#imitation post but not a mockery

[sparethedreamer]

helloooo!

im an alter in a traumagenic system and i just wanted to say that endos are totally systems

and them identifying as systems is totally valid!!

systems and alters are formed through all sorts of ways, not just limited to trauma

endos aren't just singlets with a spiritual belief that they have multiple personalities/identities, but actual systems

many labels are shared between our communities, aren't exclusive, and aren't hurting anyone <3

all of our spaces would be a lot safer if we all accepted and welcomed each other, i hope these gaps will close

someday we'll look back at all this hate, exclusion, and close mindedness in disgust and regret /gen /pos

it's sad that there are those who don't understand how their own biases and refusing to listen and understand are causing harm to their own communities

also, it's easier to have "good neighbor" experiences when you don't immediately shout at your neighbor to get off your lawn or that they don't belong here. i can't expect neighborly behavior unless that's what i'm giving.

imagine you're living in a human apartment complex and an alien comes in and says they want to live here too because we might be from different planets but we're the same where it matters and they'd love to live next door. you tell them they're welcome! you know that despite the bigotry and hate they've received from humans like you, they're still kind, smart, and community driven. they're not trying to be something they're not, but they do recognize the similarities between you and know your communities are stronger together. they know they belong here just as much as you do. them being here doesn't take anything from you. them using words like "people", "sapient", "zplorgzz", or"friend" isn't theft or wrong. they're not even originally all your words anyways.

probably a bad analogy but i hope you can understand ^-^

i hope you have a nice day, and please know that because words aren't said harshly or with intended malice doesn't mean they aren't invalidating, insulting, or wrong. i hope that everyone, regardless of origin, knows they are valid, that they belong, and that this is a place for all those who wish to be good neighbors.

im just trying to lessen the hate on both sides and fix misinformation

endogenic systems will not be seperated from the system experience, ever. they are systems too. please welcome them in as if you would a good neighbor in the same apartment complex as you.

[iridescentcrisco]

Ladies, gentlemen, and gentlethem: my writing style

[ancientbygone]

simulacra 2 [this place will become your tomb]

[sundowning] [tmbte]

Sleep's mimics of the vessels (sans iv) from the TPWBYT time period. we finally got there. because of the guitarist change, the iv that stayed hasn't been there long enough for Sleep to figure him out. iii, however, finally grew on Him by then.

design breakdown under the cut:

[obligatory “when talking about the vessels, i’m talking about characters” disclaimer]

if you’re unfamiliar with the main idea, please check out the TMBTE post & the Sleep lore post.

TPWBYT, to me, is a period of uncertainty. a fresh suicide attempt, surgery, Sleep trying to break Vessel and then mold him in His image. confusing. dissociating. there's a reason why no form Sleep takes has a solid body (except for "ii") - everything is hazy, everything floats and dissipates and comes back wrong, unfamiliar. Sleep, during that time, is mostly an ocean, either spread out thin to appear terrifying or, later on, a deep dark menace.

"Vessel"/Vessel mimic

a watery death. while the Sundowning version of Sleep turns upwards towards Heaven, TPWBYT's "Vessel" drips down heavy, trying to drag Vessel deeper and deeper. it moves by floating, flowing from one space to another, but there's a visible heaviness to it still. everything bleeds into each other, everything is indistinguishable in origin; the only parts that have some semblance of definition are the hood and the hands. it's a constant reminder to Vessel: how much of his own blood he has spilled, how many regrets he drags alongside himself.

"ii"/ii mimic

trapped in a bubble, wrapped up in himself. "ii", while the only one possessing a relatively solid body (that of a spotted moray), still floats in the same realm of haziness as the rest. as the real ii is pulled deeper and deeper into trusting Sleep with whatever he's doing with Vessel, fearing potential consequences, "ii" morphs into a timid creature. his head is a bubble, although opaque and impenetrable, and his arms, while elongated and noodly, are wrapped entirely around his body. this, too, is a mockery.

"iii"/iii mimic

Sleep finally knows what iii is like, what Vessel, using his newfound power, arguably morphed him into. "iii" is largely based on the purple-striped jelly, but that inspiration is mostly visual - the frills, the flashiness, the colors (even though they don't actually come through, it's about the mental association). iii came because he saw something in Vessel, something that lured him in so easily, and now Vessel is an idol for iii to obsess over and pursue through worshiping him, mostly, rather than Sleep. the humanoid arms of "iii" are a decoy - as soon as Vessel gets too close, it will attempt to wrap around him with its numerous tendrils. it moves by floating, too, and does so more way more gracefully than the other mimics, oftentimes twirling and imitating ballroom dance moves.

[docholligay]

When you hear an accent/dialect/we're not going to get into that debate here that sounds 'odd' to your ear, think about that! Not even in a "Wow, I hate that" way, or a "I need to examine my classism/racism/etc way I am a bad person way, but in a secret third way called, "curiosity and openness to experience"

I was EXTREMELY EXTREMELY FORTUNATE to have a required class in college called "History of the English Language" which was one of the 'weeder classes' for the English majors at my school. It was very very difficult, but the man who taught it had an INSANE passion for English. He LOVED IT, he would talk about it all goddamn day, and it taught me so much about how and why things get changed and said the way they do, and it made me so CURIOUS about why something is unusual or fun for my brain to listen to.

So now, anytime I hear someone pronounce something or verbalize something in a way I think of as "odd" I get so excited and curious*. What is it I haven't heard before? Sometimes my tongue will move around my mouth trying to figure out how they make that sound (I am REAL bad at this. Accents are in no no no way my forte, which is annoying because I'm very good at HEARING them and hearing the differences between them, I just can't DO it) because it is so interesting and cool all the different ways one fucking language has been DONE over so many years.

Anyway I so far off track I am no longer a train, but looking at dialects as you might look at an interesting bug instead of like a pop song on the radio or a sign font is a really good way to start opening your mind to language as something other than a value marker. And that doesn't HAVE to be another way of whipping yourself for being a piece of shit--I assume you have plenty of reasons--but a way of going, "Oh, something unexpected!"

*Also not to attempt to introduce nuance on the 'no nuance we die like men' website, but I think there is a big difference between loving teasing and mockery/cruelty. I don't actually mind if friends, especially ones with VASTLY different ways of speaking, imitate my accent I think it's fuckin funny as hell! Jetty has the WORST rural western accent on the planet, and I love to make fun of whatever the fuck she's got going on there, but it is FUN and there is a sense of LOVE that comes with it. And it's not even a "well yeah, Holligay, when you've known someone for a long time" No no, I once sat in a shitty pub on the east end, now closed (rip) and me and my mom ending up striking up a conversation with two old-school cockney guys, and as soon as he tried to say "Montana" the way I did, the race was ON, and it was FUNNY, and we all laughed and had a good time, it is about attitude.

And I know I'm gonna get something about "well how do you KNOW and that is why i turned off reblogs but come on y'all, 9 times out of 10 you can tell when something is done with deep affection or camaraderie or because even just something feels cool in your mouth it's fun to try. I can't do 87% of the linguistic features I think FUCK SEVERELY (intrusive R, the way a word that genuinely does not start with the letter h has a different sound than a word when the h is uptaken (this has a fucking word and I cannot find it it's making me nuts)) but I LOVE them.

Quick quiz to help though: Are you affecting this accent to in some way sound stupid/ridiculous? We can go back and forth about that a little: one of my buddies says "well shiiiiit" exactly the way I do, for funsies, but it just...feels neat. What I'm saying is you have to use some discernment here and I know we are all allergic to that but give it a shot/go/whatever the hell Australians say for this.

Post script: All of this reminds me also about how I studied the phonemes and linguistics of English with intense fervor in college, and got REAL COCKY, and then in the Orkneys had my very first ever, in life, "We are both speaking English but damn" moment. Normally I am The One for this. I am unruffled. My wife gets confused by the word takeaway (she is smart I swear) but I'm rock-solid. Until. Hubris.

This guy is rollin on up in his van, which is the 'bus system' on Rapness, and it's cute as hell as a system, but I ask him something stupid about the timetable, and he answers me in what I can only describe as a Nordic-flavored Scottish accent. It is actually really remarkable and I went on a weird deep dive of the Orkneys afterward because I had never heard anything like it but I digress. I DID NOT GET A FUCKING WORD. And so, because I panic, I do what I always do when I feel flustered or emotional or angry: I sound like Yosemite fucking Sam. So now he can't understand what I am asking him!

Good news is, we both give a little bit of a laugh, I go, 'Let's try that again" and I do manage to exchange that this van picks up outside of the Pierowall hotel in time for the ferry.

[pianokantzart]

Yes please. The first scene of The Mario Brothers sets the tone for their relationship so well, and I’m so glad it carries through the entire film.  Most of the screenshots taken from this posted clip: X

I ADORE THAT THE FIRST SHOT OF THEM IN THE MOVIE IS THEM SIDE HUGGING EACH OTHER. They’re just standing there in front of the television, watching their commercial, two goobers barely able to contain the excitement of what they’ve accomplished together.

The commercial ends, and immediately they start showering each other with complements while teasing each other. “Wow! You were great!” Mario shouts while slapping Luigi’s cap over his eyes.  “I was great? Are you kidding me!? You were great!” Luigi shouts back as he playfully jabs at his brother’s stomach. 

While they’re both proud of the commercial, Mario expresses some minor worries. He says “I’m so glad we spent our life savings on this commercial” as though he was having doubts before, and wonders if the goofy Italian accent was too over the top. But Luigi is fully optimistic, describing their ad as not just some commercial, but true “cinema.” He is about to reassure Mario about the accents too, when the Giuseppe... who naturally has that same goofy over-the-top accent... chimes in to voice his support.

“Well well well...” Then a new voice joins the conversation, and the moment Mario and Luigi hear it the mood changes. Both brothers tense up and turn to look.

In an instant, their instinctual reaction is “Ah fuck, not this guy.” “...If it isn’t Brooklyn’s favorite failures, The Stupid Mario Brothers.”

“Oh great, Spike’s here.” Luigi’s comment is one of passive annoyance. He stays behind his brother, his body language anxious and anticipatory, his expression looking more and more worried the closer he gets to Spike.

“Hey, Spike.” Mario, on the other hand, is assertive. He immediately walks over and stands confrontationally in front of his old boss, arms crossed in front of his chest.

“Yeah. IT’S-A ME!” Spike retorts with an imitation of Mario’s put-on Italian accent and aggressively laughs in his face. He isn’t “annoying but well-meaning” the way Mario’s uncles are, he’s deliberately trying to get under his skin. Mario squints when Spike laughs a little too close for comfort, but otherwise holds his ground and maintains his composure.

Spike wipes a tear from his eye and switches gears from obnoxious mockery to cold belittling. “Tell me, have you even gotten one call since you left me to start your dumb company?”

So right off the bat we learn two things: 1. The Mario Brothers quit Spike’s business, and he’s bitter enough about it that he’s tracked their future endeavors and goes out of his way to make fun of them for it. Clearly there’s an issue of pride here– two little nothings quitting his business to try and make it on their own? Who do they think they are? 2. Mario, in return, is bitter enough about whatever happened while they worked for Spike that he takes the bait and gives Spike the time of day. Luigi looks like he would prefer to dip out of the situation altogether, but he does his best to support Mario when he thinks he’s got a leg up…

While Mario is still taking a breath to form his reply, Luigi summons the courage to step out from behind his brother, looking smug as he waves his cellphone around. “Actually, Spike, we have!”

Mario is excited for a moment until it’s revealed the phone call is from their mom. Luigi is proud enough of her support that he sincerely considers it a bragging point, happily clinging to his sibling all the while Mario is internally begging his brother to stfu.

Then, Luigi mic-drops the phone. It audibly shatters. Instant regret. Mario looks like he’s going to implode from embarrassment.

Spike, naturally, finds this hilarious. Giggling, he grabs a napkin, wipes the pizza grease off of his beard, and lobs the crumpled napkin at Luigi. “Good luck running a business with this idiot.”

With lightning-fast reflexes, Mario reaches out and catches the napkin before it hits its target. The music takes a dramatic shift as the mood of the conversation gets more serious.

“Say that again about my brother, and you’re gonna regret it.” At that point, it might have been smarter for Mario to just throw the napkin in the nearest bin and walk away, but Spike just made the mistake of going at Luigi. Nobody is allowed to treat him like that, not while Mario’s around.

Mario retaliates by throwing the napkin back in Spike’s face, hitting him square in the forehead. Spike does not take this lightly. Where Mario has a sense of basic dignity, Spike has an overinflated ego, and he won’t take even the smallest offense lying down. He rises to his feet, fists clenched, chest puffed, ready for a fight. “Oh yeah?”

Mario also looks ready to throw down, but rather than raise his fists his first priority is to press Luigi out of harm’s way. Luigi, in the meantime, looks terrified, stepping back and bracing himself, his already anxious body language tensing further. Both Mario and Luigi are startled when Spike actually follows through with getting physical, snatching Mario by the overall straps and lifting him up off the ground.

“Get this through your tiny brain Mario: You’re a joke! and you always will be.” Mario doesn’t fight or argue, he just squints as Spike talks uncomfortably close to his face like he’s trying to goad him into throwing the first punch. Mario does not take the bait, and does not give Spike the satisfaction of any reaction at all. When it comes to petty insults like this, he can take them like a champ.

Luigi is shocked into a standstill. His gaze rapidly flicks back and forth between Spike and Mario. He has no idea what to do, he’s just worried about his brother in every sense of the word, taken aback by both the vitriolic comment and threat of an actual fight.

Spike, after getting the final word in, throws Mario to the ground. Luigi drops to his knees and holds out his hands to help his older brother up, but Mario recovers himself before Luigi can assist.

Luigi looks far more hurt by Spike’s insult than Mario, and seems to be calculating what their options are if things escalate any further. Mario holds what little ground he has, staring defiantly up with his hands clenched, as if he’s daring Spike to try something.

Luckily, things simmer down. Spike proudly dusts off his hands and heads toward the door, taking a moment to leave money on the table. He’s an asshat and a blowhard, but he still plays by society’s rules. He doesn’t dine and dash, and he’s not going to carry a confrontation further than he feels he needs to, especially not in a public restaurant. Spike has the potential to win this fight, but at the end of the day he has a business to run.

Despite having been dropped flat on his back, Mario is the first to get up. He straightens his cap and dusts himself off, staring daggers at his old employer’s back while Luigi rises to his feet and begins questioning his brother’s decision. “Are you insane!? He’s three times your size!”

Spike’s insult was cruel, but it clearly didn’t effect Mario too much. It’s more of the same ole same ole from him, and can’t be taken too seriously. Luigi is more concerned about the physical risks involved.

“Luigi, c’mon! I mean, you can’t be scared all the time.” To me, this comment doesn’t feel like Mario criticizing Luigi as much as it feels like Mario defending his own approach to life. Both him and Luigi are young (probably early 20s), little guys working in manual labor. They’re at the bottom of the totem pole, but Mario maintains his sense of pride. He’s eager to fight back against adversity and prove himself to the world, even if it means taking serious risks.

“Mmmm, you’d be surprised.” Luigi, in the meantime, has complete opposite approach when facing life’s challenges. He is not as good at rolling with the punches as Mario, and being very anxious and sensitive by nature, his way of getting along is by avoiding confrontation altogether. 

CONCLUSION: Mario’s strong drive pulls Luigi into situations that go against his instincts, but that’s for the better. If Mario hadn’t been there, Luigi definitely wouldn’t have attempted to talk back to Spike like that. Is he skilled at backtalk? Not in the least, but it’s the spirit of attempting to stand up for himself that counts. Mario gives Luigi room to be vaguely adventurous and assertive by providing protection, clearing the path, and making things easier for him whenever he can.  As a result, Luigi would follow Mario anywhere– and does, supporting him in all of his endeavors with full confidence. There is a reason why Charlie Day described Luigi as “die-hard loyal,” and for someone like Mario, who has gumption, big dreams, and a lot going against him, having someone at his side who sincerely supports and believes in him with all his heart is indispensable.

The beginning shows us a good example right off the bat of Luigi’s confidence regarding Mario’s dreams, and anxiety regarding outside threats. Meanwhile, we see glimpses of Mario’s anxiety regarding his own dreams, and confidence when facing outside threats. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: they really do balance each other out. 

[she-posts-nerdy-stuff]

hi! i just saw your analysis of the “treasure of my heart” quote and omg you have a GIFT for analysis! In that post you mentioned the “Rare Spices” billboard Inej talks about in CK; I’d love to hear more of your thoughts on that!

Hi, thank you so much!!! I personally think that the “Rare Spices” advert is one of the most important pieces of information we get to further both worldbuilding and charactisation, so let’s talk about it.

The advert is massive sign painted on the side of a warehouse in Ketterdam, near Sweet Reef, and alongside the words “Rare Spices” it depicts two young Suli women in “scant silks”, mimicking those that Inej was forced to wear at the Menagerie. When she’s first liberated from Tante Heleen, Inej begins to explore Ketterdam and one of the first things she sees beyond the city centre is this advert. It terrifies her. It terrifies her so much that she stands there just staring at it for an unspecified amount of time, before turning and running back to the Slat faster than she has ever run before. In fact, it terrified her so very much that she has a nightmare about the girls on the billboard that night. In Inej’s nightmare the girls come to life but are trapped in the paint, banging on the billboard to get her attention to ask her to free them, whilst she is powerless to help them. Inej at the time comments on the horror of seeing this scene mere miles from where “the rights to her body” were bought and sold and haggled over (I think most of that is quotation but I don’t have my books to hand so I’m not 100% sure), and it tells us so much about how the Suli culture is exploited and fetishised within this community; whether it’s Ketterdam, the rest of Kerch, or the world at large (we could argue this is highly implied through Zoya’s POV, but it’s a whilst since I read KoS and RoW so if anyone wants to weigh in on Zoya in this then please do I’d love to read it 😁).

In my post where I mentioned the Rare Spices poster I was specifically focusing on the way Inej’s culture was sexualised for the purpose of being at the Menagerie, and how we know that other cultures are appropriated and fetishised by the Pleasure Houses as well (the Fjerdan girl at the Menagerie wears the wolf mask, an animal sacred to her people, and Nina wore a fake Kefta that was made in Kerch and is described to be a pale imitation of real Ravkan-made Kefta). But for Inej, up to the point of seeing this sign, that was a small part of the world; the actions of the few, a localised evil that she understood to be the opposite of the rest of the world because she still viewed everything with a childlike innocence. Seeing this sign breaks that façade for her and is arguably the first step towards what she views as the ultimate corruption of her innocence: murder. Because once she knew that the world on mass would see her and her people the way she was forced to present them, to appropriate her own culture, and to be fetishised for her “caramel” skin and “farcical mockery of a Suli caravan” she was forced to admit to herself that there was no way of returning to the person she used to be; not only someone who had been violated, exploited, and abused but also someone who believed that on the whole the world was a good place and that as long as you avoided the small parts of it that were dangerous you’d be okay.

And consider the wording of the sign. “Rare spices” next to two young Suli women wearing “scraps of mint-coloured silk”. There is a long history in our world of sexualising the so-called “exotic”; even the English/British idea, that I assume is what led to this same idea in the USA and much of the English-speaking world, that blonde women are more attractive, often leading them to be over-sexualised, can be drawn back to the Roman Colonisation of England because the vast majority of Romans were brunette or dark-haired and they saw the blonde Anglo-Saxons as “exotic” and attractive. (To be clear, in our own society this long history sexualisation has been mostly aimed towards people of colour and I’m absolutely not ignoring that, I’m just using this example because it’s the furthest back in history that I know of being as the colonisation was around 43 CE). The presentation of not only the spices but these women as “rare” to increase their sex appeal enhances this idea of ‘the exotic’ and by comparing them to the spices it, very similarly to all of the language surrounding Inej at the Menagerie, labels the women as stock, as produce, as something consumable like spices.

But something that I personally find really beautiful that Leigh Bardugo does surrounding this sign as well, is that Inej never condemns the girls on the billboard for the ‘suggestive’ outfits they wear, as long as they are worn by their own choice. She imagines that when she has her ship and begins to hunt slavers that the paint will peel from the sign and that she will have finally succeeded in freeing the girls, that they will “dance for no-one but themselves” and this is so beautiful but also so important as a declaration of female empowerment and autonomy because they have every right to dance and wear whatever they want to, but no-one has the right to force them to do that.

[halfmoonism]

your dead best friend is walking up the stairs

When she pulls him aside, it isn't to tell him that she's dying, which is honestly what he thought she would lead with.

ao3 link here rated T | no archive warnings | gen | 2k words | part 2 of the song I only sing when you're sleeping xenoblade chronicles 1, seven & shulk tags: during canon, major spoilers, implied relationships, identity issues, referenced character death

a/n: MAJOR SPOILERS FOR XENOBLADE CHRONICLES 1 again. set in the same world as p1. I really love shulk guys

He remembers to act surprised, but not as fast as he remembers that he's talking to Fiora. She frowns, and the expression on her face as her hands tighten reminds him of the day after the Mechon ravaged Colony 9. His fingers had dug into the wooden post that Fiora was so fond of leaning on, and after Reyn came to collect him, he looked at his hands and forced back shock at the scrapes and splinters that dotted his skin.

But she would no longer get splinters, and he is no longer alive, if he was ever alive. His blood had looked red enough to be alive, but imitation is flattery at best and mockery at worst. Fiora would no longer get splinters. Fiora runs the risk of shutting down faster than any of them. But he considers Fiora alive, doesn't he?

[bijoumikhawal]

(this post is primarily about me and my experiences and is not a statement about the world at large or anything else)

I think one of the problems with discussing drag is people get confused about/conflate the originally English speaking cultural institution of Drag with like. All crossdressing

I think there's also a problem gnc people get stuck in where we aren't seen as just vibing but instead as mocking or imitating someone (even by normally well meaning people), in some way putting on a performance more than anyone else and that its gross or shameful, that's kind of related to this but not the same.

Like speaking personally as someone who's TME but experiences effemiphobia and is arguably "transmasc"- when I presented more masculinely, it was seen as very offensive and a mockery of people. Something people had to "prove" I was failing at. And upon realizing I was far more comfortable being effeminate, I both had to deal with that from the opposite direction (I got counter clocked a lot in high-school), and I really don't personally connect to the idea of drag because that's just. What I do. I wear "wrong" gendered clothing because I enjoy it, not as an isolated performance. And I know plenty of people who do drag are effeminate all the time, but it's definitely something I've found uncomfortable, especially with some people (masc guys) and their various forms of effemiphobia, including thinking effeminacy was fine if it was confined to drag and only drag.

Theres also the fact that "drag" is a culturally specific Thing. It's not exactly a "Western" thing, because the gay drag we think of (which is actually also somewhat distinct from the straight drag you see in British "comedies") is in large part a product of Black and Latino culture. But it's not Universal. A khawal (my username appears again) in their older historical context is not a drag queen. In a way this rubs against similar issues I have with terms like "fem(me)". I don't really use it and privately have struggled with the ways that term is Western, despite it being accepted by most gnc gay, bisexual, and queer men. Drag is a specific Thing, and i think people are aware of that but also arent because nothing is cleanly delineated.

this all makes it hard to talk about Drag because when you criticize a cultural norm in it that's Bad, people can (at times intentionally) take what you're saying and think you mean all crossdressing. It's also difficult because the distrust people have of Drag can get applied to people who have nothing to do with it, which can come from multiple directions influenced by various forms of patriarchal violence, such as transmisogyny or gender essentialism. And THAT can lead to a bus throwing situation, because there's an informal hierarchy even in marginalized genders and you can "prove" your way into slightly higher standing with patriarchy sometimes if you kick someone lower than you.

[hiiragi7]

Since it's still somehow being argued that "nobody can explain the harm a word does", let's go through cultural appropriation 101.

Cultural appropriation is the act of taking things that aren't yours from another culture, without respect or permission from the original culture. This is not limited to just negative imitation of a culture, but also things such as taking from a culture due to fixating on the "cool foreign" aspects, which feeds into racism and stereotyping.

This is what Alexandra David-Néel did in creating the word "Tulpa". Many things she did are horrifically appropriative and orientalist, but I will stick to just talking about the word Tulpa in this post.

First, what harm does cultural appropriation in general do? Let's talk about it.

Cultural appropriation is a part of a much larger racism issue - And while specific acts of appropriation may seem small to the ones that are not being appropriated from, it is often very painful to the people of the cultures that things are being taken from, and it is everywhere. It is a far bigger picture than most people ever really grasp. It is not just about the colorful dreamcatcher you see sold at the gas station, or someone cosplaying as another culture for Halloween; No, it is an entire movement, and in many places, it is embedded so deep that it seems impossible to ever be rid of it.

I was raised with a wide variety of different cultures. Each act of appropriation I see from those outside these cultures feels like a mockery.

It hurts to see things we call sacred be white washed and then sold for profit to other whites. It hurts to constantly feel on guard when you see items from your culture out in public spaces, because you do not know whether they are genuine or whether they are something a white person made because they thought it was "cool" without understanding or respecting it. It hurts to hear others use words that they do not know the meaning of. It hurts to watch movies with people not of your culture wearing a poorly made version of your culture's clothes. It hurts to be told you're the oversensitive one for "making everything about race".

Cultural appropriation is not solely about the act itself; it is a symptom of a far larger issue, one which every small appropriation seems to scream "Look how much I don't care about you or your culture. Look at how much I have taken from you."

When you walk into a store and see a mockery of your culture being mass-produced and sold to people who have no right to it, when you hear songs casually mention words they should never use, when you see social media trends taking entire concepts from your culture and completely changing it until it's unrecognizable - This shit hurts, and it's everywhere.

Now, let's talk briefly about Tulpa.

Tulpa is not as widespread a term as some more well-known cultural appropriation examples are. However, to pretend as though the harm done is somehow excusable due to that is really to say you do not know much about racism. Each "small" act of racism, things which you may not even think twice about, can be a painful reminder of oppression. "Tulpa" is no exception.

Tulpa, as a term, is harmful because it is appropriation. To call it non-harmful is to either say that cultural appropriation is not harmful or that Alexandra David-Néel did not appropriate it, both points which would require a lot of stretching of the truth and racism in order to make.

As a western term, Tulpa is itself a reminder of how Asian cultures and religions are stolen from, and how little people care so long as it benefits them personally. It is a representation of orientalism and lack of racial awareness in plural spaces.

I'd also like to talk about how the pro-Tulpa terminology side reinforces racism in other ways in its attempts to defend the word Tulpa.

A lot of pro-Tulpa terminology folk seem to misunderstand that the argument is not "Tulpa is the main source of racism in the plural community, and changing the word will make the racism go away."

No. The usage of the word "Tulpa" is a symptom, not the cause. It is a symbol of appropriation, of lack of care and respect, of racial issues that were already there and which will remain there until an active effort is made to change it.

The outrage from the anti-Tulpa terminology side comes not solely from the use of the word itself, but also from the lack of willingness to change or to even entertain a conversation which ends in anything other than "The western use of Tulpa isn't racist, and I should be allowed to keep using it."

The argument of the anti- side is not "Changing the word will solve racism". Rather, it is that changing the word is a symbol representing promised change in the community, of an active and intentional move towards racial awareness and safety. That is what we mean by "this is a bigger issue than syscourse". When you refuse to change, it is a spit in the face of all the ones who have been stolen from and who you ignore or argue with when they speak out.

It is declaring, "You are wrong about your own culture, and the harm done to you is not real."

This is what this debate is truly about. It is not petty drama, it is not about "winning", it is not even really about syscourse. What it is about is being spoken over, having the damage of racism downplayed, being insulted and having your intentions called into question, it is about white people deciding whether you're the "right kind" of minority or not to speak on these topics while they get to say whatever they want. It is all these much larger issues that this discourse has brought into the spotlight, it is not just about the word "Tulpa".

While the term Tulpa is very much appropriative and should change, it is also an incredibly large issue that the word is being made out to be the sole problem in this discourse. It isn't, and never was, the only problem.

Long post, but I had a lot of words.

[not-a-mongoose]

ok guys, so it's really late and i need to be doing my homework...

WHICH MEANS IT'S PRIME TIME TO POST ABOUT MY SUPER COOL EPIC HEADCANONS BASED ON JIMMY'S PREVIOUS TWO EPISODES!!! >:D

*deep inhale*

So y'know how Jimmy seems to know the King of Mezalea, but has no clue who the Cod King is? He recognizes Joel and his status as the ex-ruler of the mesa, but seems to have no memory of himself.

Now of course, in my mind this implies two possible options:

Jimmy is actually the same as S1 but he lost his memories (in my opinion less likely, because why would he remember Joel's status, but have no clue of his own past? and also have little to no association for the cod statue???)

Or, Jimmy is some sort of second form of the cod king, like a reincarnation, or possibly an imitation.

(I feel like i've made a theory on this before, so i may be repeating myself, but it's also been a while)

The king of mezalea is often headcannoned to be made of clay, or have some sort of ability to bring inanimate things to life, so what if this applies to S2 Jimmy?

This might also cover why Jimmy is called a toy so often. He is a walking, talking statue or creation of some sort. I'm imagining he's either some sort of doll or statue/statuette that joel created after the collapse of empires, as an homage to his old friend.

This makes it possible for him to know joel, but not have any recollection of the salmon statue, or the cod king, without anything having to be an exception to what's been established (if he recognized joel because of hidden past memories, then why didn't he recognize the salmon statue? if he doesn't remember anything from his past, why did he remember joel?), whereas anything he doesn't remember can be chalked up to joel not wanting to talk about the people he lost, or just plain old forgetfullness.

Anyways, assuming that joel can, or thought he could pass on his ability to animate the inanimate, i have a reason why tumble town is empty.

There wasn't anyone in tumble town in the first place, or if there was, they left some time ago.

So what if Jimmy tried to create some citizens, the same way joel had done before?

And what if it failed?

Tumble town is empty, everyone knows that.

But it was never supposed to be like that, was it?

What if jimmy just kept trying to create citizens, people to live in his town, to create things just like his predecessor?

(omg i just thought of something new o.O)

And then he finds a god who can do what he's been trying to with ease.

And the god calls him a toy. Because of course Jimmy's worn from the years of travelling and repairing. Because he was made by the tired hands of a dying king who'd lost everything he'd loved and everything he'd prided himself on.

The Mezalean king's legacy is a lie, a toy who can't do anything but sit and watch as everyone loses respect from him one by one, and the first domino was the mockery from the god that had everything.

[axonn1999]

I wrote a silly little bionicle fanfic I wanted to post here

Quick info on some headcanon I integrated. The Agori and glatorian are not as old in here and are descendants of the ones that fought the core war, rather than participants.

There isn’t really action in here and basically my first attempt at writing

Anyways. I wanted to call this little project "Tales of Spherus Magna"

Chapter 1

Vakama

“We do not wish for any sort of conflict.” Vakama, the wise Turaga of fire declared. His voice, despite being as calm as could be, shows hints of exhaustion. Exhaustion, that is more apparent in the eyes peeking from behind his Huna, the mask of concealment.

The past weeks weighed on the Turaga. After all that was happening to his people, the loss of their home, the silence of the great spirit they were so faithfully serving and the integration on a world which even he and the rest of the Turaga know nothing about, he could not stop working to lead the Matoran, that have put their trust in him, into a peaceful tomorrow.

“Be that as it may…” one of the six beings opposite to him begins. A figure, clad in red armor very similar to the Ta-Matoran of his tribe, yet unlike how his people were intertwined with their protodermis shell like bark to a tree, this being was merely covering up his vulnerable body, consisting entirely of the ‘living matter’.

Something ached in Vakama‘s heart light when gazing upon this being. Their first contact was a strange experience for both sides. At first they have thought of them as a strange evolutionary branch, but the more he learned, the more a horrible thought took its grotesque roots in his mind.

“We are merely mockeries of life. Imitations that only simulate what it is to be real people”

This intrusive thought makes it hard for Vakama to not avert his gaze in shame from the being, this Agori, but he mustn’t.

The Agori continues: “It is your kind that has brought all of these… all of these monsters to our world! It was this Mata Nui who might have returned Bara Magna to what it was, but is it really better with your creatures around?” He crosses his arms as he leans back into his chair. Vakama wanted to protest, but Nokama, the Turaga of water who was sitting next to him, placed her gentle hand on his shoulder and began to speak in a calm tone. “Please understand It was beyond our control, o wise leader of the fire tribe. We, the people of the Matoran universe, will do our very best to assure a secure unification of our two civilizations and help with any invasive species that may cause trouble” She nodded to Vakama, who nodded back with a glimmer of joy in his eyes, knowing that she and Whenua to his other side where there for him.

“Unification? What is there to ‘unite’?” A cold voice asked slowly. It was the Agori next to the leader of the fire tribe. One who’s snow white armor perfectly reflects the tone of her voice. “For all that we know, these… things were made by the great beings to serve our ancestors. So by proxy, they should now serve us.”

She continued, her cruel words instantly draining any positivity out of Vakama‘s spirit.

“You can’t be serious, Mivera.” Someone else protested. Very similar to a Toa of fire in appearance, he was one of the three beings in the hut known as Glatorian. “Mata Nui is my friend. We helped him save his people and you want to enslave them? Raanu, you can't possibly consider that?“ he turned to the fire tribe leader who was shaking his head. “He might have helped us, Ackar, but Mata Nui never told us that his people are… are Robots!”

Tahu, Toa of fire, who was standing behind his Turaga the whole time, was losing patience and urged to give them a piece of his mind, but surprisingly enough and before Gali and Onua, his Toa siblings, could intervene, a younger voice came from the side of the Agori and Glatorian.

“This is how you want to thank Mata Nui?! I can’t believe you’re considering it for even a second! They’re not just robots! Can’t you see that, Raanu?”

Annoyed at the Glatorian in green armor, Raanu shook his head. “Who of you decided to bring along this brat?” He asked dismissively upon which the last of the three Glatorian responded. “Well, unlike you and the Iconox witch, Gresh has a heart!”

“Tsk watch your mouth, Kiina!” Mivera hisses at the blue armored Glatorian.

In all of this, Berix, an Agori in blue armor and from the same tribe as the Glatorian Kiina, who sat between the two arguing parties, hastily wrote all of it down in his notebook. Mata Nui made him what is called a ‘chronicler’ and he tries to honor that title to the best of his abilities. Next to him sat another white armored figure. One of those Matoran, the Turaga claim to be the leaders of. Unlike Berix, who could barely sit still, this Matoran calmly noted everything down on a slab of stone strangely enough. Berix couldn’t help but wonder why anyone would write down on stone of all things. The symbols the matoran writes on the Tablet are strange but not entirely unfamiliar. He shakes his head. He can’t allow himself to be distracted like that while he has a job to do. “Ugh, why me? This guy is way more competent than I am..” he thought to himself defeated.

The table they were all sitting at was round. A beautiful, silver shield that once belonged to a great protector of Metru Nui was serving the Turaga as a conference table in many discussions.

Vakama places his hands on its smooth surface and closes his eyes for a moment. They may be pale imitations, but they were still people. Living, breathing organisms. To be compared to the likes of the Vahki, who mercilessly and mindlessly follow their programs filled even him with anger. He inhaled, still feeling Nokama‘s comforting hand on his shoulder and now even Whenua, who has been listening in silence, reaches for his old comrade. “We have our history, Vakama. The culture we build in all these many centuries is proof that we’re alive and real people”

As if the Ruru, the mask of night vision, that Whenua wore was able to see right through Vakama‘s darkest thoughts, his friend said exactly what Vakama needed to hear.

He exhales. “We wish for there to be no conflict. But I have a duty to protect the Matoran. If one sees them as nothing more than mindless machines, I see this as an insult not just to us, but the great spirit, Mata Nui. If you truly wish to force your wills upon us… we will defend ourselves.” He stated stouthearted, the oath he once gave Lhikan never leaving his mind.

Raanu looked down in thoughts, leaning forward and tapping his fingers on the silver table. He can not afford conflict. Especially with beings as powerful as those behind these Turaga. But he knew of the great beings. How they brought this planet to ruins. And now he is supposed to trust their creations to not do it again?

“Raanu!” The three Glatorian shout at him at the same time, all of them appalled by the fact that the leader of the fire tribe ponders this, for them a very easily solved predicament.

“We-” the leader of the ice tribe attempted to gain control of the discussion but quickly fell silent as the third Agori leader raised his voice. On Raanu‘s left, the oldest of the leaders, the leader of the twin villages of Tesara spoke up. His tone, strained and withered and his green, rusty armor creaks as he moves in his chair.

“It has… been a dream of mine… in these many many ages that I spent surviving… to see the lush forests of the old world as described in the very few remaining texts of my village… and to see it now, I can say with confidence that the patch of green we had in Tesara, our beautiful home… pales in comparison. And it is all thanks to your great spirit.” He lifted his shaking arm towards the Turaga in a gesture of gratitude. “I would be… overjoyed to live together with them.” He then declares, talking to Gresh who took a knee right next to the old Agori leader’s chair. Gresh smiled. “Yes, wise Dekku.” He pets the young Glatorian he always viewed as a grandson, on the shoulder. He exhales, exhausted from merely speaking these few words. If it was not for his insistent request, he wouldn’t even sit at this very table, yet his words definitely seem to soften the thoughts of the others. Except for one… the leader of the ice tribe moves closer to Raanu and starts speaking to him in a more hushed tone. “Raanu, can’t you see the danger these machines pretending to have free will possess? If they refuse to serve their proper masters, they-” again she was cut off. The fire tribe leader moves his hand between their faces. “Enough, Mivera. Turaga Vakama, we have decided” As he stands up, he looks directly at the six former Metru Nui inhabitants.

“I see a possible future of us living together, but… for now I believe we should minimize unnecessary contact until we have fully regrouped as tribes.“

The Turaga looked at his peers and they all nodded at each other. “Very well. This is perhaps the best possible outcome we could have hoped for. I wish you farewell.”

They shook hands, which was a new experience to the Turaga, who at first was not sure what to do with the hand offered. Berix awkwardly attempted to converse with the other Chronicler, but more than his name he could not get out of the quiet matoran called Kopeke.

After the Agori and Glatorian left the hut and a last icy glare of the Iconox leader, Vakama let out a big sigh, his head falling into his hand in exhaustion.

“Tsk… who does she think she is?” Tahu snarled, remembering the disgusting words of one of the Agori.

“Does that really matter now? It’s over, Tahu. No need to get worked up over nothing” Gali said, putting her hand on his shoulder in a similar fashion to the Turaga.

Onua, who is one of the most composed Toa, is in thoughts. Perhaps the great beings did create them to serve the Agori in the end. Very much like Tahu, this bothered him, yet he decided to not make his complaints known.

“I wish the others were here…” Nokama states in a saddened voice. She knows fully well that Onewa and Nuju were against living together with the Agori. Even Turaga Dume, who most saw as the de facto leader of the Turaga council, spoke up against it.

She knows that Matau would have supported her wholeheartedly, but he felt as tho he would not have been a good negotiator. An excuse, since he surely thought of this ordeal as boring.

The Toa and Turaga stepped outside, Vakama not feeling any of the burdens leaving his shoulders.

“You let these pathetic creatures walk off after saying all this?”

The voice sent a shiver down Vakama‘s and the other Turaga‘s back.

At the side of the Hut leans a Toa of water against its wall. The red, glowing eyes glare at the Turaga of fire from behind her scratched and chipped mask.

“If I was in charge, I would have-”

“You are not in charge, Tuyet.“ Vakama cut her off, not caring that he was talking to this murderous renegade, looking her in the eyes with the same intensity, occasionally looking at the stump where her right arm was supposed to be. The Toa, despite knowing the Turaga‘s bravery, were surprised by his sharp tone.

“You better watch your mouth, Turaga. I might have been injured, but I could still destroy all of you with ease.” Tahu steps in front of his Turaga, grabbing his magma swords. “We will see about that, traitor”

“Do me a favor and put this Ussal brain on a leash”

Tuyet said mockingly, enraging Tahu, who had to be held back by his siblings before another fight in the village could break out.

“Surely you did not come here just to lecture and insult us with your foul mouth, exile. What is it that you seek?“ Whenua deduces.

“Where. Is. He?”

Done playing around, Tuyet demanded an answer, the Nui stone fused with her armor glowing menacingly.

“He went north,” Vakama replied. He knew what she wanted and gave her a quick answer. “We can not give you a better direction.” He added.

“It’s enough… for now” she said, turning away from them and heading north without another word uttered. “I swear, today is the gathering of unpleasant people…” Onua claims, trying to lighten the mood a little, but Vakama looks defeated at the horizon.

“Do we also count as such?” A Voice all too familiar came from behind Vakama, who was turning around as quickly as his frame allowed him. “Onewa… Nuju and Matau…”

“We worry-feared if you could manage the negotiation-talk without us, brother. So we decided to quick-travel here as fast as our feet allowed us.”

Vakama‘s expression softened once more. So is Nokama‘s. Meanwhile Whenua crosses his arms. “You left him to fend for himself and now you’re late.” Clicks and whistles that sounded like a protest came from Turaga Nuju as he pointed at Matau. “Hey it is not my fault we took so long-time. It was the stone head that needed convince-talk”

Onewa shook his head but did not defend himself, meaning it was true and he hated to admit it.

“Vakama… perhaps you were right to try and establish contact as soon as you did. Perhaps we have been idle too many times and I have become used to it…” to hear these words from Onewa, the most unbudging, unapologetic Turaga of them all, shocked Vakama and the others. He continues “We are Brothers still. Our strength is in our unity.“ Nokama takes Vakama‘s hand and leads him towards the others together with Whenua. “And United we will face this new world. You are not bearing this responsibility alone, brother. We will always be there for you”

Moved by this, Vakama could not bring out a word. The storyteller has lost his voice to sentimentalities and failed to reclaim it, instead accepting the embrace of his fellow Turaga.

“I wish Pohatu, Lewa and Kopaka were here…” Onua said, touched by this display. Tahu wraps his arm around his neck and smiles, raising his fist to bump with Onua‘s and afterwards with Gali‘s.

[loving-n0t-heyting]

You once said that your spending time in spaces where you defended reactionaries from left leaning bloodlust has left you more open to radicalization, I need you to ponder it is happening again.

You just referred to queer people as “cult like” and have repeatedly over the past several weeks indicated that rape survivors or trauma survivor communities are worthy (to varying degrees) of bad faith mockery in their solidarity based positions of believing each others stories, an attitude which formed as a result of people in those communities frequently not being believed.

You have also in the past several weeks compared people becoming (justifiably) angry at mounting efforts to move towards genocidal policies and identifying with other impacted by said policies to “half-baked quasi nationalism.”

Perhaps note where your stances are increasingly leading you and the company you’re starting to keep. (Human pet guy? Really?)

I stand by all these things I’ve said

The imperative to “believe survivors” unhesitatingly and unquestioningly is (when applied in full to the social sphere) a well-trodden recipe for communal abuse and ostracism and (when extended in any way or degree to legal proceedings) an encroachment against ppls sacred and absolute right to due process. It is requesting a serious form of epistemic self-mutilation in the service of punishment and revenge, and I am totally unashamed of renouncing it

I also stand by criticism of the self-proclaimed vanguard of queer solidarity and identity: I respect queer ppl as human beings, not as a class or collective faithfully represented by a self-selecting clique of internet loudmouths keen to harass ppl over their taste in video games or the particularities of their language. Defending queer ppl against homophobia and similar uglinesses no more requires deferring to their self-selected political representatives than defending against misogyny requires taking seriously the voices of radical feminists or defending against antisemitism necessitates heeding the counsel of zionists

(Incidentally, the “half-baked quasi-nationalism” post was sparked by reading someone fuming about criticism of Israeli settlers—perhaps that should lead you to question your assumptions and tendencies?)

None of this whatsoever suggests i have somehow capitulated to the right, an allegation absurd to anyone who knows anything about my personal life. My opposition to mandatory credulity about serious criminal allegations is entirely of a piece with my vicious hatred for the numerous bloodthirsty excesses of the criminal justice system and its many off-brand imitators, and my distrust of quasi-nationalist queer identitarianism flows from the same source as my opposition to other brands of insular parochialism. My friends are, by and large, far to the left of centre, though I also have no interest in putting up political purity tests for them (let alone ppl I interact with in passing on my blog). These are the same impulses that motivate my opposition to conservatism and other species of rightwingery, and i have abandoned no principles I care about by sticking to them

This blog is a window into a narrow and curated portion of my life, even my online life, and pronouncing judgements like these based entirely on what I display on it only makes you look ridiculous to me or anyone else familiar with the actual broad strokes of my existence

[99redragons]

Dragon AU - the crown and the draconic curse

I haven't really talked about how the crown having a dragon curse works exactly yet. The crown is millions of years old and has a lot of cursed energy in it. All that energy had to go somewhere with a bearer. So, the dragon shape is mostly convenience out of a need for the curse magic to take some kind of shape. Dragons in folklore often embody evil and pure magic, so it works. The crown is too powerful to simply imitate Evergreen anymore, and has become a mockery of Evergreen's birdlike form. This and the raw draconic evil energy blend together to form the dragon curse's effects on the bearer psychologically, magically, etc.

Along with personality traits from Evergreen, the bearer also absorbs the instincts of a dragon. I went into this a little bit re: this post about hoarding and the first post regarding his protectiveness, but I thought I'd list some hcs directly here. The draconic instincts include but are not limited to:

Protectiveness over a charge(s): this includes land, home, hoard and people.

Hoarding - items, but can extend to friends

Kidnapping princesses - somewhere deep he knows that's a Thing Dragons Do along with the existing obsession re:Betty

Hunting - He'll eat kills raw if he gets hungry enough.

Walking on four legs and other animal-like tendencies (purring, physical affection, scratching, expressing himself with his tail/ears)

He also has additional abilities:

Contact Ice magic- freezing or striking enemies with bites/scratches

Ice Breath (doable canonically but more of a go-to, especially if he can't use his hands)

Berserking - his 'feral' state, will trigger if a charge is in extreme danger or intense emotion like anger. This does not mean he's a danger to everyone, but he may growl or snap at people he otherwise would be friendly to.

[prying-pandora666]

My Azula Diagnosis Analysis Part 8: Identification With the Aggressor

As the master post I wrote was too long, I’ve divided it into parts. Find them all here.

Sick of bad armchair diagnosis for Azula? Me too! So in this thread let’s discuss Azula’s most commonly “diagnosed” illnesses and disorders, and find out what she actually meets the criteria for, if any.

“Identification with the Aggressor is one of the forms of identification conceptualized by psychoanalysis. Specifically, it is a defence mechanism that indicates taking the role of the aggressor and his functional attributes, or imitating his aggressive and behavioral modality when a psychological trauma brings about the hopeless dilemma of being either a victim or an abuser. This theoretical construct is also defined as a process of coping with mental distress or as a particular case of zero-sum game.”

In other words, it’s a coping mechanism to deal with abuse where a victim mimics the abuser’s actions and beliefs to escape being further victimized.

Does Azula display Identification with the Aggressor?

Identification with the Aggressor Claims

—Azula reflects whatever Ozai wants to hear

—Azula is both afraid of and dependent on Ozai and will do terrible things she doesn’t even want to do to stay in his good graces

—Azula would prefer to act like her abuser than be viewed as the victim, even if it means going against her own desires and goals

So Does Azula Demonstrate Identification with the Aggressor?

As always, symptoms can present in a number of ways. People are all different. But diagnostically significant symptoms include:

—Mirroring the Abuser: The most obvious case is with Ozai. Azula parrots his political beliefs and grievances since early childhood, something that makes her come off frightening for such a young child. Interestingly, her manipulative and scheming qualities seem to come from both her parents, as Ursa is the one who came up with the plan to assassinate Azulon to protect Zuko.

—Concealing Vulnerability: Azula’s breakdown is the most dramatic reveal of her hidden internal vulnerability, but it isn’t the only one. In The Beach, Azula deflects from her own emotional wounds with a joke (“My own mother thought I was a monster… She was right, of course, but it still hurt.”), but we later learn how real this trauma was for her. She also conceals how much she cares about others, often couching advice or help behind a veneer of mockery.

—Enmeshment with the Abuser: Azula displays a concerning lack of agency or personal desires outside of Ozai. We never are given any motivations for her that don’t serve Ozai (or occasionally Zuko) except for when she wants to flirt with boys her age. The moment she tries to act on her own desires, her incredible confidence and aptitude vanish. Even then, she attempts to woo Chan by offering the very thing she knows her enmeshed abuser would want: world domination. To tragically disastrous results.

—Kicking the Scapegoat: When desperate to protect herself, Azula will turn on the scapegoat child (Zuko), no matter how much she loves him, hoping to deflect the abuser’s ire to a more acceptable target.

—Deflecting and Transferring the Blame: As confronting the reality that their abuser, whom the victim is both afraid of and desperate to please, is the source of the problem may be too painful or frightening, victims often subconsciously transfer the blame to an easier target. Both Zuko and Azula do this to avoid directing their grievances at their true abuser: Ozai. While Zuko tends to pin the blame for the abuse he suffered on Azula, Azula tends to pin it on Ursa.

Conclusion: Azula does identify with the aggressor.

An interview with the head writer only drives it home even further, where he overtly states that Azula was trapped doing worse and worse things to please Ozai as she had become alienated from her mother and had no one else.

The book 2 novelization also makes it concrete, spelling out Azula’s fears of vulnerability and rejection.

This may also perfectly explain Azula’s reaction to Zuko being burned.

[paloma-ascends-into-hellfire]

on beauty standards and internalized racism

my great grandmother- my bisabuela- was beautiful, according to everyone. i have no pictures of her. i don’t even know her name. but i do know that she was my abuela’s dad’s mistress, and had a bunch of kids out of wedlock. and the most important thing: her eyes were blue.

in el salvador in the 50s, blue eyes were the epitome of beauty. they still are, actually. growing up, people would say to my mother, “it’s a shame you didn’t have blue eyes like your grandma. she was so beautiful.” my mom’s self esteem, unsurprisingly, took a hit.

i don’t remember the first time i heard this story, or the first time i realized that my family did not meet the beauty standards. i do remember being four and begging my tía to straighten my hair. i remember being five and creating a character named alison who had pale skin, dark, straight hair, and piercing blue eyes. i remember being six and colouring myself with “skin colour”- crayola’s apricot. i remember being seven when i stopped speaking spanish because i didn’t want to be seen as weird. i remember being seven and praying to god that i would wake up with light skin and straight hair, preferably red. i remember being eight and girls floofing my ponytail and playing with my hair, giggling, “it’s so soft!”. i remember being nine, and when i told my blonde friend i wished i looked like her, she replied “no offence, but i’m glad i don’t look like you.” i remember being ten and learning for the first time about what el salvador’s history was truly like. i remember being eleven and being told i was aggressive and too loud and opinionated by my teacher. i remember being twelve and begging my parents to let me straighten my hair. i remember being thirteen and, when the boys played smash or pass, hearing sounds of disgust when my name was mentioned. i remember being fourteen and wishing my hair would stay straight when i straighten it, wondering idly what my life would be like if i was white.

i have had one brown teacher, my eighth grade math teacher. she had a strong tamil accent and dark skin, and loopy handwriting reminiscent of tamil. she was the victim of many cruel jokes and imitations of her accent, and when she began to cry because she missed her daughter in another province, she was met with mockery. even my friends complained that they couldn’t understand her, that she was too strict. but how else was she supposed to handle these white boys who were bigger, stronger, more respected than her?

that is not the teacher i remember. i remember how she gave me a piece of chocolate when i was feeling faint from not eating. i remember how she gently corrected me when i added instead of multiplying: “careless mistakes. read your work over.”

so even though i grew up in the progressive 2010s, i grew up in a rural, mostly white town. no one i knew looked like me, spoke spanish, or really cared about my culture. i grew up believing i was ugly because my hair was curly and my skin was darker than almost everyone i knew (i’m not even that dark). so i disappeared, tried to be like them. even though i don’t remember the exact moment i realized i was not the beauty standard, but the words that still sting are, “i’m glad i don’t look like you” and the jeers from boys playing smash or pass.

at seven, i refused to wear pants. when i wore dresses - which was often - i was called a snobby city girl. when i didn’t, i was mistaken for a boy. i was met with several crude “you’re such a girly girl” insults. but at that age, i would have rather been called a girly girl than a boy.

i watched my friends shift from their pink phases to their anything but pink ones. i watched my idea of femininity come crashing down. and then i turned thirteen.

i realized that maybe i wasn’t a girl. i began to use she/they pronouns and discovered the term demigirl. but something still felt wrong.

one day, i saw a post about how black and brown women aren’t considered feminine. my mind was blown and i started to wonder if i thought that. i wondered if i was actually a demigirl or if my sense of what it was to be a girl has been fucked up by my town and society. i still don’t know.

this is why representation is so important. i have a myriad of issues thanks to this rigorous belief that brown women, and therefore me, are not pretty. this is not recent. just look back at my bisabuela. my brown eyed mother, my indian math teacher, and me - we were, are, and will continue to be victims of this shadow of white supremacy, most likely for as long as we live.

i can’t change this single handedly with a tumblr rant. but the first step is realizing how much the small things add up, how many of our thoughts are influenced by this.

thank you for reading if you’ve read this far.

[sakuharuka]

Just a little post about tone indicators I may or may not use

/j = joking

/hj = half-joking

/jbnr = joking, but not really

/ij = inside joke

/bj = bad joke

/mj = mostly joking

/srs = serious

/nsrs = not serious

/hsrs = half-serious

/pa = [intentionally] passive-aggressive

/npa = not passive-aggressive

/jpa = jokingly passive-aggressive

/ntto or /nto = not trying to offend

/ntta or /nta = not trying to assume

/rq = request

/cur = curious

/jc or /jcur = just curious

/gcon = genuinely concerned/genuinely confused, depending on context

/conc = concerned

/conf = confused

/vcon = very confused/concerned

/genc = genuinely concerned

/genq or /gq = genuine question

/grq = genuine request

/gen or /g = genuinely/genuine

/hg = half-genuine

/mg = mostly genuine

/s or /sarc = sarcastically/sarcasm

/srd = sardonic [ally]

/vpos or /vvpos = very positive/very, very positive

/pos or /pc = positive connotation 

/neg or /nc = negative connotation

/neu = neutral connotation

/lh = light-hearted(ly)

/h = hysterical

/e = excited[?]

/a = asking (I think)

/ref = reference

/nref = not a reference

/href or /sref = half reference/slight reference

/rp = roleplay

/prp = purposeful[ly]/on purpose

/nprp = not purposeful(ly)/not on purpose

/t = teasing

/nf = not forcing

/nfta = not forcing to answer

/th = threat

/nth = not a threat

/hth = half threat

/jth = joking threat

/q = quote/quoting

/c = copypasta (like quoting, but sometimes /q is paraphrasing as well, and copypasta is direct copying and pasting what someone wrote/said)

/ph = paraphrasing

/rt or /rh = rhetorical question

/ly or /lyr = [these words are] lyrics [to a song]

/nm = not mad

/cb = clickbait

/nbh = (these words are directed at) nobody here (I'll not vent in my blog but I need to use that lmao)

/nco = not calling out

/u = upset

/vu or /vvu = very upset/very, very upset

/vn or /vvn = very negative/very, very negative

/am = (directed) at me/myself

/ay = (directed) at you

/nay = not (directed) at you

/nsp = not self pity (I have a problem with self pity stuff so that'll be important)

/hyp = hyperbole

/cpm = compliment

/nav = not a vent

/v = vent

/mv = mini/minor vent

/naq = not a question 

/hml = humorless

/im = imitation/mockery (paraphrasing, half-quote)

/nip = nothing/nobody in particular (in case I blog something really random)

/pr = proud

/gr or /gt = grateful

/aff = affectionate[ly]

/ol = object love (I'll probably use it while talking about my stuffed plushie)

/m = metaphorically, melancholy, melodramatic

/sgs = suggestion

/emb = embarrassed

Some extra tone indicators that I created for myself, that I'll put the meaning in case I put these in other accounts and/or apps: /si = self insert

/hc = headcannon

/iref = internal reference (reference to my ocs or to my fanchildren that u don't know yet :D)

/dh = dark humor (something like 'bad joke' lmao) /dw = don't worry