ataviisms

[ataviisms]

send 🖤 and my character will answer about yours.

attractiveness:

repulsive / hideous / ugly / not attractive / unappealing / not unattractive / meh / no preference / ok / mildly attractive / nice looking / cute / adorable / attractive / pleasant on the eyes / good looking / hot / sexy / beautiful / gorgeous / hot damn / would tap that / perfect / godlike / holy fuck there are no words.

personality:

grating / irritating / frustrating / boring / confusing at best / awkward / unreasonable / psychotic / disturbing / interesting / engaging / affectionate / aggressive / ambitious / anxious / artistic / bad tempered / bossy / charismatic / appealing / unappealing / creative / courageous / dependable / unreliable / unpredictable / predictable / devious / dim / extroverted / introverted / egotistical / gregarious / fabulous / impulsive / intelligent / sympathetic / talkative / up beat / peaceful / calming / badass / flexible.

how likely they would have sex with them:

not if they were the last person on earth and the world was ending / fuck no! / never / no way / not likely / not sure / indifferent / I’m asexual / maybe / probably / it depends / fairly likely / likely / yeah sure / yes / would tap that / hell yes / fuck yes! / wishing that could happen right now / as many times as possible / we are already having sex.

level of friendship:

never in a million years / worst of enemies / enemies / rivals / indifferent / neutral / acquaintance / friendly toward each other / casual friends / friends / good friends / best friends / fuck buddies / bosom buddies / practically the same person / would die for them / true friends / my only friend.

first impression of them:

i hate them so much / i don’t like them / i don’t trust them / they annoy me / they’re weird / I’m indifferent / meh / they seem alright / they’re growing on me / truce / I think I like them / I like them / I’m not sure if I trust them / I trust them / they’re cool / they’re genuine / I think we’re going to get along / I really like them / I think I’m in love / oh fuck they’re hot / I love them.

current impression of them:

i hate them so much / i don’t like them / i don’t trust them / they annoy me / they’re weird / I’m indifferent / meh / they seem alright / they’re growing on me / truce / I think I like them / I like them / I’m not sure if I trust them / I trust them / they’re cool / they’re genuine / I think we’re going to get along / I really like them / I think I’m in love / oh fuck they’re hot / I love them.

[ataviisms]

1-800-how’s my portrayal?

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Please remember there’s a difference between hate, constructive criticism, and giving praise because you don’t want to hurt someone’s feelings.

[ataviisms]

@s0fias is coming over next weekend and i know my sweet angel baby cat will probably scare her again

[ataviisms]

waylon watches, silent, as she maps out every abrasion, every scar against the mirror's flat surface. he could do the same with his own; the few newer ones that still show, bullets embedded permanently in his leathery hide. he could do the same with all his old scars too---from his aunt, from prison, from a childhood interrupted by stints in juvenile detention. the changes in his body have hidden all of those, but he still knows where they are. and when he looks at selina, he sees those same scars. they had similar childhoods: loathed when they should have been loved, starved when they should have been fed. the map of her scars isn't so different from his.

he used to lie awake at night and imagine his life if his mother had survived his birth. some warm, fuzzy fantasy where he was loved by someone; where he grew up---not normal---but cared for. and maybe if she had lived, it wouldn't have changed anything. maybe she would have been disgusted by him too just like everyone else. maybe she would have been horrified by the beast he's become. maybe he still would have wound up in the same desperate situations. but at least clinging to that fantasy, that idea, had always been something he could hold onto when everything else was in shambles.

" i wasn't born dead, i was jus' born wrong. my auntie always told me ugly on the outside means ugly on the inside. i knew that was true because she was ugly both ways. an' i been ugly on the outside since i was a baby. now? now i jus' look like a monster. act like it too. my inside still matches my outside. "

he's never been able to articulate that to alana before, even though he's tried. it's easier with selina. he's not focused on trying to sound like he's smarter than he is. the good doctor probably knows what he's trying to get at anyway. she has a way of reading between the gaps in his words and the twitch of his tail and the low groaning keen of a growl he makes when he's upset by something. still, it sounds better in words.

the mirror shatters beneath selina's fist and waylon doesn't flinch. the sound of breaking glass doesn't bother him the way it used to; no longer sends his memory ricocheting back to his drunk aunt and broken bottles and the tiny hellhole trailer park he grew up in. the scent of blood does reach him, however, and he feels saliva begin to pool in his mouth despite himself.

" i ain't so good. i done a lot of bad stuff; been bad, been mean... " been an animal, he thinks. a monster. " but... i'm tryin' to be good. i wanna be good. nobody ever gave me the chance to before. "

he's grateful to have selina. she's like the sister he never had; and she's right when she feels like that's a small word to describe it. she, holly, and alana have all given him chances to be a good person. to prove that he's more than what he looks to be. but it's still hard for him sometimes. most of the time. there's always that other side of himself that he has to wrestle with. the reptilian part of his brain that so often overwhelms his higher thoughts and functions. part of him wonders if that's just because of what he is now, or if it would still be like this even if he looked human. if it's just something fundamentally wrong with him regardless of his mutation.

he grabs the bottle of iodine for her. it looks comical in the size of his hand, like something from a doll house in a grown man's palm.

" you startin' to sound like doc bloom, you know. "

selina reaches out. and takes from the drawer beside her a marker. she begins by drawing a line around her throat in the mirror, sloping it off so it highlights the gummy scar where a blade opened her throat so easily. next she diagrams the nicks that dot and mark her face, her perfect visage falls away beneath the scrutiny of that marker. the details are painfully clear — she outlines each circle and oblong thing, and she’s half bent, obsessively creating something terrible that picks up speed.

until she stands up. and the ugly, scarred map she has drawn onto this mirror lines up with each and every vein and muscle, each and every stretch of skin. while not covered by her customary coverup, this stark thing she’s shown him paints out a terrible picture — the way she sees herself is divisive. she cannot see herself any which way besides broken into parts for the patient and waiting consumption from whoever looks at her. waylon is respectful — he’s never made her feel afraid, and he’s always tried to be kind to her even when she feels she doesn’t deserve it. his miniature outburst doesn’t even register. she’s isn’t frightened at all. she can only see them both in the mirror, watching them both like a television show. the indelicate slice of her autopsy scar crisscrosses with the great baseball of a thing that’s scarring, scarring, only scarring. she remembers how it felt to have her heart torn out — she wakes up screaming, grateful for the soundproofing of her bedroom.

“i don’t have a real me. i’m not a person. i’m parts of one. —dr. bloom said to me once that some things are born dead, and they keep them alive on machines in hospitals, and they feed it, and it grows up and looks like everyone else, but it isn’t. i hate it when she’s right. that’s exactly how i feel. but that doesn’t matter, does it? you don’t have to be a person. or a thing. you can be what you want to be, because everyone’s going to decide for you anyway. it’s easier for me. have conventional good looks, will travel. —not all it’s cracked up to be. there’s always strings attached, and i am one hell of a dumb bitch.”

she isn’t sure she’s aware when the mirror shatters under her knuckles. and her expression never wavers. she blinks, looks down at the shards viciously biting into her knuckle. one word escapes her mouth.

“oops.”

no, she’s staring at her fingers, her muscles, her palm, like it’s something that’s betrayed here. it’s strange, unattached.

“i don’t know what i am. it was a person. maybe. now i’m just — catwoman. who’s selina, anyway? it makes me so tired. i just wish everyone would stop looking at me,” she hears the sound of her own blood drip from that freshly injured hand, and she tries to understand if she did it, or if something she doesn’t know did, some unspeakable self, “you think you’re ugly because people talk to you like that. but if you took away the awful shit people frame you with, don’t you think you’d actually be pretty beautiful? you think i could stand naked in a room midway through a panic attack with anybody who wasn’t good. like. really good. like the kind of trustworthy, the kind of good, the kind of decent that makes somebody, ergo, you, beautiful? no. no no no. you’re real because you make me feel safe. because i think of you as holly’s godfather, like you’re a brother to me but that’s shitty because brother is a really small word for it. you’re a person because you’re alive and you have feelings. you’re a good person because you’re kind and because you ask yourself that. it’s philosophy. you can only be decent, can only be a pretty good person, if you ask yourself constantly if you are. when you think you’re good — well, rhymes with cannibal hector. —don’t tell the good doctor i said that. i haven’t brought him up in about three weeks and i don’t think that counts.”

she is doing her level best to be as decent to doctor bloom as she can be. it does not escape her that this kind of job ages someone indescribably, and selina doesn’t mean in birthdays. she tries not to contribute to the stress, even if she’s aware having her for a patient is like counseling a partially feral leopard only recently uncaged. but selina does just that. her best.

plop. her hand bleeds still, slow spatters. she stares at the glass at her feet.

“oh, fuck me, i’m such a cliche. could you handle me the iodine?”

[ataviisms]

not gonna lie, friends. i'm not doing so hot mentally. it's terrifying being a trans person in the usa right now, and the current political agenda combined with the sheer volume of vocal online hate has really started getting to me. i've woken up every day this week wishing i was dead. i wouldn't say i'm actively suicidal, but it feels like a slippery slope until i reach that point.

all this to say that i may not be super responsive to messages for a while. writing is going to continue to be slow because it's so hard to focus right now. i'm trying my best but please, be patient with me.

[ataviisms]

and if i said kaiju waylon...?

[ataviisms]

Send in a Pet Name / Nickname that your muse might call mine, and see how my muse reacts to it.

[ataviisms]

not gonna lie, friends. i'm not doing so hot mentally. it's terrifying being a trans person in the usa right now, and the current political agenda combined with the sheer volume of vocal online hate has really started getting to me. i've woken up every day this week wishing i was dead. i wouldn't say i'm actively suicidal, but it feels like a slippery slope until i reach that point.

all this to say that i may not be super responsive to messages for a while. writing is going to continue to be slow because it's so hard to focus right now. i'm trying my best but please, be patient with me.

[ataviisms]

thinking about my d&d campaign again

[ataviisms]

I just realized that many many people have jobs

Rb with your job, wtf do you people do while offline???

[ataviisms]

we could be rats.

dialogue prompts from we could be rats by emily r. austin.

that's the most insensitive thing you could have said.

i never say the right thing.

i wasn't the type of kid who wanted to be a teenager.

there were times i thought i hated you.

maybe if we'd met as adults, things would have been different.

i was the kind of kid who believed toys had hearts and souls.

nothing is ever purely good, is it? there's always a rotten piece.

i'm not depressed. i feel great.

i'm not the same person you knew.

did you feel like you knew me, the last couple of years?

i don't think i've ever been described as 'smart' before.

would it help to hear a joke?

why didn't the skeleton go to the party? because they had no body to go with.

am i getting too morbid?

i have you listed as my next of kin.

do you think i'm being insensitive and gruesome?

just bury me in a garbage bag.

i never really honed being well-mannered, did i?

i think i've accidentally made up white lies that were ruder than the truth.

creeps like us have to stay alive.

we haven't put a label on it.

i think your definition of 'creep' might be different than mine.

say i was abducted by aliens, or something.

are you mad at me? it's okay, if you are.

is my tone making you madder? i bet it is.

i don't plan to haunt you.

____ is like a comic book villain. like a caricature of a bad guy.

listen to people who have different experiences than you do.

you're being an asshole.

we're supposed to examine what's wrong, or it festers.

i used to think i could do anything.

what happened? are you hurt?

do i look normal to you?

the actual experience is never quite what's promised, is it?

it feels like i'm not the target audience for a lot of life.

tell people to fuck off more. take what you want. stir shit up.

everybody knows you.

i feel like i'm still a kid here.

i always cared about you.

everything will be fine. we'll find our way.

it didn't occur to me that not panicking was an option.

i feel sort of reborn.

it's hard to balance being both happy and considerate.

it's kinder to lie sometimes, right?

i'd rather be a pig than a cop. pigs are adorable.

being grown up feels like playing a board game with no instructions.

masks meld onto your face.

let's egg their car.

remember swinging, when you were a kid?

'to thine own self be true', or whatever.

people judge others by their own standards.

i don't remember how i got here.

i feel like i was cast as a character i'm not able to play.

i wouldn't want to live forever. would you?

i'm not sure there's a way to be alive without upsetting people.

inaction is an action.

dying is less scary than growing up.

is this actually happening? am i dreaming?

the trick to lying is to convince yourself.

i don't want you to feel sorry for me.

i feel like i don't know the things i'm supposed to. i feel like i'm pretending.

revolution is about creation, not destruction.

sometimes it's kinder to let people believe they're helping you, even when they're not.

i'd like to see where you grew up.

it sounds like a lot of people want to help you.

do you have people who want to help you?

did you egg my house?

there's no way the moon is a dude. she's got a soulful face. she's gorgeous.

we don't actually get much choice in life, do we?

i think i'm gay.

thinking about _____ sort of knocks the wind out of me.

if i hadn't met you, i'd be a totally different person.

i know i'm unbearable, but what else can i be?

i have a history of bad judgment.

what the hell did you just call me?

i'm not interested in small talk with people who offend or insult me.

i used to believe everyone was good.

i thought everyone felt that way.

did you hear it was on the news?

deep down, we're all who we were when we were kids.

being an adult is about re-finding who you were when you were eight years old.

i don't want to be someone who hurts people. i don't think i was meant to be that.

have you been outside today?

[ataviisms]

yes, life is doing The Most right now, BUT i get to hug @ataviisms on sunday 🥰

[ataviisms]

what colour is your aura?

Cream

dandelions, marble, bottled coffee, hair ties, banana cream, bedsheets, sketches. your essence is cream: your openness makes you a soft and gentle companion. you beg others to hold you; the most fulfilling life is one with love and praise, safe from traitorous insecurity. apologies come easily to you -- for it is better than change. you are the tenderheart. you are the devout. you find kinship in like-minded individuals of yellow, gold, peach, and honeysuckle, who share your self-doubt. you are also drawn to the resolute blush and beige, who will help you grow and learn to find your own cause. however, you may struggle to get along with the obsessive personalities of rose and sage who demand too much.

tagged by: @babydxhl tagging: anyone who hasn't done it yet

[ataviisms]

god really had to put me and @abovedivinity on different continents because otherwise we'd get into too many shenanigans

[ataviisms]

sorry i growled while i was cumming in you. it'll definitely happen again.

[ataviisms]

he remembers looking in the mirror, watching his own face change. as a boy, as a man. day by day, year by year becoming something less recognizable; less familiar. first his disease, and then his mutation. he remembers watching his own skull break and shift and grow so painfully into what it is now. here, staring at his own reflection with its creature self looking back at him, it's hard to remember what he'd really looked like at all.

doc bloom has done a lot to help boost his confidence. tried to make him feel as comfortable in his own skin as he can. but some days... some days it's still hard not to hate everything about himself.

waylon slowly reaches out, scaly palm pressing against the mirror's smooth surface, studying the way the tips of his claws line up with those of the monster staring back at him. instinctively, he flexes his fingers as if to shatter the glass with a low growl, then remembers where he is and holds the urge back just in time. always wrangling for that sense of control. his tail wraps anxiously around his feet and the growl in his throat dies into a quiet, contemplative rumble.

" how you know which you is the real you? " he asks, looking down at her.

if not for doc bloom, if not for selina, if not for the few scarce friends he has, he thinks he'd slip away. become just an animal. and that thought has always terrified him.

" i ain't so sure i'm even a person anymore. "

@ataviisms asked: ❝  i want to look in the mirror one day and not feel uncomfortable with my own reflection.  ❞

she stands beside him and wonders if he understands their unified similarities. how the ‘monstrosity’ he sees in himself is a Monstrosity she sees in herself. for her, his is absurd. impractical. he’s handsome and it’s impossible for people to understand that, and to her that doesn’t make sense. but she has an eye for beauty people don’t get. she sees the ruby crimson in his eyes, the emerald-deep of his scales, the way he’s thoughtful even on an expression that can manage only his range of expressions. and they’re so unique they are only his. she thinks that’s beautiful. really beautiful. like beautiful in a way people can’t ever get because they’re fucking stupid.

but she gets it. because she isn’t fucking stupid. (and frankly? her talent for not being fucking stupid and being super objective is incredible.)

it’s just her, nothing but a pair of lacy underwear and a black sports bra. the fresh bruises of the day are dark and terrible. her safe house, gifted by jason, has her personal touches. including a floor-to-ceiling mirrorwall in the bathroom for the purpose of removing various invasive objects (bullets) she can’t see. she blinks. again. standing there with her arms loose at her sides. selina’s achillean, but she loathes the sight of herself. the density of that muscle does nothing to pique her interest. she’s a well-oiled, well-built machine. her catsuit is a forgotten presence in the corner. her hair is dark, but her roots peek honey-gold so obvious the lights above illuminate a thin halo across her scalp.

“couldn’t tell you what that’s like. but i’m like… a movie star or whatever. but that’s not me. and i’m not me.” she points to the mirror, “and that’s not me, either.

—but you think i’m me, so i’m getting there.”

[ataviisms]

i've been meaning to meta about this forever, but i need to talk about waylon and mary and how their dynamic mirrors macbeth and lady macbeth. @babydxhl and i have screamed incoherently about this before, but here are my detailed thoughts on it.

waylon on his own has never been entirely without ambition. when he first came to gotham, he sought to make a name for himself. sought to put himself in a position of power in the criminal underworld; even if it was done moreso as a way of defending himself preemptively. however, much like macbeth, his ambition is often in conflict with his inner nature and his desire to be good. he lacks the motivation and the cruelty needed to drive that ambition to meet his goal.

mary, on the other hand, is all ambition. she doesn't lack for drive; cruelty comes easily to her when it brings her wants within reach. she's ready and willing to do whatever it takes to establish herself in a position of power. she, like lady macbeth, is a master manipulator. a user of others for her own gain. she sees people as obstacles or tools, and the latter somewhat extends to waylon.

which is why mary can easily persuade waylon to kill for her; to be cruel for her. he might doubt some of the tasks she sets before him, but he'll do them anyway without question. her drive becomes his own in his eagerness to please her. his willingness to make her happy because he loves her so much. because he would do absolutely anything to protect her. this mirrors the dynamic shared by macbeth and lady macbeth --- macbeth's reluctance to kill and the way he caves to his wife's ambition. lady macbeth is the mastermind of the tragedy; macbeth is the tool. just like mary and waylon.