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straightfromthetorturedpoetsdept · 1 year

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honestly, with taylor reworking and re-recording some of her old music i'm almost desperately waiting to hear the 'taylor's version' of tim mcgraw.

it's such a special song to me, y'know? it was the first. i've liked taylor's music since her country days and it makes me happy to think she has a chance to see these old songs from a different, more mature perspective.

You know, anon, I totally get it because I'm right there with you.

Debut TV is going to have me ugly crying for months, I cannot wait to hear grown taylor's vocals on the most vulnerable album in her discography. I've spoken on here before about how sad I find listening to taylor's music in order because she gets so much more guarded in her work as time goes on.

Like, fuck, bro, you know my kingdom metaphor analysis? Debut for me is peak people pleaser taylor, if you read the lyrics to her earlier unreleased songs- you can see her romanticizing everything around her (even some things, that if are true, should not have been romanticized by her... there is a song she wrote about the supposed death of a girl she didn't really know apparently and that feels icky to me, that song can stay in the vault if this is true, she has several of these songs but i'm not judging her for it). These songs to me showcase the absolute burning desire taylor had to escape from the bullying of her ordinary life.

She grew up in the 90s and early 00s, mind you. As a white woman, of all things, patriarchy during that time was very oppressive to women and white women were definitely feeling the effects of it too. ED-chic was all the rage and white women especially were raised to desire the approval of the white man, against the warnings of everyone else. Like, if you look at the "chick media" from this time, it all serves to brainwash millennial white people at the time into upholding white supremacist values. My personal headcanon of taylor being autistic only further strengthen the desire taylor would have felt growing up around white people to play into this role.

She was heavily bullied and made fun of during her time in school, which she's literally the poster child for popular girl so to me that's so strange that they didn't like her. She wasn't poor either, she was well off and she was still excluded. It's really giving autism to me, tbh. Maybe that's me projecting my own experiences on taylor- i just don't see how someone like her could be socially excluded, to the point where she didn't feel desirable? It's giving autism to me. But anyways, let me get back to what is confirmed to be known about taylor.

When I was about 12/13, I signed up for tumblr and I was eventually led down the "truscum" pipeline, where anti-feminism was all the rage and being an "sjw" was cringe to the max. Looking back at why I interacted with the type of content I did, I can recognize my fear of being the "odd one out" at the forefront of this desire. It's at the forefront of all my people pleasing ways, and it's like coming off of taylor's early works in waves to me. That desire to be seen as normal, as cool and pretty and funny and the girl of somebody's dreams, that desire to be famous and show up all your childhood bullies and have complete and total strangers just want to be your friend and want to be around you and want to get to know you, I see that in taylor and I see the retrospective self-hatred in taylor's newer work especially as it relates to her fame-seeking desires of her teenage self.

Like, I don't know what vault tracks we are going to get from taylor but I do think we're going to see a side of taylor that we never knew with debut because it kind of makes sense, doesn't it? She's driven by the desire to make all her projects unique and interesting, she wants us to "keep looking at her" and she still wants to be in the spotlight and she wants to be a shining light, but she knows that she hasn't done enough. She knows that she's played it safe her entire career and I think that's why we got an era from midnights that was highly conflicting.

Like, even now, looking back at the promo and the ways in which the photoshoot is at complete odds with both the sound of the project and the public image of the project... it's really giving me chills honestly because it's her best era ever. I say it with every era but it's because it's fucking true, she really improves on her craft and her story-telling especially. Like, I fully believe the first ten albums were about taylor herself, and now in this new crop of albums, she's going to start really dissecting her journey to fame and saying everything she couldn't say beforehand.

I think we've gotten hints of Taylor wanting to be taken seriously, she's spent so much of her career parroting back what other people wanted to hear from her (like... esp ts1-5, those were crafted to the play the role they expected from her) but with midnights especially, I was kind of shocked at how many subtle shots she's been taking at her fandom especially. Like, "they" is often used in the record to refer to her fans and I love it so much.

But wow, let me get back to debut tv, I cannot wait to see how she reintroduces Taylor Swift (Taylor's Version). Like, just the title alone, it gives me chills at all the different ways she could reinvent herself. Like, the record itself, it is not very sonically cohesive which makes sense since it's her first record and it's like at the time, your debut was about showcasing who you are as an artist. Taylor picked the classic girl-next-door for the debut record because that is what she wanted to emulate at the time. She wanted to be seen as normal, as desirable, as the beauty queen. And that is why she starts her entire career off with a song about wanting to haunt her ex-lover, it's... tim mcgraw is who taylor swift is at her core. It's an introduction to the image she wanted to project onto the world for decades, until the negative aspects of that image caught up to her and she had to decide whether it was worth it- holding up this fake idea of perfection to the world in exchange for what/who she really is, when that idea of perfection that she was emulating is the ideal white supremacist image to begin with.

Like, oof, I am getting deep into the analysis of taylor's career and her moves as an artist but okay tim mcgraw is a break-up song about how beautiful taylor is as a person and how rare she is, to the point where she will change that person's memory forever. It's like saying to us there is a before taylor but there is no after taylor. Taylor wants to be memorable, she wants to make an impact on people and for a long time, she thought it'd be finding the perfect kiss and creating an iconic love story, because that was how women rose to fame in her time.

But as she's grown up and in the public eye, during a social climate in America that is tired of the image of the 'girl next door' ideals because it rightfully ignores the reality of living in america, she's gotten a lot of flack for not being perfect in her recent years because our definition of what a "good" white woman is has changed to be less white supremacist. Like, we expect someone like Taylor to change the world or at the very least, to be politically radical in her music and image because it's not about what white women can do for the image of the white man anymore, it's about making a difference in your community.

And I think that's why taylor has been shifting her image a lot recently, especially with how queer her image has gotten, I feel like we're going to get a lover redo and once she comes out, she's going to start releasing music that is politically aware and takes aim at the white supremacy structures still present in the industry today.

I just cannot wait to hear taylor swift (taylor's version) because I'm sure we're not ready for the vault tracks, nor are we ready for her retrospective prologue about how far she's come and how she's not the girl on that record anymore, she's grown and changed so much and for the better since then. I just cannot fucking wait for debut tv.

#debut #taylor swift #debut tv #tim mcgraw #midnights #ask and you shall receive #anon love #gaylor

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longitudinalwaveme · 3 years

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Arkham Files: The Top

Hugo Strange: From the patient files of Dr. Hugo Strange, director of Arkham Asylum. Patient: Roscoe Dillon, also known as the Top. Patient suffers from Bipolar Disorder, type one, and is on the autism spectrum. Session One. Good day, Mr. Dillon.

The Top: I am not autistic, Doctor Hugo Strange.

Hugo Strange: Mr. Dillon, the psychologist at Iron Heights has tested you for the condition multiple times, and the results are always consistent with your being on the autism spectrum. What’s more, the psychological tests we gave to you upon your arrival to Arkham Asylum also suggest that you are, indeed, autistic.

The Top: I do not care what that quack at Iron Heights says, Doctor Hugo Strange. I am not intellectually subnormal.

Hugo Strange: Mr. Dillon, being on the autism spectrum has nothing to do with your level of intelligence. It simply means that you have difficulty in understanding social cues.

The Top: In my experience, it is the world that has trouble understanding me, not the other way around. I do not understand why everyone believes that I am odd because I enjoy educating them about tops. Tops are fascinating; certainly much more so than sports or beer or whatever else it is that so-called “normal” people enjoy.

Hugo Strange: Tops?

The Top: Yes, tops. You know, Doctor Hugo Strange, the basic principles involved in the spinning of a top are also those used in gyroscopes, guided missile systems, and the gyro stabilizers in ocean liners. Tops are amazing!

Hugo Strange: Tops?

The Top: Yes, Doctor Hugo Strange. Tops!

Hugo Strange: Tops? As in, the children’s toy?

The Top: Is there something wrong with your hearing, Doctor Hugo Strange?

Hugo Strange: Do you mean to tell me that, in calling yourself the Top, you are not making a claim as to your superiority, but rather making a reference to a toy?

The Top: Actually, Doctor Hugo Strange, I am doing both. I am both a living top and at the top of my profession. My costume has stripes on it so that I may better emulate a top when I spin.

Hugo Strange: Your costume is intended to make you look like a giant top?

The Top: It is, Doctor Hugo Strange. Why?

Hugo Strange: Well, that certainly explains its...unusual appearance.

The Top: (Offended) My costume is no more unusual than that of the Trickster or the Mirror Master, Doctor Hugo Strange.

Hugo Strange: I didn’t say that it was, Mr. Dillon.

The Top: Good. (Pause) Now, Doctor Hugo Strange, would you care to explain why I was transported to an institution a thousand miles away from my base of operations upon my most recent arrest?

Hugo Strange: I wish I knew myself, Mr. Dillon. The workings of the judicial system as it regards the costumed population never cease to bewilder me. However, I must say that I am glad to have you here, Mr. Dillon. You are clearly mentally ill, and Iron Heights clearly has made no progress in treating your condition.

The Top: I am not mentally ill, Doctor Hugo Strange!

Hugo Strange: Mr. Dillon, mental illness is not a sign of a moral or intellectual deficit. It simply means that your brain has become diseased, just as any other part of your body might.

The Top: Nevertheless, I maintain that I am not mentally ill, Doctor Hugo Strange.

Doctor Strange: According to your record, when you first became the Top, you threatened to blow up half the world with a, quote, “atomic grenade” if all the governments of the world did not acknowledge you as the ruler of the world within ten hours. You did this while under the belief that you would somehow be safe on the other side of the planet should the bomb go off. Mr. Dillon, can you spot the flaw in this plan? You are obviously an intelligent man.

The Top: Of course I can, Doctor Hugo Strange. If half the planet was blown up, the entire planet would have been devastated. Even if I was on the other side of the planet from the epicenter of the explosion, I likely still would have been killed.

Hugo Strange: (Shocked) Wait...you actually built an atomic grenade with the power to blow up half the world?

The Top: Of course. I am a genius, Doctor Hugo Strange.

Hugo Strange: You built an atomic grenade that could spin around like a top and possessed the capacity to blow up half the world?

The Top: You have a dreadful habit of repeating yourself, Doctor Hugo Strange. But yes, I did.

Hugo Strange: Then all those other tops your record claims you invented actually worked as well? And you actually made a giant top-shaped satellite that you launched into orbit?

The Top: I am supposed to have a mood disorder, not a psychotic disorder, Dr. Hugo Strange.

Hugo Strange: Well, yes, but severe bouts of mania and depression are known to sometimes bring on psychotic symptoms. I had thought that your claims of having successfully invented such an improbable array of top-shaped weapons were the result of delusions brought on by one of your mood episodes.

The Top: No. The quack at Iron Heights says that I was having a manic episode during my attempt to become ruler of the Earth, and that that is why I did not realize the flaws in my plan. They allege that I was having “mood-congruent delusions of grandeur and invulnerability”, but at no point did they accuse me of outright hallucinating. Surely that is in the report, Doctor Hugo Strange.

Hugo Strange: (Annoyed, but not with the Top) While I do not fully agree with your assertions that the psychologist at Iron Heights is a quack, Mr. Dillon, I must admit that they are distinctly lacking in some key areas-such as specifying which of your behaviors and claims were the results of a mood episode and which were not. Knowing that you have had at least five manic episodes and at least three depressive episodes is worthwhile knowledge, but without adequate context, how do they expect me to know what behaviors are a sign that you are no longer in a healthy state of mind?

The Top: Three depressive episodes, Doctor Hugo Strange? As far as I am aware, the quack has only had me hospitalized for depression twice.

Hugo Strange: That is because the first listed depressive episode was an attempted suicide at the age of 17, which would have been before you ever went to prison.

The Top: Oh. Yes, that did...that did happen, Doctor Hugo Strange. It was how I learned that taking a dozen different types of pills is not the most efficient way in which to kill oneself.

Hugo Strange: (Alarmed, but making an effort to remain calm) You aren’t planning to make another attempt, are you? The Top: No, no. I have far too much to live for-and besides, my fianceé would never forgive me if I killed myself, Doctor Hugo Strange.

Hugo Strange: Your fianceé?

The Top: Yes. Her name is Lisa Snart, although you, Doctor Hugo Strange, are likely more familiar with her nom de guerre: the Golden Glider.

Hugo Strange: So, another one of the Rogues?

The Top: Yes. I met her while posing as an ice skating coach, and we have been deeply in love ever since, Doctor Hugo Strange.

Hugo Strange: I see. How long have the two of you been romantically linked?

The Top: About seven years now, Doctor Hugo Strange.

Hugo Strange: In other words, the relationship began shortly after your second attempted suicide?

The Top: I admit I was in a rather dark place at that point in my life, Doctor Hugo Strange. My beloved was responsible for helping to pull me out of it.

Hugo Strange: (Concerned) And what would happen if she died, or broke off your relationship?

The Top: That will not happen, Doctor Hugo Strange.

Hugo Strange: But if it did?

The Top: (Agitated) I… I don’t know. She...she’s the only person who ever really loved me, Doctor Hugo Strange. The only one.

Hugo Strange: I’m concerned that you seem to be placing your mental stability and overall self-esteem so heavily on one relationship, Mr. Dillon. That cannot be healthy, for either one of you. (Pause) I know you don’t believe yourself to be mentally ill, but for Lisa’s sake, if nothing else, I really do think that it is urgent that we continue these sessions.

The Top: I would never do anything to hurt Lisa, Doctor Hugo Strange. Never!

Hugo Strange: In an earlier manic episode, you threatened to blow up half the world. That would have included your beloved Lisa, would it not?

The Top: I had not yet met Lisa when I came up with that scheme. If I had known her, I never would have endangered her in such a way, Doctor Hugo Strange.

Hugo Strange: Maybe so, but that incident serves to prove that your judgement is compromised when you are in the midst of a manic episode. While I believe that you would never intentionally hurt Lisa, should you have another manic episode, you might cause harm to her without realizing it.

The Top: I...I suppose you may have a point, Doctor Hugo Strange. I will take your suggestion into consideration. I certainly do not wish to accidentally harm Lisa.

Hugo Strange: I’m glad to hear that, Mr. Dillon. (Pause) You are a metahuman, correct?

The Top: Do you think I am wearing this collar because it is fashionable, Doctor Hugo Strange?

Hugo Strange: A metahuman power dampener. Well, I suppose that answers that question. What powers do you possess, Mr. Dillon?

The Top: I have the ability to spin at superhuman speeds, I am telekinetic, and I have a limited degree of telepathy, Doctor Hugo Strange. I cannot read or outright control minds, but I can induce vertigo and push people into doing things that they otherwise might not be inclined to do.

Hugo Strange: I see. So, Mr. Dillon, what prompted you to put on a costume, call yourself the Top, and use your intellect and your not inconsiderable array of powers to commit crimes?

The Top: My father always told me that I needed to be a success; get on top of the world. I had to prove that I wasn’t the failure that everyone thought I was...and I did. No one laughs at Roscoe Dillon anymore, Doctor Hugo Strange.

Hugo Strange: Yes, yes...but why do it in a silly costume and with gimmicked tops?

The Top: I thought we already went over this. It’s because I like tops. They are fascinating. (Pause) Do you want to hear about my collection, Doctor Hugo Strange? There’s so much you could learn from it.

Hugo Strange: Perhaps some other time, Mr. Dillon. (Pause) And the Flash had nothing to do with your decision to put on the costume?

The Top: The Flash? You insult me, Doctor Hugo Strange. Why would I ever be inspired to do anything by someone like him?

Hugo Strange: Isn’t he your enemy?

The Top: Only because he constantly stands in the way of my achieving greatness. If he left me alone, I would not fight him….but as it is, he’s made things rather personal.

Hugo Strange: So the reason you have continued to commit crimes is in order to get revenge on the Flash?

The Top: Really, Doctor Hugo Strange, you must get your hearing problems checked out. I do not commit crimes to get revenge on the Flash. I commit crimes to make myself wealthy and to get revenge on the world. It rejected me; branded me as a freak. I simply rejected it in turn.

Hugo Strange: And has your life of crime made you happy, Mr. Dillon?

The Top: Not yet...but I am afraid, Doctor Hugo Strange, that it does not matter whether being a criminal makes me happy or not. It’s the only life that will ever accept someone like me. I learned that lesson long ago.

Hugo Strange: I stand by my initial assessment of you, Mr. Dillon. You need help. I just hope you will permit me to provide it.

#flash rogues #dr. hugo strange #the top #flash comics #batman comics #fanfic

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nightcoremoon · 3 years

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quantic dream is a weird case because like the games should be amazing but they're NOT

looks good, sounds good, feels good, great voice acting (fuckin willem dafoe and elliot page and clancy brown are all excellent VAs), replayable, and the writing in all the side bits are honestly great, and everyone did a great job with them as far as digital entertainment

like until dawn and the walking dead season 1 and life is strange, it's not really "traditional" controls, there is no real game over, each game runs from beginning to end regardless of the choices you make, QTEs and exploration and puzzles and moral choices are the extent of the gameplay.

but the difference is that UD & TWD & LIS had good writers and david cage is a complete hack (and kind of a misogynist and kiiiind of a racist)

I could go into the flaws of heavy rain, omikron, indigo prophecy, beyond two souls, but I think I'd rather go into detroit becoming human.

so like. "it's not a racial allegory", right? except literally at the start of the game you're a white cop and a black servant and a female servant. the black guy is treated badly by a crowd of white people, then he gets on the segregated back of the bus where he is forced to stand up, then he's on the run from the police (and dies), then he either a) runs a pacifist resistance and sacrificing himself or b) sets fire to everything, "we have a dream" and ✊🏾 are literal choices he can make, there is a million man march, you literally have the magical ability to Press X To Liberate (where he forces the robots to go from blindly following the orders of their masters to, uh, blindly following the orders of a new master oh no yikes), and hey at least it evaded tokens because there's another black guy and... oh no he's a 'magical negro' stereotype who can and will be fridged at any moment to give Pain to the white girl. oh and the underground railroad lady LMAO. and all this blatant black civil rights activism allegory is happening to... sigh. robots.

now look, I am really heavily into the philosophy of theoretical transhumanism. star trek, mass effect, deus ex, even bethesda fallout [much as I fucking hate many aspects of fallout 3/4, I do really like the synths angle as it adds layers of intrigue and grey morality to an otherwise quite absurdly black and white system] are some of my favorite universes partly because of that. data/doctor/7of9, legion & EDI, adam jensen, nick valentine, they're all some of my favorite characters in those series. it's probably partly because as an autistic person I understand and empathize with them much more than I do the non-robot characters (and so much more than the "autistic" characters written by allistics :/ ). protag!connor is a cinnamon roll (because he says fuck the police in the third act, since the only good cop is a dead former cop... but also because I do like his character and the way he was portrayed by the actor and his contrast to hank who is the best character voiced by an actor I love, and connorXhank is the only part of DBH that I like as far as the writing goes). I should have loved detroit as much as I love the movie I, Robot. [btw if you like detroit watch it]

and yet

the problem is that it should have tried to just stay in its own lane and deal purely with the transhumanism angle, and not tried to also be racially woke. it is tasteless and blatantly racist for white people (especially the, ugh, french) to directly compare any nonblack protected class to black people in a work of fiction. my fellow autistics, my fellow queers, jews probably but I'm not even gonna touch that, and androids. all of the experiences are wildly different from the black experience especially in the US and it is not our place to compare ANY demographic in such an on-the-nose fashion. oh and don't even get me fucking STARTED on the goddamn HOLOCAUST IMAGERY AT THE ENDING. OH YEAH THE ROBOTS ARE GETTING PUT INTO CONCENTRATION CAMPS AND THEN INTO AN INCINERATOR, THAT'S TOTALLY NOT JUST AN ANALOGUE TO JEWS OR ANYTHING HA HA FUCK YOU DAVID CAGE alright that's enough.

oh and kara's story is a completely useless and tacked-on experience that depends wholly on the effects of the other characters and a plot twist that kinda renders her entire story... just. completely fucking pointless. and also because david cage loves short haired girls in perilous distress of a sexual nature.

and the cherry on top of the shit sundae is that the entire android deviants aspect is a planned obsolescence ploy by the corporations. it was programmed for the androids to have free will so it makes the old models go all murderhappy and incentivizes the people to trade in their old malfunctioning iphones for brand new sleek & shiny new ones. it was just social commentary on apple's shady business practices that also disguised itself as social commentary on post-slavery america that disguised itself as social commentary on transhumanism. and that's all his fucking games are is several layers of social commentary stacked together in a trench coat like bojack's vincent adultman pretending to be a cohesive story.

& you know how I know it's social commentary?

BECAUSE THE FUCKING GAME IS ALSO ABOUT DRUG ADDICTION

oh did you forget about that part? yeah, it's because it was handled poorly and it didn't matter and only served to get woke points.

D:BH is just a mess from a purely conceptual standpoint, and that's why it's fucking horrible.

but

if you like it then that's fine because quantic dream are a fantastic studio that produce just *chef's kiss* sublime work, given what they were working with. I put it on the same level that I put the twilight and harry potter films, because they took steaming piles of shit and made them sparkle.

...g... get it? because... because the vampires... they sparkle. that's the joke ignore me

I'm not gonna treat you badly if you like the game because I like parts of it but please please acknowledge that it's a downright mess

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mysteries-x-mistakes · 3 years

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I wrote this as a side story set in Wostria as a vent so it didn’t end up going anywhere (and that’s ok it served its purpose). I figured I’d post it because it heavily draws on my experiences in relationships, the trauma I’ve been through (esp as an autistic aromantic person). So tw for emotional manipulation/abuse I guess. This snippet has a happy ending as I made the character walk away when I couldn’t. But I thought it might resonate with some people.

Word Count: ~1000 words

“I didn’t. And I’m offended that you think I would say anything like that.” I rolled over to go to sleep. “I’m done talking about this.”

But he kept pushing, voice rising in volume. “How do you think I felt?” He made a sound of disgust. “I felt ashamed of myself. I felt gross. I was hurt that you see me like that.”

I felt anger rise within me, but I pushed it down. I just wanted to sleep and I was really hurting that he would put words in my mouth. But he wasn’t about let me get any sleep until I comforted him. Truthfully, I was upset that he was hurting. I didn’t like to see him in pain, but I wish he would admit that I didn’t say that. “I’m sorry that you’re hurting right now,” I said passively.

And then he snapped. “Really? Really! That’s all you’re going to say? That’s all you have to say about this? Wow. Ok.”

I could tell he was waiting for me to prompt him to continue, so I did. “What?”

“I honestly can’t believe you right now. Most people would immediately jump in and offer comfort. They’d be able to tell that the other person was hurting. Most people, when they love someone, can tell. They can read the other person’s mood and know when to offer support. It’s a natural human thing. That’s just part of being a person. We’re social creatures. It’s natural to turn to others and expect support.” There was a measure of anger and scorn in his voice that frightened me.

I was quiet. Too quiet. I had no idea how he wanted me to respond to that. He was accusing me of not being a person. Did he… did he not understand how hurtful that is? It took me a while to find my voice and even then, it was faint and small. “You didn’t tell me that’s what you wanted.”

“But that’s what I’m saying! A normal person would’ve known. Not doing that shows a severe lack of empathy.”

I felt tears prickle my eyes and I sniffled a little. “Please can we do this later. I can’t… I can’t right now.” He was attacking me and it hurt! A lot of feelings pushed to the surface and I wanted to run away and hide and cry until it all went away.

“No. We’re not done. Can’t you see how much you hurt me? I’m so upset right now. And you don’t care at all.” He insisted, oblivious to my feelings.

I sat up and turned to look at him, tears rolling down my face. My voice was shaky as I responded, “What do you want from me?”

His eyes widened, taken aback. I watched as his anger dissipated. But then with a spark it came back again. “Fine. Whatever. I guess you won’t ever get it.” And then he turned around and curled up in his sleeping bag.

I had gotten my hopes up. Maybe he’d apologize for hurting me. Maybe he’d understand how his words and actions affected me. But then I saw the anger return and the little flicker of hope I had was blown out. This is just how things were. My hurt was less important than his. And I should get used to it.

---

“Because you… you’re not human!” He spat. His eyes blazed with hatred and it was in that moment that I realized this was not the relationship I had envisioned. This was not healthy and I needed to get out.

The fury rose within me and I took a few breaths to calm myself. I knew that getting angry and lashing out, hurling magic at him, would only prove his point. Even if it would feel good in the moment. I also knew that cowing and accepting his words would be an admission of defeat and I refused to be beaten down. I squared up, set my shoulders back, and said, “I saw the potential in you. I saw what you could become and instead you’ve chosen to dig your grave and lie in it and I’m not going to put up with it anymore. I have been trying to grow and to change. That was the whole point of me entering into a physical form. And you haven’t been letting me. You’ve kept me tight in a cage of “not human”. You have these expectations of me and get upset when I don’t meet them. You expect me to be a certain way, but you haven’t allowed me the opportunities to become that way. So what if I’m not human? I am allowed to be myself, damn it, I’m allowed to be me! I’m allowed to be Violet. And I’m not going to let you keep that from me.”

I could see the wheels turning in his head. I knew he would say something and apologize and I’d be soft hearted and give him another chance. But then he wouldn’t change. I’d be trapped again. So this time, before he could say anything, I walked away. For the first time in my life on this planet, I walked away. I put myself first. I made the healthy decision. And for the first time in all the time we’ve spent together, he let me.

As I walked away, and walked and walked and walked, my thoughts ran wild. I had seen this happen; I had watched multiple toxic and abusive relationships and I have always wondered why people stay. I had always thought I’d be strong enough to hold my boundaries. I never thought I would let that happen to me. But I was wrong.

#abuse #trauma #actuallyautistic #aromantic #healing #creative writing #fey writes #wostria side stories

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werevulvi · 3 years

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What incited you to become a MRA, what did you learn from it (good neutral or bad) and what got you to wake up and finally cease to be one?

This became a really long-winded answer, because I’ve apparently a lot of thoughts/feelings about this, which I probably haven’t really gone over with myself before. But here’s my rant: Well, before I became an MRA, my opinions on sexism and feminism were pretty much only "gender equality would be good of course" and I did not think women necessarily had it worse than men, but I noticed there was some obvious injustices in both directions. So I was in a position that could very easily be swayed in either the feminist or MRA direction.

What led me down the MRA direction (at that time, roughly year 2016-2017) was discovering MOGAI/tucute microlabels (like noun genders, neo pronouns, stuff like pansexual, demisexual, etc) on tumblr and vehemently disliking it. I had truscum opinions without knowing it back then. Meaning I was pretty certain there are only 2 genders based on 2 sexes, being trans was a medical condition, and everything else was bullshit, pretty much. And so, discovering my "opposition" online (which I previously didn't know existed) led me to consume a lot of basically "anti-SJW" content.

And as you may or may not know, most "anti-SJW's" on youtube at that time were anti-feminists, MRA's and MGTOW's. So I was informed of those opinions without having directly searched for them. It just kinda came with the territory. I watched a lot "Sargon of Akkad", "Bearing", "Dr. Randomercam", "ShoeOnHead", "Undoomed", "Prince of Queens" (rest in peace), etc. Most of them were not self-declared MRA's, but their opinions kinda moved in that sorta general direction.

Back then I was very strongly identifying as a man and grasped at anything to validate my male identity and mitigate my dysphoria. Kissing men's asses became my method of basically trying to buy my way into manhood. I idolised men, worshipped them even. I didn't need to be convinced that men face discrimination on the basis of their sex too, because I already knew that, but learning about the suicide rates, falsely accused rapes, etc, was extra compelling. I've not talked about this at great lengths before, but I've actually been falsely accused of rape myself once, by someone who mistook me for being a cis man (luckily it didn't lead to anything), I've been laughed at by men for admitting to being a sexual abuse survivor as they assumed I'm male too, and I've been harrassed much worse for appearing as a gnc man than I ever was for appearing as a gnc woman. This I concluded as forms of misandry (and I still do.)

(I wanna squeeze in somewhere around here, that my transition gave a fairly interesting view on gender, as sorta being able to see how both men and women have it "from the inside" so to say, as I've been treated differently as a man post-transition vs as a woman pre-transition. This experience has influenced my views on gender and sexism pretty heavily. My own experiences of essentially both misogyny and misandry.)

My own experiences with misandry of course served as fuel for my becoming MRA opinions. And then eventually I found the website "A voice for men" and the documentary movie "The Red Pill" and after that I was a self-declaired MRA... for a while.

Until came my detransition, mid 2018. This changed my views on gender drastically. Both gender in regards to identity vs sex, and gender in regards to oppression vs privilege. In my early detransing, I was approached by a few radfems on youtube, and curious as I am, decided to look into it. I was back and forth between MRA and radical feminism for a while, while I was learning as much as my constantly overworked, autistic brain would allow me, and about 6 months later I had come to the conclusion that I do agree with majority of radfem and it's basis, but still sorta cared about men's rights on the side (for example still supporting their safety being gnc, their mental health, etc) but no longer considering myself an MRA per se.

During those 6 months I did also start seeing that a lot of what the MRA's spout is misogynistic, and they are factually incorrect about men being more oppressed than women. However, after a couple of years taking a deep dive into radfem, I realised that as an ideology it's almost equally flawed as MRA, and in rather similar ways even. So I ditched that too. Although I still consider myself somewhat gender critical (bio sex is still important and real, and so is critical thinking) as well as still totally for female rights (basically sex-based feminism) but not in the rigid way radfem is. I dunno its conclusions are rather fucked sometimes, and sometimes a little delusional. I'm not a fan of equity, communism or collectivism, which I later on noticed runs pretty heavy through radfem. I'd say I'm more of a gender critical libfem who supports men's rights as well, nowadays.

I've been through so many different ideologies by now, that I feel like at core they're all kinda the same shit. They're all flawed. I'd rather just have whatever opinions I think is right/good/logical regardless of which ideology that opinion comes from. I don't wanna fight or debate. I only care for peaceful, actually meaningful discussions. I'm done with being part of hiveminds by now. I need to prioritise living my life, having fun, learning to be functional, petting cats, going swimming, having a lot of sex, transitioning, and finding my own happiness. Not politics. I've never been the activist type, and I think I just got drawn into it because of guilt. Because people started saying "if you're not a feminist, you're a bad person" and at first I rebelled, but then I fell for it. Now I'm just dropping my battle axe altogether. Because no ideology can ever determine whether some one is a good or bad person. I've learned now that having the "right" opinions is not what matters.

What I learned from being an MRA... that men are not evil. That they are human with a full range of emotions, a need for vulnerability, sometimes victims of awful crimes, sometimes traumatised, etc. I learned that my fear of men (due to my own trauma) is not rational and should not dictate how I judge male strangers. I also learned that some men are never gonna return that same empathy and respect to me as I offer them, because I'm bio female. Those are not the same men, and they should not be treated in the same way. I learned that in many ways I'm surprisingly not that different from men, but that I'll also never truly know what it's like to be bio male or grow up as a boy, but that's okay. Although, living as a man probably taught me more about men, than being an MRA did. It more so solidified what I had already found out to be true.

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gilmesc1 · 4 years

Note

Do you have any thoughts on fictional portrayals of DID, like danganronpa, spl!t, and others?

Yes, I usually would take time to do research but lucky for you I already did XD

I looked into Danganronpa a while ago since we have 1 or 2 system mates from it, and in that case, prepare yourselves for a hot mess of my opinion and facts I got from a google fest.

So, to start out, I guess I might share spoilers?? So you hath been warned. Additionally I’m not going to sit here and rephrase the entire story so, honestly why am I even explaining this. Anon at least knows what’s going on XDD

So Danganronpa is a psychological mystery anime that focuses heavily on the themes of hope and despair, where in most versions of the story characters are forced into a killing game where they have to kill each other. Bet you couldn’t have figured that one out on your own XD

One thing I like about it is that the characters overall are written fairly well. Many of them are complex multi layered gems of writing with good development and story arcs. One thing that I found interesting is the semi accurate portrayals of mental illness and how it impacts the characters in this insane situation.

So, let’s break into that. I focused on the portrayals of NPD and DID specifically, and I could go back and look into others, but we’ll focus on those for this post. And just going to throw this out now, I think it’s interesting and also kind of a bold move to tackle those kinds of things in an anime.

So let’s look at the DID portrayal. The character’s name is Toko Fukawa, and she is a fucking wreck. Confirmed emotional abuse gives a lot into her character, and we see her as this timid, deflective, honestly broken shell. Later in the series we are introduced to her alternate personality, I know, exciting.

However it’s a literal serial killer. So like. Yeah.

I don’t love that part. I mean, out of all of the portrayals for this alter, you had to go with serial killer? And not only that, but a really famous, generally acknowledged as insane serial killer. Thaaaanks writer.

To recap what a lot of tumblr says, this kind of portrayal is dangerous because the majority of DID portrayals are of crazy violent stereotypes. It was quite honestly disappointing, and I wish that the writers hadn’t used this as their big reveal.

But hey, neutral standing here, let’s look at why he did do that from a different perspective. Since the theme of the game/anime is killing, it does make sense plot wise to have a serial killer. Additionally, it’s a clever way to get said serial killer into the game in the first place. Plot wise and with a few things I’ll mention in a second, it does make sense in a twisted way.

But let’s get the bad out of the way first. One thing I really don’t love is her appearance. It’s like someone took the original character design of fukawa, took some drugs, and then drew a nightmare creature. Seriously, there’s crazy eyes, hair flying everywhere, and this freaky inhuman tongue that the alter has out no matter what she’s doing. Like whaaaaaat the fuck.

Firstly this spreads misinformation that we can change appearance at will. Like don’t get me wrong, I wish I could, but the best I got is changing clothes if I have the time. Also the tongue I really hate because it gives the impression of the alter being this inhuman monster. Also again with the impression that we can morph stuff when we switch. I mean, if I had that, I’d be having a lot more fun in my day to day life than I do now.

Do what you will with that information.

Additionally we do see Fukawa’s tongue, and it’s not a weird demogorgon kind of thing, so, yeah, the tongue thing is weird.

Finally her name. It’s Genocider Syo/Jack/Jill. Not a normal name, no the only name we have for her is her serial killer name which I feel serves to continue to show her as this inhuman thing where we all go, Oh god oh fuck time to be afraaaaid.

But hey, let’s look at what they did right.

The backstory of how genocider came to be is really accurate to how it works. Fukawa has a history of abuse at a young age, and genocider eventually comes into the picture to protect her.

Let me explain: So this is a theory on my part (Check out Weeby Newz’s youtube video, that’s where I got this) but Fukawa was revealed to have suffered massive emotional abuse at the hands of a boy who she had romantic interest in. Since he was moving away, she decided to confess her love to him in a letter before this happened. Turns out the boy pinned the letter in her classroom so everyone would make fun of her. Dick move.

I think genocider formed after this specific event, firstly because this is a huge defining experience for Fukawa. Additionally, the way genocider acts serves to prove this. Her target victims are boys, and her first victim was the boy who hurt Fukawa. I mean yeah, killing was waaaay extreme, but bear with me on this next part:

I’d say that genocider is a protector. A lot of her initial actions were to protect Fukawa from getting hurt in the same way, and protectors do have a history of going to the extreme to protect their hosts and systems. Even though she seems like a persecutor, I don’t think any of her actions have been directed at herself and Fukawa, they actually seem to have a decent relationship, and to end this theory that is completely non canon and just me pretending I’m smart, I’d call her a protector.

Next, looking at the relationship they have. Genocider at one point tells the protagonist that they have a “non disclosure policy” when they switch when the other is in the middle of something. (like murder??) And I personally really liked this, as it was a kind of realistic DID humor in my eyes. Take it or leave it, that’s my opinion.

And that’s really all I have on that behalf. Genocider really isn’t shown as a “normal person” often, which I guess is the point but also leaves me with nothing to evaluate. (Side note, this is only V1 of the series and I’m aware she changes but dear god go easy on me)

Finally, here are a few things that I find a little weird tbh.

At first glance when they switch, it’s a touch accurate, if over dramatic. Losing consciousness and coming to as a different alter is possible so I do like that, however they also have her constantly switching when sneezing, which is a little out there.

I mean, I think I’ve done that before, but for it to be a consistent theme, idk. Maybe overdramatized again.

Secondly, there is a voice change, which is accurate, but it really just serves to fit the crazy image, so I’m conflicted on that.

So that is really all I can say on that specifically, to end things I’m going to talk about one other character Fukawa has interactions with, Togami. (He has a first name but I can’t spell/remember it.)

So I gravitated towards him while watching the series because he reminds me of me, hence me saying that he seems to be a dead ringer for npd. Let me explain.

He’s very cold and distant from others and obviously feels superior, additionally he is willing to fight tooth and nail to consistently be on top and win in any situation, leading to him doing some fucked up things.

But like I feel for him. It’s like watching me XD

His past was a very competitive cuthroat environment, where he was taught that losing is worse than death. Additionally he was almost groomed to be this untouchable figure so it’s no surprise that he believes that. I might make a second post about him because there’s a lot more I can say, but I’m going to double back to Fukawa now.

So Fukawa gains a very unhealthy obsession with Togami, despite him wanting literally nothing to do with her. He’s verbally abusive to her and does go out of his way to attack her, but she thinks it’s a sign of love. Poor Fukawa.

This also kind of fits with NPD, because we can have some pretty gravitating personalities. I think the attraction has a lot to do with Fukawa’s mental state, but I just found it interesting that the emotional abuse victim gravitates to Togami of all people.

So I brought him up for that above thought I had, and also to compare this last point. So Fukawa was confirmed to have DID, like it was specifically stated. To my knowledge it was never stated that Togami has NPD, but I strongly assume that he does. (key word assume, I could be wrong.)

So I found it interesting that Togami has this very accurate portrayal of NPD without ever confirming that he has NPD, while Fukawa is specifically confirmed to have DID while having a semi accurate portrayal. I think the writer really wanted to include mental illness in his story line and I doubt he intended anything to be intentionally harmful.

Writing mental illness into a story is very very very tricky, and it’s practically impossible to satisfy everyone, but the fact that he did do it is in my opinion, very bold.

He made good and less good choices, but overall he did make very compelling characters. Genocider admittedly fits better in this plotline as a crazy killer than she would as a realistic alter, but this is fiction.

So final statements: Toko Fukawa is not a bad character. I like a lot about her and overall I think she is very well written. Genocider is very less developed and more of a surprise plot twist than a character, which is unrealistic. The writer made some very awkward choices from a realistic standpoint despite it fitting well with his story.

So overall, she really isn’t a good portrayal of DID. You can enjoy her character like I did, but the main takeaway here is to not take her as a realistic portrayal. I know it seems obvious but this is the kind of thing that forms unhealthy ideas in viewers.

I’m not hating on Danganronpa or Toko, I actually really loved both. I’ve tried to stop ranting about fictional works that I hate. I used to be a loose fucking canon but I realized that I had been bashing a few autistic friend’s special interests, so now I try to be hyper aware that a fictional work might mean everything to someone even if I personally disliked it.

But that isn’t the case here because again I loved Danganronpa XD

So friends, that about does it for me. I liked doing this kind of analysis so if you want me to do more, send them my way XD

My next post will probably be the syscourse analysis if I can get that done before I get an easier topic. So thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed, thank you for the ask anon.

And I’m now out of words. You all should be happy. XD

#did #did tag #dissociative identity disorder #actuallydid #actuallymultiple #actuallydissociative #actuallytraumagenic #danganronpa #toko fuwaka

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aroworlds · 4 years

Text

What Makes Us Human, Part One

Moll of Sirenne needs prompts in their girdle book to navigate casual conversations, struggles to master facial expressions and feels safest weeding the monastery's vegetable gardens. Following their call to service, however, means offering wanderers in need a priest's support and guidance. A life free of social expectation to court, wed and befriend does outweigh their fear of causing harm—until forgetting the date of a holiday provokes a guest's ire and three cutting words: lifeless and loveless.

A priest must expand a guest's sense of human worth, but what do they do when their own comes under question? Can an autistic, aromantic priest ever expect to serve outside the garden? And what day is it...?

Contains: A middle-aged, agender priest set on defying social norms around love; an alloromantic guest with a journey to undergo in conquering her amatonormativity and ableism; and an elderly aromantic priest providing irascible reassurance.

Content Advisory: Depictions and discussions of ableism, amatonormativity and dehumanisation, particularly with regards to autism and aromanticism. Please expect additional background references to partner abuse and dysfunctional relationships, along with a side mention of magic causing harm to animals. This piece also includes reflections on non-romantic love's being pushed as a second-best "humanising" quality on non-partnerning, aplatonic and neurodiverse aros.

Length: 4, 946 words (part one of two).

Note: This is the newest entry in my tradition of Not Valentine’s Day Aro Stories posted on Valentine’s Day. No familiarity with my other Marchverse stories is needed, although it does obliquely nod at events referenced in Love is the Reckoning.

You think love is what makes us human, if you must choose one quality?

Moll opens their girdle book and, without looking, sets their fingertip by a word written a third of the way down the page. Gardening. Sighing, they buckle the book closed and drop it back into position at their hip. Sirenne’s greenhouses and vegetable gardens, in their midsummer bounty, gift the monastery a glut of corn, beans and cucumbers; they can start breakfast’s conversation with that observation. The kitchen’s current tendency to add corn to foods and dishes that don’t usually encompass them offers another direction, along with more anodyne comments about weeding and Sirenne’s scores of potted plants. Simple enough, as discussions go.

When will their calling start to feel simple?

True, they count ownership of their red robes in weeks and months, the scar on their shoulder still pink. The brown belt of a novice priest bears the girdle book and a leather pouch, its length crisp and unmarked. Five years of study can’t yet earn the confidence of experience: by logic’s metric, it’s unreasonable for Moll to expect mastery in this new art. How can they compare the difficulty of their new work to the ease they owned in the old? Aren’t they creating their distress by anticipating the unrealistic?

“Fifteen years with the Seventh,” they mutter under their breath as they walk to the serving tables and fill a bowl with steamed rice and quinoa, today drizzled with stewed apricots. A waiting acolyte, standing behind the array of dishes, pays Moll’s murmuring no mind. “It’s only been a little over five, here. Don’t compare them.”

They add another ladle of apricots to their bowl and turn towards their table, tucked to the side of the great hall—away from the clatter of the kitchen doors, close to a window looking onto one of the monastery’s fern-clustered courtyards. Moll dislikes navigating all the chairs filled by guests, acolytes and guiding priests, but they’ll accept that thrice-daily annoyance for the comparative quiet of their corner.

Today, despite the hall’s great arched roof and echoing tile floor, the noise isn’t as bothersome.

Only when they reach their table do they realise why: one advising priest, her red robes belted with green, joins the gaggle of guests and acolytes. Where are the others? Did something happen overnight? The Guide misses as many meals as she attends, but never has Moll seen so few of Sirenne’s senior priests at breakfast. Frowning, they look to their acolytes sitting at the middle of the table. Dare they ask? If something serious has happened, wouldn’t Moll already know? Why risk distressing James by calling attention to something that may lack any import?

Neither appears to mark anything amiss.

“Good morning.” Moll sits opposite James and across from the brown-robed acolytes, working to keep their voice even and low. James regards the slightest abruptness in Moll’s speech as indicative of anger or disgust, and they prefer no further misunderstandings. “I see that the kitchen serves cornbread, creamed corn and corn fritters this morning?”

The acolytes nod vehemently.

James, staring at her plate, pays Moll no attention. She’s a small and delicate woman, pretty as some reckon such things. Fine chains of embroidery decorate the cuffs of her linen shirt and the panels of her grey waistcoat; studs carved like silver roses sparkle in her ear lobes, while matching combs and pins hold back her silky curls. Paint darkens her lips and evens a complexion in little need of it; no callus of pen, needle or weapon roughens her soft fingers. She’s elegant like a fashion plate in a book, but the illusion breaks when Moll looks to her nails, bitten down to the distal edge. A habit, they know, discouraged in the classes of people needful of donning powder and paint before breakfast at a secluded monastery.

Never has she bitten them in public, and she rejected Moll’s suggestion of fidget tools as though offended by their observation of her need. Even their usual use of a weighted, beaded cord while talking drew her ire: it’s manipulative, she said, as though their stimming exists only in relationship to the shame social niceties require nobody mention, to pressure me by using something I have refused in front of me.

She did, yesterday, observe the morning greeting.

“Corn wouldn’t be so bad,” Alicia says, her eyes flicking from James to Moll underneath an untidy mop of red hair, “if they’d do something new with it.”

“Don’t say that!” Ro howls, poking Alicia in the arm. At eighteen, he isn’t much more than a child, gangly and frenetic. Remembering the reasons underpinning his service during meals—to help a guiding priest maintain a casual conversation before their guests—isn’t yet second nature. “They’ll be giving us corn in pudding next!”

Moll suspects they’re meant to learn from Ro’s impulsiveness as much as Ro should from their measured consideration.

Measured consideration is the polite way of saying “rigidly follows rules”.

“Corn custard?” Alicia grins and elbows Ro in the ribs. When he forgets his duty, she soon follows him.

“Don’t even say it! Don’t give them ideas!”

“Corn custard, corn custard, corn custard!”

James sits at the table as if unhearing, her lean hands pushing a piece of toasted wheat bread across her plate. She smells like jasmine, her perfume a foreign, expensive contrast to breakfast’s savoury aromas, Moll’s apricots and the damp, earthy scents of the courtyard. She smells like their childhood.

They hastily swallow a mouthful of their own breakfast, the grains mingling with the sweet fruit, before attempting a direct question. “Do you garden, James? I didn’t have the opportunity before Sirenne, unless I count the Warp’s tendency to provoke sacks of flour into sprouting seedlings overnight? I still know little, but I’ve learnt that I enjoy mucking about with a trowel.”

There: a question and a few personal observations. Isn’t that the mainstay of an acceptable social exchange? Three terms in the Seventh Western Regiment, stationed in the Warp during the Council of Advocates’ last attempt to settle that magic-twisted territory, have left Moll with a lifetime of anecdotes. Many—like the time a crate of fleece-lined coats outside the wards became a bleating collection of violently disfigured sheep—are best left unmentioned during meals, but magical wheat seems safe enough for breakfast chatter.

James, without blinking, pinches off a corner from her piece of buttered toast.

If not for a week’s observation, Moll may have thought her unable to hear or process.

“I hate gardening,” Alicia offers, after another look at James. “Dirt under my fingernails? I’d rather dust or wash dishes or sweep.”

Ro snickers. “Dirt? Of course—”

Moll taps him on the ankle with their bare foot.

“Uh … yes, I don’t like dirt, either. Because I hate laundry. Your hands get all cracked and dry. I’ve still got scars from when my skin split in winter. But when your father’s a launderer…” Ro shakes his head and glances at Moll. “What did you hate, in your old job?”

People who go through my wagons. Officers who refuse to follow needed precautions. The mouldy-citrus smell of warped, decaying magic.

Instead, they stop to think of something others will find relatable: Moll enjoyed the usual army annoyances of polishing boots and mending uniforms. The barracks brats of the Seventh always knew when their quartermaster passed a sleepless night, for they’d wake to find their newly-darned stockings laid out over their gear chests.

“Latrine duty. I didn’t dislike planning or digging, but cleaning up a latrine site isn’t enjoyable for obvious reasons. Soldiers left to unsupervised orders, however, have a marked tendency to the slapdash.”

Alicia, of course, pulls a face.

James turns away from Moll, her pressed lips and deep frown suggesting irritation or disdain.

Anxiety, too familiar a companion, sits as heavily in Moll’s gut as a month’s diet of wheat bread.

They can’t remember a time in childhood absent that pervasive sense of dread, the knowing of their having errored without cognition on how or why. Nor was their adulthood so free—the difference being that Moll had twenty years to learn the rules and rhythms of military life, and service in the Warp excused some of Moll’s habits and provoked similar needs in others. Then the Council surrendered to the Warp and disbanded the Seventh, leaving Moll adrift in a world governed by normal magic and unexplained rules.

Sirenne, where people communicate with clarity and directness about concepts brushed aside as unacceptable, should have offered refuge.

They eat, letting Alicia and Ro carry the conversation against the backdrop of James’s pointed silence. She only makes a few pointed grimaces when Moll speaks, picking her way through half a slice of toast.

After yesterday, they planned to offer James the morning for further discussion.

Today, in the absence of a proper breakfast and animus targeted at Moll, they’d best make it a priority.

When the acolytes clear away the dishes and the hall empties out with priests and guests going about chores or sessions, they stand, round the end of the table and bow at James. “Would you please come and walk with me?”

At first, it felt deceptive to string together words so unrelated to their intent. Honesty, to Moll, means saying what is meant: I want to have a private conversation about your mood and health, to help guide you in following the life’s path best suited to you. Gennifer explained, over several occasions, that while all believers know what a priest of the Sojourner means by “walk”, success rarely results from beginning said conversations with direct utterances of an uncomfortable truth.

They still don’t grasp the logic in that, but Moll now regards the script as a signpost marking the transition from breakfast’s communality to discussion’s intimacy. If Sirenne possesses an agreed-upon willingness to dishonesty between all parties, is it still a lie? A priest’s work doesn’t mean, Gennifer added, a strict adherence to direct honesty, and aren’t they supposed to be challenging the existence of an objective truth? Why should Moll’s regard become the defining metric of falsehood?

Priesthood requires accepting the unfading presence of an existential headache.

James rises, drops her spoon onto her plate with a teeth-jarring clang and follows Moll from the hall—offering, presumably, her consent.

Their favourite courtyard, as always, bears no tag of occupancy. A triangular space jammed between the kitchens and the Guide’s personal wing, it lacks the green softness of Sirenne’s other courtyards, instead beset with craggy planes of rock part-covered by draping vines. While few areas of the monastery don’t feature running water—its movement reflecting the Sojourner’s eternal journey—here a still basin houses pond fish and lilies. Other priests abhor the darkness and stuffiness caused by four walls and the slanting eaves above, but Moll appreciates the yard’s quiet. How do the others listen to running water for hours on end without succumbing to teeth-grinding annoyance?

They murmur the spell for a peach-hued witchlight, palm the resulting sphere and fling it upwards to catch on a trailing cluster of vines by the archway’s apex. “Please, enter.”

James folds her arms, passes under the arch and sits on the bench by the basin, staring at the white lilies clustered along one edge. The toe of her left boot, the leather polished near to gleaming, worries at a crack in the flagstones. “What.”

No lilt, no upturned voice. Probably not a question.

Moll moves to their usual seat. A pillow placed on a dip of the rocky wall provides a safe distance between them and their guests while offering the damp, loamy aura of fern and moss. They still can’t take ordinary nature for granted; they still wake in the night, startled to breathe air that doesn’t smell of rot. “I fear that I have caused you offense or hurt. I would appreciate knowing, if you’d be so kind as to explain, what I did.”

The difficulty in needing to ask people for explanations lies in their requiring them from those Moll has hurt. Some don’t mind, those who understand the cause of their ignorance, but too many become more offended when having to explain the how and why of something Moll should have known to avoid. If a quartermaster is expected to read another’s body language and glean its inspiring thoughts and feelings, guests grant far less leeway to a priest—no matter how much introductory explanation Moll provides about their autism.

They try, where possible, to describe situations and ask questions of other people, but how can they do so here? James is distressed enough to disregard the customs on which she sets such value; while she wasn’t friendly at breakfast, she didn’t direct her expressions at the acolytes. Moll, based on limited evidence, a reasonable assumption and their history, must have caused her mood.

Again.

James turns her head and shoulders away from Moll—almost putting her back to them while remaining seated on the stone bench.

“I apologise.” They bow as best they can from their seated position. “It’s unfair to place on you the burden of educating me after being hurt. I do wish to know how I can avoid distressing you in future, and I promise that I won’t be angered by your explanation. If you wish another priest to assist in—”

James whirls to face them with startling speed, her teeth bared in something close to a snarl. “What, so you’ll write it down in your book of things to remember?”

Talking, however abrupt and disagreeable, provides an entry into exploration. While a variety of considering or responsive silences should be recognised and supported in a healthy exchange, guiding is easier when anything expressive replaces the wall of sullen silence.

Even accusation and aggression.

“I don’t understand,” Moll demurs, letting their eyes rest on James’s face for fear avoidance suggests anger or insincerity. “Didn’t I explain sufficiently to you why I use my book?”

A guiding priest must, inquisitively, engage with their flock’s thoughts and feelings. Curiosity means putting aside judgement and listening, open-hearted, to the twists and turns of a path that lead to their conclusions. Curiosity means offering, as non-judgementally as possible, a more useful direction. Curiosity means listening to and acknowledging another’s criticism of their work. Curiosity means putting aside the last conversation Moll had with a guest about their girdle book … even as bile’s bitter sourness coats the back of their throat and tongue.

James snorts. She holds her chin high above the stiff collar of her shirt, her shoulders set, her hands folded in her lap. Even in session, she doesn’t forgo correctness for comfort. “You think that I haven’t seen you picking something to talk about each meal? Except you didn’t remember to write down what day it is, did you? You just ask completely irrelevant questions!”

What day…? They work through the shards of story James has shared, but none suggest significance of the day, week or season. She spoke, in short references, of a relationship fallen apart and a family taking the side of her partner, citing reasons of financial investment. She spoke of need for a temporary reprieve from both—threaded with the hope of return when her partner’s anger ebbs enough for normal’s resumption—but resentment colours her references to the friend that suggested sanctuary at a monastery. They know of no anniversary that lends one summer day such profound weight.

Perhaps her disdain draws from something she believes sufficiently communicated, conveyed in hints perceived by an allistic priest?

“I find participating in casual exchanges difficult. This book,” and Moll dips their chin towards their hip, “helps me engage in the talk many of our guests find comforting. Perhaps I mayn’t need it in future, but today I do.” Moll closes their fists and opens them, one deliberate finger at a time. Since fidgets provoke James’s anger, Moll possesses fewer ways to direct and manage their nervousness. “I am grateful for a tool that eases my navigation of unsuited customs. Do you have occasions where you would appreciate a tool to help you with something people don’t expect you to find difficult?”

Gennifer gifted them the girdle book a few months after Moll took the brown; the acolytes of Moll’s calling-year spent that evening offering suggestions and prompts. Sorcha and Oki passed the book amongst the priests until a score of hands filled the pages. For the first time in Moll’s life, they found themself surrounded by people more interested in helping them navigate expectations than in using their difficulties to void their position.

If not for the guests, Sirenne should have offered nothing short of paradise.

Even to think this borders on sacrilege.

“You’re a priest. You’re supposed to be…” James stares, shaking her head. “Or maybe that’s why! You don’t even know what today is, do you? It’s just another day to you—away from the real world, thinking you know anything!” Her voice edges on shrill as she leans forwards. “Is that why you all become priests? Because you’re not normal enough for anything but hiding here?”

Moll admits that their calling exists in part because of the similarities shared by divine and armed service. Both offer the comforting limits of hour bells, set times for work and play, assigned clothing, clear expectations around behaviour. While surprises happen, Sirenne and the Seventh provide rules and processes for how one responds; even the unexpected, in many ways, still owns a guiding spectre of regularity.

Structure, Gennifer summarised after Moll’s explanation. You need—thrive in—the structure.

The monastic life also permits and justifies their failure to navigate life and relationship expectations. A priest of the Sojourner needn’t avoid partnering, but such avoidance isn’t unexpected given their remove from circumstances that facilitate such relationships.

They knew, their boots crunching on the driveway’s blanket of fallen leaves and twigs, that this secluded compound will become home.

They knew, during their first gently-interrogative conversation with Gennifer, what new path their feet must follow.

Does that correlate to hiding?

“I was quartermaster for fifteen years in the Seventh Western Regiment,” Moll says quietly. “After the Seventh’s disbandment and my discharge, I was called to begin a new shape of service, in which I am recognised by the Sojourner and the community of Sirenne. May I ask what ‘normal’ means to you?”

It’s crass to draw James’s attention to their bare shoulders, one marked by their god and one marked by the Guide. What does the possession of either mean, anyway, if Moll doubts their ability to serve as called? They open and close their fists, lifting and lowering one finger at a time, until their body feels less likely to slip out of control.

James, her thin brows raised, stares at the basin and its lilies.

Remember your curiosity.

Curiosity, in the Warp, too often became lethal.

“Would you share with me your understanding of priestly service? Guests are often surprised by the differences between the monastic orders.” They try to smile. “I think that speaks to what the Sojourner preaches—that there are many pathways, often contradictory but always leading to the same place, to understand and honour hir. But it can, sometimes, make for confusion.”

Even her criticism, should it encompass substance and clarity, seems better than this wall of vague disdain interspersed with rejecting silence. Other than referencing a date on which Moll recognises no significance and objecting to their use of the girdle book’s prompts, she hasn’t provided actionable critique or evaluation. They forgot—or didn’t know—today’s significance. How can they rectify that without explanation?

James snorts. “That’s what you tell yourself.”

A woman so bound up in observing customs of dress and behaviour must intend her rudeness.

Should they admit defeat and take James to Gennifer for reassignment? Yet if something significant busies the Guide and her advising priests, Gennifer doesn’t need a brown-belted priest running for help with one guest in, comparatively, a trivial circumstance. Surely even a raw priest, who doesn’t need reminder lists for mealtime conversations, will navigate this situation without help? Isn’t this, then, a learning opportunity? If they can figure out how to gain James’s trust, will they make fewer mistakes with other allistic guests?

They draw a series of breaths—inhale, hold, exhale—but the nauseating anxiety now bears the edges of a restless, sweating panic.

“Yes, I do tell myself that,” they say as agreeably as possible. A display of receptiveness may help James feel comfortable with further elaboration, even though they don’t know why she made such a snide comment. “I do wish to better support you. Before I can do that, I need to learn from you. Every priest must learn from their guests; I just have a greater need than some.”

James looks down at their feet, scraping the soles of their boots across the tiles with a sound that sets Moll’s teeth on edge.

Breathe in, hold, breathe out. Exhale for as long as possible. Close fingers one by one, hold, open them again as slowly as possible. Breathe.

“That sound hurts my ears. Would you please stop?” Moll attempts, again, a smile, but even on the best of days and in the happiest of moods such an expression feels forced and unnatural. If only they could project an image of quiet harmlessness! How else do they manage a tension too often read as threatening when their lips don’t move the usual way? “Thank you.”

James stills her feet, staring at Moll with her head tilted as if to suggest that she looks through them to focus on the vine-shrouded stone behind.

“I understand that today has meaning to you,” they offer. Perhaps retreating to the one problem about which James has provided any clarity will encourage movement. “Would you share this meaning with me, so I can offer the specific support you need? I’ve missed your communicating it.”

As soon as the they say “me”, they realise that an allistic priest with an allistic’s intuitive understanding of social interactions will instead have asked an unrelated question or offered a distracting observation on an unrelated subject.

As soon as they say “me”, they know they have handed James all the excuse she needs.

They just don’t know why.

She leaps upright, her hands trembling. “How are you going to help if you don’t even know? How are you going to help me with my partner, when you don’t know why today matters? Why I have to be alone today of all days, and how awful that is—but you just want explanations like you’re a child at their first solstice, too young to know anything! What’s the good of talking to you when you’re just a statue, lifeless and loveless? Look at you—you don’t even have an expression!”

Her brown eyes glisten as though she stands one wrong word away from tears.

Moll opens and closes their hands, one slow finger at a time.

Share, Oki advised every shadowing. Don’t burden them with your pain, but don’t secret your own struggles. Show them that you walk this road because you know theirs.

One word, though, they are hesitant to mention.

Perhaps their aromanticism, the sense Moll has owned as for as long as memory that they don’t desire romantic partnerships, is obvious to others. Perhaps James believes that an autistic, with stiff words and a book of conversation prompts, must be aromantic, both “lifeless and loveless”. Maybe she believes aromanticism accompanies an identity equally misunderstood as a detriment or shortcoming. Doesn’t she believe, at least, that those called to priesthood have surrendered any validating sense of what she considers normal—and, therefore, of value?

Convention, for all that she privileges it, nonetheless sent both sheltering beneath Sirenne’s roof.

“I’m truly sorry that you’re hurting and that today is difficult for you. I will do my best to help you, but the more you’re willing to share, the easier I will find it.” Moll speaks with measured care, pausing between each word in the fight to keep their voice from breaking. Measured means rigid. Rigid … isn’t that another way of saying “lifeless”? “My autism or aromanticism, however, don’t mean we lack humanity in common, or that I haven’t struggled with my family or departures from my road—my own despair and illnesses. I haven’t experienced your precise circumstances, but that doesn’t mean I don’t believe in your struggles or won’t offer a sympathetic ear.”

How can they provide that if she won’t explain her needs?

Lifeless. Frantic limbs and a wild voice, emotion given movement and language, also earns them censure—accusations of immaturity or aggression. Moll’s big, broad body and limbs don’t permit even dangerousness’s suggestion without provoking restrictive consequence. No, they can’t expect her to understand their inability to recollect freedom of reaction, emotion or speech. They don’t expect her to understand that adulthood’s repetition has rendered a seemingly-unnatural control all but innate. Can’t she at least assume that if Moll can master that acceptable state of allistic-flavoured emotional expression, they will?

Loveless. No, they don’t feel in any way categorisable as “love”. They’re not drawn to friends or partners in ways that suit, even non-romantically, the word’s sense of passion and vibrancy; it doesn’t fit their connection to people, labour or place. Their calling to service is too powerful and all-encompassing to be love. Such a general word, often used to describe feelings and actions contradictory to its given purpose, feels ill-suited.

Why must it be a moral failing to use words other than “love” to describe their relationships and feelings? Why must complex emotions be reduced to a binary of hate and love? Why must people replace the pressure to love romantically with the pressure to at least avoid accusations of lovelessness?

“Lifeless” devalues their best attempt to oblige other people’s expectations.

“Loveless”, not synonymous with loathing or disregard, shouldn’t serve as any kind of criticism. James loves. Which of them, today, is the crueller?

Maybe Moll has constrained their feelings for too long to permit a broader, warmer range of emotion.

Maybe their need to match feelings and experiences to words’ exact specifications means they, unknowingly, feel something allistics name “love”.

Maybe the stories that explain and identify love hold little relevance in real life, and people not Moll better accept the chasm standing between idealism and reality.

Maybe the reasoning doesn’t matter: the Sojourner has never required that her followers love.

What if, though, they’re better suited to a trowel or chopping knife than the careful, subtle art of guiding their guests? What if Moll can’t help James because of the qualities they don’t experience or the relationships they don’t desire? What if lovelessness and lifelessness, even best regarded as neutral states of being, render them ill-suited to the work?

“You’re like a puppet—moving your wooden lips, saying the words. But you don’t know anything about … about really being human.” James folds her arms across her body before turning towards the arch, her chin held high. “There’s no point. Not with you.”

No, there isn’t. She needs a priest who won’t make her feel distanced by their inability to share her experiences. One who, in curiosity and kindness, can explore and sympathise with her pain-born feelings and judgements. One who doesn’t feel slapped across the face and punched in the gut by three words: lifeless and loveless.

They understand the process. Pluck out the least-acceptable aspects of aromanticism and autism, disguise them as general qualities society finds objectionable and wield them at the vulnerable—prejudice now concealed under the thinnest veneer of acceptable disregard. Awareness doesn’t ease their hurt.

Wooden. Puppet. Statue.

Inhuman.

She halts at the archway, gesturing in their direction. “See? You aren’t even saying anything now! You’re—”

“Pain!” The word spills from Moll’s lips with shocking vehemence. “You think love is what makes us human, if you must choose one quality? No, humans are pain, not love—the pain of having our worth denied, the pain of injury and loss, the pain of our cognisance of our mortality, the pain of fear, the pain of being overlooked or ignored, even the pain of having our pain denied! Who doesn’t endure against the hurt of being told in word or action that we aren’t worth kindness?”

James stares at Moll in an aghast, still silence.

“You think I can’t know you? If you think, in your pain and ignorance, that I haven’t had someone demonstrate that I’m undeserving of respect, you have done so just now! You sought to strip away my humanity, because you think cruelty will give you back the power torn from you. It won’t. It only makes you cruel. It only envenomates another.” They rise and walk towards the archway, fighting to keep their steps slow and hands loose by their sides. “Because you misunderstand your own humanity, you gave me what makes me as human as you—pain. Will you say it again, now, why I can’t guide you?”

Her lips part as though about to speak, but no sound emerges.

“I have consented to guide you to your rightful path. I haven’t consented to your disrespect.” Despite their efforts, Moll’s bare feet smack against the stone as they step past James into the fern-lined pathway. “Gennifer will assign you to another priest’s care. I won’t spend a moment longer with you.” Just for a moment, they adopt the snapping bark mastered with the Seventh: “Come!”

James moves as though afraid to make the slightest noise, hanging back a few steps behind with the nail of her pointer finger clasped between her teeth.

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myfandomrambles · 6 years

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Inuyasha Character Analysis

Lost his father as an infant

Was maligned and bullied his whole childhood

Lost his mother at a young age

Was treated poorly for a reason he couldn’t control being born half demon and half human

He took to wandering and fighting demons to become properly “strong”.

Generally Ignored his need for relationships and connections

He wanted to become a strong demon hiding and ignoring his human side

Put walls up and attempts to hide his feelings and used violence to hide this

Was never okay with hurting innocents and children

Fell in love with Kikyo forming his first true connection since his childhood

Grew a true need to protect people along with wanting strength

Became willing to drop his demon side to be able to live and love Kikyo

Experienced betrayal from Kikyo the one person he loved since his mother.

Is played by a murder who never leaves him alone

deals with Kagome and Kaede which serves as a reminder of his losses.

Immerse himself in a world of violence through helping kagome partially by choice and by coercion.

Deals with his past experience with his father and brother

struggles to form a relationship with Kagome

Recklessness is a constant in his life

Acts cocky

Violent reactions tend to be a default

Cares for shippo and tries to protect him even beyond his natural inclination to not let innocent people be hurt (besides the occasional head smack)

Befriends sango and Miroku over time gaining respect and care for them.

Deals with the reality a demonic form lives within him that can control against his wishes

Returns to wanting the jewel destroyed over gaining power

Fixates on Naraku

Faces losing Kikyo and her attempts to manipulate him (even if it comes from compassion)

hides his emotions

is protective and possessive of Kagome as he falls in love with her.

learns to use his sword

is able to form a non-antagonistic relationship with his brother over time.

is tone deaf to others emotions

pushes himself to the edge in battle

after defeating his enemy he pushed himself again to save his love and then wit three years for her to come back

Analysis:

Inuyasha uses violence as a coping mechanism to shield his emotions and feel in control

he struggles with extremely low self-esteem that shows in his need to control the situation. He covers it up with brash actions and acting overly confident. He wants people to see him as strong and to live up to who he thinks he is supposed to be. He internalized some of the treatment he received throughout his life from everyone.

His power increases when he has something to protect. Only being able to use tessaiga when Kagome needs him and generally gains new skills when this happens as well. This combines the lore of the story with the characterisation of Inuyasha of deep down compassion and duty guiding his actions more than the idea of what a demon is or a plain love of slashing demons even though that is still a factor.

His need for family is heavily prevalent no matter how many times he tries to deny it. He works past a lot of issues with Sango and Miroku. He also took to Shippo quickly forming a brotherly dynamic easily. He pushes these people away emotionally and compensates by being overly possessive. He hadn't had a family since his mom died and hadn't had friends or other loved ones to fall back on so he has to learn how to behave o not upset them. He never really gets there struggling with social cues and emotional displays. But the attempts grow more prevalent as he accepts his need for family.

Has a deeply uncomfortable relationship with his own state of existence. The war between his normal form and the pure demonic energy that can control him, as this happens more it helps him back away from claiming he wants to be a full demon after realising how out of control he is and the effect it has on his new found family. Kagome also ties deeply to being able to pull him back from the edge and get him to ground himself. He also despises his full human form the weakness and helplessness it makes him feel as well as it being a reminder of being a “half breed”.

His demonic state is not controlled like his human form by the natural world instead of by his own wish for self-preservation or extreme anger. Also triggered by assorted magic influences. I think its interesting how his need for self-preservation is angry and soulless being able to cover all the other parts of Inuyasha. Kagome being able to ground him, and eventually being able to have partial control while in this state to prevent himself from going too far. His defence mechanism grows to be less all or nothing when he is able to do some self-grounding.

Struggles to understand relationships. This stems from never having friends and a strained relationship with his only relative. The first time since his mother he is able to be all himself is with Kikyo, which eventually becomes an impediment to forming relationships. Loading him with more insecurity, anger, grief and forcing him to choose between to girls he loves.

Becomes obsessed with Naraku wanting revenge and eventually protecting loved ones becomes a secondary motivator. He has a tendency to obsess as well as enjoying the battle.

Shows great character growth from tending to ignore feelings, struggle to return the affection, act selfishly, and ignoring any advice. He learns to let people in and respect them. He becomes smarter in battles letting others help him, though he is still prone to wanting to be the sole hero.

bonus:

Autistic + ADHD Inuyasha

Hypersensitivity to smells

Trouble making relationships

Hypersensitivity to Taste

Struggles with social cues

Hates crowds

One track mind

Doesn’t understand when he is rude

Inappropriate emotional displays

Shutdowns

Meltdowns

Stims with cloak

Odd body language

Struggles with understanding emotions (his and others)

Trouble expressing empathy

Uncomfortable with touch

Hyper

Can be impulsive

Distractable

RSD

Anger outbursts

Hyperfocus

(Taken from my other post)

#fandom:#anime #character:#inuyasha #topic:#Character Study #nd headcanons #adhd headcanon #autistic headcanon #type:#my post #txt #analysis series

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thenugking · 4 years

Text

Grand Academy For Future Villains II: Attack of the Sequel, Chapter 1: Return of Chapter One. A commentary for Three.

General CW for the whole thing: parental abuse, internalised dehumanisation as a trauma response. Three’s not doing well.

Specific CW for this chapter: kink mention in the linked post

Game 1

Game 2

Chapter 0

Alternatively, read on Google Docs here

***

"Not so fast."

A small, well-manicured hand lands on your shoulder. It's attached to a petite, well-groomed student you think you've seen before, although you can't be quite sure. Is she an upperclassman? Was she in one of your clubs last year?

"Trying to place me?" A half-smile on the pale pink lips. "Go on. I'm sure you'll get it eventually."

She lets you squirm for a bit—you're certain you ought to know her, and you're becoming increasingly convinced that it's a problem that you don't.

"And you're a Shadow Council member too! Tchk!" She makes a sound against her sharp white teeth, somewhere between disapproval and laughter.

"You won't remember me," she says after another agonizingly awkward moment. "I've put in a good deal of work to make sure that you don't. I'm A Baroness. The head of the Shadow Council."

The Shadow Council! Your mother's old secret society. The one that you successfully pledged last year! Do they have some sort of assignment for you?

"This isn't Shadow Council business, though," she says, giving the Dining Hall a quick, critical glance. "But it's something that you need to hear. This way."

Her hand moves from your shoulder to your wrist, and with only the lightest touch, she's steering you out of the Dining Hall towards the Library.

Three really wanted to go and have a breakdown in their dorm room, but while their Horrible Very Bad No-Good Day continues, their first meeting with a Baroness at least goes very badly for her, too.

Something I’ve realised about Three is that their odd mix of tactless bluntness and emphasis on proper etiquette to an absurd degree is a result of them being an autistic who doesn’t understand social cues, and overcompensates to try not to mess up. Which resonates very strongly with this tumblr post about Prince Charming from Cinderella being faceblind. “They call him prince charming because he’s always really polite to strangers to cover for the fact that he doesn’t know if he’s supposed to recognize them from somewhere,” is absolutely Three.

So no, Three doesn’t squirm. They are very used to being unable to recognise people and just being polite to them until (and after) they can work out who they are. I’m sure A Baroness still points out that Three won’t remember her, but when Three apologises that they are bad at faces, “This happens all the time, it’s nothing personal. I assume you have changed your hairdo? It suits you,” A Baroness realises that putting in a great deal of work into making sure Three wouldn’t remember her was maybe not entirely necessary.

"Sona. Dev. Aurion." Your guide nods to them. "I've brought…"

She looks to you, and you can feel the weight of the conversation tipping onto you all at once.

"Three." It would have been pointless to lie; Aurion, your former hallmate, is sitting right there. His eyes bore into you. What is Aurion doing here?!

"Three. Of course." A Baroness's smile doesn't show the sharp teeth beneath. "I thought it might be 3."

You wince. That's the name your mother calls you. It made a lot more sense once you learned that you were the result of her early experimentation into replication, and that was more of a designation of the experiment itself. Though your mother uses it affectionately, you'd rather it not get out.

But it's only natural that A Baroness would know it, though. The Shadow Council makes it its business to access hidden knowledge and use that knowledge for its own purposes.

And this encounter continues to go badly for A Baroness. This is exactly the sort of situation I was talking about back in my first entry:

“This does, of course, result in a lot of funny experiences in-game, where people try and psych me out by knowing my birth name and Three’s just, “Yes, that is my name, are you feeling all right?” It’s not impossible that these still take place, even with Three using their mother’s name; in the very next scene, Xi reveals they can hear how people spell things. I’m sure there are some people in the Academy who would deliberately say 3, rather than Three, and hope that Three hears the insult. They don’t.”

A Baroness spends her whole introduction trying to psych you out. Of course she’d make sure to say 3. Of course she’ll be a little bit frustrated when Three doesn’t react badly to it. But it may, in fact, be even worse than that. A Baroness is (along with Aurion) one of the two nemeses in the second game who’ll turn you down if she finds out you had Xi--and therefore now have DarkBoard--as your nemesis, because she very much does not want to get on DarkBoard’s bad side. And since Xi--and presumably also DarkBoard--can hear how people spell things, they’re now very unhappy about A Baroness disrespecting their… whatever exactly their relationship with Three is.

It doesn’t help her that she’s also invited Scorpius to the meeting, recently returned from a prestigious internship with Macroworld, and a new member of the Thriller dorm after deciding ze wants to get serious this year (this ambition lasts about five days). I think A Baroness would see Scorpius (and, for that matter, Three) as someone a lot of people underestimate, and would want a chance to really get their measure. Which is all well and good, but when everyone introduces themselves, Scorpius suggests everyone give their favourite ice cream flavour, which gives us this:

"And my favorite flavor of ice cream?" She looks at you narrowly, trying to guess the intent behind your words. "Oh, I don't indulge. My favorite ice cream is a sparkling water with a light essence of kale."

At which point... Well, Three is not particularly happy about being dragged into this, and doesn’t think A Baroness should be a particular threat in this case. Which means they’re feeling enough of an asshole to respond with, “Sparkling? And yet you… ‘Don’t indulge’?” Scorpius informs them both that they’re the two most boring people ze’s ever met.

(Three tells Scorpius that they’re sorry ze is perhaps not getting the answers ze wanted, but they have eaten ice cream only once, as a child, and found it very cold and a little sweet for their tastes, so cannot give an adequate answer here.)

#"Why are you telling me this?"

"Ah," says A Baroness. "Well, you're a rather special individual, Three, aren't you?"

"I suppose you know why we've called you here today," says Dev, in as creditable an imitation of an HR manager as you've ever heard from a disembodied voice.

You think back over the events of the previous year. There certainly were occasions you distinguished yourself. Your academic excellence, for instance. Your grades were so high that DarkBoard required additional processing power to manage them. You're a TA this year, though you haven't selected which class you'll be working with yet.

"I'm sure you can see why we'd want to bring you in early," says A Baroness. "Your position as a teaching assistant will give you a great deal of access."

This is all public knowledge. But in your heart of hearts, why are you really here?

Well, Three is certainly worried about the Auditors, but this is their most pressing question right now, as they are very much not important, thank you very much. They also get the uneasy feeling that there are reasons A Baroness isn’t telling them. After all, they’re hardly the only TA in the school, and if she’d just wanted someone with perfect grades, she already has Aurion.

As for Three’s “heart of hearts”... They’re fairly certain they don’t have one of those. They’re here to serve Maedryn, because where else would they be?

How do you plan to deal with Sona?

If you can defeat this heavily modified young champion, you will be responsible for leading Science Fiction to victory in the upcoming tournament of genres. Play to your strengths…or pick grounds where you know you'll lose.

#I'm going to throw this fight.

A position of leadership in a year-long tournament, bound to involve a lot of working together and socialising, could barely sound any less appealing to Three. They aren’t sure how much loyalty to Science-Fiction they even possess; it may be their home genre, and they may enjoy the easy access to weapons and gadgets, but they don’t have any strong personal feelings on the subject. And they’re suddenly realising the Sci-Fi dorm is going to feel very lonely this year, without Xi and Aurion. Sona, on the other hand, seems personable and enthusiastic. While she may be a little too much for Three’s tastes, they want to be less quick to judge people this year, and those traits certainly put Sona in a much better position to be leader than Three’s in.

They lose, and put up enough of a fight that no one thinks that was what they were trying to do, and get to remain in their favourite position of being unimportant, and underestimated.

#grand academy for future villains #choice of games #three #scorpius sanderson #marsh ocs #long post #a baroness #sona iatra

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