#Asian architecture practice

[spasm-design-architects]

Best Indian Architectural Practice Firm Based in Mumbai

The Best Indian Architectural Practice firm Spasm Design Architects develop Villas for AM in Alibag. These structures draw inspiration from their unique surroundings, forging a harmonious bond between architecture and the environment. Each villa is thoughtfully tailored to the site's distinctive characteristics, ensuring a timeless and symbiotic relationship with nature.

[leroibobo]

the paradesi synagogue in kochi, kerala, india. the first synagogue on the site, built by the city's longstanding malabari jewish community, was destroyed by portugese who'd colonized the area in their persecution of locals. it was rebuilt in 1568 by spanish and portugese jews who fled persecution and later expulsion, hence the name "paradesi" ("foreign" in malayalam).

these sephardic jews and a community of jews of mixed african and european descent who were formerly enslaved ("meshuchrarim", "freedmen" in hebrew) joined the malabari jewish community of kochi and somewhat integrated. they were later joined by some iraqi, persian, yemenite, afghan, and dutch sephardic jews. the middle eastern and european jews were considered "white jews" and permitted malabari jews and meshuchrarim to worship in the synagogue. however, in what seems like a combination of local caste dynamics and racism, malabari jews were not allowed full membership. meshuchrarim weren't allowed in at all, but were instead made to sit outside during services and not allowed their own place of worship or other communal rights.

as the "white jews" tended to be rather wealthy from trade, this synagogue contains multiple antiquities. they include belgian glass chandeliers on its walls, hand-painted porcelain tiles from china on its floors, and an oriental rug that was gifted by ethiopian emperor haile selassie.

[pastelcheckereddreams]

Dug out my large sketchbook, found some more marker practice sketches! I love the waterside scene in the first photo. I think I'll redraw it 🤔

[ghostlysleuth]

Do you have any tips for when designing poc characters?? Like what not or to do, etc.

this is massively edited down to just keep the essentials. this isn't going to be as explicit as you were maybe wanting but saying "don't draw black characters this way, don't draw asian characters that way" isn't something i wanna do because it's not a good feeling to review a list of offensive design practices from a trauma standpoint and likely wouldn't be for any other people of color reading.

study from real photos.

really, any set of photos of people of color work but if you want a resource where people are not models nor actors that have been plucked up for their marketableness, here's a good site: Humanae — Angélica Dass (angelicadass.com) it's a photography collection associated with pantone to showcase diversity in shades of skin.

study faces within a group.

no two ppl look the same and character design is about showcasing this through certain features.

from these, study how much differently color works for melanated/non-white skin.

again, it's different for everyone even within groups. admittedly this is only something you'd need if you have a more in-depth or painterly style, but still. avoid grayish base skin tones. the aforementioned site is actually great for this.

LOOK INTO RACIST CARICATURES.

literally, people wouldn't find themselves "accidentally" slipping into racist designs if they just KNEW, explicitly knew, and internally acknowledged what people of color find offensive or what has been used against them in depictions of themselves.

yes, this includes looking at the old offensive cartoons, illustrations, etc. it's painful and uncomfortable and rough but it must be understood how these caricatures were a means of dehumanization and are mistakes to be learned from.

again, i'm not gonna list out exactly how not to depict a black person, an asian person, jewish person, latine, middle eastern, etc. etc. etc., because i feel these things should just be known, but if it's not, literally just be aware (or get aware) of the racial stigma faced by the group of people you are attempting to represent. put care into how you are depicting them.

BUT ALSO KEEP IN MIND: you shouldn't jump to default to white eurocentric features simply to "avoid" the any sort of backlash or offense that may be taken. because if you do so, a) in attempting to not be offensive, you're still perpetuating the upholding and favoring of white eurocentric features, and b) well, you're just stifling yourself.

designing characters of color REQUIRES acknowledgement of non-eurocentric features; hell, in the best cases, it's a celebration of these features.

as you would in replicating a style of architecture, a technique of painting, a depiction of a culture, you have to observe and become knowledgeable.

addendum: obviously, i'm not white, so i don't know the depths of how pervasive racism and white supremacy can be in a white person's personal life and upbringing; but i do know that racism and white supremacy are pervasive even (ESPECIALLY) in art, a much more tangible and permanent thing than a state of being, and knowing this, i do reserve a small margin of patience for white folks that are wanting to try to be in the know on this topic, especially younger people who have yet to unlearn certain things. if anyone reads this and thinks "well, it's not their responsibility or any person of color's to teach you these things," you're correct, but yknow. the effort's there, and trying's all we can do.

[cameronspecial]

Before The Last Petal Falls (Part 1)

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: Talks about sex and drugs.

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 2.4K

Summary: Coming home is supposed to be a happy occasion, but it's hard to be happy with your ex-boyfriend lurking around the corner.

A/N: This is a sequel series to Thorn In My Side, Rose in My Hand series.

Masterlist

Going back home is the last thing Y/N wants to do right now. The Outer Banks is full of memories from a heartbreak she does not want to remember. However, she is no match for the force known as Cassie and Marvin, and that is how she finds herself on a plane back to North Carolina. For the past five years, Y/N has done everything in her power to not step foot on the island again and now, it is all for nothing. “Please fasten your seat belts, we are preparing for landing,” the pilot’s voice stirs Y/N from her slumber. She can’t believe this is actually happening right now. The elderly lady beside her smiles at her, “First time going to North Carolina?” “Uh, no. I actually grew up there, in the Outer Banks, but I haven’t been back since I left. It feels a little weird,” she answers honestly. 

“Ahh, so you were running from something.” 

“Yeah, I was. But it looks like I can’t anymore. I just hope that something isn’t there anymore.”

The plane lands and Y/N gets her bags from the carousel. She waits for Mason in the pick-up area, running towards him when she spots his car. Mason crushes Y/N in a hug, “It’s so good to see you back on American soil. This is long overdue.” Y/N pats his back while returning the hug. “Yeah, yeah. It’s good to be home. Did Lace get Sparky here okay?” Mason picks her suitcase up and packs it into his trunk, “Yep, he’s probably being a little energy ball in our living room as we speak.” They both laugh at the joke and then hop into the car. “So how’s your internship at the architectural firm? Is it different from the one in Toronto?” she asks her brother, bringing her hand to the locket around her neck. Heading back to the Outer Bank is causing her to be anxious and playing with the locket calms her down. It doesn’t go unnoticed by Mason that she still wears the necklace and is playing with it. 

“It’s going well. Most buildings that people look into getting built here are a different style than in Toronto. OBX wants beach boxes, while Toronto has a wide range of styles. It’s really fascinating watching how my boss’ designs still match to look different from one another.”

“That’s cool. I like the name beach box. It sounds fun. Like a giant sandbox. And are you enjoying it?”

“Yeah, I really am. Although, I do want to see if I can get an internship in an Asian country afterwards. They have a different style that’s interesting. How is the bookstore coming along?”

“A little stressful right now to be honest. Juggling my book edits and what I need to change or add so that the building is up to code and now being here. It’s all just a little too much. At least, I have a name Bookkeeper. It’s gonna confuse people who actually know what that career is but I think it’s funny.”

“It is a good name. It’s very punny.”

“Ugh, that was so bad.”

———

One of the worst places to be is her childhood bedroom. The countless days they spent cuddling on the bed haunts her. The love they expressed physically all over the room is practically engrained in her brain. She had never been able to feel that way again. She unpacks her clothes into her closet and goes to check on Sparky downstairs. He was left down there because she didn’t want him sitting on her suitcase like he did when she was packing her bags in London. He has gotten bigger and he has a little bit of an attachment issue. He doesn’t like being very far from his Mommy for very long. Y/N’s heart drops to the pit of her stomach when she sees the open front door and bolts out of it in hopes of catching her dog before he gets too far. 

She follows his barks like a trail of breadcrumbs to the sidewalk. If her heart wasn’t already giving her problems, it certainly is now. The sight before her is one she never thought she would see again. Rafe Cameron is kneeling down and petting Sparky. Beside him is a beautiful woman in a sundress. Her long black hair cascades down her shoulders and her brown almond-shaped eyes show such warmth behind them. Her makeup is done to absolute perfection. Y/N slowly approaches the trio without hesitation. She doesn’t want to go near Rafe, but seeing as it doesn’t look like Sparky is nowhere near going home, she had to go get him.

 “Hey Sparky, long time no see. It’s good to see you again, Bubba. I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for ya. You’ve gotten so big,” she hears him greet. As she approaches, she accidentally steps on a stick and the crack alerts the others to her presence. “Hey,” she awkwardly begins. “I’m just here for my dog.” Rafe nods and stands up, moving to wrap his hand around the woman’s waist. “Uh, yeah. I remember a time when he used to be my dog too.” Sensing the tension, his companion introduces herself, “Hi, I’m Blythe Katsumi. I’m Rafe’s fiancée.” Blythe sticks her hand out for Y/N to shake, which she does. “I’m Y/N Y/L/N. Rafe’s- uh…this is Sparky.”

“It’s okay. I know you were his high school girlfriend. He told me about you.”

“Right. And he didn’t tell me about you.”

Rafe rolls his eyes and huffs, “Yeah, well it’s not like we were doing a lot of talking in the last five years. What are you doing here, Y/L/N?” 

“You mean besides looking for my dog, in front of my house? The better question is what are you doing here Rafe?”

“I have every right to be here because unlike you, I’ve been coming back home.”

Before Y/N can retort, Blythe stops the conversation from going any further. “Well, it was lovely meeting you, but we need to go. We have to get some stuff ready for the engagement party.” Blythe waves goodbye and takes Rafe’s hand to walk away. This draws Y/N attention to Blythe's left hand with the giant diamond engagement ring. This causes a stabbing feeling to shoot through Y/N’s heart. Her hand shoots up to her locket and she begins to rub it for some comfort. This action doesn’t go unnoticed by Rafe as he catches it from the corner of his eye.

———

Everyone has their own vices. Cheating. Gambling. Alcohol. Lying. Rafe’s is drugs. There was a period of time in his life when weed was not the outlet he turned to when in need of getting out of his own head. That one blissful year he had with her was his escape instead. But after the breakup, weed was the only thing that made him forget about her. Eventually, he became numb to the weed and he needed something stronger, so Barry introduced him to cocaine. Mason didn’t know that Rafe had stepped it up in the drug department because if Mason knew, he would’ve found some way to get Rafe to stop. And Rafe didn’t want to, he needed to escape the feeling of being consumed by her. 

Before today, Rafe had managed to go a month without thinking about her at all. It was his highest record in the past five years they had been apart. There was no bookstore he walked by with a girl quite similar to her standing at the window. No hard kombucha in Mason’s fridge to indicate that she had been there. No caramel ice cream at the parlour that she would beg him to buy. It was like the universe was giving him a break from being haunted by Y/N. It seems the universe is done with giving him that gift because as he drives to Barry’s house, he is drowning in thoughts of her. He loved seeing Sparky, of course, but why did she have to come back? He couldn’t get the smell of her hibiscus body wash out of his mind. The sweet but gentle tropical scent she wore contradicted the foggy and rainy place she had moved to. Her hair is held back in a claw clip he used to play with whenever she would leave them around. 

And the thing that had really caused him to spiral is her hand still holding the locket he had given her for their first Christmas as a couple. Has she been wearing it for the past five years? Had she worn it while she let other men make her feel good, but nowhere near as good as he can make her feel? Would she wear it when she told them she loved them? But most importantly, how dare she come back to what is now only his island and wear it as if she cared for him? She hasn’t been back in years or talked to him; she doesn’t get to pretend like she’s thought about him. It is driving him crazy and he needed something to stop him from going too deep down this rabbit hole. 

Barry hears Rafe’s motorbike and is waiting outside for him. “Well, well, well, look who came back from the dead. Thought you went sober on me for a second there, country club. What can I get you for you?”

“However much you got. I got a feeling that I’m gonna be needing it more often.”

He knew he would need whatever he got his hands on to help him forget about her because if he didn’t then he would remember. And it would probably kill him to remember just how his heart almost leapt out of his chest when he saw Y/N Y/L/N right before his eyes.

———

When they broke up, Mason told both of them that he would not be used as a source to find out more about the other. He said it was for his own sanity in not wanting to be caught in the middle of his sister and best friend, but it was also in hopes that it would cause discourse between the two that would lead to their reunification. So it made sense that Mason would keep an engagement from her. But she still needed more information that she would give Mason no other choice but to give her. “How long have they been together, Mace?” Mason closes his eyes in a silent prayer that he isn’t about to have this painful conversation with his sister. He lifts his head from his laptop and turns towards her, “A year and a month. They’ve known each other for a year and a half.” 

“How long have they been engaged?”

“Four months.”

“Did you help him propose?”

“He didn’t ask.”

“How come you didn’t tell me?”

At this, Mason can hear the sadness in his sister’s voice. He knew no matter how much she says she is over Rafe, it isn’t true. It’s why she still wears his locket after all. He knew she needed to know though. 

“You know I don’t want to get in between you two. Also, I just didn’t know how to tell you. I didn’t want to tell you something that would hurt you so much. I love you and I want to protect you from that pain.” 

“Yeah, I get that. It just would’ve hurt less if it came from you,” she whispers, not knowing what else to ask or add to the conversation. She turns around and goes to her room, where she finds Sparky waiting for her. He gives her a pouty look, asking how come he couldn’t go with his Daddy. She sits down on her bed beside him and places his head on her lap, “I’m sorry, Bubba. But I did what I had to do. Breaking up with him was necessary. I mean I set him free and look at him now, he is getting married.” It hurt. It hurt that he was okay with marrying Blythe before he turned twenty-five. He wanted to speed up his life plan two years earlier just for Blythe. How come he was willing to do that for Blythe but not for Y/N? Was Blythe really that much better than her?

Doing what any other girl would do, Y/N resolves to some internet sleuthing. It wasn’t that hard to find Blythe’s Instagram. She has a public account and Mason is following her. She has an impressive 500K followers; probably because she is the heiress to a popular Japanese hotel chain. All her posts have her makeup done to perfection and her clothes are all designer. One of her saved reels is of her and Rafe partying on New Year's Eve. At least Blythe can keep up with Rafe on that level. Y/N moves her search to Google and finds Blythe’s Wikipedia page. She was born in New York and raised there. She attended UNC for fashion. From multiple tabloid pictures, she can tell that the party scene is one Blythe frequent but she is also a sweet girl. In one picture, she is giving her jacket to a homeless person along with some money when she is returning home from a party. She helps out at soup kitchens and takes children out on shopping sprees. Y/N supposes that Blythe could just be doing it for the media attention, but the look in Blythe’s eyes tells her it isn’t true. 

After finding out possibly everything she could find out about Blythe, Y/N turns all of her electronic devices off to stop her from spiralling on social media anymore. She heads over to her bookshelf in need of a bookish escape. Her eyes glance over the different titles until her eyes find one particular book she had not thought about it in a while. She pulls the book off the shelf and opens it up to the title page with the inscription on it. The copy of The Lightning Thief that Rafe had annotated sits before her. She had left it here when she went to university because it felt too hard to bring with her. It held too much meaning. As she sits down on her window sill, she begins to read the book with a special focus on the inscriptions. She reads for hours, allowing herself to feel every bit of emotion that passes through her. God, it hurts to be back home.

Taglist: @sublimepenguinpeach-blog @gillybear17 @f4ll-for-you

[demelzathemer]

My Heart Is a Haunted House

𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘈𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦, 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴 𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘱𝘴𝘦𝘴, 𝘗𝘢𝘺𝘯𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘥 + 𝘗𝘢𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘢𝘬𝘪, 𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘛

@dbdpromptober Day 12 (words: 1069)(nice.)

First Previous Next

Charles ran. His breath came out in puffs of white fog and he ignored the sting in his lungs.

His head felt like a jar full of bees, impossible to focus on a single thought. They all tumbled together, and that’s why he needed Crystal.

Crystal would know what to do. Talking with her would help him clarify the answer to this mess. Though Crystal could make bad choices in her own life, she always gave good advice.

Charles climbed the fence surrounding the property and waded in wet grass towards the house. The von Hovenkraft mansion was a newer building than Charles’ home, but just as massive. It had those pretentious white pillars framing the main door, imitating old Roman architecture.

Halfway to the steps of the porch Charles changed his mind and steered at the side of the house. It probably wouldn’t go well banging the front door at this hour. He only needs to see Crystal, not to rouse the whole household.

Crystal’s room had a balcony over those same pillars, and it made throwing stones at her window difficult. The pillars were too smooth to climb too, so Charles grabbed a fire escape ladder.

Making quick work up the ladder Charles was soon on the balcony, behind the glass doors. He tried the handle and then knocked on the glass urgently. A moment later, the curtain was yanked open and Crystal’s furious being appeared. She was wearing a t-shirt and sweatpants, holding a metallic candle stand in her raised fist.

“What the fuck, Charles?!” She whisper-yelled when she cracked the door open. “I thought someone was going to break in and murder me!”

“Sorry,” Charles muttered and slipped in. He hadn’t realized how chilly the night really was until the warmth of Crystal’s bedroom hit his skin.

“So what are you doing here? It’s fucking what, three in the morning?” Crystal complained and shuffled back to bed, pulling the still-warm cover on her shoulders.

“It’s kind of urgent. I was- I don’t know, I think- I was trying to-” Charles explained frantically, but the words didn’t do what he wanted them to do.

“Okay, okay, calm down,” Crystal gave him a pointed look. “Start from the beginning.”

“You have to promise you won’t freak out or anything, okay?!” Charles warned, feeling close to freaking out himself.

He rocked sideways from one leg to the other, wiped his hands on his jeans and took a big gulp of air. Crystal’s arched eyebrow urged him to get to the point.

“So, I went to the forest to practice the vows, right, because I want to be proper good when it matters. Don’t want to muck things up on the big day, do I?” Charles laughed nervously.

“Then I got to the end, and a literal corpse appeared from the ground, saying we’re married now, and took me into the Underworld,” he said quickly, risking a glance at Crystal.

Her eyes widened when her eyebrows shot up. Charles winced. He should’ve known Crystal wouldn’t believe him, he sounded well out of his mind, didn’t he?

“You went to the Underworld?!” Crystal almost screamed at him. “Did you see Niko?!”

“Uhh,” Charles said. “Niko, as your girlfriend..?”

“Who else?! Get a grip, Charles!” Crystal demanded.

Charles thought back to the photograph he’d seen of the Japanese teen, with her long, silky black hair. The only Asian girl matching her age he remembered seeing was Edwin’s friend, whose name he didn’t catch in all the hubbub. But her hair was white.

He shook his head. “I don’t think..?”

Crystal visibly deflated, dark shadow returning in her eyes. It took a moment of silence for Charles to remember that he was in the middle of a freak-out.

“The corpse groom. Right. He’s so fit, mate, you don’t even know. And kind. So he helped me get back here, but he thinks I’ve gone to talk to my parents about marrying him!” Charles recounted, his voice getting higher in pitch, his hands waving restlessly, unable to settle.

“Why’d you lie?” Crystal asked him.

“I don’t know! Crystal, I can’t marry a dead person! What about you?” Charles whined.

“As I see it, I’m the least of your problems right now. Go tell your loverboy that you can’t marry him, won’t that solve the problem?” Crystal waved her hands back at him. “You’re such a wuss about the weirdest things sometimes.”

“Why are you so normal about this?” Charles complained. It wasn’t fair for her to be so rational when Charles’ whole world had been turned on its head.

“Because I’ve been talking to my dead girlfriend every day since last May,” she shot back. “Why would you think I go to the graveyard so often?”

“I don’t know, to mourn?” Charles stared at her in disbelief.

Crystal stood up with a sigh and started going over her piles of clothes, the cover still wrapped around her.

“I haven’t told you yet, but I’m kind of a medium. A psychic. I can see the dead and talk to them, with some powers of my own,” she talked casually, looking for something to wear, when she suddenly stopped mid sentence.

“Charles,” she whipped around. “Does the ghost groom wear a white suit and is all bloody and stuff?”

Charles nodded, dumbfounded. This was not how he’d thought this conversation would go. He’d been prepared for a lot of convincing but now he had to try to keep up.

“That’s Edwin! You got married to Edwin?!” Crystal gaped at him. “Where did you find him?!”

“In the forest..?” Charles offered helplessly. He hadn’t exactly mapped out the location.

“That’s great,” Crystal groaned. “Hold on to that thought. First, we’re going to go talk to Niko.”

Charles submitted to his fate of following Crystal without asking anymore questions, since she seemed to have a better handle of things at the moment.

Crystal threw on her beige wrap-around jacket and they sneaked out, half-jogging towards the cemetery.

“We’ve been trying to find Edwin’s place of burial for months now. Just to give him a decent resting place, maybe help him move on. He deserves that much,” Crystal explained.

“When you say “we”, you mean you and Niko?” Charles confirmed. “How exactly do you ‘talk’ with her?”

“Just wait and let me do my thing. Then we can ask her just what’s going on down in the Underworld.”

[notwiselybuttoowell]

By the 1980s, some women had had enough. After decades of struggling with prams and shopping trolleys, navigating dark underpasses, blind alleyways and labyrinthine subways in the urban obstacle course mostly made by men, it was time for a different approach. “Through lived experience,” wrote the Matrix Feminist Design Co-operative, when they launched their manifesto in 1981, “women have a different perspective of their environment from the men who created it. Because there is no ‘women’s tradition’ in building design, we want to explore the new possibilities that the recent change in women’s lives and expectations have opened up.”

A case in point is the Essex Women’s Refuge. The complex, designed by a male architect, had got basic things wrong, from the shared kitchen, which was far too small, to the location of the children’s play areas, which were completely separate from the main communal areas, with no visual or aural connection for passive supervision. Matrix worked on the centre in 1992. Using what became a regular tactic, they presented the women with big cardboard models of different spaces, which they could rearrange to test out different configurations, along with using ribbon marked like a ruler to measure their existing spaces, which were added to the plans as a comparison.

“These were all simple techniques,” says Jos Boys, a founder member of Matrix, “But they made the women feel part of creating the project. A key part of everything we did was to make the language and practice of architecture more transparent and accessible to non-experts.”

Boys describes what now sounds like an unimaginable heyday of community action, participatory planning, squatting, workers’ co-operatives and technical aid centres, with public money readily available. Much of what Matrix worked on was funded by the Greater London Council under Ken Livingstone, before it was abolished in 1986 by the then prime minister, Margaret Thatcher. Their projects included the groundbreaking Jagonari women’s educational resource centre in Whitechapel, east London. Working for – and with – a group of South Asian women, Matrix ran workshops with demountable models, asked the women to bring pictures of buildings from their home countries that they liked, and took them on a “brick picnic” walk to discuss what building materials and colours they preferred.

The result, completed in 1987 and now home to a childcare centre, incorporated a variety of Asian influences, deliberately not linked to any Hindu or Islamic imagery. It included decorative metal latticework over the windows, to provide both visual interest and security, mosaic patterns around the doors, squat toilets and sit-down sinks for washing large saucepans from communal meals. Every part of the building was fully wheelchair accessible too, a rarity in those days.

“They understood exactly what our requirements were without being patronising or judgmental,” wrote their client, Solma Ahmed, in a glowing tribute written three decades later, in support of an unsuccessful bid for Matrix to be retrospectively awarded the RIBA gold medal. “We said what we needed in that building: safety, security, childcare, sensitive to women’s cultural and religious needs while breaking some myths about Muslim women in particular. They were [the] perfect fit.”

When people have encountered Matrix in the past, they have sometimes asked what exactly feminist design looks like. How would a city designed and built by women be different? But, in Boys’ mind, that misses the point. They weren’t promoting a feminist aesthetic, but a way of looking, listening and designing that takes account of people’s very different needs and desires, one that embodies “the richness of our multiple ways of being in the world”. It’s about who gets to build it, too: a large part of Matrix’s work was devoted to publications, manuals and events, explaining routes into the building trades and running training courses.

As Matrix write: “Consciously or otherwise, designers work in accordance with a set of ideas about how society operates, who or what is valued, who does what and who goes where.” The question is who gets included, whose values we prioritise, and what kind of world we want to create.

[monster-untamed]

A long post about my hearthome

Context- I must explain first… If you are an alterhuman that’s not familiar with my blog, I gotta explain I’m a turtle spirit/god

So take that information now because this post will make so much more sense if you know that about me lol

also please excuse spelling errors

————————————————

Intro-I don’t think of myself as a past life aterhuman, but I am for sure a spiritual alterhuman.

In short, my experience is knowing my species identity not as a “I was once this” but rather “I was supposed to be this”

My hearthome is a similar thought. I know I was supposed to be born (or hatched) there but something failed in a cycle of either reincarnation or karma.

I am certain that I belong there but I’ve never actually been to the place. All I get are glimpses of it.

————————————————

What it looks like- My hearthome is just one big  continent on an otherwise completely oceanic planet, with a few small islands scattered around the sea. It’s very similar to Earth’s Pangea.

I was supposed to be from one of the small islands but we’ll get back to that later…

The continent itself is very jungle-like and possesses bioluminescent rivers and ponds. Most of the architecture was built similarly to early eastern Asian architecture. As for the islands, most remained untouched but others were formed into small villages of huts and treehouses.

————————————————

Who lived there- There are a variety of creatures that inhabit the world but the major ones are humans, animals, and ‘animal gods’ or demigods.

Demigods are usually half animal/half humanoid but some demigods were even created to be a place of elements. (oceans, forests, mountains, stars, etc)

I am a demigod from this world and I mostly resemble a green sea turtle but sometimes I see myself as a red eared slider, I’m not actually sure

All demigods or elemental beings were created by dragons, who were complete gods. Some dragons became teachers for the newly spawned demigods to show them their ways and philosophies but very rarely.

They have to have a very big plan for you if they are going to teach you forbidden knowledge when you were just born.

————————————————

What was the culture like- Now that you know some information about the main continent, I would like to shift the subject to my island home. The name of the island was never told to me but I do know about the practices and beliefs we share.

Opalite is extremely important to us. My clan uses them to create  spears, bowls, and jewelry. The way we get these gems is not really possible in the current world I live in, because opalite here needs to be crafted by a human, but in my hearthome, the gems would be formed from the sand and would scatter the ocean floor until someone swam to the bottom to retrieve a piece. Grabbing your first opalite is very much of a ride of passage for my village.

Unlike the people/creatures on the continent who honor dragons, we chose another creature to be our symbol, Orcas. We know the significance of the dragons of course but we put more praise in the creatures we see everyday, rather than dragons that only resided in the main areas of the world.

Makes sense now, knowing that I’m orcahearted

The food we prepare on the island is always amazing. We usually hunt our own fish and grow our own fruits. Most of the fruits that exist on the island sadly don’t exist on this world.

Surfing and sailing is how my village got around to other islands or to the continent, but mainly we did it for fun.

Clothing is usually loose and silky. Mainly lots of beads, gems, and lightweight fabric. Shoes aren’t worn unless you are traveling a long distances, then you would wear geta shoes or something of the sort.

Our music is what I miss/yearn for the most. I wish I could describe it but it’s like it doesn’t want to translate into human words. I don’t think I can verbally illustrate it in a way that gives it justice. It feels like water…? It makes you feel like water is rushing around you, like you are in the center of a river made only of sound.

I think I should stop here, as I am loosing my words…

————————————————

I apologize if this one was an info dump but I appreciate you reading through all this, even if you are one of the sneaky critters that skipped to the end.

I wish I knew more. I wish I could truly be there but that’s not possible. All I have are visions that I hold close to my chest that I now share with you :)

————————————————

[waitmyturtles]

I was liveblogging episode 10 of Bad Buddy last night in desperate fury, and one of my posts honed in on Dissaya talking about "saving face".

As what ALWAYS HAPPENS whenever I'm watching and/or thinking about Bad Buddy, I had a further realization (this time while showering).

That hiding and saving face that Dissaya is talking about here....

"Saving face" is an automatic given, a structural social component of Asian life. I don't know an Asian culture that isn't at least partly centered on its citizens "saving face" at any given moment of time. "Saving face" is how Asian families stay together through the absolute worst of familial trauma (the news and the shame, say, of having a child run away from home would likely be hidden from friends and extended family so that a nuclear family could "save face"). Saving face is why Japanese and South Korean business workers show little to no emotion in the workplace -- it would be an embarrassment for them, AND for the company, if outbursts were to happen. Saving face is a modicum by which collectivist societies can maintain control over behavioral outbursts that may disrupt a general flow of life. (Filial piety is another example of an automatic social given.)

When Ming and Dissaya were in high school and dating, and Ming stole Dissaya's scholarship -- Dissaya had to figure out how to save face from the embarrassment of losing the scholarship, and her opportunity to go to university.

Ming stole the scholarship, because he had to save face for himself, AND for his father (AND, ostensibly, for his entire nuclear family), as it would have been a honor unto his family for Ming to go to university.

So those are the layers of saving face for Pat's and Pran's parental generation.

How does intergenerational trauma work? Those demands for saving face aren't just passed ONTO the children -- onto Pat and Pran.

Pat and Pran are expected to embody those same responsibilities. That's why Ming continually gets angry with Pat throughout the series about lying, about the secrets, about the architecture play and about rugby practice. And Dissaya says as much to Pran before her confrontation with Ming -- how could Pran date Pat? How could Pran forget "to save [Dissaya's] reputation?"

But most importantly to me, what Dissaya says above -- what really guts me as both an Asian child, and as an Asian parent...

... is that the hiding and saving face that Dissaya is referring to above?

She's also talking about the information that Ming and Dissaya have hidden from Pat and Pran themselves.

PAT AND PRAN'S OWN PARENTS were saving THEIR faces TO THEIR SONS. So that their OWN CHILDREN would respect them.

Ming and Dissaya needed to lie and to save face to Pat and Pran, so that Pat and Pran wouldn't stray from their loyalties to their families. Pat and Pran's OWN BEHAVIOR needed to be CONTROLLED by their families, so that Pat and Pran wouldn't bring embarrassment or disrespect to Ming and Dissaya -- so that THEN, Ming and Dissaya could keep up the façade of their family battle to save themselves from the individual embarrassment they had brought upon themselves and each other in high school. We don't even know if Ming's father had known that Ming stole the scholarship. What if Grandfather Jindapat knew that Ming had stolen the scholarship? Would that have brought shame to the family? Likely.

Episode 10 is SO heart-wrenching and painful for so many reasons. But especially to see the guys continue to hear, in conversation after conversation, from Uncle Chai to their high school teacher, the TRUTH of the hatred between Ming and Dissaya, and how Pat's and Pran's childhood understanding of the battle was based on lie after lie -- you could see the confusion, trauma, and anger building. The anger that bubbled out as Pat stormed out of his house. And the trauma that flowed out from Pran on the rooftop before the boys ran away.

The boys were used as pawns in a family fight that never needed to go as far as it did. The boys realized that.

"I had to hate Pran... because of you?"

It was because Ming and Dissaya were far more concerned about saving face than about the happiness of their sons.

[kiawren]

Does anyone want to ask me anything about my spidersona lion spider PLEASE. I am cursed with constant thoughts of him and his world but I Cannot draw it. Okay you don't have to ask but if you want you can read this becuz my brain is full of him.

AOUGH okay I ended up typing some info I thought of the past few days. I still haven't settled on his name becuz he's a self insert and I want to name him Wren but I also want to name him something that has more of the character's essence...

Pre spider bite:

He introduces that (though he's Chinese,) he sucks at studying, he can't play instruments and he's not even athletic. He's introverted, likes animals and he likes to draw (Becuz he's basically me) and tries to find and draw them around the city. He tried to join a lion troupe/the club in his school but got rejected cuz he's essentially talentless for them 😭

On the way home he spots a poster at a shophouse for those who are interested in making lion heads to go upstairs. He ends up learning from the old man there, and enjoying it a lot as it's a way to give life to the art form without participating in the performances itself.

His city & some characters

It's modern and urban and has lots of Chinese and other Southeast Asian architecture. It's sorta based on Singapore too which is where the building in the second drawing above is from anyway. Imagine a spiderverse world with lots of shophouses, pagodas, temples, mosques.. They're the heights of skyscrapers. There are only fragmented and rare plots of nature within such a city.

Animals are rare, more common are mythologised ones such as the Chinese guardian lions, and the Naga and Garuda in Hindu and Buddhist mythology, which is what he mentions in his introduction without knowing some of the villians he'll face later are based off these figures. The lions can shift forms between sand and stone, the Naga figure is doc ock and the Garuda green goblin. Yes in mythology they're not evil and that's why they're probably working for alchemax and kingpin before becoming allies later (at least the lions becuz... Kitty...) but I haven't figured it all out yet...

His friend organises shadow puppetry performances twice weekly at a community theatre. This friend later becomes black cat but lion spider doesn't know that at first.

The shows are very popular and of their shows the most popular is the one of Spider-man, a hero who is bitten by a spider. ...... He always joked it was silly but when it happened to him... 😐

Lion spider

The lion dance head shophouse was next to alchemax I suppose. Their spider escaped and made webs in the heads and alchemax sent a bad guy to find it. Except it already bitten lion spider days before. So uh I think the mentor guy got killed (uncle Ben moment) and lion spider fought back by wearing the lion dance head and beat him with his newfound strength. It felt nice to take the form of lion dance and he gained a confidence in doing so. So he decided to incorporate it into the spider-man figure from then on.

It's also good that he didnr officially join any troupe becuz I think lion dance is kind of a big thing in their city and many troupes compete annually in some lion dance competition. And everyone was like ooook whichever troupe member is absent is lion spider. And then all the members were there. while a villian showed up during the crowded competition and lion spider was also there.

He took one of the heads among the chaos and gave a performance defeating the villian yay! The sad thing is he never really got to dance with a partner. Although he knows the steps he only ever practiced on his own.

the ATSV friends + kiawren

This universe has no Kiawe but he eventually makes friends with the Spiderverse characters (not Miguel he also doesn't like him) and hangs out with them. I guess he's a part of spider society but pretends not to know about the seriousness of the canon stuff (Hobie told him about it) and just isnt there in the drama like how Pavitr wasn't.

There's a Kiawe spider-man!! I did draw a bit of his vague design I had in mind before. (which is inspired by polynesian face tattoos and his role as a fire dancer like his original character)

They have a milesgwen romance except not the narrative angst. They bond over their traditional dances and being trans guys. THERE'S A LOT. OF PINING. The yearning to visit each other, the wondering how they're doing in their daily lives in their respective worlds, wanting to show them something in theirs, THE FIRST TIME THEY SAW EACH OTHER'S FACE.

Kiawe isn't really in the friend group, he just spends time with lion spider. So when the latter is with the atsv friend group they keep teasing him and trying to match them on spider society missions.

Also, Kiawe's world has a lot of natural wonders (Volcanoes, oceans, forests) and lion spider loves it so much he sorta tears up seeing it the first time he visits becuz his world doesn't have these things.

[yourfavsasdragondescriptions]

Oh, you gotta do the Harrister, baby.

Let's see how this shall go.

Indeed we shall.

Due to his mutton chops, I see the dragon that Harrier Du Bois would be as an East Asian dragon like the one below.

However, since East Asian dragons are more associated with water than fire, I’ll have Dragon!Harrier’s breath weapon be a highly pressurized blast of fog. This fog can have a variety of effects depending on what skill is his signature skill at the moment. And he’s immune to the effects of his own fog. For example…

* Logic - Necrosis of the extremities, starting with fingers, then hands, then arms.

* Encyclopedia - Overloads the minds of those who breathe in the fog with forbidden knowledge, leaving them catatonic at best and violently insane at worst.

* Rhetoric - Turns allies against each other through arguments amongst themselves.

* Drama - Forces those who breathe it in to speak like they’re characters in Shakespeare stories.

* Conceptualization - Seems to affect the environment that comes into contact with the fog rather than people, causing architecture to manifest from nearby materials, and this can entomb living creatures unlucky enough to also be in the fog.

* Visual Calculus - Less of a practical skill and more for reconstructing crime scenes via casting projections of past events.

* Volition - Causes people who breathe the fog in to never tell a lie or, if they have committed a crime that Harrier is investigating, to confess on the spot.

* Inland Empire - Animates objects that come into contact with the fog and puts them under Harrier’s command. They deanimate when Harrier no longer has need of them.

* Empathy - Causes anyone who comes into contact with the gas, if they are about to do harm to someone or something, to immediately stop what they are doing and apologize. Also functions as a cure for sociopathy and narcissistic personality disorder.

* Authority - Basically mind control gas. Can also be used to make the dead speak (as long as said dead still have the proper organs to talk).

* Esprit de Corps - Gives Harrier’s fellow police officers seemingly superhuman abilities.

* Suggestion - Replaces the fog with a very thick smog with a color that just screams “this gas is cancer incarnate do NOT breathe it in”. And yes, the smog is a carcinogen.

* Endurance - Rapidly eats away at the muscle tissue of any living thing that enters it while not damaging bone, skin or flesh.

* Pain Threshold - Takes whatever pains you’re feeling at the moment and amplifies it a thousandfold. A Dark Eldar’s wet dream.

* Physical Instrument - MASSIVELY increases the pressurization of the steam jet, enabling it to punch through almost a mile of dense bedrock.

* Electrochemistry - Turns the fog into a hallucinogenic gas so potent that just breathing in even a single molecule of the stuff is enough to cause an overdose.

* Shivers - Electrically charges the fog to a point that it fires off lightning bolts in all directions. Though the bolts contain more than enough volts to kill a man in one strike, the charged fog is short-lived and vanishes seconds after it manifests.

* Half Light - Makes the fog highly explosive, catching alight within seconds of contact with the air and has a blast strength strong enough to level buildings if the gas is indoors.

* Hand-Eye Coordination - A gas with anomalous properties that cause whatever is in the gas that isn’t nailed down (up to the size of a truck) to be lifted up and thrown at Harry’s target at the same speed as… well, a bullet.

* Perception - Overloads the senses of those in the fog. Smells become so pungent they drown out all else, quiet whispers become a deafening clarion, and more.

* Reaction Speed - Speeds up the perception of time to whatever breathes the fog in. Can cause insanity to those who breathe the stuff in.

* Savoir Faire - Causes the muscles of whoever breathes the fog in to involuntarily twitch and shudder, the phenomenon becoming increasingly intense over time until organs rip like paper and eyes burst.

* Interfacing - If there is a broken machine in the fog, it repairs itself. Causes scrap metal to bundle together into what I can best describe as an approximation of a machine.

* Composure - Turns whoever breathes in the fog into stone. This isn’t immediate, but a gradual process outside of the fog. This phenomenon greatly accelerates inside the fog, with affected persons and animals turning to stone in seconds.

I’d do more about his appearance, but the breath weapon thing really gave my brain a workout, so I’ll leave you to interpret it on your own.

[akronus-writes]

Walking on a path of shattered glass chapter 2. the fallen

I sat at my desk, the only light in my office being the iridescent purple glow of my blade as I read through the journal, waiting for something new to write itself on the paper. My brother, the eldritch rat lord, was already long asleep. At this point I must have been reading through this thing for hours, trying to find out why it knows things we don't. But as always, I can't find anything. Finally closing the journal, I pushed it to the side of my cluttered desk, and reached for one of the few things I had on the desk that wasn't covered by paperwork, notes, and eldritch tomes, a framed photograph. Picking it up I pulled it close to my face, and examined it for the what must of been the millionth time.

It was of three people, all of Asian descent and clearly non-human, only one of whom I recognized even slightly. On the left was a man, about 5'6-5'8 with short black hair and cat ears, with two piercing red eyes and a devilish smile, he wore an ashy black shirt with brownish-black pants. One of his arms was wrapped around the girl in the middle, and the outer one held a charred crowbar.

In the middle was a young woman, about 5'5, she held herself up by hooking her arms around the shoulders of the other two. She had snow-white hair and cat ears, with amber eyes and a cheeky, cat like smile, wearing a practically new white shirt and brown jeans, with a crimson red jacket hanging off of her back like a cape, holding two black pistols in each hand with golden clocks etched into them.

And on the right, was a figure with an uncanny resemblance to me, with the same long black hair, red stripe near their red eyes, and black cat ears. But their mask was pulled slightly off of their face to reveal a wide grin, and they wore a sleeveless black shirt and long, black pants with a leather choker held together by a metal ring adorning their neck. A much less modest appearance compared to my black leather trench coat, white shirt, and black pants. And most dammingly, they where holding god-binder in their other hand.

The thing is, that has to be me, there's no way someone else has my exact same hairstyle and artefact blade, not to mention the cat ears. But I don't ever remember wearing, or owning those clothes. And I don't remember who either of the other two in the photo are, or getting this picture taken.

I'd say that I used a spell to find out, but nothing I tried worked. Every single eldritch tome I had either didn't have a spell that would work, or a spell that could create this.

I thought it was a ploy by an eldritch entity, but even with what I've learnt about the "eldritch abominations" like the Rat lord, it didn't sound likely.

I even tried to find where the picture was taken, but it didn't work, the architecture in the background was nothing like any buildings in the modern world.

And so, I look to the box of files I have messily buried under an open tome of eldritch knowledge, and reports on a serial killer I had captured.

You see, I don't really know who I am. I just happened to wake up one day, and could do magic and summon god binder to me. I became a private detective in an almost cartoonish string of coincidences.

But I knew I had to have parents, and if I had those, I might know who those other two in the photo are. So I got a copy of the birth records for anyone who slightly resembled me.

But I haven't opened it yet, I just keep saying I'll do it later. But I think I know the real reason why, I'm scared. Scared that none of them would look like me, or that the box would be empty.

And so I opened it, looking into a box full of yellow files with last names plastered across so many different files, surely one of them was me?

And so I picked out the first file, nope. then the second, then the third. Until eventually I got to the end of the files. None of them looked like me, not even slightly. I've already had people use things to remove illusions from my body, so that means I cant be under an illusion spell on my own face.

But why? why don't I exist in this record? I've lived in Australia my entire life, so how do I seem to just, not exist? I need a break, maybe a drink, something to calm myself down.

And so I throw the box onto the wooden ground, spilling the files onto the floor as I stumble into the bathroom part of my pocket dimension.

Turning on the tap and splashing water on my face, I sigh as I reach for the towel. I pull the towel over my face and rub it up and down as I think, speaking aloud in my frustration.

"it doesn't make sense, I can't just not exist. maybe I'm from another country?"

"yeah, that's it, I just need to check in with some other places!" I exclaim, throwing the towel back onto the rack as I chuckle about the leaps in logic I had made.

Looking up at the mirror to grin at my reflection, I found my smile quickly fall, the reflection wasn't right. my eyes were wrong, I had six, serpent like eyes dotting my face and glowing a faint purple. Sprouting from my back where two pairs of wings, one stony and like a gargoyles, and the other one feathery and bright like an angels.

I stumbled back, screams catching in my throat as I fell into the door, trying to scream out at the corrupted reflection, summon my blade, shoot a blast, anything. But instead, I found my body locking up. My body refused to move, to utter a spell, or even scream out in either rage, or terror.

The world almost slowed down in the ensuing seconds. The creature in the mirror stood there as I fell down, wind rushing past my body as I made contact with the porcelain tiles. Or as the creature crawled its way out of the mirror. Inhuman eyes focusing on me as it fell to the floor, and began to crawl up my paralyzed body.

I couldn't describe the other corruptions that made up its humanoid body, or the feeling of pure, helpless terror, as I tried to even make a finger twitch. I couldn't part my lips, I couldn't force air into or out of my lungs, and I couldn't even move my gaze as it crawled up to my face, and wrapped its hands around my neck.

It looked into my eyes for the entire agonizing time, it felt as if it wanted to tell me something. I could see its black facemask move as if it was speaking, but I heard nothing, not even the sound of air leaving the monsters lungs.

And suddenly I awoke, sitting in my chair with the last birth certificate in the box in my hands. It was just another nightmare.

I slowly pulled myself up, clearing the messy books and files from my desk as I grabbed the journal from atop a pile of case files, and flipped to the pages after the rat lord to see if something had finally changed.

And sure enough, a lot had changed. Almost every single page had either empty places for more illustrations, or a country, town, or city. But at the same time, I noticed I felt empty, like I had lost something.

And so I slowly picked up god binder, prepared to test my theory as I slowly cut a line across my palm. And sure enough, it didn't instantly heal.

"and if that doesn't work, then this shouldn't either," I whispered to myself, as I attempted to teleport to the other side of my office.

But instead I stayed still, having failed to teleport, something had cut me off from some of my magic. flipping back to the eldritch rat lords page, I shared a knowing look with it.

"seems like we'll be walking to the rest," I joked.

"indeed," it responded with that familiar multi-layered voice.

story 1 story 3

@f4y3w00d5 @the-thing-of-worms @lilac-phantom @monsterfucker-research-wizard @gobodegoblin @mango-lord-of-poision @be-gentle-with-littluns-2

[eeboshmeebo]

I'm a monster...

Was the first thought she had when she finally got out of that godforsaken lab. Skinless and covered in eyes, with teeth hidden between sinewy muscle and thin lines of pale fat.

She still had her bones, thankfully. Stolen from the real monsters that locked her up for so long.

"Ah... fresh air."

Blood, concrete, pollution. Yet, it was refreshing despite the unpleasant smells. No chemicals or alcohol-disinfected metals in the air. No painfully bright lights. There was color, not the color of her eyes, flesh, and blood, but wonderful blues and gentle off-white clouds and... and... hmm.

No longer human. She knew she wasn't, after her power had awakened and her skin sloughed off from her body. Where her skin was now...

"Not good."

It wasn't good to think about that at all. It's a distraction, like the pain in her bones and heart.

Time to get supplies and a disguise. Rich people can provide both. Easy choice.

Western architecture in an Asian country? Must be rich people. Target those first.

She walked around behind the alleys and between the shops, in the cracks of the walls and the stalls. Sometimes stealing things, too. An obvious choice to make.

"There it is."

A large mansion in the bougiest neighborhood she could find. Not too blatant, and a bit unwelcoming unlike the other houses that seemed like they were practically saying 'Come inside and wail at how your peasants can never afford any of this!'

Nope, this house was like 'If you dare step on my porch I will use my gem-studded security systems to kick you out' kind of bougie. Damn.

A perfect target. No law enforcement officers would cause trouble and get sued by an offputting rich person just for stepping onto it, so there was no worry of being discovered for a short time.

In through the windows... ugh, she'll never get used to slinking around like this, squeezing like a roach through cracks and such.

No security cameras. Odd. However, rich people like these probably had no worries about being robbed, so minimal security.

She stiffened at a distant baby's cry. Probably in another room.

She should ignore it. She really should. The baby would compromise her, get her into danger..! And yet, her limbs were moving quickly towards the baby's room.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She opened the door quickly in her panic to find the small, wailing lifeform, and upon seeing it...

...she knew that every plan she had was thrown out of the window.

"Beautiful, beautiful boy..."

She scooped him up from the lavish crib he was nestled in, holding him close as she took a sniff. The diaper wasn't soiled, so he must be either cold, scared, or hungry. She wiped away his tears and wrapped him in the blanket

"Oh, your nanny must be asleep..."

Kill the nanny and take care of the child. But first, food.

"Can babies drink blood? I don't have milk..."

Too much of a risk. She had too many chemicals in her blood she didn't flush out yet. However, she had something else. Sweet adzuki bean paste from a daifuku she stole should be a good replacement for now.

She unwrapped one, peeling away the chewy skin and breaking off a small piece to feed to the baby.

"Uuuu... bwaah."

Seems like he's satisfied. This won't do, sugary items aren't good for babies so she'll have to make this last.

"All better now?"

"Uwaa, buh, wah!"

"Seems so."

She couldn't remember the last time she had a tone so gentle and quiet. However, that was something to think about later.

She stepped out of the room, content baby in one arm and a fist in the other. Looking left and right to make sure there weren't any servants or maids around to get rid of... none? Odd. Well, not odd, maybe they hire a cleaner once in a while.

"You're quite unfortunate, little treasure... but I'll take care of you."

She rubbed the baby's cheek, eliciting a coo from him as he grabbed onto her finger. She kept walking, avoiding looking at any mirrors in the hallway despite how the baby giggled at the sight of his own reflection.

"I don't like mirrors."

A small comment. He probably won't remember it later on in life, since his memory wasn't fully activated yet.

She continued navigating the mansion, pocketing a few valuables along the way and feeding more of the bean paste to the baby.

After making her way to the refrigerator that seemed to be the newest and only had a simple sticky note on it that said 'Milk', she knew that she had found the right place.

She opened the fridge examining the contents.

"It's all breast milk. I guess your mom can't be bothered to feed you herself, huh?"

A twinge of pity, but mostly rage flared up in her organs at the neglect that this child's parents had the time and money to buy a fridge full of breast milk, but not the time and money to find a competent nanny.

Makes her job easier, at least. An incompetent nanny means an easy nanny to replace.

She looked through the various pouches, finding the freshest one by color and the printed date. Of course, she didn't know what day it was, but chose the one with the furthest date than all the others. And that it didn't have a weird color.

"Buwuuwu. Wwwah!"

"Yeah, I know. I'll get it all warm and nice for you, little treasure."

Ahh, baby babble. Such a thing warmed her heart and the various items she had stored inside her torso.

She searched the cupboards for a suitable baby bottle before choosing a plastic one on the larger side and a silicone nib. She couldn't breastfeed, but... she could imitate it, right?

================================================

Twenty minutes later...

================================================

Safe to say, that was one of the weirdest experiences in her life.

The silicone nub went unused, basically. And that babies had really strong grips and bite force, especially for being so young.

"You're a strong one, huh? I think you'll be a very, very strong boy when you grow up."

Of course, it wasn't a certainty that he'd be a boy when he grows older, but that's something to think about later.

She burped the baby's back a few times, like how she remembered seeing others doing, before humming as she walked back to the nursery room.

She read the name on the crib, looking down at the baby that was now sleeping as she smiled.

"Monoma Neito, huh? Well, don't worry. I'll take care of you like a treasure to be loved."

She walked away from the crib, casting one last soft glance before closing the door and walking to the Nanny's room.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She put on the skin that fit her like a glove, the outfit made of comfortable cotton and the bones fit quite nicely under her flesh. The clothing was a bit tight, and all the passwords needed to be reset with a quick fingerprint ID for the password unlock on her newly-acquired phone, but otherwise, there was no trace that anyone else was ever there.

Hana Hikari, Light Flower, huh? A nice name, it reminded her of another name she couldn't remember. She wondered if Monoma would call her by that name one day once he's old enough. Calling out 'Hana' instead of 'Mama'. An amusing thing, really.

She's a monster, but there were many cases of monster mothers. Perhaps she'll be one of them.

[narutocharacterpolls]

Please excuse me. I just genuinely does not know. Are all Naruto characters PoC? Why?

Not only because a Japanese man created them? And even if, are Japanese PoC? I never saw them as such.

I hope this is not too inconsiderate. I just get genuinely confused about what is considered PoC and what not. Especially the views of that can very from country/culture to country/culture.

First and foremost I just want to very heavily emphasize that yes Japanese people are people of colour. Japan is an asian country. Secondly, yeah, all Naruto characters are POC. It’s not because they’re written by a Japanese man, there’s plenty of manga that have white characters in it. Naruto is just not one of them.

The setting of Konoha is very clearly based on Japanese architecture, and Kishimoto includes a lot of Japanese mythologies and culture throughout the setting, character outfits, actions, jutsu, customs, food and so many other elements of Naruto. That is incredibly intentional, and isn’t just because Kishimoto himself is Japanese, but because his characters are too. Mangaka’s that have white characters make it very clear between culture, actions, ect., but there’s no nuance to Kishimoto’s intentions of making the world of Naruto and his characters Japanese. The characters are seen eating Japanese food, wearing Japanese clothing, practicing Japanese customs in their Japanese style houses, and so on.

If the visual appearance of Naruto brings you confusion, the answer is in the fact that Kishimoto LOVES contrasting designs, and Naruto is directly contrasted to Sasuke in every way. To their core they are created as Yin and Yang characters. Naruto has light hair, light eyes, and tan skin so to create contrast and fit the Yin/Yang coding Kishimoto created Sasuke to have black eyes, black hair, and pale skin. As an addition it’s actually not inaccurate for Naruto to have blue eyes. One of the indigenous peoples of Japan, the Ainu, actually commonly have blue eyes.

[ladyimaginarium]

Indigenous History Month ask game !

What is your Indigenous identity/identities?

Are you connected, semiconnected reconnecting or disconnected to your culture?

What is your favorite indigenous character? (Canon, headcanon and OC's are okay!)

What does your indigeneity mean to you?

Where are your traditional lands?

What's something that you'd like to see for indigenous representation in media and why?

Can you speak your traditional indigenous language(s)? If so, can you say something in it?

Can you share some traditional knowledge if possible?

If you're connected, semiconnected or reconnecting, can you share a favorite traditional story of your people?

What's an unpopular opinion you have?

What's an intracommunity discussion you'd want to see be talked about more?

Do you have any pet peeves surrounding your community?

How does your indigeneity effect your queerness?

How does your indigeneity affect your plurality, if you are plural and if applicable?

What are your peoples' architecture like?

If you could share one thing with your ancestors, what would it be?

Indigenous vampires or Indigenous werewolves?

What's something you'd want nonindigenous peoples to understand?

What is your faith, if applicable?

Do you practice your traditional indigenous religion?

If you don't practice your indigenous religion, what do you practice, if applicable?

What's something that you feel the loss of with colonization?

Do you own traditional attire?

What is your favorite cultural clothing?

Do you have plant & ecological knowledge?

What's something that makes you proud of your indigeneity?

How has decolonization impacted you?

How do you show up for your community?

Who's your favorite indigenous celebrity, if applicable?

What's something you'd want to say to your future descendants, biological or otherwise?

Note: this is by Indigenous people for Indigenous peoples ONLY! While this was mostly made for Indigenous peoples of Turtle Island, it's by no means exclusive to these groups, it's not specific to one culture, but nor is it open for all POC to use. This inherently includes First Nations, Métis, Inuit, Indigenous Americans, Alaska Natives, Greenlandic Inuit / Kalaalit Nunaat, Indigenous Mexicans, Indigenous Central Americans, Indigenous peoples of Abya Ayala (South America), Afroindigenous people in the diaspora (ie Black ndns, Black Americans, Black Canadians, Black South Americans, Black Carribeans, Black Mexicans, etc), Indigenous Africans (Maasai, Somalis, Tigrayans, Xhosa, Zulu, etc), African Diasporic Asians (ie the Siddi in India), Pasifika (Native Hawaiians / Kanaka Maoli, Polynesians, Melanesians, Micronesians, etc.), Aboriginal Australians & Torres Straits Islanders, Māori, Papuans, Black Austronesian peoples, colonized people in China (ie Tibetans, Uighurs, etc), the Ainu of Ainumoshir & Ryūkyūans/Okinawans of Ryūkyū in Japan, colonized people in India, Central Asia & Southeast Asia, Indigenous Taiwanese, peoples of West Asia (Indigenous Palestinians, Jewish people predominantly in the diasporas, Armenians, Kurds, etc.), Indigenous Europeans (Sámi, Karelians, Basque, Crimean Tatars, Irish Travellers, etc.), Indigenous Siberians, Romani & mixed race indigenous peoples! Do not use these for yourselves if you're not Indigenous in any way and especially not if you're white. Zionists, Kahanists, blood quantum purists & enrollment enforcers & assimilated Indigenous peoples who have no intention of connecting to their cultures whatsoever & do not fight for indigenous sovereignty DNI with this post. Please no discourse in the notes or with each other, I want us all to be kind to each other and to have fun with each other, ty!! 💕