#i think when he gets into the pronoun circle he picks up on the context clues of what he's supposed

[kirkwallguy]

Pronoun circle x Marcus omg. Circle... Pronoun circle... but a CIRCLE *war flashbacks*

pronoun = something to do with gender

circle = evil prison

pronoun circle = evil gender prison???

So naturally he hears someone suggest a pronoun circle on his first night with the shadow dragons and instantly freaks the fuck out

[lmksimp]

Gasspppp can i pls request red son or macaque with s/o with halo? Like she(can reader be female?) Is half angel and is immortal? And take care of them after they fight or when they are tired (HEAD CANON PLS)

@immortalme123

Hii! I finally received the motivation that I needed, and Omg this ask is so cute!! teehee

I'll add MK for a little bonus✨✨

I do enjoy your little headcanons and one-shots!

Pronouns: She / Her

MK

He fell or tripped and saw an angel! And That was the start of a blooming relationship

Just because of that past accident, you, our angel is always at MK's side <3

He was shocked to find out you were an angel and immortal. Wow, I guess that was a lucky draw, he kept asking you questions non-stop, and you let Mei stop him from exploding

There was one question that made you have some…trauma…flashbacks, He asked where were your wings, you flinched at that and showed lots of signs of discomfort with the topic, MK quickly picks that up and changed it to your halo, you smiled in glee, you were so lucky that MK knew.

Your halo intrigues MK at times, he has an urge just to touch it but knowing it isn't sensitive or any part of the body it's fine for you, You started to speak "A halo is a symbol of holiness, represented by a circle or arc of light around the head of a saint or holy person. Any circle of light can be described as a halo, even in a non-religious context; sometimes you'll see a glowing halo of light around the moon, for example." He's adoring you

Like I said you're at his side at all times, just to make sure he's safe and he makes sure that you are too! what a great BF

Whenever he gets injured you are there to quickly patch him up and cheer him on, you two are the power couple

When he gets extremely tired you would visit his apartment and take care of him! cuddles, your natural warmth, and others.

He enjoys your presence as it makes him feel calm, sleepy, and sometimes very energetic

Like I said, Power couple <33

RED SON

Seems like he got lucky, he met you at the food stand where he and his father worked (this takes place in season 2, revenge of the spider queen)

Now, he was slight uhm, how do I say this, slightly disgusted at the scent you had ( he doesn't like angels??? celestial- I don't even know anymore ), but he brushed it off and gave you the menu!

surprisingly you chose the INFERNO one and he got a bit shocked but happily gave you it, he asked you why would you choose it, and you simply replied "I always wanted to try something new! Maybe something spicy, I found other shops like yours but I think this one is the best!" you were cheery and red son didn't like it but he pushed that down and watched you eat in happiness

It felt like he just met an angel, though he dislikes he thinks he's one lucky of a person/demon to find someone like you that just randomly exists in the world.

SO! I think he's never seen an angel before- If I'm correct- If I'm not HELP- but he surely has grown to hate them, but you? You're different, just because of that little meet you two have grown a little blooming relationship!!

When you heard his shop got destroyed you were devastated but quick to comfort red son, your touches heal and give comfort to red son which he was glad to feel.

So he knew you were an angel already but decided to not say anything, you were glad not to explain the whole angel ordeal

He was super happy to find out you were an Immortal, finally, at least he doesn't need to spend his days alone.

Once he found out that you only have a halo and no wings, he decides to ask you which leads you to have tons of memories and trauma! how cool. /sarcasm

When you had your panic attack he helped you, well kinda, he doesn't know how to comfort someone in this kind of situation but he tried his best.

Redson likes observing your halo from time to time, it's very fascinating for him, how it glows in the dark, how it symbolizes your holiness. He does want to touch it though if you give him the permission

There is a chance that he might 'experiment' on it but nothing intense for you to get hurt and uncomfortable.

He will listen to your stories about what's it like being in the heavens or something or about your life, he will listen in curiosity and maybe with wonder.

Whenever you're by his side he feels warmed that you decide to stay by his side and cheer on for him, he does the same…but in a kind of different way, more aggressive to say but either way he will do the same

If he gets injured he'll be happy yet annoyed because he can clearly take care of himself! he doesn't always need you to heal him…but he does enjoy it if you still heal him, he's in denial sometimes…

you guys are a power couple I swear, man no one tries to stop you both considering both of you are some powerful entities- but either way, POWER COUPLEEE <3

He usually never sleeps, due to the fact he has some projects to work on, You have to force his ass to bed, and when he does agree you snuggle up into him as he tries to sleep, which was easy because of your presence and warmth. You both are personal heaters to each other! how cute

He sometimes enjoys and dislikes your presence, It makes him sleepy which he dislikes because he wants to continue his projects! you change his sleep schedule now and then, and youMan being near him makes him calm which is very uncanny because he's usually screaming- but you by his side hits differently.

He loves you so much but you don't have to baby him all the time- he silently enjoys it though…

[bonesandthebees]

Okay, last batch. Tntduo time. First up, I really love all the drinks you describe. Itss just a tiny detail, but visualization them is a lot of fun and brings life into the scene. It’s also a subtle way to show how good Quackity is at his craft. It also leads straight into the flirting.

Now this could be my ace ass not properly picking up the context, but to be it feels like it’s more playful banter the way friends might flirt than actual flirting. Though there might be too much blushing for that. Either way, whatever’s going on it’s normal enough to neatly fit into a category. Either way, it’s something Wilbur has never done before. It’s a new human experience and something a normal person of his age would do. Though being a normal person also means having to do the dishes and laundry like the rest of us plebs.

Even still, Wilbur isn’t ready to consciously accept that he’s just a human. Yet he feels like he has no right to call himself the Pythia. Because he doesn't want to leave and he doesn’t want to get a vision telling him to leave and he’s not even worried that Clara might be trying and failing to reach him. Well, he isn’t until he realises that he should be glad she can’t reach him and then the religious guilt kicks in.

This leads to him spilling his worries to Quackity, because in all this he’s a safe person to talk to. He’s a neutral party. And I’ve said before he’s what Wilbur could have become if he hadn’t been chosen to be the Pythia. [What’s a Pythia to a non-believer?] just a normal human being with some extra fancy title and privilege.

And so the little Phoenix in his chest comes to life again sending smoke from the ashes as we slip into only pronouns territory. And Quackity asks good questions to. Would it be bad if Clara had given up on him? For Wilbur it would be terrible, but everyone with eyes can see how much it hurts him. It would be better in the long run, but Wilbur’s not ready to see that. Because it’s been drilled into him from age 12 that his only purpose is to serve Clara.

He is nothing but an empty vessel and it runs back to the existential crisis of whether he even deserves to live if he’s not serving her. Though this time around it’s less “I don’t deserve to breath if I’m not serving her” and more “this is all I know how to do, what else am I supposed to do? I don’t know how to do anything else?” which is pretty close to the normal “what am I going to do with my life” everyone else has like Quackity points out, except with builds-in additional “am I not good enough?”.

And then we circle back to the empty vessel and we get another way of dealing with it. The Quackity way, which is somehow even unhealthier than whatever Wilbur and Tommy are developing. Quackity’s intention is to make a point that Wilbur is just like everyone else. That point is ‘if I pinch you, you feel pain just like everyone else’.

They have a different definition of empty. Wilbur thinks that empty is what he is because that’s what he’s supposed to be, but Quackity knows that empty people can barely function. Empty people have no personality. They wouldn’t banter and flirt with him. They might not even react when you hurt them. And that’s what he’s trying to show Wilbur. He’s not empty. But Wilbur has an entirely different definition of being empty. And even by that one he’s ‘failing’. So Quackity’s way doesn't really work. It doesn’t shattered Wilbur world view (not in one go anyway), but it does make him feel very human.

And this ask is getting long, so I’m cutting it off here, but I just noticed the invisible countdown above his head comment, which is definitely foreshadowing for the vision at the end.

(1/?)

-🌲

lmao thank you for the compliment about the drinks I describe, but I gotta be honest the drink wilbur has in ch 18 was straight up a drink I had once at a bar that I still think about to this day. yes it tasted like chocolate strawberries, yes it was pale purple, and yes it had bourbon in it. I do not understand how the bartender did it at all but she was fantastic. I desperately want to go back to that bar. I'm also gonna attach a picture of it at the end of this under a read more bc it's a very pretty drink (but the picture is shit lmao)

the thing is with the tntduo flirting is that it's not able to be fit into a box. maybe some of it's genuine, maybe it's just jokes, but it's not clear on either side. but most importantly, like you said, it's a normal human experience. wilbur is finally experiencing genuine flirting and not just being forced to flatter rich people at parties.

gotta love when wilbur's having some Thoughts and the religious guilt suddenly kicks in and he spirals again. classic.

yes that's exactly why he spills to quackity! he's the only true neutral party in all of this! and that's also partly why wilbur is so drawn to him. he's a non-believer. no matter what wilbur does or says quackity doesn't view him as anything other than just a guy. even the deathlings, while recognizing him as a person, still view him as Clara's Chosen. there's still something there. quackity doesn't have that.

god. it would be so good if clara had given up on him. maybe he finally could've gotten some peace after he got over the religious guilt and anxiety about all of it.

"The Quackity way, which is somehow even unhealthier than whatever Wilbur and Tommy are developing" when I tell you I cackled at this. you're so right they are even unhealthier than the codependency circus that is crimeboys rn and that's saying something. gotta love tntduo. but yes that's exactly his point. wilbur is made of flesh and blood and feels pain just like everyone else. he's not empty, and quackity knows empty. he's seen it sitting at his bars enough times to recognize it at a glance, and wilbur is anything but empty.

(drink pic below for funsies lol)

mine was the drink closest to the camera. you can't tell in the lighting of the pic bc the entire bar was lit up in shades of orange and yellow, but it's a very pale purple color. also sorry the pic is terrible this was my 3rd drink of the night and I was, uh, more than tipsy by the time I took this

[hayeshellcat]

On Becoming A Lady Person, Pt. 3: On Pronouns and Misguided Moral Conduct

Journal Entry

9/11/24

Notes

All conversants are cisgender women (numbered), plus me (“Me”); various substance use disorders, co-occurring mental health disorders, and post-acute withdrawal symptoms in play.

As a trans woman early in my transition, I am accustomed to special attention, often in the form of compliments on my wardrobe or some aspect of my physical appearance. I understand that these are meant to be affirming. I suspect simultaneously that these comments serve various ego trips and growth processes as the cis women adjust to the existence of an unfamiliar presence: a transgender woman (admittedly, a rather stylish one, with great hair).

Setting

Smoking area in the fenced-in yard of a large treatment center for women. It is dusk, mosquitos are dodging blue tobacco smoke, searching for exposed skin. Children’s toys are scattered about. Around 10 women sit in an approximation of a circle, in mismatched lawn furniture; or stand by the nearby entranceway. It is early September, in the mid-70’s F, in the American Midwest. 

Scene

Woman 1: (staring at me for an extended period, then turning to the larger group, in a sudden burst of social energy) Doesn’t he have such great hair!?

Me: (smoking a cigarette, listening to music in can headphones - one headphone off-kilter enough to track conversation; casually, this is my 20th such compliment today and I would prefer to just accept it without noting the misgender, and shift attention back to my music and my American Spirit): Thank you.

Woman 2: (in a chair beside W1, quickly and in a hushed, sharp tone) Her hair.

W1: (embarrassed, realizing her mistake as quickly as she is corrected) Her. Shoot. Sorry. (body language of guilt; in her haste to receive her gold star for complimenting the resident tranny,her attention faltered and she revealed her bias)

Me: (quickly, quietly): No sweat.

Woman 3: (standing 10 feet away, didn’t hear the full exchange, just the initial compliment; aggressive, disgusted tone and body language; to W1) It’s her. (to Me) You know you can correct her, right?

Me: (again, quietly; wanting to move on): Yep, I know. She caught it. 

W3: (to W1, walking closer) Do you realize what you did? You said he. It’s she.

W1: (more embarrassed, body language of guilt intensifies) I know! (to Me) I know you.

Me: (slightly louder, clearer; now entirely focused on managing the situation, not on my music and my cigarette) It’s okay. It happens. Thank you. (arms gesture, indicating “let’s drop it here”)

(I put my cigarette out and get up to go inside.)

Woman 4: (comes outside as I am walking in; turns to another woman and speaks, purposefully within ear-shot of me and the larger group): Damn, he’s lookin’ good!

Me: (I smile at W4, make eye contact with W3, who is staring back. I raise my eyebrows and shrug slightly, as if to say, “See? I have to pick my battles.” I head inside with my headphones on.)

Analysis

What can we learn from this situation? What would I like other people to understand about this, what I assume is a common experience for trans women who brave social situations with cis women?

(1) Yes, for me, misgendering is exactly this common. I am in a unique social situation (a residential treatment center), but I think that I am pretty safe to generalize this experience. Let’s summarize what happened and put a timeline to it. 

This exchange, in total, lasted about one minute. A well-meaning cis woman tried to do a “social good,” let’s call it, and betrayed her bias (i.e., she sees me as a man). In the process of walking twenty feet to the doorway, just seconds later, this exact behavior repeated itself, in what I believe to be the same moral context. When I say moral context and social good, I mean this: “Look at me. I’m affirming this person who is different, and I am so caught up in my goodness that I lose focus and do a whoopsie-uh-oh microaggression.” This is my own intuition and analysis, not the facts. 

Here’s what I want you to know: Yes, this (the misgendering, the well-meaning corrections, the awkwardness, the body language of anxiety, guilt, and defeat) happens frequently, many times a day. This is especially true in social settings with people who are unfamiliar and unpracticed with transgender experience. That includes the vast majority of people everywhere. I am in the rural Midwest. It applies to 97.285% of folks up here.

(2) I am well-practiced dealing with this. I understand intuitively what is going on. It is bias and momentary inattention. It is not malicious. When I say “No sweat” or “It’s okay,” what I really mean is: I don’t like this, it’s not okay in the big picture, but in this small social interaction, I am offering grace and forgiveness with ease. I am able to brush it off and move on, which is what I want to do. 

Now, if I am in a similar scenario and I do not have the emotional energy to truly shrug it off, I might say the same things (no sweat, it’s okay). In such a situation, my feelings may be hurt and I may have some stirred-up shame and gender dysphoria to deal with. My comments about it being all right are arguably insincere. Still, my emotions are mine to identify and express, and the current, mundane, distressing social interaction is not where I wish to process those feelings. I will seek out a safe person and ask for support; or some other self-care-type thing. 

As a final comment on this, I want to explore another perspective, which is that I could be more vocal and more assertive in my follow-up communication around these microaggressive microsituations. Where I am in my transition and general mental health journey, I have come to realize and accept that I am not a typical warrior. I have no righteous tack. In Jungian terms, I am probably an introverted intuitive. Whatever. I am working to honor the truth that I really value righteous vocality in my friends within the community, those who might be labeled social justice warriors. I have to protect my energy, though, and so the idea that I am going to resolve whatever problem I am presenting here by learning to speak up for myself is uninteresting to me. 

(3) Woman 2 acted like a true ally. This is common sense if you have done any work on the topic of trans allyship. The thing to do is either a) As W2 did, quickly and calmly offer a correction, and move on; or b) Don’t say anything. Option b, I want to emphasize, is equally okay - at least in my case. Other trans women might have different expectations. Duh. The bottom line is that we either will or will not correct someone, and our reasons are our business. In this case, it was late in the day, I was trying to decompress and enjoy a cigarette, and I was half-invested, socially; signified by my headphones half-on/half-off. I made a split-second decision that it was not a good use of my energy to speak up. W2 made her own split-second on my behalf, and it was A-okay by my own boundaries. Cool cool cool. I wish this had been the end.

On that note, before I move on to my last point, I want to emphasize this:

(4) This was a truly mundane experience. I neither enjoyed it, nor was I particularly hurt. Next, I am going to talk about why this stuff has the capacity to hurt me, and so I want to make it clear that I personally view these exchanges and microaggressions through a thoroughly generalized lens. They all just blend together because I have a certain amount of experience dealing with them. It is almost like a weird scripted conversation that I am forced to perform like ten or more times daily. I disconnect emotionally and run through my well-rehearsed lines as quickly as possible. At this point in my transition, I think that this is a healthy approach rooted in resiliency and born from my mental health and spiritual work. As I hope I am making very clear - this is my own perspective and is always subject to change. Earlier this year, with less experience, it would have conceivably hurt a lot worse. Or if I am having an off day, it still might get my goat. But generally…

The reason I have to work at making this stuff not a big deal is the same reason it actually really, really hurts me. 

(5) The issue is that we (the cis women and I) have different perceptual experiences of what is important and what is worth our attention. Otherwise stated, the problem is a lack of awareness or focus and/or a lack of empathy. 

Misgender me once - no shame. 

I have misgendered members of the community. I get it. I know how this happens. I have also learned the protocol and best practices of apologizing, making the correction, and quickly moving on. 

Now, here is what I really want to say: The fucking issue is that these common, mundane experiences of misgendering betray what most people are actually paying attention to. It hurts so fucking much when I go through this stuff and I see that cis people are not learning to see me as I am. They are learning the protocol for when they mess up, which is simple and offers a tasty moral reward. I believe that most people are far more interested in feeling good about themselves than they are in putting in the work to empathize with me and to understand my experience as a transgender woman. This. Fucking. Sucks. 

My experience tells me that 75% of the time, people get so caught up in their own egoic morality trip (i.e., getting the psychic reward of complimenting the tranny (W1 and W4), or in performing the little social justice drama of pronoun-correction protocol (W3)) that I, the object of the microaggressive behaviors, become absurdly inconsequential to this whole affair.

You motherfuckers forget to learn anything at all about me. Who I am. What I want. How I connect with others. You are so caught up in doing good. You would rather be good than pay attention to me. To see me as a fucking human being. I am fucking interesting, goddamnit. Complex. Nuanced. Feminine. Passionate. Compassionate. Attentive. Empathetic. I have such a rich inner world and if you take the time to get to know me, my transgender experience will come to make such beautiful sense that it will enrich your whole worldview and every other relationship you have. 

So many people who I am trying to keep close in my life, cis people I love and who were my friends before my transition, perform this song and dance reliably. They always behave appropriately when they make mistakes, but they never really learn. They keep making the mistakes. I am so hurt and angry about this. I am learning that I can usually tell within two or three interactions with a person whether they have the capacity to empathize with me on my transition journey - if they can devote the attention and energy needed to navigate their bias and to show their actual interest in learning about me. So. Fucking. Many. Cannot. Long-term friendships. Blood relatives.

Misgender me five or six times, every time - shame on you. SHAME ON YOU.

Fuck you. Fuck you. I do not judge you for having bias. I was socialized in the same systems. I do not care if you slip up. I care that you try. I care that you learn. 

And you don’t.  

You dance the moral dance. You retreat into your stuff. You. You. You. Even when your mouth says “great hair” or even “I love you,” your uncomfortable body language betrays you: your thinly-veiled, hostile anxiety;  and, most of all, your inability or unwillingness to do the challenging work of changing your mind about who I really am and how it all fits together.

Listen, I understand the nature of the work. It is fair to call it challenging - though, like everything else, it is only difficult in a specific context and will get easier with intentional practice. I know bias. I know transphobia. I know our culture. I know the gender binary.

What is going through your head? Like, really going on? Your unresolved shame about watching transgender porn? Maybe  it’s your fetish for womens’ lingerie. Maybe your irrational fear that I am a violent sexual predator. Or that I am diseased. Mentally unstable? Confused? Maybe the drugs I took scrambled my brain, or I had a porn addiction that went on for too long and I went too far down the sissy hypno rabbit hole. Maybe despite knowing that the larger social justice community vilifies TERFs, you can’t help but hear J.K. Rowling or even Dave Chappelle and think, “My gut tells me that they’re speaking the truth.” Is that your feminine intuition you’re feeling? Your real, actual experience as a real, actual woman telling you that what you see is unnatural: a wolf man in sheep womens’ clothing. Or you, as a man’s man, see women in the two appropriate, socially-sanctioned contexts: 1) objects of sexual desire and conquest, or 2) precious, pure mothers, daughters, and sisters who rely on strong men like you for protection.

If I’m not with you, I am against you. I am your moral, spiritual enemy. Your instinct tells you who is on the home team, who is basically good. 

And I’m not. Your gut tells you I’m wrong. Bad. Evil.

Here’s the deal. My whole life’s journey to this point might be summed up by the suffering I have endured navigating this whole social framework. I have done the work to explore it, understand it, and discard it. It sounds hokey and pretentious and I don’t care. I see the Reality and Truth beyond all of this. I see how who I am as a transgender woman is actually a natural, wonderful thing. I feel wonder. I see the beauty. I will own some amount of psychological projection. But fuck you if you are here to tell me, whether in words or actions, that I am wrong, unnatural, sick, confused; that I do not belong here. I do. 

The work is worth it.

Please, give me your attention. This is truly interesting. Your intuition, your gut feeling is telling you that something is not right. 

It is not me. 

Please, take a deep breath and start the work of figuring out what it really is. I promise nothing but love and acceptance if you choose to include me in your journey. I can help. It is worth it. I promise. 

Lastly - she/her, please.

[bayleaf-2]

Here's the Lyra drabble I was talking about earlier, he uses all pronouns and I did switch mid-sentence multiple times so sorry for any confusion

I guess context because I don't remember how much of this I've already said: Lyra got separated with Akra and Sehanine effectively locked them in the castle planning to kill them later, Khunoth came in late but ultimately ended up picking a losing fight with Sehanine, along with Akra. Meanwhile Lyra, completely in a panic for many, many reasons, searches for Emily and finds her, gets. Kind of pissed when she isn't enthusiastic about Lyra being there and is chill with staying on the moon, actually. Khunoth and Akra are getting their asses beat and Lyra KNOWS that. So he snaps a bit and yells at her that she needs to do something to help because if not, "We're all going to die. All of us."

ANYWAY, the actual thing I wrote, which takes place when they're back at base:

Lyra paces back and forth in the long hallways, hidden to the best of their ability from any of the not-vampires and their party (mostly Khunoth.) He isnt bothered by Ioun ignoring him when they got back once he explained the crash. He's not. Hes overthinking the fact that she chose Akra over him. Its not like he's done something horrendous and is in trouble like Dave is (rightly so, the bastard. She hopes, a tad more bitter than she'd like, that Ioun chewing him out combined with her comment about him deserving it hurt. Only enough for him to change, but still hurt).

They tried, and that's what matters, and it isn't a big deal. It shouldnt be. But you weren't good enough, his thoughts chide. She pauses her pacing to shove it aside, furious. "None of that." she mumbles to herself. "It's done. We're home. It's taken care of and we did our best."

She sighs and resumes walking, trying very hard not to think about Emily choosing Sehanine. About how fucking mad that had made them the whole week (god, had it even been a week?) and then they'd been waiting so long to see her only to yell at her and then leave again.

They stop and stare out a window, sighing and pinching their nose as they furrow their brow tightly. They could almost feel the dark circles on their face, like they were stupid indents. He growls in frustration and pointedly ignores that it sounds like an actual growl. He opts for sitting down in front of the window to calm down a bit, or at least not think about this stuff as frantically. It was important, after all. They were still getting Emily back, they just needed a plan.

[vault-heck]

oc interview tag

I was tagged by @twosides--samecoin . Thank you!!

tagging @bluepriestess and @bexatomarama . No presh <3

For context: I'm going to say this interview was held after chapter 16 but before chapter 20 of What God Doesn't Give You.

Name?

"Noah O'Neill."

Are you single?

He sighs. "Yeah.."

Are you happy?

"Honestly? There are plenty of things weighing on me, but I'm happier than I've ever been before."

Are you angry?

"I have what I consider to be a healthy level of anger about the state of the world. I try to channel it into something useful."

Are your parents still married?

"They were when they died."

Birth place?

"Houston Methodist Hospital, Houston TX."

Hair color?

"You'll have to imagine the blandest brown possible because I really prefer to keep it shaved."

Eye color?

"Brown. Light-ish brown, I guess."

Birthday?

"Technically it's August 15, but I prefer to celebrate the day I left vault 111 after cryostasis. October 23."

Mood?

He rolls his lips together. "I've got a lot on my mind. Could use a cigarette."

Gender?

"Man. My pronouns are he/him."

Summer or winter?

"I guess if I had to choose, I'd pick summer. Spring is my favorite season, though."

Morning or afternoon?

"I'm an early riser, and I love the serenity of early mornings."

=EIGHT THINGS ABOUT YOUR LOVE LIFE=

Are you in love?

"Yes." His eyes grow dull.

Do you believe in love at first sight?

"I don't think I do."

Who ended your last relationship?

"A merc named Kellogg, but it really should have been me."

Have you ever broken someone’s heart?

He wrinkles his eyebrows at the ceiling and considers this for a moment.

"Not in the way you might think."

Are you afraid of commitments?

"Nah. I am afraid of committing to something-- romantic or otherwise-- and falling short, I suppose. Who isn't?"

Have you hugged someone within the last week?

"Dogmeat. And a couple of friends."

Have you ever had a secret admirer?

He barks a quick laugh. "I seriously doubt it."

Have you ever broken your own heart?

"I have, for decades on end. I didn't even realize what I was doing to myself until later."

=SIX CHOICES=

Love or lust?

"I know I'm supposed to choose love here," he grins. "I suppose I would if I have to choose between the two. Don't tell my dick."

Lemonade or iced tea?

"Please, I'm from South Texas. Sweet tea all the way, baby."

Cats or dogs?

"Dogs! I mean, cats are fine. I'm a dog person, though."

A few best friends or many regular friends?

"That's a tough one. I enjoy meeting new people and having a large friend group, but I wouldn't trade my close circle of best friends for anything."

Wild night out or romantic night in?

"I'm an absolute sucker for a romantic night in."

Day or night?

"I feel like each is good for different things. Early morning is my favorite time of day."

=FOUR HAVE YOU EVERS=

Been caught sneaking out?

"Define 'sneaking out.'"

Fallen down/up the stairs?

He thinks. "I've tripped before but I don't think I actually fell."

Wanted something/someone so badly it hurt?

"Often. And... currently."

Wanted to disappear?

"Often."

=FOUR PREFERENCES=

Smile or eyes?

"Eyes. They're the most important part of someone's smile, anyway."

Shorter or taller?

"A lot of people are taller than me, and that's fine." His stare drifts to something invisible, maybe picturing something an inch or two above his natural eye level.

Intelligence or attraction?

"Intelligence, I suppose. I don't know, I'm typically not attracted to people I have strong disagreements with."

Hook-up or relationship?

"I'm not against hook-ups, but I think what I really want is a relationship." He rolls his eyes. "Not like I've got people lining up for either."

=FAMILY=

Do you and your family get along?

"Chosen? Yeah."

Would you say you have a “messed up life”?

"Yeah, but again... it used to be way worse."

Have you ever run away from home?

"I thought about it, but no."

Have you ever gotten kicked out?

"Not permanently." He grimaces.

=FRIENDS=

Do you secretly hate one of your friends?

"MacCready and I give each other a hard time, and have our differences, but that's no secret."

Do you consider all of your friends good friends?

"Pretty much."

Who is your best friend?

"Piper Wright." A ghost of a smile is on his lips. "Preston Garvey too, in a way."

Who knows everything about you?

"I mean, God." His eyes focus on something far away, and he tilts his head by less than an inch.

"Maybe Preston."

[sojutogo]

soonhoon exes au:

It’s a funny thing how memories work. One second you’re standing in a room swearing you were there to get something, only to forget it in the next. It makes the back of your neck itch, the forgetfulness and it will be hours later when you finally remember what you needed.

A pen, it turns out. What a silly thing to forget. 

A pen, yes, you remember what it was for now. You were supposed to write the address of the new place you were going to move into until you realize you had nothing to write it with and so, the trip to your bedroom cum home office. 

Here is where you forgot the pen but remembered what the address was for. 

It’s a funny thing how memories work. One second you’re standing in a room swearing you were there to get something only to remember: this was the last place you saw your ex. 

An ex, it turns out, is a very hard thing to forget. 

Soonyoung thinks it’s silly. It’s been three years since they broke up. Whatever memory left had long been sent back to its owner or burnt to the ground at Seungcheol-hyung’s backyard–a cleansing of sorts along with a hazy amount of alcohol and tears. It was quite cathartic, in Soonyoung’s opinion. Nothing underlines I want to forget you than burning the polaroids and all the anniversary gifts he had collected over the past two years. 

But that had been three years ago. 

He thinks it’s silly how Jihoon still makes his heart ache. 

Soonyoung decides to call his ex about the dresser he left him with, anyway. 

-

Jihoon picks up on the second ring, Soonyoung wishes he didn’t. 

Was that a horrible thing to wish for? Soonyoung doesn’t know. All he knows is that when he heard Jihoon answer from the other end of the call, Soonyoung thinks he’s still a little bit in love with him.

“–ello? Soonyoung, are you there?” 

The dresser had been a joint-purchase as far as Soonyoung could remember, a kind of housewarming gift to themselves if you could call a one-bedroom studio apartment that had a leaky faucet and a wonky heater a house. But at that time, Soonyoung didn’t mind and neither did Jihoon–or maybe he had, maybe he did mind the dresser and how it didn’t really match any furniture in their apartment or how they could have just bought something else cheaper.

Maybe that was where it started, maybe Soonyoung shouldn’t have insisted on that dresser. Maybe then, he wouldn’t be stuck-frozen in a call with his ex-boyfriend after not seeing each other for three years besides the accidental (occasional, okay he tried to stalk Jihoon once but that was only after month four after the break-up!) social media post in his feed. 

The call was a bad idea, Soonyoung should have just sent the dresser to the curb and be done with it. 

But Soonyoung wasn’t exactly known for his astute sense of judgment, which had been Jihoon’s forte, not his. 

“–ook if this is a prank, I’m gonna hang up–”

“Do you still want the dresser?” Soonyoung blurts out. 

Nice. 

A few tense seconds followed without any response from Jihoon and Soonyoung really couldn’t find it in himself to blame him. He did spring up a weird question without proper context and he was calling after three years of no communication. 

But memories are also some sort of a muscle, repeat a certain action enough times and your body and mind remembers it. 

It had been three years, yes. But Jihoon has known Soonyoung for more than that. 

“The dresser we brought?” 

Soonyoung doesn’t miss how Jihoon wavers at the word we.

Soonyoung once read from a book how the pronoun ‘we’ was like placing two people behind a joint action, as if they became one being, as if things have come full circle, as if everything that this ‘we’ will ever do will always be shared. “We’ll buy this dresser for our apartment”. “We’ll eat together”. “We’ll make things work”. “We should break up”. 

And then we becomes an I. Another pronoun, but it’s just you this time. 

“–yes, that one,” Soonyoung responds, albeit a little too late because Jihoon has once again asked if he’s still there. 

He still is. 

“What about it?” 

Soonyoung wishes Jihoon wouldn’t have asked so many questions.

(Soonyoung wished Jihoon had asked more questions during the break-up and not the stone-cold acceptance he gave him. 

As if Jihoon had seen things coming, as if he had already prepared himself for the inevitable.)

“I’m moving in a few weeks and I’m in the process of packing things up,” Soonyoung replies, looking around at the mostly empty room save for the bed and the dresser. “–and I realized the dresser was too heavy to bring. So I wanted to ask if you’d be interested in taking it back.” 

Another long pause from the end of the line and Soonyoung finds himself regretting the call. Well, he was already regretting it the second his fingers subconsciously remembered how to dial Jihoon’s number, how he still has the one, final muscle memory left. 

He needs to do a better job at this forgetfulness thing. Better for all people involved, including himself. 

“I thought it was yours,” Jihoon whispers from the other end and it leaves Soonyoung feeling like he had picked on a scab. Reopening old wounds. 

“Oh.” 

“I also thought you might have gotten rid of it,” an awkward laugh. Soonyoung can imagine how Jihoon’s eyes must be shifting around now, an uncomfortable smile decorating his features. 

“I’m not exactly made of money,” Soonyoung tries to joke. “Besides, it would be a waste to throw it away. It was a perfectly good dresser.” 

“It was, yes,” Jihoon replies and Soonyoung blinks in surprise.

“It was?” 

“Why? You didn’t think it was?”

“No, I–I thought you didn’t like it.”

A snort, “Why wouldn’t I? I mean we did buy it.” 

There’s that word again, we. But Jihoon says it a little bit easier this time. A little gentler, more of a gentle poke on a wound and less of pulling alcohol directly on it.

“Oh, I just thought…well, I don’t know, you might have just said yes because I insisted on it. I mean, I was a little pushy and we had, well I picked a fight with you about it.”

Another pause, but it feels thoughtful this time on Jihoon’s end. 

“To be honest I didn’t really care for the dresser? I mean, I was gonna be fine with whatever you picked as long as it fit all of our clothes in and I know it’s a little bit silly looking at it now,” Jihoon laughs and this, too, is a little bit easier. “But I think the reason why I was so against it was that I felt a little left out.” 

“Left out? Why?” 

“You already made up your mind about that dresser and the whole moving together thing was also new for me, too,” Jihoon replies and at this point, Soonyoung had found himself sitting on the bed, phone in hand, hanging on to every word. “–and you know me, I’m not really good with change, which I’m trying to work on now but at that time, that dresser seemed like a huge change and well, I should have told you about it but it just–I don’t know…felt a little childish of me especially when I already told you I was fine with whatever.” 

Growing up in the town they grew up in, change was something that only came in handfuls–all the ahjummas knew who was going to end up with who, the uncle sold them milk was the same man who sold the whole town's milk for the last twenty years, even the parks looked the same and going to Seoul for college wasn’t something that happened to a lot of kids from there. 

Jihoon had only gone to Seoul because Soonyoung did and imagining each other far apart was just out of the question. 

In hindsight, Soonyoung wonders if a lot of things they did, Jihoon did because it was Soonyoung. It was Soonyoung pushing and insisting, mind always shifting ahead before the rest of his body can catch up. Maybe that’s why the break-up was inevitable, maybe that’s why Jihoon didn’t ask questions. Maybe he just wanted to finally stop being obliged to always say yes to Soonyoung. 

“I–I’m sorry,” Soonyoung manages to choke out. “I shouldn’t have–I should have asked–” 

“Hey, it’s okay.” 

“It’s not!” 

Soonyoung finds himself abruptly standing from the bed, as if Jihoon was physically in front of him. It’s a sudden reminder of their fight from three years ago. 

“Soonyoung–” 

“If I ask you a question, can you be honest with me?” 

There’s a sharp inhale from the other end of the line and Soonyoung can already see the frown forming on Jihoon’s face, it makes him take a step back. Already hearing how pushy he sounds. 

“I mean, you can choose to not answer of course but–” 

“Soonyoung-ah, breathe.” 

It’s a faint murmur from Jihoon’s end but Soonyoung has his phone pressed tightly against his ear, afraid to miss out on anything that Jihoon is saying. 

This, too, is muscle memory; Soonyoung still wants to hear everything Jihoon has to say. 

“I-wuh?” 

Soonyoung hears Jihoon chuckling from his side and it makes the back of his neck heat up–Jihoon’s laugh is still his favorite, even after all these years. 

“I said, breathe. You’re talking way too fast again,” Jihoon adds and if Soonyoung can press his phone even more closer, he might feel a trace of fondness coating the other man’s words. 

“Just ask me, I’ll answer.” 

“Have you ever said yes to me, just because you felt like you should?”

Jihoon doesn’t miss a beat, “No.” 

“I said be honest-” 

“I am,” Jihoon cuts him off mid-sentence. 

“Then what about the dresser? You said you were having mixed feelings about that.” 

There’s a slight shuffling heard from Jihoon’s end and Soonyoung imagines that the man must have found a place to sit down and it makes him feel horrible again. Again, he pushed Jihoon into a conversation that should have just taken a few minutes and not an entire therapy session. 

“I did have mixed feelings but I didn’t hate the dresser, I liked it.”

“Well, was there ever a time you felt like I was pushing you into things or when I asked you to come to Seoul with me, did you feel like I was forcing–”

“'Young-ah, what is this really about?” 

And like muscle memory, Jihoon knows everything about Soonyoung, too. 

“I just–” Soonyoung sighs, rubbing a hand against his forehead. “The dresser just made me think of how we left things and how we never really talked about it.” 

“I know,” Jihoon sighs. “We should have talked about it, huh?” 

“Did you ever feel like the break-up was inevitable?” Soonyoung asks, none too gently. Like finally pouring alcohol over a fresh wound. 

“No.” 

“No?” 

“No,” Jihoon hums and Soonyoung can also imagine that Jihoon must be looking up at the ceiling now, a habit he does when he’s thinking. “Why would I think it’s inevitable?” 

“I don’t know, maybe you wanted out for a long time?” Soonyoung mutters, absently picking at the stray thread from the blanket underneath him. “Maybe being in a relationship wasn’t something you really wanted. Maybe I pushed on you, again.” 

“How long have we known each other?” Jihoon asks and it’s such a stark contrast to their conversation that Soonyoung pauses for a few seconds to back-paddle for an answer.

“Our whole life, I guess?” 

“So, has it ever occurred to you that if you ever pushed me, as you say, I wouldn’t have said anything?”

“Maybe you just–” 

“Soonyoung-ah, I loved you.” 

Funny how a single letter can mean so much difference: love, loved. 

“–and I think I still do.” 

“But?” 

“But we’re not the same people anymore,” Jihoon replies, voice careful, softer. "I do still love you, that’s not going to change. You’re still the only person who knows me best.” 

“–and you’re still mine, too.” 

“But we grew up, don’t you think?” Jihoon chuckles, a little sadly. “–and that’s alright, maybe it just wasn’t our time.” 

“I know,” Soonyoung whispers a little sadly as well. “At least we tried, though?” 

“At least we tried,” Jihoon agrees and instead of feeling heartbreak all over again, Soonyoung feels like he can breathe easier. 

“Do you still want that dresser?” Soonyoung smiles albeit himself because this, too, is muscle memory. 

Soonyoung and Jihoon had always been best when they were talking to each other. 

“I’ll drive over?” Jihoon asks and Soonyoung finds himself subconsciously patting down his bed hair, and finds it still silly that even after all this time, he still wants to look good for Jihoon. 

Maybe that will never change, too. 

“I’ll make you tea,” Soonyoung replies. 

"Yeah? I'll look forwa–babe you can just put those down."

And despite the fact that Jihoon has moved on, Soonyoung will always love him.

"Sorry, my...uh–"

"It's okay, you don't have to explain," Soonyoung finds himself saying. Finds that the words don't cut as much, finds that the lump in his throat is easier to swallow. "I'm happy for you."

Jihoon doesn't talk for a few seconds and Soonyoung simply lets the conversation be. Like he said, there was no need for an explanation.

It was just how things worked now and yes, at one point life was unimaginable separated but Soonyoung's love for Jihoon will always be greater than whatever that came between them. You can't just unlove someone because it didn't work out.

"Thank you," Jihoon whispers. "I hope you're happy as well, I really mean that Soonyoung."

"Are you getting sappy on me?" Soonyoung laughs, finds that this, too, is easier.

"Shut up," Jihoon grumbles and it makes Soonyoung laugh even harder.

Maybe they can try being friends again.

“See you next week, ‘Young-ah?” 

It’s a funny thing how memories work, you could remember the most awful of things but there is always the good that balances it all out. 

Maybe Soonyoung will stop trying to forget, maybe he’ll just let it be. 

Jihoon will always have a place in his heart, anyway. 

“See you, Jihoon-ah.” 

[chronicallycrow]

Cards.

Fandom: Cookie Run

Character(s): Cinnamon Cookie

Ship(s): Cinnamon/Reader

Word Count: 2,166

TW: Uhh,,, tarot reading? If that sets anyone off?

Notes: Hey, Cinnamon, thanks for being the character that got me out of my "I'm writing 1k words or less" fic phase./j Anyway, this started as an idea I mentioned on my main - Black-market tarot reading Cinnamon. It ended up a lot cuter than I thought it would, and made me write a HELL of a lot more than I have in a LONG time. Oh, and, I use he/they pronouns for Cinnamon! They alternate every paragraph. And, once again, I'm sorry for the weird formatting, mobile tumblr and all. Again, I don't currently have access to a computer.

The City of Wizards was an interesting place. It always had a specific feel to it, and it was always somehow shrouded in darkness yet bright. Saying you loved this place might have been an understatement. There weren't many people who lived in the town anymore - Some people thought no one did - But you knew there were people, and you knew exactly where to go to find them. And that's what you were currently doing.

You strolled through the city, looking for one place in particular. It was near one of the further corners of the town - A small little magic shop that sat inbetween two buildings that were vacant. You could miss it if you didn't know what you were looking for - The sign, with that ever-so-slightly too fancy font, fit into the rest of the town, and the windows being full of little trinkets did as well.

You turned on your heel and turned the door knob, immediately being hit by the scent of incense and cinnamon. You walked into the shop and closed the door, calling out, "Cinna?" A hum came from behind one of the shelves, and out appeared the devil themself, Cinnamon. "Hey!" You stated simply. They smiled at you and returned your greeting before asking, "Do you need anything, or are you just here to look around?" Either was fine by them - And you knew that. There was many a day where you'd sit in the shop or just look through what Cinnamon had in stock.

"Well, I-' He seemed surprised you actually wanted something, but not in a bad way. "I was actually wondering if you could-- Give me a reading? With your tarot cards?" He was a bit taken back, but seemed pleased with your request. "Of course! Right this way." He did that over-dramatic cape swish thing. It always reminded you he loved to entertain people when he did that. You followed him to a small room in the back where he did readings - Few people knew about it, but of course few people came in the near vicinity of his shop.

A table sat in the middle with some boxes and a mat laid on it. Cinnamon sat down on one side and gestured you to sit in the chair on the other side. You'd never actually gotten a reading from them, but apparently they were actually pretty good at it. They opened a box and pulled out a deck of golden-edged cards, the backs were purple. They tapped at the sides, before looking at you. "What do you want to know?" "My love life-" You blurted out before anything else. You covered your mouth, wide eyed. Why had you said that?! Cinnamon seemed to be amused by this and let out a soft laugh before beginning to shuffle the cards.

He did the card-fan thing. "Pick a card, any card!" You let out a soft laugh before grabbing one. He placed it face down on the table before shuffling the cards some more. He pulled and shuffled a handful of times, ending up with a spread of six cards. He flipped over the card you'd pulled. The card read, 'The Fool.' "This card," Cinnamon began, picking it up and turning it towards you, "represents you. It's a card that means new beginnings and new possibilities. It can also mean impulsiveness. The Fool is..." Cinnamon glanced up for a moment, before looking you in the eyes. "The Fool is a free spirit who doesn't know exactly what they want, but is willing to try anything to find the right path." And with that, he placed the card back down onto the table.

They flipped over the next card; it read 'The Magician.' "This card represents the person who... You're going to be with? Who you like? This is the other person." They turned it towards you. "You're a magician." You joked, giving a soft breath of a laugh. Cinnamon's face turned a soft shade of red from your comment, but continued on. (Little did either of you know that little joke was closer to the truth than either of you could think right now.) "It symbolizes being original, and confidence and skills. They might be extremely confident in their actions, and they're probably skilled in something." You placed your chin in your palm, staring at the card, then at Cinnamon.

He went to the next card. It read 'The Lovers.' "This card represents you and that person's bond." He stated. "That's good, isn't it?" He nodded in response before starting, "This card represents, well, love. It can also mean trust and harmany." "But I'm not in a relationship with anyone?" You mused. He shrugged. "You probably already know them and just trust them a lot. You two are probably already really close." You nodded, but something pulled at your conciousness. What if your joke was actually true? If he was the one representing the magician? "Hey," He waved a hand infront of your face, "Are you alright?" "Yeah, sorry- Go on." You sat back, and he turned over the next card.

The card read 'six of cups.' "This is your past with them, it represents nostalgia and, in this case, an old friend." You nodded, humming. "It seems like you two have known each other for a long time and trust eachother a lot." They stated simply. You traced a circle on the table with your hand. It was suddenly very hard to look at Cinnamon.

He turned over the next card. There was one more after this and you'd be done. It read 'two of cups.' Cinnamon let out a soft laugh. You tilted your head, actually meeting his eyes for a second. "This is your future with this person. The two of cups represents happy relationships and love. When you two get into a relationship it'll be a good one. I'm jealous." He said jokingly. You let out a small laugh. Your face was hot.

They finally turned over the last card. It read 'King of Wands.' "This card is advice for you." You tilted your head again, murmuring a soft, but non-demanding, "Well?" "I think in this context it's telling you you should be honest with them and tell them. It represents honesty and charm." You blinked. Cinnamon looked at the spread, then bagan to put the cards up. You looked down at your hands for a minute. Be honest? You hadn't excepted that. You didn't even realize you were-- Of course you were. Cinnamon was your closest friend. They stood up, snapping you out of your own thoughts. You stood as well. "Do you need anything else?" They asked, walking towards the door. "I don't think so- Here, let me-" You dug around your bag for a minute for your wallet. "No, it's fine-" "Are you sure?" They nodded.

You two got out into the main part of the shop, and you realized the time. It was dark outside by now - Actually dark. "Hey, Cinna?" He looked at you. "Can I spend the night - It's- It's gonna be dark out and I have to walk home. I don't think that's safe." Without thought he spoke, "Of course- Let me close up shop and we'll go upstairs and make dinner." You nodded and decided to look around while he did so. You found the two shop cats, one a black cat and one an orange cat. "You have cats?" You called. He walked over to you, kneeling down to pet one of them. "Yeah! I thought you knew?" You shook your head. "This is Pumpkin," He pointed towards the orange one. "She's new, so she doesn't have a name yet," He sighed. "Maybe you can name her later?" You nodded, "I'll see what I can come up with." With that the two of you headed up the stairs to Cinnamon's apartment.

It was a nice little space. You'd been up here before, but you'd never actually spent the night. They went into the kitchen while you looked around, eventually landing near Cinnamon Bunny's cage and giving them some pets. Cinnamon's apartment always smelt nice. They always smelt nice - It was that soft smell of a pastry shop that used a lot of cinnamon. They seemed to have the stuff everywhere, but you weren't going to complain too much - Unless it was another one of their shows where someone got too close and sneezed. Sometimes, in practice, when you'd watch them, they'd sneeze and mess up their tricks. You found it endearing.

"[Y/N]?" Cinnamon called. "Yeah?" "Food's ready." You walked into the kitchen. He'd made a full meal for you two, and honest to Millennial Tree it looked amazing. It tasted even better. You'd had Cinnamon's cooking on occasion, but never an actual meal made by him. As soon as you two had finished the oven beeped. He looked pleased. "I preheated it, if you want to make something for tomorrow morning?" You nodded, and followed him into the kitchen, placing your plate and silverware into the sink. He pulled out a series of things from multiple cupboards and cabinets, then grabbed out aprons and handed you one.

You two ended up making a mess while baking. There was flour everywhere, but you two were both laughing. They ended up getting two brooms, and you swept up the mess you made. Once that was done they looked over the both of you. "We should get cleaned up," they laughed. You nodded, before realizing something. "Cinna, I don't have-" "You can borrow some of my clothes." They hummed. You nodded, and they went off to get some, shouting back at you, "You can go take a shower if you want, I'll bring them to you." You did exactly that.

You felt much cleaner once done with the shower. He had left you a shirt that looked like it would be too big for him (or you) and a pair of sweatpants. You put them on, and were immediately ingulfed by that soft scent of cinnamon. You tried your hardest not to bury your nose in the clothing, instead leaving the bathroom. You were met with Cinnamon sitting on the couch, playing around with a deck of cards. You sat beside him, watching his hands as he played with the deck. "Are those alright?" He asked, flicking one card around. You nodded, letting out an "mh-hm." He got up then, and glanced at you. "I'm gonna go take a shower, too. I'll be back."

You ended up trying to do the tricks you saw Cinnamon do with the previously mentioned deck of cards. You failed at every one of them, but it gave you time to waste. Your mind did end up drifting back to the reading earlier. Cinnamon had to feel the same way, right? If the cards were anything to go by, they had to. You sighed and put the playing cards down, staring up. You then realized that you'd have to be sleeping on the couch - Not that you really minded. You knew they didn't have a guest room or an extra bed. Before you could get too lost in your thoughts Cinnamon appeared again. They were wearing about the same thing as you. The oven dinged. Convenient.

"I'll sleep on the couch and you can have the bed, by the way." He'd stated, as if he'd read your mind earlier, while pulling out the pan of cinnamon rolls. What else did you think he'd make? "No, I can- It's fine." You replied. He shook his head. "You're the guest, you should get the bed." He was pouring a light sugar icing on the rolls. "I-" Be more confident, the cards. "We could just-- Share the bed? Its big enough for that, right?" Cinnamon glanced at you, before letting out a small sigh. It was hard to tell if it was of content or annoyance that you didn't just take the bed alone. "Yeah, it is- That's fine."

Once the rolls had been fully iced and put in the fridge you two headed to Cinnamon's bedroom and got in their bed. You faced away from eachother, at least at first, but you decided to, again, take what the cards said, and turned towards them. Their back was facing towards you. "Cinna?" You murmured, shifting closer to them. They let out a hum, glancing back at you. You suddenly felt extremely hot. No going back now. "I-" You took a breath in. Dammit. Say it. "I think the cards were talking about you??" Why was that a question. They let out a small laugh and turned towards you. "I know." They responded simply before pulling you close to them. "Goodnight." And with that, they closed their eyes and drifted into sleep. You stayed there, dumbfounded for a couple of minutes, before just accepting it and murmuring a, "goodnight" back and getting to sleep. You two could properly talk this out in the morning.

[sobdasha]

i’ve been rereading a lot of my favorite stuff for months now

since I'm lacking in spoons for library trips

And when I was cottoning on to the fact that I have, in fact, been autistic all along, one of the things I realized is that the connecting thread between the kinds of stories and kinds of characters that I like is in fact that they display autistic or autistic-adjacent traits. I had realized this, come up with a lot of examples. I knew this.

Haha yeah as I'm actually rereading the things the evidence is damning that I did not come even close to understanding the full depth of it.

~ Taucris Ithesta is Autistic and Other Adjacent Things re: Leckie's Novels ~

Actually let's start with The Raven Tower because you can't actually argue with me about autistic Siat.

Siat actively avoids eye contact, is """shy""", speaks too softly, has an excellent grasp of humor, likes rocks as a special interest, likes to collect rocks, likes to sort rocks, likes to line up rocks, has one (1) bff to conduct social interactions for her, notices patterns, is good at learning, and is considered disabled by society's standards.

Ughhhhh all that talk about rocks makes me sad all over again that I pitched my rock collection when I moved out (I saved the best fossils, though).

(ETA: I have since bought more rocks because polished gemstones with carvings on them make for great stims, I am very pleased with me)

Okay so now that that's been established, let's talk about Strength and Patience of the Hill.

Because this rock gets me. Originally I figured it was probably, y'know, like with Ancillary Justice Leckie's given me an ace-aro main character and I can identify with that as an ace-aro. But unlike Breq, who very much loves people and wants to take care of them and found family etc, Strength and Patience of the Hill doesn't give much of a shit about people. With some exceptions of people that are it's people, how dare you mess with them, Strength and Patience of the Hill will kick your ass. Although even then I'm not sure Strength and Patience is all that great at taking care of people. Also Strength and Patience of the Hill is very much absorbed in its own selfishness, very much consumed with his own internal world, and I am also a jerk like that so it was very relatable.

(Yes I am using multiple pronouns because one of my many favorite parts of the book signing was watching everyone scramble over pronouns for a rock because "It never came up so I never figured it out" and I'm pretty sure Strength and Patience doesn't even use pronouns because why would you need a gendered pronoun to refer to yourself??? You don't even need a name to refer to yourself, actually I'm pretty sure Strength and Patience doesn't actually consider itself to have a name.)

So it made sense that this rock just really gets me. I know it's bad when the majority of representation for ace-aro characters is stereotypical robots or rocks or aliens (oooh or sentient space rocks wait wAIT now that I've said that I've just realized the Myriad is the definition of a Crystal Gem, pffft) or whatever but honestly I don't care because I just really identify with the robots??? So I really liked it, YMMV.

(It's probably also bad if the trend for autistically-coded characters is just stereotypical robots or rocks or aliens or whatever too but like honestly a big autistic #mood is feeling like you are a robot or an alien or whatever so maybe that's why I'm not offended???)

My point being that Strength and Patience of the Hill displays a lot of autistic traits and is therefore very relatable, in this Ted Talk I will.

Strength and Patience of the Hill processes things slowly. She will come up with the perfect retort and tell you 5 years later with absolutely no context.

It loves daydreaming, staring at things, noticing patterns, and enjoying quiet and solitude. It loves thinking about why things are the way they are. Look I have fantasized about what if I could exist as just a pair of eyeballs and a mind floating around in space, observing things, thinking things, and not having to actually interact with the world, and I'm pretty sure this rock is living that life. (Until y'know it gets told life doesn't work like that.)

Despite his slow processing speed, and taking a while to learn language, Strength and Patience of the Hill is good at learning things, and I feel like it's the kind of sort-of-sideways, context-based accumulation of knowledge that I learn through as well.

Strength and Patience of the Hill has one (1) friend, and through the Myriad it benefits from the fact that the Myriad has an actual social circle, without having to put forth any effort of maintaining friends on its own, which is 100% the way to do it.

Strength and Patience of the Hill tends to attract the other "quirky" kids--that is, my impression is that the people who become his priests tend to be those people who look at the world a little differently, those people on the fringes. Trans people, autistic people, people with other disabilities.

Strength and Patience of the Hill trying to explain the state of affairs in Vastai to Eolo: "Okay so my first memory I can recall is…" No, okay, no, I know, it's just literally how the narrative has to be told, I'm not criticizing, but that doesn't make it any less reminiscent of "autistic person trying to explain a simple thing but starts in with 10 pages of context first to ensure the over-explanation makes sense" (haha that's why I consistently got stuck training endless new hires, I'm literally so bad at it that I'm the best in the department and I hate life).

Difficulty understanding other's feelings/points of view/circumstances (I know it's because he's a rock and a god but that doesn't make it any less relatable), hmmm what else…

Oh right, a typical interaction with Strength and Patience of the Hill:

Person: (gives offering) Strength and Patience: (offering is accepted because the transaction literally occurred, no need to respond) Person: "(asks petition)" Strength and Patience: ... Strength and Patience: wait Strength and Patience: what Strength and Patience: wait was I supposed to do something else Strength and Patience: did you ask something of me? Strength and Patience: I don't understand what you asked????? Strength and Patience: it's been an entire year now it's too awkward Strength and Patience: i'm sure it's. Fine. Strength and Patience: It's fine. (rinse and repeat)

Like I said, this rock gets me.

(Haha I was reading through my notes from the book signing and I found "Strength + Patience doesn't give a shit about balance, Strength + Patience is just selfish, which it manifests as apathy, which is why this rock gets me. All of my best interpersonal traits also spring from not giving a fuck and waiting ppl to go away faster lol" and why is that, oh because ~I'm~ ~autistic~ pfffft)

I started this post a while ago and this was as far as I got and I don't remember if I had more??? Time to talk about Taucris probably!!!

(I'm skipping Ancillary Justice etc for now because I do want to make a post about that but like there's just. So much. In those books. It's masking all the way down. So it can be its own post. One day.)

Because I waited so long I forgot what I was going to write so I'll just grab the book and flip through and comment as I see things.

To start off with: Taucris and adulthood. I've seen other people pick up primarily on the gender aspect of it--that Taucris waited until almost 25 to take her adult name because she she never figured out what her gender was (non- uhhhhhh what's the word for binary when it's three and not two? Non-tri-something Taucris in a society with 3 options but all 3 options are gendered? I'll go with that.) What really resonated for me was that Taucris waited until almost 25 to take her adult name because she never felt like an adult. And I get that ~everyone feels that way~ but I feel like it's Different for Taucris in the same way it's Different for me. Anyway I feel like no matter which aspect you choose, it's probably an autistic vibe.

Also Taucris seems to have a bit of a flat affect? She seems very serious (both in body language and in speech), and kind of intense sometimes when she talks, and Ingray notes how Taucris usually doesn't smile (she smiles with Ingray because Ingray makes her comfortable) and has always been """shy""".

Also Taucris...talks strangely? I am not sure exactly how to explain it. It's not written badly or anything, it's...you know how sometimes you suddenly sit back and look at dialogue and go no one speaks like this and it throws you out of the story because you dropped your suspension of disbelief? Taucris kind of gives me that feeling, and only Taucris. Almost like her speech is a little bit stilted? Awkward? She's very serious and matter of fact and says things like "You've always been so kind to me" with a straight face. But it doesn't feel like a """bad writing""" (quotation marks for subjectivity) thing. But I notice it every time I read her dialogue… I think it's just that Taucris is autistic and awkward and that's how she speaks. Also I think she's adorable.

Police work is Taucris' special interest. So much so that that's the entire reason she became an adult, so she could engage in her special interest better. She's ~weird~ for her single-minded interest and her interest in a job below her ~status~ and she doesn't care, she set her heart on this anyway, volunteering and interning so on.

Oh that was something else I was going to talk about--Taucris mentions feeling like she doesn't have her shit together, not like Ingray (who also doesn't feel she has her shit together. Kind of like "no one really feels like an adult). But Taucris seems quite calm and capable in Planetary Security. I don't know if this is just masking, but...I really hope that she does feel that way in her job. That because it's her special interest, that helps balance out the stress of being alive and simultaneously employed full-time. That because she's been volunteering and interning here so long, she's been familiar with the office and it wasn't a stressful transition. That she acts confident because she feels competent and respected. Taucris may look calm and cool and collected on the outside and be screaming on the inside but I hope she actually feels pretty good on the inside too.

I would also like to say that I like Taucris' nother. Despite what Danach implies, I get the picture from Taucris that e is supportive of Taucris' personality and interests even when e doesn't get it. E indulged her interest in police work, e didn't understand why Taucris wasn't taking an adult name but tried to be patient about it...so I assume that also means that e was understanding of all of Taucris quirks and stims and particularities. E's been a good support system while Taucris' peers have not.

(Except for Ingray, Taucris' one (1) friend.)

I like Taucris' relationship with Deputy Chief Veret too--the way Taucris quietly manages breakfast so e doesn't have to think about it or be put out (this is The Love Language to me, not being inconvenienced, and I feel that this is part of my personality because my personality is autistic, so). I don't know why specifically Taucris does this, but all the reasons I could come up with feel very wholesome. Taucris respects Veret as her boss and as a person. Taucris is empathetic and thoughtful (she doesn't like Danach but she tries to consider and understand where he's coming from; Taucris isn't Hatli but she considers Veret's fasting etc to be valid rather than a choice of superstition). Taucris' situation is different but she knows that it doesn't feel good to be treated as weird, to be sneered at because you don't act the way people expect you to. Taucris, being autistic, maybe has a lot of experience with "perfectly good foods" she won't eat. Taucris strikes me as someone who observes quietly, and considers carefully, and maybe takes a long time to make up her mind but when she moves it's deliberately and not carelessly. Which is, to me, a masking trait.

In the quantum version of this post I was going to write everything so polished and lay out my points so nicely but clearly that didn't happen and I don't know where to end this and I'm sure I didn't even explain things that well so I'll just say, I feel it was very autistic of Taucris in the last chapter to just be like "well IDK what you want from me and rather than expending massive effort trying to suss it out and guessing wrong I'll just be direct: I know you can't talk about what happened so I won't ask you about what happened unless you want me to ask you about what happened in which case you should say so and I will ask but I think maybe you just need to watch a movie with me instead."

[trashyswitch]

Patton, the Cute Little Puppy Baby Bat Fly Fly Baby Dog(s)

Patton LOVES turning himself into Talyn! Why? Because Patton wants to be tiny! And Talyn is tiny!

Roman, Virgil and Logan absolutely appreciate this, and decide to take advantage of it!

Tiny Disclaimer: I will be identifying Talyn as they/them, Patton as him/he, and Palyn as they/them. Though I know that Patton (Thomas) identifies as a man, I wanna make Palyn non-binary, to suit Talyn and to not upset anyone who's incredibly protective and technical about the whole thing. I love, support and respect non-binary folks (I have a couple friends who identify as such), and would hate to accidentally misgender someone.

(Though, I often mix up male and female pronouns as it is...It's a blessing/curse of mine...😂)

Ever since the 'Making Some Changes' video, Patton has loved being able to walk around like Thomas's friends! He loved being Joan and making him laugh, he appreciated being Valerie just for the fun of it, he absolutely LOVED becoming Talyn to become more adorable, and he loved becoming other people he's befriended! Heck, Patton has even become the voices of Steven Universe to make a Steven Universe joke!

After a while, Patton narrowed down which of Thomas's friends were his favorite to become. Soon, he had decided that his favorite person to turn himself into was: Talyn!

Why, you're probably asking? Well you see: It's simple, really: they’re tiny, therefore adorable! Patton is adorable, but missing the short-statured part! So, becoming Talyn made that a lot easier!

Every part of Talyn was very tiny compared to Thomas. Tiny stature, tiny body size, tiny head, tiny voice! The only thing that WASN'T tiny, was their life!

Plus...doing Talyn's Danny Devito impression was ALWAYS fun to make fun of...

Virgil didn't know how he felt about Patton becoming Talyn at first...To be honest, it was a little confusing. If Virgil was looking away and heard Talyn's voice, he'd have to turn around to figure out if Talyn was ACTUALLY there, or if it was just Patton messing around. But eventually, Virgil got used to it and began to have fun with it! He'd treat Talyn Patton like a little child (That was Patton's dream come true!), started making short jokes, and even began putting his sweater on the tiny Patton! Eventually, Virgil would go as far as to ruffle up Patton's different-colored hair!

Sometimes when Patton would turn into Talyn, Patton would show off the many different hairstyles Talyn has sported over the years! The firey red long hair, the bisexual flag-colored hair (plus eyebrows), the green long hair, the yellowish faded short hair, the grey and black short hair, you name it! Patton tried them all out on himself!

Roman absolutely loved it! He loved being able to see Talyn Patton! Roman eventually came up with a name that could describe the tiny Patton: Palyn! Roman would give the tiny Palyn piggyback rides, cuddles, hugs, and even dress them up in adorable outfits and do their make up! The Patton-being-Talyn thing didn't change anything about him! So, it only made their friendship stronger!

Meanwhile, Logan had started out...worried about the idea...What if Patton began to wish he was Talyn, and began associating himself as Talyn forever? Everyone would miss Patton's squared glasses and bigger, more lovable body. But soon, Logan learned that this was more of an appreciation thing, and not an identity thing. So, Logan began appreciating Palyn and treating them the same way he would treat Patton.

One of the days, Patton had turned himself into Talyn and began going through Patton's closet. In the closet, were multiple blue-collared shirts, a single grey shirt for tying around the neck, and Patton's cat hoodie! Palyn decided to grab the hoodie, and put it on their tiny self.

It...is gigantic...It's like wearing a hoodie dress! It fell down to their knees, and the sleeves were SUPER long! Palyn giggled at how silly they looked, and put the hood on with their sleeve-covered hands.

The hood practically drowned their head in grey fabric...

But, Palyn didn't care! They felt happy! They felt drowned in love! Now, Palyn wanted to show it off! So, off they went: running into the living room to where the rest of the sides might've been.

"Hey Palyn!" Roman said before running up the person, picking them up to hug them and spinning around in the hug.

"'Palyn'? You're calling Patton Palyn now?" Virgil asked.

Roman slowed his spinning to a halt and placed them down. "It's a mix of Patton and Talyn! P-a-l-y-n! Palyn!" Roman explained.

"...I approve this name. I believe it suits-" Logan lifted up his glasses to look down at his vocabulary cards. "sssmmooooolll-'smol' Patton, nicely." Logan told them.

Virgil rolled his eyes. "Right context, bad grammar. Good try, though." Virgil corrected.

"Strange...What context would you use this in?" Logan asked, having his vocabulary card ready to take notes.

"To start: 'Smol' is not an adjective. It's a 'noun', meaning: 'something that's tiny, cute and squish-able'. The best way you could use it, is through a nickname: Smol bean, which means the same thing, basically." Virgil explained briefly.

Logan nodded as he finished up his note-taking. "Okay. Thank you, Virgil. Now, I will turn my attention to the 'smol bean' that's right beside me." Logan stated. Palyn had started jumping up and down, and clapping its covered hands excitedly as Roman lightly squeezed his cheeks.

"Aren't they the most adorable hooman being you've ever seen?" Roman asked. Logan's eyes widened as he started going through his vocabulary cards again. Realizing that word was missing from his deck, Logan conjured up a new vocabulary card and a pen to write it down.

"hoo-man...how do you spell that?" Logan asked.

"H-o-o-m-a-n." Palyn told him.

Logan followed Palyn's spelling. "Okay, and what does it mean?" Logan asked.

Virgil gave Logan a 'seriously?' face, but still decided to help him out. "It's a version of the word 'human'. Gen Z's decided to turn it into 'hooman', so that they can describe what us humans are, according to dogs and cats.'" Virgil explained. "Here: Patton, can you demonstrate?" Virgil asked, pulling the hood off their head.

To demonstrate, Palyn curled his wrists in front of his chin like a puppy, and began acting like a talking dog. "Hooman? Hooman give me food? Am I good pupper? Pupper good boy? LUV ME HOOMAN!" Palyn demonstrated before hugging Logan from behind the couch.

Patiently, Palyn waited for Logan to say something. Logan didn't know what to say...Well, he did, but...how? Should he just tell him in his normal, monotone voice? Or should he attempt the messy grammar that Palyn used?

"Uuuh...Yes..." Logan started, before patting their head awkwardly. "Palyn is a good boy." Logan replied in an awkward version of his monotone voice.

Suddenly, Palyn gasped and smiled widely as he let go of Logan! "I'm a good boy! I'm a GOOD BOY! ROMAN! ROMAN! I'M A GOOD BOY!" Palyn shouted, spinning circles around the man excitedly. As he sprinted around Roman, Patton's sweater sleeves would fly outwards behind his back. It was a hilarious little feature that came with Palyn.

"You what I think Wittle ol' pawyn might want?" Roman asked, getting Palyn's attention. Palyn quickly stopped his running right in front of Roman, still filled with endless energy. "I think...Palyn needs some spins!" Roman declared, becoming the ultimate babysitter in the group. Roman picked up Palyn from behind, and began spinning them around. Both of Palyn's eyes and mouth widened in excitement as they got spun around like a really quick-spinning carousel! Virgil, in order to avoid getting a pair of legs to the groin, quickly jumped onto the safe couch, which lie out of bounds from the crazy carousel in the room.

"WHEEEEEEEEEE! FASTER ROMAN! FASTER!" Patton shouted happily.

"NO! DON'T go any faster! This is fast enough!" Virgil warned him, quickly becoming the anxious parent in the family.

Roman continued to spin them for a little longer, before slowing down the chilc. He didn't wanna overdo it.

"What do you wanna do next?" Roman asked.

Palyn's face lit up. "Hide and seek with tickles?" Palyn asked.

Roman gasped, and clapped his hands together. "Great idea!" Roman reacted, excitedly.

"Can I join? I wanna be it." Virgil asked.

"Sure!" Roman replied.

"I'd like to be it as well." Logan piped up.

"Of course! The more, the merrier!" Roman replied, before looking back at Patton. "Okay. You can start hiding, while we start counting." Roman reacted with a smirk.

Palyn stared at his lers for a couple seconds before he quickly sprinted away, over-sized hoodie, tiny legs and all.

Roman started the counting up from zero, while Logan and Virgil counted on their fingers along with him."1...2...3...4...5...6...7...8...9...10! 11...12-" Roman counted.

By this point, Palyn had successfully found their little hiding spot.

"...13...14...15...16...17...18...19...20! Ready or not, here I come!" Roman called.

Roman began looking around for the little adult. He was fully aware of which way they had ran. But, Roman wanted to make this as teasy and fun as possible! So, he started out by looking throughout the living room for them. After taking a minute or so of looking, all 3 lers moved onto the kitchen.

"I wonder...Where would our adorable Palyn be?" Roman asked, checking under the table as he teased.

Virgil tiptoed towards the sink, and quickly whipped the door open. As anticipated, no one was there. "Not under the sink..." Virgil told the captain out loud.

"He's not in the stove...which is good. We wouldn't want Palyn turning into a roast dinner by the time we're done..." Logan stated, purposefully being a little funny to get Palyn giggling.

Next, the three lers moved onto the bedrooms. For this part, Logan, Roman and Virgil all split up to check their rooms.

Logan went to his own room. Checking under the bed, checking the closet, checking under his desk, even checking in the wash basket! but...Palyn was nowhere to be found.

Roman went to his room as well. He checked in the magical closet, checked his mirror door, even double checked under his huge teddy bear! But...he was nowhere to be seen.

Virgil quickly checked his room too. He checked under his bed covers, checked behind the dressers, and even checked his closet of hoodies-

Wait a second...One of these sweaters is not dark like the others...One of them happens to be a light grey, and...is wearing brown-pants? That's GOTTA be Palyn!

So...Virgil turned himself around, and began to leave the room. "He's not in here." Virgil yelled to his fellow lers.

"He's not in my room either." Roman replied.

"Absent in mine." Logan said.

Before Roman could suggest the next place, Virgil put a finger over his mouth and signaled for them to follow him. Virgil led them into his room, and showed them the...obvious color-change in the closet. For now though, all 3 lers stood at the door frame to discuss their 'problem' out loud.

"Well, I gotta say: He is absolutely no where to be found! And I don't believe Patton would hide himself in his own room...would he?" Roman asked loudly.

Suddenly, a little sound could be heard in the distance...an adorable little giggle, bouncing off the walls back to them.

"Wait...Do you hear that? I think Palyn might be giving us hints to where he is." Logan told them.

"I can hear it too. It's a cute little giggle. It sounds a bit like Talyn's, but with a flare of...Thomas in it..." Virgil described.

"Could it be..." Roman asked, drifting off.

"Palyn?" Everyone said at the same time.

It only took a second for Palyn's giggles to grow louder in volume.

"Maybe we should let the giggles lead us to our hider..." Logan suggested.

"Oooh, good idea!" Roman replied.

So, all three of the lers walked around in the hallway, pretending to listen closely for where the giggles might be coming from.

"Hey Virgil! I think they might be in your room!" Roman declared, winking at him.

Virgil smiled and nodded to Roman, before walking up to the door. "Really? But I already checked here! How in the world could they be hiding in a place I already checked?" Virgil asked out loud.

"Well, perhaps you didn't check hard enough?" Logan suggested.

Virgil rolled his eyes, but winked at Roman to go in. "Move over, my grim, royal poet! I, will check the room." Roman declared, opening the door.

Patton's giggles had started coming on strong again. So, Roman decided to pretend to look absolutely everywhere, except for the one place they were in. The longer he looked around, the louder Palyn's giggling became!

After looking absolutely everywhere, Roman turned around with his fingers together in the shape of a handgun!

"Palyn! Put your hands up where I can see 'em!" Roman yelled, pointing the finger gun at the closet.

Palyn immediately put their hands up upon demand. Palyn began to giggle more now.

"You're under arrest!" Roman ordered. "Officer Logan, Officer Virgil, we've got 'em." Roman ordered. Running up to the 'crime scene', was was his back up officers: Virgil with one finger gun and a shield, and Logan with his finger gun and a walkie-talkie in hand. Palyn, in his giggly state, slowly walked out of the closet and knelt down to their knees. "Palyn, you are under arrest for adorableness in the first degree! How do you plead?" Roman asked, pretending to hold a microphone now.

Patton, through his giggles, attempted to answer. "G-Guihihihilty! Ihihi'm guihihihihiltyhyhy!" Patton replied.

"You've heard it here, folks! They are guilty! Therefore:" Roman acted, before pretending to bang a gavel against a wooden striking block. "I sentence you to 15 minutes of tickles!" Roman ordered. Suddenly, Roman ran up to them with finger claws and a growling sound! Palyn squeaked in excitement and practically flopped onto the ground, happy to take the ticklish 'sentence'. Roman began to shove his hands underneath the grey cat sweater, and began to squeeze, claw, and flutter his fingers all over Palyn's upper body.

Palyn bursted out in high-pitched laughter, and began rolling back and forth to cope with the tickles. Next, Virgil joined Roman on the ground, and began fluttering his fingers on Palyn's ticklish, tiny neck. With the bigger fingers on the tinier neck, Virgil was able to cover more ground all at once.

"EEEEEEEK! VIHIHIHIRGAHAHAHAL! EEEEhehehehehahahahaha! Ihihihihit TIHIHihihickles!" Palyn reacted, flailing the long, grey sleeves absolutely everywhere.

Roman gasped in surprise. "ReAllY?! it TiCkLeS?! I had NO CLUE! Virgil, did you know this?" Roman reacted dramatically.

"No, I didn't! I'm quite surprised! What about you, Logan?" Virgil reacted, being a little dramatic as well.

Logan rolled his eyes, but still decided to go along with it. He made a rather empty gasp, and widened his eyes for a split second. "I'm flabbergasted." Logan replied in a monotone voice as he did jazz hands.

"See!? Even LOGAN is going crazy! I simply cannot believe you're ticklish!" Roman reacted.

Logan, wanting to join in as well, knelt down in front of Palyn's feet and began to tickle their socked feet as well.

"HEHEHEHEHEY! NAHAHAHAT MYHYHY FEEHEHEHEHEHETSIHIHIHIES!" Patton yelled through a quickly increasing laughing fit.

Logan placed his hands on his cheeks like Kevin in Home Alone, and gasped again. "Wow. Your little footsies are ticklish too? What a surprise." Logan reacted in an empty voice.

Somehow, Logan's mostly dead reactions seemed to make Palyn laugh even more! Perhaps dramatic irony is Palyn's favorite type of humor? Who knows?

"Who's a tickwish wittle chiwd? YOU are! WHO'S de most ticku-ticku-tickwish chiwd in de whole mind pawace? YOU are! Yes, YOU are!" Roman teased in a baby voice.

"THEHE TEHEHEHEHEHEASIHIHIHING! IHIHIHIT'S KIHIHIHIHILLIHIHING MEHEHEHEHE!" Patton shouted.

"Oh! What's this? the teasing is killing you? My goodness! We have to save them! But, how?" Roman reacted dramatically.

"Wait, you're telling me you DON'T know CPR?" Logan asked, pretending along with him.

"Well, do YOU?" Roman asked right back.

"Um-........well no..." Logan admitted.

"Move over, idiots. I know how to do CPR. It's rather easy, really. All you have to do is liiiiift up the hoodie..." Virgil explained as he began lifting the hoodie up to expose Palyn's tummy. Palyn immediately began to giggle in their sleeves. They knew EXACTLY what was coming next. "And...give them a raspberry! Like this:" Virgil explained, before blowing a great big raspberry into Patton's stomach.

Patton let out a loud, high-pitched squeal, before dissolving into endless laughter once again!

"Now, remember: longer raspberries tend to do more to help. So, the longer, the better! Like this!" Virgil explained before blowing an even BIGGER raspberry! Patton squealed once again, and dissolved into even MORE laughter! Virgil's CPR raspberries seemed to go on for another couple minutes. And you could tell, that Palyn was enjoying every second of it!

"IHIHIHI'M AHAHAHALIHIHIHIHIVE! IHIHI'M AHAHALIHIVE!" Patton shouted through their loud laughter.

"Virgil, look! They're alive! You saved them!" Roman reacted happily as he hugged Virgil. Virgil smiled at Palyn, and picked them up bridal style.

"Hey Palyn, would you like to watch a movie and cuddle?" Virgil asked.

"Yes please!" Palyn replied.

"Alright, let's go." Virgil said before carrying Palyn out of his room. Roman and Logan followed suit, and helped them choose a movie to watch.

Pretty soon, all 4 sides had covered themselves in blankets, and let the movie Bambi play on their TV. The truth was, Palyn felt very comfortable. Patton loved being tiny. He loved being cuddled, tickled, loved, and being silly! That was one of the reasons Patton liked turning himself into Talyn. They were allowed to be adorable AND be tiny at the same time.

However: tiny or not, adorable or not, Patton still felt forever loved by his family. The proof was all there, and Palyn loved it.

Fun fact: Most of the nicknames Thomas and his sides come up with, have backstories and deeper meanings.

Example; Nerdy Wolverine: Wolverine's first name is Logan.

Grim, Royal Poet: Grim = another word for Emo. Royal poet represented the well-documented Roman Poet by the name of Virgil, who wrote a violent, suspenseful poem called Aeneid. The poem was one day published by Caesar Augustus, the ruler of the Roman Empire. Cool, huh?!

Funny thing is, Thomas came across this name by accident! What a coincidence!! ����

[pentanguine]

1. Do you use any other terms to define or explain your gender?

So…I got a little carried away. Most of these posts will not be this long, but I had a lot I wanted to say, and a long drizzly afternoon to work on saying it, so.

Aside from genderqueer, trans, and nonbinary…

I’ve started feeling more at home with the word transmasculine this year, after several years of circling it warily and ultimately running away because it would just be ALL TOO SHOCKING. Other people interpret transmasculine in a wide variety of ways, many of which make me deeply uncomfortable (eg “Transmasc = physically transitioning in all the same ways trans men usually do;” “Transmasc = trans man but woke about it;” “Transmasc = I have aligned myself against women and forsaken feminism and I love asserting my dominant gender role”), and voluntarily using a word that’s ripe for misinterpretation made my control-obsessed brain fuck right off.

But ultimately it’s not really about using words (what does that even mean? putting them in your tumblr bio? buying the pride flag?) so much as knowing, however privately, that you are a thing. And I’m transmasculine! It’s a word that feels comfortable, and homey, and exciting. Other people who use that word sound like me! They look like me, and they look how I want to look! I get such a blooming, leaping, light-filled feeling in my chest when I see these people, because I instinctively feel that these are People Like Me. I recognize myself in their experiences of gender, and sometimes I feel like my whole body’s going to shake apart with a euphoria that’s like being on fire. Every time I read something by Daniel M. Lavery I end up rolling around on the floor in paroxysms of delight and Feeling Seen, and my brain lights up like a fireworks display when I see awkward bi men with curly brown hair and glasses. There is still a little part of my brain that’s convinced referring to myself as transmasc will make everyone deeply disappointed in me, and obligate me to go out and befriend a footballer named Chad, but I’ve been casually referring to myself that way since May in semi-public venues and the sky hasn’t fallen in yet.

Transmasc feels like a useful word for me because it makes me feel more settled. I think a lot of times nonbinary gender is simplified to gender neutrality (which it is for some people!), while for me it’s more like a stewing mess full of things that don’t make coherent sense in anyone’s mind but my own. So I can like masculine words and gender presentations, and that doesn’t mean I’m equating neutrality with masculinity, and I can also express my gender in the numerous non-masc ways that feel natural to me while still having that anchor to come back to. Ultimately, I think it just means that I have a more meaningful relationship with masculinity than I have with femininity, neutrality, or androgyny, and that I’m deliberately moving in a more masc-coded direction that the one I started out. And that’s it!

--

The other big gender-conceptualization-thing that I’ve been thinking a lot about is the complicated muddle of doubleness and inversion that I feel between gender identity, gender presentation, sexuality, and gender expression. I don’t feel bigender, because that sounds like I have two discrete gender experiences sitting side by side, and I’m not genderfluid, because it’s not like my gender actually changes, but I do feel like I’m part woman-affiliated agender person, and part genderqueer guy with the genderqueer dialed up to eleven and the guy dialed down to two. Part of me feels apart from gender, but nebulously attached to queer ideas of womanhood (lesbian! spinster! middle school girl at a sleepover who promises to love her friends more than any passing crush!), and then part of me feels apart from gender, but like I picked Guy Gender to steal for myself and imitate and relentlessly queer by virtue of not taking it seriously enough. But it’s all mixed together, you know? Like paint swirling on a palette, or light bringing out iridescence on fish scales. Sometimes it will be more like one thing, sometimes more like another, but it’s always whole and completely intertwined.

Earlier this year a Miriam Zoila Perez quote about being a faggy butch was going around, and man, that gave me a lot of gender feelings. I first encountered the term fairy butch on this old blog called The Butchelor, and while I loved it then, I didn’t use it because of a radfem-induced trepidation that it was all an elaborate joke everyone understood but me. I also have an extremely annoyed relationship to the word butch, because I’m not butch at all, and I doubt anyone else would think I am, but this seems to be the only word anyone is capable of using to describe queer masculinity. It’s like other people are determined to smash you into yet another binary (ironically, a binary that’s jealously guarded by the same people who keep enfolding you in it) because you’re afab and like wearing ties. It’s annoying!

But the phrase fairy butch just seems so delightful to me, because it’s whimsical and complex, and also so genderfucky. I’m not masculine in any of the ways that usually cohere to the word butch—I don’t have the interests, or the mannerisms, or the sexual propensities or the haircut or the total dislike for anything feminine-coded (why is masculinity always all or nothing, and all about absence?). I love my socks with the sparkly pink foxgloves, I love smiling (why must men never smile?), I like sitting with my legs crossed and talking with my hands. I’m not feminine, I’m effeminate. I’m a double invert, gay for women and gay for men, a too-boyish-“woman” who doubles right back around as a too-feminine-“man.” Maybe I’m not a butch, or even a (faggy) butch, but dammit I’m a fairy/butch. Two queers in one, two inextricable, contradicting queernesses that complicate and complement and mitigate and enhance each other.

--

The idea that I’ve been slowly winding towards is that contradiction is part of my gender. It’s not something that’s going to get smoothed out one day when I find The Perfect Word, and the questioning and revisiting isn’t going to end when I reach The Final Stage of Transition or whatever. I read an article a few weeks ago that nebulously cited Jack Halberstam as saying “refusal to resolve my gender ambiguity has become a kind of identity for me,” and that’s something that resonates with me so, so much. I don’t have to make myself neat and appropriate for consumption, because my gender doesn’t exist at the mercy of other people’s understanding. I’m not a problem that has yet to be shoved into a “woman-aligned” or “nonvir” box, I just am. Sitting amidst the dissonance of things that other people tell me are impossible to feel at the same time is my identity. I never want to cohere.

It reminds me of the way I feel about historical figures like Katharine Hepburn and Daphne DuMaurier, who were definitely genderqueer as fuck, but also closeted to the outside world for their entire lives, and unclassifiable in modern terminology. They were real, complex people who existed, and are now gone! It would be really weird to assign them a coherent identity, like “Hepburn was a nonbinary trans man” or “DuMaurier was genderfluid” or what-have-you, when all you have are decontextualized fragments of their gender feelings. (I feel comfortable calling them genderqueer because that can be used as an adjective to describe cis people who queer gender, which they definitely did)

Anyway: I feel very deeply connected to these people, and the way they saw themselves as being boys, or like-men, or men-in-certain-contexts, or men-and-women, or women-who-wanted-to-be-men. But the thing is, wherever they may have wanted to go, they never arrived. Would Hepburn have preferred to be known professionally as Jimmy, gone by he/him pronouns in all areas of life, and identified as a proud trans man? Barring some spectacular archival discovery, we’ll never know, because that was never a viable option in Hepburn’s lifetime. And that space of possibly-wanting, but not-arriving, feels like a destination to me. That gap, between wanting and actualization, or fantasizing and pursuing, or playing around and Identifying As, feels like it is part of my experience of gender. I’m not a man, I’m a woman-who-wants-to-be-a-man. There has to be that distance, and that wanting.

I’ve gone on for an absurd amount of time here, but ultimately: I’m queer! My gender is queer! Some people are men, some people are women, and I’m a queer.

[hazbincalifornia]

Welcome

This is just some practice with the characters and trying to figure out Shade, my oc/sona. (She’s a slime-type shapeshifter.) I just kind of have writer’s block and figured chipping at a new fandom might help. If I do another one it’ll be meeting Alastor.

Wordcount:1300

“Hmm. Hmmm.” Lilac fingers drummed against Shade’s chin, and gooey bits of that chin stuck to those fingers as they pulled away. “I should have decided before I got here, dumb, dumb, dumb…” The harness between her breasts pulled them up as she stretched, body morphing upwards and hair shortening into a pixie cut. “Tall and skinny? Drug addict, maybe? No, Dust has that covered. I’d hate to be redundant.”

Shade paced in a circle beneath the tattered fabric of the circus tent above the front doors, body melting back to the stout, curvy woman she’d been before. “Okay. Magne was- she looked professional. Maybe she’d appreciate someone who looks nice?” A bow tie oozed out of her neck, and she pulled at it, glancing up at the hotel with all six eyes before sighing. “I just can’t know my audience on this one before I go in, and then it’s too late to change, of all the- gah!”

“Hi!” A blonde head popped out of the stain-glass doors, beaming. “What can I help you with? Are you here to check out the hotel?”

No, no no no she didn’t have a face on- but Charlie was just standing there with a slightly tilted head and bright, excited eyes... Shade sighed.

“Yes, actually.”

That noise was either an orgasming balloon or the princess being excited. Given context clues, Shade’d put her money on the latter. She didn’t have any time to think before her hand was seized and she was dragged through the front door. “Welcome, welcome, welcome!” Charlie was furiously shaking Shade’s hand, sending her whole arm flying up and down until it nearly tore at the shoulder, goo oozing all over her claws. “Oh, I’m so glad you’re here- Vaggie!”

“H-hey, I didn’t know I was going to get a whole party-” Shade sputtered, but a gray demoness poked her head out from behind one of the doors. She smiled too, although it wasn’t as cheek-achingly wide as Charlie’s.

“Hey, welcome! Are you here to check in?”

Charlie still hadn’t let go of her hand, but Shade nodded. “Yeah, I just-”

“Oh, you’ll love it here! We have activity nights and special chips for sobriety for a whole bunch of different drugs, including unsafe sex!” There were cute little pink marks on her cheeks, like she was a porcelain doll, but how far her toothy smile spread was uncanny and made Shade uncomfortable the longer she stared at it.

“Right. So- how do I check in?”

“That would be with me.” The gray one (Viggle or something?) held up a clipboard.

“Isn’t Husk front desk now?” Charlie tilted her head, and Gray One’s expression fell to annoyed. She rolled her eyes (or eye, considering only one was visible) and pointed with the pen to some kind of cat-demon who was slumped over a bar with a bottle dangling loosely from his claws.

Upon following the point, Charlie winced for a moment before perking right up again. “Well, Vaggie, you know the drill. Let’s get them set up!” She rocked on her heels, hands behind her back. “The Happy Hotel will be your first and last stop on your way to redemption!”

Gray One flipped over a few pages on the clipboard before handing it to Shade. “This won’t take long to fill out, then we can get you set up in your room.” She’d started smiling again. “We really are glad to have you here. You’ll get room and board in exchange for coming to a few activities of your choice. We have some general recreation rooms of the non-sinning variety, like swimming and music, but we’ll take suggestions for whatever would make you the most comfortable.”

Shade started looking over the sheet with her main eyes while the top two looked around the lobby. There were paintings around of the Magne family and other faces she vaguely recognized. Powerful demon families, likely. From somewhere down the hall, there was the crackle of a radio.

Welcome to the Happy Hotel, your first and last stop on your way to redemption!

Huh, it must be their motto or something.

What’s your name? Shade.

Pronouns? She/her.

How long have you been dead? The current year is 2020, if it’s over 100 years, feel free to make an estimation. A couple of years. I’m pretty new, I died around 2015.

Any addictions? I picked up weed while in Hell but it’s not really an addiction since I only do it like once a week and I don’t want to drop it, it helps me relax. She tapped the pen on the clipboard. Minor sex addiction, I guess? Picked that up while down here too. Oh, internet addiction might count. That one was from when I was alive.

Did you murder anyone or were an accomplice to murder while alive? I think so, but my last day was pretty fuzzy. The first time I got drunk was the last time, might have killed my girlfriend’s awful ex. At least I haven’t met him down here. Yet. If this hotel thing works hopefully I never will, ‘cause he wasn’t going to Heaven.

Did you murder anyone or were an accomplice to murder after dying? Twice. Once was a homophobic sleazebucket and once it was self-defense.

Do you have any loved ones here in Hell, from either your previous life or met here? I’ve had a few girlfriends here, but none lasted too long. I’ve only met one guy I knew from the living world but he was a dick. There’s this kid who begs in the street corner I share doughnuts with sometimes if he shares gossip with me.

What do you think damned you, and thus you might need to work on? Shade had to think on that one, tapping the pen on the clipboard again. I dunno, if I did kill Jason, maybe that? I don’t regret it, though. I was kind of a bitch at points and I died pretty young so I didn’t have a chance to really correct any of it. I was a pretty boring bitch, though. No drug addiction, didn’t party, wrote a lot of porn. Also I broke off from the church when I was like 13, I don’t know if that matters?

Is there anything else we can do to make your stay more comfortable? Pets, favorite foods to stock ingredients for, large personal possessions you’d like relocated to your room, ect? I’ve got a cat I’d like to keep with me. I also want a do not disturb sign for the door.

She sighed, standing up and holding the clipboard to her chest. Charlie and Gray One were standing on the other side of the lobby, foreheads pressed together as they talked in harsh whispers. Gray One pecked a quick kiss on Charlie’s cheek and ran a hand over the back of her hair.

Oh. That was always nice to see- queer people and homophobes or transphobes had to mix a lot down here, so knowing Charlie and her- girlfriend maybe?- were alright was a definite load off her mind.

“You’re done?” Charlie asked, darting over to peel the clipboard out of Shade’s hands. She skimmed over it, bouncing on the tips of her toes as her eyes darted over each line. “Yep, yep, yep, okay, that’s fine.”

Gray had made her way over, and she looked over Charlie’s shoulder. “Wow, you’ll probably be a lot more managable than Angel.”

“Vaggie, we don’t discourage the guests to each other!” Charlie chastised, and Vaggie crossed her arms.

“You know I’m right.”

“...Maybe a little, but that just means he’ll be even more of a success story when we turn him around.” Charlie cleared her throat before throwing her arms around Shade. “Anyway, enough about Angel, let’s show you to your room!”

Shade squeezed her back. One step at a time.

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans are Weird “We Come in Peace.”

This was difficult to write, and I am not sure if it makes much sense, but I promised to write this one for you, and I did my best. If you like writings about the logistics of a first contact situation go ahead and send me more ideas. I was thinking about learning about simple human biology would be interesting, 

As always I hope you enjoy feel free to comment, question, critique, message or anything else. 

Captain Kelly stood below the ramp of the strange alien ship surrounded on all sides by her most trusted companions. To her left, her first lieutenant, to her right, her linguistics specialist directly behind her three of her most experienced men, and right to the back…. The 2nd lieutenant who had begged her on his knees to tag along. He was young and inexperienced, but then again, he had shown resolve under pressure and probably kept them from being shot. Because of him they were taking their first steps into communication with an alien race.

Above them, the ramp began to lower releasing light downwards upon them. At the top a set of sentries watched them with tense anticipation. She may not speak alien, but she knew caution when she saw it. She urged her team upwards, the boots of her space suit thudding against the strange material.

Lieutenant Vir hurried up to stand next to walk next to her a bounce in his step, eyes wide with childish wonder. She sort of hoped he never lost that, she also hoped that he would never have a reason to.

They stopped at the top of the ramp, as the door hissed shut behind them leaving them alone and stranded aboard an alien ship.

***

The atmosphere of frustration was clear. The galactic assembly’s best specialists had been sent out to attempt and make communication possible between the two species but so far, they had made no real progress. The variability in the creature’s intonations and voices made it structurally impossible to tell what they were trying to say and even identify if they were saying the same thing. A hiss from one sounded completely structurally different from the hiss from another. Additionally, they seemed to refer to themselves through a multiple combinations of the sounds.

On the other hand, scientists had made greater headway in learning about the creatures genetically and structurally. The human leader, the small one, had handed off the green-orbed creature for scientific testing, and despite its constant need to touch things, it was easy to deal with. From examination, they learned that the creature spoke based on a system of fluctuating air pressed out from its esophagus, through two vibrating vocal bands, and the interaction of its mouth, specifically a muscle within the mouth. Unfortunately each creature had varying sizes of vocal cords, tongues, teeth, and nasal passageways making communication completely different creature to creature.

Conversely, the creatures seemed to be growing irritated, as they did not understand their complex, additional, body posturing. One specifically including one digit pointing in random directions, and then the creature would get angry when they didn’t understand.

Things had ground to a halt at this point. The main creature was resting its head against the table, the second one was frantically gesticulating towards and unknown device, and the other three looked saggier than usual. The only one who didn’t seem to have changed was the green-orb creature watching from close by as a scientists took measurements about his chest.

The curious-eyed creature had been watching silently for some time before shrugging himself away from the scientist, to range across the room gathering all the chairs and dragging them into a large group. Creatures and member of the council alike stared at the creature with confusion. By the time he was finished all the chairs were piled in the circle at the center of the room. Everyone was standing ty this point having had their chairs confiscated.

The creature pulled one of the chairs forward a sharp chirp and a growl. He brought forth the next one and repeated the sound. He did this over and over again, and then urged the other creatures to do so one after the other.

“Wait, wait, I think I understand.”

“Someone, start recording.”

They ran statistics comparing the different sounds and found they had the same rhythmic pattern to them. “Chair,” They repeated.

***

“Why didn’t they get it when I said that?” Their linguist asked angrily as the aliens chirped to each other excitedly. They grabbed a chair and made a noise. It was a weird kind of sequel and hiss.

Adam did his best to copy it. The aliens parroted it back to him a few times excited with his copying rendition.

They sat down again moved by a new vigor. Captain Kelly finally let the boy over. He was proving himself to be more useful to this mission than he had any right to be, and if they were going to communicate with these inhuman beings, than they were going to have to use all of their available assets.

***

It was important to first establish the nouns for objects. Each one had to be carefully statistically analyzed for difference in language pattern, but just because they knew the names of objects meant absolutely nothing. The rules and meanings of their language would be difficult to puzzle out.

Personal pronouns proved to be an issue that took them some hours to puzzle out. Certain ones accepted He some accepted She and all accepted they although they could be an identifier for a group of the creatures though a group of creatures was not called a “They”. We was used when the creature speaking was part of the group indicated. They themselves could not be part of a they, but they could be part of a we. They seemed very reluctant to explain the difference between a he and a she, and so they left that particular mystery for another time accepting what the creatures told them as fact.

They eventually got the name of their race, though, of course, there was no direct translation. The word consisted of a short exhalation of air then a hum a chip and then another sort of humming sound.

“Human.”

It took an entire session just to explain these personal pronouns in relation to the nous they already understood.

The humans came back the next day with new equipment proceeding to draw images, and symbols that apparently represented the sounds that they made. It was fascinating to find that they had a written language proving once and for all that they were a sentient species equal to any in the galactic assembly.

The green eyed human remained integral in these discussions. Despite his inferior position in the hierarchy, he was the first to act, and sometimes, the first to understand. He was the one who made it clear that body language was just as important to the “Humans” as was spoken language. Pointing with a single digit was to indicate attention be focused on a specific object. A head shake meant no and a nod meant yes. The lifting of both shoulders was an indication of confusion neither agreeing nor disagreeing.  

“I” and “Me” were indications of the self though each creature also had a personal name. In certain cases they had three names…. Though that wasn’t discovered until later.

“I was usually followed by an action I run, I walk while “Me” Denoted something happening to a person, for me, to me, with me. Us and We acted the same way.

“You” was the word they used when speaking to another creature, when not unitizing their personal name.

Motion words followed their personal pronouns. The leader spoke the words while the green eyed creature demonstrated. He waked, he ran, he spun and he jumped.

Going, was a general term indicating the movement to somewhere, coming meant to return or to journey FROM a location.

The first sentence, “I come.”

“You come.” The creature said pointing at one member of the council.

Hesitantly they walked forward towards the human.

The room around erupted as the creatures began shrieking and showing their teeth. They fled backwards away from the horrible display of maddened barbarism. Upon seeing this the humans calmed hands in the air vital organs exposed.

No words could be shared, so no one understood what was happening.

How were we to know that facial expressions were so important?

It took another day to explain wanting something and then possession.

I want, I have, we want, we have.

General verbs followed that, beginning with easy concepts not abstract. To speak, to fly, to breathe.

All throughout they learned question words beginning with what paired with that. What to ask what something is or was, but usually paired with other words to determine context. Where for location, when for time, who, for a specific person. All which had a matching answer who paired with personal pronouns or names what with that where with here or there (here for right next to a person) there paired with a pointing gesture or some other context.

The humans surprised them indicating that their language also utilized the pat and the present is and am indicating something in the now while others required prefixes or suffixes to indicate past. Their translating equipment was beginning to pick up short sentences now, and with excitement the humans accepted the strange technology.

The green eyed human most of all.

***

Lieutenant Vir marched aboard the ship with the strange alien translation device clipped to his right ear. He was going to speak with an alien today, he was determined. Not just a sentence, he was going to get an answer to a question.

The first alien he saw had been there every day, a simple soldier, nothing more, but Lieutenant Vir walked right up to him. The creature watched in tense worry and confusion, “What is your name?”

Seconds passed.

“Gurt.”

***

It took weeks to understand the question why and even longer to explain abstract concepts. They had been there for months.

But the day came. They sat across the tale from each other Captain Kelly sitting next to her linguist and her soldiers.

“Why are you here?” The alien asked in its stilted and halting voice. It almost sounded like a bird or a parrot talking. It could have spoken through the translator, like some of the others did, but like the linguist it insisted.

“We come in peace.” Came the reply…. A reply that humans had thought up for thousands of years, in every science fiction novel and television show. An intergalactic hand of peace extending across space and time. “We want to know….. To understand.”

“You want knowledge.”

“We wanted to know that we are not alone, and now we want to be…. Friends/allies.”

“You…. Are danger.”

“Why?”

The alien paused for a long moment rubbing its head…. A gesture it had picked up from the humans, “You run quickly, jump high, sharp teeth. You want….. Eat us?”

“Predator?” The word was passed around explained and translated in the next thirty minutes.

The humans looked appalled, “No!”

“You ran and chased, following at first….. You make fear for us.

The humans convened for a long moment glowering at the green eyed creature who seemed shocked for a second butting in to the conversation, “No. I did not want to eat. I wanted…. Uh…. Allies…. I was….. Pleased.”

The translation was broken, the meaning algorithms struggling to piece together understanding form one separate mode of communication to another.

The entire room shifted in confusion and surprise. How could this be?

The predators had crossed the galaxy searching. They sought friendship in the stars despite their barbaric nature and their powerful, predatory instincts. What drove them was not hunger, or even knowledge.

Alone in the universe they sought proof…. Proof they were not alone.

[diveronarpg]

Congratulations, JENNA! You’ve been accepted for the role of OLIVIA. Admin Rosey: Jenna, I don’t even know what I can say about this application. You had me slowly falling more and more in love with the Omi that you bring to us, which is perhaps incredibly apt due to the fact that I imagine many fall in love with Omi just the same way. All of us raved about this application and what it brought to the table, careful nuances that just screamed Omi. We’ve been waiting for an Olivia for so long -- a beautiful sparrow -- and you’ve brought them to us and given us more. I can’t wait to see what you do with our beautiful Sparrow! Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

OUT OF CHARACTER

Alias | Jenna

Age | 20

Preferred Pronouns | she/her

Activity Level | I would say a solid 6-7/10. I’m currently on break from uni, so I’ll be around pretty much every day. However, once I go back to uni and my workload picks up a bit, I’ll probably only manage to get to replies every 2-3 days (I aim for every 2!), but I’m always around for plotting!

Timezone | gmt+10

How did you find the rp?  | In the tags! I’ve been admiring this group for a while now and I’ve honestly had an application for Omi half-written for a few months and finally decided to just go for it.

Current/Past RP Accounts | This is one of my most recent character blogs, unfortunately the group closed recently which is why I’ve stopped writing the character.

IN CHARACTER

Character | Olivia, Yamamoto Omi

What drew you to this character? | Honestly, Omi was not the first character I was drawn to. I was considering applying originally for Hermia or Helena, but I stumbled upon Olivia’s bio while reading up on the lore, and I loved it. I liked that they had such a rich backstory, and one that was very unique within the context of the group. She’s had such tragedy in her life, but instead of it making her softer or making her retreat into herself, it’s made her tougher, and forced her to grow up very quickly and build a life for herself in order to survive. They have been so focused on their next move for so long that they haven’t really had a chance to look back and reflect on whether or not this life is really what they want – sure, being a Sparrow provides them with stability and feelings of control and power that Omi lacked for her whole life, but does it make her happy? That’s where I feel the character is at this point, and it’s a very interesting starting point for writing and character development. Often, I feel like I have a connection with a character, but I struggle to write them – with Omi, her voice came easily and writing up the responses to the IC interview was enjoyable, which I think really speaks volumes!

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? |

THE MISSED MARK; Omi’s identity very much centres around the work she does at the Dark Lady, and the fact that she is good at said work. They pride themselves on being able to build intimacy and trust with someone without every becoming attached to them, so that she can sell their information off to Mona without ever feeling guilty or wrong about what they are doing. I would love for her to meet someone at the Dark Lady who challenges her in this way, someone she goes after for information, but becomes unexpectedly attached to. This person would ideally share with Omi some information they wouldn’t normally hesitate to share, something that Mona would consider a gold mine. Her decision to either sell this person down the river, or betray Mona would very much tear her up inside, and I’d love to see someone as sure of themselves as Omi grapple with this decision, and the guilt associated with whichever path she chooses. It would very much make them question the work they’re doing at the Dark Lady, and their allegiance to this person and to Mona.

THE OLD CLIENT; I love the idea of exploring Omi’s actions coming back to haunt her. They’re a character who exudes a sort of confidence – they have to, in the line of work that they’re in. I’d love for Omi to be confronted by someone that she’s wronged in the past, in particular, a former client of the Dark Lady who she may have shared information about with Mona, leading to some extreme consequences for the character in question, and, eventually, leading to them wanting some sort of retribution against Omi in particular. She generally tries not to think about clients after she is done with them, tossing them aside and moving onto the next thing, trying to gather as much information about as many people as possible to build herself a vast wealth of knowledge. So, someone confronting Omi about what they have done and seeking some sort of retribution will do two things; it’ll scare them, and it’ll make them really think about what they’re doing. I love the idea of Omi really having to reckon with herself and the life she has built for herself in Verona. She sees herself as powerful… but is she really? Could they have done better, could they have found a better way to live? Is their work really all it’s been chalked up to be, or have they placed their loyalty in the wrong hands? As I’ve mentioned, Omi strikes me as someone very sure of herself, so having to question her own actions is something I would love to see from her.

THE LINE YOU SHOULDN’T CROSS; Omi’s greatest weapons are her words, and she’s very good at using them to get exactly what she wants. Whether it’s information from clients, or a free drink at a bar, or any number of advantages in their life, Omi uses words and their looks to get what they want. Omi hasn’t had to resort to violence very often in her life, and this is what she believes separates her from the people her father worked for, what elevates her to a level above the fighting barbarians in Verona, the fact that she is able to show some semblance of restraint. They keep their hands clean of the fighting, and of the war brewing between the Montagues and Capulets, very deliberately, focusing on their job and their job only. I want to see this resolve tested, whether being swayed to one side or another of the conflict, or needing to use violence to solve a problem. What will Omi do when she is reduced to the level of those in conflict both around her, and in her past? I don’t think they would react well to such guilt, to the compromising of what they believe about themselves.

these are just rough ideas, and honestly there are lots of different directions I can see this character going, many of which will be influenced by the characters she comes to interact with and plots that she becomes involved with!!

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | I am definitely open to killing off Omi, though I would love to have a chance to develop her properly before doing this!!

IN DEPTH

IN-CHARACTER INTERVIEW

What is your favorite place in Verona?

“The Dark Lady.” They say without hesitation, as though the response were programmed into their mind before the question had even been posed. She shifts in her chair, posture straightening as pearly teeth chew on her red-painted lips - slowly, seductively. Even when they’re not working, Omi’s training doesn’t leave her. She doesn’t need to be at The Dark Lady to extract information - to see the way people squirm as she eyes them, beauty the most powerful weapon they possess - and they only one they need to. “The music, the dark lighting… it’s the sort of place where you don’t know what to expect when you walk in…” She trails off, soft hands finding their way to her hair, fingers twirling through dark locks as she spoke. “It’s a place where I feel in control. People come to see me, they’ll do anything, say anything to me, to please me.” Perhaps they give themselves too much credit, but never has Omi felt more powerful than when she’s working, sitting in the lap of a stranger who thinks to underestimate them, listening to whispered secrets uttered in passion with the capacity to burn cities. “Yes,” She repeats, voice soft and certain, “That’s my favourite place in Verona.”

What does your typical day look like?

“I wake up, I go to work, I come home, and I go to sleep.” A playful smile flits ever so briefly across Omi’s lips, carefully constructed, of course, as all things about her tend to be. “What do you want me to say? To spin tales of fantastical adventures in far-off lands?” She chuckles, light and airy, a sound that has been equated in the past to the soft ringing of a bell, full of light and love, even if the one producing such a sound is nothing of the sort. “I owe Mona everything, you know.” They say softly, a rare moment of sheer candor, one so very rarely seen from Omi these days. Her left hand has settled on the opposite wrist, drawing circles over the skin as they speak, soft and gentle. “So I work. Whenever she needs me. If I don’t? Well, who else will? Nobody else there has quite the same level of… talent that I possess. They can be clumsy, and forgetful. Our clients like me best, and so they should. They trust me.” Another soft laugh escapes their lips, “I’m at my best when I’m there, but I keep myself busy in between. Not all of my suitors are paying customers.”

What has been your biggest mistake thus far?

“I don’t tend to make big mistakes, nor dwell on the past.” Omi lies with ease, a smile flitting instantaneously across her face, gone just as quickly as it had come as she thinks, really thinks about the question being posed to her. “I couldn’t pinpoint a single one, you see. I haven’t made any life altering mistakes.. I’m too careful for that.” Or, at least, they liked to think they were. “Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I’d confronted my father about what he did for a living… I never questioned him about it. Not really. He knew I knew, he must have, but… we never spoke about it. Perhaps if I had asked him about it, if I’d asked him why, how he’d ended up there in the first place… maybe things would have gone differently. Perhaps I could have convinced him to get out while he still could, we could have left Japan, started a new life as a family. I doubt I would have ended up here… but I doubt things are that simple. If my father had any sort of choice in what he did, he would still be alive, and so would my mother. Perhaps it’s just my mind trying to make sense of things.. overthinking it all.”

What has been the most difficult task asked of you?

“The first one.” She says, “My first mark at the Dark Lady. Some Montague boy, I don’t even remember his name. But he was young… naive. If it were now, I’d know exactly what to do, exactly how to get him to spill his secrets. He was about as easy a mark as they come… but I’d never done it before. Mona had explained to me what my role was to be at the Dark Lady… she’d coached me, and I was confident that I could do it. I know that I’m desirable, and I knew exactly the type of person this boy was… but I was nervous.” They laugh, a strange lilting sound, not quite pleasant, but not off-putting, either. “I’m never nervous. But after all the faith Mona had in me, after everything she’d done… I knew I had to do this right. I had to make sure that I did the job, and I did it well, to prove to her, to everyone, that she wasn’t wasting her time on me. I think I got into my own head, which is rare, for me… but I managed to do it. I don’t even remember what he told me, but when I told Mona, she just smiled and said, ‘good work,’. I didn’t see him again, and it got easier after that.”

What are your thoughts on the war between the Capulets and the Montagues?

“It doesn’t concern me.” She says, a soft sigh escaping her lips. “Though, I wouldn’t so much call it a war. If anything, it’s a contest of egos. Two families each trying to prove to one another that they have the most power. It’s almost petty. Real power doesn’t come from fighting, from guns or from money… real power is knowledge, real power is understanding another person completely. Knowing every crevice of their mind in intimate detail, being able to predict what they’re thinking, what they’ll say… what they’ll do.” They shake their head, “These people, they don’t know war. They don’t know pain. They’re playing at games they think they understand… but they don’t, and I doubt they ever will. The only people who suffer are their pawns, their underlings… there can’t be a winner if they’re not willing to have real stakes.” She sighs again, flicking her hair over her shoulder and adjusting her posture, “But, like I said. It doesn’t concern me.”

Extras: Pretty much everything I have for Omi can be found on her mock blog!! there’s mostly inspo on there, I haven’t had a chance to create any moodboards or playlists yet, but when I do, this is where they’ll go!!

Thank you so much for reading my application, I’ve admired this group from afar for a while, and I would love to get the chance to write Omi & write as part of this group!!

[carumens]

the violent delights excerpt

some of you have been asking how i’m tackling the topic of translation in my wip “the violent delights”, so here is a small scene so you guys can see the approach i’m trying. hope you enjoy!! give me yor thoughts!

Mr. Dawson picked up a chalk and wrote in the blackboard:

― Why did you leave your father’s house?

― To seek misfortune.

He looked for a place to leave the chalk, and when, apparently, he found none of his satisfaction, he let it fall to the floor. It broke in two symmetrical piece, one of which rolled for a few centimeters before coming to a reticent stop.

   “Translate this,” he said.

I looked at my classmates, but they were all already working on a piece of paper I hadn’t even seen them taking out. I took out my notebook and wrote my translation.

“Well?” he asked, clapping his hands to dust them off. “Who wants to start? Yes, your name?”

“Lukas.”

“Lukas what else?”

 “Gebhardt.”

 “Gebhardt, please, proceed.”

“¿Por qué dejaste la casa de tu padre? Para buscar la desgracia.”

“Okay, well done,” he said. “Next, Highsmith, I’m glad to see you’ve decided to keep on gracing us with your presence.”

She smiled, or maybe she grimaced, I’m still not sure. “¿Por qué abandonaste la casa de tu padre?” she read. “Para perseguir la desgracia.”

“That’s good, as always. Same meaning, a bit more poetic, maybe.”

Lola raised her hand and Dewson signaled for her to speak. “¿Por qué te fuiste de la casa de tu padre?” she said. “Para buscar la desgracia.”

I noticed her accent was different to when she had talked in Spanish to me previously, more precise, more clipped, all trace of the aspiration of the s and the alluring singsong to her vowels gone.

“Very good, very good. Now, your partner?”

I nodded and read my translation. “¿Por qué te fuiste de casa de tu padre? Para buscar la desgracia.”

“Good, once again, well,” he said, turning to André. “The gentleman here is the only one left, please, go ahead.”

André cleared his voice, and with that simple action, I knew there was something he had realized, or maybe he had already know, that we didn’t. “¿Por qué ha dejado la casa de su padre? Para buscar la desgracia.”

Dewson hummed, a please smile curling in his lips. “Your name?”

“André.”

“André,” he said, walking closer to him. “Why have you chosen, unlike the rest of your peers, to use the formal addressing form of ‘usted’ instead of ‘tú’?

“I’ve read the book.”

“Ah! Good answer!” He turned to look at all of us. “There will never be two translations that are the same, just like there will never be two books that are the same. Even if we are given the same idea, the same characters, the same plot points and even the same writing style, two different people will always, always, write different books. It’s the same with translations: there are as many translations as there are translators, and all of them might be correct and valid. Taking this into consideration, can the perfect translation exist?”

He let the idea hang in the air, his face expectant and bright as he looked at each of our faces. I was debating with myself whether it was a rhetoric question or not. When none of us answered he clapped his hands twice, as if to wake us up.

“No,” said Lola.

“Now, all of your translations were perfect semantically, syntactically and grammatically speaking,” he said, bowing his head slightly at Lola. “But pragmatically? André’s was the best. Why?”

“Because I had a context.”

“Exactly. In our example, the main difficulty was the complete inexistence of a formal pronoun in English, a pronoun we do find in Spanish and many other langauges. How do we know when to use the formal pronoun if there isn’t one in English? One word: context.” He turned around, wrote the word on the blackboard and circled it three times. “It is very difficult to translate without a context, specially so in literary translation, where one word is not only its denotative meaning. That is why, before translating a book, you have to get to know it as good as if you had written it yourself.

 “If you translate, to follow with our example, ‘Ulysses’, you must be sure that what you translate is what James Joyce himself would have translated. Know the book, not the origin language, know the target language, and know what you want to say and how you want to say it. As long as you have you have your solid, justifiable reasons, your translation might be more than valid.”

“But how can there be more than one perfect translations?” asked Lukas, his face creased in a perfect frown.

“I never said there could be more than one perfect translation,” countered Dewson. “I said there could be more than one valid translation, because, in fact, as our friend ―what was it, sorry?”

“Heredia Cortés.”

“As our friend Heredia pointed out, the perfect translation does not exist,” he said. “Not because translator are faulty in any way, but because languages are, simply, untranslatable.”

“What?” I said.

Dewson laughed and pointed at Kendra. “Highsmith, we talked about this on your first year here at St. Jerome. Care to explain to your mates?”

Kendra straightened up and said, “Languages are not mathematical equations in which five plus five equals ten. There are twists and turns and whole sets of mentalities behind words and expressions. Precisely because languages are not mathematics, there cannot be a perfect translation, because they would cease to be what they are in essence.”

“And what are they?”

“A tool to communicate, to express, to feel. And as a tool, it’s ductile, it changes with time and space and circumstances and even mental conditions of the speakers.”

“But, then, why are we even here?” asked Lukas.

“I don’t know,” answered Dewson. “Why are you?”

 Lukas huffed and burrowed himself deeper in his beige mackintosh.

“Let me illustrate this to you,” said Dewson. “It’s raining cats and dogs.”

A pause, two snorts, three frowns.

“How do we say it Spanish,” urged Dewson.

“Está lloviendo a cántaros,” said Kendra.

“That is certainly the correct translation. But is it perfect?”

“Yes,” said Lukas.

“No,” said Dewson. “That is the correct translation of the sense of it, but what about the words? This translation is valid as an everyday expression, used by the people in the streets or in a newspaper. But what about if we find it in a literary text?”

“I don’t know,” said Lukas. “I’d have to see.”

“You’re right, you’re right. Take, for example, these lines:

               “Está lloviendo a cántaros

               llenos de mi propia sangre

               me ahogo dentro de mis venas

               dentro de mí mismo muero.”

No one had an answer, so none was given.

“As translators, you will have to solve this and many more questions. Form or contents? Image or meaning?” said Dewson. “Don’t fret just because you don’t know how to yet, that is why you are here: to learn. For the moment, I want you to think for a solution for the aforementioned problem in the poem I recited.”

[disasterhumans]

Hey! I don't want this to sound rude, I promise that isn't my intent, but How did u decide to use ze/zir pronouns? I'm also nonbinary, and while they/them are ok, they're not GREAT, so I was just... Wondering?? Idk lol, I hope this isn't rude to ask

Hi Anon! Sorry for the belatedness of my response–I wanted to take my time replying. To start with: you totally aren’t being rude! Gender and transitioning (though I have complicated feelings about using the latter in relation to myself) are complicated and confusing. And much like other forms of coming out, it doesn’t happen in a straight line (heh).

I was fortunate to be at a really progressive college when I starting coming out as nonbinary and figuring out what that meant for me. Pretty much my entire friend group and even my wider social circles were queer. So part of my pronoun choice was that at the time I felt pretty confident that I could use “new” pronouns and experiment a bit. I didn’t feel like I had to know exactly what I wanted or what fit me right away. If you have close friends that you trust and who you think would be able to get used to a new set of pronouns without fuss, I might try new pronouns with them first. When I picked my name and when I started using gender neutral pronouns I told my friends, “I don’t know if this is what I’m going to stick with, but I want to try it out and see how it feels.”

As far as picking ze/zir specifically goes, there were a few things that factored into that choice. Like you, I find they/them to be serviceable, but incomplete. It feels far less jarring to me than “she” or “he,” but for me they are almost too neutral. If I were to get more specific with labels, I would refer to myself as a “demigirl” (or at least, that’s the word I would have used a few years ago, I’m actually not sure how much it feels like it fits now). So I wanted something that still sounded related to “she/her.” I decided to go with “zir” instead of “hir” (which is sometimes used, because that was too close to “she/her” for me. I went with this particular spelling because I like the letter ‘z’ (some people spell them “xe/xyr”). I also found it useful to go through lists of pronouns (there are lots of other gender neutral pronouns people have come up with over time!). I found this page to be super helpful, as well. It provides a list of some more popular gender neutral pronouns along with a short description of them.

I will say, that while I still tend to introduce myself with ze/zir pronouns, for the most part, I go by they/them. I’m lucky to work someplace where most of my co-workers care about respecting gender neutral pronouns, but I also don’t have the energy (personally) to deal with teaching people how to use pronouns they’re unfamiliar with. I’m not sure what your situation is, but it is entirely possible to use multiple sets of pronouns as your context changes. My roommates are pretty good at using “ze/zir” for me, but I’ve decided I don’t really want to climb that hill with my 60 year old manager. (He’s great, but still.)

And as a parting thought: I know gender can be frustrating and confusing, but I also firmly believe that gender can be fun. You’re allowed to pick pronouns that just sound cool to you, or that are more whimsical (”fae/faer” is a set I’ve seen which I think is delightful). You can even make up your own if you can’t find ones that fit.

Happy gender-ing, anon