#both current and future

[gxlden-angels]

Hello sinners, apostates, and blasphemers! I've decided that if I'm gonna sit and re-read books from my youth, then I might as well help others while I'm doing it

I'll tag the posts as "Soup Spills" and probably the name of the book. One thing that's been helping me lately is re-reading things I used to believe and letting myself actually acknowledge the emotions I felt back then and feel now. I finally feel like I've gained enough confidence to express anger, distain, and disgust directly towards a target rather than the vague target of Religious Trauma

[dangans-ur-ronpas]

happy pride month

[zarnzarn]

Athena shoots upright as soon as her eyes fly open, gasping. She calls on her spear and slashes in a brutal curve, provoking shouts from the enemies who'd been holding her down as they back off. Bares her teeth in a snarl as she grabs the sheets off the bed to whip at the eyes of the assailants and-

Light floods into her eyes as they step away from her attack and she freezes as she remembers a flash of brightness too fast to escape, heat and burning like never before, electricity that seeped into her very bones, thunder that deafened, lightning that hurt-

"Get back!" She hears and turns unsteadily back to- back to where Apollo is pulling Ares back by the cape against the far wall. Apollo. Ares. Aphrodite, Aephestus, Artemis.

"Wh-" She manages, before she's bowled over, coughing. She has never done it before, and she can't stop it from happening- chest rattling as her knees give out, barely holding herself up with her spear in time to reach the bed. It doesn't stop, doesn't stop, plumes of smoke escaping her mouth as she can't stop, can't breathe-

"Athena," Hera whispers, and a rough hand gently touches her on the shoulder, handing her a glass of nectar. She accepts it gratefully, tilting her head back to down it. It's soothing like it's never been before, stoping the coughing at last and it clears her headache long enough to realize that she isn't in her armour- she's in a chiton.

"Where is my armour?" She rasps as soon as she can, wiping her mouth. Looks around- Apollo's chambers.

She'd always known being the favourite wouldn't protect her forever. But repeating the words didn't seem to reduce the hurt.

Nor the shaking fear.

"-not!" Apollo is saying, indignantly setting his hands on his hips. "Do you have any idea how hard you got hit? You're lucky I could even stabilize your aspect enough to reduce some of the damage, otherwise you'd still be having a seizure back at Mount Olympus!"

"Mount Olympus," Athena mutters oddly, without much intent to it. She tries to stand again and her vision suddenly cuts out, provoking a round of screams as she loses her balance.

When the world blurrily comes back into focus- and she doesn't like this, hates this sudden weakness; she's always been able to get back up from any blow, has never visited a medical chamber in her existence, even when they had to fight the Titans- she's in Ares' arms, oddly horizontal.

"Cease this stupidity, sister," Artemis hisses at her as she grabs onto Athena's arms to bring her back to the bed. "Calm yourself. You are alive. You are safe."

"My armour," Athena says, voice cracking, head rolling oddly on her neck, unable to look upright. She catches a glimpse of Aephastus holding onto a sobbing Aphrodite, staring at her with a strange sort of sorrow.

Something twinges in Athena's chest in reply, but she stumbles before she can address it, feeling a fission of panic at the instability before Ares' grip on her tightens enough to keep her upright. They're all staring at her like that, she realizes, with that same horrified heartbreak.

"Didn't Artemis just tell you to cease stupidity?" Ares barks, though it's rather quietly said, for him. He adjusts her on the bed until she can lean back against the pillows. His hands are shaking, and Athena stares at them with curiosity. "Weren't you the one to lecture me half to death about when to remove the armour?"

"What," She says weakly, then moans as an aftershock trembles through her, residual sparks humming maliciously as they exit her skin, leaving her trembling. "I- hmmm, what? What were- what were-"

"Athena, calm down, please, you're scaring us," Hera says, bangles jangling as she sits down next to her, taking one of Athena's hands with desperation. Athena tilts her head to squint, noticing the tears for the first time, before she shudders as her skin registers the heat, the unbearable heat.

"Scaring?" She murmurs when it stops, voice coming out smaller than she intended it to.

"Her fever keeps rising and falling," Apollo reenters the room before anyone can answer, carrying a large tub of some odd liquid. "Here, help me rub this on her skin, it should extract any remaining- any remaining lightning."

They all move towards the tub at the same time, dipping the cloths provided and then taking positions in a circle surrounding her. Athena stiffens, fingers twitching for a weapon, but the first touch of Hera's drenched cloth on her forehead makes her moan in relief, the blessed coolness of it making her melt back into the sheets. She has no strength to complain or protest when her fellow gods each take a limb to rub at, a sensation both horrifically terrible and unbearably good. She has never taken her armour off in her life.

"Easy, that's it," Apollo says coaxingly, lips downturned like he's trying not to cry. She whimpers as the cloth on her left leg suddenly burns as a spark escapes, instinctively pulling it away, but Aphrodite grabs it before she can and resumes rubbing, whispering apologies. She turns her head and weakly opens her mouth for the herb Apollo lifts to her lips, desperate for relief from the splitting headache.

She can't think. She can't think.

Athena has no idea how long it goes on, how long the other gods ignore their realms to tend to her. Slowly, they strike up a conversation, something light-hearted that she can't follow- different from their never-ending arguments and insults, as they talk about the past year and humourous stories and varied anecdotes.

Athena can't help but relax into it, the soft bed at her back and gentle hands massaging her sore muscles and warmth all around her. Feels something trembling within her since she first became aware of herself settling down with a sigh.

Until she suddenly smells ozone.

Hera and Apollo both notice her tensing up immediately, and look to where she can hear slow footsteps approaching. Apollo growls and shoots out a hand, bringing up the shields of his realm.

The conversation dies down as they all look to the side, at the distinct shadow at the other side of the curtain.

Rage, Athena realises, thoughts slow and muddied. They're angry with him.

"I will handle this," Hera says coldly, with the steel undertone that Athena strives for. She moves her cloth aside and leans down to kiss Athena on the forehead, like a mother would. "You rest, my daughter."

Athena's breath hitches, eyes burning. Nobody has ever cared for her, apart from Zeu-

Nobody has ever cared for her.

... Nobody has-

Hera turns sharply at the noise that suddenly escapes Athena, half hysterical laugh and half distraught wail.

"Did I win?" Athena asks desperately, pushing herself upright, ignoring the protests of the others as she pulls her limbs from their grasp. Hera stares at her and Athena grabs the side of the bed as she tries to lever herself up like a wild animal, demanding in a broken voice, "Did I win?"

A silence that stretches for a painful moment before- "Yes," Aephastus says, putting his hand on her shoulder to guide her back from the edge. "Yes, Athena, you won."

A strangled gasp of relief leaves her, making her light-headed as she leans back against the pillows. She shivers, then sobs- humiliation running through her before she hears an answering noise of sorrow from Aphrodite next to her, pressure all around as her five younger siblings embrace her carefully, gently, like she would break at any moment.

She's not the one who's been raped by a Titan's daughter for seven years.

The thought has her breath hitching, wiping her tears away with a hand that refuses to co-operate the first few tries. "I need to-"

"No," Artemis snaps, glaring at her. "I know you think of nothing but your work, but Athena, you cannot do it this time." Outside, Hera's and Zeus' voices rise as they begin to shout and scream. "You must rest."

"N-no, that's not- aah," She groans as another aftershock rips through her, leaving her panting and soaked in sweat when it's done. "I need to- I need-"

"Hermes has gone to his grandson," Aephastus says soothingly. "Peace, Athena. Your hero is free."

For a moment, it doesn't comprehend and she stares at him blankly. "Free," She repeats, words still infuriatingly faint and lilting. "He's free? I- I need my helmet, where is-"

"No, Athena!"

"Sister, please, you cannot resume your duties, you are in no state!"

"I need my helmet, please, please- just give me my helmet!"

Her cry echoes off the walls and she hears herself when it bounces back to her, broken and pleading and so unlike her she feels nauseous. Her siblings have gone silent and still at her begging, staring at her with shock and horror and fear and sorrow alike. Even Zeus and Hera have stopped talking.

Athena shakes, wishing she could rip this awful vulnerability out of her veins, wishes she could find a stone footing to stand on once more, wishes she wasn't in this horrible chiton.

"Please," She whispers.

Quietly, Aephastus gets to his feet and walks in the direction of the nearby drawers, where she can now see her belongings stacked up haphazardly, blood-stained.

"Sister, you must calm down," Aphrodite pleads. She takes her hands and Athena dazedly looks down at her, with her wide, scared eyes. Seizure, her mind registers finally from Apollo's earlier talk. Ah. She seems to have frightened them all. "You cannot afford a relapse."

Athena squeezes her fingers in acknowledgement, but reaches for the helmet when it's held out, dented and worn.

She touches the metal and feels the full force of seven years of silenced prayers hit her at once.

She's crying before she knows she's doing it, clutching the helmet to her chest as the warmth of the worship wraps around her like a shawl, and holds it tight against her as Ares tries to pry it away.

"No, no!" Apollo intervenes, shifting forward. He touches a hand to the helmet and suddenly the hymn bursts forth around them, loud even though the prayer itself is quiet and broken. Athena inhales at the feeling of it, soothing over the cracks in her own mind with their never-ending continuity, desolate, unbroken faith even when she never came to help-

He's still singing.

She shifts her hands on the helmet to make sure but- yes. Odysseus is calling her, still, at this very moment.

Her head snaps up, but even the dizziness the motion causes doesn't take away from how much clearer the room looks. "Where is he?"

"Sister-"

"If you do not answer me, I will take to the skies myself," She says firmly. "Where is he?"

Her siblings exchange looks.

"Three days out from Ithaka," Artemis replies with a sigh. "On a raft. But listen, wait but an hour, at least absorb these prayers-"

Athena stumbles off the bed and pulls on the helmet, closing her eyes.

"Wait, the bandages-!"

"Athena, you'll hurt yourself, please!"

"Daughter, be careful!"

Athena opens her eyes and looks out at the waves, rough and choppy, but not enough to sink the raft. She looks down and looks at the way the faded clothes don't fit him, the way he has no water left to drink but he still continues to sing.

"Odysseus," She says, and he freezes.

A wave rises and falls. They stay silent, unmoving.

"Won't you look?" The words break out of her, cracked and desperate.

He inhales and exhales, tears in the sound of it. "I don't want to look if you're... if you're not really here."

She swallows against the lump in her throat, takes a step forward. "Well, I-" Her voice cracks, but the fragile grin on her face is real as it spreads, the frailest thread of laughter entering her voice. "I would hope. That if you were hallucinating of me, that the spectre would at least have wisdom enough to tell you that you were."

Odysseus sobs and her heart cracks, feels his heart cracking in turn; yet it is akin to a misaligned bone that never healed right and has to be reset- she can hear the laughter before it comes, with relief coming from the brink of madness, with joy they'd both forgotten and missed. "It is you."

"I could not reach you on Ogygia," She blurts out, desperate to make him understand. "Could not hear your call. I would have come the second time you prayed, if I had."

"It is you," He whispers, swaying. A wave rises suddenly and they both burst into movement, grabbing ropes and pulling the mast, balancing together to keep it steady.

The wave passes. They are almost touching now.

"Won't you look?" Athena asks again, raw and grieving. "Odysseus. My companion, my friend. Please."

He turns at that, a stunned expression on his face- before it turns into wide-eyed horror as he looks at her. She laughs breathlessly, slightly dizzy, but- her friend. How lovely it is to see him again.

"Athena!" He rushes forward with unexpected vitality, the parts of him that she knew suddenly rising to light in his eyes, in his movements, becoming unhidden from the defeated, beaten figure he'd been moments before. "What in Gaia's name-"

"I'm sorry," She interrupts as she slumps forward into the hands on her arms, off-balance. "I should have tried better to understand, all those years ago. I understand now and I- Odysseus, I am-"

"Athena, shut up," Odysseus snaps, clearly panicking. She laughs again, because isn't it such a novelty, to have a person who will have the audacity to tell her to? "Of course it's forgiven, I'm sorry too, I should have fucking listened back then- but listen, what in Hades happened to you? Why do you look like this- why do you have bandages- Hermes wouldn't answer when I asked if something happened to you, fuck-"

"Peace," Athena rasps, even as her vision blinks in and out, forcing her to kneel. They both grimace as another wave crashes into the raft, but they don't upturn. Odysseus kneels down with her, staring at her with such worry and concern she can feel nothing but fondness. "The disagreements of gods are often violent."

"Gods-" His eyes flicker to the side of her face, and he frowns, reaching out to push back the helmet. She bends her face down to let him, feeling an odd burning on the left side that she has a vague bad feeling about- proved right when Odysseus' expression falls into blank horror. "You got into a fight with-"

"Yes."

"But he's your-"

"I know. He did not take kindly to my petition to release you," She smiles dryly, without mirth.

"To release me?" Odysseus wheezes, face cracking into anguish and disbelief alike. "Athena, what- I- I'm not worth-"

"It was worth it," She snaps. "Consider it my penance for abandoning my own. I certainly don't regret it."

"I never felt abandoned," Odysseus whispers, taking her hands as she shifts, supporting her body with his own as they lean against the mast. She looks at him, and remembers why Penelope is still weaving, why he's still out on the waters, why Ithaka is waiting out the suitors till Telemachus takes the throne. "I always knew you would come back. I just figured it would take ten years more, perhaps."

Athena is silent for a bit, absorbing that. And then, because she can't hold it back any longer- "I am sorry about your men." His breath hitches under her and she turns to take him in her arms, knowing what's coming. "I am sorry about your friends."

He sobs, ugly and loud, and she holds him tighter. "I am sorry that Titan's whelp had you for so long, and what she did to you. I am sorry the Fates were so unkind."

"Athena," He keens, finally falling to pieces. The sobs are mere loud gasps for air at first, before it dissolves into wailing, screaming, grieving for all the men they'd kept alive through a war, only to lose them to this cruel tragedy instead. Even she hadn't known- hadn't anticipated how wrong things would go after she left. Hadn't even thought that he hadn't reached home.

"It's all my fucking fault," He shouts, shaking. "If only I had- if only-"

"It is not. No one could have known," She whispers. "The Fates are unknown to us all."

He sobs louder and she closes her eyes.

But finally, their tears dry up. She holds him still, as the night fades and the sun rises again, trying to take his hurt into herself so he can be happy again.

"I am sorry," She whispers, seaspray around them. "That my enemies became your own. That I pushed you so hard. That I chose you, and brought pain to your life so."

"Hey now," Odysseus says, pulling back to look at her, a broken smile on his face. "Hold your blasphemous tongue, before you insult the wisdom of Pallas Athena." She laughs, even as tears spill over. "Even if I had the chance to choose again right at this moment, my goddess, I would still choose you."

"That means more than you know," Athena murmurs, overcome. She gathers all her strength and reaches out to run a hand over his head, soothing his mind and driving away the last tendrils of madness that were still holding onto him. He sighs and relaxes under her, some visible weight lifting from his shoulders. "Still. I will learn from my mistakes. If you would give your old friend a chance-"

"Stop right there. Of course I-" Odysseus scoffs, reaching out to hold her left cheek for emphasis. "Athena, your left eye is half gone."

"Ah. Well, that explains the depth perception," She mutters, then bursts into giggles at the incredulous look on his face.

"Are you drugged?" Odysseus demands, but he's already trying not to laugh himself. They both move on fast. "What am I saying, of course you are- have you been drugged this whole time? Who on Earth drugged you?"

"That would be me," Apollo says, crossing his arms.

Odysseus snarls, grabbing his sword and swinging wildly in an arc, half-animal in his panic, pushing Athena behind him.

"FUCKING- whoa, hey, calm down, it's her brother, it's Apollo!" Apollo half-shrieks inelegantly, jumping back. "Honestly! Athena, call off your hero, please."

"Apollo?" Odysseus tilts his head, lowering his sword and narrowing his eyes.

Apollo stares at him. "Wow, you two- really do act the exact same, huh. Yes, Apollo, god of please let me change your fucking bandages, do you mind?"

Odysseus bows and murmurs apologies, clearly wary of getting into more trouble, but to her mild surprise walks behind Athena instead of to the other side of the raft.

"I don't need assistance," She mutters to him, even as she grimaces at the length of the chiton as she tries to pull herself upright.

"You're still dizzy," Odysseus points out, settling in behind her to hold her steady. He wipes at the tears still on his face and smiles at her. She manages a half-smile back. "Do you need to go back to Olympus?"

"Yes," Artemis crosses her hands and Odysseus' fingers tighten painfully on her shoulders.

"I'm not quite certain there's space for so many on this raft," Athena mutters.

"It's a magical raft, it'll survive- but never mind that, could you not have at least sent a message that you were okay?"

"Well, maybe you should have thought of that before running off without a word!"

"Really, daughter, you should know better!"

Odysseus grip is bruising now, and his sword is in front of Athena protectively; she can already tell what moves he's planning to use if they choose to attack. "Who..?" He asks lowly.

"Pantheon. At ease," She replies back shortly, before looking up at the others. "I thank you, my fellow go- my family, for your worry and concern. But we are only two days out from Ithaka and I would like to see this journey completed."

"You are not going to see yourself completed, if you don't rest," Apollo says, roughly at the exact same time that Athena undermines her own argument by throwing up on the raft.

"Athena, go," Odysseus says urgently when it's over, handing her helmet back to her and adjusting her cape as Hera kneels down beside her to hand her another glass of nectar, looking at him oddly. Odysseus grimaces and changes his tone. "I will be fine, patroness. I'll call for you when I reach the shores."

Movement catches her eye and she sees Ares remove his own helmet, giving her a reproving look. She remembers the speech he was talking about now- the one she'd loudly ranted at him when she was drunk a year ago, thinks about how much more at ease he is now.

"Alright," She acquiesces and everyone breathes a sigh of relief. "Two days."

Mania fills Odysseus' eyes as he smiles back, finally home from a war twenty years ago. "Two days."

Athena grins, even as she feels Hera wrap an arm around her to take her away. "Penelope is waiting."

Odysseus' eyes widen, then fill with tears, like he'd never quite truly let himself believe it; but his smile is wide and true. "Penelope is waiting. Thank you, Pallas Athena."

"You don't thank friends," She murmurs, exhaustion settling in. Odysseus laughs and the last thing she feels is a warm hand on her cheek and their foreheads pressed together, before the world goes black and she knows no more.

[screechingfromthevoid]

nothing (besides everyone ignoring Orym's deal) has made me angrier than watching Dorian keep up this facade. Dorian Storm has always been a type of mask he's worn. At first he called himself a liar because of it. The happy go lucky bard was a way of escaping for him. He was escaping Brontë so he created Dorian. He didn't believe he was Dorian. Until the Crown Keepers made Dorian real. And for a while, he really believed he was Dorian. That he has this new family and new life and he could be who he truly wanted to be.

And then his brother came back and made his problems Dorian's problems. Until he had to put Brontë back on. Because even if the Crown Keepers + Cyrus called him Dorian, he was Brontë. He had to be who his brother thought he was.

When Cyrus dies, the thread to Brontë had snapped. He was going to see Orym, back to the Bells Hells, back to Dorian Storm. But the foundation of Dorian had shattered. Dorian was created in order to run from his place in life, family, Cyrus. Now he was gone. The Crown Keepers had fallen apart. His friends fell through his fingers and he couldn't do anything to stop it. He was once ready to side with a betrayer god for these people and now they're in the wind.

So Dorian shows back up to Bells Hella and he's completely broken. The foundation of both of his lives has been thoroughly rocked. No brother. No Crown Keepers. The two things that forged Dorian Storm. He wears that mask so fucking well. Because he still wants to believe in it. He said it live on stage that he should "believe his own backstory". The one he made up. The one where he was a bard.

He wants to be Dorian so bad. He spends all his money on Orym, he spins the bottle so he can kiss his friends, he flirts, he blushes and giggles at compliments. Exactly how Dorian would, should.

But he wears the gold of the heir. He has a festering animosity inside his chest. He doesn't sleep. He's thinner than he was. He doesn't sleep. He sicks abominations after their creators. He talks to God's without an ounce of self preservation, daring them to strike him down. He does not acknowledge them as they taunt him.

The god of beauty and magic calls him beautiful and he does not smile.

[warning-heckboop]

We're not so different, you and I

Judged by the inexplicable magics at our cores

Or by how we strayed from the paths laid out for us

To live our own lives, and tell our own tales

I can only hope now that yours

Leads to a happier end than mine

((Wolf belongs to @bunnieswithknives))

[catsinmugs]

the kibo's are back in san myshuno :,)

[gammija]

Wrote this all last night in a rush after thinking about aroace podlock too hard - not sure how good it is but people on the discord liked it! so y'all will get it too

[Rushing sounds. At first it sounds like white noise, but there's a rhythm to it, swelling and ebbing; waves crashing onto sand. Wind whistles past the mic occasionally, while soft footsteps can be heard underneath. A quiet beach...

...Well, quiet, except for John giving one of his characteristic introductions to a mailbag episode, before starting proper.]  

JOHN: ...Okay, first question is for Sherlock, from Gammijonk - thought the 'Jonk' joke was starting to die down a bit, but apparently not! This one can be quite a, uh, heavy one, mate, so totally up to you if you want to answer or not. 

They ask: "No need to answer if you feel uncomfortable," like I said, and then the question is, "As what sexuality do you identify, and how did you come to realize?" Again, I'll just edit this out and we can start with another one if you don't want to share that kind of info with the listeners.  

SHERLOCK: No need, it's... alright. I'm in a sharing mood, I find. Not sure whether it's the calming effect of the noise from the waves or something else. 

...I, uh, consider myself to be asexual.  

JOHN: ...Uh- what- but- I mean, not that I'm disagreeing with you on your own identity and such, but I thought you told me you were gay? 

SHERLOCK: I definitely did not.  

JOHN: No, I distinctly remember, after the Gloria Scott case - I asked you if you had been in a relationship with Trevor. And you said yes!  

SHERLOCK: Correct.  

JOHN: Okay, well, so, then...?  

SHERLOCK: I- well. Let's see... I could, try to describe it another way?

JOHN: Right, right. I've actually heard of that before, now you mention it... So that's you, then?  

Within aspec identities, there is often a distinction made between sexual attraction, and romantic attraction. Sexual attraction is when you look at a person and feel like you want to have sex with them. Romantic attraction is when you look at a person and want to have a romantic relationship with them.

For most people, these two kinds of attraction seem to be intrinsically linked, but just as someone could conceivably have a romantic relationship without sex, or two people can have sex without being in a romantic relationship, so too is it possible to feel one kind of attraction, but not the other.  

SHERLOCK: Ah, no. The distinction feels meaningless when applied to myself. 

But, I mentioned it, because I feel it illustrates something of the complicated semantics when it comes to identity, sexuality and romance.  

To get back to the original question for a moment as to how I realized; When I was very young, I wasn't thinking about attraction at all. Then, as a young teenager, my sexuality felt noteworthy only in that it seemed to make me worthy of praise, a rarity: other boys were constantly doing stupid things, willing to do anything to impress a girl-  

JOHN: -While you were only doing stupid things for the love of the game?  

SHERLOCK: Hah. Quite. Well, mostly in order to follow my hyperfixations wherever they lead me, but I won't deny that as a teenager I might not have always been capable of making the brightest decisions. 

In any case, as I got older, I began to realise that my lack of attraction was not, in fact, a sign that I was simply better than the other boys, but something that required a different explanation. So, I did what I do best, and I began to... experiment.  

During that time, I eventually entered into a relationship with Trevor Scott. And those relationships would lead me to eventually learn the terms asexuality and aromanticism, in fact. Looking back, I still didn't feel romantic attraction for Trevor or others then, either. But a romance certainly was the way I and him viewed it at the time. And I certainly did love him.  

JOHN: Right, that makes sense.  

SHERLOCK: So, you see, that's where your confusion stemmed from.

Anyways, now that I had a name for my experiences, after that there followed a brief and unfortunate period in which I felt like I had to figure out whether my asexuality originated in one of my neurodivergences, or if those were two unrelated ways in which I deviated from the societal norm.

Thankfully I quickly came to the conclusion that that would be a fruitless endeavour, like trying to prove a negative. There is only one version of me, and he is asexual, and he is autistic. Whether or not those two facts are related, is frankly irrelevant.  

...That answers the question, I believe?  

JOHN: It definitely does. Wow, mate. That was a lot of talking, for one of these! Man. Feels difficult to follow up with some question about what's our favourite, finger, or something... That was just an example, they, they didn't actually ask that.  

...Do you... want a hug?  

SHERLOCK: Uhm, sure? Yes. I could go for one. Any particular reason why?  

JOHN: Not really - just felt like giving you one.  

[Fabric rustles. It's quiet for a long moment, only wind and waves.]  

SHERLOCK: ... If we count the thumb as a finger, obviously that's my favourite.  

JOHN: Obviously?  

[END] 

[chloecherrysip]

Mario watching his and Luigi's commercial in Punch-Out Pizzeria

[stackslip]

my relationship with vegeta as a character is complex but the moment the word "blorbo" became popular on tumblr i immediately knew vegeta was the og blorbo to me. the little gremlin i like to shake for enrichment. the first one i watched angsty amvs for. he can hold SO MANY layers of pettiness and rage and wounded pride and terror of being left behind. insane how toriyama hated that guy and wanted him dead all the time but vegeta kept crawling out of his own self inflicted Situations like a wheezing hunter that set up a trap and is surprised to have fallen in it himself and people cheered so hard he got one of the best rival and redemption arcs in shounen full stop. decades on every shounen has tried to imitate what vegeta had and none have succeeded

[cent-scratchnsniff]

doodle dump

[veunho]

Playing Elnea kingdom as if Knights and Scholars are sort of like nobility, and trying to figure out arranged marriages between them (and also my character) on first gen to get the best talent odds on future generations is a NIGHTMARE

[thegreatyin]

honestly looking back at all the irem futures. the funniest takeaway from all of them is that fires is 2000% doomed by the narrative. no matter what, This Specific Evil Capitalist Bat, out of All The Other Evil Capitalist Bats, is apparently The Most Dead Guy Coded member of the bazaar's fucked up goofy horrible workplace sitcom. how does (will?) this even happen

[kingofanemptyworld]

appreciation post for the rip + latla + andy + fuuko dynamic of loop 100, latla and rip were just constantly horrified and baffled by anfuu and it was great

[euclicide]

Yo how's STASIS coming along, my friend?

its ceased development indefinitely but who cares check this cool shit out!!

[tommykinard217]

I'm playing mass effect (idk what made my brain wanna do it but why not ya know) and I'm planning on doing a whole series playthrough where my Shepard doesnt romance anyone until me3, where he'll romance Kaidan.

Because yes

[esteemed-excellency]

27 and 17 for hiram and the deviless?

27. How far would they go for each other? Would they risk their own lives for each other?

Presently, Hiram would gladly risk a temporary death for the Deviless, but he wouldn't risk to be permakilled, he has some long-term plans he needs to be alive for.

The Deviless would reluctantly admit that she would in fact not mind to be temporarily discorporated in her swarm of bees if it meant saving Hiram, but she wouldn't risk a permanent death either. She's been alive for ages and she's not about to give up on life now.

They both know they wouldn't risk a permanent death for each other and that's totally fine, sometimes people die forever and that's just one more reason to keep a relationship casual. In fact, they're both so casual about this that they don't talk about permanent death often. Hiram has always casually tried to pry into Hell's secret to preserve the Treacheries, and Deviless has always satisfied his curiosity about the Laws, casually hinting about the Marvellous. They've always talked about time, and the furnaces, and red science, for no reason in particular. There's no need to talk about death when you can focus on how to pervert the very laws that uphold it. Going very far for each other implies that at one point you reach a limit, and they're both actively working to dismantle it and go way beyond that. Casually, of course.

Needless to say, they would not be happy if someone permakilled their love.

17. Are they keeping a secret together? How do they feel about that?

The only big secret that they're keeping together is a Law. The Deviless was already keeping it, and Hiram is fully endorsing Hell's efforts. The Gracious Widow is on board with the plan too, but she doesn't know all the details about the law furnaces. Captain Dargor knows about the plan too, but not its cost (Naples may or may not end up obliterated in the process, Hiram and the Deviless don't really care about collateral damage).