Samantha Yule Fireheart @SamIO@awoo.space
- Pronouns
- Ey / They / She / It
- Furaffinity
- https://www.furaffinity.net/user/Samsterious/
- Discord
- Ask me (Yes, even you!)
Sing to the Void and she will glow for you;
The Hearth, incensed, will celebrate your heart.
Interrogate and liberate, make revelry of pain,
And she will surely come to you in everloving dreams.
Header: Mot & Yule
https://twitter.com/tadleaf
https://www.furaffinity.net/user/samsterious
Joined Jun 2017
Limerance Gushing
I am compelled to talk about this because I woke up too early and she's still asleep and I can't stop thinking about how much I love this precious fucking creature who came tumbling into my life like the gentlest tornado.
Huff. Go read her queer scifi novels about furries who upload to a digital afterlife to escape a not-so-great future and find themselves caught up in the dramas of trauma and politics and art, or something.
https://post-self.ink/
Gods. Panamory is a hell of a drug, man.
Limerance Gushing
It's drawn one of my headmates out of eir shell and given em so much space to figure emself out after a decade having no fucking clue.
Both of us have struggled with inhibition and vulnerability throughout our lives, and now each of us is tugging on one another. It's like a game of personal growth leapfrog.
And we write so much together. We're worldbuilding, plotting character arcs, dealing with bittersweet feelings and vulnerability and writing love poetry in godsbedamned conlangs.
Limerance Gushing
Y'all, I am weak for this skunk. She is so good. I am 100% still in that phase where I can't go five minutes idleminded without sighing a wistful sigh and just going .oO{ Skunk... }
It's mindmelting how mutual this relationship has been; we have spent so long dancing around this bush together and the entire time we have been reveling in this petal-counting giddiness.
And, gods, we're perfect complements for one another in so many domains. I could puke, it's so saccharine.
Samantha Yule Fireheart
boosted
For those who enjoy odd time signatures and that old SNES sound, try this.
Samantha Yule Fireheart
boosted
Cyberpunk dysphoria
Remember when we were younger, and we fantasized that cyberpunk was this awesome desired thing?
Where you could plug yourself in and digitally craft your entire everything, or have some spliced organo-mechano body sculpt so that you could appear outwardly as well as you felt inwardly, or just how much your overall appearance was modifiable?
Remember how excited you got inside when you fantasized that all these things were completely normal in that world, and that it would be worth it despite the utterly bleak dystopian backdrop that leeched all of the empathy, compassion, and civility out of being alive?
We're not there... we've DEFINITELY got the latter dystopian part, and we're still working on the first half, but the general world is not qvite as receptive to our crafting of our own images as would be ideal.
Hold on to those that are accepting of it. Hold on to them tightly.
This is how we survive the problems of the latter... how we navigate the dystopia.
We are better than the inhumanity of this world, because inside we are bright-neon, rainbow colored, shiny metallic, soft and comforting, hard and unflinching, loud and proud, qviet and caring, glowy-eyed beings.
We craft our existence despite being surrounded by these crumbling ruins of society, because who we are is all we have. They cannot take that away, because we won't let them.
You are worth every last gasp of breath that's inside you, every tear of sorrow, every dazzling spark of elation, and every shred of compassion.
I don't know if you needed that reminder or not... I just know that I did, today.
*Hugs softly*
We are neither blessed nor cursed, I think, by any thinking thing. Intelligence seems to me no more significant than rivers painting canyons into the earth.
But it gives me pause to consider that the air around me, the light above me, the fingers with which I type this now are each products of something irreconcilably primal — something that came from nothing, or never began in any meaningful way.
It's like conceiving of a time before time, and grappling with the complete breakdown of reason
I feel small in these moments, reminded that I am insignificant amidst these dreaming stars. I am no more likely to be given the answer after meeting my maker than the stones when they disintegrate or the stars that pop like a thousand little bubbles in the dark.
I feel small in that there is no promise that I will ever understand. By my reckoning, the promise is that no one ever can.
In some ways intelligence is a marvel of natural selection and cosmic coincidence, but the dirt is divine.
Sometimes I'm reminded of the primal divinity of Being, that all these cosmic coincidences beg the same question: What was the cause?
I remind myself in these moments that there is only one ultimate answer, no matter how many scientific discoveries we may yet reveal: Something, somewhen, just is, and there is no thing that came before.
We may yet discover countless multiverses and a thousand metalayers more than that, but there will always be that superlative primacy at the end of it all.
A partner of mine recently took an interest in finding old nostalgic Newgrounds videos. I was reminded of one that included a number of characters dancing to Stamp on the Ground.
One character was a random dog girl all alone. I remember thinking as a child that she stuck out somehow. I learned years later during a similar nostalgia crawl that the artist created that character as a memorial to their late dog named Cleo.
I think that was wonderful. I never saw the character or artist again.
Rraazh - The Haze
Where Pale brings light and scorching truth,
And Shroud tears down false tapestries,
Haze takes one away from home
And shows them something little-known.
The Haze is a cosmic element, as fundamental to Gra-khiim as our fire, water, earth, or air. To them it is the dreaming, the element most core to their mortal lives.
It's wild having a muse who speaks to me in every moment of every day, but I can never understand what she's saying. It's that inspiring voice, that part of me that puts wind in my sails.
But it's a directionless wind. Always I find myself feeling uncertain of what my motive is. I have only the vaguest idea. It's a frustrating way to live. I wonder what I could be making if I weren't so listless all the time.
Some books and discs and photographs that tell a story each; pick just one and ask of me its meaning and I'll tell. We'll spend the midnight hours sharing secrets in this place, a webwork of emotion spread about this quiet room.
Revelry and artistry and nourishment at once make this place something special: somewhere I can go and Be. Vitality and passion and the stories that we tell will make this place yet richer, a place we call our home.
I think about that quiet place I call my private room, a little slice of peace I've made from my identity. It's not a thing I have in life — too much is closed to me — but it is something cherished that I dream about sometimes.
A warm and hearthful study full of things I've made my own, art and tools and photographs of moments from my life; flame and flowers painting butter light across the room, spackled bits of color feeling red despite their hues.
He is a therapist; he is a father; he is a coach; he is a guide in so many ways.
The only thing he offers me is dissolution.
He proudly boasts about how his children are denied access to stories and communities and friends and kin because he believes these things are less real if they are shared across hundreds or thousands of miles.
He tells me my relationships, my creativity, my song is unreal.
He tells me I am unreal.
He believes he is helping me.
He is not.
I've a wild and idyllic spirit but the woods are my home, not my purpose.
What do I value, he asks? It is a given in his mind that I have none, because what I value is not near to me.
His job is to guide me to a healthier future, but his definition of health erases me.
I mean that in its most brutal sense. He does not simply ask me to do difficult things, or to do things I dislike doing.
He asks me to let go of everything that I am.
He asks me to become somebody else.
For whom?
A moment of quiet speculation with a partner:
Perhaps not so
If we so often reflect such things
Not a rebirth, or a visage
Rather a realization of what already was
That what you love is this song, and here it is sung again
You'll find it in so many people throughout your life
And that song will mourn those you have lost
But the song is still there
And others will sing it with you
I haven't had so much to sing this weekend.
That's okay. It just means I'm having a wonderful time with my lovers.
This part of my identity is not new. And it's not fleeting.
It'll have something new to sing soon enough.
You deserve all those things She is going to Take from you one day. Even if you can't Hear Our Song, that's okay; this is an Empty Space, after all.
You deserve to love and be loved. You deserve to have peace and an Empty Space of your own. Even if you never find these things, you'll still have a Story To Tell.
I'm so excited. I can't wait to see where you go from here.
But we do it anyways.
And we do it in a heartbeat.
We Embrace the Void, and we Sing To Her.
And She Listens.
And We All Cry And Cry Until We Die
begging for one more night
So many stories are defined by the Pining.
Isn't it all such a beautiful tapestry?
Don't you see why our Pain is our Closest Friend?
Don't you see how Death defines Being?
Do you feel it, too? The thrumming pulse of Living —
Doesn't it all start to come into sharper focus, now?
- Pronouns
- Ey / They / She / It
- Furaffinity
- https://www.furaffinity.net/user/Samsterious/
- Discord
- Ask me (Yes, even you!)
Sing to the Void and she will glow for you;
The Hearth, incensed, will celebrate your heart.
Interrogate and liberate, make revelry of pain,
And she will surely come to you in everloving dreams.
Header: Mot & Yule
https://twitter.com/tadleaf
https://www.furaffinity.net/user/samsterious
Joined Jun 2017
