#might put half of it under a readmore if i feel annoyed at the post length

[rat-on-string]

My Voice Betrays Me- 4 page comic about being nonbinary.

#this ones very personal #is it just me or does page 3 look blue??? the lines look kinda navy #might put half of it under a readmore if i feel annoyed at the post length #i want to format the images 2 by 2 but i feel like this is a better reading experience #ughhhh im just being picky about the formatting. whatever #art #digital art #nonbinary #transgender #sona art #agender #genderqueer #dysphoria #tw dysphoria #<- i guess?? idk im trying to be careful #comic

[foone]

The fundamental problem with comedy is that the highest form is improv. Not "Whose Line Is It Anyway?" style formalized improv, where you ask the audience for suggestions and build a comedic scene around that, but the basic skill of "something just happened, make a joke about that". This got long, so it'll be after a readmore

It's a life skill, not a type of art you produce. Jokes like this don't make it into movies and shows and blogs, it just happens. You're with a friend or two and something funny happens and you make a joke about it, everyone laughs. It's personal, you tell the best joke because you know your audience, you have shared history.

And you can see how we try to capture this in produced comedy: it's why we have comedy movies and sitcoms, literally "situation comedy". It's not just half an hour of stand-up, telling joke after joke, it's about setup and putting the protagonists into situations, and having it be funny, usually with them making a joke about the situation they're now in.

But there's an artificiality to it: the same people writing the situations are the ones writing the witty jokes. They set up the dominoes and they're the one who knocked them over.

And hell, even stand-up is rarely as simple as just "setup->punchline, rinse lather repeat". There are some comedians who can pull that off, but it seems far more comedians are "observational comedians", meaning they're making jokes about the absurdity of the world and modern life. They'll tell a story, even if it's as simple as "so I went to the post office and it was annoying and people were mean and I made jokes about it!". They're doing storytelling: here's the situation, and here's what I said in response, either in the moment, later during this retelling, or some combination of both. (Ed Byrne has a bit where he says "yes I was very witty that day, almost like I had several weeks to come up with the perfect response!")

And maybe the closest we can get to this "in the wild" (meaning in a produced media form) is MST3K and similar riffing. The people making the jokes didn't make the story, so they have plausible deniability. And even if they've seen the movie several times and written out jokes ahead of time, they can feel like they're reacting in the moment.

But the funniest jokes will never be made this way. No sitcom or comedy film will be the funniest, no stand-up one liner or knock knock joke, not even an improv scene that makes you nearly piss yourself in laugher.

The funniest jokes are when you and an old friend are getting ice cream and the person in front of you asks for vanilla with extra sprinkles then sends it back because there's "too many sprinkles" and you turn to them and say "I thought my ex-wife moved back to Chicago!" and you have to leave the establishment because you're crying with laughter and can't get it under control enough to actually make your order. It's something that'll probably only ever make sense to you and your friends, and in that particular moment. You could sit down and explain the situation and the back story but that would never capture one tenth of the humor, and even if they understood, so much of why it's funny is that it happened in that moment and without the setup.

Because even if you are truthfully recounting what happened to someone else later, and don't need to explain all the back story, you're still implicitly telling a story that sets up a situation. This is now a joke, and you might as well start it with "so an Irishman and a Rabbi walk into a bar..."

You're setting then up for all the expectations of comedy. And that inherently ruins some of the comedy! Because comedy, in a way, is an error message. It's a mis-prediction. It's your huge brain trying to do what it does and predict what will happen and what you'll say next and understand the situation and figure out how it'll go, and realizing it's wrong, and fundamentally wrong. It made assumptions that were reasonable to make, but it had those assumptions proven very wrong.

Like, one way this has been described is the idea that jokes are telling two stories: the one you assume, then at the last moment they pull the rug out from under you and reveal there was a second story, and you have to mentally backtrack and retrace your steps to see how the second story is the correct one.

Like, simple example, and I'm sorry to ruin the joke (as someone said, explaining a joke is like dissecting a frog: no one's that interested, and the frog dies)

Doctor: I'm sorry, we had to remove your colon

Me Why?

See, the humor comes from how the setup primes you to think that "colon" means the body part, but then the punchline reveals it's talking about the punctuation. The way the first line is interpreted is totally changed by the second, and the humor is how your brain handles to "whoops made a big mistake in how I understood/predicted that!"

And that's why it's never going to be the same level of comedy when telling jokes as just improv'ing a joke while out in the world. You tell someone a joke, they know a joke is coming. They have heard jokes before. Their brain is in joke mode. They are trying to imagine how things could be taken different ways, how the joke could work, what the punchline is.

This is why "a comedian's comedian" is a thing. Your Milton Jones style comedy ("My grandfather invented the cold air balloon but it never really took off"), where it's very absurdist and includes a lot of anti-jokes. It's why simple jokes like the above are often called "dad jokes", because they're the kind of jokes you tell kids. Not just because they're not raunchy or anything, but because they're lessons in how jokes work. They're jokes that only work on people who don't yet know how jokes work.

Whereas absurdist comedy and anti-jokes can work amazingly on people who know how jokes work, if you're aiming for that audience. You basically write your jokes so that the audience expects the joke, predicts the punchline, but SURPRISE! the punchline is completely different or not a joke at all. For example:

I'm not like other dads

I’m a 19 yo woman with no kids

The comedy is your brain going into joke-mode and getting ready to figure out all the ways this joke could go and then WHOOPS the joke is that there isn't one and this is a straightforward statement that you got mislead into thinking was going to be a joke.

So, having said all that, hopefully you can understand what I mean. The best jokes are the ones that come out of nowhere because you are 120% not in joke mode. You're out somewhere with a friend trying to do something serious, something happens, then BAM! one of you comes up with something that just perfectly fits the situation and references some shared background/history you have together, and you were not at all expecting it. All your brains predictions were taken up with sensible boring things, and then suddenly BOOM! IN THE COMEDY!

And I think in a way, all produced, scripted (or hell, even unscripted) comedy is about trying to recapture that perfect moment. It's setting up situations for funny punchlines to exist in. It's making the setup so that the punchline works. But it can never fully match that unexpected moment, that perfection, because at its core its always artifical, or at least staged (as there's an expectation for this to be comedy). No one goes to an improv show expecting it to be Macbeth, but a production of The Scottish Play that turned into a comedy could be unexpectedly hilarious, if the audience wasn't expecting it.

But at the same time, even staying in the area of Shakespeare, there's clear differences between, say, Twelfth Night and Romeo and Juliet. The former sets up a bunch of elements that are clearly going to be used for comedy: identical twins, crossdressing, recursive crossdressing, metacrossdressing, unknowing homosexual relationships, disguises, and mistaken identities... All are clearly set ups for comedy. Even at the time, nearly half a millenia ago, these were old, well known tropes in comedy. Shakespeare sets up all the cans knowing he can knock them over later. These things exist in the story so they can lead to comedy, and they do. Maybe not in the ways the audience expects, but they'll lead to hilarity.

And even if there's not a specific punchline, the two-stories thing can be the joke, even when the audience is on it. Like, in the scenes where Olivia is professing her love for "Cesario" (who is actually not a man, but Viola dressed as one).

The audience knows Viola is a woman (and they presume a straight one), but Olivia doesn't (and she's also presumed to be straight). Even without a punchline about this situation, there's inherent comedy in the two separate understandings of the situation. Olivia thinks she loves this nice young man, and wants to woo him. Viola is stuck trying to politely reject her advances, without revealing her disguise. That's uncomfortable (for her) and amusing (for the audience) enough, but then Shakespeare goes one step further and has Viola asked to woo Oliva for her employer, Duke Orsino. That would really twist the screws and make the situation more awkward as Viola has to attempt to woo the woman who is already in love with her, but under false pretenses... Except Shakespeare goes ONE FURTHER and has Viola fall in love with Duke Orsino herself! While Viola can't herself express this love, because as far as Duke Orsino knows, she's a man named Cesario.

And then Viola's identical twin brother shows up and marries Oliva, who thinks he's Cesario, and IT JUST GETS WACKIER. There's plenty of jokes to be had at this absurd situation (and many of them are made!) , but the "first joke" of the whole situation is the way different characters have completely different understandings of what's going on. Olivia thinks she's just in love with a nice young man, Duke Orsino thinks his page is wooing Olivia for him (and definitely his page isn't in love with him), while Viola is stuck in the middle, having to balance maintaining her disguise with not offending Olivia, not failing her master, and then her own love for the Duke just makes everything more complicated.

It's an old story. Literally and figuratively. You set up a weird situation so that it's inherently somewhat funny, then you can put jokes in the moutha of the characters, and you can make the audience laugh at how you took a bunch of people stuck in this absurd situation and then made it weirder.

Anyway, so the reason I wrote this was because I was leaving my house this morning to go grab a coffee, and I saw a truck for a local construction company, "Tech Line". I immediately shouted "Tech L9ne! Cha!" which would have been the funniest thing in the world except no one else was there to hear it, and explaining it ruins the joke.

So instead I just rambled on about the nature of comedy and the truest form of it for 28 paragraphs. This is called a "Shaggy Dog Story". It's also called "ADHD".

#Comedy #The nature of comedy #my writing

[jackedspicer]

a bio for my xiaolinsona! she’s a work in progress so i’m bound to come back and change it. trivia and more in depth information is under the readmore :)

continued trivia:

she’d show up somewhere near the start of season 4

she’s used a LOT for slapstick. in fact she’s mostly a comic relief character

she’s guided mainly by emotions, is right brain oriented, and is a hands-on learner

there is a running gag where she frequently has bandaids on her fingers, hands, arms, or anywhere really

she’s a massive funk junkie. LOVES disco. she’s also a great dancer

when she comes up with xiaolin showdowns, sometimes she’ll base it off of fun recreational activities or things that seem harmlessly mundane, like mini golf..... tic tac toe.....dance-off...... rock paper scissors..... the showdowns themselves obviously end up being high-stakes and lethal as they always are, except they’re based off of goofy premises

she’s probably musically accented by grunge that’s slightly funky

when it’s funny, she occasionally will use huge words or make jarringly philosophical statements, eg patrick star’s “the inner machinations of my mind are an enigma” cut to footage of milk spilling

shes a lot like charlie kelly. in general. any charlie moment is just. Her. she’s a wild card and screams every line and huffs glue and tries to get the honey out of a hornets nest outside of jacks house because she thinks hornets make honey and she likes ghouls and she genocides the rats in his basement and sleeps ass to ass with him and is illiterate

she likes to do arts and crafts but they almost always come out as abominations. she’ll occasionally borrow some of jack’s tools to construct her latest atrocity, and she’ll refer to them by a wrong/made up name while she’s at it. “the hacksaw duey”, “the electric hole puncher,” ”the automatic pizza cutter”, etc. yes the projects and the bandaids have a direct cause and effect relationship. please refer to this video (and this channel in general)

imagine her sitting at a table and just doing this in jack’s lair... this video alone can be used to sum up so much of her. the technique. the bandaids. the blatantly wrong information that’s said with such conviction. the dark turn towards the end of the video. “superfluous protrusion.” the way it ends

continued trivia pt. 2, taken from my instagram

(i’ll get into this more further down the post)

fighting style because this is xiaolin showdown:

she has a very nimble, disorienting style of combat. using pokemon stats as an analogy, her highest would be speed by far, followed by attack, with her lowest stats being defense and special attack. this combined with her unrelenting nature makes her an excellent distraction and a general nuisance, but she doesn’t fare well in prolonged head to head battle.

favorite shen gong wu: 

monkey staff, mikado arms, fancy feet, neptune helmet, hoduko mouse, woozy shooter (on herself), tongue of saiping, longi kite, indigo pyramid (on jack (cause it’s funny))

*the shen gong wu she’s most skilled with in battle are ones that trip up her opponents and cause status ailments. kinda like a prankster

backstory/analysis:

at her core, she’s a jolly, optimistic, humorous person, but her unruly, isolating childhood put a blow on her psyche. much like jack spicer, she’s been virtually alone her entire life - she was rejected by peers and adult figures alike since earliest childhood, and her home life was turbulent at best.

to ease the pain, at some point, she took on resenting and judging those around her as a means to cope. she has a holden caulfield-esque defense mechanism in play where if everybody sucks for this reason, or that reason, or those reasons, then she has justification for detaching herself from others, and she can derive her only source of self esteem from being better than them. this hurts far less than the devastating truth that she cannot connect with people on account of feeling so worthless and estranged from other human beings that she could never have the chance to be cared about by anyone. deep down, she’s in desperate, thrashing need of support and genuine human connection, and she has a warped perception of how she can achieve that.

she’s taken up evil as a hobby because it nurtures her desire to be destructive and, again, just like jack spicer, she engages in it as a way to feel seen. all press is good press, and the best way to make the headline is to cause some damage. what sets her apart from him in this regard, though, is that she takes all of her pain out on her enemies (in this case, the xiaolin monks) because she can’t stand how well off they are - instead, on the basis of their acceptance of one another, she sees them as goody two-shoes phonies who ought to be knocked down a peg. while evil to jack is both a means of getting much needed attention and a convoluted way of spending time with friends, to sid it’s a way to vent frustrations and a way to, well... still garner attention, but also spend time with a friend, except the friend is jack.

the other half of the reason she partakes in petty villainy is that it’s just... fun. she only got wrapped up in all this because she’d been restlessly putzing around somewhere remote, found a neat doohicky she planned on keeping, and when one thing led to another she wound up in a xiaolin showdown against jack. experiencing the chaos unfold revealed a golden opportunity she couldn’t pass up, so she asked jack to let her come with, debuting their partnership (i talk about this in further detail at the end of the post). goofing off and doing evil with him is so much fun to her! it makes her feel alive, a sensation and state of mind she never could fully achieve before.

noteworthy relationships:

jack: 

they have a team rocket thing going on. not in terms of their interpersonal dynamic, but rather their role in the story, how much of a threat they pose as, their schemes, and even their overall attitude are reminiscent of the iconic duo; they’re petty, recurring villains with hearts of gold who aren’t above occasionally siding with the good guys.

even though they both are on the same tier of comic relief and general foolishness, the metaphor i like to draw is that jack is the left brain and sid is the right brain.

their personalities have such chemistry and they’re both so goofy that they effortlessly sync up. everyone thinks it’s REALLY annoying

they’re best friends! they actually care very deeply for one another, even if they might have funny ways of showing it. they may be evil, but they’re mutually the only and closest friend the other has ever had, and with that carries a lot of weight. think of it - the first person you meet who hasn’t been nothing but awful to you likes you and wants to be around you. What a concept

while their relationship is platonic, there are several gags implying a romantic element, even though nothing is ever outright stated. kisses on the cheek, bashfulness, other characters making fun of them (“where’s your DUMB little girlfriend?” “..........she’s not DUMB!!!!!”), domestic references (“am i sleeping on the couch”)..... it’s left ambiguous because it’s hetbait plain and simple. somebody asks them what they even are and they say Partners In Crime wym. jack asks sid What Are We and she fist pumps the flat of her own chest twice, throws a peace sign and says We’re Bros

their nicknames for each other include but are not limited to “jackass, jacky-boy, jack-o-lantern, smarty pants, wiggles, spack jicer, spack, mr spack, spackle”, and “shortstack, pipsqueak, sid the kid, champ, funky monkey, foxy (in a funny way, he’ll say it like Whatcha Up To Foxy ? while she’s like making a mess doing an arts & crafts abomination or just vibing bein her weird lil self....  it comes from a place of playful sarcasm and affection) (champ, funky monkey, and foxy are courtesy of @currentlyfallingthroughspace)

to piggyback off of the left brain vs. right brain metaphor, “heart vs. brain is how they think, right brain vs. left brain is how they act, and two halves of a heart represents their natural dispositions” is how my aforementioned friend put it. they both have a lot of heart and are ooey gooey on the inside, but the difference is that sid can grasp the intricacies of emotional/psychological matters while jack can’t (actually knowing how to EXPRESS this is another topic). it’s in the same way that jack can effectively plan ahead, use logical reasoning, and know where to go and how to get there, but sid is shabby in this department. “one is aware but doesn’t address it until it’s too late, and one can’t see it and doesn’t ask until it’s too late.”  

another feature of potential conflict in all incarnations of them is the juxtaposition of sid actually being more down to earth than jack in the grand scheme of things. jack has the potential to go completely overboard, and whether or not he demonstrates the ability to catch himself on the event horizon will ascertain the outcome.

deep down, neither of them are truly evil, and they bring this out in each other as they ultimately contribute to the redemption of one another. how this actually happens is a lot rockier. sid has the intuition and self awareness to become increasingly cognizant of the fact that she engages in schemes as a way to bond with her friend, and, over time, she’s able to recognize that she’s simply been acting out, and she consequently softens up over time - but jack is much denser in this regard. he doesn’t consciously pick up on the same things she does and still believes that she’s drinking the koolaid as much as he is. the crucial dissonance in what matters most that had been incubating under the weight of things left unsaid emerges in a major falling out that challenges the nature of their entire dynamic and respective moral codes. i had a lot of help from the same friend with the following series of events and it’s really something that ought to be gone into detail on its own post, but a whirlwind brief summary is that jack becomes desperate from losing over and over so he comes up with this sinister plan that’s just too far, sid tells him to stop, they get into a nasty fight, sid leaves and makes it clear she’s not coming back, she goes to the xiaolin dragons for help, jack goes on an evil rampage but also loses his grip and has this mental breakdown because he lost the one person who’s ever cared about him (or so he thought), sid has the same brutal separation pangs but it doesn’t change the fact that jack is still doing what he’s doing, sid gets a firsthand view of a fight breaking out between the monks while she’s working with them and has a moment of clarity when she observes how they resolve it in such a healthy way, as they continue to work together and help her through the whole fiasco she realizes they’re not so bad, an entire excruciating series of events that’s genuinely too large to fit on this post unfolds and it ultimately ends with jack actually having to team UP with the good guys to stop what he started, and it ends with them breaking down, apologizing, and beginning their redemption BUT not without the illustration of several lessons that arose out of the complications of the entire thing...... the overarching lesson that’d been entrenched in their entire dynamic from the start, albeit corny, is that caring and being cared for was all they ever needed, and they learn to cultivate that within each other right under their own noses. it would be fun to have them stay as recurring villains forever, but seeing how much good is in their hearts is enough to make you wonder how they were ever evil.

xiaolin monks:

she thinks she hates them, but she doesn’t really. while her opinion of them is marked by resentment and distaste, she also holds them in high regard. a part of her wishes she could be friends with them, but the mental landscape she’s paved for herself doesn’t reveal that as an option. in her mind, she’s already been rejected by them. so why try?

the way she takes her pain out on them - people who had nothing to do with her traumas - can be summed up by the spinel su quote, “why do i want to hurt you so bad? i’m supposed to be a friend. i just want to be a friend.”

she gets chummier with them upon her redemption. out of the group, she gets along best with clay and dojo :) 

bonus origin episode

this would be the imaginary early season 4 episode i mentioned at the beginning of the post. it’s more of a loose string of ideas tied together with reckless abandon but hey. the episode would open with jack feeling lonely and down on his luck to establish the theme that he kinda needs a friend (”wuya’s gone, chase trained his cats to get surly with me if i show up, my evil dream team won’t answer my calls....”). his sulking is interrupted by a shen gong wu alert and he’s like. whatever. i don’t need them. i’m still gonna do this on my own. even if it’s. ˡᵒⁿᵉˡʸ. fastforward to the scene i described where sid is putzing around with her doohicky (which i’m considering might be the neptune helmet) all by her sad miserable lonesome when suddenly some flying bloke in a trenchcoat who looks like he hasn’t seen the sun in years shows up telling her she’s got something he needs. she of course responds with something along the lines of “you know what? why don’t you try to take it from me since you want it so bad, mr big stuff,” triggering a xiaolin showdown. this is around the time the xiaolin dragons show up too late - but they’re grateful for somebody having been there to fight jack in time, even if they have no idea who they are. she has no clue what’s going on, but whatever it is, she LOVES it. she goes buckwild. she has a time. jack, on the other hand.... well, understanding how badly he needs that wu is certainly throwing a wrench in it, but he can’t help but feel like he’s having a bit of fun too. well, up until he loses. post-showdown, the monks kinda count their chickens before they hatch so to speak and they rush over to this new kid with a shower of praise, thinking they have a friend on their side. instead, she cuts them off, shouts to the guy who’s gathering his bearings (or lack thereof) - “hey! jack was it?” - and playfully tosses her shen gong wu in the air, catching it. “you look like you need this thing way more than i do. tell you what! take me with and i’ll let you borrow it,” is what she follows it up with, implying she wasn’t really that invested and only saw the whole thing as a fun game. jack and the monks are flabbergasted. what’s more bizarre is she did in fact ask to join him, something nobody’s ever done out of their own volition before. she talks about how boooooooooooring it is here and how that was soooooo much fun and to pleeeeeeeease take her with. he’s really iffy about it and doesn’t know if it’s such a good idea. he tries to make himself look cool, telling her “as IF, shortstack..........im afraid The Jack Rides Alone................................................. but-” and ultimately buckling because he can’t deny that it would be nice to have someone around.

#IM PROBABLY GONNA COME BACK AND CHANGE SO MANY PETTY THINGS BUT I HAD TO RIP OFF THE BANDAID #xiaolin showdown #xiaolin showdown oc #xiaolinsona #draws #btw her last name is question marks because i havent come up with anything yet #i have utmost confidence about this i literally think of her and jack as a duo even though shes not a real character #also it's important to add that i hope it goes without saying that a lot of her qualities arent direct translations of my own #her qualities are based on my own and are in some cases translated to represent how it would manifest in this narrative #sonas are tools u know. not being like THIS IS LITERALLY ME!!! cause its a bit different #for example my own opinions of the other characters and her opinions of the other characters differ. u kno for tha story #xiaolinsonabio

[paint-pilot]

shit it’s been a second, guess it’s time to update again

edit: holy christ this is long, i’m gonna readmore it. tl:dr tyler has many badweird feelings but is getting through it. fun body changes, including hair growth and an unexpectedly nice voice. surgery and legal matters are Annoying. tw for menstruation

it is truly bizarre to think that i’ll have been five months on t in a little under two weeks. another month after that and it’s half a year. it’s uhh...weird. quarantine has just made this all feel weird. it’s like i fast-forwarded through this whole journey i was supposed to go on i guess? like i got randomly torn out of my life one day in march with no warning and then just as suddenly got spat out in august with a new life - new name, new face, new major, new identity - and no transitional period whatsoever. my classmates, my professors, my students, they all have only known me as tyler. and only ever will know me as tyler. and that’s great! it’s great, and i’m truly just blown away by how markedly easy it’s been and how weirdly good my timing was in transitioning. but it almost feels like i’m still a ways behind everyone else, i guess. i’ve spent so much of my life hiding, and lying through my teeth, and covering my ass every second of every day to protect myself, and i don’t have to do that anymore but the instinct is 100% still there and that honestly doesn’t feel good. of course i’m not making any of it up - i’m happier now than i’ve ever been, and i know i’m making the right choice - but it still persistently keeps feeling that way.

it’s just difficult, i think, to balance wanting to be read as male (and, to a large extent, wanting to keep my transness hidden both for safety reasons and so people don’t start treating me differently) and finding it difficult to hide this truly massive life change that, like, four people are really seeing anything of. and y’all, i guess, lol. it’s one thing to talk about all this in therapy, but it’s another entirely to just be able to share it with strangers and not worry about it being weird.

i was writing this with the intent of it being a mostly happy update but i guess there is some negativity boiling up so. gotta be honest, i guess? there’s a lot of fun trauma stuff i’ve been going through lately that i won’t get into but it’s culminated with this bullshit in this really fun way where my mom gets upset because i get kind of uncomfortable when she shows me childhood photos or tells stories about me as a little kid and then i just break down for reasons i really can’t discern. i’m going to try and articulate this, and who knows how messy it’s going to get, so i apologize if it gets kind of incoherent from here on out. as far as i can tell the root thing that she really gets upset about is that i’ve “thrown away” my whole previous identity. like, not a direct quote, but “you can’t just pretend [deadname] never existed. because she did, for a long time.” and...sure, i guess. i know this has been hard on my mom. i know she was raised in a conservative family, and while she has worked hard to adopt an accepting and open mindset she still doesn’t 100% grasp all of it and will make mistakes. i’ve made my peace with that. and yet. it’s not so much, really, that i was this other person and then became tyler, y’know? tyler did not appear suddenly two years ago where she once stood. tyler put on a mask, even before he knew he was tyler, because tyler was scared and ashamed but people seemed to like her and, for a time, she was an easy person to be. and i hated her. that is so fucking scary for me to say, and i’m not sure i’ve admitted that until literally right this second, but i did. not because she was a bad person. because she had a voice and a face and a body that i hated. because people saw her and assumed they knew me. because even she had many faces, because there was no real base or identity to her, just traits designed to paint a pretty picture and make people like her. because i knew, when i finally threw her away, people would miss her. compare me to her. expect me to be like her.

so i don’t know. i don’t have a satisfying way to wrap this up, because i honestly don’t know how to face this because i know it is absolutely not just the trans thing that created this situation. i’m kinda warring with myself, because i do kinda want to go back through this blog and delete photos of myself with long hair and whatever (because jesus, i’ve had this thing since i was like 14) but i genuinely don’t know if that’s healthy. i know i’m going back on my bullshit, fretting this way and that over whether something is “healthy” as though that’s an objective term without considering what’s going to make me happy, but honestly? i don’t know anymore. i keep sensing the mental block - the swathes of my childhood that i cannot recall, just vague, constant unease - and i don’t really know if i want to dig into all of that and learn what lies underneath because i’m sort of afraid of it. like i said, i’m happy now, happier than i’ve ever been, and i’d sort of like to just leave it like that. but i guess the length and tone of this post might argue otherwise.

anyways. anyways. enough mental health therapy, more actual hormone therapy updates since that’s what this goddamn thing is supposed to be i think? i’m finally starting to grow some noticeable hairs - my chin hair is coming back after my mom made me shave it before i left for school lol, as are a handful of mustache/lower lip/sideburn hairs. i keep feeling phantom bugs on my legs/feet and i’ve only just now recognized that that’s just leg hairs brushing against places i’m not used to. my appetite has picked up like absolute hell again, too, so i don’t know if i’m just having a metabolic spurt or what. also, i’ve started bruising more? idk what the hell that’s about - i fucking never bruise unless i’ve been hit Hard, and i kind of assumed testosterone would make you less likely to bruise, but then that’s probably just not related to the hormones at all. i was gonna put this in the tags but seeing as this post is already so long i might as well put a readmore and just put this here lol: my period is late, like, four days late, which is exceedingly unusual for me and might mean i’m finally done. or almost done. fingers crossed.

my voice has started to settle, it seems like. i popped out an e2 yesterday, which is Sick, but i’m not as focused on that anymore as i am on the actual quality of my tone. which is...good? i’m not just a baritone, i’m kind of a good one, at least it seems like. i’m really working right now on just getting familiar with my instrument - i’m second-guessing my pitch sensitivity a lot, but i think i really just need to drill and practice until everything starts feeling like second nature again. but since the musical didn’t happen for me, my coach wants to enter me in a classical solo competition next spring. so...no more retirement from competitive singing. i’m back! and thank god, because i’m starting to go crazy without being in musical work lol.

jesus fuck, i have a lot to say. i should probably split this into two posts but i don’t care. i am frustrated; i tried to get an appointment with a pro bono legal program for a name change, but it happened today and i wasn’t invited so apparently i’m on my own. and i’m frustrated. i’m trying to look at internships and shit for next summer, but i kind of can’t apply right now because my legal name and sex don’t line up with my presentation, and i don’t really know how easy it is to get away with that in this day and age and especially in my field. genuinely, if anyone has any advice, i’d appreciate it. i don’t know how long this will take, i don’t know what the requirements are, i don’t know if i’m better off just applying now and hoping they don’t eliminate me before ever getting me an interview. and, of course, i’m working on getting consultations for top surgery, but i keep catching myself procrastinating that. which seems weird, but listen. i’ve said it before but i have to emphasize, i am capital-t Terrified of getting this surgery. i know i need to, i know it will make things better for me, i know now is the time, i know i hate binding and can’t really get away with not doing so, but jesus fuck i am so frightened of anesthesia it’s not even funny. but i guess i’m mostly just calling myself out here and telling myself to quit being a big baby, schedule the thing, and give myself a few months to prepare.

anyway. that’s all i have to say. i’d apologize for ranting, but honestly...i dunno. i know at the start of all this a handful of you requested these updates, and i have to imagine it’s because at least some of you are transitioning, are thinking of doing so, or know someone who is or will be soon. and i just hope someone out there can at least relate, because there honestly just aren’t a lot of comparable life changes out there. or maybe this is just therapeutic for me, that’s fine too.

i have two midterms next week i should be studying for. i should do that.

#t.txt #not horses #the puberty diaries #menstruation mention

[charliedoyleloves]

Notes and Musings

For reference, this will be posted on my Ao3 both the same title and username.

Summary: People can hear the music that their soulmates are listening to. Many people use this to track them. Charlie, or Angelina as she was called earlier in life, was no exception. Even if annoyed her soulmate.

Especially if it annoyed her soulmate.

The story is under the Readmore.

When Charlie was four, still named Angelina, she started to hear the music. It was interesting, listening to music that another was trying to enjoy. Especially since no one around her town would listen to such fancy music, it was all trilling flutes and booming bass.

Not at all like the tang of the guitar or fast-paced fiddle that her family played.

When she asked her mother about it, she was ecstatic.

"It means your soulmate enjoys such music." The darker haired woman pressed a kiss to her small forehead. Running her hands over the girl's hair, she cupped her cheeks before speaking again. "If you hear it often, that means he must be listening to it quite often. You must get used to it, and learn the quirks of it. Find out who plays that and follow it to him."

At four, she didn't question it further. Not until she was six when her parents got her first fiddle from a second-hand store. While her soulmate continued with the more melancholy classical, she knew that her heart needed to balance it out.

Reels and dances were what she wanted to learn. The folk songs that her grandparents and mother played and sang. The ones that caused everyone in the community hall to smile during their festivals and dances. Considering that was how her parents met, it made sense that she and her future husband would do the same.

It was an impressive skill, to be able to play music by ear while also having her soulmates music in her head. It became a tradition for her to practice early in the morning with him. Each was trying to see if they could mess the other up. She could picture the swooping movements of his bow while she plucked and trilled with hers.

Vaguely, she wondered if he could picture the same thing.

The travel to her new home was exciting. Travelling nearly across a country as large as Canada didn't leave much to do. So while everyone was moving slowly with their horses and supplies, she would find the highest point and play her fiddle. She could almost feel his annoyance, but she would sing songs of travel to help him understand what was happening.

In reply, he would play lullabies with her when she went to bed. It was a small moment of victory when she managed to get him to play 'Irish Lullaby' with her though his other songs were just as soothing.

Finally reaching the new settlement in the Prairies, she danced with her family all night. Even at eight years old they knew that it would be a time for celebration. Especially since the next few years would be hard as they had to build their new lives.

She was concerned when she played her folk songs, and there was the sound of an orchestra in her head. He was as skilled as her and didn't seem to mess up.

It was less concerning when she finally got large enough to try her mother's guitar, the violin not having the same tones as her plucking and strumming. She was curious why he was only learning the one instrument instead of branching out. But they had fallen into new patterns, with her and him playing whatever instruments she wanted to complement to him with at the end of her night.

In return, he would play a sweet soothing melody in the afternoon. Such music was odd to hear in the middle of the day, and it only made her curious as to where he was.

A thought crossed her mind when she turned twelve when she heard the unmistakable sound of the opera. Was it possible that her soulmate was not in Canada? When she asked her parents about it, they laughed. It was better than what her mother heard, being the local burlesque performances.

But that only cemented the fact that her soulmate was upper-class. At this fact, her grandmother was thrilled. Her little girl, the only girl in her family was going to be marrying up. Something in her mind recognized that it didn't always work like that. Something from the operas sunk in after all.

Not all destined romances actually happened.

Growing up, she expanded her repertoire of instruments. The banjo was interesting, and she could hear the screech of his violin when she played it for the first time. Apparently, it shocked even her unflappable soulmate.

As she sat upon the little lookout she had built for the field at fifteen, Angelina heard the music of a music box that she could not have with her. It was calming, allowing her rifles to aim to be a bit better against the coyotes that got a little too brave. She wasn't sure if he could hear the gunshots.

She wondered what he would think of it. His soulmate was someone who could put a bullet between animals eyes from 200 feet away. Or that she grew up around the Sharps Rifle that she now had slung around her shoulder.

Sitting back after scaring off the other coyote, she started to hum. It wasn't something that she had heard before, but rather something that should be something her own. After repeating it a few times, she could hear the faint sound of a violin repeating it back to her. Together they played around with the tune.

When she returned home, she picked up her fiddle and repeated to him what he played. Together the two of them performed their duet, complementing each other's notes. A duet that no one else might ever hear.

At sixteen she moved to her Aunts orphanage to help her run it. It was closer to the city and therefore, better education. And better-educated men that might be her soul mate.

The downside was that her music choices became repetitive. A part of her felt bad for the young man, likely trying to keep to his studies, having to listen to the twenty plus children she worked with sing various nursery rhymes. Especially if it really where the middle of the night for him when they were finally let out of their classes for their afternoon.

He played revenge early in her mornings. His violin would screech early in her morning before the rooster would caw on its own. The only way she could get him to shut up was to repeat the proper chords back to her. In that way, he taught her a few more classical feeling songs.

It would be more impressive if she could know what they were called.

When she was twenty, she decided it was time to search out this damn annoying musician in her head. Every few days he would play for hours on end as if there were nothing else he could be doing. Her family noted that it was inappropriate to be travelling as a woman on her own.

With Angelina's Aunt's help, Charlie decided to be something else. Using his fiddle and keeping his trusty pistol Angelina with him, he gathered money as he travelled back to the coast. Playing in pubs and inns for his stay, he wondered what his soulmate would think of him.

Months later, back in Halifax, he worked in a pub. Partially a bartender and partly a player, he was saving money up to head to England. From there, he could figure out where his soulmate was. He just needed to track the opera performances, and it could be done.

He sang to himself softly in his apartment. Lullabies that his mother taught him, songs that the sailors had taught him. The silence was uncomfortable, and he tried desperately to fill it. A violin helped fill in the gaps, and together they figured out tunes and lyrics for them as well.

On one occasion he even sang back, a lullaby about a fox and a dog. While it was calming, Charlie wasn't sure if the ending was all that satisfying.

At twenty-two, he had managed to gather enough money in wage and tips for both the fare to merry ol' England and possibly even a few months rent.

There was a party for when he left. Songs and dancing until he had to go in the morning. Given how many times "Farewell to Nova Scotia" was played in the past year and a half, his soulmate joined in on the final serenade.

On the ship, he often busked with his fiddle. It was even more hours of playing. Fingers, even though they were heavily calloused, still occasionally bled. By the end of the night, he could hardly stand even the thought of more music. But again, his soulmate played.

Something about it wasn't necessarily wrong, though.

Docking at London, the first thing Charlie did was look for work. An idle moment would not do him well. For a few months, he played no music. In response, or perhaps solidarity, neither did his soulmate.

But walking into the Irish Pub at the edge of the river, far too close for anyone respectable, Charlie knew that he had found his place for a bit. With a reel and a drink poured, he gained employment.

His soulmate started to play in retaliation again.

For a year, he worked the bar and the stage when needed. In the afternoons, before his shifts started, he walked around the richer areas of the city. With his ear open, he tried to find a tune that played twice. But from the open windows, none of them were right.

He read the papers, of course. It helped support the local kids, and he always tipped well. He read those stories published by some doctor about his adventures with a private detective. It reminded her of the stories her parents and grandparents told about Pinkertons.

When a server at the bar went missing, he knew where to turn. As he approached, there was lazy music floating through his head, but it stopped when he got across from his destination. Knocking on the door of the flat, he was greeted by the strange detective and doctor.

"Please, sirs, I don't have much for the service, and I know that her family has less." He thrust his case towards the detective. The man towered over him, judging her from his long nose. "But take my fiddle. It's worth something, and you might be able to cover the services with it at a pawn shop."

It meant something else, though. Something that no one ever talked about. With Charlie's only instrument leaving his possession, he was possibly losing his connection to a soulmate.

"Is this young lady worth it?"

"Any young lady is worth it, sir. Especially one who was doing so much for her son."

And he meant it honestly. If he giving up his soulmate would improve one person's life, then so be it.

In the end, the detective did not take a payment. It seemed like a poor business decision, but he was not going to complain. Especially not when Mary was swept off her feet by the constable that helped her away from the lout she married.

When Mary was officially divorced from her previous husband, the entire bar celebrated. At her request, Charlie had dressed in her nicest skirt and bouse. She was going to be the maid of honour, after all.

Even Ryan was still up, spinning around with his mother as she sang alongside her friend. With celebrations in full swing, they hadn't noticed the faint double of the music. Only when the door opened, and Wilkins, Holmes, and Waston did the pair get assaulted with it.

While Mary spun back around to greet her husband to be, Charlie stood on the stage to the side to figure out which one was hers. Starting another tune on her fiddle, she watched the pair. It was one of the first Reels she had learned.

That was when fate decided that she deserved a break. Soon after she started, there was another that joined in. Holmes was on the other side of the pub, playing the same tune. Smiling from over the heads of the dancers, she amped it up to start playing the song that was uniquely theirs.

When he caught her eye and joined in, she couldn't help but laugh. Of course, it had to be him.

At least things would be interesting.

#otp: brilliant deduction #to be crossposted #ft my weird ass writing #and the constable from the 50s tv show #because apparently he just knows black foot language so I need to know more about wilkins #brilliant stories #charlie writes

[livvywrites]

Metanoia Characters

So I just realized I post a lot about my various characters--mainly in the tags, but I’ve posted a few graphics--but I haven’t really shared anything about them! This post is still in development as of December 31st 2017, because I haven't finished uploading everything to WorldAnvil, but here is the list so far.

Now, Metanoia as a series deals with reincarnation, so for now I’m just going to share them as they are in the first book and prequels. So here goes. Each name will link to their article on World Anvil (though some don’t have one yet), so if you want to know more, click the link!

Without further ado, here’s Part I of Metanoia’s characters. (Gonna drop some link placeholders here...)

Part III

Part III

(Under a readmore because there are A LOT.)

The Mortal Council

(First Incarnations)

Alinora Mynerva

The protagonist of Metanoia. Alinora turned 17 on the day the war broke out, and she is now a 27 year old woman without a home, but the fate of the world at least partially on her shoulders. She is a woman without magic in a world that is filled with magic--in a world that uses magic for everything. She can cancel it out, if she wants, but while that helps her in combat and might help her open a locked door, it doesn’t help if she wants to light a torch or open a heavy door.

Grief, survivor’s guilt, and a sense of betrayal work together to force Alinora to create a shield around herself. This shield causes her to lash out when she feels like people are getting to close; to refuse help even when she needs it; and even to manifest self-destructive tendencies. She’s a good person; she desires to help the world as much as she can, to fix what’s been broken... but while doing so, she wants everyone around her to think that she is callous, cruel, and not worth caring for.

Talitha Jade

Side character/love interest. Talitha Jade is known across the world as the Pirate Queen. She was 19 when Kai’os attacked. It happened shortly after she ran away from home, her sister in tow. The news was devastating, especially since rumor had it that her best friend had been killed. She was now doubly intent on protecting her sister. Through a series of events, she ended up captain of a pirate ship. Two years later, she caught wind of a Resistance. Lynette, her sister, went to join, but Talitha was rejected. She didn’t take that too well, and set out to prove herself invaluable.

After rumors of a sword that could kill anything led her to a cursed sword, she decided instead to take over the pirate regime; which was once controlled by Hurricane Linley. She was named Pirate Queen due to the crown she had put on her head, and she rallied as many of them as she could to her cause. She then strode back to the resistance. Aishlynn, the resistance’s leader, could no longer deny her a place, and so she became its admiral.

Asa Veranus

Side character/love interest. Asa is known as the Grand Healer. He is one of the youngest fully trained healers in the world. He joined the Resistance after he brought its leader back from the brink of death. Prior to that, he had been hiding out in the woods with a group of Knights that had barely survived their guild’s slaughter. He knew that Kai’os would not hesitate to bring him in and bend him to his will, and he pretended to be nothing more than a lame hedge healer. But Aishlynn’s condition called to his empathy, and he had no choice but to reach out.

His job is to tend to the mortal council and Slaeyr’s health, a job which he perhaps takes too seriously. He’s prone to nagging and urging them to eat healthier, causing them to frequently be annoyed with him. However, there is no better healer around, and he has combat training on top of that, so they keep him around. (He eventually begins to grow up and become less nagging and more nurturing, but, well, that’s another story!)

Evander Lumina

General of the Rear Guard. He’s Talitha’s cousin. He joined the Knights when he was 15 and graduated from apprenticeship when he was 18, only a scant few months before Kai’os attacked. The fortress he was serving at was attacked when he was 19, and he hid out with a handful of survivors, including Asa Veranus, for the next year before they were found by the Slaeyr council. 

He’s kind and empathetic, still emotionally open despite the horrors he’s seen. His job is to guard the healers; the reserve soldiers; the injured. His people watch over the archers and the spellcasters as well. They serve as a shield more than they do a sword.

Ferris Ryder

General of the Main Guard. Ferris and his sister Bella were born into the Knights. Their parents helped to found the Syndicate, and left a legacy behind that their old friends--now the children’s guardians--did their best to see that the Ryder siblings followed it. Rather than drive them to succeed, however, both of them faced crippling doubts as to their self-worth and their ability to ever be as good as their parents. Ferris’s manifested in laziness. He had a passion for cooking and knitting, but tended to avoid any sort of physical exercise. He did eventually graduate into full Knighthood, but it took far longer than it should have.

It was on the night of his induction ceremony that the main fortress was attacked. He was knocked out and covered by rubble; the only reason he survived the attack. A few weeks after, the Slaeyr Council came riding through and found them, still collecting what was left of the Knights legacy before they moved on. Aishlynn offered them a job in the resistance, and they all eagerly accepted.  

Bella Ryder

General of the Vanguard. Unlike her brother, Bella’s doubts manifested in a desire to have as much fun as possible. She cast away the strict discipline of the Knights and became a party girl; wandering into redlight districts and everywhere she shouldn’t. She never got to be inducted into the Knights by the grandmasters, as the order fell before she could.

When the fortress was attacked, Bella turned her attention away from the fighting--unlike her brother--and instead did her best to save as many as she could. Trainees, recent inductees, servants, civilians... she hoarded them all in a special room in the basement, where the Knight’s secrets were kept. When the fighting was over, she believed her brother dead until one of the trainees found him. While Ferris desires justice, Bella desires simple revenge.

Aylin Frostmoore

Priestess of Hope. She was raised in a monastery, far from cities and towns, and high in the mountains. Her days were filled with quiet contemplation and studies, broken apart only for temple services.  From a young age, Aylin was plagued with visions sent by Hope herself. No one believed her; dismissing her as being attention seeking, and desiring fame. When she was sent a vision of a dark cloud that consumed a city near the Fog, she warned the priests, priestesses, and monks--but she was ignored.

As the dark cloud grew and grew, Aylin knew she could ignore it no longer. The final straw was when a traveler came to the doorstep and spoke of a great evil rising. She pointed out that she had warned them of such, and again, she was dismissed. So she left with the traveler, who had come to seek help, and was guided to the resistance.

Kathleen Gold

Merchant Princess, Quartermaster, and Accountant. Her father was a merchant prince. He had been funding a group similar to the resistance, but when Kai’os found out, he took out both the group and the merchant’s guild. Kathleen’s family was targeted, and it was only dumb luck that she wasn’t home at the time. She found her home in ruins and her family dead, and fled her hometown. She eventually found her way to Flint’s bakery, run by a group of former mercenaries, led by a Tauros. After hearing her plight, he agreed to shelter her, but Kathleen knew she couldn’t allow her father’s death to be in vain.

While working as a waitress in the bakery, she heard tale of a resistance forming to the west. She decided that she was going to go join up, but Flint had grown fond of her and didn’t want her off on her own. More than that, he couldn’t stand by and let this happen... so he followed.

Krushak Stonefist, aka Karl Stone

Ambassador. He’s an orc, from one of the wandering tribes in the middle of Eldora’s continent. The last person you’d expect to speak eloquent common--albeit a bit slowly and graveled--and to work as an ambassador. But he’s good at his job, despite the prejudices that surround him. He has brought the resistance many allies, and has even managed to unite the orc tribes under a common cause. 

Viviana Westerguard

Arcanist and former double agent. Viviana’s eyes are solid white; with no iris or pupil. Her memories are scrambled. Each day, she possesses a different set. For instance, one day she might remember the entirety of her life as a six year old, but nothing about being seven. The next day, it will be vice versa. The day after that? Half of each. Then different halves of each. Except with no discernable formula.

It’s obvious that she possess knowledge that most people have never even heard of, but where she trained, how she trained is lost to her. Her only member is a single piercing scream, and a dark chuckle that sounds a lot like Kai’os’s. He tried to manipulate her into thinking that he had saved her, and that she belonged at his side, but she betrayed him for Alinora. She fed Alinora information about Kai’os and his movements, before she was caught and Alinora had to rescue her. Alinora almost lost one of her shadows, Kato, in the process.

#writeblr #my ocs #metanoia #the mortal council #the resistance

[eunych-born-eunych]

tell us more about witchcraft tumblr

oh boy. follow @alkaloidwitch​ for my unironic witchcraft opinions. I’m a witch! and a materialist with a background in empiricism/scientism, also a materialist in the marxist dialectical sense! you can be all of those things at the cost of your popularity among idealist witches, non-witch materialists, and most of all:

Normies.

my materialism and my witchcraft both grow out of madness; human beings are computers complex enough to perceive things that are not real. For things I know to be real, there is materialism; for things I know to be chimerical, there is witchcraft. as the chaos magicians, wankers that they are, put it: belief is a tool. believing something now may serve a purpose, even if you do not intend to continue believing it later. Playing make-believe with my literal demons now will help me try to make sense of the material world better later.

And it is imaginative play, much as it is deadly serious; much of what we do in life is imaginative play of some kind. let’s pretend there’s a thing called money and let’s pretend it belongs to this specific kind of paper, these specific bits of metal. let’s pretend a corporation is a person. let’s pretend sex is simple; no, let’s pretend sex and gender are different; no, let’s pretend to stop believing in gender and start pretending to believe in ungendered sex.

materialism, again, is the resolution. imaginative play doesn’t have to be bad, but things that are only imaginary play by certain rules; we learn them as children. so when your imaginative play, witchcraft, seeps into your view of the world (as it must), other people calling themselves witches are sometimes going to believe or imagine mutually-contradicting things; the politest way to resolve an imaginary conflict is to come up with some imaginary solution, the more minimal the possible, and stop talking about that because it’s gonna harsh yr witchcraft to get snippy.

entirely different things happen when people come, materially, into conflict. and witch tumblr frustrates me a lot because my tacit acknowledgement that

“none of this is real like rocks are real, so when your imaginary collides with the material world, the material world is always going to trump. if it is materially bad, I don’t care that your imaginary justifies it, and if it is entirely immaterial there’s no point arguing about it”

…is not super popular with tumblr witches. there’s lots of, like, arguments and discourse and positivity posts about the wildest shit.

a three-screens-of-scroll witch tumblr textpost: positivity post for lazy witches! uwu // • positivity for lazy witches who [emoji-capped bullet points all the way down]me: it’s so inspiring that lazy witches can be positive despite the incredible scrutiny and terrible hardships the morning people witches subject them to, ⭐⭐⭐⭐🌟

so, like, I don’t have the same reaction to the idea of demon apologia that OP did. thinking highly of demons just isn’t that uncommon in my circles. to me, that post’s fucking ridiculous because why would you ever bother making it? if you wanna work with demons, do it, but like… other people don’t like demons, and make their own witchblr posts from that perspective, and you can resolve that conflict by just ignoring the imaginary content that is not meant for you.

a clarifying example is in order.

‘don’t use sigils you find on the internet, anyone can upload a curse and say it’s a different spell!!’

my guy. that is so far from being anybody’s real, substantive problem. you would never know unless they told you. their imaginary isn’t accessible to you and you can ignore it. if someone tells you they made a sigil you used to be a curse, and you feel like you have indeed been cursed, that’s still an event internal to you. and after all, someone could lie and tell you their beneficial sigil was actually a curse after you’ve already used it, just to fuck with you.

I can’t get this level of panicked about that level of made-up problem! if the idea of curses hidden in graphics created by random Internet denizens appealed to me, I’d engage with it on my own and not waste time trying to convince other people they should care about my niche paranoia.

the thing is, cultural appropriation is way less imaginary than witchcraft. there’s a real, economic impact to the mass-production in the West of symbols indigenous to ‘exotic’ colonies. there is a real dehumanization involved in treating someone’s proudest and most mundane garments, alike, as being a gaudy costume purchasable cheaply from any two-bit metaphysical store.

(privilege claim for the next bit: I’m a white, American settler-colonialist. that’s a me. I’m a that.)

and on the subject of metaphysical stores…

… run by white settler-colonialists who claim to have spirit animals and have no sense that there might be something inappropriate about shopping for toys in the cultures and religious practices of living indigenous populations whose homeland we are still occupying by force, whose access to their own cultural history we are still actively sabotaging, to sell bastardized sweatshop lookalikes whose significance is less than half-remembered and wholly stripped of context to other white settler-colonialists

there’s endless newb questions in this form:

Q: “can I use this color candle to mean this thing?”A: “I don’t care?”[a reblog insisting that actually they CAN’T use that color candle to mean this thing is the version that went viral]

, which indicates extreme hesitancy to break the rules of the imaginary.

on the other hand, witch tumblr is actively resistant to any demonstrable criticism. these same people fretting about candle colors also throw bizarre tantrums mocking the concept that they should stop cleansing with smoke from white sage, a critically endangered sacred herb that isn’t farmed, and how dare you say they shouldn’t call their white ass waving burning herbs in the air on occupied land ‘smudging’.

no-one cares if you think about the candle differently; stop asking for our input on that shit, because you don’t need it and we have better things to do. on the other hand, people very much do care if you engage in the alt religious scene’s rampant bigotry, but you don’t wanna listen to us on that. those priorities are fucked.

also witch communities have long, long memories, and some things happen again and again. a sampling:

the annoying

‘fluffy bunnies’ who read one barely-researched pop-Wicca text and are here to tell non-Wiccan witches what they’re doing wrong.

relatedly, ‘curse-shaming’, a practice in which even ‘respectable’ Wiccans participate, is genuinely aggravating if you’re at all into, like, historical witchcraft, because for a very long time (Wicca under that name had no public presence before 1954) there’s been not much more traditional for a witch than a curse.

arguments about “male witches” (that no-one acknowledges arose out of transmisogynistic practices in Dianic Wicca, and not really in reaction to men).

‘the Burning Times’ (not real, any historical events embarrassingly misrepresented).

“Easter is a pagan holiday;” relatedly, “Easter is Eostre is Ishtar”.

“Christmas is a pagan holiday.”

the ugly

an entire alt-history of Europe and European magical practice in which Jewish people play no perceptible part.

neo-Nazi physiognomies being passed around as “correspondence charts”.

every reputable resource on Norse mythology, Heathenry, or Asatru has an explicit public disavowal of Nazis, for very good reasons.

anti-Black propaganda, dated to the sixteenth century, about Afro-Carribbean syncretist esoteric/religious practices being repeated with all explicit reference to race left out on Tumbler Dot Com in 2017.

gentiles doing Kabbalah.

an all-white vision of the Hellenistic Mediterranean.

that one girl who stole black people’s bones from burst/eroded graves in a Louisiana graveyard and posted about it on Tumblr (one of witchblr’s few big mainstream crossover posts), leading to her arrest.

the (mostly) harmlessly bizarre

god-marriage

god-phones

what is a familiar really? (& relatedly: sex with spirits. EXTREMELY traditional, by the way),

etsy shops where you can buy custom spirits (NOT as in alcohol),

chemically-treated quartz named as if it was a real mineral,

“correspondence charts” broken alphabetically into individual readmore posts listing the magical properties of various objects (with a reblog later on in the chain complaining that people need to be more obsessed with pointless minutiae)

minors-only witchcraft discord server drama that you’re actively, unsuccessfully trying to avoid learning about

looking for witchcraft podcasts that aren’t run entirely by dudes

“my dog is horrifyingly sick, what spell should I cast?”//”GO TO THE VET”

a wealth of incredibly shitty and boring and unreadable esoteric PDFs by snake-oil salesmen

skyclad discourse

my tarot cards just read me for filth

thirty-year-old woman who should know better by now: christian witch is an oxymoron

christian witchblr: the Law of Attraction is just the prosperity gospel for Democrats

someone’s angry about the existence of secular witchcraft again

#madz #witchblr exposé #asks #j0ules

[mintypothos]

A Matter of Professional Integrity

I was going to save this for next week because I’ve posted a lot of KingBurr lately when it’s not even particularly a ship of mine. But also I’m tired and probably not going to finish the other fic I’m supposed to work on today (IT’S A SECRET OKAY) 

so here you go: modern AU bank robbery fic, featuring a very distressed Lee. Rest is under the readmore 

When the shouting started, the only thing Aaron could think of was 'of course'. The gun being waved in his face was a bit of a shock, but really. There had been few ways to make this miserable day worse, but the universe had managed to rustle something up anyways.

“Down against the wall, hands on your head! Now!” A man yelled in Aaron's face so loudly he was surprised spittle wasn't splashing him even through that face mask. Aaron obliged, not feeling particularly suicidal. He was joined by the one other patron, while the three bank employees were corralled behind the desk. Aaron couldn't decide if it was better or worse that there were so few hostages.

The older man beside Aaron scoffed under his breath as he sat down. “Amateurs,” He hissed, lightly tossing his head as he did so. Powder-white hair bounced in carefully coiffed curls. Aaron was certain the word wasn't meant to be heard, and he carefully did not stare. Clearly his exasperation wasn't too strange, if the other hostage felt similar. Aaron assumed it was a normal shock reaction- he'd always imagined being more terrified of a gun in his face.

“Stop sniffling!” One of the other robbers shouted in the face of a poor teller. He was shaking like a leaf and crying so hard his nose ran. “Oh my god, go sit with the other ones, then! Useless!” The Robber punched the butt of his gun into the teller's shoulder, making him yelp. Aaron suppressed a wince. The man beside him let out a long breath, sounding almost annoyed.

The teller stumbled, shivering and shaking, to Aaron's other side. Aaron straightened his back and took a measuring breath, forcing his outer self to look even more put together. The teller whimpered, but now that the robber's attention was elsewhere, had already stopped sobbing. Aaron tried to project calmness, in the hope that some might leak off onto the teller.

“Your phones, now!” The one that had been left to guard them gestured to the floor with his gun. The teller started crying again.

“Ridiculous,” The other customer scoffed, loud enough to be heard this time. “You want the phones now? Do you even have a jammer?” He had, of all things, a mocking smirk on his face. Aaron froze, not sure if he should back away before the man got shot, or try to defuse the situation somehow.

“Excuse me?” Predictably, the robber stalked up to the man. “Who do you think you are?! You shut your mouth and hand over the phone before I shoot it off.”

The man snorted. “My phone or the gun?” He casually reached into his pocket and tossed his phone on the ground.

The robber paused for a moment, confused. His grip on the gun tightened. “B-both! Shut up!” He swung the butt into the man's chest. The man choked, falling down like a sack of bricks. “Anyone else want any!?” The robber swung his gun wildly.

The teller crumpled, not from any physical injury. Aaron spared a glance at the worryingly twitchy finger over the gun's trigger. He let out a short sigh. Defusing, it was. Aaron slowly reached into his own pocket, wary as the robber's attention swiveled to him.

“We don't want any trouble.” Aaron spoke just a touch slower than usual, an extra note of careful measurement. He spoke the same way he would to an on-edge Hamilton.

“Damn straight you don't.” The robber huffed as Aaron placed his phone on the ground. His finger eased off the trigger, which was all Aaron really cared about, anyways. “You next, crybaby!”

Aaron looked at the teller, hyperventilating on the ground, and then back at the robber- momentarily assuaged but still on edge and already looking edgier. Before his work could be undone, Aaron shifted, standing between them. “The man's having a panic attack. I can help him calm down.”

The robber scoffed. “Special snowflakes,” He muttered, then shrugged. “Just get his phone for me if he's too pathetic to pull himself together. Honestly.” Aaron refrained from rolling his eyes- what effect did they think pulling guns on normal people would do? Aaron was still secretly a little surprised that he wasn't having an episode of some kind yet. Instead, he knelt by the teller, carefully grabbing his hand.

“Deep breaths. Count with me.” He whispered, just enough for the teller to hear. “I won't let them shoot you, alright?” Aaron's ability to seem completely unruffled by anything finally came through. The teller's breathing slowed and deepened, shoulders slumping as his body relaxed. “Can you tell me your name?”

The teller breathed a few more times, clinging tightly to the hand Aaron had offered. “Charles. Uh, Charles Lee.”

“Alright. My name is Aaron. It's nice to meet you, Charles.” He watched with a vague sense of pride as Charles swallowed, wiped the moisture from his face, and nodded. “Now, can you tell me where your phone is? I'll hand it over for you, if you'd like.”

Charles froze again, but instead of reverting like Aaron feared- a perfectly fair response, but there was an armed man behind them- he just shook his head. “I-I don't have it on me. We aren't allowed phones on shift. But he doesn't look like he'd believe that...” Charles trailed off. His panic attack suddenly made even more sense.

Aaron turned back to the robber, wondering how to word this. “Sir,” He started, a safe term of respect. The third hostage barely held back a snort, now sitting up again, but holding a hand to his gut. Aaron very carefully did not glance in his direction. “My friend doesn't have his phone on him, because he was on shift and those are the company rules.”

“Bullshit,” The robber spat, predictably. “No one listens to no-phone rules. Hand it over, now.”

Aaron glanced at Charles again, . “But sir, his work uniform does not have any pockets. There's nowhere for him to be holding one.”

The robber scoffed, then stalked over. Aaron felt tense as a bowstring. He tightened his grip on Charles' hand, silently begging him not to react. “You could be hiding them in your shoes. Take 'em off.” Charles whimpered again.

Aaron reached for Charles' feet before his inaction could make things worse. “See?” He projected as much calmness as he good, handing the shoes over gingerly. “Nowhere for it to be.”

“Ugh,” Aaron couldn't see the robber's facial expression, but he could hear the nose wrinkle. He threw the shoes over his shoulder and away. “Fine, whatever. You need a less shitty job.” With apparently nothing else on his list of tasks, the robber backed away several feet and shouldered his gun. “Hey, any luck, you guys?” He called, to his companions.

Aaron let his posture relax. The robber was still clearly watching them, but his attention was elsewhere. “Asshole,” he whispered at Charles. “Could have at least given the shoes back, right?” He hoped a light tone might make the poor man feel a little better.

It worked. Charles didn't laugh, but he did huff sharply and offer a half smile. “That's at least the worst of it, right? I mean, the police are probably coming.”

Aaron was about to assure him, when the other man finally turned to them. “The police around here are even more incompetent than these idiots. They're probably here already, making everything worse.”

“W-worse? How do you know?” Charles squeezed Aaron's hand so tight, he almost flinched.

The man rolled his eyes. “You think they're equipped for a hostage situation? They're going to block the entire area up and do absolutely nothing except make my men's job harder.”

Aaron frowned at the words. All this time, he'd thought that the other hostage was just having a strange reaction to danger. But he spoke of experience, had spent the entire time dismissive of the robbers' planning and execution, and apparently was in control of 'men' who could supposedly manage a hostage situation better than police would. This was not a normal man.

“May I have your name?” Aaron asked cautiously. The man's lips turned up and his eyes hooded, somehow managing to look suggestive while sitting against the wall with a hand to his bruised stomach. Charles shifted behind Aaron, uncomfortable at the change of tone.

“My name is George. Most however, call me King.” His words felt significant, somehow. Aaron did not miss the way Charles froze stock-still behind him. The man smirked even wider, but his eyes stayed focused on Aaron, waiting for him to react.

For the life of him, Aaron could not figure out what he was supposed to be reacting to. “So do you prefer King or George, then?” Obviously, this man was important, somehow. Aaron didn't want to step on any toes, but he had never heard one mention of a George or a King, anywhere.

Thankfully, he let out a soft laugh instead of acting offended. “George is fine. I don't get it enough these days.”

“Alright, it's good to meet you, George. I'm Aaron. I'd offer you a hand, but I don't think our guard would like that.” Aaron gave a rueful smile. They were lucky enough the robber watching them was letting them speak, or wasn't observant enough to catch their quiet words- if Aaron were him, he would have forbidden it. Instead, the robber watched them sullenly from a short distance, arms crossed.

George rolled his eyes for what had to at least be the third time so far. “Oh, don't worry about those idiots, they're like babies with guns. More likely to shoot themselves than anyone else.” He scooted closer to Aaron. “Besides, you gave your hand to that crying fellow earlier.”

Charles squeaked, quiet and nervous, at the mention. Aaron shot him a reassuring look, before turning back to George. “You clearly don't need it.”

George scooted closer, again. “Oh, but I want it. I can start panicking too, if you want?” He was smiling, probably not serious. But Aaron didn't want to take that chance- the man seemed a bit unhinged, and certainly was not taking the situation seriously. Bemused, Aaron offered his other hand. George shook it in a perfect, business-like shake; but before Aaron could disengage, he pulled it gently up for a delicate kiss on the back of the hand.

Aaron flushed, unable to help himself. George grinned into the kiss, slowly releasing. “It's a pleasure to meet you, Aaron. Given the situation, I believe that is saying something.”

“Uhm,” Aaron stuttered like a schoolgirl. “T-this is really not the time.” Then, gathering himself, “There are guns pointed at us.”

“For now,” George agreed with a shrug, still grinning at Aaron's reaction. “I can wait for a better time, if it would please you.”

Aaron gulped, somehow more nervous at this George's attention than he'd been at the robber's attention. “Uh, sure,” He excused. George was probably only flirting because he had a strange relationship with danger. When they got out of here, they would all forget each other.

Charles didn't seem to be panicking anymore, but he also did not speak a single word after George's introduction, which only raised more flags for Aaron. But there wasn't much else they could do but sit together quietly.

It was only minutes later that they finally heard sirens. “Shit!” The robber cursed.

“Honestly, what did they think was going to happen?” George whispered to Aaron under his breath. “They probably got into the vault long ago but wasted all their time arguing and trying to take the whole load at once. Idiots.”

Clearly, George had some knowledge about these kinds of exchanges, though knowledge of a dubious origin. Aaron decided to take advantage of it instead of analyzing it too carefully. “What happens next, then?”

George smiled, for some reason pleased by the question. “They'll start negotiating. Likely, they let one hostage go to confirm that there even are hostages. Then, they try to hold the bank for as long as possible, looking for some way out. Then they surrender.”

Aaron considered the information. “Let's hope they surrender earlier, rather than later.” With any luck, Charles would be the one let go.

“Yes, let's hope. I have places to be.” George sniffed. Aaron didn't, but he was tired and hungry and just wanted to go home and lie down, even before this whole ordeal. It had been a long day.

Somehow, Aaron wasn't surprised when things went almost exactly as George predicted. First, they let two hostages go- the other two bank employees.

“These amateurs can't negotiate for shit,” George muttered into Aaron's ear. “Each person they give up is one they can't leverage later.” Meanwhile, Charles started shaking again as his coworkers were escorted out the door. Aaron bumped his shoulder lightly, before he drew attention to himself again.

They were marched into the back of the bank next, to the employee break area even further from any windows. Their twitchy guard took a seat at the break table while the sat in the corner. Aaron situated himself in the middle again, still unsure about Charles' weird reaction to George's name.

Time passed, first an hour, then another, then Aaron lost track of time entirely. Charles curled in on himself. George sighed and made his impatience even more obvious, occasionally stretching and yawning even when it earned him glares from the robber. Aaron was hungry and thirsty, but there was another factor, increasingly hard to ignore. Aaron tried to stretch his chest, breathing just on the uncomfortable side of short.

“Aaron, my dear, what's wrong?” George laid a hand on Aaron's elbow, drawing his attention. If it were any other situation, he would have railed at George's presumption- dear? They were strangers!- but he had bigger things on his mind right now.

Aaron thought of lying, or misdirecting. But it really was becoming a problem, and if George had an objection, the current situation would limit his reactions. “My binder's been on too long. It's getting uncomfortable.”

He could feel the surprise, from both his companions. “I see,” George answered. “How long is it supposed to be on?”

“Eight to twelve hours. It's been over a day now, though. I was working so late last night I forgot to take it off.”

The hand at Aaron's elbow stroked down now, to his wrist. “What happens when it's on too long?”

Aaron shrugged, though the movement pinched. “Doesn't matter. Not like I can take it off here.”

George gripped Aaron's wrist, light but firm. “Dear, what happens?” George pushed pure authority into his voice, enough to make Aaron straighten automatically. He recognized the tone from another George- his boss, Washington.

“Bruises my ribs, makes it a bit harder to breathe,” Aaron admitted, glancing away. He missed George's next expression, but he didn't miss hoe George's grip flexed, tight for a moment, then loose again, brushing down to his fingers.

“I see,” George answered. “Then I guess I'll have to call it in. I swear, law enforcement is useless.” He  made a soft tsk of disappointment, like he was talking about slow service workers rather than the police.

“I'm sorry?” Aaron asked, “Call what in? We don't have any phones?”  George shushed him gently, placing his fingers against Aaron's lips. Aaron recoiled at the sheer audacity, but kept his mouth shut rather than complain. Even though George was clearly not bothered, Aaron would allow it as a symptom of their predicament- he certainly wasn't making a fuss of Charles' steel-trap grip on his other hand.

There was no answer, at least not immediately. Aaron tried to arrange himself comfortably. He was never leaving his binder on overnight ever again. He leaned into Charles' shoulder, wishing he could lie down. Charles shifted to make his shoulder a more accommodating pillow. Before he could get comfortable, Aaron found himself pulled off of Charles, their hands finally loosened.

“Wha-” Aaron fell against George.

“Shh, I'm softer, I make a better pillow.” Aaron frowned, brows furrowed. It felt like a possessive move, but what did George have to be possessive about? Besides, George was actually right about being more comfortable, and Aaron was sore, tired, still starving, and didn't feel like pursuing the matter. He closed his eyes, trying not to think too closely about the slight dizziness that crept in whenever he moved.

It was a short time after that, when the confusion was finally answered, in the form of two sudden gunshots. Everyone in the room jumped, except for George, who merely laid a hand against Aaron's arm, guiding him back down. The robber guarding them stood up. “What's going on out there!? Hey-!”

The door slammed open, and someone who wasn't one of the robbers immediately aimed their gun and shot. The robber went down with a gurgle.

Aaron had never seen a person get shot before. George stroked Aaron's back. Charles was silent, Aaron hoped it wasn't because he had fainted.

“About damn time,” George complained. “Now, what's our getaway?” Aaron moved to get up, to do something to appear more dignified, only for George to hum and gently tug him back. Aaron fell against his shoulder with a soft thump. He decided to focus on his breathing, instead.

“Your majesty, we have a distraction going on around the front. There's a van waiting to bring you back to the safe house. But we need to move now.”

“Very well, but we need to make a stop first.” George responded, before Aaron could even start to parse  the 'your majesty' statement. “My dear little Aaron here needs to get home as soon as possible.”

It was clear the other man was taken aback- and now Aaron was really wishing he'd been more critical of George's obvious experience in hostage taking. But instead of asking why, he merely nodded. “Where do we need to stop?”

Everyone looked at Aaron. Aaron looked back, completely confused and more than a little shell shocked over the body lying not far away. “Don't... we need to talk to the police first?” Everyone stared.

Finally, George let out a huff of laughter. “Dear, I have nothing to say to the police, and you told me yourself you need to remove that binder. If you stay, they will keep you for hours longer and they certainly won't be accommodating about it. Let me take you home now, and our good friend Charles can stay and speak with the police.” He turned his head to give the nerve wracked man a sharp grin. “I'm sure you'll leave my little old name out of it, won't you, Charles?”

Aaron watched Charles nod furiously to the statement. It all sounded like a bad idea, but George had a point- he really would rather be at home, and he was only bruising himself more the longer he couldn't change. “Okay,” He said.

Without warning, George scooped Aaron and stood- one arm under his knees, and the other on his back. Aaron yelped as the ground suddenly left him, leaning instinctively into George's chest. “Hey, I can walk!” He tried to wiggle, but it just made him sway dangerously, and he stopped. “Put me down, please!” Aaron settled on hissing, instead.

“Sorry dear, this is faster.” George strolled towards the door. The man with the gun held it open for them. “Thank you, Seabury. You always do manage to come through for me.”

“Of course, your majesty.” The man answered. He walked ahead to open the employee exit for them. “The van is waiting, as soon as you give the address.”

George shifted his arms slightly, bouncing Aaron even closer. Aaron automatically grabbed at his shoulder, pulling himself more upright. For being an incredibly undignified princess-carry, it was surprisingly comfortable. “What do you think, dear, can you tell us where you live?”

Aaron considered the question, then considered one of his own. “Who the hell are you, really?”

George laughed. “I've been honest from the start! I have to admit though, that you didn't recognize the name King hurt my feelings, a little. I thought I was more infamous than that.”

“What-?” Aaron started.

“You don't recognize his majesty?” Seabury, George's subordinate rescuer, shouted like Aaron had done the world a great disservice. “Our King, leader of the Monarchy?! For shame!”

Aaron did, actually, recognize 'The Monarchy'. The biggest gang-slash-mafia in town. The same gang that Aaron's boss- and entire firm- was devoted to overthrowing. But no one had ever spoke much of the leader at work- Aaron had always suspected it was to protect as many people as possible from being involved and possibly targeted. He had always quietly railed against being cut out and blocked from those most important meetings.

Maybe if he'd been allowed in the room where it happens, he wouldn't be in this situation now.

“Oh,” said Aaron, the situation finally dawning. Then, because it wasn't like it could get any worse, he told them his address. As he did, George's eyes lit up.

“Oh! You're Aaron Burr!”

Aaron's brows furrowed, but he nodded anyways.

George- the King- carefully climbed into the getaway van, still holding Aaron to his lap. “I keep tabs on all of Washington's lawyers, with him being such a delightful rival. Of course, if I'd known you were so interesting in a crisis, and cute on top of that, I'd have been paying much closer attention.”

Aaron felt a hint of disturbance at the knowledge that his address had been memorized by a crime lord simply because of where he worked. It was overshadowed by inexplicable butterflies. “I acted perfectly normal in a crisis,” He protested, ignoring the 'cute' comment.

“I've seen plenty of civilian reactions to guns being waved at them,” George assured, “But you have a mind of steel, and the constitution to match. It would serve you well in this line of work, though I suspect it serves you just as well in your current career path.”

Aaron wasn't sure what to say to that. He let the gang leader- the person he should be putting in prison- drive to his house, and then physically carry him in to his room.

“I'll see you soon, dear!” George waved his hand, winked, and left.

Aaron considered worrying about that statement. He decided to throw off his binder and order his weight in delivery Chinese instead.

#kingburr #fic #king is touchy and skeevy no matter what i do it seems

[fransartcrap]

Sil, Ven, Gillian, Gorou, Richard, Keiler, Augie because I don't see them in your tags ;0

Oh my god– okalso, Sil is in my tags! But there’s not a whole lot of posts with him.O H K A  Y . .  . putting these under a readmore because L O  RD

Full Name: Sil PoisontongueGender and Sexuality: male & bisexualPronouns: he/himEthnicity/Species: Arabic & gold ancestry DragonbornBirthplace and Birthdate: someplace-his-clan-lived & August 21stGuilty Pleasures: b o o b i e sPhobias: being used, being abandoned, failure, large rats and similar thingsWhat They Would Be Famous For: being rude to their friends, alternatively, blowing their friends up, along with themselves, with a Rod of Wonder on accidentWhat They Would Get Arrested For: family related drama :^)OC You Ship Them With: Aermire, Augustine, and Gillian outside of the campaign he’s in. Temp ship with Limerick (a treasure hunter antag shithead) since he needed character development trauma yaaaayOC Most Likely To Murder Them: Limerick, because he’d definitely do it if it meant he got Sil’s moneyFavorite Movie/Book Genre: romantic comedies or mysteriesLeast Favorite Movie/Book Cliche: he’ll tolerate most anything, except extremely long things with a slow plot… or giant magic ratsTalents and/or Powers: poison breath, turning into a dragon, sorceryWhy Someone Might Love Them: he’s fashionable and pretty good looking, he’s fairly entertaining, he has/had a lot of wealth, he’s good at magic stuff, literally a dragonWhy Someone Might Hate Them: he doesn’t know shit about living on his own, he’s vain and gets angry and upset about his clothes being ruined or getting dirty, he’s snobby and judgmentalHow They Change: they lose everything they have and (currently) don’t know where any family they may have left are, they learn how to Get Shit Done, they get actual friends and learn from them, as a whole they become more thoughtful and open mindedWhy You Love Them: Sil is a fun and stubborn character, and I love thinking of scenarios with him. He reacts very dramatically and is very over the top about everything. Also, noodle. 

Full Name: Ven PoisontongueGender and Sexuality: male & homosexualPronouns: he/himEthnicity/Species: Arabic & gold ancestry DragonbornBirthplace and Birthdate: someplace-his-clan-lived & November 9thGuilty Pleasures: splurging on sweets, particularly fruit ice creamsPhobias: being used, being robbed, drowning+deep waterWhat They Would Be Famous For: their delivery services probably (Ven is a traveling merchant)What They Would Get Arrested For: hiding wanted fugitivesOC You Ship Them With: none in particular atm, but he also had a temp ship with LimerickOC Most Likely To Murder Them: Sil or Triv (grandfather on mother’s side) but Triv is dead and can’t try to kill him anymoreFavorite Movie/Book Genre: romance or sci-fiLeast Favorite Movie/Book Cliche: most horror stuff, he’s a big chickenTalents and/or Powers: poison breath, turning into a dragon, a bit of sorcery, marketing skillsWhy Someone Might Love Them: he’s really friendly, big strong softie, he’s also very wealthy, travels a lot and has lots of street smarts, he knows what’s legit and what’s not on the marketWhy Someone Might Hate Them:“boyfriend stealing ho”, he’s kind of super imposing, he’s good at playing the market, he’s the bastard child of his clanHow They Change: they eventually make an effort to cut off the toxic relationships they have, and then work on mending their relationship with their half-brother, Sil, since he’s the only family he ever really cared about since he was disowned by his mother’s side of the familyWhy You Love Them: they’re a real sweetheart, and only really ever mean to do good, but they have rotten luck

Full Name: Gillian CallawayGender and Sexuality: male & bisexualPronouns: he/himEthnicity/Species: Greek & Half- ElfBirthplace and Birthdate: somewhere out at sea & April 26thGuilty Pleasures: buying foods or drinks for random strangersPhobias: being tied down, various bad luck superstitions, falling to their deathWhat They Would Be Famous For: not taking up their mother’s position as a merchant ship fleet captainWhat They Would Get Arrested For: stealing things, most likely books, small musical instruments, and foodOC You Ship Them With: SilOC Most Likely To Murder Them: Limerick, he was kicked out of Gill’s mother’s fleet because of Gill ratting him out on questionable motives and actionsFavorite Movie/Book Genre: fantasy or romanceLeast Favorite Movie/Book Cliche: marriage and not travelingTalents and/or Powers: sailing and managing ships, playing instruments and singing, some illusionary and enchantment magicWhy Someone Might Love Them: he’s very down-to-earth and has a serene air about him, he’s friendly and open minded, he has that Dashing Pirate look, loves travelingWhy Someone Might Hate Them: he’s flighty and doesn’t like the idea of commitment, he’s not very good at focusing on certain things for a long time, he has a habit of stealing things he really really really wants but doesn’t have the money forHow They Change: they have a lot of self confidence and self worth problems, which starts to change after meeting Sil, and later Ven, who each encourage him and help him work past a lot of obstacles he encountersWhy You Love Them: Gil is very relaxed and overall he’s quite content. He feels like a wholesome character, and just enjoys taking care of his plants and traveling at sea

Full Name: Gorou “War Bat” OshiroGender and Sexuality: male & pansexualPronouns: he/him or they/themEthnicity/Species: Asian & Tiefling (DnD) Oni (Gaia)Birthplace and Birthdate: A medium sized town (DnD) Aekea (Gaia) & November 14thGuilty Pleasures: making (annoying) rhythmic tapping noises, and smashing stuff with his macePhobias: being ostracized, failureWhat They Would Be Famous For: SMASHWhat They Would Get Arrested For: WRONG SMASHOC You Ship Them With: Richard (Gaia)OC Most Likely To Murder Them: his friend Alice, but it’d actually probably not be intentional so..Favorite Movie/Book Genre: comedy or supernaturalLeast Favorite Movie/Book Cliche: evil antagonist monsters are evil because they’re monstersTalents and/or Powers: he’s pretty skilled in carpentry, pretty skilled in cooking, great at using a mace and at fist fighting, he has dark visionWhy Someone Might Love Them: he’s optimistic and easy-going, he loves cooking so he takes picking and making the best foods seriously, he’s pretty cute, he loves chatting with people and is very friendly and polite, he’s 6ft tallWhy Someone Might Hate Them: his race isn’t the most well liked by others, he’s sometimes very very slow making decisions to the point of frustration or negative consequences, he’s 6ft tallHow They Change: They used to be very quiet and asocial, shying away from company and interacting with others and preferring to observe from afar or work by themselves. They took up learning life skills, and started to open up little by little from lots of events with them being set aside for discussions with their mentors. Presently, they’re very level-headed and a sort of peace-keeper, and much more talkative and friendly.Why You Love Them: Gorou is one of my few foodie loving characters, and reminds me of how great it is to just relax and have a good bit of food. He’s a chill character too, and is open minded and thoughtful. He also likes bright teal/cyans, which is a color I like a lot.

Full Name: Richard “Rooster” BelleroseGender and Sexuality: male & pansexualPronouns: he/himEthnicity/Species: French and English & VampireBirthplace and Birthdate: Barton & July 19thGuilty Pleasures: scaring the shit out of people as a batPhobias: bright sunlight, vampire hunters, has mild OCD, being aloneWhat They Would Be Famous For: being a vampire, alternatively, being an assholeWhat They Would Get Arrested For: murder probablyOC You Ship Them With: Gorou (Gaia)OC Most Likely To Murder Them: Alice or Kir (both friends of his who also fight with him a lot)Favorite Movie/Book Genre: sci-fi or mysteryLeast Favorite Movie/Book Cliche: when the female character turns into a damsel because they meet a male love interest who takes overTalents and/or Powers: Vampire stuff mostly, he can turn into a bat and a crowWhy Someone Might Love Them: they’re pretty sharp, always well dressed, has an eye for clean-cut aesthetics, has a pretty big store of money, literally a vampireWhy Someone Might Hate Them: really picky and snobby, has a terrible sense of humor, he likes to spook people, literally a vampireHow They Change: Richard used to be power hungry and an epitome of snobbery, but decades of being alone and having old friends cut you off because of how you act makes you think about things a lot. He tried a lot over a long stretch of time to educate himself on being more open minded and polite to others instead of taking them granted and belittling them. He’s secretly very sensitive about his friends, despite seeming upset with them and arguing with them. He always goes back and talks things over and admits to when he messes up now instead of blaming it on the other person.Why You Love Them: They’re a dumb vampire man and I originally made him as a horrible filler character but now he’s just fun to poke fun at with my other characters. In the set of OCs he’s in, he’s also the oldest and knows the most history and science wise, so he’s just a big angsty nerd. He’s just also a posh vampire.

Full Name: Keiler BlancheGender and Sexuality: male & asexual and biromanticPronouns: he/him or they/themEthnicity/Species: French and Irish & humanBirthplace and Birthdate: ??? & April 18thGuilty Pleasures: getting high only to eat food he cooksPhobias: has social anxiety, being attacked for his hobbies, worries he might accidentally kill someone with his potionsWhat They Would Be Famous For: all the weed he growsWhat They Would Get Arrested For: all… the weed……. he grows……OC You Ship Them With: Augie (??????even I don’t know)OC Most Likely To Murder Them: Nobody. Yet.Favorite Movie/Book Genre: fantasyLeast Favorite Movie/Book Cliche: redemption arcs for characters that were constantly toxic and ended up being instantly forgivenTalents and/or Powers: basic spells and enchantments, potion brewing, herbologyWhy Someone Might Love Them: they’re very polite, very calm and kind, he’ll hook you up with some dank weed my dudeWhy Someone Might Hate Them: he’s the weirdo on the block, questionable activities, he sets a “less desirable” example for is peers, his familiar was actually another witch guyHow They Change: Keiler was very unmotivated in most everything he did until he got a cat. The cat made him a better person. But then the cat also turned out to be an animagus, which was really awkward. He made him live in his backyard for a week.Why You Love Them: They’re a very whimsical and soft, sleepy sort of character. They remind me of sitting in a small cabin kitchen in the morning with the sunrise peeking through an ivy-bordered window looking out over plant filled garden and porch. He’s got a nice serene feeling.

Full Name: Augie Maes/BlancheGender and Sexuality: male & bisexualPronouns: he/himEthnicity/Species: Belgian and English & humanBirthplace and Birthdate: ??? & June 5thGuilty Pleasures: crumpling paper and plastic, and being a catPhobias: snakes, most large animals, knives and sharp cutting objectsWhat They Would Be Famous For: being a cat for 8 years What They Would Get Arrested For: being a cat for 8 years instead of paying for their classes and rentOC You Ship Them With: Keiler (???????still don’t know)OC Most Likely To Murder Them: Nobody. Yet.Favorite Movie/Book Genre: comedyLeast Favorite Movie/Book Cliche: sidekicks dieing for main character developmentTalents and/or Powers: basic spells and enchantments, transfiguration, can turn into a cat (specifically cornish rex)Why Someone Might Love Them: they’re very friendly and have a great sense of humor, they’re bright and cheerful, great listener, supportive and affectionate, usually smells like plantsWhy Someone Might Hate Them: they like pranks, knocking things down for no particular reason is a habit now, tracks dirt into everywhere, usually smells like plantsHow They Change: Augie uses his transfiguration skills to hide from his class debt and leech off his classmate Keiler for a long while, pretending to be a stray cat that showed up on the doorstep. After spending a few years with Keiler, Augie started feel guilty, and eventually revealed to Keiler that he in fact not a cat and had been using him for free food, housing, and classes. Keiler of course kicked him out (temporarily), and later Augie and Keiler worked together to figure out how the two of them can get Augie out of debt. Currently Augie lives with Keiler as his roomate and best friend, and helps him with house work and chores more often. Why You Love Them: Stupid fucking cat guy.

#ask #this took me 3 hours to answer lmfao #lord #OC Sil #OC Sil Poisontongue #OC Ven #OC Ven Poisontongue #OC Gillian Callaway #OC Gorou #OC Gorou Oshiro #OC War Bat #OC Richard Bellerose #OC Keiler Blanche #OC Augie Maes #OC Augie Blanche