#punkish sanity

[xepisia-art]

breaking news! music chart-dominating gamble sanity just released a sudden CLOTHING COLLECTION! - BURN, based on all things flaming and bright; from his new clothing and lifestyle company PUNKISH SANITY.

[lenked-universe]

Dating him is a challenge

[fairymint-archive]

🔪 KNIFE - how do they react to injury / misfortune befalling their loved ones (significant other, family, friends)? do they put themselves at blame?👑 CROWN - what does your oc want to be remembered as? why? - Pit. Shulk, Xander

🔪 KNIFE - how do they react to injury / misfortune befalling their loved ones (significant other, family, friends)? do they put themselves at blame?

Shulk shows very obviously in canon that he's angry, he wants revenge, he wants it NOW. One critique I have (which is shared by someone else that I could easily find and reblog) with him, as a character and the narrative, is that he's incredibly reckless and doesn't get scolded much, if at all, for that. He jumps into battle and places blame on an entire race, technically, and I was pleasantly surprised when my joke of 'what if there's nice robot people after all?' became true. With his visions, he absolutely puts all of that blame on himself, just for having the power, and has to learn to live with that.

Xander places heavy blame on himself but doesn't like to admit it. He is the literal strongest unit in the game probably, and still he thinks that fate leads to Corrin being 'the right one' and being 'stronger' than him to deal with the war. But like, even in Warriors it's bull fucking shit, he's a pain in the ass to face and secondhand sources discussing his character point to that as well. He's got a lot of power, so is probably just....scared or something. He's a classic paladin tho.

Pit...definitely has some nuance hidden up in his brain. While, on the surface it could seem to some that he's 'blindly' loyal to Palutena, ....well, to start, Dark Pit exists. He's grumpy at the gods and shows some of Pits doubts (and fears), so you have to account for that Punkish aesthetic.

And, his plans do change. He cooperates with Viridi, and even eventually, works without Palutena's aide at all; albeit with a bit of sanity slippage, so while he's clearly dependant on her and used to the chatter, he.......can do without. Palutena does get overtaken, so her 'not being herself' is pretty literal, in that case.

👑 CROWN - what does your oc want to be remembered as? why?

Pit wants to be remembered as a flashy hero, for sure- That's how he acts, anyways. I'm sure all the good traits as well, such as kindness and fairness- and definitely being Funny. I'd like to think he just feeds off the good energy of people. There's a mix of moral and fun there, connecting.

Shulk isn't really chasing after the same kind of glory- least of all the power. He wants to 'just be a normal guy' kind of wish, and even....tries to banish the existence of Gods, in all but words. So, he'd want to be remembered for being good, and who he is, he's a very thoughtful man.

As for Xander....? Perhaps he cares for his family the most, so he'd openly want to be a good brother. But....he could do with an ego boost at being a good prince/king of Nohr. Entire reason he is the way he is, is pressure to conform to stuffiness. Anxiety got to him.

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Headcanons: Crankegos ⚙️

Aight, we’re doing this so buckle up, because I got a lot to share!

Note: I consider Memento one, but he’ll be in another post with Mori where I’ll go more into-depth about them both.

Mad Mike

Runs both an ice cream shop and an ice cream truck (he changes outfits depending on which he’s working at).

Once owned a highly successive business.

But it was shutdown after Silver Shepherd discovered that the ice cream was being laced with drugs.

Since then Mike tries to stop doing that..but once in a while he’ll put a tiny bit of cocaine in a scoop or two (claims it’s “extra sugar”).

Loves to bake on his days off.

Contrary to his song, he’s got a soft spot for kids and never drugs their desserts.

Struggles with his own addictions from time-to-time, but he’s getting better at dealing with the withdrawals.

Very flirtatious.

Also fluent in French, so that gives him extra brownie (pun intended) points.

Somehow, someway..he’s evaded police ever since the encounter with Silver.

Not very good at talking about his or other people’s problems...so he usually just whips up some ice cream as a temporary solution!

His eyes turn to pink and blue swirls whenever his sanity dips or if he wants to hypnotize someone who insulted his business practices.

Mike’s just a bubbly guy all around.

Blank

One of Ethan’s less malicious dark egos.

Embodies his anxiety and nightmares (though mainly the former)

Blank himself has severe anxiety issues that tend to make him panic over small things.

Corroded teases him for being a crybaby sometimes, but he can’t help he’s overly-emotional. 

Gets very self-conscious of his acne/black eyes/appearance in general, afraid of scaring people away.

Has bluish-pale gray skin.

Likes wearing baggy clothing, though it’s really only to hide the wilted vines and black veins that wrap around his arms and legs.

When he has a breakdown, black oily tears stream down his face, he shakes violently, the room get abruptly cold, and he mumbles unintelligible gibberish.

It can go on from a few seconds to almost 15 minutes straight. It's extremely hard to snap him out of it.

Has haptephobia (fear of physical contact), but he’ll let people he’s close with (like the other egos) make contact with him.

Hates being thrown in with the rest of the dark egos.

Corroded

The first of Ethan’s dark egos, albeit the more forgettable one.

He’s a rusted robot, with gray/brown skin that’s metallic in some areas (especially on his face and hands).

Completely hollow inside (physically) except for metal “bones” keeping himself together.

His eyes are also empty sockets instead of being purely black.

Like Anti he’s a glitching entity who induces paranoia in people with hushed whispers and clones of himself.

Bitter to Ethan about being used for the 5-year anniversary poster advertisement, despite that not being his intention at all.

Also resents Blank for becoming the more popular dark ego.

Regularly drinks oil.

If you call him an animatronic he can and will decimate you.

His biggest pet peeves are being taken for granted and being called a “dumb robot”.

A major weakness is his legs being so rusted they lock up and he can’t move for a long while.

Heapass

A punkish prisoner who’s best friends with Yancy.

He’s been arrested for smoking illegal drugs, dealing said drugs (with Mike, who managed to escape officers while ditching him in the process), and excessive speeding/reckless driving.

But he was sent to HTP for a fatal hit-and-run (while he was smoking grass behind the wheel).

Doesn’t talk a whole lot, but he likes to stand around and smugly grin like he’s got a trick up his sleeve.

Spoiler: He doesn’t, and if you were to ask Yancy about him he’d tell you Heap is one of the sweetest people he’s had the honor of meeting.

He did break his arm during a brawl (tho he told the warden he fell in the yard).

He’s good at keeping secrets. He has no reason to gossip unless you insult his family.

Also dyed his hair black. Just because.

Jake

Was among the many bright scientists trying to find a cure for the spontaneous zombie plague.

He was also Prof. Beauregard's assistant.

Though unfortunately he didn’t last long before he ended up turning.

Surprisingly he still retains much of his scientific knowledge.

But he can’t wrap his rotting brain around complex formulas.

So he’ll sometimes try to mix chemicals and write notes--both of which turn out to be huge messes.

With the other Crankegos, Jake has his own lab.

He gets agitated easily, so he’ll go there to calm down if he needs to.

Can still speak normally, though his voice is extremely scratchy and he hates repeating himself.

So Yahoo often translates for him.

Likes being with a group of zombies...humans not so much.

Though since the Crankegos aren’t exactly human, he doesn’t mind them at all.

Bernice

She’s the gothic mother hen of the Crankegos.

Though at the same time she’s a vicious mama bear if you dare cross her and/or her family.

She’s stern with Mike and Corroded, but very soft towards Heap, Jake, and Blank.

The prisoner often looks to her as a mother, since he didn’t have the best relationship with his own growing up.

Loved red, black, and silver makeup. Especially eyeshadow and mascara. She makes sure to visit the dye shop every so often to keep her hair a bright red.

No one knows how she pays for all those times. But she does it.

Very sassy and likes to show-off a lot, though she’s not a narcissist. 

She’s very generous, too, and can’t stand the thought of being completely obsessed with only her own happiness.

Don’t ask her if she feels weird being the only female Crankego. She’ll break your kneecaps.

Cries at animal rescue/adoption commercials all the time.

Likes wearing meme shirts to be “hashtag relatable”.

She says it exactly like that and Ethan, Heap, and Mike groan every time she does.

Saint

He’s a very holy man, of course, with much dedication to the church.

While Saint doesn’t say what church (or even what his name is for that matter) he’s from, he practices good teachings.

Scolds people if they constantly curse/take the Lord’s name in vain.

He tried integrating memes into his teachings so younger generations won’t be as bored during mass.

But when Jeremiah (Priestiplier) proofreads his writings..he just shakes his head in disapproval.

So those never see the light of day.

Thinks Blank, Corroded, and Jake are horribly cursed and regularly tries spraying them with holy water.

He just gets three annoyed inhuman beings glaring at him.

Heap and Mike confess their recent sins to him sometimes. It helps them get stuff off their chest.

Though Mike always starts out by saying “I’ve been very naughty-”

And Saint has to stop himself from slapping him with the book.

Beyond that, he’s just an all-around good dude.

Yahoo

Like Bing and Google, he’s a search engine-based android designed to answer people’s questions.

Often speaks in a soft and sincere tone of voice, though he can be firm when necessary.

One of his eyes is more cybernetic than humanlike, and it’s capable of many functions including infrared and x-ray scanners, as well as being able to instantly identify any individual he sees.

That’s how he got to know all of the Crankegos so easily.

He’s on good terms with all the Googles...except for Blue, of course, since he thinks he’s just another rival.

But Yahoo still tries to be kind regardless.

Unfortunately some take advantage of that, though Bernice and Mike usually come to his defense.

He’s terrified of water and viruses..so he tends to stay away from Blank and Corroded.

When he’s recharging, both his eyes glow purple under his eyelids.

He’s got a lot of service features, including Yahoo! Finance (to help with personal finances), Answers (a q&a), and Mail.

Kinda misses the funky logo the company had from 1996-2013

[fidelcastrato]

Saturday Night Dead

A dull roar floods a small, derelict house and about a block of surrounding land all of a sudden, followed shortly by a piercing screech which acts as the conditioned stimulus to roughly 30-40 people between the ages of probably around 15 at the youngest, up to pushing-40, causing a mass salivation in response to the promise of real, proletariat, bullshit-free Punk Fucking Rawk™. Brando Murely himself sits on a cinder block outside the door, just enough out of the way of the crowd distractedly making its way inside, everyone in the middle of a conversation, turning around every few seconds to give their latest opinion on the eternal IHOP v. Waffle House crisis, shouting-match phone calls, drunken wobbling, stoned hobbling, and oh-that-sweet-cocaine's-a-calling. From Brando's arm dangles eazily-breezily a small bucket, perhaps formerly housing some domesticated plant, with the word "DONATIONS" written in sharpie on the side. He is only a few brainwaves away from REM sleep, that sultry temptress.

Avey and Fyo take their sweet time. The openers are about to play, now sound-checking, if you can really call it that (not to be rude, but the opening acts of these kinda shows were more often than not either local upstarts or local failures, and lacked some level of expertise in regards to acoustics, dynamics, levels and such), but they have both just lit a new cigarette. No worries, though; they've been around enough that they know the path straight to the front, if it should turn out that The Ushi Onis were worth front row listening.

Towards the back of the house stood in solidarity the introverts so in love with music, but so out of touch with people, the old farts who didn't really care anymore but still attended out of habit, the few (if extant) devout fans of another band on the line-up who just wanted to get it over with already, and the stray college kid; not any art or philosophy major, no, just some regular Joe (and hilariously enough, one independent study in "Crime and Punkishment", a locally famous zine, reported that 73.7% of these people were actually named Joe) who happened upon this utterly obscene proceeding via a stack of coincidence and misfortune--maybe they were there with some punk ladyfriend from class.

In the middle, by far the largest section, you could find pretty much anybody from anywhere. Regulars who still hear the heartbeat of the scene, newcomers enthusiastic but not enthusiastic enough to put themselves out for judgement if they happened to accidentally nod their heads a bit with the music (mortified.....), and that strange demographic that seemed to place itself starkly in the middle of all the aforementioned alignments; middle-of-the-roaders through and through, to the point where they have risen above the road, and the ideal of the road, and smugly glance at one another and then down to you as if to imply a transcendence which those of us who have ever experienced anything in extreme can never know of.

Front and center, ears blasted to bits and facial muscles entering anaerobic respiration due to excessive smiling, the All-Stars of the scene danced alongside strangers, either naïve or drunk. The frontmen of the most famous local bands, the influencers, both silent and megaphonic, the photographers, the beauties, the hype-builders, the next band, the people who arranged this show in the first place, all of them stood in almost equal amounts of admiration as the performing act themselves. The rich and famous of the DIY; the proletariat bourgeoisie; the broke stock brokers; the soothsayers and the fortune tellers; basically, the people you want to know.

"Hey, let's make a film tomorrow" says Fyo.

"About what?" from Avey.

"Who cares? Let's climb that billboard at the top of the hill. Let's hop on a train and record the city from like, some weird dutch angle, or something. Let's see how many cats can fit in one box."

"We could never find enough cats for that. All of our friends have like two cats at least, including me, and that still wouldn't be close to enough."

"Let's give the camera some 4-aco-dmt and see what happens."

"Easy on the Adderall, bub."

Fyo had a pretty publicly-known problem with stimulants, which he was recently combatting with a burgeoning benzodiazepine habit. Avey's personal dog hair was Kratom. Both of them partook in casual use of just about every recreational substance at this point, always especially eager to try something new. They still more or less had a handle on their sanity, but not without their eccentricities. Both had a deep love for consumption and creation of art, primarily music; between them they owned a veritable arsenal of digital and analog synthesizers, samplers, ancient MIDI keyboards, melodicas, and various novelty instruments collected over the years. Each had their own individual recording endeavors, as well as a joint operation making full use of their combined setup. They had played shows, Fyo more than Avey on account of having played in front of various kinds of audiences since the age of 15, from dull high school jazz band performances to the exact kind of venue they found themselves at tonight--in fact he'd played at this house several times already in the past year. “Holy House”, one of the few legit punk houses remaining in the city after a long string of misfortunes over the past two years lead to some places being shut down, others burning down, some simply forgotten about, living on only in the ink of flyers taped to the walls of just about every DIY art kid in the area--it was kind of like collecting baseball cards. Avey had played a couple of the more fleeting art spots once or twice, but was generally overcome with anxiety at the last minute.

Now three cigarettes in a row have been smoked, throughout yet more overly-anxious stim-fueled artistic brainstorming, both Avey and Fyo silently assuming that tomorrow would in reality consist of the same events as every other Saturday; recovering from the debauchery of the previous night, maybe with a half-hour or so of absent-minded musical improvisation.

The Ushi Onis had completed their set, and from what they heard from outside, it was agreed that their nonsense conversations were about on equal footing with the music, as far as time-wasting went. Not that they were bad, it's just.....it seemed as though they'd heard this same band hundreds of times, despite the fact this was their debut show. It seemed to Fyo, who had been in attendance for, shit, a decade now, that every show more-or-less went the same these days. You could even predict non-music related events. There was the guy who got way too drunk and was basically floating around the crowd, eyes only half-open, flailing around off-rhythm in a disconcertingly unhuman way during particularly intense performances--Fyo himself had been this guy on more occasions than he'd like to admit, as well as more occasions than he could literally remember. There was the creep getting kicked out for being creepy; that was a very strict rule for this scene, "NO CREEPS". You'd see it on basically any given flyer. House shows did tend to attract these creeps, what with the combination of pretty, young, and drug-addicted attributes of many of the female frequenters. Thankfully, Fyo had never been that guy. There was the kind of slapstick situation that occurred immediately after every band played, where the members of the other bands playing that night would come up and say "Hey, great set, what pedals do you use?" and then annoy the shit out of the poor guys just trying to fucking get their drums in the van, only for the same thing to happen to the original complimentary artists. Nobody ever learned their lesson. Nobody ever learned their lesson, forever and ever. This pretty much sums up the stagnation that Fyo has recently come to observe within the scene.

"Hey, I'm done here, if you are. Head back to my place?"

"Right you are."

The four-minute drive back to Fyo's apartment left just enough time to blair at obnoxious volume Avey's favorite song by The Mountain Goats (at least, his favorite song that day--the song changed frequently, but The Goats always remained Mountainous). On the way upstairs, Avey got a text from Tomie: "Beck pulled through. Pool party?"

So Avey said to Fyo; "Beck pulled through. Pool party?"

"Fuckin duh."

Tomie was a close friend as well as ex-girlfriend to both Avey and Fyo. Beck was their communal coke dealer. Fyo was the only person in The Crew whose apartment had a pool, and it was the deep depths of summer, so late night swimming was a common occurrence. Tonight, Tomie had brought Beck along (who surely had more coke, and anyone can see that hanging out with a coke dealer, who definitely had plenty of coke to spare, would certainly turn out to be a fun time--Fyo knew this from experience, as an old friend, Jericho, also happened to be a coke dealer before moving off to.....fuck-knows-where; Fyo wasn't sure WHY they hung out so much exactly, or why Jericho had given him so much free coke in those days; Jericho was gay, but Fyo didn't really feel like he could possibly be desirable enough to warrant such favor, especially with his [back then, at least] very socially awkward mannerisms, even after several lines of really honestly pretty great coke--although, Fyo [himself being hetero, this only now in the narrative needing to be made clear] usually thought the same thing about ladies he spent time with, and surprisingly often was proven wrong) as well as invited Fitch, who invited Les, who invited Beck, who invited Lil, who invited Vick, who invited.....

.....

Noujeff.  

"Wait you say WHO the fuck is coming to my apartment???" Fyo demands answers.

"Shit, I'm sorry Fyo. I didn't know Vick was friends with him, don't know why he still is. We'll tell him to fuck off once he gets here, waste some gas at least. But hey.....The Crew here ain't gettin' any younger, so let's fuckin' get to it. Pick a record already."

The Crew was, in no particular order:

Avey, reserved but strong-willed and resilient, and disarmingly cunning; he once got Fyo, his on-and-off-again girlfriend Elise, and himself a free pass to this really exclusive music festival in what can only be described as an "experimental city"--FORM Arcosanti was the name of the festival (the town being just "Arcosanti"), located smack dab in the middle of the deserts of Arizona, where Fyo first glimpsed that now-out-of-reach image, occasionally dreamt or half-remembered, of a lone mountain, in the middle of one of the least forgiving deserts in an entire superpower-nation's worth of land, one of the hottest and driest places around, soaring so high into The Places We Cannot Reach, the great heights, the domain of myth and fiction more than anything, of a mountain seen from the road of a lonely desert which had a peak covered, even here in the frenzied peaks of July, the radioactive horror show burning of July, a peak covered in SNOW. Beautiful, nostalgic (and always nostalgic, for there was no "winter" in Arizona), almost, no yes certainly CLEANSING snow. The rest of the trip only got better. That is all we'll say of it, for now;

Fyo, the one whose thoughts we gain direct access to (to hell with a fourth wall; give me 50, 500, 5,000,000 more walls, and I will break them all), generally responsible, has a dependable job as a pharmacy technician, "almost" a real job, and two major flaws; here we move into

 1.) Intense Manic Episodes On a Yearly, Predictable Basis

-----

Every year, in the period of time spanning between around March and June-Mid-July, Fyo would suffer an intense clinical episode of mania; he would become obsessive over ideas so obscure and opaque that he only sounded like a lunatic when describing them, and indulged in drug abuse as if suicidal, and more than once now had indeed proven to be so. Fyo would and did argue, however, that during these periods of admittedly (even by him) questionable ties to reality, his artistic output became noticeably higher in both quantity and quality than what was usually found in his "seasonal depression" (so-called) episodes during the months of October-February. No psychiatrist has yet explained this adequately.

 2.) An Unhealthy Obsession With All Forms of Art, As Well As the Definition of Art Itself

-----

From a very young age, Fyo had shown great interest in art, and strangely enough but of course conspicuously naturally, surrealist art in particular. At 12, on a family vacation to Florida for the purposes of the (back then affordable even by the lower-middle-class family, with some planning) relaxation of the beach and the primal thrill of the Great Twin Amusement Parks, he devoted a day to visiting the Salvador Dali museum in St. Petersburg, Florida; a couple years later, the very first band he was in (at 15 years old) was named after Dali's "The Burning Giraffe". Then he gradually caught on to the growing web of obscurities, myths, exaggerations, half-truths, genuine enigmas, and philosophical contradictions that were accepted by some as truth, and saw the art embedded in life; and in the mirror, he saw the reflection of such, and in that he saw things that moved him in ways he was naïve to previously. That's how he got older. That's how he saw that the waking life was just as absurd as the dream. All that mattered was which space he occupied at a given time;

Tomie, as mentioned previously was both a close friend and ex-girlfriend to both Avey and Fyo. Each relationship was separated by such distance (spatially and temporally) that it really didn't matter, everyone had moved on cross-country and it was just nice to have people just fuckin' caring about each other, you know? Tomie was not afraid to bite into you in a very personal way, as long as she knew it would help you. She was a great ally to have in the world, if sometimes blunt; but this bluntness was out of a genuine kindness and invariably proved effective somehow. If you trusted anyone's advice, it was Tomie's;

Fitch, constantly in-and-out of jail for something or other, after so many years the circumstances blurred out a bit. Being eternally and self-admittedly impermanent, he always seemed almost as if acting in repentance to the best of his abilities; but around people like this, hope for repentance was laughable;

Lil, probably the most adult of the group, an ex-girlfriend of Fyo from back in the day, had worked her way to a very well-paying analytics gig. She still found herself hanging around with these wannabe artists and revolutionaries, for whatever reason; she was certainly always welcome, and that gave her a warm, content feeling.....

"Pick a goddamn record" says Lil.

Every time The Crew got together for some midnight coke-fueled swimming, someone got to ceremoniously choose a record from Fyo's collection, off of which the cover of the cocaine would be inhaled. It was Fyo's night. He was having trouble deciding. The record that was chosen would also be played on the record player while the lines were being drawn and erased; the lines themselves were on the sleeve, the small but not ignorable visual component of the LP. He looked through his stack; Joyce Manor (played a show with them before they became big--frontman was kind of an asshole. No.), The Antlers (far too sad for shamelessly inhaled thrills), Talking Heads (no, we'll just end up putting "Once In a Lifetime" on repeat), no, no, no, no.....LCD Soundsystem? Hm. Yeah, this one. Sound of Silver, talk to me.

"Fuckin' finally. Okay let's get this train wreck a-rollin'."

Greed filled the eyes of everyone in the room. Along with record-choosing duties came the first line of the night. Fyo lays down one FAT fucking line, finely crushed almost down to the individual molecule it seemed, grabs the closest straw, leans over and looks down at the snowy mountain range here in the middle of the silver desert, and unflatteringly snorts with all his might, and feels each crystal immediately begin its own personal attack on his neurotransmitters, leans back to make sure everything falls into the mucous membrane, nothing wasted, except for Fyo himself, and steps back to fall comically onto the couch, a smile of contentment and even relief overtaking his facial expression as Nancy Whang chants "You can normalize. Don't it make you feel alive?"

This. This is the life.

[xepisia-art]

breaking news: rich gay man exists, more at 10

PLEASE ZOOM IN!

chong! jojun! balsa!

gamble owns a jewelry company (also hair products, a clothing line, a shoe line, a perfume line, and a makeup line) with the company name "punkish sanity" so here u go a punkish sanity jewelry business card bc everyone totally asked for this

also! this was my first drawing with my new tablet (huion610pro). i did the sketch with my wacom (since i didnt get the tablet until i had already started), but the rest was with my huion. overall review? wacom sucks, get a huion.

(p.s. i have no idea what not today has to do with this drawing, but its stuck in my head).