#he tried his best but he’s an american-born kid with anxiety issues from his parents divorce let him chill

[yourbustedkneecaps]

shiro 100% sucks at speaking fluent japanese. his grandparents tried to teach him but all he can do is swear, ask for forgiveness/say i’m sorry, introduce himself, and count

he basically knows japanese baby talk and i think that’s hilarious

[the-sound-of-her-wings]

I Am Not Starfire, And That's Okay

I recently read I Am Not Starfire and I had lots of thoughts, which are under the cut. It is spoiler-heavy and an analysis of the main character, who I find to be a charming, flawed, and incredibly human character.

Mandy is a fascinating character and a great look at a teenage girl who feels ostracized by the people around her and who feels disconnected from her parent. Mandy is by no means flawless, and that's what makes her very interesting. It also makes her relatable.

Mandy starts by talking about how she's noticeably different from her mom, being the "Anti-Starfire". She's a regular kid, can't fly, and doesn't own a swimsuit, while her mom is a superhero, can fly, and always wears bikinis.

On page 11 she mentions "her mom hasn't liked how I looked since I was twelve. She wears less than a yard of fabric every day, yet somehow, I'm the one who's dressing weird". While I understand people who call this slut-shaming, and I'm inclined to agree, but I think it's a little more nuanced than that. The next page reads, "My friend Lincoln convinced me this is the cultural divide that happens between family generations born in different countries or universes. His parents were born in Vietnam." This tells me that the authors intended to point out the difference in dress more as another difference between Starfire and Mandy, and less as a reason to blatantly slut-shame Starfire. I think there's absolutely a conversation to be had about why the authors decided to use this language instead of conveying the point differently. I also think it speaks to how Starfire has more or less been sexualized from inception, and how people look down upon her character because of that. In the context of this book, though, it's one of Mandy's character flaws that I think fits her both as a character and reflects what I've seen from actual teenage girls. Our society coaches us to view women who dress a certain way as less than women who don't and unlearning that takes time and effort. I don't think this comment about her mom should have been put in there by the authors, but I do think it fits in with the values American society in particular teaches about women.

Page 15, 16, and 17 all point to a far more complicated state of existence than Mandy points out within the first few pages. For one thing, Mandy has to deal with people who love her mother and only want to use her to get information about her mom and the other teen titans. This is shown by the "Titan groupies" who ask her to tell Starfire what they say about her. Another thing she has to deal with is the expectation to be a superhero and have powers like her mom, and the questions about who her dad might be. She gains her first real friend, Lincoln, because he tells the people asking about her parentage that they are assholes.

It is revealed that Mandy has a crush on Claire after she gets assigned a group project with her. Mandy is in denial over the crush. She thinks about the fact she's meeting Mandy at the end of the day throughout the rest of the school day, causing her to explode something in Chemistry Class. I find this to be highly relatable and gives her character a softer side to the edginess she desperately tries to portray herself as.

While talking about the project with Claire, it is revealed that Mandy ran out of her SATs and didn't complete them. While Mandy tries to paint this as a cool badass moment, the way the comic artist portrays the scene makes me think Mandy had an anxiety attack. Mandy didn't run out of her SAT because she's some kind of alternative badass who doesn't need to take them. Mandy ran out because she got overwhelmed by the sounds of people chewing and the pressure of the test. While she frames it differently, it's clear to me that Mandy is avoiding taking the SAT again because she doesn't want that to happen again.

When Claire invites her to hang out with her friends, Mandy gets treated like she isn't there, or as some kind of unwanted outsider. The topics they discuss seem to be specifically made to make Mandy uncomfortable, like mentioning how stretchy jeans are only made for fat people, and asking if aliens don't go to college. Jaded by this, Mandy makes up that aliens actually have to go through this huge blood right and battle to the death, but tells Claire's two friends she was joking before leaving. This tells me that Mandy deflects her pain by using humor to cope and has no issue clowning on people who are trying to belittle her for being an alien.

Starfire tries to bring up going to college after this, and Mandy just flees to her room. She hasn't told her mom she didn't take the SAT yet or that she isn't going to college. She feels distant from her mom, which is explained further through a montage of birthdays where she never got her powers. Her mom expects a lot from her, and Mandy thinks Starfire is disappointed about her lack of powers.

Later, Mandy invites Claire over to her house to complete the project they are working on. The Titans are still there when Claire arrives, but she seems to ignore them, as they leave shortly after. Mandy and Claire bond as they continue the project. Mandy reveals to the reader that she's never had a girlfriend, except for one time at sleep-away camp where she kind of dated a girl for four weeks. She didn't tell her who her mom was because she was tired of living in the shadow of a superhero. But the relationship ended because Mandy had lied about who her mom was, and the girl she was dating didn't understand why she would lie. I think this really shows just how much Mandy actually wants to be a normal girl like everyone else, to the extent that she'd lie about who her mom was. Her edgy demeanor at school and around town where her mom is known to be her mom is a defense mechanism to having lived under the shadow of a superhero her entire life.

When it's revealed that Claire took a photo with the Titans at Mandy's house, Mandy is understandable heartbroken, and furious. She thought she had been making a real connection with Claire, but this photo makes her think she's been used, again. Claire seems genuinely baffled by Mandy's reaction to this, thinking little of it. But to Mandy, it is a breach of trust from someone she thought cared about her. I think her angry reaction to Claire makes sense because of this, even if it might have been disproportionate to the offense.

On top of this, Starfire has discovered that Mandy walked out of the SAT and doesn't plan to go to college. After a heated conversation, she runs away, but her mom finds her. And then Blackfire finds her. Turns out the fake story she told Claire's friends earlier in the story was actually true, even though Mandy didn't know it.

Since Claire actually cares about Mandy, she tracks down Lincoln who explains to her why Mandy reacted badly, and that she should probably apologize for taking the photo. Claire also admits that one of the friends from earlier, Deb, actually dared her to take the photo. Claire is a good person at heart, but this action shows that she can still be influenced to do something that would hurt another person. And while she might not have known it would hurt Mandy, Deb probably did.

Starfire and Blackfire fight since Mandy has no powers, but Starfire gets injured causing Mandy to realize just how much she loves and cares about her mom, even though they don't see eye to eye on most things. This finally unlocks her powers, as she's let go of most of the resentment she's held against her mom. She even gets asked for an autograph by someone in the audience after the battle.

The story ends with Mandy training her powers, studying for the SAT, and reconciling with Claire, sharing a kiss, and becoming girlfriends.

I've seen a lot of discourse that frames Mandy as being "not like other girls". I don't believe this framing actually fits Mandy very well. The only girl Mandy ever says she is not like explicitly is her mom. She is the only woman she compares herself too, and the only person who she seems to have a lot of resentment for, aside from people who use her to get to Starfire. Additionally, Mandy falls for someone who is what a stereotypical, normal popular girl is often portrayed as. She's preppy, wears makeup, gets good grades, has friends, and runs a fairly popular Instagram account. If Mandy was extremely into the "Not like other girls" rhetoric, she would've made fun of Claire for all those things. Instead, she admires her for them. Mandy is fat, has acne/freckles, dresses goth, and wears a nose ring. If this is the reason people are identifying her as a "Not like other girls" girl, then they don't understand that trope. Simply dressing differently from your peers, being fat, and hating your mom does not make her the "not like other girls" trope. It actually makes her like other, real-life girls who dress and act similarly, because that's who they are, not because they somehow think they are better than other women.

I'd also make the argument that, fundamentally, Mandy IS different from other girls on the account of having a superhero mother and potentially a superhero father. Her life is completely altered by Starfire's existence as her mom and is likely only relatable to the children of other superheroes and celebrities. She is not like other girls because of her mom, and that still doesn't make her someone who falls in line with the conception of being "not like other girls".

I thoroughly enjoyed this book and hope others do too. I read Mandy as a flawed character who was trying to figure out how to exist outside the Shadow of her mom- and eventually succeeds, by learning to embrace her mom. I would've preferred if Mandy had a slightly darker skin tone, as her features seem black-coded to me and Starfire is also often black-coded. Otherwise, I do think this was one of the best DC Graphic Novels for Young Adults I've read, alongside Teen Titans: Beast Boy and Teen Titans: Raven.

[fmdtaeyongarchive]

rewriting ash’s intro post since i link it on his plots page so that the info’s up to date since my last rewrite is over two years old. i added quite a bit about his personality/characterization, so feel free to read it but also feel equally free to ignore it.

tw: mention of depression/anxiety

ashton taeyong kwon, born in san francisco, california on december 24, 1995, and was raised there until age 13

his stage name is taeyong, but friends call him ash. he’s learned to respond to taeyong tho and doesn’t mind fans and acquaintances calling him that; he just doesn’t really like being called ashton unless you’re his actual mom and he will generally make his distaste known if you do that. fans don’t really know he goes by ash in his private life so they call him taeyong and he’d like to keep it that way. (he’s not a fan of fans pretending to have a closer relationship with him than fan-artist... lmao)

was a musical baby from birth so he started taking piano, dance, and guitar lessons pretty early and fell in love with all three

auditioned for bc entertainment’s global audition in los angeles for fun more than anything else as a dancer. he didn’t know a ton about korean music (or korean language) but figured it couldn’t hurt since he knew he wanted to pursue a music career

won a contract offer and decided to go for it with his parents’ approval, so he moved to seoul by himself at 13

he knew very little korean, so he was kind of isolated as a trainee and was really lonely. his parents probably shouldn’t have let him move his life overseas alone at such a young age and on such short notice knowing his personality, but they kinda wanted to live the childfree life again since they had him so young and without plans to have a kid

(his parents are good parents for the most part, though! he loves them to death and they’re very loving and supportive, they’re just the types that didn’t plan to have a kid until it happened on accident)

by the time he debuted, he knew korean well enough to get by but he did have some attitude scandals when they first debuted because he was trying to overcompensate for not being 100% fluent

bc decided his image should be more ~broody and artsy~ to avoid more attitude scandals. since then, it’s evolved into james dean-esque bad boy heartthrob, but for the longest time his image was pretty much being quiet which led to him not being super popular until he eventually started to shape his own solo career (so he now has a lot of akgaes)

things were going pretty well for him for a while ! knight was doing great and yeah maybe he was a little overworked but he was performing ! which is what he wanted ! right ? right ?????

all hell broke loose on valentine’s day in 2016 when one rather minor dating rumor released by a media outlet led to a much bigger scandal which originated in fan communities through “leaked” pictures of him out with other female celebrities in common date locations or, in one case, entering a hotel together on more than one occasion

antis quickly ran with the narrative of him being a player/womanizer/serial dater/cheater, etc. and further “evidence” appeared on fan communities like unsubstantiated “eyewitness” stories and convenience store receipts and it took a big toll on his reputation despite the company coming out with a statement denying everything and claiming he was only friends with the women

it became a big mess and he tried to put on a strong face but in reality it tore him up because now everyone was talking shit about him online and trying to make his private life their business and he ended up in a Really Dark Place

was pretty much dungeoned outside of knight activities for about eight months before he was made one of the members of the white knight sub unit to get him back in the public’s graces which worked on a minor level. he got his first solo activities (osts) around this time as well to test out public response.

in 2017, got caught with another female idol at a convenience store at night which sparked dating rumors, but those were more easily dismissed. late that year, he got in a scandal for causing a commotion when he was wasted outside of a club in tokyo and called a female friend to pick him up from the club... not his best move.

2018 was the year of being criticized for being lazy on stage and allegedly having an attitude problem with fans during fan signs. was a bad look, but the instances causing the scandal were mainly a result of his poor mental health (depression and extreme anxiety) he was dealing with as a result of making his solo debut amidst quite a lot of online hate.

so yeah he made his solo debut in late 2017 and has had a steady career as a solo artist (he’s dropped four full albums and several promoted or non-promoted singles) and a model for endorsements and cfs (his biggest and longest-term deal has been with calvin klein, and that’s become a part of his Brand now i would say — the sexy, modern, all-american image of calvin klein fits his public image to a t) since then. he and bc have worked very hard to redeem his public image and he hasn’t had a scandal in like three years, during which time he’s had six number one singles, so he’s not public enemy number one anymore and his past scandals tend to be more of a footnote to people who aren’t actively his antis lmao

he also had a viral fancam in october 2020 that went viral for him being sexy and Very Into singing you know i’m no good by amy winehouse (because he hates himself </3)... sexy king who has internalized issues with being sexualized that he kinda has to deal with since that’s a big part of his image and also continuously gets rewarded in his career for his Public Self-Hatred Self-Flagellation... anyway

has also done a lot of work as a songwriter/producer since his solo debut for himself and others and that’s his main passion right now. this man does not leave his home studio a lot

doesn’t have much say in knight’s music but he’s fine with that since he’s pretty much over knight. would throw a party if knight disbanded today and considers other knight members co-workers over friends for the most part.

has major depressive disorder and an anxiety disorder (the former is diagnosed, the latter isn’t officially but ash knows something is up there, he just hasn’t seen anyone with the capacity to officially diagnose him) and insomnia and those took a really bad toll on him for a while and still do but he’s actively seeing a therapist again as of mid-2020 and is trying to handle those situations better

ummmmm, his main personal interest is music, he has an impulsive/rebellious streak for days, and he’s a hopeless romantic who believes his own personal search for love is hopeless

his main motivation is just ?? to find happiness that he doesn’t think he’s really felt in his adult life but he also doesn’t think he deserve it so :/ is also very driven by his desire to have a long-term impact on the world and to Mean Something

his biggest fears are heights, not meaning anything to anyone, and The Inevitability Of Oblivion

he hates being Known . he’s extremely private. doesn’t let anyone know about his relationships and tends to be weirdly private about his friendships as well. doesn’t think anything he does is anyone else’s business unless he personally makes it their business lmao

a hufflepuff who could have also been considered for gryffindor tbh but would choose hufflepuff

infj-t (”the advocate”) - “they tend to approach life with deep thoughtfulness and imagination. their inner vision, personal values, and a quiet, principled version of humanism guide them in all things.” 

i used to call him neutral good but i honestly think he’s become chaotic good

melancholic

type 4w5 (”the bohemian” / “the free spirit”) - “four wing fives fear having no impact on the world. they may be reserved, but they seek recognition and admiration. they desire their own personal identity, and may retreat within themselves to discover who they really are. free spirits tend to defend themselves either by withdrawing from others or adapting characteristics of loved ones.”

that’s all really but i can talk about him for hours if anyone ever wants to know more about him

[natedelmore]

Nathaniel “Nate” Delmore

Chris Evans & he/him, cis-male ‷ watch out , Nathaniel Keaton Delmore has crash-landed into roswell !! he looks 40 years old and celebrates his birthday on June 13th . He is from Washington, D.C., resides in Moonbeam Gardens and is currently working as CFO of Delmore, Inc.. one thing you should know about him is he loves stargazing with his ESD Cosmo - Written by Steph

The Basics:

Nathaniel Keaton Delmore

Age: 40

Birthday:  13 June

Nationality: American

Gender/Pronouns: Male, He/Him

Sexuality: Heterosexual-ish

Marital Status: Single

Occupation: CFO of Delmore, Inc. 

Note: Mirrors Cargill

Physical Appearance:

Hair: Brown

Eyes: Blue

Height: 6′0

Build: Fit

Distinguishing Marks: 

Scars on chin, throat, back, wrists, and ankles

Various tattoos on his arms and chest that are not visible when in a shirt with sleeves / professional attire

Other Details: Due to kidnapping for ransom in college, Nate has PTSD and has an emotional support dog (ESD/Service dog) to alert him when he’s triggered. He struggles with large gatherings and crowded places, as well as with unexpected loud noises.

Personal:

Profession: “Glorified Accountant” and Delmore “Poster Boy” at fundraisers

Hobbies: Reading, writing poetry, stargazing, jogging

Languages: Fluent in English, Spanish, French; Proficient Japanese and Chinese

Residence: Large estate in Moonbeam Gardens

Note: Property is owned by the Delmore family and is not to Nate’s taste. He owns a cottage in the suburbs around Boston that is very much his style and then a townhome in D.C. and penthouse in NYC that are owned by the family and not to his taste.

Birthplace: Washington, D.C. but considers Boston ‘home’

Religion: Christian (non-practicing), considers himself to be ‘spiritual’

Fears: Crowded places, public speaking to strangers

Relationships:

Spouse: None

Children: None and reluctant due to his age and family

Parents: Mother and father are married and live in Wayzata, Montana with homes in various locations around the world “for business”

Siblings: Older sister (Samantha goes by Sam/Sammy with Nate and is 48)

Other Relatives: Yes, all working for the family company and living in various locations depending on their job.

Pets: Cosimo, who Nate lovingly refers to as Cosmo or Cosi, is his service dog and as close to a pet as a service dog can be.

Traits:

Extroverted / In Between / Introverted

Disorganized / In Between / Organized

Close Minded / In Between / Open Minded

Calm / In Between / Anxious

Disagreeable / In Between / Agreeable

Cautious / In Between / Reckless

Patient / In Between /  Impatient

Outspoken / In Between / Reserved

Leader / In Between / Follower

Empathetic / In Between / Apathetic

Optimistic / In Between / Pessimistic

Traditional / In Between / Modern

Hard-working / In Between / Lazy

Cultured / In Between / Uncultured

Loyal / In Between / Disloyal

Faithful / In Between / Unfaithful

Biography:

Nathaniel Keaton Delmore was born into Delmore empire, a leading company in the United States. Being part of the one-percent had a singular perk: never having to worry about money. Nate learned pretty quickly that that was where its benefits stopped. He was the second of the Delmore children, and his mother never let him forget it. While she had reluctantly taken time off to care for his older sister, Samantha Marion Delmore, they waited until she was eight before they had him and more often than not they left Sammy to take care of him as if he was part living doll and part puppy. Developmentally it delayed him in walking because he was either carried or strolled around. It had also resulted in a stammer that was made worse by his parents frustrations in his inability to articulate words correctly. Though he would overcome those issues with little to no trace it left him with anxiety and a fragile sense of self.

He learned that if he kept good grades and kept his head down there wasn’t really anything his parents wouldn’t let him try. Anything he showed a natural talent for they supported until he was no longer the best in show, once again treating him more like a pet than a person. Be it piano, singing, basketball, horseback riding, or fencing; Nathaniel found himself having to find his own way. In high school, when his interests turned to debate and forensics teams because of a friend, his parents tried to put their foot down. Despite the lack of a stammer, they told him he’d be no good at it, seeing their quiet son as damaged once more. It was with his uncle’s support that he managed to make excuses and even attend summer camps. Public speaking became a way for him to face his anxiety and, with practice, he became unbelievably good at it, but not without anxiety.

With no support for college unless he legally agreed to major in microeconomics, Nathaniel finally left home to experience a slice of the real world. MIT was practically an entirely new planet for him and, despite being low key, there was really no surprise that people figured out who he was with the last name of a major American business. Just when he thought he was settling into a routine after a few years at MIT with a bartending job (much to his parents’ dismay), a co-captain position on the forensics team, and a close group of friends, he was kidnapped, tortured, and held for ransom.

After his rescue, Nathaniel would find the hardest part of the ordeal being the realization that no one knew he was missing for weeks. His job thought the rich kid had quit, though he never flaunted his money other than picking up the tabs shitty people cut out on. His friends thought he was sleeping with ‘that one girl’ that kept flirting with him at every party, though he swore there wasn’t anything there- just lending an ear to a heartbroken friend. His professors’ T.A.s were too overwhelmed to note his absences in the large classes. Then the forensics team thought his parents had finally pulled the plug on his participation because he’d divulged that they never really supported it when they didn’t attend any of the big competitions.

Through physical therapy his body healed from the torture, even though the scars remain. Concerned that therapy would look bad for the family they decided to allow him a service dog that was discretely trained and, after a hefty donation to the university and NDA paperwork, Sirius was allowed to follow him into his classes and any place around campus. Trying his best, the rest of his college experience was very much left in recluse. He took to reading and running to clear his head and avoid the reality that upon graduation he would be stepping into the CFO position of Delmore, Inc. Life seemed to be filled with dread outside of the travel the job would entail.

Managing to coerce his parents into agreeing to a masters, he delayed the inevitable a bit longer. Now, a decade later, he was settled into the monotony of corporate life and after Sirius passed and he took on a new service dog with the refusal to hide that part of his life any longer. It wasn’t lost on him that Samantha’s pep talk to do so likely stemmed from her own desire to climb the corporate ladder. The result was the same, his parents used him as the mouthpiece for the company’s charity work. They called the dog Cosimo, he called him Cosmo. They called him a survivor, he held his tongue that they’d treated him just as poorly. Through it all, he remains a dutiful, loyal, reserved; if not a bit more inclined to speak out against injustices than the average person. His decision to live in Roswell was out of a fib of convenience that he could fly out to west and east coast meetings best if in the central part of the U.S. So long as he plays his part and stays in line, they’re not going to complain.

[wearejapanese]

A Japanese person's perspective on the mini-series. Let's discuss!

As a naturalized Japanese-American who was born in Japan, speaks Japanese with family, and has lived in Japan for 10 years growing up, this mini-season was the absolute best thing I could have asked for. Binging it made my weekend!

Going into this, I immediately had this feeling in my gut knowing that there is an extremely large cultural difference between Japan and America, and was curious how effectively the show was going to explain that to the audience or if they were going to take a more shallow, "JAPAN IS SO KAWAII and COOL" route. People in Japan are EXTREMELY accustomed to the concept of "the nail that sticks out gets hammered down"; you should not be different or stand out, because you will be bullied and conforming is for your sake. Modesty, conforming, gender roles, being indirect and roundabout, and not being emotionally expressive are extremely big concepts in the Japanese psyche. Mental health, therapy, LGBT acceptance, being sexual, "doing me", straightforward emotional expression, embracing your curves, loving your body, etc. are not as prevalent in the general population as they are in America.

Kiko Mizuhara (who I've adored since I was a teenager living in Japan, she is so gorgeous and is in so many commercials in Japan) did a good job explaining and clarifying things to the Fab 5, although I wish she was featured a little bit more in each episode breaking things down more. The whole concept of a "guide" was really great, as she is decent at English and explained well, but I think the show could have done more with her.

1: Yoko was a fantastic hero to start off the season. The fact that she was spunkier than the average 50-year-old Japanese woman helped keep the episode lighthearted and appealing. She was so receptive and warm to the Fab 5 and it was a really feel-good episode overall. I think her episode helps viewers who are unfamiliar with Japanese social norms to get a taste of concepts like "throwing away your womanhood". I think the first slot was appropriate for this episode, as opposed to later. I was a bit sad that Bobby covered up a lot of the traditional Japanese interior of the community center, but I have to say the place ended up looking like it'd really be useful. I loved her transformation. It was really refreshing but still age-appropriate. In Japan, it'd be embarrassing to be talking about things like "How do you like the new me?", "I learned to have more self-confidence", etc. But the way she delivered her speech was soooooo...Japanese, so un-self-centered, it made her experience more digestible for the people there.

2: LGBT acceptance is really lacking in Japan compared to in the U.S. As soon as I saw the preview blurb on Netflix for this episode, I knew we were in for a doozy. Sure, there are still ignorant people anywhere, and still accepting people anywhere. But, as Kan expressed, it's extremely difficult to live "out and proud" in Japan with all of the social norms we grow up indoctrinated with. I thought Kan was the sweetest, most endearing lead, and he was also super receptive to the Fab 5, and I think it helped tremendously that he knew English so he could understand what they were saying. I also thought Kan was so brave to be so open on TV about his sexuality and I have so much gratitude for that. The scene with the monk and Kan breaking down about how he couldn't find support abroad or at home made me bawl my eyes out. I also really appreciated JVN telling Kan in the hair salon that it's radical and brave to love yourself and that's enough, you don't have to dress like him to be radical. Finally, sleeping on the floor is totally normal, and that is what a real futon is. The flat thing on the floor.

3: This was my second-favorite episode for a reason. It was so nuanced and definitely not the bubbliest or most happy. First of all, the mom haunts me. I am 100% Japanese, and my parents are both Japanese, live in Japan, only speak Japanese. They were traditional Asian Tiger parents growing up, and did a lot of things to me that I wouldn't ever do to my future kids. I don't talk to them about anything personal. I don't feel close to them. But, we get along decently in person, and they aren't bad people. Personally, in my opinion, something about Kae's mom gave me the heebie-jeebies. I got so much anxiety every time she came up on screen. There's obviously way more that has to be unpacked here. The pure, still rage on the mother's face when Kae said to Antoni that "she told me not to be in the kitchen so I felt uncomfortable to", the way the mom stirred the stuff in the pan with that blank stare, I felt extremely uncomfortable the whole cooking scene. And Antoni tried his hardest to get them to connect, but it just was a bit too "direct" to work well in Japan. I appreciated that Antoni heard out the mom when she said that saying "I love you" isn't normal in Japan, which is definitely true. The fact that the mother didn't recognize that bullying was a big deal literally floored me. The way she said "I think we're similar in that we both tend to not express our pain to our parents" really rubbed me the wrong way. That may be a fact, but it's not something to be content about or use as an excuse, it's something to improve upon. Sorry, I have a lot of thoughts on this topic from personal experience and also analyzing their body language and stuff from a Japanese perspective. Finally, I love JVN so much, but that hair was horrible. I wished he kept it pink or at least a dark burgundy. Also, loved seeing Naomi Watanabe in this episode and I think she was a great choice to inspire Kae - someone who can turn any situation into something lighthearted which will help Kae feel comfortable, while also being straight up, and with major star power! I don't know why tf Kiko got the drawing in the end, when she didn't even help, but oh well. Tan is so nice.

4: I knew guys kind of like Makoto growing up in Japan. Getting by in life, not openly into girls or dating, watching out for themselves, extremely introverted. Really fitting into the mold of what society accepts, because that's all they know how to do, think will be appreciated, and think is the right thing to do/think is enough. The way that Makoto's boss made that comment about how Makoto's wife is more out-spoken, saying what she wants, reflected the traditional gender roles and sexism that Japan still has. It had this undertone of like, women usually aren't like that. I really enjoyed this episode because it was honestly so...interesting. The dynamic between Makoto and Yasuko was really mind-boggling, right? I was so thrown off by all the things that were divulged about their marriage. I don't want to come across as disrespectful, but I honestly had a few moments in that episode where I thought Makoto was in the closet or something. Maybe it was editing. Did anyone else think that? However, I think that there are a ton of different types of people in the world - different personalities, ways of expressing themselves, childhoods, parenting styles that affect adult personality, all that stuff. Clearly, being from Japan where emotional expression is minimal and extremely indirect to begin with, along with maybe having a sad (?) childhood, and not being the most experienced with dating or relationships, I can see how Makoto and Yasuko unfortunately settled into this sibling-like relationship for 4 or so years. I think that they have a great shot at improving their relationship over time, and I think Karamo helped them so much with the yoga conversation where they finally opened up about their insecurities and unspoken worries. Also, I'm pretty sure they translated a bit wrong. Makoto is referring to Yasuko as the superhuman, not himself. He says to her, "Just the fact that you exist makes you a superhuman to me". Very sweet! His makeover also looked amazing, my favorite transformation of the season.

Overall, I'd rank the episodes in terms of how much I enjoyed them: 2, 3, 4, 1. How about you?

I think this mini-season excellently touched on a lot of really real social issues in Japan and presented how different things are in Japan compared to in the U.S. Do you have any questions about certain things that came up in an episode? I'd love to discuss with you and share my perspective.

(Reddit Conversation)

[augustjcrdan]

{ kj apa ♔ 24 ♔ he/him } well, well, well if it isn’t [august ‘aj’ jordan ] running around peach hollow. legend has it, they come from [olive avenue] and have lived here for [all their life]. if you’re wondering what they’ve been up to, i hear they’re an [NFL player] for a living. they have been known to be [naive] yet [CHARMING]. a word of advice to them, always look over your shoulder. you never know who is watching. { adri ♔ 26 ♔ est ♔ she/her }

basic information ↴

full name : August Michael Jordan nickname(s) : AJ preferred name(s) : AJ birth date : November 3rd age : Twenty Four zodiac : Scorpio gender : Male pronouns : He/Him romantic orientation : Straight sexual orientation : Heterosexual nationality : American ethnicity : Samoan, Scottish current location : Peach Hallow, Atlanta living conditions : Bought his own home recently in the same town he grew up in. Had it designed & built from scratch

background ↴

birth place : Atlanta, Georgia hometown : Peach Hollows, Georgia social class : Upper-Class education level : Went to college for 4 years before entering the NFL draft, but didn’t graduate. Was one semester short of getting his teaching degree parents: Divorced  father : Mike (girlfriend Gwen) mother : Christina (married to Jake) sibling(s) : 6 biological, 4 step siblings previous relationships : Angel - high school sweetheart

occupation  ↴

nfl tight end for the atlanta falcons.  wears number 83 does endorsement deals helps promote giving back to the city helps out a lot with children events at hospitals has appeared on lot of social media campaigns, has his own workout plan to purchase

physical appearance  ↴

face claim : KJ Apa eye color : Honey Comb hair color : Red with darker roots sometimes hair type/style : slicked back with some gel or just free flowing dominant hand : Right height : 6′1weight : 200lb build : super lean, abs for days tattoos : 8 but wants more piercings : both of his ears marks/scars : one in the middle of his eyebrows

BIOGRAPHY  ↴

When August’s parents were in college, both out of state and newbies to Atlanta, they found themselves with an unplanned pregnancy and a decision to make.

Mike and Christina decided to keep their son when they were 20 and 21, raise him in an off campus apartment while they finished up their degrees and figure out things along side their friends and extended family. 

They moved to Peach Hollow when Christina finished college. August has lived in quite a few places throughout the town as he grew up and loved it.

His dad, a Chicago native was a huge basketball fan. Being named Michael Jordan growing up, he thought he was the man and wanted more than anything for his kid to love basketball. When August came out with firey red hair, Mike thought that was the sign and called him basketball head for most of his life. But little did he know, AJ had a completely different plan.

His mom, a soccer player in college, was never going to push sports or anything onto her baby. Her parents were super hard on her and disappointed that she would never make the USA team after having a baby in college, so she wanted to raise August to pick whatever he wanted in his life to do.

Christina was more laid back in the parenting department and Mike was more demanding and short tempered. This caused for a lot of fights and a lot of blow outs that AJ witnessed at a young age. One of those fights resulted in his scar that he got in between his brows that he tells everyone was a slam dunk gone wrong.

Once Christina got the balls to leave Mike after a failed marriage, she found herself starting a lifestyle magazine in Atlanta along with a boutique. It wasn’t long after that she met her now husband, Jake, who already had a son and the two went on to have 2 more kids. Giving them the picture perfect, 4 kids, white picked fence life. Jake was in business and Christina’s life really took off.

Mike on the other hand wasn’t stable at all. He worked all different kinds of dead end jobs and bounced from one girl to the next, having 3 with 3 different women thinking that was his ticket to getting them to stay. The unstableness was uneasy for Christina to deal with having in August’s life and she had to often keep her son from seeing his dad for long stretches of time. 

Mike was quick to turn to alcohol and get drunk to deal and cope with how he failed as a father in many ways. And there were many drunk phone calls made to their home, restraining orders, the whole nines. It wasn’t something he really told many people about.

Jake was a great step dad, and his brother was cool, but at the young age of 7 - August really wanted to play football and have an escape from his life. He wanted to play the game he loved to watch on tv. Whether it was the Falcons, Bears or the Eagles (Since his mom is originally from Pennsylvania) he was mesmerized by the plays, the positions and the entire game.

Once he played in his first game, AJ was in love. He was tall for his age so jumping others and ‘mossing’ other children, August fell in love with being a tight end. There was no other position that he loved more. He got to be physical, block, protect the qb but also score touchdowns and create them all at the same time.

His workouts and daily routines became intense. He was talented and wanted to ride out his dream, he promised his mom if she let him go through with this, he was going to give it is all and he always has.

Having abs at 14 was something that was nice to impress girls his age with, but never did he think that older women would be hitting on him? Sure, cheek pinches and all of that were nice but when his mom took too much interest in him, he really didn’t know what to do.

She was someone his family trusted, someone they used to help further AJ’s career in high school and beyond and behind everyones back, she was taking advantage of him and sleeping with him. Her name is Macy and she still haunts his thoughts today.

Throughout high school, she took photos when he was asleep, would use them against him for blackmail to get time with him. She caused him so much pain, anxiety and depression that he couldn’t tell anyone about. Regardless of knowing he could take her down, she had some mental hold over him and he hated it. Plus, most people don’t think guys/men can get abused/raped and when AJ tried to tell his dad once, he said an older woman is every high school kids dream. She’s not. It’s not. It’s a nightmare.

Once he was able to get away from Peach Hollow, he attended PSU for four years and flourished. He was able to shake away Macy and though he missed someone from his past, still loved the hell out of her and wanted to be with her, he has always told himself he was protecting and saving her from the wrath of Macy.

Atlanta wasn’t where he was expecting to get drafted. Not at all. He was actually hoping and praying it would be to any other city for another fresh new start, but they took him in the first round. As a TE, that was huge. He was their ‘hometown’ hero guy that earned the nickname red jordan or red around the league easily thanks to the hair.

Now that he’s been playing and signed a huge, multimillion dollar deal with the falcons, along with tons of endorsements, a new management and pr team, he decided to move back to Peach Hollow and build a home on the lot he always admired on his walks home from school. It was another dream he was able to make a reality. Along with taking care of his mom.

His dad is still a mess, he’s with a girlfriend now and they’re having another baby on top of the 6 combined they have together. He asks AJ for money constantly and it’s the hardest thing in the world to have to turn down supporting his father, but once you give someone an inch, they usually take a yard. That’s exactly how he would describe his alcoholic, still over the top, biological father.

random headcanons  ↴

has two dogs; max & luna. had one growing up that was his best friend named scar. loves cars. has 5 favorite drink is whiskey straight or rum and coke. will do as many shots as you tell him to and is king of keg stands. will never shy away from jumping behind the bar. had to learn how to play the guitar in high school for an extra curricular class and still from time to time picks it up and jams out. he can’t really dance, so the guitar it is. if you put bacon on anything, he will eat it. hangs out with celebrities and acts like it’s no big deal. has issues knowing how to dress for events? he likes to keep it casual and relaxed like every day looks, so needs to hire someone to dress him. is obsessed with hats to hide his red hair. hates being asked if he was born in august. his mom picked the name out of a baby book, he wishes there was a cooler story behind it. his mom has been filmed on RHOA a few times and it gets to her head if you talk to her about it. so please don’t.

wanted connections  ↴

best friends step brother possible sibling like cousins/grew up together childhood friends matched on a dating app sports world friends hookups/one night stands models/girls he’s taken out on dates college friends anything/everything. i like to build off our characters and what they want/need in their lives!

[b0rtney]

Why I Do What I Do: 1. A Human Being with a Place of Birth

You can’t know where you’re going without knowing where you’re from, so today I’ll talk a little bit about where I’m from, and why I do what I do. This first part is about where I’m from as a human being.

I was born and raised in a nice little suburb of Missouri, about twenty minutes from downtown St. Louis. 

For kindergarten, I went to a nice Henry school and attended a nice Baptist church on Sundays, and maybe one other day of the week if I’m remembering that right. These were the kinds of places that would make any moderate person’s skin crawl. My older sister would scream and pout when my parents wrestled her into a church dress, but it would be a scandal if she tried wearing pants– that kind of place. My parents got divorced when I was six or seven, and that kind of thing had every person in that church turning their backs on my family, the fact that my mom soon began working to support me and my siblings was, I’m sure, the talk of the congregation for a little while– that kind of place. 

After my parents got divorced, I switched to another nice Henry school, and I moved to new houses: one for each parent. That nice Henry school didn’t work out for long. My mom couldn’t stand Henryity in almost any form anymore. And the tuition was too expensive for an electrician with a declining business and a brand-new real estate agent in 2007. So, public schools. My dad was zoned for a school with the best public schools around, so we used his address. Kehrs Mill Elementary was where I went starting in second grade, and where my brother went starting in Kindergarten. My sister started sixth grade at Crestview Middle. 

I went about half the year friendless in second grade, and then I met Fernanda. She was the only Hispanic girl in the whole school (there was one Philipino boy, two Chinese girls, an Indian girl, a Middle Eastern boy, and everyone else was African American or Caucasian). She, kind of literally, yanked me by the arm and dragged me into friendship, and I’d never been happier. We played Warrior cats (yes, based on the books, don’t look at me like that every school had some kids that did it… although I think the part where we lapped water out of the sink and hissed at her mom was a little weird). We made up a version of “Cowboys and Indians” where we would be two Chieftesses with inexplicable numbers of children and no husbands, facing moral dilemmas like what to do with prisoners of war when they won’t hear of peace– while our brothers (my one and her two) tried to shoot at us with Nerf guns. 

At this point, if you had asked me what I wanted to do with my life, I would have told you what I considered an impossible joke: I wanted to marry a woman, run an orphanage, adopt a bunch of teenagers and babies, and drive a van big enough to fit everyone in it when we went grocery shopping together. 

In third grade I took a long test in the school’s brand-new computer lab and I scored so well that they took me, once a week, on Wednesdays, to a different campus with other kids that scored really well on that test and we learned about lazers and climate change and cloning and other things for “gifted” kids. But otherwise, third grade passed in much the same way as second grade, but nothing exists without complications and so there came along a boy named Henry. He was new to school and he had what could have been called a cool haircut, for 2009, and Fernanda loved him. I didn’t. But she did, so I thought it was normal to like a boy, so I said I liked him too. And then he said he liked me better than her because she was weird and I kicked him in the shin and said something mean that I don’t remember anymore. But Fernanda didn’t like that, and she didn’t like me. So at the beginning of fourth grade she told me she wasn’t going to be my friend this year so that she could try being friends with someone else. 

So, I was alone again in fourth grade, for a minute. But by this time my real estate-mom had moved us to house number three (four, maybe?) since the divorce: a condo with blue carpets and mostly old people living there. This was where I met Branch, a kid from my class who visited his grandma in the condo directly above us. Branch and I each had a little brother, and by now my sister had taken to locking herself in her room and not talking to anyone, so Branch and me and our little brothers played “Hup-hups,” a war game where there were two sides, each with a commander and an infantryman who would respond to commands like “stay,” “go,” “attack,” and “attention.” It was pretty fun, so Branch told his friends at school about it, and they all wanted to join my faction, and this went on like a domino effect until I was running an army comprised of something like 30-50 fourth-grade boys, depending on the day, at recess. I don’t think I realized how weird that was at the time. We mostly just screwed around until another boy formed an oppositional army, calling themselves the Arachnids, because that was just about the biggest word you could know in fourth grade, and they started guerilla warfare. They would just straight-up attack us and try to hurt us. I would scream at the boys following me to run away, because I never wanted anyone to get hurt, but then the oppositional army leader had his arm around my throat and I was choking so I couldn’t yell very loud, and all the boys on my side just went to town attacking the Arachnids back. Somehow, none of the recess monitors– these were two grouchy old women who would always yell at me and Fernanda for trying to climb the trees– ever saw this, or stopped it. The violence continued until people got tired of it, and by the end of the year I was alone again.

Fifth grade was when the depression I’d had since I can remember really kicked it up a notch. It should be noted that I had no idea what depression was. I thought it was normal to just not want to get out of bed in the morning, to want to die all the time, to dig needles into your skin and try to make yourself bleed because at least then you have control over something. By then my mom had moved to house number five, within walking distance from the school, so my brother and I would walk together every morning. I made one new friend, named John, and he talked me out of suicide not once but twice, once by yelling at me over the phone and once by just existing, which is very impressive for a fifth grader, if I’m honest, but also I think I’ll always feel a little horrible for putting that pressure on him. I convinced myself that I loved him, at the time. 

You may be noticing a pattern with me and boys, but we’re not quite there yet. 

Of course, between fifth and sixth grade my family picked up and moved across the country from Missouri to Southern California.

I spent sixth grade and most of seventh grade friendless, and met a few friends in eighth grade– two of those friends are still with me to this day. In eighth grade I met a girl named Chloe, who had three pregnancy scares in a year and who convinced me to make out with her in a pillow fort in the room I shared with my sister while my sister was out with her boyfriend– and that was the first kiss I ever had and it felt like liquid lightning in my veins. But in eighth grade I also listened to my Republican parents on the matter of gay rights– of course, I barely knew what gay was, I just knew it was something you called people you didn’t like because that’s all that a Missouri elementary school teaches you about it– and so I thought gay people were a little gross, and I was a little gross for liking it when I kissed a girl, and I buried that part of me. In eighth grade I also met the boy who would be the first one I would date: Chris. I dated him from the middle of freshman year to the end of sophomore year in high school. We went on a few awkward dates, we held hands even though his were sweaty and we couldn’t get the timing right, we kissed even though it felt about as exciting as eating plain bread– not exactly bad, just not exciting or fun. 

Now the pattern might seem more clear. It certainly became very clear to me. 

I didn’t like boys. I like girls. I’ve liked girls since forever, and no amount of shame or repression was going to “fix” me because I. Wasn’t. Broken. I was depressed and I was anxiety-ridden and I was introverted maybe a little too much, but being homosexual was never an issue. 

I broke up with my boyfriend. I came out to my friends, then my siblings, then my parents, then everyone else. I had a girlfriend, and she lost interest, so I broke it off. I had another girlfriend, but I had never been interested, so I broke it off. Then I put dating aside. 

I continued to get straight As in school, take all the AP classes, run three clubs, rank nationally for field hockey goalies, help a friend of mine transition from straight girl to gay girl to nonbinary kid to straight boy, and accumulate a solid group of five friends. 

Then I got rejected from every college I applied to because of a clerical error I didn’t know about until a year later (after appeals were already a lost cause), so I got a job, I went to a community college, tried to go for a business degree and hated it, switched to a creative writing degree, and now here we are! With my applications submitted and one acceptance in the bag (thank you, University of Iowa!), now I want to focus on my writing and try to get published next.

Now that you know where I’m from, you know at least a little of what I care about. I deal a lot with mental health, so does my writing. My sexuality was a major unknown for me for a large portion of my life, so I include that a lot in the hopes that I can help someone else not be so lost with that. My hometown had very little racial diversity, so I want to represent more diversity in my writing. 

But I don’t want to get ahead of myself: in the coming posts, I’ll show you what I’ve written and read, so you can have a better idea of where I’m coming from as a writer, now that you know where I’m coming from as a person. 

[mind-writing0]

~Chapter 11~

They were all conveniently stashed in the dining room when the alarms went off

Piercing and non-stop, these blaring sounds went on around the Selected, shocking them into dropping their forks.

"To the back of the room, please, sirs!" King James ordered, his tone demanding yet understanding. He grabbed his wife, Queen Diana, around the waist and moved to a corner.

Prince Roman stood up, along with the other Selected, their silverware clattering onto plates of half-eaten food. His eyes met Virgil's, but only for a second, as he was not the one the prince was in search of. He saw Patton, paralyzed in terror, and stepped off of the platform intended for a royal family. Roman went over to him and grabbed his arm, pulling him along, the look in his eyes urgent yet comforting. Virgil felt his stomach tense, both from the intensity of the situation and seeing Roman's immediate reaction.

A few of the young men also had to be pulled along, and they were obviously too terrified to be in such a position for long. They finally got to the corner, a clamor of loud noises all around them. The butlers had pulled metal blinds over the windows, and it sounded as though heavy objects were being thrown at them.

"Sorry, sirs, we do have a bit of a...rebellion...as I am sure you've heard." The king stated, still clutching the queen even though she seemed fine.

The initial shock had faded, though the noise of the intruders still rang. Roman was seen talking with one of the other Selected, as he was making rounds, and he soon came to Virgil.

"Are you alright, my dear?" He asked in that odd English-American accent of his. No one really talked that way except for him, and Virgil wondered why he chose to speak that way if it wasn't learned.

Virgil didn't even mind being called my dear in that moment—he was too concerned with the sweeping relief he felt. "Yes," He replied tensely, then he waited a moment to muster up the courage to continue amongst all the shouting. "I—I wanted to thank you. For the jeans. And not kicking me out? If you're not...I don't know. I'm really sorry..."

Roman nodded, his hands behind his back as he looked both professional and lost in thought. "I can see why you did it, now. It did seem rather improper, in hindsight, though it does make a funny story. Perhaps we could tell it one day, lacking the intensity?" He sighed and looked down at his well-polished shoes. "Who am I kidding? You always seem mad at me...if it wasn't for your seemingly average caste and political standing, I could pinpoint you as one of them." He nodded towards the door, where there was more banging and yells.

"I'm not mad," Virgil said immediately, "and I'm definitely not a rebel. What's the deal with them, anyway? Like, do you guys know what's going on?"

Prince Roman nodded and looked over at his parents cautiously before continuing. "Well, in all honesty, it appears there's two very different types. Father won't listen; he claims they're all the same, but I believe there's two groups. One is the Northern rebels, they are less brutal. In my theory..." he looked around again. "I think they're looking for something."

Virgil gasped at the sudden idea of what secrets this palace could hold, and the idea of this group fighting to find them. Or they could just be petty thieves, though there could be a safer way of stealing riches. "What do you think they're looking for?"

"I'm not sure," Roman whispered, "but it is rather frustrating to be done with an attack and walk into your room being a wreck. You have no idea how many cameras and scripts I've had to replace."

"Cameras and scripts?" Virgil grinned, glancing over at Roman out of gratefulness of having something normal to talk about.

The prince blushed, "Yes, I'm interested in photography and theatre. Laugh all you'd like."

"No, I think it's cool. Most of the lower castes don't get to have interests; they just study what they're born into."

"Oh," Roman stopped in his thoughts, his eyes screaming guilt.

"Yeah..." Virgil shuffled awkwardly. This was one of the reasons he could hardly stand the idea of having a relationship with the prince. While they did get along—aside from some issues with Virgil's temper—how were they supposed to get along on politics from two very different viewpoints. Think of politics..."What's with the other group? Do you know what that want?"

Roman looked more tense than before, and Virgil had the urge to switch back to the scripts before things got more intense than what was going on outside. "Well...the other group is the Southern rebels. I believe they are only here to cause destruction, but they shouldn't be so quickly dismissed. They...they kill people, Virgil. I—I've only seen bits and pieces, but...it's horrible. That's why I believe this attack shall—should be credited to the Northern rebels. If the Southerners were responsible, there would be gunshots, and the Northerners never kill."

"Oh," Virgil said simply, his stomach sinking. "I didn't realize..."

"It's alright," Roman replied, though it wasn't. "If any of the rebels are after anyone, it'll be the royal family. I am in much more danger than anyone in this palace." His voice tried to remain smooth, but it cracked as if he were about to cry or have an anxiety attack. "Though I must remain strong for my country. As an old leader once said, 'The only thing we have to fear is fear itself'."

Virgil nodded, though he had no idea where he had heard that. All history lessons seemed strain or censored, even if that seemed ridiculous. He briefly remembered a tattered history book from when he was little. His mother kept it locked away, but Virgil got to it somehow. He was punished for the secrets he learned, though he hadn't learned much.

"You seem awfully quiet, my d—Virgil." Roman corrected, "Would you prefer for us to put these troubling thoughts aside for now?"

"Yeah," Virgil agreed, and he couldn't help grinning at the way the prince spoke. "So, how have you been handling the other Selected?"

"It's been alright," Roman commented, looking anywhere but at Virgil. "If you consider not arranging any dates in the hopes of ignoring them until they go away alright."

Virgil laughed, a surprising sound to hear amidst such a situation. "Well, I had a suggestion on how to start. My other friend, Lance, is really nice. He likes Cuban culture and comedy, and he's a talker, so you mostly just have to listen. Go ahead, Roman." He patted the prince on the back, but he had stopped cold in his tracks. "What's wrong?" Virgil asked.

"You called me Roman. Just Roman, with no prince or Your Higness beforehand." Roman muttered.

"Oh, sorry! I didn't mean anything by it." Virgil replied nervously. Weren't people, like, burned at the stake for that?

"It's alright, Virgil." The prince said, "I actually quite like not being addressed as royalty for once. It makes me feel like...like we're really friends." Then he walked off, to talk to Lance or someone else, before Virgil could say anything else.

The attack didn't continue on for much longer. The shouts ceased and the doors were eventually opened by a nervous maid. "I'm very sorry, please don't mind the mess."

"Nonsense," the king muttered, and Virgil couldn't tell if he was dismissing it out of kindness or mumbling annoyances.

They were all let out, and the Selected headed upstairs to their rooms. Many were surprised and upset when they saw the damage, and Virgil thought that maybe he was the only one Roman told of the different types of rebels. Though he had only just grasped the concept, he could already tell by the side effects that this was the Northern rebel's responsibility. When he opened his door, his room was wrecked. Pillows unstuffed, suits thrown out of the closet, books with pages ripped out strewn across the floor. Virgil's flustered maids were apologetically cleaning up. The black haired boy knelt down to help.

"Oh, no, sir, you don't need to help." Romelle pipped up, picking up some books.

"Don't make a big deal out of it," Virgil smiled at her. He had to be a bit gentler with her, as she seemed more fragile than the others. "It is my room, after all."

So they cleaned for a while, occasionally making small talk, though they never delved too personally into any of the stories to be kept a secret. After about an hour and a half, there was a knock at the door.

"Oh, no." Romelle whispered as Virgil answered it.

Roman stood at the door, his arms crossed. "Sorry," he held his arms at his side. "That was improper. I'm just a little upset, considering they took my Wicked script. Why would they even need that? Oh, well. Has everything been alright around here, fixing everything?"

"Yeah," Virgil replied, "I only really have a few books and stuff that needs fixing, they ripped—" he looked around at his maids, all of which were attentive to the point of eavesdropping. "They caused some damage. Hey, Katie, would you mind getting us some tea? Allura and Romelle can go with you, and you can take your time."

The maids, immediately sensing the request behind the words, giggled as they left. Virgil rolled his eyes with a smile, "Sorry about them. They're crazy, but I like them."

"Yes, they do seem like a characteristic bunch." Roman noted, his tone surprised as if he'd never seen a server with a personality before.

"So," Virgil, out of habit, sat at his new piano bench. "What are you doing here? Did you find something new?"

"How rude!" Roman said, "Can I not simply see my best and only friend?"

Virgil grinned, "I guess so." He looked down at the piano. "I could play a song. I know how to sing and play a lot of instruments, but that's pretty much it."

"Still fascinating, nonetheless..." Roman muttered. "Speaking of you being my talented and special friend, I wanted to arrange something." He moved to lean against the closet door.

"If it's another date—"

"No, no. I've learned my lesson. But I do believe it would be much more efficient and fun if we had a symbol, like something we do when we need to talk."

"A symbol?" Virgil asked, trying not to laugh as he shuffled through the palace's hand-picked pretentious music sheets. What was this, elementary school?

"Like, running a hand through my hair—no, that's too common. Pinching my cheek? No, that looks odd—"

Virgil interrupted his brain storming. "How about pulling on your ear?" He asked jokingly.

Roman looked as though he'd came upon a brilliant solution. "Great idea, Virgil! See, that's why we're friends. Okay, I regret to say I must go speak with the other Selected. I hope to be pulling on my ear soon." He winked with a small bow, then glanced for a moment at the purple and black swirled rose sitting solemnly in its vase. Then he left, and Virgil was left grinning when his maids came in with tea.

~~~~~~

Next Masterlist Previous

Wow, we have a big taglist! I’m glad all you lovely people like the story! 🥰 let me know if you wanna be added!

Taglist

@its-the-cat-queen @notalwaysthevillian @the-doctor-demigod-wizard @avocados26 @2-many-fandoms-to-chose-from @randomsandersides @misera-libera @kawaii-harmony @seeyoube @dabby-the-disappointment @kaioanxiety @toxicity-levels-critical @sandersfandersblog @tryingtoohard-noclue @amazable01 @hazelswann @ray-iplier @thats-so-crash @thatsthat24 @shootingace @marshmallow-the-panda @sortablue @random-artsy-space-dude @galaxy-lilies-main @magicaldestinayspaceunicorn @theunoriginaldaisy @lydixa-petal @sombraplayslazertag

[fiinalgiirls-aa]

GENERAL INFORMATION.

full name - jospehine harper ryan nicknames - joey, ryan gender / pronouns - she/her date of birth - july 12, 1996 place of birth - prescott, arizona / boot hill, arizona depending on verse citizenship / ethnicity - american / irish, english, scottish, icelandic. religion - atheist socioeconomic status / political affiliation - lower middle class; liberal. marital status - single, though may depend on verse. sexual & romantic orientation - bisexual. education / occupation - waitress. languages - english, some high school french and spanish

FAMILY INFORMATION.

parents - darby ( deceased ) & felicity ryan. siblings - heather, eldest sister ( deceased ); katherine, younger sister; edmund, younger brother. offspring - none pets / other - none. notable extended family - isabelle, niece and gabriel, nephew.

PHYSICAL INFORMATION.

faceclaim - maika monroe hair color / eye color - blonde / brown height / build - 5′6″ / slender tattoos / piercings - earlobes x 2. a few cartliage piercings. tattoo of ‘the moon’ tarot card on her left forearm. ‘x’ on her right middle finger. distinguishable features - big brown eyes, wild blonde hair

MEDICAL INFORMATION.

medical history - anxiety. known allergies - none. visual impairment / hearing impairment - none. nicotine use / drug use / alcohol use - very rarely will she smoke a cigarette or use drugs. drinks socially.

PERSONALITY.

traits - ( + ) amiable, stalwart, imaginative ; ( - ) melancholy, reserved, petulant tropes - small town boredom, desperately looking for a place in life, mommy issues, relative button, perky goth, cool aunt temperament - phlegmatic alignment - lawful good celtic tree zodiac - holly, the ruler mbti - infp hogwarts house - hufflepuff vice / virtue - envy / diligence likes / dislikes - fairy lights over a dark tapestry, old victorian houses, cats, a new pair of tights with no snags in them, a soft knit sweater, lavender lemonade, almond cookies, the sound of fallen leaves crunching underfoot /  people who dislike children, drunk drivers, the after-church sunday rush at her restaurant, ants, boys who are music elitists. quote - “she tastes like nectar and salt. nectar and salt and apples. pollen and stars and hinges. she tastes like fairy tales. swan maiden at midnight. cream on the tip of a fox’s tongue. she tastes like hope.”

FAVORITES.

food - bacon cheeseburger, and sweet potato fries. no mayo. drink - strawberry milkshake pizza topping - jalapenos, chicken, and pineapple color - black and pink music - dark synth, black or thrash metal books - we have always lived in the castle, by shirley jackson movies - suspiria, night of the living dead, uncle buck curse word - bullshit scents - peony, pumpkin, rain

BIOGRAPHY.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: disappearance of a family member, depression, death, car accident. DISCLAIMER: this biography was written for the group rp southouboundhq, but is mostly applicable to all verses.

josphine ryan is born the second of four to darby and felicity ryan on the hottest day in july. like her elder sister, she doesn’t have hardly more than a pale, peach fuzz or a gentle platinum swoop atop her head until the age of three. unlike her sister, joey hardly cries–even as a newborn–and never without reason. when heather learned to speak, she tried out every word, every syllable on her tongue–an intrepid speaker. joey takes her time and uses words deliberately, going from nothing to full sentences. the two girls are five years apart, but heather has been practicing this with her baby dolls for years. far apart in age, there are no closer sisters in villas adobes. as she grows older, joey thinks that, surely, there are no closer sisters in the world. it doesn’t change when the twins, katherine and edmund are born another four years later.

three girls and a boy, the ryan household is a bustling one. the kids all look after one another, getting along as well as parents can hope. heather and joey; katie and edmund. it’s just like that. it’s always like that. darby is a prestigious lawyer and they kids grow up hearing the tales of his life as a district attorney in seattle. one night, when the twins are asleep, heather asks him why he left seattle–why he left the job he loved so much. darby ryan racks his brain. he can’t remember. no matter how many times he’s asked the question, he can never remember.

one day, near the end of september, darby ryan walked out into the desert. he walked out into the desert and it was the most normal thing of all. he walked straight down silver mine road and felicity says that even one of the dominellis, or someone else over there near the funeral home, saw him walking down there and tried to wave and say hello, but he wouldn’t give them the time of day–didn’t even look them in their eyes. the cicadas sang their symphony to the desert night while darby ryan walked straight down that road , normal as can be, and he never came back.

the impact of grief affects her mother profoundly–how can you put a wandering spirit to rest?–but between the five of them, they make do. heather and joey, as the eldest girls, make sure the younger ones are looked after while felicity works two jobs. even after heather is on her own and starting her own family, she makes sure her siblings are taken care of. she fixes the lunches for the younger ones and trades out babysitting shifts with joey when she needs some solitude for homework or a trip to drive-in with margie and the girls.

joey is nearly seventeen when heather and her boyfriend die in the wreck that leaves joey with a broken arm and a small laceration to her forehead. hit by a drunk driver, joey’s niece and nephew are orphaned in one tragic accident. if her mother had been distant following her father’s disappearance, she is beside herself over the loss of her eldest daughter. within a year, felicity has lost both her job as a dental hygienist at old main street and as a waitress at the turquoise star diner. she rarely leaves her bed, let alone the house except to scrounge up enough cash for a trip to the liquor store. everything falls on the narrow shoulders of the eldest remaining daughter. still a girl herself, joey is hardly eligible for custody of her siblings and heather’s kids. on top of raising four kids, she makes efforts to maintain her mother’s image–only absent in public out of dedication to being a stay-at-home mother. the social security payments aren’t enough and joey starts working through high school. still a girl herself, she watches her sister and her dreams die in that same year.

she would’ve been a writer. some clever girl who’d spin words onto paper like she wraps blonde curls around her finger. outside this wretched place–a true boot hill, her family plot–she would have found adventures and peculiarities worth writing about. in boot hill, joey ryan finds only tedium and loss; boredom and death. history loves repeating itself like a chorus, or the nightly siren song of the cicadas, and the high school grad takes a waiting job at the same diner her mother was let go from. it paralyzes joey from making new connections; she tears up every phone number written on the back of some credit card receipt left on the table of the diner’s booths. she’s already raising four kids and her mom, most days, as well. she can’t afford a dream or a family of her own.

with the twins now in their senior year of high school, joey knows that they will move on–searching for their own lives, moving out to rent an apartment with a best friend, a lover. there are heather’s kids, seven and nine, and her mother that need looking after, and yet she feels more freedom now than she has had in the last six years. maybe someday she can get out of this place–even if it means leaving her loved ones behind. maybe someday she’ll walk out onto silver mine road, normal as can be, while the cicadas sing. she’ll walk right down that road like it’s the most normal thing in the world. she’ll pass right by a dominelli or maybe a close friend without a word or even a polite nod. maybe she’ll finally hear the cries of the amen shrieker. maybe she’ll hear nothing at all.

[thewritingpossum]

You say 'ask me about my hatred for Rainbow Rowell', so now I'm curious...who are they and what did they do?

Ok, so I’ve had this thing in my blog description for litteral years and you’re only the second person who ever reacted to it, bless your soul, truly. It’s gonna be a super long answer tho so I apologize in advance if it bores you to tears. Also there’s some spoilers for her book Eleanor & Park in this thing, if anyone care about that. 

So Rainbow Rowell is a ya novels writer who happens to be highly popular around here (I also think she actually has a tumblr? I may be wrong on that point tho) and who was ever more popular around 2013 when she published her first book, Eleanor & Park, a love story between a fat, non-conventionally attractive girl dealing with abuse and poverty and a mixed race (white and korean) boy dealing with a bit of an identity crisis, all of that with a cool 80’s background. Sounds pretty cool, eh? That’s what I thought but…No.

First of all, this book is incredibly racist. Park (the half-korean boy) has a severe case of self-hatred and internalized racism. He wished he looked like his strong, all-american looking brother who even has an american name and is so much more mainly and can even drive shift (he’s supposed to be his baby brother who is like 13 but I get miss Rowell got confused with her own timeline). I don’t have a problem with that in itself: I can totally imagine a teenager growing up in a mainly white community dealing with that.

 My problem is with the ‘resolution’ of the problem: Park realize that Eleanor (the “chubby” girl) prefers asian guy and since obviously the marker of wether you’re worth anything or not is how appealing you are to white women, he magically get over his issues. Eleanor also spent the whole book fetishizing and otherizing the ever lasting christ out of her boyfriend. She constantly refers to him (in her head, to be fair) as “that asian kid”, “that stupid asian kid”, “that stupid, beautiful asian boy” and being sooooo into the fact that he’s asian (and has magical green eyes that are so different and non-asian but sooo pretty ). It’s very uncomfortable to read, tbh.

If you think that’s bad, wait until we get to her mother, who is quite litterally a racist caricature. Mindy (an americanized version of Min-Dae -which is not even an actual korean name, no more than Park but it’s whatever at this point) is a manucurist spoking broken english who gets compared to china dolls by one of the main character. She was born in Korea but was “brought home” by her american husband, a soldier who was stationned in her country (it’s already yikes enough and only get worst when you learn that Rainbow based that whole mess on a picture that she found of her own military dad with a woman in korean: I mean, I guess it’s your prerogative to write romantic fanfictions about your parents but like…The reality of thing is that there were no love story between american soldiers and the women of the countries they occuped and it’s time for her to accept it).

We also get two black characters, who are Eleanor’s best and only friends (only that she don’t really appear to give two fucks about them). They’re named Denice and Beebi, names that reaaaaally stand out in a negative way when compared to all white people’ names and they speak…Well, the way black characters in 80’s teen movies made by white people speak. One of them (I don’t remember which one) is dating a much older boy and planning to marry him after high school because that’s what black girls do, right? So yeah, I truly believe that this book is one of the most racist published in the 2010’s that I’ve personnally read. But that’s actually just part of why I hate it and loath it’s writer.

I also absolutely despise the way Rowell writes about abuse: a huge plot point is that Eleanor endure mental, emotional and (if I remember correctly) physical abuses from her step-father, abuses that escalade to sexual harrasment. Her step-father favores Eleanor’s sibling, including his own biological son but he’s also abusive to them and severely abusive to his wife, Eleanor’s mom. That’s some heavy stuff, and if you chose to put that in ya novel (or any novel for that matter), I expect you to be able to handle that sensibly and in a way that make sense, at the very least. I don’t think Rainbow Rowell even tried. 

Spoiler alert on how this book end: Eleanor run away from home, starts living with her uncle, the rest of her family escape a little later and her step-father stay alone and brooding in town. WTF?? The idea that abusive men would just be like “oh well, guess I have to accept that my wife left with our children and there’s nothing I can do uwu” is literally stupid. Either the writer didn’t bother making even the most basic researches on abuse dynamics or she did and chose to ignore it. And even outside of that…Talk about a deus ex machina and a cheap fucking ending lmao…

I only read another one of her book, Fangirl. It’s about a girl with anxiety disorder writing gay fanfics and was understandly popular on tumblr when it came out (i’m not hating btw, like…I’m a mentally ill binch writing gay stories so..). I didn’t found it as offensive as Eleanor & Park but her portrayal of mental illnesses was basic and often bordering on insensitivity (I really felt like one of the character’s bipolar disorder was treated as an inconvenience to other characters above anything else).

 Also, the anxious character spent a huge chunk of the book eating energy bar because she’s too afraid to leave her room and go eat in the dining hall…Girl, I’m supposed to believe you spend your whole time on your computer and you never heard of ordering takeout online?? Or just going to buy shits to eat at the supermarket?? How far am I supposed to suspend my disbelief to enjoy those books?

One last thing: a huge chunk of Fangirl is an actual fanfiction about some HP ripoff. Well, my homegirl Rainbow published a whole damn book about her actual Drarry fanfiction. I love fanfiction but I really think there’s something sketchy about putting a fake fandom in your book that’s very obviously based on an existing piece of work and then making money off your imitation but maybe that’s just me.

I would probably be able to chill a bit if Rainbow Rowell was not generally presented at this great representation queen who can do no wrong (and yes, I’m aware that she’s not responsible for the way people chose to portray her). Luckily for me, she’s somehow less popular on Tumblr that she once was and I get to have a break from her weird bullshit.

[portcadorpg]

Congratulations, Steph! We are delighted to welcome Nathaniel Keaton Delmore to Port Cado.  Please complete our after acceptance checklist. We are looking forward to seeing you develop him! Please send in his blog within 48 hours.

Out of Character

Alias: Steph

Preferred Pronouns: She/Her

Age: WELL over 21 (in the 30s now but we shant speak of it)

Timezone: EST

Anything else? Outside of normal tw content? Just clowns. I will find out 6/4 if I have to be out of town for the federal government for a month. Will keep you posted but I’m being optimistic I’ll be around regardless.

Character

Name: Nathaniel “Nate” Keaton Delmore

Birthdate and Age: June 13 (39)

Preferred Pronouns: he/him

Faceclaim: Chris Evans

Profession: CFO of Delmore Industries, a

Guild/Obsidian Syndicate: STEM Guild

Designation: Dominant

Claim: Unclaimed

Children: None

Neighborhood: Mount Verne

Sexuality: Demisexual / Sapiosexual

I guess simply put, he identifies as “not straight” but doesn’t use the term “queer” and I couldn’t find a term other than “Queer” for someone who isn’t straight and needs to have an emotional connection to an intelligent person to be attracted to them sexually. If you want to use Pansexual then that’s fine too. He's still inclined to lean towards women due to his family's conservative views.

Kinks: d/s, praise, orgasm control/teasing/denial, temperature/sensation play, begging (consensual), Impact/Rough play, marking, thigh riding, cockwaming, unprotected sex (probably more but I’ll have to get a feel for him)

Anti-kinks: Don’t call him Daddy/Baby, urine/blood/scat/vomit play, feet, degradation, age play, most roleplaying, most anal play (probably more but I’ll have to get a feel for him)

Biography:

Nathaniel Keaton Delmore was born into the Delmore empire, a leading chemical company in the United States. Being part of the one-percent had a singular perk: never having to worry about money. Nate learned pretty quickly that that was where its benefits stopped. He was the second of the Delmore children, and his mother never let him forget it. While she had reluctantly taken time off to care for his older sister, Samantha Marion Delmore, they waited until she was eight before they had him and more often than not they left Sammy to take care of him as if he was part living doll and part puppy. The lack of care, attention, and education led to Nate being developmentally delayed in walking because he was either carried or strolled around. It had also resulted in a stammer that was made worse by his parents' frustrations in his inability to articulate words correctly. Though he would overcome those issues with little to no trace in his adult life, the overarching experiences of a neglectful and abusive parentage left him with anxiety and a fragile sense of self.

He learned that if he kept good grades and kept his head down there wasn’t really anything his parents wouldn’t let him try. Anything he showed a natural talent for they supported until he was no longer the best in show, once again treating him more like a pet than a person. Be it piano, singing, basketball, horseback riding, or fencing; Nathaniel found himself having to find his own way. In high school, when his interests turned to debate and forensics teams because of a friend, his parents tried to put their foot down. Despite the lack of a stammer, they told him he’d be no good at it, seeing their quiet son as damaged once more. It was with his uncle’s support that he managed to make excuses and even attend summer camps. Public speaking became a way for him to face his anxiety and, with practice, he became unbelievably good at it.

With no support for college unless he legally agreed to major in microeconomics, Nathaniel finally left home to experience a slice of the real world. MIT was practically an entirely new planet for him and, despite being low key, there was really no surprise that people figured out who he was with the last name of a major American business which several of the top students hoped to one day work for. Just when he thought he was settling into a routine after a few years at MIT with a bartending job (much to his parents’ dismay), a co-captain position on the forensics team, and a close group of friends, he was kidnapped, tortured, and held for ransom by members of the Obsidian League.

After his rescue, Nathaniel would find the hardest part of the ordeal being the realization that no one knew he was missing for weeks. His job thought the rich kid had quit, though he never flaunted his money other than picking up the tabs shitty people cut out on. His friends thought he was sleeping with ‘that one girl’ that kept flirting with him at every party, though he swore there wasn’t anything there- just lending an ear to a heartbroken friend. His professors’ T.A.s were too overwhelmed to note his absences in the large classes. Then the forensics team thought his parents had finally pulled the plug on his participation because he’d divulged that they never really supported it when they didn’t attend any of the big competitions. The only person that ever trusted that Nate was missing against his will was, once again, his uncle and the calls to action were quickly hushed by the family, not wanting any bad press.

Through physical therapy his body healed from the torture, even though the scars remain. Concerned that therapy would look bad for the family they decided to allow him a service dog that was discretely trained and, after a hefty donation to the university and NDA paperwork, Sirius was allowed to follow him into his classes and any place around campus. Trying his best, the rest of his college experience was very much left in recluse. He took to reading and running to clear his head and avoid the reality that upon graduation he would be stepping into the CFO position of Delmore, Inc. Life seemed to be filled with dread outside of the travel the job would entail.

Managing to coerce his parents into agreeing to a masters, he delayed the inevitable a bit longer. Now, a decade later, he has settled into the monotony of corporate life. His secretary regularly schedules all meetings and travel in clusters to allow Nate as much time to himself away from the company as possible. After Sirius passed, he took on a new service dog with the refusal to hide that part of his life any longer. It wasn’t lost on him that Samantha’s pep talk to do so likely stemmed from her own desire to climb Delmore’s corporate ladder, but he couldn’t seem to care and completely anticipated that the company would be passed to her when that time came. The result was the same, his parents used him as the mouthpiece for the company’s charity work. They called the dog Cosimo to keep the ‘beast’ classy; meanwhile, he called him Cosmo because of his affinity for stargazing. They called him a survivor, he held his tongue that they’d treated him just as poorly. Through it all, he remains a dutiful, loyal, reserved; if not a bit more inclined to speak out against injustices than the average person.

[writermuses]

🖊📢  Take back all your promises 📢 🖊

Nathaniel Keaton Delmore was born into Delmore empire, a leading chemical company in the United States. Being part of the one-percent had a singular perk: never having to worry about money. Nate learned pretty quickly that that was where its benefits stopped. He was the second of the Delmore children, and his mother never let him forget it. While she had reluctantly taken time off to care for his older sister, Samantha Marion Delmore, they waited until she was eight before they had him and more often than not they left Sammy to take care of him as if he was part living doll and part puppy. Developmentally it delayed him in walking because he was either carried or strolled around. It had also resulted in a stammer that was made worse by his parents frustrations in his inability to articulate words correctly. Though he would overcome those issues with no little to no trace it left him with anxiety and a fragile sense of self.

He learned that if he kept good grades and kept his head down there wasn’t really anything his parents wouldn’t let him try. Anything he showed a natural talent for they supported until he was no longer the best in show, once again treating him more like a pet than a person. Be it piano, singing, basketball, horseback riding, or fencing; Nathaniel found himself having to find his own way. In high school, when his interests turned to debate and forensics teams because of a friend, his parents tried to put their foot down. Despite the lack of a stammer, they told him he’d be no good at it, seeing their quiet son as damaged once more. It was with his uncle’s support that he managed to make excuses and even attend summer camps. Public speaking became a way for him to face his anxiety and, with practice, he became unbelievably good at it.

With no support for college unless he legally agreed to major in microeconomics, Nathaniel finally left home to experience a slice of the real world. MIT was practically an entirely new planet for him and, despite being low key, there was really no surprise that people figured out who he was with the last name of a major American business. Just when he thought he was settling into a routine after a few years at MIT with a bartending job (much to his parents’ dismay), a co-captain position on the forensics team, and a close group of friends, he was kidnapped, tortured, and held for ransom.

After his rescue, Nathaniel would find the hardest part of the ordeal being the realization that no one knew he was missing for weeks. His job thought the rich kid had quit, though he never flaunted his money other than picking up the tabs shitty people cut out on. His friends thought he was sleeping with ‘that one girl’ that kept flirting with him at every party, though he swore there wasn’t anything there- just lending an ear to a heartbroken friend. His professors’ T.A.s were too overwhelmed to note his absences in the large classes. Then the forensics team thought his parents had finally pulled the plug on his participation because he’d divulged that they never really supported it when they didn’t attend any of the big competitions.

Through physical therapy his body healed from the torture, even though the scars remain. Concerned that therapy would look bad for the family they decided to allow him a service dog that was discretely trained and, after a hefty donation to the university and NDA paperwork, Sirius was allowed to follow him into his classes and any place around campus. Trying his best, the rest of his college experience was very much left in recluse. He took to reading and running to clear his head and avoid the reality that upon graduation he would be stepping into the CFO position of Delmore, Inc. Life seemed to be filled with dread outside of the travel the job would entail.

Managing to coerce his parents into agreeing to a masters, he delayed the inevitable a bit longer. Now, a decade later, he was settled into the monotony of corporate life and after Sirius passed and he took on a new service dog with the refusal to hide that part of his life any longer. It wasn’t lost on him that Samantha’s pep talk to do so likely stemmed from her own desire to climb the corporate ladder. The result was the same, his parents used him as the mouthpiece for the company’s charity work. They called the dog Cosimo, he called him Cosmo. They called him a survivor, he held his tongue that they’d treated him just as poorly. Through it all, he remains a dutiful, loyal, reserved; if not a bit more inclined to speak out against injustices than the average person.

[fiinalgiirls]

GENERAL INFORMATION.

full name - jospehine harper ryan nicknames - joey, ryan gender / pronouns - she/her date of birth - july 12, 1996 place of birth - prescott, arizona / boot hill, arizona depending on verse citizenship / ethnicity - american / irish, english, scottish, icelandic. religion - atheist socioeconomic status / political affiliation - lower middle class; liberal. marital status - single, though may depend on verse. sexual & romantic orientation - bisexual. education / occupation - waitress. languages - english, some high school french and spanish

FAMILY INFORMATION.

parents - darby ( deceased ) & felicity ryan. siblings - heather, eldest sister ( deceased ); katherine, younger sister; edmund, younger brother. offspring - none pets / other - none. notable extended family - isabelle, niece and gabriel, nephew.

PHYSICAL INFORMATION.

faceclaim - maika monroe hair color / eye color - blonde / brown height / build - 5′6″ / slender tattoos / piercings - earlobes x 2. a few cartliage piercings. tattoo of ‘the moon’ tarot card on her left forearm. ‘x’ on her right middle finger. distinguishable features - big brown eyes, wild blonde hair

MEDICAL INFORMATION.

medical history - anxiety. known allergies - none. visual impairment / hearing impairment - none. nicotine use / drug use / alcohol use - very rarely will she smoke a cigarette or use drugs. drinks socially.

PERSONALITY.

traits - amiable, stalwart, imaginative ; melancholy, reserved, petulant tropes - small town boredom, desperately looking for a place in life, mommy issues, relative button, perky goth, cool aunt temperament - phlegmatic alignment - lawful good celtic tree zodiac - holly, the ruler mbti - infp hogwarts house - hufflepuff vice / virtue - envy / diligence likes / dislikes - fairy lights over a dark tapestry, old victorian houses, cats, a new pair of tights with no snags in them, a soft knit sweater, lavender lemonade, almond cookies, the sound of fallen leaves crunching underfoot /  people who dislike children, drunk drivers, the after-church sunday rush at her restaurant, ants, boys who are music elitists. quote - “she tastes like nectar and salt. nectar and salt and apples. pollen and stars and hinges. she tastes like fairy tales. swan maiden at midnight. cream on the tip of a fox’s tongue. she tastes like hope.”

FAVORITES.

food - bacon cheeseburger, and sweet potato fries. no mayo. drink - strawberry milkshake pizza topping - jalapenos, chicken, and pineapple color - black and pink music - dark synth, black or thrash metal books - we have always lived in the castle, by shirley jackson movies - suspiria, night of the living dead, uncle buck curse word - bullshit scents - peony, pumpkin, rain

BIOGRAPHY,

trigger warnings: disappearance of a family member, depression, death, car accident

josphine ryan is born the second of four to darby and felicity ryan on the hottest day in july. like her elder sister, she doesn’t have hardly more than a pale, peach fuzz or a gentle platinum swoop atop her head until the age of three. unlike her sister, joey hardly cries–even as a newborn–and never without reason. when heather learned to speak, she tried out every word, every syllable on her tongue–an intrepid speaker. joey takes her time and uses words deliberately, going from nothing to full sentences. the two girls are five years apart, but heather has been practicing this with her baby dolls for years. far apart in age, there are no closer sisters in villas adobes. as she grows older, joey thinks that, surely, there are no closer sisters in the world. it doesn’t change when the twins, katherine and edmund are born another four years later.

three girls and a boy, the ryan household is a bustling one. the kids all look after one another, getting along as well as parents can hope. heather and joey; katie and edmund. it’s just like that. it’s always like that. darby is a prestigious lawyer and they kids grow up hearing the tales of his life as a district attorney in seattle. one night, when the twins are asleep, heather asks him why he left seattle–why he left the job he loved so much. darby ryan racks his brain. he can’t remember. no matter how many times he’s asked the question, he can never remember.

one day, near the end of september, darby ryan walked out into the desert. he walked out into the desert and it was the most normal thing of all. he walked straight down silver mine road and felicity says that even one of the dominellis, or someone else over there near the funeral home, saw him walking down there and tried to wave and say hello, but he wouldn’t give them the time of day–didn’t even look them in their eyes. the cicadas sang their symphony to the desert night while darby ryan walked straight down that road , normal as can be, and he never came back.

the impact of grief affects her mother profoundly–how can you put a wandering spirit to rest?–but between the five of them, they make do. heather and joey, as the eldest girls, make sure the younger ones are looked after while felicity works two jobs. even after heather is on her own and starting her own family, she makes sure her siblings are taken care of. she fixes the lunches for the younger ones and trades out babysitting shifts with joey when she needs some solitude for homework or a trip to drive-in with margie and the girls.

joey is nearly seventeen when heather and her boyfriend die in the wreck that leaves joey with a broken arm and a small laceration to her forehead. hit by a drunk driver, joey’s niece and nephew are orphaned in one tragic accident. if her mother had been distant following her father’s disappearance, she is beside herself over the loss of her eldest daughter. within a year, felicity has lost both her job as a dental hygienist at old main street and as a waitress at the turquoise star diner. she rarely leaves her bed, let alone the house except to scrounge up enough cash for a trip to the liquor store. everything falls on the narrow shoulders of the eldest remaining daughter. still a girl herself, joey is hardly eligible for custody of her siblings and heather’s kids. on top of raising four kids, she makes efforts to maintain her mother’s image–only absent in public out of dedication to being a stay-at-home mother. the social security payments aren’t enough and joey starts working through high school. still a girl herself, she watches her sister and her dreams die in that same year.

she would’ve been a writer. some clever girl who’d spin words onto paper like she wraps blonde curls around her finger. outside this wretched place–a true boot hill, her family plot–she would have found adventures and peculiarities worth writing about. in boot hill, joey ryan finds only tedium and loss; boredom and death. history loves repeating itself like a chorus, or the nightly siren song of the cicadas, and the high school grad takes a waiting job at the same diner her mother was let go from. it paralyzes joey from making new connections; she tears up every phone number written on the back of some credit card receipt left on the table of the diner’s booths. she’s already raising four kids and her mom, most days, as well. she can’t afford a dream or a family of her own.

with the twins now in their senior year of high school, joey knows that they will move on–searching for their own lives, moving out to rent an apartment with a best friend, a lover. there are heather’s kids, seven and nine, and her mother that need looking after, and yet she feels more freedom now than she has had in the last six years. maybe someday she can get out of this place–even if it means leaving her loved ones behind. maybe someday she’ll walk out onto silver mine road, normal as can be, while the cicadas sing. she’ll walk right down that road like it’s the most normal thing in the world. she’ll pass right by a dominelli or maybe a close friend without a word or even a polite nod. maybe she’ll finally hear the cries of the amen shrieker. maybe she’ll hear nothing at all.

[the-overrated-taste-of-others]

Kelly's "Community review", for madame Bovary

Oh, Emma. Emma, Emma, Emma. Darling, why must you make it so easy ? No, dear, (for once) I don’t mean for the men. I mean for everyone else in the world who goes into this book just looking for an excuse to make fun of you. I would say that most people don’t know that much about France, but they do know a few things: that they like their baguettes, their socialism, Sartre, dirrrty dirrty sexy lurrrve and they despise this thing called the bourgeoisie. This book doesn’t really do a thing to disprove any of this (though I can’t say baguettes had a prominent place in the plot), and I expect that it had a great deal to do with starting the last two stereotypes. Emma, my dear, Desperate Housewives isn’t your fault, but you can see why some people might blame you, don’t you? Your constant, throbbing whining about how your (plentiful) food isn’t served on crystal platters, how your dresses(of which you have more than a typical country doctor’s wife) aren’t made of yards of spider-spun silk, and most of all how your husband dresses wrong, talks wrong, thinks wrong, WEARS THE WRONG HAT (!!), and is so offensively happy with you that he enjoys coming straight home to tell you about his day and relax in front of his fireplace every night instead of going out drinking- well, there’s a saying about the smallest violin, isn’t there?

It makes it easy for people to plausibly dismiss this story with things like this:

(If it makes you feel better, dear, you are hardly the only one.. Your other compatriots in 19th century repressed female misery receive similar treatment)

It is easy to despise you, Emma. You and your seemingly shallow priorities, the unthinking selfish harm you did to your husband AND your baby girl, the endless excuses you had for your, frankly, off the charts stupid behavior, the fact that you didn’t even try and communicate how unhappy you were to the guy who loved you who might’ve done something about it (since all the evidence shows that he is willing to COMPLETELY CHANGE HIS LIFE whenever you ask him to) and, finally (what can seem to be) the incredibly coward move you made in finding a way to not face the consequences your childish sense of the world couldn’t believe would eventually come up. What goes around comes around ,as the wise chanteur sayeth. (Perhaps the alternate cover above should substitute ‘Justin Timberlake’ for Sassy Gay Friend.)

That’s pretty much how I felt about you for about 150 pages after you made your entrance, Emma. While you started your endlessly copied, endlessly bastardized fall from Angel in the Home Grace, and while you tried to make a saint out of yourself for not having sex with a young clerk who couldn’t have supported you anyway. You were simply the grandmother of Lady Chatterley, an extended protest letter to a dead king I couldn’t care less about.

But in the end, you won, Emma. I couldn’t escape you. Seriously, y’all, this book would not leave my head alone, for days, and I thought… many different and contradictory things about it. In the end, though, I kept coming back to one thought: the most terrifying thing I can think of is getting caught in Emma Bovary’s eyes. Did everyone read that profile about Dan Savage this weekend about infidelity and marriage? I did. Emma is the literary incarnation of Savage’s argument. Her eyes are on the cover of this book, and the more I looked at them, the more disturbed I got. Those eyes are the reason that marriage is so frightening, why ‘commitment issues’ exist. This is a novel about how reality can look just the same to you from one day to the next, but to your partner, it can have turned into a hell or a heaven, even if it is the same Tuesday routine as the last one. Emma’s gaze, how each time she fixes her eyes on some scheme of happiness and how those eyes transform everything they see. She shows how unstable marriage is, how thin the foundations are- resting on nothing but the words- “I love you.” Words that just need one more word to dissolve the entire thing. That’s it, you guys. One word and someone’s will to speak it is all that stands between a solid marriage and one that is over- no matter how much paperwork you sign, how many kids you have, houses you fill with furniture. You never really know what the person across from you is thinking. How do you really know what motivates someone? Are they with you because they have made a resolution to be? Are they there with you because the stars shine in your eyes? Are they perfect to you because they are about to leave? Marriage, for better or worse, no matter what people say, adds so many complications. It is the commitment that people twist and bend over and around in so many different contortions to try to make it work- because it is a marriage, because it means something. How difficult is it to trust that people are simply what they say they are? Charles is simple and straightforward and rather sweet- and Emma hates him for it. She smiles and smiles and smiles… and then cheats on him, bankrupts him, tries to prostitute herself and kills herself rather than spend another day with him.

This is the most anxiety inducing book I have ever read about marriage. It’s the 19th century where you have to make a vow for life that you can't get out of, not really, in order to test the idea that you might want to be with someone. If you're wrong, that's it. You've failed. It’s all-or-nothing. Emma is the incarnation of the expectations of the institution at the time- all-or-nothing. Madame Bovary is destroyed because she tries to put her all into Charles, then Rodolphe and then Leon, and none of them can withstand it. Each of them are good for different things, and only for a little while, and she can't accept it. That is not the ideal. She won't accept less than the ideal. You guys, she's nothing more than exactly what she is told is available to her- granted, she's after the best of what she's told is available: the ideal. But why do we hold that against her? As long as we live in a society where we’re told to strive after the ideal, to never give up, you will have people who destroy themselves and everyone around them to get it. Savage’s discussion of what the “ideal” means in real life is enlightening and pertinent here, I think. He talks about how you have to be willing to change a lot and make a huge effort to keep the deal of monogamy alive. Of course everyone has their limits, and in many marriages, the trade offs of one person’s limits for the others (I won’t do this, and you won’t do that- I won’t do that, but I will do this) end up making the deal of monogamy work. But you have to be honest about it, you have to be able to say things that you’ve never said out loud before. You have to admit that you won’t be happy unless you live a life where you have crystal knickknacks on your fireplace, and you get off from pies being thrown in your face. But it’s not that easy- Emma was on her deathbed, writhing in agony from eating arsenic, and she still couldn’t tell Charles what she wanted from him.

I can’t blame Emma, ultimately. It actually made me think, of all things, a bit about Planet of Slums. That book talks about the millions of people who have been born outside the system, in illegal settlements to parents who are illegal themselves, and who are not, in fact, ignored by the system. They never get into the system in the first place- a system that is not built to cope with the mind-blowing poverty that arises from its excrement. The system can’t acknowledge it and justify itself. At the risk of sounding like I think relatively-well-off white lady problems bear any resemblance to the horror of someone living on the outskirts of Kinshasa in a lean-to, Emma is just trying to get in to a society that can't acknowledge her and go on. She’s trying with all her might to buy into the fairy tales she’s been told (just like the revived, and growing belief in magic in some slums), and does whatever she has to do to get her hands on it, even if only for a little while. She saw that fairy tales are real (or so she thinks) at that ball that one time- she SAW it, mommy- and can’t handle the fact that they exist on this earth and she can’t be a part of it. And in case anyone finds her head-in-the-sand refusal to face the world overly childish or impossible to relate to: The endless line of irresponsible credit she takes out from the scam artist down the street in order to feed her fantasies about the way she believes her life should look has obvious immediate relevance to America in the pre-2008 financial crisis era. In some ways, the existential crisis Flaubert is trying to outline here: between a solidly practical, profit-and-advancement outlook on life and a sensibility that at least tries to aspire to something higher, even if it is unaffordable or impossible, is the distilled essence of the push and pull of American partisan politics. Monsieur Homais would have done very well on Wall Street. Emma can be read as being more American than French, really.

Emma is a true believer. She doesn’t just want attention from men, or shiny things. I didn’t really believe that until the part where she tries to renounce the whole world for fervent religious devotion. Failing making it into her fairy tale, she wants to escape where she is- to somewhere else, anywhere else. By the end, I felt like I was suffocating right along with her. Virginia Woolf said that the “present participle is the devil” . Emma adds the present place, the present time, the present person you are with. She really is willing to try anything to escape. On her deathbed, as she pleaded to die, my heart was racing along with hers and the whole finale read like a blockbuster last action scene with explosives and severed limbs flying. I didn’t enjoy the journey I had with her, but I had made it and lived in tiny spaces with her, spaces that got ever smaller as the book wound down. Every chapter there was less and less light until she was curled up in a ball in solitary confinement with no hope of escape. In the Count of Monte Cristo, we root for the hero to get thrown over the side of a cliff in a body bag because it is his only hope of escape. How could we do less for poor Emma? She deserves her chance to make it to the place she always hoped for- even if priests and businessmen argue whether she got there over her corpse. If she can’t be buried in ‘blessed’ ground, well, at that point the priest’s God is just another man telling her she has to stay in the woods with the witch and her oven rather than try to find the path home, like she was always taught to do.

Flaubert handles his prose deftly, precisely, and with a deceptively commonplace hand. He doesn’t try for smart metaphors and delicate similes, but rather has characters say what the mean in an effectively believable way that makes Emma a character who can impact the lives of real women. Parts of this novel are spine-tinglingly sordid, others wrench out your gut, most of it can be drearily, boringly, mind-numbingly quotidian, and every so often, a gem shines through that makes you turn around and look at someone you had thought you were done being interested in. In other words, it’s like last Wednesday. And the Tuesday before that. And today. And probably next Monday. The morning when you woke up vowing that today it was all going to be different, that afternoon when you just wanted to die, the evening when you forgot it all making dinner and laughing about that thing you saw on the internet.

Flaubert can’t get it all, or say it all right, but he knows that. In fact, he’s willing to tell his readers that. But he does it in such a way that you just want to punch him in the face !

“Whereas the truth is that fullness of soul can sometimes overflow in utter vapidity of language, for none of us can ever express the exact measure of his needs or his thoughts or his sorrows; and human speech is like a cracked kettle on which we tap crude rhythms for bears to dance to, while we long to make music that will melt the stars.”

[richmeganews]

Why Do Fertility Rates Rise and Fall?

I have four kids. I don’t strike people as the type to have so many, nor does my wife. We’re professors. Neither of us is conventionally religious. We spent our 20s in Brooklyn as vegetable-blending free spirits. I drive a Prius on principle, even though I’m 6 foot 8 and my head hits the ceiling.

It’s hard to say how we ended up with such a large family. When people ask, I say (1) my wife likes babies, (2) I tend to assume I won’t regret having another child, and (3) we love the kids we have. But there’s an element of mystery, even to me. Any answer feels incomplete. Maybe that’s because the fuller explanation is buried too deep, in layers of instinct and social expectation. I think it’s hard for people to say exactly why they have kids or not—and if they do, how many.

Even trickier is the question of why birth rates rise and fall across huge groups. Until recently, demographers worried mostly about overpopulation. Now about half the world’s people live in countries with “below replacement” fertility rates, and that proportion is growing. The environmental benefits of this trend are obvious. But low birth rates also threaten welfare states with bankruptcy, and nations with the destabilizing politics of cultural extinction.

As demographic anxiety goes global and populist, a roiling debate is forming around basic questions: Why do some people want children, while others do not? Why do some societies seem to be shrinking? Can a progressive, reproductive-freedom-embracing society survive over time? Or is it doomed to a slow, comfortable death?

It’s impossible to address these questions without taking a long view.

The United States was among the first modern nations to see a steady, large-scale fertility decline. In 1800, the average American had seven kids. By 1900, that figure was 3.5, and President Theodore Roosevelt was excoriating his people for committing “race suicide”—a “sin for which the penalty is national death, race death; a sin for which there is no atonement.”

Roosevelt’s denunciations caused a sensation, not only because the president was discussing sex rather than, say, tariffs, but also because his diagnosis was so grim. A major civic debate broke out. In letters, newspapers, radio shows, and surveys, thousands of Americans looked to themselves and their communities, and tried to explain the desire for smaller families. Over the next few decades, they produced a highly plausible composite portrait of the popular birth-control movement, with birth control here meaning the practice of controlling births, rather than specific technologies used for that purpose.

Observers considered a thick tangle of overlapping social explanations, ranging from sprawling generalities to daily practicalities. At the practical end, for example, was housing discrimination against large families. Early 20th-century landlords had both the right and the inclination to turn away tenants based on the number and the unruliness of their children. Landlords posted signs prohibiting “dogs and children”; in 1904, stories circulated about a mother of five from Brooklyn who was turned away by 87 apartment houses, despite her husband’s steady job.

Somewhat less practical were a series of aspirational issues. Americans seemed to expect more for their children and themselves than did previous generations. More education, better health, less grueling work, more leisure. On top of that, many parents shared a growing sense that responsibility for their children’s success fell on them more than on the child.

And then there were economic considerations. Everyone agreed that children were expensive—even farmers, for whom a child was only truly useful for a short time, as a teenager, before he left home. Crucially, though, economic decisions about children were unlike economic decisions about lumber. Children’s costs and benefits were bound up in fundamental moral questions about self, society, transcendence, and cosmic time. Am I born in reproductive debt to my family or community? Is birth control basically selfish, serving irresponsible adults, or altruistic, serving vulnerable children? Am I part of a transcendent chain of being that stretches far into past and future, or the sovereign of my present?

In other words, the economic rationality of having zero children was never in doubt. The key question was where to draw moral-economic lines between “luxury” and “prudence.” How much money did each child require? Answers to this question varied wildly.

Americans tended to agree, however, that a second key factor often determined these judgments: a person’s ideas about God and nature. What was essential, though, was not whether someone went to church every Sunday or belonged to one denomination or another. Plenty of devout parishioners had small families, notwithstanding priestly or divine injunctions to “be fruitful and multiply.”

More important was whether someone’s understanding of God or nature caused him to focus, more than other people, on the mystical, eternal, and cosmic rewards of children, rather than their present and material costs. When children served as connections to infinite time and space, and escapes from mortal suffering and decay, people were more likely to have them in any number. This viewpoint required no piety or acceptance of religious dogma. An agnostic Darwinist could find higher purpose in contributing to an eternal biological continuum, as ordained by Nature. A mystic could marvel at the miracle of new life. For better or worse, children’s costs were less likely to daunt people who valued modesty before the cosmos, no matter how they saw that cosmos.

Finally, there was one meta-justification for birth control that brought together the others in a dense, actionable nugget: “modern life” or “the times.” For Americans asking themselves whether to have two children or three, or any children at all, modernity was a bleeding reality, not an academic abstraction. The demand for smaller families seemed to spring from history itself—from the faster, riskier, more open-ended world that had replaced the “old-fashioned” world of one’s parents, grandparents, and ancestors. Rationality (or greed), pragmatism (or faithlessness), mastery of fate (or hubris): Americans disagreed passionately about whether birth control was part of the good or the bad in modern life, but they agreed that history itself seemed to demand ever-tighter control over fertility. The best-adapted people always seemed to have the smallest families.

The idea that the olden days were friendlier to families is hardly airtight as empirical history. Demographers have documented steep drops in fertility rates among illiterate Bulgarian peasants, for example, and stable high ones in industrial England. In the United States, birth rates began to drop in a period when huge majorities still lived in rural areas, women lacked independence, secondary education was rare, churches were strong, contraceptives were rudimentary, child mortality was high (about 20 percent), and nonfamily farm labor did not come cheap. After World War II, fertility climbed in the United States—though not because Americans suddenly desired large families; the Baby Boom was a result of more Americans deciding to have small or medium-size families rather than none at all. To this day, no one has succeeded in writing a formula for higher or lower fertility: There is no single explanation, only possibilities of varying likelihood.

Still, the “new times” narrative was undeniably a powerful motivator. Measurable indicators of modernity might be much lower in Missouri than in Manhattan, but if Missourians believed staying abreast of the times demanded greater control over fertility, they might well exercise that control.

“Race suicide” was a powerful idea—not just because many Americans were reflexive white-Protestant supremacists, but also because virtually all Americans took solace in the idea that enduring continua such as family, community, and culture lent meaning and dignity to fleeting lives. “Being modern” was an even stronger one.

Birth control and modernity remain closely associated today, in the United States and abroad. Each is a cause of the other, an effect of the other, and a buttress to the other’s moral authority. The freer, richer, and more “advanced” the place or people, the smaller the families. The smaller the families, the more developed the place. “Development” is movement toward the sort of liberal society where people build lives less around service to the immortal tribe and more around the present well-being of individuals.

As below-replacement fertility spreads around the world, however, this association could become less mutually advantageous. Particularly if modern standard-bearers such as Japan or Germany continue recording decade upon decade of ultralow fertility, birth control and modernity could begin to seem more like interconnected problems than obvious developmental goals.

Already there are signs that local low fertility is becoming a folk issue in much the same way that global high fertility became one during the “population bomb” decades of the late 20th century. In countries with the longest records of low fertility, new fears of race suicide are fueling well-known populist and ethno-nationalist movements.

Just as significant, though, is awareness of these issues outside the lowest-fertility countries, where people who admire developed societies, and may wish to migrate to them or build them in situ, are unlikely to view these trends positively. When “miracle” nations such as South Korea, for example, announce that their fertility rates have fallen below one, it may alarm Koreans, but may also serve as a cautionary tale about the Korean model.

Immigration is an obvious remedy for low-fertility societies with shrinking workforces. But immigrants from high-fertility countries tend to quickly adopt receiving countries’ smaller-family norms—if not in the first generation, then in the second. This leaves the receiving country’s age structure largely intact over time, so that demand for new working-age immigrants continues unabated. The resulting prospect of indefinite large-scale in-migration should not pose a major political problem, perhaps, but it does, especially in places where a majority possesses a strong sense of indigeneity.

One approach to these issues is to do nothing and celebrate the fact that falling global fertility (1) is good for the planet and (2) reflects and promotes unprecedented human freedom and flourishing. Both these points are true, but they do not address the fact that most people identify primarily with groups smaller than the species and with places smaller than the planet.

Another approach is to enact laws that attempt to reconcile the demands of parenthood with those of modern market economics. People in low-fertility countries tend to have fewer children than they want, partly for economic reasons, and policies such as subsidized child care, state-mandated parental leave, and even direct cash payments can help make children more feasible. So can harder-to-legislate goals such as stabilizing youth employment and getting men more involved in child-rearing. Pro-family policies are increasingly popular with politicians left, right, and center.

Laws, however, can work only at the margins. Birth control has always been a radically social social movement, composed of small people acting on big ideas. All adults must make decisions about reproduction, and those decisions feel important, but they are very difficult for leaders to police or influence.

Over the long term, liberal societies are not equally well served by very low birth rates as by near-replacement ones. That is partly because the perception that liberalism is “dying” could become self-fulfilling, with both insiders and outsiders abandoning the liberal social model. It is also because the greatest tangible reward most liberal societies offer, the promise of material prosperity and political stability, can erode in countries where a dwindling supply of workers struggles to bankroll a heavily indebted welfare-and-eldercare state, and where citizens confront periodic eruptions of nativism.

The German philosopher-prophet Oswald Spengler believed that “the sterility of civilised man … is not something that can be grasped as a plain matter of Causality … It is to be understood as an essentially metaphysical turn towards death.” For Spengler, modernity was a passing phase, a short and riotous orgy before the fall. His dark vision inspired prominent Nazis. But an obscure American contemporary of Spengler, the sociologist Delos Wilcox, saw the situation more fluidly. “The purpose of reproduction is the renewal and improvement of human life, on the assumption that life is worth living when it is lived well,” he wrote. Apart from that assumption, “what reason have I to assume responsibility for the perpetuation of life?”

Versions of this question are becoming part of the fabric of our era. If indeed free and egalitarian societies don’t reproduce themselves over time, that outcome may ultimately be taken as a just verdict on the desirability of human life as we live it. More likely, some new idea will arise among us to dignify and eternalize our lives and way of life. That new world could retain the best of our blessings.

The post Why Do Fertility Rates Rise and Fall? appeared first on .

The post Why Do Fertility Rates Rise and Fall? appeared first on .

from WordPress http://www.richmeganews.com/why-do-fertility-rates-rise-and-fall/

[scratchpadriots]

My Identity Is On The Line: Being Chinese-American in the United States

Last night I was fortunate enough to see Julian Saporiti open for Kishi Bashi as part of his No-No Boy Music project, which is (in brief) a musical expression of his research into the internment of 120,000 Japanese-American people during World War II. I will include a link at the end of this post, which I highly encourage you to explore.

The night was an exploration of the mostly untold history of the plight of Japanese-Americans through the eyes and voices of an American-born Japanese professional musician and an American-born Vietnamese doctorate candidate. A not-so-obvious thread tying both these men together was their Asian descent, and their struggle with their cultural identity in the US. At face value it doesn’t make much sense that a person of Vietnamese ancestry and a person of Japanese ancestry would feel any sort of mutual bond, especially given how much those two cultures despise each other (fun fact about East Asian countries: they absolutely revile about 80% of all the other East Asian countries, with Japan being one of the most hated). However, in the discussion that followed the concert during the intimate Q&A session they hosted, those two talented artists managed to find a similar thread within me and systematically unravel it in a single night.

Now I certainly won’t claim to speak for all American-born Chinese people (ABC), but I think many of us struggle with this identity crisis. I don’t mean to exclude other Asian-American ethnicities, but I only feel qualified to speak as an ABC. As an ABC, I’ve certainly felt like I’ve had to choose sides. I don’t feel Chinese. Sometimes, quite frequently actually, I forget I’m not white. I know I’m not the only one who has chosen to completely ignore my heritage and (try to) live my life as an Asian American rather than as an Asian-American. There isn’t anything intrinsically wrong with this choice at a functional level - I mostly feel like I fit in. It’s much easier than trying to balance on the tightrope between Asian and American, dancing on the hyphen. But I was awoken last night, and suddenly my choice is an obviously unsatisfactory band-aid to a very real problem that lies at the core of my identity.

The most worrying complication that has arisen from my chosen identity is that I have abandoned my heritage. And, like I would have just a week ago, so many other Asian-Americans will vehemently argue that there is nothing wrong with choosing to forget your heritage to better assimilate to American culture. I think the crucial piece missing from their argument is history - by choosing to leave behind my history, I have consciously forgetten the struggle of Asian-Americans who came before me, and the suffering and struggle of my parents and so many like them in their attempts to carve out their piece of the American Dream. It’s now clear that is unacceptable.

Asian-American history practically does not exist. What does exist is young compared to European nations. Asian immigrants (primarily Chinese and Japanese) were exploited for their labor in California in the mid-1800s. Even I didn’t know much about it - all I knew was Chinese immigrants built the railroads and were systematically discriminated against. I never took it seriously. As an adult, I felt a visceral disgust re-discovering People v. Hall, where Chinese Americans were denied the right to testify against white Americans in court, or Chinese Exclusion Act of 1882, which banned Chinese immigration aside from students and business-owners. Even as late as post-WWI, California banned the immigration from almost all Asian nations through the Immigration Act of 1924. Chinese students were even segregated into “non-white” schools as decided in Lum v. Rice by the Supreme Court of the United States. I’m also pretty pissed that I had to read the Wikipedia page about the History of Asian Americans to learn these things. I have no disillusions about the awful state the American public education system is in, but it still seems ridiculous how much they manage to minimize the history of minorities, particularly the history of discrimination against such minorities. Textbooks glazed over Japanese-American incarceration, choosing instead to focus on Nazi genocide or the military feats of the Western (and Soviet) armies. Like every other minority in the US, Asian-Americans have had their culture and history wiped away by being subject to years of exclusion and discrimination.

Choosing to embrace the Asian side of the hyphen is difficult. Asians are still a caricature. We are the model minority, yet somehow we are paradoxically stereotyped as morons that can’t pronounce r’s or l’s. I still remember when I was in middle school, a random kid at the library, a complete stranger, walked up to me and pulled his eyes into slants then laughed as he walked away. That was one of the first times I felt pure anger and frustration at being mocked because of my race, but rather than deal with it in a healthy way, I internalized the hate. I hated who I was. I hated being Asian. I hated the Asian in Asian-American. Sometimes at 23 years old, I still tell myself that I hate being Asian.These early developments in my childhood really pushed me away from my heritage and likely are the root of some deep set emotional problems that I still struggle with. I quit going to Chinese school and I refused to speak Mandarin at home, which only widened the gap between myself and my extended family and any chance I have at reconnecting with my past. I stopped learning about Chinese culture. I hated Jackie Chan for being everything I feared the most: a proud Chinese man in mainstream America. I hated when the fuckhead kids at school would call me Jackie Chan. Despite my best attempts to be a model American, I still didn’t fit in - despite all my heroes being white, despite my dream of being successful, rich, and white. This was likely the cause of my complete lack of social development in middle school and early high school - I was afraid of being identified as what I was: Asian-American. I still struggle with social anxiety tied to my identity. I can feel my throat close whenever someone points out that I am not white. I become uncomfortable in my skin. I still tense my neck in anger whenever anyone asks me what country I’m originally from. Worst of all, my most unhealthy and embarassing development, I tried validate my “fitting-in-ness” in white America through the romantic attention of white (or maybe just non-Asian) girls.

Many of these problems aren’t unique to Asian-Americans but exist for all minorities. Many of these problems highlight the importance of diverse role models in media. All of these problems stem from the culture of American racism. However, knowing that doesn’t resolve my identity crisis. Continuing to pretend that I’m not a “hyphen American” won’t satisfy my issues. And rejecting my heritage certaintly won’t help the generation of Asian-American kids growing up now that confused with their identity.

The solution still isn’t so obvious. Obviously I need to embrace the foreign side of the hyphen and acknowledge what I am, and be proud of my real identity. But I’m not sure what to be proud of: there is no clear Asian-American identity, aside from the stereotype of math genius and hard-working robot. There is little Asian-American history to look to before the immigration of rich and/or intelligent students post World War II, and my connection to China is tenuous at best, strained more by my inability to speak Mandarin. Some things I can do: ask my parents to tell me about their childhoods and early lives in the US, read more about more obscure Asian-American history, and most important, embrace my identity, whatever it is, on the line between Asian-American.

Julian Saporiti’s No-No Boy Music project: https://nonoboymusic.tumblr.com/about 

Edit (1 week after posting): 

ask my parents to tell me about their childhoods and early lives in the US 

I resolved to pursue the above quote when I posted this. While I still want to do so, I think that my personal conflict with my parents makes it difficult for me to reach out. My mom is battling mental health issues and I don’t feel comfortable raising very personal topics with her at the moment, and my dad has always been distant and unemotional. I wanted to post this follow-up because I feel like many other Asian-Americans will struggle with parents that are more the latter - unemotional and distant. This is a stereotype and while I feel my dad is much worse than average, I believe that because of the communist revolution in China and the ensuing cultural chaos and mass poverty, the average parent drove their child towards success and did not encourage any backwards looking, and had much less of a cultural fabric or identity to cling to.