if I had a dog, I would totally take it to cons with a brown wig on it and watch the fma fans collapse in grief all around me
if we got all the cats in the world to meow at exactly the same time how loud would it be
Well the average cat meow is like 65/75dB (above speaking volume but below shouting) and there are about 2bn cats in the world, so, by that math, 130-150bn dB. Which is about 100 million jets taking off at once.
Anonymous said: Promt- Diana: How could you let Leona die so many times last match, Ahri?!?!
“How old are you, anyway?”
The voice startles Ahri. It’s well past midnight; she was trying to get her rest. Now she sits bolt straight and narrows her eyes at the visitor. Darkness cloaks everything but the glowing brand on her forehead.
“What are you doing here, Diana?” Ahri asks. Faint blue-green light illuminates the space around them.
Diana kneels only a yard or two away, her moonsilver blade clutched in her hand, fury etched onto her face. “I’m asking you how old you are,” she replies.
Ahri rises to her feet. Something is wrong. Something is very wrong. The fox within her snarls; Ahri can barely keep herself from baring her teeth, from snapping, from allowing her power to overwhelm this impotent whelp—
No. No, she cannot. She bites her lip, hard, and stifles the urge to attack.
“Nine hundred and a little bit,” Ahri says. “Why does it matter?”
Diana stands. She takes her khopesh and levels it at Ahri’s face. Her eyes burn even in the dark of night.
“Then in your ‘nine hundred and a little bit’ years,” Diana seethes, “You should have learned how to better care for your teammates.”
Ahri backs away. Don’t fight her. Don’t fight her. If you fight her, you’re going to kill her. “Diana, put down the sword. I didn’t mean for her to get hurt—”
“She was hurt regardless,” Diana says. “I am going to say this to you once. If the Chosen is ever hurt again because of you, then I will find you. And I will chase you for another nine hundred years if I have to. But you will feel my wrath.”
Diana lowers the blade. She turns her back and—
She’s vulnerable. She’s vulnerable and Ahri cannot stop herself.
In her voice like a poisoned blade she speaks, her eyes sparkling violet, her tails fanning out behind her like a peacock’s plumes.
“You should be careful, Diana,”Ahri says. “I know what your soul tastes like. And it’s awfully bitter.”
The Chosen stops for a moment. She looks over her shoulder.
Is that fear Ahri sees in her eyes?
Yes, she can taste it.
She does love the taste of fear.