#lord decibel is god
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Okay, so I’ve been thinking about this for a long time, and…
Guys, I need your honest opinions:
What would the Ben 10 community be like if Lord Decibel sang “Make It Mine” from The Adventures of Elmo in Grouchland?
The reason why I ask this is because “Make It Mine” has been my favorite song since I was a newborn, and Lord Decibel is my most favorite character in the whole world. Therefore, two of my favorite things can be combined into one, right? I also think it would be nice if he had a musical number like that, especially since he’s a villainous musician. Like, how could a musical villain exist without a musical number of their own? If only he had one, we could learn about his backstory, and his motives as an evil DJ.
ONLY IF it was to happen, Lord Decibel would (obviously) take the role of Huxley, and his hype team could take the role of the pesties (Lord Decibel’s gonna need to expand his hype team to do that). I don’t know who would play the role of Bill the Bug, to be honest. But other than that, seeing and hearing Lord Decibel sing “Make It Mine” would be a dream come true!
To those who hasn’t seen or even heard of The Adventures of Elmo in Grouchland, here’s the link to the song: https://youtu.be/HT5mWEWTb6A?si=4yIDJelksaRSsIbS
Comment down below what your thoughts are on this topic. I’d love to hear your opinions, just as long as it’s nothing rude, offensive, or unholy.
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mannequinreligi0n · 5 months ago
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Sins
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priest!Vergil listens to your confession
pairing: priest!Vergil x nun!reader (mostly gn pronouns)
wc: 1380
warnings: mentions of religion
author’s note: priest vergil save me…..save me priest vergil…..might write a second part that’s actually spicy to this if there’s a demand for it. also i’m too lazy to proofread so you get what you get !
⛪️⛪️⛪️⛪️⛪️⛪️⛪️⛪️⛪️⛪️⛪️⛪️
The seven o’clock mass had ended well over an hour ago, yet stray sinners still lined up to have their confessions heard. As the line dwindled, you wandered methodically around the church to dim the various lights and lanterns perched on pillars, leaving only the votive candles left to illuminate the grand hall. Every Sunday evening, your branch held an evening mass that was near identical to the morning service for those who couldn’t attend earlier in the day. Your fellow brothers and sisters of the church often rotated duties and you were fortunate enough to be left with attending the evening service, with hopes you could catch Father Vergil once confession had concluded.
There were two other nuns pacing about, helping escort leaving patrons out and collecting prayer books from pews, but they paid little mind to you. It was another twenty minutes before the final church-goer exited the confessional, signing himself with the cross as a nun came over to take his hand in prayer as they walked to the front door. The other nun followed loosely behind, closing stray doors, leaving only you in the echo chamber of the lord. You continue your duties of straightening the prayer candles when a loud creak of wood perks your ears. A series of expensive footsteps followed, a decibel louder with each step.
“Sister, you’re still here? The sun will set within the hour.”
You turn to acknowledge the voice: it’s Father Vergil, but you already knew that. You had practically studied the rhythm in his walk, the cadence of his voice, the soft aroma of myrrh and lavender that clouded him.
“Apologies, Father. I wished to do my work to the best degree, no matter the position of the sun. It is what our lord in heaven would wish.”
You bowed your head in atonement, not wanting to disrespect him in the slightest. It is only when you heard a hum of amusement from the priest that your head raised, greeted with stormy eyes and a smile of grace.
“God would forgive you for turning in early, sister,” Father Vergil mused, chuckling lightly. “Come, let me walk you out.”
You look down to see Father Vergil’s arm extended to you, an offering from above. If god knew of your sins, why was he indulging you with such a delight? Perhaps this was a test of faith. With hesitation, you take his arm, immediately reveling in the warmth of it. Shaking your head, you try to rid yourself of sinful thoughts, only to garner more attention from the priest. He stops you both from walking any further, you two standing in between the pews. Father Vergil turns to directly face you, clasping his hands over yours with concern and sincerity.
“You seem troubled, my child. Is there something you wish to share?”
Your eyeballs almost bulge out of your head from the accusation and touch of his hands. God has spoken to him of your impurities! Our benevolent lord has enlightened your dear priest with the knowledge of your thoughts. You immediately collapse before him to your knees, still grasping at his hands for a semblance of rapture.
“Oh, Father! I am not worthy to stand in the home of God beside you! I have betrayed my teachings, my very essence by entertaining these plaguing voices from the devil, himself!” you blubbered out, tears of shame cascading down your face.
Your hands shake as you grip his hands, fearing that he’ll turn his merciful eyes from you. The shake of your body is so persistent that your veil falls from your head, exposing your hair to the dimming light shining through the stained windows. Father Vergil stares at you with utter confusion, unsure where this fit arose from. His eyes flicker between your white knuckles and desperate eyes, not sure what “thoughts” you could be alluding to.
“Dear child, what has troubled you so?” Father Vergil questions softly, slowly bending down to speak more directly. “You are safe, and with God as my witness, I will not pass judgment on your sins. Please, share your burden with me.”
With tear-soaked cheeks, you swallow hard and bring your attention back up to him. “I wish to confess, Father,” you say meekly, “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. A terrible, crude sin.”
Father Vergil lowers himself to his knees to sit across from you, still holding your hands. He nods for you to continue.
“It has been weeks- no, months, that my mind has wandered a dark path. I pray to God every night to take these…these obscene a-and lewd thoughts from me, but I fear I have strayed too far from Him, as He remains silent to me,” you exclaim to him.
Intrigued, Vergil raises an eyebrow. “What thoughts exactly?” his voice careful.
“I….I am not sure if I have the heart to voice them, Father,” you say, a frown plastered on your face.
“I understand this is difficult, Sister, but to receive penance and be absolved, you must confess to God,” Father Vergil sighs, squeezing your hands, “Has no one condemned you?… Neither do I condemn you.”
“John 8:11,” you say promptly, recognizing the verse.
Father Vergil nods and smiles gently, nodding once more. “Confess, and you will be rid of such sin.”
You look down at your joined hands and breathe deep, saying a silent prayer to God before speaking.
“Father…..I have been riddled with…disgraceful thoughts of you. I hear you speak sweet nothings to me in the lonesome night; I feel your skin on mine in times of need. I fear that my devotion to God has transformed into the devotion of you.”
Vergil’s smile falls as you speak, a cold, unreadable expression glossing over. He untangles his hands from yours and grasps at the rosary draped over his chest.
“Sister,” he starts, eyeing you warily, “such thoughts have challenged even the strongest of God’s creatures. But to worship someone other than our lord…it is sacrilege.”
There’s a long pause as Father Vergil closes his eyes, deep in thought. You watch his nose scrunch in the dim candlelight, wrinkles forming on his marble-carved face.
“You must try to rid your pure mind of such fallacies, in order to receive penance. Let us pray,” Vergil orders, making the sign of the cross. You follow suit, ‘in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit,’ and clasp your hands together to your chest, bowing your head to them. You listen intently as Father Vergil recites a prayer asking for your forgiveness, soaking in every word. Even now, you can’t help but feel a warmth in your body at the hushed, intimate tone of his voice. Pushing the desires down, you return your focus in time to end the prayer, echoing Vergil’s ‘amen’.
You open your eyes to see him standing, offering a hand to help you up. You take it and grab your fallen veil off the tile. Fixing it back in place, Vergil takes a few steps back from you and seems to be mumbling a small prayer to himself, twisting the cross on his rosary in his delicate fingers. You brush off the dust and wrinkles from your garb and clear your throat.
“Shall I continue my duties for the ni-“
“No,” Vergil promptly interrupts, “no, I think I can finish closing up myself. It would be best if you found your way home.”
There’s a pang in your chest, an arrow to your heart, at the stark dismissal. You wanted to say more to him, to apologize profusely, but you knew it would only make things worse. You bowed your head in obedience.
“Yes, Father.”
You crossed yourself one last time before turning on your heels to leave, the clicking of your shoes reverberating off the church walls. Father Vergil watched you as you scurried out, tail between your legs. Everything happened so quickly that he didn’t get a chance to voice that he, too, was struggling with his faith in your presence, and instead, projected his shame onto you. Vergil exhaled the breath he’d been holding and walked into the pew of the first row, kneeling down and clasping his sweating hands together.
“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”
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callme-flower · 10 months ago
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*In the past*
Lord Decibel:*cries*Daddy,my tummy hurts very bad
His dad:What else?
Lord Decibel:I'm bleeding
His dad:Ah,it's normal dear.It's just your period.Didn't your mom told you?
Lord Decibel:It's supossed to hurt that bad?
His dad:It's normal so you should stop crying about it and take some ibuprofen
*In the present*
Lord Decibel:Tiara,my tummy hurts.
I think my period came
Tiara:Do you want ibuprofen?
Lord Decibel:YES,PLEASE!*passes out from the pain*
Tiara:OH MY GOD!
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maid-en-gubal · 1 year ago
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The Great Gubal Library had many rules. This was true both before and long after her abandonment.
‘You mustn’t run, it’s unprofessional.’
‘Speak no louder than 60 decibels.’
‘Those who can, smile. Everyone else, gazes down.’
It had been nigh over a decade since visitors decorated her hallowed halls and, admittedly, administration had grown lax without the constant vigil of their Sharlayan lords. But there was still an order to be found amongst the ageless denizens that had been left behind. Rules had been made an unmade to reflect changes in the unwitting society, but there were three in particular that were not so easily forgotten. Three indelible and inalienable laws all but carved into their very souls, artificial or no.
Denizens may not injure guests or, through inaction, allow a guest to come to harm.
Denizens must obey orders given by Sharlayans except where such orders would conflict with the first law.
Denizens must protect their own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the first or second law.
There wasn’t really any room for contemplation when it came to these ordinances. More so, they weren’t allowed to. The specifics were unclear to them, but all the library’s fiends knew that there was something inside them that prevented them from doing so; from questioning their makers or voicing any dissatisfaction, much less acknowledging it.
So Rofan could only watch as their kin was slaughtered. They’d been laid low only moments prior, paper limbs scorched and ground to nothing during the onslaught of the invasion. In the chase to seize the raiders, they’d lost a leg back in the Astrology and Astromancy Camera, practically dragging their smoldering shell through the School of Fantastics, only to be pathetically thwarted before the height of the battle in the Rhapsodies Quadrangle. Still yet, the red, hot talons of Orders and Directives pulled at their strings, willing them to stand on nonexistent legs to defend their stronghold.
All around, the dust of rubble and slain imps dissipated into the air, the Logos having fallen in the hall before. But surely the Everliving Bibliotaph would prevail, they’d been the strongest of them all. And yet, the barbarians persisted, pushing the repository’s final guardian ever further back until it fell to its knees.
‘But of course,’ the paper doll thought ruefully. ‘What god would listen to voidsent prayers?’
And as if to further make a mockery of their futile resistance, the incessant alarm of defense stopped, instantaneously with nary an echo of its earlier frenzy. Weightless shoulders sagged, not in relief but as if those strings that had been propelling them had suddenly snapped sending them crashing to the floor.
And Rofan could only watch.
Horror did not stay long, the thing inside betraying them as it always had. Because as the monsters stood victorious in the heart of their home – nay, the Archons, for who else but they could make such a treacherous descent – they’d left their mark on the Great Gubal Library, usurped the honor of “guests” and made themselves untouchable by the surviving staff. And the thing inside rejoiced. Against their will, it memorized the warriors’ aetheric signatures.
‘1) Denizens may not injure guests,’ Rofan recalled with strained cheer.
‘2) Denizens must obey orders given by Sharlayans,’ they prompted, remembering to bow their head as the Heroes passed the way they came, apparent prize in hand.
‘3) Denizens must protect their own existence –’
Beastly wails bellowed through the cavernous room as steel met voidal flesh and the number of survivors dwindled by one more.
‘-as long as such protection does not conflict with the first or second law.’
The Great Gubal Library had been violated and all any of them could do was writhe in artificial euphoria.
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sylverstorms · 3 years ago
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Jinx x Vel ----Two Wrongs Make A Right Ch.1
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[Jinx]
Boom boom boom, echoes the beat of the bass in The Last Drop.
The decibels are really cranked up tonight, turning the space into a cosy, tinted shaker of too-bright neons, alcohol and drugs. Lots and lots of drugs. All sort of smokes linger in the cloying air, obscuring faces and modified body parts alike. The scenery is reminiscent of a chaotic little dream, much like the ones usually Jinx has.
When she sleeps, that is.
Except it’s not a dream –she’s, like, eighty percent sure, anyway— because those involve familiar faces leaving her behind in the dark and violence from the get-go. They definitely don’t start off with Silco behind his office, lips downturned more than usual, giving her a long lecture about being more ‘tactful’ on missions.
It was quite full of tact, in her opinion, how she blew those Firelights sky-freaking-high, thank you very much. From Firelights to Fire-works. Ha. Boom. That’ll teach ya.
‘Go on, laugh at how you jinxed everything again.’ the voices in her head pop up to say, louder than ever after the incident.
They’re the reason she’s down here instead of her hideout, hoping to drown in noise so they quiet in comparison, as well. It’s too naive to hope they’ll leave her completely. They never do.
But the plan doesn’t seem to be working all that great.
She grits her teeth, touches her fingers to the side of her head, pushes through a group of people who do not dare to think of pushing back –they value their lives, smart choice— on her way to the counter.
‘You jinxed it~’
Stop it! I didn’t!
‘You Jinx!’
“Shut up!” she exclaims.
Azure eyes blink at her. “Uh… I… guess you don’t want a drink, then?”
Jinx finds herself staring at an unfamiliar face, one that is a tad too good-looking for a place like this. All smooth, olive skin, seemingly untouched by Zaun’s pollution. Pretty lips pushed together into a tiny frown, slender neck decorated by the very edge of a tattoo showing at her left side. Whoever that is, either they’re new or she finally lost it enough to see Bert’s pug-mug as this thing of beauty.
A very plausible scenario.
“You’re not Bert.” Jinx says. She’s not sure if it’s a statement or a question. Or both.
The woman’s lip tugs a little upwards at the very edge. Like the tip of a knife. “Thank the gods for that. Isn’t that the guy who got shot by the Boss in the face, last week?”
“Ooooh.” Jinx’s mouth forms a circle. Now I remember. Silco shot his brains out, of course he doesn’t bartend anymore. Or… do much of anything, anymore. “Yeah. Yeah. yeah, I was there. It was –that was something.” A pause. “Tragic.”
“Is it? Apparently he was selling out secrets to the Chem-Lords.” Miss Looker bartender counters.
Jinx tilts her head left and right. “Maybeee… but he made that killer cocktail for me.” she huffs, saddened at the loss. Of the drink, of course. “A little sweet and a smidge sour –I hate bitter— and there was a hint of cherry there as well…”
“I can try to make a new one for you.” she offers with an easy shrug. “Who knows, maybe you’ll like it better.”
‘Her efforts will go wasted on you. Like everything else is.’
Shut up, shut up!
A minute later, a bubbly, fizzy cocktail is slid in front of Jinx. Deeper blue hues start at the bottom of the glass, leading up into teal bubbles that fly over a soft pink sheen at the very top. At one edge, a tiny umbrella-pick adds further flare. And it’s cool. Jinx will admit that it’s cool.
When she tries it, that word changes to fanta-fucking-tabulous. There’s just the right amount of sweet and sour in the taste, a perfect aftertaste of cherry on top of gin and whatever else is in the explosion of flavor on her tongue. And Jinx likes explosions very, very much.
This—wow. This is new.
People always try to impress her –that’s not new— hoping to get on Silco’s good graces. However, they usually fail miserably at the execution. Contrary to popular belief, she’s not easily impressed. At all. The drink, though? It gets a solid ten out of ten from her.
“Okay, okay, this goes pretty wild~” Jinx giggles. “We’re saving this as my ‘usual’ from now on.”
Pretty-and-skilled-what-a-combo bartender smiles. “Sure thing.”
A few men in line are starting to wear deeply unpleasant expressions at being left waiting, but Jinx sends them a look over her glass that makes them rethink whatever colorful thing they were about to say to the woman behind the counter.
“What are ya gonna name it?” she asks.
“Blue—”
“Booooring.” she calls out, to which her company gives a chuckle.
“How about… the Ka-Bloom.” The bartender suggests.
Yes, that definitely has the pow vibe! Jinx laughs. “I like it!”
Sadly, no good thing lasts for long in Zaun and especially in her life. Sevika finds that moment to walk up to the counter –and the bartender straightens up at the sight of her. Gone is the conversation that somewhat began to lift Jinx’s spirits, at just a few curt words:
“Change of plans. We’re leaving now. Gear up.”
-
-
Apparently, there’s a few new recruits around that Jinx had no idea about. With older members getting hurt or killed more frequently as of late, it makes sense Silco took freshies in.
Most of them are too terrified to talk to her, though. When, out of sheer, unadulterated boredom, she talks to them during missions, they are so clearly scared shitless of her reputation they make even less sense than she usually does. And that is saying something. That’s saying a lot.
Then, there’s thatone. The silent one. Umbra. Or something.
Sevika has taken a liking to them and keeps them firmly away from Jinx, like a precious stone found amongst trash that needs to be kept off grabby hands.
The ogre will deny it if asked, of course, but Jinx is good at recognizing patterns even when there’s seemingly none. When she’s on one side of the Undercity, Umbra is sent the opposite way. When they’re in the same mission, it’s always tasks that don’t overlap. When she asks about the person behind the mask, Sevika tells her that ‘curiosity killed the cat.’
Well, cats have nine lives and this one is very curious indeed.
So, on what is quickly proving to be the most dead-ass-dull Shimmer shipments of the entire year, Jinx abandons her position and very stealthily sneaks over to the area Sevika’s golden newbie is overlooking.
The dark figure’s back is turned to her. The hood of their shawl is pulled up, its frayed edges swept by the night breeze. Jinx giggles mutely to herself as she approaches her unsuspecting prey…
“I’m not supposed to talk to you during missions.” the heavily altered voice of the person ahead comes, vaguely feminine, beneath the filters of her mask.
“Pff.” Jinx scoffs as she jumps forward, landing in a seated position on the railing beside the mystery woman. She was hoping to catch a glimpse of a face, but the silvery metal of her mask hides everything. Boo. “Says who.”
A huff. “Sevika’s orders.”
“Technically, Ioutrank her.” Jinx points a thumb to her puffed chest, smirking.
‘But she’s infinitely more useful that you?’ the voice of Mylo in her head counters. ‘Silco trusts her more. Much, much more! He can’t possibly count on a Jinx.’
“Technically, I don’t want to get in trouble with any of the higher-ups.” Umbra shrugs.
Jinx frowns at her. Sticks out her tongue. “Figures you and the ol’ Ogre would get along. You’re bo-o-ring as allllllllllll—”
She never gets to finish that sentence. Umbra’s head snaps up, at the same time as her hand flies to Jinx’s nape and sharply pulls her down. The blue-haired troublemaker both hears and feels bullets graze right past her shoulders, two of which ricochet off the armored arm around her.
“Intruders!” Umbra shouts, alerting the rest of Silco’s men just as Firelights swarm the place in their flying skaters.
Jinx has a score to settle with them after last time.
“Come get it, you little shits!” she shouts, running at them, raining fire with her custom-made pistol. Her mark is on point, already knocking one to the ground.
‘Kill, kill, kill. It’s what you’re best at!’ the voices taunt over the cacophony of shots fired at every direction. Howls of pain grace the night, from both sides. Blood splatters everywhere like paint. There’s too much noise and that triggers her—
But Jinx fights to keep a solid grip on who the enemies are, this time. I won’t fuck this up again, I won’t fuck this up—
She repeats her own personal mantra, until a hoverboard knocks into her from the side. Jinx grunts in pain as she’s sent crashing into the nearest wall. That is surely gonna leave a nasty bruise over her tattoos for a while. She hates when that happens. She hates it!
Looking past the stray blue bangs of her fringe that fall before her eyes, she sees himstanding there. He’s guy who led the first assault –where she lost it and attacked even her own men— she’s sure. Same mask, same thirst for vengeance in his attacks.
Good. Jinx wanted to get back at that one the most.
Both of them lift their guns at the same time; their bullets clash and destroy each other in mid-air. Shoulders tense, muscles coiled, they each prepare to lunge forward for a real battle—
And then a Shimmer crate blows up.
The shockwave that spreads through the open space nearly wrecks the ground itself. Jinx is thrown off balance, while plumes of purple smoke rise up everywhere. By the time she manages to see past them…
A ticking bomb is already hovering half a meter from her face.
Oh, shit… shit!
Jinx doesn’t look away from the end. Instead, blue eyes stare right into the object soon to destroy her. Part of her even welcomes it. What better way to go out than with a bang? This is the only logical conclusion to her life, anyway. Sooner or later, it doesn’t change much.
Then a shadow flashes out of the smoke in front of her, smacks the bomb away—
Boom.
It’s one of the more frightening explosions she has experienced in her life. Not the grandest by any means, although high up the list for sure due to its proximity. Jinx is once again knocked into the wall along with her savior… but she survives.
She can tell, when her brain can function again past the maddening ringing of her ears, that she’s mostly unharmed. Nothing feels missing. Nothing feels broken.
Sapphires blink several times to focus again. When they do, it’s not the faceless metallic mask of Umbra that they land on. There, gripping her right side for dear life, is a very familiar visage;
Jinx gasps. “You’rethe hot bartender?”
Umbra forces a grin past the pain that’s got her doubled over. “Name’s—” A cough. “Vel.”
When they both look up to the sky next, the Firelights are retreating, mere dots in the far distance.
Sevika’s sharp yell breaks past the seconds-long silence that takes place. “They’ve put explosives on the main shipment! There’s no time!”
Jinx had never thought it possible for that woman to sound desperate, before.
It doesn’t take a genius to figure out they’re all royally screwed, that she shouldn’t be more-or-less happy to survive just yet because that’s still being determined. If the main crate goes up in flames, there’s not a snowflake’s chance in hell any of them is getting out of the blast radius in time.
“Well, oh well. It was nice meeting you, Vel!” Jinx pats her on the back.
“No, no.” Azure eyes blaze. “I won’t die here! Help me get to the container.” One would wonder where such steely determination stems from.
Who am I to deny a dying gal’s request? Jinx half-lifts, half-supports her weight to where the explosives are steadily counting the final seconds of all their lives down.
“Not like this…!” Sevika is hissing in the background.
Jinx makes a grimace. Stares back at Vel’s long fingers carefully removing the bomb’s lid, to get to the circuitry beneath. She leans over her shoulder to examine their odds of survival, as well, catching a faint whiff of orchids and smoke from her unruly dark hair in the process.
“Fuck.” they breathe out in unison.
At least they arrive to the same conclusion instantly; they have exactly a twenty percent chance to see the next sunrise. Before them lay five colorful wires… and only one stops the countdown. The rest simply detonate the whole thing early.
With twenty seconds on the clock, Jinx laughs.
She tries to hold it in, she really does. But she just can’t.
And she shouldn’t break into a chuckling fit, she knows, because some people are actually taking their own imminent death quite seriously… but it’s just too funny to her that her survival ultimately comes down to the one thing she lacked her entire life;
Luck.
Hahahaha!
“Let me do the honors.” Jinx offers, so the others hate her and not Vel in the off chance they meet in an afterlife. Hell, probably, if it’s real.
“No. Red or blue?” Vel hurriedly asks.
“It’s always red in the movies, right? So, it really can’t be that easy here. Unless, of course, the Firelights are just that dumb and they picked the most obvious color for the diffuse switch. Which, ha, okay, red is so mainstream—”
Five seconds.
Vel takes a deep breath.
Three….
She cuts the blue cable.
There are several seconds where nobody present is breathing. Utter and complete silence reigns supreme. Jinx hears only the sound of her heart running like a wild rabbit in her chest. Even the voices in her head are scared shitless, it seems. She waits, just in case this is a time-relativity thing and her last moments feel like minutes.
But no.
No, turns out she actually lives.
“Ha! Good news!” Jinx excitedly turns to Sevika and the others. “Nobody who hasn’t already kicked the bucket is goin’ today, ladies!”
A mixture of relieved breaths and tears fill the space.
Jinx turns to Vel when she stands back up to her full height, a silly joke or a ‘congratulations’ on the very tip of her tongue. Whatever it was, it never makes it past her lips, for she is then pulled into a one-armed hug by the bartender.
—Oh.
It’s a gesture she may have given, once or twice, yet ever received, not in all the years since Vi left her behind. The subtle warmth radiating from Vel makes the chill of the atmosphere that much more apparent across her naked back. A shiver runs down her spine at this newfound weakness. It’s a bad thing. …But not completely?
Jinx freezes up, entirely lost on how to handle this, on how she even feels. Her mind is a mess most of the time. Of thoughts. Of voices. Here, it’s the opposite. There is nothing but soothing, shocking quiet.
Then Vel casts the final dagger with such a proud, radiant smile;
“You, girl, are my lucky charm.”
Umbra has no idea, when she says those six simple words, that she swoops Jinx’s already unsteady, tilted little world with them… and flips it upside down.
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yandere-wishes · 4 years ago
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In The Streets Of London (Twisted Wonderland X Reader
Victorian Au)
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Part one of a series, let me know in the comments who you think the killer is!
💖 💖 💖 💖 💖 💖 💖 💖 💖 💖 💖 💖 💖 💖 💖 💖 💖 💖 💖 💖 💖 💖
Ghastly murder in the east end dreadful mutilation of a woman by the man known as the leather apron
"He killed another woman last night, father! How can you sit so idly by!"
The onyx skirt brushed up against the young girl's legs as she passed to and for across the room. Her leather gloves racked her (h/c) locks from her face, pulling them back in hopes that the thuggish feeling would simulate her frozen brain. "It a fifteen puzzle (1) even for Scotland yard!" she bellowed.  "Than what in the devil's name do you think you and I could do about it, darling!" Her father turned to her, his grey eyes caging annoyance and misery. His tone was right above irritated...her father was never a delight went he became irritated. Divus Crewel, known to most of England as the finest mind in chemistry and alchemy in the 19th century. His daughter (y/n) Crewel was allegedly following in her father's footsteps in hopes of one day becoming a female fetal in chemistry herself. Of course, that's what all of England thought, the truth of the matter was rather was quite different. (y/n) harbored no interest in becoming a chemist nor an alchemist, the young lady found her interest in a more macabre filed, the field of forensic medicine to be precise. Prying secrets from the dead had become her little habit and due to Lord Crewel's rather negligent parenting, the girl had begun to study her precious cadavers full time, taking classes three times a weak in Night Raven College's medical and criminal department. For her it was exhilarating! Having to dress as a boy and sneak her way around the dreary campus was just as exciting as tea parties at the queen's palace were for "regular ladies". 
"I bet he wore a Gigglemug (2) as he slashed their throats open!" (Y/n) the loud voice reverberated off the walls, it's heavy decibels hitting Divus right on his two-colored head. 
"Love of my life, sunshine to my trepidation, NO ONE CARES! God dame that stupid sociopath, he's making my life miserable by occupying your grisly mind!"
(Y/N) ignored her father's outburst, her short heels clicking across the wooden floor of her father's laboratory. Her brain tried to envisage the infamous East-End to no avail, all she could picture was filth littered grey streets with a woman's corpse lying in her own ichor. Even the killer was hard to presume, there was no bloody way in hell that that monster could be human! No living being could do such heinous deeds, it must have been the devil himself! No no, such thought where for the uneducated, the people with simple minds, no she...she was a lords daughter one who was enrolled -illegally mind you- at one of the most prestigious schools in all of London--NO England! If anyone could find his monster it was going to be HER!
"I wonder if he'll--" A loud tapping came from the closed wooden door on the far end of the underground chamber. "Oh thank the all mighty himself!" Divus professed, lifting his occupied arms to the invisible sky, spilling some magenta liquid onto the table. Carelessly tossing the beacons aside, Divus rushed to the door a chip little prep in his usually professional step. Swinging the door open with as much force as a child ripping Christmas gifts.
(Y/n) remained behind, slumping tiredly in her father's chair. Her untrained eyes scanned the chemicals boredly, wishing that the half-rat (3)  liquids would turn into tiny figurines, performing the event of the night of the crime. However, her bewildered thoughts where shortly heckled, by a pleasant young voice along with the ringing of her father's vexatious smoky voice. "Ah, Commander Ashengrotto and Chief Superintendent Shroud what do we own the pleasure of this unexpected visit." from the distance (y/n) heard some shuffling, abruptly jumping to her feet and straightening out her skirts. Her eyes followed the three men that trailed down the steps. Her father walking past to stand by her as Commander Ashengrotto and Chief Superintendent Shroud stood in front of her. Or in the case of Mr. Shroud, attempted to hide behind his superior officer. The grey-haired man, bowed politely, lightly taking hold of miss Crewel's hand in his leather-bound one and placing a fleet, feather-like kiss atop the back of her hand. Azul glared at Idia, the former's elbow digging sharply into the later’s side. Hesitantly Idia, folded into a clumsy half-bow before straightening back up, during the whole endeavor one could clearly hear the loud cracking over every bone in this spine. "Well..." Your father started, clearly annoyed at the murky silence. "out with it lads, what are you lot doing here?" Azul's ocean colored eyes stared as straight as an arrow into Divus's grey ones. "Professor Crewel, it may be best to send your lovely daughter out? I wouldn't want to taint her stunning innocence with this ghastly talk about gore and murder." His eyes spared a gaze at you, roaming over your figure with an amused glint. Before your father could answer you proclaimed loudly."I, my dear Ashengrotto, am not as innocent as you fancy me! I will choose to stay IF I SO DESIRE." From the side, you could practically feel your father roll his eyes. "Allow her to stay" Your father mumbled tiredly "The sudden shock of it all may knock some sense into this senseless girl." "As you wish" with that the detective became talking:
"We have reason to believe that...this Ripper or well "Leather Apron" as the news has begun to call him, is, in fact, one of the nobl--" (Y/n) gasped, her eyes widening with excitement. "REALLY! He could be living right in our neighborhood!!" A forceful smack hitting her head, it's vibrations sending waves of pain through her body. "Try and bot sound so excited darling daughter of mine. My apologies Commander, care to continue?" Azul coughed into his fist, clearly killing a laugh. "Yes, quite alright my lord. As I said we so believe the murder to be of noble heritage. As you may know, the Al-Asims are hosting a Nobleman's ball tomorrow evening I trust you have been invited." He paused in his speech looking from (y/n) to her father. Divus gave a court nod in the inspector's direction becoming him to continue. "Perfect! Well since you shall be in attendance I would greatly love for your daughter to ...how do I word this...Play bait?"
"ABSOLUTELY NOT" Mr. Crewel screeched, "I shall not have my daughter mafficking (4) in the streets as a wannabe prostitute to help capture a deranged and rather vexing murderer!" Azul took a step backward, his back pressing smugly against Idia's chest. Even (y/n) sted half an inch away from her father. "Professor Crewel please relax, I simply mean that during the party (y/n) could slip out with an officer, who will be heavily armed. This may cause the ripper, who appears to have a warped sense of justice, to follow them. Once he decides to attack the officer will shoot at him and that will be the end of the Ripper's reign of terror over London." Divus rolled his eyes "marvelous plan detective...except what if the ripper chooses to not attack then? And go after my daughter once she is alone, asleep in her bed! Or outside shopping with some absent-minded servants? What then?" Azul lips knitted into a tight frown, his voice dying in this throat long before it reached his tongue. The professor did make a compelling point. 
"Than we will send heavily armed guards around both you and your daughter until the ripper is caught." A dead, monotone voice cracked. For the first time since walking into the house either of the residences had heard Idia speak. His voice was so brittle and fragile that (y/n) though it would visibly shatter if any of them dared to respond. Even her father seemed too nervous to speak...an odd this for such a powerful man. It was Azul, who decided to speak first, unlike before his voice was low and decile no longer laced with that regal elegance. "Yes...as my partner just...um just...mentioned. If our plan does -by some unearthly phenomena- fail we will have guards circling you and your daughter until the ripper is caught and brought to justice."
It took the longest while before your father agreed. Of course, he placed some very strict requirements before officially "sending you to your doom" as he worded it. As the two detectives left you could hear the Shroud boy mumbling a string of "do I also have to attend?"
and "can't you catch him yourself?" as he left the house. "Peculiar man ain't her, father?" Your eyes tuned to your only parent, "yes yes, quite bizarre." His gloved fingers wrapped tightly around your wrist dragging you along up the stairs. "We have much to do if we are to prepare you for the Al-Asim ball"
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There was an unspoken tension amongst presumably every guest in the ballroom. all that swayed and danced, flaunting their pricey dresses and custom made suits, harbored a form of dark secret within their souls...no one in England was innocent but tonight, just for tonight there was one man who's guilt outshined the rest, one man how's hands where permanently panted with the blood of three innocent women.
(Y/n)'s back was pressed against the cool tiles of a stark white pillar. Her eyes darted from person to person, trying to memorize as much as possible about all of them. "Shouldn't a young noblewoman such as yourself be out there dancing?" ripples of dread and annoyance bounced inside the spoiled girl, who dared to speak to her in such a manner? She turned furiously ready to shout at whoever had just talked, only to stop short when she came face to face with the tall bored-looking butler holding a tray of drink parallel to his head. His grey eyes seemed to hold a dreaded looking, eyeing her curiously. Was this the officer who was meant to take her outside? Figuring it best to play (y/n) puffed up her chest a bit and leaned in close. "Do you have the money?" she whispered. The butler's face remained stoic, he simply sighed and muttered something to himself. "Madam if I had any money I certainly wouldn't be wasting in on the likes of you." He plucked a sparkling drink from the tray and reached to pass it to the young women. "Feather more I would highly recommend having a more subtle way of distinguishing your clients if you aren't too careful rumors may spiral and that chap...what was his name Jack the apron? May come to get you in your sleep." (Y/n)'s eyes widen as she gripped the drink 'It was him!' she thought, he was the killer! Before the girl could phantom out a reply the butler was already well on his way. She had to find someone! To tell someone quickly! She turned frantically trying to find her father or one of the detectives. "Hey, girly..." A low voice echoed from the shadows under the stairs. That must be the detective (y/n) thought to herself, she lifted her skirts and quickly marched over to the darkness hiding the owner of the voice. 
Something grabbed (y/n)'s wrist, it was practically cutting off circulation. "W-who are you?" the girl struggled to form a coherent question. The man's face was mostly masked by the dimness but his emerald-like eyes shown like train's headlights. "Are you just like one of those three gals? The whores that died out on the street?" (Y/n) heartbeat began to quicken, she was wrong that butler wasn't the killer, this man was. When she looked at his eyes again they were molded into a sharp glare.  All of a sudden the man let go of her wrist "Doesn't matter.." he murmured "I got other things to take care of...." His deep voice kept fading like it too was getting swept up in the darkest parts of the ballroom. "Do me a favor if anyone asks where Kingscholar is, come up with some good lie to tell them. Just make sure you don't say anything about me going outside. Aright dame?" With that the darkness seemed to swallow him whole, even his footsteps couldn't be heard as he walked away, only the absence of his suffocating aura. 'He had to be the killer' she thought to herself as she stepped back into the light of the lively ballroom.
Tiredly (y/n) wondered to the dessert table,  her brain occupied, questions married questions, and gave birth to theories. Which one was it? The butler, lord Kingscholar? Neither may be, although that would just mean that you were only on edge rightfully, although you wished to keep your cool exterior. At the dessert table, every single surgery treat seemed to glisten. Their frosting's danced in the bright light of the thousands upon thousands of candles. (Y/n)'s mouth watered as she reached for a particular red tart in the corner of the desk. As she outstretched her hand it came to gently stroke up against another's hand. Her eyes darted upwards coming into contact with a smiling young man with clover colored hair. "My apologies my lady" He announced as he dipped into a bow. Automatically (y/n) gathered her skirts before curtsying herself. "Would you like the first piece" he offered, (y/n) nodded as the man cut a perfect slice and swiftly offered the plate to her before cutting one for himself. "I do adore cherry tarts" he spoke, "My family owns a bakery on the border of the upper west and east end. I personally stayed late last night just to finish this tart." (y/n) eyes began to shimmer as she placed the tart on the table. "So you must have heard the girl who was killed there!" she proclaimed. The man's eyes went wide, nervous beads of sweat dripped down his scalp. "Why miss, I don't know what your...implying." His once upbeat voice dropped an octave, his bright eyes seemed to get darker. For a second (y/n) contemplated what to do, was he acting so bizarrely because he had witnessed the murder? Or had he committed the murder? Before the young lady could ask him anything further a pair of boys, one short with a nest of blond unkempt hair and the other quite tall and muscular with snowy white hair came dashing towards them. "Have either of you seen leo- err, um" the blond one started
"The younger lord Kingscholar?" the white-haired boy started.
"Yes, as a matter of fact, I...I saw him head to the dance floor with a young lady..." Her tone fluctuated, her face compressed into an emotionless look, prying to any who would listen that her lie would not be called out. The two boys exchanged a worried glance, their eyes as wide as plates. "He's probably with Ferona's wife again" the blond one spoke, nervous giggles leaping from his mouth. The taller boy quickly bowed, before running towards the host of dancers, his companion soon following his lead. When (y/n) turned back ready to speak with the grass haired young man, she noticed that he was nowhere in sight. Vanished like the magicians in the traveling circus.
For the third time that night, (y/n) could feel her heart pounding in her chest. The treat of a killer loomed at every corner of this mansion, every man here seemed to -in some way- resemble the faceless killer. And worst of all her "personal guard" was nowhere in sight! Not to mention her father was most likely off with some nobleman's wife or daughter doing lord knows what. Tears of frustration threatened to spill from her eyes. Everything was going wrong, she was no inspector, she could barely keep her composure during such a time of ease.
"Miss Crewel" A tiny bird-like voice, shook the girl from her misery. Turning her head she saw a young boy no older than 10. His blue hair and golden eyes were carbon copies of inspector Shrouds. "Where is my bother?" it took a moment for (y/n) to comprehend the question. "If you are talking about Mr. Shroud than I do not know...did he even attend tonight" the question came out more haughty than she had hoped, the last thing she wanted was to appear as a rude wrench to such a young child. "Well..." the boy's voice trailed off "He was supposed to meet you. You are the bait, aren't you? He was the officer entrusted with playing the role of your client." The young boy's eyes dropped his cheery pure nature slowly morphed into one as similar to his brothers, gloomy and dead.
"He hasn't been himself lately, the matter has only gotten worst when Scotland yard began investigating the killer....he's so tense about the matter, almost as if the case was perso--"
"THERE'S BEEN A MURDER! SOMEONE CALL THE POLICE QUICK!" From the front of the ballroom two boys, one with red hair and the other with ebony hair stood. There faces where distraught sweat flew down their cheeks. For a fraction of a second silence flew over the crowd....only to veer into screams of terror and the ramped running of both lords and ladies. During the midst of the anarchy, you searched the entire chamber...there was no sign of Idia, nor Lord Kingscholar, nor the green-haired boy, nor the rude butler....all those you had suspected where gone...
Following the crowd, you and Ortho ran outside into the gardens. Sure enough, laying in a pool of her own blood with a torn stomach and guts pulled out, was a young lady no older than you where and right around her bleeding kneck a parchment note was pinned.....
Who do you guys think the killer is?
Tag list
@ghostiebabey @delusional-obsessions @succubus-lair​ @themarchinghare​ @permanentlyexhaustedowl​ @twst-diana​ @yuoritsu​ @pumpkiethepie​ @ladyy-grimm​ @xwildskullx​
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adowbaldwin · 4 years ago
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Bed pan horror
for @sazmags and @butternuggets-blog - an expansion from the RP series ‘ therapy’ with @begins-with-an-absence-of-desire
December 1880
“So much for promises” Eva hissed, storming into Philippe’s office ��you lickspittled, Hornswoggling ASS” she bellowed, eyes filling with fury as she caught sight of Baldwin in his father’s office.
She caught wind he was following orders from Philippe to intervene in matters in the Transvaal Rebellion.
“Wrangle your strumpet Baldwin” Philippe lifted his head from the map he was pinning pegs into “Or I will do it for you” he growled, eyeing her with as much hate as she did
“Bastard come near me and ill-“ her idle threat was cut short, when Baldwin grabbed her arm, pulling her from the office
“How dare you” he hissed “I gave you orders-“
His jaw snapped loudly, the crack delivered by her punch sending his face sidewards “ORDERS?” she bellowed, and Ysabeau winced from the decibels, and she was out in the gardening preening her Cheery Crocuses’. “I am not merely some solider you can order about I’m your PARTNER”
His head turned back, thunderous. He shoved her up against the wall, grabbing her chin with such force she thought it might snap “You can either behave or leave. I will speak of this matter later” he growled as she wriggled under his constraint “stop moving” he gritted out
She gawked her throat, retching back and spat in his face “I piss on our grave” she wriggled more, and his hand smashed her wrists to the wall, making a slight dent. He slipped his hand from her jaw to her neck and squeezed, not till she couldn’t breathe but enough that she understood no matter how much she tried, she wasn’t going to win.
She was feisty, and he liked the pain but there was nothing on this earth that would make her stronger then he was. He was almost 1300 years her senior, and despite her own history of fighting in wars her strength dwindled in comparison to his own.
Tears flooded her face “you lied to me” she sobbed, unable to look at him “you said you were finished fighting. you are supposed to be in finance”
“I will speak of this matter later” he hissed back quietly “do not disturb mans work again. Am I understood” he jolted her chin to look back at him, and he bit her lip drawing a little blood “Am I understood” he snarled
“Yes master” she hissed back with as much venom as a poisonous snake
He pushed away from the wall lightly, though his hands were still on her throat. He took this moment of passiveness to pull his lips to hers, running his tongue over where he had bitten into her. She went dizzy, eyes still burning from tears but she couldn’t help melting into him. He finally let her go, lips delightfully swollen and she sulked off to his tower awaiting for their argument after his meeting
                      He launched a book at his fathers head when he re entered the office, who was almost wetting himself from laughter “If you do not marry that one Baldwin you are a fool” he grinned at his sons dismay
“I shall not marry a dead woman” he snarled “she is unruly, no lady of a house a far too opinionated” he slumped heavily back into his chair, eyes running over the map of South Africa.
“Ah yes. But she does put a twitch in your pants no” he grinned, as another book went flying. He dodged this one, launching it back towards his son “You accept your fate that you would not settle for a meek flower, and we can move on”
They resumed their talks, though Baldwins mind wondered back to the little temptress currently fuming in his towers.
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He found her taking quill to paper at her desk in his room, writing notes to her mother. He came behind her and planted a kiss to her head “I leave tomorrow morning” he whispered, knowing she would be displeased
“Yes Sir, would you like me to bend over now sir” she hissed, the quill snapping as she exerted too much pressure. She didn’t turn to face him, face ridden with fury
“Eva” he cooed “Don’t be angry with me, it shall only be a few short months” his hands smoothed over her sleeves, inching his way closer to her bodice.
“Yes sir, would you like me to spit and shine your shoes before you go?” her voice levelled into what she imagine a ‘good housewife’ would sound, to please his majesty whom clearly seeks the palatable lady
“we both know you have enough spit to go around” he growled “do you wish I leave without a goodbye” he was not intending on it, he was good at worming his way into her good books.
She folded her envelope, turning in her chair sideways to face him. They were nose to nose, and she lifted the envelope up to her mouth, darting her tongue out to lick the seal. Envelopes were still a rare commodity, especially those with the odd gum tacked to the seal but she took full advantage of the many perks it was to be in relations with a De Clermont. They always had the shiniest toys first.
He growled, a feral noise erupting from his throat as she licked the paper “Eva do not bate me”
She bit her lip slowly letting it fall from her mouth. She moved an inch, so she was straddling the chair facing him, leaning against the leather. She kept her eyes on him as she picked her bodice open, the hook eyes popping as she did “I lay on my back now, like a good lady to please her Lord” he words dripped with venom and condescension
He growled, nostrils starting to flare “For God sake Eva, I can’t refuse my father” he all but yelled “I have my orders”
She deadpanned him “so do I” her last button popped and his patience faltered  when she shimmied out of her skirts, leaving her clad in only a thin chemise and stays.
He grabbed her chin again, this time exerting so much force her jaw cracked under the pressure. She reared her head back, hand covering her mouth at the moment of searing pain that coursed through her body. He was absolutely mortified. He had never, and would never hurt her in a way she didn’t like. She was one for abit of roughness as he was, delighting in a good spanking but never that.
He paled, as much as he could for a vampire and dropped to his knees and actually kissed her feet “im so sorry Eva” he whispered
It took a moment for her vampire DNA to work the crack, mending whatever had snapped and she looked down to meet his horrified gaze. She was as much in shock as he was, and she was not thinking clearly.
She was a warrior like he had been, not having fought in as many battles, but never the less still a solider at heart. Her hand that was flat on the desk moved to grab her knife, and she clutched it between her fingers. A loud swoosh echoed the room as she battered him up side his head with the flat blunt of her knife.
Only it wasn’t her knife, it was the still warm bedpan that had been propped against the wall from the mornings linen change.
He thumped to the floor as soon as the connection was made, dazed and seeing stars. All he faintly heard was someone screaming for cold compress.
                       He woke up groggy, eye in slight pain. He remembered taking a good hit, and also remembered why. He peeped open his eyes to see Eva sat staring down at him on the bed and she was sniffling lightly. He reached up, wiping away her falling tears “Don’t cry doll, the blood will react with all the mercury on your face”
She tried to laugh but she couldn’t, her lip blubbered as she muttered a flurry of apologies “I didn’t mean – I thought it was my knife”
He pulled her down, and she curled ontop of his body “it is already forgiven, doll” his lips planted fluttered kisses along her head and she calmed
She peered up at him, with the most innocent doe eyed expression she could muster “However will I make it up to you, in the next six hours before you leave me”
He groaned, feeling her hips move to be flush with his own “Eva I have to leave, they need a commander not more soldiers. If it were bodies they needed, Matthew would be sent. Philippe needs someone to navigate both sides of the war”
She knew, she already knew. He would not disavow anything Philippe said. He could ask him to change his name to Nancy and he would “I know, you are following orders” her lips sought his, savouring his taste and the overwhelming scent of sandal leather and woodfire.
His hands crept up under her petticoats, the many layers ruffling as he did so. His hands found her sweet spot and he moaned into her mouth “no knee length draws today, doll?” he questioned, circling her in ways that made her toes curl
She bit her lip, groaning as he teased her “Are you going to please me properly” she shimmied her weight, flicking the covers from his body “or are you going to talk me to sleep”
He pinched her, jolting her alert “perhaps I am too dazed to love on you properly doll. Whom lies fault with that?”
She lifted herself out of her petticoats, hiking up her chemise. Her hands sought to free himself from his trousers, pinging his braces from his shoulders. He sprang free, ready as ever and she happily sunk onto him “then allow me” she moaned as they connected deeply for the last time they would in four long months till he returned home form the Boar War.
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oikawa-tuwu · 4 years ago
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Linen Closet (gn!Reader x Kiyoko)
Rated G, 1.3k words
Not Home for the Holidays Masterlist
“Are you... crying in a linen closet?”
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When you’re a child, crying is a catharsis. Stub your toe, cry a little, get up and keep playing. Pain, physical or emotional, was temporary, and tears were as good of a placebo painkiller as it got. It used to feel so good to cry. Children aren't exactly eloquent creatures when it comes to emotions or injuries, so when worst comes to worst… cry about it and keep going.
Eventually, crying becomes less of a catharsis and more of a guilty pleasure, except with less of the pleasure and more of the guilt. It might feel good in the moment, but, god forbid, you accidentally burden anyone else with your troubles, because, frankly, that would just be embarrassing for both parties, so crying is left for quiet nights in your cold bed or sniffles held back by a thread on your way home or, in this case, frustrated explosions of emotion in the linen closet of your bed and breakfast.
But we all grow up eventually.
Another shudder wracks your chest, a sob letting loose before you can clamp your mouth shut. You know, from unfortunate experience, just how thin the walls of this old house really are, and the last thing you want is for Maria, your employee, changing sheets next door, to decide to investigate those weird noises.
You try to take a calming breath. In. Out. In. Out. 
It's not so much breathing as it is wheezing, but it's getting oxygen in your lungs, so who are you to complain?
And then you think about it again.
It. Whatever the hell it is.  Money problems, relationship problems, mental health problems, all of the above problems piling on top of each other like a snowstorm until the front door won’t open-
Another whimper, about ten decibels louder than ideal, and you hold your breath and you hear footsteps. Pass, please. Pass this door and move on. Nothing interesting here.
The door opens.
For a second, all you see is a silhouette. About average height, skinny and lithe, like a runner, with dark hair. And then the light adjusts, and you see her face. She’s beautiful, no doubt about it, and with the halo your (slight) lightheadedness from the crying session, the scene is somewhat… holy… in nature.
But she’s frowning, and the worried expression is rather upsetting to see on such a beautiful face.
The woman asks, carefully, “Are you… crying in a linen closet?”
Your mouth, apparently working faster than your brain, asks, "Are you an angel?"
Silence. Well, mostly silence, because your brain is currently screaming.
"That was a weird thing to say. Sorry."
Thankfully, the woman laughs. She laughs, and you melt, firstly glad that she's laughing it off, but also because her laugh is melodic. "Trust me, that's not the first time I've heard that one. But... uh," she hesitates, looking you over, and you remember that five seconds you were bawling your eyes out. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah," you say, and brush away the last of your tears. Thankfully, seeing her was enough of a shock to stop them for now, but you have a feeling you haven't seen the last of them today. "Sorry, I didn't mean to make you worry. After all, I'm sure you didn't expect to spend your vacation dealing with an overly emotional host."
"You'd be surprised," the woman says, with a soft smile that speaks of a quiet inside joke, possibly, an inside joke for her alone. "Let's just say I've been in a somewhat similar situation before. My best friend used to have pretty bad anxiety. Actually, she's the one that checked us in yesterday, Yachi Hitoka?"
The name rings a bell. "Short, blonde, blushes a lot?"
"That's her."
Ah. You were wondering when you'd get to see the second of Yachi’s party, since she requested a room with two single beds. And here she was right in front of you. An angel on earth.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
An angel.
"No, thanks. It's sweet of you to offer, but..."
But you don't even know why you're crying.  It could be any number of things. Being (relatively) alone during the holidays, stress from your job, or just plain sadness and loneliness. Missing family, missing friends, wanting hot chocolate but knowing full well you ran out a week ago and haven't restocked yet. It could be any and all of those reasons and isolating a single culprit is nearly impossible.
“It’s just a lot,” you end up saying. “The holidays. Everyone likes to talk about the good parts, the food, the celebration, the presents… that you end up forgetting the bad parts too. Until they’re staring straight at you.”
No one likes to mention that your room feels colder in the winter without someone else there to warm it. No one likes to mention that your house feels emptier without the laughter and conversation of kin.  No one likes to mention the stress of throwing together a holiday dinner or coming up with the perfect gift idea or looking at your bank account and realizing you might need to rethink some things.
And there it comes again, that wave, and you blink, blink, blink, praying the tide will recede until the next time you get the chance to be alone. A cocktail of anxiety and guilt and salt slowly rising, rising, rising. This woman shouldn’t have to see you like this, you don’t even know each other, and honestly, it's a little unfair to burden one of your guests with your emotional problems and-
“You’re spiralling again, aren’t you?” The woman asks, in that soft voice of hers, and you wonder when you got so transparent that a literal stranger can tell when you’re close to breaking.
The dam cracks, and the tears start to fall again. “I’m sorry,” you manage to get out. “I’m sorry, you shouldn’t have to deal with this-”
Instead of saying anything, agreeing or disagreeing, the woman drops to her knees, crouching down next to where you’re sitting on the bucket. She looks up at you, her hand holding yours, and says, very softly, “Stop apologizing.”
Amazingly, you do. You close your mouth and let the tears flow, with the woman still there, offering hand squeezes and quiet company through your mental breakdown.
It’s… nicer than you expect it to be, just having someone there. She doesn’t say anything else, but you know she’s there to talk it out if you really needed to. For now, she’s willing to sit there and listen to your woes and remind you that there’s someone out there that does care when you’re struggling.
So you cry. You cry and the guilt and frustration slowly lessens and all that’s left of the broken dam is an empty reservoir.
It's… cathartic.
With her sweater sleeve, the woman wipes your cheeks dry. “Better?”
“Better,” you agree, and your mouth forms the first syllable of I’m sorry, before the woman gives you a look. “Thank you. For being here with me. I do have to say though, I would have liked meeting under different circumstances. I don’t think I look incredibly attractive mid-breakdown.”
The woman shrugs, and you see a little faint dusting of blush on her cheeks as she stands, offering a hand to help you off the bucket. “I think you might be surprised.”
You smile. You take her hand, and let her haul you to your feet.
“The name’s Kiyoko, by the way.”
“Y/n.”
“Well, Y/n,” Kiyoko says, that flush still on the tips of her cheekbones as she averts her gaze, a little self-consciously. “How about the next time you need a break, you come knock on my room door and we can go out and do something to take your mind off it?”
“I’d like that.”
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Ngl, I had trouble writing this one because I wasn't sure if it would be relatable enough? But I figured of all years to talk about the worst parts of the holiday season, it was this one because oh lord do the holidays remind us that covid-19 sucks butt. Anyways, this is your reminder that you're allowed to feel sad right now. You might be separated from your friends and family or maybe you had to be laid off and money is tight, or maybe you just miss the way things used to be where we could go out and do things. Maybe the holidays just aren't for you, and the negative emotions weigh out the positive ones every year. All those feelings are valid, and take this as a sign to reach out to someone if you need to. My dms are always open if you need someone to talk to <3
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mrsunderhill678 · 4 years ago
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The last one liners of 2020!! Let’s go!
“Discoveries of self are only grand so long as they give you a deeper meaning, but all mine have done is haunted me.” - Calliger Cougar
“Justice that harms the innocent is no justice after all.” - Calliger Cougar
“I fear I have yet to meet all of me, and if this sinful being is what I have met, I fear what I have not.” - Calliger Cougar
"I've spent life searching for a deeper purpose, only to realize, all I had to do, was be me.” - Espekarla Killovitch
“It took so long to accept myself, so long, that I believed no one would ever accept me.” - Espekarla Killovitch
“Life can beat you down and make you someone you don't like, but soar above that. See the stars, burn in the sun, become ash so long as it's you.” - Espekarla Killovitch
 “I am such a crime against myself.” - Duke Marston
“Loving me, I imagine, is a death sentence. Hold my heart only if you wish to place yourself on death row or the electric chair.” - Duke Marston
 “I am no brave little mouse, I am no Desperaux, it is as if I am Borticelli, a sewer rat, feasting on my grime, throwing the brave little mouse to the crowd, allowing them to cheer as the cat bats at him like yarn, watching him bleed, watching him fight, if only to keep my throne." - Duke Marston (If you get this reference I will fucking love you)
 How I yearn to be something other than this twisted creature, sitting upon a throne of other's blood and bone. But I never leave this throne, I never knock this life studded crown from my head. I guess that makes me haunted queen of the hill, fearing the descent yet staring down at the bottom, wondering what it would be like... To fall. But I fear my sister would catch me, deny this death wish of mine. She'd snag a cigarette from my lip if she knew it burnt my lungs. I fear myself, but she loves me, I'll never know why, I'm just a beast, a wicked creature of broken tusks and teeth. And my brother, he would carry the crucifix on his back and nail his palms to it's oak if he knew it'd spare me the trouble.” - Carlota Calico
“I am a cruel woman, my eyes glazed over with glossy regret, and yet all I do is weep the blood that I've spilled. I am a haunting of every grave I've dug, every life I took, and try as I may, it is never my blood I'll weep, but the blood of another.” - Carlota Calico
“My regret is spoken so much louder than my rage, it leaves me to wonder how my rage leaves more glasses shattered than my regret, when it's my hauntings that raise the decibels? They say to roll with life's punches, but what can a man do when the fists are his own?” - Max Tripp
“It was I who took my life and set it on fire. And everyone watched from the pyre as my ship sunk, and you know what? When this ship sinks, and I with it, I'll cheer along with those on the fucking pyre.” - Max Tripp
“I won't make it to heaven. I'd never pass the first step to the pearly gates, let alone a mile from the stairwell.” - Max Tripp
“I'm a gambling man, and I gambled this life of mine for a rusted lie and a nickel. Worth bout as much as me, I suppose.” - Max Tripp
“Raise a glass to the loveless man, raise a glass, for this shot of my tears and regret never runs dry.” - Max Tripp
“I'm tangled between my little flaws and my love for my children, I imagine my love for them heals me, I just... Wish it would heal, them.” Violetta Flint
 “Is the world, perhaps, just as self destructive as we are, causing pain to those who love it?” - Violetta Flint
“I wish I could've protected my boy, but life took him down the beaten path too soon. I was supposed to protect him from the thorns on the rose, but he gripped it before I could. He bled before I could bleed in his place.” - Violetta Flint
“Life can be so terribly cruel to the kindest of people, but don't let cruelty make you cruel. Remember that kindness is never forged from an easy life.” - Violetta Flint
“Revenge is a luxury I can't God damn afford, yet here I am, payin' the fuckin' price.” - Andraak Flint
“With a single snap 'a my fingers I killed the light that basked my soul, stepped on my own back ta reach heaven, just ta kill the man who claims himself a god above others. Oh he's above others alright, but when I meet him eye to fuckin' eye, sins on my wrist, with my rage and love he stole from my still tremblin' hands, he ain't gon' be nuthin' but below me.” - Andraak Flint
“You must inflict pain to know my wrath, and for a man that's inflicted more pain than the end 'a times, I reckon I ought to be more wrathful than the God that decided it fit for him ta live.” - Andraak Flint
“Revenge is a luxury I can't afford, because the price is this life I've lived and the corpse 'a the man I hunt. Ta pay the price, I got ta die, cause ain't no man damned as I am, seein' more sunrises than the devil he seeks. So be it, may the sun rise without me, so long as it rises without Quentin." - Andraak Flint
“Sometimes, crime is survival, and you can condemn me all you want, but all I'm tryin' to do is stay on the topside of the concrete. An old friend always said his corpse had already dropped, that he was already buried beneath the skyscrapers and subways, that he was just another corpse of New York. And I agree. We're all just corpses of New York city, because this place in of itself is a corpse of dead concrete goliaths and lost souls once filled with hope.” - Angeles Vance
“We are the revolution, built of scars and corpses of New York, and maybe one day, they'll hear our battle cry and call us heroes. But it's more often than most that heroes are labeled lawless and cruel, before ever, they put an end to the very tyranny that labeled them, enemy of the world." - Angeles Vance
“Evil is often a torch, passed down from one ruler to the next, but I've found, that we only take the torch, for we fear he who holds it, only to fear our own hand, in the end.” - Theodore Malrosa
“All you'll ever need in a kill or be killed world is a six shooter and your sins on your sleeve.” - Theodore Malrosa
“I'm a ragged bone man, with fur drenched over my shoulders like a tattered cape, but in the shade, all they ever see is the silhouette of a hero's torn cape. Shade hides all, my friend, even the most damnable of offenses.” - Theodore Malrosa
“He who mocks the peasant will find himself bowing to his feet miles down the road, just ask the brother's of Joseph. For they mocked his dreams only to realize always was he a prophet, in all his glory, and his coat of every color only aggrandized his robe of dreams and prophecies to be.” - Theodore Malrosa
 “I could drown in holy water and still, I'd be damned, all the holy water would do is grant me a painful death of scalding flesh and boiled blood. I wear a cross round my neck if only to remind me, I was once holy. But he who is nailed to the crucifix is often bled dry before ever he is forgiven.” - Arrow Holloway
“I sling these bullet casin's like regrets and charms, never knowin' what it is I'll get from this chamber. There's a spark in my chest, and I's long since learned, the spark in me chest and revolver are one in the fucking same.” - Arrow Holloway
“I am a hail of bullets in the crossfire, hittin' every soldier, I am the blood spilled and the bodies that drop. I suppose I'm everything death every grew, if only to be reaped for my simple existence. But it ain't simple, is it? Never were I 'spose, always was this life complex and bloody.” - Arrow Holloway
“I could face myself in a draw fight and still I'd lose.” - Arrow Holloway
“Take this ride 'a mine as you will, one of a wicked outlaw or a deputy corrupted by crimson burnin' justice, either way you spin the tale, you get blood spilled and bullets flyin', so I spose it don't matter which path ya take. It all ends the same. No matter what road you go down, there's a cliffside, a steeple or a river, and ain't none of em leadin' you ta salvation. Cause the biggest lie the preacher ever told is, "You're forgiven." - Arrow Holloway
“What is hope, really, but a single shared delusion of the human race? We cling to it so desperately, but it was never there, we were always battling ourselves and callin' a damn peace treaty. Cause when we fire against our selves, what do we call it? Freedom or murder of the highest degree?” Elliot Terminus
“We're either lambs or wolves, and only those with stained teeth'll make it through. We're already in hell, my friend, the demons are huntin' the angels and the sheep are bein' led to the slaughter. Ain't no sheep makin' it out with a white coat.” - Elliot Terminus
 “I'd gladly wash myself in the blood of the lamb if it meant soakin' the fields.” - Elliot Terminus
“You think the flock is safe just cuz there's a shepherd? He's as mortal as the sheep and he who protects the weak should be weary of the strong.” - Elliot Terminus
“This crucifix of secrets on my back weighs me down like the thought of my casket, I fear I shall carry this weight on my back for miles, only for none of it to ever matter in the end.” - Mason White
“It's often secrets lurk in those who have been silenced. These days, you can't cut off a man's tongue to prevent the truth from spilling out, but threatening all he loves does the same damn thing. When a man dares silence you, shout to the heavens, maybe God will listen and smite him down, render him speechless. No man can disarm you of your voice, it's the strongest weapon you've got.” - Mason White
 “For all who come for my sorry hide, tomorrow's an empty promise at best, and a threat at it's worst, cuz steppin' up to me is a losin' fuckin' battle. You wanna step up ta this plate? Then prepare for them pearly gates, cause ya meet the lord today, and ya don't got time for a fuckin' confession.” - Rafe Linton
“Honor ain't nuthin but a lie soldiers use ta steal the advantage, I'd rather cheat than die, and I'd rather scarper on my mah knees than be the poor sod bein' shot at point blank range for sins deemed worthy 'a death.” - Rafe Linton
“A man offers ta count ta three, shoot him at two.” - Rafe Linton
“Steppin' up ta me is a losin' fuckin' battle because I cheat, I lie, friend, only truthful word that ever come from my mouth is, I'm alive. I'd light a match and tell ya it's cold, I'd shoot a man six times in the chest and say he's breathin' just fine. The pearly gates await ya because you choke on all your truths, when a lie's the only thing that'll save you, these days.” - Rafe Linton
“The act of raisin' the dead is a simple act 'a redeemin' a man who's coffin lid is nailed shut. Yet for a man like me, it's complex as can got damn be.” - Alaric Alistair
“There was a time I believed the good guy always caught the thief, and the sun always rose, but look at me now, sittin' in the dark.” - Alaric Alistair
 “You could cut me down and I imagine I'd laugh, cause I can't imagine sumthin' darker than my life other than the end 'a it.” - Alaric Alistair
“I'm just roadkill on the highway that's risen, my antlers are broken, my fur matted and bloody, and I'm just fated ta pretend I'm still breathin'. But the breath from my lungs is stained from the blood on my teeth.” - Alaric Alistair
“In the end, it don't matter who ya were, what ya did, cause hell don't exist and devils were only myths of us.” - Alaric Alistair
“All I ever do is follow orders. I bark when told ta, I bite when aggravated or let off my leash, but the sad thing is, even the leash stabs inta me. The bruises and scars round my neck tell the sorrowed tale of a barkin' dog forced ta bite. This blood on my teeth tells the pain soaked tale of a dog, skinny and starvin', all because he bites, if only ta put another down." - Alaric Alistair
“For a man who's lost everything, I sure got a lot. My whole life I been swallowed by the fires yet remaining un-scorched, because all my life I've had love. For my wife, for my sons, for the lord, and even if many I knew are now nuthin' but a memory, I still find light in the intricacies of their smiles, cause I see em in my own.” - Balthazar Pennington
“We're beautiful creatures, really, holdin' one another ta show love, speakin' in languages so complex that not a word has ta be spoken to say, "I love you." - Balthazar Pennington
"Go on, kill us, kill us by the fucking dozens, Mr. De Niro. But you will find that the human resolve is a helluva lot stronger than your God damn conscious." - Cody Scarrow
"Oh I don't need savin' from me, brother. I may not be perfect, hell, I ain't even decent. But I can be damn proud of the fact, that I ain't you, and I never God damn will be." - Cody Scarrow
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kariachi · 5 years ago
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Kevin episode! And a Lord Decibel episode but let’s be real we all watch this show for one thing and it’s my son.
Digital Quality
Oh gods they’re at another 90′s-Themed flea market. Well if nothign else it explains the familiar music that was playing over the opening credits.
‘The CD Underbelly’. Yep, this the 90s (seriously, I think I went to that store when I was 6)
Ben’s surprise at learning there was a ‘before the internet’.
Oh gods using previous Max designs for the flashbacks! Okay, yeah, that’s clever, that I applaud!
Max: Give cds a chance Ben & Gwen: The world upgraded for a reason damnit
Poor Max looks so sad to see them abandon him and his cds
The playing at being polite is the most familiar familial interaction I’ve seen out of these two all season.
My son! Who appears to be dead on his rollerblades.. Kevin, dearheart, are you alive?
Gwen, in the background: *appears concerned* Ben, in the middle ground: *is displeased* Kevin, in the foreground: *blearily returning to life*
No, wait, scratch that
He’s polite when he’s dead to the world, who knew
Ben: “This can’t be Kevin, his manners are even better than mine.” Gwen: “You’re right, must be some other guy with bad hair.”
Everybody is here to roast my son
Wait, wait, he’s alive enough to recognize he’s being spoken about!
Gwen, concerned. Ben, certain Kevin is faking fucking faceplanting out of exhaustion. Or he’s been hypnotized. Or he’s trying to distract them from somebody else. Basically he has forgotten the lesson of Four By Four and Vin Diagram, which was ‘yes, Kevin is capable of being places and doing things that do not have anything to do with evil’.
Ya know I’m sure people are expecting me to be more concerned, but as of right now this is just confirming what I suspected as a result of watching UA and that is that no Kevin sleeps.
Not that this is healthy, it’s probably the result of a fucking puff pastry’s worth of layers of trauma, but still. It’s sort’ve expected of Kevins, at least by me.
He tries to talk to Ben, calls him ‘Benny’ and ‘buddy’ and such, and then just falls asleep in place.
My child snores. Also fucking jolted awake and immediately looked around, presumably to re-ascertain where he was (or to make sure there’s no threats, but let’s be nice today) which really doesn’t help the pastry of trauma theory.
Yeah, this boy needs some fucking sleep. Hopefully this cd he’s looking for will help, but if it doesn’t honestly medical intervention might be called for at this point.
Ben does not believe Kevin could be looking for a normal cd. It must be a special evil cd of some sort.
...Max put out a cd titled ‘Audiobook For World Domination’. Which I will admit is a rocking title for an album
Ben, so offended at the idea he and Kevin might be bonding over cds that he throws his grandpa’s in a fit of rage.
Oh look, it’s Decibel. Hi. If you don’t mind keeping the volume down today, we’re trying to get Kevin some sleep.
Ben, convinced Lord Decibel and Kevin are working together. Lord Decibel insists he is a solo artist.
Meanwhile Kevin isn’t here enough to even take notice of the fight
Decibel, offended Ben is paying too much attention to Kevin’s complete lack of getting involved despite Ben’s surety this must be a team-up to appreciate his work.
The man has built a wall of solid sound
Okay, everybody who’s surprised he used it to seal in everybody in the area raise your hand or closest equivalent
Well, at least Decibel appreciates a good cd
And Max agrees with him
Ah, so Decibel’s new tech can make people dance to music, nice.
Watch it not work on Kevin just because he doesn’t have that sort’ve energy right now
Ah, he can make people dance to their own preferred genre with their own preferred genre.
Even works on dogs.”Humans can’t hear it, but it’s very catchy.”
Is gonna hold people to ransom with the power of the boogie
Ben pls do not challenge the supervillain while you are timed out
Well thank fuck, he hasn’t figured out how to make it work on kids yet. He’s working on it.
And now Ben is convinced that Kevin is finding the cd that will make children dance for Decibel
Whatever cd it is, he’s found it. Good on him. (Listen, even if Ben turns out to be right, if it’ll make my boy happy then I will allow it. I will allow the burning of the world at this point if it makes Kevin happy.)
He looks so happy in the quarter second before Shockrock divetackles him
And Ben’s surety convinces Decibel that it’s what he’s looking for so now he wants it, good job Tennyson
Kevin almost got away with his prize, but no, there’s a wall there that he forgot about
He keeps calling Ben buddy and honestly if that’s not the surest sign of how he really feels about the boy at this point (I’m so sorry Ben, he’s just a emotionally stunted disaster with no one and nothing and a desperate need for appreciation)
Somebody find this boy a bed and some warm milk, please
Kevin, asking if they can skip the part where they fight and just help each other out. Ben, confused as to why the fuck he’s acting so weird like he didn’t fall asleep on his feet in front of him like five minutes ago
Ben tries to destroy the cd, Kevin decides combat is just gonna have to happen
Three people fighting over a cd, one because he thinks destroying it will protect the world, one because he thinks it’ll grant him power, and one for personal reasons
I love my son. I really do. I’m fucking dying over here
Max has gone on ‘destroy Decebil’s cd collection’ duty and Gwen on ‘get the cd from these morons’ duty
Ben finally asks what the fuck Kevin’s deal is.
The deal, is that my boy hasn’t slept in six days. I’d be surprised but honestly if you’d told me he’d only slept one night in his life I probably would’ve believed you. And with all the shit that’s been going on in his life lately? Yeah, not all that shocking he’s having trouble sleeping. And the fact he managed to almost fall asleep a couple times already this episode? Does not make it better. Really just makes it more likely it’s less general insomnia and more the pastry of trauma.
“I team up with peoples, but him? Don’t know him, don’t care. What I do know, is I’m not functional enough to walk around. Why do you think I’m wearing this [helmet, rollerblades] again? I just need that cd to help me sleep.” My poor baby.
Ben apologizes for not listening earlier. He’s a good boy.
Ben openly and actively planning for the both of them, under the rightful assumption that if Kevin’s too tired to walk he’s probably too tired to form a proper plan or ascertain what someone else’s plan is enough to work with it. Right down to picking Bashmouth for him because Kevin just cannot brain.
Oh gods Slapback can’t reach the omnitrix symbol to start armored mode. Bashmouth has to do it form him mid-transformation sequence
And even as Bashmouth Kevin is too damn tired to be much good
Oh
Oh
Oh my baby
Decibel got and is playing the cd and-
It is literally a cd recording of... fatherliness. I don’t know how else to describe it, it’s things dads say when their kids are helping them with projects- including such classics of ‘can you hand me that wrench’ and ‘I’m proud of you’. My fucking son!! This, this specifically is what my child needed to fall asleep! Fucking dad-based ASMR! I am in tears! How could they do this to me!
Bring Kwarrel the fuck in I’m begging you!!
Good news, at least, Decibel can’t use it for evil and Kevin is finally sleeping
And Ben saves the day
Ben’s presence is enough to get cops to show up and wait at this point
Huh, Decibel can’t see without his visor
11/11 let my child live
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callme-flower · 5 months ago
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Matteo:Ok there's the part*looking at the movie with Tiara and Lord Decibel*
Tiara:They are clearly lesbians
Lord Decibel:What is that
Tiara:BROTHER EWWWW
Lord Decibel:*vomits on the floor and leaves then comes back again*
Matteo:*evil smile*
Tiara:*covers her eyes*OH GOD PLEASE END MY LIFE AND SENT ME TO HELL
Lord Decibel:I need a drink to forget this(it's bad when Lord Decibel wants a drink)
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the-dwemereths-numidium · 5 years ago
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Pt 2
A few hours later, Maurah, by spelllight of Eyana, found their to the dank depths of what once was Jyggalag’s crowning achievement, the height of logic and dedication, Knifepoint Hollow. Now overgrown with lush vegetation, it almost stood 400 feet high into a jejune, weatherless sky, completely devoid of any emotion or thought upon what used to be the Crystal King’s demesne.
“Thank you, Eyana, for your company on this trek. I appreciate you coming here.” Maurah whispered, knowing that even now, the very walls listen and remember the information garnered.
Eyana’s voice echoed through the almost silent diamond corridors: “No need to thank me my Lord, I thank you for allowing me to accompany you; now I must return to Commander Staada, as she thought I only went to deliver a meager summons to you.” Eyana bowed sheepishly to the slightly confused dwemer, now ruling the Throne of Madness, and in a golden fire, vanished.
“Well that went swimmingly didn’t it?” Proclaimed the new god.
The call made the Daedra’s Athenaeum shudder, as no words were to ever be uttered above a decibel level of 20.
No response, despite the font of knowledge, the Eternal Librarian, Dyus of Mytheria, being capable of eloquent speech; Maurah knows they’ve been heard and have been duly recorded, as all conversations are in Knifepoint Hollow.
After finally walking up the faceted steps to the prison of ruined tomes, in the center sit a worn wooden chair, geometrically perfect, with an equally worn Imperial clad in carbon covered robes and a morose expression.
“Swimmingly, as in you mean that the conversation with the Aureal you had prior to this went smoothly, and unhindered? Honestly, no, unless you meant that as a form of derision. Derision is also known colloquially as “sarcasm” but I’m sure you might’ve known that by now in your, what did you say it was. 146 years of existence?” Dyus chided, finally speaking.
“Hello Dyus, it’s lovely to hear from you again, since it’s quite literally been 5 months and 27 days since we last spoke. I hope you’re doing well in here, fully knowing you can leave anytime you want.” Maurah replied with a jovial expression on their face.
“I “summoned” you here for one purpose, it took many requests from me to maybe get your Saints or Seducers, or even the occasional God-kissed adventurer to possibly have the gall to request something of you. I honestly think after you came in here, your madness has infected me. I need you to remove whatever curse you have bestowed so I can carry on my business.” Said Dyus, as calm and quiet as ever.
“I’m not that unapproachable, but what curse? I haven’t done anything to you.”
“I’m gloomy. I can’t think of anything ever to do that Would serve a purpose. I want to sleep and despite your best efforts to make me leave this ruin, I honestly feel like I shouldn’t. It would be a waste of time on my part and most definitely on your end as well. Why should I do anything that won’t help serve a higher purpose, A higher purpose that is now completely destroyed?”
You’re telling me... that the Chamberlain of Jygalagg, the Daedric Prince of Mental Order, whose sphere is quite literally lack of any sort of blemish of personal thought and emotion has depression?“
Maurah stood in front of the gemlike prison, eyebrows raised, with a bewildered expression on their face. They grabbed the gaunt, pale, and balding imperial by the hand, picked him up, and told him: “We’re getting you some self care.”
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greyias · 5 years ago
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5 Questions for Writers
Tagged by: @elveny — thank you for the tag!
Tagging: Um... I always feel weird when I get to one of these a little late because I’m not sure who has tagged in and out. So if you haven’t been tagged, tag yourself in and say I tagged you. ❤️
1. Do you have a favorite character to write? Who and why?
2. Do you have a favorite trope to write? Or one you want to write?
3. Share your favorite description you’ve written?
4. Share your favorite dialogue you’ve written?
5. Scene you haven’t written, but want to?
1. Do you have a favorite character to write? Who and why?
Honestly at this point? Theron. Which I think is honestly funny because when I started my first SWTOR fic way back when, I actually had a hard time pinning down his voice and understanding the nuances of his character. I feel like over time, I’ve gotten a lot better at it, and he’s honestly the easiest one to write because slipping into his mindset is so easy. His mix of snark and denial and sekrit squishy center is just so much fun to explore.
I mean, I do love the rest of the cast, and obviously my girl. Although surprisingly she’s a lot more difficult to write as a POV character, mostly because her voice is just very distinct and different from most of the characters I’ve written. Which, is honestly the opposite of what I’d expected. You would think that the character I’ve played for over eight years would be the easier one to slip into and not the canon character but... 🤷‍♀️
2. Do you have a favorite trope to write? Or one you want to write?
God I’m a sucker for H/C, no lie. Although I do seem to gravitate towards emotional H/C these days, rather than just straight out whump. I think because it’s so cathartic sometimes to be able to navigate those emotional waters?
3. Share your favorite description you’ve written?
I’ll be honest, I’m not actually the best at descriptions. Or at least, I have a really difficult time weaving them in. They were always my downfall in English/language arts growing up, because I have a tendency to get literal a lot of times (and when it comes to writing, can easily get sidetracked by dialogue. Because I do love me some snappy dialogue.)
But if I have to pick one... maybe this bit from a prompt fic:
Although he had to admit, the color did suit her. The deep azure seemed so much brighter out in the sunlight, the rich hue making her stand out even more now. Like someone had plucked out a distant star and set it down amongst them. For a moment all he could do was stare, mesmerized by the way the deep blue of the tabard seemed to reflect off her eyes, or the way the wind rippled through her hair, each blond strand tossed about and twined together, sometimes obscured by the scarves trailing behind her. For that quiet moment, it was like the time, distance, and circumstance that had separated them collapsed in on itself, and his fingers had caught the edges of the fluttering fabric of the scarf, drawing it closer as something welled up in chest, escaping out of him before he had a chance to stop it.
4. Share your favorite dialogue you’ve written?
Oh goodness, this one is long, so I’m going to put the rest of this under a cut. This is from an unpublished WIP I’ve been nattering on since 2016 (🤞 this is the year it sees the light of day!) I think I may have shared part or all of this exchange a while back for a Six Sentence Sunday (although this is wayyyy more than six sentences):
“If that’s what you think.” She leaned back against the cushion of the chair, eyeing him curiously. “What exactly was your line of thought?”
“Well, hypothetically speaking of course, I’d start by making a new friend,” he said casually, “someone I might be able to count on.”
“Friends are a good thing to have.”
“I’m thinking of a really good friend, one who’d be willing to face down the Emperor himself if it came to it,” he said, watching her carefully. “You know of anyone like that?”
At the mention of the Emperor, something flashed across her expression, so quick he almost missed it. Brows drawn together in a deep frown, and something darker in the eyes, but it was gone too fast to tell exactly what had been there.
“I might know of someone,” she said.
“Yes, well, then hypothetically after we exchanged friendship bracelets, I’d go off on my own.”
“That’s not very nice after making a friend.”
“My friend’s a busy lady, I wouldn’t want to bother her until I found out everything I could about Darok and the Sith Lord she talked to.”
“I thought you said you needed help.”
“Hypothetical help, but only after I checked and double-checked all my information, and found all the connections.”
“This is a lot of hypotheticals,” she grumbled into her mug.
He couldn’t check the grin at her repressed annoyance. “I like my hypothetical proof.”
“Your new friend must be a very understanding and patient person.”
“I wouldn’t know, I just met her.”
“I do. She has the patience of a Jedi.”
“Fancy that,” he tossed back. “But I might give her a call—”
“Good, she was starting to get lonely drowning in this sea of hypothesis.”
“I’ll toss her a hypothetical lifeline.”
“My hypothetical hero.”
“And then after she stopped being hypothetically sarcastic, I’d see if she’d be ready to get to the bottom of all of this.”
“She’s ready now.” Highwind twisted the mug in her hands.
“That’s not being very patient,” he admonished lightly, trying not to laugh at the petulant look on her face. “And I’m good, Master Highwind, but I’m not good enough to be able to do all that without leaving this seat.”
“I thought you said we were friends,” she shot back.
“Hypoth—”
“Don’t even think about finishing that word,” she muttered dangerously.
“Fine, we’re ‘friends’.”
“Then drop the formalities, unless you want me to call you ‘Agent Shan’ from here on out.” She made sure to say the last part a few decibels louder than the rest of the sentence. Luckily the cantina was pretty much deserted at this time of day, but he fixed her with a look all the same for attempting to attract attention. 
5. Scene you haven’t written, but want to?
All of my unwritten WIPs! Hm, although maybe that’s not a fair answer. I was noodling on an outline of a long-ish promptfic earlier this week, and I remember remarking how I couldn’t wait to get to that section of the fic to write it out in full, because it’s shaping up to be pretty hilarious if I do say so. It involves a very bored trash panda tormenting his poor brother-in-law, who is not nearly as amused as me or Draike with the proceedings. Ask me next week, I’m sure my answer will be different, as I’m very changeable.
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ben10sims · 5 years ago
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Just a little something I’ve been working on within the past couple of days that I’m really proud of.. :-)
Eon and Lord Decibel! Two characters that I never made before in The Sims 4, remade or not.
I’m trying to make my own DJ Mixer trait for Lord Decibel as well. Hoping I can learn how and get good at it, because I’d love to make more custom traits for these sims!
Eon took literally all day yesterday to make. My god lol but he looks amazing!
There’s more that I’m working on of course (alternate dimension Bens), but there has to be some surprises, right? ;-)
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bethagain · 5 years ago
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Crowley and Aziraphale both love music, but it’s not until after they’re on their own side that they can finally sing together.
Day EIGHT of the 31 Days of Ineffables challenge started by @drawlight. Today’s prompt was choir. I am deeply clueless about musical things, but I gave it my best shot. 
I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up but it’s already a longer run of new creative ideas than I’ve had in… ever? Also on AO3. 
———–
Time Now to Write a New Song
Angels were built for many different purposes. Some were made to carry the word of God. They are fearsome in their shape and demeanor. They remind wayward men that there is a higher power, and they warn of consequences for those who forget. 
Some are symbols of justice. For God’s favored humans, they appear as beings of light, white robes and wings and sandals and all. They have an entirely different aspect when someone misbehaves in a way that catches Her eye. Everyone knows it’s Hell’s domain to carry out the actual punishment, but that horrifying nightmare creature pointing its finger toward the fires below? Yeah, that’s an angel.
Some angels exist simply to sing praises to God. Aziraphale always thought that was a little strange, to invent your own groupies and insist they stand around your throne shouting praises all the time. But then, She was ineffable. It wasn’t his place to understand.   
Aziraphale knew angels from these other orders, of course, but mostly just well enough to say hello in Heaven’s hallways. Only the higher-level staff, like Gabriel and Michael, had cross-order meetings on the regular. The main opportunity for the middle-level angels–the Principalities, the Virtues, the personal Guardian Angels–to cross paths with the rest was in the Choir.
That’s one of the things that all angels, regardless of their purpose, have in common. Every single angel, since the very dawn of time, has been created with a perfect singing voice built in.
Aziraphale would show up to Choir practice, and he’d take his place in the celestial harmonies. He’d hit each note perfectly every time, because it was impossible for an angel not to. Crystalline voices would fill all of Heaven’s realms.
Good lord, it was tedious. 
It’s a good thing singing comes easy to an angel, because–depending on the century–Aziraphale would spend the time wondering if he’d be able to get over to Italy for Monteverdi’s new opera. Or, what Beethoven was up to these days. Or if that Scott Joplin, with the interesting ragtime music, had anything new in the works.
Hell has its own rules about music. When an angel is cast out of heaven, they lose their closeness to God, and they lose their state of grace. What’s less commonly known is that they get to keep their singing voices. 
You might think that’s a lucky oversight. Until you hear Hell’s choir. 
In Hell’s concert halls, harmony is forbidden. Dissonance is the goal, the more grating the better. The things that win music awards in Hell are cacophony and discord. The closer you can get to fingernails on a blackboard, the more praise you’ll get from Satan.1
Crowley went through the motions. He’d make the effort to find exactly the wrong note. Sing in the wrong key. Miss the beat by just enough to throw off the demon next to him, too.
He couldn’t say so, of course, but he hated it. 
It made his corporation’s head hurt. He could feel his teeth vibrate with the clashing tones. If he’d been human, the decibel level would probably have blown out his eardrums. 
The worst part of all, though, was that demons weren’t allowed to sing any other way. 
Over the years, music became a way Aziraphale could touch the lives of humans. He sang in church choirs, mostly remembering that his corporation wasn’t supposed to be a tenor. And especially not a soprano. He joined in with sailors singing sea shanties, with soldiers chanting as they marched. He hummed, sometimes, as he puttered about his bookshop, and would-be customers would linger among the shelves to listen. 
Over the years, Crowley collected records, then cassettes, then CDs. 
Sometime around the 1980s, Aziraphale got involved with a local a cappella group. They sang in a nearby church basement, the sound rising up through its street-level windows. 
Crowley found excuses to walk by.
“You never sing,” Aziraphale said once, hundreds of years ago, as they sat listening to a minstrel and he caught Crowley tapping his foot.
“Nah,” Crowley said. “I can, but you wouldn’t want to hear it.”
A few months after Armageddon wasn’t, when it looked like maybe Heaven and Hell really would be leaving them alone, Aziraphale lifted his hand to knock on the door of Crowley’s flat. He hadn’t been invited, precisely, but Crowley had said “come by anytime.” 
Aziraphale hoped the invitation still stood. It had taken him a few weeks to work up the nerve to actually do it. 
Crowley came to the door looking confused. “Everything all right, Angel?” Behind him, Aziraphale could hear the television.
“Yes,” he found himself stuttering. He held up a bottle of scotch. “I just thought… was in the neighborhood…”
“Oh. Right.” Crowley still looked uncertain, but he stood back to let Aziraphale in, then headed for the room with the TV on the wall. “Let me turn this off.”
Aziraphale, following him, caught a glimpse of the screen, where Bea Arthur was at the refrigerator, about to bring out a cheesecake. “Oh, I like this show!”
Crowley paused, remote control in hand.
A little bit later, they were sitting at opposite ends of Crowley’s sleek leather sofa, each on their second tumbler of scotch. Crowley’s kitchen, always ready to serve, had produced a cheesecake in a box from Melrose and Morgan. The episode of Golden Girls came to a close, credits rolled, and a new episode followed. 
Aziraphale, more comfortable than he’d been in a while–belly full of cheesecake, head light with scotch, and possibly an actual, real friend sitting beside him–found himself singing along with the theme song. 
To his astonishment, beside him, a soft baritone voice joined in.
It’s good that the walls in Crowley’s building were thick, because by morning, they’d figured out a half-dozen harmonies on the Golden Girls theme song, moved on to the choral section of Beethoven’s Ninth, messed about with some Gregorian chants, and now, as the sun peeked over the horizon, were drunkenly matching each other note for note on the chorus of “Stand By Me.”
“I should go,” Aziraphale said when the song was done. The cheesecake was gone and the scotch bottle was empty. He didn’t want to overstay his welcome. 
“All right,” Crowley said, not making a move to get up.
Aziraphale wasn’t sure if that was a signal to go–can’t be bothered to see you to the door–or an invitation to stay. He scooted to the edge of the sofa cushion, then brushed the wrinkles from his trousers and straightened his waistcoat as he stood. “Maybe we could do this again sometime? You could teach me to sing some of that be-bop.”
All Crowley said was, “Sure,” but his sudden smile was an unmistakable yes.
1Mostly Satan’s praise consists of things like not being tossed into a pit of despair this week. Or not being abandoned in darkness. Which are things you would hope weren’t going to happen anyway. If Satan’s really impressed, though, you might be let off the hook for the team-building activities at the next demonic all-staff meeting.
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somniumoflight · 6 years ago
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Part 9 of Shade Lord as Ghost Ideation:
Okay so clearly the Shade Lord is really, really eldritch compared to other higher beings, and has a Mind and a Will, albeit ones that the other gods don’t understand – so do they have a Voice, too?
Something of a pattern I’ve noticed with my interpretation of the Shade Lord for this AU is how strange they are compared to the other higher beings in the world of Hollow Knight.  In some ways, they’re even the opposite of all the other gods in this universe, not just because of the whole “Void vs Light” thing, but just in the way they think and behave. They’re not a separate entity from their own domain as the other gods are, they don’t care about big flashy displays or taking over lands beyond their initial “birthplace,” they could care less about someone feeding their ego… they’d just, really really alien to the gods of the HK world as we know them.  So, with that in mind, my brain whipped up a little mini-idea – what if, instead of being Voiceless like it seems to be in canon, the Void DOES have a voice, but you just can’t hear it or understand it unless you’re of the Void yourself?
Now, I’m not just talking about an idea something like the ones I’ve seen some fic writers use, where Vessels can sort of psychically communicate with their siblings or even other bugs.  (Not that that’s a bad idea, honestly I love it a lot, no joke.  Void babies deserve voices!)  That’s still something that, theoretically, other bugs could understand if they had the means to hear it.  It only makes sense that, since the Abyss is pretty isolated from the rest of Hallownest, at first by choice and then because there’s PK’s light in the way, the Void and all the beings made of it would probably have their own “language” or ability to communicate unique to them.  On the other hand, the SL needs to be able to understand PK’s Void research in order to use him to figure out how to alter a Vessel’s mask to walk around in, so whatever kind of communication they use, they also have to be able to understand normal bugs.
Which is when my brain came up with what I think of as a really cool idea that I’ve decided to call the Void Frequency. To put it in really basic terms – the Void’s method of communication is essentially like broadcasting messages over radios or walkie-talkies with a secure frequency, while speaking in code.  In order to understand what is being said properly, you need the right equipment, the right frequency/radio channel, and the key to the “code” everyone’s speaking in.  In this case, however, the right “equipment/frequency/radio channel/code” is Void – only beings with at least a little Void in them can actually speak to other Void creatures in this way, and the less Void there is in you, the harder it is for you to both “receive” and “send” messages to other Void critters. For example – something like the Collector, which is literally nothing but Void so far as I can tell, would be able to communicate with literally any other Void creature in existence, and probably with unlimited range so long as they’re within Hallownest or any of the surrounding caverns.  
On the other hand, the Vessels have much less Void in their make-up and Hornet even less than them, and though they’d be able to send and receive messages through the Void Frequency to an extent, for them it would be like trying to use a radio that keeps dissolving into static all the time. You can kind of hear what’s being said on the other end, but the static keeps drowning it out and thus keeps you from hearing the whole thing – and the same goes in reverse.  And the static only keeps getting worse and worse the less Void you have in you, or the farther away you are from another Void creature until you don’t even hear static – just eerie silence.  
Even the Shade Lord, I think, would communicate to their creations like this, though their “voice” would probably be louder than everybody else’s communicating through the Void thanks to them being the local primordial Void god.
Since this is bugs/ghostly critters/giant Void monsters we’re talking about here, I suppose there wouldn’t actually be static that people hear from them, though. Maybe the Void equivalent of static would be those ghostly noises that the Siblings and Shades make – they’re definitely noises, but you can’t make out words either.  Yeah, that sound better.  Those with Void in them can at least hear those noises – but anybody without a single drop of Void in them, like the Radiance or the Pale King?  Not a chance.  Just a complete and utter lack of noise, the kind of silence that has such low decibels of ambient sounds that you would literally hear your own body functioning.  Which is REALLY FREAKING SILENT.
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