My FL OC Playlists are something lol
Damodar's is based mostly on lyrics, any songs about reaching for eternity, or doing the impossible, and defeating death, as well as any revenge songs, or anything that general fits Depression go in his. This has led to the My Singing Monsters Song Earth Island song being in his playlist, right next to My Chemical Romance and Poor Man's Poison. What else can I say but "haha funny sad man wants to kill and eat god! he IS a mountain!"
Leigh's songs are all about identity, and shifting faces, and not knowing who you are. As I have once described it, he's going through his Stranger Girlie era, and anything about not being quite human, but wanting to feel human goes in. We've somehow gotten a lot of Vocaloid in here now. I need to do something with this man that stops making him go through identity loss body horror.
Wadiya is… well, her songs are the most similar, I would argue, in genre and sound, but the intended subject of the song is always most subverted. A character who, as a rule, never drinks, gets multiple songs featuring alcohol, and one who is the designated Moral one gets songs about villainous corruption, about loving evil beasts, despite being on the Aroace spectrum. It’s less literal, more vibes! But also not vibes and entirely literal. Yesn’t <3.
Eliza’s playlist is both the biggest, and the easiest to follow. I feel like I could post the playlist in lieu of my (eventual) plan to explain these characters to people. It is villain songs. It is manipulation. It is a sweet mask, feigning sympathy and care and love, until no one is around to see, and letting it drop to hurt someone just for the thrill of it. It is gambling and becoming more than what you are physically, to become what you always were inside. It is the outside matching the inside, but the inside is vile and vicious and gnawing and blood and death and sadistic joy at it all. It is “how Bad Can I Be?” from the Lorax without a single hint of irony from ME, but a knowing smile from it.
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I am exactly the type of person who would step into a machine that would convert me into dark matter 100% successfully but I wouldn't know what this conversion would actually do to ME with little to no hesitation.
I am the type of person who would look for a being filled with infinite knowledge that would kill me on sight and beg that being to obliterate me, knowing full well what that means.
I am the type of person who will read textbooks upon textbooks of physics, psychology, astronomy, literature, history, etc. in the wee hours of the night and simply forget to eat, sleep, or shower.
Because I have to know. I HAVE to. Knowledge is above self preservation, above nourishment, above everything. It is the priority, whenever I'm lucid enough to think straight. This is the most awake and not dissociated I've been in days. I need to get through a college course of astrophysics in a single night. N o w.
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what grinds my gears like nothing else is textiles manufacturers greenwashing bamboo/rayon yarn or fabric as though the fact that it's derived from plant material erases the enormously toxic manufacturing process. like the first thing you think of when you think of bamboo yarn/fabric is 'oh it must be made like any other plant fiber' but no!!! that's a semisynthetic fiber that's usually made with carbon disulfide which is extremely toxic to workers and environment both!
and there ARE less destructive bamboo processing techniques you CAN make bamboo fiber the same way you do any other bast fiber theres EVEN a less common chemical process that doesnt do the same harm that viscose rayon does but NO instead we get ~natural fiber~ greenwashing that hides behind the extremely reasonable assumptions people make about plant fibers
I will never ever in my life begrudge people who buy bamboo yarn or for that matter acrylic because (a) goddamn its fucking rough out here (b) I'd be a massive hypocrite (c) the problem is the manufacturers not the individual and (d) sometimes it IS the yarn for the job but I will never stop beating my drum about this bc we! deserve! to know!
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i think the funniest thing to witness as someone who was in supernatural fandom in the early days and hasn't been in many years is the discourse about wincest.
because like. i cannot emphasize enough how wincest in the pre-castiel days was treated as an absolutely bog-standard slash ship.
standard shippy tropes circa 2005-2009, indistinguishable from the way people wrote any other odd-couple ship of the era. the fact that the characters were brothers often didn't come up at all, and if it did it was often just not a big concern. if you weren't into it because of, you know, the incest thing, you were politely considered a little odd, but to each their own. this probably has a lot to do with the fact that until s4 there was literally no one else you could plausibly ship either character with, but it's still unbelievably funny to me to witness the evolution there
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Feisty Lady Anger and other things about me you hate
My mother prizes her anger, for all that she doesn't express it openly. I tell stories about her spiteful, steel-spined responses to people who told her, "You can't do that," and I point to them as Why I Am How I Am. Her father told her he wouldn't pay for her college because "women only go to earn the MRS degree," and she could "get married and have babies" without college. In response, Mom got her bachelor's in Mathematics in 1970 on her own dime, back in the days when in-state students didn't pay tuition at state schools (just another thing Reagan ruined). She worked and paid for her books and housing, got her degree, paid for her own wedding because he wouldn't do that either. Taught school, got her Master's, had three kids, started her Ph.D. with 3 under 6 and became a professor when the youngest was 5.
Tell me I can't, my mom told the world, and I'll show you that I can. I won't just do it, I'll become a department head and a Distinguished Professor and retire after 30 years of teaching other math teachers with a list of achievements as long as my arm.
There is an anger that runs deep in the women in my family. Tell me I can't, and I'll show you I can. Show me injustice and I'll tear at it with my teeth and hands, staring you down while I do. Backwards and in heels.
I can't tell you the moment I crossed out of Feisty Lady Anger in the eyes of the people close to me, but I can tell you the moment I noticed. Maybe it was when my voice started dropping or the growing muscles on my shoulders pulled my stance more square and upright. Maybe it was when I moved from they/them to he/they, and somehow I stepped from Diet Woman to Too Close To Man in their eyes.
It's a funny thing when all of a sudden your anger becomes real enough to be startling to people. Your anger is no longer feisty, charming, and attractive. This thing that people liked about you, that people who say they love you said they loved about you, suddenly becomes frightening, upsetting, and terrible. The way you didn't let people mow over you and fought back used to be a thing that people admired. It was actively attractive. It was one of your best qualities.
Now? It's ugly. It's disgusting. It's scary. The thing you were is gone, and now your anger is real to them.
It's in that moment that the blade cuts back towards you. You realize the reason your squared shoulders and set jaw drew people in couldn't be squared with the stubble on that jaw or the newfound strength in your arms. Feisty Lady Anger isn't real, not in the way a man's anger is real. Feisty Lady Anger is admirable, sure, but it is admirable because of its essential ineffectual nature. At most, Feisty Lady Anger fixes minor problems for the kids at school, gets the principal to back down from scolding your child when she politely asks the kid calling her a faggot on the bus if he knows what that really means, pushes a woman to achieve for her family, in appropriately neutered ways.
When you stop pretending to be a woman and become who you really are, when your anger becomes real, you realize both that the thing about you that people loved is gone and that this thing was attractive in the first place because of its ineffectiveness. Your anger wasn't scary because it wasn't real enough to be threatening.
Now you have Man Anger, and, you're told, you should apologize for that. It doesn't matter if it's the same anger you've always had, or that you're angry about the same things. It comes now in baritone, with belly hair and bellowing, and now it's both real and disgusting.
The worst part is watching it come from people you thought should know better, the people who should understand. You spent nearly 40 years being told to sit down and shut up because the men in your professional career were speaking, assured that if you just waited your turn, you'd be given a place to speak eventually, and now here you are being told within a community that claims to love and understand you, by people that claim to be in community with you and love who you are, that you actually don't have any real problems to speak about, also your Man Anger and Man Privilege (when do I get that, please?) are Scary and mean you should sit down and wait, and you'll be given a place to speak eventually.
It is the Transmasculine Catch-22: if you become Man Enough to no longer fit into Almost Lady, your anger becomes Real, which makes you realize that your anger wasn't Real before, but because it's Real now, you're not allowed to have it. And by the way, you're not allowed to be neither Man or Lady - now you're Man Enough, and that makes it all the more clear how you were simply Kirkland Signature Lady right up until the point you weren't.
There will be a few people who Fucking Get It, who don't see you as either a Failed Lady or a Broken Man, and you'll love those people all the more for their rarity. It won't take the sting out of realizing that the things people you love loved about you before now disgust and repel them, but it'll make it enough to keep going.
You couldn't stop, anyway. You've never felt more yourself, and the people who don't love you, the actual you, the real you... the loss of that hurts, but not nearly as much as the idea of pretending to be something else did.
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