#as if i am not perpetually and constantly feral

[destiny-in-the-universe]

I’m down bad with my fixation on Tale of the Nine Tailed.

Let me just get one thing out of the way: I am extremely normal (not-) about the Lee brothers, and with the parallel to Vincenzo and Jang Hanseo. As much as I’d like to say how my project goes, I won’t be able to share, woof.

At least not right now, but with Lee Yeon and Lee Rang…

Yeon is extremely emotionally constipated; like he’s an old fox and has lived a long time so he just doesn’t want to deal with anything. Also the pain of losing Aeum- I’m not going to sit here and defend Yeon, let alone Rang. I adore Rang, but he isn’t an angel in this. He’s like a wet, feral fox- cat that would rather swipe its claws at you than let you pet him.

So far, I’ve come up with a multitude of AU’s and if anyone is interested in my utter nonsense, I’m willing to talk about them! Later— because as soon as this post is finished, I’m probably going to bed… I’ve got an event tomorrow unfortunately.

So without much further ado, read below the cut for more information!

A Tail of Two Foxes: If anyone manages to figure out this poor reference, I will love you forever (/platonic). Lee Yeon’s history with Rang plays out a little differently… I’m not entirely sure what direction I’m going with this, but if I don’t get a bit of feral! Yeon and his adoptive little cub, I’m losing my marbles.

UNTITLED: This AU doesn’t have a name but I’m also perpetually stuck in brainrot over one tiny thing — what if Lee Rang and Ki Yuri’s roles had been reversed? As in if Rang was the captured fox in Russia instead of Ki Yuri. I read a fanfic on this, but unfortunately it just didn’t stick and I thought of creating my own?

[REDACTED]: The universe for the Vincenzo x Tale of the Nine Tailed AU! This one won’t be talked about until I release the fanfic but keep this one in your minds! /j

I did have one more idea but it seems to have completely slipped my mind. I’m just seeing the different possibilities we could’ve had for Yeon and Rang. Rang is definitely the runt of the litter, and while he isn’t some perfect little snowdrop, he’s just in my mind. Constantly.

I’m also envisioning the thought of Yeon and Rang meeting as fox cubs, which is just my attempt to make something fluffy? Yeon isn’t sunshine and daises either but he loves his brother, I know he does. They’re like fire and ice, black and white. And goodness me, I know I’m not going to shut up about them.

[thekeeperof-thefandoms]

Fine. I need mutuals to lose my sanity with so I give you my Hazbin Hotel hcs based off my OCs.

Please I am so fucking abnormal about my OCs and would love to elaborate on them any time!!! Please if you want specifics about their interactions with their respective partner or character sheets (I cant draw vivzie style good and I have some generic AI art of them I refuse to post it because I don't believe in using ai art for anything other than private use. I paid money for the one that's my profile pic cuz its my dnd character.)

Vox with a big tiddy goth girlfriend reader. Short, chubby, v insecure. Also feral adhd gremlin who copes with dark humor. Makes Vox's ADHD worse. They give each other vocal stims. Call and response echolalia. Vox is constantly assaulted by memes now. Honesly they bring out the inner goblin in each other but it's fine cuz it helps Vox unwind and emotionally regulate finally. She's bi too so anytime Vox (who canonically is more into men) finds a guy he likes they can totally bring him in for a threesome. She leans towards women so it goes both ways. She's a sub for women but tops for men (especially Vox's bratty ass).

Alastor with a skinny non binary autistic person. People mistake them for a twink. Some days they're more fem cuz they want to be pretty. Usually anxious, quiet, enjoys reading and listening to Alastor's music or radio static. Then you get them to unmask and they're a barely stable perpetually exhausted creature thriving off of caffeine and memes. Alastor adores their chaos and listening to them ramble. Appreciates they try to find modern culture he'd relate to and enjoy. They spend time co-existing to bond, doing their own thing next to each other. No pressure to initiate intimacy or anything other than friendship. Autistic person gets a lot of Alastor's sensory ick (esp about touch) without being nosy and just accepts their murder gremlin radio friend. (Accidental platonic partners).

Valentino getting a fucking therapist (he needs one. I see the bi-polar theory and as some one who worked with bipolar people I can see it but he could just be a terrible person). That therapist having two main personalities after death (based on a book a read where a person's ghost was split into two people from before and after their trauma). Both are qualified therapists. One's a 2000s emo boy who's esthetic is Laughing Jack. Except plot twist they're from the south (based on a kid I knew in high school). Puts Vox in his place more often than not by just tying him up and whisking him away to have his tantrums in private (they probably [definitely] fucked.) Tough love kinda but in a way that actuall forces Valentino to confront his issues and deal with it. The other is basically if Harley Quinn got a Homestuck Trickster design. Very sweet. Very blunt. Chaos incarnate. Elaborately finds ways to put Valentino in situations that make him uncomfortable so he has to deal with them and then pavloving him with candy or sex when he's a good person. They're both helping in their own way because now Valentino has to think about his actions, emotionally regulate, and is rewarded for good behavior. The whole dynamic is cute and sexy but also kinda twisted.

Plot twist, Alastor's accidental QPR, Vox's chaos thicc witch, and the unhinged therapy duo are all besties from when they were alive and it means Vox and Alastor have to be civil to each other cuz their partners are friends and they don't wanna upset them.

Bonus points cuz they make friends with Angel and Angel gets to watch two candy themed clowns walk his boss's ass like a dog.

Lucifer gets the AUDHD diagnosis he didn't know he needed ("oh, that's what's wrong with me"), lots of comfort and validation, and a healthy dose of therapy as well.

[0w0tsuki]

Fucking losin it, pretty sure the spock glock person blocked me because I reblogged one of your reblogs arguing with him, and that fact that is fucking wild to me. Like I didn't even say anything. Sorry that you have to deal with losers like him who refuse to listen to the valid points you have to say and dig their heels harder into transmisogyny. You are right, and as a TME, I am so glad that you talk about transmisogyny so that I can learn about the way I may perpetuate transmisogyny.

Typical transandro baby who lies about Unity behavior. "Blocking anyone who so much as agrees with this dissenting take" is something I remember the Transandrophobia-Archive blog doing back when it cropped up.

Honestly I don't mind like my computer is down so I can't use TF2 to cope rn. A lot of this is just distracting myself from chronic throat conditions that have restricted my breathing and made me feel like I'm constantly choking for over a year. Like this personal blog not an educational one. I haven't actually read theory outside of snippets. Which is why whenever I engage in discourse I primarily focus on behavior.

I will keep hammering this home but I'll keep saying it. "If their behavior is awful. Their opinion isn't worth seriously engaging". Like I could have tried to ask what EXACTLY he meant by "Small inter-identity discourse" or "fighting to see whose oppression is the most sympathetic". I could have given him that good faith he felt so entitled to.

But him framing anyone who disagrees with him as overly online losers, happily adopting fascist language to call us a bunch of feral cats, and cheekily misgendering trans woman while explicitly lampshading it, I could tell this boy was going to act like an entitled little shitheel who thinks he should be allowed to say whatever heinous things he wants but everyone around should be gracious with infinite patience for him. So I didn't approach him in good faith I went in knowing full well he was doing to double down on his shitty behavior And what do you know in his first response he called me an over emotional tranny while trying to act like I was proving his point. Now he's completely deleted the post trying to completely remove himself from it by trying to say "someone started discourse on my OBVIOUSLY no discourse post and EVERYBODY ELSE is being so mean TO EACH OTHER" completely trying to remove his involvement as he scrapes evidence under the rug. Also him mentioning he's "never touching those tags again" oh so traumatized he is by my aggressive trannying. Good riddance I hope he stays in whatever little fandom hole he crawled out of.

Like I think when engaging these entitled children I think we should stop giving them benefits of the doubt and "debate" in a way that gives them ground to spew a bunch of vaguely leftist pseudo-terminology to make shit like "I think women should just shut up and take it" sound progressive. We should start treating these birthday boys like the bullies they are.

But honestly I'm not an expert my main strengths are being able to recognize patterns of behavior and being able to remember discourse from 3 months ago.

[old-opossum]

Wrote a really long stream of consciousness description to justify werewolves/the Wolf Man being on my kin list as a silly gag but also it was pretty sincere so someone's gotta see it, anyway

I personally draw a lot of connections to the way I acted as a kid when I didn't know what masking was (or that I needed to) and had worse impulse and emotional control to being “feral” or “improperly socialized” like some kind of dog. I wrote a whole poem/short story thing about it for my creative writing class, because that's kinda just how it felt: lashing out, bursts of random energy, what felt like uncontrollable fits, a lot of anger towards people I cared about, having a hard time grasping a system that wasn't really built for me but not knowing that at the time so it kinda just felt like it was a me problem because objectively I was “just like everyone else” on the surface and most of the time I could “act normal” but it felt like internally there was something vicious bubbling up that would perpetuate the cycle of scaring people away and accepting that I was the one at fault because all the actions were mine despite the possible argument that the circumstances were against me.

Despite the fact that I am a human and I should be able to relate to human beings, I find more solidarity and familiarity in animals: they're easier to understand and read because they are simpler to me than my peers whom I feel some level of disconnect from regardless of knowing the fact that of course I am not alone and we are the same.

Because ultimately I am the one who is stuck in my head 24/7 and must be constantly aware of my thoughts, feelings, and actions 100% of the time.

[sobersingularity]

Always darkest before the dawn

I haven’t been writing here lately for a very simple reason - I haven’t been sober.

The shame and embarrassment that I’ve been grappling with has been a kind of self-perpetuating cycle; it only makes me want to hide away more, which is a recipe for disaster. But, as my next phase of life spans before me on the horizon, it occurs to me that I can be learning from this painful period and maybe I can pass some of that wisdom on here, which was the original intent behind this blog.

So I’m here with my hat in hand asking to be seen, to be loved despite my faults and difficulties. I am here for radical honesty and acceptance and even consequences, whatever those may be.

I relapsed on Christmas Day, as I’ve already shared with many of you. But despite staying sober 30+ days after, I relapsed again and have struggled to maintain any kind of sustained sobriety ever since.

On the horizon is an evening Intensive Outpatient Program (IOP). It’s not my first time around; I checked myself into an IOP in 2017 some months after my Dad passed away. It was a great experience and nudged me through six months of sobriety, but I didn’t maintain a program after and so didn’t stay sober.

This time will be different - this time, I know and love my twelve-step program and will jump headfirst into it, maintaining meetings during and after IOP. The first two years of my sobriety were so life-changing and dear to me that I have no doubt that I’ll be able to reconnect in the same way again.

But first, I have to shake this off. And it’s been hard, my friends. For so many reasons - one of which is that I have some hurt feelings and resentments toward my program right now that I need to work through. But it’s not that the program stopped working, it’s that in my third year of it, I prioritized a toxic relationship over my own well-being. 

One of the major points I’ve been working on in therapy is owning my narrative and only carrying what is meant for me. I have a long history of taking on what belongs to others; of internalizing it and making it my own. By the end of last year, I was in the middle of a mental health crisis and  internalizing a narrative that I was selfish, falling short, and stagnant in my growth. 

My tender message toward myself since then has been that nothing could be further from the truth - even if I didn’t grow at the same pace I was growing before, I am constantly growing and seeking to better myself. Missteps are what make me human and they don’t make me any less worthy of kindness and respect. 

In my writing program, I once wrote some nonfiction about myself and my anger. “Your narrator,” my capstone advisor told me, “Is navigating the labyrinth of their past and finding the minotaur within.”

No statement about my writing has ever resonated more deeply, and I came to see the minotaur as my enemy - a dark, feral creature that lurked in the mazes of my mind, reminding me of a past in which I gored holes in whatever stood in my way.

But, interestingly, my therapist has encouraged me to see it a different way - I have a minotaur inside of me and it’s there, no matter what I do. But maybe I can befriend the minotaur. Maybe I can use its anger to tear holes in the narratives that don’t belong to me, tear them up until they are too small and inconsequential to internalize.

I have a past. I’ve talked about it here before, but it bears repeating: I have hurt people, deeply, irreparably. But what matters now are the choices I make today and the story I write for myself from here on. I can’t repair how I hurt those from so many years ago but I can repair myself. 

I can’t interfere with anyone else’s process or force forgiveness, but I can forgive myself, loving myself and giving myself the space to stay soft, stay vulnerable. I can ask your forgiveness, my beloved community, and let you help me the way I need to be helped. 

If there’s one thing that was reinforced for me in the past year or so, it’s that I have really good instincts when it comes to people. And the people around me now are the best of the best. The folks who showed up to bring me food after surgery. The folks who picked me up for meetings and refused to judge me when I relapsed. The folks who call me to check in, who tell me they love me unprompted. The folks I can breathe easy around - finally, breathing easy again, without anxiety or fear of punishment for leaning into my love for my friends.

I love you all more than words can say, and please don’t worry about me too much. I am confident that this is just the beginning of something brand new, a higher-than-fourth dimension, that even exceeds the beauty of my first two years of sobriety.

[romeave]

hello it is me the stubborn zane lover here to defend my potato sack.

You claim that Mystreet Zane has nothing in common with High Priest Zane, yet later mention his Grinch era. That's his mcd trait, coming up with excessive, occasionally illegal, schemes, typically in order to spite someone who's wronged him. The only real difference is mystreet plays it for comedy since it's a slice of life series.

2a. Zane's pony thing actually stems from the sleepover side stories, in which MCD Zane utilizes the dark power of friendship in order to commit property damage in response to a prank call. Also it comes up a lot because it's an interest he and Aph have in common, not because it's his only trait.

2b. "Why bother with Zane's breaking of gender roles when Garroth?" Because Zane did it first. Like, over a whole season earlier. Zane was the first of Aph's guy friends to be chill about breaking gender roles. Zane was out here putting on maid dresses to protect Aph from her pervy guy friends long before Garroth became a bathroom hogging party city nurse costume wearing skinfluencer.

2c. "Zane is jealous of Garroth" is kind of underselling their dynamic? Zane has, without exaggeration, spent his entire life in Garroth's shadow. He is constantly surrounded by people who see him as "Garroth's little brother" instead of as his own person, and he's judged primarily on his abilty to emulate the platonic ideal of golden boy Garroth Ro'Meave instead of on his own merits

But since that's literally an impossible standard that Zane has no interest in meeting, he pushes people away because why bother playing nice with people who historically wouldn't have given him a chance anyway. He'd much rather earn a negative reputation all on his own since it's the easiest way to separate himself from his family. And then no one likes him anyway because he's an asshole and the cycle self perpetuates until he's like 25 and has the people skills of a feral cat.

Now, Zane is aware that his situation is not at all Garroth's fault, but he does resent Garroth for being comically oblivious to it. And also his chronic inability to consider Zane's feelings or needs or boundaries because he's made being a "good big brother" a personality trait and still treats Zane like he's still just a kid who doesn't know better and can be forced into whatever. That does not help.

I know you said you don't believe in seasons 4-6 where this was resolved, but their conflict has been set up since the season one ro'bro's three parter and is fleshed out in The Bigger Move and those side stories that aired in between s3 and s4.

2d. I too am not happy about how they completely ignored his self actualization arc for zanechan shipping fodder, but there were five seasons between that arc and Zane getting with Nana. And the main lesson of that arc was that you shouldn't bend over backwards trying to please your parental figures if their plan for your life isn't making you happy, and to communicate that.

😘a. He went to the guy's house first because they have the most beef, but he was planning on stopping by every house on the block. Also he did end up returning everything before they woke up.

😘b. Zane gets all his bills online and no one ever sends him things, so he generally doesn't check his mail box

😘c. If Pinkie Pie herself comes to life and tells you that she was sent by the spirits of Christmas specifically to help you pull a Grinch as vengeance for not being invited to parties, then you are then obligated to pull on that Santa suit and take that tree! It's the iconic thing to do.

im here to shit on mystreet zane sue me

okay 1: he has little to no connection to mcd zane. if they ARE reincarnations like s6 suggests, wtf happened to him? and if yhey arent, why make him Like That? because every other character had at least SOME similarities to their mcd counterparts, but zane is just "grr im emo and jealous of my brother woe is me boo hoo" SHUT UP ‼️ YOU ARE LIKE 27. and like yeah okay he gets better in what s4 to s6 but those seasons are DOGWATER they are AWFUL. any character growth there i dont believe in because in my heart that stupid fucking lodge doesnt exist.

2: his obession with ponies. listen. listen. i literally collect meemeows irl. i get it. ehat i dont get is why it was zane of all people to be given this. "he has multiple sides to his character!!" but he literally doesnt. hes moody and broody and he likes ponies. that is ALL HE IS. WHY DO YOU LIKE HIM. "he breaks gender roles" garroth. end of story. i know thats the whole thing "zane is jealous of garroth" yeah because garroth is Better. i LIKE mean men, hello hi i am obsessed with the better zane (gene), but zane is executed poorly. he feels inconsistent and didnt he have the qhole arc of "i dont need a girlfriend im enough for myself" and then IMMEDIATELY get with nana? dont get my started on zana bro it has no chemistry. none. nada. zero. cute pair, i think they could work, but they are written So Badly that its like mixing oil and water bro it AINT WORKING.

anyways guys i dont like zane 😘 absolute dogwater of a character. he CAN be good, i WANT to like him, but he is written with so little redeeming qualities. like did we forget he broke in the guys house and stole their shit? for NO REASON? BECAUSE HIS STUPID ASS DOESNT CHECK HIS MAIL BOX?? he returned it whatever fine okay but he still broke in. i dont remember if he had the key but regardless he was Not invited, Not welcome, and he stole their fucking christmas tree.

anyways zane lovers ily you are the most stubborn mfs i have ever seen are and you know what you are based for that keep loving this potato sack of a man

~~

[lavenoon]

IT NEVER CLICKED THAT NOTE ABOUT SOMETIMES IT'S WORTH THE RISK CAME FROM YOU BUT I WANTED TO TELL YOU THAT it completely changed my perspective on how I wanted to write that so i scrapped my initial plan and basically re-wrote it from the ground up and turned YN from someone that was gonna be fully confident in flirting the hell out of the boys and every animatronic they came into contact with into a goofy anxious dumb that has no working concept on how to properly romance someone and the base enjoyment of the idea shot from like a 5(ha ha this is funny) to a 9 with the added bonus of OH GOD I AM CALLING MYSELF OUT BUT RELATABLE(I have been rolling this concept around in my brain for ages now and the vision is finally CLEAR AGAIN excitement) and I wanted to say Thank you and it is all your fault once that dumb idiot finally sets foot inside the daycare cause they already had a fucking fit realizing that Sun basically walks around shirtless all the time SINCE HE HAS ACTUAL PANTS and now they can't unsee perpetually-topless-Sun all damn day. The ask in question:

This is living rent free in my inbox and I have been looking at it CONSTANTLY AS OF LATE <3

GDHSJAK HI FERAL IM CURRENTLY DYING WHEEZING THAT'S SO FUNNY

ACCIDENTAL IDIOTIFICATION BEAM FROM YOURS TRULY!!

Stupid but earnest DOES make for a hilarious combination tho and also. Yes definitely relatable LMAO how does flirting work it truly is a mystery </3

Love that it's just. Sun: *exists* Y/N: *frantic mental breakdown* that's so valid of them FGDHSJ

[symptoms-syndrome]

Alters and Race in White-Bodied Systems

I said I was going to write something up, so I’m going to try. I will try to make this as easily understandable as possible, so please let me know if parts are unclear. This will be a little long because it’s a complex topic, but I hope you try to read it if you can. I’ve broken things up into chunks and made the text large for each header so that it is more ADHD-friendly, and tried to use layman’s terms whenever possible.

Things I’m going to be talking about in this post will be:

What is race?

What are the types of racial oppression?

How do people in DID communities/spaces perpetuate racism?

How can I check myself and avoid perpetuating racism?

Final notes

When I can, I will link to sources. For transparency, I am a nonblack/indigenous, Korean-American mixed race person with diagnosed DID. When I use the term “DID” in this post I am referring to both DID and OSDD.

#1: What is Race?

Race is a social construct, created by white people. It is not based in any science, as science has disproven there are significant genetic markers that differ between different races. “Whiteness,“ especially, has been an idea that has changed wildly over time. (A good book to read about this is called How The Irish Became White.)

Socially, people are divided along lines of race, which are blurry at best. Things like “the one drop rule“ make it so that no person of color (POC, a noun not an adjective) can fully claim whiteness. Whiteness is primarily defined by “not being a POC.”

‘Whiteness,’  like ‘colour' and ‘Blackness,' are essentially social constructs  applied to human beings rather than veritable truths that have universal  validity. The power of Whiteness, however, is manifested by the ways in  which racialized Whiteness becomes transformed into social, political,  economic, and cultural behaviour. White culture, norms, and values in  all these areas become normative natural. They become the standard  against which all other cultures, groups, and individuals are measured  and usually found to be inferior (Henry & Tator, 2006, p. 46-47).

(In layman’s terms: Whiteness is created by society, and is now defined as “normal” and “default,” while actively oppressing people of color. People of color, by not being white, are seen as inferior. It’s a catch 22 of not being enough, and when you ARE enough, you’re not considered a person of color anymore, which is exactly what happened to the Irish.)

#2: What is Racial Oppression?

“Oppression” is a word a lot of folks throw around these days, and is commonly defined by what are called the “four Is of oppression.” These four Is are:

Internalized: This is oppression instilled in POC. Thoughts like “if I am more like my white peers, I will be more respected,” “I’m not like those people of color,” and pitting different POC against each other are all examples of internalized racism.

Interpersonal: This is oppression that is between individuals, and the most recognized form of racism. Interpersonal racism can look like calling people slurs, expecting POC to conform to stereotypes, etc.

Institutional: This is oppression built into the society and systems we live in. It can look like schools with higher percentages of POC getting less funding, differing descriptions for the same behavior (hyperactive white children being described as “outgoing” while a child of color is described as “disruptive”,) income inequality, and police brutality.

Ideological: Probably the hardest for people to recognize, ideological racism exists within our very thought processes. White people are told, directly and indirectly, that they are harder working, more deserving, more capable, more advanced, and so on. The inverse is applied to POC. A good example of this is the idea of “welfare queens,” or the idea that someone only got to where they are “by playing the race card.”

All of these interact with each other. Ideological racism is the basis of institutional racism, institutional racism is enforced by interpersonal racism, and progress towards liberation is inhibited by internalized racism, which is instilled in us by all of the above. Oftentimes, these are perpetuated in ways white folks don’t even notice or intend. Offhand comments and other microaggressions (more about those here, in a 2 minute video) can reinforce racism in ways that seem small or insignificant.

Now, onto the part folks are most likely here for:

#3: How Does This Relate to DID?

In DID, alters form for all sorts of reasons, and can look like anything. From demons to angels, fictional characters to animals or objects, the ways parts form can tell someone a lot about that parts beliefs, particularly when they differ from the body. In The Haunted Self, an example is given of a part that believes they are Superman because they cannot be hurt.

When race is involved with this, ideological biases come into play. Though you may not consciously make the decision to have an alter appear a certain way, ultimately, an alter is created by your brain and your brain alone (apart from, of course, the society that your brain/body exist in.) When you are a white person, and your brain creates an alter that appears to be of color, there is a reason. Even “positive” reasons can carry racism, such as splitting an Asian-appearing alter to help with schoolwork. Oftentimes, even without knowing, that reason is due to biases regarding race.

When an alter is created, it does not magically gain the experiences of someone who would actually live in that body. An alter that appears to be a POC has no idea what it’s actually like to be a POC, has no experience with racism, and does not experience any racism. Any racial experiences they may seem to carry with them are a white person’s perception of them, it’s a lot like claiming you know a show because you watched it through a neighbor’s window.

#4: How Can I Check Myself?

So, how do you never do anything racist ever again?

I’m sorry to say, but it just isn’t possible to be 100% non-racist. Even POC cannot be 100% non-racist or anti-racist, because we unfortunately live in a society that is constantly upholding white supremacy and white supremacist beliefs.

However, the next best step is being an anti-racist! Checking yourself for biases you’re upholding or racism you’re perpetuating is an important first step. This is an often uncomfortable and confronting process, and one that never has an end, but an important one. There are a LOT of ways you can do this, but I’ll just list a few that are relevant to DID.

Familiarize yourself with common stereotypes.

The easiest way to find where your internalized biases are with alters that appear to be a different race is familiarizing yourself with common stereotypes and ideas that our society has about POC. These are often tied to things like violence, hypersexualization, drug use, and other negative attributes, but can also be things that on the surface appear to be positive, such as being studious, people-pleasing, or frugal. Regardless of whether the stereotype seems positive or negative, either way it’s still perpetuating racism.

Ask yourself: Is my POC-appearing alter more sexual than others? Are they aggressive? Is my POC-appearing alter a monster (such as a demon or a zombie,) or otherwise less human, like an animal?

Keep an eye on your language

Obviously, if you follow my blog, I don’t support talking negatively about my parts. But in addition to this, when race is involved, it’s even more important. Words like “feral,” “aggressive,“ “sassy,” “soft,” and others can have a more racist impact when used on POC than when used on white folks. Additionally, your POC-appearing alter is not an actual person of color, so avoiding language like “my Asian alter”  and replacing it with (when race is relevant,) “my alter that appears Asian” can be also a helpful change. Lastly, and I would hope this goes without saying, but language like AAVE, slurs, and “broken” English are not yours to use if you have a white body. If you wouldn’t let a white person say it, you should not let an alter in a white body say it.

Ask yourself: Would I use this word if this alter appeared white? If I saw another white person talking like this, would I be okay with that?

Avoid cultural appropriation, be aware of culture

A lot of this may seem obvious, such as not wearing native regalia if you are not native, but other aspects of cultural appropriation may not be as obvious. Asian names, for example, are both incredibly personal, important, and significant in Asian culture, and stigmatized against in white society. I don’t know of any Asian folks who do not have a white name they used in school because teachers literally refuse to try and learn our real names. The issue of cultural appropriation is, at its core, that white people are treated differently for doing the same things that POC do, even when it’s originally something that POC created.

Ask yourself: Would someone of x race be treated differently from me doing this? Is this something that POC have been told they cannot do, even though I can?

#5: Final Notes

As I say whenever I do equity workshops, learning does not end here. I encourage you, if possible, to do more research on your own about racial equity! Clicking the links I’ve included throughout my writing would be a good start, and those links may lead you to others. Getting involved with local activism groups, meeting diverse groups of people with varying ideas, and reading would also be excellent ways to further your learning at your own pace.

Reading this may have made you uncomfortable. You might’ve read something and cringed, thinking to yourself “oh no, I do/did that!” in which case, forgive yourself. Learning is always a process, and no one is ever perfect. As long as you keep in mind what you’ve learned going forward, you are not a bad person for having done something racist in the past. We live in a society that at best doesn’t punish, and at worst rewards upholding the racist beliefs we all live with. Discomfort is a part of learning, and if you were uncomfortable and kept reading, I commend you. That’s hard.

This is all written by one person, with one experience and one life story. You may at some point in time talk to someone with an entirely different experience who may say totally different things than me. Use your best judgement.

If you read all the way through and found something useful, and you can spare any change, my cashapp is $beepollen98. Money would be used to prepare for my upcoming gender surgery! Obviously no pressure, I hope you learned something and feel a little more educated, and maybe even enjoyed reading!

As always, my DMs and asks are open if you found anything confusing, and/or have suggestions/questions.

[thirteens-pocket-watch]

16 for the dw asks!! :D

16. is there a character you feel is generally misunderstood by the fandom?

Oh there are a couple. First of all, 13. She is not well liked by the fandom outside of the circles I am in and I do not see why. She is my feral gay gremlin child 😭

Also Martha, she srsly deserves more appreciation than she gets. I hate the way she gets portrayed in series 3, constantly being compared to Rose (which the fans perpetuate). Ppl only focus on her main run as a companion, her appearances in series 4 and Torchwood show how great she really is and she deserves way more respect.

And also Ianto, especially when I look at content from the early days of the fandom. Ppl see him as this small incapable baby. My brother in christ, he could kill you.

[arcane-cosmetics]

Rating: T

Fandom: Critical Role (Campaign 2)

Relationship: Nott | Veth Brenatto/Caleb Widogast

Additional Tags: Caduceus mention, Beau mention, Fjord mention, Jester mention, Body Dysphoria, non-gender related body dysphoria, Blood, Accidental Kissing, Sharing a Bed, Boats and Ships, Guilt, Regret, Misunderstandings, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Character Study, Nott character study, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Pining, Unrequited Love, OR IS IT??, Some Nott spoilers, Nott | Veth Brenatto-centric

Summary: 

A sad, almost longing look crept its way across Nott’s features. Nostalgia and something else distracting her mind from her current distress for just a moment. She reached out and gently raked her fingers through his hair.

Caleb took a harsh intake of air as he was shocked out of sleep, stiffening under her touch. Seconds passed with a palpable tension. Guilt, shame and embarrassment darkened the color of Nott's face. This was exactly what she hoped to avoid.

Read it on AO3

Nott’s stomach was clenched tight and her heart was beating like a hummingbird’s wings.

The sea was choppy tonight. The bunks the party was given below deck of the newly dubbed Mistake were more like hammocks, three stacked on top of each other, a few feet separating them in each column. It would have been comfortable if it were not for the terrible rocking back and forth of the ocean waves making the cots swing with them. The movement made Nott woozy and constantly on edge.

Nott had no idea what time it was other than a general “late” she didn’t have Caleb’s keen mind after all. She was afraid to sleep. Every time she closed her eyes the roiling sea and splashing water made her mind flash with images of herself drowning. She opened her eyes with a gasp, not realizing she had been holding her breath. She was afraid to dream.

Normally when Nott had nightmares, Caleb would already be laying beside her, pulling her tighter into his warm chest and whispering soft affirmations of safety. Not tonight, though. Not since they’d been on board the ship. It was hard enough to fit one person into the small, barely held together pieces of fabric that were made to pass as beds. Exemplified by Beau who was on the top bunk of Nott’s row. Both of Beau’s arms and legs sprawled to the sides, keeping her precariously balanced, with the threat of crushing both Caleb and Nott beneath her at all times.

Nott ruminated on that thought for a moment. At least if Beau crushed her she’d probably go unconscious and be able to get some rest. She rolled her eyes and smiled, coming to the conclusion that would never happen. Beau would start to fall and do some sort of badass monk flip to land agilely away from any sleeping bodies. Psh, she could do that too.

It looked like it was going to be a sleepless night for Nott the Brave. She reached down, grabbing her flask, and took a big swig. She sighed, first with relief as the brown liquid burned down her throat and into her belly, and then with somber recognition, as it seemed not even booze would be enough to get her through the night this time.

Her eyes started wandering the dark room, which she could see perfectly thanks to her goblinoid darkvision. It didn’t look like there was much worth stealing down here. The crew that wasn’t part of the Nein seemed to not have a penny to their name. Her eyes finally came to a rest, landing on the bunk above her. She could see the outline of Caleb nestled in on himself and heard the soft sound of his breathing. She had half hoped he would be awake too.

Caleb deserved a good night's rest. The days had been long at sea, with more physical labor than any of them outside of Fjord had expected. The entire team was learning to help crew the ship, but it had been hardest on her Caleb. He wasn’t exactly the muscular type like Yasha or Jester. Nott had been absentmindedly fiddling with one of her many trinkets as she thought about how exhausted Caleb had looked after being taught how to unferal, tether, and then re-feral each of the Mistake’s sails. He had taken off his jacket in the heat, letting the rays hit his sun-deprived skin. He’d been sweating, and pieces of his hair had fallen loose in front of his face from the leather band usually tying them back. He looked disheveled and handsome as always.

She was shocked out of her reverie when a particularly large wave crashed into the boat. The Mistake learched to one side, sending Nott’s bauble flying across the floor before coming to a stop under Caduceus’s hammock as the ship righted itself.

Shit.

Across the floor, Nott pinpointed the glass bead that had betrayed her. She glowered down at it in an attempt to will it back to her. A frustrated huff—no luck. Nott was not about to let one of her prized collectibles roll away. She sat up in her hammock and dubiously attempted to reach a foot down to the floor. She was very stealthy, but no amount of dexterity was going to make it easy for her to get out of this bunk. Her short legs didn’t reach the ground, and shifting her weight to one side without her foot anchoring her to the floor made her dangerously unsteady as the ship continued its perpetual side to side movement.

With a deft leap, Nott landed on the unfinished wood floor. She bowed a little to an audience that wasn’t there in celebration of her perfect dismount before tip-toeing over to where her bead had disappeared below Caduceus. Nott crouched down on all fours and immediately located her precious. She had to crawl a little under the bunk before she was able to reach her bead, where it had gotten wedged in between two planks. She pulled it out easily and held it up, a wide smile growing across her face in triumph.

Of course, the sea chose that moment to pummel the ship with an even larger wave than the last, sending the Mistake carriening to the side once again. The nails on Nott’s free hand clawed into the soft wood. Her other hand clutched close to her chest, unwilling to part with her bead a second time. A high pitched yelp escaped Nott’s lips before she quickly released her grip on the floor to slap her hand over her mouth. Her eyes darted around the densely packed sleeping quarters. A few individuals shifted and various snorfles and groans of displeasure were murmured, before quickly fading into the familiar sounds of snores and light breathing.

Cold, clammy sweat drenched her face, neck and hands. Nott was too afraid to move, her body frozen in place under Caduceus' hammock.

Water.

Can’t breath. Can’t breath. Can’t breath.

A desperate gulp of air.

Minutes that felt like hours passed as she tensely waited for the boat to regulate itself. Shakily, Nott inched backwards from her hiding place and gently slipped the bead into one of her many pockets.

Nott’s already large eyes were wide, pupils dilated, and her ears flattened against her head. She shuffled back toward her bunk, less careful of the creaking wood in her rattled state. She reached out to get in before her eyes darted up to Caleb, now only slightly above her as she stood. He had been too tired and deep in sleep to have woken up. It seemed that most everyone but Nott had gotten used to the sway of the ocean.

Caleb was curled up facing away from her. She could see the bumps of his spine pressed against his thin shirt. Nott bit her lip and wrung her sweat moistened hands, debating if it would be okay to ask if she could crawl in with him—she wouldn’t take up too much room. It’s not like they hadn’t slept in tighter quarters during their time on the road.

Memories flooded her mind of the nights they spent huddled together for warmth. She had felt every scar, every jutting rib. It seemed so long ago and just yesterday at the same time. Back then, when Caleb was sound asleep, she would study his face. The cut of his jaw, the ridge of his brow, his pale lashes against the bruise-colored skin under his eyes, the curve of his lips…. Nott wished she could look at Caleb’s face now, see the peaceful look he only let his guard down enough in sleep to show. She would hate to disturb it.

A sad, almost longing look crept its way across Nott’s features. Nostalgia and something else distracting her mind from her current distress for just a moment. She reached out and gently raked her fingers through his hair.

Caleb took a harsh intake of air as he was shocked out of sleep, stiffening under her touch. Seconds passed with a palpable tension. Guilt, shame and embarrassment darkened the color of Nott's face. This was exactly what she hoped to avoid. Luckily, Caleb didn't have darkvision. Caleb turned his head a bit,

“Nott?” His tone hushed and paranoid.

“Uh, yeah. It’s me. I–I’m sorry Caleb I didn’t mean to wake you! I was just going back to bed and—”

“Nott. Nott. It is alright. Is something the matter?” At this point Caleb had fully turned toward Nott, hearing the panic in her voice. He could faintly make out her silhouette; her ears were down and her body was slightly hunched in on itself. “Scheiße, of course you aren’t, why am I asking you that. Would you like to…?”

Nott furiously nodded her head in affirmation. It took an awkward moment of balancing and rearranging before Caleb was able to reach down and lift her up. He pulled Nott on top of him, the only place she fit in so small a space. Her hands were still unsteady, a slight tremor running through them and sweat was still slick on the back of her neck, but she felt the tension release from her shoulders with each stroke of Caleb’s hand on her back.

The two laid in silence for a moment. Nott’s guilt for rousing Caleb grew in her chest as the wave that made her quake with fear grew more distant.

“I’m sorry I woke you up, Caleb. I didn’t mean to. I thought about it, but I wasn’t actually going to do it. You need your rest more than I need to be coddled.” The last few words dripped with derision.

Caleb winced a little at her biting tone, like her criticism of herself was a splinter in his chest. He continued the soothing circular pattern he was tracing on her back, a pattern to a spell he was memorizing.

“Ah—Nein, do not worry about it. How many times have I woken you up at night, hm? Plus, I have missed my cuddle buddy while we have been out on this shithole of a ship.”

Nott gave a tired smile and nuzzled her head into his chest. “Yeah, me too.”

After a few minutes had passed, Nott hesitantly peeked to get a glimpse of Caleb's serene sleeping face. She was in luck—his furrowed brow had smoothed out, and the frown lines framing his mouth relaxed as his jaw hung faintly open. He looked tanner than she had ever seen him, adding a smattering of freckles and a healthy glow to his features. As she stared, Nott lifted her head fully off his chest to appreciate his countenance in full. She reached out to brush a hair off his face, giving herself the freedom to caress his cheek for just a moment. She was overwhelmed with a sense of gratitude and adoration. Not just for tonight, but for every night since they met.

“Thank you.”

Caleb opened his eyes to look at where she had been laying on his chest and craned his neck forward, human eyes unable to see Nott’s face right in front of him.

“Hmm? Did you s—”

Caleb cut off when his lips unexpectedly collided with hers. Nott’s mouth, slightly agape, caught on his as they slammed clumsily together.

Nott had never been so glad Caleb couldn’t see in the dark.

Their lips only touched for a second and it was mostly teeth grinding against teeth, but the repercussions were instantaneous. They both hastily moved their heads away. Nott’s mouth was flooded with a familiar salty, iron taste. Immediately recognizable as blood. It wasn't her own blood on her lips.

”Oh fuck, oh shit! Caleb, I–I think I cut your lip! You're bleeding! I can go grab some water and maybe Jester should look at it to make sure you don't get infected from my gross teeth?” Nott started to get down off the bed, but Caleb’s tightening grip around her thigh quickly stayed her.

”I'm okay Nott, really. It is just a small scratch. If anything it was my fault. I should not have moved so quickly in such tight sleeping quarters.” His voice sounded strained.

Caleb may not have been able to see, but Nott could.

From where Nott was now sitting straddling Caleb’s torso, she could clearly see the red that had spread from his neck over his face. Caleb’s focus was straight up toward the ceiling, seemingly to avoid looking in her direction, as he fruitlessly endeavoured to reassure her he was not hurt.

“Al–alright.” Nott barely breathed out the words.

She laid back down, more conscious of all her movements and body placement than before. Nott was hyper-aware of all her sharp, pointy bits that she hated so much. Never more than in instances like this. When she hurt the person she cared about most.

One of Caleb's hands had gripped her upper arm and the other her thigh in his bid to stop her from leaving the bunk. His arms slowly and cautiously moved back to wrap around Nott’s back. He felt more rigid than before, no longer sliding his hands up and down her spine.

He’s disgusted by me. He doesn’t want to touch me anymore. I can’t blame him for that. I hurt him. I wouldn’t want to touch me either. He’s just too nice to ask me to leave. All this body can do is hurt people. Maybe if I was softer and not so sharp and my skin wasn't so rough, like Jester or–or like how I used to be….

Nott bit her already sore lip with her jagged teeth, drawing her own blood this time. She reached to where her flask usually hung from her belt, hoping to wash the taste of blood from her mouth and numb the sting of her lips and heart with the bitter elixir. Her hands fumbled at her side and she cursed inwardly as she realized it was sitting on top of her pack on the ground. It looked like she would not be able to drown out this night from her memory. Nott squeezed her eyes shut blinking out tears and hoping desperately Caleb didn’t mention what had happened in the morning—or ever, for that matter.

Nott’s emotions were spent. She just wanted this horrible night to end. She turned as gently as she could to get comfortable without disturbing Caleb a third time. She finished adjusting herself and laid her head back down on Caleb’s chest, when something, or more precisely, someone caught her attention.

Nott froze.

Fuschia eyes bored into her as Caduceus stared. Nott’s heart jumped into her throat and then plummeted like a rock to her stomach. Wait. Caduceus didn’t have dark vision, all the noise probably woke him up—with his being so perceptive and all. She was safe. He gave her a little half smile before turning over in his cot. The small action sent blood roaring back into Nott’s cheeks. He couldn't see in the dark, could he?

Nott really wished she had her flask now.

She tried to shut it all out. Nott shook her head as if it would dislodge the night's events from her brain. The fright of the ship's harsh rocking mixed with the anxiety and guilt of what just happened with Caleb left Nott emotionally and mentally exhausted. Her eyes stung with the specific feeling of having been awake far later than sheshould and the cut from biting her lip was starting to scab over, but the knot in her stomach persisted. Oh well, she would have to deal with that in the morning. Nott’s strung out nerves coupled with the warmth of Caleb’s body surrounding her with his familiar scent—she liked it no matter what the others said—finally, finally lulled her to sleep.

[grimmradiance]

The dreamers? 👀

Okay so here’s hoping there isn’t a secret character limit on ask responses because Hoo Boy, I Have Lost Control Of This Ask.

Monomon

A. realistic

Monomon is super hyperempathetic--that’s part of the reason the Foggy Canyon is the way it is.  She’s surrounded by other creatures that prefer to simply exist, who are fine with being left alone, but also don’t mind if she or that odd heavy bug she adopted gives them a little pat on the way past.  That’s also the reason Quirrel is so good with a nail--Monomon could channel the powers of lightning and/or explosions that other jelly creatures seem to have, but emotionally? imagine the toll.

B. not realistic but hilarious

She has NO sense of scale whatsoever. None.  Most bugs in Hallownest measure things against their height, since a bug’s shell is rigid and generally about the same length all the time, but since Monomon is 70% jelly by volume, she tends to measure herself like a cat or a mouse would, by the amount of space she needs to fit into places.  This makes Quirrel’s life...unusual, to say the least.  She gets stuck places sometimes.

C. heart-wrenching

If she’s hyperempathetic, imagine how she fucking feels about Quirrel and the Hollow Knight. I can’t even go off on a three paragraph rant on this one it just makes me HURT.  Quirrel being sent to the Howling Cliffs for No Thoughts Crystalline Memories Empty treatment was probably her best attempt at mercy.  God. I’m never gonna be over these sad fucking bugs.

D. it’s my canon and I choose what parts of it matter

Monomon is a very, very clever conversationalist.  She knows how to talk in just such a way that you feel like you’re being heard and understood, until you suddenly realized you’ve said something aloud you really shouldn’t, and Monomon says “don’t worry, I won’t tell a soul.”

And then, of course, she tells Quirrel, because what is knowledge for if not to be shared?  The two of them could totally take down the structure of the White Palace if they were on the same page about how to go about it.

Herrah

A. realistic

This is more about Deepnest in general, but the Weavers prefer to be left to their own devices, and leave other groups of insects to theirs. I mean, look at the Weaverlings from the Weaver’s Song charm.  They’re the only companion charm that doesn’t actively target enemy bugs, they just sort of...wibble around.  And they’re a relic of the Weavers as they moved towards the heart of Deepnest.  The dangerous, heavily-trapped and hypervigilant Deepnest we see is a product of outside interference, presumably the Pale King being salty that the Weavers didn’t accept his rule.

B. not realistic but hilarious

Herrah didn’t just teach Hornet to be a persnickety little anarchist terror in the White Palace, oh no.  She tried to teach Quirrel to be a feral little gremlin too.  I mean, most of it didn’t stick, but she tried.

C. heart-wrenching

You know that one Tumblr post that’s basically “sorry, all the nice queers are gone, you killed them, so now it’s just us pissed-off cockroach motherfuckers left”?  That’s what happened to Deepnest.  What kind of peaceful or uninvolved society would need anything fucking like the Midwife or the Devouts? Well, they’re perfectly good to have around if peace is no longer an option.  Every once in a while I just lose it thinking about all the culture the Weavers probably had preserved through their tapestries, and how much of it must have gotten destroyed along the way.

Also bonus round for Sad And/Or Horrifying Implications regarding Hornet: most spiders lay hundreds or thousands of eggs at a time.  I don’t have the time to even START unpacking Hornet’s distinct lack of siblings (as in specifically not half-siblings).

D. it’s my canon and I choose what parts of it matter

slaps my little hands on the table.  Even as everything was going to shit, Vespa and Herrah were still good friends, and sent letters to each other over the Stagways.  She got to know a number of Vespa’s subjects very well, including the Hive Knight. Silksong better give us more lore on them.

Lurien

A. realistic

The Pale King loved having Lurien around because Lurien was half of TPK’s charisma.  TPK very much seems the type to get wound up in his own thoughts and image, constantly micromanaging it to get the best response from specific people. (Unrelated, but I think only the Hollow Knight knows what TPK is really like, since if TPK really did believe Hollow had no mind and no voice, why would he bother? People make that exact assumption all the time with disabled people anyways, I am sick of my peers realizing I have a disability and changing the way they act around me send tweet  This is a whole other post, maybe I’ll write it another time.)  So who better is there to have around than someone whose hobby and greatest skill is watching a situation and analyzing it?  Once the Dreamers were sealed, TPK’s public image was fucked, no doubt about it.

B. not realistic but hilarious

I don’t know if I’ve mentioned Autistic Lurien before but he is in my head, so branching off of my own experiences: this guy is the KING of Relatable Lapses Of Insight.  This man has drunk paint water before on accident.  This man has tried to sit on a stack of tablets and knocked himself over.  This man will spend three minutes explaining how light reflection works to try and convey the word he’s forgetting. (The word he’s forgetting is “mirror.”)  I care him so much.

C. heart-wrenching

I cannot overexaggerate how fucking brilliant of a meta-narrative choice the existence of Lurien’s butler is. I *cannot.*  I am perpetually in awe of how good Hollow Knight is with environmental storytelling, and how much material it leaves for people who love to dig way too far into things. 

Why do I bring this up here?  Lurien’s butler is a parallel to Hornet and Quirrel, who are, to Herrah and Monomon, their only concrete link to the present that isn’t at least partially painted over in the Pale King’s propaganda.  And he’s been Light-ridden for gods only know how long.  The popular fanon about Lurien having it bad for the Pale King always gets me thinking about this, because we have Lurien’s journal as our only source on him. A scarce few lines: his sleep is in service to King and kingdom.

I can’t help but wonder if Lurien chose those words especially deliberately, knowing they would be his last. “Though my gaze falls no longer on this city, I will act forever in its protection,” in a journal carefully hidden in a private building of the City of Tears.  Why hide something like that with so much care, unless there was something to be gleaned from it?  Well, whatever information we need to know about Lurien to contextualize anything outside of context clues and the King’s image of him would have been with someone who was loyal and trustworthy enough to watch over him. Someone who was loyal and trustworthy enough that that would be all that remained in their mind, even under the Light’s influence.

Basically, what I’m getting at here: I know for a fact there is something we don’t know about Lurien, and whatever that secret is, it died with his butler.

D. it’s my canon and I choose what parts of it matter

Lurien travels!  He is very good at making up academic or political excuses for it, but we all know why he’s really leaving the city: to paint.  He isn’t quite as skilled with natural features as the regular shapes you see in a city, but he enjoys himself so that’s what matters.

[childofproteus]

Eternal Dance

Here’s something a bit different, bit cheesier than usual. I wrote this as an entry to a love letter competition back in 2019. Looking back this is some pretty uhh grandiose writing. I did not win anything sadly, and the writing never got published, but hey it made the original recipient smile.

To my beloved,

It is within this letter that I hope to bare the most clandestine parts of my heart. My feelings of anxiety and hope. My love, I would like to pose to you a burning question, one that requires the utmost honesty and consideration; Does the future ever scare you?

When I first looked into your honeymoon eyes, I saw infinity. Your love was vast. Your embrace all encompassing. You became the boundless sky, and the serene earth. Enveloping me like gentle rain. We lived within an idyllic picture, on the temporal shore where I first met you. A place that existed in only a moment, and a forever within my memory, guarded by the feral butterflies that churn my stomach. Oh, how sweet it was, the union of two souls. How fervent the dance of our hearts, and yet how timid the clasping of our ethereal fingers. Your skin was like glue. I never wanted to let go.

Yet I ask myself, do you believe that two people could dance forever? They would likely die of exhaustion, you might think. Their muscles might tear, and their bones would grind to nothing. And perhaps if their affliction was less fatal, they would stop before the song was over. For they might tire of the music, of the same repeated movements, of the same partner. Or perhaps they might just be bad dancers. How could two hearts ever dance for so long? How could anyone love for so long?

For all who knew love, knew that love was more than just bliss. Far away from peaceful, halcyon days, sometimes there would be war. War that twisted your limbs into knots and bunches, and the things that bind us would begin to mutate us. We became monsters. Amalgamates of each other, where the barriers between our beings would fuse, like interwoven fabric. Where did you end and where did I begin?  There are days where we would fight. How the earth would shake and the sky would cry. And we would too. In those moments, all we would know was the harshness in our voices, the coldness in our eyes, and the thunder in our hearts. Oh, how bleak the future would seem.  I would be scared one day you’ll wake up and decide that you don’t want to be with me anymore. That is where I existed. In the storm, in the chasm of uncertainty.

Perhaps what I am trying to say is that love is far from easy. The journey is meant to be long and arduous. How can we assure that our love can last through the ages? Can we trust that it will run deep and stay in our skin, even when it sags or wrinkles? And could passion constantly rekindle itself, burning anew in perpetuity?

But please do not misunderstand me. I do not mean to cast doubt, for though my heart knows fear, it knows even greater hope. For it is when you would greet me with the most effulgent of smiles, and hold me in the respite of your arms, that everything would be okay. Everything would be certain again. It is then, I am reminded that love was bigger than pride.  It is in the fact that I care about you so much that I have allowed you to have such an effect on me, in that I have let you in wholeheartedly. You held a certain great power, an influence upon my being. Please gaze upon my soul, for I have laid it bare before you. And I want you to know my heart, to hold it in your warm hands, to trace every little scar or gash. For I refuse to love with apprehension. For I yearn to love you wholly and truly. Because I trust you with my heart.

Loving you has taught me joy, it has taught me sorrow and rage, and compassion beyond measure. It has been a good year since we have been together. Time has imparted me with sensibilities, little lessons about love, about learning to love you.  And I do love you very much indeed. I hope to love you forever.

So then, is it mad? Is it ridiculous to say, with all of my vulnerability, I want to dance with you forever? To hold you under moonlit skies and effervescent rain, through the passing of eternity’s story. Sometimes fast, sometimes slow. We’ll change the music so you won’t get bored. And with one hand in yours, and another on your waist, we would glide across time and space until all the stars in the galaxy begin to expand and die, leaving nothing but you and I. And I could swear, that somehow in the dark glimmer of your eyes, I can still see infinity.

Sincerely,

You Know Who

[madommemaid]

Good evening, to whomever might be seeing this.

My name is Caroline, and I would like to take this momentous occasion of my first post on this social website to greet you all, and bid you welcome to my humble (and in all likelihood carefully curated) blog.

I would also like to make a small request, of anyone who sees this and has knowledge of such things.

Please. Stop teasing the Queen ( @royaldepravity ) about her private affairs between the hours of 7 in the morning, until 6 in the evening. Those are my work hours, and organizing the Palace Maid Staff is difficult enough, without also having to account for constantly cleaning up the various messes that you all compel her to make through your... ‘unique’ abilities as magical and faceless individuals. Worse still, I have to spend the time I am not on the schedule to help run interference for some of the more risky situations that you continue to goad her into.

Cleaning up a mess I might make, or sorting out a tricky situation that I might have formulated is one thing, but really... I cannot in good conscience be expected to clean up after every idle thought that enters the minds of some of the more perverse of you... Either stop it completely, or clean up after yourselves... I know a good number of you may behave in a feral way, but that is hardly an excuse to act in perpetuity like animals.

[owlmylove]

i am freshly 21 years old and my tongue sings with caffeine and chemicals, my fingers frigid to the bone from too many hours awake. i twist the ring on my finger, tuck my curls back. somehow, i have become the kind of — girl? woman? young lady? — who tucks her hair delicately behind her ear, silver bracelet brushing against my pulse. 

somehow i have become the kind of person who knows each of her baristas by name, who gets excited planning dinner parties, who flips up the fur collar of her coat and burrows in against the chill, until all you can see is tousled hair and wind-bright eyes. i still can’t tell if the half-feral changeling i once was would see me as charming or contemptible. i was a rabid creature then, and sometimes i still miss her: the rough, hot beat of my adolescent heart

the ring and the eyeliner and the coat i wear every day - the smiles i flash. these are the little rituals we construct, the little ceremonies we have to try and will ourselves into being. life is action, acting, constantly. the construction of self. where’s the boundary line between instinctive and elaborately performed behaviors? sure, the difference between the two may sound self evident. but truthfully, they’re both tools honed and softened by years of use. familiar. comfortable. are behaviors somehow rendered less sincere for the artistry that went into making them?

i’d like to think not. too much of -

no, strike that: nearly all of my life has been spent making my own responses. watching the faces of expressive people fascinates me. could i even imagine being that unselfconscious? i’m peculiarly charmed by the faintest snarl that appears around someone’s lips when an unwanted guest appears, by the aborted sigh and half-rolled eyes of someone attempting politeness.

i remember rolling my eyes once. i hadn’t even realized i’d done it at the time — truth be told, i’m still not sure i did — but my father certainly had. he had plenty to tell me about my disrespect, about my attitude problem. i didn’t roll my eyes again for years — and i certainly wouldn’t do it accidentally ever again

I’m not saying I’ve the botox-perfect rigidity, half-smile half-grimace. but i will say that most micro-expressions you spot are ones i’m strangely hyperaware of. i’ve practiced them, you see. tilt my head this way, angle my eyes away from whatever pair i can feel against my skin. laugh high, lashes low, bashful downward glance. i didn’t realize i spend most of my life still ducking, expression-wise. i thought only my sister still did that.

she flinches from hugs, standing petrified in my arms. i don’t know if she hugs my mother differently; i don’t see them hug often enough, and never think to examine them when they do. i’m too busy sulking, eyes low, shoulders tense. i become a teenager whenever i’m in the room with them both. with just one or the other, i usually seem okay. i seem better. my mother and i have a wonderful dynamic; good hugs and long talks and wine nights with charcuterie boards and roasted almonds.

my sister and i have rare, staccato starts and false-stops and “maybe..?” connections. we have sitting on the kitchen floor one sunny summer afternoon, when the light splayed languidly against the dining room walls and everything stretched sweet and still, a taffy-perfect moment of time. the first and possibly only time i’ve felt like a sister.

the implication of “sister” — one in relation to the other, a part of a whole set — has always been a sensation that escaped me. whatever belonging i could’ve had with my sister seemed, for years, to have been hijacked by the favoritism of my surly ex-Catholic psychologist father (just as winning a combination as it might sound.) he claimed me as part of his “whole,” as the sidekick to kick back in the passenger seat of his pickup with a baseball cap and a Mountain Dew, singing all his favorite songs and laughing at all his jokes.

my sister and i have been like. like what?

opposing magnets, moving gently out of each other’s way. alternatively: too-close contact between the two of us prompts abrupt and explosive separations

neighboring apartment tenants in a NYC walkup. politely averted eye contact, a few held-doors when their hands are full

the way you walk unseeingly around people on a crowded sidewalk. consideration without connection.

“strictly business, nothing more” 

maybe she’s the start of my love affair with people who close the door and cry? oh my god. maybe she’s why i’m so desperate to take care of people who’ll let me. all that pent-up momentum to murmur and soothe, to console, to hug and prescribe and therapize. something i was never granted. i don’t know

that afternoon was the only time i ever felt like maybe, somehow, we clicked. that, and the time i called her after those drunk women at work fell over themselves in the lobby, crawling like cockroaches, swearing and grabbing and grinding and snarling through laughs. belonging with each other, to each other.

i called her after in tears, asking why we’re always so goddamn nice to people who take advantage of us? who make us feel like nothing? why do we allow our senses of self to be overrun, over and over again? we have boundaries less like border walls and more like finish lines: chalked-up grass trampled flat and muddy.

she apologizes for it, constantly. i don’t know how to be friends with her. i certainly don’t know how to be sisters. maybe she doesn’t, either, but more often that not it seemed that she did know how to connect with all her high school friends. she just didn’t want to connect to me.

maybe this is why i’m still, perpetually, surprised by some people’s friendship. still a little starry-eyed by people choosing, actively, to keep connecting with me.

what a lonely thought.

in my handwriting, a horribly careless cursive scrawl, the slant of my “v”s and “n”s slope together. lonely and lovely look exactly the same. i realize i like the synonymical quality

i like the mercurial shape of myself. like my earrings, from chelsea market. like the earrings my aunt gave us once, when we were younger and new earrings not from claires were a shocking mark of maturity. they both changed color to match the surrounding light, filtering through the colors of our sweaters and our hair and our blushing, giddy cheeks.

(whenever i feel the cold brush of someone’s hands, no matter how much a stranger they may be, i instinctively cradle them to my overheated cheeks. there’s a metaphor there, i’m sure, but i don’t want to write it. so i’ll just politely avert eye contact and give it a nice berth on the sidewalk.)

my earrings and my smiles and my expressions, reflecting the rooms i’m in. i like being flexible. having synonyms. i like the different colors.

it makes it fascinating, renders soul-searching an act of psychological archaeology. realizing, today, now, why I like Jukebox the Ghost and Miracle Musical songs because of their fascinating similarities and differences to Owl City, to Panic! at the Disco, to the music of my day-dream childhood and sun-soaked adolescence. all those long car rides to shimmering shopping malls and airports. all the nights spent running barefoot over cracked asphalt. it’s so easy to romanticize! and i still can’t tell if it’s me or Adam Young’s idea of Florida writing these words.

how’s that for meta? is the cause for my romanticism of a sparkling-hot state from my listening to a boy in the cold middle of the country who stared at postcards and constructed an idea of a coastline, imagined himself beaches and tennis courts and saltwater rooms to wander in?

and here; even if that is the cause for my romanticism, is the habit and the emotions it inspires any less genuine for the degrees of separation required to construct the feeling?

like Stoker. “Just as the skirt needs the wind to billow, I'm not formed by things that are of myself alone. I wear my father's belt tied around my mother's blouse, and shoes which are from my uncle. This is me. Just as a flower does not choose its color, we are not responsible for what we have come to be. Only once you realize this do you become free, and to become adult is to become free.”

not to imply i’ll go murder anyone. but rather: the flower has no bearing over it’s color. 

does that render it’s color false? is intent necessary for effect? or, in the end, is it just a flower? 

[wolfromtheisland]

Xantunsia Riveresiana - Monster Hunter

Sole Survivor

“I have to grasp it for all of you! I cant waste it! All our pain, our dreams, our regrets, fears, anger, sadness, I’m the only one left who can carry it! So a little more is nothing compared to all the happiness you lost! I’ll keep gathering it! I promise! “

Raised since the age of 5 on a monster infested island, Xantunsia has seen her fair share of death In fact, it seems to follow her and she had to come to terms with that a bit younger than most do.

Life didn’t get much easier after escaping that cursed place, but pushing through all the pain and loss, she buries herself in training to cope with her trauma and protect what she cares about, which just happens to be the world at times.

The young miqo’te has no memories before her airship crash that sentenced her to six years on that hellish land. With vicious Monsters she hasn't seen the equal of even in her current age roaming in hoards and her only allies being children as young as four, she learned to steel herself in the face of the death of allies. Or she tried rather, but each one was a dagger in the softhearted mewling. What she really learned was to cope with the pain of it. Besides the children, she did also have Leader, the only fully grown survivor on the island. Though he was cold and pragmatic, his instruction generally kept the most people safe. That was until the Calamity struck. In the wake of the Monsters rampaging about at that time, Leader was lost and Xantunsia took his place. She managed to even lead the few surviving children off the island and live a half decade with her modest little clan. But the specter of death would take that from her too, she would even argue she tore it apart with her own hands. It was in that state she would leave the wilds and arrive in civilization for the first time, if you can call Limsa Lominsa such a thing.

The Basics ––––

Age: 22(?)

Birthday: 26th Sun of the 1st Umbral Moon (A Date she chose randomly)

Race: Miqo’te : Keeper of The Moon

Gender: Female

Sexuality: Pansexual

Marital Status: Single

Crystal Data Center : Zalera

Physical Appearance ––––

Hair: What used to be a scruff shag of white hair, has been warped by exposure to feral aether and monster blood. Died golden by the energy of her Inner Beast and how often she released it, it was splashed red by the ample amounts of Monster blood she would get coated in. Eventually, it became even more red than gold. It also went from scruffy to very spiky, to the point it feels jelled almost and can prick unprepared hands. She has to tie it up just to keep  it under some semblance of control. 

Eyes: coincidentally like her hair, a golden color, but change blood red when enraged.

Height: 4″10′

Build: she has packed more muscle into her tiny frame than one would think humanly possible. deceptively petite clothed, she could handedly defeat even  a train Roegadyn in a test of strength with a body seemingly made on Tungsten Steel which is toned to match.

Distinguishing Marks: Though heavily scarred all over her body, they have mostly healed to the point of being barely noticeable without looking intently. Outside of that, most of her features are pretty eye catching in their own right. She also always has the scent of blood on her for those who can notice that.

Common Accessories: Not exactly forward on fashion, she typically simply chooses the accessories that have the most combat use. She does however glamour her accessories with certain ones that have been gifted to her by friends like the Namazu Necklace.

Personal ––––

Profession: Monster Hunter (more of a hobby but people pay her)

Hobbies: All forms of Craftiing and Gathering, Reading, Learning new information

Languages: Most Languages (And when she finds a new one, she studies it obsessively)

Residence: Wherever is a deemed a safe place to camp

Birthplace: ???

Religion: Agnostic

Patron Deity: Oschon, The Wanderer

Fears: Death, being weak or unprepared, something befalling those she cares about, the unknown

Relationships –––

Spouse: N/A

Children: Gilberti Rivesesiana (Son, Deceased?), Extorris Riveresiana (Daughter, Deceased), Vigilis Riveresiana (Daughter, Deceased) (Adopted and appointed children by Xantunsia, they are actually only a few years younger than her)

Parents: Leader Riveresiana (Father, Deceased) (Appointed Father by Xantunsia postmortem)

Siblings: Noir Panthere (Sister) (Adopted and Self-Appointed)

Other Relatives: The other 54 members of Riveresiana Clan (Deceased)

Pets: Clarent (Chocobo) Throw Pillow (Amaro) Coalumu (Ufiti), Arthur (Black Chocobo), Maggie (Magitek Armor), Parrie (Magitek Predator), Dekie (Magitek Deathclaw), Sqwiggles (Ahriman), Betty (Behemoth), Piko (Yol), Pointy (Unicorn)

Traits –––

* Bold your character’s answer.

Extroverted / In Between / Introverted

Disorganized / In Between / Organized

Close Minded / In Between / Open Minded

Calm  / In Between / Anxious

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 Drugs: occasionally tests drugs on herself to build up resistances Alcohol: Socially (and to build up a resistance)

RP Hooks

✔ - Xantunsia’s main coping mechanism is training, which she is doing near constantly and is always up for joining in, having others come along with her’s, or learning new forms of training. On that note, Her main form of training is Monster Hunting. She’s always looking for stronger and stronger prey and if you need a Monster dead, she will never say no.

✔ - Due to her constant hunting, she always has the scent of blood on her, maybe this would catch your characters attention in some way good or bad (She has been attacked out of the blue by strangers because of this and is rather understanding about it, thinks it makes for good training!)

✔ - Xantunsia has mastered all forms of combat in her personal training, as well as healing, if you need a role filled or a job done, she will not withhold her help. conversely, if youre someone who would challenge such a person, she never says no.

✔ - Xantunsia doesn't have a location exactly she would call home, and her hunts and training have her effectively wandering constantly. Should she find herself in a new place, she may need some help, but the reverse can also be true

✔ - Her anxiety manifesting in a near perfect memory as well as obsessively collecting any information that may be even remotely usable for survivability or battle, Xantunsia loves little more than simply learning new things. You have some unique information, knowledge, or skills? You will likely have her attention.

✔ - The Main Scenario is also part of Xantunsia’s personal story. If the same can be said about you, then it’s likely she has met your character in some capacity (specifics such as “who is the Warrior of Light” or mentioning big events by character name such as “Haucherfaunt” are usual a bad idea for mixing characters that are also canon Warriors of Light. Typically it will just be passing references to such characters and not by name, and Xantunsia never refers to herself as The Warrior of Light anyway)

Player Information

The information on this page is not allowed to be used unless spoken about with me. Either on Tumblr, Discord or /tell.

I am okay with some mature content in RP, Xantunsia is a generally happy, even silly character despite her past but with major themes of ptsd and coping with death, she can fit well into most darker themes. Sexual themes however, she doesnt fit well with. Generally her experience with the darkness of the world is of a more forward brutal nature and she has no experience with such things. She doesnt even actually know where babies come from and assumes they all come from airship crashes. At most she can get into humorous moments where she doesnt understand when something sexual is attempted to be explained to her. I decided to keep her perpetually unaware of such topics mostly just because I find it funnier that way, but it does take serious situations involving sexual themes off the table.

[dasklaus]

Reading Bordieu is a very ironic experience. In short, habitus theory is about the self-perpetuation of social classes through cultural capital. Kids of educated parents learn behaviors and a way of interacting with "high-class" culture that makes them seem smart no matter how smart they are. Selection biases keep doors open for them that are closed for those with a lower class habitus. Cultural capital, rather than money, determines social status.

For one thing, I feel called out. While I'm not very culturally educated, I certainly learned big words at home and feel right at home among smart people, and comfortable talking to people with fancy academic letters in front of their names. For another, this concept itself as well as the word habitus has been transmitted via class background radiation to me, kinda proving itself.

But talking to E. about this, I discovered that I likely got it from her. She described Bordieu as an experience of awakening during her time at university, feeling very much not at home in those same settings as a rural child of uneducated parents, and struggling to gain footing in literature journalism among people whose attitudes and ways of speaking were strange to her and whom she didn't want to, but had to emulate.

She's the smartest person I know. She's also the most cultured person I know, and I always considered her to be my most high-class friend. The person I imagined living in their basement as their feral pet punk. I am very much someone who moved downwards, class-wise, from educated parents to, well, not finishing school and sleeping in abandoned buildings. Never mind that I've become much more stable in all senses of the word and am (finally) studying myself now. I worked hard to affect lower class mannerisms, to not give people down in the dumps with me the feeling of me looking down on them, to have a chance to fit in. Our lives mirror each other in strange ways.

Where Bordieu helped her gain self-esteem, he's giving me imposter syndrome I've been spared until now. I know I'm smart, and I like how I think, most of the time. Now I worry that I'm just good at seeming smart. The idea of going to university after all came, in part, from all the times I've been asked about my field of study. "Oh no, I'm just an interested amateur, I didn't even finish school" is fun to say, but it did make me wonder if studying what interested me for real wasn't maybe an option (not least because I'd slowly realized that any and all non-academic resources and even half of those were crap, and wanting guidance). E. always said I'd like academia. She was right. I'm right at home.

It's hard having to lose that acquired working class habitus again. I'm rather attached to some of it (not least because it’s my means of communication with my (never finished school, having spent years sleeping in abandoned buildings) partner). But it's also (still) overwhelming how much I've missed being surrounded by people who care about things, who meet up in their spare time for further discussing course material, who are not ashamed of their ambitions, and don't feel the need to constantly reassure everyone that no, they don't think they're better than them.

I can hide it, but I’m an arrogant person. My arrogance is inclusive, though: Yeah, I’m better than everyone else, come be better than everyone else with me. My fellow students take me up on that.