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losille2000 · 3 years

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The Swan, Chapter 6

TITLE: The Swan CHAPTER NUMBER: 6/? AUTHOR: Losille2000 WHICH Tom/CHARACTER: Actor!Tom GENRE: Romance/Drama FIC SUMMARY: Sequel to The Ugly Duckling. Astrid embarks on a two-week trip to London to serve as her sister’s maid of honor, hoping against all hope she might miraculously run into her Hawaiian mystery man. When her sister and soon-to-be brother-in-law drag her to a production of Hamlet to meet the groom’s best man, Astrid gets the shock of her life. The situation, though, is anything but perfect. RATING: M (sex, language) WARNINGS: None in this chapter. AUTHORS NOTES: So... what can I say? It's been a while. If you want the whole story, you can look through my blog or message me. I'm happy to answer. That said, it's been a good three years since I did any serious writing. My writing muscles need to build back up to what they were before. Please be kind... and let me know what you think. :D

Chapters: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - ALSO ON AO3!

Chapter 6 - Flying the Coop

Regret.

Astrid regretted ever stomping up those stairs to Tom’s bedroom. She regretted challenging him to make a move. She regretted letting him have his way with her. In the moment, it seemed right. Maybe if they slept together again, they’d find an incompatibility, especially now that the air of tropical mystery had dissipated and left in its place two broken flesh-and-blood people.

How wrong could she have been?

Now it was amplified, deeper, hotter, engulfing.

Only two weeks for whatever this fire was to fizzle?

It wasn’t, as the Brits say, bloody likely.

And here she was, smack dab in the position she didn’t want to be in; no matter how tangentially her current association with her mother, the family business, and Hollywood was, being connected to Tom in this way presented too many problems to even consider at this point. And fucking him—

“Astrid, are you even listening to me?”

Astrid jumped from the intrusion, letting out a slight squeak. She blinked hard and turned in her spot to look at her sister, who stood in the middle of the furnished but unoccupied flat. “Sorry?”

“Are you okay?” Tilde asked. “You’ve been spacey after the dress shop— and I’m just worried.”

“You don’t need to worry.”

“Let me worry,” she begged. “Let me be the big sister I never got to be.”

Astrid laughed ruefully. If only she could actually talk with Tilde about Tom. She wouldn’t understand, or at the very least, it could pose some very difficult situations in the coming days with the wedding right around the corner. But, Astrid guessed, Tilde meant the other elephant in the room... Astrid being the elephant, and their mother being a Class A narcissist. Because there was absolutely no way Tilde would know about what had happened at Tom’s home...

“It’s too late for that, Tilde,” Astrid said. “You know I love you. I just— there’s no changing her.”

Tilde grumbled and glided over to the couch in the living room. She dropped down on top of the cushions, barely displacing the pillow stuffing with her slight ballet-formed frame. “I should have never allowed her to do all this. I should have done it on my own, it’s not like Jim and I are so hard up. But I thought...”

Astrid held up a hand to stop her sister and sat on the couch more gingerly than Tilde, measuredly, so as not to displace any stuffing in the overstuffed couch, either. Something her mother had taught her, after all: If you’re not going to put in effort to look like a lady, you can at least act like one.

God, even that memory still hurt, down to the marrow in her bones.

“But you did.” Astrid shrugged and laid her head on the back of the couch. There, she sighed.

The sisters sat in silence for some time, listening to Duchess rooting around the flat for something to chew on. When the pug found nothing, she eventually jumped up onto the couch and snuggled into Tilde’s lap.

Astrid cleared her throat. “It’s not all Mom, either. I’m just tired from jet lag and getting everything together for the house party.”

And sleeping with the Best Man. She was pretty sure she’d read a romance novel or a hundred about this situation once. Did that make her a cliché?

“Oh, I meant to ask,” Tilde interjected. “How did that go? Tom was a total tool last night and I was worried about today.”

Astrid licked her lips subconsciously; she could still taste the sugar left by a bite of tiramisu Tom had given to her on a fork. If she concentrated hard enough, she was sure she could still taste the salt of his skin mixed in with it. She could certainly feel the tight muscle in her thigh that pulled every time she shifted, from the way he’d bent it and held it firmly in place as he’d had his way with her.

Frankly, it was a miracle they’d accomplished anything after they ended up in bed. But, she supposed, that was the weirdest part about the whole afternoon. They got out of bed, dressed without speaking and just... worked on what they needed to for the party. There was no discussion. No arguing. Tom stayed a respectable distance from her; she wasn’t sure if she had really wanted him to do it again, over and over, until they were both exhausted. They ate lunch quietly, they got everything organized and packed into his Land Rover, then Tilde showed up and they bade farewell, like it was something they did every day.

Nothing more was said about Hawaii, or a relationship, or lies, or having this end in two weeks. He seemed to be ignoring the topics all together, likely in the misguided belief that if he didn’t bring it up, then everything was fine. She ignored them because discussing WHY she refused to become a true part of his life was too painful.

Astrid pursed her lips and closed her eyes again. Isn’t that what she told him she wanted, though? To feel worshipped and then go about their lives, like nothing happened? Ignore all the elephants and enjoy the sex. No emotion, only sex. He was just following her demands, his need too great to put the brakes on their interlude in his bed.

The problem was that she did want more with him. She wanted emotion and relationships and rainbows and butterflies. When she had thought of him as some wealthy businessman she might once again bump into while visiting London, this had been possible. She had, after all, imagined a reality over the last eighteen months that included falling in love with him and living a life together.

But he wasn’t a businessman. He was an actor. He ran in circles she just couldn’t stomach anymore.

“It was fine. We finished everything and packed it all into his Land Rover for the drive up to Cliveden,” Astrid finally said. “The costume deliveries will be there when we arrive.”

“This really has gotten out of control,” Tilde said. “Part of me just wants to run to the register office and get it over with.”

Astrid shook her head violently. “You do that, and I’ll flip the fuck out. I put too much work into this.”

Tilde laughed. “Scared you, huh?”

“I’m serious, Tilde,” Astrid said, lightly smacking her sister’s thigh. Duchess popped her head up, and thinking it was an invitation for her, came over to her aunt. Astrid cuddled the dog close to her chest, breathing in her freshly bathed fur.

“She likes you,” Tilde said.

Astrid kissed Duchess’ head. “Small children and dogs, apparently.”

Tilde chuckled softly before letting out a long sigh. “I bet she would really like it if her Aunt Astrid were around more.”

“Aunt Astrid is a teacher and never has any time,” she replied directly to Duchess. Duchess reached for the hand that had stopped petting her and touched it with her paw. Her imploring buggy pug eyes asked Aunt Astrid for more.

Tilde huffed, but said nothing more for a long time. Then she cleared her throat. “How do you like the flat, anyway?”

“It’s nice,” Astrid confirmed. In fact, it was nicer than “nice.” This flat looked like one of those staged ads in a real estate magazine with lots of recessed lighting, soft gray colors, top-of-the-line furnishings and a ton of space.

“We’re trying to decide if we’ll sell it or keep it as an investment property,” Tilde replied. “It’s kind of a pain in the ass as a rental property, though.”

Astrid nodded. “You could just give it to Dad’s company to manage.”

Not that doing so was a great option, either.

If Astrid saw her mother irregularly, she saw her father even less. After their separation, he spent time in Las Vegas developing a new casino concept and then, when Astrid graduated from UNLV, moved his business operations permanently back to Sweden. Still, though, the relationship with her father was better than it was with her mother, simply by virtue that he was never around and didn’t have an opportunity to find the weaknesses in her armor like her mother. Tilde rarely spoke about either parent, but Astrid was certain their relationship was similar.

Tilde sat up and turned to look at Astrid seriously. “Or you could move into it.”

“Excuse me?” Astrid said, her heart skipping a few beats, from a sudden surge of anxiety and... something else.

“I’m serious, Astrid,” she said. “We don’t see each other enough and I want to spend time with you and make up for all those years we were apart.”

This wasn’t just some passing fancy. Astrid could see that as plain as day on Tilde’s face. Her sister was determined to convince her to move to London. But for what? She had no support system other than Tilde and James... and her career... well, that was back in Las Vegas.

Not that Las Vegas itself was the most amazing place to live and work.

“I’d never see you anyway,” Astrid argued. “You’re always rehearsing, or preparing to rehearse, or performing. And god knows James is going to be busy doing whatever.”

“Yeah, about that...” Tilde said, trailing off quietly. She picked at the dog hair on her sweater for a few seconds, then slowly looked back at Astrid. “I’m retiring at the end of this season.”

“What?!”

Tilde shrugged. “James and I want a family, and if I wait until it’s a ‘good time,’ it’ll never happen because of our schedules. And really, it’s getting harder and harder to come back from injuries and such. I just... I need a long break from being a performing ballerina. I don’t have the fire I once had, the same will to fight for every goddamn role.”

Astrid simply nodded. This was huge news. Ballet was Tilde’s life. She’d been doing it since she was a little girl, had impeccable skill and training and talent for it. The joke was that Tilde had come out of the womb in pointe shoes.

Which wasn’t that far from the truth, really. As soon as their mother could, she’d gotten Tilde into dance with the best instructors money could buy. Their mother, the failed ballerina, always lived through them. Which explained why she did not like anything about Astrid— Astrid did not have anything that would benefit her.

“Have you told Mom yet?” Astrid asked.

Tilde shook her head. “Of course not! And listen to her prattle on about how I’m a failure and she gave me so much and I’m just a terrible person? No, thank you. I’ll wait until she is permanently back in LA before I tell her.”

Even though Tilde had not yet told anyone else, it somehow eased the tension in Astrid’s shoulders knowing that Tilde would be in their mother’s crosshairs for a change. Typically, that wasn’t the case; their parents always treated Tilde like the perfect golden child. Of course, Tilde had always been one of Astrid’s fiercest allies… when she could. However, since Tilde spent most of her life in London studying at the Royal Ballet from a very early age, support and camaraderie had been scarce. Now, though? Now it felt like she and Tilde could weather the storm together.

Tilde continued, “Yeah. I’m thinking about opening up a dance studio and then after the baby thing happens, if I still have the performing bug in me, then I’ll start guesting. But I’m just so excited to start having babies.”

Stopping the smile from forming on Astrid’s lips was impossible as she registered the excitement on Tilde’s face. Astrid felt the enthusiasm coming from Tilde’s corner of the couch. “I’m excited for you, Tilde.”

And she was. She truly was.

Tilde reached out and grabbed Astrid’s hand. “I’m serious, though, Astrid. We never had a great family growing up, and I see this as an opportunity to right the wrongs of the past and create the family we should have had growing up.”

“I don’t know, Til.”

“James and I have both talked about it a lot and we both agree.”

“Tilde, even if I did move here,” Astrid began, “I don’t know the first thing about teaching in England.”

Tilde nodded. “I know. But James’ parents are retired teachers. I’m sure they’d be willing to help you make heads or tails of it.”

Astrid pursed her lips and turned to stare at the dormant fireplace sitting in front of them. Duchess, who had not moved, made happy dog purr noises as Astrid massaged the tiny velvet triangles of her ears. To be fair to Tilde, Astrid had often thought of moving to London to be nearer to her, but she never thought it would happen or that Tilde would actually need or want her here. The fact that she was wanted made emotion spring to her eyes and prick at them until they watered.

But then, there was the other issue.

The really, super, ginormous issue that came in the shape of a devastatingly handsome British man she met on vacation. If she moved to London, she’d certainly be seeing him more. No clean break at the end of two weeks like she hoped.

“And, you know,” Tilde said, “London’s arts scene is stupendous. We have the hook-up. I thought you could get back into it. You can hardly do that in Las Vegas.”

Astrid snorted. “Tilde, that part of my life is over.”

“Why? You’re amazing. I remember the video you sent of your college production of Othello. There wasn’t a dry eye in the place.”

While Tilde’s appreciation for her talent warmed Astrid’s heart, it didn’t take away the sting of her mother’s actions. Astrid couldn’t even bring herself to discuss it with Tilde when it first happened, much less in the intervening eight years since the incidents that led to her total disavowal of all things acting related. Her silence on the matter, though, had finally come home to roost. First with Tilde telling Tom she was still an actor, and Tom calling her a liar because she told him she wanted nothing to do with it. And now, with Tilde staring her down imploringly. Tilde wanted answers just as much as Tom did, except for very different reasons.

Astrid could not force her suddenly leaden tongue to move in her mouth. Tilde would just have to live with not knowing the whole story, for now. Finally, she said, “If I move to London, I’m not going to be acting.”

“Well, I guess I’ll take that,” Tilde replied. “As long as you’ll still consider moving here to be with me.”

A knock at the front door startled them all, sending Duchess barking and wheezing to the door. The door opened and James popped his head inside. “Knock knock.”

“Come in!” Tilde sang back to him, jumped from her seat, and nearly leaped over the back of the couch to get to him like he was a cold glass of lemonade on a hot day. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him squarely. For a brief, possibly irrational, moment, Astrid was jealous of her sister and the relationship she had built with James.

Which wasn’t a great feeling to have if the plan was to spend more time with them. How could she uproot her entire life— leave her students and friends— and move halfway across the globe just to be consumed by the green-eyed monster?

“Babe,” Tilde said, “tell Astrid she needs to move to London.”

James laughed and turned to look at Astrid. “Astrid… you need to move to London.”

“Thank you!” Tilde pecked his cheek and pirouetted in place until she was facing away from him. She started walking back toward the bedroom. “Let me go get my purse and we can get going.”

When Tilde was gone, and the flat was mostly silent except for more of Duchess’ puggy wheezing as she calmed, James’ smile dropped into a stony seriousness. He stepped over to her and quietly murmured, “We would love to have you here, Astrid. But I understand if you don’t want to come. The decision has to be yours, and if you decide not to move, I will handle Tilde.”

Astrid was grateful for James’ level-headedness in the situation. In the short time she’d known the man, she found that he was a gifted reader of rooms. That was why he was so good with Tilde— a steady anchor in a turbulent sea. Clearly, he understood the anxiety twisting her stomach into knots.

She set a grateful hand on his arm and squeezed appreciatively. “Thanks, James.”

“And don’t let my association with Tom cloud your judgement,” James said.

Astrid withdrew her hand like he’d burned it. Her eyes snapped up to his, then focused outward on the rest of his features and body language. She didn’t know how he knew, but he did. Tom must have told James, despite that she asked him not to.

Unless Tom had told James last night…

“How do you...” She trailed off, turning her gaze and trying to hide her blush.

“He’s my best man for a reason. We tell each other everything,” James replied. “I had hoped that your work today would allow you some time to figure things out before more of this wedding commenced and caused a problem.”

Astrid gulped. “Does Tilde know?”

James shook his head silently.

“Good,” Astrid replied. Good for two reasons, really. The first, because it confirmed for her that the invitation to come to London wasn’t Tilde playing matchmaker. The second, because she still didn’t want anybody to know about it. “Wait… how much did he tell you?”

James stared back at her, a mischievous glint in his eyes and a slight curl at the corner of his mouth. “That would be breaking the Code.”

Her face now completely aflame, Astrid bent down and grabbed Duchess into her arms. She couldn’t even look at the man anymore without feeling embarrassed. Hopefully, it would pass quickly.

“Bad news!” Tilde called from the hallway as she came back into the room. Her thumbs moved rapidly over the screen of her iPhone. “Mother decided we needed an all hands on deck dinner tonight.”

Astrid groaned. “In addition to or replacing the one tomorrow night at Cliveden?”

“In addition to,” Tilde said. “Tom can’t make it tonight because he has the cast party, and Dad isn’t even in England yet, so that’ll be the official one. Tonight is probably just more nitpicking.”

“Do we have to?” Astrid whined.

Tilde sighed heavily and dropped her phone into her purse with agitation. “Strength in numbers, dear sister.”

Her sister's proclamation made the summons to dinner no better, but Astrid and James dutifully followed Tilde out of the flat and out to the car. The only saving grace was that Tom wouldn't be there. Astrid could focus on one problem, not two.

#tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston fanfiction #tom hiddleston fan fic #tom hiddleston fanfic #tom hiddleston fan fiction #the swan #actor!tom/ofc #tug series #swan #actor!tom

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jemej3m · 4 years

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Listen bud, hunger games au, Andrews the mockingjay, Neil’s been captured by his dad aka the game maker

if you’re looking for an extended hunger games au @gluupor‘s on ao3 is my all-time favourite, but here’s a oneshot (are oneshots all i know how to do??)

Andrew doesn’t want to be here. The whole place is writhing with death and misery, but there’s a whole camera crew asking him to interact with these people, these men and women and children who are fighting and dying for an idealistic cause.

Andrew is not an empathetic person. Kevin says that doesn’t matter. Just the sight of him, with his Mockingjay pin, will be enough to inspire hope.

At least he’s here, shepherding Andrew around, doing all the talking. Nicky’s being all amicable too, crouched by overcrowded beds and talking nonsense. Aaron’s probably somewhere, being useful.

His team. His support. Coming out onto the front lines with him, because they genuinely believed that Andrew was going to change the world.

When Andrew volunteered in Aaron’s place, he didn’t think he’d ever see his family again.

Just goes to show: nothing is predictable. Not in a world like this.

Andrew beelines for the lonely kids, the ones without parents, shunted into the corner. There’s one with a stump instead of an arm, like Kevin, and one who was avoxxed in the raid, like Nicky’s boyfriend. They all learned sign language for him, so Andrew kneels on the floor and says hello.

The kid’s eyes light up when he realises Andrew can talk to him. The others get excited too, crowding around.

They ask him questions. He talks whilst he signs, keeping his voice low. He tells them what sunrise looks like from the capitol’s training tower, how to properly throw a knife, why you choosing your family is important, and protecting them even more so. Their eyes are as wide as saucers, drinking in every word. Andrew has always been good with kids.

He realises that the cameras have been trained on him and stops talking. The kids get sad, but then a nurse comes around to move Andrew along so that they can have their checkups. Andrew hoists himself up off the ground, ignoring his cousin as he comes closer. He has tears in his eyes.

“That was beautiful,” he says. “Neil would -”

“Shut up,” Andrew snaps, because there’s a lot of things he tries not to think about, and Neil is one of them.

His and Neil’s story is a long one. Andrew was in the 5th district, the fostered son of the mayor. He had a best friend, one he didn’t tell anyone about lest his older brother, Drake, discover how pretty Neil was. Neil’s mother was overprotective, hiding him away from the public eye, but together they would climb outside the district’s boundaries and play together in the woods.

Then Andrew met his biological family when Major Cass Spear was invited to the 12th district for diplomacy. He decided to stay. He was twelve at the time: he and Aaron entered the reapings that year. His cousin had three years left, but would never be voted in: he was also the son of a terrible mayor. When Nicky turned 18, Tilda died, his parents disowned him, and he looked after the twins for another 2 years before Aaron was reaped and Andrew took his place.

That year, a scrawny seventeen year old from the 2nd district, who wasn’t a career tribute, volunteered himself. It wasn’t until Andrew had met all the tributes in the capitol that he realised who that kid was: Neil, his childhood best friend, who was fulfilling an old promise of protection.

Andrew had hated him quite a bit for it: only one of them was meant to escape the arena. There were bets placed on how soon Andrew would kill him and how. None of them knew the truth. None of them knew that Andrew would rather die than kill Neil.

So, in the end, when it’d just been the two of them, they swore a truce. They fought against the capitol’s attempts at whittling them down till the capitol gave up. Andrew thought they’d beat the system: it took him a hellish victory tour, another trip back to the arena and losing Neil to the capitol to know that wasn’t true.

Neil. Neil, Neil, Neil. The other reason Andrew doesn’t want to be here. Neil’s back in district 13, recovering from his weeks spent being tortured at the capitol’s hands. The rebels weren’t given the chance to grab him before the capitol snatched him away. Andrew had paced grooves into the ground during his absence.

And when he came back? Well, Andrew would’ve rathered that Neil forgot him entirely. Instead they - his father, his worst nightmare and most talented gamemaker in the capitol - had turned Neil against him. Made him loathe Andrew with every fibre of his being. Enough so that he’d tried to strangle Andrew when they’d first been reunited.

He is better now, but still avoiding Andrew at every possible junction. Andrew inexplicably still wants to stay by his side. Abby says his memory will return with time. Andrew will just have to wait.

Nicky’s eyes go wide. “I thought you were going to sort things out with him -”

But then Kevin is yelling, sirens are wailing. The hospital begins to dissolve into panic. Andrew only has to hear someone yell “Bombs!” to understand, being directed out of the building. Someone’s trying to set up artillery to shoot them down. It’s too late. Andrew’s lot makes it out, but only a handful of patients are able to stumble out after them before the building explodes. Andrew looks over his shoulder as they’re running towards where their helicopter is descending. The warehouse structure has collapsed inwards. Those who hadn’t died in the explosion are being torn apart by shrapnel and debris. All those kids. Gone.

“Turn the camera on,” he murmurs, holding out his hands. The bomber planes aren’t turning around, but there’s a second fleet of carrier craft behind them, bringing peacekeepers by the dozen.

“Andrew,” Aaron says, stricken. The camera’s red light is already flashing.

“This is what you get for remaining neutral,” Andrew spat out, flinging a pointed hand behind him at the burning hospital. “Massacred. Think about that next time you assume the capitol will be on your side.”

He’s facing away from the carnage. It’s the only reason that he doesn’t see the peacekeeper aim and fire. He doesn’t even realise he’s been shot until the rest of him start screaming.

By then it’s too late: he’s falling, falling into darkness, wishing that he’d never involved himself in this stupid rebellion in the first place.

He blinks awake and stares at the ceiling. District thirteen, being a burner district, doesn’t have many variations in its ceilings, but Andrew knows this one all too well.

He’s in the hospital.

His hands go to his arms: the armbands are still there, but they’re rolled down and his knives are gone. There’s a morphine drip in his left elbow and fluids in his right. He can barely feel his body.

“I have your knives,” says a familiar voice. Andrew has to be dreaming.

Neil’s appearance has always fluctuated: when they’d first met, his hair had been black and his eyes natural blue. During the games he’d started off with brown hair and brown eyes, but a lack of resources meant that he’d ended up forgoing the contacts and letting his roots grow out. He’d forgone the brown eyes but kept up with the dye till the second games, which hadn’t lasted long enough for any major changes.

Now he is fully and unequivocally Nathaniel Wesniniski, son of Nathan, scarring on his cheeks, arms and torso telling a narrative that is a hard-won fight. Nathan and his lackey Lola had both been killed brutally in Neil’s rescue. Andrew is glad.

“Hey,” Neil says, when Andrew isn’t exactly forthcoming. “How are you faring?”

“You’re not here to finish the job?”

Neil’s lips quirk. “Drama queen. Your suit was fitted with kelvar: there’s a lot of bruising, but you’ll be fine in a week.”

Andrew drops his head back down onto his pillow. “Dammit.”

Neil snorts. He’s in a good mood. Andrew can tell he’s still on edge, but he was always a paranoid kid. It’s not going to take some genial bedside manner to undo everything his father did.

“I know that everything they told me was fake,” he says, looking at the knives in his hands. “I have always been a jumble of identities and false pretences. This shouldn’t be news to you.”

Andrew just hums. He can’t even wiggle his toes. How the hell did they had stuff this strong down here? They were all eating onion slop rations but had morphine good enough to even send Dan into a spiral.

“I gave this knife to you,” Neil continues, holding up a sleek blade. Matte black. Andrew’s sharpest blade and perfectly weighted for throwing. “This was my mother’s. You must have been very special to me if I gave you this.”

“I hate you,” Andrew says.

“Are you sure?” Neil asks. “Because I’m not.”

Andrew just huffs.

“I remember...” he hesitates. “I remember us. Together. In your district 12 victory house, after the tour...then again, in the tower before the 75th games.”

Andrew stares at the wall opposite him. He really doesn’t want to have this conversation. “It didn’t mean anything.”

“I think it did,” Neil says, softspoken. He’s never soft-spoken. “My father - he couldn’t create new memories. He could only twist old ones. For me to hate you as much as I did, I must have really...You know. Lo-”

“Don’t,” Andrew says, because this a war and if he hears something like that fate will go against him. “I’m not your answer, Neil.”

Neil shrugs. “Okay.” Then, with methodical precision, he checks Andrew’s vitals, removes the needles and rolls up his bands. Then he slides the knives in place, fingertips briefly brushing over Andrew’s skin. Andrew, for some reason, lets him.

“Your last morphine dose was seven hours ago,” Neil says, settling back into his chair. “It’ll wear off soon. You were asleep for nearly 2 days, did you know? Aaron says the bruising is horrific. You probably won’t be able to move for another 3 days. But hey, at least all the districts are in revolt now. You getting shot on camera actually helped the cause...”

He chatters innocuously. Andrew listens. Neil’s still nervous, still schooling his bodily reactions of hatred and disgust, but he’s here anyway. Distracting Andrew from his own snare of a mind.

Maybe there’s goodness in this terrible, terrible world.

Maybe Andrew can have it.

He’ll just have to live long enough to find out.

yeehawwww

#andreil #hunger games au #andrew minyard #neil josten #tw: canon typical violence #andrew is good with kids fight me #is that??? a love confession??????#all for the game

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arcticdementor · 3 years

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Some rambling, poorly-organized thoughts on state structures

On the recent nationalism and nations discussion, I don't want to give the wrong impression of my views, lest I seem like some sort of dedicated supporter of homogenous ethnostates.

After all, I've repeatedly said that it seems like practically nobody actually believes in Westphalian sovereignty anymore.

I get that nationalism creates a lot of problems, particularly in the wake of the breakup — or especially, carving up by outsiders — of a multiethnic, multicultural empire. The nigh-impossibility of fitting political borders to the human geography (thus usually leading the human geography to be forcibly transformed to match the political borders instead).

I mean, just earlier this month, when reading about the "highest" High German dialects, I wiki-walked my way into reading about the mess that was post WWI South Tyrol — a mess created by Woodrow Wilson's hard-on for "national self-determination" (and ignorance of the actual demography) — how one guy (Ettore Tolomei) created Italian place names to replace all the Austrian ones, and how its (Austro-Bavarian) German-speaking majority eventually faced the choice of either forced Italianization under the Fascists or relocation to Nazi Germany.

Or this recent thread at the Motte about the history of the Balkans from a couple of natives thereof, with, again, plenty of blame for Woodrow Wilson's dismantlement of the Habsburg domains.

Plus, I've seen plenty of people, left and right, argue that much of the problems of the Middle East are due to how the Western powers, and particularly Britain, carved up the failing Ottoman Empire (and yes, for many of the left-leaning ones, the creation of the modern state of Israel is at or near the top of that list).

One can also see all the messes in the former Soviet Union — Moldova, Transnistria, Ossetia, Abkhazia, Crimea, the Donets Basin, Nagorno-Karabakh, et cetera — as a similar "breakup of an empire" mess.

On the other hand, though, I also recall people once arguing that one of the major harms European colonialism inflicted upon Africa in "the scramble" was carving out territories and drawing up borders willy-nilly, without concern for the existing ethnic, linguistic, and cultural groupings — causing some groups who identified as one people to be split apart in some cases, and in others causing differing groups with historical animosities to be forced together. And further, that "fixing" this would involve African nations reorganizing themselves along ethno-religio-cultural-linguistic lines. (I have a further aside on this I may write-up later.)

And multi-ethnic empires have their own issues. Sure, some have allowed the constituent ethnic groups a fair amount of autonomy, such as the Ottoman "millet" system. But others, not so much — look at what happened to Gaulish and the other continental Celtic languages under Roman rule; or "Hanification" in China.

In multi-ethnic empires, there's always one central, ruling ethicity — usually the one that founded it. And there's a general extractive flow of wealth from the periphery to the core, and from subject peoples to the ruling people (when this flow reverses, and the ostensible rulers are instead paying the other peoples, is often when the Empire begins failing — note that it was the Turkish national movement that ultimately overthrew the Sultan). Plus, said rulers often play the subject peoples against each other.

In short, nationalist states have some problems, empires have some different problems.

Someone in one of the reply chains also made reference to Medieval kingdoms; particularly, to the idea that a ruler was "King of France" — because that's where the bulk of the territory he held was located — rather than "King of the French" — ruler of a specific people. The kind of thing that led to situations like the Spanish Netherlands, Norman Sicily, the King of England also being the Elector of Hanover, the kings of Sweden and Poland each claiming to be the rightful monarch of both territories, and so on.

Despite that, there's much to favor in such a thing. But, as so many people keep reminding me when I bring up my monarchist views, this was the product of a number of specific preconditions. First, the utter disintegration of the western Roman Empire, leaving mostly just hyper-local identities — particularly once the Germanic migrations stopped, and the Franks and Goths assimilated to their local subjects.

Second, that the kings, particularly at the start of any given dynasty, and even sometimes well into the Early Modern period, were basically warlords — I recall reading one historian refer to Gustavus Adolphus as "the worst kind of sociopath," and another argue that the life story of Henry VII is, in its broad strokes, basically the same as any number of Latin American dictators. Look at Clovis I, Harald Hardrata, or William the Conqueror, or…

Third, this state of affairs was also a product of the comparative weakness of those kings. Because, for quite some time, pretty much any local baron who owned a castle was a power to be reckoned with, and kings were often more "first among equals" with these lords — see King John, the Magna Carta, the Barons' War, and so on. This was a product of the military technologies of the time; effective war-fighting was by highly-trained, heavily-equipped elite cavalry — knights — who were expensive… but not so expensive that local lords couldn't afford to maintain an effective retinue of them. Defensive fortifications like castles were highly effective, and slow and costly to besiege.

Then cannons and early firearms came along, which actually served to centralize power — kings were able to use them to take more power and authority from the aristocracy, leading to the replacement of decentralized feudal structures with royal absolutism (and a growing central bureaucracy to run and manage said centralized government). Then later firearms made the average commoner with little training into an effective war-fighter — thus "the Age of the Gun" and resulting democratization of the centralized state.

I'll admit, it's hard to see a pathway back to that sort of mid-level balance — where neither the numbers of the common masses nor the deep pockets of a centralized state provide much advantage in war over a localized petty elite. The "Age of the Gun" may have ended, but our current military modes (with multi-million-dollar equipment) again favor the centralized state — either a nation-state or an empire — over both local authority and the common citizen. Some argue that 4th-generation warfare might see a return of "people power" (though I have my doubts); and I've seen others debate how expensive effective autonomous weapons of a coming "Age of the Drone" might prove, and thus what scale of political organization it favors.

Then there's the city-state, which has even more local autonomy, and which seems to be in many ways a preferable manner of organization. But the problem there, is that they almost always run afoul of the economies of scale in war-fighting. There's a reason those feudal barons, for all their power, ended up pledging fealty to one king or another, and even in the modern era, unless you either have somehow obtained WMDs with an effective long-distance delivery system, or are under the protective aegis of a larger polity with such, a lone city-state is just too easy to push around militarily, if not de-facto conquer.

Sure, Nick Land argued that while nuclear-tipped ICBMs will remain out of reach for microstates, we can expect city-states to proliferate again once DNA technologies mean they can have a WMD deterrent in the form of "$1000 smallpox" or other bioweapons. I don't suppose I have to tell you, particularly now, why having hundreds of labs around the world manufacturing and storing virulent and deadly man-made plagues does not sound like a good idea to me.

Going all the way back to Westphalia, again, I'd like to note that the key principle there was not anything about nationalism directly, but about religion — ending the generations of bloody post-Reformation wars with the "truce" principle of cuius regio, eius religio. That the religion of each state was the business of its government and its government only, and that it's no longer a ruler's place to intervene in a neighboring ruler's territory to rescue the souls of his subjects from vile heresy with fire and sword.

There's a certain echo of this in the proposals of certain libertarian, ex-libertarian, and libertarian-adjacent left-wing people of a loose confederation of microstates wherein, in an example of exit-over-voice, people are free to relocate so as to sort themselves on ideological (compare to religious) lines. Friedman's seasteads, Yarvin's "patchwork," and Alexander's "archipelago" all come to mind as core examples. But these have a number of issues. First, the ways in which they presuppose a level of mobility, of ability and willingness to relocate, that I find unrealistic to expect from much of the population. I note here that it seems to be a very specific sort of person who recommends this sort of solution.

Second, it very much requires a Westphalian live-and-let-live, what happens in the patch next door is none of my business no matter how wrong I believe it to be, attitude. But replace "one true faith" with "universal human rights" and saving souls from heresy with "humanitarian intervention," and we see that, like I said before, such a spirit is quite dead — "all it takes for evil to triumph…", "an injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere", et cetera. Like we saw with Libya, unless you have the WMD-MAD means to prevent it, expect the superpower to enact "regime change" on you if your way of life somehow offends their particular "universal" orthodoxy.

TL;DR: nation-state, empire, feudal kingdom, city-states, patchwork — it's trade-offs all around.

#nationalism #empire #peace of westphalia #nation-state #feudalism #dark ages #fall of rome #ottoman empire #africa #cuius regio eius religio #long #effortposting #rambling

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atheistforhumanity · 4 years

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Hi. Sorry if this is a bit long, I would totally understand if you don't want to respond to this. So, I live in a very religious country, questions are immoral and we must follow said religion dearly or else. I have only recently begun reading about atheism and so far I feel my beliefs in religion are falling apart. I am no longer convinced of the religion, I am not sure sure if there is a god but i no longer care. However, there is one argument for religion that I just can't seem to respond to that is how do we get a sense of purpose and have a (objective) value system without religion. Without religion, we start lacking purpose because life doesn't matter and when we die nothing happens, so what's the point? With religion however, there is a sense that we were created by a god, who created us for an important reason and it's our purpose to discover that destiny and fulfill it. And without religion, we have no objective set of values, we merely rely on a subject ever changing world view. Like say with lgbt rights. I could say that everyone should do what they want as long as they are not harming others or themselves and that's why I believe that lgbt people should do whatever they want. But, someone might view it as harmful to others or the people in said relationships. So our values are subjective. With religion however, we can just refer to the rule book and that's it. While multiple religions have different set of values, they can still help communities agree on their values. So my question, in a world that lacks religion, how can we have consistent morals and identify our sense of purpose and reason for existence. Thank you.

Anon, thank you for sharing your experience and thoughts with me. I appreciate when anyone seeks my opinion. Thank you.

You’ve brought up some important topics that many people struggle with. As you have said, I’ve heard many people say that confusion in these areas are most responsible for them being unsure of what they believe. Hopefully after this post you’ll gain some clarity and be able to make a new assessment.

What is Our Purpose?

I often hear from people that a sense of purpose is their main reason for sticking with religion, even when they have doubts. The religious often flaunt their idea of purpose as an unmatched quality only they can provide. So here is a different way of approaching this question.

When a religious person asks me how to know their purpose, I first point out that they are assuming that we are meant to have a purpose or that an objective purpose is a requirement of life. Many people try to figure out life through the lens of what is meant to happen, but I believe this is misguided. We think this way because our minds seek order and finite understanding of the world around us. Therefore, we assume that we must be meant to do something.

However, I submit the cold reality of our existence. We are the results of millions of years of evolutionary change on 1 planet out of many, many trillions. Our form of life does not have any objective purpose, because our creation was not planned or orchestrated. This is an idea religious people have a hard time grasping. That what exists was not crafted, constructed, or produced from a greater mind. All evidence points the fact that we are the result of trillions of random occurrences over billions of years.

If you let go of the assumption that we were purposefully created, then you can let go of the idea that we require an objective purpose. After all, the idea that were created by an intelligent force has no evidence to support that view. There is no evidence to support the existence of a god. There is no evidence to support the idea that we innately have purpose.

This is not a bad thing. Many people often dive immediately into the lake of hopelessness, saying that nothing matters without purpose. I reject this idea entirely. It is short sighted to say that if my life is not eternal then nothing I do matters. A nihilist says this while existing in a world wide society of billions of people where we see, feel, and know pain and happiness by our actions and the actions of others. We are all aware of well documented history where single figures have had profound world changing effects for good and evil. To put it simply, every action has a consequence, and regardless of how you feel about that consequence, since it undeniably miniscule to profound effects on others that live, it cannot be said that it does not matter. Not when we are creatures of wants, needs, and desires. No, to say that our actions don’t matter is an absurdity.

Where Do We Get Our Values?

I say that your actions matter for the fact that they have consequence. But how do we know what is right and wrong, or what those terms even mean without an objective guide?

I have a few things to say on this topic. The first is that the Bible or Quran do not actually set objective morals. Without getting into too much detail, we must recognize major contradictions in the holy books. Rules are set, such as thou shall not kill, but the rules are also broken very quickly and without remorse. Both God/Allah kills and murders on a whim, and on a mass scale. Both God/Allah instruct their followers to kill and slaughter. The morals given by these holy books are purely subjective because they only apply when they say they apply. For instance, rules against not enslaving your neighbors meant exactly that, don’t enslave other Jews, but you can enslave others.

More importantly, these morals change and progress over time as society challenges the old ideas and ushers in new thinking. No Christians or Muslims live under the exact moral law as set down at the dawn of the religions. ISIS is an example of an attempt to do so. So these religious morals are not actually accepted as objective by the people.

Second, religion only claims that their morals are object and cannot prove this claim. It takes very little critical thinking to know that one would rather live in America under secular law than any location in 12th Century Europe when religion controlled laws and morals virtually 100%. Every religion has a different set of morals that they claim is objective, yet none can show themselves to be better than another. More importantly, none can show themselves to be as moral as what secular philosophy has produced, which gives the Western world freedom and liberty like the world has never seen.

As for the idea that it would be easier to follow a “rule book” whether that be the Bible, the Quran, or the teaching of Buddha the same could be said for any other moral philosophy. Society would be simple if we committed ourselves to Utilitarianism completely, but we cannot say it would be better. Our experience across the globe has bore out the simple truth that adopting eclectic laws in an environment where they can always be challenged and improved on is the best model the world has ever seen. There are still theocracies in the world and millions of people from around the globe do not flood to immigrate there.

Not All Opinions Are Equal

Once we remove the idea of objective morality, people often go straight to the idea that nothing can be determined because there will always be differences of opinion. They think that without objectivity set by a higher power that no idea can be proven wrong. This is just not true. There is a universal prohibition against murder. Regardless of the fact that some people find it acceptable, by virtue of intellect and practical application it is undeniable that forbidding murder is the best choice for all societies.

Here we take our first steps toward a new idea of objectivity. Ideas are not objective because of their source, but rather by their merit and application. Universal agreement is not required for an idea to be objectively true. For instance, many people believe the world is flat, but this is objectively false. Morals work the same way. Murder is objectively wrong, but there are still criminals that take it up for sport or work. The fact that someone is too ignorant to see a truth does not mean it is not true.

Let’s look at the issue of lgbtq people specifically. I wrote another post explaining why the American medical community ended its stance that homosexuality was a mental illness. For much of the 20th century in America, homosexuality was considered to be an illness and a moral wrong. This changed when the American Psychological Association actually started researching homosexuality and could not show any evidence that it caused harm of any kind.

What if someone says that being gay is harmful to the person? Well, since we’ve found no justification for this, such a person is left with this argument. Homosexuality is bad, and therefore homosexuality is harmful because it’s bad, and it’s bad because it’s harmful. This is a perfect example of circular reasoning.

While it is not always easy to tell who is right or wrong in a debate, we have developed knowledge of faulty arguments such as circular reasoning, and we know objectively that they are not valid. No matter how many people do not understand this or refuse to accept this is irrelevant. Circular reasoning will never prove anything, no matter how emotionally charge people are over the issue.

Conclusion

I hope that you take some time to think about these ideas and apply them to the questions you’re wondering about. In short, I believe that religion attempts to create a false need in the mind of society to confirm itself as the answer. We are fully capable of living full, productive, and moral lives without religion in our life or society in anyway.

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the-odd-job · 3 years

Text

Up in Flames chapter 16 - Villain (Ashes Part 2)

Warnings: Major Character Death, Chose Not to Use Category: Other Fandom: Transformers Relationships: Megatron/Sunstreaker, Megatron/Sideswipe, Sideswipe & Sunstreaker Characters: Sunstreaker, Optimus Prime, Prowl, Jazz, Ironhide Additional Tags: Dubcon, Mechpreg, Sticky Words: 4105

( Previous )

His battle protocols had had the time to activate, and as always when he went under with them running, coming back up wasn’t a slow, peaceful climb into consciousness.

It was a violent whiplash that had every system roaring to life simultaneously, no time wasted on testing if everything even still worked.

Sunstreaker’s optics snapped open to the bright orange ceiling of the Ark, and he shot to sitting immediately after, his frame primed for a fight and very eager to remind him of the circumstances of how he’d lost consciousness.

As it was though, there was no immediate threat around him that he could see. He was… In the brig, the glowing energy bars of that particular cell trapping him inside.

That wasn’t too much of a surprise considering how he’d gotten snatched. The Autobots had rightly assumed that he would not have gone willingly if they’d just asked nicely.

They had also assumed rightly that he wouldn’t hang around if given the option to leave. That option clearly wasn’t given to him now. For whatever reason—and it could be no reason that would end well for him—they wanted him here, and were ready enough to force the matter by locking him up entirely.

This couldn’t be good, not for him, and… Not for the sparklet. Maybe especially not for the sparklet. Sunstreaker couldn’t stamp down on his anxiety before the little one had already responded, vibrating in his chamber, next to his own spark, in a way it hadn’t before. These weren’t good emotions, like were really all of the ones it had gotten to experience so far.

Figures it would be the Autobots to provide it with its first negative impressions of life.

Had his spark felt any calmer, he could have tried to calm it, but pits, he wasn’t exactly calm himself. There was anxiety, some poorly articulated fear, but more than anything, there was his ever familiar anger. This sparkling was no stranger to that after every time Megatron had annoyed him, sometimes some of the other ‘Cons, but this time there was no… Thrill to go with it. No enjoyment under it, like he would have enjoyed Megatron’s attention even if the mech was driving him nuts.

None of the enjoyment of delivering some hurt to whichever ‘Con was aggravating at the time, usually in the training ring.

This was just anger, and fear, and anxiety—and, maybe, helplessness.

How helpless was he, really? A quick scan of his systems at least confirmed they’d locked his subspace, and pits, done who knows what to him while he was under. Sunstreaker quickly pulled up his logs, rubbing at his chest as he did. It wasn’t altogether comfortable to feel the sparkling twist and turn, nervous itself, even if it didn’t really understand what the threat was.

The plating of his chassis wasn’t smooth under his servo, not with the gash Megatron had dug across his insignia. His servo caught on the rough edges of it and made it impossible to forget how much he wasn’t an Autobot anymore. These weren’t friendly hands that had captured him.

And that was what they’d done. Captured him. Kidnapped, really.

They’d rooted around his systems, too. His physical readings had been looked at, armor shifted around presumably to have a look underneath—his coding hadn’t been tampered with, no fixes had been attempted, but he had more recent logs of diagnostic runs, and traces of the opening of several bits of programming. Not for edits, clearly, but for viewing.

Quite many of those related to the carrier protocols Hook and Ratchet had already looked at. Many other readings that had been viewed belong to the systems keeping tabs on the sparkling.

A medic’s signature had been left behind, too. Sunstreaker feared the worst when he looked at who had rooted around his frame while he was unconscious, but… It wasn’t Ratchet.

First Aid.

Sunstreaker growled to himself. He didn’t know why Ratchet wasn’t the one to have examined him, but some part of him was relieved he hadn’t… Really, breached their trust like that. Maybe he shouldn’t trust Ratchet anymore, but slaggit, he did anyway, at least to an extent. They didn’t belong to the same side anymore, but Ratchet had ethics and a personal code he followed.

They didn’t belong to the same side anymore. Had they and Sunstreaker would have only considered it natural he’d have taken a look at his systems. That was what medics did.

But now, that consent didn’t exist. Were they enemies? He wasn’t a Decepticon either, so maybe not.

But they were not comrades, or allies.

First Aid, clearly, hadn’t cared about details like that, although Sunstreaker wondered under whose bidding he’d performed the rather thorough examination on.

He wasn’t distracted enough by his internal investigation to miss the sound of someone moving to the outside of his cell, and he definitely didn’t miss the shadow cast they cast with the corridor lights behind them.

Sunstreaker lifted his gaze, glaring even before his optics landed on… Ironhide. The twin threw his legs off the side of the small slab of a berth just as Ironhide brought one servo to the side of his helm. “He’s up.”

Oh, they were waiting on him, were they?

Ironhide’s servo dropped, and so did his optics—landing on Sunstreaker’s servo on his chassis, still trying to ease the physical sensation of the sparkling’s growing distress as his mood only soured further instead of providing relief to the little thing.

Somehow Sunstreaker really didn’t appreciate the scrutiny, and let his arm slip away, doubling his glare. Ironhide didn’t look away right away, though, instead frowning at his chassis—and the insignia he still wore, but only to show he no longer belonged to that side.

“The slag you looking at?” Sunstreaker snapped once he got tired of the staring. Ironhide jerked from whatever trance he’d fallen into and looked up at him, in the optic for a fragging change. He opened his mouth to say something, too, but before he could, there was commotion from outside the main doors to the brig. Even Sunstreaker could hear it.

It wasn’t quite yelling, but it was clear enough there was an argument. He couldn’t make out all of the words, really, none of them—except some of those spoken by a voice that he couldn’t mistake.

Ratchet. The medic was rather vocal right then, as he always was when he was angry. Was he angry now? Sounded like so. Sunstreaker tuned his audials to listen in, but he could still only catch snippets. “–The stress you’re putting him under–!

“No!

“This is insanity–!

“I’m the physician–!

“Slag no!

“–let me–!”

“–Do not have my support!”

Then it ended. Sunstreaker could imagine Ratchet’s angry march as he left. He could definitely hear the stomping that always accompanied that.

The doors to the brig opened after. It wasn’t as if Sunstreaker could see who it was from where he was, but he didn’t need to guess for long because his visitors made their way straight to him.

Ratchet wasn’t among them, of course he wasn’t. Ironhide nodded at the arrivals—at Optimus, at Prowl, at Jazz.

High command then, basically. Sunstreaker got to his pedes, not particularly feeling like being shorter than everyone else. Upright and the only one who still managed to tower over him was the goddamn Prime. “Should I feel honored little old me is getting so important visitors?” he asked oh so sincerely, crossing his arms over his chassis and glaring some more.

But not before he was sure everyone had gotten a real good look at his chassis, his ruined insignia. Yeah yeah, ogle away, what did he care! What the slag were they expecting? That he would’ve no longer had an insignia at all? That he’d have a Decepticon one instead?

Honestly, both were probably fair assumptions, just not very… Megatron.

And still, despite the fucking fact he hadn’t been an Autobot for quite a few months, still, fragging still both Prowl and Ironhide saw fit to give him a disapproving look. For what? His slagging disrespect? Cry him a river, they all had it coming after this. Sunstreaker revved his engine, angrier by the second—and the sparkling growing ever more restless, until his core was really starting to feel too small for the both of them and he had to fight the urge to go back to rubbing his chestplates, despite the fact that did absolutely no good.

“I know these circumstances are less than ideal–” Optimus started, ever the diplomat, but Sunstreaker cut him off without fanfare or mercy.

“‘Less than ideal’? You fucking kidnap me and lock me in the goddamn brig,” he hissed, stepping up to the bars and craning his neck back to glare the Prime in the optic. “So would you fucking tell me what the frag is my crime this time?”

“Disregarding all of the events prior to your… Defection,” Prowl said, smooth and cool as ever. Sunstreaker transferred his glare at him, but then Jazz picked up where the SIC left off and that was yet another mech that deserved to be the recipient of his attempt at dropping them dead with his optics alone.

“There’s no crime, Sunstreaker,” was what Jazz had to say, but then he didn’t continue because Optimus spoke up again, and could they just fucking decide who was going to speak instead of transferring the script from one mech to another?

And what did Optimus say? “This is for your own good.”

Red. That was what Sunstreaker saw, besides the shadow creatures blotting out the edges of his vision. He laughed, although there wasn’t much humor behind the sound. “I knew it,” Sunstreaker said, his voice barely more than a guttural growl—words hardly there with the fucking anger that was really starting to get the better of him, and he was quickly losing the will to even try to fight it.

The sparkling flared, hard, and this time Sunstreaker uncrossed his arms to rub at his chest before he could think better of it. He continued all the same, “Optimus Prime, ever the altruist. So what the pit did I need saving from this time?” He was pretty damn sure he fucking knew already, but fragging Prime could spell it out for himself.

“We had reason to think your allegiance to Megatron is forced,” Prowl said, simply enough.

“And why’s that?” Sunstreaker growled, one unpleasant option quickly coming to the forefront. “Did Ratchet talk?”

“No,” Optimus said with feeling, as if he fragging cared how Sunstreaker felt about Ratchet, “Ratchet respected patient confidentiality. If he hadn’t…”

“You already know our concerns are valid, don’t you?” Prowl asked.

Sunstreaker stayed silent, only meeting the tactician’s optics without a waver. So, this was how it was always going to go, no matter what Ratchet had done? He didn’t talk, and they wanted to find out the answers for themselves.

He talked, and they’d have still done something, because their goddamn ‘concerns’ would have gotten validated by Ratchet’s findings.

“First Aid saw your protocols are active,” Optimus said, inclining his helm. There was worry—probably genuine—in his optics when Sunstreaker looked back at him.

“That don’t access my emotional cortex,” Sunstreaker snapped before Optimus could say any more. “I fragging know already.”

He also knew that wasn’t the issue.

“But they do make you predisposed to the sire,” Prowl confirmed as much. “Even without response from your emotional cortex, that is worrisome.”

Deep breaths. He wanted to fragging explode on the spot like a goddamn star going supernova, but… Oh, what the fuck was he expecting? That they’d listen to anything he’d say at this point?

What good would talking be? “Why didn’t Ratchet examine me?” he ground out anyway, because that was a point of real curiosity.

“Ratch refused,” Jazz responded. “He wanted nothing to do with this.”

Well, at least someone was doing the right thing. One fragging decent Autobot on the whole goddamn planet.

Optimus cleared his vocalizer, bringing everyone’s attention back to him. Sunstreaker cut him off again, though, right as the Prime was about to speak. “It doesn’t matter that I’ve said, several times, that I want to stay with the Decepticons?” he snarled, as much as he already knew the answer.

“We can’t be certain how much your protocols are affecting you,” Optimus said anyway. “I fear it is not truly your choice, but rather forced upon you by your coding—and by Megatron himself.”

“This is not my choice,” Sunstreaker hissed, leaning close enough to the bars that he could feel their heat on his faceplates, “being here. My choice is being with the Decepticons.”

“And Megatron plays no role in that?” Prowl asked, disbelieving.

“Our desires align.” They wouldn’t believe that though, would they?

“Could be that’s just the carrier coding talking,” Jazz pointed out.

Yeah, see, they didn’t believe slag.

“I find it hard to believe you would stay truly voluntarily, were you unaffected by your coding,” Optimus rumbled. Something about his tone had Sunstreaker focusing on him and frowning a little harder.

The Prime hesitated for a moment before he apparently chose to just bite the bullet and get on with it. “First Aid found many old injuries on your frame.”

And when you read between the lines?

Sunstreaker covered his face with his servos and fought the impulse to scream into them. The urge to not keep it together was real.

“I’ve sparred with the lot of them,” he said, firmly, once he dropped his servos again to give his continued glare an unhindered path. “That racks up some injuries.”

“And none of them are from Megatron?” Prowl again, ever the skeptic.

Sunstreaker growled. “I’ve sparred with him too, if that’s what you’re asking.”

It wasn’t what he was asking and they all knew it. Things lapsed into silence for a moment, apparently none of them really comfortable with the topic. Well, Sunstreaker wasn’t going to try to make it any easier for them.

Fuck them all.

Prowl’s wings flicked, but he was eventually the one to continue. “That he abuses you is not a mere supposition.” The SIC was too good to let his voice lose its calm, but his doorwings still gave him off with the way they shivered. He did not want to be talking about this.

Looked like Sunstreaker was the only one who didn’t really care. “He took off your valve cover,” Prowl managed to force out anyway. And there it was. Their basis for assuming Megatron got a bit rough with him, which wasn’t a lie to begin with.

They just didn’t get it. “It’s called foreplay,” Sunstreaker kindly informed them, leaning back to cross his arms again. “You should try it sometime.”

“Sunstreaker,” Optimus said, and the twin reluctantly looked up at him. What now?

Nothing good, that’s what. “You don’t have to live under Megatron’s abuse. You don’t need to put up with it. You have other options.”

It sounded like he so very genuinely meant that.

“Like what?” Sunstreaker snapped. “Crawl back to the Autobots and beg for forgiveness? I wouldn’t fragging do that even if he was ‘abusing’ me—which he isn’t.”

“Kid, I know you’ve got your pride, but there ain’t anything shameful in admittin’ you’re sometimes in over yer head,” Ironhide said where he’d been quiet this whole duration.

That anger? It was quickly rising the same way it did when Megatron disregarded what he said because his his his sparkling, yada yada yada, and they went in circles around that topic until Sunstreaker caved—but this was worse. This wasn’t Megatron acknowledging that he wanted something different, and then overruling that want anyway.

This was the Autobots deciding he didn’t know what the frag he was talking about, that he was lying, that he didn’t know what he wanted– “Are any of you actually listening to me?” Sunstreaker demanded, passing his glare between all four of them, “Because it’s getting really fucking tiresome to get treated like my words don’t mean shit.”

“The matter of your protocols remains,” Prowl said. He said something more too, but Sunstreaker couldn’t hear it over the noise that fragging roared up in his audials at just that bit. He stumbled back a step, pressed a servo to his helm—blasted hot air from his vents as the shadow folk crept further into his field of vision. And touched him. He could’ve sworn they were there–

But then, as he cycled several ventilations and fought to maintain his control of himself, they receded, disappearing back into the ether they came from. He would’ve said they were gone, but no, they never really were.

Just less numerous, usually.

He ignored the traces of phantom pings on his sensors and lifted his gaze back up to see all four Autobots staring at him. Sunstreaker scowled.

“Your glitch’s worsened too, about since you started your tryst with ol’ Megs,” Jazz pointed out. “That don’t mean anything?”

It meant he had started to reconsider his stance regarding his glitch. Did he want to say that much, though? Talk about how drastically Megatron’s opinion of it differed from the Autobot sentiments? “Yeah, well, trying to keep that whole thing from becoming public knowledge was a bit stressful.”

With how little anyone was listening to him, he didn’t particularly feel like having his explanation regarding his glitch get ignored like everything else he said was getting ignored. Plus he’d probably just get preached at about the dangers of his glitch and how irresponsible it would be to let it out of control and whatever the frag else the Autobots were always so fragging eager to fill his audials with.

It was as if the Autobots wanted him to be ashamed of himself—of what he was.

He was a little slagging tired of that by now.

“What prompted you to fight Megatron during that one of your encounters?” Optimus asked. Right, how could he forget. The one encounter and the one fight the Autobots could genuinely claim to know of. Did they also know that was the time when he’d told Megatron about the sparkling and promptly gotten into an argument with him?

Getting into arguments with the mech was really the norm. Glitching while at it? Not that far out either. “He was annoying,” Sunstreaker gave his honest to Primus answer. And obviously, Megatron had needed to pay for that, and what better way than to go berserk and bring some unholy smiting into the game through his glitch? Sounded like a good way to him.

“You decided to fight Megatron, because he was annoyin’?” Ironhide asked incredulously.

Sunstreaker gave him a patronizing look. “Now, ‘Hide, you know me better than that. What other fragging reason have I ever needed to fight someone?”

“You had to know you couldn’ win,” Jazz said, like what wasn’t obvious to the whole world.

“Hasn’t really stopped me before, either.” Any more useless statements?

“You didn’t fight him because he was trying to interface with you?” Optimus asked. A slightly less dumb thing to say, considering it was Megatron.

But, “No, I didn’t fight him because he was trying to ‘face me,” Sunstreaker answered in the most mocking tone he could manage. Never let it be forgotten he was here not out of his own free will, but because some ass eaters had decided to snatch him right up and lock him up for good measure. If there weren’t bars between him and them, between him and freedom, he would’ve been gone a long time ago.

They really couldn’t expect his cooperation, considering the circumstances.

“Did he ignite you on purpose?” Prowl took the turn to ask. The tactician had probably been hard at work considering all of the possible ways things had gone and would go. How lovely it had to be to get some answers to things the Autobots really had had no way of knowing.

Why was he over here telling them this slag though? It was none of their fragging business.

“No. He was as surprised as I was,” Sunstreaker responded anyway. No doubt it wouldn’t make them vilify Megatron any less, but at least they’d know the slagging truth.

If they believed it, anyway. There were good chances they’d just think he didn’t know as well as he thought he did.

But they hadn’t been there to see Megatron’s surprise upon first hearing about it, and everything that had come after that really didn’t sit in line with the theory the tyrant had planned it all along.

“And you didn’t get ignited on purpose?” Prowl asked next. Sunstreaker rolled his optics as fucking hard as he could manage.

“No. What would I have even gained by doing that? My life’s a mess because of this whole goddamn accident.” He couldn’t say it hadn’t also improved, but frag, was he somehow supposed to foresee that much? He wasn’t a clairvoyant.

“Sunstreaker, I want you to understand you can still come back.” Optimus just loved to keep repeating that, without ever listening or accepting all of the reasons why that wasn’t true.

“No, I can’t. And more importantly, I don’t want to,” Sunstreaker said with as much emphasis as he could manage. “So if we’re done here, I’d really love to get back home already.”

Did he consider it home? He wasn’t sure yet, but the word sure had the intended effect of pulling a couple of surprised revs from his captors’ engines. Maybe it would drive the point home.

More likely they’d still go back to the carrier coding to gleefully point all the fingers at it and announce it meant Sunstreaker had no agency separate from the infernal protocols.

“I can’t let you return,” Optimus said, and oh, he probably really thought he was doing a good thing through whatever wrong and twisted logic he was employing. “I cannot subject either you or the innocent life you’re carrying to Megatron’s evil.”

What the fuck..?

“You fragging think,” Sunstreaker started, leaning back to the bars and keeping Optimus’ stare, “that he’d let anything keep him from it?”

The Prime’s optics hardened with resolve. “I’m willing to press the issue.”

“So’s he,” Sunstreaker pointed out, “and he’s not going to just stop after it separates, either. You ought to know him. He’ll hunt the damn thing to the edges of the world if that’s what it takes. You can’t keep him from it.”

“And you’re fine with all of this?” Prowl asked while Optimus mulled over what he’d said.

Sunstreaker shifted his gaze to the tactician and shrugged. “It was the deal we came to.”

“Deal? Did you actually have a say at any point?” Of course Jazz would quickly pick on little details like that. Sunstreaker glared at him, but unless he felt like lying, there wasn’t much he could say. He was fine with the conclusion they’d come to with Megatron, but no, he hadn’t really had any other options than to agree to what the warlord wanted.

But if he didn’t think it was an issue, it wasn’t really an issue, was it?

“The young one should have a right to its own freedom,” Optimus said now, apparently having sorted out his thoughts. “I have to protect that right.”

Ugh.

“What about my freedom while we’re at it?” Sunstreaker snarled, hitting the bars with one hand and ignoring the resulting burn. His plating was heat resistant anyway. It wouldn’t damage him severely. “That means nothing?”

“This is for your own good,” Optimus repeated, more firmly this time. “For as long as the carrier coding is active–”

“You’re letting your hatred of Megatron blind you!” Sunstreaker interrupted, hitting the bars caging him with both hands this time. “You can’t fathom that someone could be okay with him, understand him, be understood by him—all you can see is a mech you’ve made the nemesis of your world!”

All was quiet for a moment after his little outburst, four sets of optics staring at him with varying expressions. Surprise, confusion, concern… “What do you see in him, kid?” Ironhide asked, sounding a little wary—like he expected he wouldn’t like the answer very much.

“The sire of my sparkling,” Sunstreaker bit out, “who has the right to it.” As Megatron loved to remind him. Didn’t change it was true, though.

“Considering Megatron’s track record, it would be little short of unethical to let him his way with the sparkling,” Prowl said, frowning now. Right after Sunstreaker had just informed them of the obvious fact that Megatron would have it no other way.

The twin snarled at the lot of them. “Then what do you suggest?”

( Next )

#transformers #maccadam #sunstreaker #optimus prime #prowl #jazz #ironhide #fic #2021 #ashes #up in flames

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hannidae · 4 years

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The Value of Forgiveness

Why Reylo is one of the most valuable elements of Star Wars Mythology

And why Disney should not let Reylo end with The Rise of Skywalker if it wants to take the moral high ground.

As an American, I’d like to suggest that Americans have a lot to learn from Rey and Ben. Forgiveness, hope, and redemption, while recognized as nice ideas, are so often not given the deference they deserve. Instead, we’re so much more focused on the pursuit of justice and power, which reflected in film leads to resolutions like Kylo Ren’s/Ben Solo’s death. Or, in real life, leads to paradigms like those present in American criminal justice.

We are doing an unarguably terrible job with criminal justice and reform. We are not forgiving or empathetic as a society. Our justice systems cling to our grudges and desire for punishment when nothing good can come of it. I can only hope that we can recognize our faults, learn, and grow--with a little help from film and story-telling.

As does all good mythology, Star Wars presents morals. The intentions in the sequel trilogy are *ahem* perhaps less thoughtfully crafted than the previous trilogies, but there’s still something to be learned. In TRoS specifically, moral guidance is best sought in critically analyzing the filmmaker’s choices and identifying the fallacies presented.

Enter Reylo, the age-old enemies-to-lovers archetype where a heroine and anti-hero restore justice and find happiness. TRoS did it, then killed Ben. Why? Because in the American mindset Ben did ‘horrible’ things, and he should recognize his failures and welcome his own death in order to preserve the ‘pure’ deserving soul, Rey. Criminals don’t deserve a redeemed life of happiness, according to the American creators.

I object.

Now, before I get into how wrong this is, here’s a shout out to all of the incredible works out there that have analyzed Reylo and all its glory and value. Here’s a wonderful masterpost by raven-maiden.

The impact of Reylo in analyzing criminal justice

Our current criminal justice system, at least within the American cultural setting where Star Wars has been developed, is a self-defeating, myopic mess.

There is the profit-driven corporatization of its structures that ignore best treatment practices opportunities for convicts within the system. There is the systemic discrimination that plagues fair treatment of both individuals and groups in the criminal justice and judicial systems from beginning to end. There is the unwillingness and/or lack of resources in our criminal justice system to address and improve the mental health concerns and socio-economic disadvantages of its prisoners and, as a result, cultivate reformed behaviors and improved opportunities among people who have committed crimes. There is also the hypocritical tendency of the criminal justice system to bolster the privileged and penalize the disadvantaged.

Regardless of a person’s place in society, our criminal justice system is focused almost entirely on punishment and removal of people within society who have been convicted of crimes. This doesn’t fix anything. It either maintains or worsens the causes that encourage people to commit crimes. Additionally, our criminal justice system does very little to promote actual justice in the forms of restorative justice. Generally, people who have committed crimes are not provided avenues that offer meaningful opportunities for reparation, or counseling to recognize and alleviate the social, economic, or physical issues that caused people to commit crimes in the first place. No one is born bad, or wants to be evil, except for perhaps psychopaths. And it’s clear that Ben/Kylo is not a psychopath, despite of and evidenced by the crimes he has committed.

The Problem with Shunning Reylo or shunning criminals

Those who are Anti-Reylo are generally concerned about abuse, imbalances of power, and toxic behavior and relationships, which they associate with Kylo. I get it. None of those things should ever be tolerated, much less promoted. All people, including Antis, can be assumed to condemn at least most criminal behavior, like Kylo’s. However, the hitch is when people are not willing to tolerate and accept individuals who commit crimes into their communities or relationships ever again—like permitting Kylo to repent, atone, and have a romantic relationship with Rey.

Here’s my issue, many people, for the most part, are sufficiently intolerant to be willing to forgive a person who has committed certain crimes. Clearly, some crimes are beyond redemption. In the spectrum of the severity of crimes, what role does a line in the sand have in story telling? Where does society draw that line? Typically, once crossed the criminal cannot be redeemed. In this way of thinking, reformed behavior, with or without atonement or restitution, would be not be sufficient for welcoming a person who has committed certain crimes back into a community. Like Kylo. Now, it’s not that there shouldn’t be a line. But sometimes we draw that line sooner than we should, and we’re not helping anyone (ourselves included) when we do if forgiveness is never an option.

Just Kylo’s association with the First Order, who as an organization murdered multiple world populations, is past the line for a lot of people. For some, it might be his order to kill the villagers at the beginning of The Force Awakens. Or kidnapping Rey and pushing into her mind during the interrogation scene. Or calling her ‘nothing’ on the Supremacy. Whichever.

I’m not going further into that because for my argument I don’t consider him to have crossed the line, and most Reylos don’t either. Here’s why, and why it matters.

First, Star Wars is mythology. It’s about a god Force and space wizards with laser swords. It teaches values and morals through fantasy and fictional dramatization. It is meant to serve as symbolic guidelines, not hard rules for interpersonal relationships in daily life.

Second, someone argues that Kylo Ren/Ben Solo has irrevocably crossed that line, there is very little to learn or gain from his attributes, his experiences, or his sacrifices. There should always be something to learn. Some *may* be willing to forgive Ben. That forgiveness would have qualifications for the redemption such as certain acts of restorative justice or a sacrifice. But empathy here is limited, if not lacking. And to function as a healthy society, we need lots of empathy.

Third, while Kylo’s representation in the trilogy films is less dimensional that in the extended comics and novelizations, one can not argue that he was abused, neglected, and manipulated into the circumstances of his portrayal. He also was never given an opportunity to truly explain his justification for his actions or the conditions that led to his choices.

Overall, I’m not interested in where that unredeemable line is for people who support his death, or what redemption might entail. It’s likely they would never be willing to support his reintegration into society/the light side or consider him an appropriate love interest for Rey. Thus, what matters about him only matters in how it reflects on the heroes to whom he is an enemy. That would make him a black hole. But he is an anti-hero, and an amazing opportunity for self-reflective growth. We all make mistakes; he is just an extreme example from whose mistakes we can learn from.

Why Rey’s forgiveness is a necessary component of functional criminal justice

I am interested in the value of forgiveness, and the role mythology has in teaching that value. I’m fascinated by Rey’s willingness to forgive Ben Solo, especially since he turns and supports her once he knows she would forgive and welcome him if he renounced the characteristics that make him a villain.

Society is never going to improve if we lock up our criminals and throw away the key. Or execute them.

Now, I’m not expertly qualified to summarize the fields of criminal psychology or criminology in relation to Kylo Ren. However, I do hope to take a stab at why his criminal behavior is relevant in a tale of forgiveness.

Crime is cyclical. There will always be more people committing more crimes, and people committing crimes over and over. Also, most people who commit crimes, if released, will not be persuaded by punishment alone to stop doing whatever they’re doing that is criminal. This is because, for the most part, people with a history of delinquency have already experienced enough suffering in some form to create the impression that criminal acts will help them avoid the suffering they fear. The most commonly imposed societal threats of repercussions to their behavior, such as imprisonment, would be less severe to them than the punishment though suffering they’re attempting to avoid.

Kylo was abandoned by his family and betrayed, almost murdered, by the Jedi. The supposed crime of associating with Snoke/the First Order initially provided him shelter from those who wronged him. Then, a means of recuperating the power he needed to survive. However, he continued to be abused, manipulated, and neglected. Thus, his crimes continued though which he sought escape of fear and suffering through the pursuit of power in order to provide the needs he was lacking.

The motivations that cause one to commit a crime are generally recognized as related to the absence of any of Maslow’s hierarchy of needs: physiological, safety, love/belonging, esteem, and self-actualization. Maslow, A.H. (1943). "A theory of human motivation". Psychological Review.

Maslow’s Pyramid

Kylo suffered from an absence of up to four of those five levels of the pyramid.

Now, society will never improve if we believe all criminals are evil and will always be evil unless we scare them into being good. People who commit criminal acts typically act through fear due to lack of a need. Threatening people into behaving well is not going to take their initial fear away; threats don’t provide missing needs. However, it may foster in delinquents a sense of desperate hopelessness, which would only cyclically perpetuate the conditions cultivating their criminality.

For most of the Star Wars Sequel Trilogy, no one criticizing Kylo��s esteemed role in the First Order is going to convince him to abandon the people who have welcomed, protected, and admired him in order to return to the ‘murderers, traitors, and thieves [Rey] calls friends.’ Not until Rey offers him a place by her side and an opportunity to make things right.

Trust, counseling, and pathways that allow people to meaningfully reenter society into a safe place through proof of intention by reparation, are the conditions through which criminals most effectively break out of the cycle.

We should be providing people who have committed a criminal act with:

1) the security of a route to acquiring their missing needs; 2) the confidence and recovery to be gained through restorative justice; and 3) a safe place to re-enter society. If we want delinquents to go from inclined to commit a crime, to not, then society must give people with criminal pasts a means to reform. To redemption.

That requires forgiveness.

Rey offered these things to Ben. She wasn’t willing to take him as he was in The Last Jedi as Kylo Ren. But she was willing to help him meet the needs he was missing: safety, love and belonging, esteem, and self-actualization. And if he turned, which provided him a pathway to meeting those needs when the dark side and First Order would not (despite his hopes), then she would take his hand. Ben’s hand.

Rey’s forgiveness of Kylo would provide a necessary step in the path to him becoming a better person. To reform. To become a hero that the galaxy desperately needed.

In the Rise of Skywalker, perhaps Rey didn’t need him to defeat the Emperor. She might have done it on her own. But she likely wouldn’t have survived if she did. And then the Jedi, the light side, peacekeepers who attempt to maintain balance in the world where the dark doesn’t over take the light, would have disappeared.

Ben’s turn, his choice to change, is what all people who have committed crimes should be permitted. But Rey’s forgiveness, and empathy before that, is a necessary part of Ben’s redemption. Why change criminal behavior, if it is somehow necessary to survive meaningfully, for nothing? Because it’s the right thing to do? That’s not how we work, fundamentally. We’re not angels.

It’s time to say it:

To err is human, to forgive, divine. -Alexander Pope

Rey’s compassion and empathy for Kylo, and her subsequent forgiveness, to me, is the most important thing to come out of Star Wars. Her willingness to respect and admire a person for who they are, despite a dichotomy, despite a criminal history, is a lesson we urgently need today.

Rey learned this herself, which is perhaps the best story telling choice in TRoS. After she stabbed then healed Ben on Ker Bir, she never again chose to engage in attack. She only saved what she loved. She never again used her lightsaber for assault, only deflection. With her potential for mercy, she convinced Kylo to turn. With only self-defense, she defeated the true threat to the Galaxy, the Emperor. The psychopath.

Retaliatory violence would have only made her become part of the cycle of evil. As our criminal justice system does.

Rey and Kylo teach us empathy. They teach us to be better.

Ancestral archetypes embodied through Reylo, and how they’re wasted

If Ben had lived to atone fully, apart from helping Rey free the galaxy of the true source of evil in fascist totalitarianism, Palpatine, he would have lived to cherish and reward Rey for her empathy through their relationship. The ‘dyad in the Force’ that connects Rey and Ben is related to the long-standing concept of dyads representing two parts of one soul, or soulmates that come together to protect humanity.

Dyads have been seen throughout the history of Western philosophy and literature and have played a role in archetypes as discussed by well-recognized voices including Carl Jung, Joseph Campbell, and Plato. These archetypes, dyads included, have been seen as ‘universal, archaic patterns and images that derive from the collective unconsciousness and are the physic counterpart of instinct.’ They serve to inform and instruct, to help us digest our psychologies and nurture our societies. We’ve seen this dyad in many forms, including that described by Carl Jung as the anima and the animus, and reflected around the world in various cultures and spiritualities including Adam and Eve, Yin and Yang, etc. Essentially, a dyad represents balance. Through Ben and Rey’s archetypal dyad, we can learn so much on why to reform our criminal justice system and mindset. And this is not a new thing.

Behold, Plato’s Androgyne.

"The man was originally the child of the Sun, and the man-woman of the Moon, which is made up of sun and earth, and they were all round and moved round and round like their parents. Terrible was their might and strength, and the thoughts of their hearts were great, and they dared to scale the heavens, and they made an attack on the Gods.”

Connecting this to Star Wars, as perhaps (we could only hope the writers considered, or through the pervasiveness of Jungian’s theories of archetypes we can assume was inadvertently manifested) we see representations as both Rey and the light side (or also the Sith due to her parentage being of the darkness/the Moon), and Kylo, as the dark side (but also of the Rebellion/Resistance due to his parentage). Either way, there’s so many ways to relate this. Regardless, Rey’s and Kylo’s ancestral battles are embodied through the balancing of the light and dark sides of the Force. "The Gods took council and Zeus discovered a way to humble their pride and improve their manners. They would continue to exist, but he cut them in two like a sorb-apple which is halved for pickling.”

Assuming the Gods and Zeus are expressed in the Force, here is where Rey and Kylo are separated from their families and tread their separate ways into the light and dark respectively. The same can be said for the Jedi and the Sith. "After the division, the two parts of man (the Androgyne), each desiring his other half, came together and throwing their arms around one another, entwined in mutual embraces, longing to grow into one; they were on the point of dying from hunger and self-neglect because they did not like to do anything apart; and when one of the halves died and the other survived, the survivor sought another mate, man or woman, as we call them--being the sections of entire men or women--and clung to that. “

Now, because it’s clear that Kylo and Rey are obvs meant to be together, I’m going to connect the Androgyne to the Sith and the Jedi. "They were being destroyed when Zeus, in pity of them, invented a new plan. He turned the parts of generation round to the front, for this had not always been their position, and they sowed the seed no longer as hitherto like grasshoppers, in the ground, but in one another; and after the transposition the male generated in the female in order that by mutual embraces of man and woman they might breed and the race might continue; or if man came to man they might be satisfied, and rest, and go their ways to the business of life: so ancient is the desire of one another which is implanted within us, reuniting our original nature, making one of two, and healing the state of man.

Here the Force is Zeus, and the “seed [that is the] male generated in the female” is the birth of Rey. And through ‘the mutual embraces of man and woman’ Rey and Kylo, turned Ben, they ‘breed and the race might continue…reuniting our original nature, making one of two, and healing the state of man.”

Plato. "The Symposium". Benjamin Jowet, trans., Great Books of the Western World

Thus, the value of Reylo.

Through recognition of: 1) the unintended flaws in our humanity need-based motivations for crime; 2) the cyclical nature of crime within our psychology and society; 3) the requirement for forgiveness, support, and acceptance to stop that cycle; 4) and the requirement for man and woman to come together to create new life;

we find that the pairing of our Heroine and our Anti-hero, and the forgiveness and compassion of Rey, serves to restore the balance and heal the wounds in our story.

However, the filmmaking choice to kill Ben, even if in self-sacrifice, is characteristic of society’s unwillingness to tolerate a criminal’s reintegration into society. Despite this, even I started out after the film thinking, “they couldn’t let Ben live. Not for Rey to reach her full potential as a Jedi. He’d drag her down.” Would that necessarily be the case? No. End of discussion.

Thus, Rey’s forgiveness and compassion are devalued and defeated with Ben’s death. There is no hope for those who have been neglected, manipulated, and abused into committing crimes, and our Heroine is left without her soulmate amidst a society that cannot relate to her. With our need for ostracism and retribution, despite the inherent suffering of our repentant villains, we only subtract from the light in society, not add to it. And we’re back where we started.

So. In conclusion, Rey and Ben’s story cannot stop here. Looking at you, DLF. Fix it.

#reylo #Reylo meta #Star Wars meta #bendemption #bring back ben solo #tros ending

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bigskydreaming · 5 years

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Part of the reason I lean so hard into the juvie origin for Dick in particular, as well as why his cop storyline pisses me off so much in light of that (given they were both the work of the same writer and wtf, why would a kid who got screwed so massively by the system ever grow up wanting to become PART of it? even to ‘fix it’ given that would require still working in service to it at least part of the time, in order to move up the ladder to positions of power within it in the first place? BUT I DIGRESS).

Where was I? Oh yeah. So part of the reason for that is because I view each of the Batkids as having their own specific metaphorical niche, based on their origins.

What I mean by that is like: the true villain of Jason’s origin and backstory is poverty as a whole. The impoverished status of his parents and his surrounding community are definitive stressors that lead directly into all the most critical elements of Jason’s origin: his father working as a henchman for various crime lords, which pretty directly loops back and into his alcoholism and abuse of his wife and son....his mother’s spiral into addiction after turning to drugs as a means of self-medicating for all the stress and shit in her own life which she needed an escape from....Jason’s own lack of options as a child seeking to support himself on the street and with petty crimes, as well as his unwillingness to put his faith in foster care or any adults in general, given how they as a whole tended to look at him, specifically due to his impoverished background and thus making assumptions about his intellect, potential, and overall ‘value’ to society.....

Jason is who he is as a character for a variety of reasons, but none moreso or more directly than the poverty that acts as a direct anthropomorphized antagonist for him....and thus, is the focal point of where Jason directs his attention and his own antagonism as an adult. When Jason seeks to take control of crime in Gotham, when he targets drug dealers, etc....its really the deliberately inflicted and perpetuated impoverished state of Gotham’s lower class that he’s combating. And that works perfectly for Jason as a metaphor and a character direction, and gives him a clearly defined niche in the Batfamily.

Then we have Tim, who I would argue has an origin and backstory defined by the apathy of the upper class as an antagonist, and thus, the perfect metaphor for him and his character direction. The self-centered tendencies of his parents, his history of neglect and the necessitated self-reliance and independence it instilled in him from a very early age - which could have very easily turned him into a copy of his parents, with that self-sufficiency turning into a mirror of their self-centeredness and repeating the cycle if he hadn’t actively broken the mold with his actions by seeking out Batman and picking him as someone, ANYONE to try and help, rather than focus entirely on himself and his own needs....and in near adulthood, Tim has become someone whose chosen focus tends to be on trying to repurpose his wealth and resources for the good of all of Gotham...essentially, the very people that for so long his parents and fellow upper class ignored and exploited.

Of course, Tim is still a product of his background as much as he’s aware of the flaws in it, much like Bruce himself, so similar to Bruce, Tim will always look at his wealth/resources in terms of the good he feels he can do with it, which he sees as more than any good that would come from just directly giving it away. In contrast to Jason and Dick, who come from entirely different backgrounds and have always prioritized their own more modest or otherwise-gained means of income or resources, even when investing in projects intended to help others - they look at things in terms of the good they feel they can do WITHOUT needing money, or as much money. Its the result of coming into resources from entirely different directions....which are sustained even as they then continue their trajectories in those opposite directions but now with added resources under their belts.

Cass and Damian are the two Batkids I would love to see explored more in juxtaposition and contrast to each other, because I feel they occupy very similar but opposite niches, the same as Jason and Tim represent the stresses of poverty vs the apathy of excess. Because Cass and Damian represent the two flip sides of parental expectations....BUT in their case, they start out on the same page. What I mean by that is the metaphorical antagonist of both of their origins and backstories IS the bogeyman of parental expectations taken to the absolute extreme. They both exist in at least one of their parents’ eyes to essentially be what their parent wants or expects them to be. An end result of carefully planned and executed molding of a next generation, with no real consideration for what that next generation wants for themselves.

They simply diverge in how they both break free of those expectations and the limitations built into them, and where they go from there. Damian finds his niche (or comes closest to it IMO, since I feel a lot of writers, at least lately, have regressed him from the considerable progress he made in this regard, and where and when he was his most fully...DAMIAN).....essentially, Damian is most fundamentally Damian, I feel, when he’s able to put aside what he thinks Talia and Bruce want or expect him to be...and instead simply prioritizes figuring out what HE wants to be and what that looks like, even if it ends up having no connection to the League or even Batman at all. Or at least not in the ways he always expected those connections to look like, as a result of the expectations that were drilled into him from an early age. Damian’s metaphor is pushing back against selfish parental expectations by saying I no longer care what your expectations are, they have nothing to do with me.

In contrast, Cassandra finds her niche in the fulfillment of not the expectations precisely, but the HOPES of a NEW parental figure, aka Bruce. Cassandra, out of all the Batkids, most fully CHOSE Bruce and everything he represented and offered, as much as Bruce chose her. She was the oldest of all the Batkids - except for perhaps Duke - when she met Bruce in the various continuities, and she had the maturity and life experiences to at least be able to recognize the different life path Bruce stood for and offered, as a contrast to the one David Cain had laid out for her and forced upon her from birth. So Cassandra differs from Damian in that while Damian grows the more he breaks away from the mold of Batman, Cassandra finds herself the closer she gets to what Bruce has always wanted Batman TO be, in the example he puts forth and holds up to show her that there’s more to life, to her, to what she can be, than simply what David told her existed.

Its no coincidence that she’s so often cited both in universe and out of it as one of the, if not the, ideal successor to the cowl.....not just because of how much she embodies the specific ideals and yes, expectations, that the cowl holds....but because she CHOSE that, with INTENT. Unlike even Dick, who Bruce has at times said is what he always wanted Batman to be....Cass is this as well, but Cass is this deliberately, because Bruce found her, and then he held up these ideals and convictions and said ‘this is what I prioritize, this is what I think is important’ and Cass looked at those and said yes, good, I like those, I like what they stand for, I want to BE those.....and she found fulfillment in fulfilling Bruce’s hopes for a next generation even without either of them FORCING that fulfillment on her, unlike what David did or tried to do. And that’s what makes all the difference in the world in Cassandra’s situation and in her and Bruce’s dynamic....and is a large part of the reason, IMO, that they have one of the strongest and healthiest dynamics of any that exist between Bruce and one of his kids.

Duke is a very unique niche as well. In short, the true villain of Duke’s origin is an ACTUAL supervillain....which coincides thematically with the direction of Duke’s character as a meta with superpowers himself, something that historically is pretty unprecedented within the Bat franchise, at least as far as Batman’s allies and direct family go. Bruce’s distrust of meta’s, or at least discomfort with them, is well established and longterm, so Duke represents an extreme break in tradition for Bruce, as well as having hallmarks to the sphere of thought that Batman and other vigilantes, by their very existence, bring about the existence of supervillains like the Joker and the Riddler. I’m still working out the kinks in this metaphor, tbh, in part because of how relatively new Duke is, he doesn’t have even the decade worth of content and story direction that Damian has by this point, to point to how some directions serve a character better than others....but overall, I see the most potential in Duke as a metaphor and niche in the Batfamily as like....as the Signal, he’s the embodiment of potential, once allowed to be REALIZED, rather than shied away from because of pre-existing beliefs or perspectives. Of course, the fact that Duke is black can’t be disconnected from this, which is part of things here as well....I’m not at all the best person to explore this particular metaphor to its fullest, so anyone who wants to take it and run with it more thoroughly if they see any validity in it at all, I’d very much like to see your thoughts if you ever write them out.

Which brings me back to Dick’s metaphor and niche in the Batfamily and franchise, and why the juvie origin works best for him IMO.....because the specter of Dick’s origin and backstory, the true villain even moreso than Tony Zucco himself, is the system as a whole. The way it is built and structured to exploit less advantaged members of society to the benefit of the upper class...such as the Court of Owls. Everything about Dick’s individual character direction falls pretty neatly into this chain of thinking, IMO....Tony Zucco murdered Dick’s parents, yes, but it was the system that took Dick away from his extended family, his planned life direction as an entertainer, everything he was familiar and comfortable with...and said it was for his own good, they knew best, he was better off this way. It was the system that ‘lost’ him in juvie when it was just more convenient than figuring out what to do with him, or just plain didn’t care, or due to the actions of a single racist case worker perhaps, or maybe even done at the behest of the Court of Owls in an attempt to wear away at the morality and resistance their future Talon might have to their plans for him. Bottom line is, everything about how Dick ended up where he was and on the course he ended up taking through life, is a direct result of the system’s manipulations of him in service not to HIM and what was best for him, as a member of society himself, but entirely at the whims or discretion of others.

Which is why Dick’s choice to become a cop both works and doesn’t work....I can see how at eighteen he might have briefly entertained the idea of trying to change the system from the inside...BUT it only works if the stories that result from that make no attempt to glorify or romanticize the work or character of any of his colleagues, and instead simply make him realize that he can’t change the system by becoming a cog in its flawed machinery, no matter his intentions...and that’s why he’s best served operating outside of it, as a vigilante. Bruce is a vigilante because he feels he exists to pick up the slack where the system fails, or is broken, because Bruce is someone who the system actually is meant to work FOR, and thus the times it doesn’t work that way, such as with the deaths of his parents....IS a result of a failure on the system’s part. In contrast, Dick, for all the superficial similarities in their origins, is someone who the system was never meant to work for, and IMO, Dick is best served as a character at the times and points when he’s allowed to RECOGNIZE this....and thus Dick is a vigilante for the sole reason that he’s someone who puts his faith in individuals rather than institutions. He’d much rather trust in the morality of singular people that he KNOWS and VALUES, rather than the morality of an uncaring system of bureaucracies and red tape.

And again, IMO Dick works best as both a metaphor and a character with a clearly defined niche and purpose when he targets the system directly with his actions. Whether its fighting their embodiment as the Court of Owls and their attempts to exploit him, or pouring his own time, energy and resources into trying to buy and renovate the former entertainment district of Gotham and turn it into a sanctuary for impoverished Gothamites to visit cheaply as a break from their stressors (I’ve talked a lot about how similar I view Jason and Dick being, at their core, so its no surprise that I see their metaphors and niches as being so closely linked, even if not entirely the same). And of course, even if you hate Dick as a cop as much as I do, his focus there still fits what I’m laying out here, for the same reasons, its just the actuality of it that doesn’t work as intended, for the reasons I already mentioned.

So yeah. That’s my post. That was a post. This post is concluded. Man I suck at denoument.

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ladymostdeject · 4 years

Text

I Use My Outside Voice (Because I Have No Choice) Chapter 1

Hamilton hurried into his office, Thomas right behind him. He flung his briefcase back onto his desk, heedless of the laptop inside.

Hamilton didn’t even flinch at the noise, and he doubled back to close the door.

“Why does Washington always send you when he wants something from me? It’s like he thinks he can irritate me into submission.”

“Nobody sent me this time.”

Thomas rolled his eyes so hard his neck popped. “What do you want, Hamilton?”

“I need this bill passed. It’s stalled right now, and I need it passed.” He moved Thomas’ briefcase to get at the papers he’d left on the desk. He clutched them to his chest, face earnest.

“You’re talking about the bank bill?” he asked. Hamilton nodded and shifted on his feet nervously. “Why are you this wound up about it? It’s just a weird little regulatory bill. Those die in committee all the time.”

Hamilton puffed up his chest. “I wrote it.”

Thomas sighed so hard it almost hurt. “Of course you did.”

“It needs your support. If you support it, the other moderates will fall in line. Madison, Woodhall-”

“No.” Jefferson leaned back on his desk and crossed his arms.

“Okay, while that’s a compelling argument, I was really hoping for a little bit more back and forth. Is that all you really have to say?”

Thomas rolled his eyes. “No, I will not support that bill.”

Hamilton huffed, “Why not?! It doesn’t violate any of the major Republican Party stances, it doesn’t threaten you or Virginia in any way, it’s reducing certain banking regulations. Look right here, where it says-” Hamilton thrust a couple of the pages towards Thomas, who took them and promptly dropped them in the garbage.

Hamilton squawked. The mean little thing in Thomas’ chest purred.

“I can’t support it. Word has come down from on high, we have to object to anything y’all want. Doesn’t matter what it is. You can’t come down here anymore looking for compromises from the moderates, the answer is going to be no.”

“And you’re okay with that are you? Total gridlock for the next two years ?” he cried. No actually. It made Thomas sick. “It’s not the way things are supposed to work! We’re supposed to be making the country better!”

He circled back around his desk to give himself a moment. “I don’t know what to tell-”

“I didn’t know you were a coward!”

Thomas thought his patience was at its end already, but apparently it could stretch even thinner. He clutched his desk to keep from leaping over it and throttling Hamilton. “Fine! Do you want to know what I think? Even if I could help you I wouldn’t. It’s a bad bill. It is way too long. It looks like you’re trying to hide something in all that circular language.”

“It is not circular! Or too long! It’s exactly as long as it needs to be! It’s thorough and precise!” He gestured wildly.

“It needs to be about fifty thousand words shorter.” Thomas was starting to get his second wind. He had forgotten how much fun it was to wind up the other man.

“Fifty-” he sputtered. “That’s half of it!”

“And another thing, it puts an outrageous demand on an already strained system.”

“No, it utilizes a system that’s already in place to-”

“Also, if you really want bipartisan support, you need to remove the clause about omegas.”

Hamilton looked thunderous before, but suddenly he looked downright deadly. “I will not,” he growled. “That clause removes a century old system of oppression.”

Thomas shrugged. “You wanted my opinion.”

“I want your vote.”

He threw up his hands in exasperation. “You can’t have it! Just wait until the next time you have a congressional majority. That’s apparently how it works now. My god, Hamilton, learn some tact! You stormed in here demanding my help, you’ve shouted at me, and you’ve argued with every one of my suggestions. You can’t just strong-arm everyone into doing whatever you want. You’ll never get elected if this is the most diplomatic you can be!”

Something he said struck Hamilton hard. He looked gutted, and sounded hollow when he said, “I’m never going to get elected. That’s why I need to pass this bill.”

Thomas grimaced. “Oh, for- I didn’t mean right now, obviously. I meant that in the future, you need a good lesson on how to talk to humans beings, not that-”

“No. I’m retiring,” he spat like it was the filthiest word he knew.

Thomas surprised himself by laughing. It was a deep, belly laugh. “Sure from the White House staff, but we all know you'll move on to something else. The House maybe? Hamilton, you and I both know you're never going to truly retire. You're going to die at age 97 on the Senate floor after thoroughly dressing down Congress.”

Hamilton collapsed into the chair by the desk like his strings had been cut. “No, I’ve got two years.” Thomas opened his mouth to refute such a blatant lie, but he plowed on, “I'll never be able to successfully win any election, because that requires people to like you. Nobody likes me. No. I am un-electable. If I’m going to make my mark, I’ve got to do it now, while I’ve still got Washington backing me. Even if all I can do is write a weird little bank bill.”

Thomas feels ice crawl down his back, and even though he's never even considered it before, he suddenly knows it’s true. There's a handful of omegas in congress, but every single one is cute. Wholesome. Quiet. Every single one has a wife or husband and a gaggle of children. Hamilton has none of those things. He has a loud mouth and huge opinions and an inability to keep those opinions to himself. Most damning of all in the court of public opinion, he has a list of ex-lovers as long as his arm. He's not the kind of omega people like to see on TV.

“Moreover, I have very few positive connections. There is no one else who would be willing to hire me after we’re done in the White House. I make enemies everywhere I go. I have what I have because Washington trusts me. Sees what I can do. I've worked for him for twenty years. And in the beginning, I even had to fight for him to give me my due. I've been clinging to his coattails. I may be able to get some bullshit job to pay the bills after our term ends but probably never in politics again and definitely never somewhere with as much influence as I have now. I have fought tooth and nail for every single thing I have, and I've reached the end. I've peaked, and there's nowhere else for me to go. No, when George retires, so do I.”

Thomas feels the world shift beneath his feet. He'd never even considered Hamilton's future. He's never given a thought to how his gender might affect his career. He just assumed he'd always be hanging around DC, stirring up trouble and bothering everyone within hearing range. And if he'd been a beta, or hell, an alpha, Jefferson was positive Hamilton would be a thorn in his side until his dying day. But omegas get married, they have children, and then they leave the workforce.

He racked his brain for an omega that's over 40 still working in DC. He comes up with that same tragically short list of senators and representatives he'd thought of earlier. He thinks about the secretaries and assistants and baristas he sees around town. Every single one is a cute young thing, flirty and sweet the second they catch on that he's an unbonded alpha. Where do all the omegas go?

Surely they're not all chained to their stoves. They run charities and volunteer at hospitals, but are never on the payroll. They hang demurely on the arms of the people he rubs elbows with. They are mothers, PTA members, and soccer team chauffeurs. His own mother had never worked a day in her life.

But what if she had wanted to? She was brilliant, always keeping his father on his toes with their lively dinner debates. Would she have been happier with a career? How is this never a question he'd asked her when she was alive? How is this not a question he'd asked himself?

He's suddenly ashamed that he's 45 years old, and he just learned something so new and so big. He doubts she could have just gone out and gotten a job, certainly not one worthy of her intellect. Not back then, but if what Hamilton is saying is true, then maybe not even now.

Things are supposed to be different. It’s illegal to fire an omega when they get married or pregnant. It's illegal to discriminate against them during the hiring or promotion process. And before this very moment Thomas had never once considered the omega population's lack of upward mobility might not be due to genetic temperament and lack of desire.

But Hamilton certainly doesn't seem inclined to find a mate and settle down. And it's not that Thomas forgets he's an omega, it's just that it’s a lot easier to lump him in with the betas and alphas he knows. He's irritatingly bursting with ambition and pride. And if Hamilton can't have the career he deserves, how many other omegas are trapped in lives they don't want? Not everyone has the strength of will to fly in the face of hundreds of years of social conditioning, middle fingers held high, verbal abuse cocked and loaded. Not everyone has the fortitude to claw their way to the top. He has been blind. Worse than that, he's been stupid. He stumbled over to his desk chair and collapsed much like Hamilton had.

What was that clause in the bill about omegas? Something about removing the forty-eight hour wait period on omega’s requesting large withdrawals from their bank accounts without an alpha or beta’s co-signature? And removing the bank’s ability to vet the purpose of the withdrawal and deny the withdrawal if they deem it irresponsible.

Everyone knows that omegas are bad with money, and poor at resisting temptation. That law is there for their protection. To keep them from-

The scent of distressed omega finally registers through his haze of thoughts, a citrus-y tang overpowering his usual sweetness. Because Hamilton is an omega. The omega White House Communications Director wrote a comprehensive bill about bank regulations. And while the man himself is very controversial (and exhausting), with his fighting and his Twitter tangents and mile long list of exes, he has the ear and the unwavering trust of the leader of the free world. If the goddamn White House Communications Director wants to withdraw a substantial sum of his own money, he has to ask the bank nicely.

“Jesus, Jefferson.” Hamilton was smirking. Why was he smirking, didn’t he know Thomas’ whole system of beliefs is a lie? “I didn’t realize the thought of me retiring would be so upsetting. Are you gonna miss me?” Read the rest of Chapter One Here

#jamilton #hamilton #hamilton the musical #a/b/o #fanfiction #lady writes #lady talks

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intersex-ionality · 5 years

Text

A friend requested that I post this response separate from the main thread so that it can become its own discussion. Here it is in “isolation,” with minor clarifying edits.

CW: This post discusses a hypothetical person’s dysphoria and experiences with medical, physical, domestic, and sexual violence.

I want to address the claim that intersex is not a gender.

That concept--intersex being separated from all other aspects of gender theory--is very young. It is, in fact, younger than me. When I was a child, intersex was not only considered a gender, it was specifically considered a subset of transgender.

For reasons that, I hope, will become obvious by the end of this post.

You see, all of the forces that target, oppress, and harm intersex people are the same forces that target, oppress, and harm trans people. The causes and the effects are almost identical.

Let me present some examples, because human beings often learn best through pattern matching and examples.

Imagine a child is being assigned male.

This means that the child is being forced to adhere, both physically and mentally, to other people’s definitions of manhood. Society looks at the child, declares the child to be a boy, and then enforces boyness on the child.

This enforcement may be medical, and it may not. But, the enforcement will always be psychological.

There will be actions the child is forbidden from taking. Spaces the child is forbidden from entering. Expectations the child will be forced to adhere to. Toxic societal beliefs that child will be forced to internalize. All because society looked at a baby, and said, “you’re going to be a boy now, with everything that entails, with nothing outside boyhood, and you don’t get a choice.”

Imagine the child grows up feeling trapped in boyhood, forced to conform to these limitations. The child knows, on some deep level, that boyhood is wrong for them. The child even knows, in as much as a child knows things about anatomy, that something about their body doesn’t match up quite right with their identity, and becomes despondent and alienated from themself over it.

Is this child suffering because they are intersex? Or are they trans?

It doesn’t actually matter.

In both cases, the child is being constrained to boyhood, often by force, and denied anything else. Because someone, when the child was born, decided, “this baby looks like a boy, better make sure they become one.”

And because every other aspect of society followed along the same path.

Whether the child is trans or intersex doesn’t change those facts.

The only thing that changes is the details. A trans child is far less likely to have undergone infant surgery, but then, not all intersex kids undergo such surgeries either.

The underlying cause, and the resulting trauma, are the same for both the intersex and the trans child.

Let’s say our hypothetical child grows up a bit, learns about gender and sex theory, learns about dysphoria and surgery. And ultimately, decides to seek out medical treatment to achieve a body that feels more right.

Our now adult thought experiment spends years trying to find doctors who will help them.

They’re denied most therapeutic interventions because their therapists consider the alienation they feel from their body to be a type of mild delusion. They’re turned away from most clinics, because “transitioning to something outside the binary” is seen as frivolous or as faking for attention. Surgical intervention becomes less and less accessible with each denial, because now they have a mental health record that makes them “unfit” to decide healthcare issues for themself.

Again, being trans or being intersex makes no difference. The denial and the isolation are still the same. And are still caused by the same force.

A ray of hope for our thought experiment: surgery to bring a body to a state outside the sex binary becomes more possible and successful. Eventually they are able to get the necessary therapeutic letters to seek out this surgery.

And another seemingly dead end: there are so few doctors who perform these surgeries, even fewer who are covered by insurance, and none at all within a realistic traveling distance for them.

This scarcity of options, the therapeutic barriers to access, and the obscene costs associated with specialized gender and sex surgeries are also the same whether the person is intersex or trans. The sex binary doesn’t care why you want to do something different, it only cares about making sure you can’t.

But, let’s say that our thought experiment is luckier.

They have the money, the support, and the opportunity. They get their hormones and their surgeries without so much as a hiccup. There are no false starts, no failed attempts. They achieve a 100% perfect realization of their physical ideal.

Their body is visually androgynous and sexually ambiguous.

And now, they are faced with a new set of problems born from binarism. Problems that still don’t care whether they are trans or intersex.

They get sick, and their doctors blame the illness on their hormones. They get injured and their doctors blame their injuries on their surgeries.

They get attacked and their doctors blame their broken bones not on their attackers, not on blunt force trauma, but on their own “risk seeking behaviour” because of their body and the changes they’ve made to it.

They were attacked because the bastards that jumped them could see that their body was hard to gender. It doesn’t matter if the reason their body was hard to gender was because of being trans or being intersex. The outcome is the same. Violence and victim blaming.

Let’s say our thought experiment is luckier still. They’re white, wealthy, attractive, young. People don’t perceive them as a threat.

They start dating.

And a new set of problems arises. Again, the problems don’t care about the underlying motivations of their decision to have, embrace, and celebrate a body outside the binary.

Again, the problems are based simply on that body, on that divergence from the binary.

When a relationship begins to get heated, and they explain the facts of their body, partners panic and abandon them. If they don’t explain, partners panic and attack them for lying. They’re told that their body is rape, because it’s “false pretenses.” They’re told that no one will ever consent to sex with them.

This, too, happens regardless of being trans or being intersex. The cause is the same either way: a body outside the sex binary is perceived as a trick, a lie, and a scam.

Our hypothetical adult persists. Carefully navigating the minefield of sex and romance, until they finally find a partner who loves their body just as much as they do.

Or, maybe more than they do.

Or maybe it’s not love at all.

Because this new partner obsesses over their body. Begins demanding particular sex acts that they aren’t comfortable with, which emphasize how different their body is from the norm. At first, they are okay with the demands, but as things escalate, they begin shying away from these acts. They begin feeling used, and reduced to a sexual object. When they try to explain their feelings to their partner, they are ignored, or shamed, or made into a guilty party. After all, their partner just wants to celebrate their beauty, how can that be bad?

This objectification through sex also does not care if their body is the way it is because they are trans or because they are intersex.

But now they’re in a relationship, with all of the interpersonal complexities that entails.

And they know from long experience that if they leave it may take years to find another person who is interested in them romantically or sexually. What if that new relationship is just as bad as this? What if it’s worse?

So our thought experiment becomes trapped in a cycle of domestic abuse.

Abuse predicated not on being trans, or being intersex, but on being outside the sex binary.

This pattern repeats over and over. For every negative experience trans people have, there is a matching intersex experience. For every negative experience intersex people have, there is a matching trans experience.

The reason trans people are oppressed is their divergence from what society has deemed correct and appropriate within the binary.

The reason intersex people are oppressed is their divergence from what society has deemed correct and appropriate within the binary.

The cause is the same, the effects are the same. Details may vary, but no more so than details vary among, say, racial groups marginalized for their shared divergence from whiteness in different ways. No more so than individual disabilities are marginalized for their shared divergence from the abled norm. No more so than different orientations are marginalized for their divergence from straightness.

In fact, these differences in detail are significantly less pronounced than the differences in detail between trans people and LGBPQA+ people’s marginalization for their shared divergence from gender roles.

So we’re left to ask ourselves: who benefits from setting up this separation between trans and intersex people. Who benefits from getting intersex people to police trans people, and getting trans people to police intersex people, and getting us both to think of trans people and intersex people as Irreconcilably Different?

It’s not trans people. And it’s not intersex people.

But the sex and gender binary?

All of a sudden, a group that presents a real and present danger to it, and to the class systems it upholds, is fractured. Is fighting itself rather than overturning the oppressive force.

Trying to inflict hard boundaries between trans and intersex people just serves to dis-empower trans people, dis-empower intersex people, turn us against each other, and leave those of us–like you and I–who are both trans and intersex, stuck trying to figure out which parts of ourselves to embrace and which part to ignore in any given situation.

It doesn’t benefit us in any way.

But it sure benefits the people and systems hurting us.

TL;DR: any system that targets and harms intersex people also targets and harms trans people. Usually in the same ways. There are differences in the details, but the causes and effects are both the same for intersex and transgender marginalization. The only people who benefit from intersex and trans people ignoring our commonalities and policing each other, are the people who want to divide and conquer us so that the sex and gender binary continues to be upheld.

#Intersex #actuallyintersex #gender #trans #queer #identity politics #intersectionality #overlapping identities #My Words #tme

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darkmindsthinktwistedthoughts · 4 years

Text

As long as you need me

Warning: Angsty, supportive, small bit of fluff, mental health issues, emotional. **please read responsibly.**

Masterlist

---

As long as you need me

The Princess had not been herself lately. It had been the talk among the staff and the knowledge of her unusual seclusion had reached the ears of the Lord of the castle. He had tried everything he could think off including ordering her to leave her room. His efforts were all met in failure as even when the Princess did leave her room, she was still obviously distracted.

A knock on his door announced the man he had summoned.

“Enter.”

The doors to the tenshu slid back just enough to reveal the figure of a man who was more accustomed to silently moving in the night than broad daylight. Still, when your Lord summoned you, you moved as necessary to fulfil the request.

“You wanted to see me, my Lord?”

“Yes, come in and close the door.” Nobunaga put down his brush near his inkstone and looked at his vassal. “I trust you have heard about the situation.”

“Naturally. I did have a mind to seek out the Princess myself but I have been otherwise occupied with other matters and work.” Mitsuhide nodded noting the clear concern his Lord had when it came to the Princess. It had been an unlikely encounter and an entertaining one but there was no doubt that true feelings had woven their way into the unusual relationship.

“Well, now you’re not.” Nobunaga smirked crossing his arms as he looked down his nose at the man opposite. It had not missed his attention that the resident kitsune of the castle had become interested in the new arrival. He confessed on more than one occasion to finding the entire thing rather amusing. A man who showed little interest in women outside of work focusing on one so simple absentmindedly.

“My Lord?”

“I am removing you from your duties for the time being. Your only task is to find the source of the Princess’s discontent and deal with it. I cannot have her sulking around the castle it's affecting morale.” Nobunaga could phrase this however he liked but it was still clearly just as much in his own desire as it was in the interest in preserving morale of the men.

“As you wish.” Mitsuhide bowed the smile forming on his lips hidden in the shadow of his inclined head.

---

Time felt like an endless stream. At least that is what the Princess might have said if she had been feeling quite so eloquent. The truth was it felt like nothing to her. Day, night it was all the same just a massive blur as the world around kept on moving and she felt frozen in place.

It had been bad before. Her moods shifted and the ride was like the world’s worst roller coaster as her mind soared then plunged through wave after wave of emotions and thoughts that were so strong, they easily overpowered her.

Depression, anxiety, fatigue… the rational mind being overrun with paranoia and memory. Those remnants of the past, the unhelpful words cast out thoughtlessly in moments of jealousy and anger. Every one relived over and over like a lethal cocktail in the mind keeping those invisible bindings in place.

In modern times she had been given medication, it hadn’t worked. More accurately it should have been said it worked too well. They numbed the pain and dulled the connections so well they had become a zombie. Bruises and injuries appeared on their body but they felt none of it. Afraid of what might be possible in that state the medication was changed over and over but to no avail. Each change took weeks to work its way into her system. To replace one poison for another to find a balance that always tipped just the wrong side of healthy. In the end, it was taken away completely and therapy was the only path open. A whole world of modern medicine and it came down to talking to a stranger.

She remembered feeling like a pathetic waste of time. talking to someone who could have been helping someone else. Burdening them with her intangible problems just to be told it was ok. That what she felt was normal and it was fine. Therapy didn’t last long. Diversions came in new forms as she tried to replace the thoughts running rampant with new obsessions. Focusing on new crafts, games and books, anything they could. Clutching at those proverbial straws in a vain effort to keep from slipping back into this pit.

People around her looked worried. Their eyes almost hurt as they shot fleeting glances her way. It was why she retired to her room and chose to stay there. It was bad enough feeling as she did without the added concern of worrying others more. Her appetite was gone. She couldn’t feel her own body as it cried out in the melee for sustenance. The little she ate was enough to survive but that was all.

How were you supposed to explain what was wrong when you couldn’t even fathom it yourself? That feeling of being in a crowded room, surrounded by people and feeling so alone. How you felt like you had been thrown into a bottomless pit. As hard as you tried to fight against the drop you just kept falling.

---

Mitsuhide had spoken to the maid in charge of the Princess. It was clear the girl was at a total loss as to what to do. The princess hardly ate enough for a child never mind a full-grown woman. She had not taken on any extra work and yet the lamp in her room remained lit and she didn’t sleep. Books lay untouched as would her comb and hairbrush if it had not been for the insistence of the maid that she be allowed to do her lady’s hair.

He arrived at her room and knocked. Receiving no answer, he knocked again a little louder before sighing and pushing the door to enter. She was like a statue. Eyes fixed on one point in the room, breathing but still.

Saying nothing he joined her side and sat down. He didn’t miss the dark circles under her eyes or how dull the sparkle in them had become. Her skin was always pale but now seemed ashen and ghostlike. There was no doubt she had been losing sleep and weight. Her once glossy hair also looked greasy and limp. He felt like someone was tormenting him. The beautiful girl that shone so brightly he could hardly bring himself to look at her. The one that had become his favourite distraction to observe and tease since she arrived and this was what she had become now.

His ideals of protecting innocence and shielding it from this ugly and cruel world were being tested. Something was terribly wrong and he was at a loss as to what to do to change that. He waited and the Princess showed little sign that she had even noticed his presence. He could be a very patient man but this was starting to unravel even his mind.

“Y/N what is the matter?” He asked the question that had been on everyone’s lips since seeing her in this state. He felt like a fool for not having anything more original to ask but resigned himself to the most direct inquiry.

"It’s not something that can be explained easily with words Mitsuhide." Her voice was quiet in the room. She appeared so fragile she could almost shatter like thin ice on a pond. A frozen stillness masking untold depth beneath.

"Maybe not but I cannot begin to help you if you don’t --"

"Help? How could you help me?" His words were cut off as she turned those haunted eyes to him. They were both accusing and begging. He had seen that look so often in men returning from war. When something snapped and connections frayed. Their minds warping around events and actions, second-guessing everything that cannot be changed.

He dragged her small body close to him. Tucking her tight into his chest as he buried his face in her hair. She didn’t resist and just remained locked in his arms limply.

“Mitsuhide?”

“Y/N I can’t stand to see you cry. Did you know that?” He couldn’t bring himself to act as he normally did. She always seemed to have the ability to rattle him to the core but when faced with such raw unmasked honesty he just couldn’t continue to act as he usually did.

"I’m not."

"But you are. You are crying out so loudly that it hurts. I’m sorry I spoke without thinking and probably caused you more pain. I came because we – I was worried about you. You aren’t the same blissfully oblivious child you usually are.” He corrected himself before he could cause misunderstanding. Something he hardly ever dreamed to do. He felt her shift in his arms and he loosened his grip to allow her to move freely.

“I’m not a child Mitsuhide and no one can be happy all the time. I’m not trying to make excuses here but this is something that happens to me. It never goes away it just changes in how bad it is. I can’t escape this and no one can help me. There are things I can’t forget and comments that cannot be taken away. It might sound crazy but I feel like I’m stuck in a kind of nightmare. Nothing feels real to me right now. I hurt so much and I feel nothing. I guess I just have to wait it out…” She kept her head down as she spoke. Her quiet confidence that had always been a staple to her character was missing and her voice stilted as she struggled to formulate an explanation that could be understood.

"Then I shall wait with you."

"What?" His declaration had he gazing at him in shock. He chuckled at the sight of her sitting there with her eyes wide and mouth hanging open.

"I always knew you were trouble little Princess. The fact you keep sending me into battle you is proof of it."

"You are going to fight me?" She looked confused like she had missed part of the conversation somewhere.

"As many damn times as it takes to get it through that thick pretty little head of yours that you are better than those voices yes." He brought a long elegant finger to her forehead and poked it before cupping her cheek and leaning in so he could fill her entire vision at near point-blank range. “Y/N I cannot begin to imagine what horrors dwell in your mind. I’m certain they are different for everyone and Gods know I wouldn’t wish any of mine on anyone else either. I cannot make it go away and I cannot cure you. I wish I could with all my heart Princess but that simply isn’t possible,” Her eyes were searching him taking in every word he uttered. “But. I can wait with you. I can be here with you so when you need to know someone else if here you have that. It isn’t much I know—”

“No!” She cried out and he pulled back his hand quickly worried.

“Y/N?”

“Mitsuhide don’t you get it? It is already far more than I have ever had. I usually get people running scared or bored with me when they see me like this. I get told to just get on with it or snap out of it. They don’t stay.” Part of the pain inside her leaked out into those words. Each one slicing like a blade into him causing him to silently curse every last fool that had ever opened up their mouth or taken action that could imprint such feelings into one so pure.

“Am I that untrustworthy to you?” He reached out again this time placing his hand in hers as he struggled to regain her focus before it slipped back to somewhere unreachable. “Have I ever once told you something that is a lie when it’s been about you?”

“I…” She struggled to answer looking uncomfortable. It was not his intention but if it served as a decent distraction from that swirling mass of negativity then so be it.

“I care about you Y/N. You are the most fascinating, charming and carefree little creature I’ve seen in this rotten world. I thought you to be unmarked by it but the truth is I was the fool for not realising that a girl with such a kind heart was probably the most affected.” He would be whatever she needed if it meant he could give her even a few minutes rest bite.

“I’m sorry.” She closed her eyes and muttered her apology.

“Whatever do you have to be sorry for?” He squeezed her hand and waited for her to continue. He couldn’t understand what she was going through, that kind of thing was a personal battlefield only she could know for sure. But he could understand pain and that was the most heart-wrenching thing in the situation. The invisible foe you had to fight alone and yet felt so powerless against.

“I’m such a screw-up. I made you worry about me and everyone else too.”

“We worry because we care. Don’t concern yourself with any of that. You are not a screw-up Y/N. You are someone who is hurting in ways beyond any kind of control.” His voice was softer than he imagined it could be. He was no stranger to talking to others. Convincing them of what they wanted to hear or what he needed them to hear to be useful to him later on. This was nothing to do with any of that. He had no desire to use this girl he only wished to help and wanted so badly with all his heart for her to believe him when he said what he did.

“How long will you stay?” She dived headfirst into his lap and buried her face in his chest. Her small body still felt cold but it was more alive than it had been.

“As long as you need me.” He said as he kissed her head and stroked her hair. He felt the silent tears that had finally begun to fall from her eyes land on his chest and sighed dragging her closer to him repeating his words. “As long as you need me.”

---

#ok i don't do hashtags normally #attempting to find words for my own struggle with this #depressing i know sorry...#mental health struggles

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chocolatechocolatekip · 5 years

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I’m on mobile and don’t know how to do a Read More thing so I apologize in advance! Here’s the post that y’all asked for!

•••

As more and more of us in the Friendom continue to reach out to Hulu, our chances of getting a renewal for our beloved show grow as well. There seems to be plenty of factors that will affect the outcome of our current efforts, and it’ll be a long wait until we hear anything regarding a final decision. But for now, let’s try to fast forward a bit:

After almost a year of waiting, corporate at both Hulu and Disney Channel have finally heard our voices. They have decided to renew Andi Mack for a fourth season to stream on Hulu. Both companies announce the news on their respective Twitter accounts, and news articles begin appearing across the Internet about this miraculous resurrection. Cast members take to Instagram with reunion photos captioned “Surprise!” and #themackisback starts trending on Twitter internationally. Those who have made their peace with the original series finale rejoice as the moment feels so surreal, and the entire Friendom overflows with joy. For a second, it all feels fuzzy and too good to be true. But that raises the question:

What Would Season 4 Even Be About?

•••

In this TED talk, I will be exploring a few of the things I feel would be interesting plot points and ideas for the show to cover. These are just ideas from all the emotions I’ve been feeling since the finale, but I hope that I’m able to communicate them properly and that you understand what I’m trying to say, lol. Here I go!

From a logical perspective, there are things we know that the fourth season will focus on:

- Andi’s time at SAVA

- Cyrus, Buffy (and possibly Jonah) starting at Grant without Andi

- Cyrus and Thelonious’ new relationship

- Buffy and Marty’s new relationship

•••

There are other things I want to see from the fourth season, and there’s just so much unexplored territory with these characters that it really is bittersweet knowing that these stories will never unfold on the small screen for us. One can hope, and we will still have fanfics written by those in the Friendom. However if we do get a fourth season, these are some things I personally would love to see.

- Andi developing a true sense of independence. Her whole life she’s had an tight-knit immediate support system through her friends and family, but now she’s going to a school where she doesn’t know anybody doing things none of her other friends and family have had experience in. She’s been surrounded by things familiar to her since second grade (or possibly before that) so seeing her grow into somebody separate from those things would be so amazing. She knows SAVA is where she belongs, and now she’s gotta prove it to herself.

- Andi-Cyrus development. We’ve gotten a lot of Andi-Buffy and Cyrus-Buffy moments, but the two definitely outweigh any development we’ve gotten from Andi and Cyrus. I mean, sure, they’re best friends! I know they love each other and are important to one another, but it still seems like some unexplored territory. I’m hoping they’re just as close as they are with the other seeing as they’ve known each other since the second grade. Though now that Andi is going to a different school, I don’t know how they would work that in.

- Buffy’s home life being explored. We’ve only ever met her mother a couple times, but her dad didn’t seem to be significant enough to her story for them to actually cast and write him into the series. There’s no doubt in my mind that her parents are insanely proud of her for her growth and accomplishments since the first season. However, it would be nice to see what kind of relationship she has with her dad.

- Cyrus finally coming out this parents. We were robbed of such a plot point because so many people, regardless of age or gender or race, have to deal with coming out to their families. As much love and acceptance as Cyrus deserves, I personally don’t want it to be one of those “we’ve always known, we still love you” kinds of coming out because those aren’t always the case. I think that when he does come out, I can imagine at least one of his family members not fully accepting of it. I’m not saying that Cyrus needs to be have a hard time coming out to his family, but in the long-run it would make sense. Also if Thelonious is already out to his parents, I’m hoping he helps Cyrus come out to his as well.

- We need more sibling relationships to be shown. As I’m writing this I’m noticing that a large chunk of the characters are only children? They’ve had a lot of different family structures represented but haven’t really focused on any sibling relationships. I think Cece and Mei, and Iris and her brother are the only siblings we’ve been given.

- Jonah getting the proper help he needs for his anxiety. I really don’t want them to forget about Jonah’s mental health, but it almost seems like they let it take a backseat to his family’s financial problems. Real anxiety doesn’t just go away, and seeing as Jonah’s only been dealing with it for roughly a couple of months, they wouldn’t just subside this quickly. Obviously I don’t want him to suffer attacks every day for the sake of him having them, but it does need to be fleshed out and handled a little better.

- Bex and Bowie making some new friends their age. Maybe other parents with kids at SAVA? Maybe Cyrus and Buffy’s parents? I understand it’s important to be involved in your child’s life, especially after secretly being her sister/non-existent dad for 13 years, but I can’t remember a time when either Bowie or Bex have mentioned any other friends their age. Other than M*randa and that lady that wanted to sue Bex (lmao) there haven’t been many other memorable young-adult interactions. They’ve been so focused on making up for lost time with Andi, making up for lost time with each other, and assuming their roles as parents that they haven’t really grown beyond their familial bonds. It would be nice to see how the act when they’re not in Responsible Parent Mode™.

- More character development for Amber. Now that the GHC (sans Andi) are going to Grant with her, she can be like their Big Sister Figure™ and help them adjust. We’d hopefully see her more often and get a look into what she’s like on a more day-to-day basis. See how she copes with her familial problems on the days they really upset her. Maybe even coming a bit more out of her shell and joining their school’s chess team.

- Thelonious fully coming to terms with his sexuality. I’m hoping, if he’s not already publicly out, that they develop his story of self-acceptance. Do his parents know? His grandparents? The other GHC? The way his sexuality storyline should be handled differently than they did Cyrus’ because everyone’s experience with their own sexuality is unique. I can’t think of how to word this properly, but TJ seems a lot more open and bold about it. He wants the world to know that he’s proud of who he is, because it’s true. Cyrus sought validation and security from others, only to find it in himself. TJ sought validation and security in himself, and found it in others. These two have such an amazing dynamic, and it would be amazing to explore TJ’s inner workings to the level that Cyrus’ have been.

- TJ and Cyrus being more than each other. I want them to branch out and grow into successful young people who value their own personal lives as individuals as much as they value the relationship they have together. Obviously Cyrus tries out for Grant’s drama club and TJ tries out for the school’s basketball team, but imagine their new interests! Cyrus on the debate team, TJ in the school’s orchestra, Cyrus on student council, TJ in a peer mediation group! The possibilities are endless.

•••

Those were some of the heavier things I thought would be likely/addressable in the show, but here’s some smaller, less thought-out ideas would still like to see:

- Walker also attends SAVA. I feel as though he’s at least a year older than the GHC (same age as Amber) and has been there a year before Andi.

- Marty possibly also being jealous of Buffy. Possibly as a result of Rachel being so jealous of Buffy. Not to the extent that it’s toxic, but just enough to create room for growth. A good way to address the cycle of jealousy. Plus Marty has no character flaws yet, soo.

- A social hierarchy at their new high school. Sure, Jefferson might have had one too with Christina or the boys’ basketball team, but high school hierarchies are very real. They’re both subtle and unspoken but also noticeable and in-place.

- All the Muffy and Tyrus hugs. Sadly leaving poor Jonah as the fifth wheel, lmao.

- Buffy, Jonah, TJ, and Cyrus are either suddenly too busy for one another or one realize they’re all growing apart. (Think of the dynamic between Shane and Mitchie in Camp Rock 2 lmao) High school does tend to separate people from one another, and peer groups shift all the time.

- Andi not cutting her hair short again. I’ve noticed that she cut her hair again somewhere around the beginning of Season 2 and again at the beginning of Season 3 maybe. Either it’s a personal choice for her, or the crew on the show wanted her to keep a consistent look (I’m going with the latter). I think that her hair growth could be a metaphor for her character growth, seeing as she’s branched out and not worried about keeping things the same anymore.

- Other groups of people being represented. Maybe we might get a Muslim character, a dark-skinned character, a non-binary or gender nonconforming character. While the show does have a way with tossing aside its background characters, it would still be great for them to be shown in the AM universe.

- The return of other background characters like Iris, Libby, Reed, pink backpack kid, Leo, etc.!

- Buffy continuing the trend of carrying Cyrus.

- Any other character questioning their sexuality, now that Cyrus (and by then, TJ) are out. We’ve all kinda headcanoned Amber to be lesbian, despite all the Jamber; Andi to be pansexual despite all the Jandi; Jonah to be bisexual, less and less as the show progressed; and Bex to be bisexual, though now that she’s married I don’t want anything to happen to Bexie.

- An episode or two focusing on racism. A little bit more real-life, internalized racism than the racial prejudice towards Buffy’s hair and the racial stereotypes Andi faced.

•••

There are so many possibilities that a fourth season could bring us! And with Hulu, they might have less restrictions than Disney Channel laid down. I know that we shouldn’t get our hopes up too much, but I felt as thought we should start discussing what a fourth season would even be like before asking for one without speculation. That’s all I have at the moment, but maybe as time progresses I’ll think of some other things that I’d like to see or remember some plot points they left open.

I hope that if we do get renewed that it will still feel like Andi Mack, and that the future content still possesses the same kind of energy it gave off so well. As of right now, for me, it’s still all a bit fuzzy. I can’t believe the show ended. We got what we wanted, and yet are still yearning for more. That’s when you know something is good material, when it keeps you hooked despite any and all of the curveballs it may throw.

Somewhere out there, Andi, and Buffy, and Cyrus, and Thelonious, and Marty, and Amber, and Bex, and Bowie, and Cece are all living their best lives. It was amazing to experience their stories alongside them.

♡ Andi Mack will live on in our hearts, Hulu or not ♡

•••

(I know, I use a lot of commas I’M SORRY)

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stoiccthulhu · 4 years

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Update time...actually, why should these be titled? I mean, whats the point of writing a title to these if all I’m going to do is ramble on and on with no specific topic of discussion, just several things on my mind?

Election day 2020 happened yesterday and I voted for nobody. And if I would have voiced my polling choice I would have voted for the candidate I see as being the best option in line with my thoughts and opinions concerning the state of the world at the moment as well as the future.

You can insert whomever you want to believe that would be based off an assumption and a look at my internetting footprint, but you would be wrong, but that’s part of the fun of interpreting what I’m writing down for you in the future. Trying to figure out what I’m actually saying. While it makes complete sense to me, because you don’t have the hidden key phrase you can’t decipher what it is that I am putting to digital paper.

I get it, I’m an asshole.

And this isn’t, completely, a justification towards my actions but a direct result of your intervention within my life that has caused this behaviour. Think of it sort of like a self-fulfilling prophecy. You interpreted me, came back, and intervened in any little way imaginable. Negatively or positively, but no matter your justification, it was still an intervention that didn’t need to happen because, as Malcolm once said, “Life, finds a way.” And just like destiny, it will find a way. But enough of all that crazy talk, you’re here because you want to hear all about my political leanings and to unravel the mystery as to this anonymous random on the internet’s preferred presidential choice in the election that has already passed.

But before I do that, let’s get some shit off my chest because I tend to swear and if you don’t like it, go the hell away. I’m sick of people being sensitive over everything. As if they’re looking for any reason to complain or get offended nowadays.

“The internet has given everyone in (the world) a voice, and evidently everyone in (the world) has chosen to use that voice to bitch about (anyone they find offensive)” -Holden McNeil (with some modern revisions)

And that’s why I’ve chose not to be PC in this thing, whenever I feel the urge to put pen to paper, relatively speaking.

Like, let’s see who I can offend right off the bat.

Women need to start getting punched more and treated like human beings instead of china dolls. If you’re a pro-gender equality advocate, and you’re a woman, you need to be willing to be punched in the face for doing ANYTHING a man would otherwise be punched in the face for. They also need to be held accountable for the shit they do to everyone. I am a strong supporter in believing that no matter what women say about women controlling the government and such, while women have great communication skills, they have the worst track record when it comes to not being aggressive, biologically speaking.

In the wild, whom are normally the more aggressive of the genders? Whom is usually the one more protective of the young? more willing to go out to hunt?

To be fair, I have a very limited knowledge when it comes to the animal kingdom. But, I mean, the Black Widow is normally depicted as being a deadly female, the female preying mantis devours the head of her mate after they’re done mating. There are so many, example, of females being worse than males in nature its hard to ignore. And, to add religious believers to the list of people offended, if you’re not ignorant to science and knowledge, or at least the pursuit of it, we evolved over a long period of time from apes, which, by nature, makes us, humans, not white people, black people, yellow people(to stick to the color scheme), brown people(gotta throw the other Asian people’s in there as well), animals. Highly evolved and communicative animals, but animals none the less. Was that supposed to be one word? Nonetheless?

Doesn’t matter. So, if you stick with my logic, you’ll see that women are terrible. Terrible. But, because men like to have sex with females as opposed to men for the most part in today’s society women have a stranglehold on the pelvic reason of an entire world, which means they can make anyone, for the most part, do anything they want and see things their way, even if they’re saying the sky is as green as the skies of Namek. An example of this is perfectly laid out in a clip from That 70′s Show. Kelso and Hyde prove women can’t play fight because they’ll turn it real, for whatever reason, just because they’re girls. To prove this, Kelso and Hyde play fight, and it looks bad, but they stop, laugh, and hug it out. Then Jackie and Donna play fight, starting out playfully, but then turning it into hair pulling and needing to be pulled apart. Both visibly angry.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jUwxxJvtQnI

(OK, my memory was bad, it was Eric and Hyde, and it was set up differently, but the concept is still there.)

And I get it, they’re actors, being paid to do what the script is telling them to do, but it is true. Girls are worst during puberty as well, from what I’ve heard. And I get it, I have a biased standpoint being a male, but in today's culture that shouldn’t matter, it’s about what’s being said, not my gender.

Now that women are out of the way, lets also as black people, but not specifically black people, its more of a systemic form of racism that I believe shouldn’t exist. In which, if you are not of that specific race, you are not allowed to say the n-word. What makes me giggle right now is that with just that sentence every single person reading this probably got a bit riled up. A bit ruffled in the feathers because I’m not a black person. And if you weren’t, you are now, knowing what you know now.

So let me provide you with some context so you can understand how I’m not racist at the same time as saying what I said above.

I enjoy rap music and hip-hop, as do a lot of people throughout the world, black or otherwise. Which, in this current climate, would be considered one of the forms of cultural appropriation we tend to sweep under the rug because it doesn’t fit our narrative of being offended about something. Because I like rap music I tend to learn the word to all of the songs I enjoy listening to. Because I learn the words to the songs that I enjoy listening to I sing along. But, because I’m not black, I have to ruin my flow to edit myself just because the artist chose to use nigger in their song. Which, as an artist, is their choice.

Now, why should I have to edit myself? I have tried to replace it with “wigger”, but because of the closeness of the words, I felt that would still be offensive if I was ever overheard by the wrong black person who, understandably, would be mad if they heard a pasty white boy say the word nigger without any context.

I just think, unless the person is using the word in a hateful way, directed at the person the speaker either personally knows or is conciously speaking about, as in “i hate that nigger” or “you’re a nigger”. If it’s something like that, totally beat the shit out of that racist.

But if you’re singing along to Wu-Tang, and you say:

I be that insane nigga from the psycho ward I'm on the trigger, plus I got the Wu-Tang sword So how you figure, that you can even fuck with mine? Hey, yo, RZA! Hit me with that shit one time! And pull a foul, niggas, save the beef for the cow I'm milkin' this ho, this is my show, Tical! The fuck you wanna do on this mic piece, duke? I'm like a sniper, hyper off the ginseng root PLO Style, buddha monks with the owls Now who's the fuckin' man? Meth-Tical It shouldn’t be labelled as being racist.

There is more rattling around in my head right now, things that I’ve been thinking about for years, and things that have been bothering me for just about as long, but for now those were the two that fell out when I vomited all over my keyboard.

And if you’re offended. Get over it. You need to start.

Oh, I almost forgot. I was going to tell you whom it was I was going to vote for yesterday if I had voted for anybody. Jokingly I wanted to write-in “Obi-Wan Kenobi”. But in truth I was going to vote for Biden. Not because I thought he was the better candidate, but because there was not a good option at all, he was just the lesser of two evils. This election has made me decide I want a third option when it comes to my politicians, or at least, get rid of political parties all together. We spend so much time infighting and holding each other back instead of up no real change has happened in the past decade? Longer? And whatever change that does happen gets nitpicked apart so much it becomes a shell of its former self. But, enough about that. I have a baby demanding eggs and waffles and I still need to tag this.

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ask-de-writer · 4 years

Text

DARING DO and the ADVENTURE of the X'IBIAN VASE! : MLP Fan Fiction : Part 13 of 21

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to MLP Fan Fiction

Daring Do

and the Adventure of the X'ibian Vase!

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

And

Carmen Pondiego

Cover Art by

Doctor Dimension

52630 words

Writing begun 08/26/15

//////////////

Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights. They may reblog the story. They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions, provided that such things are done without charge. I will allow those who do commission art works to charge for their images provided that I receive a copy of each image for my archive.

All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fictions is actively encouraged.

///////////////////////

Relaxing on a chaise lounge beside the delightful pool that used to be the bath of an Emperor, Carmen adjusted her dark glasses against the glare of the sun on the letter. She was wearing only a skimpy bikini of bright red and her trademark hat.

The floating island of VILE’s headquarters was presently in the tropics and that suited her perfectly.

She skimmed through the Chineighese characters with utter familiarity. Her brother in law, Marehem, was having the time of his life, bedeviling the ROT expedition. She was chucking at the recent double disaster with the railroad cars and flipping ROT’s truck. (He insisted on using the character of poison toadstool for them).

Done with the letter, she handed it to Blendin, who was visiting. He was chuckling himself as his mother hit the pool. Her hat and glasses sat on the lounge. She was a red and khaki torpedo swimming underwater to the other end of the pool.

She shot back, underwater again, the whole length of the pool and surfaced like a one horned porpoise. “What do you think, Blendin?”

“I think that Adora would be furious if she knew but she really has no grounds to be. She did ask Eris to see what she could do to mess up ROT’s expedition. It was Eris’ idea to send Uncle M!

“After all, he has had so much fun with the Empire over the ages. Simply amazing how much chaos VILE’S temporal transport device can cause in the right hooves and his are as wrong as they can get!” They both shared a giggle.

Baron Von Nighthoof leaned down and took Carmen’s arm, lifting her effortlessly from the pool. He was smiling warmly at her. He hugged her closely and stepped back a single pace.

He offered her a flat case of the darkest wood, inlaid with his cutie mark. Carmen took the case and opened it. Her gasp of sheer pleasure was almost more reward than the Baron expected.

He nodded, “The copy of Pharow Underrock’s Golden necklace. It is ready to grace the only neck on this whole world that can outshine its beauty.” He reached forward and lifted the golden wonder out of its case and set it around Carmen’s neck, pulling her close as he fastened it.

She snuggled up to him and whispered, “You are not only evil, you are wicked! And I love it!”

~~ ~~ ~~

Jeremy was riding in the carry saddle of Sehang Shu while they discussed his knowledge of Ethnological Geography. After several hours, she said thoughtfully, “You actually do know more than your prior testing revealed, Jeremy. I do wonder why you did so poorly when it came to the tests.”

Glumly, Jeremy stared out at the bleak landscape about them and replied, “It sounds like an excuse. Blame my family. They are old Equestrian Military Service and proud of it. When I tried to study around them, they always interrupted it. Celestia forbid that I complain about it, either.”

“Did they not finance your education at the Royal University?”

“No, Sehang, they did not. I was entirely dependent on grants and scholarships. I have earned my way through my schooling.”

“I see, Jeremy. I have earned my way also. It is sad that such a family could not see fit to support so worthy a goal as education.

“Surely, though, with you at the University and they in Service or on the Family Estates, they had little opportunity to disrupt your studies?”

Jeremy snorted bitterly. “I wish it was true, Sehang. They had a nice townhouse in Canterlot, too. They made such a career of “visiting” the U to noisily interrupt my studies that, at the end, Princess Luna, as the Chancellor of the U had to forbid them entry to the property of the University at all.

“My uncle, Colonel Broadhoof, spoke out against her interference in a family matter. The Princess pointed out that it went beyond family, when they upset the other students’ studies.

“He called her a pustulent creature of nightmare, to her face.”

Sehang Shu commented, “That sounds as unwise as telling the Emperor to shove one up his ass!”

Jeremy smiled a little at the humor and went on, “The suddenly Sargent Broadhoof found that out! He was broken, forbidden any Canterlot Mustering and given a month of nightmares as punishment.”

“Bad dreams for a month is a severe punishment?”

Jeremy sucked his lips as he thought of a way to explain. “Let me put it this way. Somewhat over two thousand years ago, the Nightmare Wars got named that BECAUSE of Princess Luna’s use of nightmares as a weapon. Almost 20% of the unicorns attacking the Fortress of Nightmare committed suicide within five days of coming to the battle front.”

Very softly, Sehang Shu said, “I see. And she has had over two thousand years since to perfect that craft. Did he survive?”

Soberly, Jeremy replied, “Yes. Sort of. They released him from the Asylum about six months ago. He is still under treatment. The family blames me. They say that it would not have happened, if I had not chosen the University over a military career.”

Sehang Shu nodded sadly. “Some other herds view us in a similar manner. I am sorry, Jeremy.

“I have a question though. With a military background, how did you miss Qushi Han Le’s sharpshooters at the dock in Singapone?”

Grimly, Jeremy replied, “That was my fault. I was thinking of everything wrongly, and so did not even look for them. I have only realized today from talking to you, that I had any problem. Equestrian Superiority was an unquestioned value in my family. I did not even realize that it had soaked into me since my foalhood. I may still lapse but ask your forgiveness now. I will do my best to sort this mess out.”

Sehang Shu nodded thoughtfully. “The most important part of education, Jeremy, is not the learning of facts, as important as that is. It is the admission of ignorance and error accompanied by the effort to remedy them.

“That is what Ethnological Geography is all about. Our ignorance and erroneous knowledge of past civilization and the effort to remedy it is the whole foundation of the discipline.”

They revised their discussion of the subjects to be tackled in the colloquium. Jeremy found the conversation fascinating.

He actually regretted it when it was time to dismount for making dinner. After stretching out the kinks in his legs from the saddle, Jeremy wandered over to the cook stove.

He was mildly surprised when Soree made room for him. “How can I help, Soree?

“Measure the water into that pot to the third line, please.”

Measuring in the water, Jeremy commented, “It seems unfair for us to eat and none of the herd to have any.”

Sang He’s voice replied, “In the desert, we need only drink once in seven days. That will be a large drink, but it will do. We need only eat once in ten days, though we can eat or drink any time that the opportunity presents itself.

“Our ancestors were made for mountain and desert lands.”

“It still seems unfair! I presume that you do know what you are doing, after all, this is your home!”

He was surprised by the chuckle from the herd.

Dinner preparations were interrupted by the bellow of a musket and a cry from Sehang Shu!

~~ ~~ ~~ ~~

Tyranny was fuming. “They had no business seizing our truck! Wasn’t it bad enough that their recklessness had already cost us one truck and most of the load?”

Overthrow, speaking from behind the wheel of the truck that they were in snapped, “That was your fault, Tyranny! So was getting into that train wreck! You disobeyed clearly posted signs about staying off the slope while the crossing was in use.”

Robber, sitting in the back of the cab put in, “How come, in the name of Discord, did you not read the traffic law pamphlets that I gave you? It was the Lock Keeper finding that out that you got your permit without taking their knowledge test that cost us the truck! Their rules are very clear and blunt. They seize vehicles that are used in deliberate violation of their driving rules.”

Tyranny glared out the window of the truck at the passing rice paddies and neatly laid out farms. His teeth ground. The worst of it was that they were both right.

All that he could do was growl under his breath about injustice, so he did. He sourly commented, “At least we have now got past the last two canals and what? Four railroad crossings without any further problems.”

Robber consulted their map. “See those bluffs up ahead? We will be going through an area of mountains. When we clear them, it will only be about twenty kilometers to Cantrot. We will have two rail crossings and one canal between us and the city.”

Ignoring Robber’s comments, Tyranny snarled, “That so-called Antiquarian, Daring Do, set us up! I have found out that she did not even take a single truck on her expedition! The expedition proposal that she gave us, before she quit on us, is why we came this way!”

Overthrow said dryly, “So, you finally figured that out? It took you long enough. I knew that she took us to the cleaners on the proposal as soon as I saw them go on upriver, without even transshipping.”

He suddenly applied the brakes hard, jolting them all. They were stopped only a few meters from a water buffalo on the road.

The two trucks behind them, driven by experienced Chineighese drivers, stopped without incident. Tyranny was reaching for the horn button when Overthrow knocked his hoof away.

“Stop trying to interfere! Tyranny, sounding the horn at domestic livestock is illegal. All that we can do is wait for it to move or try to ease around it. The law pamphlet suggests waiting in the case of water buffalo.”

He snarled, “Why should we wait? We can drive around it!”

Outside, over a tonne and a half of highly irritated domestic water buffalo was pawing the roadway and lowering its head to charging position. A peasant in plain cotton robes and flat conical hat was toiling up the road embankment toward the beast that was easily three times taller than he was. He had a long wooden switch to herd the loose animal away.

He barked some command at the buffalo. It turned its head and regarded its master briefly. Tyranny chose that moment to lean out the side window and make shooing gestures at it. The distraction caused the enormous brute to snap its head about and focus entirely on the truck! It charged.

The impact shoved the truck back and sideways almost a meter! It was accompanied by the shattering of glass night driving lamps and the crunch of metal. The buffalo backed off, shaking its head.

The peasant’s switch got its attention and it started to walk sedately away, guided by taps of the long wand. Tyranny, seeing it waking away, yelled, “Shoo! Get out of our way!”

The transition from walking away to charging was almost instantaneous! The huge heavy horns and thick skull of the enormous animal slammed into the right hand door of the truck. It was almost perfectly centered, smashing and folding the door inward hard enough to bounce the dazed Tyranny almost entirely off his seat!

The very upset peasant used his switch and fanning motions of his hat to steer the water buffalo away, successfully, this time! Robber shuddered as he saw the peasant’s orange mane and blue fur for the first time.

The steering still worked properly. Overthrow got the truck back on course and they were cautiously back underway.

~~ ~~ ~~ ~~

<==Previous Next==>

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to MLP Fan Fiction

#DARING DO AND THE ADVENTURE OF THE X'IBIAN VASE #Part 13 of 21 #MLP Fan Fiction #Written by De Writer and Carmen Pondiego

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baronvontribble · 4 years

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okay. alright. i’m doing it. here’s a list of AUs that i have toyed with for the robot and marshmallow, none of which have solid titles (and i will answer questions about any of them):

the big story: the one for publishing, so far. both the most finished and the oldest original story. Adam is a runaway police robot who comes to a group of sympathetic humans to find a new body and a new life as a free man. Ted is part of that group and ends up helping him. goes HARD into the AI minutiae and modern concepts about robotics in a five-minutes-into-the-future setting. tackles mental illness, disability, and is generally super soft and low-key.

team winions: workshopped but not written. still nailing certain things down. basically Ted’s the main support on an esports team and Adam is his newly traded-in DPS/lane partner/AD carry. over the course of a season they do the cute bonding thing, and they and the rest of their misfit team eventually secure a finals win for an NA region that’s pretty much never won anything before that. oh, and this one has art! i mean it’s an old art from when i was first thinking of having Adam be on another team instead of a new trade to the one Ted’s on, but STILL AN ART.

(the one who gets traded away is Owen; Rani swaps to top lane, and Angie and Malak stay in the same positions.)

post-apocalyptica: this was an idea for a platformer. basically, the world has ended. Ted wakes up from complete stasis in a hospital after a few hundred years - healed of whatever it was that got him into stasis in the first place - to find that no one’s left but robots (not androids, though) and a voice on a headset. the voice guides him through the ruins of the city to find meds and possibly other survivors (a thing the voice doesn’t recommend). but when he finds those survivors, he finds out that they were woken up too. by the same voice. every single one of them rejected it once they found out what it’d done, and now they’re fighting the robots to ‘take back the city’.

the voice expects Ted to join them at that point, but he doesn’t. instead he asks where the voice is broadcasting from. then he goes all the way to the top of a ruined skyscraper, and on the very top floor he finds Adam hooked up to a bank of servers. this is the last android, trapped by the limitations of his own memory-bloat, kept functional by a mess of wires that connect him to his own massive server room of a brain. upon seeing this, Ted sits down, unpacks his lunch and his meds, and settles in to try and make the guy a little less lonely.

space, idea 1: one of two different ideas that i’ve considered the two goobers for in the same universe; at this point i’ve decided that if Ted gets one, then someone else will have to get the other, because I want to reuse my goddamn space universe. barring that, i could use another idea for a framing device, but i’ll talk about that later. for now, we will say Ted is in training to become a human partner for a ship pilot AI. or was. he’s being threatened with getting kicked out.

why? who knows. it’s Ted. that is not the point. the point is that he is given an opportunity to redeem himself by joining an experimental program that will give him telekinetic powers via alien spores, but to harness them he has to have nanotech and an AI implanted into his nervous system to monitor and regulate the bits of his brain that will spontaneously burst into irreparable cancer the moment he starts the treatment. the cancer is the flipside of a radical regenerative ability that the spores also cause.

Adam is the AI, one of many. he doesn’t want to be there. none of them do. it’s a last resort assignment given to AIs that are about to be sent to run remote He3 scoops out in the sticks. Ted is also one of many humans and most of them are pseudo-dropouts for one reason or another just like he is. very few of them are well-adjusted, and the usual anime training school shenanigans ensue.

but then a dark thing happens. a test subject who was thought dead seemingly comes back and starts killing the AIs, which can potentially kill the people who really need them in their brains. panic ensues; the leader of the program tries for as long as he can to cover it up because it’s a skeleton in his closet, specifically, but eventually it comes back to bite him and everyone else on the station. so it’s up to Ted and Adam and their friend-group to save the day and get everyone who’s still alive off the station in one piece.

space, idea 2: Adam is a freshly minted AI who has a problem: he goes through partners like other people go through shoes. technically he has the right to refuse anyone for any reason, but his handlers think it’s getting a little ridiculous that he’s refused so many. it’s also expensive to keep trying to match him up with people again and again, and no algorithm can really predict the personality profiles that’ll end up being compatible with him since so many have proven not to be.

then Ted stumbles into his airlock, and he gets An Idea: the human can’t act in ways that are incompatible if his good word is the only thing keeping them from getting arrested. so, he takes advantage of the opportunity and says he wants this one as his partner. this one that’s an actual criminal.

his handlers give up, and this is how the story begins. i don’t know where it will go from there. maybe i’ll use my conspiracy plot where Zach’s trying to start a galactic civil war and they uncover his machinations together. or maybe i’ll use the Fermi paradox plot where they’re scouting and they find a Pioneer-level probe out in space only to find its planet of origin completely dead except for a lone caretaker AI overseeing the stored memories and personalities of a million long-forgotten souls. it’s the kind of setup that can go anywhere.

the framing device: but then there’s this. this thing i thought of to tie them all together. if i start with the last and write the rest, then this would be the thing that let me keep writing AUs with abandon: the VR idea. set in my space universe, it would be a procedurally generated full-immersion VR experience compatible with both humans and AIs that allowed them to live fully fleshed-out alternate stories for themselves, either alone or with others. the stories would follow narratives, have plots, have stakes; the promise is that you can spend your time in the sim being the storybook version of yourself.

now, there are settings. when you go in you can tweak the realism, set up what tags and genres you feel like going for, how much drama you want, how much violence you’re feeling up to seeing or experiencing. and all of it is safe, controlled, and probably really expensive. but it’s supposedly the best vacation your credits can buy you without having to go offworld, so it’s an immediate sensation in-universe.

this would be how i’d tie it all together. and i could use it for multiple character pairings. i could even reuse characters if i said it stored imprints of previous users or had stock characters. but for Ted and Adam? they’d use it as a way to meet and fall in love and be with each other in a thousand timelines across a thousand different worlds, and they’d never get tired of it.

anyway, yeah. those are just the ORIGINAL ones. i’d write them in WoW or Shadowrun or Divinity: Original Sin or Dragon Age or Mass Effect or Stardew Valley or Slime Rancher or Cyberpunk or DnD or Fallout or Starcraft or Overwatch or ANY universe if i thought i could get away with it. these boys will always jump into any AU i dip my toes into, and be the first to volunteer themselves for any plot i come up with. if i bring one, the other is coming too in one form or another. that’s just how they are.

now you all know why i never get anything done that doesn’t have them in it.

#long post is long #original writing #original characters #writer problems #robot and marshmallow

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sciencespies · 4 years

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Microbial life on Venus? Here's what you really need to know about the major discovery

https://sciencespies.com/space/microbial-life-on-venus-heres-what-you-really-need-to-know-about-the-major-discovery/

Microbial life on Venus? Here's what you really need to know about the major discovery

Venus, the Evening Star, may gleam prettily in our night sky, but up close it’s about as inhospitable as a rocky planet can be, with sulphuric acid rains, a suffocating CO2 atmosphere, and a surface atmospheric pressure up to 100 times greater than Earth’s.

Based on our understanding of life on Earth, Venus would be among the last places in the Solar System you’d look to find living creatures. But an international team of scientists has just made a detection that might – just might – be a biosignature.

Conversely, it might be the sign of an abiotic chemical process that we don’t yet know of. Or there might be some poorly understood geological process occurring on Venus. Either way, this discovery is the harbinger of one heck of a learning experience.

High up in those thick clouds, where conditions are more temperate and less crushing (if not less toxic) than the surface, researchers have detected traces of phosphine gas, a compound produced here on Earth by both biotic and abiotic processes.

According to the researchers, the known abiotic processes are unlikely to have produced the abundances of phosphine – around 20 parts per billion (ppb) – found in the Venusian cloud decks.

The team detected the unique spectral signature of phosphine using two different instruments at different times – the James Clerk Maxwell Telescope in 2017 and the Atacama Large Millimeter/submillimeter Array in 2019.

“I was stunned, frankly,” the study’s lead author and astrobiologist Jane Greaves of Cardiff University told ScienceAlert.

“[That abundance] suggests organisms – if working how they do on Earth – could be a sufficient source. They could only be at 10 percent of the peak efficiency in producing phosphine that we see from Earth organisms, and they would produce the abundance we see on Venus.”

What made the detection even more intriguing is those acidic Venusian clouds, which would be likely to destroy phosphine very quickly. Two detections nearly two years apart suggest that whatever is producing the compound is ongoing.

The next step in the research was to exhaustively study any other known processes that can produce phosphine.

On Saturn and Jupiter, phosphine – formed from one phosphorus and three hydrogen atoms – has been detected in quite significant quantities; it forms in the hot, high-pressure interiors of the gas giants, and is churned out to the surface via convection.

But for all its surface heat and pressure, Venus isn’t thought able to match these phosphine formation conditions as found in the local gas giants.

Other processes, such as lightning striking a phosphorus-bearing location, or phosphorus-bearing micrometeorites, could produce atmospheric phosphine, but the team ruled these mechanisms out, too – they’re simply not prevalent enough on Venus to produce 20 ppb of phosphine.

On Earth, phosphine has been found in abundance in anaerobic (low in oxygen) ecosystems. It’s found in swamps and sludges, where anaerobic microbes thrive. It’s found in intestines and, well, farts. Somehow, anaerobic microorganisms produce phosphine. And the clouds of Venus are anaerobic.

Just last month, a team of scientists - some of whom were part of this new discovery - explored and found plausible the possibility of a permanent floating microbe community living in the clouds of Venus, in exactly the temperate zone in which Greaves and her team found phosphine. So the discovery is certainly a tantalising prospect.

But the presence of life is far from being the only possible explanation. One phosphine-producing process here on Earth is volcanic activity. And while the team ruled this out, finding that volcanic activity is insufficient and citing a 2015 paper, research from earlier this year suggests Venus may be more volcanically active than previously thought.

“On Earth we do have phosphine gas that comes from volcanic sources,” planetary scientist Helen Maynard-Casely of Australia’s Nuclear Science and Technology Organisation told ScienceAlert. Maynard-Casely was not involved in the research.

“This is ruled out in this paper, because they judge the amount of phosphine they observe could not be supported by volcanoes alone. I find this a little surprising, as there is abundant evidence for volcanic activity on Venus, much more than on Earth, plus we have much less of an idea of what the Venus surface is made out of.”

Greaves’ team is also careful to point out that there may be an unknown chemical process driving the synthesis of phosphine on Venus. Given the challenges of studying the planet up close – Venus has fried more than one lander, with none surviving more than a couple of hours – we don’t understand its surface well at all, so unknown chemistry or geology is a strong possibility.

“It could suggest a whole reaction network we hadn’t discovered before, or abundance of, for example, phosphorus-bearing minerals that’s a lot different to Earth,” Greaves told ScienceAlert.

Whatever is producing the phosphine signature in Venus’ atmosphere, finding the answer is going to teach us something new – whether that’s something about chemistry, phosphorus and the processes that create phosphine… or whether it’s something about the tenacity of life itself.

“A lot of the search for biology occurring elsewhere than our own Earth is centred around finding a place where biology as we know it on Earth can survive. This is the reason why Jupiter’s moons Europa and Ganymede are seen as potential spots for hosting biological activity, because they are both thought to have oceans under their ice surfaces that would be rich in minerals and sheltered from the viscous space weather, not unlike our own oceans,” Maynard-Casely said.

“If we found evidence for biology occurring in a place that nothing on Earth could survive in, then that really does throw the doors open that a multitude of biological activity could be happening, perhaps all over the Solar System.”

The next steps in solving this mystery may be easier said than done, however. We can take more observations using powerful telescopes. But we may need closer observations, either from an orbiting probe, of which currently only one, JAXA’s Akatsuki, is operational, or – much more challenging – a lander.

There are several proposed missions to Venus in the pipeline, but it’s often a long time between proposal and execution.

In the meantime, modelling and experimentation could start narrowing down the possibilities.

“It’s very hard to prove a negative. Now, astronomers will think of all the ways to justify phosphine without life, and I welcome that,” said molecular astrophysicist Clara Sousa-Silva of MIT.

“Please do, because we are at the end of our possibilities to show abiotic processes that can make phosphine.”

The research has been published in Nature Astronomy.

#Space

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