#the weight of upholding religious ideals and living up to what other people see in you

[simmeons]

im normal about silly characters (lie)

[thequietuptown]

Hey how do I cope with the existential dread of things I truly can't control? Like, say, Supreme Court cases...

Hi there friend,

I know it can be tough. It's unreasonable to think a single person could topple a system of oppression, especially when they are being forced to work from within that system to do so. It's easy to feel overwhelmed in those situations, and therefore powerless. If you feel any sense of social responsibility, if you are at all altruistic, it becomes that much harder. 

I certainly understand the pull to take on the weight of other people’s problems and the process of deriving one’s worth from being of service to others. For whatever reason, though, I seem to have no issue letting go of things that are legitimately beyond my control once I get over that hump of understanding that not everything is my responsibility and that my own boundaries being respected and my own needs being met makes me way more effective at helping others. 

I think part of that ability to let go in a meaningful way comes from my religious background.  I have a complicated relationship with organized religion, particularly Catholicism, but I did certainly find value in a couple of things in particular that apply to this directly: the serenity prayer and St. Therese's Little Way. This is not meant to be evangelical in any way, but there are certain tenets of every faith that I think are valuable to people in general. The serenity prayer is as follows:

"Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference."

There is a calm in letting go of the things you cannot control. More than likely, it is beyond your power to sway the Supreme Court, especially with its current make-up, and even more so when they have already ruled. But you can continue contributing to political campaigns, non-profits, and finding other ways to make activism work for you (starting in municipal settings to abolish something like qualified immunity at the city-level may be more feasible). Another part of this is learning how to combat social and self-gaslighting. Don't let the Supreme Court's decision sway you from your beliefs just because they found something was technically legal. Don't tell yourself that "everything happens for a reason." Many times that reason is just because people suck and are only interested in promoting their own interests.

The Little Way, in my opinion, is an extension of this. St Therese of Lisieux came up with this idea that the humility, loving openness, and wonder of a child is ideal for spiritual matters, but what this really translates to in practice is doing even the smallest things in a way that embodies your ideals, and your love for whatever you believe in. If you ever doubt your own power or your ability to try and make a difference, try to incorporate your beliefs even into your most insignificant interactions. Part of this is practicing gratitude. Part of this is understanding what is driving your beliefs. Do you believe that all people have inherent dignity? Then treat even the most impoverished and disadvantaged people with love. Do you have a problem with systems that inherently place authority outside of the laws they are supposed to uphold? Then, speak up when you see even minor acts of injustice like microaggressions. People will recognize your integrity and beliefs, and the right people will be drawn to you. And with a little luck, together you can achieve more.

True hopelessness is one of the most devastating feelings, but if you are able to separate yourself from the world’s woes, there is always going to be some cause for hope. Letting go is not the same thing as giving up. It is not the same thing as abandoning social responsibility. It's more about redirecting your energy in ways that are protective of you and meaningful for the world you want to live in. As always, take care of yourself and understand that the existential dread is probably a sign you need to dedicate some time to self-care. You have to take care of yourself before you can take care of others.

With love, friend.

[crimson-legend]

VERY LONG CHARACTER SURVEY.

RULES. repost; do not reblog! tag 10! good luck!

TAGGED BY: @summoners-path​

TAGGING: I was going to tag my other muse but it turned out the princeling was easier to finish that Auron (who can be such a recalcitrant bastard at times, I swear) - @oshimai, @fallal, and by this point I think most people have done this? If you have not and you’re seeing this, then I’m tagging you, yes, you, whoever you may be. Do the thing!

BASICS.

FULL NAME: Auron ( アーロン ) - no last name. I’m one of those with the opinion that Spirans don’t generally have ‘last’/family names.

NICKNAME/S: Rikku calls him big meanie, and probably sometimes red. Still others might call him Sir.

AGE: 25 (at time of death) - 35 (at time of Sending)

BIRTHDAY: Some point in the mid-Spring. The date wasn’t recorded.

ETHNIC GROUP: Human (Yevonite), Macalanian.

NATIONALITY: Yevonite

LANGUAGE/S: Spiran Common. He knows a few basic words and phrases of Al Bhed but nothing more.

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Grey-ace, sex neutral.

ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: Biromantic, perhaps slightly inclined towards men(?). Intensely monogamous.

RELATIONSHIP STATUS: unattached (verse-dependent)

CLASS: Practical: Warrior - 2H Sword (ATK, DEF, tank, debuff) ; Social: variable, depending on the point in his life. He’s gone from low-working-class to mid- then high warrior class, then booted back out into near-poverty, then to Dream Zanarkand where he didn’t fit anywhere.

HOMETOWN / AREA: Bevelle - from age 8 (There was once a small village back in the mountains of Macalania that a young boy called ‘home’. It’s not there any more.)

CURRENT HOME: (verse-dependent) Wandering.

PROFESSION: Originally, a warrior monk in the Church of Yevon, dedicated to the protection of the people against Sin and fiends and heretics and upholding the law of the land. After that, a guardian, dedicated solely to the protection of his Summoner. (After and in-between, he had to find something to do in Dream Zanarkand that wasn’t just babysitting Tidus…)

PHYSICAL.

HAIR: Black, streaked with grey. Long when he was young, kept short when older save for a long queue at the back.

EYES: Amber, appearing mid-brown in low light but bright in full light. After his death, he only has one and developed a light sensitivity in the remaining one. It’s one of the reasons that he wears the sunglasses, along with the added bonus of obscuring his face - they protect his eye from brightness or sudden changes in light intensity. He also has impaired depth perception that he had to learn to work with, relearning even things as basic as how to navigate, much less fight.

NOSE: A fairly average-sized nose with a straight bridge, the tip pointed out slightly more from his face than you’d see in southern Yevonites or Al Bhed.

FACE: Oval face shape, with a gentle taper from cheekbones to jawline, firm jaw leading down to a strong chin. Slightly v-shaped hairline. When he was young he always kept clean-shaven, but as he got older, he has a sort of permastubble going on, as sometimes he bothers to shave and sometimes he doesn’t, but is apparently incapable of managing to grow an actual beard.

LIPS: Somewhat thin, often chapped (this man needs a chapstick, has Zanarkand invented those yet?). Prone to turning up into a smirk when he’s amused, but he doesn’t fully smile very often, much less grin.

COMPLEXION: Pale with yellow undertones, though he’s usually slightly tanned from being outside often. In places like Bikanel or the southern islands, he will burn (and be extremely irritable about it).

BLEMISHES: A massive scar that crosses his face from above his right eyebrow to his jawline, sealing the eye shut, and continues down from his shoulder to just above his right hip. He also has a fair amount of less drastic scarring incurred in battle, but aside from a few larger or more severe wounds, those are relatively minor due to the availability of healing magic and potions.

TATTOOS: None.

HEIGHT: 6’0”, probably 6’0.5”-6’1” in his boots - some people find this surprising, as his presence (most often!) gives him the impression of being an even larger man

WEIGHT: I’m terrible at judging/guessing this tbh - maybe somewhere around 200 lbs?

BUILD: BRICK WALL. Mesomorph, and very fit. He’s extremely solid, with a core like a steel beam from swinging that sword around like he does. Definitely looks like he could toss Braska to safety without a second thought. Nice legs, broad shoulders and hefty arms, a muscular but rather flat ass.

ALLERGIES: Incompetence. Mold and mildew, as well as mild lactose intolerance.

USUAL HAIRSTYLE: Mostly unstyled. Queue bound back with a tie or thin ribbon, the shorter majority he simply runs his fingers through and that’s good enough.

USUAL EXPRESSION: Resting murderface. Ah, stoic. He tends to show his emotions readily on his face but the changes of expression are always very minor, so one has to look close and know him well to see what he’s feeling. The signs are always there to be picked out, though. Everything is thrown out the window when it comes to very strong emotions, though, usually anger, which is obvious for all to see. When he was younger, his expressions were usually more obvious, but that changed over time.

USUAL CLOTHING: Dark, dark grey pants with a lighter grey vertical stripe on the front, back, and sides that tuck into tall black boots, which have a protective plate on top of the foot and a decorative medallion at the top of the boot that helps secure the strapping. A very basic undershirt between skin and a black hardened-leather cuirass with simple yellow-gold detailing. A tall grey cowl with leather strapping attaches to the cuirass itself, and with a pair of oval-lensed sunglasses does a good job of hiding his expression.

Over top, a long, ankle-length heavy red coat evocative of a haori, with a thick collar/front edging of blue edged with white. A pair of buckled straps at the end of each sleeve allows the wide sleeve to be pulled closed not unlike the standard yoroi hitatare worn under armor. His right forearm is bound from the wrist halfway up and covered over the back of his forearm with a bracer made of three plates, his right hand gloved with black leather. On his left shoulder is a pauldron of hardened brown leather, finely tooled and decorated.

The coat is held closed with a wide belt of scaled grey-green under double straps of brown leather, which is covered on the sides and back with a protective layer of steel detailing and blue lamellar plates. At his belt he carries a large jug, held with braided leather straps and a cord of decorative beading.

PSYCHOLOGY.

FEAR/S: failure, letting others down, enclosed spaces, losing himself to becoming a fiend

ASPIRATION/S: When he was younger, he was far more idealistic in some ways - he wanted to help people, to protect, and he did. The main ideal of that aspiration didn’t change as he got older, but the scope did. It became not so much an aspiration as a hope, a desperate goal to frantically grasp at even as it slipped through his fingers.

POSITIVE TRAITS: Determined, protective, intelligent, enduring, loyal, forthright (younger).

NEGATIVE TRAITS: Bossy. Prideful. Stubborn. Acerbic. Secretive. Can and will walk right over you if you stand between him and his goal.

MBTI: ISTJ - The Logistician

ENNEAGRAM: Type 8 - The Challenger

ZODIAC: Aries (sun) - Virgo (moon)

TAROT: Justice (young), Death (in-game)

TEMPERAMENT: Choleric

SOUL TYPE/S: Hunter (with Thinker/Helper/Leader all tied for second place)

ANIMAL: well the test was terribly wrong for him but the closest thing there was Rhino, though that one underestimates his mental capabilities (many thanks to B-chan for helping me scour the choices)

VICE/S: This man can hold grudges. Usually big ones, but sometimes he can get in a snit and be very petty (see: the stop at the Macalania Travel Agency where Tidus calls him ‘old’ and Auron stops talking, turns away with a hrmf and a snide remark and then won’t even look at Tidus for the remainder of the stay). After his death, self-loathing is a serious vice as well, one that wasn’t present before (or at least until the very end of his life).

FAITH: Once, he believed in Yevon. Now, that couldn’t be further from the case. What faith he once had was thoroughly crushed.

GHOSTS?: As an Unsent, he himself is one, after a fashion. Even if he wasn’t, fiends would fit the definition well enough. In Spira, ghosts are not so much a matter of superstition as they are a natural part of the world; it is why summoners are needed to Send souls to the farplane, and the existence of fiends and unsent are abject proof.

AFTERLIFE?: Yes. As with ghosts, this is not so much a matter of faith as it is natural and evident. While one can debate whether the images the living see of their loved ones on the Farplane are a projection or truly their souls, that does not deny the truth that one can visit the Farplane itself.

REINCARNATION?: Yes, though mostly in the less comforting knowledge that one can become a fiend after death. A truly new life… he’s less certain of the possibility, though he’d like to believe.

ALIENS?: He’s been to and lived in a world created from dreams and set foot on the alternate plane of the afterlife. He’s inclined to think that anything is possible. There are so many stars out there, of course some other worlds with people on them are out there too. It just doesn’t have any bearing on his world here and now.

POLITICAL ALIGNMENT: For much of his life, Lawful Neutral/Good and a supporter as well as part of the reigning religious oligarchy/theocracy. Later and near the end of his life, as well as his unlife, Neutral Good/True Neutral and in (at first) subtle opposition to the established Church and then actively attempting its complete overthrow.

ECONOMIC PREFERENCE: He never really had much of a need or want for material goods. He always had a few treasured possessions, but between his personality and his lifestyle he never accumulated many ‘things’. After he dies, he has even less to his name, but he’s content with remaining that way. He travels, feeling out of place, and so keeps his pack light rather than gathering and keeping objects. As he doesn’t spend much, he doesn’t particularly want for money.

SOCIOPOLITICAL POSITION: He’s… famous, being the (a) Legendary Guardian, but that doesn’t really afford him anything other than awe, and occasionally a free room. He stays out of politics once Yevon is brought low. It’s up to the people who will live for the future to determine it, after all.

EDUCATION LEVEL: Once he was dedicated to the Church of Yevon at 8 years old, he was granted good schooling along with all the other child-acolytes and training to enter the ranks of the warrior monks. Before that, he didn’t have anything in the way of formal schooling and was illiterate, though he’d been learning practical skills for some time. He was of an age that he was starting to try his hand at trades and would have chosen one to apprentice to had circumstances not changed his fate.

FAMILY.

FATHER: (deceased)

MOTHER: (deceased)

EXTENDED FAMILY: brother (Feron - deceased)

SIGNIFICANT OTHER(S): none (verse-dependent)

NAME MEANING/S: high mountain/mountain of strength (Hebrew); gold (aur) - a divine ending/death (on) (Old Celtic/Welsh); gold (aurum - Latin) gilded/gilt/noble (aureus - Latin); dawn (Áron - Quenya)

HISTORICAL CONNECTION: What familial history he may once have had is lost. The Church broke its ties with him, and he with it. What connection he has to history is his part in the story of Braska’s and Yuna’s Pilgrimages, until those stories are told no more.

FAVORITES.

BOOK: He likes histories and tales, whether fiction or not - a good story. The ending of it does not matter so much as what happens during the book.

MOVIE: He’s not much of a movie person, actually, but as with books, he’d prefer one with solid characters and a good story to it over anything else.

DEITY: He’s not fond of gods these days, self-proclaimed or otherwise.

MONTH: October

SEASON: Autumn

PLACE: Somewhere not the South. He prefers cooler climes and does terribly in hot weather, growing irritable the longer he has to deal with it.

WEATHER: Sun out but clouds in the sky, with a crisp breeze blowing.

SOUND: Gentle rainfall, the crunch of leaves and evergreen needles under boots, soft humming.

SCENT/S: Cedar wood, pine, stone in the forest slightly grown over with moss, the brightness of a mountain stream’s spray.

TASTE/S: Seasoned game meats, fish; will steal your berry tarts.

FEEL/S: Wood and tree bark, slightly textured paper, braided fabric, simple glazed pottery.

ANIMAL/S: Auron is most definitely a dog person. He’s also fond of flying creatures, and you’ll often see me associate him with the red-tailed hawk.

NUMBER: Three. It is a good, solid number, is it not?

COLOR: He likes red, favouring it enough to choose the colour for his coat, and in general likes autumn and winter tones.

EXTRA.

TALENTS: planning, combat, snarky commentary

BAD AT: Magic. White, Black, Blue, Time, it doesn’t matter. Absolute shit at it. I have a headcanon that he doesn’t even have the capability for it, backed by the fact that the abilities in his grid is essentially all physical - the debuff-abilities can be explained as ki-type physical energies rather than magic. He’d like to be able to cast even as little as a simple Cure, but it’s beyond him. Also bad at empathising.

TURN-ONS: Entirely dependent on the person, and pretty much null in general unless he’s romantically attracted to or involved with that person.

TURN-OFFS: Arrogance, superiority, degradation, arguments, pain, excessive testing of his patience (a little is fine but don’t push it too far-), et al.

HOBBIES: He doesn’t really have much in the way of hobbies. There’s almost always been something to keep him busy, and so he never had much time to develop fun down-time things. He does whittle, if there’s dead time and he’s feeling inclined. It’s an easy enough thing that keeps his hands busy, and he can just pick up wood wherever he’s settling down to camp and discard whatever he makes if he doesn’t care to keep it, so materials are never really an issue save for keeping his knife sharp.

TROPES: BFS; Dead All Along; Determinator; The Atoner; The Stoic/Not So Stoic; Taking the Bullet; Tall, Dark, and Snarky, I Gave My Word

AESTHETIC TAGS: I actually don’t have a dedicated aesthetic tag for him and I really should. Hmm. I’ll get on that…

[soulshredders-blog]

“For the time speedily cometh that the Lord God shall cause a great division among the people, and the wicked will he destroy; and he will spare his people, yea, even if it so be that he must destroy the wicked by fire.”

- 2 Nephi 30:10

Dreams haunted him; not nightmares. There was no such thing as nightmares or monsters in his head. If anything, he was the monster that lurked the night, the one who twisted his thoughts into something corrupt. Austyn never saw the looks on his parent’s faces, or his siblings for that matter, when that seemingly perfect home was engulfed in hellfire. Most nights, as he lay in bed, he wished he had.  Did his father shout for help? Did he pray to ‘God’ to save him and his family? What about his mother? Did she turn a blind eye to the fire as if it weren’t there, just as she had done with everything his father had done? Teeth gritted, sinful thoughts spun webs, lulling him back to slumber.

His Uncle had kept up with the police orders; therapy sessions until he was old enough to conclude things were finished. That day came when he had turned fifteen. Two years he kept it up, upholding the secret of how the blazing inferno was started. Austyn just never spoke. He drew the pictures; spoke about what he saw on Rorschach photos. All the menial tasks presented were completed without much cognitive thought. One pleasant thing that came from these sessions was that the “good doctor” concluded and authorized Lucky to be considered a ‘service animal’ for the shattered mind known as Austyn Carr.

A panting, black shadow followed at his heels. Clicks of skateboard wheels bounced off of the West District buildings, stirring life in every direction, easily ignoring the eyes that followed him. It was easier to be known as a heartless boy than to be taken advantage of again. For the first time in all his life, from since he could remember, he felt free. Love wasn’t required. If what they spoke of in church was undeniably the truth, then he’d be marked for Hell. In Hell you didn’t receive love. It was better to get used to it. He’d enjoy the devilish delights.

Such delights; ranging from simple skateboarding, because it wasn’t what good Mormon boys did all the way to smoking stolen cigarettes. It was a wide spectrum that had been denied until he came to live with his Uncle, who was anything but religious. There was no such thing as curfew, though Austyn tried his best to maintain some sleep schedule in order to attend school. The liquor cabinet was always unlocked and full, and his Sunday’s were for sleeping in, not suits.  La Juve, specifically the West, had everything to offer.

The ideal part of the West District, however, was the skate parks, by far. They seemed to have sprouted up just for the distraught youth. Sandy beaches spread across, horizon to horizon and beyond the concrete divide. Austyn wasn’t much of a beach goer; he came there to skate, to practice and to let his mind go once in a while. To lose himself in a passion he had been denied as a child. Today was like any other day. He had put his converse on one foot at a time, board had been secured in his grip as he clasped Lucky’s leash to his collar. Everything was normal; mundane and nearly a set routine. Until he was greeted with an unusual and mussed face, wide eyes similar to his, peeking out from various ramps. As if he had seen more in his young life than those would in a lifetime.  

Eyes narrowed, curiosity rose within his meager form as he crossed over towards park, however keeping his distance from the boy. He was small; frail almost. It was hard to tell his age from where he was kneeling, Lucky instantly running his wet tongue over his cheek.

That was the first time Austyn had seen Ziggy Holland. It was at that skate park; the very one he’d continue to skate at for years to come, that he realized his life would slowly change. For better or worse was up to Austyn to decide. He would soon come to realize that the future had tests he’d have to continue living through, no matter how painful or dull they were, for the path he was about to embark. These tests would revolve around the small boy, who would soon grow into the hand-me-down clothing he’d provide as ‘gifts’ just to see that gleam of his smile. It’d be because of this boy his knuckles would be dripping blood; scarred from various fights to protect Ziggy’s name. Because of this boy that he’d slowly lower that brick wall he’d built over himself, shielding away the world. It was because Ziggy, not just a boy, that he’d come to know what love was, to know what it felt like, and how crazy it made him feel.

It was these trials, these tests brought upon him, that landed him sitting painfully in a small, white room; beeping bouncing wildly in his head. White linoleum floor glaring into his eyes; blurred vision. It was because of Ziggy Holland that he was in the hospital, sitting in an uncomfortable plastic chair, as tears stung his eyes. Austyn Carr never cried. He was told even as a child that he was ‘the easiest baby’ because of this, and he lived up to that. But there he sat, head slumped over, arms propping his weight as dirtied fingers curved around his best friend’s hand; squeezing.

Doctors explained how lucky it was that he was still alive after the car smashed into him. How surprising it was that he wasn’t in pieces that the fire department would have had to pick up off the concrete. Those weren’t words to ease his mind. They only caused his heart to sink lower and lower into the pits of his stomach.

Austyn sat there, tears dripping onto that bleached floor, surrounding the crimson stains on his shoes, thinking of the first time he saw Ziggy and how peculiar he was to him. He thought about the first time he left him a brown paper bag with various snacks inside, ranging from apples to gushers. The first time he noticed him in school with clothes that weren’t ripped and stained, and the first time he watched him leave that school early, to hop into the passenger side of man’s ride. It was because of these events that led him further into a path he knew he wanted to continue. A path where he chased Ziggy, as if he were that unobtainable item wrapped around a string as he was hoisted on a stick. Just far enough out of his grasp.

From that day on he stuck around Ziggy, protecting him, sheltering him when he could, and providing whatever he could to bring that goofy smile to life. That same smile he was dreading never seeing again. His heart sunk lower as waves of nausea rocked him forward. Forehead pressed against the white sheets. Austyn knew that Ziggy was dared to skate down the monstrous hill; he knew it only because he wasn’t aware of his friend skating it. Ziggy would have spoken up about it if it was his plan. A plan Austyn would have denied and tossed in the shredder.

Whoever thought it was wise, to fool around with Ziggy, would soon realize what a mistake they made. The fear and sadness would wash away, leaving nothing within Austyn other than bitter revenge. A revenge that would burn; cleanse the world and his mind, clean.