#humming: lore

[voltagecrow]

War arc Soren

Okay so—all of this is gonna be under a cut for spoilers for MHA/BNHA’s war arc that’s still ongoing so this is y’alls warning to back out if you don’t want spoilers 👁👁

So this is gonna talk about Older Soren within the war arc as well as afterwards. For the sake of simplicity I’ll use his nickname, Coffee.

So as of right now the war arc is passing pretty quickly. That is not the case for Coffee. For him, the war arc persists for a couple years. By the end, meaning the end of the war and the slow rebuilding of soceity, of it all I plan to have Coffee be—roughly early 40s. Since Soren’s currently 30, I plan to have the war arc last at least 5 years. This would put him at 35 at the end of it all. Then that would mean Japan, and subsequently the world, take about 7 years minimum to recover and rebuild.

This is because, realistically, a war so important as the villains fighting back against hero society (and also Shigaraki’s recovery time) is not gonna last a year or two. I get why Hori is speeding things along but still. War doesn’t just happen within a span of two years, especially not one that requires another country to assist as well as one that causes mass panic. So I’ve put the war’s duration, on my end, at a healthy 5 years. The recovery period is at 7 years because of the amount of damage that’s been caused to Japan/Musutafu.

Of course, I am willing to work with other mha folk’s renditions of the war arc. If need be we can always talk about it! Plotting is always fun uwu/ Either way, Soren will be 42 years old by the end of everything, give or take a few years.

Now, that being said, I don’t know what Hori plans to do or how he plans to conclude such an important and massive event. I have my theories but I don’t know. For now, I’ll go with the idea that quirks are still a thing in the world after the war.

Of course the nature of quirks after the war undoubtedly changes. Whether they get stronger or not I think depends on the user. For Coffee his quirk absolutely gets stronger. The need for heroes (since many ‘retired’ >.>), stress, and the need to protect civilians/friends all factors into their quirk getting better. Below I’ll list some ideas I have for how his quirk advanced but I won’t make anything final just yet. I’ll probably wait until the war arc ends tbh

Upgrades

Surge

* basically regular surge except now he can use it for 3hrs, 4hrs if they’re not doing anything else with his lightning

* everything else is the same

Blinding light

* area of effect now extends further, from half a block to a block distance

* blinding effect now lasts 4 minutes, blurry vision bow extended to 2 minutes

* everything else is the same

Lights out

* doesn’t take as much electricity from the city

* takes 1/4 less charge time than before

* everything else is the same

New ability

Wall of light

* Can create walls of electricity, up to 20ft

* Voltage level and temperature can be adjusted as needed

* Not much thought is need to create 3 walls but anymore takes concentration

I did not give Soren any new abilities beyond Wall of light because I wanted to show his previous ones improvement as those would be the ones they’d use more often. I also have ideas on what exactly Soren does after society is rebuilt as well as how society even—becomes because of the war but for now I’ll end this here. As always if anyone has questions regarding this please ask away! I’m happy to answer!

[simcardiac-arrested]

me and my weed ancient

[lyss-butterscotch]

(points at sunstone and holds up headcanon that iterators can purr)

I think my designs are a lil too humanoid for them to purr so they just emit soft machine hums

[dipplinduo]

K&J's Son, reading the new and improved Ogrepon story book: Mama, this member of the Thievish Three confuses me.

Juliana: Which one, Sweetie.

K&J's Son: Fezandipiti. How can he make a wish to be the most beautiful when you're the most beautiful?

Juliana, in awe: Awwww! Sweetie!

Kieran, cooking with their daughter: He's asking a valid question, Julibee!~

I just got five years added to my life, my skin is clear, my crops are watered, my vibes are flourshing-,

[ask-the-amph-greater-universe]

If someone showed up in their dimension, would Hum (or Zip) like feel it? Would they know? Maybe not where the person is, but know that someone entered?

Hum/Xolo would have some sort of sense. Xolo by nature and Hum by power. Zip has no idea though.

Hum can pinpoint where they are. Not entirely, but they can move towards the area of the intruder. It's sort of the same as LL Sun. Where they can basically feel out where the intrusive essence is, but not exactly to pinpoint accuracy. They can tell the block but not the specific building, and definitely not the specific room.

Xolo can tell when somebody comes in, but not much else. He has an idea that something has happened, And that knew something must be interesting. Unfortunately for him Hum usually hands him to Zips claws So he can handle the intruder without endangering his child.

[tickle-bugs]

Ahh bug! You know I’m Weak for anything with Caleb Widogast 👀 Maybe with devious ler Molly? (And/or Essek 👀👀)

Oh drat forgot the second part of that—phrase to go along with Caleb/Molly (& also maybe Essek): “Come now, how are you still so *sensitive*, hmm?”

ily lexi mwah <3 also sorry if i have butchered ur boys but i still hope u enjoy this <3 started thinking about molly being overly cautious with courting caleb because his feelings are real and caleb being like. i wanna kiss you so bad please stop pretending to be normal. which led to this

Resonance

not rly nsfw but the first half is somewhat suggestive? intimate? *vague handwaving* just keep that in mind idk

Caleb’s not sure what they’re doing here, really. Molly’s draped and redraped himself over Caleb every which way for the past hour, but they haven’t gotten close to the substance of their evening’s meet. Caleb had long-since shucked his coat and scarf, but not quite the rest of his clothes--that was supposed to be Molly’s job, or so he thought. 

Molly’s invitation to join him for the evening had been whispered to him over a too-expensive glass of whiskey. Molly’s eyes were lidded, his forked tongue curled--Caleb had thought he’d read every sign correctly. But here they were. Stalled. 

“Mr. Mollymauk--” He tries, but Molly coos at him.

“So formal? I thought we were closer than that, dearest.” Molly blinks languidly and settles down properly atop Caleb. They both sink just slightly into the mattress as he does. Molly walks his fingers down Caleb’s abdomen, pauses at his waistband, then walks them back up. 

Always with the teasing.

“Mollymauk. Molly.” Caleb watches him warily. When claws don’t yet again touch down, he swallows and continues-- “What, ah, are you trying to accomplish here?” 

“I’m glad you asked. You see, I’m quite fond of you, Caleb.” Molly fiddles with one of his holster buckles. It catches the light of the inn lanterns in mesmerizing patterns far too grand for such dull brass. 

“Oh.” Caleb’s face grows warm. “I am…fond of you as well.” 

“Hm, thank you. I would hope so. Otherwise, this whole thing would be quite awkward.” Molly’s laugh is rich and boisterous. Caleb turns the tones of it over in his mind. 

“When you said you wanted, ah, companionship for the evening, I’d thought you meant--”

“Sex?” Molly’s tail sways behind him. “Is that what you’d like?”

“Did you…have something else in mind?” Caleb winces at his own indelicacy. Molly looks touched--no, maybe fond? It shouldn’t baffle him so much, he knows, but the visual proof is…unbalancing. 

“With you? Ideas beyond number.” Molly’s piercing gaze pins Caleb further still to the bed. He’s beautiful in an elusive sense. When Caleb gazes upon Molly, he gets the distinct sense that somehow he’s going to disappear, as if someone so breathtaking could only exist in tricks of the mind. 

Caleb’s face heats to a point of concern. Molly chuckles, low as the lamplight. 

“I digress.” Molly leans close enough for their noses to touch. “I’d like to conduct an experiment, Caleb. Involving you.”

“Oh?” Caleb cannot for the life of him keep his eyes away from the softness of Molly’s lips. 

“Yes, if you’d let me.” Molly’s hand finds his, both scarred in different ways. It’s one of the few times that feeling heat in the palm of his hand has been welcome. 

“Do what you will.” Caleb nods. 

“That’s the spirit.” Molly beams and pulls Caleb’s hand up his body, skirting along his thigh and the soft silk of his shirt, until finally their hands, as one, rest on his sternum. The warmth of Molly’s skin is a kiss that blooms. 

“You feel that?” Molly hums, and it resonates through Caleb’s fingertips. He’d always thought Molly was a bit thin, but the way breath moves through him…it reminds Caleb of Nott’s brief and consuming obsession with blowing into glass bottles like flutes. There’s a pitch to Molly’s resonance—not one he’s equipped to understand, but there nonetheless. 

“They say you can hear a soul best through laughter or through tears. I prefer the former.” Molly gestures flippantly, brushing his thumb over the back of Caleb’s hand. As he speaks, Caleb can feel the rise and fall of his breath, the resonance of his voice--as if Molly’s entire being has been shaped to carry sound to the very tip of his horns. The jewelry hanging from his ears and horns jingles of its own accord, like a windchime. 

He’s the loveliest windchime I’ve ever seen, Caleb thinks, a bit hysterical. 

“I want to hear what your soul sounds like, Caleb.” 

It’s so intimate and innocent that Caleb finds his breath utterly lost. He blinks up at Molly and tries to counteract the sudden and reeling incoherence of his mind. 

“Not the most resounding enthusiasm, but I understand.” Molly stands and brushes himself off. The aloofness of his tone is betrayed by the way he can’t seem to quite look at Caleb. It must be so easy for him to escape this way. Mollymauk, ever-balancing on a tightrope, with the most convincing lack of fear of falling.

“Wait!” Caleb grabs Molly’s wrist before he can slip away. Gently, he tugs him back down. Molly’s eyes shine alluringly in the dim. 

“I was…caught off guard. No one has ever expressed an interest of this kind to me before.” Caleb slides his hands up Molly’s thighs. He gives a comforting squeeze, at least what he hopes is comforting, and Molly twitches with a quiet laugh. 

“Shame.” Molly’s gaze roves over Caleb appreciatively, but not with the hunger he expects. It’s constructive. Encompassing. Warm. Caleb basks in it, even as Molly grows uncharacteristically quiet. He takes one of his claws between his teeth as his stare grows distant. 

“What is rattling through that brain of yours, hm?” Caleb knits his brow. Molly sits up a bit, stretching their intimate bubble. Caleb clenches his fist and concentrates on not keening after him. 

“How thoroughly I’m about to ruin the mood,” Molly mutters, likely not meaning for Caleb to hear. Caleb furrows his brow, but before he can speak, Molly kneads curiously into his stomach. 

A chuckle bubbles from a deep, unknowable place in Caleb, somewhere nestled just beyond the darkness clinging listlessly to his soul. Then another, then another, until his whole body is racked with quiet sounds he tries to smother. Claws trip maddeningly upwards to his ribs and Caleb cracks into snickers that overwhelm him with force. He slams his arms back down towards his sides and curls as much as physically possible. 

“Scheiße, Molly--”

“Do you want me to stop?” Molly stills, stiff and unnatural. He reminds Caleb of a wild hare, all of his muscles coiled and ready to flee--except for his tail, of course, which lashes in nonsensical patterns as if it has a life of its own. 

He’s nervous, Caleb realizes. How endearing. 

“Did I say ‘silvervine’?” Caleb huffs, still battling the wobbly smile on his face. Molly’s eyes widen.

“No, I suppose you didn’t.” Molly chuckles, shaking his head. Before Caleb can think to steel his defenses, Molly drags his claws down every inch of his captive torso that he can reach. Caleb jackknifes with the kind of giggles that fizzle in his lungs before they leave. It’s a maddening type of touch and he kind of wants more, but Molly continues in his steadfast teasing.

“You’re going to be the death of me, Caleb Widogast,” Molly murmurs, leaning down to kiss him sweetly. Caleb laughs into Molly’s mouth, soft as he imagined, and allows himself to fall slowly apart. 

…

Caleb’s love, it turns out, is born from the same place as his laughter. Both have become easy to coax into the light with time. Like weeds breaking free of cobblestone streets, love has gripped the hopeful parts of him and refused to let go. Love has made him all the things he feared it would--weak, compromised, and clouded--and he wouldn’t trade it for anything, mortal or otherwise.

“Liebling, I have research to complete.” Caleb pauses at the bookshelf, letting Molly coil his arms around him. Molly’s face finds its usual place between his shoulder blades for a moment before his hands slide a bit…lower. 

“Conveniently, so do I. My thesis is on the kinds of noises you’ll make when you’re overworked and I have time.” Molly’s breath curls hot against his ear. There’s a sweet center to the devilish lilt of his tone, though, and it makes Caleb smile. 

“I’d love to hear you defend this thesis of yours, hm?” He turns to face Molly and the full force of his pout. 

“You have utterly killed the mood,” Molly grumbles, but his tail is busy curling in content little loops. Caleb hums noncommittally and kisses him again, far more occupied about the way Molly’s cheeks squish between his hands when he smiles. 

“If you can be patient, perhaps I’ll make it up to you.” Caleb shifts his grip to hold Molly’s chin, brushing his thumb across his bottom lip. He likes the spark of excited desire that flashes through Molly’s eyes. 

“Promise?” 

“However you’d like.” Caleb kisses him once more, more to sate himself than anything. Molly throws himself upon the nearest divan with expedience. As he settles in among the cushions, Caleb thumbs through the nearby shelves and starts a stack of relevant texts on one of the worktables. 

The first hour rolls by without much event and by the second, Caleb is focused enough to ignore Molly’s dramatic sighs. By hour three, Caleb’s read what he needed. Some for research, some for pleasure, but he’s taken in enough to make his mind buzz.  

Molly’s arms wind around his waist and Caleb jumps, then settles.

“One of these days, I’ll put a bell on you.” Caleb reshelves a few tomes with a reverent hand. 

“Caleb, you must know by now that patience is not my strongest suit.” Molly presses his face between Caleb’s shoulderblades again. Caleb shivers from the very tips of his toes and bites back a chuckle. Molly tends to grow needy when he’s ignored, they both know this, but the varying levels of petulance always make things entertaining. 

“I am aware.” Caleb continues reshelving, a little faster now. Molly nuzzles into Caleb’s back again and, oh, he’s purring. That would be exceptionally sweet if Molly’s body didn’t carry the resonance like a tuning fork, right to the tips of his horns where they’re pressed into Caleb’s spine, making it tickle terribly. Caleb bites his lip and forces back the tide of laughter building in his shuddering chest. 

“Come now, darling. Are you still so sensitive? I can feel you trying not to laugh.” Molly drapes his arms over Caleb’s shoulders and speaks into his spine, languid but calculated. It’s a nonsensical question but Molly himself is nonsensical, just as much a trickster as the shadowed being to whom Jester accredits her mischief. 

“M-Mohohlly.” Caleb shivers, snickers jumping free in short and bright bursts. Caleb can hear Molly’s grin without needing to see it, but it doesn’t prepare him for the bundle of tiefling suddenly clambering atop his back. Molly should know better than this, really--Caleb has gotten stronger, but he is not strong. 

“You’ve kept me waiting all this time and you have nothing to say for yourself?” Molly unleashes a flurry of kisses behind Caleb’s ear and the dam falls before he has a chance to defend it. Breathy, frantic giggles flow from Caleb with a fervor, spinning around the two of them in the warm, empty library. 

“Well, that’s not a very good defense. We’ll have to work on that,” Molly grins, speaking directly into Caleb’s neck. Caleb squeals and doubles over, landing somewhere between Zemnian and Common as he tries to shake Molly loose. Molly laughs and tickles his stomach, sending Caleb snapping upright with a dangerous sway. 

“Tongue-tied already?” Molly leans back a dangerous amount, forcing Caleb to back up towards the divan to avoid a nasty fall. They collapse on it in a tangled heap of shouts and curses. Caleb immediately grabs Molly’s hip in his hand and starts murmuring an incantation. He can feel the gentle sparks of magic beginning to take effect--and Molly can too, if the sudden hitch in his breath is anything to go by. 

“Ah-ah, none of that. You casters never play fair.” Molly worms his fingers up, up, until he can fiddle with the ribs supporting Caleb’s beloved book holsters. The magic, along with Caleb, dissolves into sparks and high-pitched bouts of noise. Caleb writhes and shrieks, his hair flying loose of its ponytail and into disarray. Molly rubs his knuckles between the grooves of his ribs and Caleb arches with a shout. Molly laughs and starts tickling at the back of his ribs. 

They roll around like unruly kittens, kicking cushions every which way as if it were a sport. Molly still lands on top of him, breathless and vibrating with joy. He chirps something that sounds suspiciously like ‘squishy wizards’ before tickling up under Caleb’s arms, taking ample time to try and wiggle beneath the straps of the holsters. 

Caleb grabs at Molly’s thighs to brace himself, and Molly snorts. It’s a quiet sound, cushioned by soft laughter, but it’s there and it’s beautiful. Caleb knows Molly’s ticklish, of course--ample time with Jester has taught him what to expect of tieflings--but he’s never heard him make such an adorable noise before. 

“Mollymauk,” Caleb says, a little breathless, but he’s grinning wider than he ever thought possible. Molly’s nervous grin is delectable. 

“Surely we can talk about this--”

“I think you’ve talked enough, don’t you?” Caleb pulls Molly close by the ankle and starts kneading at his inner thigh. Molly wails, thrashing so hard that his top half slides off the divan and onto the floor. A slapdash mix of giggles, snorts, and wild cackles burst out of him, enough for Caleb to coo at him and bury his stubble into the stretched plane of Molly’s stomach. 

Molly muffles a blood-curdling shriek into a wayward cushion. Caleb laughs and tickles harder. 

“I have a thesis on the kinds of noises you’ll make--”

“C-Caleb!”

[cricketbones]

I guess I just forgor about this, but,

YALL REMEMBER THIS SHIT ABOUT CROCUS??

Crocus joined Roger to heal him, BUT ALSO TO LOOK FOR YORKI?? Like- I forgot he literally LEFT LABOON FOR 3 YEARS, poor Laboon, TO LOOK FOR HIS DADS AND GAVE UP HOPE.

The house in Laboons stomach is also a medication zone, because it’s the only way he can medicate something so big (so he did it from the inside.) BECAUSE LABOON WONT STOP RUINING HIS BODY.

He still has no hope for the Rumbar pirates, and his memories of them are forever tainted by the constant fear of them being cowards and lying to his face.

[gible-love-nibles]

So @self-isinsert has gotten into U.ltrakill and we've been psychoanalyzing G.abriel for several days at this point, and this is a little thank you to them

The character singing is Desper their OC, and them and G.abriel. Do Not Have A Nice History!

Honestly Xenon could probably explain it better than I could, but just know these three (G.abriel, Desper, and Hum) are all rotating in my brain and going to therapy together

(Please reblog! I like reading tags :] )

[parameddic]

oc reporter who just harasses people to get the juiciest details and doesn't care about whether they're stepping on toes or invading privacy. oc reporter who does all the "it was FILMED and RELEASED TO THE PUBLIC?" reporting. oc reporter who cares so much about sharing other people's stories they are a background villain for the city -- but hey, they get the clicks.

[fullmoonfireball]

not me getting reattached to Spalt OCs from 2015 😳

[justtrashperson]

hairstyles woo

and extra

[the-smallest-lizard-in-eorzea]

I guess I should start putting things out there about my wol and actually talk about them since it's been a bit difficult to draw things.

So this is my Warrior of Light OC, Lux Lumiux. He's a Raen Au'ra man standing at an astounding 4 feet tall. Not only is he short by auri men standards, but even his own mother is some few inches taller than he is. He's got dark skin and light colored hair that I've made blonde, but I've considered recently to possibly recolor it to a light teal type color. Regardless, though by the end of shb for plot reasons, his hair goes completely white, and his horns and scales are also irreversibly altered.

Although Lux's most noticeable trait is his lack of height, he's also selectively mute. He almost never speaks not even if someone's really close with him, and at best the most, you'll hear from him is laughter or a guttural growl. Although he's a white mage and considering how usually there's an incantation used for spellcasting to work in ffxiv, I've taken to altering it that he doesn't so much utter incantations but hum them as though they were a song. Well, at least that's when he's healing, the few offensive spells, while some he can similar hum they're more of a hiss or cry than anything, resembling a melody. While he may not talk verbally, he does on occasion use sign language if he actually has a message to get across but that's not often as Lux is a rather passive person and doesn't really ever have much to say anyhow. Yet at the same time, he's also rather expressive, so it's relatively easy to read how he's feeling based on his expression and body language alone sometimes that and he can always easily answer a yes or no question with a simple nod or shake of his head.

Small side note: he's also got impeccably neat handwriting that's really easy to read.

Lux is originally from Othard, and some years before ARR was brought to Aldenard by his father, but due to several bad things that seemingly happened all at once he was cast out into the seas and by the grace of hydealyn surfaced off the shores of Gridania bordering Ul'dah. He wound up taking residence in Gridania until eventually enlisting in the adventurers guild after a few confusing dreams that seemed to take place in the endless liminal blue of the aetherial sea. Little did he know what all those dreams would lead to.

Dreams are also an odd quirk of Lux's that came with his connection to hydealyn. While sleeping, he can connect to others' dreams and subsequently invite them into his. For a while, though, he mainly only ever saw the memories or dreams/nightmares of others, but as time went on, he unintentionally began pulling others into his nightmares. Although this ability is fairly limited as often, it's hard to remember dreams and nightmares once you've woken up and because of the lack of worldly logic it's hard to really know who's dreams he's witnessing, especially since he's bound to the logic of one's dreams too so anything bad or good that happens in the dream he cannot change or alter. Similarly so the same holds true to those that get pulled into his dreams.

[ask-the-amph-greater-universe]

Has Zip been pressured enough by other dimensions to go to therapy yet? I could’ve sworn that happened at some point.

Hum has, but I'm not sure about Zip. It could be a lapse in memory. They might be going to couples therapy, But again I don't remember. I definitely remember Hum going to therapy though. And attempting to use what he's learned around Zip.

If Zip is in therapy he's not taking it well.

(then again there might be a lapse in my own self. As I have an idea of SBS Monty that is fairly toxic. And I definitely need to pick and choose the characteristics I actually want. Hopefully getting out of this autistic stuck and be able to actually evolve the character. Since Zip is currently stuck in a character development because of my own prejudice against the actual SBS character.)

[molagboop]

Thinking about language, gender and Chozo society again. Today, we are discussing what level of cultural importance is ascribed to gender as a descriptor, gendered symbolism/literary tropes, and a unique facet of Chozo grammar.

Massive text dump under the cut. Here be headcanons.

Cultural Symbolism

There's not much in the way of significant Chozo cultural symbolism that's "gendered": unlike some human cultures, Chozo literary/artistic symbolism has no notion of stereotypical male protectors or mothers as a symbol of gentle nurturing and care. The Warrior encompasses the meaning of the first symbol, and the Guardian fulfills the purpose of the latter. However, broader Chozo culture does acknowledge the literary concept of parental wrath (Wrath of the [Mother]*): the idea that a mated pair will viciously defend the nest from threat of predation by beasts or destruction by their enemies.

The Wrath of the [Father/Mother/Nest Guardian/Caregiver] is often linked with the Mawkin practice of parents carrying their children into battle on their backs. Tribal tradition holds that a warrior will display exceptional ferocity in battle if granted a defenseless subject to guard. They believe this is true for most soldiers regardless of their parental status, but especially so for those who have had children, and markedly so for those who are currently rearing one.

The last thing you want to see in battle is a Mawkin soldier with a baby strapped to their back. Chances are you'd come face to face with a new mom covered in blood from her face to her breast, and you wouldn't have time to examine the two large eyes peeking out from the ball of fuzz behind her shoulders before the vertebrae in your neck are separated from the rest of your meat.

There's historical precedence for this trope dating back millions of years, before the Chozo had even developed the advanced technology for which we know them best. Back in ye olden days, the Mawkin had a reputation as fierce protectors of the nest: parents and childless adults alike worked together to care for their communal nests. Parents who weren't out hunting or doing some other task relevant to the tribe's survival and general upkeep would sit among the eggs, cleaning them, rotating them, teaching them the ancestral war songs, etc.

Emphasis was put on mated pairs with eggs to perform incubation duties like egg rotation. When the nest was threatened, these caretakers would drive away predators (or sapient invaders) with ferocity unmatched by their neighbors. There are ancient tales that tell of Mawkin mothers slaying beasts or enemy warriors with their bare talons and stringing up their remains around the perimeter of the nesting grounds as a warning. A sort of meat-driven "fuck around and find out" signal. The Mawkin were renowned as fearless allies, and weaker or less well-armed tribes would appeal to the Protectors to lend warriors to guard their own homes.

The Wrath of the Nest Guardian has little to do with the gender of the protector. It is a vessel at once for two purposes: communicating the Warrior's drive to protect, and linking that drive to the bond between children and their guardians: those who watch the nests. Anyone charged with caring for something weak or defenseless is capable of displaying this strength.

The Role of Gender in Language

Gender is not quite as important in Chozo societal structure as one's role in the community. There are "gendered" words, yes, but they are treated flippantly, and occasionally used interchangeably. "Rook" and "tiercel" are usually applicable to "male" Chozo, while "formel" and "hen" may be applied to "female" Chozo. "Hen" is generally reserved for older individuals who have previously laid eggs, midwives and nursery guardians (regardless of gender), or parents with many children. However, it is not considered derogatory to refer to a younger, childless individual as such.* The innumerable gender-irrelevant uses of the term "hen" is just one example of how loose these words are as gendered indicators.

Linguistically, Chozo language puts less importance in identifying people based on their gender, and more on their role in society. Most "gendered words" refer solely to a partner's abilities in the process of making more Chozo. The aforementioned "tiercel" and "formel" can be loosely used to refer to one with the potential to fertilize eggs and one with egg laying capability respectively, but this really only matters to people when they're looking to bolster their tribe's population with new children. A formel's "motherly duty" ends when the egg hits the nest (See Life on ZDR: Vol. iii for elaboration on the societal perception of family).

Put it this way: there will always be a need for more Chozo to fill the tribe's ranks. But when they are not working on increasing the population, they do not think about "men and women". There is only "Chozo". They share the same flesh, the same feathers, the same keratinized protrusions. They think, they work, they care for their communities with whatever skills they can muster. There is no "difference" between Chozo from an objective standpoint.

There are also no "male clothes" or "female clothes" in Chozo culture; there are only "clothes". Clothing can have many functions, but the Chozo have considered the idea that clothing "should" be worn by a particular kind of person and not others on a physiological basis. There is no stereotypical "male" or "female" body type for Chozo because their exterior physiology does not change between the sexes. There are different body types, yes. But there is no "broad shouldered male frame/hourglass figured female" in the Chozo cultural lexicon. Raven Beak possesses an "hourglass" frame: this says nothing about him to the Mawkin, except perhaps that the bridge between his waist and torso is curved.

In the grand scheme of things, Chozo find gender about as relevant a descriptor as whether or not you possess two kidneys.

That is why the Chozo are so indifferent to gendered language, but in what ways does this manifest in the language itself?

The Chozo's general disregard for gender as a descriptor is reflected in formal language: they put less of an emphasis on gendered pronouns to replace the name of a person or thing and more emphasis on what its role, function, or place in society is. They have pronouns to refer to people from different tribes, as well as doctors, scholars, non-military guardians, and community leaders. Scientists, high ranking warriors, respected warriors, venerated warriors,* medical doctors, professors, and the professor emeritus are all roles that the Chozo feel warrant their own descriptive pronouns, among many others.

The Mawkin in particular have specialized pronouns to refer to their Warlord: the leader of the Mawkin tribe overall, who commands the army and represents the tribe in dealings with other Chozo groups among other duties. Raven Beak may be referred to by his subordinates with "cua" (possessive "cuamahar"). Former Warlords (all of which are dead; there is no such thing as a "retired Warlord" in Mawkin culture. A Warlord must be killed in order for a new leader to take their seat) have "cuar"/"cuarmahar".

This is not to say the Chozo do not have gendered pronouns. They technically do... it's just not strictly gendered. "Ninu" is translated as "he" (in canon), but the Chozo do not strictly use it to refer to "one who is capable of fertilizing eggs": it is also used in cases where English speakers might feel compelled to use "she". It should be noted that "Ninu" does not function as (plural) "they/them" in English, for it is a singular pronoun. "Hum" is the (canon) plural pronoun for describing a broad group with no singular identifying feature, as "they" and "them" are used in English.

Most other pronouns that don't describe one's role in the community are some derivative of "of the people", which makes no reference to an individual's identity on a singular, personal level.

One such word is "ne", which is "individual", and is used to refer to a single person (often used where English speakers would expect to use "he" or "she"). This pronoun is derived from "nehasa", roughly "one of the tribe", with "-hasa" being derivative of "hasana": "tribe". There are tribe-specific variations of this word. The Mawkin have "nemawk" or "nemawkin": "of the [Mawkin] people", and the Thoha have "netho" or "nethoha" ("of the [Thoha] people"). Altering these niche pronouns to their possessive form is as simple as removing any obstructive consonants at the end of the word to make way for the appropriate suffix: "nema(w)mahar" and "nethomahar". It was collectively decided long ago that exactly how many consonants should be removed from a tribe's name for their pronoun is a matter of making the word comfortable to say: nobody wants their Elders tripping over their own tongues in polite company.

For the sake of convenience, these tribe-specific pronouns are usually reserved for describing heroes or historical figures. A couple thousand years before Raven Beak was born, Chozo society at large was far more strict about using tribe-affiliate pronouns in regular speech, particularly at events where the different tribes gathered. Nowadays, the Chozo use normal pronouns in place of these tribal indicators for the sake of convenience. This lessens the risk of a nervous speaker accidentally associating the War Councilor of the Hotu with the War Councilor for the Albis and causing tension during negotiations.

"Ne" and "ninu" are functionally interchangeable in many cases, and the matter of which one sees the light of day during conversation depends entirely on which regional dialect is being spoken. Some tribes exclusively use "ne" and don't bother with "ninu", and for others, it's the opposite. Whether or not a Mawkin uses "ne" or "ninu" is determined by their upbringing or the manner of speak prevalent in the subculture an individual is apart of.

On ZDR, "ninu" is common planet-wide, but diplomats who travel off-world to meet with other tribes, construction workers, miners, and the fast-talking rural cliff fungus cultivators all have a tendency to use "ne" in everyday speech. "Ne" rolls off the tongue far quicker than the two-syllable "ninu" (which is partly why "ne" gained use in old cliff fungus farmers in the first place).

The major difference here is that "ninu" can sometimes be translated as a gendered pronoun, and "ne" has absolutely no potential to be. It's easy to translate "ninu" as "he" in a sentence that makes no explicit reference to gender, but you can't do that with "ne". "Ne" refers to an individual and is almost wholly nondescript on its own. Think of it this way: every time "ne" is used, picture the speaker gesturing to who they're talking about and referring to them as "this one" or "that one". You know who it's referring to, but the word "ne" in and of itself offers no description of the person it's referencing.

The nondescript nature of "ne" is almost comparable to the English "it", but "ne" isn't used to mean "it" in Chozo: the Chozo "ne" refers to a person, while the English "it" refers to a thing. In English, if you use "it" too many times in a paragraph and make no reference to what "it" is, somebody could get lost and ask "what's 'it'?"

You can elicit the same kind of response by using an English gendered pronoun too many times without referencing who you're talking about, but in that case, the gendered pronoun has a description, unlike "it". Excessive use of "him" doesn't tell you who "he" is, but you know the perceived gender of the person in question despite not knowing his identity: you have some form of information.

The Chozo "ne" offers the same amount of descriptiveness as the English word "it" (which is next to none), though they don't mean the same thing. "Ne" is like the "it" of the Chozo pronouns that are used exclusively to refer to sapient people. "Ne" and the Chozo word for "it" are entirely separate: we don't have a canon word for "it", and I don't feel like making one up right now, so I'm going to leave you wanting more on that.

The ne/ninu dichotomy doesn't matter in the grand scheme of things, but it's an interesting cultural phenomenon. Linguistic rules can bend to the will of the speaker: hence why the Chozo throw "ne" and "ninu" around seemingly wherever the heck they want. And descriptive pronouns, which the Chozo put more cultural emphasis on than any form of gendered language, are largely considered a part of formal speech. You use descriptive pronouns in writing and when it's considered respectful: you wouldn't dare refer to the High Priest of the Ancestors with "ne" during the sunset rituals, but you don't always need to refer to your best friend (who is also a doctor) with their set of job-specific pronouns while you're just hanging out. Referring to your friend Jon Doe as "the venerable Dr. Jon Doe" while you're out for drinks sounds a bit stuffy. "Ninu" is a less loaded way of gesturing to someone without using their name.

Why is this so complicated? Why can't they just make it easy and use words we can reliably use to say "he/she/whatever"? Because the Chozo are long-lived and care immensely about acknowledging one's experience and expertise. The Chozo want you to refer to their doctors as doctors in the appropriate situations because these individuals have spent many years accumulating comprehensive knowledge of their field, and the Tribes believe that is worth acknowledging. The doctor's gender is not an accomplishment: their vast knowledge of pulmonary systems and their contributions to society are.

If you want an easy way to say "this person" without worrying about fancy honorifics, just use "ninu" or "ne".

* Terms nestled within square brackets are loose translations of a Chozo phrase. In the case of the Wrath of the [Mother], the word within the brackets is fluid and context-sensitive. The trope is not always referred to as Wrath of the Mother: the last word is either replaceable or the closest English equivalent of the original Chozo.

* There are no gendered insults in the Chozo language. Instead of having countless different slang words for genitals to sling as profanities or words used to define "a disagreeable [man/woman]", many insulting words and phrases in the Chozo language revolve around failing to perform at one's task or being a disgrace/dishonor to one's tribe. If I continued, I could branch out into a connection with Mawkin death/funeral-related lore, but that is a topic for another day.

* These different categories of warrior are not considered the same; the Mawkin are especially pushy in differentiating between them. "High ranking" is an army thing (think officers and special ops with a public face), "respected" is a matter of martial skill and reputation, and "venerated" refers to old warriors with an emphasis on those who are "retired" (i.e.: no longer serving the tribe in a combatant role) or recognized as highly decorated war veterans. The pronouns used for non-Warlord high ranking military officials are also used to refer to highly specialized (usually smaller) arms of the Mawkin army, like the subterranean ops, whose training revolves around scouting/securing locations such as caves and tunnels on foreign planets and such. They're the ones who go into these enclosed environments before researchers or soldiers from the greater army. In this case, the pronoun isn't used to refer to any of the individuals within the branch, but rather referring to the branch itself in conversation.

* It is optional to refer to Raven Beak with cua pronouns; they are considered formal. It's a bit like using usted instead of tú while speaking Spanish. Some Warlords care more about the address than others; Raven Beak takes it fairly casually, except during occasions when formality is a necessity. In contrast, High Lord Stone Breast would take offense with people using anything other than cua to distinguish him during his reign.

In fact, the usted/tú comparison can also be made with every fancy job-related pronoun. A student refers to their professor with the descriptive pronoun for her title because she is respected and they are in an academic environment.

[shadowzmod]

Dreamland

Shadow's 'dream'

Shadow's fist banged uselessly against the invisible barrier blocking him from the images dancing through his mindscape, nothing but a dull thunk and a sharp pain through his wrist to even indicate that it hit anything. As if the 300th time would be the key. His hands should have been battered and bloodied, but apparently that was the good thing about being stuck in a dream dimension. His hands were undamaged—and for the first time in months, no longer glowing. Just silky soft black fur, bands of warm gold, and pristine white gloves.

Shadow pressed his forehead against the edge of his mental prison—it felt like thick glass, like being inside a giant bubble or perhaps a fishbowl. Able to see out, but unable to escape.

He hated it.

At first, things had been blurry. He'd been aware of Flower there—his voice, at first scared but then a soft comfort. He'd recognized Kurai's favorite friend, and been glad that his chao was being cared for. So, at first, he'd thought maybe he could survive this. Sure, he wasn't sure when...if...when...if he would wake up. But with enough time, he was pretty sure his body could synthesize the extra healing given by the magic of anonymous interlopers and wake up.

But then.

But then. Death Star had happened.

And Shadow had felt that. Had felt the shredding of the fabric of space time as Death Star literally scythed his way back to this reality like he was being decked in the solar plexus, and that alone had come so close to waking him up.

But it hadn't. It hadn't.

All it had done was make him more aware, make images clearer. Make it so he could see and hear the carnage Death Star was wreaking in his absence.

And make him know that he could do fucking nothing to stop it.

Slowly, Shadow sank to his knees, leaning his full weight on the barrier and letting his eyes close; as if not seeing what was happening might make it all go away.

He'd failed. After everything, he'd still failed. He'd burned through his own damn life-force, fought so hard, and done nothing but fail and fail and lose and lose. Little Planet, Silver, his Sonic, Maria Maria Maria...

Shadow's shoulders hunched in as the other thing bothered making itself known. Because, if it wasn't enough already, there was something else here.

He wasn't sure if it was some kind of manifestation of his own mind, or if it was built by the absurd powers of the gems still imbuing his body with their power, but it was definitely here and whispering to him:

“ShAdOw...We CaN fIx It...LeT uS fIx It...”

He didn't know what it wanted, but he was 100% sure that 'fix it' would end up with Death Star actually dead, and...and that wasn't what he wanted. It never had been.

Besides, he'd had his stint with mind-control. Never again. Never.

“Go away.”

The presence retreated some, but wasn't totally gone, still lurking at the edge of his consciousness, just waiting. Shadow sniffled, before looking back up at the images splayed across his mind's eye and pressing one hand against the barrier, “Please...let me out.”

Help me, Sonic. Help me.

[humofnight]

MYSTERY KEY

AaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAA