something I love about kavik is that he’s one of the only protagonists across the avatar franchise who is even remotely bourgeois. like, every other main character either grew up in a mansion or a literal palace, or grew up in abject poverty starving on the street. kavik faces xenophobia and exploitation as a water tribe immigrant living in the earth kingdom, but he also like. lives in a nice (but modest) house. both his parents are alive and love him very much. his formative trauma was that time he got stuck in a blizzard and his brother got frostbite and a couple of his fingers fell off so now he has to wear gloves. his biggest problem at the beginning of the narrative is the fact that his brother is an asshole. in fact it continues to be the main problem in his life. and the book even sort of lampshades this fact by having him tell yangchen some elaborate tragic backstory that he made up on the spot, that we, as readers, like yangchen, immediately believe because this is so par for the course with avatar characters. but no. he’s literally middle class.
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missa, after his self resentment and lamenting about how he doesn’t feel worthy or like he should be accepted, after telling himself and the capybaras that he doesn’t have a home, not really - after all is said and done, he returns to phil & missa, leaving his mini mi in the house on the wall. as if he’d consider anywhere other than the house he shared with phil safe enough. seeking out safety and home brought him right back where he started.
something about how despite his internal conflicts and issues about what he thinks he deserves, he’ll still come back. and for all he worries that he is not enough to be loved in return, his name is still on the warp stone.
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it's so funny (read: sad) that if bigoted fuckheads didn't insist i was a woman simply by virtue of my body at birth, i'd probably be chill with she/her pronouns in addition to he/they. if my mom didn't insist i was her daughter, i'd probably let her call me that, and we could still have a relationship.
i'm nonbinary and 'gendered' words are hypothetically meaningless, but because there are so many people who are more interested in telling me who i am rather than lovingly and curiously letting me express my own sense of self, those words carry trauma.
there's no reason a nonbinary person like myself can't be a son and a child and a daughter. there's no reason a nonbinary person like me can't go by he, they, and she.
'she' is not a slur. 'daughter' is not derogatory. 'beautiful' 'pretty' 'gorgeous' 'feminine' are not insults.
to the contrary, they're parts of language that express certain facets of a multi-faceted human existence, like mine.
and i have this sad, mournful feeling that if it weren't for unloving, condescending people, i'd probably be down to be called any of those things alongside my usual masculine/neutral terminology.
but i'd rather die than let anyone tell me what i have to be called.
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Tara headcanons :3
(it's literally just angst. Blame @lionydoorin for making me have Tara thoughts)
She can't stand the smell of cooking meat anymore. It reminds her of Amber.
After Sam left, there wasn't anyone buying groceries on a regular basis. She never starved, but there were many occasions where she went to bed hungry.
She doesn’t remember most of the night her dad left (or even the man himself for that matter). She tried to grab him as he was leaving, but he shoved her off. She slammed her head on the corner of the wall really hard, and ended up with a scar on her forehead, chronic psychosomatic migraines, and tinnitus.
She'll avoid going to the hospital unless she absolutely has to. Not only does it reminds her of being attacked, she was also a really sick kid, and she spent a lot of her childhood hospitalized. Even just going to the doctor stresses her out.
She's like. 70% stress and anxiety at any given moment. Seriously somebody get this girl some SSRIs before she has a heart attack.
Her leg and hand have permanent nerve damage, and her entire left arm is kind of fucked up after 6. She has a semi-permanent arm brace, a cane for her leg, and a whole lot of chronic pain.
Christina had a revolving door of boyfriends, and would bring them home sometimes. They were almost always awful to Tara.
She really misses Amber sometimes. She never tells anyone.
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thinking of ikora does something to me like. your fucking mentor and father figure who you have an extremely tense relationship with who you helped exile and have felt guilty about that for centuries while you had to hold the political position that you replaced him in is possessed by a hive god and you let him help with important strategic events because you’re trying to support him after an extremely traumatic event but it’s all a lie and you blame yourself completely for how much information savathun is able to get out of the vanguard because it’s your sentimentality she played on right?? and you shut off that sentimentality and organize a huge effort to kill her and it works but it was still your fault and that old man finally wakes up from his coma and starts going after the other hive god that killed him and you’re dead goddamn terrified but also you need to keep him at a distance you NEED to keep him at a distance so you sendhalf your agents to keep an eye on him and ask him to stop in the most horrible way possible and he’s mad at you and you’re glad. IKORA REY WARLOCK VANGUARD. UGH.
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Mareven is so weird cause FAWK THAT SHIP but also their relationship in canon is so special to me cause my god she loves him so much and he loves her just not enough to value her over his need to live up to Elara’s (and Tibe’s) expectations and his need to be better this is so sick
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mkay not to be like. a little insane or anything. but god i've been going crazy over religion (catholicism) and blood lately. did anyone else drink blood as worship every week since they were seven. was anyone else inundated with images of open wounds as holy. is anyone else consumed by the thought of holding onto a crucifix tightly enough for the edges of it to draw blood. i turned in a poem about drowning in communion wine in an empty church while bleeding from crucifix-inflicted hand wounds and trying to talk to god and my creative writing professor gave me extremely normal critiques i feel like i'm losing my mind
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