#ty again for the tag friend!

[sealrock]

—Paris Wormwood

I was tagged by @oneiroy @thefreelanceangel & @gatheredfates for this cool oc game, tysm for the tag!

I'll be tagging @aethergazing @icehearts @iron-sparrow @ishgard @dragonsongmakhali @elf-simp @ahollowgrave @shroudkeeper (feel free to skip if you've done this already!)

—BASICS

Name: Paris Wormwood Nicknames: Little Sprout (Hector's nickname), Pari (Cassandra's nickname, rarely used) Age: 24 (post-endwalker) Nameday: 1st Sun of the 3rd Umbral Moon (June 1st, 1556) Race: Midlander Hyur/Garlean Gender: Nonbinary (AFAB), uses they/them pronouns Orientation: Lesbian Profession: Warrior of Light (retired)

—PHYSICAL ASPECTS

Hair: Black, thick texture but soft to the touch, shoulder length Eyes: Dark green Skin: Warm copper Tattoos/scars: No tattoos, multiple scars across their body. Most prominent is their nose scar inflicted by Hector when they were a child

—FAMILY

Parents: Andromache Tatlonghari; mother (48, alive) Hector Wormwood; father (47, alive) Siblings: Chryseis Wedelia; maternal half-sister born on the First shard (15, alive) Grandparents: Priam Tatlonghari; maternal grandfather (80, alive) Hecuba (née Cordova) Tatlonghari; maternal grandmother (deceased, 36 at time of death) Ovidius bas Naso; paternal grandfather (deceased, 37 at time of death) Juno mal Agrippa; paternal grandmother (deceased, 66 at time of death) In-laws and Other: Pammon Tatlonghari; maternal great-uncle (deceased, 30 at time of death) Briseis (née Tatlonghari) Villaflor; maternal aunt (deceased, 31 at time of death) Menoetius Villaflor; uncle-in-law (deceased, 44 at time of death) Evander Tatlonghari; maternal first cousin (27, alive) Patroclus Villaflor; maternal first cousin (22, alive) Cassandra (née Tatlonghari) Morleo; maternal aunt (43, alive) Alimar Morleo; uncle-in-law (48, alive) Telestas Morleo; maternal first cousin (17, alive) Cleodice Morleo; maternal first cousin (9, alive) Deiphobus Tatlonghari; maternal uncle (40, alive) Elissa Coldren; former aunt-in-law (38, alive) Hyperion Tatlonghari; maternal first cousin (14, alive) Idomeneus Tatlonghari; maternal uncle (36, alive) Pets: None

—SKILLS

Abilities: Paris uses a spectral scythe in battle that was bestowed to them by their voidsent avatar, a being they named Screwtape. Paris uses the Reaper skillset and fighting style, but isn't called a Reaper in-canon They are also an Echo user; they can predict moves the enemy will make, understand every known language of the world, and can peer into the past of a person's life, but this isn't something they're particularly good at as it's difficult to control Hobbies: Running, wrestling, playing instruments, fishing

—TRAITS

Most Positive Trait: Their steadfast loyalty Most Negative Trait: Their burning vengefulness

—LIKES

Colors: Black, green, white, gray Smells: pine and oak, rainwater, damp earth, cigarette smoke Textures: Woven fabric, knitted objects, wood, leather Drinks: Beer, hard liquor, water, coffee

—OTHER DETAILS

Smokes: Often. Paris started smoking when they turned 13 Drinks: Too often. Paris started drinking at age 15, and is what most people would call a 'functioning alcoholic' Drugs: Rarely. Paris started using drugs because of Evander (psychoactive drugs like cannabis or painkillers), but didn't like the side effects Mount Issuance: Paris doesn't use mounts often, they tend to catch rides via airships, chocobo taxis, or boat Been Arrested: Arrested? Kind of. Got caught doing something shady but let off the hook? Yes. Paris' teenaged years were spent bribing off the law thanks to their aunt Cassandra and keeping the events secret from their grandfather. The only time they were accused of a serious crime was during the bloody banquet right before HW; Priam wouldn't shelter Paris over what happened and instead kicked them out to avoid persecution, and it wasn't until Paris could clear their name that their family could trust them again

[jkvjimin]

bangtan gif challenge ☆ ↳ a concept that you cannot forget → mots: persona

[pup-pee]

SO I MIGHTVE GOTTEN A BIT INSPIRED BY THIS POST

[sunfloweraro]

Sky’s still got it

Sky plays a certain soothing tune on his harp to help Bunny get some rest. It works a little too well.

Tags: @thatonecrazysidekick and @tiredgaytheatrekid

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .

Sky began to pluck the strings for one last song, his eyes slipping shut as he thought of his beloved back home, often troubled by nightmares after her journey, similar to the ones that plagued him. He would sit by their bed after a bad dream of hers, once he had comforted her and wiped her tears away with his thumb, and he would play her this song. Zelda would never fall asleep in the first play-through, rarely the second, but by the third, soft snores would always escape her despite her insistence that she wouldn’t be able to sleep again that night.

As Sky played the final note, letting it linger on the air sweetly, he opened his eyes, slow and calm. All around him, the Zora had fallen asleep, either leaning against each other or curled up on the floor. Four had drifted off against the railing, his relaxed features making him look much younger than he normally did. Time leaned back against the wall of the Domain, arms crossed and chin lowered to his chest, fast asleep.

And next to Sky, Bunny had slumped, his breathing deep and even as Sky had hoped it would be.

“Still got it,” Sky murmured to himself, pride glowing within his chest at having knocked out both their normally serious Smithy and the Old Man, and at having helped Bunny get some rest after such an eventful day.

“That ye do.” Sky jumped, raising a hand to his chest when he realised it was only Twilight, leaning against the railing of the stairs, staring down at him with a fanged smile. “Sorry, we didn’ mean tah scare ye.”

It was then Sky realised Wild stood across from Twilight, his slate out as he attempted to capture an image of Time, conked out against the wall. He snapped a couple before Twilight grabbed him by the back of the shirt and dragged him away.

“That’s enough. We need tuh wake ‘em up”—Twilight jerked a thumb back at the sleeping Zora—“and get this lot in bed. We’ve a busy day ahead of us tomorrow and the last thing I wan’ is to listen to the Old Man bitch about ‘is sore back.”

Sky couldn’t help but snort, raising a hand to his mouth to stifle the sound. Wild had no qualms with bursting into laughter, quickly achieving their task of waking the Zora with their sensitive hearing. Grumbles were sent his way, and they received a half-apologetic wave before they dispersed.

“Ah’ve got this one,” Twilight said, already crouching by Time. Rather than shaking him by the shoulder to wake him, Twilight carefully picked up Time, carrying him effortlessly in his arms like Time was a toddler who had fallen asleep at a family gathering. Sky couldn’t help but chuckle to himself at the thought, turning back to Bunny and Four.

“How strong are you feeling today, my dear Champion?”

“We both know these two will weigh about the same,” Wild shot back. “Your choice.”

Rolling his eyes, Sky pushed himself to his feet, dusting off the front of his pants, a force of habit from the many times he had been knocked down on his quest that he couldn’t quite shake. He passed his harp to Wild to be stored in his slate for the moment. “We both know while our Smithy is small, he’s all muscle. I’ll ask again, how strong are you feeling?”

“In that case, I’m taking Bunny.”

“Ye jus’ wanna cuddle ‘im.”

“Perhaps,” Wild said as he scooped Bunny up into his arms, cradling him close like Hyrule and Twilight always did. “Oh. Oh, I see why you two want to carry him all the time. He’s so soft.”

Twilight grinned a fanged grin. “That ‘e is. Be careful with ‘im, yeah?”

Where he might normally take the words as offensive, Wild merely nodded, as if the weight and warmth of a real, breathing creature on his shoulder gave something to Twilight’s words he never heard when he was handling an item. “I will,” he promised.

“In the case,” Sky said, not at all upset he missed out on carrying Bunny when it meant he got to ensure his close friend slept somewhere comfortable and warm. He gathered Four in his arms, grateful he had thought to consider Four’s strength rather than assuming their Smithy would weigh next to nothing with his height. “Shall we?” Sky asked, holding Four closer, smiling when Four leaned his head against Sky’s chest in his sleep, hands reaching out to grasp at the front of his shirt.

“Let’s.”

[moeblob]

Warning for: The (spider) legs showing below!

Under the hoodie/layers, she tends to wrap her legs around her kinda like a hug! And so in the first part that's the weird bumps under the hoodie. They're starting to unravel a bit. She hates being called a monkey cause it's NOT her fault she's short and has to climb on things and up things and includes people in "things" category.

[lynxfrost13]

I’d love to hear about your Rotfront STAR (unless I’m tweaking and thinking of a different person)!

Hello!!! Sorry it took a minute to answer this 😅

I do have a STAR who WAS on rotfront but has since been transferred to a port in the middle of bumfuck Vineta, my gal Feuerkröte! I’m not sure if this is the star you’re talkin about but I’ll yap abt her anyways :3

She was originally part of a cadre on rotfront that handled typical interrogation type things and other such protektor duties. She was a younger star in her cadre and pretty popular within the hierarchy, she had it good! That is until a major fuckup during an investigation led by her (even though she was popular in her cadre her usual assignments involved being under other units, this was her first time truly being alone in charge).

She was reckless and heavy handed, and screwed up bad enough that her options were transfer, or decommission. Feuerkröte chose to be transferred and arrived at the VVH port in Vineta, where she’s trying to adjust to an established STAR cadre and is pretty lonely but doesn’t do a lot about it (STARs who are losers <333).

Also fun fact about her but she LOVES old vinetan cars I think she has a poster of some by her bunk and she’s just. Chock full of car knowledge. She saw pictures of old cars in a book at a library in Rotfront on one of her days off once and it unlocked something in her. She’s also a bit of a prankster and loves tormenting @/rostomantologist’s kolibri Viper who she has a bit of a toxic yuri relationship with (go check out Winnie’s blog I highly recommend)

I haven’t thought a lot about her time on rotfront but this ask has had me rotating her a bit… tysm for sending it ^^

[pamouche]

rules: create a poll with five of your all-time favourite onscreen kisses,setting any standard for qualification you choose. then tag more friends to join🧡

thank you @scrumptiousstuffs for the tag<333 it took me less time than i thought lol

1. vee x mark (love mechanics)

2. nubsib x gene (lovely writer)

3. sand x ray (only friends)

4. mhok x day (last twilight)

5. yang x phumjai (love in translation)

tagging (no pressure): @ijzermansdriesen @onzeziggy @if-music-be-the-food-of-love @clairedaring @zhouxiangs @sherrymagic and anyone else who wants to try :)

[fanfictiongreenirises]

Last Line Challenge

thank you @sassydefendorflower and @selkienight60 for tagging me!!

RULES: Post the last sentence you wrote (fanfic / original / anything) and tag as many people as there are words in the sentence.

wish i'd done this before i posted my newest fic bc the last thing i wrote for a wip before that was kyle rayner tentacle smut 💀

He lay there, eyes closed, trying to get his breathing in order.

i felt bad forcing everyone i tagged to read anything more suggestive than this so you're welcome 😂

no pressure tags: @dottie-wan-kenobi @they-reap-what-we-sow @mickidona @applejee @twilightarc-gm @aeligsido @60sec400 @dirigibleplumbing

[zebedeezing]

Really awful that this even needs to be a thought in my head at all but I’m dreading that if Liam Payne’s death is indeed a suicide, people will make it about ‘cancel culture’ and ‘mob mentality’ and whatever the fuck and dismiss and harass his ex and the women who’ve spoken out about his behaviour recently. Make no mistake regardless this death is shocking and tragic, but the internet is allergic to nuance, feel like its gonna get pissed away, all the allegations made ‘nought’ or excessive or all equates to harassment and bullying. It’s gonna become a talking point about fucking ‘wokeness’. Any victims who’ve stepped forward, they’re gonna hear ‘Didn’t you get your wish? You killed a man’. Jesus Christ.

[saturdays--sun]

hii koda [am walking into ur inbox like a cat abt to push things off a counter] can i ask whats ur fav picture(s) of any of ur f/os right now.. like the ones that currently make u wanna write essays abt how beautiful u think they are .. i wanna hear !! (@dmclr)

— @dmclr

AAA hi clara !! i've missed seeing you around, i'm glad you're back c: !!

currently thinking abt inigo. as i do. i haven't talked about him a lot recently, but he's always in the back of my mind <3 my hubband my weepy boytoy my pretty boy my beloved darling dear <33

my favorite pictures of him are all of them <3 but!! i especially love the feh 5th anniversary art of him !! he looks sososo cute in it that i just want to [squeezes him like a little plushie] the little blushes.... the bunny ears.... him curled up probably bc he's shy.... THE BUNNY TAIL........ i should be allowed to hold him in my lap n cup his face n kiss his nose even though he would probably crush me and he'd feel bad about it 😔

ALSO these panels from the manga are so special to me. the blep. the wink. the (cut off) thumbs-up. "let's pick up some ladies!!" —quote by guy who cannot get a date to save his life. cutest loserboy around, i think we should get married for a 5th time.

[grossrottie]

CONGRATS ON UR SURGERY I HOPE UR HEALING GOES WELL!!

THANK YOU WAAAAAAAAAA

(Me attacking you with a hug)

[dogboysammerlotte]

10 people I’d like to know more. I was tagged by @erodingsinner 🩷🩷 let’s pretend this didn’t take me a billion years to do

last song: To The Wolves by Stitched Up Heart and Escape the Fate

last book: Empire of the Vampire by Jay Kristoff

last movie: Halloween

last tv show: American Primevil. I’m not really into it if I’m being honest.

sweet/spicy/savoury: Sweet!!! I love sweet things so much!

relationship status: Single 💔 afraid I might be single forever.

last thing I googled: Fly me to the moon lyrics. I needed this for an Instagram post.

looking forward to: hopefully getting back into grad school, it’s a program I’m really invested in!! Losing weight, getting better eating habits, improving my mental health. Hopefully getting back into therapy. Drawing and writing more, commissioning some art

current obsession: SQUID GAME!! Save me toxic old man yaoi save me (457). I love the new hannigram 🩷

I tag: @theiceandbones @henrylevesconte @oceancamp @kaelang12 @radiojamming @seasidefanasties @worshipthesquid @leatherbars @oleworm @mayorofsassycity

[crowleys-right-eyeball]

slowly coming back to tumblr after being inactive for like a month

[avatardoggo]

sooo i gave FG his birthday present 😭🫣🥹

[mrfartpowered]

do you have any dream Howard HCs....

EHEHE YESSS I HAVE A COUPLE TY FOR ASKING >:3

Number 1 Dream Howard Trait is that he just causes chaos for the sake of causing chaos. Look, man, there’s no more chaos pearls!! What the hell else is he supposed to do??

Number 2 is that he needs no explanation. Shhh he’s just There. You don’t need to think abt how or why 🫶

I think he’s got a small amount of stank — I mean, if I had to guess, I’d say he was born of stank…and we see him use it as a weapon in Ninjception. The Sorcerer uses stank as both a weapon (energy beam type beat) and as a tool, so I think Howard can wield it those ways, too :3

His fave hobby is fucking up ppl’s day via stanking, but he only has enough ‘juice’ to get one person at a time. Naturally, he targets ppl who bother him (Bash, Slims, Heidi, etc) — whether that’s through stanking them, or someone near them, is a coin toss lol.

He shares reg!Howard’s aversion to consequences, but cranked up to a 10. So he’ll stank ppl and have a laugh watching them terrorize others, but the second they cause major property damage or anything else that could be traced back to him, he gets the fuck outta thereeee

(don’t ask who’s gonna catch him…or how…idk LMAO)

i LOOOOVE evil!hams (nomirandy/dream!howard) and this is technically an excuse to talk abt them SOOOO

also I tend to process things thru comparison so ghoulian will make an appearance here as well ok

nomighoul, To Me, is Gomez and Morticia Addams. “I would burn down the world for you.” They cause misery. They slash tires together for fun.

nightmare hams, on the other hand, are Aleheather from Total Drama. They lowkey hate each other. Their relationship is based heavily on competition — where nomighoul burns the world down together, nightmare hams race to see who can light the fire faster. “He said it first!” “He said it louder!” But Evil!!! They steal street signs for fun

in the way that I believe nomirandy is Randy’s immaturity/greed/pride personified, dream!Howard is Howard’s apathy/selfishness/bitterness given sentience. LOL

[ru5t]

KILLJOYS.

  —symbols, reputations, crews, and more symbols

Shorthand and slang, nametags and insignias and signature colors. The definition of 'killjoy' can seemingly so easily be chalked up to a climb for flashy notoriety. A clamor for the fame that can come with spitting in the face of Better Living Industries sanitized sanction of Beauty™. The city loves to paint killjoys as empty, vainglorious monsters. The papers and the streets are riddled with PSAs and people who claim that a turn to the desert is nothing more than the self-serving desire for everyone to look your way, to walk the sands like something deified. And sometimes that's true. Sometimes a killjoy is in it for the fame, or else the infamy. Sometimes they aim to steal the legacies of others, rebrand the past into their origin.

These killjoys, of course, are widely regarded as absolute tools.

You can't fake your way to greatness, 'cause in the zones it's all about what you do. What path you run or newly make, and what it gives to those who you catch up to, or who come behind you. Your reputation will precede you. A lie might get you noticed, might make waves and people believe you're worth something for a moment, but without the guts to back up your claims you'll crash and burn just as fast. A mask, the kind of falsehood that you hide behind, only holds so long. Anyone well-known in the desert got that way for a reason, and it's not about appearances or pure aesthetics (though a flair for dramatics is, generally, encouraged.)

Being a killjoy means doing things in extremes. Answering insult with violence, happiness with hullabaloo, and aiming to destroy in a literal sense the corporation responsible for the loss of so many lives. It means fighting and killing and maiming and laughing at the trail of Better Living ruins you leave in your wake. Lighting the night with gunfire, but fireworks and neon and stage lights too. Blasting music and murders with equal fervor. And it also means clinging to your own. It means never compromising, never abandoning anyone. Even if, perhaps, things would turn out better if you did. Even if they ask you to. Even if they beg.

Subcultures Galore

Quite possibly the most important note to be made about killjoy culture: for almost every example of desert life, there's another that contradicts it. The subcultures are as varied as they are complex, ever-evolving as life in the desert shifts and more people escape the city, or flee back to it. In many ways, desert life is well established. In many others, the turnover rate of life and constant (re)development of threats has made it new and new and new, always something that must be discovered over again.

Precious few have dedicated themselves to recording the madness, and Better Living makes active efforts to control the narrative and what information goes around: historians and those who live through major events are regular targets. Much that comes to light is just as readily lost to the dark again. The past is quickly forgotten, and the cycle spins on for both sides of the wall.

The crews that killjoys gather into tend to create their own micro cultures. Some strongly resemble modern gangs, with heavy focus on territory, monetary exploits, and complex initiation rituals. Others represent more of an ambient counter-culture energy, where all it takes is one's presence to be considered part of the fold. Still others may turn their attention to rehabilitating their environment, or making the most of what's there, or pushing the boundaries of the known zones- On and on. Lists and lists. Better Living publications lump everyone beyond their city's walls into one category (vermin), and that if nothing else makes it true they share commonalities, but desert life is so varied it would take decades to study every available path.

The Big Four

As the years roll on, ways of living come and go. In this era of the desert, a few major ways of life have emerged that most crews can be at least vaguely categorized into: crash queens, motorbabies, settlements, and shrines.

Crash queens are, broadly speaking, any group leading proactive attacks against the city itself — or, at the very least, its walls. These groups or individuals are typically found in the inner zones, one and two, but there are larger crews with bases further out who make runs in. The city prefers -perhaps more accurately- to call these types extremists, as they're prone to targeting the city and not just the armed employees of the S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W Unit. Many crash queens have taken out citizens as collateral for their aims. Some take out citizens on purpose. The most notorious or egregious of these killjoys end up on the top of the wanted lists – those that don't die as part of their plans, anyhow.

Motorbabies —while a word with a bit of an obfuscated definition that sometimes just means "mechanic obsessed with their car"— are typically the kind of killjoys one finds in convoys. Road warriors, the cavalry! They're usually nomadic, with groups following certain paths across the zones in a repeating pattern, or else totally mobile, with no set direction but whichever one gets them their next fight with a patrol. It's common for these crews to be associated with one or more of the more permanent settlements, even if only for the pay. They act as a front line and warning system, giving the grounded settlements time to prepare for or escape Better Living's regular raids into the desert. Motorbabies defend major roads and work in groups to detain or entirely derail patrols. In return, the settlements provide supplies and/or other pay to their mobile protectors. Quid pro quo, one way or another.

Some roving crews, however, aren't tied to the settlements at all, or lack the same road-warrior style that 'motorbaby' tends to go hand in hand with. These generally walk more of the line between killjoy and neutral, or outright declare themselves uninvolved. Electraphone, for instance, is a traveling entertainment troupe that has crossed the wall peacefully in the past (though the days when that was possible seem long distant now.) Directly counter, there's at least one of these moving groups who makes an enemy of everyone they cross, stealing and looting and presenting the idea that they can take whatever they like from whoever they like, Better Living and Zonerat alike.

Settlements generally come in one of two flavors: killjoy or neutral.

The killjoy settlements most often come into being when a roving crew slows down or has cause to settle. These places are known to fluctuate in size and severity of politics. As other killjoys move through or settle there, they take on piecemeal, patchwork energy. This car, that old strip mall. Not all of them have proper names, or banners, or even leaders, often just piling together more like odd little neighborhoods. They last anywhere from days to decades, depending on where they land and how lucky they are. Sometimes, it's just the one crew, and it's there until the last member turns to dust. For others, settling was never the long-term idea, and one day they pack up as entirely as if they were soldier's encampments, disbanded by command and call to march on. But for a time they're there. And some even stick.

The Haven best qualifies as a killjoy settlement, though it walks the line of being neutral in many ways. In the end, Jack's leadership is too inwardly focused. There's not much plan for long-term permanence, or the building of anything except his own home for his own family. The right push could make it a great place for a neutral town to unfold, though.

Neutral settlements are, when it can be managed, more permanent in nature than killjoy settlements. They tend to take names and go through pains to create something of a township, a place to really live beyond the city, and not just suffer and fight. They have leaders akin to mayoral positions, and many have law sets they expect anyone passing through to follow. The city, of course, regards these places as killjoy in nature, but neutral settlements are just that. Neutral in the greater conflict, striving to build something that isn't centered on war. Necessity dictates they're friendly(ish) with killjoys, but the culture in a neutral town is a different thing from the call to rebellion most killjoys espouse. Jasper is perhaps one of the better known and largest neutral settlements, and is one of few directly connected to the information network of zones 03 and 04. Its sister-settlement, Ashtap, is considered a killjoy settlement: fairly new in the grand scheme, and not expected to last forever, but a good ally for now.

In some ways, the Fabulous Four embody aspects of all of the above approaches to desert living. As things are, the boys are broadly responsible for the general attitudes and beliefs of most zone dwellers, even those that claim no such influence from the group. Their Diner (sometimes colloquially called the DIE-ner) stands as a sort-of settlement, while their run-and-gun guerilla style attacks on patrols paved the way for motorbabies and other aspects of the car culture at work, and the infamous dive into the heart of Battery City stands to this day as the ultimate example for crash queens everywhere. At the end of the day the desert's most unifying belief, which the boys fundamentally established when they broke free of the old desert's way, is that of bonds: Your crew is everything. You die together, or not at all.

Shrines are an odd, outlying beast. Most are found in the outer zones, and while their politics passingly resemble neutral ideals, the structures themselves aren't the same kind of future-focused establishments. Many shrines take up residence in old holy buildings, churches and synagogues. Some house small groups, shrine-tenders and followers, but they aren't usually places to remain. They're houses of worship and offering. Those who live in or near them typically dedicate all their time in service to whichever desert deity they claim and whoever may come in search of them whilst otherwise staying out of the day to day of the zones.

The Old Desert

Most people know there was a way of desert life before 'killjoy' became the word for it. And most people know that the Fabulous Four, along with the girl Sunny, were the ones to redefine what it all meant. Almost no one can tell you what, exactly, that different way was. Between the all-go-no-stop nature of the desert —the city's relentless drive for 'progress' and the dangerous shifting of the desert itself— there's not much that's long lived, so much of what ought to have been history was lost in the Collapse of 2014 (an unexplained mass casualty event that eliminated most of the 'old desert' figures). As well, a dark fate awaits those who are not careful with what they know. Ask enough questions, chase enough ghosts, and you just might hear a whisper of the Hall or find the rare soul who admits they once belonged to the Court, but not much else. And not without c̞͘ons̕͜e̲̕͘q̱̀̀u̢̢͡è̷̢̯n̡ç͏̛͝ȩ̶̧̛ͅ s͘͏̭̗̜̞̀͟͠ ̷̨̗́͘͠. . .

It's wise to remember, however crimson your heart, however dyed your hair, however free your feet and tight your ties to your crew, that a kingship is a thing either inherited or else usurped.

The Self as a Symbol

Individuality is a cornerstone of many zone philosophies. A person's unique traits —whether they were born with them or later acquired them— are celebrated and raised upon a pedestal. This includes physical attributes, clothing and hair styling, names, occupations, and distinguishing happenings such as major events in the zones and life-changing moments. It rarely goes so far as to say standing out is the only merit a person can have, rather focusing on differences as a thing to respect rather than seek to suppress. The unique constellation of things that have made you you ought to be acknowledged. Not that you're the only one to ever do something, but that you're the only one who has done everything you've done. You experiences don't have to be unique in all the world, the fact that you lived them is the novelty. Because living, really living, is itself an act of rebellion. And you, your thoughts and feelings and flair, are the best weapon against prepackaged, consumable oblivion. Become perfectly ugly, unruly, unmanageable, unduplicatable!

What's in a Name?

Killjoy's proclivity for renaming themselves began as a necessity. In the early days of rebellion, many who opposed Better Living had to do so in the utmost secrecy, at risk of being silenced. As the movement grew and changed over the years, code names and callsigns began to mean something different. For a time they even included rank-like systems that identified individuals as part of specific crews and ideologies. With time, names became more complex, and the bank of words expanded until it was unable to be cleanly kept.

In the current culture, naming stands as more a symbol, freedom from the strict standards of city life and a claiming of one's individuality. There's no specific template or be-all example of a name. Some are more lyrical or even poetic, some more descriptive of occupations or interests, while others are more cobbled together from seemingly random sets of words. There is, technically speaking, no way to have a killjoy name that is incorrect in structure. Some trends nevertheless persist, such as: rhymes, alliterations, puns, and subversions of familiar objects or phrases.

That said, many of the desert's denizens have strong opinions on names all the same. In fact, killjoys are incredibly likely to pass judgement on each other's callsigns, though these remarks are generally kept to oneself or only mentioned to close confidants. Directly insulting someone's name to their face is generally considered fighting words. Slanted commentary is fair game — the more off the wall the better. (e.g. replacing parts of the moniker, inventing a new version of it, or simply calling them a name that is not their name would be fair game, whereas commenting directly, "that's stupid" or to that effect, would be hugely offensive and is considered deserving of a physical fight to settle the matter.)

Nicknames are universal in the zones. Regardless of age, gender, chosen living style, or overall name length, nobody in the zones goes by their full name on the daily. Some killjoys accumulate more names and nicknames than others, but all will have long and short versions of what they are called. Nicknames, like killjoy names, have no set design, though they tend to be one or two syllables pulled directly or indirectly from the full name, while more unique nicknames may come from signature colors or other symbols a killjoy has adopted for themself.

Rainbow Reasoning

One of Better Living's more infamous bit of imagery is that of beautiful cleanliness. While color and colorful attire are not, strictly speaking, illegal in the city, the focus on neatness and order means that uniformity and simplicity rule as the presented ideal, and this includes color. Center City, the wealthy and famous, present tidy, well-ordered appearances in highly restrictive shades. Many city jobs have uniforms and designated palettes. Within the city's advertising and catalogues, he most frequently found colors are pastels and neutrals, colors dubbed gentle, neat, or serene. The S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W Unit in particular dresses exclusively in black and white, with only the red mouths of the desert-facing draculoid masks as exception.

Naturally, then, disorder and color plays an important part in killjoy culture.

Killjoys go for bright shades, bold choices. They usually have a single color or set of colors that they associate and become associated strongly with. For most, these signature colors, like their names, become a key part of their identity. They can change sometimes, or meander, but broadly speaking once a killjoy latches onto a color it's theirs. Many killjoys dye their hair or, less often, their clothing to create their looks. These are typically their most signature color(s), with the bright red shock of Party Poison's hair serving as perhaps the most iconic example: the Rat King's crown. Point of fact hair color is regularly given higher recognition than any other part of a killjoy's appearance. In light of this, hair dying in particular has taken on a language of significance and gesture all its own.

Using, again, Party Poison as an example, people tend to say that red is Poison's color even though the dominant color he wears in the form of his signature jacket and infamous Mousekat head is actually a cobalt blue, while his gun and badge are both yellow. The Kobra Kid's signature jacket, gun, and badge are all crimson, but his hair being blonde in combination with a taste for bright shirts associates him with the color yellow or gold.

There are, of course, a limited number of colors available for a person to don, and repeats or similarities are a promise, but sharing a color and trying to steal it are different things entirely. The latter, as you can expect, is intensely taboo. Emulation in the desert is only tolerated so far. It's one thing to paint a similar pattern on your gun or pick a synonym for poison as part of your moniker, it's entirely another to paint yourself in someone else's color and start going by their nickname.

The Best Worst-Dressed

Clothing, while sometimes dyed as mentioned above, is less leaned upon for identity. Though many killjoys happily decorate themselves and their deeds may then make their outfits iconic, the clothes themselves are not usually designed for any specific statement other than 'I like it'. Punk, grunge, and skater fashions are incredibly common, as the standing counter-culture to the city's businesslike pleats, collars, and coats. The city also heavily genders clothes, whereas the desert defies this regularly with cross dressing and androgynous styles both being popular. Clothing actually becomes more political inside the wall, in the outer city and Neon District, where wearing certain fashions can associate one to the gangs found there or identify someone as 'killjoy sympathetic' in the city's eyes. In the zones, clothing is more individual and expression-focused.

Some killjoy are more practical than others when it comes to dress. They'll favor layers and protective coverings. Others go all in on their aesthetics and take whatever environmental consequences result on the chin (or, as is most common, as sunburns on the face and shoulders.) It's more or less an even spread of function and fashion, with no clear winner as a dominant trend.

Now and then a killjoy will have a particularly noteworthy piece of clothing, such as a significant jacket, that becomes so associated with their image it gets labeled a nametag: instantly identifiable, and tells you exactly who you're talking to. This is more of an exception than a rule. Once again, the most clear examples are Poison's Dead Pegasus jacket and Kobra's customized jacket, which boasts his badge on the chest and his name down the left arm.

Badges and masks fall in and out of popularity with stunningly frequent irregularity. It's not uncommon for individuals to have one or both, but they aren't nearly as universal as signature names and colors. Most masks serve a more functional purpose, either hiding the identities of killjoys who have more precarious attachments to their physical appearance (e.g. those who cross the wall regularly, or work in secret) or whose movements through the zones necessitate travel through areas where the air must be filtered to be breathable. Badges -sometimes just called symbols- tend to serve more as calling cards. They tend to be simple in design, so that they can easily be painted or otherwise tagged onto surfaces to indicate territory, claim actions, or simply defy order.

Party Poison, Jet Star, Fun Ghoul and the Kobra Kid's respective badges.

Do It Now, Do It Loud Philosophy

Killjoy social culture is fast, loud, and frequently over the top. It rises in parallel to the daily risks of opposing the company and stark contrast to the hard work and extended silences of carving out an existence in a landscape as hostile as the zones. Fight hard, play harder. Because you can, you've made it this far and lived this long and tomorrow's never promised. And because the city hates it.

For all of these and many other reasons, it's arguable that violence is inherent not just to survival in the desert landscape, but to zone culture itself.

Games take on shapes of fighting and sometimes bloodshed, hobbies appear around knives and guns and driving too fast, too impaired. Many killjoys are thrill seekers who won't hesitate to experiment with illicit substances and risky endeavors. The Fuck You!!!! House is a venue of significant notoriety which promises bloodshed in some form every night – just attending an event there is to take your life into your own hands. Car jousting, fighting rings, drag races. Overpacked concerts and clubs. Douse it all in smuggled and homemade booze and remember that everyone carries matches or a gun and there will be fireworks and pyrotechnics and any moment could be the moment it all goes horribly wrong. Then take your shot and chase it with another and do it all anyway.

Even those who don't readily take part of the party scene end up as explorers, cleaners, and frontiersmen. Something as simple as a hobby hike can send you over a ravine or into a pit of smilers or wading into radiation so thick you can feel the air get heavy.

While all of this is true and life in the zones pretty much guarantees you'll bleed at least once a week, it remains true that the zones are first and foremost a survivalist community. Unified? Not in the least. But everyone outside the city's clutches -even neutrals- has at least one thing they can all agree on, and it's that the city is wrong, and the best way there is to deal with that right now is to stay out of its hands. Out of its systems, out of its practices, out of its rules and rigidity.

However rowdy things get, whether at work or play, killjoys (and most zoneside neutrals) are more likely to band together than they are to rip each other apart.

Even rival groups and feuding gangs will set aside their grudges when faced with a Better Living patrol or unprecedented perils from the sand itself. Survival is the ultimate defiance. Killing and turning on each other would only make things easier for the city. You see someone stumble, you cover them until they find their feet. You catch wind of a patrol, you let everyone know. Even when it's that radio host you can't stand to listen to the rants of, or someone who stabbed you once, or whose nose you broke. You go down together or not at all.

Talk the Talk

The high-octane way of life works its way into the words too. Killjoys' way of speaking, much like their ways of life, is as varied as it is simultaneously universal. These days there is an almost-dialect, "zonespeak". Riddled with slang and constantly evolving, it's impossible to keep up with entirely, but nevertheless remains so distinct it's usually clear to anyone from the zones when a person is new to the desert or faking their allegiances purely from the way they talk.

Zonespeak is fast paced and downright filthy, riddled with dropped consonants and prolific profanity. It takes sentiments like fuck you and I'll kill you from insultory to conversational with regular ease. Threats to life and limb are so common that, in many ways, these things have lost their punch. Frequently it's just the trade of talk, establishment of communication. True, things can come to blows if groups can't reach understanding, but mostly it's just the way the words go. If anything, the less loud and flagrant the insults, the closer to snapping someone actually is. Broadly speaking, silent stare downs are a lot more of a active problem than promising to take someone's various limbs or sensory organs. (e.g. "I'll saw your fuckin' ears off" is fairly conversational for 'knock it off, you're getting on my nerves', whereas something like "Enough." in a low voice is truly edging towards resorting to physical violence). Killjoys who can't recognize a (semi)friendly fuck you from legitimate insult generally aren't taken very seriously or are found suspicious, and will be mocked mercilessly either way. It betrays an ignorance to the culture — in killjoys' eyes, someone who can't handle a little rough housing must either be new, a liar, or soon to perish. Regardless, beating the dead horse helps speed things along.

Other zone slang, much like zone names, began as a necessity and spiraled over time. A majority of it is rooted in old turns of phrase that may or may not exist on their own anymore, and the rest results from plays on those terms and other filled niches. Suffice to say a rolling punchbuggy gathers no rust (but it might punch back.)

The dictionary can give you insight into existing terms, and perhaps hints to where and how desert words are likely to shape.

Know Your Enemy

Most killjoy vs. killjoy confrontations are vocal, or pure bluster. Those that aren't can typically be settled by individual showdowns, trade deals, or other arrangements. Despite the general inclination toward thrills and intensity of killjoy passions, desert law (though largely unspoken) maintains that the fight against the city, against extermination, is the most important thing. Infighting is inevitable, when the core tenants of your belief circle so often around the importance of expression and the self, but the desert doesn't support true individualism if only out of practicality. Cooperation outranks pride every time (at least when it comes to shedding actual blood. Feel free to argue until you turn purple.) Most killjoys do not lightly take the lives of other killjoys. Fighting to the point of bloodshed as a way to solve differences is a lot more common, but still reduced where possible. Boxing rings, where two conflicting groups select a single member to fight until their is a winner, are more common than all-out group brawls.

There are, of course, radicals in zones, and exceptions to this general rule. Some entire crews run on hair-trigger tempers, and will cut down any opposition or over slight disagreements, but these types are outliers and even outcasts. Consistently aggressive or hostile groups –crash queens being the most likely to fall into this– will find themselves cut off over time. For all the violence those in the zones are capable of, reaching for it too quickly when dealing with other killjoys breaks from that unspoken law of the desert and will get a group temporarily or, eventually, permanently shunned and excommunicated. And getting too cut-off in the desert is a death sentence. There's simply no way to generate everything you'll ever need to survive in the zones as a single group forever. Your crew might string things along for awhile, maybe even a long time, but if you can't find a trade group who will deal with you, your whole group will be out of the fight sooner rather than later.

Leave Nothing Behind But Dust

Killjoys don't abandon their own, and killjoys never die, but sometimes they fall. To BL/ind's crows, to sickness, to the desert's heartless whims. To pushing boundaries wherever they're found. It can happen any time, at any place.

Some killjoys might pass a mask or jacket (etc.) onto their loved ones, tokens and reminders, but for the most part killjoys don't do permanence. Standard practice sees pyres for the dead, not burials. There are no headstones to be found in the desert, no mausoleums or self-congratulating memorials, just the mailbox where the superstitious or long suffering leave their letters to the dead and, on occasion, the salvaged-stripped shells of the cars that could not be revived.

Ashes are thrown from peaks or left where they burned to scatter with the wind, and in that spirit the whole desert is the mausoleum. The very sand that you walk over, sleep on, that scratches your window and wears on your skin as a constant reminder. Every running step and drop of blood -your own or the enemy's- salutes the dead. The fight goes on.

Never let them take you alive.