Likes: Flowers (particularly the lilac bush that grew in the orphanage), American pop, Izana, Kakucho
Dislikes: Suffocating spaces, being tied down
Special Skill: 60kg grip strength in her dominant hand (highest record so far: 63.99kg)
Person she respects/admires the most: Izana
Person she dislikes/fears the most: Shinichiro Sano, anyone that poses a threat to Izana or Kakucho
Dream: "Their Kingdom" (The establishment of Tenjiku)
Favorite spot: Seaside places
Heroic/failure story: Played one of those grip strength games at the arcade once and accidentally broke it. When the staff came she immediately blamed Kakucho.
Extras under the cut!:
Good dancer
Tried teaching Kakucho but Izana yelled at them to stop wasting time.
Likes floral scents
Has a high pain/spice tolerance
Enjoys reading fairy tales in her free time.
Favorite story is Cinderella
Temp-dyes her hair a pink-ish color. Sometimes has Kakucho help her if she's too lazy.
Got the ring from Izana for her 15th birthday. She wears it constantly.
Does her own braids every morning and takes care of Kakucho and Izana’s hair.
Picked up Karaoke recently and goes to places with Izana or Kakucho occasionally
Is a little perturbed when Izana goes a bit too hard on “Wish I’d never been born at all” when he sings Bohemian Rhapsody.
Wears honey flavored chapstick
She prefers sparkling/carbonated drinks over still ones.
Prefers spicy food over sweets. Her favorite dish is extra spicy mapo tofu.
Good at card games but has been explicitly banned from playing them when Izana is around with the exception of a few games. (Mainly because she kept beating him and he got frustrated by it).
Best game: Old maid/poker (turns into a completely different person when playing)
Worst game: Speed (Murasaki can’t really compete with Izana’s reflexes so that’s the only game he’ll play with her)
“Kakucho is too honest to bluff while Izana gets frustrated when he gets cornered and is bad at reading people.”
Jar/bottle opener extraordinaire
Has actually cracked jars when trying to open them
Her base grip strength without training was 50 kg. She only got it to where it is today because Kakucho gave her grip trainers for her Birthday once.
The yin-yang bracelet was also given to her by Kakucho since she kept getting stopped at hideouts by newbies who didn't recognize her.
they need to come up with more words like necrosis and miasma and mausoleum and cadaver and morose and decrepit and stuff like that just so metal bands can expand their vocabulary
This the report that JK Rowing doesn't want you to see. This report scares her so much that she is trying to destroy Amnesty International, a human rights organization, to stop you reading it:
Amnesty International put out a major report documenting the influence of UK based anti trans gender critical organizations and their fundin
(Amnesty already pulled the report because of JKR's threats. Of course that didn't and won't stop her - capitulating to fascists and bigots is never the answer. Alejandra captured the report and posted it, so you can read what JKR doesn't want you to know.)
It's wild to watch the phrase "tumblr sexyman" morph into "man that tumblr thinks is sexy," because when I first saw the phrase come into use, I always saw it used in reference to the phenomenon of "when presented with a wide array of fictional characters, tumblr will always pick the skinny white man to obsess over, and if the fan-favorite character has no canonical human appearance, the fandom will inevitably create a popular fanon of the character as as a skinny white man."
When I hear "tumblr sexyman," I think of Cecil Night Vale being constantly depicted as a skinny white man instead of literally anything else. I think of the background character white men who get elevated over protagonists that are women, people of color, or otherwise not the white man power fantasy.
"Tumblr sexyman" is, like. An insult. I DON'T want any of my blorbos to win a "tumblr sexyman" poll. "Tumblr sexyman" is the exact opposite of what I want my own OCs to be. If any of my characters ever get called "tumblr sexyman," I will have to immediately re-evaluate myself and the art I'm making.
Oncelercest, because if there aren't two skinny white men to ship, tumblr fandom will start shipping the skinny white man with himself.
Bill Cipher inexplicably being fanon'd as a white twink despite being a fucking triangle.
Everyone fawning over Marvel Loki while shoving every woman and Black person in the MCU aside.
The way nearly every single character in Hazbin Hotel has the same "tall and skinny" body type, along with all the criticisms Black audience members have made about the issues with Alastor's design.
The way tumblr got obsessed with the white man villain in Sinners.
This is a dangerous sentiment for me to express, as an editor who spends most of my working life telling writers to knock it off with the 45-word sentences and the adverbs and tortured metaphors, but I do think we're living through a period of weird pragmatic puritanism in mainstream literary taste.
e.g. I keep seeing people talk about 'purple prose' when they actually mean 'the writer uses vivid and/or metaphorical descriptive language'. I've seen people who present themselves as educators offer some of the best genre writing in western canon as examples of 'purple prose' because it engages strategically in prose-poetry to evoke mood and I guess that's sheer decadence when you could instead say "it was dark and scary outside". But that's not what purple prose means. Purple means the construction of the prose itself gets in the way of conveying meaning. mid-00s horse RPers know what I'm talking about. Cerulean orbs flash'd fire as they turn'd 'pon rollforth land, yonder horizonways. <= if I had to read this when I was 12, you don't get to call Ray Bradbury's prose 'purple'.
I griped on here recently about the prepossession with fictional characters in fictional narratives behaving 'rationally' and 'realistically' as if the sole purpose of a made-up story is to convince you it could have happened. No wonder the epistolary form is having a tumblr renaissance. One million billion arguments and thought experiments about The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas that almost all evade the point of the story: that you can't wriggle out of it. The narrator is telling you how it was, is and will be, and you must confront the dissonances it evokes and digest your discomfort. 'Realistic' begins on the author's terms, that's what gives them the power to reach into your brain and fiddle about until sparks happen. You kind of have to trust the process a little bit.
This ultra-orthodox attitude to writing shares a lot of common ground with the tight, tight commodification of art in online spaces. And I mean commodification in the truest sense - the reconstruction of the thing to maximise its capacity to interface with markets. Form and function are overwhelmingly privileged over cloudy ideas like meaning, intent and possibility, because you can apply a sliding value scale to the material aspects of a work. But you can't charge extra for 'more challenging conceptual response to the milieu' in a commission drive. So that shit becomes vestigial. It isn't valued, it isn't taught, so eventually it isn't sought out. At best it's mystified as part of a given writer/artist's 'talent', but either way it grows incumbent on the individual to care enough about that kind of skill to cultivate it.
And it's risky, because unmeasurables come with the possibility of rejection or failure. Drop in too many allegorical descriptions of the rose garden and someone will decide your prose is 'purple' and unserious. A lot of online audiences seem to be terrified of being considered pretentious in their tastes. That creates a real unwillingness to step out into discursive spaces where you 🫵 are expected to develop and explore a personal relationship with each element of a work. No guard rails, no right answers. Word of god is shit to us out here. But fear of getting that kind of analysis wrong makes people hove to work that slavishly explains itself on every page. And I'm left wondering, what's the point of art that leads every single participant to the same conclusion? See Spot run. Run, Spot, run. Down the rollforth land, yonder horizonways. I just want to read more weird stuff.
sorry it’s actually so fucking crazy thinking abt how certain places have banned burqinis like literally making a woman take her clothes off in public like that shit is so fascist
