#profanity cw

What do you mean this isn’t canon-

Some time ago, the 'Drunken Philosopher', along with the one "death god" who has remained 'fully awake' this entire time, managed to convince a select group of mortal magic-users that if they could trap those they considered the rulers of death, they could eliminate Death itself, becoming immortal. The philosopher was careful to prey on greed and ambition rather than terrified desperation: the type of betrayal the Goddess of Treachery would genuinely consider justified.

They were, in essence, lulled to sleep: something made possible through sending what remained awake to Earth, where they remembered nothing of the past. Some resisted the draw there, at first.

At this point, they -- often considered the most incomprehensible or "alien" of the gods, even amongst their own worshippers -- have all been out of action for a time. The other gods may know where they are, perhaps just choosing not to act yet. They have their own concerns, after all, and to them, those years or centuries don't mean much.

Most living mortals are unaware of the fact that the ritual even took place, let alone that it worked. Some know the death gods have been quiet lately, but they're not the type of entities most people call out to expecting a direct answer in the first place.

((And due to a policy some of them have that I can write about in more detail later if people want to know, it wouldn't even be considered odd if someone else keeps answering instead.))

The one or two sapient species who may strongly suspect/know something is wrong aren't likely to spread that idea. Instead, they continue to call, and sing, and diligently search for signs.

As far as someone like Patrick can tell (or will be able to tell once he hears the whole story), the drunken philosopher's true objective was to teach them a lesson not to casually fuck with people's lives.

The fact that it wasn't an outright betrayal in his eyes, if anything, will only make the idea seem even more likely.

If that's true, though? Patrick will be touched and a little humbled by the philosopher's belief that this gamble could pay off, and will do his best to ensure no one retaliates.

As for why one of the death gods enabled the drunken philosopher to do that to begin with, well. Their motives really depend on which of them it was.

CONFESSION:

Who would've thought this shitty ass target would've somehow forced them to take the battle into the residential parts? While he and his team tried to keep it to the alley ways, the damned demonic beast kept knocking them (or at least him) around like flies, slamming them against hard concrete and stone walls as it rampaged. Containing the damage it was causing was a harder said than done with the way it cleanly swiped through buildings it walked past and barely flinched at all the attacks they made on it thus far.

As a giant clawed hand made its way to a lone figure who suddenly appeared in the midst of the dust, rubble, and battle, Souta instinctively reacted, using a burst of power to launch his feet enough to push the idiotic human away and take the brunt force of the hit instead. The hand clawed into his skin then slammed him into the nearest wall, cleanly creating a concavity on impact.

Stunned, the oni let out a groan, reorienting himself as a wave of dizziness crashed into him, the pain in his back alerting him to the damage the impact might have caused. He winced as he peeled himself off the wall, his joints and spine screaming at him for moving at all. As bruised, wounded, and battered as he was with his numerous bruises, cuts, and punctures, any sane person would've let his fellow comrades take over the fight—but Souta was both a reckless idiot and a stubborn fighter. If anything, he wanted to prove he could land a finishing blow to that stupid abomination.

But before he could even get himself properly standing, the person he had shoved out of the way approached him. As he used the wall to help him stand, his eyes narrowed in focus. His vision finally revealed to him the familiar silhouette of that guy at the ramen shop, the weirdo who said he smelled. What the hell was this guy doing here? The man glared at him, which only made the redhead look at him in response, non-verbally telling him to get the fuck away from here, while the black flame of his left eye flickered to and fro.

At the accusation, the flame burned hotter, the tail end elongating as Souta's rage boiled. The oni reached to harshly grasp the man's collar, the long gashes on his arm running blood down toward the ground. Practically glaring at him with mismatched eyes clouded with rage (rage that fueled his power no less), he gathered himself to argue (ugh, his head was still...). Even as the guy grabbed his cheeks and pressured him with the intense glare, the boy did not falter.

Pushing Daisies ☞ Pie-lette (1.01)

“I thought you didn’t want the reward.”

“No, I wanted you not to want the reward. 50,000 dollars, that’s a lot of money. Three-way split? Thirty, thirty, forty? It’s only fair I get more, I did die for it.”

Back when I was a baby lolita and had just gotten my first Brand, there was a pretty common warning to never wash your Brand at home. Back in 2011, it was a lot more common for dresses to bleed or fade when they got wet, and so very broke me somehow decided to just never wash this.

The correct answer, Past Me, was a dry cleaner. Go to a dry cleaner.

When I started working as a costumer in theatrical productions, I learned that we'd take clothes to be dry cleaned, or clothes that were not washed after each use, and make a usage counter tag. Every time that the actor gave us the garment back, we'd put an X on the hang tag that we kept on the hanger. Also on the hang tag would be "CLEAN AFTER [x] WEARS," and we would precisely know when it had to go to the dry cleaners. This was an option, Past Me. This was an option.

We also would get everything cleaned at the end of each show. Back when I did daily lolita, I'd get things that I wore often, and things that directly touched my skin, cleaned after every 1-3 wears, things that were worn rarely and didn't get dirty every 4ish wears, and then get everything that had been worn even once cleaned a few of times a year. You can't leave dirt and sweat and dust just sitting in your clothes. This is because of one important thing:

[x]

You've GOT. To CLEAN. Your CLOTHES.

(I never took this dress in because I was too ashamed of its state. Didn't clean because of shame, shame because I never cleaned)

Thankfully, this "we never wash our clothes" trend has largely been reduced in recent years. Back in the days of EGL Comm Sales on Livejournal, "I'm first owner, never been washed" on a 3-year-old garment was a statement that added to the value. Now, it just grosses people out.

But baby me went with the option of never washing it, and then less baby me decided that the best way to handle that shame was to just stick it in the back of the closet and not address it for seven years.

This was also not the right way to do it. See screenshot above.

So now, I have a dress that I can't dry clean because it's too stained, but I also have a dress that I can't wear because it's submarine yellow. On top of that, it still might fade or shrink because it has still never been cleaned.

So now it's 2022 and I'm having to fix bad decisions I made eleven years ago and then continued to make for the intermediate time between me being incredibly stupid and this present date when I decided to do something about it.

Why am i like this.

So, as a warning for everyone who is new to lolita and doesn't believe that it'll be fine if you go ten wearings of a dress where you just costume spray it and put it back in the closet, here's my shameful garment from the back of my closet.

My dry cleaner, who I absolutely trust, sand that she can't offer any promises on cleaning a 12-year-old dress that has never once been washed, but gave my some at-home cleaning tips. I'll keep everyone posted on the progress as I attempt to save this dress and avoid having to turn it into a skirt.

Warning: more gross dress under the cut