#i said before not studying

[catastrxblues]

okay actually going to study now

[larkinna]

He's the King of Antiva to me

Inspired by this post by @vigilskeep because they opened my third eye with it.

[antivancathedral]

I don't even know how to word this in a way that makes sense and I think in an overall world building sense this is a major case of "Man I think it depends" but I actually don't think Spite is a "demon".

Spirits and Demons are essentially the same, yes, and I think there's much to be said about this in in parallel to a healthy person vs a deeply traumatized person, but to quote Neve, "one is more likely to manipulate you, or kill you," etc etc.

A demon is a spirit whose purpose has been twisted. And I don't think Spite's purpose has been twisted much at all.

Determination's purpose is "accomplish my goal (whatever that may be)". Spite (the emotion)'s purpose is exactly the same, with the added benefit of "especially against the wishes of others".

I think the demonic version of Determination would be "Ruthlessness", not Spite.

Spite (the guy) is not wholly consumed by his purpose like other "demons" are. He doesn't pursue his goals at the expense of his companions. He has several other interests even if they seem a little silly (learning what tastes good, or even new forms of combat like fire). And he tells us his purpose several times...it's his promise with Lucanis! Escape, kill, and live! This goal is one of determination and it has not changed by his becoming Spite. The goal is not warped in any way even with his joining to Lucanis.

Bellara speculates as to why Spite doesn't just take Lucanis over or turn him into a nasty mound of flesh. I want to argue that this is because Spite is a named spirit, not a demon.

What's more spiteful than not allowing your captors to change you? What says fuck you to people who would use you as a tool than self-determination? What's more spiteful than being determined to be free, to fight who would enslave you, to live?

My working theory is that Spite is not a demon in the same sense as, say, Wisdom being corrupted into Pride, which twists a desire to guide, teach, or navigate situations with care into a desire to be right and unchallenged.

I think Spite is to Determination as Eulogy is to Compassion.

[saturnniidae]

Hiccup should let Toothless stick his paws/claws in paint then give him a big sheet of paper to let him reach his full artistic potential

[idontmindifuforgetme]

i think i really need to learn how to cold quit things... one habit i have that really bothers me is checking my phone first thing in the morning bc it's "just for 5 minutes" "just to see if anyone sent me anything important" no bitch literally nothing on your phone requires you to check your phone first thing when you open your eyes!!! stop it

[seagull-scribbles]

They’re out of time (cancelled)

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[spicyvampire]

[lethality-of-dual-strike]

woah it’s Dale Dimmadome, son of Doug Dimmadome, owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome

[retroautomaton]

👙🍺🦩

redraw! 🎀

[writingdevil]

In that post about writing requests, you said you weren't too confident about your ability to write the Princesses, so I'll give you one that might help you flex those muscles: just write a character study of your favorite Princess!

(Oh! That's a good idea! Thanks for the request! Although, I will say that I've never written a character study before, so it's probably going to be really bad and I'm really sorry for that. Anyways, enjoy!)

It's hard to pick a favorite Princess because they've all got a charm to them that I love. I was debating between Nightmare and Razor for my favourite, but I think I could write more about Nightmare, so that's who I'll take a crack at.

The one thing that makes Nightmare my favourite and so interesting (besides the fact that that route gets me my favourite voice-Paranoid) is the fact that I personally feel like Nightmare is one of the most interesting vessels of the Shifting Mound.

The way the Nightmare is, seems so much more different than the other vessels because of what she does to the Long Quiet, even if she's like that because of our fear of her. With vessels like the Spectre and the Beast, it kinda feels like a given that they'll either possess you or attack you like an animal, but the Nightmare does so much more to the player.

The Nightmare paralyzes the Long Quiet and shuts down his body with a touch, to which the only way to snap out of it is to have Paranoid run the automatic nervous system with a chant that somebody has to keep doing. None of the other vessels are that degree of dangerous, to my knowledge.

But then, instead of using a blade or physically attacking the Long Quiet, the Nightmare can just take her mask off and-that's it. You're dead. You can't even really fight against that. All she has to do is take her mask off, and whatever's underneath it kills us instantly before we can actually see it.

The Nightmare is just a different type of horror, in my opinion.

Another thing about her that I find intriguing is the fact that, despite the joy she takes in making us suffer, she wants us to stick around and to not be alone anymore.

'She desires only companionship, but the only thing she knows is how to hurt.'

That's what the Shifting Mound says about the Nightmare, along with calling her an 'abandoned doll.' She can't help the way she is, and she can't help but want someone to talk to and to not die so easily around her, which I find makes her really complex and interesting-the fact that she's so lonely and so desperate for a friend, but her whole existence is around terror and death, and she can't help what she does, but You can actually hold out against her power, so maybe you're all the company she needs.

She's willing to leave and have you by her side, because who else would she want to go with besides the only other person that can handle her?This person must be special, so she can't let them out of her grasp at all.

BUT THEN WE ALSO GET THE MOMENT OF CLARITY!

The MOC is the only other route where you can get all the voices at at once, and as we all know, none of them are doing alright.

But then right before that, there's also that whole sequence with the Narrator, which I'm still not entirely sure is about, but I still love it, especially near the end where the Narrator can't keep talking, because what do you mean you can't keep going?When that happened, I was floored. I couldn't believe it.

The Nightmare seems to have brought everyone to their lowest, including the Narrator, apparently. Even the Hero, who has, for the entirety of the game, gone along and stood behind every decision that the Long Quiet makes and tries to be your moral compass, tells you that you should give up.

Then there's that moment when you're looking at the mirror, and it seems like every voice gives up and surrenders, giving up the piece of them that makes the Long Quiet who they are, accepting death almost.

The Nightmare and the MOC does something to the Long Quiet that makes it seem like an end of everything to them. There's no point in fighting. There's no point in running. There's nothing left that you can do except give up and face the darkness.

The Nightmare is just a fascinating vessel to me, because she wants something that her very being makes difficult to have-a friend, and she drives most of the voices to their lowest point, including the Hero.vShe's horrifying and lonely, and I love her.

(Honourable mention to Razor, because her route is so funny, what with Cheated and The Look, and I also just really like the idea of her having blades in her skin. That's a cool concept. I also really like the way she speaks, like she's very obvious when she's lying, and then she speaks so bluntly-which I, as an autistic person that has a blunt way of speaking, I really appreciate.)

[solangelo-o]

tfw when the woman painted on the stained glass who i amalgamate with my ex wife begins telling me i need to offer her a toy soldier

[adaines-furious-feast]

Rewatching JY, I don't think I properly appreciated the connection between Ankarna and Gorgug. This god who changed how she did things and actually studied up on war stuff so she could please her followers. Which I think just makes Fig helping her like she helped Gorgug even more special.

[gomzdrawfr]

Hate that when I sat down and get ready with my shit and locked in my tummy goes hA! NO!! *TWIST AND CRAMPS*

[mynameisnotthepoint]

So yesterday, I binged Love in the big city. I had read the book, and as I am wont to do, i skimmed through to get back to the episodes and really sit down and watch them later (hopefully in small increments over the next two weeks).

I have been scrolling around on twitter since then (as one does, I am sick in bed with nothing to do but an assignment I don't have the brain power for right now) and really made me think.

First, I looked at international fans' reactions in English e.g. a gay guy I follow who parties a lot and talks openly about his sex life said it felt real, another guy kept complaining about Go Young's taste in men but also the people who watched it for the romance and only focused on that (and the sex scenes, which have racked up 100.000s of views). Some excitedly writing about how handsome the actors were, how they wanted to see a second season, a shame about this or that plot point (the "endgame" not being there). And as @lurkingshan said, it is NOT a romance drama or even a BL drama. This is a chronicle of one's man's life and his trauma, his relationships and his triumphs.

A lot of English-writing commentors praise the actors for their bravery. And that is always the debate, isn't it? Without them taking the role, this thing might not have been made. But the people behind it, who wrote, filmed, assisted, the writer who is a gay man himself, they all had such high stakes too, even higher (the author kept urging people on twitter to give the drama high views, one of the actors offered free hugs and an eating live stream if they managed to trend at no. 1). The drama is a depiction of a queer person's life as it could happen. Taking on this role, playing the part and then leaving it behind, is that as brave as people who live this life every day? Not to say that none of the actors in this production could be queer, bc some probably are.

One of the people i follow on twitter pointed out this feels like the drama shows queer sex, not sensationalised sex, just, that sex is a part of life so it is depicted in a series that is about life. With reading that, I began to wonder what queer koreans were saying about the series. Thanking the fact that google translate has not yet dropped their support of X, formerly twitter, I began by searching up Nam Yoon Su's name in Korean. A lot of people were calling him handsome, saying they cried about his performance. And then I stumbled upon several things:

1. The club scenes/music they used seems outdated to some Korean queers. They wrote that this feels more like a man in his 30s reminiscing his 20s than someone actually in their 20s, which, fair, the drama is told over the span of like 10 years I believe. Also the commentors thought the dancing was bad. But they said, even if some of it felt not true to gay life/the actors couldn't completely sell it as believable, that the drama was important and shouldn't be criticised too harshly.

2. They were having a linguistic debate about the usage of Korean gay slang (i think it was the word 기갈, but I could be wrong bc my Korean vocabulary is like 30 words) and that it has come into vogue with straight girls who go to gay bars, as Mi Ae does in the drama. In a way, it is a risk bringing a subculture that is/was quite closed to the mainstream (I think similar critiques have been made about drag race).

3. That the drama was not reaching its intended audience (queers) and was instead something for straight BL fans to screech over. It does feel kind of weird that something that veers more into raw territory (if you disregard the casting of Nam Yoon Su, who is super pretty and not at all like Young was described in the book), is treated the same as the stylised/trope-ified human experiences we see in some BLs (nothing wrong with those! Media is in its essence always a distillation of an experience),

I think that there is always a risk of depicting something that is close to the way actual individuals experience it and running into voyeuristic territory, on display for millions of people. Is it weird to want people to take this more seriously? To look at it in depth, treat the characters like humans that could actually be living out there and not Ken dolls you can mash together? Or is that too reductive of me, dictating what other people's experience with media should look like?

These are just my initial thoughts, I need to ruminate on them more, and I could be completely wrong about all of this.

I myself rarely go outside and have not had many queer IRL friends, which is why I am drawn to these series. To be honest, I don't even know the local queer slang bc I have been to the queer bar here once before it closed down due to internal disputes. Reading Love in the big city made me feel like i was hit with a sledgehammer, the series makes me want to go out and live again (once I am feeling up to it).

[fairyofshampgyu]

Getting rejected from an audition sucks guys I’m actually really sad rn ☹️☹️👎

[broareweabouttoviberightnow]

Hi!!

I don’t know if your ask box is still open but if possible can you write an angsty Sodapop and Dallas fic? I don’t see enough of them and they are one of my favorite duos!

OH! I LOVE THESE TWO!!! I think I'm going to write a longer fic of them for ao3 but I LOVE this prompt!!! Fic below the cut!!! ty for the ask!!! (also if you would like to be tagged for the longer fic feel free to comment anon!!! if not NO problem at all!!)

"Soda, c'mon." Dallas puts his bony shoulder under Soda's, unsurprised when he feels Soda put a decent amount of his body weight on him.

Soda blinks up at him and his eyes are all blurry and wet and Dallas thinks shit, I let him drink too much. Three shot glasses are lined up in front of each of them, half a beer on Soda's side, two empty on Dallas'. Darry was goin' to kill him.

"Let's get out of here." Soda shrugs, grins that blindin' toothy smile up at him.

"I'm fine, Dally." And his words aren't slurrin' or anythin' so Dallas gives him one hard look over and lets it go. He'd cut him off for now. Soda always was a lightweight. Pony would claim it was 'cause Soda was already drunk on plain livin'. That sounded like poetic bullshit to Dallas but the plain facts were Soda 'n alcohol didn't mix well. Dallas didn't know what had compelled him to ask Soda to Buck's tonight.

Darry was gonna kick both their asses.

"Dallas?" Dally eyes two men, still mostly boys, at the other end of the bar and tries to assess whether they'll kick up a fight. Dallas knows what lookin' for trouble looks like.

"Hmm?" Soda tries to reach across the bar to get another drink and Dallas bats his hand away. Glory, those Curtis boys were makin' him soft.

"I don't think I've ever met anyone like you before. You know that?" Dallas pulls up short, furrows his brow, turns himself fully back to Soda. Steve had once described the look on Soda's face like starin' down the headlights of a Mustang 'n not bein' sure whether it was gonna hit you or not. Soda was prone to sayin' the damndest things outta nowhere.

"Yeah, you have." Dallas grabs a water Buck had poured for someone else and stubbornly ignores the glare the man shoots him. "You've met a thousand guys like me. Now drink this."

Soda takes the water Dallas shoves into his hand with a quirked brow. "No. I've met a hundred guys like the one you pretend to be. But you're one of a kind Dallas."

Dallas feels his nails dig into his palms. "That's it, man. You're cut off. You're gettin' sappy on me." Soda's laugh sounds like a gunshot and it jars Dallas' suddenly shot nerves.

"Now, what do we have here?" The line is so corny and overused Dallas can't help but flash his teeth in annoyance. When he glances over to tell the owner of the one-liner as much he catches a wave of whiskey breath and the two men from the end of the bar. No. Boys. Up close they're not even older than Darry.

"Beat it. We're not lookin' for company." He puts his hand down on the switchblade clipped to his jeans. Buck's was rough. Rough enough even havin' it in a pocket could slow you down too much.

"Dallas! Don't be rude." Soda flips around and he's showin' every damn tooth in his mouth and Dallas thinks glory he's worse than Pony the second you put a drop in him. No sense at all. Then he shakes himself because he sounds uncomfortably like Darry.

"Listen to you're friend here." The boy closest to Soda leers down at him with a smile like a broken bottle. "We're not lookin' for trouble. Just a bit a money." Soda cocks his head, waverin' slightly like he's just realizin' somethin' is wrong.

Before either of them can react Broken Bottle slides a knife out of his sleeve and against Soda's stomach. Soda tenses hard. Sobers instantly. Dallas thinks several things at the exact same time.

Fuck.

Darry was goin' to dig up their bodies 'n kill them.

Get the fuck away from my brother.

Dallas moves entirely on instinct. He grabs the boy closest to him, has his switch out 'n leveled against his gut before any of them blink. Soda doesn't move, back ramrod straight. But then he catches Dallas' eye 'n grins.

"Woah man, we're not lookin' for a fight." Broken Bottles' partner is white as a sheet, he's got his arms up like Dallas' got a gun aimed at his head. Even Broken Bottle looks suddenly unsure.

"C'mon Dallas." Soda's eyes are shinin' in the dim light and he looks like the fuse on a firework as it burns down to the gunpowder. "They don't want a fight. But, hey, give me your St. Christopher. I wanna do my last rights anyway." Dallas grabs his pendant with one hand, not movin' his knife at all, 'n pulls it right over his head, droppin' it in Soda's hands.

Broken Bottle jars his knife closer to Soda and he pauses. Looks at him with the full force of those headlight eyes. Soda wraps the chain around his knuckles like a rosary, Christopher out. Closes his eyes like he's gonna pray. Both boys shoot each other looks. They picked the wrong fight. Dallas 'n Soda were made for nights like these. But they were goin' to find that out by themselves.

"Glory," He opens one eye and his smile is like a Roman candle, "Forgive us for this." Soda's hand shoots out, connectin' with Broken Bottles' eye, the other hand comin' down on his knife, wrenchin' it free 'n tossin' it clear over the counter. Soda preferred a good skin fight. Dallas would happily go at it with anythin'.

Dallas moves the knife up to his boy's throat when he jerks to help Broken Bottle. The kid freezes instantly. New to this. Not from around here. He reeks like the middle class holdin' up a pair of Greasers for nothin' better to do.

He spares Soda a glance but he doesn't need any help. He's thrown his full weight at the man, sweepin' him onto the filthy bar floor and layin' punches wherever he can reach. Dallas hesitates for a second too long.

He feels the fist connect with his side before his can tense. It only knocks the wind from him for a moment. He pulls the knife back up and thinks about usin' it. Hard. But then the kid puts his fist up and in front of his face to hide his tremblin' lip and Dallas thinks, not for the first time, fuck Tusla's stupid fair fights. He tosses the blade onto the bar and cracks his knuckles against the kid's jaw.

Dallas has his partner backed against the bar, arms up again. God, what was the point of a fight if you were just gonna give it up before it got good. Soda clambers off the ground, tosses Dallas back his necklace and he catches it out of the air.

The fight doesn't have time to get interestin'. Soda slams Broken Bottles' head against the floor and he stops fightin' at all. Middle-class losers. Soda gives him more grace than Dallas would ever have. His knees pin the boy's elbows down as he lands one final belt straight to his eye. One to grow on. When he pulls his hand away the outline of St. Christopher is indented in the flat bone of the boys cheek.

He puts his foot down beside Broken Bottles' head and he looks just like a paintin' Pony had once shown Dallas in one of his art books. What the hell had it been? Michael. Warrior angel Michael. He shakes his head.

"You think they're done, Dally?" Dallas shoots them a cold glare and they both scramble back and away the second they can.

"They better be." Soda drapes an arm over Dallas' shoulders, wipes blood from his busted lip. They're both gone before the door can slam. Dallas turns when Buck's hand comes down on his shoulder. He passes him his discarded knife, pats him on the back twice, gestures for the door. Some hurrah.

Soda doesn't take his arm away as they both hit the street again. Dallas doesn't fight it.

"We should have cleaned that up before we left." Dallas gestures to the dryin' blood across Soda's mouth. He grins and licks his lips and runs a hand across his face.

"I think it makes me look tuff, don't you think?" And it does. Soda always left fights lookin' like the tragic JD with a heart of gold in those corny movies they showed at the drive-in. But Soda always had preferred beach flicks.

"Tuff enough Darry's gonna know we were in a bar fight the second we hit the porch." Soda howls his laughter and Dallas can't help but join in.

"Guess we'll have to take our chances. I wanna go home."

"Yeah, home." Dallas can't explain it. How it hits him sometimes. He didn't know how he'd ended up here. Somehow part of this dysfunctional little family full of greasers and hoodlums and kids just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

But that wasn't true, exactly.

"You know Soda," Soda shakes his hair from his eyes, grins at Dallas and out into a world that jumped you in bars just for lookin' like a grease like nothin' could touch him, "I think I owe everythin' to you, sometimes."

He'd followed Soda home from a corner store in '62. Then he'd turned around one day and ended up someone's kid brother. Life was funny that way.

Soda stops, studies him with those big eyes and Dallas thinks headlights. He's got that glow about him he always got after a good fight or a bad fight or a lame joke or a real smile. A car swings onto the street and Dallas blinks away the glare.

"Nah, Dally, you don't owe me anythin'." And he grins with his whole face, splittin' the dryin' cut on his lip 'n makin' it bleed again. "But next time we go to Bucks? Don't let me have any tequila shooters."