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mica-dmss · 6 months

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Blog Post 09

Media and Affect in Game and Film

TW: Contains fictional imagery that may be disturbing for some readers.

Imagine being given a medium, with no prior knowledge of its source or narrative. You observe a scene and it unfolds like this:

A young fawn and his doe mother is seen fighting through a snowstorm. The food is scarce, with no other soul in sight. The baby deer struggles to eat off the barks of withered trees nearby, relying on his mother to reach them for him. Time passes; the wind subsides, leaving us a scenic imagery of the full moon surrounded in white.

Finally, we see a breakthrough in the environment: a batch of fresh green grass. The fawn, no longer worrying about starving, grows ecstatic and devours it with joy.

Though to his mother, something is wrong. As the viewer, you don't know what it is. You cannot see it. However, You can hear it. She quickly realises that they are not alone, and urges her son to run to the thickets with her immediately.

Gunshots radiate throughout the forest, as the scene intensifies. "Keep running!", cries the mother deer. Just as they both reach towards the embrace of the woods, one last harrowing gunshot is blasted. However, the fawn does not stop running - not until he reaches home. "We made it!", exclaims the fawn. The exhausted baby deer looms out of his hiding spot, confused. "Mother?"

He is met with nothing, but silence (Figure 1).

Figure 1

This disturbing scene is what establishes the narrative's tone shift in Disney's Bambi (1942), a film exploring the coming of age through the experience of a young deer. Throughout this film, Bambi learns about the loss and blooming of the relationships in his life. Even without its synopsis, the film successfully communicates the dangers in life, allowing viewers the relatability of losing a loved one through Bambi's story. From the orchestrated diegetic, to the bleak ending confirming Bambi's loss. Every single element within this scene ties into an overall message of grief - a feeling we can all experience.

Queue in the philosophical explanation behind our experience with media. Originally, the concept of affect theory was still relatively an independent field of studies during the 1990s. This process of figuring out the correlation between media and affect is till on-going to this day. In finding out the impact of affect within today's media, let us first establish the foundations of affect as a concept.

Cultural theorist Clare Hemmings (2006) studied the subject of affect within cultural theory surrounding the foundations of constructivism and psychoanalysis within, which she delves into the sociocultural research of gender theorist Federica Giardini (1999). In her papers, Giardini states that affects are defined as "necessary states of pain and pleasure", further clarifying its establishment within both Freudian and Lacanian psychoanalysis: being the "qualitative expression of our drives' energy and variations" (Giardini, 1999, p. 150). Hemmings further elaborated on Giardini's claim, stating how affects and emotions are separate, by pointing out that affect "broadly refers to states of being, rather than to their manifestation or interpretation as emotions" (Hemmings, 2006, p. 551). Furthermore, Hemming explains the impact on affect within the grounds of cultural theory, stating that affects are "what enable drives to be satisfied and what tie us to the world" (Ibid. p. 551).

Hemming also claims that as well as being an object distinguished from emotions, the idea of affect is capable of transferability, which she compares and states that "unlike drives, affects can be transferred to a range of objects in order to be satisfied, which makes them adaptable in a way that drives are not" (Ibid. p. 551). Thus, affects can enable the satisfaction of a drive or interrupt it; this is useful in explaining context of where the drive for hunger is satisfied with good food versus interrupted with bad food (Ibid. p. 551). In its basic form, affect is when a source creates an emotional charge in its atmosphere, so much so that it spreads out and contaminates the subjects around. In short, is it a type of force or intensively, unbound to any distinct feeling and emotion.

One way a medium does to reel in its audience is to present their product in a way that captivates their feelings. In the instance of Bambi, aside from diegetic sounds, the film also utilises visual traits of affect. The traditional animation within the film is depicted as raw and genuine, supported by Disney's renowned style. This is evident through the variety of depictions involving Bambi's struggle throughout the winter season, as well as his grief and distress over losing his mother. This can be further elaborated through Creative Technology associate professor Sophie Mobbs (2015), an animation enthusiast who produced a paper focusing on affect in animation. Mobbs explains that animators "learn a set of postures and expressions, piecing together an emotional scene with an alphabet of symbols, almost as if spelling out a word" (Mobbs, 2015, p. 80).

As employees within a company, model sheets are likely used as guide for animators who worked on the production of Bambi. This is a standard protocol within the animation workforce, of which all departments in a team must co-operate with each other's workflow. This is to help present a seamless flow within a product, thus maintaining consistency throughout the entirety of its film. Animators refers to this as being 'on model' (Figure 2 and 3).

Figure 2

Figure 3

The fluid, impactful motions carefully crafted within the movements of Bambi throughout the film helps convey to viewers each expression he makes, thus providing a sense of emotion exuded from his character. In short, the ability of animators to convey emotions through their works enables the ability to evoke emotions from their spectators - equivalent to understanding emotions portrayed by actors within films.

However, while a medium may set out clear visual implications of how we should react to certain cues of affect, they are merely implications at best. This means that, without the context of narrative, the meaning behind visual performances will risk being misinterpreted; Mobbs states that when tasked with portraying expression in animation, animators still face the difficulty of their audience only possessing the ability to perceive emotion through "the filter of the animator" (Ibid, p. 80).

This makes more sense when provided Stuart Hall's theory of encoding and decoding of affordances, which Adrienne Shaw critically engages with the pitfalls of failed communication in the coding circuit (Figure 4).

Figure 4

According to Shaw, Hall's explanation to failed interpretations of a distribution associates with how the encoding and decoding stages "may not be perfectly symmetrical", due to the likelihood of misunderstandings or 'distortions' arise from "lack of equivalence between the two sides in the communication exchange" (Hall, cited in Shaw, 2017, pg. 596). This explanation from Hall was cited in the cultural theory papers of Simon During (1993), which further explored the dilemma regarding the encoding and decoding model; while each stage of encoding and decoding are equally 'autonomous' from one another, the coding of a message does manipulate its reception, as each stage have their own determining limits and possibilities (During, 1993, p. 90).

When referring back to the scene of tragedy in Bambi, as much as animated expressions go, the depiction of deer feeling despair over the loss found in a predictable situation such as hunting is as far of a tear-jerker as it goes. Therefore, in regards to its affect on its audience, the interpretations would vary from inconvenience to wildlife at worst, and pensiveness in losing a parental figure at best.

So, while the objective in causing affect through media may not overall pan in favour of its intent, this could be dependent on the type of medium - after all, Stuart Hall's theory was only an analysis on products such as television. With that, what if we delve into a more interactive medium?

A type of media where the prior limitations explored are not present is gaming. Gaming, a medium known for complete interactivity with debate on its inclusion of narrative, could be able to demonstrate affect that does not require the necessity to establish narrative conventions; this approach pertains to the affect of horror games and their audience's experiences.

Figure 5

While affect surfacing certain emotions such as happiness and sadness may be challenging, the scope of horror games is, especially if of good-quality, the easiness of conveying horror itself to evoke fear from audience. Many people are scared of horror, especially since they cannot be sure of what to expect - this is the strong suit of games in its ability to convey such affect.

No Players Online (2019) features a seemingly abandoned map, paired with the eerie ambience of diegetic sound effect. Its players are left with no context of the deserted server, other than a 'score 0/3' objective and the ability to explore around. As the experience progresses, players are encouraged to resolve this predicament by collecting all three flags scattered throughout. However, this aim is a fallacy, in order to blindside gamers with a build-up of horror, such as jump scares by a disfigured stranger and amped-up dread from misplaced elements intentionally spawned (Figure 5 and 6).

Figure 6

Even towards the ending of the game, a narrative was never established; all that was left was the mystery of a lore merely hinted, but never revealed. Despite the puzzle of its plot, the experience of No Players Online was made clear that players were meant to be scared of whatever lurked in there. Therefore, the connection between affect and to a game like No Players Online proves to be successful in what it intended to evoke, which is fear in anyone that plays it.

The simplicity of horror and effect is a genuine evocation, due to it being an expression everyone is familiar with, and so we are not immune to the surprise of horror games, or the idea of horror itself. This can be further elaborated through the affect-cognitive theory, a model which explains how our behavioural strategy in decision-making is based on our experiences, emotions and irrationality. Using findings by psychologist Daniel Kahneman (2003), strategy researcher Matteo Cristofaro created an affective-cognitive theory in relation to how individuals vary in reaction towards decision-making, which he explained how cognitive functioning within the human mind is made of two "systems" (Cristofaro, 2020, p. 346).

He states that the first system is where "intuitive and unconscious thinking lays", while the second system is reserved for more reflective thoughts, in which prompts individuals to recognise mistakes that occurred within reasoning (Ibid. p. 346). From his investigation, Kahneman observed how cognitive operators of "System 1" are "fast and automatic", due to being driven by prior experience and emotions, thus making them "difficult to control or modify" (Kahneman, 2003, cited in Cristofaro, 2020, p. 346). In contrast, operators of "System 2" are "more likely to be consciously monitored and deliberately controlled", which the psychologist describes as the filtering output for System 1 (Ibid. p. 346). While the theory concerns the action of decision-making, reactions to horror games may still apply regarding our cognitive functions processing fear; our first round of gameplay will produce an involuntary reaction, compared to our second, of which by then we will know what to expect.

Another psychologist, Robert Zajonc (1980), further clarified that judgements are "evoked by an affective evaluation happening even before any higher level reasoning occurs", which papers from other researchers (Finucane et al., 2000) found that for decision makers to efficiently assess risks and benefits of certain situations, their emotions will "substitute logical reasoning" through rapid judgements (Cristofaro, 2020, p. 346).

Sources:

Bambi (1942) Directed by D. Hand. [Feature film]. California: RKO Pictures.

Cristofaro, M. (2020) “I feel and think, therefore I am”: An Affect-Cognitive Theory of management decisions’, European management journal, 38 (2), pp. 344–355.

During, S. (1993) The cultural studies reader. Routledge.

Hemmings, C. (2005) ‘INVOKING AFFECT: Cultural theory and the ontological turn’, Cultural studies (London, England), 19 (5), pp. 548–567.

Mobbs, S. (2015) The Evocation and Expression of Emotion through Documentary Animation. Animation Practice, Process & Production: Intellect.

Pype. A., D'Heer. W. (2019) No Players Online [Video game]. Available at: https://papercookies.itch.io/no-players-online (Accessed: 31 December 2023).

Shaw, A. (2017) ‘Encoding and decoding affordances: Stuart Hall and interactive media technologies’, Media, culture & society, 39 (4), pp. 592–602.

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eastern-anarchist · 3 years

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Why intersectional theory doesn’t fit the description of ethnic discrimination in Eastern Europe (longread - I don't know if you will read this, but I think it's important)

Disclaimer 1: I am a historian, not a sociologist, and this affects my analysis. Disclaimer 2: I know best the history of the Russian Empire and least of all the Ottoman history. As we know, intersectional theory emerges from the concepts of "privilege" and "oppression". There are social categories that have greater access to benefits (education, good income, representation in art and media, etc.), and there are those that are oppressed for certain essentialist reasons, although the reasons are actually socially constructed (non-white skin color, non-straight sexuality, but you know about this without me). It’s important that such a system has been established for centuries, starting from about Early Modern times.

Intersectional theory is aimed at increasing the diversity of discourse and representing as many identities as possible in society. Also, the theory assumes a description of the intersections of various discrimination, where race, class, gender and sexuality aren’t separated from each other, but together form a person's identity. But ironically, this theory is very Americancentric, as it stemmed in large part from racial conflicts in the United States. It’s also partly Western Europeancentric, and includes mainly such colonial relations as between Britain and India, France and Algeria, etc.

But on the example of countries on the territory of the former Russian, Austro-Hungarian and Ottoman empires, it doesn’t work well, and here's why.

Mostly, the intersectional theory assumes the same type of conflicts and relations (racial, class, gender) in society over the centuries, which began to be established precisely in the late 15th - early 16th centuries, and this isn’t at all obvious for Eastern Europe.

Eastern Europe has distinguished itself by its "long" feudalism. Feudalism, on the other hand, means political fragmentation instead of absolutism, a greater concentration on religious affiliation (hello to the beginning of secularization in Western Europe) and the priority of status over class. Yeah, in capitalism it was difficult for a peasant to become a worker, and a worker (even more difficult) to become a small entrepreneur. But feudalism, in principle, doesn’t imply any social mobility - everyone is literally obliged to remain within the framework of their social strata.

Thus, the Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth remained de facto politically fragmented up to partitions in 1795. The Russian Empire retained the priority of (Orthodox) religion over class until (!) the February Revolution in 1917. For example, in imperial Russia there was such a concept as the Pale of Settlement - a territory where Jews could live and were forbidden to move outside of it. At first glance, this looks like normal segregation, HOWEVER. Christianized Jews could live outside the Pale of Settlement, and especially rich and educated Jews had the right to do so. Yes, here it’s necessary to make disclaimers that there were such a minority and towards the end of the Russian Empire there was state discrimination of "privileged" Jews (for example, under tsar Alexander III). But we must take into account this "ambiguity" of social relations.

In the three empires, very different peoples lived side by side, who didn’t live segregated from each other, and built their identity not on "citizenship", but on the same religion or even on the area of residence. It can be said that Russians were an ethnic group in the Russian Empire, but this statement will tell you nothing about the relationship between Jews and Ukrainians, Poles and Romanians, Georgians and Armenians, etc. Moreover, empires had many mixed families, which significantly influenced attempts to build "nations" in these regions.

Serfdom existed for a long time in the Austro-Hungarian and especially in the Russian Empire. In fact, this is a form of slavery, but it extended to peasants, regardless of their ethnicity. In general, returning to the first point, the stratification here was very strict. In the Russian Empire, at the time the Bolsheviks came to power, 3/4 of the population were peasants and illiterate.

Oh yes, the Bolsheviks. The USSR in general confused everyone. At the beginning of the USSR, all nationalities were formally declared free (the Pale of Settlement and the priority of religion were abolished), but things went badly after the arrival of Stalin, under whose rule massive repressions were carried out against national minorities. At that time, many Germans lived in the USSR, who were a rather privileged community in the Russian Empire (recall that Catherine II was an ethnic German). But under Stalin, the Germans were among the first repressive and deported groups (largely due to the arrival of the Nazis in Germany and the invasion to the USSR). But by God, for reasoning about whether the USSR was an "empire" and what ethnic conflicts there were, 10 more posts are needed.

Finally, relations with the metropolises. Due to the redistribution of territories, the same territories with ethnic minorities belonged to different empires. The Balkans were part both of the Ottoman Empire and the Austro-Hungarian Empire, and Russia also wanted to annex them. As for today, the Czech Republic or Western Ukraine are unlikely to have any conflicts with Austria (but I’m not saying here about the entire Western European world). What can’t be said unequivocally about the Balkans and Turkey, and even more so about Russia and Belarus, Ukraine and Central Asia. In general, guys, it is possible to operate with intersectional theory only in the case of countries which 1) colonies were far from the metropolises; 2) capitalism developed early; 3) racial and ethnic minorities were severely segregated. And it hardly applies to countries that have been feudal for a long time, have gone through a massive revolution, a Soviet / nationalist dictatorship and suddenly become neoliberal.

#eastern europe #intersectionality #intersectional politics #colonialism #neocolonialism #post colonialism #history #us #western europe #russian empire #austro-hungary #ottoman #post soviet #capitalism #racism #nationalism #chauvinism

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script-a-world · 3 years

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Via Google Form: i recently just learned about the concept of closed cultures and religions.

Via Google Form: i recently just learned about the concept of closed cultures and religions. does this mean that if something like native american culture or wicca were closed cultures/religions, i absolutely cannot include them in my stories no matter what? out of curiosity, would anyone happen to have a list of all of them that i can reference before i think of writing them in my stories? -mabwry

sorry, i nearly forgot but, in addition to my previous question, if a culture or religion is closed, does that mean we cannot even include a fictionalized version of it in our stories or anything inspired by them in any way? -mabwry

Feral: We’re going to have to clear the air on a few things before we can have a real discussion.

First, I am a white, atheist, raised-Christian USian. So, what do I know about closed religions? Nothing. I don’t know anything. Because they’re closed. You don’t know anything either unless you’re a part of the community with that practice, in which case you would probably not be asking me for my permission. Anything you think you know about a closed religion was a glimpse without context stolen by an outsider or wholesale made up bullshit.

Second, there is not one, monolithic Native American culture. There are currently 574 federally recognized tribes within the United States, each with their own culture. (the “federally recognized” part of that statement is fraught with implications that I am not qualified to address, but suffice it to say that there have been and are many more individual indigenous cultures.) Each of these cultures will have their own practices, religious and otherwise, but these practices are generally understood to be for people within that tribe and only people within that tribe, so unless members of a specific nation issue you a specific invitation to learn more, err on leaving them alone.

Third, Wicca is not a closed religion; there are initiation levels, which we will get to, but the religion itself is not closed; it is, in fact, highly publicized by practicing Wiccans. Also, even if Wicca was a completely closed religion, it makes me more than a little uncomfortable to talk about Native American religious practices in the same breath as Wicca, and this is because of the following:

Now, that we’ve gotten those clarifications out of the way we can get into why various Native American cultural and religious practices, and those of similar groups like the Romani, are closed, and it’s genocide. The actual massacre of the peoples, the extreme oppression and persecution they face and have faced, the systemic stripping away of cultural identity, and the forced assimilation into the white, European(-descent) cultures they have no choice but to exist beside. In many cases, you’ll find that closed religious practices had to go underground, essentially, to survive. And even in the time-and-space pockets where the peoples are not actively in physical danger, opening their sacred practices puts those practices in danger of ugly caricature and stereotyping and vile appropriation.

Now, there are levels. Closed communities exist on a spectrum as many things do. So, let’s talk about another level or type of closed community, that of the self-separated closed community. (note: using self-separated here to distinguish it from segregation.) Hasidic Jewish communities exist in this kind of self-separation (in the modern US; can’t speak for other places or times); they’re Jewish so it’s pretty easy to get the gist of their religious beliefs and practices, but the actual inner-workings, the politics, all that social interaction are kept closed off from the outside world. Now, with any Jewish sects, there is still a long, horrific history of genocide, but as a whole, the Jewish religion has not become closed; there isn’t an active search for converts but conversion isn’t forbidden. Still, let’s move away from genocide and talk about the Amish. They’re a Christian sect, so their general beliefs are not at all unknown, and they aren’t really cagey about what beliefs separate them from mainstream Christianity. The Amish just don’t want outsiders inside their community, messing in their affairs, and introducing unwanted influences, so their community is considered closed. Hasidic communities, the Amish, they show up in a lot of fiction, so does that make it okay despite their “closed” status? I cannot possibly answer how members of those communities feel about their portrayals in fiction across the board (I do have a guess at a few types of the portrayals, and that is appalled). What I can say is that you do not have an insider’s perspective - again, if you did, I would consider it very unlikely for you to have come to ask this question - so, thinking you can write an insider’s perspective is ludicrous.

In their* response to an ask on Native American religion, Lesya offers some advice on the portrayal of religious practices in fiction, which to me reads as “mention they exist but don’t try to describe them,” and also to take the advice of sensitivity readers who belong to the exact group you are trying to portray respectfully.

*I apologize, but I do not know Lesya’s pronouns and have erred on the side of gender neutrality.

Respect is key in all of this, and frankly, your asks tell me that you do not yet have a mature enough understanding of the issue at hand to have the respect necessary. You ask if you can create a fictional religion or culture based on one of these closed religions or entire cultures, and my question to you is how can you base a religion or culture on a religion or culture that you don’t know anything about? All you would be doing is making up more bullshit - bullshit that has often led to further persecution because of widespread belief in it by outsiders - or profiting off parts of stolen culture.

Finally, I want to touch on the concept of initiate levels, and the only reason I’m harping on Wicca specifically is because you brought it up and I can only assume you did so because it matters to you. So, Wicca has initiate levels (sometimes, depends on sect and denomination and all sorts of things; plenty of Wiccan sects do not have initiate levels and are completely open regarding their beliefs and practices.), which makes sense because it was manufactured from a lot of other belief systems, including a sort-of best-guess at the belief systems of ancient mystery cults. Wicca is certainly not the only religion to include the concept of requiring certain initiation rituals before one can gain the full knowledge contained within the religion. What this does though is creates a division within the religion itself so that all insiders are not completely inside, so to speak. So, even for a religion that is otherwise open, those specific practices are going to be closed and you won’t know what is going on inside. Why this is done is going to vary significantly by religion and will run the spectrum from benign to nefarious when you get into modern cults, but generally one can understand that in a religion that purports to have secret knowledge or to offer special interaction with a deity or even to provide supernatural powers, having initiation rites ensures that only the true believers or the cream of the crop or the ones with the inherent gifts will get access.

From your second ask, it seems clear to me that you want a rich diversity of religious worldbuilding, not just another cut-and-paste fake Catholic Church or Greco-Roman pantheon, and that’s admirable. But even when you’re working with religions that are not closed, when you’re not practicing that religion, it becomes tricky to get it right. Instead of just trying to base a fake religion on a real religion, study religion and spirituality. Read up on how religions are classified. If you understand the sociology, you can create distinct, nuanced religions for your secondary world.

I do not know of any list of all closed cultures and religions. I have included several in this response, but I would recommend just ensuring that you are always going to actual members and current practitioners as your sources for information - and to be clear, start with the written record before addressing people directly - , and if those members and current practitioners are categorically not sharing with an outsider, then it’s safe to assume that is closed.

#google submitted #culture #religion #closed culture #closed religion

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permit-the-clod · 2 years

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Blizzard has a complicated history with the female gender. However, possibly their largest grievance is the female tauren in World of Warcraft. Look around at what Blizzard has done. They've sexually harrased women, they've facilitated the rape of women, and 90% of their female characters hold unrealistic beauty standards for women (case in point: literally every female elf). However, none of this comes even close to the fuckery that is the design of the female tauren. On first look, you may notice nothing wrong. However, the fault lies in their breasts.

Take a long hard look at a female tauren's boobs. They look relatively ordinary. They're round, of reasonable size, and overall don't look too out of place. So what's the issue? The answer: the fact that they exist at all.

Obviously, the existence of spherical, rotund chest appendages on its own isn't an issue. They're a natural part of human anatomy. However the key words that must be noted here are human anatomy. Tauren are not human. Tauren are humanoid, which is an important distinction. According to the WoWWiki, "Tauren are large, muscular humanoids and bovine in appearance, complete with hooves and horns". The most important thing that must be noted is the part stating that they are bovine in appearance. Other than their bipedal stature, tauren have primarily bovine features (including horns, which is another issue with the female tauren, but is a discussion for another day).

Now look at a female cow. Notice something missing that exists on the female tauren. That's right. No tits. No boobies. No mommy milkers. only regular milkers, more commonly referred to as an udder. Considering the only distinguishing feature that separates a regular cow from a tauren is the fact that tauren stand on two legs, female tauren should have udders. Now, the true question must be raised: why do female tauren have boobs?

The obvious answer, considering we're talking about Blizzard, is to sexualize them. But why would the designers sexualize an anthropomorphic cow? For this we must turn to the furry chart.

When first looking at this chart, you may think that tauren lie in the more furry category, since that is the last section containing tits. However, this is simply untrue, as tauren have hooves rather than human legs, and their structure is more animalistic than human, meaning they actually fall into the furry section. The tits exist on tauren to distract us from the truth: Blizzard designers are furries. However this backfires on them completely, and their humanization/sexualization of the female tauren only solidifies them as furries. Of course, we also have the worgen, pandaren, and vulperan as proof, but the design of tauren shows that furryism runs deep in Blizzard's roots.

Don't misconstrue my words, however; tauren are 100% ethically fuckable, as they pass the harkness test. The harkness test states that anything that has they intelligence necessary to consent and ability to communicate consent with language is permissable to fuck. Despite their animalistic features, tauren are every bit as intelligent as the other playable races in World of Warcraft, and thus pass the test. The harkness test does not mention animalistic features, meaning even if tauren had udders they would still be ethical to fuck.

With all this in mind, I implore Blizzard to unmask their furryism and give female tauren udders. With udders you can still sexualize them while not being quite as blatant about it, plus there's no more anthropomorphic fencesitting. Thank you and goodbye.

#world of warcraft #tauren #furry #blizzard #harkness test

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blackvelvetwriteson · 4 years

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𝐌𝐘 𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐘𝐔𝐊𝐈

( ~ Kaminari Denki x Gender Neutral Black Reader Insert ~ )

GENRE: Fluffy Fluff!

FANDOM: Boku No Hero Academia (My Hero Academia)

TRIGGER WARNINGS: NONE! Today is a fluffy day!

SUMMARY: Kaminari helps out Reader-Chan with their hair for a wash day after they both get off of work! This is a Black!reader insert and trust and believe I’m going to be doing MORE of these types of things as well. I have Kirishima x Black Male reader insert to come soon! I hope you enjoy!

WORD COUNT: 3940

(Headers are mine, but the art inside of them are not! Please don’t steal or repost without credit!)

You and Denki had been together for awhile and everything was everything you thought it’d be and more. He was always so energetic and happy to see you each and every single time you ‘left’ and then came back to him. I swear it was like he was even more in love with you every single time you blinked. And that beautiful smile of his as he looked you over taking in your beautiful auburn skin, almond-y eyes, your wide nose, and your hair. He was oh so infatuated with your hair every single time he saw a style you put your hair into; he had never even seen braids until he got with you. You both had gotten an apartment together- even after going through high school and the UA experience with you, he was still in love with you possibly even more than he was before.

You both had separate closets; your closer mostly full of head scarfs, durags, and the special hair products that you used at like max 1 time a month. Oftentimes you found your boyfriend sifting through everything and trying to name what things were and at this point he was getting pretty good. All of it sounded weird coming from his mouth, but it was the thought that counted. He also looked through all of the products and he had accidentally tried some just to see if his hair would benefit from it.

Needless to say it didn’t.

He also loved looking at your accessories that you’d put in your hair- mostly when they were in braids- all of your brushes and heat protectants and your piks. He LOVED your piks. He would ask you about them all the time and he’d even ask to use them from time to time even though he and you both knew they weren’t for him. You’d gotten him a custom one though- it was yellow with metal rounded tip spokes and the body had his signature lightning bolt with his hero name “Chargebolt” underneath it with pretty letters. You were never too fond of sharing things like that with anyone- even him- and he respected that.

He’d been with you long enough to distinguish between your music as well and at the end of the week he’d always come back home to hear a mix between James Brown, SZA, Jhene Aiko, Summer Walker, and others. When you let him sit in on your study sessions and listen to your music he’d always been so surprised with 1) how diverse your music taste was and 2) that there was so many different kinds of music and he’d never heard YOURS prior to getting with you. He absolutely loved it, Drake being one of his favorites though he’d mindlessly mumble some Kendrick lyrics when he heard a familiar beat. Nevertheless, today was no different. He’d gotten home from his patrol to hear SZA playing, the scent of the mix of products in the air bringing a small inkling of pink to his cheeks. He walked in a little more and slicked back his dandelion yellow hair and he walked to the bathroom where he, once again, saw the familiar sight of you hunched over the sink mumbling lyrics while your skilled fingers worked shampoo out of your hair. “This may be the night that my dreams might let me know…” you mumbled under your breath before you jumped feeling Denki’s strong arms wrapping around your waist, his tender lips pressed into the nape of your neck. “BABY!” You feel a surge of happiness run through you before your fingers get caught on a knot and you grumble lowly. “D-Don’t scare me like that,” you whine out softly before you settle on ripping the knot out of your from irritation before you feel his warm hand against yours. “I-I’m sorry,” he said with a soft laugh. “Hey don’t tug at it like that… You’ll hurt your hair,” he said softly before swiftly taking his gloves off and setting them next to the sink, humming softly as he helped you work the knot out of your hair SAFELY. “I’m… Surprised you remember,” you said quietly as he dried his hands off and rested them on your waist, swaying to the music behind you. “Of course I remember! I couldn’t forget something like that…. Uhm.. So can I help with… Conditioning? Please? Pretty please?! I just… I want to learn more so that I can help you! A-And I know you’re gonna braid it! C-Can I watch you do that o-or um… Something? I won’t ask to help because we both know I can’t do that!” He started to laugh softly as he rubbed the back of his neck, scared again that he had talked too much. “S-Sorry..” He mumbled quietly. At this point, you were done with washing your hair so you used your hips to push him back and you threw your head back, the water in your hair flicking all over Denki, who just laughed like usual, before he walked up behind you and took you by the waist again with his head rested on your shoulder not even caring that your hair was dripping on his or his face. He carried that handsome smile as he used one of his slender fingers to trail over your jawline gently with a small laugh. “What’s so funny,” you rose your eyebrow and quirked your lips some as your brown eyes carried a soft golden glow to them. He thought that was the coolest thing ever how your eyes seemed so amazingly dark but could still carry a glow to them, especially one that brought out your features even more. “N-Nothing! You’re just… So damn beautiful,” he said softly as he practically melted looking at your reflection in the mirror. “And all mine… I get to have you and nobody else,” he said softly as he bit his lip and nuzzled into your neck before he caught a whiff of food in the air. His patrol had zapped him (ha! get it?) and he was in the mood for you and food and cuddles. His mouth started to water as he let his hands wash over your hips, duck under your shirt, gently tapping his fingertips against your soft satiny brown skin. “What’s for dinner, love,” he asked quietly as he sniffed your hair and closed his eyes, his heart pounding hard against his rib cage as his flush travelled through his body. He loved how homey anywhere felt with you. Instead of living off of takeout, he was graced with your cooking skills. Instead of sitting around doing nothing, he took a keen interest whenever you did your hair and sometimes when he was gaming you’d lay on top of him and practice different styles in his hair so you could get ideas for your own and honestly he was just fine with that. He had someone like you; and it wasn’t that you were ‘exotic’ looking; as a matter of fact he’d get so pissed off when someone said that about you or your family because it seemed… Out of place to him. Of course, when he laid eyes on you for the first time, he couldn’t think of anything else except how different you looked from anybody he’d ever seen before. How your wider nose brought out your thin dark eyes, how curly your hair was and how it just seemed to define gravity- but in a mere hour and a half would be sleek and braided against your head and stay that way until you took it out. How your white teeth glistened and brightened your nebulous brown eyes with that golden glow that acted as a highlight and how perfectly it fit you. He even noticed how your hips curved a little more, how your shoulders were a little broader, how you always managed to shine and he loved that. Everybody did- but he did more. He always protected you, and you’d let him. After all it was hard moving from one place where everyone seemed to hate you and people that looked just like you to a different place where there was NOBODY that looked like you… No place to get things to care for yourself properly unless you paid a million and half dollars for all of the products that you deemed as necessary. He didn’t mind paying, he didn’t mind protecting you and letting you not be the strong one, he didn’t mind putting people in his place; sometimes he got overzealous with it and you had to explain why certain things were okay and why certain things were. He listened, always, and he seemed to have a grasp on it, however, he forgot sometimes just wanting to protect you and make his home your home as much as he could. He always gifted you with small presents and everything as well, always eager to buy you flowers and call you beautiful and make sure you knew that you weren’t alone even in this new place you called home and the attempt is exactly what you loved about him. All of his questions and asking for certain clarifications. He didn’t make you feel weak when you just couldn’t be strong anymore. He was curious, but he didn’t try to force your boundaries with touching your hair without permission or using your products and wasting them, or complaining about how much you had, or complaining and mocking how you were different from him and people like him, and on the flip side, he didn’t try to take your lingo that you carried over from where you were in America. He didn’t try to copy you because he knew that some things he just shouldn’t say and he just accepted the explanation with a smile and a nod and he made sure he never slipped up again, all while making sure other people didn’t make mistakes either.

“Well… I went to the store today since I had morning shift,” you said quietly as you moved your hair to one side and gently let your fingers glide through his hair. “So I picked up a few things… It’s pretty cold outside so I made chili and cornbread,” you said softly as you look in the mirror at his widened eyes staring at your reflection. “I hope that’s not a… Bad thing?” “No no no no, of course not! It’s a great way to start the weekend… Besides I LOVE your cornbread- it’s like super spongey and stuff and it’s just really good! Thank you,” he said as he nuzzled into your damp neck and you admired him, turning to gently place a kiss on the top of his head. “You’re welcome, my little prince,” you said softly as you grabbed a towel. “You said you wanted to help me with conditioning right? Well come on before my hair gets dry,” you said softly and he followed happily, listening to the chili simmer in the pan, the small ticks of the timer taunting him as he waited for the cornbread to finish. Your guys’s fireplace crackled and added another touch of homeyness to your guys’s den. You sat on the couch and he sat behind you with his legs on either side of you. You giggled softly and handed him the leave in conditioner and tilted your head back. “Okay so, that’s leave in conditioner. It’s different from *shower* conditioner; I don’t have to wash it out. Try and get as close to my scalp as you can,” you say softly as you hear the bottle open. “And don’t use too much at one time! A little goes a long way,” you say softly as a smile broods over your face. He nods with a soft and determined hum and he parted your hair down the middle with his pinkies. You turned on Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and giggled softly as he gently pressed his fingertips along the part, slowly but surely spreading the conditioner through your hair. “Jeez, it smells so good,” he said in a soft murmur, grunting softly as he felt your hands on his legs for support. “Your hands are so… Gentle,” you say as more of a soft hum, already almost asleep, your back leaning against his chest. “Well duh,” he hummed back to you quietly as he worked your curly hair through his fingers, taking out any tangle he could gently and quickly, watching how the product weighed your hair down a little bit. “You’re so cute,” you said softly as you tried not to sleep and he noticed so he gently pushed your back and nibbled at your neck. “I finished with the leave in… What’s next?” He whispered softly into your ear causing a flush of your own to blossom and spread over your body as he nibbled your ear. “D-Don’t do things like that,” you whined softly as you gently sifted through your bottles and handed him one of them. “This is to moisturize my hair even more. Focus more on my scalp and the ends of my hair than yknow… The rest of my hair,” you say softly as you close your eyes. Immediately your eyes close and you feel your skin burn as his strong hands go immediately to massaging your scalp. A shudder ripples down your spine and you lean your head back into Kaminari’s hands as you let out soft whines. He blushes a little and clicks his tongue. “Mm? You like that?” He teased you, palming your head as his fingers knead the product into your scalp. “Y-Yeah,” you whine softly as you try harder not to pass out. “J-Just keep going like that,” you whisper under your breath. He let out his soft giggles that sounded just a little squeaky, moving your hair a little so he could kiss the nape of your neck, his plush lips pressed against your soft skin making your eyes flutter a little. “K-Kami,” you whisper softly as you close your eyes and let your body relax completely. He pulled you back into him and gently kissed the side of your neck. “I’m sorry, yuri,” he said softly with a soft smile. “You know I get carried away sometimes,” he said as he gently massaged your shoulders and then you picked up one of your piks and handed it to him after showing him how to hold it. “Here… Hold it from the underside like this… You’ll get a better grip that way,” you say softly as you tilt your head to one side as you felt him gently nibbling and tugging at your skin with his teeth. You let out quiet whimpers and bit your lip before pushing him back a little. “J-Just take the damn pik and do my hair before it dries dummy,” you said as you covered your mouth. He mumbled softly as he started to run his fingers through your hair and pik it out, his eyes glistening as he stretched your curls and let them fluff up and coil again. “You’re so sensitive and it’s so cute,” he said softly as he gasped softly. “Jeez your hair babe… It’s amazing! It’s like… Soft but it still has its like… Texture? Would that be the right word? It’s really cool… It’s different from mine… I honestly love it,” he said softly as he continued to easily pik through your hair. “I don’t know how to braid, but I DO remember how to twist! C-Can I do that? I wa-wanna tie your d-durag today,” he said softly, his voice almost a pleading whine that you found adorable. You reached back and gently tangled your fingers with his hair causing him to whine softly. “Please,” he asked again, almost begging. If he was pleading like this, who were you to say no? “Baby, since it’s the weekend, I will let you… BUT only if you let me teach you again,” you say quietly. You lean back and look up at him and his eyes, as usual, were glittery and beautiful as he held his smile. “Wait REALLY?? Hell yeah!” He pumped his fist and you sat up as you, again, showed him a rat-tailed comb and you flipped it between your fingers. “Watch how I part this, and try to mimic it as best you can, okay?” You whisper quietly as you start to part it from the front of your head. He just watched attentively with pure astonishment as your coils parted and showed your scalp with ease. It was like watching a hot knife cut through butter. “Woah….” He whispered out softly as he watched with his hands on your hips. You laughed quietly and gently pushed the loose hair to one side. Usually you’d be able to move fast, but you were slow just because it felt good when you felt his fingers in your hair. He bit his lip as you twirled the hair skillfully in your fingers, then added a rubber band to the end of your hair to keep the twist in place. “You’re so good at this yuki!” He smiled and gently kissed the side of your neck. “Well I sorta have to be,” you mumble as you hand him the comb. “Now you be sure to be gentle, okay? And… What does yuki mean?”

He took the comb in his hands and gently started to part your hair- admittedly much better than you ever thought he could. They were straight, uniform, clean parts, and that little hum to the music he did when he was focused made it that much better. “Yuki? O-Oh! It means lily in Japanese…. Yknow… Japanese is my native language I just thought it’d be cute to give you a Japanese nickname… I-If you don’t like it I can change it or just say it i-in English,” he said nervously as he tilted your head back and started to twist slowly, making sure that it was tight and secure, but not too tight. “No no no, you’re okay my little prince,” you hum softly as you rub your hands against his legs causing him to chitter and whine softly. “Actually I think it’s quite cute… And it suits you well…” you muse softly to him as he moves on to the next twist, both of you humming to the song, the smell of the chili in the air blanketing the both of you. By the time he got finished with the last twist, dinner was done, the cornbread still in the oven. “Hey…” He said softly as you moved to your closet to grab your durag. “Shhhh I have a surprise for you,” you say quietly as your eyes let off that same golden glow as before. He cocked his head to one side and rose an eyebrow as you emerged with an electric yellow durag in hand, on one side was his signature lightning bolt and on the other was an embroidered icon of him in his signature point-and-shoot pose his glasses carrying a glint to them and by it was his hero name in fancy letters, underneath it was his kanji for his legal name. His eye sparkled even more and his hands quickly became slapped over his mouth. “Yuki,” he whispered softly from behind his hands, his eyes tearing up. You looked it over and then smirked a little as you looked at him. “You like? I figured you would considering how you’re always telling me that I look good in yellow… What better yellow than my husband’s, right?” You crawl back to the bed and in between his legs, gently gifting him with a proper kiss, your hands resting against his face, the durag placed messily atop your head as the strings laid at the sides. He eagerly kissed you back, his body practically trembling as he let a couple of tears fall. “Awww baby,” you say with a soft smile as you gently use your thumbs to swipe his tears away. He gripped your hands and kissed at your palms gently. “That is… Probably one of the most meaningful gifts I have ever seen in my… Entire life… I mean look at it! It looks absolutely AMAZING on you and like… Just… It’s so badass! Like… It’s a little unbelievable actually… It’s ME… I’m a hero now… And I have an amazing little lily at my side to call my own… This is more than I ever could have DREAMED of!” You laugh quietly as he rambles, your eyes gazing lovingly into his as you spread the strings to be completely flat and you gently wrap them around the back of your head and then looked up at him with a soft smile. “This is… More suppose than I could have ever even hoped to have,” he said with his soft vulnerable giggle, gently pressing a kiss into your forehead before taking the strings in his hands, whispering to himself trying to recall how to tie the strings flat. “D-Don’t tell me! I got it… ‘kay.. So I think you…” he trailed off as his breathing deepened and he bit his lip slowly trying to work through the steps. “Okay… So you tied it in the back… So I just need to…” He let one of the strings go and he made the string in his hand flat, guiding it above your ear, wrapping it around your forehead. “And then… Bring it around town,” he whispered softly, causing you to giggle and cover your mouth. You noticed his face flush as he watched the design come to life and he bit his lip to contain his squeals. “So… Then…. Around town,” he said softly as he repeated the same steps on the opposite side. You smiled as he rose himself up a little and you buried your face in his chest with a soft sigh as he gently bound both strings in a bow behind your head before leaning back and giggling with jazz hands. “Ah! It looks so good!” He giggled before gently straightening it out and making sure everything was flat and centered. He did, surprisingly well, taking a picture of you and showing you after setting it as his home screen. “God… I could look at you all day,” he said in a breathy whisper before being tackled into the couch by you, you cuddling him close, burying your face into his neck, his muscular arms wrapping around you and holding you close. “That little ‘around town’ thing was cute, y’know,” you giggled softly as you made him look up at you. His arms rested around your hips as he gave you this beaming grin as the oven alerted the both of you again. “I-It’s how you taught me… It’s the only way I’ll remember it,” he whined quietly as he leaned up and nipped your neck. You giggled softly and pushed him back down on the couch before sliding off of him again. “Wait! I wanna make plates,” he pouted at you and crossed his arms peeking at you from just over the back of the couch. “Aht, lay it back down. I’M taking care of it tonight,” you say quietly as you pop your lips at him and he abides, throwing one of his feet over the back of the couch as he continues to watch the show you put on with a soft smile, occasionally taking peeks at you from the couch with a blush washing over his face. “I could never get tired of this,” he whispered softly to himself.

#black velvet x bnha #bnha x black reader #bnha fluff #bnha x reader #bnha x black!reader #kaminari x reader #kaminari fluff #denki kaminari fluff #kaminari x black reader #denki kaminari #denki kaminari bnha #kaminari denki x reader

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tomoonine · 4 years

Text

impression | oneus soulmate au

[son dongju] — dongju doesn’t know what frustrates him more; the fact that his soulmate met dongmyeong first, or that they met keonhee first.

soulmate au wherein the first sentence your soulmate will ever tell you is tattooed on your wrist.

Pairing: xion / reader (gender-neutral) Genre: soulmate au, non-idol AU, fluff, humor Word Count: 2139 words

to be honest, dongmyeong looks more like keonhee’s twin rather than yours

That sentence has been written permanently on Dongju’s skin since he and Dongmyeong turned 10

He’s thankful that his sentence isn’t super generic

Bc you know, generic sentences are going to make it hard for him to distinguish who his soulmate is

Although initially as a kid, Dongju only had one question in his head when his soulmate mark manifested on his skin

Who the heck is Keonhee???

It bothered little Dongju so much that he had to ask everyone within his vicinity if they knew who this guy was

Not a single relative of his was named Keonhee

Not even a family friend

Even Dongmyeong didn’t know who this “Keonhee” was

And asking Dongmyeong’s friends if they knew anyone proved fruitless too

Dongju wasn’t too focused on finding his soulmate at this point

Rather

He was too busy trying to find out who Keonhee was

And why he looks like his twin Dongmyeong

.....who else would even look like Dongmyeong more than himself???

But back to Dongju’s dilemma

Since his link’s manifestation, Dongju has been especially sensitive with regards to names

When he looks at his assigned section for school, he looks through the class list for anyone named “Keonhee”

Dongmyeong has even taken initiative to report any Keonhee’s he might have a chance of meeting

But at this rate

It has come to a point where Dongju sometimes forgets that

His soulmate isn’t named Keonhee,,,,

For real, it’s the only thing that goes in his head sometimes when someone reminds him of his soulmate

And it has been that way for so long

Until the magical day !

That he met !

Not you lmao

But Keonhee !

On that fateful day

It was Dongmyeong and Dongju’s first day in a local music school

They were both going to start taking vocal lessons :]

The twins were older by this time

And Dongmyeong at this point was thinking about starting a band with his friends in the neighborhood

Dongmyeong was already learning the piano that time, and he wants to explore and expand his skillset

Dongju meanwhile was just pretty chill

So their parents let him get lessons, and decided that Dongju should take some lessons too

Bc y’know, you have to maximize that stuff, and the Son Parents were thinking like s t o n k s

And surprise surprise, Dongmyeong and Dongju get to meet so many cool people at the music school!!

The other students so friendly and welcoming

Even while they’re waiting for their turn in front of their designated room, they’re still chatting with some people

One student kept them company the entire time even after most of the community left to practice on their own

The guy Yonghoon enjoyed their company!! He was even happy to hear that Dongmyeong was forming a lil band with his friends

It was basically just a fun conversation between the three of them about music

Until the person occupying the twins’ room opened the door

Dongju and Dongmyeong look up to see a tall guy smiling at them

“Hi! The teacher said that it’s your first lesson, come in!” The stranger tells them, and it prompts the twins to go in

Bidding their new friend goodbye, they shyly enter the room

Dongju and Dongmyeong greet him, and they both introduce themselves to the stranger

“I’m Lee Keonhee!! I’m technically your senior, but I hope we can be good friends!!” Keonhee introduces himself with a happy smile, and Dongju’s face hardens

“Keonhee?” Dongmyeong questions, and his head whips fast to look at Dongju

“You!!!” Dongju yells, pointing at him.

Keonhee is confused

Keonhee is scared

“Me?” Keonhee asks, a bit terrified from the sudden outburst

Dongju hurryingly shows Keonhee his soulmate mark and points at it

“You have something to do with my soulmate!!!” Dongju explains, and Keonhee is now s u p e r c o n f u s e d

The taller boy is just scratching his head

“Er... I’m sorry to break it to you, Dongju was it?” Keonhee sheepishly replies. “I’m not your soulmate, unless you’re the one who sent me that shopping list and homework reminder earlier morning then you have explaining to do too.”

What

No???

Dongmyeong can’t help but laugh because bro no,,, that’s not what he meant,,,,

Dongju has to clarify that

No Keonhee, you are not my soulmate,,,

“What I meant to say,” Dongju says “Was that I’ve been trying to find out who you were and why you looked like Dongmyeong,,,”

Keonhee stares at him, and looks at Dongmyeong.

“You know, I can see the semblance.” Keonhee tells the two, making his point clearer by actually standing beside Dongmyeong.

“But there’s a problem...” He adds, catching the twins’ attention. “I’ve only met you guys now :0 Sorry man, I don’t think I know who your soulmate is.”

Ah right

Dongju forgot

He has to look for his soulmate

Right...

So okay, he’s finally met Keonhee, but it still brought Dongju to a bigger dilemma,,,,,,,

Keonhee just met them both, so today wasn’t the legendary day where Dongju could finally meet his soulmate

It takes even longer for him to meet you, and it disappoints him immensely

He can’t help but feel a little bothered that destiny will constantly test his patience

And he’s a bit tired :(( He’s waited and searched for so long :(( Dongju just wants to meet you so bad :((

And he still can’t believe that you’ll meet Dongmyeong and Keonhee first

Like,,, universe why like that,,,,,,,

On the brighter side of things though, the entire period prior to meeting you was a fruitful time for Dongju to meet the best friends of his life !

Yonghoon, upon the request of Dongmyeong and his other bandmates, joined their band “Onewe”

Keonhee, being friends with Hwanwoong and co., brought Dongju in their little friend group

And it was honestly a great time for Dongju because he finally has a group of friends from different schools and backgrounds :>

It’s so wholesome; Dongju’s friend group always make it a point to watch Onewe perform when they have gigs, and Onewe visit the open mic sessions at the cafe Youngjo’s part-timing in to either perform or watch

They’ve given Dongju great company, and it made him feel less disappointed in his failed efforts to find you

We love the power of friendship ♥

But just because he’s less disappointed about his unsuccessful attempts of finding you, it doesn’t mean he hasn’t stopped searching :(

He already knows that Dongmyeong and Keonhee are nearby, so he can say definitively that you’re also just around

Everyone in his circle of friends are actively helping him out too!!

When they meet anyone new, they all make it a point to introduce Dongju to them

Despite the effort

It doesn’t really seem to work .

Because no one ever replies to Dongju using those words

Until the fateful day came

The day Dongju finally meets you happens approximately a decade after his soulmate mark manifested on him as a kid

Most of the people in the group are still in college, save for Youngjo, Seoho, and Yonghoon who were either pursuing higher studies or are working

Dongju and Dongmyeong are taking courses from different departments, and they don’t take the same general subjects

Which is advantageous in a way because at least they get to meet a more diverse set of people

And thanks to that, you managed to become classmates with both Keonhee and Dongmyeong for a general education subject !

You don’t know a lot of people in this subject because you got separated from your friends who were supposed to take the same subject :(

So you were dreading groupworks because it looked like almost everyone knew each other and would group together :(

Besides, you can’t escape groupworks no matter where you go

So when the dreaded moment arrives, you’re having trouble finding anyone to group into three with

You’re busy looking for a group that would be willing to take you in :,)

Meanwhile Dongmyeong and Keonhee are joint by the hip, looking for someone who would join their little group

It felt like d e s t i n y when you and the pair made eye contact

It was like the sun shone on both of you

And the universe timed it just right for you to meet at this very moment

So you go to them, write your names in a paper to submit to the professor, and start planning

Based on your little meeting, it appears that you guys only have the weekends available to meet without interruptions and uncertainties, so you guys adjust accordingly

Online meetings during the weekdays, and physical meet-ups during the weekend if necessary; so you spent a lot of your time doing your parts individually while consulting each other online

But the thing is

Your online consultations also ended up being a time for you guys to get to know each other and become friends !!

During that class you share with Dongmyeong and Keonhee, you guys have started sitting beside each other !!

It usually ends up w one of you making a joke and trying hard not to laugh

Or hiding your snacks from the professor and eating like ur in a buffet in class

You even started hanging out with them sometimes outside classes, you drink boba together uwu

AND because you are a new friend of Keonhee and Dongmyeong, by tradition, you have to be introduced to Dongju and co. !!!!

PLUS ! How coincidental ! Dongju is free this weekend ! So not only can you guys be productive with your project, but you can finally meet their other friends !

Keonhee and Dongmyeong tell you to meet them at the cafe where Youngjo works at this Saturday

For a grand introduction :>

Timeskip to Saturday, you see that Dongmyeong is waiting for you outside the cafe ! He leads you the way to the table they’re working, and upon entering, you can see Keonhee at the end of the cafe waving at you

But there’s someone else sitting beside him who’s on his phone

Dongmyeong points towards the table, particularly at the new person sitting beside Keonhee. “The rest of our friends will pass by later, but I hope you don’t mind if my twin brother joins us in the mean time. He’ll be working on his own thing so he won’t bother us.”

“Twin, huh...” You trail off a little bit. “It’s fine, I just hope he won’t be distracted by our wack behavior,,,”

“Nah it’s okay, he’s used to it lol”

You arrive at the table, and Keonhee greets you. Upon sensing a new presence, Dongju looks up to you from his phone and greets you with a little bow.

Now that you got a better view of what Dongju looks like

Damn

He’s cute

You can’t believe he’s Dongmyeongs twin bc for some reason he doesn’t look exactly like him

THIS ISN’T YOU SAYING THAT DONGMYEONG ISN’T CUTE THO

But looking at the guy....

It was like he was handcrafted by a higher being who took their time molding his face to what it was now

Ethereal

Beautiful

Wow

“(Y/N), this is my twin brother Dongju. He’s from the same university as us, but he’s from a different department.“ Dongmyeong says, with a pat on your shoulder.

Your eyes dart towards Dongju, Keonhee, and Dongmyeong.

Huh.

Twins, you say?

“To be honest,” You turn to face Dongmyeong, and you turn your head again to look at Dongju’s face, and back at Dongmyeong.

“Dongmyeong looks more like Keonhee’s twin,” Your hand is pointing towards Dongmyeong, and your heel spins to shift your body to face Dongju. “rather than yours.”

Dongju drops his phone on the table, and a blissful smile blossoms on his face

“It definitely means I’m the better looking twin, right?” He smiles, and when your hand goes up to cover your mouth in shock, he can see his words etched around your wrist like a bracelet.

Dongmyeong and Keonhee have their mouths ajar at the scene unfolding

And you can’t help but laugh at how this scenario was playing out

Dongju cracks a bit and laughs along

How unbelievable

He’s no longer frustrated at the fact that you met his brother and another friend first

He’s starting to think that the universe foresaw that this blossoming feeling in his heart was worth all the wait

Seeing you this happy, with a goregous smile handcrafted by a higher being

Standing and shining in front of him, as if the universe planned this out perfectly

It surely left a good impression on him

#oneus #oneus xion #son dongju #oneus scenarios #oneus imagines #oneus reactions #oneus au #oneus soulmate au #ravn #seoho #leedo #keonhee #hwanwoong #oneus x reader #kpop scenarios #kpop memes #kpop x reader #tomoonine writing

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divinespill · 3 years

Text

the heaven of a human spirit ringing

Read on Ao3 here.

Arkham is freezing.

Molly Randall pulls her dark blue blazer tighter around herself as she is walked through the dim hallways by a bulky guard with one of the gruffest voices she’s ever heard. The click of her heels echoes loudly, each step a signal of her presence. She can hear the snarls and jeers of the patients when she passes by them, but by now Molly has learned to hold her head high in even the most dire of circumstances. She can’t let herself be bothered by them, not when she must focus on this moment she’s been waiting for, working for.

When she’d first arrived at the front entrance of the imposing asylum, told the haggard receptionist, “I’m here to visit Jonathan Crane,” she’d actually been laughed at by the security flanking every door. She’d stood firm, arms crossed, posture ramrod straight, until they realized she was dead serious.

“I visited the GCPD,” she said, pulling the papers from her purse, “and I’ve got all the necessary paperwork.” It’d taken an awfully long time to get, too. No one had understood her desire to visit the madman known for reveling in fear, and Molly’s sure both her youth and gender made the process more tedious than it should have been. Yet here she is, holding out the proof of her permission, eyebrow raised expectantly.

In the end, they acquiesce, unable to argue with her thorough documentation—or her determined stare.

“Here,” says the guard, pushing through one of the countless, nearly identical metal doors. “Five minutes.” Molly steps around his form carefully, into the room, just as poorly lit as the hall. She waits for the door to close, then sits in the too-short plastic chair, trying to adjust her long legs awkwardly and wishing she had opted for pants rather than a skirt.

Stop stalling, she tells herself sternly, and plants her feet on the ground, preventing any more fidgeting. She takes a deep breath, and looks up.

Only a few feet in front of her, kept separate by the thick pane of plexiglass, sits a figure. Hunched over, dressed in an unflattering orange jumpsuit, he looks nothing like the distinguished professor who she’d taken such joy in learning from. But it is the same man, without a doubt. Jonathan Crane faces away from her, unmoving.

“Professor De—Professor Crane,” Molly corrects herself, nearly addressing him by the alias he’d used while teaching at her university. She’s practiced this so many times, but the reality brings on an anxiousness she was not prepared for.

He stiffens in his seat, and Molly knows that he has recognized her voice. She suppresses a sigh of relief; she’d been worried that he may not remember her and she would have come all this way only to be humiliated. Still, he does not turn around. He does not speak. It’s all up to her, then.

“It’s been a while, Professor Crane,” Molly continues softly. “It seems like you remember me, from your body language—I loved our discussion on that, back then—but I’d like to reintroduce myself, if that’s alright with you.”

She pauses, giving him a chance to respond. He doesn’t, so she presses on.

“My name is Molly Randall,” she says. “I’m twenty-six years old. I graduated from Ellis-Greene University with a PhD in child psychology. In my first year of graduate school, I was taught by a man named Professor Irving Diedrich. He was the most engaging, brilliant teacher I’ve ever met.” She wets her lips, because the next part always makes her mouth go dry. “He helped me during a very difficult time. Or rather, you did.” She doesn’t go into more detail. She doesn’t need to.

“It took me quite a while to work out whether or not I should come see you,” she admits. “Mostly, it was due to my family’s wishes. They are still horrified that their daughter was ever near the Scarecrow. I love them deeply, and I didn’t want to upset them. But I needed this. I needed closure.”

It is so easy to fall back into old habits, to open up and speak of her deepest emotions to Professor Crane. Even after, when she’d begun proper therapy, she’d never felt a connection with one the way she did with him. He was safe.

“They say I should be terrified. I should be scared beyond belief.” Molly takes a breath. “That is what they say.

“But Professor…” Here is where Molly’s voice finally wavers. Her hands curl into her skirt, wrinkling the linen. “I’m not scared. I’m not scared at all. I’m grateful. And I know that you’ve done very bad things, and continue to do bad things, and it doesn’t change anything for me. It should, but it doesn’t. You were a wonderful teacher and friend. You were there for me, and you protected me when I needed you. When there were no heroes around to save the day.”

She swallows. “You gave up a good life to avenge me. Truthfully, I wasn’t sure I deserved it at first, because you were so brilliant and it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that you were punished for giving him what he deserved, because he did deserve it. Every bit of it.” Mostly, Molly considers herself a pacifist. Bromley is the exception to that rule. What he did to her was cruel, and she doesn’t deny the fury, the pain, the need to see justice served. Professor Crane gave her that justice.

“I wish you hadn’t been caught,” she says, wondering if her next words will have her dragged out of Arkham by guards, or perhaps thrown in a cell of her own. “I wish you had been able to see it through.”

Even this admission, which she has never before spoken aloud, does not compel him to look at her. For a moment she doubts he’s even listening, and is immediately ashamed of herself. He has always, always listened to her.

The scrape of the metal door opening makes her flinch. “One minute left,” the gruff guard from before says.

“Please, could I stay a bit longer?” Molly asks. She’s not done. Not yet.

The guard frowns. “Rules are rules.”

She chews her lip. “Alright.”

The guard leaves, letting the door slam. Every movement, every action in this place is brutal.

There is so much more to say, but she mustn't waste the little time she has.

“I know I may never see you again,” she says, “and these are unpleasant circumstances. But that’s alright. Because I’m alright now. And that’s enough for me, if it’s enough for you.”

Again, silence is the only acknowledgement she receives.

“I just hope,” Molly finishes, “that I was even half as good a student as you were a teacher.”

Molly squeezes her eyes closed, only for the briefest of moments, as she tries to accept that he’s simply not going to speak to her. It should be enough that she’s even made it here at all, that she has been given the opportunity to see him, but she can’t help feeling… cheated, somehow.

She stands, barely noticing the tremor in her legs as she does so. “Goodbye, Professor,” Molly manages to say, trying to keep the disappointment from her tone. “It was good to—”

“Miss Molly Randall,” Professor Crane rasps.

She inhales sharply. “Yes?”

Finally, he turns his head, just enough for her to see the shadowy outline of his face—prominent nose, gaunt cheekbones, and one visible eye, brown and bright and burning. It is enough to bring tears to her eyes. Her teacher. A man that, despite everything, she still considers a father.

“You are the best student,” he says, the honesty in his voice so raw and precious it makes her breath hitch, ‘I’ve ever had.”

The tears spill over her lashes. “Thank you, Professor Crane,” Molly Randall whispers. “Thank you.”

#jonathan crane #scarecrow #molly randall #batman #dc #batman comics #fic #my fanfiction

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sexytiime · 3 years

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I was looking at books on Marxism + Feminism online and came across the book:

Marxism and the Oppression of Women: Toward a Unitary Theory

A woman named Susan Rosenthal wrote this 3-star review. I just skimmed it and wanted to share here to see people’s thoughts. I have not read the book myself but I am curious about this review.

“Takes us down the wrong road”

Reviewed in the United States on March 15, 2014

Can marxism guide us in our struggle against women's oppression? In her preface to "Marxism and the Oppression of Women: Toward a Unitary Theory," Lise Vogel acknowledges the value of marxist theory:

"I remain convinced that the revival of Marxist theory, not the construction of some socialist-feminist synthesis, offers the best chance to provide theoretical guidance in the coming battles for the liberation of women". (p.ix)

At the same time, she argues,

"...that the socialist tradition is deeply flawed, that it has never adequately addressed the question of women..." (p.2)

These two statements reveal the strength and weakness of Vogel's book.

The book's strength lies in its marxist analysis of the labor necessary to reproduce the working class, the portion of that labor performed by women in the home, and the role of men in the sexual division of labor.

The book's weakness lies in its description of how capitalism organizes reproduction as a "system of male domination." With this description, Vogel retains the core of capitalist (bourgeois) feminism, that the liberation of women requires a cross-class women's movement organized separately from men.

Ferguson and McNally's 24-page Introduction supports Vogel's concept of a "male-dominant gender-order."

"It is not biology per se that dictates women's oppression; but rather, capital's dependence upon biological processes specific to women - pregnancy, childbirth, lactation - to secure the reproduction of the working class. It is this that induces capital and its state to control and regulate female reproduction and which impels them to reinforce a male-dominant gender-order. And this social fact, connected to biological difference, comprises the foundation upon which women's oppression is organized in capitalist society." (p. xxix)

Dishonest

To support her position, Vogel refers to the writings of 19th and early 20th century socialists. She quotes August Bebel, "women should expect as little help from the men as working men do from the capitalist class," and Eleanor Marx and Edward Aveling in The Woman Question,

"Women are the creatures of an organized tyranny of men, as the workers are the creatures of an organized tyranny of idlers." (p. 108)

She concludes that "the idea that women's situation parallels that of workers suggests a strategy of parallel social struggles for freedom" (p. 108).

This entire section is dishonest. Vogel ignores Bebel's description of upper-and-middle-class women and working-class women as "enemy sisters," and his explicit recommendation against women in antagonistic classes organizing together, except for united-front actions that benefit all women.(1)

Vogel also disregards Eleanor Marx, who could not be more clear on the matter:

"For us there is no more a `women's question' from the bourgeois standpoint than there is a men's question. Where the bourgeois women demand rights that are of help to us too, we will fight together with them, just as the men of our class did not reject the right to vote because it came from the bourgeois class. We too will not reject any benefit, gained by the bourgeois women in their own interests, which they provide us willingly or unwillingly. We accept these benefits as weapons, weapons that enable us to fight better on the side of our working-class brothers. We are not women arrayed in struggle against men but workers who are in struggle against the exploiters."(2)

In other words, socialists do not counter-pose women's liberation to the needs of the revolution; we use women's liberation to achieve the revolution.

Class matters

Vogel describes, but does not seem to understand, Clara Zetkin's class-based approach to women's liberation which is that all women are oppressed, but not all women have the same interest in ending capitalism. Women in the capitalist class are denied "free and independent control over their property," a condition that can be remedied by legal equality under capitalism.

In the middle and professional classes, women strive for equal access to education and employment compared with the men of their class. They call on capitalism to fulfill its pledge to promote free competition in every arena, including between women and men. These women form what is commonly called the `bourgeois' women's movement because they limit their demands to legal reforms.

Working-class women also seek legal equality with the men of their class, but such equality would only mean the right to equal exploitation. The liberation of working-class women requires an end to labor exploitation, and that can be achieved only by uniting with working-class men.

Theoretically and practically, the question of women's liberation peaks during the Russian Revolution. Vogel describes Lenin's emphasis on the importance of freeing women from "domestic slavery" so they could participate fully in the revolutionary transformation of Russian society. Achieving this required a two-fold process: socializing domestic labor and engaging men in housework. The latter required a systematic campaign against male chauvinism. Could such a campaign succeed?

Vogel observes that the capitalist system pays men more so they can support child-bearing women in individual family units. She concludes that this creates a system of male domination, or patriarchy. She writes,

"a material basis for male supremacy is constituted within the proletarian household... [providing] a continuing foundation for male supremacy in the working-class family." (p.88)

Vogel neglects to mention that the higher male wage comes with a price. `Family obligations' tie men to jobs they might otherwise leave. Men are legally bound to support women and children, even after they have left their families and formed new ones. And "dead-beat dads" can be imprisoned for not paying child support.

The key question is whether putting men in a financially-dominant position requires them to personally dominate their homes. The one does not automatically follow from the other. A superior financial position does not create male domination in the family, it only creates the opportunity for it.

Individual men can choose what to believe and how to treat others. Some men take advantage of their financial position to dominate women and children. Others do not. Consequently, the sexual division of labor under capitalism does not qualify as a system of male domination over women that can be compared to the system of capitalist domination over workers. The antagonism between women and men can be eliminated by re-organizing society. The antagonism between capital and labor is irreconcilable. As long as capital exists, labor will be exploited.

A system of sexism

Some socialists argue that "the current use of the term patriarchy...merely describes a system of sexism."(3) We certainly do suffer a system of sexism; every woman can testify to that. However, patriarchy implies a system of domination by men, while a system of sexism implies that society is dominated by sexist ideology. The difference is important.

A system of male domination implies that all men benefit from the oppression of women, whether they choose this or not. A system of sexist ideology allows individual men (and individual women) to choose whether to adopt or reject sexist beliefs and behaviors.

The failure to distinguish between individual interests and class interests lies at the heart of the debate over whether men benefit from women's oppression and whether women should organize separately from men.

The working class can never achieve socialism unless most women fight for it. Therefore, as a class, working-class men cannot benefit from women's oppression. However, the system of sexist ideas gives individual men the opportunity to do so. Some men embrace this opportunity; other men reject it.

Capitalism pressures all workers to abandon their class interests for the promise of personal gain. White workers can take advantage of Black oppression to advance themselves, or they can choose to fight racism. Individual workers can accept management bribes to get ahead, or they can choose to join a union, and so on.

Male superiority is the booby prize that capitalism offers men to sweeten the bitter taste of class exploitation. As Vogel notes,

"The ruling class, in order to stabilize the reproduction of labor power as well as to keep the amount of necessary labor at acceptable levels, encourages male supremacy within the exploited class. "(p.153)

While capitalism "encourages male supremacy," many men reject this role because it hurts the women they love, and it blocks them from enjoying egalitarian, cooperative relationships.

The individual man has no choice about whether or not the women in his life are oppressed; capitalism ensures that they are. However, individual men can choose either to take advantage of women's oppression or to share the burdens of the home and join the fight to socialize domestic labor.

Class comes first

The socialist challenge is to convince working-class men to put their class interests first, to convince them that whatever benefits they gain from women's oppression pale in comparison with the benefits they could have by rejecting sexism and fighting alongside women to end capitalism and all of its oppressions.

In contrast, Vogel, Ferguson and McNally offer a pseudo-marxist argument for a cross-class movement of women organized separately from men. This concession to bourgeois feminism betrays the interests of working-class women.

Any mixed-class movement of women must betray its working-class members. When working-class women demand socialized childcare, their privileged sisters moan about paying higher taxes. When working-class women demand more pay, their privileged sisters oppose the rising cost of hired help. The only `feminism' that can liberate all classes of women is the `feminism' that is based on the goals of the working class.

As Lenin argued with the Jewish Bund, advocating the right of oppressed groups to organize independently is different from promoting independent organization on principle. As a tactic, independent organization can advance the struggle against oppression within the working-class. As a principle, the independent organization of women deepens antagonisms between men and women and undermines working-class unity.

If the goal of this book was "to provide theoretical guidance in the coming battles for the liberation of women," then it takes us down the wrong road. To argue that women must organize separately from men is pessimistic and self-defeating. As Vogel documents, both women's oppression and men's role in this oppression are rooted in capitalism. Therefore, only a united working-class fight can uproot it.

There is nothing flawed or lacking in the socialist tradition of women's liberation; it simply does not meet the needs of privileged women who seek to end their own oppression without destroying the class system that enslaves their working-class sisters.

The value of Vogel's book lies in her confirmation that the sexual division of labor, male-female relations, and existing family structures are not based on biology but on the particular historical form that capitalism has chosen in order to ensure the reproduction of the working class. While not original, this hopeful message is worth repeating:

No biological barriers prevent women and men from working together to reshape the world to meet their needs. Only capitalism stands in the way.

Notes

1. Cited in Draper, H. (2011). Women and Class: Towards a Socialist Feminism. Center for Socialist History, pp.234-5.

2. Cited in Draper, H. (2011). Women and Class: Towards a Socialist Feminism. Center for Socialist History, pp.287.

3. Marxism, feminism and women's liberation, Sharon Smith, Socialist Worker, January 31, 2013.

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abri-chan · 4 years

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my la squadra oc/self insert is female/afab, and i'm curious as to if buccellati's gang would or would not hesitate to hurt the enemy if she was female...

Using previous JoJo parts as reference as well as Prosciutto as the pinnacle of a mafia “feminist” most would hesitate but still hurt the enemy if she were female. I’m thinking how Prosciutto enunciated his complaint about Formaggio killing the wife(?) of the politician when the target was just the politician. But when backed up against the wall, he didn’t hesitate to use Grateful Dead on the whole train, women included.

And in previous parts we have seen *good* characters hurt women, although not quite kill. (I forgot if Enya died in SDC). *good* meaning the heroes through which we see the story, not necessarily morally good. Jotaro probably messed up the faces of quite a few women and the magnetic chick was severely injured by Advol and Joseph.

If it comes to just hurting or torturing for information, I think all of Bucci’s Gang would go through with it. Some would be less happy about it, like Mista or Narancia, but they know it’s life in the mafia: sadly you have to look out for yourself and those close to you. Bruno would also feel iffy about it if the woman is relatively young-- he has a soft spot for young people being abandoned in general as we see with his gang and Trish. I think they may aim for non-lethal wounds-- thinking Mista shooting in places that wouldn’t case long term damage. And if torture they would probably go easier on a female member (a lot of cultures have this notion of women being weaker than men and somewhat it’s low to apply equal force when dealing with women). I’m talking mostly physical pain here, because I feel in terms of mental manipulation of torture gender probably wouldn’t matter to them. Although I doubt they would threaten anything sexual, while someone like Melone would (even Formaggio and Illuso... sorry not sorry, these guys like to mess with people’s minds).

If it comes down to killing or eliminating, I think Abbacchio would do it without hesitation if it is for Bruno. I feel Abbacchio has this yandere attachment to Bruno; he’s very loyal to the point he would not question any order he gets-- despite how moral or messed up the request is. If Bruno decided it’s the right thing to do, it must mean Bruno weighed all the pros and cons and has a bigger picture, and Abbacchio is like this foot-soldier that is fine with doing the dirty work.

While I think none of Bruno’s gang would inflict an unusually painful death, Mista and Narancia especially would try to be as “gentle” and quick as possible. We see Mista specifically doesn’t condone violence against women, and Narancia is just a kind soul (he was so idealistic getting into the mafia bc the mafia had great men like Bruno-- these kid is not here to kill others but seriously thinks good men in the mafia may be good rulers for the city). It pains me to think of Narancia in a situation he knows he has to kill the enemy because now that the gang knows you’ve been caught they may dispose of you (since you know too much information)-- basically situations when death is easier than dealing with the consequences of surviving and Nara has to pull the metaphorical trigger as a merciful act.

Bruno would be conflicted if the woman was quite young or middle aged and it stems from his backstory and how he views family. If very young the woman is someone’s daughter and it would hurt Bruno to think someone so young is involved with the mafia, and do the parents know of them? Did they have to sacrifice for their family like Bruno did? If older woman, she may be someone’s mother-- and it reminds Bruno of his own mother. We also see Bruno is more forgiving towards girls than boys (Trish vs Narancia). But ultimately he’s a determined capo and if he believes there’s no other way but to kill them, he will go through with it. He has his own group to protect after all.

Fugo would probably do it without hesitation-- going by how he was ready to leave Trish behind. He’s also very idealistic like Abbacchio, but the difference is Abbacchio is loyal to the person while Fugo is loyal to a vision. So if he trusts Bruno’s vision (as long as Bruno doesn’t betray that vision-- changing his mind like he did after the fight with Diavolo), he will do what is necessary bc he clearly distinguishes outsiders from the in-group. It also helps that his stand can kill by poison/virus, so you don’t have to physically fight someone: you can release the virus and wait outside the room until the deed is done. Not much remains after so you don’t have to worry how the person felt or what expression froze on their face as they died. I do think Fugo may get random PTSD from his murders later on, but in the moment he doesn’t have to think about it.

Giorno is tricky (I don’t know what this boy thinks). He will definitely go through with it because he’s dreams/vision about anything else. And PHF Giorno has no regard for tools: the way he treats Sheila is very callous imo. But in canon Giorno strangely we haven’t seen him interact with women that much. We’re told his mother neglected him, so he probably didn’t spend much time with her anyways (she was out and he mostly spent time with his step-dad). Then he attends a boys-only school. The other woman he gets close to is Trish, but Trish is special because she’s the daughter of the boss. He can’t act like she’s a girl in his age-group: they need to protect her and she’s someone important and they’re below her. Even when Bruno defects, and Trish is now no longer important to Diavolo, Trish is still someone to keep separate or in the dark bc she can’t use her stand (at first) and because Bruno decided it’s best to keep the entire Diavolo business away from her. So Giorno has to create a distance between himself and Trish: unlike Narancia who tries to friend her. I legit don’t know how Giorno would act towards women bc he’s mostly spent his life around men, and never truly got to know someone of the opposite gender in any meaningful sense: mother, friend, and so on. So can’t tell if he’d feel remorse or just kill cold-blooded (like he does with men). -- By the way what place is your OC from? What’s her stand and so on? :3

What characters does she interact with in La Squadra: friends, romances, etc?

#anime manga rambles #Bruno Bucciarati #Bruno Buccellati #Giorno Giovanna #Narancia Ghirga #guido mista #Pannacotta Fugo #leone abbacchio #jojo #jjba #jojo's bizarre adventure #Ougon no Kaze #Golden Wind #Vento Aureo #la squadra #La Squadra di Esecuzione

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hostilebutcuddly · 3 years

Text

Kingdom Hearts

[Tag: nobodie's ninja]

Name: Lan Fan Alias(es): Lanny, Lan, Fanny (use at own risk) Age: 22 Height: 4’9 Weight: 135 lbs Hair: Black Eyes: Dull reddish violet Skin: Light Gender/Pronouns: Female, she/her Orientation: Demisexual/Panromantic Distinguishing Characteristics: Automail left arm.

Background: Lan Fan hails from a world that was once ruled by a powerful emperor who had many children divided into clans, each with the ability to vie for the throne. Her place was not among these however. Instead; Lan Fan was born and raised as a royal guard. Trained to be an expert in the ninja arts, her sole charge was the prince of the Yao clan; Ling. A job she felt she'd had since childhood mostly because they'd grown up together.

Even with the skills she built up over time however it always seemed to be a job she felt unqualified for. Ling was often proven to be more than capable of taking care of himself. With a strong will, he was even able to manifest a keyblade at a young age. Still, as they grew she and Ling became experts at cooperative fighting styles, and she was glad that at least she could have his back if he ever needed it.

At one time in their history there had been many keyblade wielders, but as time passed the gift became rare and when Ling showed himself to be what seemed to be the last of the line, his right as heir was almost guaranteed. This came at a cost however, as the council separated him from the rest of his siblings. Very quickly Lan Fan became his only friend. Since she had to go almost everywhere with him anyway she often found herself pulled into whatever misadventures or other situations he'd gotten himself into, sometimes followed by her grandfather; the second of his guards and the man who raised her.

The more they tried to confine him for his 'protection' the more he taught himself how to sneak out, where to hide, and the many ways he could go farther and farther away from home before being found out and inevitably brought back for a scolding; which Lan Fan found herself often included in as well. And if not then her grandfather would usually get to later. He was always softer on her in private though.

The final day seemed just like the others had been. Ling sneaking away from his lessons, collecting Lan Fan and finding a quiet place where they wouldn't be bothered. He'd been practicing creating doorways with the keyblade and now they were going to explore farther than they ever had before. She would have been lying if she said she wasn't nervous, approaching the swirling vortex. But things she never would have done alone always seemed easier when Ling was involved. So they passed through the corridor of light and came out in some place entirely new.

She can't remember exactly what they did while they were there now, the events attached to warm nostalgia obscured by what came after. She remembers that going back through the portal to return home wasn't as scary as going in had been. She remembers saying good night and sneaking back to her home for dinner. She remembers going to bed...

And then being awoken in the night by the should of rushing footsteps. Her grandfather pulling the covers off of her. Reaching for a hair tie only to be told there's no time for that. Loading up her weapons... putting on her mask. Racing to his room only to find him gone. And the throne room, and the hallways where she encountered the first wave.

She never found Ling in the chaos, and had to watch her grandfather fall to the strange creatures that seemed innumerable and unstoppable; along with every other resident and guard in the palace. She lost her mask, her left arm, and almost her life, only saved at the last moment by the arrival of Eris; the goddess of discord. The woman struck a bargain with Lan Fan; she would be spared the fate of the rest of her world and given the chance to search for Ling in the worlds beyond, but in exchange would be bound to serve the goddess for the rest of her days.

With little choice and on the verge of death; she took the deal.

From that time on she was bestowed with part of the goddess' power. Given the ability to heal from most injuries, the power to access corridors of darkness for the purpose of traveling between worlds so that she could go wherever Eris needed her to go. Her missing arm was replaced with a prosthetic made of metal, a weapon in it's own right with spiked leather straps around the knuckles and a hidden blade.

Months passed as she began to learn the ropes of this new life. Leaving many of the trappings of her old life behind and even changing her hair. Everything from her home was gone but for the clothes she'd been wearing that night and whatever she still had tucked within them. Those things she put away save for a few stray kunai. Any other hidden weapons she remade with new materials and new technology.

With no will to make a new mask she now uses a more simple set up with a cloth she can easily pull up over her nose and mouth when necessary. She wears clothes that can more easily blend in with the strange new places she visits and the people she mingles with there.

Powers and Abilities: Since being granted power by the goddess Eris, Lan Fan's skills have expanded beyond her original abilities.

Accelerated healing – Lan Fan can recover from most injuries far faster than she could have before. Cuts and scrapes repair themselves much faster than larger injuries however and the larger it is the longer it takes.

Corridors of Darkness – One of the abilities given to Lan Fan by Eris is the power to open and navigate the corridors of darkness that connect to various worlds. She also uses them as 'cheats' in combat and is becoming incredibly skilled at tossing them wherever she needs them as both a way to get around an enemy's defenses and as a quick escape if it looks like things aren't going her way.

Shadow Walk – For short amounts of time Lan Fan can become smoke like and pass through dangerous areas undetected. She can also use it to avoid blows however the limitation on how long she can remain like that makes it a less favorable option that simply opening a corridor.

Martial Arts Mastry – Lan Fan has been training in various fighting styles for the better part of her life, beginning when she was just four years old. She has mastered most of these styles and still continues to train on a daily basis to hone her skills.

Weapons Mastery and Concealment – Along with hand to hand combat, Lan Fan has also been trained in the use and concealment of various weapons both large and small. Her favored weapons are those that can be easily hidden on her person such as kunai, shurikan, and explosives of varying types like grenades, smoke and flash bombs, and stickies, a grenade like device that is filled with a fast-acting glue that can be used to trap a persons feet or adhere them to nearby surfaces such as walls. However she is also trained in the use of larger weapons like swords, spears, bows, and crossbows.

The Dragons Pulse – Lan Fan has the ability to read the aura or ‘chi’ of living things, allowing her to not only track them but often times gain valuable information about them (for instance, she was able to differentiate the chi of a homunculus from that of a human by the ‘rancid’ feel it has. This ability has it’s limits however as she was unable to recognize Wrath as a non human upon their first encounter). This ability is called ‘reading the dragons pulse’.

Weaponized Automail – Lan Fan’s left arm has been replaced with automail, after being irreparably damaged while traveling in Amestris. The arm that was constructed for her is a combat design that comes with a hidden blade that is tucked into the forearm and emerges behind the arm as an extension of her elbow. The arm also has leather bands around the hand and wrist that are lined with metal studs and spikes.

#nobodie's ninja #out of loyalty

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eskalations · 4 years

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The First Lady didn't mention that the man looked even more distinguished now that he had started collecting a few signs of age around his temples and his ears. She figured it was better left unsaid, since the proof of her current attraction to her husband was blatantly staring them in the face in the form of her swelling belly.

A series of oneshots documenting the life and times of the Amestrian First Family.

A/N: Sorry it took so long, but here's another chapter! This one was probably the hardest to write, but it's kind of necessary to the context of the story. I'm thinking the birth scene will be next, so place your bets on the baby's gender (although I already know what it's going to be, it's still fun to see some guesses!).

Thanks for reading!

Riza was well into her seventh month of pregnancy when things began looking up for her little family.

Elizabeth was now having an easier time in school. Unfortunately, after many weeks of tears and faked illnesses, Roy and Riza had made the decision to switch Elizabeth out of her original homeroom "class" in favor of one with a new teacher. They had hated to do it, since she had already made friends, but it seemed the preferable option over all the tears they had been experiencing as the month continued on.

Luckily, the "class" Elizabeth had been switched into was on a similar schedule to the one she had been in before. At playtime, all the kids got to convene in one area, so the young girl was able to see the friends she had made during her first month. Not only that, but she had made many new friends as time went on and as her personality began to shine through under a teacher who held no bias towards her.

Not only were things going well for Elizabeth, but for Roy as well. His talks with Aerugo had been successful and a trade route had been secured after many grueling meetings between the Fuhrer and the Head of State for the Aerugian government. Grumman had also had a hand in the conversations, but since the Fuhrer had taken on the responsibility of foreign policy, the project had mostly been headed by Roy.

Once the Aerugian trade route was confirmed, the Fuhrer had immediately begun to reach out to Xing to secure yet another trade route across the desert and into the neighboring country. This route would go straight through the desert and specifically cater to the north of the country – which was one of its poorer regions. Roy had long ago discovered that his mother had hailed from the northern region of Xing and had made it his personal mission to try and help the community of poorer citizens that were housed up there.

With the Xing talks now moving forward, Roy and Riza had the pleasure of housing one Amestrian- born, Xingese Ambassador in their home.

Alphonse Elric had arrived three days prior to attend the initial meetings in regards to the trade talks. At this stage of the project, only he and a few other ambassadors were required for the task of drawing up the documentation. In one month's time, the goal was to have everything ready for Emperor Ling Yao to sign upon his bi-yearly trip to Central.

Having married Princess May Chang, Alphonse now stood as one of the Emperor's most trusted advisors. The young man, who was not so young anymore, had been named the Amestrian-Xing Ambassador and had been appointed as an advisor to the Emperor. Since his wife was usually needed in her home country – due to her role as head of the Alkahestry Research Program – the blonde usually traveled to Amestris on his own.

Though he never allowed the separation to affect his good humor, Riza could tell from the dark circles under his eyes, that he was missing his home and his family dearly. The only good thing that came out of his trips to Central, were the "mandatory" visits he made to Resembool on his way back home.

Because the Mustangs knew that these trips were hard on Al, they always allowed him to stay in their home – something he was eternally grateful for. The honest man had shared with Riza once that just getting to interact with Elizabeth, who was the same age as Al's only daughter, made the distance a little more bearable.

That was why – as Riza prepared dinner for her small family and guest – Al preferred to spend his time with Elizabeth rather than sit in the kitchen with her and Roy. Neither felt slighted in the least though as they heard Elizabeth's sweet laughter echo through the door from the backyard.

Roy smiled at the sound, glancing sideways at Riza as he chopped the onions for stew. "He's certainly good with her."

"He always is," Riza answered, stirring the pot on top of the stove. She turned the knob to set the stew at a simmer before leaning against the counter. "It shouldn't surprise you. He has a daughter himself now. He's not a child anymore."

Roy groaned, using the knife to slide the onion bits to the side. "Don't remind me. I feel old enough already. It still blows my mind that Ed and Al have children."

"Ed has children that are older than ours, Roy."

The Fuhrer gave her a look, much less threatening in his shirt sleeves and casual pants than he usually was in his military blues. "Why do you have to bring that up too? I think you just gave me a few more grey hairs."

Riza chuckled at that, rubbing a hand across her stomach, the callouses of her fingers pulling on the fabric of her apron. "Once this one comes along, I'm sure you'll have more than a few to worry about."

Roy raised his brows at the mention of the baby, but continued to work on the task at hand. "If this one is anything like Elizabeth, we'll be fine."

"Just because you said that, this one is going to be as wild as Edward Elric."

The man gave her a glare. "Don't jinx it."

At the sight of her husband's displeasure, Riza had to laugh. "There are much worse people in this world that our child could take after."

Roy was about to fire back with a witty retort, when his wife's slight intake of breath had him pausing in his actions. Riza now had her eyes squeezed shut and was rubbing an area just below her ribs.

"What's wrong?" He asked, putting down the knife and joining her by the sink. The woman waved him off dismissively, continuing to rub across the skin of her stomach.

"The baby has been active today." She finally voiced, breathing slowly as the sharp pain subsided. Sometimes it felt as though her child was playing the piano with the inside of her ribs. "I think he's mad that we're talking about him and he wanted some input."

Roy, ever worried for her well-being, didn't comment immediately. Instead he took her hand and led her to the small breakfast table that sat near the open door of the backyard. Once she was seated – though she protested that this was ridiculous and she was absolutely fine standing on her own two feet – Roy realized what she had just said.

"He?" The man asked, allowing his hand to join her's. As though the baby knew that they were being talked about, a small foot – or arm – collided with the skin of his palm. "So now you're thinking it's a boy?"

"I don't know." Riza answered honestly, her fingers intertwining with Roy's over the fabric of her apron. "I'm not sure this time around. I thought Elizabeth was a boy and then she ended up being a girl. I'm going to be happy either way, as long as they're healthy."

Roy smiled at her words. "You and I can agree on that."

The room was quiet for a few moments, the only sound in the air between them being that of the stew bubbling on the stove and the airy laughter of Elizabeth and Alphonse wafting through the door. Roy cleared his throat, hating to break the silence, but knowing it was about time that they spoke about what they had both been avoiding.

"I think it's about time you started your bed rest."

Riza sighed, slouching in her wooden chair. Roy could tell by the way she puffed air up towards her bangs that she was annoyed by his statement. He mentally prepared himself for a battle of wills as she mulled over his words.

However, she surprised him.

"I know."

Roy's heart stopped.

Had she just agreed with him? Without a fight, too?

Riza almost laughed at the shock written across his features, his dark eyes wide with surprise.

"This pregnancy is a little different than my first." Riza reached a hand out to smooth back his hair, the strands having fallen over his forehead after a long day at work and time spent over a pot full of stew. "The doctor already mentioned that she would prefer I start my bed rest early this time around. I'm planning on finishing out the week before I start working from home."

Roy continued to stare at her with his mouth opened wide. Finally, once he was able to find the words, he closed it tight before giving her a withering look. "You really had to make me say it before you were going to tell me?"

"I was planning on telling you after dinner." Riza insisted, while loosening the ties of her apron at the middle of her back. Roy walked around her chair to assist her. "It's not my fault that you chose to say it now."

"Sure," Roy said, doubtfully. He swept her long, blonde hair to the side and lifted the apron over her head. "You know that also means you won't get to pick Elizabeth up from school anymore."

Riza pouted at that. The Fuhrer was not used to seeing this more petulant side of his wife – however, she had showcased it more during the time of her pregnancy. "I don't think that's necessary."

"Bed rest is bed rest," Roy insisted, walking over to the hooks on the wall and depositing his wife's apron on to the middle wrung – right next to the little brown jacket that Elizabeth always seemed to favor. Turning back to Riza, he was not surprised to see the look of willful determination on her face. "Riza, you know as well as I do that, at this stage in your pregnancy, you need to be taking it easy. They already consider you high risk, let's not make this any more dangerous than it has to be."

"I know," Riza insisted, sinking back into her chair once more. Seated before him, in a floral print maternity dress, she looked the absolute picture of maternal perfection. The only thing that marred the scene was the scowl that was currently painted across her features. "You don't have to tell me, Roy. I just don't think it's necessary to bar me from everything."

"We'll figure something out." The man reasoned, hearing the defense in his wife's tone. He was certainly in no mood to argue with her. "Let's just get through this week – anyways, how's the planning for the secondary school in the Nosh district going?"

Roy knew she had been working hard on her next phase of plans for the poorer district of Central, so Riza readily took the bait and began to speak of the headway they had made in the construction of the school.

While Roy stirred the pot on the stove, adding the onions to the mixture, he listened as Riza described the employment process they had recently begun.

She was in the middle of telling him about the interview she had hosted earlier on in the day, when a small cry was heard from outside with the comforting tone of Alphonse following soon after. Both Roy and Riza recognized Elizabeth's strangled cry and we're about to head out the door when Alphonse and Elizabeth made their way into the kitchen.

Alphonse hadn't changed much over the years, despite his more obvious signs of aging. His hair was still a golden blonde, with eyes of much the same color. The only major difference now on his face, were the faint lines that signaled the passage of time and the gaining of wisdom. Even his wardrobe hadn't changed much, besides the addition of Xingese garb that he chose to wear whenever attending formal events.

Today, in the familiar company of the Mustangs, he had chosen to wear his classic brown sweater vest and shirt sleeves – with the arms rolled up to the elbows and dirt sprinkled across the otherwise pristine fabric. Riza knew those stains had to be the product of her frazzled daughter, who followed behind him in her white dress, covered in mud.

Before Riza could scold Elizabeth for getting her nice clothes dirty, she noticed that Alphonse was holding something small in the palms of his hands. From her spot across the table, she couldn't see what it was, but Elizabeth was quick to dampen their suspense.

"Daddy! Daddy!" She shouted frantically, running up to the man and tugging on his shirt, muddy hands leaving trails of dirt on the front of the starched cloth. "We need paint! We need paint!"

"It doesn't need to be paint, Elizabeth." Alphonse said gently, as he crouched down to the ground and set the small bundle on the floor. "I just need something to draw with. I don't think my chalk will work on tile."

Riza, seated once more, leaned forward in her chair to see what Al had brought into the kitchen.

Laying on floor was a small dove – slightly gray in color with a beak as dark as night. The creature looked to still be alive, despite its prone state on the ground – however, one of its wings seemed to be slightly bent at an unnatural angle. Riza suddenly realized why Elizabeth was so frantic and why Al was going to need something to draw with. He was going to perform Alkahestry on it.

"I found it in the garden." Elizabeth spoke hurriedly, as Roy opened several drawers to try and find something that Al could use. She followed her father around the kitchen like a shadow, tugging at his pant leg while sharing her story. Her big dark eyes filled with tears and her voice began to shake. "Uncle Al said he could save it with his Alkahestry, but we need – we need – something to write with."

The poor girl was almost out of breath by the end of her tale, her bottom lip wobbling as she gave her father's pant leg another desperate tug. "Hurry, Daddy!"

"Lizzie," Roy tried to placate her as he opened the cabinets where they kept their sauces and pulled out a jar. He placed one hand on the top of her head as he passed the jar over to Al where he sat on the floor. "You need to calm down. The bird's going to be okay."

"Everything's going to be fine." Al reassured her from his spot crouched over the bird. He stuck his finger into the sauce and began to draw a purification circle beside it. "The only thing that's not going to be fine is this sauce."

At the apologetic glance the man sent her, Riza had to laugh. "It's fine, Alphonse. I don't like garlic sauce anyways."

Elizabeth watched as Al drew the circle, careful to get the lines right. The sauce wasn't as thick as paint would have been, so it took some extra effort to get the symbol just right. Elizabeth slipped out from under her father's palm and crouched down beside her self-proclaimed honorary "uncle".

Having heard from Roy himself that Elizabeth was taking an interest in Alkahestry, Al smiled up at her as she watched his actions. "You've seen people perform Alkahestry before, right?"

Elizabeth nodded her head vigorously, her eyes never straying from the movement of his hands. "Uh huh – they used it on mommy."

Al completed the circle, drawing out a bit more sauce to color in some of the lighter portions of it. "They use it in hospitals now to help heal. Your Aunt May was one of the people that helped pioneer it."

"Aunt May?" Elizabeth asked, her head tilting to the side as she regarded her blonde companion. "Is she your wife?"

"Yep!" Al responded cheerfully, wiping his hands on the towel Riza passed him. After his hands were clean, he gently picked up the bird and placed it in the center of the circle. "She's the one who taught me about Alkahestry."

A pensive look took over Elizabeth's features as she watched the man inhale deep, before clapping his hands. On the floor before them, a blue glow radiated from the sauce and a jolt ran through the body of the dove. Within seconds, the glow was gone, and the bird's wing was back to proper form.

Al gestured for Riza to open the window that lay behind her chair. Once the window was open, the man picked up the small creature and carried it over to the branches that sat outside the window. Gratefully, the bird jumped from his palm and into the tree, it's past injury forgotten as it took flight to find the rest of its family.

The whole process caused smiles to break out on both Roy and Riza's features. Alphonse had always been a gentle soul, even when he had been nothing more than a soul bound to armor. With his hands on his hips and a smile on his face, he stared out the window and watched as the bird took off, admiring his handy work. He truly was a saint.

"Aunt May's the one that saved my mommy, right?"

The adults in the room turned back towards Elizabeth. She hadn't moved from her spot next to the now slightly broken purification circle. She had her legs drawn under her and was running her finger along the outside of the symbol, trying to commit it to memory. Her voice had taken on a far-off quality, as though she were trying to remember the story her mother had told her during her time in the hospital.

Al glanced at Riza, his eyes asking if it was okay for him to proceed. The woman nodded, rubbing circles over her belly as the baby kicked from within her. Apparently, all the excitement had gotten them riled up once more. Roy went to stand behind his wife, also sending Alphonse an encouraging look as he placed his hands on her shoulders.

"That's right." Al gave the young girl a gentle smile as he crouched beside her once more. He watched as she continued to follow the lines of the circle with her eyes, the wheels in her head visibly turning. The sight had Al grinning widely. "Aunt May healed your Mommy's neck when the bad guys got her."

Elizabeth nodded, remembering the jagged, white scar that lay on the skin of her mother's neck. When she had been in the hospital, her mother had pointed it out to her. Instead of focusing on the injury that had produced the scar, Riza had chosen to share the story of who had healed it, given her daughter's sudden interest in Alkahestry.

"Princess May Chang used Alkahestry to save me." She had said quietly, running a finger over the line that marred the skin of her neck. Sat on the hospital bed beside her, Elizabeth had mimicked her mother's actions. "If it hadn't been for her, I would have never had the chance to meet you."

"Wow," Elizabeth sighed, scratching at the now dried sauce on the tile. Riza cringed as she watched the gunk get stuck under her daughter's fingernails. "Aunt May is awesome."

"She sure is." Al agreed – a soft smile appearing on his features. Roy and Riza couldn't help but notice the slight pain in the deep topaz coloring of his eyes. They could see he was missing his wife, dearly. "Maybe one day she'll be able to teach you like she did me."

Elizabeth's eyes lit up, her gaze drifting back to her parents.

Riza fought back the sigh that attempted to escape her lips. Roy simply turned to the pot on the stove, turning off the burner and readying it for serving on the counter.

Neither of them had decided whether they were going to allow their daughter to study any form of alchemy yet. They were happy she had found an interest in Alkahesty – however, allowing her to practice it was still something they were not completely sold on. They wanted her to be happy – however, knowing the way people in her family tended to become obsessed with different forms of alchemy, they were more than a little hesitant to fully resign themselves to that future yet.

But, like Riza had to keep reminding herself, it was completely possible her daughter would grow out of this interest, just as she had with puzzles by the time she reached four. Her and Roy had never thought they would be able to get their daughter to stop obsessing over puzzles, but that too had passed.

Shaking her head, Riza chose to live in the moment.

Dinner was an upbeat affair – as it always was with Alphonse sitting at their table. As the sun sunk below the horizon, Elizabeth spoke of her day and told her "uncle" all about the new friends she had made at school. In return, Al had told her more about her Aunt May and the projects she was working on back in Xing. According to him, the woman was trying to open a few more hospitals to service the poorer districts in the capitol city.

Elizabeth kept repeating how she wanted to get to meet her Aunt May, which Al had to laugh at, since the young girl had met his wife only two years prior, when she had been much too young to remember. Al promised that the next time he came to Central, he would try and convince his wife to tag along and bring his daughter, Lily, along with her too. This had Elizabeth squealing in absolute delight.

Eventually, Elizabeth was sent to wash up and the adults were left in the kitchen. Al volunteered to help Roy with the dishes, since both men seemed to be keen on the idea of keeping Riza in her seat. With her ankles as swollen as they were, the woman couldn't find it in herself to argue.

Roy gave her a look over his shoulder as he and Al worked in tandem to wash and dry the dishes. She smiled in response, not even needing to hear his question, in order to know what he wanted to ask.

"Hey Alphonse?"

"Yes?"

"Riza and I were wondering…."

Once Elizabeth had been put to sleep and it was time to turn down for the night, the Fuhrer and his wife made their way to the master bedroom. Elizabeth had required two stories that night instead of her usual one and this time, she insisted on hearing the story of how her "Aunt May" had saved her mommy again. Roy had to become quite creative with the details to keep it all from scaring her, but he thought he had done a pretty good job of it by the end.

After showers were had and robes donned, Roy and Riza found themselves laid out on their bed, with the single lamp in the room still shining brightly as they readied themselves for bed. Just as they had been doing for a month now, the two adults took this time to speak privately with each other, and spend time admiring the movements of their still unborn child.

It was while Roy had his head laid in Riza's lap, his ear pressed up against the swollen curve of her belly, that he finally voiced what he had been thinking about for the past few hours.

"I'm surprised Alphonse was okay with our decision."

Riza ran a hand through Roy's dark hair, her fingers scratching lightly at his scalp. At the sensation, the man couldn't help but release a sigh, his warm breath sinking into the fabric of her light robe. They remained quiet for a moment, both lost in their own thoughts.

"I'm not."

"Really?"

"Yes." Riza leaned back against the headboard, her hand moving to rub a spot under her ribs. Now that she was sitting, the baby had decided to become more active. "In Xing, it's a sign of respect. It doesn't surprise me that he would see it as such and I believe May will see it the same way."

"What if later on they want to use it though…"

"I don't think Al could ever convince May to let him do that." Riza laughed quietly, aware that their daughter was sleeping down the hall. "I think within their own family it would be a bit more complicated to do something like this."

Roy shrugged his shoulders slightly, the action rubbing against the bone of her pelvis. "I guess you're right. We should still call her and ask."

"I will. However, I'm pretty I know what her answer will be."

Roy sunk deeper into her lap, pushing his ear against the skin of her belly. As if sensing their father's presence, the baby kicked at the spot. Riza couldn't fight her own smile as she watched Roy's eyes light up with glee. It was like falling in love with him all over again when they went through times like these. She had felt the same way during her pregnancy with Elizabeth.

"You know." Riza reminded him, gently stroking his hair once more. "May isn't the only person we need to talk to."

Roy nodded, the movement causing the stubble of his cheek to catch on the fabric of her nightgown. "I know. We'll talk to her about it, as well."

"I think he would be honored."

Roy smiled at that, closing his eyes as he listened to the quiet movements of their child.

"I think so too."

#royai #roy mustang #riza hawkeye #fma #fullmetal alchemist #royai fanfiction #royai fanfic #royai fic #fma fic #fma fanfic #fma fanfiction #my fanfiction

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kae-karo · 4 years

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hi! me again! i understand that bi/pan people with a preference would never be considered lesbians but i had it presented to me as being like bisexual homoromantic which would be as valid as being ace and homoromantic right? and i don't understand how A's id could affect or imply anything about B's id? like the acknowledgment of demigirls doesn't affects girls being fully girls? as far as pronouns isn't the whole point that they ARE gendered, otherwise we would all just be they/them? (1/2)

non queer people very much understand pronouns to indicate gender. so why is language malleable when it comes to redefining gender and pronouns but not when it comes to using orientation labels differently? also i read that carrd and want to clarify i would never make the argument that trans people aren't "really" the gender they id as. also, i'm sorry for asking so much but i'm just trying to understand.

hi dear! for context (x) and please don’t apologize for asking questions! there are so many people who would rather shut down and not try to understand, i will always greatly appreciate people who are actively trying to learn

also sorry this got wAY too long lmao i have a lot of thoughts, apparently...

as for the way the term bi/pan lesbian was presented to you, that’s totally understandable! and again, per my lil caveat, the idea of expressing a difference in romantic and sexual attraction with a single term (like being bi/pansexual but lesbian in terms of romantic attraction) is totally chill but i think the part that starts to come into question is the large movement of people who were using bi/pan lesbian in the way i described in my other post (ie as a way to express that they are “lesbian but with some attraction to men, still”)

in terms of how person A identifies and how that affects person B, the point is less about an individual interaction - no, how a stranger chooses to identify themself does not directly affect my identity. to your notion of demigirls and the fact that they don’t negate the identity of women, that’s totally true! it’s not so much that a person’s identity negates another’s, more that the words a person uses to identify themself can affect others, because we tie certain terms with certain experiences. by a group of people commandeering terminology that already has an experience tied to it, the people who already use that terminology (because they have that experience) can start to feel as though their experience and identity are being called into question

okay, so if bi/pan lesbians become a standard terminology to describe ppl who would id as lesbians if not for some attraction to men, that could start to bring into question whether all or any lesbians could be attracted to men (as the person in the tweet mentioned). now (certain) men may start to believe that any person who ids as a lesbian might still be attracted to men, so these certain men may think that they have a chance with that lesbian even though the man ids as a man! this could lead to harassment, or the lesbian in question may already be prone to some internalized homophobia. now they’re starting to wonder if their attraction should include men because they id as a lesbian (and apparently, lesbian could include attraction to men), or if they’ve just been ‘confused’, as people may have told them before, and they start to doubt their own identity and whether ‘lesbian’ is the right reflection of their experiences (which it is, except that the term has been hijacked and presented as including experiences that actually belong in the bi/pan community)

and, once again, the way the terminology is structured (a ‘bi/pan lesbian’) seems to imply that the person in question doesn’t want to be attracted to men. if they did, why not use an umbrella term like bi or pan as their identity? the only distinguishing feature here is that one is inclusive while the other says ‘i’m attracted to women primarily and would like to identify as a lesbian, except for that pesky bit of me that’s attracted to men too...’ again, this is a harmful ideology to let grow, not only for those already identifying as bi/pan but for baby queers who may not fully understand their own identities yet! or for people outside the community who are trying to understand to the best of their abilities as allies!

to that end, it also propagates that harmful rhetoric of ‘oof, doesn’t it suck to be attracted to men lmao’ like MAN that’s really hurtful to guys??? and that rhetoric already exists. notions like this (where a wonderful umbrella term is turned into something that seeks to minimize attraction to men/male-aligned genders) can be so harmful not only to cis men and transmasc/trans men who are a part of the community but men outside the community as well

okay with regards to pronouns: i think this is where we start to get into the deconstruction of gender as a social construct. i feel like the most apt analogy here is the one i provided in the other post: names. names have, throughout history, been gendered (for the most part). sally was a girl, timmy was a boy. but we’ve started to deconstruct that as we’ve started to recognize that there are more than 2 genders (as a societal whole, i’m aware that this hasn’t been news in a while for people in the queer community). you have names like alex, sam, riley, names that you can’t look at and go ‘ah, they are [certain] gender!’ which is awesome for everyone! esp for people who are sensitive about their gender identity and for whom it is bothersome, upsetting, or even triggering to be misgendered!

pronouns are grammatically just a substitute for a noun, they take the place of the noun for the sake of ease of speech/writing. so the first question here is why, if we’ve extrapolated and separated the idea of someone’s name from their gender and acknowledged that the thing that we refer to them by is just...a noise they like, then why is it necessary for pronouns (another thing that is just a noise the person likes) to be inherently tied to a gender? a gender is a representation of an experience, but people who use the same pronouns may have nothing in common in terms of their gender experience!

now, you could argue that people who use they/them pronouns may be able to rally around a shared experience/frustration with getting others to use and accept those pronouns, but they likely aren’t all going to share a gender - maybe some are fem-aligned, or masc-aligned, or genderfluid or agender or any other gender on the massive spectrum of possible gender identities. but the way that they ask others to refer to themselves purely as an individual does not help give any insight into their experiences or community!

you stated that ‘as far as pronouns isn't the whole point that they ARE gendered?’, so my question here is what purpose do pronouns actually serve? they allow you to refer to a person without using their name, right? so if we’re talking outside the world of grammar, i would argue that a person’s pronouns are an extension of their name: the purpose of a name and/or pronouns is to ensure that they make the user of said name/pronouns comfortable in their identity when being referred to. they are whatever gender they are (if any at all) - they may choose a name and pronouns to help them feel more comfortable in who they are. in fact, they may choose a name and pronouns that they didn’t use from birth simply because they do not feel comfortable with them for non-gender-related reasons, too!

and i can hear you thinking ‘okay, so why can’t we do that with labels like sexuality and just let people use whatever feels okay?’ and this is sort of the way i think about it: there are certain words we have defined with clarity in order to help us as a community understand ourselves and each other. we all agree that cis = you are the gender you were assigned at birth, trans = you are not the gender you were assigned at birth. lesbian means attraction to women/fem-aligned genders, ace means feeling no sexual attraction, bi and pan are siblings of each other that define attraction to all genders (which may or may not include preferences). male and female as genders have clear enough meanings that we use them in our other definitions, and nonbinary is a lovely catch-all umbrella that can encompass anything outside ‘male’ and ‘female’, even though there are also more specific identities that fall under that umbrella

(quick aside - fwiw i don’t think gender definitions are necessarily malleable in the same way pronoun ‘definitions’ are, i think there are gender experiences that we have not yet given formal terms to and that people may switch around between existing gender identifying terms as they look for ones that get close to their own and i think there’s still a question of what it even means to be a certain gender without reference to other genders, but as it stands, people who identify with certain gender terms do so because of a set of shared experiences that fall underneath that gender term)

what we have not done is defined an individual’s right to their experiences. if someone feels attraction to all genders with a preference for men, there’s a word to express that! if a person feels like they might shift between a variety of genders on a regular basis, there’s a word for that! if a person does not feel romantic attraction, there’s a word for that! and the reason we use these words with pre-defined definitions is so that we can identify people who share our experiences - if someone identifies as a lesbian, they can seek out other lesbians and know that they are among a group that understands what they have been through or are going through. if someone experiences attraction to all genders with a female/fem-aligned preference, they are likely not going to find a community that understands their experiences if they look for people who identify as lesbian

but if a person decides that hey, i feel most myself when people call me ‘emma’ even though that wasn’t my assigned birth name, that is when we step back and say ‘yes, that’s awesome! you do you!’ because there is no pre-defined definition of that name - yes, there’s a societal gender often associated with it, but it doesn’t provide anyone any benefit to assign a definition of an experience to that name. nobody is out there going ‘where are all the ‘emmas’, the ‘emmas’ understand my experience and i want to find them so that i can feel as though i’m part of the ‘emma’ community’

now, idk about you, but if i hear that someone uses she/her pronouns, that means....almost nothing to me, except that i know that they prefer those pronouns! in the same way that someone saying ‘oh, my name is emma’ means nothing to me except that their name is emma! whereas if someone says to me, ‘i’m asexual’, i know from their choice of identifier that they fall under the ace umbrella and awesome, this person might understand how i feel about certain subjects! (obviously ace is a huge spectrum in itself, but you get the idea)

in summary:

an orientation or a gender relates to an individual’s experiences, and the general definitions we have assigned to certain orientations and genders should remain somewhat clearly-defined in order to provide a sense of community for those that fall under the orientation/gender in question. that is not to say that new orientations/gender terms can’t arise to describe new experiences that do not already have a definition. the irritation with the ‘bi/pan lesbian’ discourse is that the experience described (attraction to all genders with fem-aligned preference) already has a defined term (bi or pan) that is contradictory to the term ‘lesbian’

the reason pronouns don’t need to fall under a clear definition is that they are not a signal to indicate a uniting experience - their purpose and function is equivalent to that of a name: it’s a way to refer to a person that makes that person feel comfortable, and it’s perfectly fine not to have a rigid definition for pronouns in the same way that you wouldn’t assign a name to have a rigid experience or definition associated with it

i know it’s a long read, but i hope that helps clarify my thoughts on the matter!

#anon #ask

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ivendarea · 4 years

Text

The Assadin

Traitors, Invaders, Rulers

The Assadin are the native inhabitants of the continent Atrana, which lies beyond the Amber Ocean far east of Ivendarea. Atrana is characterized by its internal conflicts and civil wars, with national borders changing and shifting constantly. Natural resources are scarcely and unevenly spread on Atrana and therefore pose one of the main points of conflict. While in Atrana there are seven distinct ethnic groups of Assadin with common cultural heritage, it is much harder to distinguish them in Ivendarea. In Atrana the groups are much less mixed and intertwined, separated by generations of conflict. The Assadin who emigrated to Ivendarea though have a much tighter bond despite originally consisting of different ethnic groups, sharing a religion and homeland among other things in a land very foreign, dangerous, and different to their own. When speaking about the Assadin culture as a whole it is therefore necessary to distinguish between those living on Atrana, and those in Ivendarea, as both groups are culturally distinct of each other - and they are also not necessarily on friendly terms.

The two main groups of Assadin that came to Ivendarea all those years ago are the Kessem, with Zerenda having been a Kessem prince and their leader, and the Eesse, who at the time had a shaky alliance with Zerenda’s homeland Astairus. Other groups of Assadin are present in much smaller numbers in Ivendarea as well, such as the Kunae who arrived in larger numbers in the decades following Zerenda’s Conquest, but as mentioned all groups have meanwhile mixed enough to make distinctions between them harder and harder.

...

Table of Contents:

History

The Assadin in Atrana

The Assadin in Ivendarea

Historical Figures

Life in Atrana versus Ivendarea

Differences in Social Structure

Strategical Minds

Naming Conventions

Assadin Anatomy

General Appearance

Reproduction and Gender

Biological Cycle

Interspecies Relationships

The Assadin and the Nyr

The Assadin and the Aapha

The Assadin and the Kitu

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History

Old Atranaean legends and religious myths tell the tale of how a comet crashed in Atrana, splintering into seven pieces, long before there was life on the continent. At the time Atrana was a lifeless wasteland, covered by ice in the south and sand and earth in the north. The comet’s pieces spread across the entire continent, taking root in all corners of Atrana, and the comet’s inherent magic breathed life into the dead earth. Plants, animals, and the first Assadin rose from the ground - Assadin meaning nothing but “children of the comet” in their native language Azash. The seven splinters of the comet created therefore seven distinct tribes of Assadin, all with their personal strengths, weaknesses, and characteristics, adapted to the region they originate from, but also dependent of the other tribe’s resources. Much like how each splinter of the comet was all but that, a splinter, the tribes were able to survive on their own only just, but they couldn’t prosper in their daily fight for survival. Alliances were forged, but never lasted. The figurative comet is splintered and broken and putting it back together to last seems a sheer impossible challenge.

The Assadin in Atrana

The original seven people of Atrana are the Eesse, Hemphrat, Kessem, Kunae, Khesan, Vago, and Yasum. The nations they have founded and that fell apart over the course of the centuries had many names, often inspired by Atrana’s landscape or named after particularly strong rulers and bloodlines. Astairus for example was named after the way the first rays of sunlight appeared over the mountain ranges marking its borders, announcing a new, glorious day.

Atrana’s landscape is divided by three massive rivers, and close to its midpoint the outstanding crater once left by the comet crashing down here. A large radius around the crater’s centre is a wild wasteland, according to legends still in the state of how it used to be before the impact. This wasteland is the continents only neutral political territory, as it is completely void of life or resources. Notably, slavery is still legal on Atrana until this day.

The Kunae for example, a southern tribe known to be farmers and miners, suffered particularly under this circumstance. Enslaved several times throughout history by both the Khesan and Yasum they first gained their independence shortly before Zerenda’s uprising - only to be then dragged into the civil war led by his siblings that led to the fall of Astairus. Their homeland exploited by centuries of slavery and them becoming pawns in a war that wasn’t theirs not few Kunae followed Zerenda to Ivendarea to escape their never-ending dread.

The Assadin in Ivendarea

In Ivendarea, with the most dominantly featured ethnicities being the Kessem, Eesse, and Kunae, a different treatment of the three is still notable. While they are not openly discriminated against, the Kunae often have greater difficulties finding acceptance and well-paying, prestigious positions in work and society, Kessem or Eesse being favoured.

The upper class surrounding the royal family consists mostly of Kessem in one way or other descendants of Zerenda and his original government and close allies. In the lower social classes, the population is more mixed, not only between the separate groups of Assadin, but mixed relationships between Assadin, Nyr, Aapha, and Kitu are more common.

Historical Figures

Zerenda most notably was the first Assadin king of Ivendarea. Known as “the Invader” less favourably, he is responsible for the destruction of Beldran, the murder of Iovana Fannyel, the Cleansing of Saratheas, and other war-crimes commited in the early years of his rulership. Towards the end of his life he began showing regret for his deeds and signed Iovana Brestine’s Peace Treaty in an attempt to reconcile Assadin and Nyr and offer both equal rights in Ivendarea.

Ulden ruled more recently. He was the father of king Alund and king Leoros; his violent death at the hands of the Omrai Omvalis caused the The Revolution War. His older son Alund sought to avenge his father during the Revolution War, which he won. He was the predecessor of his much younger brother Leoros, the current king of Ivendarea.

Life in Atrana versus Ivendarea

The Assadin’s home continent Atrana has a warm to moderate climate. Atrana’s landscape ranges from deserts to jungles and dense forests, with a few southern islands were snow is a possibility but doesn’t occur regularly. In Ivendarea the Assadin population density is notably higher in Ivendarea’s southern, moderate to subtropical half. In fact, one of Zerenda’s main motivations to turn Saratheas into the new capital of the nation was the fact that north-eastern Canwyl was not only very cut off of the rest of civilisation but in one of the most uninhabitable regions of the country by his standards.

Considering the world’s entire Assadin population, the Assadin of Ivendarea make up only about 10% of it, while in Ivendarea they make up about 35% of the population.

Differences in Social Structure

One of the main distinctions that can be made between the Assadin in Atrana versus those in Ivendarea is how their social structure evolved since one group split from the other after Zerenda’s conquest. In Atrana honouring the lands comes before all else. Atrana’s grounds are holy, and disrespecting it has many times over been the cause of conflict and war. Political alliances are important, but in the end a means to an end, as are family ties and relationships. Siblings have betrayed each other and caused civil wars before, because either believed the other didn’t have the best intentions for their lands and people. Rulers favouring the wrong child in splitting their heritage easily can bring civil war upon them. Nations that were mortal enemies 200 years ago might now become allies to overthrow a former friendly neighbour, because they refuse to trade their rare resources with them.

In the moment in which Zerenda decided to disobey his father, to not return to Atrana after conquering Ivendarea for his homeland, he committed the worst of crimes imaginable: he renounced his allegiance and connection to Atrana as a whole. Betraying his father was the least of his crimes, but he added insult to injury after even his siblings begged him to see reason and return home. He and everyone who followed him to Ivendarea were soon branded as traitors and their descendants are, until today, treated with much distrust. In Ivendarea initially this mentality continued. With people no longer fighting in honour of Atrana, they fought in honour of Zerenda. Political alliances were still considered more important than family relations and other allegiances. This is reflected in Zerenda’s attempts to forge an alliance with Iovana Brestine, asking her to marry one of his sons to unite their people against outsiders, which Brestine refused.

Over time though, adapting increasingly to Ivendarea and learning more about how the Nyr survived in this strange and foreign nation, the Assadin’s perspective began to shift. With abundant resources but hostile surroundings communities and relationships built to last became much more valued than short-term allegiances. The Ivendarean Assadin have much stronger family ties, with children being valued more as precious gifts rather than the warriors of future conflicts. Government employees such as scholars, soldiers, and bureaucrats regularly receive time off to visit distant family members. The elders of the communities also have a higher standing in Ivendarea. In Atrana, elderly people rarely are in a position of power, and it is considered selfish of rulers or high-ranking officials to try to hold their position beyond the age of 50 years. Not rarely are they forcefully taken out of power if they refuse to make room for younger generations. In Ivendarea, where among the Nyr elders enjoy the utmost respect, elderly Assadin also more commonly are in positions of power or at the head of communities, where they act as moral guidance, priests, or teachers.

Strategical Minds

Assadin have a reputation of being great strategical thinkers and talented inventors. In their home nations, higher education is left only to the most privileged, which is why they aren’t known to produce many traditional scholars. In Ivendarea though the Academy of Saratheas is attended by just as many Assadin as by other ethnic groups.

Naming Conventions

Allegiances are tremendously important for the Assadin, which is reflected in their naming traditions. Every person has a given name, an inherited bloodline name which ties them to a specific family, as well as an allegiance name which positions them in a larger political faction. People belonging to the same bloodline don’t necessarily need to be related to each other by blood. Most are, but it is possible, similar to joining a political allegiance, to join a family by completely renouncing any ties to one’s original family for example because they betrayed an individual’s personal ideals. Given names don’t usually change throughout a person’s life, while bloodline names can under certain circumstances (marriage to a different family, renouncing one’s own family), and allegiance names may change several times throughout a person’s life depending on how much political turmoil they live through.

In Ivendarea allegiance names play almost no role in everyday life anymore, only in particularly old families that still have ties to Atrana. Children are sometimes named after particularly honourable ancestors, but more commonly nowadays they are named after virtues or natural forces. In Ivendarea it is not unheard of that Assadin bear Ivendarean/typical Nyr names or names that are a mixture of both cultures.

Assadin Anatomy

Atrana is a vibrant continent in terms of its landscapes and geographical features. As mentioned before, its scarce resources are also fiercely fought for, hence why the image of a “strong warrior and protector” is very present in all-day life there. In a different way this also applies to the Ivendarean Assadin, who for the most part don’t have to fear famine or even the most harshest of winters, as the nation’s supplies in natural resources are abundant. In contrary to Atrana’s nature though, Ivendarea’s wilderness is particularly deadly to those who don’t know it well and aren’t adapted to the many different poisons found in flora and fauna, or to the sudden changes of weather. So very much like in Atrana Assadin in Ivendarea also train physical strength and endurance.

General Appearance

With an average height of 175 centimetres and a weight of 80 kilograms, Assadin have a taller and broader build than the Nyr, overall though they are considered to be of medium build. With skin-tones ranging from darkest browns to tan and olive colours and even more rare light complexions, there isn’t really a “typical” Assadin type in terms of appearance. Most common eye-colours are black, brown, gold, dark greens and reds, and almost exclusively occurring with the lighter complexions blue or grey eyes are possible as well. As opposed to the Nyr, the Assadin have small rounded ears. The most common hair colours are on the brown to black spectrum, lighter colours being more rare, and most Assadin have to some degree curly hair.

Reproduction and Gender

Assadin Families usually have two to four children, more in Atrana, less in Ivendarea. Depending on ethnic subgroup the Assadin also differentiate between up to four different genders with different social roles associated. They are also capable to have children with Nyr, Aapha, and Kitu, with the likelihood of a pregnancy carried to term ranging from rare with the Nyr and Aapha to common with the Kitu. Children of mixed heritage usually bear similarities to both parents, but particularly the children of Assadin and Aapha are almost indistinguishable from fair-skinned Assadin.

Biological Cycle

In Ivendarea Assadin have a life expectancy of at least 80 years, which almost a decade more than the expectancy in their war-torn and unstable home-continent. Many attribute the longer Ivendarean lifespans also to Ivendarea’s inherent magic – the Nyr after all seem to be close to immortal by Assadin standards.

Infancy in Assadin lasts from the years 1-3, at which point children have usually learned to speak, walk, and are beginning to show their distinct personality. Childhood in general is a very short period for the Assadin, and particularly children from poorer and more rural areas are often asked to help with work from the age of 10 onward. Most Assadin reach puberty at an age of 10-15 and enter adulthood at an age of 20, but most don’t start their own families until in their late twenties and early thirties.

Fertility decreases at an age of 50-55 and pregnancies become rare and more risky, while first signs of ageing usually become visible in an Assadin individual’s thirties already. Single hairs start greying and wrinkles form on their face. People are considered elderly at an age of 60 years and onward, and in rare cases they might reach ages of 90 and above.

Interspecies Relationships

The Assadin are the youngest people to have found a home in Ivendarea, and as opposed to the foreign Aapha and Kitu, their entrance has been marked by violence. Tensions are a part of everyday life for them.

The Assadin and the Nyr

Tensions between the Assadin and Nyr are many and varied in their intensity. Having lived on the continent for 500 years one would think that the groups have gotten used to each other, but many Nyr who saw the horrors of the Invasion War with their own eyes are still alive today, holding on to their resentments despite attempts from the side of the Assadin to reconcile. The vastly different lifespans of Nyr and Assadin also keep being a cause of conflict, the many fast-paced minor changes in Assadin culture, politics, and day-to-day-life, consistently causing misunderstandings. Lastly, while there are thankfully no open conflicts between the groups at the moment and the The Revolution War lying a good 70 years in the past, rumours of secretive rebel organizations planning to overthrow the government cause further tensions and insecurity between the groups.

The Assadin and the Aapha

The Aapha of Darthonis weren’t pleased by the Assadin’s invasion, as it majorly disturbed their trade with the Nyr and endangered their borders. Relations between the people were cold for a long time, until a few decades ago it was suggested to form a political union that the Nyr had previously always declined: a marriage. With king Leoros and Darthonian noble Therstina entering an arranged relationship to fortify the nations’ until then shaken partnership again, tensions began to brew between Nyr and Darthonian communities.

The Assadin and the Kitu

There are some noticeable tensions between the Assadin and the Kitu, as the Kitu have been in Ivendarea since many centuries before the Assadin, well-adapted and accepted by the Nyr. Their natural inclination for magic is also an advantage they have over the Assadin, whose mages are powerful, but rare. Since the Kitu are only a small population group without much political influence and outsiders in this nation, they are mostly tolerated by the Assadin. The Kunae feel close to the Kitu, who also had to flee their homeland out of fear of slavery and oppression.

...

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arcticdementor · 4 years

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When I think of the Waverly Diner on 6th Avenue and Waverly Place in Greenwich Village, I am moved by romantic nostalgia. By that I only mean that when I think of the Waverly I feel, in some way, what it was like to be young and in the rush of the conversation. The conversation was everything. It flowed all around us, in the subways and the streets, in the diners and the high-rise apartments, and if you could master it, it could take you anywhere. You could still smoke inside of diners back then and sometimes we spent whole days around an ashtray and a plate of disco fries, getting refills on the coffee. I’m not saying all the arguments were good, but sometimes it was thrilling.

Perhaps that’s a uniquely New York thing, to place so much faith in talking. But it once felt very American, too; the diner-booth yapper animated by argument, one version of the big city fast talker who reflected an aspect of the national character right there alongside the taciturn cowboy, the trapper frontiersman, and the Puritan. American because, if you could think it and you could argue it, then maybe you could be it, too. It was at least possible. And it was democratic in the best sense. You could talk to anyone, butt into any stranger’s conversation, as long as you had something interesting to say.

I don’t know how to argue in America anymore, or whether it’s even worth it. For someone like me, that is a real tragedy and so I would like to understand how this new reality came about.

There are distinct and deep-rooted traditions of rational empiricism and religious sermonizing in American history. But these two modes seem to have become fused together in a new form of argumentation that is validated by elite institutions like the universities, The New York Times, Gracie Mansion, and especially on the new technology platforms where battles over the discourse are now waged. The new mode is argument by commandment: It borrows the form to game the discourse of rational argumentation in order to issue moral commandments. No official doctrine yet exists for this syncretic belief system but its features have been on display in all of the major debates over political morality of the past decade. Marrying the technical nomenclature of rational proof to the soaring eschatology of the sermon, it releases adherents from the normal bounds of reason. The arguer-commander is animated by a vision of secular hell—unremitting racial oppression that never improves despite myths about progress; society as a ceaseless subjection to rape and sexual assault; Trump himself, arriving to inaugurate a Luciferean reign of torture. Those in possession of this vision do not offer the possibility of redemption or transcendence, they come to deliver justice. In possession of justice, the arguer-commander is free at any moment to throw off the cloak of reason and proclaim you a bigot—racist, sexist, transphobe—who must be fired from your job and socially shunned.

Practitioners of the new argument bolster their rationalist veneer with constant appeals to forms of authority that come in equal parts from biology and elite credentialing. Have you noticed how many people, especially online, start their statements by telling you their profession or their identity group: As a privileged white woman; as a doctoral student in applied linguistics; as a progressive Jewish BIPOC paleontologist—and so on? These are military salutes, which are used to establish rank between fellow “az-uhs” while distinguishing them as a class from the civilian population. You must always listen to the experts, the new form of argument insists, and to the science. Anything else would be invalid; science denialism; not rational; immoral.

Because of the way it toggles back and forth between rationalism and religiosity, switching categories by taking recourse to one when the other is questioned, the new form of argument-commandment, rather than invalidating itself or foundering on its own contradictions, becomes, somehow, rhetorically invincible—through the demonstration of power relations that the arguer denies exist, but are plainly manifest in the progress of the argument.

…

Argument itself requires that certain fundamental questions are settled and beyond dispute. In order to argue over whether the sky is blue, we’ll have to agree on what the sky is. The new argumentation has not only vastly expanded the number of subjects that are supposed to be beyond argumentation, it has, by a sleight of hand, reversed the nature of the matters that cannot be questioned. Now, it is precisely the most contentious issues—is biological sex a valid concept? Is racism and abuse so widespread in American law enforcement that we should immediately defund the police?—that must be accepted a priori.

To insist that the conclusion that the arguer wishes to reach, with its implied corollary commandment, must be accepted by his or her opponent as a premise before the argument begins is not the move of a person who has confidence in their truth. It is the opposite of any form of reasoned argument. It is coercive. Except the people who argue this way claim that they cannot possibly be coercive, because you must accept the premise that they don’t have power—even if they are editing The New York Times Magazine, or threatening to get you fired from your job. You say they can’t have it both ways? They say, why not—and then accuse you of opposing the powerless, which, it turns out, is a form of authority that cannot be trumped.

The reason we cannot argue about certain things is because they have already been proven true and the truth they have established is such a significant moral advance—like ending child sacrifice—that to question the rational basis on which the truth rests is to risk eroding a foundation of the moral progress that separates us from encroaching barbarism. If you want to argue about those things, then you are a barbarian—which means that argument with you is impossible, because the only argument that barbarians understand is being put to the sword or sent off to a labor camp.

Do you need me to give you an example of this kind of argument? Not really, because such arguments have become the norm. But here are a few recent examples:

…

Here are the two parts of the argument by commandment. There is the empirical assertion—let’s call it X. And there is the moral claim suggested by, or perhaps even mandated by the evidence of X—let’s call that Y. Empirical evidence shows that there is an epidemic of sexual assault against women, that epidemic requires a drastic corrective, and that corrective enshrines a moral claim and a commandment—American women are sexually victimized, egregiously and without the protections of a justice system that systemically discriminates against them. Therefore it is virtuous to “believe women” and to encode that belief formally in new procedures of law and justice.

Only it turns out the rational argument was wrong. The evidence did not actually show that 1 in 5 women would be sexually assaulted on a college campus, a statistic repeated by President Barack Obama himself to justify “sweeping changes in national policy.”

…

But if you were clueless enough to point out the flaws in rational claim X, even if just to wonder over matters of degree, then wham!—you were whacked in the face with moral claim Y. Evidence X isn’t evidence; it’s window dressing. And if you’re too stupid to understand that, then you’re probably an even worse person than the arguer supposed.

Because—think about it—who else but a fervent, drooling misogynist, or a rape apologist, or a real live rapist, namely someone both ideologically and emotionally invested in actively disbelieving women, would be so interested in picking apart the evidence that supported such an obviously virtuous and necessary claim—especially now, at a moment when people are literally dying? What basis would anyone have to question X aside from the desire to violate the moral value of Y?

…

The organs of reason and expertise have one by one, pledged their cultish loyalty to this new faith. A group of doctors wrote an article in Scientific American explaining why the mentioning or reading of the results of George Floyd’s autopsy was a racist act. Public health officials across the country, who had in May condemned public demonstrations in the strongest terms, now fully endorse the protests sparked by the killing of George Floyd. In a petition signed by some 1,200 health officials, they declare that it is incumbent on others in the profession to offer “unwavering support” to the current protesters as a matter of both moral and medical hygiene. They all together elide the difference between empirical claim and moral commandment by declaring that, “White supremacy is a lethal public health issue that predates and contributes to COVID-19.” And so, the merger of pseudorationalist discourse with the new American religion of anti-racism is completed.

America’s elite institutions now routinely make statements and use language that empirically is false. Indeed, they have taken the making, propagation, and enforcement of such language as their central mission. Because these statements are false, they make solutions to the real problems that are being gestured at impossible—while turning people who may want to actually address those problems into evil rape apologists and racists.

What we are witnessing, in the rapidly transforming norms around race, sex, and gender, is not an argument at all but a revolution in moral sentiment. In all revolutions, the new thing struggling to be born makes use of the old system in order to overthrow it. At present, institutions like the university, the press, and the medical profession preserve the appearance of reason, empiricism, and argument while altering, through edict and coercion, the meaning of essential terms in the moral lexicon, like fairness, equality, friendship, and love. That the effort wins so much support speaks to the deep contradictions and corruption of American meritocratic institutions, and of the liberal individualist moral regime it seeks to replace.

#tablet magazine #jim watson #read the whole thing

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