God, pointing and laughing at his creations:

The idea that “idle hands are the devils tools” is so wild to me, because like it implies that if medieval people had even a second to think they would immediately abandon god and turn to sin, and everyone knew this, and it was so common they had a saying about it. Still used and relevant today

Thinking about them

The team from Arrowfell

How to spot a lesbian in rwby:

Neo redemption arc leaked

to any old followers who missed it, i’m at @mercuric now. and officially not blogging about homestuck anymore rip. probably gonna be more active at my bnha blog @meowdiriya, tho!!

just a reminder, i’m at @ariborn now!! i was sticking with like strictly homestuck at first but it’s starting to diversify back into a typical old main with a bit more of an emphasis on homestuck than this one

psst i might not be on this account much bc i think i…accidentally made a new main account that is entirely centered around homestuck and is currently much more appealing to me than this current blog. uh. whoops? i’ll be signing out of this account on my laptop and phone and only popping in every once in a while, but you can find me at @aribornprobably.

(contains: lady whump, restraints, muzzle, branding, captivity, light dehumanization flavors(?), character with mutated limbs and dysmorphia about them, hurt with a little comfort at the end)

    Eugenia woke to a harsh tug on her arm– the left one, the horrible, unnatural one that was too sensitive and too numb, too thin and too lumpy and too thick where it had no reason to be, in swollen sinew and fleshy bulbs. Someone’s heavily gloved hand dug into the space between two bones that hardly had any feeling and their thumb pressed into the edge of a lump that now felt like it was searing in the heart of a forge.

    There was a funny thing that the cursed arm did. Instead of feeling pain in one part of it, keeping it to just the one bulbous lump of flesh, every sensitive point on the whole arm reacted at once. The bits around where her wrist and elbow used to be erupted in a similar burning pain, and the five tendrils at the end of it writhed as what remained of the joints jerked in the crushing grip.

    “Wh’s–” stumbled out of her mouth, followed immediately by a wordless cry as the grip shifted, pushing in harder against the sensitive spot on the upper arm.

    Getting her leg and the cursed leg underneath her was an ordeal lately, even when she was alone; if she had thought that being held up by someone else would help, she was being proven wrong presently. While it felt like strength and coordination were lagging behind the movement of her right leg, the thing on the left was moving a bit too much and a bit too harshly, throwing her off balance enough that the only thing holding her up was the too-tight grip.

    “–seems to be convulsing again,” a vaguely familiar voice was saying.

    Eugenia’s left eye could see them, but the right wasn’t open yet, which explained why she was only seeing in shapes of temperature. The light pierced into it like a fine, narrow sword aimed right through her skull.

    “Wh’t’re you d–” she started to ask, knowing it would be fruitless. Especially fruitless this time, because whoever this was jerked her harshly by the shoulder before she could finish, sending scalding shivers up the length of the arm and down her spine.

    Another voice reached her faintly through the grogginess, much farther away than she had grown used to. The distance picked up her heart rate as she craned her head to look, squinting her right eye open to see, though watery through tears.

    “…Genie, Eugenia! Genie can you hear– Get your hands off my patient!” Diana was far away, at the other end of a room, behind a door? Eugenia couldn’t make sense of it through how everything was spinning and blurring. Before she could blink anything away and try again, another pair of thickly-gloved hands took hold of her right arm.

    “Knew they shouldn’t’ve let the doc stay in specimen containment,” a low, slightly familiar voice muttered above Eugenia’s head. “The curse’s getting into her.”

    “I can hear you,” Diana’s voice would be comforting, she sounded furious and protective, but she was too far away.

    “Dia,” Eugenia gasped out, “Dia what’s, wh, what’s–”

    “Quiet,” snapped the low voice. There was some new, unfamiliar apparatus, something like the examination table but different.

    “Oh, let her get it out while she can,” said the other. Eugenia was pressed against a cold surface, angled up, one of the hands that gripped her right arm letting go to push against her back and keep her there.

    “Let her go,” Diana snarled, “before we find out how bendable these bars are. We know exactlyhowbreakableyour–”

    An involuntary cry from Eugenia drowned out the rest of that. Straps were tightening around the thing on her left where her arm used to be, keeping it in place even as it writhed out of her control. Its convulsions pressed the soft, sensitive bits into the cold metal surface and chafed at the skin under the restraints, and she hated it with such force that she was able to wrench her right arm back to herself.

    If she could just loosen one of the straps–

    This brief struggle only lasted a second before the hand on her back pushed hard enough to crush the air out of her lungs in a high, sharp gasp, pinning her right arm under her chest.

    “Please–” she wheezed out as she felt three points of contact on her shoulder, elbow, and one worming under to get to her wrist.

    “This will go quicker if you cooperate,” said the more neutral voice just before the pressure eased up from her back slightly.

    Eugenia’s still-free hand darted across for where the restraint on her left shoulder ought to be, but wasn’t quite fast enough.

    “–filthy rat bastards can’t you see she’s not in any state for this–”

    “Admin really knows how to pick ‘em,” the low voice grunted as two sets of hands wrestled Eugenia’s right arm into restraints. (She put up more of a fight than she could have a few days before, but was still at a thorough disadvantage.)

    The final strap was tightened around her right wrist, and the process was repeated with her legs. The thing on the left kept jerking reflexively, throwing off her coordination for any attempts she could have made to kick with her right, not that it could do much good barefoot and with poor leverage.

    “You still haven’t told me what you’re doing,” Diana didn’t sound calmer, but like she was pulling back to assess before another attack. “If Isido thinks–”

    “We’re not here for Admin Isido. There’s more than one of them, you know, and this–” there was a lighter thump on Eugenia’s back, but even the slight jostling from it made the left arm pinch and burn, made her tear up and bite down on her lip, “–project is shared, if you remember.”

    Diana didn’t answer verbally, just with a low growl. (It was possible that she had been emitting a low growl the whole time…)

    “But– but what are, what are you, what’s,” Eugenia caught herself mumbling, pulling against the straps on her right arm to no avail. When one of her tugs caused an echoing movement in the left one, she tried to bite back a whimper and stopped moving.

    There was the sound of something being picked up, with a metallic clink, and Eugenia’s head was being turned so that the right side pressed against the table. A hand lingered on her neck as another one clumsily pushed her hair to the side. (It was still in the long braid Diana had helped her put it into the night before, after another sterilizing potion bath left her skin stinging.)

    A loud crash and the sound of claws scraping against metal came with a loud snarl from Diana.

    “Get that away from her! Don’t muzzle my patient!”

    Muzzle?

    “You had to tell her, now she’s struggling again,” grumbled the low voice. The grip on her neck tightened as Eugenia tried to turn her head and dislodge it. She could hear her breaths, high and fast and shallow, tinged with pathetic whines.

    For a few seconds, the only sounds Eugenia could hear was that of her own hitching breath, of blood rushing and pounding in her head over the pressure on her neck, and of Diana’s claws scratching and scrambling against metal, against bars if she had heard right.

    Something leather closed around her throat, a strap trailed up the back of her head, and there was a pause as they tried to lift her face off of the metal.

    “No no no nono please don’t please you don’t have to I can, I won’t, I swear you don’t have to please–nnh–!” Something pinched what remained of her left ear and she flinched reflexively, gasping, whole body shuddering and trying to curl inwards.

    Before she could process it, more thick straps had been brought around the sides of her face, a leather mouthpiece was between her teeth, her jaw was locked shut, and her head had been immobilized against the table. Keening, gasping sounds were muffled by the gag, loud enough in the deformed ear that she could barely hear Diana now.

    “Quiet, now,” the neutral voice came with one hand resting on top of Eugenia’s head for a moment. “If you could move for this, it would be worse.”

    The thick, curse-resistant gloves these people wore did not leave them much dexterity, so Eugenia had plenty of time to figure out what they were trying to do when she felt tugs on her chemise-thing and light, accidental touches against the skin high up on her back. Where the loose gown tied shut, where they were now trying to untie it. More mumbled pleas were muffled and garbled by the gag as she felt cool air touch her exposed back. They stopped at the top set of ties, not moving to the middle or lower ones, and secured belts over her midsection and lower ribs, leaving her utterly immobilized.   

    Eugenia had hoped that these examinations would stop now that she had Diana, who still needed to do examinations but was so kind about it. Diana hadn’t once tried to tie her down to something, and talked her through what she was doing, and while she had to touch the mutated things for it, she at least listened when Eugenia told her how horrible they felt.

    Something wet and unnaturally cold swiped over an area between her right shoulder blade and the base of her neck, shivers setting off the pinchingsearing spots of pain under the restraints on her left side. (That had probably been to clean it; cleaning came before injections and extractions, but those were always done in the arms or legs or occasionally neck, so why was this one on her back?)

    “You’re better at this part,” she heard before something metal and oddly shaped was pressed against the cleaned spot. As the moisture dried, her skin started to sting. The metal thing felt ring-shaped, maybe, but there was more on the inside. A pattern? Some kind of device?

    “What are you doing,tell me what you’re doing, step asideandlet me see what you have–” Diana’s orders were not followed, Eugenia shouldn’t have hoped.

    The metal was lifted, something was uncorked, something gave a chemical hiss, and when she felt it again, it came with a wet sound and a tacky feeling. Something bright and hot flared to life in the corner of the left eye’s vision, making Eugenia squirm as much as she was able, for about half a second, before the chafingandpinching became too much. There was warmth at her back, comforting if not for the question of what it wasandwhat they were doing with it.

    “Breathe in and bite down,” ordered the neutral one, leaving barely any time to question or follow their directions before

    burning

    burning searing blinding white red hot deafening writhing burning burning burning

    Metal crunched, bent, and snapped.

    The source of the burning left her skin, but its imprint remained, but she couldn’t stop straining, but her limbs were thrashing, but she couldn’t scream loud enough to drown it out, but–

    Eugenia’s muffled cries weren’t the only things she could hear– there was Diana’s roar, an answering shout, blows exchanged and things clattering, thick fabric tearing, something pained (something hot and thick and red sprayed onto her side), the heavy door of the containment area slammed shut.

    Then nothing but the two of them panting heavily, one with rage and exertion, the other with pain and burning and more pain and more burning and more–

    Then, as if everything had caught up all at once, piling on and becoming too much to bear any longer, there was just… nothing.

.

.

.   

    “…Genie?”

    Her head was being tilted, buckles gently undone. Once the muzzle was off, she couldn’t do more than whimper and lean it against the metal again.

    “Eugenia, can you hear me?”

    Her braid was pulled to the other side, and her head turned so that the misshapen side was against the metal. The right half of her face was stuck in a grimace, lips trembling, tears flowing down her cheek one after the other. She could see Diana behind her now.

    “Okay, okay,” Diana sucked in a breath, her hand resting at the spot between Eugenia’s jaw and neck for a moment. “We’re going to start with your legs, yeah? Nod if you understand.”

    Nodding was easy enough, even while every movement seemed to set off something else, to keep her breaths unsteady and her tears falling.

    “Right, now your left arm. The right one needs to be still until we can get you down.”

    Another nod. She worked from the wrist in, meaning that the tendrils at the end of it tried to latch onto her continuously, but by now she was an expert at dealing with them. Diana’s careful touch sent uncomfortable buzzing sensations through the arm, but nothing as painful as the manhandling before, and she let go after guiding it to stay curled against Eugenia’s chest.

    “Can you support yourself? The skin is damaged here, I need you to keep yourself upright until we have this one stable, too.”

    She could stand, so she nodded, and the process for this one went about the same as for the left one. Right up until Diana started to guide her into moving it, the skin stretching and burning enough that she might have thought her whole arm had been set on fire.

    “Genie, breathe, remember to–”

    “…if they get any credit it’s for the treatment supplies, not that those clunky gloves would let them do any of this well–”

   She was on the examination table, the top half of her chemise peeled away, her torso propped up by one of Diana’s hands. There was a cool, gooey feeling over the burn, and gauze being wrapped around it.

   “Genie?”

   The wrapping paused just for a moment. Diana’s face came into view, her free hand patting Eugenia’s cheek. Once she had a moment of sustained eye contact (which had Eugenia tearing up again), she got back to it.

   “Hold still, you fainted– I’m just finishing up treating the burn. We can put your gown back after I look at that chafing.”

   There was a form on the ground, completely still, in one of the curse-resistant protective suits. It was torn open, blood leaking from it into a puddle on the floor. Some flecks of it still stained both of their clothes. Diana’s hands were perfectly clean.

“Siren, I have the record you asked for–”

“What did you just call me?” The man or perhaps woman turned from examining the contents of a shelf to give Valorie a bit of a Look.

“Siren.” She cocked a hip and placed a hand on it, doing her best to return the Look without craning her head weirdly, considering that she was a bit too short to look down at her client. “Your street name? With the likelihood of this place being tapped by about twelve different interested groups since the last time you dealt with them, I’m hardly going to use your givenname.”

“That’s not the one you used last time, Spherica.” Sass for sass, she had to respect it.

“You have several names out there. Do none of your clients tell you about them?” It seemed that this record was not going to be accepted immediately, so she walked further in, setting it on a table and lowering herself into an armchair. “There’s enough aliases floating around that I have to go overtime just to verify whether a mention of you is you or just some upstart, or someone from out of state, and that on top of the potential for imitators…”

“Siren’s a bad one, there’s already a mermaid themed cape using it. Did you steal this, by the way, or do your identity theft thing?” Not-Siren came closer to inspect the record, picking it up and turning it over, probably looking for a price tag.

“In Philadelphia?”

“What?”

“Is the mermaid-themed Siren operating in Philadelphia? I should have heard of it if there’s a new one, for any affiliation.”

“Still on that, huh? No, Siren’s out in… Lancaster?” The record was removed from its case and examined under the light. “Hey, this is fresh! I thought you’d be going for secondhand.”

“No, secondhand’s worse quality and hurts small businesses.” There was a little bowl of hard candies within arm’s reach of her, but she was refraining from getting too close to them immediately.

“So you did steal it.” That was absolutely correct, but,

“I never said that. It would be pretty suspicious for my sister to be out secondhand record shopping when it’s currently her night shift, though, wouldn’t it, Dr Diva?”

Judging by the sound that followed this, if Not-Dr-Diva had been drinking something at the moment, that drink would have found itself quickly airborne and splattered over the wood floor and probably some of the furniture.

“They call me what,” came out strangled enough that Valorie could believe they had been choking just a second ago.

“That or Diva Doctor, nobody’s entirely certain which order it ought to fall in.”

“I’ve never even considered that many years of medical school, not– Not all healing types are medical types, all I do is sing!” Strangely, but in a way that was thoroughly in the norm when one was used to dealing with Not-Diva-Doctor, that raised voice managed to be soothing instead of grating.

“Then maybe you’d prefer Songbird?”

“That one’s taken by at least one person per state and you know one of the new sidekicks is looking at it for their temp alias.” Not-Songbird carefully slid the record back into its case and moved to line it up in an empty space on their shelf. Then turned around, giving Valorie a suspicious once-over. “You don’t have any more for me, do y–”

“Now that you mention it, Mx. Minstrel–”

“Oh not another–”

“–you wanted tabs kept on the requests, and I have one asking if you do rap?”

“Badly.” 

“More of a demand than a request, really, but they won’t be able to back it up with anything substantial so I’m sure they’ll take whatever you want to give…” she paused as though not quite finished, just for the few seconds of tense, anticipatory eye contact before her next, “…Supercore.”

“That one’s not even a name! It’s not related to singing or healing, who came up with that one?”

“It’s the name of a niche aesthetic and music genre started onli–”

“Started online, of course it makes no sense.”

“A lot of my information comes from online sources, you know. Aside from the public hero profiles. People post a lot of footage, say a lot of things in supposedly-secure chatrooms…” The bowl of candy was calling to her too strongly to refuse by now. She casually selected something with a pink wrapper and passed it between her fingers for a minute before acknowledging it any further.

“Good thing we have our little arrangement, so the only thing I ever need the internet for is…” They paused when Valorie tapped one finger to her ear with a glance around, a reminder that the place was probably tapped. “…Alright, you know I make a whole deal out of not caring how my recordings sound, but I’ll admit that I know how to look up video tutorials.”

“Remarkable.” Finally looking at the candy, she found that it had a picture of a strawberry, and the label and ingredients were written in Hangul.

“I’d think you would agree with me about how nonsense the aliases that come from the internet are, all things considered, Spherica.”

“That was from the press,Balladeer. Where did you get these?”

“H-Mart had some on sale. Upper Darby, if you’re interested in identity theft this weekend.” They started rearranging the throw pillows, seemingly just for something to do with their hands, but possibly to annoy anyone with too poorly-placed of a recording device. “Balladeer?”

“I swear that some people just looked up synonyms for ‘singer’ for thirty seconds before picking one they thought was interesting.” Instead of tearing the wrapper open like a regular person, Valorie decided to see if she could get this one to pop by holding it just so and squeezing between thumb and curled forefinger.

“Interesting is a stretch. I know I’ve done some Johnny Cash covers, but that’s hardly my specialty… Spherica. Dear. Why did you… perk up like that, when I said Johnny Cash?”

“It turns out,” Valorie started, still wrestling with the surprisingly thick wrapper,

“Oh no.”

“…that some people decided to refer to you by other singers’ names. Mr Cash.” With a pop, the candy was freed.

“No.”

“Or would you prefer Mariah Carey, ma’am?” It was going to be difficult to keep a straight face with candy in her mouth while also pestering her client who was most certainly not Mariah Carey, but Valorie would manage.

“Nooo… That was one time.”

“Other options include–”

“Stop this at once, young lady,–”

“–Idol.”

“Too short, and I’m not famous enough.”

“I may contest you on the fame, Composer.”

“I have never composed once in my life since the day I was born.”

“Serenado,”

“No,”

“Seranada,”

“I’m sensing a pattern,”

“Serenadie,”

“Was this from the same people that came up with yours?”

“No, but it was used in the same circles that used The Vocalist.”

“With a capitalized ‘The’? Really?”

“I’m afraid so, Melody.”

“That one’s already taken at least twenty times, with a wait-list.”

“That’s rather unfortunate, Singster.”

“You’re making these up now. By yourself. In your head, right now, you’re making it up.”

“You have no way of proving that without using the internet, Doc Ditty.”

“Don’t ever say that in my office again, young lady.”

“It’s a deal, Caroler. Or Carol if you prefer.”

“And don’t say that one too much or you’ll summon… Her.”

“Word on the street is she’s been gone long enough to likely be dead by now, actually.”

“And? Word on the street is also that she’s too evil to die.”

“Just keeping you up to date, Cold Canary.”

“That sounds like turn of the century slang.”

“…I’m not certain it isn’t.” The candy was very good, she noted, even though she’d been talking around it since she put it in, not quite a realistic strawberry flavor but it certainly tasted very pink. “You know, I found a thread about you where they were trying to come up with an alias that would evoke a speakeasy lounge singer.”

“Who is ‘they’?”

“Teenagers, most likely, working on rumors and nothing else. I gave it a quick look into, no real information breaches. The most they got to was Speakeasy Singer before deciding it was too long and returning to calling you Dr Lullaby, which you may note is the same number of syllables.”

“Why’s everyone convinced I’m a doctor? I’m not even a trained nurse!” Not-Dr-Lullaby and Valorie both glanced around in what had become their usual ‘cursory wiretap acknowledgement’ way with that last sentence.

“Easier shorthand, I suppose. Though that does remind me of a couple more of your nicknames…”

“Are you ever going to run out of those?”

“Perhaps next time. I do have to leave soon, I have… another appointment, you could say.” Standing, she used the rustle of her clothes to mask the sound of her pulling out a folded note, holding it out between two fingers.

“I see, I see, you stick around exactly long enough to bother me but not long enough for me to dish any back, ah?” They stood, doing the same sound-masking trick while accepting the note but not unfolding or giving it a real look just yet.

“Someone in my line of work always knows when to retreat. And I don’t want to be stuck around here when you deal with your potential surveillance. I know you could fix any physical damage after the fact, but I would much prefer to keep my eardrums in a continuous state of…” The wording was going to be awkward, she realized now, but she pressed on, already waving a hand as if to dismiss the way it was phrased. “…remaining unbroken.”

“I’ll tell you if I start calling myself anything silly while you’re out, so you can throw out all your painstakingly collected lists.”

“I’ll make sure it gets laughed off the forums when you do, Beyonce.”

“That’s it, out–”

Mydearest and most belovedKitty,
if I am still permitted to call you Kitty,
if I am still the only one cheeky enough to get away with it, though I would surely understand if you had by now moved on, for themy tragic sacrifice of exile must surely drive such a wedge into all friendships that I would understand if even my dearest accomplice were to have found someone anew,

The treatments have been going well!
As well as they can be expected to, taking in full account of the gravity and tragedyof my situation. What do I miss more, than my dear friends’ laughter, like unplanned music which surprises, pleasantly, all those whose ears and other sensory receptacles it reaches? What canI miss more, than the sweet and thrilling
than the thrill
than the sweet and rushing thrill
than the sweet and thrilling rush of the hunt, and all of us setting our camps, and keeping each other awake with conversation and teasing and revelry long past the time we ought to have slept, and Sweetie hardly managing to check us with the schedule of watches,

Bother it, I’ve gotten distracted! What was I

HowisSweetie? Have they returned yet from their voyage to the continent? I have no address for them, so I must beg of your kindness to pass along my regards, and to the others as well!

It is my sincerest and greatest hope that this letter, like those before it, reaches you in a state of with no lingering traces of the curse upon it, for it would be my worst and greatest fear and deepest regret if

Regrettably, I have lost track of that sentence as I had to investigate an odd noise.

Where was I? It is so terribly inconvenient that I must let these letters sit for such a long time to evacuate the energies which prolonged contact with my hand sets upon them

[splotch of ink]

Another strange noise!

I shall go investigate once more, though I fear I have spilt too much ink over this one, it may not be

[two inches of empty page; unsigned; unfolded]

The truck gang had left Hailey alone for a minute, probably to debate their next move, maybe just to test how long she would put up with sitting there and growing increasingly less comfortable before she tried to call them in to let her shift positions. And, unfortunately, the restraints did not seem to be giving way any time soon, no matter how much she tested it while she was unobserved.

It was difficult to resist the urge to try blasting an energy beam again, as if it would just work this time, as if the ability hadn’t been taken.

The worst part was that she couldn’t tell anyone– at least, not anyone who could actually do anything to help. Or maybe the worst part was that now she could think of somany ways that she might have been able to avoid it, if she’d known what was coming or if she’d acted on her misgivings or if she’d just timed her day differently. Maybe the worst part of it was the aftereffects, and she might have been able to deal with it better if she hadn’t been left sick for days and if her hands didn’t still feel cold and shaky 24/7 no matter what she tried to help it.

Somehow, the worst thing was not the fact that it had been some of her own fellow “superheroes” who had roped her into this situation. Or blackmailed, technically. Coerced, even.

(Man, she’d really been left for over ten seconds while awake, restrained, and unsupervised, and her go-to mental exercise was flashbacks? Maybe it was a side effect of being unconscious for so long.)

Actually, it was slightly weird, both of the very bad things that had happened to her in the last few weeks that involved her being taken somewhere against her will had happened right before she had a date scheduled. And the last time it had happened, she had texted home that she was just going to be a little late, only to be dropped off at her apartment hours later with a case of the worst… just the worst in general. And this time, she’d texted home that she was just going to be a little late, and now it was hours later and…

Was it better or worse that, this time, the only one that had betrayed her was herself?

(Well, her own incorrect assessment of her ability to handle a situation, but that didn’t sound nearly as poetic or dramatic, now did it?)

So I just got glasses, and in addition to my eyes needing time to adjust to the change, I kind of feel like my brain is overwhelmed bc everything is clearer than I’m used to, so I can take in more sensory information. Not sure if it’s an autistic thing or just a Thing, anyone else have this?

Question time!

Feel free to send in asks, autism-related or otherwise, and I’ll be answering them in the next few hours

Just thought I should make an official statement, since I’ve amassed an actual following on this blog; while I disagree with the new policy, I’m not planning on ditching Tumblr unless it becomes a space that is no longer fun/safe/supportive for me. I support everyone else’s induvidual decisions, and encourage people to do what they think is best for them. If you’re leaving and want other social media contact for me, feel free to private message me or send an ask off anon and I’ll give you my twitter.

Also, please let me know if any of the content from this blog seems to be blocked or showing up as flagged; I’m not aware of any nsfw content, but there seem to be a lot of algorithm problems, so lots of stuff is getting flagged. Thanks guys!

jojo-reference-generator:

Im watching a livestream and this mans has been walking around for a minimum of 45 minutes looking for one (1) encounter to get one (1) motherfucker

probably longer tbh. And it’ll continue for a long time, i bet.

YO HOLY SHIT

Im watching a livestream and this mans has been walking around for a minimum of 45 minutes looking for one (1) encounter to get one (1) motherfucker

probably longer tbh. And it’ll continue for a long time, i bet.

ahahah…. the nether amirite?

“Triumph” over Wild Magic

Is that what he’s calling it? If this is how Belos remembers it then he was either that oblivious or in that much denial.