#solidarity gaming kin

[monopoly-mountain-requests]

An age regression mood board for a life series Jimmy kin, with nests and cozy birds!

[shooting-starzz]

My Codfather Kinsona :DD I am just an ouppy trust me guys

Click for better quality!!!!! :33

Commissions open!! Check out my pinned ref sheet!!

[ftosman]

“someone of good taste” is such an interesting way to describe jimmy pathetic little guy solidaritygaming (affectionate)

[a-dragons-journal]

bit of a rant re: that one post about terminology: my biggest pet peeve about it is that it is had made it absolutely impossible to find the kind of stuff I used to come to tumblr for back in 2012. I'm dragonkin and nearly 40. I've known I was 'kin since before the year 2000. i used to be able to follow a couple of kin tags and find art, poetry, and essays on the things we all have in common. once in awhile there would be music. Now all I seem to see is people arguing about who's allowed to use what term, who is 'valid,' and people splitting hairs to the finest down on microlabels. I am, in my head and in an experience sort of way, a big reptile who flies and hunts and, frankly, isn't very bright. I have not really kept up with terms in the past decade because it seems like every time I look, the words mean different things, and I cannot be bothered to follow all that. none of it changes the way I feel my scales or how there is a part of my brain devoted to tracking good hides and good takeoff locations. none of it changes the fact that I have to make rent with a brain that wants to be tracking air currents and chasing small game. And none of it changes how delighted I am every time I eat a good piece of fruit or a slab of chocolate with an omnivore's ability to digest plant matter. obligate carnivores can't enjoy sugar the way my human body does. it's great.

a moose and a tuna are very different creatures, but they would both complain about orcas and sharks in their feeding grounds. someone who is a pterosaur and someone who is an angel can both talk about missing the feel of air beneath their wings. a mantis shrimp and an alien and a bat can all talk about how light looks through human eyes. someone who is a little bit of a werewolf sometimes and someone who is 100% a housecat all the time will probably both be able to talk about managing prey drive. I miss having places on the internet where we could talk about shared experience in this way. I couldn't care less what words people use to argue about how different they are. we are all using human hardware to run incongruous beings. Two bog-standard human siblings who grew up in the same home will argue that the same scene in a movie shows different things. everyone's different. there's always gonna be some way to split yourself off from the group.

I just miss being able to find solidarity with fellow Internet Weirdoes (affectionate). if you only share your stuff with your micro-group you're going to miss out on all the others who you could be talking to who may understand, at least in part, what you're going through.

and most of all, I miss the art.

Yeah, I feel that. I feel that.

[songoftrillium]

NEW on Storyteller's Vault: Hearthbound

I've published my first ever book! This is an early release of Dead Mountain content, is meant to help fund additional art for Dead Mountain, and it's Pay-What-You-Want!

Designed to bring some much-needed family ties, this Supplement is meant to give players and storytellers a framework for telling stories that confront the ugly sides of the Garou Nation.

Homecoming

Hearthbound gives you a new inclusive faction and multiple levels of intrigue to add to your Werewolf: the Apocalypse tabletop!  Long kept beneath the heels of the Garou Nation, Crinos-Born and Kinfolk have found solidarity in supporting each other, and have turned out en force to demand disruptive change from their Tribes.

Inside Hearthbound is a peek into the birth of a new kind of Tribe that venerates the ideals of Shantar, a patron of inventiveness and creativity, and keeper of The Loom. They are taking a critical look at the heart of the Garou Nation itself. Long sold on the lie that Kinfolk cannot raise Crinos-Born children, an awakening is happening within the Nation, where the families that raised these Garou, realize what they are doing to their Crinos-Born. This sparked a movement to help Crinos-Born looking to escape their Tribes come to be raised in Kinfolk homes. 

These Hearthbound, beholden to the people they love, act as judges of those Garou that abuse the Litany to systemically oppress each other. They are ambassadors to the spirits on behalf of their kin, Nannas to the Crinos-Born they help free, and Sorcerers capable of blending into societies and rewriting the Pattern Web itself.

There is a deep hurt within the Garou Nation.

The Hearthbound have risen up to protect those oppressed voices that have existed at the edges of the nation for millenia.

While this book is primarily written as a supplement for Werewolf: the Apocalypse 20th Anniversary Edition, all concepts and features of this emerging tribe can find its place in any edition of this game, new or old. There are also translation rules for utilizing these gifts in 5th Edition (if so inclined).

Hearthbound: Tribe Supplement Features:

The background and rules for creating a Hearthbound up to Third Rank!

No original art!   

New Gifts!

Expanded Tribe histories and faction dispositions!

Guidance on confronting the Litany and Renown!

Story seeds on how to incorporate Hearthbound into your chronicle! 

[jeaanmoreau]

i gotchu!!!

double date (date is used loosely) w neil/andrew & allison/renee or jean/jeremy

et voila! i literally couldn't fathom a way to get andreil and jerejean in the same room without kevin so i just had him leave HAHA. it was painful to make him straight, but alas hope the boys fawning over him makes up for it 😈 thank you for the prompt lovely <33 📚 Read it on AO3

It would have made sense for them to part ways when Thea finally dragged a too-drunk-to-walk Kevin home. No matter how evidently they had all been making an effort to get along and get to know each other, it had been mostly for Kevin’s sake. Whatever Neil’s relationship to Jean was, Neil knew what it wasn’t. He was also pretty sure Jean couldn’t stand him outside of the necessary contact, but old wounds needed time to heal, and he couldn’t fault him for leaning away from the sting. But there was something new there too, a sense of solidarity or partnership or maybe just kin recognising kin in some manner. Kevin had explained it to him at length on another night out and Neil had paid half attention to that.

It had been easy to assume that Jeremy tagged along because Jean functioned in pairs, and Neil had operated under that assumption for a good chunk of time until several drinks the truth of the matter had hit him square in the face. If it hadn’t been for Renee, he thought he would have picked up on it earlier. Neil wondered if Andrew had noticed. If he had, he’d said nothing about it.

They were sprawled on the living room floor on beanbags with multiple bottles of alcohol between them and had been halfway through a drinking game Neil had only heard of before but never played. It had turned into a silent competition of all of them one-upping each other while Jeremy looked on in half-horror.

There was music playing in the background, but Neil paid no mind to it and sank further into the beanbag, glancing over at Andrew. As if feeling the weight of his gaze on him, Andrew lifted his glass of scotch from his knee to motion around them. “Never have I ever thought about blowing Kevin.”

Jean’s mostly empty glass slipped from his fingers and onto the floor, tipping the rest of its contents over the rug.

Jeremy was the first one to react with a nervous sounding laugh, shifting around to find the napkins next to the pizza boxes they’d discarded earlier and stacked them on the rug to mop it up a little. “Think it’s fine,” he said, and his voice was slurring a little as he looked back up. “You—what?”

Andrew said nothing, but he slowly and pointedly raised his glass to his lips and took a sip.

“He said never have I ever thought about blowing Kevin,” Neil pointed out helpfully, gaze catching on the way Andrew’s throat bobbed with the movement of the drink and wondered at that. They’d never discussed it explicitly, but he wasn’t surprised. Not really.

“That’s what I thought, okay, yeah. Way to bring that up the second he’s gone,” Jeremy rambled as he sat back and looked around for where he’d left his glass, making a face as he held it up somewhat guiltily, glancing at Jean briefly as he did. “Well, in the spirit of honesty…” And he drank.

Neil took a moment to think about it. It hadn’t ever been as straightforward for him as it was for Andrew. The thought of ‘blowing Kevin’ as he phrased it seemed simple in a way Neil hadn’t ever thought about people. There was no denying Kevin was good-looking, but if he’d ever got hung up staring at him, it’d always been for other reasons. Mainly the ferocity of the smiles he gave him on court when he was particularly pleased with his performance. The tug in his gut that he felt then was maybe similar to what he felt when he was kissing Andrew. In some ways, not at all in others.

He thought about it now, though. Waiting for Kevin to step out of the shower after practice when it was just the two of them in the changing rooms and crowding him against the linoleum wall with heavy hands, dropping to his knees and pulling his towel away so he could sink his mouth around him. Looking up at his face and seeing that same glint in his eyes that he saw during games.

“You’re thinking about it right now,” Andrew’s voice cut through his fantasy in German, and Neil’s breath hitched a little as he snapped back to the present and the honey coloured eyes he was looking into instead.

Instead of answering, he lifted his glass and took another sip as well, shrugging.

There was something satisfied in the way Andrew stared at him afterwards, and he didn’t look away even as he said, a little louder and back in English, “I’m waiting, Johnny.”

Neil tore his gaze away from Andrew to look over at Jean, who scowled back at them from his spot across the rug. He’d recovered his glass but it was now empty where it sat next to him. “You cannot make me.”

Jeremy’s hand slid over his thigh and squeezed his knee gently, holding his own glass over to him in offering. “You can drink from mine if you want,” he said, and then he leaned in and whispered something in Jean’s ear that Neil couldn’t hear.

Content to wait him out, Andrew folded his forearm behind his head and stared right back. At this point, Neil wouldn’t have been surprised if Jean had thought about Kevin that way. Now that he knew he was interested in men, knowing he’d been friends with Kevin back in the day and that that was still somewhat raw in a lot of ways. It would have made sense. The hesitancy to admit to it was also reasonable, and if it hadn’t been Andrew asking, Neil might have changed the subject to help him out, but Andrew wanted the confirmation and Neil wasn’t going to fight his battles for him.

“You don’t know anything, you fool,” Jean hissed as his last bit of pushback before his fingers closed around Jeremy’s on his glass and he brought it up to drink from it too, eyes never leaving Andrew’s.

“On the contrary, I think you’ve just proved I do,” Andrew shot back. Neil could recognise a victory when he saw it. So could Jean, it seemed, as he tensed on his spot.

Jeremy seemed to want to diffuse the tension, because he ran his hand up and down Jean’s back and asked, “No one has actually… well, kissed him or anything, right? I didn’t think he—I mean sometimes I wondered, of course, but chalked it off to my own ego.” He laughed lightly, but couldn’t help the way his eyes flitted over to Jean afterwards, and Neil could see the curiosity in them despite himself.

“No,” Jean replied, deadpan and quickly before the searching look could linger for too long.

“If you dropped your racket off tomorrow, Kevin wouldn’t look at you again,” Neil faced Jeremy to explain. “Your ego’s right, just not about that.”

“Ouch, Neil,” Jeremy laughed, but there was no resentment in it. “Well, Thea’s one very lucky woman, I’ll give her that.”

Jean scoffed what might have been a laugh, too. “Except Kevin is an insufferable bitch, so actually she is one very unlucky woman ninety nine percent of the time.”

And no one could find it in themselves to contradict that, so they merely took another drink in silence.

send me aftg prompts?

[haggishlyhagging]

“Women were not suspicious and fearful of other women, even those who were not of their own kin, despite their ignorance of natural death. There is no indication that women had any difficulty communicating with stranger-women even in the most remote epoch of social evolution. From the record it appears that women always had the capacity to band together for mutual cooperation and protection. To the present day the characteristic picture of primitive women shows them working together in amiability and enjoying one another's company.

An example of the cooperative, sisterly relations among women in New Guinea is given by Margaret Mead in Sex and Temperament in Three Primitive Societies:

Tchambuli women work in blocks, a dozen of them together, plaiting the great mosquito-bags from the sale of which most of the talibun and kina are obtained. They cook together for a feast, their clay fireplaces (circular pots with terraced tops, which can be moved from place to place) set side by side. Each dwelling-house contains some dozen to two dozen fire-places, so that no woman need cook in a corner alone. The whole emphasis is upon comradeship, efficient, happy work enlivened by continuous brisk banter and chatter. (p. 252)

She contrasts this behavior of the women with that of men, where "there is always strain, watchfulness, a catty remark here, a double entendre there"; in short, where suspicion and hostility lurk under the surface of fraternal relations. She adds:

And whereas the lives of the men are one mass of petty bickering, misunderstanding, reconciliation, avowals, disclaimers, and protestations accompanied by gifts, the lives of the women are singularly unclouded with personalities or with quarrelling. For fifty quarrels among the men, there is hardly one among the women. Solid, preoccupied, powerful, with shaven unadorned heads, they sit in groups and laugh together, or occasionally stage a night dance at which, without a man present, each woman dances vigorously all by herself the dance-step that she has found to be most exciting. Here again the solidarity of women, the inessentialness of men, is demonstrated. (p. 257)

It is the women who do the work and make the things that the men interchange with one another. Mead writes, "The minor war-and-peace that goes on all the time among the men, the feelings that are hurt and must be assuaged, are supported by the labour and contributions of the women." At the festivals which repair the easily-ruptured relations among men, the women do the work while the men play the games.

Mead writes, "These festivals are a break in the vigorous workaday life of the women. Swift-footed, skilful-fingered, efficient, they pass back and forth from their fish-traps to their basket-plaiting, from their cooking to their fish-traps, brisk, good-natured, impersonal. Jolly comradeship, rough, very broad jesting and comment, are the order of the day" (p. 257). About the men's performances and games she writes, "The women's attitude towards the men is one of kindly tolerance and appreciation. They enjoy the games that the men play, they particularly enjoy the theatricals that the men put on for their benefit. A big masked show is the occasion for much pleasure" (p. 255).

It is not surprising, then, that the men, who are so dependent upon the women for food and other necessities of life, should be so concerned with how women look upon them. As Mead puts it, "What the women will think, what the women will say, what the women will do, lies at the back of each man's mind as he weaves his tenuous and uncertain web of insubstantial relations with other men. Each man stands alone, playing his multiplicity of parts, sometimes allied with one man, some times with another; but the women are a solid group, confused by no rivalries, brisk, patronizing, and jovial" (pp. 263-64).

Mead's report is significant because it is one of the few to show the maturity and power of primitive women in guiding the affairs of the community. Women played the key role in making men into brothers and teaching them how to make brothers and brothers-in-law out of other men. It was the women who labored to amass the food and boiled it in huge pots for the feasts, and who toiled to accumulate the baskets, blankets, pots, shell ornaments, and other things to be interchanged at the festivals. In short, it was the women's labor that created the gifts that converted enemies into friends.”

-Evelyn Reed, Woman’s Evolution: From Matriarchal Clan to Patriarchal Family

[zeydaan-isabella]

Fang's Requiem - Zeydaan

Recently, my friends El_Mariachi249 and Fiona-sapphire got me into the game Goodbye Volcano High, a very sweet game with some lovely music and an excellent NB character Fang. Despite being a recent release, noticed there wasn't any TF related things for the game at all. Thought I'd rectify that. Song being sung is "Good Riddance" by Green Day Story below done by HudsonSpacecraft

“Okay, okay, good job, everyone! Now let’s take five,” Zeydaan directed their fellow employees. It was a busy day at the local Maiden Menagerie in the bustling city of Mailor. Granted, that could be said about every day (to say that running a business period was mentally taxing was to make a rather obvious joke), but there was reason to feel particularly stressed out at the moment, for it was today that the humble establishment hosted its first major event in quite some time: a Pride Memorial Concert. This had been something that Zeydaan had been pushing for a good while, since their non-binary upbringing and empathy for their kin in the queer community made them quite vocal about advocating for civil rights on their world of Schism Earth. In the current state of their state’s politics that actively marginalized “nonhumans” and currently had no plans to change that, the fae-witch had taken great pride in establishing events like this to make the minorities of their world more heard. As a being of adept magical power, they additionally  And to that end, what better place to promote solidarity than at their current place of work?  Zeydaan had proudly worked at the Menagerie for years. It wasn’t the most high-paying job in the world, but it certainly kept the lights on for them (their career as a “superhero” in the Hawkmoths often dealt with more ‘fate of the world’ than starting political conversations), and they had a certain amount of rapport with their coworkers as well as their superiors. Upper management was thankfully all for their concert idea, though in their initial pitch to the other staff, it was brought up that the musical talent that their budget could allow was on the smaller side. In lieu of established musical talent in town, however, Zeydaan graciously volunteered to be the one performing a concert’s headlining song. There was one snag, though: they didn’t exactly have the qualifications to do so. They were far from musically illiterate or unskilled with instruments, but they had only picked up the guitar a couple weeks ago and had only learned a couple of elementary chords by now. Their singing voice was slightly above average, but to pretend it was anything more than that would be to embarrass themself. However, they would not have signed up if they didn’t already have a plan in place, and all they needed to do was see if the decorations would suffice before they went back home. “Hmm…does this look good?” Their fellow dragon employee Blue asked as they took a step back and admired the job they did. It’d taken all morning and even a bit of the afternoon to set all this up, but their work definitely paid off. From the hanging lanterns providing just the right amount of mood lighting to the assorted collages of photos from all of Zeydaan’s work with their team, the Hawkmoths, in their rallies for nonhuman and queer rights, to the pride flags on the wall with complimentary miniature flags for every denomination they could think of. At this point, the staff (which barely was more than half a dozen people) felt like calling it a day  “Alright, I think we’ve done a good job so far…how are we doing for time?” Zeydaan asked, getting a bit antsy about if they could work out their plan in time. “Concert starts at eight, so…like seven hours?” Another employee enlightened them. “Oh, thank goodness…” Zeydaan sighed as they rushed out the door. “Take your time, give me about an hour and I’ll be back!” Quickly, they raced to the other side of town to their humble cottage, where their instruments and the next step of their plan awaited them. Once to their chair and with their guitar in hand, though…hmm, they couldn’t quite do it just yet. Was it anxiety? Maybe. Either way, Zeydaan couldn’t help but have their mind drift back to the not so distant past. “Hm…are you sure you’re going to go through with this?” Zeydaan’s fellow teammate Alvis warned them as they were about to conjure up a portal to a different dimension. “I just want you to know full well that you’re entering ‘incoming apocalypse’ territory. Many people are as good as dead already.” “Yes, I know, I won’t try to tear myself up that much about it,” Zeydaan nodded. Earlier, when they had spotted this dimension through their scanners, an unstoppable fleet of asteroids were headed for collision with the planet they were now traveling toward.  “Plus, if on this trip, you somehow die—” “Don’t worry, I won’t. It’s just when I saw the scan of this dimension…I couldn’t help but feel like it’d be a waste to have it all disappear without a trace. All the people with no one to tell their stories. I’d like to at least document some things before it all goes down.” “Alright then, just be back at the earliest opportunity. You wouldn’t want to worry us.” “Got it,” Zeydaan said as they ventured into their portal. At the other end lay a seemingly normal town, the name of which they gleaned as Caldera Bay. Not wanting to attract more attention than they already would have (being someone who made their entrance through a swirling dimensional portal), they used their shapeshifting abilities to blend in with the prehistoric-looking population. Walking around the city was a healthy population of dinosaur people, and this opportunity granted Zeydaan the privilege of seeing a multitude of people go throughout their final days. Granted, there were a fair share of people who wanted a way out (to which Zeydaan gladly allowed them a ferry through one of their signature portals), but they were certainly taken aback by the number of people gladly coming to terms with their own mortality.  During their travels, though, they had found themself in a celebration called Calderafest, among a sizable crowd. Truthfully, they’d been just going wherever the wind took them for the afternoon, but the clamoring of the people around them made them think they were about to see something good.  “Hellooo, Caldera Bay! How are we feeling tonight?” The announcer walked up on stage to say as hype slowly started to build around them. “Welcome to the last concert you’ll ever see! I know you’re all dying to see Worm Drama right now, am I right?” Crickets.  “That got dark,” the announcer replied. Failed attempts at an introduction aside, Zeydaan stood patiently as the three-piece band got up on stage and started to play, with the crowd noticeably quiet and letting the music speak for itself. And what music it was, Zeydaan thought, allowing the tones to wash over them like the tide. We won't sit around and let the world go by We're gonna fly around the big, black sky tonight And when the fire falls from on high, We can be the pretty heroes if we try, tonight As the song continued on, Zeydaan’s appreciation for it only grew, with the fae-witch appreciating the lush instrumental, powerful lyrics, and especially the soulful vocals by the lead guitarist. They’d certainly have to meet with them after the show, they thought as they continued with another song.  Back seat baby with the wind whipped high When we said goodbye Got my eyes up baby with the pulling tide I did not know why I had my eyes up looking for a flag or a sign Just a sunset sigh With the concert coming to a close, Zeydaan was one among dozens of people clamoring and applauding at their marvelous performance. After Worm Drama had gone backstage, they couldn’t help but flag the band down to engage in a bit of casual conversation.  “Hello, don’t mean to intrude, but I just wanted to say I was a huge fan of your performance back there,” Zeydaan greeted them. “Who are you, anyway?” “Oh, thanks!” The guitarist of the trio was taken aback slightly by their praise. “Well, I’m Fang. Those are Trish and Reed back there. I like the outfit, by the way.” “Thanks,” the fae-witch replied as they looked down at their distinctly goth getup this run around. “My name’s Zeydaan, and I did actually want to ask you something.” “Shoot.” “If you were given the choice to start anew somewhere else with all of your friends, would you do it?” “Nah. I mean, I wouldn’t wanna take the easy way out, honestly. I did all I could in this life…it’s not worth thinking about all these ‘what ifs.’ We just had the best performance of our lives just now, and I wouldn’t have any other way to go out.” Zeydaan admittedly kind of knew that Fang would respond that way (that was kind of what they were singing about in the first place), but their response touched their heart all the same. The two proceeded to talk it up further about the life they had lived up until that point, and how they harbored little regret as they were about to witness their incoming demise. Out of everyone they had asked that day, even among those who had similarly reconciled everything in their lives before their demise. Perhaps the fact they’d just listened to their wonderful song was at play, perhaps it was their chill tone of voice, perhaps it was the comfort in talking with a fellow enby (their “they/them” pin on their bag said it all), but that talk with Fang and their fellow bandmates was probably the best they had in quite some time. As Zeydaan departed on their portal back home on Schism Earth, they waved Fang goodbye. They’d made a new friend that day, even if they only knew them for a couple of minutes. Their memory came to a close as Zeydaan looked at all the photos that they had taken that day once more. There had to be at least a hundred different photos of locales and people of this dimension, yet it didn’t feel like enough to Zeydaan. At the end of the lengthy list, however, were the couple of photos they had taken with Fang.  Even though they were…well, dead, Zeydaan didn’t exactly feel the most comfortable appropriating their lyrics like this, so they decided to start playing another song they thought would fit the concert well. Pulling up a bit of sheet music, helping themself to a couple of meat-fruit, and having a quick change of clothes, they started to practice their song.  “So take the photographs and still frames of your mind…” Zeydaan sang, getting through the first part of the song as the first inklings of transformation were about to unfold within their body. It began to take form within their hair. Their shoulder-length haircut cascaded down to their waist, with them having to flick their head back to get it out of their eyes as to not take their hands off their guitar. In addition, it lightened itself to a luminous silver color, as did their eyebrows. From the back of their scalp sprouted a good-sized white horn with triangular gray stripes lining its top, giving their profile a distinct silhouette, especially as a thick, spiked bracelet materialized right on top of their hair. Zeydaan blinked their eyes as their irises became striking amber and their pupils gained a reptilian, almond shape. Subtle bits of makeup appeared at their top, their red and blue color sticking out next to the rather plain gray and white. Zeydaan could hear the quality of their vocals improve in real time as the changes descended down their mouth and throat, the distinct voice of Fang beginning to come through. Along the way, their snout was about to transform as well, becoming much more angular, with their nostrils migrating to the base of said snout. Within their mouth, their rather unassuming teeth at least doubled in their number as they shrank down to compensate, creating a new set of pointy little things as Zeydaan’s mind momentarily drifted to how Fang’s dental appointments must have been. They digressed, however, as the changes departed from affecting their head. “Hang it on a shelf in good health and good time…” Zeydaan continued to sing as the transformation soon moved on to their torso, leaving a new set of off-white down in lieu of their coat of fur they had before as well as a prominent choker on their neck. Zeydaan continued to go off on their guitar as well, their timing and execution getting better by the second as they could feel Fang’s skill build in their mind. As they did, they felt their jacket they’d loosely worn on their person begin to fade away, as well as the yellow shirt they’d worn underneath shading itself to be jet black. The sleeves soon deprecated themselves, along with its lower half to become a crop top, complete with a couple of tears at the bottom. A small skull necklace also appeared on their chest and wrapped its string around Zeydaan’s neck. From this part of their body, they could also feel themselves getting quite a bit thinner. Granted, Zeydaan wasn’t very heavy, usually, but they couldn’t help but notice the rather thin physique their body now possessed as it became that of Fang’s.  “Tattoos of memories and dead skin on trial…” Zeydaan felt their arms beginning to change, with them similarly replacing the pelage they had before with the white down that the pterosaur possessed. Their muscle and bone structure altered themselves as well, several prototypical avian elements inserting themselves into the anatomy of their appendages as the down feathers grew particularly thick near their elbows. Reaching their wrists as a thin Calderafest bracelet popped up on one of them, the transforming fae-witch momentarily felt themselves get off-groove as their hands were becoming more petite and delicate-looking, coinciding with long, black claws sprouting at their fingertips. Thankfully, they were able to get back into the swing of their song as soon as they could. In fact, they were starting to really get a kick out of it, so much so that they could feel their fae wings appearing, though this could’ve also been because they were about to undergo a transformation themselves. Their butterfly-like shape was soon disappearing as a wide array of feathers was coating itself around their paper-thin surfaces. While the sections close to their body was covered in a relatively thin down, on the lower edges of their wings grew several long feathers, which along with them generally expanding outward, allowed a wingspan that was easily double what they had before. For a brief moment, they actually wondered if they could fly with these things…another time, perhaps. “And for what it’s worth, it was worth all the while…” The changes reached Zeydaan’s legs, with them similarly thinning out as the fashion there refined itself to match the rest of the clothes on their body. The comfortable pants Zeydaan usually wore grew a leathery texture as several holes were torn around the pair, not out of the transformation pushing the limits of their resilience but simply to match the style carried by the rest of their garments. The magenta-and-pink sneakers they had on became a uniform black as they became similarly leathery, along with their length extending way past their ankles and their laces extending and criss-crossing along the way. As their tail shifted to become a relatively short appendage that matched the shape and colors of their horn, Zeydaan could feel the magical energy that accompanied all of their shapeshifting subside. As their transformation came to a close, Zeydaan was in the groove, entering an utter flow state of music where they felt invincible on the guitar. Pretty much any riff they could think of, they could do without as much as a thought. A chord progression appeared in their mind, and boom! with sheer muscle memory, it was good as shredded. In fact, they had a certain amount of fun improvising new things right off the cuff. Yet, they managed to curb their enthusiasm after a while, managing to have a look at themselves in their mirror. Hey, looking great, they thought. They recalled Fang complimenting their goth-inspired outfit back at Calderafest, but Fang certainly had an impressive look themself.  Their vision drifted to their wall-clock soon enough, however. 4:07? They’d been at this for a couple hours longer than they thought! The other menagerie employees must’ve been worried sick at this point. Noting the half a dozen missed calls on their phone at this point, they hastily rushed out their door, guitar in hand.  Back at the Maiden Menagerie, the other workers were quite impressed at their form, yet not so impressed at their relative tardiness. Yet, the preparations for the concert continued without a hitch, with them even setting up signs advertising “Zeydaan/Isabella as FANG from Worm Drama” around where they would perform. As the time of their performance came, they couldn’t help but appreciate the number of people, regardless of gender or species, that showed up. “People of Mailor, queer folk and allies alike! Are you ready for a night of fantastic performances?” The concert’s announcer hyped the crowd that had formed around the stage, with their attempts at hype thankfully landing much better than the emcee at Caldera. “We wouldn’t want to keep you waiting, so we’ll start off with a bang. Let’s give a hand for our very own Zeydaan as Fang from Worm Drama!” Zeydaan confidently strutted on stage as they didn’t give one moment of hesitation before starting. After all, they had the skill on the guitar of someone who’d been practicing it all their life! They felt they could do song after song, yet they put the most effort into their final one of the night. As the crowd reactions reached an all time high, they could only smile as they sang their last few lyrics. “It’s something unpredictable, but in the end it’s right…I hope you had the time of your life…”

[actually-the-antichrist]

“Women were not suspicious and fearful of other women, even those who were not of their own kin, despite their ignorance of natural death. There is no indication that women had any difficulty communicating with stranger-women even in the most remote epoch of social evolution. From the record it appears that women always had the capacity to band together for mutual cooperation and protection. To the present day the characteristic picture of primitive women shows them working together in amiability and enjoying one another's company.

An example of the cooperative, sisterly relations among women in New Guinea is given by Margaret Mead in Sex and Temperament in Three Primitive Societies:

Tchambuli women work in blocks, a dozen of them together, plaiting the great mosquito-bags from the sale of which most of the talibun and kina are obtained. They cook together for a feast, their clay fireplaces (circular pots with terraced tops, which can be moved from place to place) set side by side. Each dwelling-house contains some dozen to two dozen fire-places, so that no woman need cook in a corner alone. The whole emphasis is upon comradeship, efficient, happy work enlivened by continuous brisk banter and chatter. (p. 252)

She contrasts this behavior of the women with that of men, where "there is always strain, watchfulness, a catty remark here, a double entendre there"; in short, where suspicion and hostility lurk under the surface of fraternal relations. She adds:

And whereas the lives of the men are one mass of petty bickering, misunderstanding, reconciliation, avowals, disclaimers, and protestations accompanied by gifts, the lives of the women are singularly unclouded with personalities or with quarrelling. For fifty quarrels among the men, there is hardly one among the women. Solid, preoccupied, powerful, with shaven unadorned heads, they sit in groups and laugh together, or occasionally stage a night dance at which, without a man present, each woman dances vigorously all by herself the dance-step that she has found to be most exciting. Here again the solidarity of women, the inessentialness of men, is demonstrated. (p. 257)

It is the women who do the work and make the things that the men interchange with one another. Mead writes, "The minor war-and-peace that goes on all the time among the men, the feelings that are hurt and must be assuaged, are supported by the labour and contributions of the women." At the festivals which repair the easily-ruptured relations among men, the women do the work while the men play the games.

Mead writes, "These festivals are a break in the vigorous workaday life of the women. Swift-footed, skilful-fingered, efficient, they pass back and forth from their fish-traps to their basket-plaiting, from their cooking to their fish-traps, brisk, good-natured, impersonal. Jolly comradeship, rough, very broad jesting and comment, are the order of the day" (p. 257). About the men's performances and games she writes, "The women's attitude towards the men is one of kindly tolerance and appreciation. They enjoy the games that the men play, they particularly enjoy the theatricals that the men put on for their benefit. A big masked show is the occasion for much pleasure" (p. 255).

Mead's report is significant because it is one of the few to show the maturity and power of primitive women in guiding the affairs of the community. Women played the key role in making men into brothers and teaching them how to make brothers and brothers-in-law out of other men. It was the women who labored to amass the food and boiled it in huge pots for the feasts, and who toiled to accumulate the baskets, blankets, pots, shell ornaments, and other things to be interchanged at the festivals. In short, it was the women's labor that created the gifts that converted enemies into friends.”

-Evelyn Reed, Woman’s Evolution: From Matriarchal Clan to Patriarchal Family

[monopoly-mountain-requests]

Names for @canaryscage , a Jimmy Solidarity kin that are masculine with yellow theming!

Blaine - comes from the old Irish world for Yellow!

Cress - a type of plant, but is often associated with gold!

Lio - Meaning light, like sunlight. Can also be short for Helios

Sol - Means sun, you can also go with Soleil if you want something fancier!

Cyrus - A Persian name which means sun!

Dill - the name of an herb with yellow flowers

Elio - Translates to “the sun”, a popular name in Italian and Spanish cultures!

Auster - A Latin name meaning “to the sun”

[endcriminalgangstalking]

Government Sanctioned Gangstalking: Destruction and Manipulation of Families and Friendships

In the shadowy world where truth is entwined with paranoia, targeted individuals find themselves ensnared in a web of isolation spun by the sinister hands of gang stalkers. But what are the twisted tactics these gang stalkers employ to turn our own families and friends against us?

The Dark Art of Manipulation

To unravel the intricacies of this psychological warfare, we must delve into the abyss where manipulation thrives. Research, such as the infamous Milgram Experiment, reveals the chilling truth: up to 60% of individuals can be coerced into torturing an innocent person with a mere suggestion of authority. When a badge enters the equation, this manipulation skyrockets to a staggering 90%. In this chilling landscape, even our closest kin are susceptible to the insidious whispers of malevolence.

The Sinister Agenda Unveiled

Gang stalkers, with their nefarious charm, convince our families and friends that we deserve their torment. They cloak their sinister agenda in the guise of a purported "behavior modification program," masking malevolence as benevolence. Good cop, bad cop theatrics seep into the minds of our loved ones, clouding judgment and distorting reality. They are told it's for our own good, a warped sense of tough love that only serves to shatter our spirits.

The Weapon of Gaslighting

Gaslighting becomes the gang stalker's weapon of choice, a subtle and cunning technique that chips away at our sanity, leaving us teetering on the edge of our own existence. The program's nefarious design is simple yet devastating: erode trust until we stand alone, isolated from the world we once knew. The fear of suicide or institutionalization hangs heavy in the air, a chilling reminder that the world may turn a blind eye if we vanish from society's grasp.

Standing Resilient

But do not succumb, fellow targeted individuals. Stand resilient!

In the face of this monstrous manipulation, rise above the ashes of despair. Embrace the mantra of survival: DEFEND YOURSELF! STAND YOUR GROUND! The narcissists and flying monkeys, entranced by the siren song of the gang stalkers, must be faced with unwavering determination. Sometimes, the only recourse is to sever ties, to go "no contact," shielding yourself from their poisonous influence.

Unite and Expose

Now, more than ever, unite and expose the dark underbelly of this orchestrated chaos. As a targeted individual, a beacon of resilience, it is your duty to shed light on the sinister games played by those in power.

Take Action!

Contact elected officials, reach out to truth-hungry journalists, and find solace in human rights and civil rights organizations. Together, unveil the secrets that shroud our lives, standing shoulder to shoulder against the malevolence seeking to consume us.

Challenge the status quo, question the narrative, and demand justice. Let our collective voice echo through the corridors of power, breaking the chains that bind us. Only through unity and unyielding resolve can we dismantle the lies and emerge victorious, reclaiming our lives from the clutches of manipulation. Stand tall, for you are not alone in this fight.

Conclusion

Government sanctioned gangstalking is a nefarious practice designed to tear families apart and manipulate friendships. But armed with knowledge, solidarity, and determination, we can expose these tactics and reclaim our lives. Stand strong, fellow targeted individuals, for together, we are a force to be reckoned with.

#TargetedIndividuals #GovernmentSanctionedGangstalking #CivilRights #HumanRights #EndManipulation

[gmanwhore]

Also i am pleased to announce i just got a 2 non killing game kin alellujah. Mondo and Korekiyo can live in no death solidarity

Hell yeah!!!!

[thorn-the-silly-druid]

oh hi other video game fictionkin :)

while you might not be able to find any other members of your species. ill always be there to vibe with you. youll always have a fluffy little btd6 druid monke by your side (sorry if that sounds weird. idk. rare fictionkin solidarity ftw)

more on feeling isolated in the otherkin community. ive started calling myself a monkey therian and involving myself in what little monkeykin communities there are, bc thats the only community i have here. bc there are 4 other known bloons kin. you heard that right. four. two of them are my friends, two i've lost contact with but briefly knew online. and i'm the only druid. if you go to the #bloons fictionkin tag its all me. its all just my attempts to make myself more visible in the hopes of meeting more bloons monkeys. in the hopes that some newly awakened monkey tries to find other ppl like them and ends up finding my blog. im quite literally the only public bloons kin on here. and one of the only active monkey blogs. an anomaly within an anomaly.

and that really isn't anyone's fault.

but it still would be nice to have my existence acknowledged more often, yk?

hey guys can we please stop acting like being a dog/wolf/fox/cat is the default experience for therians and otherkin. the community is so canine & feline centric that when i look up stuff for my main kintype on pinterest, all i get is skinny white abled teenagers in canine/feline masks doing quads. i'm a monkey. i can barely find anyone like me because just looking up "therian" on most socials yields only canine and feline stuff. i can easily scroll to the very bottom of my kintype's tag (the monkeykin tag, not the one for my specific type of monkey - afaik i'm the only one). if i look on main therian/otherkin tags its. all. wolves. and most of the community terms are based off canine stuff too. "greymuzzle". birds dont have muzzles. fish dont have muzzles. monkeys dont have muzzles. even the word shifting was based off werewolf shifting. so much stuff thats supposed to be for all therians has paws on it. i saw a therian bingo a few days ago (not wolf therian, all therians) and the free space was a wolf paw. this is just a fraction of what ive experienced. idk, maybe lets not pretend like therian just means cat or dog.

[songoftrillium]

Hearthbound Tribe Supplement v2.3!

New Expanded Version Available Now on Storytellers Vault!

All proceeds go towards funding additional artwork for Dead Mountain

Hello Kinfolks! What started as some formatting fixes and spelling corrections have turned into full spellcraft mechanics! Remember my first-ever book? Yeah, the one I released earlier that was basically the result of an unholy alliance between queerness and insomnia? Well, it's baaack! But this time, it's got a fancy new edition and a whole bunch of improvements that I promise will make you howl with excitement (or at least politely applaud).

10 pages of new content:

Better formatting, probably!

Garou Sorcerer guidelines

Cipher Glyphs for spell-storing

Enough Sorcerer mechanics to play them at your Werewolf tabletop!

Hearthbound gives you a new inclusive faction and multiple levels of intrigue to add to your Werewolf: the Apocalypse tabletop! Long kept beneath the heels of the Garou Nation, Crinos-Born and Kinfolk have found solidarity in supporting each other and have turned out en-masse to demand disruptive change from their Tribes.

Inside Hearthbound is a peek into the birth of a new kind of Tribe that venerates the ideals of Shantar, a patron of inventiveness and creativity and keeper of The Loom. They are taking a critical look at the heart of the Garou Nation itself. Long sold on the lie that Kinfolk cannot care for Crinos-Born children, an awakening is happening within the Nation, where the families that raised these Garou realize what they are doing to their Crinos-Born. This sparked a movement to help Crinos-Born, who sought a means to escape their Tribes and Septs. 

These Hearthbound, beholden to the people they love, act as judges of those Garou that abuse the Litany to systemically oppress each other. They are ambassadors to the spirits on behalf of their kin, Nannas to the Crinos-Born they help free, and Sorcerers capable of blending into societies and rewriting the Pattern Web.

There is a deep hurt within the Garou Nation.

The Hearthbound have risen to protect those oppressed voices that have existed at the edges of The Nation for millennia. The background and rules for creating a Hearthbound up to Third Rank!

No original art!   

New Gifts!

Expanded Tribe histories and faction dispositions!

Guidance on confronting the Litany, Hearths, Covens, Fellowships, and Renown!

Story seeds on how to incorporate Hearthbound into your chronicle!

Hearthbound was created with queer, trans, and disabled werewolf players in mind. I always loved the setting but never felt the game held space for queer and disabled folk, and 5th edition even less so.

A supplement that fits into this world does not pretend the bad never happened. This isn't to say the bad should be erased (indeed, that's worse in many ways) but rather is something that was, since 1st edition, something meant to be presented as antagonistically bad to social progress and meant to be confronted by players. However, this intent was very poorly conveyed, and a few too many people saw the bad stuff and took it as gospel for how they ought to behave in the world.

Hearthbound is my first step towards driving home the point that players are supposed to be confronting the Garou Nation and not celebrating and reinforcing the status quo.

I've gone through the intense emotional labor of reviewing the old books line by line to distill both the public and private faces of each Tribe and have categorically laid out the open cultural wounds that exist within each Tribe. The old books always used their literature to progress the world canon, and this aims to do just that. To pretend these problems didn't exist in the writing is disingenuous.

For those who found deep problems in the game but always wanted to play Werewolf to directly confront these things, Hearthbound is dedicated to you specifically.

And because I don't think inclusivity should have a price tag, I've made this supplement free to anyone who wants to challenge the status quo at their werewolf tabletops.

Grab your copy today!

[boatem-kinhelp]

hey hey! I know you're working through older rqs right now, so I hope you don't mind me sending in a rq! also!! gonna start signing off with alter names aswell as the anon tag (you don't have to tag any differently, it's mostly just for our sake and I feel lile it'd help with things like pendulum readings?) but anywho! speaking of pendulum readings, could I get one to see if I kin canary hybid!3L/LL jimmy, and/or osmp!niki? thank you so much in advance! -(charlotte? considering a name change LOL) 🌱 anon/sys

heyheyyy!!! i dont mind at all, lmao, im just going through our stuff while ive got the motivation to do so <3 (and alright!!! note taken!)

pendulum says a yes to canary!jimmy, maybe leaning yes to osmp!niki!!

[voidratwrites]

i watch Lizzie’s musical and all of a sudden i’ve seen all of her empires videos, am halfway through Scott’s, am up to my ears in fanfiction, and am kinning mr Jimmy Solidarity Gaming the Codfather himself 

this is a cry for help