#i'm conducting an experiment
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deepdwellingsteamboat · 10 months ago
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Office of the High Overseer ☛ Kennels DISHONORED 2012・dev. Arkane Studios
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pollsnatural · 8 months ago
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afanofmanyhats · 4 months ago
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BEEF WOMEN
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jojotichakorn · 1 year ago
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i'm actually really curious 👀
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incorrect-hs-quotes · 1 year ago
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Jade: i am covered in hickies how am I supposed to be a respected scientist looking like this!?!
Nepeta: :33< normalize kissing other the other scientists with tongue
Sollux: *walk2 iinto the lab and come2 out hour2 later covered iin liip2tiick mark2* the collaboratiive re2earch ii2 goiing well
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transingthoseformers · 1 year ago
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I like to remember how tfp Shockwave used to be a surgeon and I like to think that theoretically he can act as a medic
Theoretically
Is it a good idea? No.
But is it funny to imagine mecha with injuries going to him instead of a (relative to him) regular medic for a variety of reasons and he's just. Terrifying beyond belief.
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bobcat-pie · 6 months ago
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I'm constantly wondering when to set my queued posts.
I've got an art account that i sometimes log onto and queue stuff for, but it doesn't get anywhere near as much engagement as this account does! I was wondering if changing the queue time could help that.
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Sorry I don't have a "see results" option! it only lets me have 12 buttons. I'll reblog the poll when it's finished, but if you can't wait to see the current results, please pick a random one to limit artificial data skewing!
also please reblog for a bigger sample size. please please please, this survey is already flawed, at least give me a big sample size so i can get an answer
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daily-vitamin-sucrose · 19 days ago
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WHY IS GENSHIN THERE ????
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disenchanteds · 5 months ago
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made more progress in lowering taylor in my top monthly artists list btw
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landgraabbed · 2 years ago
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sometimes you gotta take in the lil details
#non sims#i'll come up with a skyrim tag#in my tes era again#(always i just go sleeper agent on it ig)#still in my modding skyrim era i'm sick so that's not v conductive to me actually playing morrowind so this is what i've been doing#sad bc nammu made some good progress he joined house redoran he's actually level 3 and somehow keeps invading every vampire tomb#(i run away bc i cannot deal w that right now)#his slave bracers finally broke off <3#i'll compile some screens and post tomorrow maybe#i truly am the people todd coward thinks about when bethany esda is concocting the latest installment of weird ass lore told through#environmental storytelling and esoteric books and an open world crafted with meticulous detail cursed with bugs up the wazoo#but yeah modding skyrim is being surprisingly fun after i figured out mod organizer#i have bookmarked some mods that require me to regen lods dyndolod or whatever it's called but i'll do that at the end#at least in morrowind that's how i do it#i did my engine fixes my bug fixes my graphics and sounds overhauls my model replacers enb landscapes and now my cities and locations mods#armor next and then i'll start overhauling combat#i'm gunning for dark souls like bc that combat style suits me rly well and i always hated melee in skyrim#(re: armors sforz i looked at your imitations previews and i'm in love i'll have fun experimenting w/ them i owe u my life)#but yeah...... 99% of my skyrim experience has been in ps save for a brief moment i pirated it on release on my shitty laptop i had then#it's been wonderful to actually mod it
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inspired-lesson-plans · 8 months ago
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Due Wednesday 4/3
Directions:
Respond to the question above, then reblog to increase sample size and comment to include what was your favorite thing you remember learning in that subject (i.e. favorite history subject, cool chemistry lab, choral piece you still remember).
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bookwyrminspiration · 10 months ago
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The trolls are so interesting. We don’t know what their cities are like or if they’re a water based species. The fact that they have child soldiers is so interesting.
I know!! We know so little it's such a shame--though maybe this'll change in the next book(s), since we're focusing more on the trolls and we've gotten to visit every other intelligent species' capital (sans the gnomes, since they don't have one anymore). So they might break in take a trip to Marintrylla.
All we know is they age in reverse through 7 stages that look completely different, starting as their most violent and stupid and gradually becoming calmer and smarter. Their babies are born very early and implanted in hives, hatchings triggered at lunar eclipses. They have an empress. They don't value animal lives like elves do. And. yeah that's pretty much it, culturally. There's so much left to learn...please shannon...
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theseventhveil1945 · 2 years ago
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1899 1.08 | "The Key"
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caguaydreams · 24 days ago
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Hm... never trust how you feel about your life past 9pm or however that goes and stuff, but sometimes I do be pondering what I do on the regular and it gets to me, the silliest things
#I'm once again getting anxious over putting myself out there in every sense I can think of#Socially. Business-wise. Art-wise#if there is one trait I dislike about myself the most in the past few years—#is that for whatever reason I have a tendency to be way too open about myself and what I feel#it could be annoying. It could be tmi (I dislike that concept). It could scare people off because I'm too forward and I fuck up#I spent a big chunk of my late childhood -> teenage years -> early adulthood putting a tamper on my emotions and what I'm passionate about#and now I'm oscillating between being unable to do otherwise and being thoroughly exhausted of suppressing... anything#I genuinely don't want to do it no more and the problem is that I have no idea how to navigate the opposite end of that conduct#I feel like I'm constantly messing it up. I have no experience but I am so tired and now incapable of masking#more like my body and mind are uncooperative and refuse to keep on putting up an act. It was always a way to support others#but I disregarded myself most of the time. I don't know how to enjoy myself in front of people I love without feeling guilt or shame#I feel like I'm overstepping or being disrespectful. How do you do it#it should come easy#Heh... I'm even embarrassed to voice sincere praise to artists I admire because I never know if what I'm saying could be perceived as —#—cringey or if it makes someone slightly uncomfortable. I'm tired of being clueless about a whole dimension of social interaction#and possibly coming across as inept. I could've sworn for the longest time that I was doing it right#and I can't be sure now#I want to share my work with others but I'm always hesitant and petrified by fear of all the potential ramifications that path could have#There's so much I want to do#why does the world seem so hostile to my eyes I genuinely don't know. It makes no sense. None of that is real#Annnnnd that sure is some venting#Sheesh#Hm. Funny how tumblr keeps on being this perfect void where you can just scream into without a single worry#I should go to sleep
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60inchyugiohheadcanons · 1 year ago
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On Jōnouchi's ADHD (1.39k words)
This headcanon is probably the longest on this blog; it's some compiled thoughts on how growing up with (undiagnosed) ADHD has affected Jōnouchi. It's halfway between headcanon and fanfiction piece, and was requested by @bloodyscott, whom I kept waiting for too long for a response. I apologise sincerely for the delay.
This headcanon begins below the cut, as it's obscenely long. You may find it more comfortable to read this from the blog page, or on Archive of Our Own (NOTE: tumblr is acting strange. To access the page, copy the link and manually remove the href.li portion and the second https), rather than on your dashboard/search, in terms of formatting and such.
From infancy, Jōnouchi wailed his way out of his crib, out of his room, out of his house—as a baby, he thrashed towards whatever freedom he could find. He loathed the four walls of the crib; he'd scarce room to move. A skin infection brought him, aged 4, to hospital, and the very sight of overrun grey plastic seats and skinny cubicles exhausted him more than his illness had ever threatened to.
In primary school, others’ desks would blend together in a whir. Here he was, stuck, dizzyingly sedentary—the longer he sat, the foggier the world seemed to grow. When he kicked and whined at other children throughout electric lunch breaks, and they shrank from his vitality, he learned to eat alone. As his peers trudged from class in packs, watching the pavement, he sat, sullen, as his father drove him home. Somehow, Katsuhiro had never trusted him not to lose himself in chasing his surrounds. The fabric of the car seat would bite into his shorts, and he’d squirm for the window, squealing towards the noise outside: Birds that cawed; scraps of paper that fluttered and choked on smog. That was a fragile era, when his mother still waited, with dry hands and chipped nails, at home. When his father already stank of beer, but still spoke loudly, deeply, boisterously. Again and again, Jōnouchi’s mother would sit her son down, and write his name, stroke by agonising stroke. She’d recite each mora in time with each character. Yet sound would cluster through his head, and his own name would dissolve amid his mother’s instructions, amid the blaze of sunlight trapped on the windowsill behind her. He would write, and the strokes would come out rushed, mis-ordered, lopsided. 
Iro wa nioedo 
chirinuru wo.
At 10, his father grew quiet, and his mother yet quieter. Silence took up like a plague in Jōnouchi’s head, and swarmed in shapeless formation throughout parched mathematics lessons. Times tables hurled themselves headlong into a skull full of fog, and burst on contact. Are you listening? a teacher asked. How could he listen with a head full of noise, of unspoken words billowing back and forth? He gripped his seat, and glared back. Why should I care, anyway?
When his mother left, his father stopped caring to chaperone him. It had taken Jōnouchi a decade to earn the right to shed his infancy. He resented that it had been this long, so tried to join the huddle of middle schoolers. He told odd stories, and took off, queasy, in front of them. They withdrew their smiles when he approached on the second day. He growled his plaint, and resentment drove him to take the opposite route. He explored back alleys, wallflower convenience stores and dilapidated cinemas; the faster he walked, the more clearly he could see each brick, and the brighter each fleck in the pavement glinted. At speed, he delayed the journey home, and set his eyes on a gorgeous early winter sunset. The colours bellowed, too bold for winter, ungainly and vain. They were glorious.
Jōnouchi came home late. His father glared; fog crashed back down on his shoulders. 
Wa ga yo tare zo 
tsune naran?
A week before she cleared out too few of Katsuhiro’s belongings and packed too few suitcases, Jōnouchi’s mother drove both children two miles to the optometrist. My son, she explained, reads slowly, yet resents reading; it seems he can’t see very well. My daughter’s sight seems clearer, yet she complains of pain. The optometrist forced Jōnouchi to read down a chart of letters; he fidgeted, and, consumed in memories of a lonely lunch break the day prior, passed with flying colours. When the optometrist flashed a light to photograph his eyes, whatever hideous miracle that was, Jōnouchi screamed.
Katsuya Jōnouchi, the optometrist surmised, had perfect acuity of sight. He sought attention, stimulation. Meanwhile, Shizuka Jōnouchi, who had sat entirely still throughout her examination, had more ragged, derelict peripheral vision than her family had anticipated. Untreated, both your children will get much worse.
And in the months after Shizuka Jōnouchi became Shizuka Kawai and Mrs. Jōnouchi became That Bitch Who Never Cared, Katsuya Jōnouchi became horribly aware of how little time he had to be lethargic. He had to survive this schism; yet as he was, he barely felt capable of thinking. He walked, fidgeted, paced to prove to himself that he was a moving, breathing organism. Yet his father’s frustration would brook no exuberance. Long before Katsuhiro fully committed to flinging glass and spurning his son’s misery, Jōnouchi began learning to move silently, slowly, around his father. He memorised which mats snapped and snagged, which bits of fabric hissed when stepped on. He noted which windows opened most quietly. And yet he never managed a perfect, quiet exit. He couldn’t help but be conspicuous; he could only hope to get out too quickly for his father to react. And, to lift the torpor that followed escape, he would run to school, and, after, run back. Never did the sun shine brighter than when he was moving.
Uwi no okuyama
kyou koete.
When he met Hirutani, did he become more violent? No; every punch he threw during his delinquency had waited, kinetic and desperate, for days, months, years. In classrooms, his sole responses to being ordered around had been sullen deference, with sullenness being his sole demonstration of rebellion. Now, threatened with the obsolescence of his ego, of his perceived freedom, he chained himself to violence, over and over. The first time he punched a man in the gut, he found himself shaking. And rather than sink into sallow, domestic remorse, he slathered himself in white rage. And he went back and he went back and he went back, helpless to his own instincts, trying to dredge the noise in his skull out through his fists. No matter how many punches he threw, and no matter how many he received, he could not stop his head from blazing anew the moment he walked away.
Did Duel Monsters afford him any peace? He would be no man’s losing dog; nor would he be confined to dull celebrity. To play as a strategist consigned him to sitting still, committing himself to gambits he could never entirely trust, to moves that demanded a clear head. To play too whimsically would doom him to inferiority. Thus, he gave half his heart to diligence, and half to sheer fortune. Nobody could idolise his kind of folly, nor devalue his kind of skill. This was Jōnouchi’s will—to eschew having to wait in the mire of expectation; to escape the fog of obligation to anyone’s morals but his own. Honour suited him, so long as it was on his meticulous terms. In games of Duel Monsters, he became a knight-errant of sorts: predictably unpredictable, unexpectedly canny, blindly faithful. With this relationship to his own fate laid out so, he could finally draw cards without fearing those next to come. And thus, hyperkinetic, he found a peace in the game. So he played and played until he forgot how long he’d been playing, and Duel Monsters became as second nature.
Asaki yume miji
ei mo suzu.
Two weeks before Jōnouchi’s graduation, Shizuka invited him to her place to dine. Their father was not to join them. Jōnouchi protested, and his desperation died in a pinprick throat. Wisteria spilled itself over the footpath. Each step threatened to plunge, vertiginous, to the ground. 
When Jōnouchi saw his mother, his throat turned to sandpaper. She looked so old.
You cried so much as a baby, she told him. Kicked and screamed to see the world. You weren’t comfortable waiting in your crib—I’d end up coming to you at 4AM, walking you around the perimeter of the house till my heels burned. And you seemed so afraid of all the noises of the night—groaning engines, singing birds. Now, look at you—you’ve grown up so terribly fast.
Could he afford to tell her how even now, he bit down the urge to kick and scream, to launch himself, all fists and sparks, onto his tormentors? No; so, all night, he gripped his glass as tight as he could. The cold lingered and itched on his palms for days. Holding onto things, it seemed, was not so difficult as he’d once believed.
#couple of notes: i tried to write jōnouchi as also possibly having some form of conduct disorder that did not progress to aspd.#as i have neither conduct disorder nor aspd – i can't promise it's entirely accurate#and i apologise sincerely for any serious mistakes. i've tried to avoid stigma but i know i've a hell of a lot more learning to do#jōnouchi is meant to have combined-type adhd here. i have adhd but no diagnosed subtype#however i'd generally say i have an extremely different experience to jōnouchi here. (i'm either hyperactive or combined)#i've tried to stay away from stereotype while also focussing on how a young child might be both overtly and internally hyperactive#and how the display of symptoms might change with circumstance.#moreover; shizuka's eye condition in the anime is left vague and (probably unrealistically) curable#i went with some kind of glaucoma (probably open-angle but i really don't know enough to say).#she probably stopped losing vision after surgery but i doubt she actually got her peripheral vision back#the japanese poem interspersed throughout is the iroha. it was more significant to early drafts and i'm too sentimental to take it out.#i named jōnouchi's father katsuhiro (克弘) because calling him 'jōnouchi's father' got too cumbersome#i didn't really show jonouchi hyperfocussing much or write about his experience of time.#but since he's an esfp i probably need more time to work out how Se dominance could interact with time blindness#anyway. i'll shut up now.#yugioh#yu-gi-oh!#YGO#Yu-Gi-Oh#yu gi oh#katsuya jonouchi#katsuya jounouchi#jounouchi katsuya#jonouchi katsuya#shizuka jonouchi#shizuka jounouchi#jonouchi#城之内克也#tw domestic violence#cw domestic violence
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one-winged-dreams · 1 year ago
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HOLD THE FUCKING PHONE
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EHNANCE!
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