#much yourself etc

[puppyeared]

thanks @chipper-smol for getting me ISAT i will be so irresponsible with the looping

[gregmarriage]

every time i wanna redownload her (the dating app) again, i think abt possibly finding my ex and accidentally swiping right (whichever one is the good one) on her profile and i immediately lose the urge

[corpsentry]

pick your battles

[aardvaark]

im so glad that we never get a clear picture of sophie’s background in leverage & i hope we never do. however i also really like making up various, often conflicting backstories for her in my head. perhaps they’re all backstories for an alias of hers, ones she laid to rest back in season two.

[dunmeshiminimumwage]

back when i worked at [large chain coffee store], i tried to unionize my workplace. my manager sat me down and gave me a very guilt trip-y talk. lots of "but i thought we were a family :(" and "you don't *really* know what unionization does, do you?" i played dumb and managed to avoid being fired, but. chilchuck momence.

[intheholler]

I'm a many-many-generations-Appalachian, and when I was a teenager, everyone assumed I'd leave, so I thought I should. And then when I did leave, someone called my mama and told her I was the most homesick child they'd seen in decades, that she should come get me. She didn't, because she wanted me to succeed that badly, but I got myself back to Appalachia PDQ. And then I never left again, because Appalachia is where I belong.

I know the stereotypes, but we can be happy here, too. I've got a good life, with a well-paying job I love, a silver anniversary spouse, wonderful children, and a nice house. My mama lives with us and that's just how we like it. Our quietly queer little family is proud to be Appalachian, and our children learn our history, like the recorded story from their great-grandfather who saw the Baldwin-Felts get off the train in Matewan.

Are there problems in Appalachia? Sure. But that doesn't mean we are all living in misery. Appalachian lives are more than poverty porn and strip mines and drugs and Dew mouth. We have our own festivals and music and art and foods and books to celebrate our shared heritage. We have our own holidays, too, like the first day of deer season. There can be a lot of joy in our Appalachian lives, if we let it.

And of course, we can all join together to remind folks that #heaintfromaroundhere ;)

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[eliounora]

anybody else frustated with this constant need of recognition. like I don't enjoy things because I feel like nobody will notice it or recognise me for it. and as a result I feel like I am mediocre at everything and disappointment is my permanent mode of being

[callisteios]

would you like to be a god? take this uquiz to find out what sort of god you'd be

[romanken]

Okay after sitting on it I love what the finale means for the queen in chains arc like alicent tells rhaenyra all she wants is to be free of the burden of her life and queenship and motherhood, rhaenyra releases her from these loads at the cost of her sons, the last time we see alicent she's finally in a position where selfishness is allowed, freedom is possible through that last sacrifice. AND THEN when they finally meet again and rhaenyra has fallen deeper into paranoia and is fully convinced of the necessity of bloodshed and she takes alicent prisoner. The person alicent made this last desperate concession to in order to escape and she just drags her back into hell

[daily-hanamura]

[ehlnofay]

Summerfest Day 2 - SECRET

All the air in the room shivers and gusts like an expulsion of breath; the sluggish, oil-slick water below resumes its flowing; Arabella, liquid metal curled lacelike over her skin, starts laughing.

It’s dark, in this dank cavern. Karliah left the lamp she carried outside and did not suggest lighting another. Perhaps it would be sacrilege. For several minutes, all had been shadow; but now if Arabella squints, she can vaguely make out the motion of the water, the distant shine of filigreed armour, the bird-mark on the floor. She can make out Karliah on the middle plinth and Brynjolf on the distant one; she can make out the cracked stone below her; she sinks down, low, into a crouch, hood pulled down over her forehead, and cackles. It echoes in her mouth, against the fabric-smoothness of her mask.

“Well,” says Brynjolf’s voice, blankly, from across the room, and again, “well.”

“The first meeting can be… overwhelming,” Karliah says, tactful. Like Arabella’s cracked under the pressure of watching someone talk to a big not-light in a hole so soggy-stale it feels as familiar as the cistern. She is still laughing – she can’t help it (it’s either funny or it’s very serious, and she’d rather not take it seriously) – as she rolls her shoulders back the way she practiced in the armoury, lets the metallic carapace unravel itself, shrinking and sinking again into her skin, to the cold metal mark she pressed like tattoo ink into the back of her neck. (She’s been branded – she’s been gulled – perhaps she should be taking it seriously, but it’s so ridiculous that she doesn’t want to.) The armour goes away. She can, just about, see her skin again.

She is still laughing, birdlike high and delighted.

Brynjolf shakes his head – she catches it only because of the way his eyes glint in the mask – and says, “Didn’t wake up this morning thinking I’d be meeting a Daedric Prince.” He sounds very deliberately careless; taking everything, very intentionally, in stride. “Suppose I’m honoured.”

“Oh, yes,” Arabella crows, “most honoured bargaining chip –” and she goes off in peals of laughter again. Her language is bleeding into Bos, a little – she’s getting her grammar mixed up in her head, blending her words in ways that should give them layers but instead just turns them to gibberish. Most-honoured, ill-weighted, played like lamb-tendon lute-strings, all an unintelligible mess of sounds. It’s all so patently ridiculous.

Brynjolf pauses, asks, “Does this happen, often?” with a nigh-audible furrow of the brow.

“Arabella,” Karliah says. “Arabella. What, the hysterics? No, or, I’ve never – Arabella, pull it together.”

“Lest your Lady think –” and the rest of it is lost to scrambled syntax, but then Arabella wipes her mouth – probably smudging her paint, she realises after the fact, damn it – and stands up straight and says, gleeful, “You liar. Well done.”

“Are you listening, now?” Karliah asks; when she moves, she gleams, ever-faint.

Arabella echoes, “Will you tell us, now? You’ve been so dreadfully surreptitious.”

Karliah gleams again. “I’ve been sworn to secrecy. I’m sorry I’ve had to mete out information so slowly. But now that you’ve transacted the oath –”

“Such a vague oath,” Arabella remarks, shark-toothed.

“I would like to hear more about the oath,” Brynjolf puts in, “and whatever else, but do we have to have this out in the dark?”

“I would like to hear about how it’s supposed to make us more powerful,” Arabella says, “and why I can’t feel any bloody difference.”

Karliah moves – coils her fingers, maybe, so her armour can slink off to puddle in her hand, pulled night-dark in toward the mark at her wrists – and Arabella can see her a little better, then, a ghostlike shape standing ill-defined on the platform. “That,” she says, soft-voiced, “relates to what I was going to say; Mercer’s –”

“Do you feel a difference, Brynjolf?” Arabella calls.

Sharply, Karliah says, “Stop interrupting.”

The water burbles quiet below them. Arabella’s smile is pinned so broadly to her face that her cheeks sting.

“We’re going back into the hall,” Brynjolf decides. His armour sloughs off as he starts picking his way back down the shadow-cracked stone. Halfway down, he looks over, his face a smudge in the dark. “No. But it’s new.”

“New indeed,” Arabella agrees, the soles of her shoes ringing against the marks in the stone; she holds her arms steady for balance as she steps onto the spit of rock. “Whatever power we expect, Karliah – it won’t come up until we’ve made amends with your goddess, will it?”

She is so very spectral, in the dark. Blue-grey, distant-pale. “Nocturnal’s favour alone is a powerful thing,” she says, clipped. “It will give us an edge.”

“Will it,” Arabella says. It is not a question. She is putting considerable effort into not giggling again.

Even in the dark, even without the masks, she can just about catch the shine of Karliah’s eyes as she looks at her. There is a lengthy pause. “It might.”

Brynjolf, a shadow almost at the end of his stone-spit tightrope, pauses. “Ah,” he says, and then, faintly disgruntled, “Really?”

“She played us well,” Arabella tells him with airy unconcern; her teeth scratch against the meat of her lip. “Very cleverly. I bought it just about enough.”

“It might help,” Karliah insists, dogged; “I – I hope it will. And I couldn’t tell you the whole truth if you remained outsiders – we would have been ineffective, barely a chance –”

Arabella slides the last half-metre of damp stone on the flat soles of her shoes, skirt flaring, hair in her mouth. She says into the dank cavern, “You sold us to curry favour.”

“Yes,” Karliah snaps; she strides down back to the ground, quick and practiced, a blur against the stone. “Yes, all right – we need her favour if we’re going to be able to return what Mercer stole, which you still won’t let me tell you about, we need – it’s been a decade.” (Arabella remembers the thick patterns of dust in these strange halls.) “It’s been a decade, Arabella, this is my life, and if bringing it back isn’t – maybe it won’t help! But I told you, it’s business.” She tosses her head; she’s still hooded, and it’s still dark, so this conveys very little. “Yes. I negotiated acquittal. And if you want to be angry about it, that’s fine, but do it less obtrusively so we can actually start –”

“I’m not angry,” Arabella says, and she licks her teeth. Karliah looks at her; in the dark, her eyes don’t flash. Her face is an ink-smudge. Arabella grins. “I just wanted you to admit it. That’s truly astoundingly selfish.”

“In fairness,” Brynjolf says, before Karliah has a chance to rail at that, and he gestures, quick and loose and just fast enough for her eyes to register it, to the lax little circle they stand in, like the points of a lopsided triangle. “Would you expect anything less?”

It’s still so dark – so little light comes in even through the entryway – but the water sounds cold and quick as it runs, and Arabella is good at taking up all manner of sensory space. “Touché,” she says through beaming teeth; shrugs, exaggerated, the motion rippling the metalline mark pressed into the back of her neck. “Really, Karliah, I don’t mind. Nocturnal can have my soul. What worth is it to me?”

[an-ruraiocht]

sometimes it's like. i don't really wanna have an opinion about this in public because i don't feel that strongly. but a lot of people are having ill informed opinions about it and i don't feel i can offer correct information without also an opinion. so i just have to suffer

[tea-and-secrets]

my secret is that i don't think i have a future. i'm turning 18 in a month, maybe by the time you post this ask i will already be 18 for a while, but well, im not there yet. i just finished high school kicking and screaming, literally thought i wouldn't survive it to the point i was considering ending it all several times, but i finished it. now what? now i know i have to go to uni but i also know i won't be able to make it through. i barely scraped by with high school and now my mental health is at an all time low (thought 2021 was my worst year but life is full of surprises) and if college is harder than high school like people say it is, then i'm just royally fucked. it does not help that i don't know who i want to be in life. i'm bilingual and have language skills, but if i study for a translator job then it's just like-- who even needs it? i live in russia. my country is in shambles and so is its economy and relationship with other countries. russia does not need a fucking translator because everybody hates it and for good reason. i can't imagine any future for myself here. when i was a kid it all seemed so clear to me, i would grow up and live with my best friend and be happy and have a job i love. now whenever i think of being grown up my mind just comes up blank. my best friend has probably forgotten that we ever wanted to live together, or they just left the idea behind because it was so childish and unrealistic. i feel like i've been drifting away from them as well as my entire friend group for the past 2 years. i'm autistic, so i just don't see the world the same way they do. i used to love being aroace before i realized it's distancing me from my friends, because now they all have partners or they're yearning for partners or talking about all the sex they've had and i just have nothing to add to the conversation. i don't smoke or drink, so i guess now i'm just not as interesting to hang out with as when we were all 15 and sober. so yeah. i guess i just dont know what im going to do or what's going to happen to me. i've spent the last few years feeling more and more isolated and sinking into depression. if i get into college, i don't know what it's going to do to me, but it makes me fear for my life. if i don't get into it, then i dont know what im going to do at all. maybe my real secret is that i was put on this earth to draw gay people and not like, have a life and relationships. oh well.

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[mudstoneabyss]

actually. the specific phrasing that boy Kevin wants to kill older Kevin with "I must disassemble him, piece by piece, so that everything inside of the Old Kevin comes out. Only then can the New Kevin truly begin." is so incredibly the idea that to heal from trauma and "improve" you have to destroy every "wrong" part of yourself, that everything "tainted" by it has to somehow be replaced by something untouched (which isn't possible)

[blacksailspolls]

i've seen discussions about ""john silver"" 's name & flint's borrowed one & max having nolastname (though less frequently than the prev two) but not a lot about madi's. sometimes i see tags that include "scott" as her last name. so. to you, what is her name? thoughts in the notes welcome!

[liquidstar]

This is such a tangent btw but on the topic of guilt tripping and reblogs... I remember a few years back there were some terrible fires in Greece (and again this year, entire island villages are gone now) and at that time I had family who were caught in them. I can't describe the desperation I felt with these horrible things happening to my family and loved ones in my country. And I remember being frustrated and desperate with how no one around me in America really seemed to give a shit. I remember blogging asking people to PLEASE care please share something please reblog this link for mutual aid please think about the stories and fires etc etc etc. And the thing is I was very much in a state of grief myself, maybe not every word or action was perfectly reasonable, because I don't realistically expect everyone everywhere to care about every tragedy in the world. You can't. Emotionally it's just not possible, especially with all the stuff going on in the states rn too. Yeah it's a lot. It's not like I blog about every tragedy that ever happens either. I understand.

HOWEVER what I also remember was at this time there were a couple mutuals very clearly making vagueposts along the lines of "remember not everyone has the energy to care about everything in the world uwu" while I was posting about family who died and family who were drifting in the ocean for hours as their homes and loved ones burned. Listen. You have to understand sometimes that when a person in grief and frustration with things going on in their countries and communities impacts them very personally beg you to care... It's coming from a place of needing to see that care in the world in general. They're not holding a gun to your head Specifically saying you have to reblog the posts, if you don't have the energy just ignore it.

You don't have to go out of your way saying "um actually I can't care about the horrible stuff you and your family and your country are experiencing rn. I'm too busy focusing on my own stuff so can you be quiet or more reasonable with your grief thanks." Like. Just keep it to yourself then??? Have some fucking sympathy for other people and understand that maybe it's not always logical. The same way you don't have the emotional energy to think about every tragedy in the world, people who've been impacted by them often don't have the emotional energy to handle that alone and may seek somekinda community or solidarity. Idk. It's not about forcing shit on you sometimes it's not about you