#i can use commas in tags now

[yjh-titty-belt-licker]

the flaws of the phrase "are you normal about" being used for "are you rational and kind about" really becomes clear when someone says "sure, you're punk, but are you normal about [x group]?"

like. the point of being punk is not being normal by societal standards you walnut. say what you mean.

[egberts]

I still can't believe we can put quotes in tags now. after years of needing to remember to a double apostrophe instead, so it didn't mess up the format 😭

[kira-light0]

Trying really hard to simplify my art style because attempting realism was destroying my motivation

[laesas]

did you ever make a post about pete not liking tankhun ? i know you mentioned it a few times in your tags but i don't remember seeing a post. (i share your opin ions.)

I definitely toyed with the idea of meta or a gifset but I didn't ever make a full post! I love unrequited love and I ESPECIALLY love the extremely rare platonic version which Tankhun and Pete absolutely nail in my opinion!

There are loads of moments where Pete's smile drops around Tankhun very quickly, or he insults Tankhun behind his back. Instead of laughing things off like Arm and Pol, he almost has a wincing fear-response to Tankhun, which we don't really see at all from the other bodyguards.

I think that Tankhun likes to think of himself as being close friends with his bodyguards, and he does genuinely show a lot of open affection for Pete and eventually concern for his safety. But I think ultimately for Pete, Tankhun is just a part of Pete's job, and over time resentment has built up until he thinks of Tankhun as one of the *worst* parts of it. I definitely don't think he resents Tankhun enough to hurt or endanger him, but that's about as far as it goes, there's certainly very little love there.

Something about that dynamic is just particularly brilliant, especially when combined with Pete's eventual defection from Tankhun's side to Vegas'. He chooses a man who has beaten and tortured him over a man who showers him in affection and throws parties on his return.

I utterly adore Tankhun but I think as a character that's grown up in a gilded cage, he doesn't really understand that what Pete needs is a sense of his own autonomy rather than being dragged to "fun" "lets cheer up Pete" parties that Tankhun has demanded on his behalf. At least with Vegas he *chose* to go back, he handed Vegas the ropes, let him lock him back up again. Even before he develops feelings for Vegas, Pete has clearly felt like a subhuman pet for Tankhun and the main family for a long, long time and I think ironically Vegas acknowledging Pete's humanity is the tipping point for him.

I think even without their nascent romantic love as a factor, Pete would always choose Vegas. Because despite the threat of suffering, he offers a sense of freedom that Tankhun's gilded cage does not. It all makes for an incredibly interesting betrayal, and makes Pete choosing Vegas over Tankhun all the more pointed. By choosing to be Vegas' pet, he chooses to be human.

[thegreenleavesofspring]

.

[iceeericeee]

I wonder how many tags i can add on to this

[pallases]

my prof giving us an exam on content he can’t even do himself <3

[bad-wolf-circe]

hello!!! i've just deleted my twitter. life is good and free and i am finally at peace :)

if you're a mutual from twitter: HELLO!!! welcome to tumblr! (or not, i know some of you guys have visited hell before). this is my blog where i sometimes post my thoughts -- but mostly reblog the thoughts of others. for the newcomers: reblogging is fun, and you should do it right now with this post by clicking the two arrows sign! it's easy and free and you can always unsubscribe later (sorry for that reference...). once you've reblogged something, the two arrows sign will turn green.

tumblr is not driven by likes the way twitter is, so liking a post really won't do anything. instead, it's what you reblog that makes the real difference. so if you like a post on here, your tumblr mutuals will not be able to see it on their dash! they'll only get it on their dash if you reblog it.

for added effect, you can use the tags option at the bottom of a post! (it'll say something along the lines of: 'add tags to help people find your post'). you can add popular tumblr hashtags here so that more people can see your post... OR you can adopt some of the local tumblr etiquette of rambling and spilling your thoughts there too! (1)

BY THE WAY: you can format text differently on tumblr! so you can italicize, bold, underline, etc. on here. And there's a huge character limit! (according to the tumblr help center, you can fit one third of Moby Dick in one tumblr post! pretty nifty!)

be sure to use tumblr etiquette! the phrase 'tumblr etiquette' might sound gatekeepy, but rest assured! tumblr etiquette is used by many bloggers here to help make the blogging experience as "pleasant" as possible. (i put pleasant in quotes because sometimes people say things on here that deal you irreversible emotional damage. truly, you don't get this anywhere else). the general rule of thumb here is: IF YOU DON'T LIKE IT, DON'T INTERACT!!! Block and move on. you'll find that tumblr drama really isn't a thing here because of this principle. live by it, die by it, blog by it!

for me personally, I'm trying to keep this blog as impersonal as possible for privacy reasons (since this is a public blog), so if you want to chat, say hi, or talk about life i suggest you use the messages feature! i'm always down to chat over messages! :)

other than that, nothing else comes to mind. have fun on this atrocious hellsite and happy blogging! love you guys <3

[keeps-ache]

[yells down the well]

[dirtbra1n]

hanzawa masato doesn’t like sundays.

the shrine won’t be performing any exorcisms today. to be more specific, the miko that greets him feels his forehead with a warm hand and decides that he’s in good health.

he doesn’t want her to know how little he values her judgment, so he bows to offer a prayer instead.

—

he’d woken up this morning without having had any dreams. he went out of his way, on a morning that was over-bright and unsettlingly still, to make a trip to the shrine. because he hadn’t had any dreams. for all intents and purposes, a full night’s rest.

a monument to the places his mind has been lately, that this was cause for alarm.

barring that, lack of dreams notwithstanding, masato woke up just before the sun rose. the statements made about darkness before dawn are wrong, but his house is old and construction in the neighborhood leaves it eclipsed by increasingly taller buildings that are increasingly growing occupied by increasingly unneighborly neighbors.

the statements made about darkness before dawn are wrong, but when masato wakes up his room is dark and somewhere between too cold and not cold enough.

he doesn’t think it’s particularly scientific—knows this, truthfully—but he’s become familiar with the following pattern:

open your eyes first thing in the morning; you don’t want to be alive. throw the sheets from your legs and feel as the warmth is leached from your body. roll onto one side and feel as your ribs resist the desire to cave in. check the time and feel as the numbers rattle hollowly, meaninglessly, in your brain.

your name is hanzawa masato. you don’t feel tethered to any of the unkind physicality happening to “you”.

you want to die more than anything.

and then he stands, finally, and moves to go about his routine, and if he wasn’t put through an especially brutal wringer overnight, he’ll forget his ideation and go about things the way he always does.

if he was put through that wringer, he can forget. he’ll make himself forget. he’ll learn how to make himself forget.

—

he doesn’t intend to die, is the problem. that simplicity would be a blessing.

the shadows cast before him were inky, stretched long. the trains rattle near-silently on the tracks, low rumbling swallowing the impact of his own footsteps. the footsteps of other people, though sparse, jab like sharpened stones into his ears.

days like these feel fake. days like these make his dreams feel real. days like these make masato feel a little less than alive.

he would feel stupid saying so out loud, but he’s starting to believe that no one’s as haunted by ghosts as ghosts themselves.

he doesn’t know what brought him to this conclusion.

(a lie, mostly. if he had to hazard a guess: an answer lying somewhere between his exhaustion and reluctance to fall asleep, his wishing to die but fear of death, the restless shifting—currently absent—river.)

the thing about all of this is that masato doesn’t actually believe in ghosts.

not real ones, anyway. if anything—anyone—is going to drift aimlessly through the halls, holding a lantern or candlestick or knife, reflection held in its edge tortured and gaunt, it’s going to be him. an offhanded, deeply involved joke at which to have a sadistic laugh.

he has his obligations, though. of course, the knife would be fake—the edge of it dull and without character, not reflecting much of anything, harmless.

he thinks tashiro would think it’s funny. after the shock and fear and flustered anger wore off, at least.

—

real or not, the house he grew up in—the house he lives in now, the house currently, on only this day once a week, occupied by only him—is haunted.

—

he hasn’t forgotten. if it matters. he’s never been very good at lying to himself, and this one was an awfully slow sort of deal. the sort of deal that is just as much a pain to forget as it is to remember.

there was very little tenderness. he couldn’t quite stretch his legs all the way out, couldn’t reach his arms out over his head. his fingers were cold and useless, deadened, slow. the air pushing in and flowing out of his lungs seemed to whistle through the puncture wound in his chest.

he wishes that he could learn; there was no tenderness, in truth. time moved slowly, if at all, abandoning him to sit stiff in the water, soaked to the bone. abandoning him to finish dying in isolation.

he woke up, a few hours ago now, sweaty and splayed out, drowning only in his sheets, and it was an awfully slow sort of deal, but it couldn’t make him forget.

masato’s never been very good at forgetting things, either.

try as he might to toss them out, two facts cling like hooks to his skin:

1.    hanzawa masato is a still-living human being, and

2.    he doesn’t want to die.

(if he had to hazard a second guess, like he was on some sick introspective game show, masato would say that all anyone ever wants is to live, but living’s hard, and it hurts. it never stops hurting.

he figures—reluctantly, he doesn’t want to spend as much time as he does mired in unwinnable existential debates—that if it’s going to hurt living and hurt dying, he might as well live.)

—

masato doesn’t know where that puncture wound in his chest even came from.

—

I’m at the shrine

Like… for fun?

spiritual enrichment

Of course. Silly question.

Mom says to buy yourself a charm.

which one

…Health?

she said love. I’m buying YOU a love charm

I DON’T NEED IT.

—

poorer, he walks home as evening settles. the clouds that had been crowding the edges of the sky have hung themselves low over the city; no moon.

masato navigates mostly by bleeding sunlight and does not grieve. though his eyes insist otherwise, there is no river.

he carries three charms. good health for his mother, love for his older brother, evil warding for himself. he doesn’t know what compelled him to buy the third.

worn through by the prickly feeling at his skin, he turns his head stiffly to check—there is still no river.

at present, there isn’t anything worth his grief. one pocket lighter, the other heavier, but as insistent as his older brother was that he not buy the damned love charm, it’s not like masato doesn’t know that he’ll just as stubbornly insist on paying him back.

tomorrow, though. they’re not back until tomorrow.

abandonment, maybe. if he was grieving. he both had a dream worse than usual this morning and he didn’t. he was alone in that house and he wasn’t. it’s haunted when he’s there and not when he isn’t, but his mom insists that he house-sit every fucking sunday like the house would be the one pleading “how could you leave me here alone?” and not him.

but it’s not grief, and he’s not pleading. because he won’t let weird dreams count, no one even died.

it’s a pedestrian street, glossy shimmering concrete. everyone but him is walking right where the water would be.

there is no river. his chest aches. he knows better than to entertain the idea.

[talkingattumble]

the rage I feel whenever someone says “it’s just a (insert small pet animal here)” about someone’s dead, missing, or sick pet could power my entire state for a month.

The rage I feel seeing people brag about how they brutally killed their small animal pets would be enough to power every single chainsaw in the United States, which I will promptly use to kill them.

“I used to have a fish but I threw it out of its tank for fun and it died haha” am I supposed to laugh at that.

“I flushed my hamster down the toilet and it drowned lmao” you see how that makes me see you as a disgusting and abhorrent person right.

Like how is it that people take “I hit my dog” so seriously but not “I stomped on my mouse because I was mad at it”??? How???

[machidielontheway]

my biggest "what would fix you right now" is sleep schedule. i love sleeping, i love being in my bed, love the feeling of blorbo rotating while comfy in my pillow. i don't mind doing the nightly routine : pee time, brushing teeth [altho this is a recent change !], filling water bottle.

what i don't like and don't manage to do is the Break : stopping the enjoyment - or the avid, compulsory search for enjoyment - and actually closing my laptop. Closing the laptop is cutting up the connection and the safety, comfort of it. connection is : i am not alone. there is people there and i can hear them, listen to them, my room is filled with the sound of people living. i am not lonely. safety is : i am finding joy and am entertained - i am not wasting my life. i do not think of things i yearn to do but lack the energy and courage for. i am fulfilled.

Closing the door and getting out of my own laid spell and having to face reality again is very hard. I do not like it and i avoid it for as long as i can sometimes, even if i am tired and would love to be sleeping. (the reality is : sometimes i am lonely and unfulfilled ; the reality is i haven't been sleeping enough for years to have the emotional energy enough to be able to make concrete steps to change this)

i could say a lot more because this subject branches out back to itself but let's just keep what was the original goal.

i wanted to speak about it to the therapist i saw for the first time a week ago, because as of now sleep is Obstacle n°1 to be resolved in my life. but i didn't really connect with her, and it was a first session so a bit hard to go directly into one specific subject. However i spoke about it to a friend the next day, and she told me how she does it and we did a little brainstorming / our discussion was such to me.

one thing i discovered about myself in the last year is that i have very little perseverance, and if there is - or if i see something as such - an obstacle i will mostly not do the thing blocked by the obstacle. The ideal solution for this is : if you can't make yourself go past the obstacle, either 1) remove the obstacle or 2) change your course. When i was in my last flat the bathroom was some way away from my room and it was old and i didn't like it. I had a hard time brushing my teeth at night and mostly never did it. a temporary solution became "i go to pee super often, let's just brush my teeth each time with water for a few seconds" and that worked quite a bit. the obstacle was going to a place i didn't like with little reward ; the solution was do the thing when you're already in there, when you didn't have a problem to go because you actually wanted to". The problem literally disappeared when i moved flats and 1) had the bathroom directly against my room again and 2) i like the bathroom and don't feel uncomfortable spending time in it. It's a great things to know this kind of things about you, because it's easier to see how to go about solving a problem.

So with my friend as we spoke about it and it finally took a shape, i thought : clearly knowing and agreeing with all those things about "capitalism doesn't give you time so you spite it with a fucked up sleep schedule to get time for you" is not helping you : it's true but you can't change that rn. But the shape of "i don't like when i close the laptop and suddenly i'm back in real life with all my doubts and feelings", that i can manage. i can make the Break less of a break. With my friend i planned two things : 1) my laptop does not go in to the bedroom, and 2) i will put on sound on my phone until i shut off the lights (i dislike going on internet on my phone so no loophole here).

It did work in parts, which is actually great. I DID feel frustrated about not having the laptop, like a real feeling of "something missing / something not in its place", but it was not big enough that i couldn't go through it, which means that i can acclimate myself to it in time ; and it was enough that i didn't feel the break too keenly. Once i was done with my nightly ablutions, i kept listening to the video (music is Not Enough so i listen to Defunctland Fastpass vid) and felt myself falling asleep after ten minutes, which is also good : it's not enough to keep me awake through my tiredness the way i can power through for hours with the laptop (yes i have f.lux), and it's easier to stop and put down because my phone doesn't represent a Door to me the way my laptop does.

Now the thing to work on is that i need to actually do this where i do get in my room at an interesting hour and not just at two am, or it makes me as sleepy but less comfortable. So while a part of a solution is present the big boss is still there : the drive and motivation to do the first step which is "now we will begin". i once thought 'when i will have my new fancy phone where i can put on more than one alarm clock, i'll put some in the evening to create Doors for me to come back to reality and make a choice - i can stay where i am, or i can decide to go to bed". This increase the chance that i manage to go to bed earlier, instead of being kept in the waters of the spell until i see the clock hitting the magic hour where somehow i will accept going to sleep (which in these days is 1:30 AM). However i did NOT put on those alarms even though i've had my new fancy phone since january. which is another mystery to think about : what makes me 'not want' to put them on ? what do i fear ? i was excited about it once, what has changed ? is there another way i can make 'coming back to it' doors that would not be from alarm clock ?

I do like having my struggles put in this form because 1) i like feeling like i'm taking concrete steps toward something, because for so so so long i've been Waiting. besides the "fight or flight" reaction there is the freeze and i'm very good at it. and action is what makes you brain calm down from Fight or Flight. 2) i love analysis (recent discovery through work) ! it's like a treasure map with little adventures you have to follow until you find the treasure. But this also means knowing / searching for how things works, so you can understand why they're not working and find a satisfactory solution or a workaround.

anyway. yeah.

[frecht]

JUST HAD THE MOST BRILLIANT IDEA. ADDED THE TAGS COMMA TO MY KEYBOARD REMAP SO I DONT HAVE TO SEARCH IT EVERY TIME

[jackalhadrurusluvr]

btw i did that snowflake outline method thing for convalescence last night. i shall puty it below the Line

Jackal Hadrurus, the son of The Great Scorpion, is born in the Desert - with no idea all that awaits him. He was unwanted as soon as he was born, for his father didn't want a daughter and his mother never wanted a child at all. Still, his parents decided to make do with what they had: Dawn learned to love her child, to teach and raise him, and his father began teaching him to be a weapon. Jackal turned out to be a very capable learner, excelling in both the academics and combat he was taught. Nonetheless, his parents were never truly happy with him - and the child could tell. He's long since dreamed of living a different life.

After his mother disappears in the sands, his father's cruelty doubles; it takes the boy's eye in the process. He was only ten when it happened; The Scorpion regularly had Jackal face opponents in the arena, pushing him to fight as fiercely as he could. The training, however unethical it was, turned out to be efficient: Jackal quickly became one of the most stealthy and dangerous things in the Desert. Still: one misplaced movement cost him greatly. "A reminder," his father told him, "of what shall happen to you if you fail."

When The Fires come and take life, Jackal's forced with a decision: to escape this life he's always ran from, or turn the page and bring hope back to the town. He's spent eighteen years dreaming of a moment that would grant him passage out of the Desert. There's now nothing that stands in his way - all he'd have to do is make it to Eagle's Negligence and take a train to the coast. He never wanted to be his father's heir, he never wanted this life, he never wanted to be who he was made to be.

His hand is played when someone closest to him reveals they care very little about the fate of the people wronged by Jackal's father - could he forsake people who'd never asked for this life? They were connected, in that way: he knew their pain and ache, he knew their blood and tears. It was an opportunity that had never crossed Jackal's mind: he could change things. He could be better than his father, be fair and just instead of a cold tyrant. There were many who would oppose him, of course. The Great Scorpion had amassed a following and they did not seek peace.

The Basilisk's Grave was once a flourishing town, healthy and thriving, and it will take much to make it return to such a state. It had never been easy to survive in the Desert, but The Scorpion's tail pricked in deep - it will take Jackal years to rebuild the town, let alone help it heal. It's a burden he never expected, let alone planned for, but he is more than capable. Some even say that his coming was foretold, that he is a Savior, that he's been led along by fate to this position. The scars will fade, but the wound may bleed for a while longer.

[bayleaf-2]

Re: The previous post this is what I mean

The new songs were added last night and the order of this section is almost completely redone (also done last night but just at 1 am and not 9)

For point of reference, 7 OClock - So Alright Cool Whatever is before Melora

Fine Great is nebulous but it does include "I hate worrying about the future, when all I wanna do is worry about everyone but me" Could be seen as happening over the course of the day and ending at Emily ascending tone wise

Soap and Catabolic Seed are the breakdown before he leaves the temple and starts yelling at people Yes I know I didn't add in Did I Make You Up because it could be completely decanonized (and was, actually. that was fun /gen) and that I'm doing it with this one. I should've let myself do it for listening purposes lol

Someone Gets Hurt and Warm Regards are the actual yelling

Too Late is after all of it for the sake of applying to Emily ("I WANNA BE WITH YOU TONIGHT!! But I'm a little too late, I'm a little too late, I'm a little too late, too late, too late!") Imposter Syndrome...Uh...Well "Just watch me moving far away, where, nobody even knows my name, and no one suspects that I'm not fine, and nobody outs behavioral Frankenstein"

[lesenbyan]

[ID: two images of my phone keyboard settings with red lines emphasizing the comma switch. In the first image, the switch for the comma is off and the arrow pointing to where it would be shows an elongated symbol button. In the second the switch is on but instead of a comma the button shows a percent sign; the red arrow indicating it has three red question marks next to it. /end id]

Hey Samsung what the fuck. Do you know how tedious this makes typing????