#can't believe i'm tagging it again but...

[dribs-and-drabbles]

Sorry, I can't get over the ThamePo/tempo thing that @thebroccolination's friend pointed out.

In my tags of their post I reblogged, I wrote (read: screamed) that it's 'tempo' because of music, because they're in an idol group.

But then I thought about the full title...and that ending to today's ep:

Heart That Skips a Beat

And I realised it's also about a rhythm, a beat, a heartbeat...time...and how the heartbeat speeds up - increases in tempo - in that moment of attraction.

Tempo is everything about this show. The right time to be together, the right time to go their separate ways. When to feel they have achieved their goals, how to persist when things feel like failure. The music and songs that bring the group together, the steady, regular beat that keeps them in time, in tune with each other during their performances, in the dances. And the time Thame and Po take to get to know each other (9 hours and whatever minutes long it was), the rhythmical repetition of a phone number remembered, the time to stop still and wait and listen and feel the tempo change.

I know there'll be more to add to this as the series goes on but honestly I'm so blown away at this discovery and I can't believe we haven't noticed it earlier. Anyway, thanks again to Key's friend 💙

[phoenix-downer]

Next to My Husband

Summary: Penelope can't believe Odysseus is really home, and he claims he isn't the man he once was. But one final test reveals the truth, and husband and wife reunite at long last.

~ 2770 words. Set during "Would You Fall in Love with Me Again" in the Ithaca Saga of Epic: the Musical and expands on their reunion. Angst, Romance, Fluff. Check the tags for additional info. POV Penelope.

Penelope waited in her chambers, staring out the open window facing the sea. For a long time, she had despised it for taking her husband away from her. How many nights had she spent staring at it, hoping, wishing, praying he would come home? And now Telemachus claimed he had returned.

It was too good to be true. Odysseus was dead. He had drowned or perished on some faraway island. She was in denial like so many other widows of the Trojan War. This was just a dream, nothing more.

She faintly heard her name called out, and then the door to her chambers creaked open. A man stood there, looking utterly haggard and ragged in the torchlight. He quite literally wore rags, his clothes were stained with blood, scars littered his body, and his dark hair and beard were matted. His eyes were red instead of the brown she remembered. But the way he looked at her…

She swallowed and stood. It had been so long since she had seen Odysseus that she wasn't sure if she could trust her eyes to tell her the truth.

“Is it really you? Have my prayers been answered? Or am I dreaming once more?” she asked.

He smiled sadly. “It's hard to believe, I know.”

She hesitated, then took a few steps closer to him. “Forgive me, but you look different. Your eyes are tired and your frame is lighter. Even your smile is different. It's so torn. Is it really you, my love?”

If this man really was her husband, he had changed so much in the intervening years that her heart and mind were having trouble coming to terms with the differences. She was a practical woman out of necessity, but all those painful days and sleepless nights longing for him to return had created a phantom lurking in her mind, a spectre made up of memories and longing. Her phantom husband was not the same as the man before her now—he was young and kind and optimistic, not middle-aged and jaded and haunted.

But then again, she was hardly the same woman either. She was also middle-aged now, and exhausted, and cautious. Naivety was the luxury of fools. She’d had to be clever and cunning and deceitful to survive. To raise Telemachus and keep the kingdom running and hold the suitors at bay.

His face fell. “I’m not the man you fell in love with,” he admitted, and she was confused for a moment before he continued. “The man you once adored—he's long gone.” That haunted look returned to his eyes, and he hung his head in shame. “I'm not your kind and gentle husband, and I don't deserve to be called your love. Because I'm not that man, not anymore. I don't even know that I deserve to be called a man after what I've done.” He ran a shaking hand through his shaggy hair.

She wasn't sure what to say. If he truly was a monster, he wouldn't feel remorse. But those blood-soaked clothes certainly spoke for themselves. The servants were currently cleaning up the aftermath of his killing spree that had left 108 men dead. And yet he had done it for a reason. Telemachus had told her it was to protect them. He had spelled out their horrible plans, the ghastly fate Odysseus had spared them from. Any good husband and father would do everything in his power to stop such an awful plot directed at his family. It was just difficult to wrap her mind around how far Odysseus had gone.

The world was a cruel place, to turn her kind, gentle husband into a ruthless killer.

He mistook her silence for judgment. “I know you've been waiting for the man who was once your love,” he said, and there were tears glistening in his red eyes and shadows on his face from the flickering torchlight. “But you don't know what all I've done, and I can't change the past. How could you ever love me if I told you?”

“Try me," she said softly, like this was another one of the riddles or puzzles or challenges they always used to make for one another. “What kinds of things did you do?”

She wanted to know. Wanted to find out what he had done, what spectres haunted him.

“Left a trail of red on every island,” he told her. “Traded my friends like they were just objects I could use. Hurt more lives than I can count.”

He continued telling her what he had done, and though it made her stomach turn, she appreciated his honesty. He wasn't sugarcoating his behavior or pretending his dark deeds hadn't happened or weren't his fault. When she had seen him off to war, she had hardly expected him to keep his hands clean. But the war had ended a decade ago, and his journey back to her side had taken another decade and even more bloodshed.

Yes, the world was cruel to drive a man like her husband to commit such atrocities. She could only hope the world would be less cruel for their son. A kind, peaceful world where good men never had to be ruthless to make it home alive…where good men didn't have to leave for war in the first place…if only.

But she was Penelope, Queen of Ithaca, and the scarred, bloodstained, haggard man before her was claiming to be her husband and king. She would leave speculation pertaining to ideal worlds to the philosophers and any actual execution of said ideals to the gods. Penelope of Ithaca for her part would continue to deal with reality.

“And why did you do these things?” she asked, her voice careful and stoic as she paced the room, her expression keeping up the façade of a judge.

“All of it was to bring me back to you,” he said, his voice breaking at the torment he'd been through, at what he still tortured himself with, and her heart broke along with it.

If this was a false Odysseus, he certainly sounded like the real thing.

“If you want nothing to do with me,” he continued, “I understand. Just say the word and I'll be gone forever.” He dared to take a step closer to her. “But if you could find it in yourself to fall in love with me again, not the man I was but the monster I am now, please, tell me.”

He pleaded with her with his entire being. His arms and legs trembled, his eyes begged her, and she could sense how badly he wanted to embrace her.

A part of her wanted to cave completely, to take him in her arms and smother his face with kisses. But she had one more test. One final question to confirm he wasn't an illusion and to make sure he was still her husband deep down. Was he still the same man she had fallen in love with all those years ago, or had the years changed him too much like he seemed to think?

She suspected he needed this test as much as she did.

“If that's true,” she said at last, “if you really have done those things and you really are a monster like you say, could you do me a favor? Just a moment of labor that would bring me some peace.”

She gestured to their bed, to where they had spent so many lovely evenings together and where she had spent countless more agonizing nights alone. “See that wedding bed? Could you carry it over? Lift it high on your shoulders and take it far away from here.”

It was a trick question, one only Odysseus would know the answer to.

His face twisted in pain. “How could you say this? I built that wedding bed with my blood and sweat. I carved it into the olive tree where we first met. It's a symbol of our everlasting love.” His voice got louder and angrier, and it was clear he was wounded deeply by her request. “Do you realize what you’ve just asked me? The only way to move it is to cut it from its roots.”

His unspoken meaning lingered in the air. He didn't want to destroy the symbol of their love or the reality behind it any more than she did. And that meant he was still her husband, despite what he might think.

She couldn't test him any longer. She smiled as tears filled her eyes. “Only my husband knew that, so I guess that makes him you.”

His eyes widened. “Penelope…” So much meaning and emotion behind a single word. Twenty years worth of longing and waiting. Oh how she had wanted for him to say her name again. To hear his voice once more.

She cupped his cheek, and he melted into her touch, the tears streaming down his face. “I will fall in love with you over and over again,” she promised him through her own tears. “I don't care how, where, or when. No matter how long it's been, you're mine.” She stroked the faded scar on his cheek that he'd gotten from that boar hunt all those years ago. “Don't tell me you're not the same person. You're always my husband, and I've been waiting for you.”

He threw his arms around her, holding her close like his life depended on it, saying her name over and over again. He had been through so much to come home, to return to her. There would be consequences for his actions—trials he must endure and people he must face. But they would deal with all that together. And they would do it tomorrow. Tonight, he didn't need lectures or judgments or reckonings.

He needed his wife.

She pulled away a little and searched his face, then leaned closer, closer till her lips brushed against his. His breath caught, and then he was kissing her back with all the desire and passion of the last twenty years spent apart. One hand wove its way into her hair and his other arm wrapped around her waist, and she wrapped her arms around him and pressed herself against him.

He deepened the kiss, and her mind flew back, back to all the times they had done this before. To their first kiss under the olive tree that was now their bed. While they were older and more experienced, their eagerness and passion now reminded her of then.

When they finally broke apart, they were both breathless. She very much wanted to continue, but he insisted on cleaning up first. So she sent the servants to fetch water and heat rocks for the bath. When everything was ready, she glanced at Odysseus.

He still hadn't removed his bloody rags, and he stared at the water with fear in his eyes.

He’d never been afraid of water before. All those years at sea…had he almost drowned?

“Ody?” she gently asked, using his old nickname as she placed a hand on his arm.

“Poseidon has had his revenge after all,” was his cryptic response. “I don't think I'll ever be able to enter a body of water without panicking.” He smiled ruefully. “I can torture a god with his own weapon and slaughter over a hundred men in a single day, but taking a bath is beyond me.”

She glanced at the tub. It really wasn't that big, just large enough for the two of them. Maybe they could start small and he would get used to being in the water again.

“I'll join you,” she said, then carefully unfastened the fibulae holding her peplos in place as he watched. As the garment slipped off her, she had a brief moment of uncertainty and grabbed the fabric. He hadn't seen her in twenty years. Would he still find her aging body beautiful? He’d probably met plenty of stunning mortal women and breathtaking goddesses on his journeys. How could she possibly hope to compare—

He gently grasped her hand and led it away from her body, letting the peplos slip off completely. The way his eyes traveled up and down her body, the hunger and yearning in his gaze, she knew her fears were unfounded.

“You're even more beautiful than I remembered,” he told her, putting her fears to rest for good. He embraced her and kissed her softly, tenderly, and she gently tugged at his rags. Normally, it was the servants’ job to undress and bathe the king, but she wanted to be the one to help him.

When she’d gotten all the rags off at last, she wanted to cry. His scars were even more visible and numerous now. She knew each one carried a story of pain and suffering and survival, and she wanted to know them all.

He misunderstood her expression, shame crawling up his face and driving him to look away from her. She quickly put a stop to that when she kissed the scar on his right shoulder.

“You're more handsome to me than ever, my love. These scars are signs of your survival. Wear them proudly.”

He searched her face and then kissed her again, and they spent quite a while kissing and touching before finally making it to the bath. He braved the water with her by his side, and she carefully cleaned every inch of him. Washed away the blood and the sweat and the grime. Ran her hands through his tangled, matted hair until there were no more snarls or knots. And he carefully washed her too, washed away the fear and sweat and deceit until she felt completely clean.

When they were through, he looked much more like himself again. She wrapped her arms around his neck and was about to kiss him when a bright light flashed. When she could see again, it took her a moment to realize Odysseus was still with her, because her husband quite literally looked like a god. He was taller and stronger than ever before, and his hair graced his broad shoulders in thick dark curls. Going by his expression, she had undergone a similarly miraculous transformation.

Then he smiled, a smile so big and bright it lit up the whole room and made her smile too. “Thank you, oh goddess of wisdom, for your support in my romantic endeavors,” he called out to someone she couldn't see, “but I would've taken my wife to bed all the same.”

He grinned and swept her into his arms, and Penelope could've sworn she heard an owl hooting in return. But soon all thoughts of their divine supporter fled their minds as Odysseus carried her to their wedding bed.

Twenty years of absence could not easily be undone in a single night, but they were willing to try. Especially because the night went on and on and on, almost as if Someone was asking Dawn to wait until husband and wife were fully sated.

When at last they were, Penelope smiled and played with Odysseus’s hair as they cuddled together. His eyes weren't red anymore. They were back to their beautiful, natural brown. A sign that he wasn’t a god or monster but just a man.

“How long has it been?” she asked, knowing her answer but wanting to know his.

He grasped her hand and tenderly kissed it. “Twenty years,” he said softly.

Her lips parted. So he had been faithful after all. She had been faithful too, hoping and waiting and longing for his return.

“Twenty years,” she echoed to confirm his unspoken question.

They told each other everything after that, all that had transpired in each other's absences. Athena must be still helping them at this point because Dawn still hadn't arrived, and yet Penelope somehow had the energy to tell Odysseus everything and listen to his tales in return.

When he was through, he caressed her cheek as the first rays of Dawn spread across the sky.

“I love you,” he said, the words simple but profound. Like he was grateful she knew everything and yet still accepted him.

She smiled and kissed his hand. "I love you too.”

They'd both been through so much. She had worn herself ragged raising their son single-handedly and running the kingdom, and she had lied to the suitors. Odysseus had done such terrible things to make it home, had killed so many people. And yet she knew the man lying next to her wasn't a monster. He had much to atone for, but he was her husband, and he always would be.

————————————————————————

A/N: This story was such a joy to write. A big thank you to @aquariusshadow for introducing me to Epic and reading over the story for me and giving her suggestions, and a big thank you to @scoobysnack1107 as well for also reading and providing feedback ❤️ I love Greek mythology and musicals, so Epic is like the perfect combination of two of my interests that I never knew I needed.

Just a few notes about the writing process: I wanted to incorporate how Odysseus’s eyes turn red in the animatics for the song “Odysseus,” and how they seem a little less red when he reunites with Telemachus and Penelope. Also, all the stuff with Athena being his wingwoman is actually legitimately from the Odyssey (giving him a glow up, delaying dawn for him and Penelope, etc.), which cracked me up. I read the 23rd book before I wrote this story in preparation, and you truly cannot make these things up. Also, the scar from the boar hunt is on Odysseus's foot in the Odyssey, but I moved it to his face for this story. I also went down a research rabbit hole about ancient Greek baths and clothing to make sure those details were more accurate, and that was a fun diversion. And of course I loved including the callbacks to “Just a Man,” incorporating the lyrics of "Would You Fall in Love with Me Again,” and exploring Penelope's mindset more.

I feel really lucky to have gotten into Epic right before the Ithaca Saga released. It's been such a fun journey, or shall we say, Odyssey 😎 Congrats to all the cast and crew for all their hard work! And thank you for reading! I hope you all enjoyed! ❤️

[crossdressingdeath]

#this explains it well actually i think#like yeah. as soon as DA became a series they decided to stop bothering with actual paths and make their own story to follow. which would be#fine if they didnt keep making the games with the appearance of your choices affecting the world at large#and thus a lot of things that end up being huge issues seem to stem from bioware not actually considering or caring about what sort of#actions would affect the actual plot#idk this ramble doesnt make sense and its a long way to say i agree with op (tags via @faroresson)

I wouldn't say Bioware "stopped bothering" with "actual paths" when DA became a series. First because the use of "stopped" implies DAO had actual branching paths (some choices unlocking different options along the same critical path isn't the same as the game having proper branching story paths, and given the origins all lead into the same story from Ostagar onward they're more roots than branches; honestly DAI with the mages vs Templars choice and DAV with the Minrathous vs Treviso choice give your choices more impact on the story, and even then it's just "which villain occupies Villain Slot B" in DAI and mostly side content and deciding which faction helps you out during the dragon rematch in DAV), but second because it's not a matter of them not bothering. It's a matter of proper branching story paths that change the main plot in any meaningful way being functionally impossible in a multi-game story (and honestly just unnecessarily complicated even in a single game unless having multiple separate branches is a part of the genre like in dating sims). Either they all have to end the same way outside of minor, flavour text-level variations (which is what Bioware did) or there has to be a True Ending that the next game is based on, because if the first game can have ending A and B and both those endings create radically different worldstates then if you want to take both into account the problem just gets shunted to the next game, where you have to have beginning A and B and either make them both merge into the same story early on or keep the A and B worldstate split the whole way through, and if you've got multiple endings for that second game too and they don't end the same you've got A1, A2, B1 and B2 to deal with going into the next game. And this happens again for the third game, and the fourth, and so on and so forth. If Bioware had done that then assuming two endings per game by DAV alone we'd be dealing with at a minimum eight significantly different worldstates just at the start of the game, which I think we can all agree no one could reasonably expect the writers to juggle. And that's just endings! I'm not even going to try to figure out how many major worldstate variations there could be if the most important decisions in the games created any significant variation in the plot. So it's not about whether Bioware cared about worldstate variation or wanted to allow for choices that created massive differences in Thedas depending on what option you picked or could be bothered to juggle significantly different worldstates; they straight up couldn't do that if they wanted actually writing the story for the next game to be at all feasible. The main plot can never be reliant on a variable, and on the flip side of that no variable can ever be something that would have a large impact on the main plot, and honestly I've never gotten the impression Bioware was claiming otherwise. Basically I firmly believe it's unfair to get angry at Bioware for the fact that every choice leads into roughly the same story, because it's wildly unreasonable to expect them to make significant changes to the worldstate and/or plot for every significant choice across at this point four games.

And the thing is it's really only DAI where them not doing that becomes a problem. The only choice in DAO that might have had a significant impact on Thedas as a whole (since you can't fail to defeat the Archdemon and both the Warden themselves and whoever ends up ruling Ferelden are mostly relevant to Ferelden, which we're specifically told is a backwater so all we had to do was leave Ferelden for it to no longer be plot-relevant) is the Warden's boon, which was quietly retconned when DA became a series. If the Architect survives Awakening he's staying well underground, so it makes sense that he doesn't show up in later games. The whole point of DA2 is that none of Hawke's choices change what ultimately happens on the larger scale of Thedas; the lyrium idol is found, the viscount is killed when the Qunari attack, and the mage rebellion is kickstarted no matter what choices Hawke makes, which makes it both a compelling tragedy and really easy to work around in terms of future games. Even in DAV the game always ends with Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain dealt with and Solas sealed away in the Fade where no one can talk to him to maintain the Veil; the most significant worldstate alteration is which city got blighted, and given we're shown the blight being pushed back from Minrathous after Elgar'nan and Solas are dealt with Bioware could easily get around that causing any major worldstate changes by a) avoiding Minrathous and Treviso in the next game and/or b) skipping ahead a few years and saying that the changes to the blight made it possible to cleanse much more quickly than it could be in the past.

It's not that your choices don't matter, it's that the writing is tailored so that the way they matter is roughly the same in the long run regardless of which you pick. Or to put it another way the decision points matter more than the decisions themselves; things like who rules Ferelden, who Hawke sided with and which city got blighted matter in that someone rules Ferelden thanks to the Warden, Hawke helped someone more or less win the day at the start of the mage rebellion, and a city was blighted in the dragon attack while Rook protected the other one. The exact details will ultimately come down to flavour text in future instalments, but the fact that the decision was made? That can matter. The issue is just DAI, because in DAI they did set up a bunch of things that should've had a major impact on the plot of the next game, but because they were variables none of them could. It's the fact that they handled it so well in DA2 and DAV (and even DAO to a lesser extent) that makes that failure to consider the writing of the next game stand out so much. I suspect that in DAI they had a lot of big, interesting ideas and there wasn't anyone to tell them "hey, we need to keep the fact that every option has to lead to a roughly equivalent worldstate in mind" before the game was shipped; as an example Mythal getting Urthemiel's soul is a really cool concept that they could've done some interesting things with! But it can't be important because it doesn't happen in every worldstate, and it would be... difficult at best to fit something like that into just flavour text. Basically at the end of the day DAI's choices are a problem because they should have had an impact on the plot moving foward. Not because they didn't.

You know what? I think a lot of DAV's biggest plot weaknesses ultimately come back to DAI, because a lot of them can be summarized as "Why didn't they get into [thing that DAI set up]" and... the answer is that Bioware was never going to be able to meaningfully engage with those things, and they should've known that when they wrote them into DAI. The Divine, Kieran's existence, Urthemiel's soul, the Well of Sorrows, all that stuff DAI set up that people are mad DAV didn't focus on? All of those should have led to pretty big alterations in the worldstate, and the worldstate has to remain roughly the same for everyone. We were never going to get the massive impact those choices should've had, for the same reason the Warden's boon at the end of DAO was quietly forgotten about as soon as Dragon Age became a series instead of a standalone game: the writing just can't support choices that would create such massive divergences. Like... take Urthemiel. Whether or not Mythal got Urthemiel's soul (and by extension whether or not Solas potentially had the chance to take it) should have been a huge deal! It should've led to two pretty different paths! Except... it can't. Because Bioware can only write one story for each game they make, which means the critical path can't really change beyond flavour text and occasionally which character gets a cameo slot; Mythal didn't get Urthemiel's soul in every worldstate, so Urthemiel's soul can never be relevant to the main plot. And the thing is, they would've known that going in! DAI was the third game, they must have known that worldstate variation could never be more than flavour text and cameos! Hell, you can see Bioware scrambling to make all the Divine options more or less the same in terms of impact on Thedosian society in DAI, which was definitely done to make writing sequels feasible. So why did they write Mythal getting Urthemiel's soul into DAI? And it's the same for all those other big, story-changing choices. People have differing opinions on the merits of including variable flavour text just to say it's there but that's not what this is about; in terms of the actual plot the variables cannot be relevant (unless it's something like the Warden ally choice where every option is ultimately the same in terms of plot impact, and even that one's pushing it; it never is explained how Hawke ended up friendly with Loghain). I think when talking about choices from DAI that DAV didn't engage with it's important to take a second to ask yourself if Bioware could have written a version of events that worked equally well with every possible outcome of that choice and could be tweaked to engage with every variation without having any major impact on the main plot. If the answer is no I think it's better described as a DAI problem than a DAV problem, because it's not actually DAV's fault that DAI wrote checks it couldn't cash.

[tj-dragonblade]

For the Make me write game… I just noticed that it seems to be acceptable to send more than one icon. I shall tentatively do this as well (since I’d really like to read snippets of all of these), and if this is too much, absolutely feel free to take your pick!

🔎🛋️🍷

Oh yes, multiples are always welcome, and thank you! Even if I'm moving slowly on answering. Search agency picks up directly after the last snippet in the tag; the bit from the next Turbo Lover fic and the future one don't have anything posted yet that precedes them.

🔎

"And what, I'm just supposed to take your word it's stolen? What proof you got it's even yours?"

The guy behind the counter is presenting as fully human, unlike the naiad at the last place, but there's something about his eyes that points Hob toward 'dragon'. He's leaning forward aggressively over the display with the fuckoff-big ruby pendant in it, hands splayed on the glass top, glaring. A dragon running a pawn shop around its hoard is a remarkable sort of poetry and Hob would be delighted if the guy wasn't being such a knob.

Dream, to Hob's delight, is utterly unruffled in the face of this hostility. He sighs in a way that conveys boredom and long-suffering indulgence, as if this entire exchange is beneath him but needs must. He raises one hand slightly, makes a small gesture toward the display case and the ruby within begins to glow, levitating off the velvet stand it sits on.

"Hey!" The proprietor jerks back, startled, and Dream lowers his hand; the ruby drops again and stops glowing. He returns his gaze to the stunned dragon behind the counter and raises one eyebrow, silently waiting to see if the guy's gonna offer rebuttal.

"Alright alright, you got a claim to it. I bought it off that lady fair and square though, I had no idea it was stolen! And I'm out a good chunk of cash if I just give it to you!"

🛋️

Dream is stretched and slick, but obviously he's had the toy in all night and while the friction that develops as the lube thins out is good for a moment, it quickly becomes too much, uncomfortable. "Need more lube, darling," Hob pants, pulling out reluctantly.

Dream fumbles into the inner breast pocket of his suit jacket and hands a slim tube over his shoulder without a word, breathing hard. Hob can't help the delighted chuckle that escapes him; of course Dream is prepared, of course it's the good stuff. He slathers it onto his dick, strokes the excess into the rim of Dream's hole and sinks back into him with a groan of relief, squeezing Dream's hips as he sets into a steady measured rhythm. Part of him wants to pound hard and fast and get them both there as soon as possible after the work up Dream had given him in the limo. Part of him wants to calm down just a hair and draw this out, carry the frenzied need as long as he can, and it's that part that wins out.

"Can't believe you're real, sometimes," he pants, splitting his focus with words meant to also wind Dream tighter. "I mean. Course you're real, you're here, I can feel you"—he thrusts in, grinds deep, and Dream gasps a breathless cry—"but I just. You picked me, you let me have you; feels too good to be true and god, I'm so lucky—"

🍷

"My mother is hosting her annual winter gala next month," Dream says over breakfast one morning, nonchalantly but with a gleam in his eye that gives Hob pause. "Would you like to come, as my plus-one?"

Hob lowers his teacup back to its saucer, studying Dream's face. "I know that look," he says, letting a grin settle on his mouth. "There is something devious going on in your mind, love. Let's have it."

Dream schools his expression to something approaching innocence. "First, and foremost, I am inviting you because I enjoy your company and would like you to accompany me. I would like to be seen with you, to show you off."

"There's more though, isn't there."

"Yes. And before I detail it for you, I wish to be clear that you are welcome to turn down the invitation; I understand that my ulterior motives are somewhat…distasteful."

"Oh?" Hob arches an eyebrow.

"Insulting, even."

Hob crosses his arms, that eyebrow still up, interest plainly written on his face.

Make me write!

[brainrotcharacters]

the easy grip on the knife. the leg over the seat. the hand over the other seat. the sassy "come get it" move. you know the bitch is smiling behind that mask even as he said the line.

[seventh-district]

Making Incorrect H:SR Quotes Until I Run Out of (hopefully) Original Ideas - Pt. 3 - Random Screenshot Edition

[Pt. 1] [Pt. 2] [Pt. 4] [Pt. 5] [Pt. 6]

[lucifer-the-fetus-eater]

TLDR; Game, comics, AND shorts. I have been obsessed for ~8 years (possibly more but the memories from before I got the game are fuzzy.) And I play every day. Current phase doesn't show many signs of slowing down.

I was going to leave this in tags but its way too long so. rambling abound. here be my TRAGIC (not even close) TF2-loving backstory

I have a super faint memory of playing Tf2 for the very first time at a friend's house in elementary school. Like 2nd or 3rd grade. I have slightly unclear mental images of being on his laptop, and I THINK I was playing spy. I also think the map was gullywash... I remember being on a certain platform elevated from the ground in one of the internal areas. I can't visualize anything else but that.

I watched the official shorts and some fanmade things like saxxy awards animations and gmod videos for some time. I was pretty young so my parents wouldn't let me play the game. (was too scared to download it w/o telling them cuz i believed they'd find out immediately)

I can also remember drawing mercenaries in ancient sketchbooks circa 4th-5th grade? Was upset I couldn't play the game so I watched meet the team and expiration date a million times. Didn't find out abt the comics until later.

Early 2017 is when I actually downloaded the game. I had just turned 12 and it was pre-jungle inferno. Started out with scout but quickly got hooked on playing medic. He's still my main to this day. I think I also discovered the comics around that year? I've read them over and over again. (Including update comics. OVER AND OVER.)

Cosmetic loadouts got me into creating tf2 OCs. at the time I had like an RP thing with my friends where we'd throw our characters around and go crazy. it existed long before this, but it's where I really used those OCs. Eventually they evolved and are no longer tf2-associated in the slightest. (they still exist!! so much different now)

I played on and off up until 2022 when I got my strange burley beast. I also have a new year's tradition where I play TF2 late at night on Dec 31st until Jan 1st. Since then I try to play a little bit every day. Even if it's only 10 minutes. If I'm lucky I can do up to an hour. 2022 was kind of my TF2 renaissance bc I started making new TF2 ocs. My original TF2 ocs had long mutated into something completely removed from TF2 by this time (which is definitely a good thing.)

And here I am still in my "renaissance" phase.... Idk how long it'll last. It could last forever theoretically. I'm pretty sure it's a long-term special interest.

I recently had a really drunk and incredibly heated discussion about the TF2 experience. I'd like to do some actual field research rather than talk out of my whole ass, though.

Feel free to reblog and add a comment to add context to your choice on the poll!

[peacockrulz]

N tries to tell another joke (gone wrong)

Sequel to This

[plusultraetc]

stop he's a baby 😭

[flowerakatsuka]

it's a moral obligation that i draw every ship i'm hyperfixated on older & still disgustingly in love with each other at least once.

[revolxtionarygay]

I’m months late, lmao. Initially, I was like "Oh, I need time to process this," after watching the play, and then, upon thinking, I realized I wasn't as organized on the comparison as I would have liked. Anyways, this gets a little longer than I'd usually post, so I'm going to put the rest under a cut.

Now, the performance I saw in Paris plays the characters of Huis Clos straight out as Bad People, which I mean, come on, valid. They're all in Hell. They've all done decently heinous things. Estelle throwing the baby off the balcony. Inès sleeping with her cousin's wife and driving him to commit suicide. Garcin cheating on his wife, caring little for what she thought of him and instead preferring the approval of men who are shown to think little of him because he's no one to them. Etcetera, etcetera. I tend to read the characters as a little more sympathetic, but I won't deny it was fascinating to watch a downright cruel portrayal of the characters.

When I first read Huis Clos, I was tempted to put Juri, Shiori, and Ruka into what I now think would have been the most obvious comparisons to the play—Juri as Inès because they're both lesbians, Shiori as Estelle because they're the object of Juri's/Inès' attraction, and Ruka as Garcin because, hey, he's a guy searching for Juri's attention and getting the attention from Shiori (same as Garcin). But in a way, the cyclical way that Sartre posits the characters of Huis Clos ultimately makes it possible for Juri, Shiori, and Ruka to fill any of the roles in the play. Do I think the aforementioned character match-up is the most suited for them? Yeah, but I think it is possible to argue that Juri is Garcin / Shiori is Inès / Ruka is Estelle. If you wanted to argue that. I currently don't.

My favorite part of Huis Clos is not Garcin's moment where he declares that "Hell is other people," though that's obviously the most famous line. My favorite part of the entire play is when Garcin looks to Inès and begs her to forget about Estelle, to let go of her desire for Estelle, to let go of her hatred for him, so on and so forth. Garcin tells Inès, "It's a trap" (referring to Estelle), to which Inès responds, "I know. And you, you're a trap, too...and I am a trap."

Ultimately, while it doesn't fit them perfectly, this moment reminds decently of Ruka and Juri. Consider Ruka, sick and dying and using his final days in an attempt to "free" Juri from what binds her or whatever (sorry, I did not go back and rewatch the episodes). He knows the cycle of the duels and sees Shiori as she is, but he doesn't seem to realize that Juri knows it just as well. He tries to free her, but she doesn't want that from him. She knows the cycle of the duels; she's lost against Utena twice. She knows—or at least seems to be somewhat aware—that Shiori will pick someone that Juri isn't and that she can't change that, as much as it pains her. She knows. He knows. Shiori likely knows, too.

Juri even has the experience to know that, even without Ruka, this cycle would exist because it happened to her and Shiori back in middle school. Kind of like how in Huis Clos, every character has their own cycle of attention they're caught in before the events of the play.

If Juri is Inès, then is Shiori both her Estelle and Florence? Is Ruka the cousin she drove to suicide?

If Shiori is Estelle, then is Ruka both her Garcin and her fling (that she drove to suicide)? Is Juri the husband she avoids? Or is it the other way around?

And if Ruka is Garcin, the Juri must be his Gomez and Inès. Shiori, the wife he cares little for. (Somehow, this is the one that feels the most concrete, especially when compared to Shiori as Estelle).

I could go on and on and never really find an answer I fully like. But essentially, those are the most basic thoughts I have on Huis Clos and Juri, Shiori, and Ruka.

Someone who’s only ever read Huis Clos/No Exit watching the Juri-Shiori-Ruka arc in Revolutionary Girl Utena for the first time: oh my god it’s just like Huis Clos.

[little-pondhead]

Danny moved to Gotham.

Freakshow is touring in Gotham.

Freakshow knows Danny is in Gotham.

Danny knows Freakshow is still after him.

Danny's faith in heroes has been shattered.

Danny turns to the only person powerful enough to run Freakshow out of town, hopefully for good.

Danny turns to the Joker for help.

The Joker is looking for a new punching bag sidekick after Harley Quinn left him.

Danny is just the perfect person to be shaped by the Joker's hands.

Danny becomes the new Joker Junior.

[colorfullyminded]

TLDR

Okay I cannot believe I'm about to go off like this, but this has been bothering me for awhile, and it's only making me more spiteful. I have been enjoying the influx of Billford art lately. Amazing, great wonderful. What I have Not been enjoying, is the absolute vitriol the Billdip fans have been getting since the influx of TBOB. I was a billdip shipper for awhile. Hell I was a billdip shipper when I was a Parapines shipper-- I liked shipping Dipper with boys. I was also like 14 or 15 at the time. Obviously, if you follow me now, you'll probably notice what my main ship for Dipper is. I grew out of Billdip, and moved on to Pinescone. I have been shipping Pinescone for 10 years. However, not once did I go around saying "Lol, glad I matured and became a better person and shipped something healthier", nor did I post in the billdip tag, condeming people for a fictional ship! And saying mine was better because it was less problematic.

"I'm really glad people stopped shipping Bill and Dipper together. Bill is a 1000 year old triangle demon, and Dipper is 13--" Stop. Repeat what you just said.

"Bill is 1000 year old triangle--"

Repeat that last word to me. "....triangle?" TRIANGLE! I'm sorry what?! This ship is already completely wild enough. You're getting mad at this fictional age gap-- AND BILL IS A FUCKING SHAPE! A FUCKING SHAPE! This ship was weird from the moment GO! And Billford isn't any better. IT'S STILL A SHIP WITH A FUCKING SHAPE! And you're going to sit on your high horse and look down on the Billdip community. On top of it-- they have an age gap too! Bill is still thousands of years old or whatever-- however long it's been, who knows? And Ford was in his 20s or so when he met Bill. That's still a huge, ridiculous age gap-- that Bill could easily use and manipulate; which he did....and then also caught feelings and became a sad ex, but that's beside the point~ Both of these ships are still insane. And again, the bigger thing I think people are just ignoring about these ships--is that Bill is a TRIANGLE! THREE LINES CONNECTED TOGETHER! And this is the hill you're going to die on? ...Cause apparently it's mine. First of all-- as many people pointed out-- Ford Pines did not exist until the second half of the final season. People couldn't ship Fordbill because there wasn't any Ford to introduce.

"Well, even before Ford, I never shipped Billdip! I always disliked it." ...Okay, that's totally fine. Not everyone needs to like or agree on the same ship. Lord knows there's probably people who don't really care for Pinescone either. There's a lot of popular ships that I can't stand. But I'm don't go into a ship tag I don't like, screaming to a void for self validation. I don't go around mocking other people for ships that they had in 2014-- or even still today! It doesn't matter! I did that when I was a kid-- and then realized that was rude, and it was better to just ignore the ships I didn't like and enjoy the ones that made me happy. And grow a community of kind, like minded friends. And listen, I am all for safe spaces and being able to block things that make you uncomfortable. I am not saying people who find the BillDip ship uncomfortable to be idiots or babies or overly sensitive-- or anything like that. I think if something makes you uncomfortable, that is okay and I think it's perfectly fine to blacklist a tag that you don't want to see. I also think it's imperative that people tag things as accurately as they can so people looking at your work can know if one of your pieces has a thing that they don't like-- and therefore can avoid. What I don't appreciate is the fanhate for this ship that is sprouting up like weeds. You can not like something, you can be disgusted by it (I have my Gravity Falls ships I can not stand, nor do I feel comfortable with), but attacking real people for a FICTIONAL SHIP-- two characters who are drawings on a piece of paper and can not be affected mentally, physically or emotionally by fanwork; who still retain the same shape after everything we put them through-- to the point that you send death threats, or threaten to Doxx, or just harass relentlessly, I have always found that more childish and disgusting. You are causing real world pain to people. Me fucking up Dipper Pines is not going to do anything to him-- because he doesn't actually exist. He's a cartoon character. I could squash him and stretch him in Wonka's taffy machine--- I could throw him mock speed at a wall and watch him explode on impact-- but he still exists. He's not dead; I can pick him up and dust him off, and If I wanted-- I could decide that eh, 'Not a scratch on him'. And I'd be right. Because he is a cartoon character, and I am just a fangirl. I can not change anything about him-- I have no ability to make anything I headcanon canon. And even if I was the original artist-- it doesn't change the fact that Dipper would still be nothing more than a creation. A construct of shapes; he can not be hurt or traumatized in a way that leads to real life consequences-- because he is not real. I am not a cartoon character. My friends are not cartoon characters. Artist and Writers who stay in their lane...are not cartoon characters. If you hurt us...it will linger. It will leave a scar. If you can not tell the difference between Fiction and Reality, then I think maybe media might be too much to handle-- and I think you need to really reevaluate yourself.

And just to vent some other things that i keep seeing that are frustrating: You can't claim the twins are only 13-- and then on August 31st go "Happy 20-something Birthday Mabel and Dipper!" And then proceed to drop a picture of them as adults. Well which is it? Do they age or not? Because Gravity Falls showed them canonically aging. If you think the twins age-- then you can't suddenly turn around and go, 'no you can't ship them-- Dipper is a child!' but you drew him as an adult. So sorry, it looks like you can't draw the twins grown up anymore. You claimed they're 13, so better draw them 13 forever--. Aged up stories and works exist for a reason, especially for a fan who grew up on the series. The characters might have grown up alongside them. It's not unlikely for a person to ship Billdip when Dipper is much older.

And on that note, for people who are like 'well older billdip is fine-- it's just people shipping him during the show that deserve to die.' Okay... and like I said, this rant is coming from a recent influx of Billford shippers spitting on Billdip shippers. You know? The TOXIC Old Man Yaoi!

You're still shipping something that is problematic. You are still shipping something twisted and wrong. And I am not judging you. I am here for this divorced arc. I am thriving. But you can't just pick and choose what is and isn't okay. And let me first off explain; if there is something that personally triggers you about a toxic ship, and you want to avoid that-- again, perfectly understandable. Perfectly reasonable. You are the makers of your content space. And I am not judging anyone for that. I want people to be safe. I want people to have a good time in fandom spaces. I want people to not have to deal with the things that upset them or frighten them, or disgust them. But you can not say one is fine, and one is not. They're both bad! They're both toxic. In real life, these ships would both be charged with serious crimes! And yes, there are some crimes that are worse than others, and if you asked me what I thought was more problematic-- I'd say Billdip-- but both of these ships are extreme, and severe in their problematic content. You are still consuming problematic content. If it's a personal thing, that's fine; avoid it. But don't sit there throwing stones from your glass house.

[l4tchk3y]

All alone.🔥

[palossssssand]

grief paralysis

[rnoonsetter]

i really wanted to draw a different character next, but then season 2 introduced me to evil goth virginia, and. well. (check the tags for the updated version!)