Onestamente, stamattina quando ho letto la notizia non pensavo minimamente potesse avere un peso così duraturo sul mio umore, e invece sono ancora qua a contemplare su quanto Toriyama abbia direttamente e indirettamente influenzato la mia vita.
Le mie passioni, i miei amici, forse addirittura il 50% di me non sarebbe lo stesso senza Dragon Ball.

Stavo rileggendo i messaggi di condoglio di Kishimoto ed Oda e ammetto di aver lacrimato un po’, forse mi deve ancora colpire totalmente la cosa.
Girovando ho visto community più disparate e unrelated come Fate e di giochi Gacha vari piangere la morte di quest’uomo, e mi ha lasciato colpito come tutti noi siamo rimasti così colpiti in maniera indelebile. Ci hai dato un grande sogno, maestro - prenditi il meritato riposo.

Tempo di accendere l'ai e generare porno dei tuoi personaggi preferiti col filtro di kamavati

Arlecchino Drip Marketing

"Fate grants favors to no one. Only those who would fight it with every ounce of their being may earn the right to challenge it."
— Pierro, "The Jester"

◆ Name: Arlecchino
◆ Title: Dire Balemoon
◆ Head of the House of the Hearth
◆ Vision: Pyro
◆ Constellation: Ignis Purgatorius

Arlecchino: Dire Balemoon
Head of the House of the Hearth

To this day, Arlecchino still recalls that night when she was first appointed as a Harbinger.
Up the stairs and down the long gallery, with naught to see through the windows but a world of ice and snow without end.
The biting wind wailed loudly, now as mirthful laughter, now as somber farewell—
With a start, Arlecchino came to, the hallucinations of her memory mingling with the sounds of real-life conversation that surrounded her.
The hearthfire burned with vigor, its gentle warmth pervading the room, and its red light glowed on the children's faces, lighting up their innocent, unaffected smiles. If some uninformed passerby were to stumble in at this precise moment, they would surely mistake the scene before them for that of an ordinary, happy family.
But just as Arlecchino raised her steaming cup to take a sip of scalding-hot black tea, the clock began to chime — and within an instant, the laughter and cheer that filled the room were banished. The flames flickered so that for a moment the light faltered, the faces of all present cast in somber expression.
Placing her cup back down, Arlecchino stood up, and in a calm, measured tone, called out several names:
"Chapleau, you're with Lyney. Retrieve the required intelligence. Foltz, you and Filliol are on guard duty. Stay back and tend to the Hearth..."
"Yes, 'Father.'"
Without a redundant syllable, nor a hint of hesitation, they answered as one.
Not long after, the fire had dwindled and the house fallen utterly silent, with nothing to be seen but a single shaft of infiltrating moonlight, peeking through a gap in the curtains upon a cup of gradually cooling tea.

BIMBE....
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