✩

[hatt1tude]

[ #HATT1TUDE ]   An  independent &  mutuals - only  single - muse  for the original character :    KAMIYA  HARU,    lackluster  manager  of  fictional girl group   TRI73  under  BLACK  MAMBA  ENTERTAINMENT   &&   begrudging   TIME  AGENT   under  sector 668  (  anomaly containment  )  ...   Pestered  by  Gray  ( He/him. 19+. )

I  have  been  writing  Haru  for  years,  even  before  my  time  on  tumblr.  He  is  central  to  one  of  my  novels.  Therefore,  while  the  quiet  and  asocial  nature  of  his  character  may  be  difficult  to  grapple  with  at  times,  I  will  not  compromise  it.

CARRD. INFO. MEMES. BLOGROLL. PLOTTING CALL. USFW SB.

Time-hopping  with   @wcrldcfvtlvs + @dnangelic + @388s + @scranium ...

drafts: 05 queue: 00 inbox: 7 timezone: gmt+4 activity: low.

[hatt1tude]

@tenkoseiensei : ' who's that ? ' hands behind his back he peers over the shoulder , a pair of floating eyes and a nosy nose taking in the sight of a photograph or two . ' new scouts ? ' or maybe , just maybe ... a legitimate artifact of sentimentality ? yan qing could hardly imagine it --- but then again , he could . with nothing but his catlike obstinacy and unabashed curiosity both , he hovers as he waits to hear the other's explanation or excuse . ' whoever they are , they don't look too bad , na . '

HE HAD FORGOTTEN,   for a moment, that company was something Yan Qing offered. Presence is in-dismissible, of course, but there lies in the slight of his chamber the preconception that should he do anything ever at all, presence crowding it or not,   it will register to the common mind as unremarkable.

Perhaps that is why Yan Qing strives to ascribe remarkability to it.   Leave a textbook to a child and they shall, in time, make something of its contents -- if even by way of drawing over them to occupy their time.

At Yan Qing's behest, the pen clicks to scribble along the empty edges a sort of indiscernible footnote. Haru's eyes, though they work in their classic swallowing, do not only reflect the other in their swirl. A touch of something. An opinion. A thought dragging itself and clawing his lids to slight, not unlike a man in a well with a white-fingered clasp against its bricks : vulnerable, yet contentious.

"... He looks good."   Haru says –  No, Haru stresses.   "My ... mm  …   hm."   In all of his efficiency there is no particular shorthand with which he might describe the man.   Raven-haired crackfire idiot with a heart that clings so desperately to itself that it hurts.   Him and others. Everybody. Haru,   in some roundabout, self-inflicted way.  

He places the frame back in its drawer, though his touch lingers over the handle. Eyes that often strive to search for life elsewhere   choose to keep their shadows cast upon the image   of a time where he had been willingly embraced.   One might note that he looks exactly the same.   His features have not shifted since, nay a mark of his mistress upon them. His cheeks are disfigured by the electric guitar, and an eye closes by them to mark its place.   But the position of outward forces aside,   the image may as well have been a mirror, with delusion painting the rest of its space.

" ... Morine Ryunosuke. We were together."   He closes the drawer, pausing to regard Yan Qing.   "I loved him and I killed him."   I had to, but I did not  have  to. I shouldn't have and yet I did because I should and so, so, hey, so, listen, really, me, you, anybody, so : what does it say that beyond complexities of it all,   I could    ?    I was able to.   Why?   Mistress Time and Mother Migraine wonder who HARU  is to ask himself a thing.  They smile at him in their knowing.  What right does he have to contemplate his past?    None.   Selfishly,   like the thing that denies him his want to let rivers run down his eyes. Selfishly, like the sting of a dampness that buries itself against his say and leaves him pound against the enclosure that is himself.     Selfishly, none.     He tells Yan Qing the truth and sours the lilt of the music enveloping them and   that is that.

"That's all."

[hatt1tude]

“  …  ” He is distressed.

[388s]

The moment drops,　ever-brief,　and Dae-ho allows that tangerine flicker of cognizance to travel from monotonous,　unadorned Haru all the way to filing cabinet stationed at the opposite wall,　caging in the room’s contents.　That cabinet holds everything in the acid pit of its stomach,　ribcage meant to be pried apart,　each splintered bone rung unveiling a trove of deep,　trouble history.　Increments of agony.　Paper copies,　all those histories of abuse,　stapled together and abandoned in dark belly of the beast.　Dae-ho prefers to let them go,　banished from the hold of his discomfiture the second he files them away.　(It’s too hard,　he thinks.　It would stick with him.　Adhered,　inextricable from what eh knows to be logical.　Every resident deserves to be seen as more than mere culmination of the circumstances warranting their tenure.)

A thought is introduced　⸻　and for this simple fact,　Haru is now leaps and bounds ahead of Dae-ho　⸻　and it coaxes Dae-ho’s eyelids to part wider with intrigue.　❛❛　We could,　❜❜　he says,　words drooling past the delighted smirk his lips uptick into.　❛❛　You have anything in mind?　Bet it would be nice to get the residents involved.　Some kinda youth welfare gala might sound crazy,　though.　❜❜　Dress up nice.　Mingle.　Perhaps a performance.　Allow those self-righteous benefactors to luxuriate in their own power,　thriving on how even the insinuation of an opened wallet would make a world of difference.　A hand can uplift or crush.　❛❛　I dunno.　Whatever it might be,　I’m willing to take a chance on it.　I’ll　—　I’ll make it happen.　❜❜　Strange,　then,　the man before Haru coming to embody a sort of confidence he was seemingly devoid of only a moment prior　/　emboldened by want,　no matter how foolish.　Gossamer of revolution painted across soft lips;　change that can be made in the world,　a ripple-effect.　He will see it through.　@hatt1tude

[hatt1tude]

WHEN MAN DISCOVERED FIRE   he must not have anticipated that it would ignite the colour of his eyes. He must not have anticipated anything at all, in fact, as Haru reckons. It had to have been the very same trope of incidental happening which inspires @manenuf's eyes to flare wide,   the light up above visible through them,   perhaps for Haru to sit there, solemn, and observe.   He borrows it from him,   delicately extending the entrails of his cognition to bid the mark of hope remain where it is. He cannot match, and neither can he enthuse, but if there is a thing in him which might   nudge a wooden stick into the flame,   it is as follows.

"Should be self-sustaining."   Raw, edgeless thought,   dismantled and reassembled at a snail's pace to relay its point.   A gala costs many a penny, if it should come from them. Potential donors sharpening their teeth to the bait, gnawing at two flesh worms   contorted into a P and an R before they altogether snap the hook and swim away.   It is not so. Slow and steady sails the ship. He centers himself along the chair to unfurl his feet, crouching into them   to land his elbows on his knees.

"Bi-annual talent show."   He puts it forth,   his head reared to keep the man in his line of sight.   "One-time budget for a stage and equipment   ...   I'll pay."   A long-winded tape penetrates through the slit in his cranium,   running past it all too rapidly the sum of his experience,   filling his husk with an air of unassuming confidence.

Drama, personality and entertainment intwined to wind the money-making machine. It exploits and in so doing deserves its own exploitation.   "Cheap tickets   ...   snacks   ...   charity in the title."   At its most dissolved his idea becomes a simpleton's guide to self-actualization.   Watch the show, throw a fiver, buy some popcorn and you have transformed yourself   for the next hour and thirty five minutes into a good, good samaritan.

The troubled youth, in turn,  can  be swayed;   if not to display their particularities then to simply compete. They would only need a few.

Easy does it, melt into your thinking.   It's only a matter of   " ... Logistics,"   his trade,  "sort them and it'll work."

[hatt1tude]

THE RIDDLER ANT-MAN & SOME GUY ❤︎⁠ -> @uplus003f -> @aston1sh1ng -> @hatt1tude

[jettpack]

“Los Angeles Gargoyle II”

Gouache on Arches hot press watercolor paper, 2025

LA is a strange and beautiful city full of haunting wonder

[hatt1tude]

I return from the dead with bad news and good news. Bear w/this long ass post, please, I'm sorry.

So, bad news first. Because of the past period as well as irl engagements, along with the fact that I will admittedly fail to sustain an insane number of blogs for the unforeseeable future, I have to curb my constant interest in a billion muses and stick to those I feel can be sustained long-term. This means that I will be perma-hiatusing most of my blogs, except 3. The rest of my muses will be on discord as always, so you're welcome to hmu on that if we have deeply plotted dynamics or if you're looking to build any, but I most likely can't keep the cyclical way I run my blogs anymore due to some personal long-term circumstances.

So, the muses I've decided to keep are Haru, of course, ( you're here, hi, it's @hatt1tude ) along with Scott Lang ( @aston1sh1ng ) and Edward Nygma ( @uplus003f ). The rest of the characters on this semi-multi will have to descend into discord hell. *Except for Onyx, who will be here scarcely and only by request. Query, a reworked version of the Riddler's henchman that I couldn't bear either to leave behind, will also be here by request.

I feel like I owe the reasoning for that choice: Haru is my soul, really. You KNOW why he's being kept if we have ever spoken. Scott has grown with me over the years in a way no other muse has (especially through discord, hi lani ), and Edward ... is Edward FUCKING Nygma, man (gnc). I genuinely Onyx & Query follow similar rules to Scott, albeit do meander at times, so I'll be tentative in taking up too many threads for them.

I value all of the connections I've built on every single one of my blogs, and again I'd be eager to continue them on discord if possible, but I also need to be a little more realistic and restrained going forward. I'm very sorry. I could not have foreseen a certain development irl that will prevent me from cycling my activity as fairly or as effectively without feeling like I'm holding everybody hostage waiting for replies. Going forward, I won't be making any other blogs ( my personal hell, really ), and I'll archive the ones not mentioned here instead of deleting them because, very simply, I can't bring myself to.

The good news is uhhh I'm?? back??? if that's?? good news?? I plan on keeping most of the plotted/ plot-heavy threads I have, but just in case, if you feel like there's something specific you want to continue, or if you feel like starting something fresh instead please communicate w/me!

[hatt1tude]

Welcome back oomfie

AAA thank u!! Nice to see u again!!

[hatt1tude]

GGRRRRRRAAAAAYYYY I HAVE MISSED YOU WTF???? AHHHHHHH ALL MY OCS AND MYSELF TACKLE HUG U AND HARU AHHHHHHHHHH

UYERGFURWRF I'M GETTING SNUFFED BENEATH THEM ALL!! HARU'S SOMEHOW SURVIVING THOUGH. HELLO BUDDY I'VE MISSED YOU, TOO!!!

[wcrldcfvtlvs]

❝ Appreciate it. ❞ The words that left his lips were more of a grumble, showing that appreciation wasn't his strong suit, but he knew that the humans liked it, or at least so he's heard. Besides, it only felt right to do it in the moment. Looking to see that there were three cigarettes left, Dagon looked at the carton and then back down at the man he had taken one from. 

Reaching into his pocket, he took a twenty-dollar bill and handed it to the man. ❝ Here. ❞ Dagon said simply and point-blank. Once the money was handed over, Dagon reached into his pocket again and pulled out a silver lighter to light the stick once the end of it was in his mouth. Taking in an inhale and releasing the puff of smoke through his nose, he looked up towards the sky as he leaned on the metallic rim of the balcony. 

He came up here for a place think, with his twin brother missing and training Sloane Blackwood on her abilities; he believed he was spreading himself too thin. There was also business in his realm that he needed to take care of, and─

'𝐂𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐈 𝐦𝐚𝐲 𝐛𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐝, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐈'𝐦 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐒𝐞𝐱 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐢𝐫, 𝐈 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞, 𝐈 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐢𝐭 𝐒𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐲 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐩𝐬 𝐞𝐱𝐜𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐦𝐞

❝ What the fuck? ❞ Dagon cursed at the sound that was coming from his back jean pocket. There was a vibrant sensation that tickled his rear-end, and he flinched. Reaching behind him to take the mobile vice, he saw that the name read: 𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐑.

❝ Damn woman must have changed my ringtone. ❞ Dagon mumbled, declining the phone call. Despite his frustrated features, there was a vibrant crimson that spread on his features, and it wasn't from the cold. It was one thing to have a vulgar ringtone play when he was alone, but with another person, that was a feeling he didn't know how to name, and frankly, he didn't like it. Glancing over at the man, he took another drag from the cigarette before finally speaking. 

❝ How do you change a ringtone? ❞

[hatt1tude]

THE TWENTY DOLLAR BILL   finds him all on its own. It belonged to the stranger and now it is in his hands, doing little with itself, whispering softly the woes of its purpose. Up they travel,   the murmurs of paper scraping itself to fold and slip into a denim breast pocket with the cigarette box,   asking him why they are with him and the tobacco now and getting nothing, nothing at all. His gaze had spared them its burrow long before they were accepted, pinned without purpose to the city. There is nothing for him to do with sight altogether when the act of listening, to him, is so dear.

Mark, perhaps,   the churn of some inside mechanic,   perked-up ear of the rabbit at a voice it knows too well. Rihanna, of course, with lyrics that do not pierce into him   the way the tempo beneath them does.   Quite alright. None a shade on him different, though his empty turns to its net trap to find mangled into its webbing a mark of delicate red. It takes no time to discern that he is alone in his passivity to the song.   A second. A second and a quarter, if he were to be slow. Supposed Damn Woman must have anticipated different company.   Most do.   Most will.

He snails his hand forward, presses the weight of his eyes upon this decidedly intense presence at hand, asking with his usher of them downward for the device.   He will change it for him,   is the impression melting into the molasses flow of the moment.

[hatt1tude]

[tenkoseiensei]

' haru-chaaan , ' it's a wilting sigh ; a long exhale wearied to match haru's perpetual , incurable exhaustion --- yan qing wouldn't dare to complain over whatever masking considerations the other sought to spare for him , or even so much as remark on the other's nonstop , nonstandard oddities , but couldn't the other at least spare a few words more for an impromptu assistant hired practically right on the spot ?

' even if it's learn - on - the - job , you're a horrible mentor . ' the strobe lights continue to indifferently flash and spin and the strange seat wetly squelches and bursts and the viscous bits fly into his hair yet his arms only cross with a separate dissatisfaction and childish disappointment as his thoughts linger on the vision of himself stacking materials for sparks before toying with wires for a proper blast and collapsing burst .

the only problem , if it could have been counted for as much , would have been the plausible possibility of haru flattening and drawing his last breath beneath any collapse . a pity and a waste , yan qing thinks , in both directions : a perfectly good act of spectacular destruction in one and never - bothered company in the other .

' usually when ya tell someone ta help you're s'posed ta tell 'em how , too . ' with more than a sarcastic decline of speculation and far more ironic perversions crammed into a simple statement like " i wish . " ' if we can't bust the whole building up with a little electrical pump , then all i've got are my fists . that good enough here ? or y'want me ta start fishin' around in the poppin' gunk , too ? ' his nose wrinkles . ' sounds gross . don't wanna . ' and then , a paused note as he quietly observes . not just the other and their mute readiness but the unnaturally budding cocoon . ' --- all this crap doesn't look any good for ya , either . can't'cha just go home ? '

like , right now . at this very instant .

[hatt1tude]

AS YAN QING   speaks and speaks, jabbing at mentorship well unearned in this place, the couch is left to burst,   muck-ish MEMBRANE cracked open for the snaking reptilian mass of flesh and mangled bone.

Haru fishes and isolates only two aspects   of the many, many topics of conversation penetrating his enduring cranium. He gestures to Yan Qing,   "Pump's useless, fists are fine,"   then to himself,   "can't go home,"   and foots it with the world's most inexpressive thumbs up.

All while the tip of it   –   whatever it is that the couch gives birth to  –   emerges with auburn hair, curling in its ascension to the ceiling as more of itself follows suit. Into the mucus is writhes,   wriggling into the looping curl of itself until what surely must be some intestinal thing becomes layered roll that sounds, betwixt all the moist and squaggle,   almost pained.   Its breathing is realer than even itself, its intermittent huffing and puffing as each of its coils grows and shrinks against its outward flesh, a tired, miserable thing.

Haru stares up at it unmoving, finally given the context to describe, in such simple lack of detail, that ever-so-tiresome how.

His back easily angles itself away from the anomaly,   which has in its final state begun to resemble the very simple egg. Formless, without a shell, fleshy center   cradled with its dripping yolk   as though cracked into a pan and left without heat to suspend.

He unloads his eyes onto Yan Qing as his finger rises to point. No electricity or mayhem might ever be enough for this, but what is -- enough, in some ironic way -- may very well be those fists.   "Choke the solid."   A beat, as he props himself up against whatever remains of the couch.  "Don't ingest."   Please. 

Upward then he points measly hand, tilting his head in tandem with the tendrils leaving his fingers   to whip up and lasso   the center of the ... all things considered, very unfortunate man. He yanks it down with some strength, now finally splatting this egg to some surface -- still no pan. Still no form. Just the floor and a novice baker's most likely mess.   "... and don't answer him."

[hatt1tude]

yet another picrew thingamajig !

tagged by : @sanatoris ( thank you!! ) tagging : YOU!

[hatt1tude]

I return from the dead with bad news and good news. Bear w/this long ass post, please, I'm sorry.

So, bad news first. Because of the past period as well as irl engagements, along with the fact that I will admittedly fail to sustain an insane number of blogs for the unforeseeable future, I have to curb my constant interest in a billion muses and stick to those I feel can be sustained long-term. This means that I will be perma-hiatusing most of my blogs, except 3. The rest of my muses will be on discord as always, so you're welcome to hmu on that if we have deeply plotted dynamics or if you're looking to build any, but I most likely can't keep the cyclical way I run my blogs anymore due to some personal long-term circumstances.

So, the muses I've decided to keep are Haru, of course, ( you're here, hi, it's @hatt1tude ) along with Scott Lang ( @aston1sh1ng ) and Edward Nygma ( @uplus003f ). The rest of the characters on this semi-multi will have to descend into discord hell. *Except for Onyx, who will be here scarcely and only by request. Query, a reworked version of the Riddler's henchman that I couldn't bear either to leave behind, will also be here by request.

I feel like I owe the reasoning for that choice: Haru is my soul, really. You KNOW why he's being kept if we have ever spoken. Scott has grown with me over the years in a way no other muse has (especially through discord, hi lani ), and Edward ... is Edward FUCKING Nygma, man (gnc). I genuinely Onyx & Query follow similar rules to Scott, albeit do meander at times, so I'll be tentative in taking up too many threads for them.

I value all of the connections I've built on every single one of my blogs, and again I'd be eager to continue them on discord if possible, but I also need to be a little more realistic and restrained going forward. I'm very sorry. I could not have foreseen a certain development irl that will prevent me from cycling my activity as fairly or as effectively without feeling like I'm holding everybody hostage waiting for replies. Going forward, I won't be making any other blogs ( my personal hell, really ), and I'll archive the ones not mentioned here instead of deleting them because, very simply, I can't bring myself to.

The good news is uhhh I'm?? back??? if that's?? good news?? I plan on keeping most of the plotted/ plot-heavy threads I have, but just in case, if you feel like there's something specific you want to continue, or if you feel like starting something fresh instead please communicate w/me!

[iztea]

a good strong wind will keep you honest

[hatt1tude]

"defghijklmnopqrstuvwxyznowIknowmyabcsnexttimewon'tyousing withme. Fire. One more time. "

[hatt1tude]

A

[hatt1tude]

nyway, have you ever thought about the fact that plenty of character arcs revolve around the push or drive to be selfless, and when it's selfishness it's often in the way of survival a la Odysseus and shit. But then what if you have to be selfish not because the world is cruel to you ( though, yes it is) but because you yourself want to be, and have been given that opportunity through that cruel circumstance?