Back on my bullshit

I need to catch up but latvia was apparently told "you can't say 'pussy' onstage" (they have a line that runs "instead of meat, I eat veggies and pussy") so the entire crowd screamed for them lmao, complete censor failure

 

N i c e

 

Latvia like so let me get this right: the performers can't say 'pussy' on stage?
ESC team: correct
Latvia: okay! :))

 

evo items needed:
dragon scale (terminus cave 5%: wild horsea, seadra, dratini, dragonair)
metal coat x2 (pokeball factory 5%: wild magneton, metang)
sun stone (lv31+ Pickup, inverse battle reward, 5% wild solrock)
moon stone x3 (lv41+ Pickup, inverse battle reward, 5% wild lunatone)
fire stone (stone shop)
thunder stone (stone shop)

 

contemplates
I know the "rediscovered the secrets of the ancients" thing with Zathrian was supposed to be entirely lies, but what if it isn't? Uthenera is never actually specified in his case, just "secrets," and we know the elvhen used blood magic. Binding his soul to a spirit's is probably the closest a mortal can get to pre-Veil existence, and we don't actually know that uthenera does anything-- an immortal can take a longass nap but it's still just a nap, and frankly imo 'waking dream' sounds far closer to what we know Dreamers can do than Long Nap.

 

>I want to take a break from monhun
>okay cool what do we do during break
>...monhun?

brain why

 

the real problem with late-night dnd: too keyed up post-game to immediately sleep as I should

 

the struggle is real

 

steals

 

Whispers and 'forget'

 

Curiosity and Doubt

 

venture and safe

 

running out of order because aridhel punched me in the fucking teeth at work this afternoon

Spoiler: inq!verse, post-Subjected To His Will

"I don't know," the spirit-- the Inquisitor-- whispered, voice cracking around the words. It probably meant something that they wouldn't meet Aridhel's eyes, even in the Fade where they could speak face-to-face rather than trying to interpret vague impressions from each other out in the waking world. "I mean-- of course you don't trust him. You never have. And... maybe you're right. I don't know," they repeated, shaking their head. "But I don't like it, even if I can't think of a way to handle it."

"Can we say anything?" Aridhel wrapped her arms around her knees and looked up at the fake stars, since staring at the Inquisitor wasn't getting her anywhere anyway. "With the..."

A wave of dismissal spilled through her a moment before the spirit bothered to say, "to him, yes. We aren't that bound. But anyone besides ourselves--" more wordless negation. "And what can we say? The contract is as it is, and breaking it... I don't think either of us would come out alive with this unbound." The Anchor flared wildly, green light spilling out between Aridhel's fingers, and she grimaced.

But sitting around whining had never gotten anything done either. "I'll call him a hypocritical wolf-fanged shithead to his face, fucking watch me." The threat startled a giggle out of the Inquisitor, and Aridhel smiled to herself. "He can do the worrying about who hears what out of that, it's not a breach to point out his own godsdamned behavior. If he's half as smart as he likes to come off as, he'll know to keep a domestic domestic."

The Inquisitor's mirth faded quickly, supplanted by wry concern. "And when your-- our anger spills into specifics, we will be in breach, and lucky if it only silences us before we can say anything incriminating."

"Unless," Aridhel said slowly, looking back to her... partner, she supposed, "we do it here." Lyrium-blue eyes met her own this time, cautious delight resonating between them. "Ask him to meet us in the Fade. If no one can overhear, his secrets aren't getting spilled-- we can't tell ourselves anything new-- so we aren't breaking anything. And he'll know exactly who wants to tear him a new one, and why. He wants to get mad about 'altering the essence of a spirit'?" She grinned, and the Inquisitor met it with bared fangs, moonlight caught in the red-tipped tines of their horns. "We'll show him fucking altered."

 

Spoiler: original DT flavor

"Forget it," Whisperwind signed harshly, gestures broader and sharper than he would ever use in the public corridors of the ship. "It's not happening. End of discussion."

"End of," Eclipse echoed sourly. "Look-- it's your choice, of course it's your fucking choice, but why won't you even consider-"

"I have considered, and it's not! Happening!" The smaller jet's wings flicked to underscore each word. "This isn't the first time we've had access to a parts manufactorum! You think I haven't thought about it even once, in all the time we've had?"

"No." Eclipse crossed his arms, resisted the instinct to look away from the conversation. They did have comms, but they'd started out loud-- or as 'out loud' as his trinemate could get these days-- and Eclipse could at least do the bare fucking minimum and continue in the same vein. "I just--" He stalled out, processor spinning between a thousand too-accusatory phrasings. Look, Doc, he thought dryly at an imaginary Cloudcrusher, no blowup! Eclipse shook his head faintly, and tried for the least awful option. "I don't get it. It's easily fixable, and-- an injury, Whisper--" and my fault, he still couldn't make himself say, even if he knew it was buried under all the anger. I hurt you, and if you won't let me fix it, at least let somebody.

"Some injuries don't heal," Whisperwind signed, the movements still harsh and angular even as his wings drooped. "And some don't deserve the healing. I'll tell medbay to make me a new vox the moment you can voluntarily open your spark casing." Eclipse flinched, hard and reflexive, and Whisperwind looked away, optics dimming. "Exactly. I'm sorry, but I just... can't, yet. Any more than either of us can forget how it happened."

and because I swore I would in discord, The Pants Song, in honor of a cut line about Eclipse putting his big boy pants on

When you love somebody
The conclusion's forgone
When you love somebody
You put your big boy pants
Right on!

 

Gess and paint

 

sometimes I think archeage didn't really have an impact on me in the long run
and then I unironically type "rest in pepperonis" and have to shake a mental fist at guildies I haven't talked to in over five years

 

I thought I didn't remember any of the setlist from the concert I went to with em from yonks ago, bc it mostly got overwritten by Meeting Friend
but every now and again I trip over a song with the sense-memories attached to it and <3 core memory unlocked <3 that was a fantastic weekend

 

rotating carinor and derkeethus in my mind again
contemplates being a warm-blooded heatpack for lizard boyf

 

HI I'M A HECKIN DUMBASS AND FORGOR

Spoiler: pre-DT

The barracks washracks basically never get hot, but the tanks are basically repurposed water cannons, and once the pressure gets cranked high enough it doesn't really make a difference what temperature anything is. Venture keeps his mask and vents clamped shut, pops the most incriminating dents on his own, and all but scours his paint off under the spray before throwing himself onto Whisperwind's recharge slab. "Make me pretty, Curlicue," he demands with his sparkliest sparkhound optics-- a pout just wouldn't read around the mask--, and the other jet laughs and mock-shoves him over.

"Quit fishing for compliments and maybe you'll have a chance," Whisperwind snorts, already fishing sandpaper out of a subspace pocket. "Come on, straighten out, let me see."

"You can see me any time, hot stuff," Venture jokes, but the words sour in his mouth even while he's saying them; he winces behind the mask, optics skating away, and tries not to flinch when his friend-- amica-- whatever lays a gentle hand on his shoulder. At least no one else is around, this time of night.

"Yeah. So let's get you looking spiffy for everyone else, right?" Whisperwind's good at what he does; he works on the most visible damage first, keeps his touch firm and even and predictable and waits when Ven needs him to back off, and slowly, slowly works around to the wings. Not even the best paint job in the world can hide the crimps in Venture's ailerons, the crushed joints or the dents in the delicate panels, so Whisper just carefully edges around the damage with grit and primer and the smooth grey paint the Aerial Corps demands of its low-ranking print runs, and slowly, slowly, Venture feels his spark start to settle. "There we go," Whisper murmurs when Venture finally offlines his optics and settles against the slab. "I've got you."

For now, part of Venture's brain spits out, still spinning out over a thousand fearful threads. He closes that thought up, partitions it off, and focuses on the steady weight of Whisperwind's hands. "Yeah," he agrees instead, and refuses to beat himself up over the static that creeps in around the edges of the word. (Primus knows Sunblast'll do it for him eventually anyway.) "Thanks."

 

I needed that heart loq!