posting on here as well...
in case tumblr actually stops working at some point in the future:
bluesky | neocities [big wip, pls dont judge π] | strawpage
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the thing about being bullied for being weird as a kid is that even if you've always embraced being weird your brain is still always looking for the line where it's too much. you can be as proudly and intentionally weird as you want and you can love being weird but your mind is still convinced there's a point where you get too weird and people start treating you like a weird looking bug again. also it feels like you reach that point 500 times a day even if everyone you've spoken to today found you pleasant and likable and even if you're completely alone in your house with nobody looking at you at all.
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Being able to draw older people as attractive without reducing or erasing the visual signs of aging, and in fact showing that they're attractive because of those signs, is an artistic skill that should be valued so much more. Honestly, it should earn you an immediate fortune because holy fuck is it a rare commodity. There are so many artists who seem to think attractiveness and aging exist in opposition to each other, so they smooth every wrinkle, erase every crease, and de-age the character until they're basically thirty with silver hair. But when an artist can look at crow's feet, smile lines, weathered skin, deep-set wrinkles, and all the little traces of a life well lived and say, "No, that's what makes them beautiful," that's a level of artistic observation and care I wish we celebrated more often.
Rodin's "she who used to be the Beautiful Hulmiere" is an example of that kind of skill. To paraphrase Heinlein in _Stranger in a strange land_, Rodin's genius was to portray the elderly wrinkled and stooped woman precisely, and Also force you to see that she is still the beautiful woman she once was.
what iβve learned in my life is if someone is treating you poorly and youre asking yourself βwhat magic words can I use to make this person treat me with basic respect,β those words donβt exist and they never will.
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"Should you suddenly find the contents of my plate replaced with lemon slices, or doodles drawn on the bottom of my teacup... Don't make a fuss β rather, turn a blind eye. The greater the reaction to these pranks, the more delighted she who hides in the shadows will be."
β Head Housemaid Danica, cautioning the new maids of Zapolyarny Palace
β Name: Vesna
β Title: Snowy Banquet's Sharp Blade
β Commander of the Druzhna
β Stellar Linchpin: Anemo
β Constellation: Amentum Vernum
In Snezhnaya, the clan name "Strivozha" is one of certain importance.
This ancient Vila bloodline, which was already in existence long before Snezhnaya's turbulent early days, has weathered countless storms and earned countless honors over the years.
Vesna is evidently worthy of the name. Radiant and graceful, she exudes effortless refinement and quiet poise... well, at least most of the time.
A veritable free spirit, she refuses to be bound by the norms of polite society. This can often lead to surprising antics. Sometimes, she drives the train at such reckless speeds that all it leaves behind is a blur β and a reprimand waiting for her at the end of the line. At other moments, she carefully, meticulously, scrupulously slips a chosen slice of sour lemon onto a colleague's plate...
But no one would ever question Vesna's virtue or honor, for they come from her sword rather than superficial mores and gestures.
The Druzhna is the blade wielded by the Tsaritsa herself, and Vesna is its keenest edge.
Vesna isn't considered particularly old among the Vila. If anything, she is almost too young by half. In fact, when she first joined the Druzhna, she was known as "that little lass from House Strivozha," though that title was soon forgotten as she started to speak for herself with her skills and accomplishments.
By the time she officially took over as Commander-in-chief of the Druzhna, the name "Vesna" already shone so brightly that people had forgotten the "Strivozha" that followed it.
Now, after generations, this formidable family name has found an even more formidable bearer of its legacy.
Maybe for Vesna herself, her true glory lies not in her family name, nor in her remarkable talents, but in her own unwavering faith:
For the Tsaritsa, and for Snezhnaya.
So it was in the past, and so it shall be in the future. Just like the ancient glaciers, no wind, however capricious, can change this.
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