over a waiting maw, above the gaping abyss hungry for more, before deciding to set it back down. He's been an end to many. Not this one, not yet. It's too soon to let him go. Suffering was not physical alone, it pierced into the flesh, seeped between the ribs, pooling in the chambers of the heart to take root inside the soul. Meliodas wanted to fester between the homegrown rot of this demon’s ribs, to see just how deeply he deserved suffering. Oh so very few people were willing in their penitence, and it couldn’t be properly learned if one perished before it stuck.
Environment covered in blood, light draped the sea of carnage like a lover’s touch, soft, encompassing, illuminating as dust danced like motes upon a sunbeam, a morbid display only one of the two discovered a modicum of satisfaction in. There would be no paradise awaiting this sinner beyond mortal coil of life. Just this. Just Meliodas. As he bent his knees and rested on his heels before the other demon, both silent, both bathed in waves of red, crimson scattered among golden locks and emotionless face, the idea Meliodas had been rolling on the edge of his tongue settled in the back of his throat, saved for dessert after completion of the main course.
Again, he offered his hand.
Already the magic in him began to stir under the skin, dried crimson flakes dissipating into flecks of ash under the trembling of power coursing through him, invisible words and intentions drawing from the dark well within and tugging on the divine thread of the fathomless darkness. Eventually, the gored remnants of a hand flopped uselessly into his waiting palm, robbed of strength to the point it almost immediately slipped away.
Only then, as Meliodas curled his fingers, a gentle, firm hold, refusing to let that fate happen, did he allow himself to smile and began to chant.
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