#and its the bodys gender so using it as a collective pronoun is easier

[lunar-lair]

every time i think of system jason i think about. well first i think about how jason todd is a separate alter but jason todd is also the person because thats the name they own but the main host for like 20 years goes by jason and thats his name and. anyways. next i think about the ways he dissociates. but THEN i think about the littles/teens/even some adults that will only respond to robin or their name, and if they dont have a name, just robin, and maybe jason

sometimes its just a game of firing off names. some of them only respond to red hood, some of them respond to jason todd in full specifically, some of them respond to peter. theyre bad at names and in the early days its hard to figure out whos who (both in the system and out), too, so sometimes theyll just stare at whoevers talking to them with squinted eyes until they say a name they recognize as their own. some of them only respond to Specific Nicknames, some of them love people besides dick and bruce and alfred (and sometimes damian and tim and steph, but not duke, or...you get the picture) because they all love their family, even if they dont know them, but they dont Know Them. and some of them only respond to jaylad or jaybird or little bird, some of the older ones only respond to damian. its definitely a trial and error kind of thing. usually they can interact with everyone just fine, but some days they find jason in the kitchen and when tim tries to talk to him he looks away and creeps into a corner of the kitchen and they have to find dick and then bruce (bad choice) and then damian. its the trauma conversation but its also the memory conversation and the 'who are you to yourself and who do people know you as' conversation. i have a lot of thoughts abt jason w osdd/did (preferably did that sounds more like him) it does things to my brain. this post was supposed to be abt alters that respond to robin and then i just. kept talking. oops

oh my god the thought i just had. some of the littles dont know any of them and just hole themselves away in the library and everyones like 'ok has anyone seen jason he skittered off earlier and he looked fucking Scared we are Worried' but they learned early on that looking for him is a Bad Idea because hell get scared. so they just have to wait until jason texts one of them or smth like 'bad news weve got a new kid and they dont know any of you. good news we know what they respond to. bad news its a nickname from our mom most of us cant bear to hear. good news were getting them a name. bad news we cant leave the library yet. were alive though' and thats all they have to go off until he trudges out of the library three hours later asking what the hell happened because the little and a protector had a whole Convo then threw jason back in front to fend for himself

ok thats it this time i think. for real this time. anyways i have thoughts abt system jason if you have any queries please ask them i would love to talk abt him

[a-room-of-my-own]

A while before the latest hoo-ha about Judith Butler, I had just been reading her again. Though she claims her critics have not read her, this simply isn’t the case. I read Gender Trouble when it first came out and it was important at the time . That time was long,long ago. She was just one of the many ‘post-structuralist’ thinkers I was into. I would trip off to see  Luce Irigaray or Derrida whenever they appeared.

I got an interview  with Baudrillard and tried to sell it to The Guardian but they  didn’t know who he was so its fair to say I was fairly immersed in that world of theory.  For a while, I had a part time lecturing job so I had to keep on top of it. Though Butler’s idea of gender as performance was not new , it was interesting.  RuPaul said it so much more clearly in a  quote nicked from  someone else “Honey ,we are born naked, the rest is drag”

What I was looking for again , I guess is not any clarity – her writing is famously and deliberately difficult-  but whether there was ever any sense of the material body. She wrote herself in 2004 “I confess however I am not a very good materialist. Every time I try to write about the body, the writing ends up being about language” . 

Butler from on high ,cannot really think about the body at all which is why they (Butler’s chosen pronoun) are now the high priestess of a particular kind of trans ideology.  The men who worship Butler are not versed in high theory. The fox botherer had a “brain swoon” at some very ordinary things Butler said. Mr Right Side of history nodded along in an interview. Clearly neither of these men are versed in any of this philosophy and would be better off sticking to tax law and the decline of the Labour Party. Butler is simply a totem for them.

Butler said in the Guardian interview for instance  “Gender is an assignment that does not just happen once: it is ongoing. We are assigned a sex at birth and then a slew of expectations follow which continue to “assign” gender to us.”

So yeah? That’s a fairly basic view of the social construction of gender though I take issue with the assigned at birth thing ,which I will come back to and why I started reading her again in the first place.

This phrase “Assigned sex at birth” is now common parlance but simply does not make sense  to me. I am living with someone who is pregnant. I have given birth three times and been a birthing  partner. I know where babies come from. There is a deep disconnect here between language and reality which no amount of academic jargon can obliterate. 

Babies  come from bodies. Not any bodies but bodies that have a uterus. They grew inside a woman’s body until they  get pushed out or dragged out into the world. 

The facts of life that we are now to be liberated from in the form of denial. Only one sex can have babies but we must now somehow not say that. The pregnant “people” of Texas will now be forced into giving birth to children they don’t want because they are simply “host bodies”. The language of patriarchal supremacy and that of some of the trans ideologues is remarkably close, as is their biological ignorance.

There is no foetal heatbeat at six weeks for instance. When a baby is born , doctors and midwives do not randomly assign a sex, they observe it and they do it though genitalia. 

There is a question over a tiny percentage of babies ,less that one percent with DSDs but even then they are sexed with doctors having  difficult conversations with parents about what may happen later.

Somehow, though when I read the way in which this is now all discussed it is clear to me that the people talking have never been pregnant, never had a foetal scan, never been near a birth , never miscarried, do not understand that even with a still birth babies are still sexed and often named. 

If you want to know the sex of your baby you can pay privately and know at 7 weeks ((*49-56 days from the first day of the mother’s last menstrual cycle). A 12 week scan will show it. That is why so many female foetuses are aborted . I have reported on this. 

Talking to paediatricians about this is interesting because they do indeed have to think through these things that we are being told are not real eg. that sex is just a by-product of colonialism for instance.  Sometimes pre-conception , geneticists will be looking at chromosomes because certain diseases are more likely in men or women. Males have a higher risk of haemophilia for instance.  

One doctor told me “When babies are premature, the survival advantage of females over males is well known throughout neonatology. This is sometimes something we talk about with parents when there is threatened premature labour around 23 weeks' gestation and options to discuss about resuscitation and medical interventions. In fertility treatment (or counselling around fertility in the context of medical treatments) it is pretty inherent to know whether we need to plan around sperm, or ova + pregnancy.”

She also said that if she involved in a birth that “assigning” isn’t the word she world use. “Observed genitals a highly reliable observation, just like measuring weight or head circumference which is also done at this time. “ Another doctor said that anyone involved with a trans man giving birth  would be doing the best for the patient in front  of them. 

Sex then is biological fact. A female baby will have all the eggs she will ever have when she is first born which is kind of amazing. It is not bio-essentialist to say that our sexed bodies are different nor is it transphobic to recognise it.

Except of course in my old newspaper ,The Guardian who are now so hamstrung by their  own ideology they have got their knickers in such a twist they can barely walk.  They completely misreported the WiSpa incident , basically ignored the Sonia  Appleby  judgement at the Tavistock. Appleby was a whistle blower ,a respected professional concerned with safe guarding. She won her case. The cherry on the cake this week was an interview with Butler, themselves (?) in which they went on about Terfs being fascists and needing to extend the category of women.

Does anyone EVER stop to think that most gender critical women are of the left, supporters of gay rights, often lesbian and that this is not America? We are not in bed with the far right. This is bollocks. Just another way to dismiss us.  

As we watch Afghanistan and Texas ,to say Butler’s words were tone deaf is to say the least. But they didn’t even have the guts to keep the most offensive stuff in the piece and overnight edited it out without really explaining why : the bits where Butler described gender critical people as fascist. Perhaps because the person their “reporters” had  defended against  transphobia at WiSpa turned out to be a known sex offender,  perhaps because someone pointed out that Butler was throwing around the word fascist rather like Rik Mayall used to do in the Young Ones. 

All of this is rather desperate and readers deserve better. When I left that newspaper I said that I thought and expected editors to stand up for their writers in public. Instead they go into some catatonic paralysis. I may have not liked this interview but it should never have been cut. Stand by what you publish or your credibility is shot.

But this is about more than Judith Butler and their refusal to support women . Butler is not really any kind of feminist at all. What this is about is the large edifice of trans ideology  crumbling when any real analysis is applied. Yes, I have read Shon Faye’s book and there are some interesting points in it and I totally agree that the lives of trans people should be easier and health care better . I have never said anything but that.

What Faye does in the book is say that there can be no trans liberation under capitalism so there will be a bit of a wait I suspect. 

Yet surely it is the other way round and what we are seeing is that trans ideology (not trans people – I am making a distinction here ) represent the apex of capitalism .

For it means that the individual decides their own gendered essence and then spends a fortune on surgery and a lifetime on medication to achieve the appearance of it. Of course lots of people spend a lifetime  on medication but not out of choice.  Marx understood very well that the abolition of our system of production would free up women.

Now it is all about freeing up men. Who say they are women. Quelle surprise.  

 Nussbaum’s famous take down of Butler is premised exactly on the sense of individual versus collective struggle “ The great tragedy in the new feminist theory in America is the loss of a sense of public commitment. In this sense, Butler’s self-involved feminism is extremely American, and it is not surprising that it has caught on here, where successful middle-class people prefer to focus on cultivating the self rather than thinking in a way that helps the material condition of others. “

Such thinking now dominates academia. There is simply an unquestioning  rehearsal of something most of know not to be true thus Amia Srinivasan writes in The Right to Sex  “At birth, bodies are sorted as ‘male’ or ‘female’, though many bodies must be mutilated to fit one category or the other, and many bodies will later protest against the decision that was made. This originary division determines what social purpose a body will be assigned.”

What does ‘sorted’ mean here? A tiny number of intersex babies are born. A tiny number of people are trans and decide to change their bodies. The feminist demand to challenge gender norms without mutilating any one’s body no longer matters. What matters now is this retrograde return  to some gendered soul. This is not something any decent Marxist would have any truck with . Of course one may change over a lifetime and of course gender is never ‘settled.’ We are complex people who inhabit bodies that often don’t work or appear as we want them to.

But not only is there a denial of basic Marxism going on here , what becomes ever more apparent is  that there is a denial of motherhood. Butler said “Yet gender is also what is made along the way – we can take over the power of assignment, make it into self-assignment, which can include sex reassignment at a legal and medical level.”

Self-assignment is key . One may birth oneself. No longer of woman born but self -made. This is a theoretical leap but it also one that has profound implications for women as a sex class. We are really then, just the  host bodies to a new breed of people who self-assign.

Maybe that is the future although look around the word and there isn’t a lot of self-assignment going on. There are simply women shot and beaten in the street, choked to death or having  their rights taken  away. There is no identifying out of this , there is no fluidity here . This is not discourse. It is brutality and do we not have some responsibility to other women to confront male violence ?

Instead the hatred is aided and abetted by so called philosophers describing  other women as Terfs. It is utterly depressing.

The sexed body. The pregnant body. The dying body. The body is in trouble when we can’t talk about it . I thought of Margaret Mary O’Hara’s  beautiful and  strange lyrics and what they might mean. I await my child’s return from the hospital as hers is a difficult pregnancy and thank god they are on the case. The sex of the child she carries does not matter to me at all .

It simply exists. Not in language but within a body. 

Why is that so difficult to acknowledge? 

[clearsky]

My Top Comfort Characters/Kins and My Main HCs For Them

(Note, not all my kins/comfort characters are on here, just the ones I have more than 5 hcs for)

CW: Korekiyo Shinguji (DRV3), Himiko Yumeno (DRV3), Shinsou Hitoshi (BNHA), Kyoko Kirigiri (THH), Tsuyu Asui (BNHA), Entrapta (Spop), Ibuki Mioda (SDR2), Celestia Ludenberg (THH), Funtime Foxy (FNAF), Peril (WOF)

Korekiyo Shinguji (DRV3)

Nonbinary

He/They pronouns

Autistic

Chains and loose accessories are for stimming

Likes the feeling of silk and cotton

Can't stand the feeling of anything rough or bumpy

He likes collecting small trinkets and the bones of small mammals

Can't stand anything salty. He'll eat it but he certainly won't enjoy it

Dating Rantaro

Can flirt, but only if he doesn't try

Petnames are a hell yea

Gets sunburnt really easily

Group dates with Celesnaegiri and Ikuzono

Can't cook for s h i t

Had a scene kid phase in middle school

Went to the same middle school as Celeste and Maki

Knew them when Celeste went through her "I'm not like other girls" phase and Maki was a Band Kid™

Himiko Yumeno (DRV3)

Female

She/Her pronouns

Lesbian

Can force herself to fall asleep within seconds regardless of where she is

100% forces herself to fall asleep when she doesn't wanna listen/talk to someone

Himiko/Angie/Tenko relationship. I'm calling them the Traffic Light Trio

She likes taking naps in the forest

She prefers enclosed/tight spaces more than open ones

Has several hundred stress balls and squishies laying around

She overheats easy

Shinsou Hitoshi (BNHA)

Questioning his gender, but goes by any pronouns

Knows he's Asexual, at least

Has no clue what his romantic orientation is though

The kind of person to carry treats in his pocket just in case he runs into a cat

Will stop to pet literally every cat he comes across

Great at reading people

Doesn't talk unless it's 100% needed

Hangs with Tokoyami, Jirou, and Denki most often

Aizawa has 100% unofficially adopted him

Fosters kittens

Not a big fan of physical touch

He is 100% in the bakusquad. Anyone who says he's in the Dekusquad is a c o w a r d

He and Tsuyu vibe

Knows a bunch of random facts

Dark humour? Dark humour

*skates backwards into his therapist's room slowly sipping from an absurdly huge cup of coffee* Candice you're not gonna BELIEVE the shit I just went through

In case I forgot to mention it, he skates

Kyoko Kirigiri (THH)

Mtf

She/Her

Bi with female preference

Burns go up to her shoulders/collarbone/chest

Prefers to just listen as opposed to saying anything

Knows a ton of random trivia about everyone else in her class

She keeps a notebook she fills with all the trivia

Doesn't celebrate her birthday. She just doesn't see the point of it

Doesn't hate sugar/sweets, but if given the choice she would choose literally everything else

Cuts her own hair

A cat person

Permanent dark circles

T-Tall 😳

Like,,, 6'1 at LEAST

Only person taller than her is Yasuhiro (6'3)

Canon no longer exist

Ahahaha healthy life habits? What are those?

Can't handle horror games

She's the kind of person you'd go to if you needed to rant but didn't want any advice

Polyamourous yo

Celeste/Kyoko/Makoto

She's a dom yall are just scared to admit it

Tsuyu Asui (BNHA)

They go by They/Them

Lesbian

They and Ochaco are dating

They like to hang with Shinsou

Which mainly just means the two sitting in one of their dorms in near total silence doing whatever

Can speak English and French as well as Japanese

Learned English from cartoons

Picked up French bc they thought it'd be fun

Prefers to stay neutral in the whole Bakusquad / Dekusquad thing

They're invited to all outings/events by/for both squads

They like puns

They're a dumbass but willingly, and for fun

Like "someone says they like dark humour and they'll turn off the lights before telling a joke" kind dumbass for fun

Great at poker

Likes Disney Movies

Very touchy once you get close enough

Not in a sexual way, just likes physical contact

Especially fond of piggyback rides and cuddles

Extreme fear of needles

Entrapta (She-Ra)

She/Her or It/Its

Doesn't bother trying to figure out whether she's cis, trans, nonbinary, or what

Was AMAB though

Short as fuck (4'7)

Strong as fuck though

Cuddle game strong

Physical touch is a fuck yes

Cuddles

Piggyback rides

Hugs

Anything where she's touching someone is wonderful in her book

As long as she's the one that initiates it

Anyone else touching her without her permission makes her freak

Prefers being high up

Makes it harder for anyone to sneak up on her

An ace at video games

When it comes to sexuality she just says she's Questioning

Ibuki Mioda (SDR2)

Any pronouns + Pup/Pupself + It/Its

No idea what their gender is otherwise

Biromantic Asexual

Just likes sexual jokes

Gets distracted easily

Has severe hearing problems

She's plays her instruments as loud as possible, with the amp right next to her, without ANY ear protection

It's caused some damage

She talks so loud bc she has no idea how loud is considered acceptable

Wears hearings aids most of the time

Several piercings and tattoos

Likes hearing things jingle

She has a bracelet with a few bells hanging from it

She'll shake it whenever she's bored

LOVES hair accessories

Ribbons are a particular favourite

Occasionally she'll hang little charms from her hair "horns"

The kind of person who never takes any pills/medicine bc she keeps forgetting she has to

Frequently uses emojis

Skates everywhere but she isn't very good at it

She keeps crashing into everything

Has broken every bone in her body at least 3 times

Most of which was bc she keeps trying to kick in doors and skating down the stairs

Celestia Ludenberg (THH)

Nonbinary

Any pronouns, mainly goes by She/They

Bi, 70:30

Collects mini hand sanitizers and can tabs

Has single handedly gotten Mario Kart, Mario Party, Monopoly, Uno, and Clue banned a grand total of 17 times (and counting)

The kind of person to purposefully target someone regardless of what game was being played

Favourite victim is Byakuya (bc he gets so upset about it and she finds that hilarious)

Mains Waluigi

Celeste/Kyoko/Makoto

Has several banned Twitter accounts bc whenever she's bored she'll start discourse on purpose

Hangs with Korekiyo, Ibuki, Byakuya, Yasuhiro, and Leon most often

It's a weird friend group but everyone's sorta gotten used to it

She and Byakuya gamble together occasionally

She tries to avoid it bc he'll willingly blow his entire fortune in an attempt to beat her

Autustic

Can't stand the feeling of water

Mainly bc she can't swim for shit

Horror movies? Hates them

Gets flustered super easily

Taka is her twin brother

Kotoko, Kokichi, and Gundham are their half siblings (Same father)

Peko and Toko are their cousins

She sucks ass at go fish

Fuck canon she's 4'11 now

C h u b b y

Freckles

Once she gets comfortable enough with herself she dyes her hair in the peekaboo style

Either black and red or black and blonde

Haven't decided yet

I'll be doing Celesnaegiri hcs as a seperate post but I just feel it's important for you to know that she expresses her affection verbally and is a very touchy person

Went to middle school with Maki and Korekiyo

Has horrible eyesight

She wears contacts most of the time but she always puts off buying more

After the 5th or so time she ended up blindly stumbling around a week after her contacts ran out Kyoko convinced her to buy glasses as well

Religious accessories yo

Like chokers and dangly earrings with crosses and pentagrams and shit

Likes wearing wacky earrings

Can run and do all sorts of tricks in heels

She and Mukuro are exes yo

Keeps her hair short so it's easier to manage

Hair never gets longer than her shoulders if she can help it

She seems like the kind of person who'd keep her bangs grown past her eyes regardless of how frustrating or inconvenient it is

She's a sub yall just don't wanna admit it

Funtime Foxy (FNAF)

I'm going on the record to say this

Funtime Foxy is genderfluid and that is that

Goes by Funtime

Any pronouns, They/Them most commonly

Plays music (keyboard and guitar mainly)

They and Funtime Freddy (Freds) mainly play with the kids

Freds mainly tells stories with Bonbon while Funtime more so plays one-on-one

Has nicknames for everyone

Circus Baby - Ringleader

Ballora - Bells

Funtime Freddy - Partner

Bon Bon - Bun

Peril (WOF)

I like both Nonbinary She/They Peril and Mtf She/Her Peril

They're both such good concepts

She's a lesbian, Harold

She only had a crush on Clay bc he was pretty much everything she was supposed to like in a guy

Gimme a moment while I force all my mental disorders onto this poor child

Autistic, Anxiety (Social anxiety, mainly, but she has most types), Adhd, PTSD

I'd like to reiterate yet again that She's a lesbian

Sunny and Glory were her gay awakening

Peril in Book 1: Damn, Sunny and Glory sure are pretty. Anyone would be lucky to date them. Clay would probably go for them over me. He would be stupid if he didn't. I myself would willingly date them over someone like me. They're just so pretty :(

Peril waking up in a cold sweat in the middle of arc 2: WAIT-

Rarepair alert but Peril/Sora

Peril meeting Sora: "Hmmm She's attractive. I would love to date her. Too bad I'm straight and in love with her brother lmao :P"

Peril, a mere month later, waiting for Ruby to leave Jade Mountain, pacing in her cave, running face first into a wall: WAIT-

I remember reading this one amazing story where Sora taught Peril to read/write and Peril found out she set off the bomb and comforted her/convinced her her run so that's canon now

Btw if anyone can remember what that story was called/what platform it was on and could tell me I'd appreciate it very much

I'd even be willing to draw a character of your's or make you an icon or something

I usually don't accept requests bc I get burnt out easy but this is a special case

She runs into Sora again sometime between the beginning of TOP and the end

I like to imagine she just goes wandering around

Anyway she confesses like a mere few minutes after running into her again bc Peril is just subtle like that

The actual confession takes 15 minutes and the entire time Sora is just sitting here like "👁👄👁 sure"

Bam Peril/Sora

Peril plans to keep it a secret for a little while longer but she spends 3 seconds around Clay and pretty much blurts it out

Clay, who wasn't even aware that Peril was a lesbian, is just "👁👄👁"

I wanna say Clay doesn't know what a lesbian is but in my canon Sunny is a lesbian so Starflight has already told him

Anyway he's super supportive

From that point Peril is sorta open about her sexuality?

Like, she gives Clay permission to tell the rest of the D.O.D bc she isn't about to risk being in front of them when they hear the news

(When Sunny starts actively seeking her out as a hang out buddy and Tsunami, Glory, and Starflight appear to tolerate her presence just a bit more afterwards she pretends she isn't confused by the change)

She's pink, white, and blue bc I said so

If you look at a certain angle in the right lighting her eyes, mouth, fire, and under her scales all look purple

But her fire is normally white and blue bc I said so

Also she pale as fuck bc in my canon their fire just sorta burns their colour away

You know how you leave something outside for too long and it gets sunbleached? Where it gets all washed out?

Like that but more extreme

By the age of 10-12 firescale dragons are just white with pale eyes

That's right not even the eyes are safe

Ram horns :P

I'm also fond of Peril/Sunny

Or maybe Peril/Sora/Sunny

But Peril/Sora is the main thing

On the topic of that bringing in my hc that if one sib in a sib group is fire resistant all of them are

She,,, She can change her scale colour

But only slightly and only if her emotions are strong enough

Bc I don't give a fuck about Darkstalker's scroll we were robbed of hybrid Peril

Unfortunately all of Peril's emotions are strong

Rainwing ruff along her head and neck

It's like a hood

It's mainly smoothed to her sides but when she's startled it flares out

RAINWING PUPILS

Y'all will know what those look like as soon as I get off my ass :P

She,,, She can mimic bird cries

Hates the summer

She has more than enough body heat already and the outside is just hot enough to add on and make her feel sick

She can somewhat control her heat but most of the time it's based on her emotions

It can go from standing-in-the-middle-of-a-burning-building-cant-see-your-nose-smoke-is-so-thick heat (Strong emotion) to Hey-thats-a-nice-cozy-campfire heat (Calm/"weak" emotion/Sleeping)

I'm just gonna make a different post with all my Peril hcs cuz there isnt enough room for all of them here

[nightmaresart]

𝓓𝓸𝓷'𝓽 𝓽𝓮𝓵𝓵 𝓶𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓘'𝓵𝓵 𝓫𝓮 𝓯𝓲𝓷𝓮

Don't blame me, love made me crazy

If it doesn't, you ain't doin' it right

Lord, save me, my drug is my baby

I'd be usin' for the rest of my life

Don't blame me, love made me crazy

If it doesn't, you ain't doin' it right

Oh, Lord, save me, my drug is my baby

I'd be usin' for the rest of my life

Don't blame me - Taylor Swift

𝕭𝖆𝖘𝖎𝖈 𝕴𝖓𝖋𝖔𝖗𝖒𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓

Full Name: Victoria Penelope Montgomery

Meaning of Name:

The name Victoria is of Latin origins and means "The one of victory"

The name Penelope is of Greek origins and means "Beautiful person" or "Gift of God "

Nickname: Vicky, Victory, Penny

Reason of Nickname:

Vicky: Vicky is a nickname ber parents and friends often use for her as its easier to catch her attention like this if they want her to pay attention for a second

Victory: Victory is a nickname that her parents use to cheer the young woman up when she was younger

Penny: Penny isn't a common nickname for Victoria as people tend to use Vic or Vicky more, however, it is used from time to time by her friends to tease her about her middle name

Gender identity: Cis-Female

Pronouns: She/Her

Sexuality: Hetrosexual

Age: 17, depends on what I write

Birthday: 13-08

Zodiac sign: Leo ♌

Place of birth: Warwick, England

Blood Status: Half Blood

𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝖒𝖆𝖌𝖊

Hogwarts house: Gryffindor

The wand: Dogwood, Boomslang Venom, 12 ⅓ Inches

Dogwood: Dogwood is one of my own personal favourites, and I have found that matching a dogwood wand with its ideal owner is always entertaining. Dogwood wands are quirky and mischievous; they have playful natures and insist upon partners who can provide them with scope for excitement and fun. It would be quite wrong, however, to deduce from this that dogwood wands are not capable of serious magic when called upon to do so; they have been known to perform outstanding spells under difficult conditions, and when paired with a suitably clever and ingenious witch or wizard, can produce dazzling enchantments. An interesting foible of many dogwood wands is that they refuse to perform non-verbal spells and they are often rather noisy.

Boomslang Venom: Boomslang venom, whether crystallized or in a rarer liquid core, provides a small boost to jinxes and hexes thanks to its venomous qualities. However, when a wandmaker undertakes the dangerous task of working with the raw venom, it is generally with the aim of creating a powerful Transfiguration wand. Whether or not the advantages outweigh the risks is not generally agreed upon in wandmaking circles.

Patronus: Orca

Orca - It’s no mistake that orcas are nicknamed “killer whales.” They are one of the most effective hunters in the ocean. Orcas use teamwork and complex communication skills to hunt and the same cunning to protect their young. With the fierce, calculated protection of an orca on your side, you can rest assured that the Dementors will be no match for you.

Magical abilities: Lycantrophy

Lycanthropy is the state in which a Werewolf finds him or herself: that of turning into a fearsome and deadly near-wolf. 

Boggart:

The most important people in her life looking at her in disgust as they're talking down on her and who she is

Riddikulus form:

Not available, she ran out of the classroom and never got to discover it

Amortentia

What do they smell?

Maple syrup, Freshly cut grass, Warm tea and a Fireplace

What do they smell like?

Sweets, A hint of blood, Lilies and the woods after a storm

Mirror of Erised

Herself and her Husband with some healthy kids, not having to worry about what others think of her and that she is safe with her new family and friends

𝕻𝖍𝖞𝖘𝖎𝖈𝖆𝖑 𝖆𝖕𝖕𝖊𝖆𝖗𝖆𝖓𝖈𝖊

Eye Colour: Brown

Hair Colour: Dark Brown

Hair Style: Untamed coup of hair that perfectly represents whether its close to a full moon or not

Weight: 58 kg or 127 lbs

Height: 1,65 m or 5 ft 4

Type of Body/Build: Mesomorph, Hourglass figure

Skin Tone: Beige, warm undertone

Distinguishing Marks: The first thing people will notice are the scars on the left side of her face

Face claim: Phoebe Tonkin

𝕻𝖊𝖗𝖘𝖔𝖓𝖆𝖑𝖎𝖙𝖞

Overall Personality

An overall calm and collected girl who seems to know more than she shows. She is smart and uses her knowledge for pranks and least harmful ways of creating mischief. She is snarky and can be quite sarcastic, she loves to mess around with her friends and is often the reason they get out of trouble or detention.

Briggs myer type: ESFP

Good traits:

Outgoing, adventurous, caring, talkative, understanding

Bad traits:

Crude, loud, distracted easily, a bit of a dreamer, pushover

𝕬𝖙𝖙𝖎𝖙𝖚𝖉𝖊

Towards people they hate

She is cold towards the people she hates, she doesn't interact with them and always gives them the cold shoulder

Towards people they tolerate

She is gentle with the people she tolerates, she isn't as talkative with them as she is with her friends but she doesn't mind talking to them at all

Towards people they consider friends

She is herself with the people she sees as friends, she doesn't hide her personality and if she deems them trustworthy enough she also doesn't hide her lycanthropy at all, even alerting them when the full moon is close so they know she'll react differently

𝕽𝖊𝖑𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓𝖘𝖍𝖎𝖕𝖘

Family:

Father: Matthew Montgomery, a muggle man

Mother: Rosemarie Smith/Montgomery, a full blood woman

Sibling: Timothy William Montgomery, younger brother

Friends:

Teddy Ellison, Galen Stagg @cursebreakerfarrier , Roel Leeuwenhoek @words-and-wands , Gabriel Sapieha, Josie Edwards @slytherindisaster , Tadgh Lynch, Kit O'Sheeran @unfortunate-arrow , Logan Rosseto @demon-twins-and-co

S/o:

Danny Gibson @catohphm

Rivals:

TBD

𝕭𝖆𝖈𝖐𝖘𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖞

Born in Warwick England, Victoria's mother was casted out by her family for marrying a muggle man and having a child with him. This automatically meant that Victoria was an outcast to that side of the family as well as she wasn't a full blood born child. She never learned about her mother's side of the family as well as Rosemarie refused to talk about them.

Growing up Victoria had quite a happy and normal childhood, she was allowed to do her own things and her parents were there for her if she needed them in any sort of way.

Around the age of seven when the young girl was staying with her uncle she was unfortunately attacked by a werewolf. Distraught the young child screamed and cried herself a sore throat and it took ages for her uncle to comfort her.

After this accident Victoria wasn't the same anymore as she was constantly on edge and scared, she didn't know what to do and neither did her parents. It tookba couple of years to come around and accept it, around that time she also received her Hogwarts letter. Stress was the first thing she felt when she got the letter as she wouldn't have a safe place to transform during a full moon and she didn't believe that the other children would accept her if she told them.

In the beginning of her Hogwarts career she was very closed off, but as time passed she gained more confidence and eventually became one of the many troublemakers Gryffindor and Hogwarts would see in their years to come

After Hogwarts it is said that she disappeared of the radar, refusing to live in a busy city or town

𝕽𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖔𝖒 𝕱𝖆𝖈𝖙𝖘

Victoria is quite cautious about telling new friends about her lycanthropy, but once she does tell them its always after she has decided she trusts them enough

She is quite good at transfiguration and its her best subject with Potions being her absolute worst

She is always in a horrible mood a week before the next full moon and will make this fact known to her friends

She will sass you if you're being a complete idiot in her eyes

She loves teasing her friends about their crushes once she figures them out. Ofcourse she never takes it too far

She loves puns and often makes them, cracking up halfway through though as she amuses herself with them the most

She is really good at giving puppy eyes, she uses this to get things from her friends or to get out of trouble, it works most of the time

If you want your mc to be added to her friend or rival list, just tell me and I'll add them!

[the-wild-ego]

The Past

Requested: No.

Fandom: Markiplier

Pairing: Lucius/Reader

Pronouns: Gender Neutral

Warnings: Angst, implied murder. If you find another one, feel free to inbox me, so I can fix it. :)

A/N: Its 2:30am and I was struck with inspirations. You can read about Lucius more here and here, he is my own creation... if you'd like to know more about him or Luc/Luci, please inbox me.... Enjoy!

Lucius has always struggled with himself and what he was feeling. His emotions were warped during his time in the Magik Realm, and he has struggled with his guilt ever since his soul had been restored to his body.

You see, to enter the Magik Realm, and to learn Magik the true way, one must be willing to lose their soul and may choose to have it restored to them. Once the King of the Magik Realm determined that their training is over, of course.

That being said, not everyone chose to have their soul returned to them, finding it easier to simply exist without it. For some people, Magik was better when you didnt have to face the mental consequences.

"You're stuck in that place again, aren't you?" came a steady voice to Lucius's left. He smiled as he looked over to you, and noticed immediately that your brow was furrowed in concern.

"What place, my love?" he asked softly, setting down his- now cold- cup of tea. His question made you sigh and you stepped closer to the man. His shaggy brown hair had been tied back and his glasses sat perfectly on his nose. The shirt he wore was short sleeved, allowing his markings to be on display. The markings were thick, black runes that had been burned into his skin. A physical connection to his powers that seemed like tattoos to other mortals.

"Don't play coy, you know what I mean," your hands took his free one, cupping it gently before pulling it against your chest. Your eyes stared into his chocolate ones, "Talk to me about it, please?"

Lucius's eyes flicked over to the window, peering out into the street below. It was midday but the sky was dark as rain pelted the earth and blurred the lights of other homes that lined the roads.

"One of my tasks in the Magik Realm was to come to the human world..." he began, pausing when you moved to stand closer to him. He was tense as he dwelled in the past. It was something you never forced him to talk about, but he appreciated it whenever you offered to lend an ear. "Not only that, of course, but I was tasked with gathering emotions."

"For this one, right?" you kept your voice down, not wanting to disturb his train of thought even as your fingers traced over a rune that peaked out from his shirt. It was a physical connection to his magik, something humans perceived as a tattoo. However, if you looked closer, the thick, black lines were obviously burn marks. Lucius called them 'lessons', it attested to the tasks he did to gain more spells and knowledge. They hurt and often times, Lucius would wake up from the nightmares of recieving them.

"Yes... This rune allows me to better control and manipulate how others are feeling..." Lucius frowned, but it was the truth, that was his intention when he asked for the task, "However, gathering the emotions meant collecting the souls of humans during their last few moments alive. Their greatest emotion would be the one that we learned..."

You held your breath, not wanting to interfere with his story, even if you didn't like what he was about to say. You knew you wouldn't, you almost never did.

"I was thinking about Fear, and how I collected it." Lucius turned his eyes back to you, his jaw clenching and unclenching. A rune revealed itself on his temple, its lines branching out to his forehead before it faded again. It was a Rune that allowed Lucius to grant a telepathic connection. He used it often with you, showing you his memories or feelings. This time was no exception as his thoughts were poured into your brain.

Lucius stepped through the wreckage of the train. It had flew off its tracks due to an electrical malfunction and Lucius thought it would be a good time to collect the last emotion he'd been missing. Fear.

And as he passed by the strewn out bodies, he found the perfect target. A woman, with long brunette hair and deep green eyes. Blood seeped through a cut in her temple and she was gasping for breath as she tried to stand up. The train was turned on its side and it was obvious she was disoriented and frightened.

"Help!" She cried out, voice weak as she managed to stand. It wasnt long before she had tripped over another body, and it was then that Lucius somrthing about this woman. Her stomach was large, abnormally so, because she was pregnant. With twins from the looks of it, "Somebody!"

"How sad." Lucius huffed, rolling his eyes as the woman turned to him. She was clutching a broken seat, trying to pull herself up again.

"What? Wh-who?" the woman groaned in pain, clutching her stomach.

"It doesnt matter. You're going to die now." Lucius stated, his hand began glowing red. The rune on the back of said hand began to glow a deeper red as the magick activates.

"No- this can't be real... please, my children, please." the woman began to sob hysterically, scared and confused as she collapsed once more. She could only lay there, staring up as Lucius approached her. He raised his hand and-

You were pulled from the memory, your breath gone from your lungs as you struggled to catch up with yourself. Never had you seen the super dark parts of Lucius's past, even if you knew they were there. So it was jarring to experience it.

"Y/N?" the Wizards voice drew your eyes back to him and it was then that you'd noticed that you had pulled away from him. His hand was out reached, but he made no move to grab you.

"I'm so sorry," you whispered, still seeing the woman's eyes flash in front of your own. You hadn't wanted to do this, but, "I need a minute."

Lucius nodded, a numbed expression settling over his face. Yet, you couldnt bring yourself to calm the expression. Instead, you turned and left Lucius alone, with his thoughts.

"Of course." His voice was short and hung in the empty air as the door shut behind your figure. And he was forced to dwell once more in the past. He felt the tears prick at his eyes as he back handed his mug off the windowsill. He panted angrily as he struggled to contain his emotions. Flames flicked between his clenched fist as he caught his reflect in the window's cold glass. His face twisted in disgust,

"Monster."

[aleximedicusa]

———  BASICS! ♡

(PEN)NAME! ♡     kyra

PRONOUNS! ♡     she / her

ZODIAC SIGN! ♡     gemini

TAKEN OR SINGLE! ♡     single

———  THREE  FACTS! ♡

1! ♡     my first foray into online roleplaying was the forums on foopets. did anyone else use foopets? it was this site where you could adopt little virtual cats and dogs and take care of them, but there were also forum boards, and there was an rp section. it was the most terrible, cringey stuff. there was BIG drama when they shut down the rp forums and made the site pay-to-play. i was like... eleven lmao. back when we’d all say things like ‘glomp’ and use ‘XD’ in every sentence.

2! ♡     i got to black belt level in tae kwon do. i competed in competitions and everything. even got first place a few times. i quit when i was around sixteen, but i still kind of miss it sometimes.

3! ♡     i definitely have a muse type of ‘doctor / scientist with varying levels of questionable morals.’ my longest-running muse on tumblr is book-based henry jekyll — had him since 2013. i also wrote victor frankenstein for a while, and wolfe macfarlane from stevenson’s ‘the body snatcher.’ i don’t know why i’ve collected so many. i just love funky medical bastards who have never heard of ethics. 

———  EXPERIENCE! ♡

PLATFORMS USED! ♡   foopets, various forums, facebook (the darkest timeline), tumblr, very briefly twitter. 

———  MUSE  PREFERENCE! ♡

GENDER! ♡    i’ve mostly written male muses, for some reason, but i’ve got more of a balance now that i’ve made johanna. 

LEAST FAVOURITE FACE(S)! ♡    just anyone that looks too model-perfect. i can’t explain it, but i like faces that have something interesting or different to them, not the same cookie-cutter hollywood ideal that just walked out of a magazine. i can’t pinpoint specific names, but there are loads that fit this that i just don’t enjoy. 

MULTI OR SINGLE! ♡   single. i tried the multi thing and it just wasn’t for me. i wish i could handle a multi, but i tend to get really fixated on one muse at a time, so it’s easier to just spend time on that muse’s blog. i felt really guilty when i had a bunch of muses on one blog and only wanted to write one for weeks at a time. 

———  FLUFF / ANGST / SMUT! ♡    

FLUFF:  eh, depends. it’s generally not my thing, but it has its place. 

ANGST:  depends, again. gratuitous angst can get a bit over the top. i like a healthy dose of it when it’s done well and in the right contexts. 

SMUT:  i prefer to write it privately. i don’t like doing it on the dash. 

PLOT / MEMES! ♡  i am... exceedingly bad with memes. if you’ve ever sent one in, you probably know this. i’ve tried to stop myself from reblogging memes unless i can force myself to answer most that come in, since i know i tend to reblog memes and then have no muse for actually answering them. plotting is MUCH more preferable. please plot with me. i almost enjoy plotting more than threads themselves, tbh. i am never not up for plotting.

tagged by :  stole it  tagging :  steal it 

[chanaihimaa]

LFRP - Chanai Himaa

(updated 3/10/2021)

DETAILS –––

Alias: “The Lynx”; Rosa Rugosa

Age: 25

Birthday: 13th Sun of the 6th Astral Moon (11/12)

Race: Au Ra, Xela

Gender: Nonbinary transmasc

Sexuality: Homosexual

Pronouns: He/Him/They/Them

Alignment: Chaotic neutral/Good

Marital Status: Single

Physical Appearance –––

Hair: Black

Eyes: Ruby red

Height: 5′2″.

Build: petite, toned

Distinguishing Marks and Body Piercings: Nothing worth noting, he’d say. Dark scales to match both horns and tail, a beauty mark at the upper corner of his mouth and a cluster of faint freckles at the corner of his eyes.  A full tattoo sleeve in dark ink and red roses decorates his right arm and a half sleeve of the same design along his left arm to match the single rose in bloom on his upper right thigh. Only clients are aware of the navel piercing that twinkle and shine tauntingly with the barbell jewelry at his hips. Upon closer inspection, one may notice a single clean white scar on the palm of his right hand and the hint of a small, metal barbell glinting cheekily on his tongue.

Common Accessories: Pocket knives kept hidden in his boot or the inner pocket of jackets, a careful smear of tinted lip balm or rouge that, once only used for work, now a common staple to match the red eyeshadow he wears.

PERSONAL –––

Profession: Depends on whom you ask. Some know him as a habitual thief, a for-hire professional courtesan, intelligence gatherer, or the occasional “Handler” that does away annoying competition. Hard to prove the latter. Unless... you know where to look.

Hobbies: Drinking, painting, photography, sparring. collecting pocket knives and learning new spells

Languages: Eorzean Common, Elezen, and speckles of other phrases from other languages his tongue is still learning.

Birthplace: The Sea, he believed prior; Limsa and its orphanage has been his home for as long as he can remember. Quite recently he has discovered his birthplace and family tribe The Steppe.

Residence: a quaint apartment

Religion: He worships no higher being but the magiks that run through his veins. He is open to knowing about many other beliefs

Patron Deity: Rhalgr

Fears: He fears abandonment and betrayal from those that, by some higher deity, he would rest his trust in. Hells fire and dragon’s roar do not frighten him. Come Hells or high water, he would face it at any cost. It are those that manage to get too close to him that make him weary, and the emotional compromise that comes with it.

RELATIONSHIPS –––-

Spouse: “...you’re jokin’”

Children: None

Parents: His mother, Kinu Himma, and father, Naoie Himaa

Other relatives: A twin sister, Cho Himaa

Pet(s): Midnight, his pet Coeurl

TRAITS –––

Extroverted / In Between / Introverted Disorganized / In Between / Organized Close Minded / In Between / Open Minded Calm / Anxious / damn good at pretending to be calm Disagreeable / In Between / Agreeable Cautious / In Between / Reckless Patient / In Between / Impatient Outspoken / In Between / Reserved Leader / In Between / Follower Empathetic / In Between / Apathetic Optimistic / In Between / Pessimistic Traditional / In Between / Modern Hard-working / In Between / Lazy Cultured / In Between / Uncultured Loyal / In Between / Disloyal Faithful / In Between / Unfaithful

ADDITIONAL INFORMATION –––-

Smoking Habit: never / sometimes / frequently / trying to cut back  Drugs: never / sometimes (depends) / frequently / to excess. Alcohol: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess.

RP HOOKS –––

The Price is Right: For those that have their own connections to know, Chanai has a reputation of doing shady jobs for coin beneath the veiled service of a simple courtesan addressed as one of his aliases, Rose Rugosa. Need him to move info from one place to another? Need something stolen? Be a bird in someone’s ear or fly on the wall? He's your lad. Whom else better than someone whose job is to make those he gets involved with comfortable enough to loosen their tongue? He'll do as he's asked. So long as the price is right.

"...Have we met?": Living amidst the underbelly, a good bit of the time Chanai is actively seeking out clientele for his courtesan work, other times he is gathering information among the hustle and bustle when he isn’t pushing trades for others. Especially in any tavern that keeps the liquor pouring. Be warned, he may pick your pockets if he's feeling frisky. 

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder: Chanai is a painter! Commission work is his bread and butter. After all, it helps pay the rent. .

"Be careful with me”: Beware your crossings. Foul-mouthed and quick to temper, Chanai has no problem pressing blades to sensitive areas if you come off as a threat to him. Don't push your luck if you don't want to be gutted from ear to where the blessed Twelve split you. Hidden blades are a comfort for this quick-handed Auri. 

Magiks: A strange dream, coupled with the calling of something restless in his core, has stirred Chanai on a path of newfound discovery that he sets out to know more of and understand the scar on his hand that grants him the ability to see fragment memories of those he touches with it. 

Misc.: Got an idea of how your character's fate intertwines with Chanai? What to throw some headcanons at each other until something sticks? Let's chat shop and brainstorm our way into plotting.

OOC, I AM…

Quite open to almost all forms of roleplay. Chanai is a mature-themed character with mature elements. Please don’t be afraid to ask about anything before we get into any plots, planning, and/or RP that may have darker themes. Anything that would permanently affect my character is something I will not allow unless we’ve discussed it prior.

Well-over the age of 25+

Looking for friends, enemies, and work contacts for this lovely lad

Friendly! You can contact me here on Tumblr, in-game and Discord ChaCha#6994. Discord is easier for me to roleplay, but I also have a tenderness for roleplaying there and here. Can be open to in-game rp. 

On EST

Preferred rping over Discord, personally.

On the Balmung server/Crystal Data Center. 

[ladyautie]

get to know me more!

@funyasm​ tagged me and I’m bored after writing my chapter, so here it is!

✨ what do you prefer to be called name wise?

My name’s Sophie. My friends call me Spencou or Spence. We met on a Role-Playing game forum where I played a character named Spencer. We’re used to call each other by our characters’ names and nicknames, most of the time. My brother calls me Sis’.

✨ when is your birthday?

15th november 1993.

✨ where do you live?

Paris, France.

✨ three things you are doing right now?

I’m watching an episode of AT4W on youtube, scrolling on Tumblr and I’m drinking a coffee.

✨ four fandoms that have piqued your interest right now?

Definitely It and especially Eddie Kaspbrak and the ship Reddie. I’m kinda obsessed right now, writing fanfic, reading fanfic, daydreaming about it and all.

I just played the Last of Us 2 and I’m currently watching a let’s play from my favorite youtubers, Mari and Stacy from Geek Remix. I’ll probably read a few fics as well.

The tv show Barry (HBO) is a definite special interest for me. I’m probably going to watch it all once again real soon and I’m planning on writing a fanfic or two in the future. I’m dying for the third season to come.

Finally, I’m probably going to be super into The Umbrella Academy once again, when the second season will be released. I’m just really into Vanya, Klaus and Allison and I can’t wait to see more of them.

✨ how is the pandemic treating you?

None of the people I know have been contaminated, so I’m lucky about that. I’m not quarantined anymore, back to work, and the transition is not easy. 

I feel like I’m more openly autistic than I used to be and that I can’t stand the rest of the world for a long period of time. I’ve experienced multiple meltdowns and shutdowns and I have real difficulties to socialize with most people or to focus on my work.

I feel incredibly naked and vulnerable whenever I’m leaving my flat without my mask on, so I think that’s definitely something I’m gonna have to work on in the future.

Leaving Paris and meeting my folks for my mother’s wedding, I found myself surrounded by people who mostly didn’t care about the virus, kissing each other on the cheek in true french fashion to say hello, hugging, not wearing a mask, not respecting any kind of social distance. 

I was quickly overwhelmed by all of that, plus the noise, and I had to isolate myself in my parents’ car, sobbing hysterically and willing to suffer in a overheated car if it meant having a bit of peace.

There are definitely going to be long-term consequences. I can only hope that my physical health will remain okay, though.

✨ song you can’t stop listening right now?

Keep On by Sasha Sloan. I just really love the lyrics and the message.

✨ recommend a movie.

Whenever I have to think of a movie to recommend, Frank by Lenny Abrahamson is the first one that comes to my mind. This movie is an obsession for me since the first time I watched it and I often find myself watching it again and again. Despite its heavy subjects, it’s definitely a comfort movie for me.

Too often, movies featuring mentally ill characters will aim for the characters to “get better”, which doesn’t mean for them to find healthy ways to cope with their issues, but usually for them to look more “neurotypical-like”, if you know what I mean. Frank  doesn’t go that way at all. On the contrary, it pushes the viewer to empathize with the main characters and to understand their point of view, their way of being.

It’s so incredibly comforting to watch a movie featuring mental illness realistic and not romanticized and to have the movie say “you’re different and you have issues, but you’ll find your tribe someday and be able to find your own happiness, even if it’s unconventional by society’s standards”.

I don’t know, I just have so much feelings about this movie. Plus the music slaps, the humor is hilarious (kudos to the random French guy who can perfectly understand English but refuses to utter a single word if it’s not in French) and the actors are truly on point (I can only salute Domnhall Gleeson, among everyone else who is also worthy of praise, because he definitely managed to make me hate his character in a way I almost never hated a character before).

Watch it!

✨ how old are you?

I’m 26 years old.

✨ school, university, occupation, other?

I used to be a librarian, but I couldn’t find a stable job in this field, so I passed an entrance examination and I’m now working in the tax administration. Yeah, not really glamorous, but it pays the bills and I’m accommodated for my disability, so it helps. 

✨ do you prefer hot or cold?

Definitely cold. When I was a kid, I used to swim in mountain lakes, at temperatures close to 13° celsius, and I still take my showers mostly cold. I can’t stand heat, I get headaches very easily when it’s sunny and I’m getting confused easily whenever it’s too hot. I recently had a nosebleed at work so intense that I found myself spitting blood (it went better once I got a fan, making the temperature bearable).

✨ name one fact others may not know about you.

I used to be allergic to my own sweat when I was around 18, until my early twenties. Whenever I was doing a mild physical effort or getting stressed out, I would get hives and itchy skin rash all over my whole freaking body, which was so exhausting that I would fall asleep immediately as soon as the rash was gone. 

It disappeared as suddenly as it appeared, without me ever doing something about it. I still don’t know why I experienced that and if I’m going to experience that ever again. I hope not.

✨ are you shy?

My autism makes social interactions complicated, but I’d say I’m mostly impaired by my social anxiety and the various traumas I’m dealing with daily.

Traumas I got after having been bullied pretty badly by kids and teachers during my school years, my stepfather being borderline abusive and different traumatic experiences, including my childhood crush dying from a ski accident when I was 15 or so (and me never being able to tell him that I loved him) and people betraying me so many times that I can’t even recall every little thing.

As a result, I find myself doubting constantly that I’m worthy of love, affection and respect and I often wonder when I’ll do or say the “wrong” thing that will cause me to lose everyone I care about. I also have a hard time knowing who I am and, as a result, allowing everyone to know who I am as well. 

I often don’t know what to say and will find myself keeping my mouth shut, even on topics I’m knowledgeable about, because I’m scared of people shutting me down, among other things. My friends make it easier for me to talk about things I like and all, but I’m still heavily doubting myself.

I try to challenge myself regularly. I’ll force myself to take part in events that are taxing or that are forcing me to perform in front of people. That’s how I found myself taking part in the casting part of the french equivalent of “American Idol” (I merely met the pre-judges, but I did manage to sing my whole song in front of them). I needed to prove to myself that I could do it.

✨ do you have any preferred pronouns?

I’m using she/her, but I don’t mind people using they/them to talk about me if they don’t want to be gender-specific.

✨ any pet peeves?

I hate how people can freely and openly be homophobic, racist, ableist, transphobic, sexist and so on, but as soon as I open my mouth to let them know that what they said/did wasn’t appropriate, I’m labelled as one of those “hysterical feminists” or a “party pooper”. s/ Sorry if your antisemitic joke isn’t making me laugh, my “dear” colleague... /s I hate whenever people infantilize me, especially my mom. She’s still keeping an eye on my bank account, despite me telling her that I didn’t want her to do so again and again. I don’t dare to block her out, because I’m scared of her emotional reaction.  I hate the ugliest parts of fandom, notably the obsession with “who’s topping / who’s bottoming” whenever there’s a gay pairing or the racism / ableism / transphobia / homophobia I’ve witnessed again and again.

I don’t dare to engage in the Last of Us 2 fandom because of that and the way some people describe the character of Abby (a very muscular woman), focusing on her physical appearance and calling her awful names (being downright transphobic when they thought that she was the transgender character that Naughty Dog announced there would be in their game). 

✨ what’s your favorite “dere” type?

I had to google it, because aside from Yandere and Tsundere, I didn’t know a thing about it. I guess you could say I’m a Dandere (someone who is quiet and asocial. They are afraid to talk, fearing that what they say will get them in trouble.). 

My favorite type is Kuudere though, when it comes to anime in particular (someone who is calm and collected on the outside, and never panics. They show little emotion, and in extreme cases are completely emotionless, but may be hiding their true emotions. They tend to be leaders who are always in charge of a situation.). 

My favorite anime character, Kiyotaka Ayanokōji from the anime Classroom of the elite, is the most extreme case I can think about. He’s completely expressionless for most of the anime, talks with a very dull voice and it’s impossible to know what he’s thinking about at all times or what’s his overall plan. His hidden depth makes him all the more fascinating. He managed to keep me interested in a mostly meh anime.

✨ rate your life 1-10. 1 being really crappy and 10 being the best you could ever be.

It’s a bit hard, but somewhere around 5 or 6? I went through tons of crap in my life but I’m still here and able to live on my own, even if my quality of life isn’t all that good. I live with nearly daily suicidal thoughts since I was a teenager and have to compose with my meltdowns and anxiety attacks as well. I feel “other” most of the time and I can’t relate to most people I’m meeting and interacting with, which can sometimes feel very lonely.

On the other hand, I have wonderful friends who are willing to put up with my trauma crap and are overall amazing to talk to and be around. I have a cat I love dearly. They’re the reason why I’m still alive to this day, giving me a reason to say fuck off to my suicidal thoughts. 

✨ what’s your main blog?

My main blog is Ladyautie and is about autism. I have another blog, reddie-4-more, focusing on the It movies and Eddie Kaspbrak and Richie Tozier.

✨ is there anything you think people need to know about you before becoming friends with you?

So, uh, don’t be weirded out by the kind of things I can tell you about my past. Even if it seems a lot, all of it is definitely true. 

For example, I was almost kidnapped when I was around 8 or 9 by a random guy, while I was camping with my father. 

My father and my paternal grandmother actually kidnapped me and my brother when I was around two and I stayed with him until the social workers determined that my mother had to raise us again because our well-being and overall life were threatened. 

Lots of events of my life seem far-fetched or out of a movie / a book or something and I had people telling me that I must be lying or that I’m over-exaggerating, something that always hurts deeply.

I’m terribly awkward and more or less openly autistic, so you’re definitely going to notice something different about me. I can’t change for you and I’m not willing to hide my traits only to make you feel more comfortable about frequenting me, so if you can’t handle my socially anxious and disabled ass, then just leave.

I need people to actually tell me what they think or feel. I’m very “first degree” and I’m pretty bad at guessing what people are thinking about. Don’t be afraid to be frank.

Finally, never, and I mean never, infantilize me. I’m a 26 years old woman. I’m not a kid.I’m fine with my friends offering to help or making sure that I’m okay or so, but never assume that I don’t understand something and don’t force your help on me if I say that I’m okay.

That’s it, those who want to take part in this exercise, don’t hesitate!

[moonlitjade]

Hallowed Mother, our deliverer, I come to you in our time of need. Guide us so that we may seek our paradise.

> Character Info

NAME / ALIAS: Yona Uyehara  AGE: 29 GENDER / PRONOUNS: Female Host (She/They/Us) HEIGHT: 202cm/ 6′6″ WEIGHT: 80kg/176lbs VOICECLAIM: Goblin Slayer — Purple Mage SPONSOR: Techico Labs

> Lore

SPECIES: Kishi (Carnasite Host)

Pureblood Kishi are a noble, but delicate species. They are defined by pale, slightly luminous doll-like skin, translucent flesh, dark sclera, and fine, straight hair in light colors. As a prideful and insular species, they take great care in their ornate grooming and presentation, with ornaments and hair styling a symbol of both status and class. They often adorn themselves in simple painted wooden beads, made from the native black wood, and the many pale gemstones abundant in their soil, along with layered silken fabrics.

The Kishi are also extremely photo-sensitive, hailing from the moonlit planet Asmodia. They are a minority species on Asmodia, and stay tightly clustered in small clans. Though their night-vision is nearly impeccable, they are extremely susceptible to blindness and UV burns. They have additional eyes embedded in their palms, enhancing their night-vision, with the ability to see auras and spiritual energy. Those gifted amongst their communities may even be appointed as Seers, with brief insight into the future, or the nature of a path a particular choice may take the Kishi down. 

They are deeply devout to their Supreme Mother, a spiritual being named Cosmos, who they believe is deeply intertwined with their lives, and actively guides them. As their species has an extremely slow reproduction rate, and a high rate of birth failure, they have deep reverence for the matriarchs in their clans, and often look to their female counterparts for leadership and direction. Alongside this, they do not eat meat on principle, and prefer mushrooms, and other strongly flavoured plants and fungi. 

//

The Carnasite is a highly malicious and infectious parasite that rapidly mutates the host. It begins as a microscopic organism that grows in size and influence the more it eats. A diverse diet of strong and hardy species will cause it to mutate and strengthen further, and potentially even take on characteristics of the species it consumes to follow unique evolution pathways for each host. Periods without food will cause it to devolve and revert to a more primitive state.

Note for Body Horror: The mutation period for a Carnasite infection is usually 2-3 days. Initial symptoms of a Carnasite infection include insatiable hunger, irritability, fever, flushed skin and psychosis. Delusions are usually focused around incessant whispering and paranoia. 

As the infection progresses, the host will begin to experience blurred vision, jaw pain, festering sores on the sides of the lips, and increasing hunger. Small wounds will also appear across the body, particularly on the bulk of the limbs, with accompanying bumps around the wounds. Within a day, these wounds will expose teeth and begin producing a sticky adhesive saliva, not unlike spider silk. Large fangs will also split the skin around the mouth. 

At this stage of infection, the host will enter a frenzied state, in which they will consume anything nearby, organic or inorganic. Some hosts may not return from this state, and remain crazed. If they are starved or without sustenance, they will ultimately self-consume and perish. 

Those with a high rate of biological synergy with the parasite may retain enough of their mental faculties to return from a frenzy, and suppress the physical appearance and needs of the Carnasite to a degree. 

A Carnasite infestation will cause the host to crave satiation, particularly from new and foreign organic flesh, to diversify its own genetic code and abilities. It speaks in an unknown language, and can be heard whispering at times to the host when the hunger cravings are particularly strong. 

Consuming the flesh of an infected individual will pass on the infection.

There is currently no known cure or extraction method for this parasite.

HOMEWORLD / PLANET: Asmodia — Caelia Cluster

Originally, the Kishi lived on Asmodia, a beautiful bioluminescent planet with two moons. Populated by lush towering flora and a diverse range of fauna, Asmodia was a thriving planet in perpetual moonlit darkness. The Kishi lived comfortably in ‘tree-top’ communities amidst the tall fungiform plants, using the planet’s low gravity to drift between establishments. The planet is now barren after a foreign disease from a merchant ship crash ravaged the flora, and left it incapable of supporting the Kishi species.

//

Cygnus — Caelia Cluster

A nearby planet with a complex underground cavern system and an empty surface, covered with thick toxic fog. There are signs of long-forgotten settlers scattered across the surface, obscured by the fog and acid rain. 

However, underneath the adverse surface of Cygnus is a stunning and complex system of caves, lit by luminescent crystals and moss-like flora. The caves are characterised by their large columns made of thick fleshy roots, opening out into webbed shelters at the base, like mangrove roots. These basket-like shelters usually form around geode rocks full of precious mineral ore, and shallow caustic waterways carrying small bioluminescent insects that glow when disturbed. The parasitic Carnasite species lay undisturbed on Cygnus for an unknown time, dormant in the lush moss of the caves.

STATS: ATK (4) / DEF (6) / DEX (4) / CHR (10) / INTL (10) / HP (8)

SECONDARY JOB / PROFESSION: Botanist — Yona takes it upon herself to explore, collect, and cultivate the flora of any new planet she visits, to see if it has any viable medicinal or sustenance purposes for her people. 

> SKILLS / ABILITIES:

> Siren Song: (CHR) Those lucky enough to have heard the secretive Kishi sing will speak of the enchanting power their voices hold. They hold a hypnotic quality that may lull a relaxed or vulnerable listener into a hypnotic state, leaving them open to suggestion. A loud noise or persistent outside distraction can break this effect. They have great control over their vocals as well, and can emit loud ear-piercing shrieks and a vast range of frequencies.

> Insatiable: (ATK/DEF) As a Carnasite host, Yona has been granted the ability to consume anything. Anything. She may also temporarily take on some of the physical characteristics of what she eats, such as hardened or jagged skin, heat resistance, color change, or other limited samples of foreign abilities. As her symbiote is still relatively young, it reverts from this evolved state rapidly unless it has a large and constant source of the same food. While she can still experience the taste sensation of adverse experiences such as bitterness or spiciness, she will not experience the attached side effects of food. Poisons, allergies and digestive incapabilities will be nullified by the parasite’s adaptive appetite. As a drawback however, she is truly insatiable, and constantly plagued by hunger. 

> Spider Silk: (DEX/INT) Yona is able to produce a durable and adhesive silk-like thread from the saliva of the Carnasite mouths. She can control the nature of the thread, like how quickly it dries, how sticky it will be, and/or how brittle it will be, which makes it uniquely suited to a variety of tasks. Primary uses include snaring/immobilising prey, repairing or making clothing, creating traps, binding items together or creating constructs like nets. 

> Seer Sight: (INT) When deeply involved in prayer and thought, Yona may briefly glimpse a vision of the future, or experience a feeling as a premonition for the possible pathways an action may take. She is not as skilled as some of her species at this, so her visions often appear scattered, obscured and vague. She may also accurately locate bodily or spiritual injury using this skill, to better treat an individual or locate a bodily weakness.

> Night Vision: (INT) Kishi have pristine vision in darkness. They thrive in dimly lit settings, and may even become luminous themselves if they have been exposed to enough moonlight. Briskly rubbing their skin may accentuate this effect.

> PERSONALITY

{ Peaceful // Gentle // Nurturing // Resolute // Contemplative // Trusting // Conflicted // Compulsive // Fretful // Melancholic }

Yona tries to embody many of the best traits of her culture. She is gentle, nurturing, and extremely devout to their Supreme Mother Cosmos, whose belief system encourages many maternal and guiding qualities. She believes in striving for true harmony with one’s environment, and always being respectful to one’s ancestors and the history of the land she encounters. Though somewhat skittish when first experiencing new things and meeting new people, Yona’s patience and kindness knows no bounds once she is familiar and comfortable. 

Despite the fundamental conflicts between her morals/values and her current predicament, she remains resolute and steadfast to her goal of finding a cure for her people from the Carnasite plague. She is utterly selfless and willing to be a martyr for the sake of her species’ future, even if it means casting her own quality of life and happiness to the wayside. She has extreme mental fortitude in the face of hardship, which is one of the main contributors to her survival thus far. The burden of this mission however leaves her contemplative most of the time, and melancholic when she dwells on the Kishi’s plight. 

She views bounty hunting as a necessary evil, in order to balance the hunger-driven compulsions from the Carnasite living inside her, and views many things in the universe as such. She tries to find a uniquely balanced perspective on all the conflicts in her life, striving to see both sides of the equation. As such, she finds it easier to sympathise with the motivations of a villain or a bounty, no matter how nefarious. She tends to rationalise all actions of others, no matter the underlying morality or general acceptance of such actions, and believes all things have a reason and explanation for happening. 

She also has a tendency to sympathise especially with those who have wronged her, even when they have few redeeming qualities. She may excuse their actions or even try to justify them, despite them having brought harm to her. It is in part how she has coped with the events of her life up to this point, but it also leaves her open to suggestion and manipulation from others, as she fails to and even sometimes outright refuses to see bad quality in others. 

Despite this, the Carnasite finds ways to prey on the weakest points of her resolution, so she often has moments of paranoia and fretfulness. She struggles deeply with personal guilt over her actions as a result of the parasite she is host to, and sometimes has difficulty separating herself from its intentions. 

Her infallible optimism towards others is one of her defining qualities. She believes there is light in every situation, no matter how bleak it may seem. She tries to hold team situations together, mediating issues where they appear, and seeking a diplomatic pathway where she can. The only exception to this rule is her own fate— though hopeful, she is also bleakly fatalistic about the likely prognosis. She speaks about death and addresses it with a numb callous that may be morbid and unnerving to some.

LOVES: Kiyumi, Cosmos LIKES: Flowers and pretty new plants, gemstones, moonlight, children, music DISLIKES: The state of her people, eating, caves HATES: Sickness, hunger EXTRAS: Yona lives with immense survivor’s guilt. She also has an extremely distracted manner of speech, and pauses at odd moments in her sentences. This is in part habitual, due to their species’ naturally slow and careful speech style to avoid inadvertently enchanting listeners, and also a personal affect, as she finds the Carnasite’s voice very distracting and overwhelming when she is trying to conduct conversation.

She is also curating a garden her most favourite plants she’s collected on her ship.

> PERSONAL GEAR 

Yona carries with her a meagre supply of spare fabric rolls, hand-twined ropes, a collection of painted wooden and avelite stone jewellery, painfully inherited from her beloved priestesses. Thanks to her sponsorship, she also now possesses a (mind and soul adapter, more tba)

SHIP: RAPTURE — A ship that bears the scars of great hope, and great sorrow.

A rudimentary patchwork ship, with many elements pieced together from merchants and travellers who visited Asmodia. Similar to an old Ark ship, it is an extremely slow vessel, and barely furnished aside from the most necessary technology inside. It has enough space inside for a sizeable crew and passengers. Some of the wall covers are missing or damaged, and the interior shows signs of a terrible struggle. There is faded purple blood splattered on some of the floor and walls, with apparent bite marks in some of the panels. 

The bottom of the hull is decorated in luminous ink, detailing the handprints of her late clansmen. These were placed on the eve of their departure from Asmodia, as a sign of respect for their heritage and future. 

WEAPONS: Much to her distaste, her body is currently her greatest weapon. If she had her time again, perhaps she would choose an elegant war-fan or battle hammer. In time, she may explore her options, but she is currently exploring how to weaponise the Carnasite silk in order to execute the most painless and humane bounty capture and extermination possible.

COMPANION: She does not trust herself enough at this point for any long-term companions. Unfortunately, her resident parasite keeps her enough company for the moment.  SHOP ITEMS: TBA

> HISTORY 

( There is graphic content beyond, detailing death and violence. Such is the nature of life in this universe. A censored TL;DR has been included at the end. )

GENESIS 

Life on Asmodia was idyllic and peaceful. Situated in the Caelia Cluster along a common trade route, the Kishi clan would occasionally have passing ships stop and offer trade goods like technology and fabrics in exchange for the luminous gems and ornate wooden jewellery they curated. Aside from these brief interactions, contact was fleeting and rare with outside species. They led a life of devout isolation and symbiotic harmony with their land, never taking more than was necessary, and always finding ways to give back to their surroundings. 

Yona was sheltered from all but the occasional exotic tea blend the clan would trade for, or foreign fabrics. Within the clan, daily life consisted of a balance of fine arts, prayer, and gathering and preparing food and resources from their surroundings. As a youngling, she was fascinated by the work of the priestesses and Seers in their clan, and spent much of her youth following them around in their daily rituals. In particular, one of the younger priestesses Kiyumi took a liking to Yona, and became a mentor and an elder sister figure for the young Kishi. She dearly loved her mentor, and spent long hours watching her work, aiding her chores, and talking about anything and everything that came to mind.

Yona was a quiet youth with a delicate constitution, considered too fragile by many of her peers for the food gathering aspects of the clan. Instead, she was encouraged to learn the decorative sewing and rope-twining skills they prided themselves on, and help with the preparation of the various medicinal herbs and meals. She proved to have good hands and concentration for the tasks, content to fulfil menial roles to pass the days and assist Kiyumi.

Life should have continued in simple bliss, if it weren’t for the crash of a large merchant ship near their settlement. It had been fleeing pirates with a cargo of foreign foods, exotic species and assorted ‘medicines’. The crew was almost entirely killed on impact, and those who survived were finished soon after as the pirates descended for their bounty. The initial impact wiped out a significant part of Asmodia’s landscape, but it was the following weeks in which the true impact of the crash showed. 

They had inadvertently brought with them disease, scattered from the alien goods into the fragile and sensitive flora of Asmodia. Much of the Kishi’s food sources became tainted with a black pox, turning the plants to soft slime with a sour smell. It spread like wildfire, from the smallest of foods first, and eventually into the plants in which the clan lived. It toppled the towering fungi with rot at the core, and sent the clan fleeing across the planet in search of a stable home and reliable food source. Each new hopeful settlement dried up shortly after their arrival. 

It became apparent that there was no hope for survival left on Asmodia. It was a dying planet, crumbling at the seams as a plague ravaged the very ground beneath their feet. Like a poison, the lack of food sent many species spiralling into madness, starvation and desperation causing some to even eat their kin, a grave omen for things to come. 

EXODUS

As a predominantly homebound group, the Kishi only had limited and primitive spacefaring technology. With their weakened and diminishing clan numbers, they had just enough resources to take the youngest and the strongest of them out into space, leaving behind those too ill or elderly to join them at the Seers’ suggestion. In spacecrafts patched together from traveller’s technology and salvaged fuel from the crash, the remnants of the Kishi clan fled into their nearby star cluster and drifted. They drifted, until at their ship rasped a soft ping, a blip on the dash for a small planet. The systems had been dead until this point, but it only offered a name — Cygnus. 

They had no star maps, no knowledge of the surrounding stars or planets, and no connections to gather information from. Was it a distress signal? Or a buried log, too corrupted now to reference? They landed blindly in the swirling mists of Cygnus, and prayed to Cosmos that she would guide them safely in their journey. A small search party braved the acrid smog, stumbling upon the weather-worn remains of old ships and the broken skeletons of crews long forgotten, stripped bare. They were jagged wrecks, apparently savaged by large beasts. It was impossible to tell how long the wreckages had been left, all identification worn away, bones broken and strewn about as though hunted by some vicious monster. The party paid their respects, giving them a brief prayer burial to rest their souls with their Supreme Mother. 

And still, the Kishi searched onwards, undeterred by the corpses, seeking shelter or any kind of resources. They found respite in the gaping maw of a cave, cold and damp, with the sound of running water and wind whistling deeper into the tunnel. It seemed at last they had found promise of shelter. 

As they travelled deeper, the found lush moss lining the walls, flowers growing out from the seams in the rocks, and running water. The plants were beautiful, with teal petals dangling down from their stems like little bells, leaves thin and curled around the base on delicate vines. They were reminiscent of the flora from home, and upon investigation, deliciously edible for the Kishi. The water, though bitter and strongly flavoured, was also good for consumption. The glow of the crystals embedded in the many rocks and cavern pillars also emulated their beloved moonlight. 

The weary and diminished clan had found the first thread of hope since leaving their home, and were eager to find a way to settle the caves beneath the hostile surface. The initial party was joined soon after by the remnants of the clan, setting up rudimentary settlements around the brightest rocks and the thickest moss. Cygnus might have lacked many of the comforts from Asmodia, but it was a promising start. 

PESTILENCE

Their first days were focused on procuring as much food as possible to begin a small stockpile, and exploring the extent of the Cygnus caves. Despite how promising their new settlement seemed, the Seers in the group were restless, Yona included. The priestesses complained that their sleep was disturbed, and their dreams were plagued with horrid visions of bloodshed and death. Yona’s visions had never been strong, but she claimed when she had meditated by the cavern’s glowing stones, she had been seized by terrible and vague premonitions. 

The more fierce of the clan simply brushed off their concerns, reminding them of how stressful and perilous their journey had been, and how they were likely just haunting after-images of their exodus from Asmodia. The debate did little to soothe their concerns. They took small comfort in the steady flow of food and water, which assuaged most of their fears as it had been many cycles since they had last had certain supplies. 

Strangely, regardless of how well fed they were, members of the clan began to weaken inexplicably, wasting away feverishly. They all complained they were plagued by the paranoia and whispering visions the Seers had first experienced. Next, they noticed the painful sores on their lips and the insistent thirst that sent them crawling to the steams to slake their parched throats. A mysterious illness had seized the clan, not unlike the plague that had cast them out of their homes. 

Those who remained well stayed by the side of each one who fell ill, gently tending to each flickering life. They were well aware deaths on a scale like this could obliterate the few strong that remained of their clan. Yona noticed her own symptoms later than the rest, forgoing her own food and drink in favour of tending her most beloved priestess. As Kiyumi tossed restlessly and babbled in her troubled sleep, the Seer continued to warn of the water. The eyes in her palms, usually so bright and focused into the spiritual world, rolled dull into the backs of her hands as she reached for clarity. ‘The tide of death will come, and we will be swept, all of us, in the undertow. All of us, drowned.’ Yona put it down to the illness speaking, but the visions spoke true. 

GENOCIDE

There was sickness in the water. Namely, a long forgotten and undisturbed parasite they would later dub the ‘Carnasite’, for the carnage it left in its infectious wake. 

The condition of the ill worsened rapidly until they lay in moaning heaps of tangled limbs and wounds, their very skin crawling with the hungry presence growing underneath. Yona held enough clarity to witness her kin’s bodies erupt with teeth and starving alien maws, their faces disfigured beyond recognition as their minds deteriorated to base beastly instincts. Long gone was the gentle grace of her mentor, the wise calm of their elder, the stoic measure of their bravest warrior – even the soft mewling cries of their young were morphed into wails of starving distress.

As she lay on her side, heaving and fighting against the whispering in her mind, she held Kiyumi’s hands like they were her lifeline. It wasn’t enough to drown out the sound of familiar screams as she watched her kin descend upon one another, tearing at flesh like they had never known a kind touch. She saw mother devour child, friend betray friend, the warriors feast upon their own flesh in mad, senseless rage and craving. 

So she prayed fervently to Cosmos, through her tears and her own screams as her body tore apart at the seams. She prayed that their Supreme Mother would protect them, and deliver them somehow from this nightmare. She felt her mind slip away, and something else, something malicious and cruel and unholy take the reigns as the last of her prayers drifted away.

SACRIFICE

When Yona regained her mind, she was curled into Kiyumi’s empty chest, the priestess’ arms wrapped around her in weak embrace. A sense of foreboding lurked at the hazy edges of her mind, the rancid smell of death filling the cavern. She sat up weakly, gazing at her hands smeared with lavender gore.

She first noticed Kiyumi’s prayer beads clutched in one hand, and then she noticed the soft suckling noise of something feeding. 

And then it dawned on her that she was making that sound. Spiralling mouths had opened along the length of her limbs, silken drool running glistening rivers to where they had attached themselves to Kiyumi’s corpse. 

Yona shrieked and scrambled backwards in horror, backing into the desecrated body of the elder, unrecognisable now, stripped back to the bones. Everywhere she looked, she saw the mark of death, staining the walls and the lichen floors of this cursed place. She cradled her face in her hands and felt the spokes of teeth protruding through her cheeks, still slick with blood. Everything ached, but nothing hurt more than the mangled sight of her beloved spirit-sister Kiyumi. She wept abruptly. Was this truly deliverance? She had regained her mind, but at what cost? Kiyumi had always had wisdom and foresight, why had she been the one to perish, and Yona the one to survive? 

Distantly, she could still hear the sounds of her beastly kin lumbering, the splash of disturbed waters and hungry wailing like tormented souls. The cavern felt at once sinister and claustrophobic. She staggered to her feet, whispering a prayer for repentance as she fled the graveyard buried under Cygnus. 

SALVATION

At the mouth of the cave, she found several others gathered, each at varying stages and severity of mutation. They loitered in the shadows, away from the glowing lights they had once embraced, full of self-loathing and despair for what they had become, and what they had done to each other. Some had more mental presence than others, but it was clear they were all in a poor state. This was all that remained of their clan, aside from those they had abandoned on Asmodia, and those mutated beyond recognition or salvation deeper within the caves. 

They knew next to nothing about the sickness that had made them such monsters. They called them Carnasites in hushed voices, as though whispering the name could give power to the unknown disease. All they knew was that the hunger was connected to the maws that appears and closed across their body, and feeding them could help stave off the madness some of the others had succumbed to. They had no expertise on how to reverse the effects, or if that were even possible. It was clear they couldn’t stay here if they wanted any of their lineage to survive, and they certainly couldn’t return to Asmodia. Their only choice was to venture onwards, out into the universe in search of knowledge.

They made a sombre pact there and then that they would not meet again until they had found a cure, lest they turn on each other again. Those too weak to maintain their form and mental faculties resigned themselves to a fate in the caves. The resolute few who were left trudged through the mists, past the ruined relics of other travellers who had perhaps fallen to the same fate long ago, to their awaiting ships. They split a small crew amidst each. Yona was assigned to Rapture, a sizeable vessel, with a few others from her clan. 

The journey was not easy. It was long and arduous before they found a place where they could find resources and repairs, a shady black market den where few questions were asked about the sorry state of the ship and the group. Their main point of conflict was where they would find food. The plant food they had become accustomed to no longer seemed to appease the hungry maws, but neither did the purchasable meats satiate them for long. Much to their chagrin, it seemed the maws craved fresh meat and new types of organisms, which staved off the symptoms of madness the longest. 

Unable to come to terms with this, their crew dwindled as some would rather starve than face their apparent future. Eventually, Yona found herself alone on the ship, with the bitter knowledge that cannibalism provided the longest relief. Fuelled by memory of Kiyumi’s sacrifice and the bodies of her kin on board, she continued ever onwards, no matter the cost, determined to find a way to exist as a symbiote in her newfound identity. Despite her own abhorrence at her predicament, she continued until she heard word of a promising career. Bounty Hunting. With the support of Fortune and their sponsors, bounty hunting could provide a source of legal food, and a means of searching for a cure on a larger platform. 

She pursued Fortune, registering herself and taking on as many small-time bounties marked WANTED : DEAD as possible to find food for herself and work up the ranks. No matter the moral cost, no matter the danger, Yona vowed to Cosmos that she would find salvation for her people, and a future for those they had left behind.

TL;DR — The Kishi species led a content and insular lifestyle on Asmodia before a merchant ship crashed on the planet, releasing a foreign disease that eradicated most of the plant life and food sources. Using primitive technology, a large group of Kishi fled to the nearby planet Cygnus, seeking a new home. There, they accidentally awakened a dormant parasite species that mutated them into insatiable monsters. A majority of the clan died in the days following the outbreak. 

The surviving few left Cygnus and went their seperate ways, scattered across the universe in an attempt to find a cure for their species. Yona sought out bounty hunting and the expertise of Techico Labs as a sponsor, in the hopes that she could find help for her people there. 

[fatphobiabusters]

Mobile Version: Submissions Policy

[Please Don’t Reblog this Post. Thanks.]

Below is the contents of our Submissions Policy page, but for mobile users. To find this page again, please use the search bar to search either for “Submission Policy,” “Ask and Submission Guidelines,” or “Mobile Submission Policy.”

Please pay attention as this page will likely be updated regularly. You should review the guidelines and look for changes whenever a new update is available.

Last Updated in February, 2019.

Dear Current and Future Followers,

Thank you for taking the time to grace our blog with your presence. We appreciate you being here.

Below are all of the guidelines for sending submissions to our blog. Please review these guidelines carefully before sending us a submission.

We want to make sure everyone’s experience on our blog is as pleasurable as possible, and having people send submissions that are upsetting, are repeats of previous questions, or are full of unnecessary/offensive language make people’s experiences on our blog less delightful.

We want to be as useful of a resource to people as possible, but we cannot do that under negative conditions. Both the way you say something and what you specifically say are important, and can make a huge difference in how we perceive your ask or how we answer it, so please be aware of that and follow these guidelines closely. In short, we have guidelines for your benefit. So please do your best to follow them.

Most of our guidelines for submissions are exactly the same as the guidelines for our asks, so please review our Ask Policy before you send us a submission as well! This page will only focus on the guidelines that are unique to submissions, but the guidelines in both pages apply at all times. Please keep that in mind when you write your submission.

If any of the guidelines are unclear to you (for example, if you don’t understand what a specific rule is asking or aren’t sure what would qualify as breaking that rule), or if you need further elaboration on any of the guidelines, please let us know. We are more than happy to help you with this.

Thank you for making an effort to learn our guidelines, for following them, and for being so thoughtful and understanding.

Submission Guidelines:

One: If the submission you are sending is in response to a post or ask already on our blog, please do not send us a submission. Reblog the post/ask or comment on the thread instead.

You can see our Ask Policy for more details about this rule, and for an explanation of why this rule is in place.

Two: For text submissions, please keep your submission as organized and as well written as possible so we can understand it. Make sure you use paragraphs, proofread, and explain things in detail, especially if your submission is long.

We cannot respond to you if we do not understand you, so making sure we can easily read what you wrote needs to be your priority. We need to know why you are sending this submission and what your submission is trying to say. Otherwise, we won’t know how to react to it.

Three: Please do not send anything even vaguely close to NSFW if you are under 18, even if you will be 18 soon.

We are so serious about this; this is not okay with us. No exceptions.

Note: This also applies to asks.

Four: Please remember before you submit something that this is not a porn blog and that minors follow us. If you are an adult, do not submit fully nude or sexual photos of any kind, or images with sexual captions.

This blog is not meant for your sexual gratification, and it is not meant for making sexual content or finding sexual partners. Please do not attempt to use the blog that way.

This is especially important given the new Tumblr guidelines. We do not want our blog to get in trouble because of you, and we do not want to put any of our followers in danger. Please consider this before you submit something.

Five: Include your age and gender pronouns in your selfie submissions so that we can compliment you properly. This only applies to pictures of yourself; we don’t need this for other things unless you feel it is relevant or important for us to know it.

Six: Please be respectful of other people’s selfie submissions. No bullying or body shaming, no sexual harassment, no misgendering, etc.

We will block you for this. Do not do it.

Note: This applies to replies, reblogs, and asks. Please don’t send asks mocking other people’s selfie submissions, or reblog them to add mean comments in any way! Make sure you don’t tag your reblogs with anything offensive or inappropriate, either!

Seven: If you are submitting screenshots of something you want us to address, such as a post you want us to debunk, please make sure you don’t leave out any context, and try to provide us with names and sources.

Do not submit someone else’s words or images as if they were your own, do not submit art or written work without credit, etc. We will not tolerate plagiarism of any kind.

On that note, do not take screenshots of posts if you know the person who wrote it would not be okay with that. Please do not violate anyone’s boundaries here.

Also, please try to include image descriptions if you can (we understand if, for longer screenshots or a collection of many screenshots, you find that difficult), and please explain to us why you are submitting this screenshot so that we know how to respond to it. This also goes for any links you submit to us as well. Be specific, please!

Eight: If you are submitting something to let us know someone has been mocking or speaking badly about the blog or its moderators, don’t. We don’t want to hear it. We get enough drama without you bringing more to us; if people do not like us, that is their problem. Please do not make it ours.

Nine: If we are not comfortable with a submission you have sent us, do not want to deal with that submission, do not understand your submission, or do not know how to respond to your submission, it is possible we will either ignore it for a while or delete it. Please remember this as you are writing your submission.

What we are comfortable answering may change on a given day. Some days, we are more willing to argue and to debate than others. Some days, we find it easier to understand the things in our inbox and find it easier to respond to them than others. There are times when we aren’t going to be sure how to deal with things, or where we just don’t feel up to it, and we need you to understand that.

We have gotten submissions before where we honestly had no idea what was being said. We didn’t know if it was pro fat or anti fat. We didn’t know if it was asking a question or making a statement. Etc. And sometimes, those kinds of submissions are easier to deal with than others.

Basically, what I’m asking is that you be considerate when you send submissions. Consider whether or not your submission is necessary. Consider whether or not it might cause us distress or discomfort. Consider whether or not we can understand it.

And be considerate when waiting for us to post it. If we don’t post it, be understanding about that and accept it.

Note: This also applies to asks. Please remember this when sending us asks instead of submissions.

***

For now, that’s all you need to know about sending submissions. Let us know if you have any questions, or if anything was confusing for you. We are always happy to help you.

Please make sure you check out our Ask Policy, Blog Rules, Do Not Interact List, and other important pages before attempting to interact with our blog.

Remember: the rest of the rules for our submissions are the same as what is in our Ask Policy. You have to read that page too before sending us a submission. Just because we didn’t repeat ourselves a bunch by copying the rules from there that apply here too does not mean that you get a pass on breaking the rules.

It should be pretty obvious which rules apply to both asks and submissions, but feel free to ask us if you are not sure.

Thank you for taking the time to read this and we hope you have a lovely day! Sincerely,

The Fatphobia Busters Team

[aviculor]

Care to summarize Meat? I couldn't bear to slog through Candy. Or is it an easier read?

It’s an easier read, for sure. I’m not sure how well I can summarize it since it’s longer than the prologue by several factors.

John picks up his friends at around the time the ship landed in the post-scratch, it’s awkward because he’s in his 20′s and nobody got the chance to be formally introduced, yada yada. They go fight Caliborn which is the battle he had depicted in claymation (EXACTLY AS I HAD PREDICTED). The juju sucks the three beta kids and one beta young adult into it and they are forced to wait until Vriska unleashes the juju at the final battle. As some people predicted, this was its purpose all along. Lots of people die (heroically) and Jade’s corpse, Vriska, and a million ghosts get sucked into God!Calliope’s black hole during the fight which explains their presence in Candy world. So it’s just John, Dave, and Davepeta. LE tries to eat John and gets his gold tooth lodged in his ribs, and then bites Dave’s head off. Davepeta sacrifices themself to hoist LE into the black hole which is treated as killing him but if you read Candy you’ll realize that’s suspect at best and alarmingly wrong at worst. John is left alone in the void that used to be paradox space. He finds Meenah who also gets sucked into the black hole after picking his pocket for the ring of life which he stole from Aranea before collecting his friends. Maybe I should have lead with that.

Dave convinces Karkat to run in the presidential election and Jake’s support is the linchpin to securing victory due to everyone in all kingdoms loving his ass. They do not succeed and Jane wins. Dave and Karkat have a staggering amount of unresolved sexual tension because they’re both bottoms. Roxy experiments with gender expression and changes pronouns from she to they and then to he.

Rose’s illness is that her powers are becoming too powerful to be contained within her body, which Dirk completely understands because he too has grown beyond the metatextual boundaries of his individual self. In other words, he was secretly the narrator all along. He begins abusing this to affect everyone else’s actions, making Jake in love with him and also shit his pants on stage which is what cost Karkat the election, and making Kanaya stop caring that Rose is leaving never to be seen again with Dirk. Because that’s also a thing that’s going on here. God!Calliope inserts herself into the narrative by using Jade as a medium, putting her into a trance, and wrestles with Dirk over who’s narrating.

John finds Terezi and after she performs surgery on him to remove LE’s tooth, they just start fucking like animals. They make it back to Earth C and John dies (of LE venom) while saying he loves her. It’s not heroic or just and she stores his corpse in her wallet and never tells anyone about it.

Dirk tries to force Dave and Karkat into kissing but Dave resists the narrative influence and makes davekat canon himself. Dirk gives up on narrating because he’s going to fly off into space with Rose and make her into a robot. His ultimate goals remain unclear, but he is well aware that he’s basically the villain. Terezi is being so avoidant that almost nobody even knew she was back, Jane is too busy being a fascist dictator to even appear in this timeline outside of like one scene, and Jake and Calliope aren’t present for personal reasons, so the remaining gang of Karkat, Kanaya, Jade, Dave, and Roxy resolve to stop Dirk.

The postscript is in the Candy continuity and has Davebot, Calliope!Jade and Aradia enter a wormhole. It’s said that the two paths will never intersect again.

[kingsholmrp]

                                        RASMUS HEDQVIST

Age: 28 Birthdate: 10th March 1990 Gender and Pronouns: Cis-Male, he/him Hometown: Göteborg, Sweden Occupation: Employee of Cookie Monster + other stray jobs

                                                 He is a Silver. He is an Empathic Creation.

                                               BIOGRAPHY:

When Viktor Lidman met up with a woman named Caroline Hedqvist he was fooled to believe he was one of those to have finally met their end game. Although Caroline was on the rougher side, the two seemed a perfect pair for a good three years in the making – yet there was a hidden secret between the pair that Viktor has cautiously held back from his girlfriend, even if it had caused some heated debates as to why Viktor refused to visit a proper hospital whenever he got hurt or why he always hid away whenever he cut himself and gained a rash. The secret only folded itself by accident when the couple ended up in the middle of a late-night attack on their way home from a bar and Viktor held no other option but to defend using his powers out of fear his girlfriend would get hurt. Viktor was a Silver, something Caroline had only heard off as a supposed fairytale story and scoffed at as an adult – wielding the power of Empathic Creation and the possibility to create objects and creatures through emotions.

Viktor had hoped that the two would work through it, tight and in love as they were, but the truth became much darker for the wishful man. In fact, Caroline was furious by his lies, as well as terrified, distancing herself from Viktor; and when someone eventually came knocking on their door to ask about that specific night, filled with rumors from their attackers, Caroline didn’t spare a moment to point them in the direction of Viktor. It was the last time she heard from him and neither did she care to inquire where he had gone. To her, Viktor was dangerous and someone who had purposely stolen three years of her life that she’d never get back and when people wondered where he’d disappeared to, she’d simply reply that he’d run away with some skank.

Now, what she didn’t call for was the fact she happened to be pregnant. It came as a shock five months in, but against all odds she didn’t have the nerve to go through an abortion. Another four months later and Rasmus Hedqvist entered the picture, unknowingly a Silver much like his father and thanks to this, his childhood started off as any other child was supposed to. Caroline didn’t treat her son any better or worse (even if he was a painful reminder of that former ex of her’s) for the first four years of his life as he, miraculously, managed to avoid any major bruises and bleeding that would have given away the color of his blood. Whenever he scrapped a knee, Caroline just thought it to be paint or some other annoying dirt on his skin – but Rasmus’ luck didn’t last forever, and reality came crashing down with a heavy nosebleed that exposed him as a Silver and devoured every ounce of love his mother held for him.  

Caroline wanted nothing but to give Rasmus up, ditch him on someone else and get away from her responsibilities. She once again felt cheated by life, by Viktor and this strange defect that kept everything around her from being normal. Yet, she couldn’t and instead she took on the job of keeping Rasmus away from the public eye, to make sure he didn’t expose himself further and ruined her reputation as an honorable and normal person. She decided to homeschool him and she was no longer a loving, caring mother but rather a strict overlord that wanted utmost calm and quiet. Rasmus on the other hand and no idea of what was happening around him as his mother refused to explain a thing and having no further knowledge of his powers. He began to play along, wanting to keep himself out of trouble and Caroline pleased.

A few years went by and Caroline found herself another boyfriend, a groggy individual with no respect in his body but at least he was no Silver and that was good enough for her. The two went on to have another child, a girl they named Moa and she quickly became the gem of the family with Rasmus stacked on the side. And, perhaps, that would have continued to be Rasmus’ life if the new boyfriend, Henrik, hadn’t decided to strike fear into Rasmus one fateful day and thus activated his powers.

Henrik had been mad. Pissed off after a phone call with a friend and wrecked through their house with his blood vessels near bursting. Then he had made his way to Rasmus, firsts up in the air and ready to strike against the eleven-year-old boy with all his fury, right before Rasmus blacked out from a second force that certainly felt worse than a fist. When asked about this fateful day, Rasmus will have a hard time collecting his memories of his actions – mostly because he doesn’t want to remember his former living room smashed into pieces and his mom’s lifeless body in the corner, alongside a yet-breathing Henrik. His sister was screaming in her room, terrified of the noises around her that had woken up her from a nap, but Rasmus paid no attention as he stumbled through the rumbles around him. Had he done this? How had he done this? He had no time to dwell, possessing this urgent fear that no matter what: he had to get away and that fast.  

Rasmus packed a bag with necessities and emptied both Caroline and Henrik’s wallets within minutes, before running out of the house and away from his problems. Equally keen to taste a bit of freedom as he feared the things to come, wondering if he was now considered a murderer and to be haunted down if he dared stop. Thus, he didn’t. Instead, Rasmus tried his best to adapt to his new lifestyle and to answer questions he now possessed about himself and the things he could do – and quickly began to realize he could shape useful objects out of matter that could help him survive, but that the success and the power behind it shifted depending on his mood. At a start he noted that when he was happy his powers nearly almost worked in his favor and showed itself easy to control and could create something as heavy as a functioning bicycle to get around, and when neutral he was better off using his power for smaller creations such as tools. However, whenever he entered a state of sadness he could create nothing but a sloppy mess of his ideas and when he was scared, or angry and upset, his powers took control for him. The last part proved to be his main problem for the years to come.

These days, Rasmus will rarely go by his own name and only stop by cities and towns to gather up money for his next trip. He tends to work his way between Sweden and Norway, jumping the border when he makes too much of a fuss in one country to hide in the next. He rarely sticks around for more than a few months at best, scared of being hunted down by his past mistakes or because his powers eventually get the better of him and leave a trail of destruction in its way. He tries his best to not connect with people more than he must, as he has come to learn that nothing truly lasts forever and it’s easier to bail if nothing is holding him back. Kingsholm is no exception to this rule, but perhaps the many secrets of the town can finally offer Rasmus the answers he so desperately craves regarding himself and the powers he wields. He hides behind the name Linus Thorell and keeps his identity low, torn between wanting a stable roof above his head and to hide away from society where it’s safe and he can’t risk hurting anybody else.

                                  Rasmus Hedqvist is portrayed by William Moseley.

[lit--bitch]

Charlotte Geater, ‘poems for my FBI agent’ (2020)

(Disclosure: I don’t know Charlotte Geater, but as I’ve previously stated I am familiar with Amy Acre and Jake Wild Hall from Bad Betty Press — though I don’t particularly know them well).

poems for my fbi agent is a convoluted, multi-faceted investigation into surveillance and our present-day predicament. Who is watching us? Who is watching those who watch us? Every time an advertisement appears boasting a lipstick from a brand we were talking about just yesterday, do we still call this serendipity? Or is it evidence that we’re being observed? And is our relationship with “our agent” a symbiotic one, where we share, even indulge, in each other as voyeurs? Unlike Crispin Best’s Hello, Charlotte Geater’s collection probes more sinister pockets of Internet culture: of spy and spied.  It’s provocative, surreal and deeply disturbing. It’s also encrypted by so many different subtexts and jarring imagery, which makes this a challenging and very personal read, because it entirely depends on you and your experiences. So strap yourselves in.

Whenever I start a new book, I always read the acknowledgements first. I do this because I’m nosy. I like to make sense of the writer, I like to know who they are thanking, where work might have been previously published (particularly if it’s a poetry collection or a photobook). Because beyond the author’s name, the acknowledgements page is the writer’s final note. Afterwards, you’re flung into the book’s meat, and you’re on your own. 

I flicked to the acknowledgements and I had a look at what Charlotte had written. At one point she says: “[I thank] all of my friends, for being supportive when I said, “I’ve started writing some poems inspired by a meme that is already kind of dead.”’ I understood what she was referring to. She’s talking about memes like this: 

It’s interesting to see that we as a generation deal with a lot of our problems in meme-culture (and that is a whole separate conversation from this review). The FBI memes were one such example. They’re designed to nullify and humour our digital anxieties about being spied on. We have developed an acute self-awareness both outside in real time, and on the Internet. We know that we are constantly being watched, whether it’s through cookies or CCTV. Privacy is a luxury. It can be purchased like groceries. We’re not automatically entitled to being left alone. And that brings up questions about authenticity, self-identity, self-integrity. It throws up all kind of worries and fears, as our online presence and real selves chafe against each other. But unlike these memes, poems for my fbi agent doesn’t minimise your worries, it amplifies them. 

I couldn’t always penetrate this collection and hold myself to one specific intepretation; it flummoxed me. I was really confused by the dislocation of imagery, the subtlety of Charlotte’s writing style. It’s exactly how Sam Riviere put it: “a Lynchian rabbit hole”. The series of images, which seemingly bear no relation to each other, is quite jolting. You have to make the connections yourself, you have to look within and draw on your own references to access what certain poems “mean” (I’ll expand on this later). At one point I just sat back in bed and gulped. Because I thought “how the fuck am I going to write a review about poetry I don’t always understand?” And I was panicking because, I thought, “there’s a plethora of ways to understand this work, I don’t have to hold myself to one specific interpretation”, but I was struggling to grasp the imagery and syntax. So I figured talking to my mother about it would be useful because sometimes you need to discuss a book and bounce off one another to engage with it. So really I owe a lot of this review to her and our discussions. 

One of the most disarming things about this collection is its perturbing elusiveness. As my mum said, “I can’t put it into words what she means, but I can feel what she means”. 

A pretty good example of this (and what I mean by jarring imagery) is in ‘my FBI agent is a mathematical problem’:

and not just a philosophical one. if i ask who watches the agent  who watches me, it sounds insincere;  but let’s get down to it in our underwear [...] who does he text when he’s lonely?  who gets to see his underwear, [...]

So far, I’m with Charlotte. I too ask the very same questions. Who is keeping our agent under watch? Y’know, does it become a situation of meta-surveillance where everybody is a threat, even the ones who supposedly work “to prevent threat”, like the agent? Is the agent part of, or rather, included within the same system? Or more worringly, do they sit at the top of the hierarchy, and are therefore untouchable? 

if i type a poem instead of writing it out first it feels closer to god, by which i mean closer to you, watching me and if i am not a problem, are you there? 

The FBI agent and our traditional conceptions of “God” as omnipotent, omnipresent, omniscient, are conflated here. It’s true; the agent has total power and knowledge over everything we do and investigate, even the things we plan to do. The agent can wield time, can document and record. The agent can create business and yet the agent is our business. The agent can defend and attack, break things, read your mind. It’s in the agent’s “god-like” apparition (you can’t put a face to your agent like you can’t with God I guess), and in the agent’s “god-like” power, that we are wholly subservient and are most afeard, because the FBI agent knows all our conversations, thoughts, and internet searches. That access to our personal psychologies makes for an entity like that of God. And it’s all supposedly in the name of our protection, to defend from terrorism or people who might break into houses and axe us out of the blue. The question is: If we’re not posing a threat, or being threatened, where’s the need for the agent? Does the agent evaporate? Do they move only when we move? 

matter changes when it’s hit am i a problem for you yet?  the lake turned to ice improbably fast; and the custard became a rock inside your mouth. 

I mean like, lake? Ice? Custard? This is so random and strange. I sat there scratching my head for ages about this. But I’ve sort of hazarded the best guess I can. And there’s two things. Firstly, this idea about matter changing when it’s hit, liquid states and solid states. So in quantum theory, there is a  suggestion that observation affects reality. So for example, if you wanted to observe electrons and how they move, you have to get them to behave with a proton. And electrons know that they’re being observed when they’re forced to interact with protons, because their wave function changes. It’s horrifically complicated and I don’t know enough about quantum mechanics to really unpack it in detail. But basically, what it means is, simply observing something can change the appearance of how it is perceived. It can have an affect on outcomes. And I’m linking a pretty good, simplified article about this here. 

The second interpretation of this really odd image is a little easier to understand, and again relates to this “lake turning to ice impossibly fast-custard to hard rock” metaphor. So ages back, there was this Doctor Who episode (when David Tennant was the Doctor), called ‘Blink’. In that episode, they were these aliens appearing in the form of stone angel statues, called The Weeping Angels. If you get touched by a Weeping Angel, you get zapped back in time and the Angel feeds off all the energy you might have potentially lived in the present-day. They move impossibly fast. Like they can make their way from a garden into the kitchen within a blink. Here’s the snag: they only ever move when they’re not being watched. The minute you look at them, they turn to stone. They can’t even be seen looking at each other, if they are facing one another, they’ll never move again. 

I think about this episode a lot still, and whenever I watch it, it never fails to get my heart racing. But when I read “matter changes when it’s hit”, I was reminded of the clever, foolproof defence mechanism of the Weeping Angels, which renders them the loneliest creatures in the universe. There were parallels between this and the statement implied in the poem. Is it possible then that like the Weeping Angels, the agent’s movements are rendered undetectable when we try to watch them back? When we catch them in the act, say when our phone randomly opens up an app we closed, does the agent freeze? Or is it the reverse? And how lonely that must be. How alone the agent must feel. It was at this point I became more aware of how I was receiving the writing. When I thought about Doctor Who, and made comparisons from the bulk of my own references, I really tapped into the essence of the work, which is written so cleverly. 

Remember how I said earlier that, to understand what Charlotte’s getting at, you have to look within and draw upon your own experiences, in order to access the work? What I meant was, understanding the random collage of images requires understanding your own anxieties, about being watched all the time, reaching into your own pocket of knowledge, and relating all of it back to the work. Like how I drew upon my memory of Doctor Who. And it’s very much like social media, or Wikipedia. You’re constantly having to manage cookies or accept cookies, so you can continue using the programme. Likewise, you’re constantly forced to share more of yourself in order to access a level of understanding in Charlotte’s poetry. So for example, ‘my FBI agent takes me on a date’. This is Page 28. At this point, the gender pronoun of the agent has shifted. The agent is no longer “he”. “He” is now she. 

and decorates her hair with crane flies  prawn cocktail lips / when i said scare me she listened badly  [...]

[...] and I hate anything with a see-through body  plastic wings dancing no,  it’s the legs are wrong in the air like that  it’s the compartments, the exoskeleton  it’s that she doesn’t know how & she pries me open early  & she has teeth that she thinks give more pleasure at the cracking / she says i will like it 

that she has heard fear / makes us braver people in the end & she eats from within

You can feel the discomfort, the repulsion, in this poem so keenly. Sentences like “& she pries me open early // & she has teeth that she thinks give more pleasure // at the cracking / she says i will like it”, it’s so menacing. I could vividly picture the clacking of plastic wings, the sensation of sharp teeth, the cracking. It’s just horrible. And when you try to think about what a “date” is, and what that means when it’s with an FBI agent, you get something really odd, intimated by the gender shift of the agent to being “she”... When I read this transition, I saw it as an indication that ‘I’’s conscience had evolved. At some point, we become so self-aware of everything we say and do online, that we develop the objectivity like that of the agent. If I’m to assume that the ‘I’ is a she here, it’s arguable that and that the ‘I’ and ‘she’ in ‘my FBI agent takes me out on a date’, are the same entity. 

I think this poem implies that as we reveal more of ourselves online, the acuteness of our self-awareness intensifies. We become our own agents, we assimilate the role of our watchers and watch ourselves. We become transparent, as we study our profiles through our own focalisation. This, to my mind and my mother’s mind too, is the “exoskeleton” that Charlotte resents. It’s the imagery of self-consumption, the self-destruction in laying yourself bare to the world, where in turn it’s you that becomes the meal, it’s you who dates yourself, it’s you who tucks into yourself. We become indiscernible from watching and watched, and in these inexactitudes, we end up disorienting ourselves. We have to share so much in order to be able to “progress” or access sites or information we need. It’s parasitic. This is what Charlotte means by “she eats from within”. As though we’re the parasite and the host, we eat of ourselves. 

Other perplexing images: ‘my agent, a rational object / the same size as a mannequin’ (from ‘my FBI agent takes a holiday’) I found this image really wonderful and so apt in defining the agent’s agency... The mannequin is like, your anonymous blank slate. You change its clothes, it remains the same sculpture. It’s something you imprint, and it projects what it wears, how it wears it. The agent being depicted as a mannequin is again, another non-sequitur of a metaphor in this poem, but it makes absolute sense. The agent’s identity is subsumed in the person they surveillance. The agent is in a strange way, our personal twin, which is basically saying, we’re bonded. 

This symbiotic relationship is reflected on deeply throughout the work, oscillating between the way we are watched, how we watch, and how we watch ourselves. Take ‘my fbi agent doesn’t like to read’:

i read a lot of ebooks because i am always thinking  of him                           and his lack of access to an academic library  marxist monetary theory  kate millett’s sexual politics william morris biographies  [...]  i like to read through his eyes 

This is a profound image. As if the agent and the ‘I’ here are sat together. Whatever ‘I’ indulges in for reading pleasure, the agent indulges in also. Ultimately this is not a space that the agent is invading, when we’re aware we’re being observed. Like in those ‘fbi’ memes, we welcome the agent in, to laugh, to trust that everything, as uninnocent as it all is, is still ultimately innocent. No harm, no foul. So with that assurance, we make do with their elusive presence, content to let them read over our shoulders. 

One perplexion I do have about this work, and perhaps it’s an intentional move from Charlotte, is the inconsistency of grammar and capitalisation. Most of the poetry is written lowercase, it reads like the way we text. But every now and then there’s the odd full stop, or comma or semi-colon, that just doesn’t seem to sit right, and I wonder what the motivations are behind introducing punctuation at certain points. It’s something to think about when you’re reading the collection. Similarly with capitalisation, the book cover title is in lowercase “fbi” whereas all the poems are in the uppercase acronym: “FBI”. Funnily enough when you type ‘fbi’ into your phone, it will autocorrect it to uppercase. So that was an interesting distinction I found. Ultimately I don’t think this writing is yearning to read entirely like a text message, it is inviting punctuated sentences, grammar, clever choices in the positioning of semi-colons. But it’s not always clear why they appear within certain poems at particular points, and I question the impulse behind their inclusion. The form too, is fairly consistent, bar ‘my fbi agent talks me through my facebook ad settings’ on page 14, which really experiments with sentence length and the ‘/’:

i say: is this how you see me?  birthday in october / close friends of men with a birthday in 7-30 days / close friends of ex-pats / commuters / gmail users // 

i want to know about data in poetry when it’s bad data & i want to know about how you see me in these systems when they’re bad, i don’t mean morally, i mean shitty, incomplete, i mean you know too much and it’s all worth except. except for the ways in which it works for you. 

I perceived the ‘/’ here as not just a spacer. I think of it as an imitation of a navigation menu, the “clicking and loading” from one page of information to another. The writing itself also stretches right across the page, like it would across a computer screen. The best way to edit your Facebook ad settings is on a computer, not a smartphone device. And similar to Crispin Best, Charlotte’s line breaks often occur less than half way across the page of the book, imitating the dimensions of a phone screen, again. But in this poem, there’s more elongation, there’s more steps. For that reason, it really stands out and it’s also one of the more clogged pieces in terms of its references. The random assemblage of information pertaining to the ‘I’ and their profile, problematises the way information is harvested on social media. It’s loads of ubiquitous, vacuous crap which is all vested in the same person, but ultimately means very little. The only connection in having a birthday in October and being close friends with ex-pats is simply in the ‘I’, here. But there’s about a bajillion other people out there who could have the same thing in common. This poem is a criticism of the conjectures that the agent makes based off watching everything about us. What is the point in having all this crap on me? How boring. How confusing. 

I understand now why I lack conviction in a lot of my own thoughts about this collection, and it’s also why Charlotte Geater is incredibly talented. Everything in our world is open to reasonable doubt, even more so with technology. That same notion is integral to this collection’s thematics—we doubt who we are, we doubt what we do, we doubt what is around us and worst of all, we know that someone is recording those doubts and documenting them as evidence. The fact that Charlotte can recreate our digital anxieties, forcing us to think and overshare with ourselves so we can access an understanding, in the same way that the Internet does, that’s powerful. That is a technique. 

poems for my fbi agent articulates something much greater than ourselves, and yet we have the power to dispel of it whenever we want, collectively as a species or simply as individuals. Otherwise, morbid consequences follow (and are already a reality): ‘your coffin / is there / for the rest of your life’. This absolutism of our persona’s enduring presence that remains long after physical death is the ultimate artifice of reality, and immortality. We’re never truly dead and gone, we’re never really buried, when the evidence we lived is always there. 

It took me time to wrap my head around it, and tbh I don’t think I’ll ever totally wrap my head around everything, but I loved this collection, and I’m interested to see what Charlotte produces next. This is an incredible debut with an amazing press.

If you want to read some of these amazing poems in full, you can view them in some of Charlotte’s previous publications here, here and here. Or you could skip the bullshit and just buy this amazing work at Bad Betty Press, and follow Charlotte on Twitter. 

[alltheworldsrpg-blog]

WELCOME TO ROSWELL, KALAIS VITERI!!

ADMIN CAMERON: I’m always here for space hipsters, especially when they take the form of Kalais. They’ve got this perfect ‘hidden in plain sight’ sense about them, this watching sort of personality. Best be adding some cacti to their collection of plants. 

You’ve been accepted as THE HEXADECIMAL with the faceclaim of STELLA MAEVE. Please follow all rules and regulations as laid out by the Roswell Town Council, especially concerning any non pre-approved biologic. All UFO’s outside of city limits must be stickered or will be towed. Enjoy your stay in the first city of extraterrestrials.

NAME/ALIAS + PRONOUNS:

Krys! + She/Her

AGE:

Twenty Eight

TIMEZONE + ACTIVITY:

CST , 8/10 -  I work about 40 hours a week but I am at a computer all day so answers are still possible :3

TRIGGERS

Removed for privacy

ANYTHING ELSE?:

Hey I think we have met before! Okay no we totally have but I mean we all know there will be a lot of playlists and aesthetics coming from me so there is that. Also I freakin dig this rp. The colors are glorious and I have been stalking it for awhile so I am ready!!

IN CHARACTER.

SKELETON TITLE:

The Hexadecimal

FULL NAME:

Kalais [k AE - l ai ] Viteri [Viteri Kalais if they were back home]

   Means ‘Changing Colors’’

GENDER + PRONOUNS:

Genderfluid + they/them/she/her [since arriving on earth they have gotten used to the different pronouns. in their own mind they tend to stay very neutral but don’t mind having others refer to them as she/her]

SEXUAL + ROMANTIC ORIENTATION:

Pansexual + Panromantic

DATE OF BIRTH + AGE:

Earth month: January 26th, 2030 + 30

OCCUPATION:

The Garden center of the Roswell Home Depot: It really is a basic job for them. Something easy that reminds them of their parents. Not to mention it makes it incredibly easy to get a hold of plants on sale. With the discount they can keep their walls stocked to the brim at their home. It also just lets them be in the daily hum of people. Allows them a semi familiar space to listen to the things going around them. A person would be surprised the sort of things a customer would tell the one helping them. Small family details to insane secrets they don’t tell their families. Apparently their quiet nature allows the customers to feel even more comfortable around them.

DIY blogger + Instagram influencer [or future equivalent]: This one was a bit of a surprise. It isn’t like they have the outward personality to get the interest of the world but apparently their ability to put things together and take a picture at the perfect angle was enough. Endorsements and shout outs were easy when all they had to do was make it happen in the private of their own space. Public appearances don’t happen but their presence on the internet can’t be denied. It took a little time to build their own site, save up for a decent camera and set everything up so anything too personal was kept out of view. Apparently earth people went wild for well kept plants and scenic views. The neon hue from the wall of signs in the little kitchen offered the perfect “aesthetic” to it all. Look, they don’t pretend to understand how it happened right away but they certainly know how to make it work.

In many ways being connected to the world that encompasses the online community has kept them aware of things that are going on. From the council forming to what life was like before ‘aliens’ came down. Just another way they can keep their ear to the ground so to speak.

FACECLAIM:

Stella Maeve

BIOGRAPHY:

It starts at the earliest memory. The soft song sung by their mother. So gentle in nature that it soothes the little one quickly. A scent coming through a window. A flower in bloom that would forever be associated with the one that held them. Over all of the years, they would look to their first memory burned into their mind with a gentle smile. A muted moment that would always find space in them. It set the tone for the early years of their life. Parents with soft words and encouraging smiles that said more than anything voices could. In the chaos the world became around them it would be a center to focus on.

In the year 2030 Viteri Kalais was born. A small little thing that came into the world. So silent it left their parents quaking that perhaps they wouldn’t get to keep the little one. There was nothing to fear. Their cries were muted when they finally opened their lips. Soft little things that were more like a mew than a scream. That would be their way. Soft sounds with a near purr like quality when it came to happiness. Never boisterous or loud. An easy little thing but it was their wide eyes watching that they noticed most. Dark eyes that seemed to take every tiny detail in. Of course it was the nature of their people to pay attention to things around them but Kalais’ hushed nature seemed to add to that fact. A little one made of details.

As they aged, Kalais stayed quiet. Whenever they did speak they tended to be low soft tones. More often than not an observation that could be nearly cruel in its honesty. Their parents found it refreshing. Someone that wasn’t afraid to speak their mind but in the world they lived in it was dangerous. Their family standing wasn’t the highest. Neither from a class of true note. The dirt under their nails spoke volumes. But it seemed they need not worry for their little one. Kalais wouldn’t speak to those their age and if they did there were little words and more facial movement. There was obvious dirt under their nails too. Still, in the quiet of the Viteri home, they fostered that nature. Parental words softening to suit their little one’s nature. It had taken years to have a child and they cherished every little quirk.

The quiet home was a sanctuary for the things happening around them. The people were changing. The way their world worked was changing and in their opinion it was none for the better. Maybe it was Kalais that helped them see it. Their low tones of how it was changing the other little ones around them. Maybe it was the things they saw happening to people they knew. It was no longer the world they had grew up in when they were young. Instead the government began to lead with an iron fist. The sort of fist the strangled people like them. Hand so tight around the lower stations throats they could barely breathe. Perhaps it was that that got them interested in politics.

Kalais noticed the change. They watched while their parents got involved in silent movements. A little over twelve, they saw them move about in the quiet nights. Whispered words of wanting a better future. Wanting to make the world safe again. Safe for them. In the moment, the memory would slip away in the night. Waking them to a world where their parents looked at them like they were the shimmering stars that hung around their planet. It would take weeks for the memory to settle, for it to explain certain behaviors they had noted since the change. Somewhere in Kalais’ mind they agreed with the change. The government above them, people around them, they were all dangerous in more ways than one. Maybe change was good. Maybe their parents were right.

Movements are only natural when things around people change for the worst. A part of them understood that but it would take days for their mind to add that there are consequences to those movements. People don’t always come back from their night time jaunts. They don’t always make it home for breakfast or to kiss someone on the forehead when they wake. There isn’t a soul to ease a phantom ache when the person can’t remember for a split second that the people they are waiting for will never be home again. Kalais was fifteen when there was that hole in their chest. Something like jagged edges gaping in such a way they can’t fix it. Another memory that would stick forever in their mind. The morning they would wake expecting to see them but seeing no one but themselves in a small home that wasn’t home. It was surprising what happened to someone that was connected to political activists.

When Kalais was twenty and looked back on it, they realized they were lucky. Death could have been the answer. Instead they continued to live their quiet life. Difference was that no one was there to listen to soft words when they were finally spoken after days. No, Kalais walked among people they knew more about than they perhaps knew about themselves. The little ways they moved to protect their belongings. Silent shifts in body language others of their kind would notice but were so caught up in their own thoughts at times they didn’t pay attention to. So, they made themselves small. It had become the normal for them. The first few years without their parents had been difficult. There had been others that disappeared and it seemed like the whole planet knew. Kalais hated whispered stares. They loathed silent curiosity. Kalais hated how they saw them. Which of course meant they would rather not be seen.

Kalais’ quiet nature made it easy to move into the background of all things. Slowly people forget one or two details about them. They would never forget that people never made it home to their families but when they forgot their face, it made them breathe a little easier. It made their silence more natural rather than forced. The things they saw. The things they knew were always on the tip of their tongue but there was danger in truth. There was pain in truth. Kalais knew that pain. They never wanted more memories of it lingering in their mind for when they got older. For years it was the same but the whispers of change where among them once more, but different. Technology of change. Change that offered opportunities. New planets to find that weren’t right next door. More options. More resources. There were a million reasons their government was interested but there was only one reason for them.

Home.

The world they lived in was no longer that. Just echoes of what they wanted splatter with the paint of lies Kalais had to hear. It was the sort of change they could get behind. A sort of change that wouldn’t mean they wouldn’t make it home one night. There was no one to go home to but it never changed the ringing silence in their ears. It was the one time in their life when they made sure to be in the right places at the right time. They weren’t of the higher houses or names. Kalais had to be tricky with how they got to the new world that was being offered. Time was all they needed. They didn’t have to be to persuasive or underhanded. Their worth was easy to gauge, their skills at blending in were natural. So natural even their own people let them through without so much as a second glance.

Maybe they should have been worried about how easy it had been. There was a part of them that wondered what it was like to be seen. Still they soothed their murmured worries and found a new planet. The arid wind of Roswell left their skin feeling warm and their eyes wide. Kalais could taste their new type of freedom on their tongue. Taking the family name and shoving it behind their given name was a breath of fresh air. Their people weren’t the first extraterrestrials to land on Earth and maybe they wouldn’t be the last. It took some time for their mind to acclimate to the change but once they did they knew there was a chance to finally have a home of their own once again.

Of course Kalais should have known problems didn’t go away with a change of scenery. Those issues came with people. People from various planets with various motives were wild and free among the ones of earth. They should have seen it coming. The whispers among people like them and those native to the planet. Still they listened. They watched. They noticed every little detail but if there was one thing they remembered, that vivid component etched in their mind, was how people wouldn’t come home the moment they got involved in such things as the change a government can bring. Kalais had finally found a home again. They didn’t want to lose it just as quickly.

MUSING + HEAD-CANONS.

HEAD-CANONS:

Losing Days ||  There are days between shifts when they had found themselves staring at the walls. The jarring colors would be a shock to most people but to them they are almost like background noise. A patch of sparkling leopard print in the bottom corner of the apartment is usually the thing that wakes them from their own mental dreams. Heat coming in from the windows they keep open nearly all year round simply washes them with warmth, but it is the twinkle of passing lights catching the plethora of items that made up the glimmering print. Kalais would see that food had been eaten, they took care of their needs in the daze that was the last few days but that never made the strange feeling welling in them any easier. No one looked for them. No one questioned their disappearance. They couldn’t tell if it was just short term memory loss or if there was something more. There are times when it scares them, how easy it is to disappear. Sure, that is their talent but there was something in being seen.

They have names || Okay, they own a few plants. By a few, the inside of their house has a string of them on various shelves. A little water delivery system, they took the time to put together. Some native to the area around them but many took a tender hand. It didn’t matter where they were from, each of them had a name. A baby book of names with a binding cracked and broken spoke volumes for how often they used it. The shelves would travel from the main room, into the hallway and further into Kalais’ bedroom. Colorful orchids resided there. Hibiscus with large blooming flowers. Earth plants had been different but over the last five years they had gotten very good at coaxing them into what they wanted. No, they weren’t a ‘plant whisperer’ like so many people said but they were similar to people in a way. Watching for the signs was just a second instinct.

You learn it young || Their knack for watching came when they were young. They were quiet. Just a natural thing for Kalais. They barely cried as a little one. Instead they just watched. It seemed only natural to keep the habit up the older they got. It became something that worked better for them than anything else. A sort of survival thing . It wasn’t like the world was the kindest the older they became. Not to mention, when they did open their mouth their words weren’t always the kindest and tended to have a little bit of a bite. When they came to earth, that didn’t change it, may have actually made it easier. The people there hadn’t seen what their home world had become, what the people had become. They saw. They saw it all. If there was one thing they were good at it was watching. A new planet wasn’t going to change that.

It’s only natural || Distrust runs deep in this one. Even making a few acquaintances on the new planet they had begun to call home, it is still a spark that guides them.  Sometimes Kalais wonders if it is something so deep in their memory that they can’t shake. The new air of politics around them has done nothing to soothe that jagged tear in their soul. If anything it makes it easier to pull away. Lately they have to admit that things have been sticking with them. Not just all of the things they’ve heard before. New words that filter in and out of their mind like a record on repeat. Change was just as natural as not trusting anyone wasn’t it?

To barely like anyone || Their silence isn’t the most unnerving to the people she was raised with. No, it is the lack of facial movement. In order to have a true silence, a true hidden thought one would also have to keep their expressions to a minimum. If it is something they really need to keep to themselves, minimum turns into an absolute blank. Most wouldn’t pick up on it simply because they couldn’t see a reaction anyway. Among humans they can get away with a complete blankness. As they grew older they learned that a few movements, mostly in their eyebrows seemed to ease the people that would look for those things. Even the smallest thing like a head tilt put them at ease.

Something don’t feel right || Intimacy is something that is foreign to them. It isn’t that they haven’t tried. Matter of fact they have when they were a little younger. When the slight bit of loneliness tugged at them and just once they wanted to feel someone against them. It was strange, awkward and nothing that they wanted to do again. So of course tried tried another time. From awkward to needy. There was something about being close to another living being that made it seem like they had to open up. That they had to tell them things they wanted to hear and speak of all of the future they could have. There weren’t fucking there for that and got out of dodge real quick. Unfortunately their mind decided to burn the memory real deep. The feel of hands on theirs. Or the smell of someone else to wake up next to.

Angels of the Sea || Pets fascinate them to an extent. But it isn’t the furry variety that caught their attention. Instead it was the sort that could be put into tanks. More specifically they visited a pet store and saw fish. The fish themselves weren’t very interesting but it got them curious. What sort of sea pets could a person have. Of course the internet was helpful and quickly they found out about Moon Jellyfish. Before anyone could blink there was a tank and a whole set up with various appropriate lights for the tank. The Jellies are something they can lose themselves watching. Gently gliding through the water as if they have hidden wings. A reminder on their phone to feed them twice a day.

In Neon Hues || Like their collection of alien fashion items, they enjoy collecting neon signs. Some small, some large but they all go in the same place. A wall of their ‘efficient’ apartment, in the kitchen is covered in the things. More often than not they are kept turned off simply because of the power bill but still their fluorescents hum when they are lit. Barely any other lights in the home but an extra ones in the bathroom [outdoor rope light re purposed] and bedroom [a string of Christmas tree lights] respectively.

Do they call it kitschy || Ever since they landed on the planet, there has been a certain few collectible they enjoy going for. The old Roswell stuff. You know the ones. The stuff that has little aliens on it. The ‘believer’ shit. That is the stuff that they love. Sweaters, shorts, skirts, tank tops, hats, any and all things with that look they totally enjoy. Maybe it’s because there is a certain humor in the ‘believed 'about wearing the merch that they find silently funny but honestly, they can’t put their finger on it. They just like it.

Taste the rainbow || Like all the others from their planet or the sister planets they are naturally attracted to very bright, almost neon colors. Difference being that they tend to not wear clothing that matches that love or want. Instead just a choice or two that screams vibrancy but in their own home - it looks like the trix rabbit threw up all over the damn place. A wall of neon signs in the kitchen. A wall collage of magazine tear outs in the living room. Holographic type flooring to cover up the previous tile that had been there. Glitter leopard print in a few corners to catch the light of the moving cars.  

They aren’t cartoons || there isn’t a tv in their apartment. The only thing they own that they get their entertainment from is the internet. That being said, some of Kalais’ favorite stuff to watch is old anime. There is just something about the outlandish style and garish colors that always seem fascinating to them. Some of their favorites include, Sailor Moon [Crystal], Tokyo Ghoul, No game No life. It isn’t always the stories that get them [especially for no game. The plot is atrocious]. Sometimes it is just the drawings and the color.

Not a bang but a fizzle || Their voice has never raised as loud as the music they listen to. They read something in a Magazine once that they proceeded to rip out and stick to the wall. ‘Music says the things a person can’t say out loud.’ With their more than quiet nature Kalais fills the silence in their personal space with various music they can find. Random music from earth and everywhere else. It helps that they enjoy collecting older earth items - records and record player included.

Maybe if I write it down || The forgetful nature of their people has never been their favorite. But over time they have learned how to adapt. The little pieces of technology they can get a whole of to either discreetly record conversations are easy enough. Their personal favorite is simply to use a mobile phone to jot down things. Of course it gets tricky in certain situations. That’s where turning them into a little bit of a sing song works really well. From Kalais’ understanding that is how many earth people teach their children the things they learn and it is something they have found to work.

Tins of all kinds || Stepping on Earth was an entirely new experience. Everything was something new and there was a bit of a learning curve to it. Really, it was learning what to do and what not to do. What to try and what not. All the little details that made earth life, well, just that. It became apparent rather quickly that Kalais enjoyed tea. The sort of tea they brewed themselves. Loose life and fragrant. The kind that they could dedicate a wall to in their little apartment. Over five years each tea they tried got a certain colored tin with how it made them feel. They weren’t the same in shape or size but the color mattered. The internet has told them that it is part of their ‘aesthetic’ but really that word is tossed at them so often if they didn’t have the dictionary definition they would be worried.

Quick HCs:

Has stuck with the pescatarian diet but after owning the Moon Jellies, feels a little bad for eating the fish from the area.

They like to get their nails done. Nothing too crazy long but cute little   designs are fun.

Colored lip glosses are the bee’s knees. If they have a flavor, even better!

Mentally Kalais will refer to their self as a Space Bird. Sort of their own play on words for Snow bird.. You know the people that go south for the winter except they came from space… LOOK they thought it was pretty brilliant!

PLOTS + CONNECTIONS:

I’d love to see Kalais begin to enjoy the company of people. Like really enjoy it. All of their life they have kept to themselves. The sort of way that worked well for their quiet nature but that doesn’t meant they couldn’t begin to like to live among people instead of just living around them. The memories they hold to from the time with their parents could certainly help deepen a yearning for it. Like minded people are hard to come by and it could be nice. The Pulsar could be the catalyst to start them getting a taste of a different sort of life. Even the Quark could be as well.

I think another really cool thing to dig into would be them getting involved with an extraterrestrial resistance. Now, obvies the plot of the rp will move in shift but  like that could be cool especially if they feel like they’re seeing moves like their old government in the details, i think for once they would be tempted to actually do something about it. While they are steadfast in not wanting to be one of the people that could just be gone with no one to look for them, they also wouldn’t want to see the new world, their new home turn into something that even resembles what their old one became. There is a bit of the tug from the Quark that could potentially get them thinking this way but it wouldn’t be an overnight process.

Okay let us talk about intimacy for a second. This quiet soul has delved into that world but came back with shaky memories and a weird taste in their mouth. I want to find something that pokes at those feelings. With them making friends at an incredible slow rate there is a chance that they could develop feelings for someone. I think it would be a little more than fun to explore the mental conflict they would have within themselves as they grappled with enjoying someone in that way. Wanting to let them into their world. Finally having someone see them in a manner that is different from how they normally want people to see them… as in not at all

One of smaller things I would like to start to see change for Kalais would be that they don’t express themselves to their full extent. More often than not even their facial features stay just as silent as they are. I think it would be good to see them get more comfortable with smaller smiles, the little things really.

Look to simplify the blabber, I want them to get friends, I want them to open up just a little bit, I want them to feel like they have a purpose other than to just listen. There is a reason they have so many details and take the time to remember them. I want them to find meaning. Because they deserve meaning when all they have done was made sure they didn’t make a blip in the worlds they have lived.

Really I will probably think of a million more the more I write Kalais but here is what I have for now.

WRITING SAMPLE:

Removed for privacy

ETC:

https://kalaismock.tumblr.com/ [here there be drabbles, playlists, inspo, answered memes, & aesthetics. also showcases the potential faces]

& lets be honest here —- Kalais is a freaking space hipster okay?

[caveartfair]

These Photographers Are Ensuring That Diversity Becomes More Than an Industry Trend

Photo by Brad Ogbonna. Courtesy of Diversify Photo.

Photo by Carmen Chan. Courtesy of The Lit List.

When Oriana Koren launched their career as a freelance photographer shooting weddings, they began to realize the lack of visibility for marginalized people in photography. “I had instances where I’d be on assignment for a magazine shooting a five-star restaurant, and I’d have all of this camera equipment on me, and inevitably, somebody would treat me like I was the help and push a wine glass into my hand or ask me to go get them something,” Koren told Artsy. (Koren identifies as non-binary and uses she/they pronouns.) “I think it really awakened what it meant for me to navigate the world in a black body.”

Koren recognizes that they are not the only marginalized person to experience barriers in the lens-based industry, which often has a predilection for a monotonous roster of white photographers that are called upon for consistent work. (Tyler Mitchell, for example, was the first black photographer to shoot the cover of Vogue; his September cover of Beyoncé was a milestone in the magazine’s 125-year history). To develop a community of support, Koren connected with a group of photographers of color from the U.S. and Canada who identify as women, femmes, trans, non-binary, and gender non-conforming for a symposium about the disparities they were facing in their respective careers.

A handful of them had been accepted into Women Photograph—a database and initiative with a goal to elevate the “plurality of feminine” voices in visual journalism, including trans, queer, and non-binary photographers. However, the attendees at the symposium shared similar experiences of exclusion. Koren said that they discussed the micro- and macro-aggressions that they faced in the industry, as well as the idea that a database for women does not necessarily ensure that underrepresented women would receive equal opportunities. Thus, from the symposium, they developed an actionable item, which they named Authority Collective.

Photo by Miranda Barnes. Courtesy of Diversify Photo.

With a mission to “empower marginalized artists with resources and community,” and to confront “systemic and individual abuses” in the world of photography and imaging, the collective has so far garnered 200 members. Like the entertainment industry and the art world, the lens-based industry is being dismantled by marginalized individuals who are making their voices heard: The power dynamics must shift in order to widen the range of perspective to appeal to people of varying backgrounds.

“People understand now that their audiences have changed, and are craving media that reflects their life experiences,” Andrea Wise, a co-founder of Diversify Photo, told Artsy via email. “The challenge is how to do that. If you’ve always looked to your prestigious college or workshop’s alumni network to find fresh new talent, and those networks are financially or otherwise inaccessible to people of color, then you need to find new ways to source talent. That’s where we come in.”

Inspired by Women Photograph, Wise and her fellow co-founder, Brent Lewis, launched Diversify Photo last year, creating a database of photographers of color as a resource for art buyers, creative directors, and photo editors.

“We like the idea that diversity is a not an item you can just check off your to-do list. ‘Diversify’ is a verb, it’s a movement,” Wise said, echoing the mission of the organization. “We’re also doing what we can to raise the profile of exceptional photographers….Eventually, we want to work on addressing more of the systemic barriers that keep people of color out of the rooms where important professional relationships begin.”

Photo by Gabriella Angotti Jones. Courtesy of The Lit List.

This summer, Authority Collective and Diversify Photo partnered to create the Lit List. After reaching what they call “peak maximum frustration” with annual lists that featured few marginalized photographers, Koren began to think of what an alternative list might look like.

Koren discussed with the lists’ co-creators—Brent Lewis, Laylah Amatullah Barrayn, Elias Williams, and Tony Wong—the overwhelming number of qualified photographers of color they believed had been overlooked for Photo District News (PDN)’s annual list of 30 emerging photographers. So, they created their own set of guidelines, and formed a jury of allies—including senior photo editor at The New Yorker, Siobhán Bohnacker; photo editor at Wired, Sara Urbaez; and photographer Zora J. Murff, among others—to recognize and award 30 under-the-radar photographers who were underrepresented in the industry.

To ensure that the guidelines were consistent with the goals of each organization and those of others advocating for inclusion in the industry, the Lit List founders eliminated eligibility restrictions such as age limits, with the understanding that marginalized individuals often face systemic barriers to resources and opportunities more easily accessed by their white peers. In that way, the list is similar to PDN’s 30—Holly Stuart Hughes, an editor at PDN, said that her team rejected requiring an age limit because it excluded emerging photographers outside of that age range, who might still be establishing their careers.

Where the lists differ is in their submission processes and the requirements to be considered. For PDN’s 30, photographers for the annual list are nominated by photo editors, art directors, curators, educators, and photographers, while others are invited by the editors based on work seen in promotions, portfolio reviews, or photo contests. Photographers considered for the list must have been shooting on their own for no more than five years, and possess “a distinctive vision, creativity and versatility.”

Photo by Sophia Nahli Allison. Courtesy of The Lit List.

Photo by Gabriella Angotti-Jones. Courtesy of The Lit List.

Photo by Rhynna Santos. Courtesy of The Lit List.

Photo by Andrea Morales. Courtesy of The Lit List.

While the Lit List also seeks nominations—from industry leaders as well as photographers—there’s also an open call on Instagram. From the submissions, a diverse set of jurors were asked to choose 90 percent artists of color; they included white women photographers, as well, recognizing that they, too, face obstacles within photography. Finally, the founders also asked that jurors be considerate of the factors that might have stunted their career trajectory—such as a lack of monetary support, sponsorship, and mentorship—and instead consider their potential for success. “We didn’t want to create an award that perpetuates the same sort of conventions that other awards do,” Koren said.

Diversity is also “keenly important” to PDN, Stuart Hughes told Artsy via email. This past year, PDN has had conversations about expanding its list of nominators in hopes of garnering a more inclusive set of submissions. Additionally, the publication has taken steps toward making its monthly content more inclusive, such as inviting photographers of color to be contributing writers. (For the latest issue, for example, Koren wrote an article on the lack of mentorship available to marginalized photographers.)

Stuart Hughes also noted the value that organizations such as Authority Collective, Diversify Photo, Women Photograph, and more add to the industry. “They’re valuable not only because they champion diverse photographers,” she said, “but because they get the people involved in selecting and nominating photographers excited about seeking out and supporting diverse talents.”

Since the release of the Lit List in August, the inaugural photographers have garnered much-deserved recognition. The list was sponsored by Format, Wonderful Machine, Mastin Labs, Artifact Uprising, and Moment, and it was covered by the Humble Arts Foundation and PDN’s “Photo of the Day.” The honorees also exhibited at Photoville, the annual photography festival in Brooklyn, New York; the exhibition was later mentioned in the New York Times. And, according to Wise, Diversify Photo is working on a discussion and exhibition for PDN’s PhotoPlus Expo.

Photo by Arlene Mejorado. Courtesy of The Lit List.

Although they each have just one year under their belts, both Authority Collective and Diversify Photo have already began to shift conversations within professional photography, ensuring that diversity does not just stop at one or two photographers of color being given one-off opportunities. Instead, they are in it for the long-haul.

“In order for any significant change to happen within the industry, there has to be a constant disruptive force holding it accountable for its racism, for its misogyny, for its exclusivity,” Koren said. Koren feels compelled to have these conversations with friends and colleagues, as well as with people in their network with decision-making power. “I’m constantly challenging them and calling them out on their bullshit.”

Perhaps what is most becoming about both organizations is their selflessness. The founders of both organizations volunteer their labor while also balancing their respective careers, and operate from a community-first approach. This is all in an effort to clear the path so that other marginalized artists will have an easier chance at consistent work, fair and equal treatment, and, hopefully, an opportunity to mentor others that follow.

Although both Authority Collective and Diversify Photo were started by marginalized photographers, they are aware that they can only do so much. Thus, Koren emphasizes that those with hiring power need to seek out diverse talent for all types of work, not just for the stories about subjects the photographers might seem to identify with (though that certainly matters, too). Koren asserted: “Our industry does not become inclusive without white people doing the work to dismantle all of the walls that they’ve built up, that don’t allow anyone who isn’t white and male or white and female to succeed.”

from Artsy News

[endofinfinityrp-blog]

Welcome, DAN, to the END OF INFINITY. We loved your take on KURT HUMMEL, especially how his mind works, and how his power works on a logical, scientific level. We can’t wait to see how Kurt does at WALDRON ISLAND UNIVERSITY! Now that you’re accepted, please check out the post below and make sure to complete the New Member Checklist within the next 24 hours!

OOC:

Player name: Dan

Player age: 21

Player pronouns: He/him

Activity level: 6-7/10

IC:

Character name: Kurt Elizabeth Hummel

Character species: Super

Character age & birthdate: May 27th, 1998

Character power: Fabrication.

Can do:

Create any inanimate material/object, and very basic natural/organic objects (rocks/gems/fur/feathers)

Can not do:

Create animate things.

Complete animals and humans are things he can not create.

He cannot create food at present. (I’m honestly not sure if he will ever be able to create food.)

Limitations:

The object/material must be no bigger than himself (at present).

The more compact/complex the material (hard metals for example) the more energy it takes from him.

The more materials he creates back to back, the more energy it takes from him.

At present, he is not able to convert the energy back into its raw form, but can turn something, into something else.

The movement of the object is also important. It’s easier for him to fabricate when the object he’s using is still. So far he hasn’t been able to completely fabricate a moving object (though in the future he will be able to)

How it works:

Energy can not be created. But it also cannot be destroyed. Everything has the potential to be something else, and this is what Kurt taps into when he changed objects into other things.

Once he fabricates it, it will stay in that form until another force acts upon it (i.e. Kurt changes it into something else).

How much fabricating things takes out of him is dependent on several factors: how much potential gravitational energy is available from the original object, how much kinetic energy he has to convert to potential gravitational energy, and how dense the object is.

Example: changing the clothes he’s wearing into a different outfit with the same amount of material, causes him some fatigue, much like a jogger once they are finished with a run.

Example: if he were to turn a small cardboard box into a 5 foot tall, solid steel wall, he would probably pass out.

He also has to be able to fully visualize whatever it is he’s creating. If he were to fabricate a bike, it would work like a bike, as long as he has a basic understanding of how it works.

If he is creating something from the energy around him, he is literally bringing the energy together, creating gas, then liquid, and then a solid. The energy must go through all these steps to create the material Kurt is going for. As such, it is gorgeous (or a little terrifying if you’ve pissed him off) to watch, because the color of the gas stage is dependant on what he is making. 

What it looks like:

If Kurt is changing an already existing object into another object, it’s a rippling/wave effect (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Eys9gAXq18w)

Area of Study: Fashion Design.

Dorm Style: He’s a bit of a control freak, and would want to live in a mid-size one person room, or at least having a large private room if he did live somewhere with others. So Salvatore East would be best for him.

Clubs/Sports/Extra-Curricular Activities: LGBT+ Association, Glee Club; Interested in: Gamma Delta Iota

Bio:

[cw: death]

Kurt’s mother died when he was eight years old. His father told him she had died because bad people were robbing a bank that she was in. He hadn’t understood why she had died, he spent a good three years angry at everyone in that bank. Why hadn’t they just given the robbers the money? Then no one would have had to die! One gloomy night he decided he was tired of being angry. An 11 year old having an epiphany and access to google usually leads to disaster. And this moment did not disappoint. There was absolutely no mention of his mother by name, the only articles he found about that day were about a heist at a bank, were a super was unfortunately killed. Article after article, praising this super, praising her for saving lives, praising her for stopping the criminals.

Kurt was furious, she hadn’t saved everyone’s lives. Being extra since birth, he printed out every article he could find and brought them to his father. Hundreds of loose leaf pages, all about this super- this Star. What a stupid name. What a stupid face. Who did she think she was. Kurt was ready to have his father’s equal frustration, but he was met only with stunned silence, and then tears. Feeling instantly guilty, Kurt, like any child, hightailed it out of the living room, taking the articles with him. The next few days were tense, but Burt finally sat Kurt down and explained to him that Star was actually his mother.

She wasn’t an official super anymore, she wasn’t supposed to even be in the bank. But there she had been.  Her power had been energy manipulation in its rawest form, and when the criminals found out she was a super, they set off the bombs they had brought with them. She had saved everyone in the bank, even the criminals, when she completely absorbed the energy. Burt showed Kurt photos, artist renditions, even a few comic book cameos. Her most iconic stance was her in a bright white jumpsuit, a cape made of vibrant purple billowing behind her, with a shield made of what appeared to be interlacing blue lightning in front of her masked face. Kurt was speechless. Burt was lost for ways to comfort his son through this discovery. But Kurt shocked Burt by quietly saying, “Dad… I think I can do things… like mom… does that mean I’m going to die too?”

The short answer, no. Kurt had been hiding his powers since his mother passed, because children with powers at his school were bullies or bullied. Neither seemed like a great option. His mother had known. When he was 4 years old he created a binky because he wanted it. That was the first time his mother realized he had powers. She experimented with ways of dampening his powers, and found that if she could manipulate the energy around Kurt just so, he wasn’t able to fabricate things. She didn’t do this for too long, only a couple of years. Once baby Kurt understood he couldn’t do what his body knew he could do, he didn’t try anymore, and his mother stopped her manipulation for a short while. She wasn’t doing it to hurt him, quite the opposite in fact. She just wanted him to live a “normal” life.

That didn’t mean Kurt didn’t accidentally create things. If he wanted something, nine times out of ten he would have it the next day. He never questioned it, Burt was far too busy to notice, but his mother worried for him. She had her own job. A cover from another life that she decided she enjoyed. She worked at a photography studio, dressing models and putting together sets. She started to bring Kurt to work with her. When he wasn’t at work with her, they went other places together, like the ice rink at the mall, or ballet, or movies. She understood him, encouraged him to like what he wanted, regardless of gender stereotypes. She taught him how to sew basic stitches, how measurements worked. And while he was with her, she could keep him safe, and keep him from exposing himself as a super.

His dad was very much a supporting character. Going to work at the shop, sometimes bringing Kurt with him. Kurt wasn’t as interested in cars as he was in sewing and singing and dancing, but he enjoyed the mechanics of it. He enjoyed watching his father put things back together. He even helped paint sometimes. Burt had been looking forward to a son he could go to sports with, who would learn mechanics and take over the shop after him. But he loved what he got. Which was a little boy who would much rather design for football players on their day off, than watch them play. Burt largely left the parenting to his wife. Not because he didn’t want to parent Kurt, but because he saw how much Kurt loved her. He saw how close they were and he didn’t want to get in the way of that bond.

And then she was gone. He was able to use his powers fully, and he had absolutely no idea what to do with them. At first, his father was very much against Kurt using his powers at all. He wanted Kurt to be safe, much like his wife had wanted. But Kurt was miserable. He felt such guilt every time he accidentally created things. Daydreaming was terrifying, falling asleep became something that he dreaded. What he created in his sleep was mangled, half a thought, and scared him. His power was a part of him though, and it would not be contained any longer. The turning point for Burt was when he found Kurt in his room, surrounded by gorgeous fake flowers. He was crying, trying to get them to go away, but anytime he tried to get rid of one flower, he would create one instead. Burt had been getting calls from the school. Kurt wasn’t doing his homework, came to school looking dead on his feet. He had even been sent to detention for falling asleep in class.

It was the first real conversation the two of them had had since the Article Incident, and it was something they both dearly needed. Burt held Kurt until he calmed down, they both gathered up the flowers while his father just, talked. He told Kurt all about his mother as a super. He told him about her superhero work, how she had saved him the first and only time he had gotten in a serious accident when he was in college. He’d fallen immediately, but she thought he was a dirty grease monkey who shouldn’t try so hard. He collected a lot of her merch, he admitted with a sheepish look, he still had a lot of it in a box somewhere. They met officially in a class about super and Fromian history, became study partners and the rest was history. Kurt hung off every word, asking every question he had been holding in. His father answered everything he could– not knowing how to explain exactly what happened with her powers– and Kurt wrote most of it down. Then his dad sat him down, and suggested they both get some help with his powers.

Now, having his father’s complete support, he was put into a special tutoring group meant specifically for children of dead supers. The “tutoring” was to teach children with one baseline living parent, how to use their gifts in a safe way. Kurt learned quickly, documented everything, and if he used his mom’s super stance poster for inspiration, he never told anyone. The rest of his childhood was spent in and out of these programs, and the schools they were in. He was bullied, he made friends, he made enemies. But he never considered himself a Super. He was just a kid with powers. A gay kid with powers, which was just great. He couldn’t imagine telling his father, or anyone about this new part of his identity. He was already called a freak, he didn’t need to add to the list of insults hurled at him on the daily.

He of course eventually told his father, when he caught Kurt and a boy cuddling and watching a movie when he was 16. Kurt reacted like he had been caught doing the dirty, making the boy leave immediately while he hid in his basement room. It was the first time he had been able to successfully build a wall around himself, which was exciting as far as progress goes. His father, having had an awkward staring match with the boy upstairs before calling his parents to come pick him up, waited patiently for Kurt to calm down. He wasn’t able to get rid of something when he had fabricated it. It had to be turned into something else. The cement went soft, turned blue and he was surrounded in yards of fabric. His father began to help roll it onto a spool, using it as an excuse not to look at Kurt while he gave him The TalkTM while Kurt burned red. “I love you Kurt. I don’t care who you like. I just want you to be safe about it.” Was something Kurt would not ever forget.

Throughout high school, Kurt got into several different clubs. He ran for president of student government, sang in the Glee Club, did a stint in the celibacy club for a boyfriend that didn’t pan out, and loved helping out the theater department by creating costumes. Everyone thought he was rich, in reality he just created the supplies he needed. He found his limit during a night of frenzied sewing. He was unsure exactly how many different things he had fabricated, but he suddenly felt light headed, before passing out completely. He came too hours later in the hospital. Burt was less than pleased about this discovery, whereas Kurt was overjoyed. His favorite thing had quickly become figuring himself out, both emotionally and power wise. This was just another thing to add to his journal documenting his powers.

Kurt took a year off before applying to colleges. He helped his dad with the shop, built up a portfolio of at least two collections, with several individual pieces here and there. His father paid for him to visit New York City for half of that year. He had gotten an internship at Vogue, his official job was basically a stage hand. He made sure the lights worked, pointed them at the sets he created and set up, and occasionally was allowed to sit in on meetings with board members since the his boss liked him so much. He lived in a moderately sized apartment with the other interns, and would walk home from work, usually at night. A fact that he was not about to tell his father. Kurt had had a relatively normal life, he still didn’t consider himself capable of much other than being a fantastic designer. Certainly not capable of saving people. Right?

[cw: assault, cw: slurs]

He remembers it still. It was a Tuesday. Just a normal, dreary Tuesday, when he got out of the studio around midnight. It was raining, it was a little chilly, but otherwise not unpleasant. He created an umbrella, having forgot his at home, and started the rather lengthy walk back home. 12:43am, rounding the corner, just a block from his apartment, he heard noises. Naturally a little curious, he peeked into the alley just a house away. He had hoped he wasn’t going to see someone having sex, what he saw was worse. A man was on the ground, curled into a ball, a group of four other men kicking him violently. He was whimpering and begging, the men kicking him laughed and jeering. They threw insults at him, calling him an invader, an imposter, telling him to go back to where he came from. Kurt heard the quiet, “I don’t have anywhere to go home to…” and he realized. This man wasn’t quite human. Kurt couldn’t just let them call someone those horrible things. He marched right up to the group, who stopped and looked at him, confused but angry at the interruption. He could smell the alcohol from where he stood, but he pressed on, helping the man to his feet. He thanked him, before bursting into light and disapearing, leaving Kurt alone with the very men that been attacking him. Kurt felt a sudden rush of terror, and then they pounced. A wall, as tall and as wide as Kurt stood sprang into existence, catching one of the attacker’s leg and outstretched arms inside of it. The others hit it, hard, and bounced back, raging. Kurt looked at the wall for a moment, then turned and erected more. All around him he created his walls.

Unfortunately. a ceiling would have been a great ending, one that Kurt didn’t think of. He wasn’t particularly tall, and the attackers helped each other up the wall, threatening to jump in. Kurt panicked, turned one wall into string, and attempted to run through it. He and the attackers on the wall were tangled, but their friends immediately jumped at their chance. This is where Kurt’s memory fades. He remembers the pain, the shouting, but only for a short while before he is  once again waking up in the hospital. This time he was accompanied by two police officers. They questioned him, he told them he couldn’t remember what the men looked like, that it was dark. He couldn’t remember what he’d done, or what had happened. He didn’t have any way of knowing if they would believe him, or if they would assume he started the altercation. Then it was Kurt’s turn to ask them some questions. The most important of which he got out first. Did they call his father? Oh dear, they had, well he was definitely going back to Ohio, whether he wanted to or not. His father arrived as one of his bandages was being changed, his bruised face and cut lip not doing much to help his case as he begged his father to let him stay. To Kurt’s utter surprise, he agreed, but they were going to have to make room for one more in the apartment. A week passed, then two, then a month. Life went on.

Kurt was pretty sure if he wanted to not go to college and stay home with his father, Burt would say yes. But as they were waiting for a car to come pick them up for the airport in a small coffee shop, a slender, tall man stopped at their table. Kurt looked at him, he looked at Kurt, and Kurt knew. This was him. This was the man that had left him to those savages. But Kurt wasn’t angry. His father was, after what was happening had been explained. But they talked, for as long as they had, and the man thanked Kurt. Told him he was a hero, like all the other supers out there. He asked, in a hushed voice, is Kurt had a name, a super name. Burt answered for him, told the man that Kurt was a damn amazing kid, but he wasn’t a superhero. The flight home was quiet, but Kurt had already made up his mind. He would go to college, he would discover his full potential. Because if he wasn’t going to be a superhero, he was going to keep them safe.

IC Writing Sample:

Your power or skill has just misfired. What happened? How do you character feel about it?

[cw: blood]

Kurt was angry. He wasn’t just frustrated with this girl, no no, he was pissed. What the hell was she thinking, she was supposed to be his best friend, not someone who convinced the boy he liked NOT to like him back! And by telling him that Kurt was still so traumatized by his mother’s death, that it was all he ever thought about. The boy he could get over, but she used his mother. She used her memory as a weapon against him and that was something that he could not allow. He marched up to her dorm room, knocking loudly on the door until she opened it.

“Kurt?” she was half asleep, hair falling into her face, “Kurt, i’s like 2am what the fuck-”

“How could you.” Kurt’s voice was cold, trembling with his rage, “I trusted you. I told you who my mom was. I told you all about her.” the air was thick, the energy condensing around him. He didn’t notice.

“Kurt…” his friend was awake now, backing into her room with her hands up, “I didn’t-”

“You don’t even have the grace to look guilty!” Kurt shouted, pushing the door open with such force, the knob cracked the wall.

“I didn’t do anything wrong! All I did was tell the truth! You’re obsessed. Besides,” his friend shrugged, trying to look nonchalant as she cowered by her bed, “he was more interested in me anyway-”

“You UTTER. BITCH. I can’t believe you. I can’t believe I trusted you, you horrible, horrible person! He wasn’t into you at all! I know because I asked! Because I, unlike you, am actually a GOOD. FRIEND. And what about you? What about your traumas? Oh, that’s right, he has no idea. Because I didn’t tell him because it was none of my GOD. DAMN. BUSINESS. Y-”

“KURT!” she screamed, jumping back just in time huge, wicked spikes sprang up from the ground. She avoided being completely impaled, but a spike erupting from the wall caught her arm, slicing through her pajama top and her skin. She was looking at him like he was a monster, holder her arm as blood dripped from between her fingers. Kurt was still, then he frantically turned the spiked into the first thing he thought of, bandages. He took a step forward, but she jerked back with a quiet but forceful, “Get the fuck out of my room. Freak.”

Kurt flinched, turning away from her and walking as quickly as possible out of the room. He walked until he made it outside the building before he ran. What was wrong with her? What was wrong with him? He ran until he made it almost off campus, collapsing into the grass. He couldn’t even cry. All he could do was shake and lay motionless on the cold ground. His actions replayed over and over in his head, his friend’s face, her blood. He didn’t know what was wrong with him. He didn’t know he could do that. He felt exhausted, he felt like a freak. That word wouldn’t stop ringing through his head. While he lay in the grass, feeling the energy pulse and move around him, he started to believe it.