#but it can also stand alone
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composeregg · 1 month ago
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edit (10/23/2024) now that the poll is over: Original version, with 10 questions, from April 2023 here
And, given that the original is from April 2023, that means I can very easily say:
No, this was not an ISAT reference!
Just because I use parentheses and 2nd person pov and love the same concepts of what a time loop can do to a person doesn't mean it's ISAT
(Yes, I like ISAT, the original poll is why I was recommended the game! But if you look at the original, you can see all the origins of the options to choose from, including what spurred me on with the moss option from the replies)
If I were going to make something for ISAT, I would never be so vague, you can simply look at my ao3 for proof of that
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basalting · 11 days ago
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after jasons death bruce "accidentally" slips harvey a crowbar while hes in arkham and kisses his cheek and says, voice soft and colder than ice, "make him hurt for me honey"
it takes 6 guards to sedate and drag two face off the joker the next time two face sees him and for the rest of their lives as soon as harvey sees the joker he goes after him like a rabid dog.
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morganbritton132 · 2 years ago
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Someone asks Eddie what the worst thing about Steve is and you’d think that he’d say Steve’s love for Wham! or his sports metaphors but no. No, the worst thing about Steve is his love for Corroded Coffin. Specifically this one power ballad they have that Steve says describes the love him and Eddie have for each other. It is the only Corroded Coffin song he likes. It is also the only song Eddie didn’t write. Jeff wrote it.
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my-name-is-apollo · 1 month ago
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One of the best parts of rereading the Homeric hymn to Apollo is that I get to read these moments again:
"But Leto alone stays by the side of Zeus who delights in thunder...and the Father gives him nectar in a golden cup welcoming his dear son, while the other gods make him sit down there, and queenly Leto rejoices because she bare a mighty son and an archer."
– Homeric hymn to Delian Apollo (trans. Evelyn-White)
"And they, even gold-tressed Leto and wise Zeus, rejoice in their great hearts as they watch their dear son playing among the undying gods."
– Homeric hymn to Pythian Apollo (trans. Evelyn-White)
It seems so domestic and mundane. Zeus has plenty of moments where he dotes on his children, but it's really rare to see him do that alongside his lover. He is relishing these moments with Leto, who stands beside him. This is more of a family moment than just a father - son moment.
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ghostlyarchaeologist · 1 year ago
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A collection of Eliot's 'Dammit, _______'s over the years!
Honourable mention:
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poetrysmackdown · 1 year ago
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what makes a poem a poem? does it have to be written in a certain way? is this question a poem if i want it to be?
Fun question! This is just my personal sense as an avid reader and less-avid writer of poetry, but for me it’s useful to distinguish (roughly) between poetry as a genre and poetry as an attitude or philosophy through which language and the world can be understood. And of course these two go hand in hand. I see poetry the genre as essentially a type of literature where we as readers are signaled, somehow, to pay closer attention to language, to rhythm, to sound, to syntax, to images, and to meaning. That attentive posture is the “attitude” of broader poetic thinking, and while it’s most commonly applied to appreciate work that’s been written for that purpose, there’s nothing stopping us from applying that attentiveness elsewhere. Everywhere, even! That’s how you eventually end up writing poetry for yourself, after all. There’s a quote from Mary Ruefle floating around on here that a lot of folks have probably already seen, but it immediately comes to mind with this ask:
“And when you think about it, poets always want us to be moved by something, until in the end, you begin to suspect that a poet is someone who is moved by everything, who just stands in front of the world and weeps and laughs and laughs and weeps.”
Similarly, after adopting the attentive posture of poetics, there’s plenty of things that can feel or sound like a poem, even when they perhaps were not written with that purpose in mind. I’ve seen a couple of these “found poems” on here that are quite fun—this one, for example. The meaning and enjoyment you may derive from the language of a found poem isn’t any less real than that derived from a poem written for explicitly poetic purposes, so I don’t see why it shouldn’t be called poetry.
That said, I do think that if you’re going to go out and start looking for poetry everywhere, it’s still important to have a foundation in the actual language work of it all. Now, this doesn’t mean it has to be “written in a certain way” at all! But it does mean that in order to cultivate the attentiveness that’s vital to poetry, one needs to understand what makes language tick, down at its most basic levels. It will make you better at reading poetry, better at writing it, and better at spotting it out in the wild.
Mary Oliver’s A Poetry Handbook is an extraordinary resource to new writers and readers, and a great read for more experienced folks as well. Mary Oliver’s most popular poems are all to my knowledge in free verse, and yet you might be surprised to find her deep appreciation for metrical verse (patterns of stressed/unstressed syllables), as well as for the most minute devices of sound. In discussing the so-called poetry of the past, she writes,
“Acquaintance with the main body of English poetry is absolutely essential—it is the whole cake, while what has been written in the last hundred years or so, without meter, is no more than an icing. And, indeed, I do not really mean an acquaintanceship—I mean an engrossed and able affinity with metrical verse. To be without this felt sensitivity to a poem as a structure of lines and rhythmic energy and repetitive sound is to be forever less equipped, less deft than the poet who dreams of making a new thing can afford to be.”
In another section, after devoting lots of attention to the sounds at work in Robert Frost’s “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening”, she writes,
“Everything transcends from the confines of its initial meaning; it is not only the transcendence in meaning but the sound of the transcendence that enables it to work. With the wrong sounds, it could not have happened.”
I hope all this helps to get across my opinion that what makes a poem a poem is not just about the author's intention, and not just about meaning (intended or attributed), but also about sound and rhythm and language and history, all coalescing into something that rises above the din of a language we would otherwise grow tired of while out in our day-to-day lives.
I'll always have more to say but I'm cutting myself off here! Thanks for the ask
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ukulele-hero · 9 months ago
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this was the funniest sequence of events hands down
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🌈🤔🤷‍♀️???
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turtleblogatlast · 11 months ago
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imo Leo has every right to be prideful about his appearance because if I had red stripes over my eyes, I’d make my face a personality trait too
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clairedaring · 6 months ago
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MY STAND-IN (2024) | 1.03
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carolperkinsexgirlfriend · 4 months ago
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open your mouth for me, sugar
NSFW (this is literally just porn) - part of the Steddie Upside-Down AU universe, but can be read as a standalone
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“What are you doing, Munson?” Steve asks, tone teasing enough to keep away the sting of being last-named by his boyfriend.
The carpet’s rough against his knees where they show through the holes in his jeans as he slides forward far enough that he can pillow his head on Steve’s thigh. Steve’s jeans are scratchy, too. Eddie rubs his cheek against the denim, turning his head just enough to catch Steve’s tender gaze.
“I’ve never done this before,” Eddie replies. His cheeks instantly warm at the admission, but their bedroom lights are off, the only light that of the fading day filtering in through the curtains. Maybe Steve won’t notice.
As if in answer, Steve reaches out to caress Eddie’s cheek. He closes his eyes against the feeling, overwhelmed.
“Never done what?” Steve asks.
He runs his fingers up Eddie’s cheekbone and into his hair. His scalp tingles where Steve scratches at it. A high-pitched whine unwillingly slips out of his slack mouth as Steve’s fingers get caught in a tangle at the back of his head.
“Hmm?” Eddie asks, opening his eyes just to drown in the dark pools of Steve’s eyes, pupils blown with need. Steve clenches his fist in Eddie’s curls and pulls.
“Never done what?” Steve asks, still pulling at the roots of Eddie’s hair.
Eddie can’t think past the fire on his scalp and the way it somehow flows through his veins straight into his cock. “You know what.” He tries to modulate his voice, but it comes out breathy and desperate.
When they’d first talked about sex, he’d told himself that he’d play it cool. He’d be suave, and sexy, and seduce Steve right off his feet. He should’ve known that one touch from Steve’s wanting hands would be his undoing.
Steve’s smiling down at him, full of sharp edges and sharper teeth. “No, I don’t know,” he says around a smirk. “Why don’t you tell me?”
What comes out of Eddie’s mouth is less words and more a string of consonants and vowels that hold no meaning whatsoever. Because Steve’s not even blinking, and his grip is almost too firm, and if he doesn’t suck Steve Harrington’s dick right now, he might actually die. 
“What was that?” Steve prompts, and it’s all cock-sure King Steve fucking Harrington. He’s never been more in love.
God, this is tripping into so many of Eddie’s forbidden dirty fantasies from before King Steve had become his Angel. Eddie wonders, half-dazed as he inches his cheek closer to the bulge in Steve’s tight jeans, if he can convince Steve to fool around beneath the bleachers before they graduate. Or in the locker room, the boy’s bathroom, on his throne during Hellfire, he’s not picky.
Steve’s still smirking at him with an eyebrow raised, so Eddie moves forward even further. Close enough to exhale slow, hot breath against Steve’s clothed dick as he says, “wanna suck you off.”
He punctuates the request with an open-mouthed kiss to Steve’s bulge. The denim’s rough against Eddie’s tongue and doesn’t taste like much at all. He sucks on the spot, lets all the moisture in his mouth soak into the fabric as he looks up to meet Steve’s hooded gaze.
Holier than thou King Steve has fallen away and something even more holy is left in his place. It’s just Steve, bathed in the dim light of Eddie’s lamp, mouth open and gasping, as he presses Eddie’s face down into his crotch, two points of color high on each cheek.
He wants to draw the scene, paint it in acrylics, snap a photo. He wants to die in this moment, the only points of contact Steve’s hand in his hair and Eddie’s mouth on his dick.
“Yeah?” Steve asks, rolling his hips gently up and onto Eddie’s tongue. Eddie nods, lets his mouth trail up the shaft, unerringly toward Steve’s fly. “Take what you want, Loverboy”
He noses beneath Steve’s loose t-shirt, breathing already shaky as he breathes him in. He smells like skin, and their laundry detergent, and a little bit like sweat. Eddie wants to devour him.
Eddie bites into the soft skin of Steve’s stomach until he gasps, then lathes the spot with his tongue. His view’s obscured by the hem of Steve’s shirt, so he follows the sounds his angel makes moving down, down, down, sucking and licking and biting until his tongue is licking beneath the waistband of his jeans, straining to get lower.
“Eddie, please,” Steve breathes as he presses Eddie’s head down again, like he can’t help himself.
Eddie laughs, hot breath hitting Steve’s damp skin as he squirms on the bed. He pulls back to look up at Steve, pushing against the restraining grip in his hair until his hands gentle in Eddie’s curls.
Eddie’s barely touched him, and Steve looks wrecked; his bottom lip’s bitten raw, his eyes are black with lust, and he’s panting like there’s a Demogorgon on his heels.
Eddie smooths his hands up and down Steve’s thighs like he’s soothing a spooked horse as Steve shudders above him. “Please what?” Eddie asks, watching with reverence as Steve’s frustration battles with his mounting need.
Steve’s Adam’s apple bobs, throat clicking around words that don’t quite make it out of his mouth. Eddie licks his lips, ready to wait him out no matter how much his jaw aches with need, or how hard his own dick is confined in his jeans.
“Please suck my dick,” Steve breathes, fingers clenching into the mussed sheets at the edge of their bed. 
“Of course, Angel,” Eddie says, smiling up at him.
Unable to help himself, he crowds closer, wedging himself firmly between Steve’s parted knees, begging for a kiss.
Steve doesn’t disappoint. He leans down, arms coming around Eddie to pull him closer still as their lips connect. Eddie sucks Steve’s bottom lip into his mouth and bites down until Steve shudders, mouth gasping open.
Eddie swipes his tongue in, just barely delving into the warmth of Steve’s mouth. He shuffles closer, trying to meld their bodies together as Steve retaliates, licking into Eddie’s mouth with singular focus.
Eddie can’t help himself. He sucks down, hard on Steve’s tongue, reaching around to grasp his ass, forcing him to grind against Eddie’s stomach. He does again, and again, and again, following Eddie’s guiding hands like he was born for it.
His goal had been to make Steve desperate, but the feel of his angel, hot and wanting against him has Eddie disconnecting their mouths with a gasp.
He barely hears Steve’s whine as he untangles his arms from their embrace and shuffles back just enough to fumble with Steve’s belt. He’d been planning to go for suave, sure hands unbuckling Steve’s belt and maybe pulling down his underwear using his teeth as Steve begs above him.
But they’ve barely started, and Eddie’s hands are shaking with need. The sound of Steve’s belt clacking against itself is loud as it echoes through the room, silent aside from their breathless panting.
Eddie pulls the zipper down and stuffs his hand into Steve’s underwear. It’s a tight squeeze, and his wrist ends up at an awkward angle as he grasps Steve’s dick, but he’s thrown his head back on a sigh. Eddie looks up at Steve to find the light of the dwindling sun filtering in through the curtain, painting his closed eyelashes in golden light.
“Angel,” Eddie says, soft and reverent.
Steve sighs, eyes cracking open to slits, black with  lust as he gazes down at Eddie. Eddie moves his hand up and down, slow against the dry skin beneath his palm. Steve fists the sheets again. Eddie watches the play of tendons and muscles, clenching and unclenching beneath the skin of his forearms.
Eddie wants to break him.
He loosens his fist, trailing just his fingertips against the warm skin of Steve’s dick as best as he can in the tight confines of his underwear. Steve whines, loud and wanton and needy. Eddie wants to record the sound and play it on loop until the tape disintegrates. He wants to record a song with it, be buried listening to it. He wants to make Steve make that noise again.
Eddie trails his hand down, wrist aching as he rubs Steve’s balls one after another. Steve sighs, thrusting forward on the bed, begging without words for Eddie to touch him firmly, just where he wants.
He doesn’t.
Eddie trails his fingers back up, as light as he can, barely a tickle against Steve’s skin, until Steve’s mouth’s puckered up and his eyebrows are furrowed against his mounting frustration. He thrusts forward again, but Eddie moves with him, still barely touching. Steve whines again, and Eddie shudders, harder than he’s ever been.
“Eddie, please,” Steve moans, eyes dropping closed as his hips unwillingly jerk forward.
That’s all it takes. Eddie pulls his hand free, chafing the back of his hand against the open fly of Steve’s jeans. He doesn’t care, barely even notices as he yanks Steve’s pants and underwear down, Steve raising his ass to help. Eddie trails his fingers down Steve’s flexing thighs, taut calves as he pushes them down, picking each of Steve’s feet up gently as he pulls them off entirely, tossing them somewhere behind him.
Steve’s bare from the waist down. That’s not enough for Eddie, so he reaches out, pushing Steve’s shirt up until he gets with the program and pulls it off entirely.
Steve Harrington sits on the bed that they share, haloed in the golden light of the setting sun, beautiful in all his naked glory. Eddie trails his eyes over arms, pectorals, the gentle softness of his stomach like he’s never seen them before.
In a way, he hasn’t. Not like this, with Steve gazing back with that same wanting fire in his eyes.
“You’re gorgeous,” Eddie says, running his palms up Steve’s bare thighs.
Steve’s eyes close, and he whispers something that sounds a lot like please, wriggling his hips in search of the slightest friction.
Eddie’s eyes drop to Steve’s ruddy, erect dick before he’s got his mouth on it, sinking down like a drowning man.
He chokes, immediate and all-consuming until Steve threads his fingers through Eddie’s mussed curls and pulls him up and off.
His eyes are watering as Steve uses his grip on Eddie’s hair to pull his head up and meet his gaze. “Slow, Baby,” Steve says, pupils blown all to shit.
Eddie nods, frantic, still, to get his mouth on Steve. He’d barely had a taste.
When Steve loosens his hold, Eddie looks back down at his dick, taking stock of the terrain like an explorer on new land. It’s shorter than Eddie’s but girthier and flushed such a deep red at the tip that Eddie thinks it must hurt.
Eddie licks the head. Steve groans, so Eddie does it again, memorizing his taste. It’s musky and warm with just a hint of salt from the precome already leaking from his tip.
He licks down the side, sucking along the shaft, mapping the textures with his tongue. Steve’s hips are making abortive little thrusts.
Eddie licks back up, and puts his mouth on Steve again, just the tip this time, Steve’s command of slow, Baby ringing through his head as he sucks.
But Steve’s still squirming, and he sinks down a little farther, tongue swirling around all the skin he can reach.
He’s never felt closer to god than in this moment, with his own personal angel bathed in the golden light of the setting sun, cock hard and wanting in Eddie’s mouth. He’s always heard you're supposed to pray on your knees, and the carpet digging into his skin can be his penance.
Eddie stays there for an endless moment, sucking on Steve’s dick, lost in the sensations playing against his tongue. But then Steve grips his hair by the root and every nerve ending Eddie has lights up. He moans, hips twitching as his own dick gets somehow even harder in the confines of his jeans.
Steve curses, vehement and filthy, as he says, “fuck, Eddie your mouth,” and uses his grip on Eddie’s hair to push him down a little farther.
The head of Steve’s cock hits the back of Eddie’s tongue, and he gags around it for a second until Steve pulls him back until it’s just the tip in his mouth again. Eddie whines, and it must feel good because Steve grips his hair even harder and pushes Eddie’s head back down again.
Eddie’s jaw strains around the girth of Steve’s cock, he’s starting to get light-headed as he tries to breathe through only his nose, and he’s one wrong thrust away from gagging again.
He’s never been more turned on in his life.
Steve resists for a second as Eddie tries to lean away, hand clenching almost painfully in his hair before he shakes it free and clenches it back into the sheets instead like he needs something to hold onto.
Eddie’s resistant too, sucking from root to head until it drops from his mouth with a suctioning pop. Eddie looks at it, rapturous. It’s obscenely wet with his spit, and it’s bobbing as Steve flexes his hips like he’s still seeking out the warmth of Eddie’s wanting mouth.
“Please, please, please,” Steve chants, like he’s the one worshiping here, and that won’t do.
“Look at me,” Eddie demands, waiting for Steve’s dark eyes to meet his before he holds up his palm and spits into it, letting the glob of saliva pool in the cup of his palm.
Steve shudders, eyes fluttering closed for a second before he pries them back open to meet Eddie’s gaze once more. Eddie reaches his wet hand out to wrap around the base of Steve’s dick, squeezing hard as he pumps him up and down, once, twice, thrice, Steve writhes above him.
“Keep looking at me,” Eddie commands, and Steve does, eyelashes barely fluttering as Eddie leans forward to sink his mouth back onto Steve’s cock, never stopping the movement of his hand.
It takes a minute for his mouth and hand to move in tandem, all beneath his angel’s wonton gaze. His mouth’s dropped open, and his thighs are twitching like he wants to thrust and take.
Eddie twines his free hand with one of Steve’s, pausing his ministrations as he unclenches Steve’s fingers from the tangled sheets to fist it in the hair at the base of his skull before dropping his hand back to clench against his own thigh.
Steve groans and uses his tight grip on Eddie’s curls to bring Eddie’s head down on his cock again, thrusting his hips up off the bed at the same time. Eddie’s downward slide is stopped when his lips connect with his own hand, still fisted around Steve’s cock.
“Sorry,” Steve says, stilling his hips and pulling Eddie’s head back up before loosening his grip on Eddie’s curls. 
Desperate to not lose this connection, Eddie reaches back behind his own head to clench down around Steve’s hand, hard, forcing his fingers to fist back into Eddie’s hair. Steve’s mouth’s dropped open and he’s panting but he’s still not doing anything. Eddie reaches behind Steve to pull at his ass, forcing him to grind forward into Eddie’s wanting mouth.
He moans, watching in real time as all of Steve’s restraint snaps.
He pulls Eddie back by his hair, then thrusts into his mouth again, pulling Eddie’s head down with the movement until his mouth’s nestled against his own hand again. Eddie gives a few half-hearted jerks of his wrist around the base of Steve’s cock, but then Steve thrusts again, and again, and again, and he loses the plot entirely.
It's all Eddie can do to keep his teeth back and keep sucking as Steve picks up momentum, their shitty mattress squeaking at every roll of his hips.
Desperate and aching, Eddie’s own hips start moving, trying desperately to get any friction at all against his aching cock. He whines around Steve’s dick, hips flexing uselessly against air.
“That’s it, baby,” Steve says, and then Steve’s leg is pressed up against Eddie’s groin. “Take what you need.”
He does, movements stilted as he writhes against Steve’s leg as his angel fucks up into his mouth. It almost hurts as he rubs his dick against the inside of his jeans, friction rubbing him raw. He feels like a dog in heat, lost to the salty skin on his tongue, and the feel of Steve’s leg against his dick. Nothing’s ever felt better.
But then Steve’s thrusts grow rougher, something desperate in the way he grinds Eddie’s head down, and he mutters, “shit, shit, baby, I’m gonna—” right before he spills, hot and salty into Eddie’s mouth.
It’s almost overwhelming, a musty tang on Eddie’s tongue that should gross him out. But Steve Harrington’s just come in his mouth, cock twitching futilely as it softens, so he swallows it down like it’s the elixir of life itself.
Steve’s hips still, and his hand gentles in Eddie’s hair, smoothing it down as he gasps for breath. Eddie, still more wild animal than man, sucks on his mouthful of softening cock as he thrusts his own dick more firmly against Steve’s leg.
“That’s it, baby,” Steve says, pushing his leg against Eddie’s groin, meeting him thrust for thrust as Eddie teeters ever closer to his own orgasm. “Come for me.”
Eddie shudders, on the precipice from Steve’s words, but that’s not what does him in, even as his dick leaks freely into his jeans, begging for release.
He continues grinding, desperate as he looks up to meet Steve’s eyes, and finds Steve looking back, like he’d never stopped after Eddie’d ordered him to watch. That’s what sends him tumbling over the edge, groaning around Steve’s soft dick as he spills into his jeans.
It takes a long time for Eddie to resurface, head still buried in Steve’s groin, dick in his mouth, leg still between his own knees. He gives one tiny suck that has Steve shivering before releasing him, kissing the head before leaning back far enough to meet his angel’s eyes.
“Well?” Eddie asks, surprised at the gruffness of his own voice. “How did I do?”
Steve smiles down at him as he replies, “no way that was your first time.” Steve’s fingers have softened in his hair, nails scratching at his scalp as they both catch their breath.
Eddie grins back, reaching to force Steve’s hand back into a fist in his curls. “That was all you,” he says, tickled as a blush blooms across Steve’s cheeks. “Besides, it’s easy to fall on my knees for you, Angel.” That’s what finally, after all this time, gets Steve to look away, blush turning splotchy and red and spreading down his neck. “You’re worth worshiping.”
“Shut up,” Steve mutters, shoving Eddie away.
Eddie just laughs, knees protesting the change in position as he stands long enough to shuffle onto the bed beside Steve, who follows him willingly down, legs dangling awkwardly off the end.
His spunk’s drying uncomfortably in his jeans, he’s got carpet burn on both of his knees, but Steve Harrington’s lying naked and sated next to him, face pressed into the juncture of Eddie’s armpit like that’s not the grossest thing in the world.
He’ll die down there, on his knees, if Steve lets him, worshiping at the pedestal of his angel. But that’s a lot to shove on Steve after such a rigorous workout so all he says is, “Want to go again?”
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Thanks to @queenie-ofthe-void for editing, and especially wrangling the pronouns and names into something worth reading. <3
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spork-supremacy · 2 months ago
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like imagine Cole and Jay just having a casual conversation at some point right before the upcoming day of the departed (after crystalised) and they're just randomly thinking about death.
"Isn't it kinda weird that some of us have died so many times."
"You've all died once, you just don't remember."
"What about you?"
"I haven't. Guess the universe has never gotten around to me. "
"Heh, maybe it has something really special planned for you."
No, it just won't let me die. Believe me I've tried.
youtube
(also this specific thing is playing over the scene)
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averlym · 1 year ago
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"now, doesn't that look nice?" [insp]
#*chanting* skask skask skask skask-#vincent aurelius lin#adamandi#hello. let's talk about what's going on here! i've been tossing the idea about here wrt skin translucency ever since that post came out#(it's linked above fyi. but to quote it.) 'attempting to pursue this unachievable white ideal of the young academic; maybe leading to gory#representations of mimicry; replacement; taking on someone else's skin; altering the self'#this is primarily key in vincent and the skask; in the actual show iirc they used a jockey mask or smth? but i was thinking about the#delightful way skin is semi-transparent. and so a literal layer of skin alone would be unlikely to provide the whiteness pursued-#the under layer of the original tone would be there. so smth about the failure and unattainable.#additionally; at this point of the show the skin would have been likely yellowing or greying due to post-mortem development? so even more#Not white. from observations (as a kid;comparing skin tones?) white people have a pinker undertone (this might be. a generalisation but.)#here the lighting is yellowish to further push the difference + give the super harsh lighting that if you suspend disbelief has some hair#appear as blonde to further the ambrose-ness.#also the hair- messier on the non-ambrose side; a reference to the whole monologue about the haircuts they got#we bring to you also another episode of <i like drawing fabric folds> in the jacket symbolism! from bottom right to top left; it tracks#vincent throughout act two: the initial long jacket for standing out (nonchalance?) at ardess is removed; the yellow coat is put on- aided#here by ambrose's ghost which is represented by the hand! (it is very very slightly transparent- you can see the jacket pattern through it)#(if you look close) and then the satchel goes over it; this mimics the clothes in <oh ms reporter>#and then the Actual Ambrose jacket goes above along with the skask; following the outfit from the pyre scene at the end.#the spark/star thing is partially foreshadowing for the upcoming stabby eye trauma thing (@quincy) and partially just so i could highlight#the eye of the mask/ the place where vincent's eye probably is Behind the mask. because i liked the idea of merging faces; intersection.#back to the translucency of skin - you can kind of make out where the rest of his face is from the darker bit? aka it's not the same colour#as the skask. smth smth limited effectiveness...#tldr? face skin. jacket skin. altering appearance over time; unfeasibleness#when i was doing this i suddenly remembered covering my skin in talcum powder as a kid... hm. i'd forgotten about that.#anyways! when i posted my first ever adamandi thing i had the thought of 'this musical makes me want to paint' and surreally enough#that has proved to be so so true. and ngl i am really enjoying it? love it when the motivation to create is there haha#i will add as a disclaimer that i'm literally chinese and if the colours look off.. i did not mean to make a caricature. please be nice#that said because stage lighting tends to shift colours about a Lot i essentially used my own skin as a reference under yellow light?#so hopefully that checks out. <disappears>
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chirpsythismorning · 1 year ago
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zealouswitchwerewolf · 16 days ago
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Necromancer!Damian Au except it's just Damian chucking dead animals at the pit to see what happens (what happens is Damian gets an army of undead loyal animals that will bite anything and everything except Damian and are fiercely protective to the point where no one can seem to get within a 5 feet radius of him. Talia is torn. On the one side it means her baby is safe and can't be reached by Ra's or anyone with ill will towards him, on the other, she also can't reach him. Funnily enough, Damian's army is getting more and more extravagant cause he realized anything dead he throws at the pit comes back so he started with pets and is now chucking random bones at it).
It's all fun and games until Damian finds Tim, a kid a bit older than him traveling with his parents in an archeological expedition who happens to be carrying the huge bones of an undiscovered animal and is on his way to deliver them to the museum. It doesn't take much for Damian to convince Tim to come with him and throw them at the pit, see what happens. It's a 30 feet long dinosaur. It's big and scary and takes chunks of everything and everyone that gets within 10 meters of him, except Damian and Tim. Naturally, Damian tries to convert it into vegetarianism. Funnily enough, whenever he feels like he's making progress a league traitor is somehow found too close to the dinosaur and it's back to the start for them.
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mintharan · 10 months ago
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one thing i love so so much about wyll is that he's an atheist, not in the sense that he doesn't believe in them, they are materially real in the DnD setting, but that he doesn't think they're worthy of worship "the only thing the gods have ever given me is a cold shoulder" it's so evocative, so poignant, it says so much about him as a character. and really, to me, encapsulates the essence of his character: there is no divine intervention, there are no miracles, there are only people, and for them he's willing to sacrifice more than any god ever would
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god-syndicate-if · 6 days ago
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Feel free to wait to answer this if it feels too close to the release, but like
Arguing with Dame didn’t feel like… a true argument. Or like it was, but it didn’t feel like something they were completely hating, almost like there was something nostalgic about it, even if they’d rather it didn’t. They seemed so lost that mc doesn’t remember, and I can’t tell if it’s because how are they supposed to really tell you how they feel if it means nothing to you? Or if it’s because in some ways Ares is probably one of the people who knows them best cumulatively like over lives rather than this specific one and Ares losing their memory is kind of like losing the person who is most responsible for at least 75% of every fantastic and horrible thing you’ve ever experienced. Like, that probably has to incite some feeling of loss whether they want it to or not.
Bruh, no wonder Dame is so contradictory, if I had to deal with that shit, I would turn in my resignation. They ain’t getting no two weeks from me.
I won't comment on Dame's motivations during the scene because I miiight do POV stuff later that gets into it, and if I get into it now I'm going to tell you their entire motivation and we cant do that lmaoo
But I will say that 90% of the reason why this demo took so long is because of Dame's scene and i'm not satisfied with it at all right now. I'm already getting ideas on how to improve it wayyy more, but I figured that's something I can do much later down the line.
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