#it didn't accept the water

[scalpho]

the thing about colin is that he's generally fairly passive in the grand scheme of things, and the few things he arguably takes into his own hands are not satisfying.

killing the banana man, an innocent bystander, is not a task he takes any joy in, and he makes an effort to try and atone for it afterwards. killing his shitty father was of course, sick as hell, but it's an act far too steeped in the feeling of "you should have never had to do this in the first place because he was not meant to be alive for you to kill, and, worse yet, he was not meant to be alive to orchestrate your involvement in the FDA, in the murder of a monarch, in what looks like is an attempt to destroy much of calorum" to be gratifying. the closest thing to an embrace his father has ever given him, the "i'm still proud" as he finally goes down - killing the man who is the cause for the majority of colin's hardship should be satisfying, but it's not quite there.

and the rest of it - being born under to a family name which serves as a death sentence, the FDA, delissandro giving him the title of skald, and then raphaniel giving him knighthood under the church - is mostly stuff that happens to him, or stuff he's guided into in some way. he's not completely passive or faultless, of course, but a lot is out of his control and he spends much of his life subject to the ebbs and flows of life, of power and of the powerful people around him

[dootznbootz]

I feel kind of bad about that post I made talking about how Odysseus would never sacrifice his family to save his own skin while I didn't give a name, I hope that person doesn't feel bad or that they get hate. As I don't want to gatekeep someone's interpretation of the Odyssey but also...while I guess you could claim that he would do that, there's so much MORE evidence as to how he would literally rather be stabbed than see his wife and son have even a splinter

Her rejecting him at first put him in a bad position. Honestly, in an alternate universe, where she didn't accept him or trick him that night, I think the poor guy would've cried himself to sleep again in that separate cot. He'd probably cry to Athena and ask if he did something wrong.

It would probably be an "awkward morning" of Odysseus and Penelope silently doing their things (not bringing up suitors' parents right now. And Odysseus would probably tell Telemachus to not say anything stupid.) and eventually, everything would bubble up out of Odysseus and honestly, I could see him straight up begging her to accept him. Not even caring about how he appeared to others.

Honestly, if she DID take a lover in that time...I think he'd either accept it and just...wander? Around Ithaca as a beggar as he doesn't want to be away from them but if they won't accept him, what else can he do? OR if she had another lover, (War flashback of the shitty retelling where Penelope has an affair) he'd probably kill the lover as let's be honest, Odysseus is basically a Yandere, to put it simply. Touch the wife, you get the knife.

And yeah, he doesn't JUST want his family.

"Oh, he wants to not be in constant danger."

"He just wants to go back to Ithaca."

"He wants to be king again."

Boy howdy, he sure does!!! But if, for example, Penelope and Telemachus for some reason moved to somewhere else? IDK, AU where they permanently moved to Sparta, hanging with Helen and Menelaus, and she didn't remarry or something. He'd be like "Shit, okay, BRB." And go to them. He'd probably have them all go back to Ithaca but still, THEY ARE HIS HOME. They make Ithaca home. Any place is home as long as he has them.

Despite having the opportunity to wed the most beautiful woman in the world, he took the Oath so then he could marry Penelope. And even then, it wasn't "for sure" as he had to race her dad. He did so much simply to have the CHANCE to marry her even though he probably wasn't planning on getting married as he brought no gifts. And he did so much so then he wouldn't have to leave the life they had built together and their young baby.

He could've had ANYONE. Went ANYWHERE. Did ANYTHING and he still wanted THEM.

Like??? Holy shit. This guy would do ANYTHING for them. I mean that's kind of why he's considered to be so "scummy" in how ride or die he is for them and basically a bitch to everyone else. That's what makes him SO different from many of his peers.

Person: Would you rather have your family- Odysseus: Family, always. Person: I didn't even say it yet- Odysseus: I don't fucking care. Always family. Person: Even if it meant you got immortality and a hot goddess for a wife? Odysseus: You act like that's a good thing? That was literally torture. Fuck you. I already have a hot Water Wife™ that I get the privilege to drown in every day. She gave me a wonderful Water Son™ who is the light of my eyes and who I am more proud to be the father of than I am of being the son of an Argonaut Person: Even if I give you a million dollars? Odysseus, acting nonchalant while Penelope picks the person's pockets: As if we can't get that on our own. Person: You'd die? Odysseus: I'll set myself on fire if I have to. Person: ...Okay, new question. Would you rather lose your family- Odysseus: The other option. Always. Person: Even torture? Odysseus: I never said I would like it, just that I would do it. Person: Even yeet a baby?! Odysseus: I'll punt the baby if I have to. It's not like I wanna but I gotta do what I gotta do.

And so on and so forth. You GET IT.

[von-karmas-a-bitch]

pov you're franziska and you're 11 years old and you just started your first period and papa has NOT been helpful but your brother has conducted extensive research and is handling it surprisingly well

[woolmasterleel]

THANK YOU @the-squeege FOR LETTING ME KICK RAMOV INTO LIMBO

Designing him as an LAE was so fun!! Really helped me establish the design elements of Limbo Altered Entities.. (～￣▽￣)～

[iqmmir]

I am having muu thoughts

[the-yearning-astronaut]

.

[kibasniper111]

to whoever wrote donatella's pn wiki, i just wanna talk.

[hyaciiintho]

hmmm sineater au for thanced :D

Send me an AU and I'll tell you what my muse would be like in that AU | ✿

He was fine. Even as he grew ill, it was fine.

That was what he had told them in life-- insisted, really. The guilt was eating at him from the inside out, but he was fine. There were bigger things to be worried about, after all.

No, he wasn't practically burning himself alive, the boiling presence of something more churning his guts each and every time he uttered the words: It's fine; I understand. There was more at stake than facing his own mortality, let alone all the ugliness that remained within.

As the days went by, it grew increasingly harder to turn the other cheek to the inner turmoils of the body and mind. There was the same repeating phrase that weighed at his shoulders more, and more, each time it crossed: I wish I had done more; I wish I could have done things differently. I wish, I wish, I wish.

Wishes didn't come true; Guilt ate at his heart, mind, and soul.

The transformation was sudden, but at the very least, his companions knew the signs of it when it was about to start.

Eyes were a flood of light, dripping like molten gold down his face in streams of tears to be forever branded on a marble-like visage. Three wings sprouted from his back as if bursting from a fleshy cocoon: Two on his left, and one on his right. A third eye grew from his forehead, impassive gaze blinding with light shining through it, whilst the two he already had glazed over in stone, forever doomed to shed those molten tears. Weapons were ripped from his very ribs, a mournful scream leaving his lips for one last time as bone shaped itself into a pair of deadly blades hovering at either side of him, his Gunblade morphing within his hold to be a third.

And as fast as it had happened... it had stopped. Gone was the broken man clinging to a past he couldn't go back and change, and there instead stood a mock statue of his memory, reflecting the ache and mourning once held inside.

Thancred: the Forgiven Guilt.

[asunflowerana]

I don't want to go to my internship, I wanna stay home 😩

[todayisafridaynight]

YEAH NO TONBI GOT HANDS.......... my timing on suggesting it may be Questionable but I AM very glad it holds up as a movie :] hopefully the interview and We Make Antiques are fun diversions! But also take it easy <3 can confirm Nakai is Pretty Moe in both though <3 And I WILL harass you about Masato's VA next week...

TBF YOU SUGGESTED IT A WEEK OR SO AGO twas on me for taking a while to get to it... nevertheless i did really enjoy it thank you..... AND YAYA IM SO STOKED TO WATCH THE FULL INTERVIEW AND WMA2 THANK YOU SO MUCH AGAIN ☆*: .｡. o(≧▽≦)o .｡.:*☆!!!!!

esp cant wait to hear about masato's VA in the future.. 👁️👁️

[bsaka7]

back on my plotting my silly little fics on my silly little yellow lined paper grind....

[confinesofmy]

okay i led it to water now why won't this fucking horse drink. damn. i've literally tried everything. anybody got advice?

[antique-symbolism]

I feel like I got a higher volume of fulfilling work done after the two and a half hours it took me and my boss to change the pool light than the three days I've spent doing classroom prep

[thewritingpossum]

i’m about halfway done with Holy Anorexia by Rudolph M. Bell and ngl I was a little bit apprehensive about it considering that even stuff published recently about eds tends to be astonishingly ignorant and this book is almost 40 years old but it’s actually extremely good like my mind is legit blown by it, i need more reading recommendations from John Waters right now

[melancholymirth]

❛ i will keep hurting. i will keep killing. anything to protect you. ❜ shut uP, GARRETT--

prompt

It was not the first time he'd killed a man; not the first time he'd killed in front of V; neither of them were naïve to think it would be the last time, either. One rather loses hope for that after the third offense. But because something cements itself, it is not simultaneously agreed upon. Still, what could he do? Such was the cost of his commitment.

V took him home, quickly, grateful for the cover of night. At the very least, it always happened at night. V hardly spent a thought over their odds, but tonight had been different. Tonight, he'd been so quiet, ever faithful in his attentions, even as he wiped gore from Garrett's face. He'd need a shower anyway, and his clothes were not to be salvaged. But V kept him still, and cool, when he got him to sit atop the toilet, all while lost in his own mind and his hand mechanically wiped and rubbed at blood stains for no tangible purpose. Cold water, gentle pressure from a washcloth, another hand keeping his head still—how were his hands not shaking?

He simply knew, the very moment he heard a patron speak a little too closely to his ear, that the night would end in shades of red. He knew it with a sinking dread, and it didn't take more than a string of presumptive words for that pitiable creature to seal his own fate. He knew not what predators lurked around the corners—behind the bar! He hadn't even touched V, like one other before him who met his end torn to ribbons and burned to ash— Tonight, it was only flirty words. Only flirting!

And he was heaped in mounds of his own flesh, seared and blackened but not cooked, left to decay in a corner, not even an hour ago, down a dark street where he'd been followed; Garrett had that blood on his hands now, scraps of skin stuck under his nails that he was picking out while having his face wiped clean.

V rubbed the blood off his lips, but it had stained and would require a deeper clean. Garrett likely still tasted it on his tongue. He was only talking to me.

Thick was the air, their little bathroom already full from storminess. The washcloth was soiled in most spots now, and V would soon have to leave him to shower. V could see plainly, under the bright bathroom light, that the gore had soaked through his shirt, staining and leaving tacky much of his upper body. V was used to it, when it wasn't human blood. He swallowed thickly when he felt a lump in his throat, having spent a little too much time staring at a blotch of blood on Garrett's chest that looked wetter, richer than the rest.

He was used to this, he was. It wasn't that he couldn't handle the blood and guts—he wouldn't have devoted so many years of his life to that kind of dirty work for his livelihood—or the loss of life that came with it. But...it had only ever been of the infernal breed. Demons were unwelcome here, and usually they'd come to eat or conquer or destroy in some other deplorable way. Human beings died by their fangs, by their wrath and their arrogance and their greed and their jealousy.

He was only talking. He hadn't touched me yet. I hated it but it didn't make me sick— V brought the cloth under the faucet to wring it out, but it was as good as a lost cause by now. His own hands were stained, but the contact was indirect, thus easier to wash out with a good lathering. He knew attentive eyes were watching him: he hadn't said anything since sitting Garrett down. He hated it, but it didn't make him sick. I knew it was coming, that I would see it. I'd hoped, maybe, that he would listen this time... For god's sake. I thought he'd try to resist. I thought he'd try harder, after that last time.

A demon was sitting in the bathroom, dirty with blood and the viscera he'd ripped open. Strips of skin like shredded cheese, threads of sinew, even pieces of the offender's clothes were stuck to him when the pair arrived home: a demon V loved and committed himself to, a demon he married and would do anything for. Did taking human lives count toward that devotion? Is that what it took to be loyal, reliable, inseparable? True? But...how could V ever expect Garrett to betray his instincts? Simply enough, he didn't. That was why he had to adapt to the thing he could not control; the one thing he would have liked to change, once upon a time—but it was clear to him now, with vicious finality, that he had no power in this area, where Garrett's perception of territory and protection were concerned.

And, ultimately, V had to make peace with that. He was in the process, took one step further every time his mate saw it fit to turn against his principles, all for V's sake. Protecting human lives lost its meaning whenever the one precious life to him was under threat, and that was as sweet of him as it was...conflicting.

But V could never get it out of his memory that he had led mortal men to death once before, when he was many years younger but still enjoyed demonic protection; only, then, it was solely in the form of his familiars. They came to his aid to maim, and left his attackers to bleed to death. He was a coward to run, and a monster in his own right to let it happen at all. Garrett would tell him it was deserved, and to some extent V agreed—but it never sat well with him to rob his fellow man of life or limb.

All these years later, he'd seen it was simply par for the course: his job, his compassion for the helpless, his husband.

"I will keep hurting. I will keep killing. Anything to protect you."

Garrett must have seen his eyes close. Surely, he must have noticed the long pause he took to breathe. V turned his head instantly when he heard Garrett's voice, marking the absolute absence of shame or regret in the affirmation given. It didn't really surprise V, just cemented things all the more. Maybe that's all he needed, to simply know it for an irrefutable fact that Garrett would never be swayed from his course. A demon, wrathful and greedy, and maybe a little arrogant for it, and jealous to his dying day.

V hadn't dried his hands, leaving them to rest and drip over the boundary of the sink. Looking at Garrett made him aware of all things around him, including the wash his husband desperately needed. However, for all the things he was feeling, hardly an ounce of it leaked through his very dry countenance. He loved Garrett enough to suffer his own moral compass when it reeled, to forgive him, every time, he sought retribution against those who disrespected his V. And maybe it was difficult at first, but for him to be willing to forget and move on, as if the killing was necessary and excusable, spoke deafeningly to the reprehensible lengths V would go to for Garrett. In his own way, he was no better. That blood was on his hands, too, and he'd forgiven it and thanked Garrett for it and loved him all the more at the end of the day.

He's protecting me. He loves me enough to do anything. I must love him in kind. I already do, if I can stand here without a break in my resolve or...even fearing what he'd do to me. I cannot look at him and think him a murderer. I cannot see a monster in those eyes. Am I blind? The way he looks at me now, I can only forgive—but I'm afraid for him.

V shook his head, distant. He finally turned from the sink to dry his hands. He needed a moment to fight the very tender boy within, who seemed ready to cry at any moment over any thing. But V fought him, shushed him and sent him cowering back to that sad, frightful place they so liked to inhabit together, and he took in a deeper breath for some steel so that he could face his bloodied mate without wavering.

Something might happen.

"I know. You would get your hands so dirty for me." Voice quiet and level, but not distinctly warm. Troubled peridots landed on Garrett, who regarded V with fierce sobriety. "I can accept that—I can. It gets easier, slowly, but..." Brows pinched then, with worry. "I won't deny that I am afraid. I feel as though...we've gotten lucky, so far. As one would put it, 'getting away with murder'." V couldn't have been any clearer with choice words like those, and whether he meant it to or not, the phrase cut. Garrett was suddenly stiff under his gaze, but whatever emotions he was feeling were not betrayed by the very solemn frown on his brow nor the shadow it cast over his eyes. His hands, restless, were picking at nothing but his own nails, and so he forced them to lace, tightly, while his attention on V was full. It was good of him to keep himself from interrupting—but he did know it, well, when V had something serious to say.

The doting thing had blood caking in his hair, too. V had been keeping him this long, and he would keep him still. But, he made sure his voice was quiet enough so it wouldn't carry through the pipes and walls to connecting apartments. "I fear someone seeing you, hearing something, maybe...finding you, somehow, and..." He didn't have the guts to finish, though he figured Garrett understood where his train of thought was going. V knew Garrett feared nothing of that sort, as he'd always boasted about being able to escape anything, and that he'd allow nothing to keep him from V. That was overconfident of him, but the sentiment was appreciated all the same. When facing reality, however, V could not help his pessimism, and he could even less help factors beyond his control. Garrett could not risk it all for one man, no matter how much he thought that man deserved it.

Because, if something should go wrong, where would that leave V? Tonight, the thing that shook him most was not to watch a man be butchered, but to weigh the gravity of its consequences, to consider the likelihood. Would it be poetic justice at all for Garrett's willingness to protect to be what leaves them all hurt and vulnerable? A sick twist of fate? And if it wasn't justice that put an end to all things, would it be a lost mind instead?

In his moments of blind retribution, the mind bent to the roar of his heart. Up until now, Garrett had been smart to completely disfigure, char or reduce to total ash whatever villain had deserved it. He rendered them unidentifiable, therefore next to impossible to investigate, their killers impossible to trace. But even so, even so, the mind was so oft a fickle thing, and not even Garrett could guarantee that his own would not snap and lose itself entirely in the heat of his passion. Had protecting V, and seeking vengeance on his behalf, been worth risking his sanity for? Sometimes, V wondered if Garrett would come back to him; if the cloud would lift and let him see and think again. Maybe V was unfair to doubt, but was he wrong to? Had he no right to worry over losing the person who'd mattered most? If anything happened to his beloved, his best friend, his better half, his partner in (some) crime and business, his soulmate, V did not trust that he could go on without.

He needed a moment to look away, so he dipped his head and let out a taxed breath he hadn't noticed he'd taken in. An unconscious, nervous gesture, he haphazardly ran a hand through his hair, making a mess of his vision but preferring that to tears in his eyes. Mercifully, they let him be. "You would sacrifice everything just to protect me, at the risk of losing even yourself... That's...that's selfish." His head shook feebly as he lifted it, hooking Garrett in the eyes with his own: deliberate, yet sympathetic and seeking sympathy. "If I were to lose you, for any reason at all, what would happen to me? I have an answer, but you won't want to hear it." You already know that I cannot live without you. It's too late for me to try again. "I would sooner die, Garrett."

V was undeterred when he brought his hand to Garrett's cheek, holding him steady and warmly as he was wont to, comforting him in the way that had become too familiar by now, practically typical, signature. V needed the comfort in this touch, too, and something to ground him as he fought the tearful child inside to leave him be again. He wasn't about to break down in tears over this, whatever it was; he didn't want any more pity than he was getting, though he was going to ask for more regardless. Calmly, he continued before Garrett could jump in. "I'm not going to tell you how to do what you do. I can even less seek a promise from you, so I won't. But...if you would at least be wise..." His hand did his pleading for him, pressing into Garrett's cheek, thumb stroking. "Be careful about where you are, or who listens, if you or we are truly alone, if someone doesn't already know— Just be careful, be smart. Keep your head clear. Don't get lost in something that you can't get out of. I want you with me, alive and well. And sane. That's...all I really care about."

Ultimately, that was all he wanted to say. Or needed to, at least, for now. There may have been more to get off his chest, but he didn't care to keep the conversation going: it was making him frightfully depressed. Besides, his mate was filthy and there was a greater need for air to clear. V supposed he could live with blood on his hands, indirect though it was. It was shed for love, not hate, he had to think of it that way or he'd never make progress. He only hoped, sincerely and urgently, that the love he so much craved once upon a time would not, in the future, be the very same that would ruin him and end his life as he knew it.

Maybe it already had, if he was so wiling to condone murder in his name. Garrett was such a good boy; so good that it made him bad. V loved him for it. Perhaps they were both morally reprehensible, deep down; and, frankly, V was too exhausted right now to care or give it a second thought. He had no smile or sorry frown for Garrett, simply more of that dryness, but it was fond between the lines and in his half-lidded eyes. At last, he took his hand away, lingering no more than a second before turning toward the door that led into their bedroom. "You'd better shower. I'll wait for you."