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seeminglydark · 3 months ago

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how much of his experiences with Caro does Johnny remember rn in SD? Is he getting them back at all?

Spoileryish stuff under the cut for his memories

TL;DR: Initially he remembered almost nothing about it. But now, he remembers that they were a cheerleader and they were friends and he had feelings for them. He remembers the supernatural things. He remembers Caros family was horrible and he wanted to help them, and that he couldnt. He doesnt remember finer details. kisses or hand holding or that they dated. he knows these things because hes been told but the memories arent his right now. but things are coming back.

Long story long RIGHT now at this moment in SD, it still vague for him but he is slowly getting things back. He remembers a cheerleader (he makes reference to a 'cute little cheerleader' in the Creaky chapter that Caro confirms was in fact them.) PTSD, Trauma and brain damage from both abuse and actually physically dying for a short period all contribute to Johnny having a lot of blank spots and fuzzy details in his memories of childhood/teenagehood. He remembers Caro was his neighbor after he puts together that Caro and Carrie are the same person (which takes a bit longer for him since they look and sound a little different these days and his memory of them is distorted, he has no pictures or anything to remind him. There is a scene in Mil-Liminal where Maddie shows him a yearbook photo and at least the part that he knows them QUITE WELL comes crashing back.) He does not remember they did have a chance to become 'official,' and actually dated, it happened so close to his major injuries/brush with death, but he does know it happened at this point, cuz Caro's told him. Things do come back to him, if he's reminded, for instance, Caro being trans now reminds him they told him about it once when they were kids, that it was something he knew about. Caro having their attack the night he hangs out with them reminds him they've ALWAYS experienced the supernatural. he falls into patterns with them that he did when he was younger, such as the way he sings to them or held them because of habit and familiarity even if he doesnt exactly remember. He's slowly putting the pieces back together as they are presented to him. i was asked while writing this reply if he has sense memory, and yes, caros scent, the feel of them, songs they liked together, if he ever gets into the Datsun again, all those things play into it. He does NOT remember the pendant Caro wears. Or that he gave it to them. Or that it was even his. When Caro speaks of him in the podcast, and he listens to it, he does not realize its him they are talking about. When they tell him it was about him, he actually still has a hard time believing that someone could speak about HIM in such a poetic and yearning way. Theres many things he remembers, and many things he knows because hes been told, but he does still have a hard time distinguishing which is which. I do want to note that there is inconsistencies in SD when it comes to these two, mostly because their relationship wasnt actually supposed to be canon, and Caro wasnt supposed to be in SD at all, its been a fun challenge to tie things back together with it, when i first started making the comic, I decided I'd leave room in my narratives for me to be creative and change up original concepts and even the way i draw if i wanted too as long as the Main Story was consistent, which helps keep things fun to create for me, especially for something ive been working on for 6 years! I'm actually touching on Johns memories in i think next months episode of SD, (it can be read early on Tapas's Early access with ink right now) so theres definitely more about it coming up <3

-RJ

#ask box things #poor sweet johnny #childhood trauma #ptsd recovery #relationships #seemingly dark #trans #i always write WAY TOO MUCH for these but i find it really inspiring #memory

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jaemified · 1 year ago

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same dream, same mind, same night - hong jisoo

“ive waited this long to be with you. what’s another few months?”

pairing; joshua hong x fem!reader

genre; angst, childhood best friends/brothers bsf, kinda fluffy, unrequited love, friends to lovers

warnings; swearing, drinking, mingyus mean but hes just drunk, y/ns scared of commitment (arent we all), mention of bruises/scraping against concrete, and blood (blood parts pretty brief)

wordcount; 3.0k

synopsis; confiding in her longtime best friend after the end of a rocky relationship, choi y/n begins to heal once more and realizes what’s been waiting in front of her after all this time.

note - i love samex3 sm+i wanted an excuse to write w this song and for josh soo

read below the cut !

“you can’t just leave me here!” y/n exclaims to her boyfriend of four years, stumbling out the back door of a club to follow the man before her.

the loud music echoed throughout the alleyway, ringing through y/n’s slightly pounding head though she wasnt nearly as drunk as mingyu.

“actually i can, the car is registered under my name anyway.” he scoffed as he wrapped his arm tighter around his one night stand’s waist.

“and how are you supposed to drive? you’re absolutely wasted.”

“i’m not wasted, in that sense. but i realize how much time i’ve wasted on you.”

y/n grabbed her boyfriends arm, clinging onto him with watery eyes and a shakey grip. she ignored the way the desperate girl next to him gave her a dirty look, rolling her eyes.

“you don’t want to do this mingyu.”

“no,” he lowly chuckles. “you don’t want to do this, y/n.”

he shakes his arm harshly as y/n’s hold on him began to slip, before the girl tugged on her forearm, shoving her backwards into a puddle of god knows what.

y/n ignored the bruises beginning to form on her knees as she scraped against the rough concrete, struggling to get up with weak knees.

the ‘couple’ turns around, walking away towards the other side of the street.

“are you fucking serious? you’re gonna throw away a 4 year relationship for some girl you met at the club?!”

“you’re spewing nonsense, you’re drunk, you should just go home sweetheart.” the girl yelled back in faux pity, pulling mingyu into a kiss while she knew y/n was watching.

it was heartwrenching sight. y/n felt her heart ache, her stomach drop, eyes heavy, head hazy.

“mingyu! stop! please.” she called after to no avail.

with her already shaky knees, she tried to run after them only to trip and scrape herself more harshly then the first time.

she winced as she saw the blood begin to draw, the dirt falling into the open wound.

it was a rather big gash for a small fall, before she realized it was a broken glass bottle she had tripped over.

it was raining now, pouring rather heavily.

y/n sat flat on her butt in the middle of a sketchy alleyway. she began to cry, not just from the ache of the glass digging deep into her flesh, but from the ache in her heart mingyu had left her with.

she sobbed loudly, clutching her chest. she began to curl up into a ball and hugged her knees tightly.

with every drop of the heavy rainfall, her sobs only grew more painful she could feel herself running out of breath.

y/n was pretty fucked. stuck in the middle of who knows where, in a pretty bad area not to mention she was caught midstorm, left with no money (as mingyu used the rest of her money on drinks while she got up to the bathroom), no umbrella, phone in low battery before she realized-

wait.

with her vision blurred, she dug into her purse for her quickly dying phone.

through all the old receipts and packs of gum, her white phone with its clear case still stood out the most. inside the clear case was a polaroid. of her, her brother (seungcheol), and their best friend, joshua, as kids sitting side by side in the sand.

she laughed sadly as she looked at baby her, with her arms wrapped around both josh and cheols necks, the three of them flashing bright smiles.

well shit, she finally snapped out of it and realized what she needed to do.

y/n unlocked her phone, quickly scrolling through her favorites in her contacts.

‘4%’ the upper corner of her phone flashed.

she thought of who to call yet no one seemed to be a good choice.

seungcheol? no, he’d get mad and yell a lot.

jihoon? stuck at work, as always.

wonwoo? working the late shift at the cafe.

mingyu? absolutely not.

y/n thought hard before one familiar name popped up in her mind. how could she not have thought of him?

she scrolled for his contact, finding it, then questioning how she missed it when he was third on her favorite contacts.

calling shua🫶

the loud buzzing of his phone caught both his, and his friends attention, interrupting one of their late gym sessions on a random saturday.

“who could be calling you at this hour?” chan questioned, putting down one of the two weights he was lifting.

“his beloved y/n!” soonyoung teased with a soft grin.

“its not even that late? its only like 10.” seokmin said with a hint uncertainty attached at the end before he checked the time.

joshua brushed off his friends, stopping the treadmill as he paused his music before he had checked the contact name.

‘incoming call from y/nn!<3’

“hey, how are you?” he asked with a genuine smile.

“fucking terrible.”

“are you okay, do you need help?”

“are you free right now..?”

“i mean yeah, im just at the gym with the guys. what’s up?”

“hate to be a bother but can you please come get me?” she emphasized.

“why, what’s wrong? i mean- not why like, ill pick you up either way but just kinda, you know-” “stop being like that and just go get her already!” chan yelled with his distinct laughter.

y/n sniffled, quickly wiping her eyes before chuckling in response, “hi channie!” she spoke with as natural of a voice she could put up.

“she said hi channie.” “dont be jealous!” soonyoung teased.

she smiled at how natural they were with each other, and also at how easily joshua got annoyed.

he walked out the gym of the apartment complex and stood outside the door, ignoring how he had 3 sets of eyes on him.

“okay, im alone now. what happened?”

“ill tell you what happened in person, just please hurry. im kinda injured and also soaking wet. rain really isnt friendly.”

josh walked back into the gym, quickly grabbing his sweater and keys, signaling to the guys that he’d be back later as he pointed towards the parking lot through the window.

“im leaving now. where are you?”

“i dont know, mingyu was the one driving. ill just drop my pin.”

“that bastard i swear if he hurt her..” he mumbled, thankful it wasn’t heard by y/n.

“thank you shua, i really do owe you.”

“it’s fine. that’s what friends are for right?”

“yeah. love you.”

“love you.”

he sighed as he remembered you were just two best friends, nothing more, nothing less. and yet you still had him wrapped tightly around your finger.

y/n squinted when the bright headlights flashed in her eyes as joshua pulled up in his black sedan.

he quickly ran up to y/n with his umbrella, unzipping his gray hoodie and wrapping it around her cold, bare shoulders while the spaghetti straps of the black dress slipped off.

his eyes fell as he saw how puffy hers were, her red cheeks, and bloody scraped knees.

handing the umbrella to the girl before him (and telling her to make sure she’s covered, saying to not worry about him getting wet in the process), he picks her up by the underside of her knees and arms, carrying her to the car.

joshua puts y/n down to sit on the hood as he opened the passenger seat, making sure she has enough leg room, not wanting her to scrape her knees any more then she already had.

he picks her up once more, setting her down inside before taking the umbrella and closing the door for her.

“ill take you back to cheols?” he mumbled as he backed out into the street, pressing his sneaker into the gas pedal.

“no no no no god please don’t. he will kill me and i really don’t want to have to deal with that. can i please spend the night with you?” she begged, grabbing onto his muscular, veiny, covered in rain droplets, arms.

he sighed, looking over to her with a soft gaze, meeting her hurt eyes. he changed the navigation on his phone and entered in the address of his apartment complex. “how could i ever say no to you?” he flashed a lazy smile, rubbing circles into her hand.

realizing his right hand had subconsciously made its way to her rest on her thigh, he half-mindedly pulled his hand away before he felt y/n pull him back, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“so what happened? not to be, you know. but im really worried about you. you’re lucky cheol wasnt there when you called me you know.”

“i know and im sorry, it’s just- I didnt know who else to go to.”

he hummed as he stopped at the red light. joshua turned to face y/n again, repeating his earlier words. “well, how could i ever say no to you?” he mumbled as the green flash illuminated his face in the dark light.

“you know how gyu can be. but this time he just drank way too much i guess and lost it. it started at the high school reunion party last month. he got drunk and ended up sleeping with someones sister who’s like 4 years younger, she was like in 8th grade when we all graduated.”

“damn we’re old now- oh, sorry. i thought it was a girl he met at the club?”

“that’s what i thought. but she was here with her brother and he told me everything. they were meant to be a one night stand since he thought they’d never see each other again but we just so happened to enter the club as they were leaving. after he told me, i ran out after gyu but he abandoned me.”

she didn’t miss the way joshua’s jaw clenched.

“ill kill that son of a bitch i swear.”

“it’s okay, really-”

“no! its not fucking okay!” he shouted, apologizing before he realized how loud he was.

he parked in his parking space before turning off the engine to talk to her, face to face.

“choi y/n. you are a special girl, a once in a life time even, and you deserve to be treated as such. and if someone as stupid as kim mingyu cant see that then why don’t you go for someone who does?”

“like.. who..?”

“like, hong jisoo.”

“hong jisoo? i- ah.”

y/n gave him a pitiful look, and that’s all it took to get the message across.

“shua..”

“no. i get it, i can’t expect you to feel the same way especially since it hasn’t even been 3 hours since you broke up with mingyu. and even after that i can’t expect you reciprocate my feelings either way. but, even so, ill always be here for you. no matter how you want me, as a boyfriend or more realistically, a friend.”

“joshua. i love you, i really do. you know i do but,”

“-but as nothing more as a friend, yeah? its alright. i really didn’t want to say anything but it just slipped out. i didn’t want to stress you out because i know what you’re going through is hard. i understand. but what we feel for one another is a different type of love,” he stopped to gesture two different points moving in opposing directions with his arms.

“to different for our own good.” was all he said before getting out the car to carry y/n upstairs.

y/n winced as he put ointment into the fresh wound where the glass once was, looking away from josh as he held her leg, directing her gaze to the bloody chunk of glass that sat in the sink.

“soonyoung is staying at chan and seokmins place on the seventeenth floor, but i want you to take my room, and ill stay in soonyoungs since i have a softer and bigger mattress.” he whispered, making eye contact with her as he left an innocent kiss where the bandage covered her skin.

she whimpered as the events of today hit her with the small kiss, unsure of how to proceed.

y/n ran her fingers through her hair, still damp from the shower she had just taken.

“can you stand?” he asked offering his hands to help her down the counter, looking over the many bandaids covering all her scrapes and bruises.

she took his hand and tried walking around the kitchen. she had a bit of a limp, yet was still a bit stable.

“here, take this tylenol and you can wear the hoodie I left on the bed since I know you get cold, ill just shower first.”

she sat on the bed, hugging the shirt she currently wore which joshua had lent her, before slipping on his black zip up hoodie. it had smelled like him, and his familiar, comforting vanilla shampoo she recognized all too well.

she fell back onto the mattress and let her mind be consumed by her thoughts, falling asleep yet only for a short while after.

she later awoke at the sound of joshua digging through his drawers for a white tee, being able to catch a glimpse of his toned body before he slipped the shirt on.

he turned around to y/n, bending down to tuck her stray hairs behind her ear, pressing a kiss into her forehead. “goodnight.”

before he could fully walk away from the bed, y/n grabbed his arm. “stay.” she sleepily whined.

“you need your own space so you can heal, i dont want to accidentally hurt you or anything.”

“you could never hurt me. so just please stay.”

“y/n..”

“please? what happened to you can’t ever say no to me?”

he playfully scoffed before giving in and slipping into the sheets.

y/n dug her head into the crook of his neck, smiling at how he shivered whenever he felt her hot breath against him.

“goodnight shua.”

of course, when cheol found out he was absolutely pissed. y/n would wake up from hundred of missed calls from mingyu, begging for her to take him back after he realized what happened. cheol (and josh.. and, chan?) ended up giving mingyu a bit of, talking to. he learned his lesson didnt he?

it was now over a year, almost two, later. winter time now. joshua had taken y/n to the han river bridge at night. they walked along it together.

with mingyu out of the way, josh and y/n became inseparable (more so then they already were) and drew even closer to one another if that even was possible.

with time, y/n began to realize what it is she wanted. joshua hong. after all, they had always shared the same mind, same dream, all within the same night - ever since they were kids.

“can i tell you something?” she asked, looking down at the river below.

“go ahead.”

“i think, that i like you. and im not sure when or how but you were just always.. there. i don’t know why it took me so long to realize what was there waiting for me, right in front of me.”

silence.

“that’s too bad. because i don’t think i like you, i know i love you.”

“ew you’re so cringey!” she exclaimed, jokingly pushing his face away from hers.

just as joshua reached for y/ns hand, she pulled away. “but before you say anything else, i need to tell you something. i don’t think i want a relationship- or, no i do! just, im scared. i feel like i need a short while longer but i really do wanna be with you,” she paused, thinking of her next words.

“its not that i don’t trust you. im just scared of whatever that was happening again, or if mingyu comes back or something. just, give me a month?”

he smiled, and pulled her into a hug, letting y/n’s head rest on his chest.

“ive waited this long to be with you. what’s another few months?”

y/n felt her heart melt at such a simple yet meaningful statement. she wrapped her arms around his neck, and leaned up to kiss his cheek.

“ive dreamed of being with you since we were kids. you dont know how much it hurt me when you started dating mingyu. and i knew your brother wouldnt dare to let his one and only little sister date his best friend.”

“well. none of that matters now, because it’s in the past. you have me now dont you? and don’t worry about cheol, he’d just want us to be happy. and if he doesnt then that’s just him being a big baby.”

joshua laughed in response, smiling as he held y/n tightly in his arms while they watched the city below, over the river.

she knew she was right giving a guy like joshua a chance.

i will never change.

promise me eternity,

if you feel the same way as i do

they had both dreamed the same dream for years, and now here they’d be, spending the same night together forever.

he knew in that moment she had been worth the wait.

joshua hong’s (almost) finally got to call the girl of his dreams, his, and he couldn’t be happier.

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askagamedev · 2 months ago

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Shouldn't Overwatch also have the same problem then in regards to visual clarity? I'm sure if you were to give people Juno and Brigitte people would struggle telling what their role is probably confusing Brigitte as a Tank given she has a shield just like Reinhardt. Only Baptiste has said cross on his outfit which if he didn't people might confuse him from DPS since he carries a healing grenade launcher. Yet the only character design problem ive seen people talk about is Venture.

While this is true, it's a very different situation. Overwatch is an old game, it's been running for eight years now. When Overwatch launched, there wasn't anywhere near the kind of well-established competition that there is today. When Overwatch launched, there was no Apex Legends, Paladins, Deadlock, Quake Champions, or Valorant. Further, Overwatch's launch cast was designed with incredible visual clarity - nearly every character had a silhouette and visual design that both made them distinct and conveyed their style of gameplay. There's a pair of business terms for this kind of thing - Blue Ocean vs Red Ocean.

A Blue Ocean is mostly unexplored and pristine - you're entering a market that's mostly untouched and there isn't much competition. This favors the first-mover advantage - the first ones there have more time to experiment, set things up, and learn from their mistakes. The customers/players in that market don't have anywhere else to go if they want their gameplay, so you can afford to make mistakes, iterate, and improve. Since there aren't many other games to switch to, the players will likely stick with what they are already familiar with.

A Red Ocean is a saturated market, where the waters have been dyed red with the blood of all of the dead or dying competition. There's already a lot of competition, meaning that any new product must stand out significantly from its peers or it will soon die from lack of audience. In a Red Ocean, the initial launch is much more important because you never get a second chance at that first impression. Further, audience retention is also super important because of how much competition there is - a new product might be able to draw some attention just from the novelty, but novelty wears off quick and most of the players already know the genre and the other games available. If the new game doesn't serve their needs immediately, the players won't give it the time to improve - they'll just go to one of the competitors that already does serve their needs.

We can't really compare the two games in a vacuum, we must compare the full environment that the games launched in. Overwatch had the added benefit of significantly less competition in its Blue Ocean, meaning that the playerbase really didn't have anywhere else to go while they waited for Overwatch to improve things. Concord was unable to grab attention immediately in a Red Ocean, meaning any potential audience quickly dispersed themselves among the large number of competitors already out there.

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dapper-lil-arts · 7 months ago

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So uh. My freelance work here is kind of dying.

I thought i'd keep my long-term followers on the know-how, so i might as well write about my current circumstances here, give y'all an update, so to speak.

So, for several reasons, most of them not even my fault, i've been getting less and less commissions, almost none, actually, and the ones i get are usualy on the cheaper side, which is bad concidering that this is my livelihood, commission money pays my bills, my groceries, and my taxes, and now i sure as hell am strugling to imagine this will sustain me for long. Twitter is a sinking ship ever since elon went over, Specificaly for people like me. I had just broken into 12k followers there, a huge milestone for me, and then i got shadowbanned, and for the last few months i've gotten *nothing*. It's completely dead, i'm stagnated there, all my arts are censored, and there's no way for me to undo it or fix it, and so i've gotten less and less comms out there, which sucks because its the only reason i was even on that stupid site. Here on tumblr, meanwhile, the CEO went on a massive transphobic streak, and a lot of lgbt folk (which composed a lot of my following,) decided to jump ship, and i sure as hell dont blame them, but sadly that's more potential costumers that bailed, and there's no proper website to go to. Anywhere i'd go, i'd be starting from scratch again, which would be utterly disheartening and frustrating, and there no website that is kind to artists, with no algorythim, that also have a messaging system (the latter being ESSENTIAL to the way i do comms) So i'm kind of stuck. I just. have nowhere to go, and nothing to do. And last but not least, my own fault, I've just been drawing and creating what *I* specificaly want, on an hedonistic streak this year. That's why theres so much pony bs on this blog now, and why i was straight up posting poetry a while back, and have written hundreds upon hundreds of fanfiction pages in the last few months; Which, unfortunately, is a terrible business decision if your intent is making money. Which I surely should have prioritized, but in the end, its not up to me, its up to the costumers... So now i'm a bit stuck. I've enjoyed the things ive drawn and written more than anything i've ever done, and yet, i've never been less successful on the actual business side. I'm still considering my venues, my possibilities, but there's not many. Trying to get a job would certainly pull me away from creation, and i'd hate it regardless of what it was, and on another venue, theres no guarantee that going back to furry titties would bring me money.

and that's whats heartbreaking about it too. no matter how much effort i put on my work, theres no guarantee of sucess, so why even spend time trying to craft a masterpiece? why not just follow trends and make a tiktok account or whatever the fuck makes money these days. I'd rather not, frankly. And i wont. Well, that's about it. Thanks for reading this update, that's how my life is goin atm. i'm going to continue doing as i am right now, but yknow... I'm not sure what i should do, if you want to give me suggestions, feel free.

#Also sorry for not streaming lately #my throats like. DESTROYED with a small cold #I sound like a chain smoker atm #Also this poll will not affect my decisions in the slightest #i just thought it was funny

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basil-does-arttt · 3 months ago

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hold on wait a second i had a thought

in the DLC prolouge cutscene for DMC 5, when Vergil is in that stone passageway area, he says "its nearly time" (in reference to him splitting himself in half).

We know what day it happens, april 30th. The date is shown in Nero's flashback scene. This is of course assuming Vergil did all that on the same day, which i think is what happened. (He could open a portal to his house to travel, and why would he wait any longer and risk dying first?)

Anyway. Thats not my point, my point is: did he choose to do it on this day on purpose? Is this date special?

Im overanalyzing here so this may be a stretch, but: Could that be the day Eva died? Think about it. Him splitting himself was a "rebirth" of sorts: discarding his humanity to become a full demon in search of ultimate power.

Vergil being stabbed by those demons the day Eva died could also be counted as a kind of rebirthing for him: In the span of a few hours, he lost everything. His family, his life. And maybe even, his full humanity, as he gained his DT form in that moment too (shown by him having the same triggered-style eyes Dante uses when threatening V toward the start, also (half)triggered.) No longer was he a mere human boy, but now half a devil - the things that killed his family - too.

Knowing Vergil, it could make sense. In DMC 3 he's quite proper and a bit sentimental, much more so than Dante and i can see him caring more for these kinds of niche details in his life a lot more than Dante too. I also think he may have still been in that mindset when coming out of the Nelo Angelo body (however that happened), in a way that he hasnt really grown or matured while he was Nelo Angelo due to all the mind-fuckery performed thanks to Mundus.

(Could also be clarification for the reason Vergil still looks so young, quote "because of how much time he's spent in the underworld compared to Dante". He didnt live there, certainly not by choice. But he was captured and tortured by Mundus for 10 years. My thoughts is that he's technically still in his teenage body, as becoming Nelo Angelo and being in the underworld for so long thanks to Mundus halted (or at least very significantly slowed) the aging process. Time could move slower in hell but thats a rant for another time, ive gone off track.)

As such, him choosing such a special (traumatic) date to essential commit suicide on doesnt seem like much of a reach to me. Vergil has always been methodic. He doesn't do things hap-hazardly and never has, even as Nelo Angelo when he invites Dante outside to set up a proper fight rather than just taking the opportunity and attacking in the bedroom.

Of course you can argue it was coincidence, and he just stumbled across Nero by chance and decided to do it right then and there. He had to have found Nero first of all, figured out his plan of attack (probably so he wouldnt draw unwanted attention and possibly be stopped), then actually put it into motion. He couldnt exactly control the date Nero happened to be in the right place at the right time and gave him an opening. Im not trying to convince or anything, just sharing ideas, But wouldn't it just be so in character for april 30th to be a special date for him??

Overall i at least think the reason he chose to do it at the house was intentional for reasons stated above. If it wasnt, then why didn't he just... idk, find an alleyway or something and split himself there?

Those are my thoughts. Id love to hear other people's theories and such on this too.

(EDIT: I REALIZED THE MOMENT HE SPLITS HIMSELF ALSO PROBABLY HAPPENS AT A SPECIFIC TIME AS WELL, NAMELY 6:00 PM.

It mustve taken him some time to get back to the house. Not hours, but not seconds. 15 minutes seems like a good amount of travel time for someone who can teleport using portals alongside a bit of walking. If he got there early he could've just waited too.

A specific date, april 30th, and at (likely) exactly 6:00pm. In VOV while it is black and white, i assume the attack happened late into the evening, since the sky is dark when he gets back to the house a bit later. Idk how he would've known that it was exactly 6:00 but... anyway, Mundus also seems like the type of guy to plan shit, especially an attack like he did to Eva and the twins, if that whole "eva died on april 30th" thing was true.)

#and also apologies if this makes zero sense or is incomprehensible #i wrote this while stoned off my ass and replaying dmc 5 #i may go back and edit it later or ill find any mistakes funny and keep them who knows #devil may cry #dmc #vergil devil may cry #dante devil may cry #dmc 5

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dailydemonspotlight · 1 month ago

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Wild Hunt - Day 127

Race: Night

Alignment: Neutral-Chaos

Evolves into Abaddon [SMT IV, Level 58]

October 15th, 2024

While we've already talked about Dormarth, we haven't touched upon where this hound comes from- that being the Wild Hunt, a common mythological staple in many European mythologies. Of course, the hunt appears in Celtic myth, but it also appears all the same in many other areas, including Slavic areas, Norse myth, and much more; The concept is ultimately timeless, with constant references, and is intrinsically linked to Halloween in many European places- after all, as the time of spirits draws near, the ghosts shall come out for one last hunt, even until the end of time. I wonder if they know the next hunt is scheduled for next year.

The Wild Hunt, as said above, is a common motif throughout many different European mythologies and religions, not just the Norse ones that most people are familiar with. While it does roughly share similar origins in most retellings, as the Scandanavian term for it calls it 'Odin's hunt,' the Wild Hunt does vary greatly across regions in forms of its leaders and popular figures. Our first source for the Wild Hunt's existence is actually one of the earliest pieces of Anglo-Saxon literature we know of, called the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle. Dating back to the 1100's AD, the text mentions the Wild Hunt, though only scantly- however, it points to the fact that this concept has existed for thousands of years! It may even date earlier than that, as a matter of fact- as purported by Jacob Grimm (a man... rather famous for his unreliability, granted, but it is an interesting theory,) the idea of the Wild Hunt may have its roots in pre-Christian Norse mythology, and could have been connected to a darker side of Odin.

But, I hear you asking, what even is the Wild Hunt? While the specifics change from story to story, the general concept is the same- on a specific date range, typically around Autumn or Winter, a group of spirits would emerge from the underworld (changing based on the mythology, of course,) to perform a great hunt, becoming a massive wind of ghosts that would sweep up anybody unlucky enough to be outside at the time and would end up bringing them to an early grave (or just someplace else) to join the hunt again. This was primarily inspired by the howling winds of late night Autumn, with the cause now attributed to this supernatural event.

Interestingly, the common leader of this phenomenon was typically a God- most of the time, a deity in charge of the hunt would be leading the metaphorical (and literal) pack, such as Odin or, in the case of the Welsh version of this myth that we went over in the Dormarth analysis, Gwyn ap Nudd, the Lord of the Dead. It could also be led by some less deific figures, of course, but it was mostly deities and characters with high relevance and power in the mythos. A great hunting party does need a great leader, after all. Possibly the funniest version of this, though, is recounted in Grimm's paper on it, wherein a hunter known as Hans von Hackelnberg led the hunt- a man who died to, and I shit you not, accidentally stabbing himself on a boar's tusk and dying from the sickness it caused. Somehow, his passion for hunting was so great that, even in death, he refused to go to heaven, instead moving to create the Wild Hunt.

Now, in terms of design in SMT, the Wild Hunt is about as accurate as you can get- a howling wind of several ghosts accompanied by horses and dogs. Funny enough, the dog might actually be a reference to Dormarth? The fact you can have a Wild Hunt and a Dormarth in the same party might indicate that there's two, but I dunno, I'm just talking out of my ass. Still, it's a fun and effective design that captures its essence perfectly. I have no idea why it evolves into Abaddon, though.

#smt #shin megami tensei #megaten #daily #persona #wild hunt

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thealphabard · 5 days ago

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I've been trying to get the courage to post this because it involves some really old art from actual years ago as I completely shifted my art style (i did a very cartoony style when I first devoted myself to be an artist)

For many years now, I set myself on an art journey to draw myself AT LEAST once a year. Both to show how my arts grown, but also to show my growth as an individual. I have dyed hair and have since I was in highschool, so you get to see all the colors ive done too lol

I cant recommend doing something like this enough. this is a compilation post of most of the ones I found + and old shitpost pitted against my most recent (my current pfp :D)

Its honestly wild how much I feel like I have grown as an artist and I can't wait to add to this growth in the future

#jace noises #personal #artwork #digital art #im getting ready to change my hair color again actually #tragic #as i love my most recent one LOL

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lorata · 9 months ago

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Ive been doing a Christmas reread of all your amazing work and the more I think about the centre, the more I wonder what the trainers and trainees thought about the stunt with the berries. Did they turn it off? Did they get a talk about it the following day? More generally, is there much of the games that the trainers keep from the students? I remember when creed died they were sent to bed when it got too gruesome and I imagine a similar thing with Cato

I was gonna answer this one but I wound up writing it instead lol

Fic below! CW for blood, death, Arena-gore, etc etc etc

******

“She should have killed him hours ago.”

Blake’s voice growls low in Rowan’s ear, curled tight and ragged at the edges. Pushing the urge to cry into rage and fury like the trainers taught them. Rowan gave up as soon as the door shut behind them and the trainers couldn’t see, Blake’s undershirt a sodden mess beneath his cheek.

Still, though, that’s not fair. None of this is fair. Cato’s face in the shadows, pale but for the splashes of blood, the dark hole of his mouth, screaming. Twelve girl and her boyfriend, wrapped around each other, shaking. “What was she supposed to do,” Rowan says. The words taste sour, thick with choked tears. “She’s out of arrows. He’s dying of sepsis. Is she supposed to go down there and punch them with her bare hands? Cato has armour and they’re eating him. She’d get torn to pieces.”

“Okay, but —” Blake mutters a curse into Rowan’s hair. “Yeah okay, fine. But they should send her another arrow so she can end it, then. Nobody wants to watch this.”

Somebody does, Rowan thinks, stomach twisting. The Gamemakers used fire to herd Twelve girl toward the Careers, they used mutts to drive the final confrontation, they could, if they wanted to, find a way end this now. “I think it’s a warning,” he said. “Like our first year in Res, when they made us go to bed too. We’re allowed to train and stuff but we’re not — special. You know? We die slow and painful just like everybody else. No special treatment.”

“So don’t get cocky,” Blake says in a low voice, then, “Fuck.”

He hates it here. It pricks sharp and startling, like stepping on a forgotten blade. Rowan can try to soften it, dragging his mattress into Blake’s room at three in the morning and making their shoebox dorm into an impossibly cramped — but cozy — shared bedroom, wrestling with Blake during free time and cuddling on the couch when the trainers aren’t looking, pretending this is all a really intense athletics camp for him and his friends. But they’re killing people, numbers ticking up on both sides, and with each one Blake gets a little more faraway and it takes longer for Rowan to draw him back, and the Games are getting worse and worse and worse. Since Rowan joined Residential their tributes bled to death for hours and hours — had their skulls and pelvis smashed with maces — fought monkey-mutts while having chunks torn off them for almost half an hour — and now this.

He can’t even imagine what the Quarter Quell will look like.

Blake’s breathing has slowed and Rowan’s starting to drift when a loud hammering at the door jars them both. Rowan jerks up, slams his head hard into Blake’s jaw by accident as Blake bites back a yelp. “Up, up,” calls the trainer from the hallway. “I know you’re both in there, we don’t have time to pretend. It’s happening, now!” Rapid footsteps, shouts and door-pounding continue down the corridor.

Rowan shoots Blake a guilty look, scrambling out of bed and pulling on his uniform. “We gonna be in trouble later, you think?”

“Depends on how this goes, probably,” Blake says, grim.

They race into the gymnasium in time to hear the cannon fire.

Rowan skids to a stop, bile rising. And okay, they’ve seen a lot of ugly deaths, but this — it’s not even a person anymore. This — this is meat. Already there are sobbing thirteens being escorted out of the room, exit paperwork ready to go. A pile of fresh vomit steams in the far corner, but they can’t run for towels because this is endgame.

No trumpets. Cato a mutilated lump of flesh and still the Games go on. “Predictions,” calls out Livia.

“There never was a rule change,” says one of the Seniors, arms crossed. “It’s all for ratings. They’re going to make them kill each other.”

Jolted, Rowan mis-times his sit and turns his ankle, thumping to the floor in an awkward heap. No one notices, the others still piling in under the trainers’ impatient directions. Blake settles down a careful six inches away, which Rowan notices with a sharp squeeze in his chest. Onscreen the Twelves are whispering frantically, until —

Everyone turns to stare at the Senior who called it. He shrugs, not smug at being proven right, more like resigned. “They let Cato and Clove believe it was for them,” he says. “Come on. Had to be fake right there.”

“That’s mean,” says one of the thirteens, who hasn’t cried or vomited so they’re still here, but jury’s out for how much longer with an outburst like that. “Why would they make a rule like that and take it back?”

“Sorry, is this the everyone eat ice cream and hug it out games, or the Hunger Games?” This time it’s Russet, from Rowan’s year. He’s a good friend but the Centre draws out his mean streak, and this has been a rough couple of days. “Because they can. Because it’s more fun that way. Because the whole point is we go in there to die horribly on camera while people eat popcorn so that not everyone who’s in there dies too soon to be entertaining.”

And that’s Russet gone as well as the thirteen and the room is silent, save for the sound of all their ragged breathing. “Enough,” says Livia, sharp with warning, but they were right. It was horrible to let the tributes hope — both Twelve and Two. It was horrible to leave the Twelve boy by that riverbank for days, slowly dying of blood poisoning. Horrible to let the mutts chew on Cato for what, twelve hours? And now, horrible to ask the Twelves to kill each other after everything.

Livia stares them down, and whatever restless energy Rowan sensed surging flattens out. “Strategy,” she says. “You are Twelve. What now?”

Twelve girl aims her bow at the same time as the boy throws his knife into the lake. “Oof,” someone mutters. “Too bad he’s bleeding to death, that was a great strategy.”

“You are Twelve,” Livia repeats. She doesn’t say it, but everyone knows she means Twelve girl. “The boy is the only thing giving you audience appeal and you just threw all of that away. How do you walk away from this alive?”

“She can’t,” Blake says. Rowan holds himself very, very still. “She can’t, there’s no way. They’ve been a package deal from the start and he was holding her up. Giving her humanity. He’s going to sacrifice himself for her and she’ll be here alone.”

“Then she has to earn it,” Rowan says. The words scrape his throat. Twelve girl screams for the boy to take up the bow and shoot her. “She’ll spend the rest of her life proving she was worth the cost. But she — can’t — kill him. And he can’t make her. He has to do this, for her.”

Twelve boy tears the bandage from his leg, his pant leg soaked black with blood. Livia nods. “A high price,” she says. “And not one that would work for any of you. But for an outlier? Yes.”

They wait — but the Twelves are still arguing, fumbling in pockets, and — wait. Wait. The drones can’t pick up what the Twelves are saying, but even so the girl’s eyes are dark with challenge, finding the closest camera and staring at it, unflinching. They raise the berries to their lips.

(“Holy shit,” whispers one of the fourteens; another socks him hard in the leg without looking away.)

And then — trumpets. Livia’s entire posture sharpens. “Back to bed,” Livia announces, over the panicked voice of Claudius Templesmith. “All of you.”

“But it’s breakfast,” says one of the youngest thirteens, barely made the cutoff, only to wilt under the worst glare Rowan’s ever seen Livia give.

“Bed,” she repeats, like the thud of an axe through a fallen tribute’s spine. “Now.”

A few hours later the trainers call them out for breakfast. All the televisions in the commissary sit blank and silent, the screens reflecting Rowan’s face and the occasional shared glance before he and the other candidates hastily look away.

A tense, awkward week of pretending to train until everyone gets called back for the post-Games interview. Love story, they say. The twelves were so in love that they couldn’t bear to live without each other. But Rowan knew what he saw, the steel in Twelve’s eyes, the Gamemakers’ alarm. The Capitol ran a crooked game and Twelve outsmarted them — and now she has to stay alive.

“Obviously she’s lying,” says one of the Seniors, cynical. “I mean, it’s her cover, but —” They all jump when Livia jabs a finger.

“No. Stop.” Livia wets her lips. “As far as you’re concerned, those two are in love and that’s the end. Got it?”

“But —”

Livia marches across the room and strikes the girl hard across the face. “Got it?” she says forcefully.

The girl sits up straight, squaring her shoulders and tossing her head back to look Livia in the eye. “Got it,” she repeats, precision-sharp, a red splotch spreading across her cheek.

Livia returns to the front of the room, faces them all with her hands clasped behind her back. “The Games are over. We have a lot of training to catch up on. I don’t want to hear another word about it, am I clear?”

Rowan echoes ‘Yes, sir’ with the rest of them, but the ground beneath his feet has already shifted.

When the trainers call him in to talk about Blake and his priorities it’s the easiest test he’s ever failed. Rowan closes his eyes on the blood and the screams and the berries and exhales hard. “I want to go home.”

#lorata answers #anonymous #we must be killers: tales from district 2 #the hunger games #my writing #oc: rowan

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promise-you-wont-write · 5 months ago

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my boy

Summary: Tim wants to know who Hawk belongs to. The answer isn't what he expects.

Words: 783

Warnings: 1980s & Tim is dying

Notes: This is a prompt fill for @promiseyouwillwrite. The prompt was: Who do you belong to except Tim gets to be the possessive one this time. Any time period, just as long as Tim gets to have his turn.

===============================================

“Who do you belong to?” Tim asked in the dead of night, the whoosh and beeps and purrs of the machines driving him nuts. He hadn’t slept a wink, not really. He would close his eyes but he was never really sleeping. Hawk stirred on the cot and hummed, blinking bleary eyes.

“Wha’d you say?” he mumbled, rubbing at his eyes. He’d cried himself to sleep again – what was it now, three? Four nights of this? The moment they said goodnight, the moment Tim began to drift off, his heart would break for all of the wasted years, for all of his stupid pride.

“Who do you belong to?” Tim asked again, and Hawk looked up into Tim’s dark eyes with a fondness that he’d thought had long since passed. These were not the heady days of quick lunch hour sex or eye fucking across the room at a political party. Tim was dying and Hawk thought he might be too. At the sound of Tim’s voice, he smiled wearily and urged his aching old bones upward until he was sitting, until he was leaning forward, until they were sharing a breath.

“You.”

“Me?” Tim asked, his brows drawing together curiously. Hawk nodded and yawned, daring to kiss Tim ever so lightly on the lips. Just a brush of skin, of heat and breath and smile.

“It’s always been you,” Hawk whispered. “Didn’t you know that?”

Tim frowned, scrunching his nose. “I guess I didn’t.”

“Well, now that you know...I guess I need to try harder to make sure you don’t forget it.”

“I guess you do…” Tim was fading, the drugs they had him on kept him bobbing just beneath the surface most of the time. They calmed the storms, kept the seizures at bay, but they certainly didn’t make him a very good conversationalist. Hawk was wide awake now, though, and his back hurt. This cot wasn’t doing him any favors, he was not a young man anymore.

“I’m going to take a walk,” he said, brushing the hair from Tim’s forehead. “I’ll be back soon.”

“Promise?”

Hawk kissed him on the forehead and Tim reached up with one trembling hand, stretching the limits of his IV, to touch Hawk’s ear. To run his fingertips over the cup of his ear. He smiled wistfully, as if that simple touch had sewn together entire frayed universes. Hawk could see the magic in his eyes, and for a split second he thought maybe he shouldn’t leave yet. The moment passed and Tim let his eyes slip closed as he waited for Hawk’s response.

“I promise.”

And for once, he didn’t have any ulterior motives. No quickie in a bathroom waiting, no pint of vodka to find in the freezer so he could get just a nip to keep him even, no trip down to the corner bar for a glass of whiskey to take the ache in his back away. The ache meant he was alive, it reminded him where he was and how much he stood to lose. The ache kept him honest, but the walk down to the gift shop to peer into the dark windows, to look at the balloons and the cheerful floral displays, it was a nightly routine. The roses and tulips and baby’s breath, the teddy bears, the candies, they were all for people who still had hope and he was living on borrowed time. There was nothing in that shop for him. He would hook a left from the door to the darkened gift shop and step out into the courtyard for a smoke, mourning the days when he could have just lit one up right inside. The foray into the fresh air would do him some good, and allow him to cry a few more tears far enough away that Tim wouldn’t have to listen to him sobbing. This was the only thing he could leave Tim’s side for now, and even still he felt guilty. What if Tim was alone when he died? What if this cigarette took him away at the exact wrong time? But he was a man who played the odds, and the tremor in his hand and the racing of his heart needed to be calmed so he could come back and sleep. So he could resume his night watch.

“I didn’t raise my boy to be a cry baby…” Tim whispered as Hawk grabbed his jacket from the hook beside the bed. Tim’s smile was impish in the low light. “Suck it up, buttercup. And bring me a popsicle when you come back...please.”

Hawk nodded and forced a smile through his tears. “I’ll be right back, Skippy.”

#fellow travelers #skippy x hawk #promiseyouwillwrite

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