#Would they collapse in the streets of Berlin sobbing?

[bonefall]

it is healing to come onto this blog and see basic respect for diasbility after being in other corners of the fandom and reading the words “snowkit could never be a warrior because he wouldnt know what anything is. he wouldnt even know what a clan is because nobody could explain it to him” said in full seriousness

Im..... That statement is so ableist I cannot even imagine the worldview you'd need to have in order to come up with that.

They really think the only way anyone learns anything is through verbal-speaking-words-noises? No one has ever observed something before? Not even once?

This is beyond touching grass, this person just fell out of the fucking Jurassic Period when all they had was ferns and stegosaurs.

I just...

OH YES. I remember my first day of Society Lessons as a hearing person, where the everything was explained to me. Via Audiobook. FIRST they spoke and said, "you are standing on the ground." It was a life changing revelation, and the world began to spin.

But it did not stop.

THEN they said, "there are fingers on your hands." The sensation of flesh and bone crackling into existence is indescribable, but I did not yet know pain, until they told me, "that hurts." I began screaming immediately.

And yet... it continued.

They explained so much. Chairs. Tables. Walls. The sky. Frogs. Ionizing radiation. Breathing. I was told all of it, in one sitting, and only then did I understand. Only when my ears were bursting with normal hearing knowledges, did they begin... my final test.

A strange wall-chair-finger emerged from the sky-of-the-wall, stood on the ground several times, until it was in front of me. A second one came behind it, this one slimmer. The audiobook gave these things names;

Human. Father. Mother. Door. Walking. It was completely impossible to know what these things were until that very moment.

I watch a human dip a hook into water and produce a fish, and I recall my Society Lessons where they called that "fishing." I am decked in the face by a nefarious hooligan, and I have only the audiobook to thank when I know I have been "punched" by a "bad guy." It was only the magic of verbal-speaking-words-noise that made me understand that there are "other people" and that they "do stuff."

Sometimes, even, in "groups."

Before the Society Lessons Audiobook, I knew nothing. I was pure, innocent, uncorrupted by concepts such as "parents" and "door." I am grateful every day that there is no such concept as "being shown things" or "simple logical reasoning" or "looking."

Blessed be those amongst us who escape the horrors of the Society Lessons Audiobook. I pray that you never learn what anything is. Be free! Free as a bird, which also knows nothing and famously cannot learn. 🤗

DEAF/HOH FOLLOWERS I'm losing my mind do you want me to bump a 'Hearing Disabilities Herb Guide' to the top of my priorities? Something you can use to bludgeon whackadoodles like that. This is ridiculous

Obviously not a MEDICINE guide but like; common causes of hearing disability in clan cats. Accommodations for hearing loss vs congenital deafness. Actual difficulties of not having that sense Clan-by-Clan. Debunking of misconceptions like... not being able to learn APPARENTLY.

#bone babble #Fennelposting #Obviously the answer is 'theyre incapable of THINKING' but like... they do know snow has a line right #In the book. He figured out. A word. Through observation. #He says 's'all right' because he knows it calms ppl down #He did not need to hear the magic words 'You can make noises at others to influence them' #Like a fucking tutorial tip #Im going to start keeping a JOURNAL of ''times people have been weird about snowkit specifically'' #Ableism #cw ableism #I could also link to the pawspeak thing so it's all in one place #I wrote this last night and put it in the queue and I laid awake thinking of this... #What do they think happens when someone goes to another country where things aren't written/spoken in a language they know? #Do they think they wouldn't be able to figure out anything? Do they think the tourist would just perish #Would they collapse in the streets of Berlin sobbing? #Happened to me. Went to England and they called it a Car Boot Sale instead of a Flea Market and I died to death #AND if I did make that guide please tell me if there's any other weird misconceptions you need to see in it #I know that ONE of them is going to have to be that. like. deaf people make noise. #theyre actually quite loud because they don't know they're making noise #and people with hearing loss do not suddenly forget how to speak. #and people born deaf dont talk like cavemen #cw body horror #tw body horror #EDIT: OOPS sorry I have such an astonishingly tolerance for body horror I did not realize that counted as body horror

[wotnahq]

Paxton Balfour • 36 • Male (he/him) • Metahuman • Portal Manipulation • C.A.R.M.A • Research & Development

BIOGRAPHY

TW: Mental Illness, Bullying, Non-Consensual Body Modification, mention of drugs, slurs, mentions of sexual assault

June 16, 2009: Berlin

In the shadow of this accomplishment, at 23:47 in the Charite University Hospital Berlin, Paxton Heinrich Urs Balfour was born to the unlikely union of Henry F. Balfour (1973- ) and Giselle E. Fuchs-Zeigler (1981-2015), div. 2011. There were no complications at the birth, though the baby was somewhat underweight even being delivered two weeks past due date.  He was raised by his father in New York and Berlin, his mother committed to a psychiatric facility when he was 2.

2026: Full Power Manifestation

Always the outcast: too young, too loud, too small, too much. An easy target on city streets, an easier target when curfew was ignored because there was just so much to see - it didn’t matter where. Berlin. New York. Anywhere, everywhere. All the data and stimuli and life that crackled beneath everything. Exciting. Distracting. Overwhelming.  There were a range of problems. Paxton had inherited his mother’s mood disorder - or rather, some variation of it. Dark days that drained him of all energy.  Manic ones that  gave fuel to his reckless tendencies, thriving on greater highs and wandering into places he shouldn’t as though floating on air, absorbing everything until one of two things happened: Overstimulation and internal shut down….or his mouth caught up to him in the worst way.

There were never a shortage of bigger - and who wasn’t bigger than some scrappy slip of a kid? - and shorter fused people willing to teach some mouthy kid some manners or take whatever he was carrying. Sometimes it was drugging his beer (Berlin), usually it was far more straightforward and physical. He was good, too. Grew up around someone who eviscerated with words for a living - and it was fun, sometimes, showing off how clever he could be to some assholes who treated him like some punk kid, some nobody. A same kind of different the way his colleagues would baby him, the way his peers sneered at him like he was a freak. Well, freaks could win some too. Could make grown men stomp out of establishments with embarrassment if the insults were funny and bold enough from the kid they’d just called ‘pipsqueak’ or ‘junior’. He was a fucking rockstar.

[TW: SEXUAL ASSAULT SECTION] On one particular night in 2025 the men he had pissed off weren’t content with a beating, letting him up just long enough to struggle to his feet.The brain stops in those moments, the only thing that matters is getting away. Appeasing, fighting, freezing, fleeing. Anything to make the predator lose interest. Anything to keep those hands off of him, the body pressed hard against his back, the breath against his ear and the laughter at his struggles, at his helplessness. The senses narrow to all those danger points, all the unwanted contact, the feel of a brick wall or asphalt alley floor, adrenaline pounding and pounding until at some point there is no wall or floor, just falling through layers of immaterial windows from the sky back to the ground and stumbling away from the dazed (unconscious?) tiger who had its claws sunk into him seconds before. Limping, running, stumbling  into the nearest bus or taxi shaking all over. Getting home and hearing his dad’s voice calling his name as if through a distance, asking what happened, gripping his arm and eyes widening at the automatic flinch before the fall and sob into familiar arms. [END SECTION]

Section Summary: Powers unlock in response to a traumatic experience.

2034: Exposure

When the existence of metahumans was revealed to the wider world, Paxton was 25, a professor at Columbia, and already chafing at the constraints of bureaucracy and the need to keep his abilities secret. In New York and even Berlin there were underground scenes, parties one could go to let off some steam, but nothing that couldn’t be written off as a trick of hallucinogenics to the average party goer. Watching the footage of the telekinetic was breathtaking, gut wrenching, certainly, but…the balloon of pretense had been popped. As would weeks later his own layer of anonymity.

2037: Move to Pansaw

Three years. Three years in Germany, Austria, anywhere that wasn’t the United States, watching the antimeta rhetoric and violence increase. Three years scraping together his legitimacy and trying to promote legislative change. Tolerance was easier to come by in countries who had had their share of extremist movements targeting minority groups in the past hundred years, but only just. The science community was torn between fear and curiosity with their only common ground being metahumans as subjects, not metahumans as scientists.  This was not without its benefits. At least free Paxton could explore his powers, could swallow down the fear and channel energy needed to see world after world, to discover, even if none of those discoveries would be recognized by any official scientific body currently. That’s not what it was for.

There were local resistance movements in other cities, other countries, but the barbarity of Pansaw. The whispers of metahuman experimentation, mass incarceration, weaponization for bio and genetic warfare. And it spread. Like a festering wound it began to creep its way into the rest of the country, the continent. He wasn’t a soldier, but from what he could tell the resistance in Pansaw needed brains as much as brawn. Fight science with science. He arrived in Pansaw in July, it wasn’t until October that he made contact with the Rebel Army. He had seen the wonders of thousands of realities, and he was tired of this one being so broken.

2043: CARMA

Let it never be said that he would not do anything for his first love, Lady Science…including leaving the Rebel Army to join the Cunts Anonymous Regime of Metahuman Annihilation which…he supposed he could no longer call it since he now, you know, sort of worked there. Go team. It hadn’t been his best adlib for the acronym anyway. What else could he do? Step back, take a university job with a backseat to real innovation? Trust that the bastards - okay, alright, reformed bastards - who had systematically criminalized and repressed a group of fellow human beings would just..what? Suddenly devote their resources to planting new trees and make good on their promise not to fall into their old ways. No way, dude. This time, it was gonna be better.

POWERS

PORTAL MANIPULATION: The ability to create portals between non-adjacent locations. Control ranges over the size, quantity, duration, intended location, and relative distance from the user. This extends to portals between dimensions. Specialist Application: Dimensional Travel.

WEAKNESSES

Heightened psychological instability (the user suffers from a PDNOS which results in severe manic, panic, and depressive cycles in addition to ADHD, exacerbation may result in extreme panic attacks, dissociative events, or catatonic like states), disorientation, dehydration, exhaustion, physical resource depletion, collapse, tremors, vomiting, nosebleeds, broken blood vessels, weakened immune system, coma, internal organ damage, or seizures. List not exhaustive. See powers page for specific limitations and weaknesses for applications.

PERSONALITY

+ Exuberant + Ingenious + Adaptive

– Obnoxious – Reckless – Unstable

#lsrp #superpower rp #mutant rp #oc rp #charlie day #character #paxton balfour

[zentrifucked]

Tonight I dreamed

My dreams have always been intense and pretty lengthy, and sometime so bizarre that waking up is a real disappointment. I thought about making a dream journal for years, but never managed to stick with it. So I decided to make a small collection of particularly stand-out dreams here. I might even make some illustrations for it, who knows.

(If anyone ever reads this, please keep in mind that these dreams are entirely illogical and sometimes I think and do things in my dreams that I would never, ever do in real life.)

Anyway, on to tonight’s dreams:

Night of Friday 21.01.2022 to Saturday 22.01.2022

Act I

My father is flying somewhere. My mother and I are flying somewhere too, but the destination is different. It might be Berlin, or a place close to the sea. We are driving in a car at night, my mum is at the wheel (which is at the right side of the car even though we are in Germany). She starts sobbing, getting a panic attack. I asked what is wrong. Eventually she tells me she forgot how to drive and can’t stop the car. We are going down a street in the dark at high speed at this point. Eventually I manage to get the wheel and the car under control. She keeps panicking and crying and I try to reassure her while I find a place to park the car. I follow some other cars in a dense city with narrow streets in the Altstadt. I don’t know where to go so I just follow the car before me as it drives around the stone streets. The car behind me does the same. We turn a corner and suddenly we are driving towards the inside of a retail store, something that looks like Galleria Kaufhof. The street led straight into this store and the car in front of me cannot go further because there are displays with towels and customers in front of us. I cannot go back because there is a car behind us.

Act II

I’m somewhere in a middle eastern country with a group of people (maybe friends). It is warm and there are a lot of people around that look like Sikh. At a small corner shop a nice man sells us a flatbread with a tiny marble of filling inside. Even though we have to unwrap a layer of saran wrap from the filling, it tastes fantastic and I contemplate buying a large package to take home. I have to choose between packages with the filling in balls and some where the filling is a single slab. I want the one with the single slab. I am searching for a trash can. Another nice man with a turban and a beard points me in a direction and I go that way. But the many military people with guns tell me this is a bad part of town to be in as a western woman. I go anyways. The people there look at my t-shirt but they are also nice and direct me to a trashcan.

Cut

Spiderman has a problem. For some reason he cannot stop doing Spiderman things, but he is also sick and has a fever. Eventually he collapses. I find him close to a port and discover his identity (the newest one, played by Tom Holland). I need to get him home and away so he can rest and recover. But he keeps trying to escape, although he is way to sick to be moving. I try to carry him next to a busy street out of the city. He escapes again. But I know he just went up towards a less-traveled road. To reach him I have to climb a bank made out of deep brown mud. When I’m halfway up the bank I can see him laying on top, because he passed out again. He tells me it’s impressive that I made it up the bank. I tell him I wouldn’t have had to do it if he had just stayed with me. I start pulling out large citrus fruits from my shirt (and the mud bank? Not quite sure). The look like a mixture of large yellow-green pomelos, grapefruits, and oranges in different colors. These were my counterweights for climbing the mud bank. Eventually I make it up the mud bank, collect Spiderman and bring him to his ancestral home, which is an estate in the countryside. There, we end up trying to clean and repair an old chair, which involves cutting the filling into thin slices to we can take it out. We also wipe the gleaming brown wood of the chair. One or several towels are involved. Maybe the chair is actually a clothes drying rack. This is our house and new home. My mother is sitting in a small courtyard with a desk, where she can smoke in peace. A cat is involved at some point. Spiderman isn’t.

Act III

I am in an airport, meeting a large group of people. I’m not sure if this is the past or the present. It is an airport in North Korea and Kim Jong Un is scheduled to arrive at some point. I have just met the people I talk with, but I also have known them for a long time. They are planning something, and I am maybe also planning with them. We talk. From the large airport windows, you can see the planes of Kim Jong Un arriving. They touch down, but then immediately start leaving again, because there was an attempted attack. We are suspect, even though it might only have been a joke, so we have to run and change our appearance. I run through the airport and decide to disguise myself as a man. I scoop up my hair and pick up a random purple scarf and grey pullover from a random woman, who gives it to me gladly. I am now disguised, but I still have to be careful. We somehow make it onto a plane to San Francisco, where we get off and swim to safety over several island. Now, in the present, we are meeting again in an airport to celebrate the anniversary of this event. It might be the same airport. I come closer to the table and the people greet me saying I look good but different. I have eyes that are maybe green and blond hair.

Act IV

I am learning a traditional Korean dance (which I largely suspect does not exist). The lesson is done in a small, darkish room and involves an orange-red, floor length skirt, and a white blouse. The outfit is reminiscent of traditional Japanese archery outfits. There is also a fan involved, which I don’t have. The instructor tells the students something, and I am angry because he has no idea what he is doing. He asks me to demonstrate something, and I know he wants me to fail and expects me to fail. Instead, I do the dance demonstration he asked for and then continue doing the dance into the expert forms, because I am an expert, and the best at this. Afterwards I give him a lecture and take his students with me, including the senior disciple named Kyori. Since he is so incompetent, I will have to give the lessons myself. We are in a brightly lit classroom, with multiple rows of white tables and many, many students of different ages, from children to young adults. I teach them, and Kyori is my assistant. I ask them what 2 is in Korean, and they say ‘dul’ (this is about the extent of my knowledge of Korean, but in my dream of course I know how to speak Korean perfectly). One of the students, who is either 15 or 17, speaks Korean fluently and keeps interrupting the class so he can show off his Korean skills. I am annoyed. Eventually he comes to the front, wearing a hideous brown suit. When he takes knee before Kyori, I know he wants to profess his love to her and propose marriage, although she pretty much doesn’t know him. To spare him the humiliation of doing this and getting rejected before the class, I slam him into the ground behind the desks, so nobody can see us. I press his face into the carpet and tell him I know how it feels. That this sucks, and that he needs to let it hurt for a while, but eventually it will be ok. He starts crying into the carpet. Eventually I let him stand up and go. I ask Kyori if she is ok and tell her I have been in the same situation as that guy before. End

#tonight i dreamed #dream #agathe shouts into the void #mine

[wotnahq]

Kaspar Ildstrom • 45 • Male (he/him) • Metahuman • Omnikinesis • Civilian

BIOGRAPHY

Kaspar Sigurd Ildstrom was born December 4, 2000 to Ilse and Christopher, Danish immigrants to South Africa, the first of five sons and one daughter. Ilse would die in 2014, taking with her almost all that was soft and trusting in the already frigid disposition of the military tactician that was her husband, founder of Velentr Industries (Private Military Corporation & Security Consultancy).

Kas did not inherit his father’s iron temperament, rather his mother’s fiery temper and a restless energy that longed for change, challenge. As eldest, he cared for his younger siblings with warm affinity and playful mischief as they grew, delighting in the uniqueness of each accomplishment, of each gift that needed to be secreted away from the world. All of the siblings manifested powers young, the latest at sixteen, and Kaspar had been no different. It began with the recklessness and whims of early childhood, mashed broccoli flung in the fits of a tantrum, and only grew governed by focus, emotion,  his father’s firm guiding hand…and his own whims.

The cattle ranch they grew up on was run with discipline and efficiency to curb the wildness each of the siblings had inherited to some extent, though perhaps none moreso than Kaspar. So many nights spent staring up at the stars and longing for them to change, to pull them closer, to pull himself anywhere - everywhere else - no matter how he loved his family, the unyielding winds of fortune and wanderlust called to him with the promise of stardust and adventure.

Having grown up hunting and in the home environment he did, it was not a surprise that at 18, he joined the South African Defense forces, at 21 he certified as a South African Special Forces Operator, specializing in Sniping, Parachute, and Urban Operations. Yet, he chafed against the limitations, the need to conceal the gift behind every ‘lucky shot’ and its honing, the ever present longing for something more after the thrill or terror of every deployment. After his 4 year contract ended, he enlisted with his father’s firm and thought this would be different.

The unveiling of metahuman abilities to the world had been a blessing and a curse for the soldiers of fortune of the Ildstrom family.

As violently prejudiced as many turned out to be, many more were eager to contract metahumans - perceived “super soldiers” - to intervene in the eruptions of violence that wracked countless countries across the continents. By now, Kaspar had been joined by most of his siblings in the family business, and business was booming. Enough that they were all stretched thin, breaks between deployment shortened, and pressure and opportunity to hone their skills through the trials of fire and blood never lacking. The constant movement eased the restless gnaw in his chest somewhat, the fate of a little girl in a small town in Afghanistan would do far more.

It had been a small operation, to suppress an uprising in the territory of a high paying Warlord. It was like stepping into the glutted stomach of war. Bodies hung from buildings or lay in the street, feral dogs the only ones unafraid to sate themselves on the feast of carnage. But what caught his attention, hidden in an alley were the soft sobs and strange bioluminescent glow of a small child. She likely didn’t even know how to control it, only knew the danger it presented. As he knelt to comfort her four sounds happened in rapid succession: The enraged scream of a militant anti-meta insurgent, the sound of rapid gun fire, his own hoarse shout…and the interrupted scream of terror from the girl.

Instinct pulled her close against him, flung the shooter against rough brick of building wall.

She still died.

Wrath and grief poured through him, potent and vengeful, and the bloody, indistinguishable and impaled body of the man responsible told a story of ruthlessness and calculated anguish. That smoke filled hell  had taught him something he should have realized long ago - it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough to do the job, to have powers if he couldn’t even protect a scared child. Even hidden beneath the smog of war, he willed the stars to change, to come crashing down into this maw of desolation…but they wouldn’t. They left it to him.

When he was 40, in an unsanctioned operation, after 22 years of deployment after deployment, unflinching in his use of his powers now under the agent name Valkyr… the world turned. A cornered meta, a terrorist group, and an unstable parking garage walk into a bar. Or, more accurately, fall onto a Dane. A stray bullet, the other meta’s powers raging out of control, the strain of his own stubborn attempts to keep the whole thing from collapse - tons of metal and steel and concrete…and it all came crashing down. His powers raged, an orbit of decimation indiscriminate in radius and degree, and yet…

It took his left lung, spleen, kidney. It left spiderweb cracks and chasms in his ribs, fractures in his arm that jutted through skin where jagged shards of metal tried to sink their way beneath. It would gift him titanium rods and bolts to guide and hold shattered bone and torn ligament, as if the rebar piping pinning him to concrete desired so much to stay.  It traced lines where only sutures would be able to follow over freckled skin, organ, and muscle. It left caresses in the form of blooming scar tissue over his hammering heart, fluttering so fast with fear and will. .

There were no stars to be seen beneath the rubble and ash; only the cold and one thought: Stay.

Four years of reconstruction, transplant, repair. Four years feeling the crush of all that metal and concrete in the limitations of concepts like ‘recovery’ and ‘functionality’. More haunting than the shrapnel and scalpel scars that lingered over his left flank was the ghost that perched in those words - the ache for the life before, the reality of what it was now. Even among the specialists in Copenhagen, in Johannesburg, in Berlin, Oslo…there was the final line of ‘learn to manage expectations’. Managing expectations looked like a sad shard of what his powers once were, day by day, working from the ground up through the pain. Managing expectations looked like settling in Danmark, obtaining a degree in early childhood education. Managing expectations meant learning to accept pity often, to hide the shame of the scars that hid his failure, to accept his body failing him now, to accept its slowness as the waves of kinetic energy passed him by. Unpulling. Adrift in the memories of everything lost.

There was no discussion of his powers, of how they might interact with any previous interventions to save his life, if they were mentioned at all it was with an awkward glance to the tattoo over his wrist and the soft chagrin of ‘we don’t know much about how meta physiology will react to this’. That restless wind tugged at him once more. Time for a change.

Pansaw had once been the poster child for civil unrest and metasuppression, a distant war zone he’d only glimpsed on the news. In 2044, things had moved on - he knew better than to expect utopia in the rebuild, but the small spark of nearly extinguished hope for something better, for recovery alongside his gifts…It was enough to leave behind the sanctuary of Denmark, the thought of returning to the once home of South Africa.

He would find his hopes overturned not by anti-meta feeling in the halls of C.A.R.M.A., but ironically the very reason he had come. Pre-existing conditions which made him unsuitable for field work - this was not said, but underpinned the implications of ‘risk analysis’.

For the past year he’s fallen back on old skills (mercenary work and the occasional fight at the Madhouse) to pay for private treatment alongside the limited benefits of his day job working as a childcare provider for a metahuman daycare.

POWERS

OMNIKINESIS: The power to influence, control, and manipulate all matter and energy with the user’s mind. Kaspar’s specialization lies in five subset categories, the primary being telekinetic applications of this power, though extends to the subpowers of energy manipulation, matter manipulation, weather manipulation, and the manipulation of fundamental forces.

WEAKNESSES

Kaspar’s powers are governed by a combination of focus, emotion, and will. Flares of strong emotion may cause them to become uncontrollable whereas disbelief and self doubt have a dampening effect. Traumatic experiences may seal powers off from use. Distraction is disruptive to use.

Use of powers exacts a tremendous physical toll, particularly on transplanted organs that are not compatible with his channeling of kinetic energy. May result in anything from mild exhaustion to collapse, tremors, coma, organ failure, migraines, major fatigue, illness, coughing up blood, up to death. Repercussions increase depending on level of mastery required for feat, general health (stamina, illness, injury), number feats being simultaneously performed, and any environmental effects (e.g. other users’ powers).

PERSONALITY

+ Compassionate + Charismatic + Quick Witted

– Overly Tenacious – Hot Tempered – Unpredictable 

#lsrp #superpower rp #mutant rp #oc rp #michael fassbender #character #kaspar ildstrom