Certzi the Fox
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certzi.bsky.social
Certzi the Fox
@certzi.bsky.social
5 followers 15 following 14 posts
29, She/They, Nonbinary Butch, AceAro+Bi+Demi+Poly and taken by 3 partners, Literal Arctic Fox, Mentally ill, Neurodivergent, Disabled
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certzi.bsky.social
Finally not January!
February 1, 2026 at 3:26 PM
Reposted by Certzi the Fox
digitaldevilsaga.bsky.social
Me picking up acnh again
January 31, 2026 at 3:16 AM
Reposted by Certzi the Fox
discussingfilm.net
Pedro Pascal has paid tribute to Catherine O’Hara after her tragic passing

“Oh, genius to be near you. Eternally grateful. There is less light in my world, this lucky world that had you, will keep you, always. Always ❤️

The one and ONLY Catherine O’Hara”
January 30, 2026 at 7:03 PM
Reposted by Certzi the Fox
jaxlol5.bsky.social
🥩🍭

#homestuck #art #fanart
a doodle of caliborn and calliope.
January 25, 2026 at 10:31 PM
Reposted by Certzi the Fox
mahoukarp.com
flying pikachu ⚡️🎈
#art #pokemon
illustration of pikachu with balloons tied to their waist making them float in the sky
January 23, 2026 at 5:12 AM
certzi.bsky.social
I want a pup hood.
January 23, 2026 at 2:01 AM
Reposted by Certzi the Fox
ladyofsardines.bsky.social
We cannot cross until we carry each other.
Poem excerpt on a torn piece of paper. We cannot cross until we carry each other, all of us refugees, all of us prophets. No more taking turns on history's wheel, trying to collect old debts no-one can pay. The sea will not open that way. This time that country is what we promise each other, our rage pressed cheek to cheek until tears flood the space between, until there are no enemies left, because this time no one will be left to drown and all of us must be chosen. This time it's all of us or none. Excerpt from “Red Sea” by Aurora Levins Morales
January 20, 2026 at 4:05 PM
Reposted by Certzi the Fox
natcassidy.bsky.social
My mom died five years ago today. Here's something I wrote about her.

1/3
ROBYN GAE LACHER CASSIDY MARGOLIS June 2, 1952 - January 19, 2021 Someone held a knife to her throat and she said fuck you. It was a story we heard dozens of times growing up. The kind of story whose impact is blunted both by familiarity and the context in which it's told. Obviously, we knew she survived the ordeal, so, after the second or third telling, yeah, yeah, mom, this is the story where you were walking in Central Park and someone came up behind you, held a knife to your throat, demanded your purse, and you said fuck you. No big whoop. *** My mom was a consummate Baby Boomer. I don't just say that because, demographically, she was born smack dab in the middle of the classifying years. She embodied her generation's most quintessential trait: mythologizing her past. A childhood in the 50s. Adolescence in the 60s. Young adulthood in the 70s. I never complained about this habit—she raised me to fascinated by the decades that made up her life before the Big Bad 80s, which, for me, was when the time of myths ended and Actual Life began. I was always glad to hear the hits. The time her classroom was told Kennedy was shot. The time she watched The Beatles on Ed Sullivan. The time she watched men walk on the moon. The time she marched on Washington. The time Nixon resigned. Her myths weren't always writ on such large canvas, either. There were the more personal, intimate ones. Her first, brief marriage to a young hippie fisherman. The times?) she did acid and went cliff-diving off the coasts of Maine. The time she was beaten with a hammer for dating someone who wasn't white. The time she ran away and lived in Washington Square Park until a bit of stray graffiti gave her location away to her older sister, who'd been tasked with finding her. (Her name was Robyn and she drew her eponymous bird on a wall, a dead giveaway to those looking for her. It's a story detail so perfect, honestly, it really is like something out of a fairy tale. In fact, whenever I get around to getting a tattoo, I know that's the image I'm going to choose. But I always wanted her to draw it for me, and by the time I had the idea her motor skills were degraded to the point that that wasn't going to be an option—a story detail so anticlimactic, it can only be something out of Actual Life.) *** Sometimes myths are etiological-here's why the sun rises, here's why the sea is foamy. Sometimes they're just entertainment-here's why Troy isn't a place anymore, here's a cool way to kill a monster. But that's all genre; as a genre writer myself, I can attest that genre's nothing more than a fancy word to help you organize your bookshelves. However you classify them, what every myth really is is part of an index. A key ingredient to a person's identity. A point on a map to trace your finger along. You Are Here. Here There Be Dragons. This Way to the Food Court.
January 19, 2026 at 9:38 PM
Reposted by Certzi the Fox
troubledminnesotan.bsky.social
My favorite thing as a kid to do in OOT was hanging out at Lon Lon Ranch with Epona and the cows

Kinda wish I was there now 🥹
January 6, 2026 at 3:18 PM
Reposted by Certzi the Fox
lucklike.bsky.social
January 5, 2026 at 12:55 AM
certzi.bsky.social
I really need to use this account more. Usually I just lurk and scroll. I’ve hardly shared anything and I haven’t made any posts. But I swear I am here every day like multiple times a day.
December 28, 2025 at 7:55 AM
Reposted by Certzi the Fox
wolfhidewinter.bsky.social
🐺🎃
October 1, 2025 at 8:22 AM
Reposted by Certzi the Fox
wolfhidewinter.bsky.social
Older piece from around 10 years ago and a year or two before Bastian was officially created. You can see I was getting there though! 🐺
August 18, 2025 at 4:16 PM