RP is an incredible form of vulnerability. It doesn't matter if it's tabletop or text-based, a piece of you will always make it into the characters you create. When I make characters, I intentionally pull a piece of myself out and let it run free to see who it becomes.
Hazel, my Monster Hearts demon girl, was my general love of people and my insecurities about and desires to fit in.
Wren, my werewolf girl, was my primal urge to run.
My Naga, Vekki, was delight in chaos and the quiet fury of watching my home slowly destroyed by the indifference of others.
Even my Sonic oc, Rubbish, who was made as a blatant self-insert, primarily became my desire to make a friend of failure and to be loved through the times when I'm not enough for the world.
To tear open your ribcage and expose your beating heart to somebody is scary, even if it's through another character. A bad rp partner could do serious careless damage to an exposed weak point even without knowing it.
A good one, however, makes the process into something unlike anything I've ever seen anywhere else. You spill your feelings and wants and traumas onto the table together. It becomes this mutual therapy through storytelling, a way to externalize things and see yourself in ways you never had before. Sometimes a character will come back to you with a new piece that becomes a part of you. Sometimes a loss in character feels nearly as devestating as one on the outside of the game.
I think I'm just happy we have the capacity for this kind of stuff. My life would be a lot dimmer without the people I sidle up to every week to be stupid monster girls with, or without the ones who share tiny discord servers I scramble to check every morning to see what's going on with the story.
If I'm truly open when I'm rping, it means I trust you.
Thanks for taking care of the pieces of me I let go. 💙
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On New Year's Day I assembled and began to tackle a book backlog 2,000,000 words long. I'm just over a quarter of the way through. I'm visiting Prague in March, I'm doing the West Highland Way in May, and I'm aiming to deadlift my body weight before the year is out
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the angel staying over at my house asked for a nightlight in their room and i told them buddy, don't you produce your own light? what're you gonna do with more? and they said they wanted to see why people like it so much. and also that the nightlight i own is blue and they've been trying to understand color. anyways i think they've stared at it for an hour now
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no offence but the reason tumblr is “dying” is, well, yes, of course the cursed like/reblog ratio and the change in user behaviour (because of people being used to how instagram and tiktok work) BUT also the lack of weekly shows. i say it with my whole chest, they don't produce captivating and engaging stupid weekly tv shows anymore because streaming killed that so you have spikes of activity here when Something happens in general fandom or up to three days after a new season of whatever drops and then it's a wasteland. this is obviously an old woman yelling at a cloud missing supernatural and the vampire diaries and pretty little liars and all these other shows type of post but honestly give me back weekly tv shows where i have something to watch for 40 minutes almost every day of the week after work so then i can read and reblog it on tumblr give it back for the sake of my sanity
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this is just my opinion but i think any good media needs obsession behind it. it needs passion, the kind of passion that's no longer "gentle scented candle" and is now "oh shit the house caught on fire". it needs a creator that's biting the floorboards and gnawing the story off their skin. creators are supposed to be wild animals. they are supposed to want to tell a story with the ferocity of eating a good stone fruit while standing over the sink. the same protective, strange instinct as being 7 and making mud potions in pink teacups: you gotta get weird with it.
good media needs unhinged, googling-at-midnight kind of energy. it needs "what kind of seams are invented on this planet" energy and "im just gonna trust the audience to roll with me about this" energy. it needs one person (at least) screaming into the void with so much drive and energy that it forces the story to be real.
sometimes people are baffled when fanfic has some stunning jaw-dropping tattoo-it-on-you lines. and i'm like - well, i don't go here, but that makes sense to me. of fucking course people who have this amount of passion are going to create something good. they moved from a place of genuine love and enjoyment.
so yeah, duh! saturday cartoons have banger lines. random street art is sometimes the most precious heart-wrenching shit you've ever seen. someone singing on tiktok ends up creating your next favorite song. youtubers are giving us 5 hours of carefully researched content. all of this is the impossible equation to latestage capitalism. like, you can't force something to be good. AI cannot make it good. no amount of focus-group testing or market research. what makes a story worth listening to is that someone cares so much about telling it - through dance, art, music, whatever it takes - that they are just a little unhinged about it.
one time my friend told me he stayed up all night researching how many ways there are to peel an orange. he wrote me a poem that made me cry on public transportation. the love came through it like pith, you know? the words all came apart in my hands. it tasted like breakfast.
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Saw someone making a joke about how Odysseus confronting the suitors happens when he’s naked and no hate for the joke I get that a lot of people think public nudity is funny but like… that part of the story is really important to me.
This is a man that has been on a journey and fucked over and changed and played with by fate for years to the point where he is almost forced to strip his identity and rebuild it for survival. When he returns to his Home Land yes he is wearing a disguise but he was also the one raining king of Ithaca. No one recognized his face, his voice, the only one to truly recognize him was his neglected and dying dog. When he reveals his true self he literally has to strip himself bare before any one realizes.
The idea of the thing that kept you alive and kept you fighting being the same thing that makes it easier to strip your core beliefs and personality bare and rebuild yourself into something not even you can recognize in the end is really impactful for me.
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i love the (slightly cracky) premise that the newer batkids like duke who weren't around during jason's genuine "i hate the batfam" era would sometimes forget that it even happened so there'd be times where it would go:
Tim: where are you going
Jason: got a call from a friend in the alley, some fuckers need bullets in their knees. tell B and i'll kill you
Tim: no you won't
Jason: i dunno, i almost did it twice, third time's the charm
Tim: boooo you'll have to try harder
Jason, flipping him off as he leaves: watch your back, timmers!
Duke, who was sitting next to Tim the whole time: ??? he almost did it twice???? i thought he's joking when he says that????
Tim: oh, he is joking whenever he says that now. try a few years ago and it wouldn't have been as much of a joke
Duke: ???????????
Tim, snorting: i'd like to see him try again, anyway. once you realise that spends 80% of his free time in the local library he becomes no better than a nerdy loser who happens to be a bit dangerous
Duke: DUDE
Tim: what? do you find jason scary?
Duke: not usually but DUDE?!?!?
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