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pluralcultureis · 5 months

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Plural Culture is getting a bit upset when ppl tell you "I can't believe you let {this alter} front, why would you ever let them out?"

Because first of all; we don't fucking control who fronts. Not even our gatekeepers have real control over that. Our brain throws whoever it thinks it needs to into front

We may have some influence over it, with positive triggers to try and get certain alters to front

But we have zero control of keeping other alters out of front

I have exactly 1 memory that involved an alter being forcibly removed from front (it was me)

And it was because I was fighting to stay in front during an extremely triggering moment, and it took half the fucking system to get me out of front

I was physically removed, and it drained everyone so harshly the body threw up and had to leave work early.

We do not control who fronts

And second! In a majority of systems, controlling front like that isn't healthy!! Most alters are meant to front!! Even the "bad" ones!!! *

Controlling front is so rarely actually a good thing!

Don't shit on systems for "letting" certain alters front, this isn't some fun quirky roleplay that we have control over. It's a fucking disorder

* I say most and majority, but do not mean ALL. I understand that in certain systems, most often ramcoa survivors, certain alters cannot be allowed to front. This post is not referring to cases such as those.

#endos dni #osdd #pdid #did #did system #pdid system #osddid #actually did #traumagenic #actually dissociative #plural culture is #we got far too many asks sent about why we were “letting” Constantine front #after what he did #idk maybe because he's a protector??#the dude isn't as bad as people think he is #he just reacts to stress in a very aggressive way #we're really tired of people acting like systems are evil for allowing alters to just exist and do their jobs #and maybe also make a post of two online so they can feel like they're more of a person than just their role #plural culture

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thoughtportal · 9 months

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In this episode we explore a relatively new subgenre of science fiction called Solarpunk, which aims to imagine better, more ecologically harmonious, futures on earth. In many ways Solarpunk is a reaction to both the real-world climate crisis and to the many apocalyptic visions of collapse filling our screens. Andrew Sage from the YouTube channel Andrewism joins host Jonathan McIntosh and friend of the show Carl Williams for this conversation.

References & Links • The Andrewism YouTube Channel • Walkaway by Cory Doctorow • Ecotopia by Ernest Callenbach • Sunvault: Stories of Solarpunk and Eco-Speculation • Fighting for the Future edited by Phoebe Wagner • Parable of the Sower by Octavia Butler • Princess Mononoke from Studio Ghibli • The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas by Ursula K. Le Guin • Emergency Skin by N. K. Jemisin • Monk and Robot book series by Becky Chambers • Dear Alice from THE LINE • Dear Alice’ Decommodified Edition by Waffle To The Left • Our History Is the Future by Nick Estes • 3000-Year-Old Solutions to Modern Problems by Lyla June • Capitalist Realism by Mark Fisher

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witchofthesouls · 6 months

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https://www.tumblr.com/witchofthesouls/728309614022623232/guys-let-me-talk-about-this-new-au-in-the

Could we possibly get a expansion on this post please? Before we got isekaied, what was our relationship with Sentinel? I’d imagine if we had a newborn and he chased us down it would be something like conjux? It also seems he is very possessive if he launches a whole manhunt, but I guess that could be a normal reaction to seeing a carrier fling themselves out of the balcony.

There's a reason why it's called Fight-or-Flight, and apparently even Cybertronians have it.

One moment you're staring into Sentinel Prime's face, then the next you're falling.

The wind whips, and you can't even see the ground from this high up. The skyscraper is a height beyond what humans were/are/will be (?) capable of as you fall through the hazy smog and see the horizon of metal, gleaming and reflective with rainbow hues.

The movies didn't do the planet justice. None at all.

Something clicks in your new head and body, and you twist over to fall parallel to the building. Hands, large and thick and so unlike your own with unfeeling segmented armored plating, dig into the building. You feel nothing, even as you jerk; feet doing the same, digging hard enough to start a trail of sparks.

You feel rather than see a change in your hands and feet, your body thrums as well, and in the corner of your high definition vision, there's an overlay of your frame with various highlights. Metal screams as you leave jagged scars, and you slowly decelerate enough to land hard on a ledge.

Apparently, Cybertronians do have their own architectural designs, like gargoyles.

And you now sport a set of thick talons on each metal finger and blades at the tip of your nonexistent toes like an assassin or a spy from a movie.

There's no other chance to think what kind of body you're currently inhabiting as your new ears prick and shift over. You can't help but swivel in the very direction, and your vision zooms in. In the distance, a few jets are speeding their way.

A strange wave of calmness settles over you, and, once more, your body just moves without your input.

You move behind the metal guardian, palm flat on the empty wall, and your hand sends out a pulse. A map suddenly appears, confirming no immediate biosignatures. Those newfound talons then thrum and superheats into a harsh white to dig deep into the metal, cutting into it with no resistant, smooth like butter, to make a hole large enough to shimmer through it.

In a strange, hysterical note, you place back the wall piece. Careful to realign it, and the cuts simply disappear as if never made.

Whatever came over you, then leaves, and you sag down. The adrenaline (do these metal people even such a thing?) suddenly bleeds out of your entire frame, plating clicking shut as you press into a corner because what the hell!?

And you have no idea what else to do when the map pulses and flares as a pathway is marked out.

It's a persistent prod, tapping in your mind in various pop-ups that easily flow into it. You have no choice at this point. Either wait for another mecha to find you or follow the map.

You take the second option, hoping to find a way out without tipping off more people.

Terrified as doors slide open to reveal empty hallways of nothing. Not even decor or signage. You realize the blades retracted as you try to keep the noise minimal as you pass by entryways.

If it isn't for the active map and its directions, you would take your chances with the jets rather than stay in these never-ending bland halls of a liminal space. There's no noise but a constant low hum. Not even vaulted cameras, but maybe the security tech is a whole other beast.

The alien version of a Google maps guides you to a fucking wall of all things. You try to walk further, just to have the damn thing blare a huge warning that makes your transferred soul make a mean attempt trying to escape its newest home.

Of course, you back track, feeling up the black expanse of the wall, searching for a clue or a hidden mechanism, trying and failing to trigger that pulsing search.

You give into the frustration and kick the wall, and your damn foot sends out that pulse.

There's a room.

You find that it's easier to access your superheated talons and make quick work in creating a new door.

It's a spacious room with no windows and many weird pod-like structures dotting the area. Dark and empty.

You carefully pick your way, mindful of the automation on the floor as you go to the corner, led by the map and instinct.

There, in an active pod of shimmering bioluminescent lights, is something squirming behind the opaque cover. You have no idea what prompted to poke the sac, but you did.

It disintegrates in a curtain of faerie light.

Whatever vague hope you had about an item for an escape is immediately dashed by the sight of two tiny things inside the space-crib-pod-thing.

The room is a nursery. A space nursery.

They're nothing like the supposed baby robots in the movies. These two are reminiscent of a human infant. Rounded, short limbs with a large torso and head. Their bodies are far simpler than all of the adults, and even their faces lack complex overlapping plates and indentations and crests. Soft. They look so soft and malleable compared to everything on the planet.

Colorless in a dull, matte grey with thick, milky optics. One starts warbling like a bird, blindly reaching out, and you can't help but lean forward as the small face ripples, like a pebble in a lake, it vibrates across their body before shifting back to a pristine state. The other is whistling air, optics shut, audials flicking, and Jesus Christ, that's ridiculously cute!

You crouch down, reaching out to help the other flip over to their belly, and you have no idea what happened because a sharp pain erupts in your chest.

A ghostly hand had reached inside and ripped out all your circuitry to replace the hollow space with molten lava. You're burning from the inside, and you can't escape the scorching heat that grabbed your new heart in an agonizing fist.

You're vaguely aware of slamming into the ground, weighed down, and hands? A lot of hands, but the floor is blessedly cold enough to give a moment of relief.

There's crying, and you're being pried open like a cheap 90s toy, but instead of switching out dying batteries, something gets jacked into you. Your side cramps hard, and you try to roll, but you're being crushed and held. There's a strange sensation of something injected, crawling across your physical frame and flowing into your head. A cascade of pop-ups overtake the warnings across your vision, faster and faster until it pixelates and completely shatters into prismacolor blackout.

You're gone.

_______

Ratchet curses as he forces open a sparking chassis with a travel bar and brute force, rerouting coolant lines and pulling out blackened circuitry as he delves into the burning out spark.

Sentinel relaxes. When that medic swears, it's okay. When he's quiet and focused, then...

The Prime stares at you. Even in forced stasis, there's a grimace on your now visible features. You're young as well. Between mechling and adult with the relatively few overlapping plates of your face.

For a half-starved, near-death Wilder, you're beyond lively.

Sentinel was upstairs to give your last rights. No matter Star Saber's misgivings, it's the proper thing to do, especially those that are Primal-descent.

And what a discovery that was! One of the newsparks with a mark of Prima, found nearby you, weakly crying under the meager protection of rockshade and a tattered cloak. And your glyphs of Vector and another Prime. Unknown or forgotten carved neatly in the high arches of your cheeks.

(He isn't alone now.)

Either you have incredible mods, unique sigma abilities, or no sense of preservation. Perhaps a combination because you managed to escape to get to this hidden NICRU without miminal detection, but collapsed by the combined backlash between your abilities and (re?)claiming the foundlings.

You're an idiot, he thinks fondly because he remembers the makeshift fuel-split directing Energon into the newsparks. A skilled idiot.

Then, he becomes aware of Ratchet's commands to transfer out to a critical care center clashing with High Brow's orders to stabilize and take to stockades.

"No." He cuts firmly, letting Ratchet’s apprentice tap into physically restraining your frame.

An immediate flow of counterpoints met his comms as Sentinel carefully puts the howling foundlings by your side. He knows Ratchet will have words, but the two hiccup down to fretting chirps and whistles.

Those options will take you out of his direct purview, and Sentinel intimately knows that many will directly oppose a Wilder walking free in the city-state. You would disappear quietly and easily, especially if word of your lineage spreads.

Sentinel will kill several steel-flizzers with one detonator.

He produces the visor, cracks fixed, and slots it gently back onto your face. The fewer that know your face, the better.

"This is my Intended." He announces, and Sentinel savors the sudden stillness from everyone before the tsunami of action swept everything away.

He can almost hear the screams of the Council and his own High Protector from the distance.

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lightwise · 1 year

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The Protector: Thoughts about Satine, Bo, and Din as rulers of Mandalore

This has already been discussed in much better detail here, here, and here, but I realized the other day that there is another aspect to the Bo-Katan vs. Din ruling Mandalore with the Darksaber that hasn't been mentioned.

I firmly agree that Din Djarin as a character is meant to serve as the Guardian/Protector, not the Ruler, of Mandalore. He is literally a knight in shining armor. His name could be a reference to the term Paladin (thank you for this @katherynefromphilly). I mean look at him.

Granted, I was excited to see him wield the Darksaber and potentially follow the reluctant leader trope. BUT. I think the direction they are taking him and Bo-Katan is much better.

So how does Satine factor into this, you ask? Here's how. What did Satine not have, as a leader? A PROTECTOR.

Now, she had Obi-Wan. And I believe she even called him her protector at one point (am I imagining this?) And he did what he could to keep her safe and give her guidance.

But he wasn't really able to be her protector the way she needed. They were not able to merge their lives together the way they might have wanted. And Satine's rule suffered and was cut short due to her lack of wise counsel, her lack of someone to lean on who had both her and Mandalore's best interests at heart. (We're going to ignore the Palpatine/Empire component which would have brought down Mandalore regardless, and did so in spite of both Satine and Bo-Katan's efforts).

What has Bo-Katan also not had until now? That same protection. (Other than Fenn Rau, thank you for pointing this out @mandalorianchronicles). And her efforts have also failed, until now.

I am not at all saying that either of these incredible women need a man to be able to rule. They are strong, capable, and independent leaders in their own right. But what they do need is the space to rule, the support and protection and gaps filled that someone having their back could give them, in order to be effective and far reaching in their efforts. Good leaders have to delegate. If they try to handle everything themselves, their energy and efforts will be diminished. And the role of the guardian/protector/paladin is to do just that.

I hope we get to see just how amazing of a team these two can be, supporting each other, filling in the gaps, and coming together to unite their separate definitions of Mandalorian and their respective tribes into one renewed dynasty. (Also keeping my fingers crossed for a Satine mention in live action PLEASE).

This is the Way.

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plural-culture-is · 1 month

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tw self harm

persecutor-protector-syskid culture is. i self harmed because i wanted people to care about me. but now that people are worried, i feel horrible and i don't want them to worry about me or feel upset or sad!! i miscalculated!!! can i take it back i didn't mean to make people concerned!!!

#plural culture #actuallyplural #plurality #plural system #persecutor-protector-syskid culture #persecutor culture #protector culture #self harm cw #anonymous

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nickysfacts · 1 month

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All hail Mothra, the queen of the Monsters!

🏝️🦋👑

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plural-this-user-is · 9 months

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This system has both an introverted protector and a extroverted age-slider as hosts that have the Wednesday/Enid autism. 🕸🌈

Version with the Autism Flag:

Version with a Wednesday/Enid Autism Flag:

🕸 Made by us! Credits not necessary, but appreciated! These userboxes were requested!🌈

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archeo-starwars · 10 months

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Source: Galaxy at War Roleplaying Game

#star wars #in universe language #mando'a #mandalorians #mandalorian culture #mandalorian protectors #galaxy at war sourcebook

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error-page-404 · 1 month

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Protector culture is "BLOCK"

:3 the block button is my best friend

REAL

Keeps us safe from bad people

#traumagenic system #system protector #system things #system stuff #plural system #system #did system #dissociative system #sysblr #system community #protector culture is #protector alter #protector

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protector-culture-is · 29 days

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Protector culture is working through everyone's problems and loving everyone with every inch of yourself. But when your caretaker tries to have you focus on yourself you struggle to shrug off the entire systems issues to address your own

-🪶🕯️

#understands that. sometimes caring for other people becomes so ordinary that caring for yourself feels alien #just try your best. it'll get easier with time <3 #-?#protector culture is #actually plural #endo safe #🪶🕯️ anon

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evaarade · 2 months

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From Peace Times To War Times

There is something to be said about the fact that when we first see the Protectors is in TCW and they are in their traditional armour and protecting the ruler chosen by the people in Mandalore.

And the next time we see them it's in rebels and not only have they have been chased off to Concord Dawn but they are wearing the combat version of their armour.

#Mandalorian protectors #Mandalorian Royal guard #Star wars #Swtcw #Swr #Star wars Mandalorian protectors #crazy.tx: idk what else to tag this #Mandalorians thoughts #Mandalorian culture #crazy.tx: since it is pointing out how different the protectors are in peace Vs war times?

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pluralcultureis · 9 months

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Plural culture as an anger holder, persecutor, and protector, is getting more and more annoyed at how much ppl on this community seem to think labeling sexuality and gender is one of the most important things ever.

It's not apart of my job to be attracted to people, or label how I feel.

I've had ppl try and tell me I'm aroace because I don't care to be attracted to people. I'm not.

If I was anything, it would be wholey unlabeled.

Let alters not label themselves, because for some of us, it's not fucking important. We don't need to. We have more important shit going on than who we want to fuck

#endos dni #osdd #pdid #did #did system #osddid #pdid system #actually did #traumagenic #actually dissociative #plural culture is #vent #anger holder #pdid persecutor #protector

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witchofthesouls · 2 months

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Tbh Star Saber’s reaction is justified. Sentinel just claims this random bot as a bride (probably doesn’t even know their name too) I’d be miffed too if I was his protector. But what about said bot’s reaction? You wake up after passing out and suddenly your hitched, I’d be backing up Star Saber in the background as he yells at Sentinel.

(You're going to be busy trying to deal with alien biology to start yelling. If anything you're yelling at whatever drop-kicked you into this timeline that's the dumpster fire that makes up Bayverse.

Get ready for misunderstandings and failed negotiations:)

Consciousness doesn't gently trickle back. It kicks you in the teeth without any warning. One moment, darkness. The next moment, you're heaving up and accidentally slamming into something hard.

That something yelps.

While you have the grace of facial protection, Sentinel isn't as lucky. You still have a throbbing headache, though. It flares whenever there's the incomprehensible electronic noise of their native tongue is being spoken.

Your head pulses to an excruciating degree when suddenly it clicks. The noise becomes words.

And you don't like them.

"Look, it can't even speak. Let alone understand us." Star Saber - your HUD factually pings, rapidly scrolling all of his positions, achievements, strengths, and possible weaknesses - says like an absolute cunt.

"Oooooo. Cooon-tuh." The High Lord Protector sounds out the English your ass of a mouth that not even a supercomputer brain could leash have shot out. The Seeker is unamused, and you don't even resist the urge to stick your tongue out since you're wearing the visor and he can't see.

You have a vague sense that you're forgetting something important. The wisps of a strange dream linger in the periphery edges of your mind, but a hiccuping wail interrupts everything.

Nearby and attached to the berth (fanon terminology don't fail you now!) are the infants. You immediately pick up the crying one. The tiny face warps from the force of their distress. Something compels you to cradle it up to your chest, and they settle down to snuffly whistles.

Of course, the other one starts up when your hands are full.

Sentinel picks the second infant to maneuver them to you. You never expected this asshole to have gentle hands, but he does. At least for the babies.

"They're split-spark." He explains as both of them grab a hold of each other, whistling and chirping between a songbird and a hot kettle. "They have to remain close together until they're third in-star."

There's a moment of silence in the room, only interrupted by the newsparks' chirping babbling and fretful meeping.

"Not to be rude," you slowly test out the digital language, and Star Saber doesn't snort or move his expression, but he definitely disproves. Fucker. "But why am I here?"

"Yes, Prime," the Seeker knows how to turn a soft voice into an assassin's thread. "Why do we have such a guest here?"

The words he chose have so many insulting undertones and stresses that if you didn't have your arms full, you might as well slap him. High Lord Protector be damned.

He wants you far away, and you want to be farther than Star Saber could dream of.

Of course, neither you nor Star Saber gets those desires granted.

"You're here," Sentinel’s tone shifts. Formal. Very formal. A strange mix of anticipation and... duty? "In the privacy of my household and in the presence of my most trusted-" Star Saber's expression is set in stone and just as cold "-to declare our sparks together in front of Primus."

Unlike fanfics where Sam Witwicky has the Allspark to handily act as a translator, you only have the equivalent of a more sensible Google translate with all of the additional kinda-helpul-but-not-really dings of subharmonics and underlying glyphs to provide more context. It sounds like a marriage proposal, but the way Sentinel emphasized it is more akin to a 'Guardian seek out an equal partnership in a (business) venture.'

Thanks, Google. Great help as always. Never change.

Unless you've taken over the body of a noble with capital to buy out galaxies or some sort of daring pirate/elite assassin with that ghostly possession of hidden skills, you have no idea why he's asking you for this kind of proposition.

You need to bite the bullet because you don't know what you're walking into, and maybe you can jump out another window and speed away.

You start searching the lexicon for the right words. Hopefully.

_____________

Even with the visor eclipsing your face, you're refreshingly honest and it's something Sentinel profoundly misses ever since he's been taken from the Guiding Hand's Towers.

And right now, they know your possible intention to jump again beneath the tangle of confusion and worry.

The windows here are reinforced and capable of withstanding artillery blasts and extreme heat resistance as well.

:: The foundlings are completely attached to this one. :: Hard and unforgiving Star Saber may be, but there are a few things that soften the mech. It may be the Seekerkin-coding in him that invokes protective feelings towards the very young.

You and the newsparks have sealed a guardian/parental bond. They can't separate them from you. The strain will most likely kill them, and possibly you with your recent recklessness. You may have a powerfully dense spark -a hallmark of mecha with Primal heritage- but you're still young, barely past the ninth in-star, and still developing towards an adult frame.

Ratchet had been torn between absolute fury and begrudgingly impressed by the one that had done your frame-schematics. It's a remarkable mix of stealth modifications, hidden components, and security. Your systems had literally chewed up suppression codes and medical overrides and spat them out.

Either you have a creator that's a fiend of a weaponsmith or you have ties to the legendary War-Forged, too. Unbelievable, but no one expected any frames out in the Wastelands to be blessed by Primus, and yet here they are with not one, but two individuals.

And Sentinel is asking the mechling for a formal courtship with the intention of bonding.

"Are you-" you speak carefully, testing out the glyphs, and he wonders what kind of dialect the Wilders speak "-asking me to bond with you?"

The phrase makes logical sense. However, Sentinel can't help but choke at the subglyphs you used. Instead of 'unity of wedlock between two parties,' you attached something akin to sponsoring a courtesan for an exclusive relationship. An explicitly sexual one.

Star Saber doesn't budge. The Seeker's body langauge is impeccable and beyond reproach to stand as a witness to this mess, but Sentinel feels the icy talons of their shared bond flare to a vicious burning grip.

:: If you say any sort of agreement to that poorly worded question, Sentinel Prime. :: Star Saber's terrible words cut into Sentinel's spark. :: I will personally make the rest of your limited time on this planet a new level of Unicron's Pits. ::

Sentinel had to lock his joints to keep himself upright and not sprawled on the floor. After a long moment, he manages to grapple with the bond to sear away Star Saber's influence. :: I wasn't! ::

Slag all those that deify their partnership as the original split-sparks Prima and Megatronus, it's a slaggen mockery of a marital bond.

Sentinel gathers every scrap of his intentions to make it work with the newly found Primal-descended and throws it at Star Saber's end. It's still a raw wound. He finds it deeply discomforting to be intimately tied to the Seeker upon the confirmed demise of an unmoored Zeta Prime. Just barely after the Temple's blessings to establish suitable compatibility as a Prime and a new Protector.

(If Sentinel thinks too much about it, he will scream until he burns out and -)

Star Saber quirks a plate at his efforts and releases the onslaught. :: Look at that. Perhaps there's a warrior underneath that softness, librarian. Correct your Intended before the Wilder escapes with the newsparks. ::

During their internal spat, you pressed your back against the wall, plating closed to minimize noise. You've silenced your biosignature as well. Even the foundlings are silent -a natural defense that's driven by terror of the sudden tensions and your own reaction.

Fan-fragging-tastic.

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